"Lay still, dear child. The pain will pass." I place the cold cloth back on her forehead and smooth her tangled, sweat-damped hair. In the muted light of the infirmary at this late hour, the strands plastered to her skin and sodden pillow are the black of oblivion. She looks terrified, helplessly confused. Her eyes are unfocused.
I shake my head in disbelief. She is exhausted but alive and I stare at her for a moment in amazement. Ten minutes ago, I was in my office going through routine paperwork, catching up with a normal daily workload, when there was a pounding on the door. Startled, I dropped my pen and gaped as one of the junior nurses barged in. Before I could berate him for the interruption, he started gabbling incoherently, waving his arms wildly, his face red and breath short – an unusual enough occurrence in this world to ensure he had my attention. I managed to calm him down enough to hear what he wanted to say – sleeping beauty (as the staff liked to call her) had woken from her coma.
None of my staff believed she would recover. I never thought she would. Running through the hospital to the infirmary, I listened as the boy gasped out more of what happened. He said the ward was quiet, the patients all asleep when suddenly the girl sat upright. She screamed and wouldn't stop. They tried desperately to calm her but she didn't respond. Sedation had no effect. She started scratching at her face and eyes, and then anyone who tried to prise her arms away. She should have been in restraints. In hindsight, perhaps I was lax on my rounds; I let the staff remove the leather straps around her legs and arms yesterday morning – they wanted to make the last days of her life dignified and I gave them that luxury. I overlooked the incident.
Fortunately, she has only light scratches on her pale skin, her body too frail to inflict any real damage. I press my hand against her cheek. Watching her body twist and her face contort, I wonder if death would be kinder.
"There now," I say after a while. "Rest easy, it will pass." Her cries are weaker now, barely above a normal level of speech and her body sags as the adrenalin-induced energy abandons it.
She whimpers faintly.
I remember that sound.
[center]
He says nothing.
As we walk, the only sound is the clip of my boots on the ancient stone of the keep. I have lost all sense of time in the dreary grey surroundings. How deep below ground have we come? How many winding stairs have we descended? The walls of the corridor are oppressively close and ice-cold sheets of air wrap around me, the fine silk cloak no defence, the royal blue material more suited to court, and I shiver. The dampness suffuses my clothes. My silvery dress shimmers in the flickering light of the lanterns hanging from rusty brackets, shadows play taunting games on the walls with our passing. The rank smell of neglect permeating the place only partially masked by my perfume.
To either side are regularly spaced iron doors, all bolted shut, any plaintive sounds the occupants might make muffled into silence. But I sense their stagnant desolation. It washes over me in listless waves. Many are hopeless. They feel forgotten. Some are angry, others paralysed by fear. Such a mix of wild and untamed emotions pour out of their cells that I have to consciously block them. I keep my face a blank mask so he does not see I am affected by their plight – there is nothing I dare do to help them.
He knows I am here for a reason.
Soon I will demand a report and he will hand over the clipboard he holds loosely in those gangly arms. For now, I quicken my pace. We are almost at the end of the corridor and I can see the third last door on the left. I stop when we reach it. My heart rate increases, pounding against my ribcage so hard I wonder if he can hear.
"Open it."
He does as I command.
The door swings outward with a heavy grinding sound that rakes over my nerves. I flinch but he doesn't see – his back is to me. The fetid air oozing from the cell would sicken even the hardiest of soldier and it takes me a moment to adjust. Then I hear it.
A forlorn moan, a cry whispered from a throat raw from senseless screaming.
[center]
The girl's name is Alice; I recall that much from her records. The name just didn't seem important until now. Her eyes are wide, pale blue and so innocent, flicking from side to side with rapid and chaotic jerks of motion.
Another nurse places a jug of water and a glass on the bedside table, and I smile my thanks to her, but quickly return my attention to my patient. The distraction is enough, however, for the girl to take me momentarily by surprise, her whole body suddenly tenses and she thrashes about on the bed. In desperation, she flails around, searching, seeking and then finding my arm. Her long fingers grip me as if I were a lifeline – maybe I am – and she gasps in relief.
Her head turns towards me and her sightless eyes meet mine.
I remember those eyes.
[center]
I step into the cell. The stone walls are illuminated in gruesome glory as he follows me, the light from his torch causing my shadow to jump violently over the limp form sagged in a far corner, wrists and ankles in shackles and the chain only just long enough that they might lay down. There is a needle the prisoners arm, connected to a drip hanging from a hook on the wall, but it feeds only what is vital for survival.
