Specimen(16)
It’s a long time before I am able to speak again.
“I thought you were hurt.” I reach up and stroke her cheeks with my fingers, forcing myself to be gentle. “I thought I might fail.”
“I’m fine, Sten,” she says. She still doesn’t look at me, and I’m not reassured. “Everything is fine.”
“I’m sorry.” Whether or not my anger is warranted is irrelevant. I’ve upset her. I’ve scared her, and I don’t want her to be afraid of me.
“It’s all right.” She finally looks at me. “I understand. This is part of your training, too. You’re having difficulty moving from one mindset to the next. That’s good for me to know. I can adjust for that. There’s a setting in the primary implant that can be changed. It requires surgery, but it’s minor.”
Everything is about my training, my conditioning. She’s the doctor, and I’m the specimen. Everything I do is just another number in one of her charts.
I’m a lab rat to her.
“Don’t fucking do that again,” I say as I take a step back, releasing her.
It’s a plea, not an order. I know who is in control here, and it’s not me. Her words make it even clearer than it had been before. When she assures me it won’t happen again, I don’t even believe her.
I follow her back to the lab. My focus isn’t on Riley’s ass as she walks in front of me, but internal. My muscles are still tense, and there’s an ache in my thighs. There’s still anger bubbling inside my gut, and I have to fight to keep myself from punching the walls.
In the lab, Riley hands me my usual liquid nutrient drink. I hold it in one hand, staring at the contents and wondering what is really inside of it. I’m almost always given one at night, and I quickly fall asleep right afterward. If it is drugged, I’m not ready to drink it. I have questions on my mind.
“Are you still wiping my memories?”
“What do you mean?” Her tone is steady, but her shoulders tense slightly at the question. She knows exactly what I mean; she’s just biding her time before she answers.
Fine. I’ll play.
“Sometimes I think I’ve forgotten things.” I spin the cup in my hand and watch the contents swish around. “It seems like days have gone by, but I don’t remember what I’ve done.”
“Your past memories were erased to make room for the cyber implants,” Riley says. “We’ve talked about that. You’re training now. I need you to remember that, or we’ll be behind schedule. There’s no reason to erase anything new.”
She’s lying. I know she is. I shave every day, but sometimes when I wake up, I have slight scruff and other times more of a beard. I’ve been injured twice—once when I first woke up and once during a training exercise. Both times, my wounds were treated. Both times, I woke up the next day with no sign of injury.
The simulation was a lie. She’s lying to me now about my memories. What else has she told me that isn’t true?
Chapter 5
“I’m not tryin’ to tell ya how to run yer farm, Galen.”
An older man with an angular face leans against the barn door and chews on the pad of his thumb. I’ve known him for years, and I trust him implicitly, but his words distress me.
“I know yer feelin’ obligated to continue yer father’s legacy ‘n all, but the fact is, the fields are barren. You ain’t gonna get any grain out of ‘em.”
“I can handle it.”
“Ya’ve taken good care of yer sister ‘n all, but it’s time ta give it up.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Galen!”
A tall skinny girl runs up from the far side of the barn. The golden hair that hangs well past her waist blows in the dry wind. She’s all smiles and skips as she runs. She’s getting to be too old for that kind of play, but it makes her happy.
“Hiya, Greenbean!” I call back. “How was school?”
“Awful,” she says with a smile. “All they talk about is the condition of the planet and how we have to work together to fix it. I get enough of that from you!”
She laughs. I reach out and tousle her hair.
“Some of the squash is ready,” I tell her. “Go grab a couple and we’ll have them for dinner.”
“Sweet!” She runs off.
I’ve got to make this work even if it means spending everything we have on water. I glance at the large tank near the house, knowing how close it is to empty. If Dad were here, he’d know just what to do, but he’s been gone over a year. It’s only me and my sister now.