Hidden Faults (9 page)

Right on cue, I heard sirens and whistles and the whine and grinding of tortured veecle engines being pushed past their operating limits out in the street beyond the end of the alley. I stared at him incredulously.

“You gonna be quiet?”

He kept his hand over my mouth until I nodded.

“How...how did you know?” I whispered.

“I can’t tell you. I’ll get you home safe, Jodi.” He hauled me in close, and planted a firm, demanding kiss on my lips. I was too shocked to protest, or even breathe. “Sorry about this....”

~~~

I woke muzzy and achy, and when I worked out where I was—on my sofa, not terribly comfortable for sleeping, I realised why. I glanced at my timekeeper, the bottle on the table, and realised I’d fallen asleep—or passed out. I remembered why now...the argument with Mam...Neim.

I covered my eyes, and wished I hadn’t woken up. I’d been thinking of going out but it was too late, and I’d drunk too much for it to be safe. Better to eat something and go to bed. I felt...less wretched about Neim. Still sad, but not so hysterical. Probably because of the alcohol, but whatever the reason, I was grateful.

I found a meal I’d frozen a month before and, feeling surprisingly hungry, I stuck it in the cooker to warm up. I wasn’t as hungover as I should have been, considering how much was gone from the bottle. It would probably hit me later. At least I wasn’t working.

I wished Kregan had agreed to let me contact the man’s son. It nagged at me, even though it couldn’t do Neim any good at all. It was like he’d been erased from people’s memories, like the ancient paranormals who may or may not have brought a war to a bloodless end. In ten years’ time, would I wonder if Neim was a mistake of memory too? Did his son think he’d only imagined another father, a man with a tattooed hand and an open, honest smile? Did his dreams taunt him with images he couldn’t explain?

I pushed away the memory of Neim’s purple, swollen face. I would try to remember him they way he’d been the last time I’d seen him alive, serene and apparently at peace. He was free of his pain, the only consolation I could get from this mess.

Angry voice and text messages from both parents and my two sisters had exploded all over my communicator list but I deleted the lot. I didn’t feel like apologising, explaining or discussing it with any of my family—not while I was so raw. Timo wanted to know why I’d called, and I told him. By then I was calmer, but still confused. He could offer no explanation other than to suggest maybe Neim had been more than a little crazy after all that had happened to him, which might have been true.

Timo said my father had called him. I said he could say as much or as little as he liked. My friend, wiser than me, said that it was up to me to deal with it. He’d support me whatever I wanted to do. I didn’t know what that should be.

On my return to work, people seemed subdued and a little scared. Internal Oversight were still going through all my notes and had interviewed me, but Kregan’s intervention meant it was little more than a formality. Annoyingly, standard procedure required that a temporary overseer be appointed, and that meant I ended up with Haban, the manager of the team working on a naksen replacement.

I had nothing to hide, certain my methods could withstand the most intense scrutiny, but after three days of being interrogated over every line in every report going back five years, I felt like a criminal. I’d never liked Haban much. He made it clear from his attitude he thought I’d been given special treatment working directly for Kregan, and that this was his opportunity to correct the bad habits into which I had fallen. I was prepared to be criticised for my dealings with Neim. I wasn’t prepared to be branded sloppy, lazy, or incompetent. Kregan made a point of showing his support to me in front of Haban, so I tolerated it. Barely.

It meant the next group to receive the gene therapy were put off for a week, which meant we would only finish observations on them just before I went on leave. I considered cancelling the vacation I’d booked, but in the end I left it. The way I felt, I wasn’t in much of a mood for the sun-drenched Vilenz Islands.

Finally Haban grudgingly allowed that the trials could resume, which came as a relief because it was hard enough to get volunteers without messing them around this way. Even though this group included three prisoners, I disliked the idea that paranormals should jump to the command of normals. We asked for a month and a half out of their lives, and even if those lives weren’t particularly wonderful, they were their own, and not ours.

Haban watched the inoculation of the first three subjects, his sour expression indicating he thought my methodology lacked something, though he declined to actually tell me what. Then he said he had to do something, leaving me alone with Darno to deal with matters until he returned.

Darno let out a deep sigh. “How long is he going to watch us?”

“Until Internal Oversight is happy, I guess.” I put the call downstairs for the next subject. “We have nothing to hide.”

“Yeah, but he makes me feel like I do.”

I smiled wryly. “He probably thinks we
do
.”

We processed the next person, a female TK, and then, since Haban still hadn’t returned, decided to press on.

The next was also a TK—a male, and the first prisoner of the group, one Ritonwe hon Farin. He was serving time for petty theft, and for being found not up to date with his naksen dosages—a prevalent offence, and one often used to lock up paras. He was young, only twenty-five, and surly with it. Hard to know what he’d have been like before the terrors, but unlike Neim, he’d never known anything else. He was dressed in prison grey overalls, his head shaved, and the guards handled him like a vicious rogan as they shoved him into the chair and fastened the restraints. I waved them back, wishing we could dispense with these official thugs for the trials. It insulted us and our subjects alike.