Am I too late?
Another whimper. Then a twitch of exhausted and tortured muscles. It is better than the fury she greeted me with when I first visited her three days ago.
She is still alive.
"A week?" I ask him.
He nods in response.
At the sound of my voice, the girl starts to cry, weak gasps and faint sobs all she can manage. She struggles to raise her head but her body has no strength. I cross the room in two quick strides. Kneeling down in front of her, I hook my fingers gently under her chin and raise her head, ignoring the slick, matted strands of her long hair brushing over my wrist. I study her face, the pale and pinched skin, eyes sunken and bloodshot with tears tracking through the dirt on her gaunt cheeks. She has been in this cell all her short life, never once seeing daylight. Poor child. But I am hearted that some change has come over her, though I fear it might just be exhaustion taking the edge off her anger.
"Shh, it's okay, you'll be okay." I stroke her jaw tenderly with my thumb.
She blinks rapidly and struggles to focus on me. Gradually, recognition grows within those sky blue depths.
[center]
Her grip is surprisingly strong. Placing my hand over hers, I gently reach through our contact, into the torn and tortured mind, soothing the riot of pain and terror I sense within her. Leaning down I whisper, "Lay back, relax, you're safe now." I feel her respond to my ministration and know she hears my words. I brush my free hand over her forehead, surprised how easy it is to subdue such intense anxiety.
She collapses back on the bed and her eyes almost close.
"There now," I continue in the same pacifying voice, my mind a blanket of comfort around hers. "It's okay, you need to rest. You'll feel better soon." Picking up the cloth fallen to the floor during the struggle, I dip it in the bowl of cold water by the bed and squeeze off the excess before placing it back on her head. She still looks frightened and fragile, terribly vulnerable, but I also see trust in those sightless eyes. I smile down on her and am gratified and a little curious to see her return it, albeit weak and hesitant – it's as if she senses my gesture. Dare I hope her mind has changed so much? There is too much distress within her to be sure. She needs to rest. Her mind needs to rest.
"I'm going to give you something to help you sleep." I keep talking while reaching for the syringe I placed on the bedside table when I came into the ward.
[center]
For the first time since entering the cell, I take in her torn and tattered clothing barely covering bony ribs and shoulders. Her species is naturally thin, but now, she is emaciated. Only a week? I start to shake my head then catch myself before I complete the action – he is beside me now. I glance at him, but he's watching the girl and ignoring everything else with a smile of immense satisfaction adorning his slate like features. Wrenching my gaze from his stick like form, I turn back to the prisoner.
Suddenly she is animated, lips curling back to reveal long and surprisingly white teeth. A low growl comes from her throat and the tendons in her skinny arms stand out as she strains against her bonds. I jump up and back to avoid her claw like fingers as she throws herself towards us, her body wrenched back by the chains as they pull tight. Spittle flies from her mouth as she snarls at us. Her eyes are wild.
I stare into those light eyes and see rudimentary intelligence forming within the chaos of madness. It's not enough, though, and I fear her body won't take the time needed to complete the process. But it would be a shame to waste the effort so far expended in this world – there is still a lot to learn.
"Another week," I say to him and turn away, moving to the door.
He nods at my order.
"No!" Her unexpected outburst startles me and I stop dead. "Help me!" her pleading cry is hoarse. "Don't leave me here..."
The desperation I hear in those few words – the only words I've ever heard her speak! – holds me still. Even with the scratchy quality from disuse, I hear richness in her voice that would suit the opera. With training and development, she could be beautiful! I look over my shoulder and hold my breath in amazement as she continues.
"What are you doing to me?" She whispers. The savageness of before is gone, leaving her weak, impotent and sagging in the corner once more with only a shadow of the madness still haunting her eyes.
I can only just keep my excitement from showing. The implant works! I never expected coherent speech and cognizance in such a burst of neurone activity, but it works! I have to carry out several examinations to establish the pathways created and destroyed in just this short time, but to interfere with the experiment now would affect the results – a world with exactly the right properties had been hard to find and I don't want to start again just because my overzealous curiosity demanded I interfere now.
Feeling him watching me, I shiver inside. At the edge of my vision I see a frown drawing three deep lines between his black eyes.
I turn to face the door, smoothing any expression from my face. I am pleased with the progress so far, yet despite her ability to articulate, I still sense irrational rage in her mind. More time is required and I can only hope that she will survive to produce the results I desire. She shows tremendous promise.
"Another week," I say without emotion.
I turn and walk out without looking back. The door closing firmly behind me silences the girl's animalistic cries of fury and terror as she reverts to her previous personality and mental state, the madness descends again. I feel a pang of disappointment. The change is not permanent. But perhaps another week will make the difference.
[center]
Removing the needle from her arm, I hand it to the nurse who brought the water. My eyes never leave the girl. I stroke back her hair from a damp bony cheek and whisper to her, "Rest dear child, you are safe." I keep repeating the soft words.
Gradually her trembling subsides and her eyes drift closed, facial muscles relaxing and fingers slipping from my arm. She looks almost peaceful. The poor child should have died in that dark and desolate hole that was her home.
I turn my head to look at the nurse still hovering near by.
"Check her frequently and tell me if there's any change. She should sleep for several hours with the dose I gave her." I hold out my hand. "Give me her chart."
The nurse hands me the clipboard and stands motionless as I flip it open. She says nothing while I am reading. She, like the rest of the staff, does not question why Alice is here, they never question anything – it's one of the unexpectedly useful properties of this world.
[center]
Standing outside the door, I can barely contain my excitement. It's been a week. What will have changed? Of course I could find out simply by looking at the chart he holds, but I choose not to, wanting to see for myself how the experiment has progressed.
"Open it."
He does as I order.
The door wafts air from the room and it smells far worse than before, the acrid stench of excrement and stale sweat unbearable.
I gag.
He sees, but is silent, and this time he steps into the room first.
I follow him slowly to let my senses adjust to the foul odour. There's no sound of movement and it is a long, straining moment before I detect the faint suggestion of breath being taken into tired lungs. Then the sickly torch light swells over the body slumped against the far wall.
The sight disturbs me far more than my last visit. I have to fight the urge to wince at the state the girl is in. Almost translucent, her skin stretches over long thin bones. Her hair is matted. Open, puss filled sores cover her whole body. I wish it could have been achieved another way, but this is how her people treat the afflicted and I dare not tamper with the rules of the Shadow in case I alter a property vital to my experiments. It took a long time to find the perfect race upon which to test my theories on the new implant. I don't wish to start over.
There is movement, a twitch of her hand, her fingers flexing. I see her head rise and her eyes meet mine. A mindless fury burns within those light orbs.
My lips part in wonder at her. She is a perfect specimen, such singled minded passion! Most the population of this world are incredibly submissive and passive, entirely indifferent to the world around them. They function day to day as their work requires but they are nothing more than drones, detached from any events that would affect you or I. However, very occasionally some are born with a unique hormone that affects their brain chemistry. It makes them irrationally fearful, or angry, quick to fury, insanely happy, or one of various other extremes of emotion. The unique chemical is released when they are young, only four or five years of age and it induces an emotional state that once set never changes; if they are afraid, they will always be so and never experience another facet of emotion.
The girl is afflicted with rage, but my hope is the implant will regulate the chemical and controls what she is feeling.
Bringing up my Pattern lens I can see the Guild device. It's like a spider's web of light in her brain; the metallic strands have become neurons, formed new pathways for nerve impulses. I split my attention between the physical and psychic and reach out with the Lens to touch her mind and the implant buried within. I send a command.
Calm
The transformation is almost instantaneous. The sudden flashes of light are clear in my sight. Chemical precursors are released around the amygdaolodial region and nerve impulses fire down new pathways all over the limbic system. I watch the effects carefully, noting where the chemical is secreted by the implant and which groups of neurons in particular fire to induce the change I see coming over her body. The animalistic aggression fades from her eyes, her facial muscles relax and the tension leaves her muscles.
I cross the room and kneel down in front of her and reach out to brush back the scraggly strands of hair covering her face, hook them behind her ears. Realising I'm holding my breath I let it out slowly and smile. She doesn't respond in any way to my closeness. She looks sleepy. The madness is gone, her expression is now a blank slate, and for the first time in her short life the girl is placid.
Suddenly I tense. I sense he is right behind me.
I try to ignore him but his irritation is palpable. He might be classed as normal in this society – he is robotic in nature most of the time – but I know he has some emotions. All those who work closely with the afflicted seem to be marginally affected by the chemical as if it is transferred to them in tiny amounts through skin contact. I don't suppose any realise it, but there is a basal level of the chemical in every single one of them and just a slight increase induces a hint of feeling. It is why he can exhibit such perverse pleasure at the girl's plight and why he gains such enjoyment from the freedom he has to do what he will with her.
I grit my teeth in frustration at my lack of concentration. I must not waste time! Forcing any consideration of his personality from my thoughts I focus on the girl. I have to test this implant further.
Can it alter her emotional state a third time? Can it continually change her mood? I reach into her mind with another command for the implant.
Fear
A flood of the chemical is released and the wave of reaction flows across the frontal lobes, in my sight it is a blazing trail of light that scatters flashes of electrical activity down into the temporal lobes. Her breath catches and her body trembles. Chains clink as she struggles to get away from me. Her eyes are wide and desperation is carved into her features. She wants to escape the room, only there's nowhere to go and all she can do is moan and struggle futilely against her bonds.
Incredible! I struggle to contain my excitement. My changes to the implant work! The possibilities are numerous! Alterations to the implant flit through my mind, the changes I can make so it controls other physiological functions in the human body seem suddenly achievable.
But first, I must be absolutely sure this works before I propose new hypotheses. Taking a deep, steadying breath I send another mental command to the implant.
Joy
The surge of nerve impulses is almost blinding. It doesn't diminish in areas and swell in others, as expected. It increases in intensity until my head starts to throb and her body convulses, foam fills her mouth and her eyes roll back in her head.
[center]
I flip through her chart, but already I know her condition.
I press my lips together and squeeze my eyes shut. A single tear escapes. I wipe it away, not caring if the nurse sees.
The girl is blind, though it may be possible to return her sight with some small adjustments to the implant, force it to replace neurons in the occipital lobe. But there is extensive damage to the rest of her brain and I fear I may never repair it all. It is such a loss! But I will try to fix her. I must try; there was recognition in her eyes when she looked at me, an intelligence where there was none and I am certain this is an unexpected side effect of the implant. There is so much I don't know about these Guild artefacts. She is more important to me now then ever.
[center]
I grab the girl's arms and hold her down as she thrashes about. Her face is twisted in agony and I feel it slashing into my own mind.
I block it out.
Reaching into the turmoil in her head I switch off the implant, but it does not put out the white hot heat of destruction in her brain. It takes a lot longer for me to smother the blazing inferno and her screams fill the room, lingering long after I've soothed her pain. But it's too late. The damage is done.
I slip her mind into a merciful coma.
Getting slowly to my feet I give him an order, without taking my eyes away from the lifeless form sprawled on the cold and filthy stone. "Take her to the infirmary, ward C. Give her to the nurses there and ensure she is cleaned up and made comfortable."
If he wants to protest, he doesn't get a chance. I walk from the room before he can say anything and exert my influence to ensure he does as I command.
[center]
Looking down at the girl I know she will never recover fully and this I regret, not only because my experiment will end prematurely, but I have become fond of her. She is beautiful and I wonder what she would have become given the chance to live somewhere else. But she will never lead a normal life, not even one like the robotic existence the majority of the population enjoy in this world.
With a heavy sigh I hand the clipboard back to the nurse and she accepts it without comment. A quick glance tells me she is somewhat affected by the girl's plight and definitely noticed my expression of sorrow. I turn away from her and back to the girl, a grim smile on my lips.
The hypocritical morals of this place are no different from any other Shadow – as long as you are useful the ruling body they will let you live your life. Any they deem out of the ordinary – the afflicted – they lock up and throw away the key with the pretence at keeping the general population safe. And yet everyone in this world has just a small amount of the very same chemical in their bodies. Only it's barely detectable in the majority, most of whom appear mechanical and cold in their day to day lives. But how else could these nurses do their job if they had no compassion?
I rub my hands over my face, and kneed my eyes. I came to this place because their physiology was less complex than normal with regard to mood and I must write up my findings tonight, but I spare a moment longer with the girl.
When I started this experiment I wanted to understand how the implant worked and I have discovered more than I expected over the past few weeks. The girl started out as a mindless animal and now she recognises my presence and is comforted by it – I wish to know why and I will find out.
Since the successful completion of stage one I've found several more of the same style of implant. I hope through further experimentation with others like Alice, I will find a way to restore her mind, at least enough to enable communicate in some primitive fashion. After all, she did manage to speak for a short time. I must let her recover from this ordeal before I manipulate the implant further. The experiment has taken an interesting turn. Sometimes an implant's true function is only revealed in extreme situations such as hers.
But she must recuperate. And for now, she is trapped in her mind, my voice the only thing she can cling to, everything else is a nightmare of impossible proportions.