I turned to the man and smiled as politely as I could.

“Please relax, sir, while we fit the sensors to you.”

His only reaction was a thin curl to his lips. He could, of course, have killed me while I touched him—stopped my heart, compressed blood vessels in my brain—but not only would that have meant his own instant death at the hands of the guards who had their weapons out and trained on him as I worked, there was also not the slightest indication from his records that he was dangerous at all. The incidence of violent offences was actually much lower among paras than among the ‘normal’ population. The official line was that it was the effect of the naksen. That didn’t explain why non-paranormal naksen users were among the worst offenders in our society.

Darno took the baseline readings, and then I picked up Ritonwe’s notes.

“In a moment or two, Mas Ritonwe, I’ll ask you to demonstrate your power for me so we can get a reading, but I’d like to confirm that you’re here of your own free will and that you understand that there will be side effects, some of which may be severe. The therapy is not risk free. Are you here voluntarily?”

“Oh sure.” He gave an unpleasant sounding laugh. “Everyone’s a volunteer in prison.”

I frowned at him. “Sorry, I need you to be clear with me, sir. You signed a consent form. Was that done voluntarily?”

He stared up at me with bloodshot green eyes. “Choice between that and the alternative? Sure, I ‘volunteered’.”

“If you hadn’t signed, were you told you’d be punished?”

“Punishment means you done something, right? It ain’t punishment if’n they beat ya cos you don’t play their game.”

Darno stared at me as I laid the clipboard down. “I see. Then we can’t use you in this trial.” I looked over at the guards. “Please release him.”

Ritonwe began to struggle in the restraints, violently tugging against the arm cuffs. “Wait! You can’t! They said...I go back now, they’s gonna know I didn’t do it!”

“I’m sorry but I can’t use a subject who’s not given free consent. Guards?”

“No! Stop, I’ll do it! I was kidding!”

“What in Marra’s name is going on here! Arwe Jodimai?” Haban strode into the room, waving the guards back. “I leave the room for a short while and chaos breaks out. Explain, doctor.”

He folded his arms. I regarded him coldly, quite certain of my grounds here. “The subject verbally informed me that he was coerced into signing the volunteer agreement. Therefore it’s not free consent.”

Haban turned to the man. “Is that true, prisoner?”

Ritonwe glared sullenly at me as he answered. “No, sir, it ain’t. I never said I was coerced or nothing.”

“You said—”

Haban held his hand up at me and turned to Darno. “Arwe Darno? Did you hear the prisoner say he’d been threatened?”

“Not in so many words, no, but—”

Habin turned back to me. “Arwe Jodimai, the prisoner has denied he’s been coerced in front of you and me and these witnesses. We have his written consent. The guidelines are clear. Proceed with the inoculation.”

“Sir, I can’t.”

His eyes narrowed and his mouth set hard in temper. “You’ve been given a direct order, doctor. Carry out the inoculation.”

“No, I won’t. It’s against the law, and our regulations.”

“Wrong, wrong, wrong, you arrogant little fool. Very well, I’ll do it. Arwe Darno, give me the inhaler.”

Darno reached for the treatment tray.

“Darno, hand him that and I’ll have your medical license!”

He froze, eyes darting between the two of us. Haban snorted and made a grab for the inhaler. I lunged and snatched it from him.

“No! You can’t force an experimental treatment on a coerced subject!”

“Give me that back, you little shit...guards! Arrest him! Arrest him by my order, Regulation one oh three, employee disobeying directives in a grossly dangerous manner! What the hell are you standing there for? Do it!”

The two guards swung their weapons towards me. I put my hands in the air, and looked at my assistant. My knees shook, but I kept my voice as calm as I could.

“Arwe Darno, would you call Arwe Kregan and ask him to step in here, please?”

Haban snatched the inhaler out of my grasp, but at least he didn’t force Ritonwe—doing his best not to look at anyone—to use it. He nodded at Darno, who made the call, sounding as panicked as he looked. Then we had to stand there in this ridiculous tableau, me still under guard like
I
was the prisoner, for the two minutes it took for Kregan to come barrelling into the room.

“
What is going on? Guards, step away.
Now
. Jodi, lower your hands.”

I did so gratefully. Kregan glared at me, then Haban. “Arwe Haban?”

Haban tilted his chin with a supercilious air. “Arwe Jodimai was disrupting an approved trial with some utter nonsense about lack of consent!”

“
It
wasn’t
nonsense!”

Kregan held up his hand. “Quiet, please. Both of you. Has this gentlemen received the therapy?”

I shook my head while Haban gave me a dirty look.

“Fine. Guards, please take him back to the holding ward to await further instructions. Arwe Jodimai, my office. Arwe Haban, your office. Arwe Darno, stay here, seal your records, speak to no one. Everyone move, please.”

He issued the polite commands through gritted teeth, and at that moment, I honestly didn’t know which one of us infuriated him more.

I went upstairs to Kregan’s office. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t worried. Haban had it in for me, and I’d handed him a stick to beat me with quite nicely. Yet I would have done nothing differently. If I still had a job after this, I would insist Kregan or someone find out if there was anything in what Rotinwe had said.

I sat in one of the visitors’ chairs and wondered how bad this would get. Twenty minutes later, the door opened and Kregan came inside. He took a seat behind his desk and then folded his hands in front of him as he coolly regarded me.

“There’s a guard waiting by the door to escort you from the building, Jodi. You’re suspended until further notice, and your clearance has been temporarily revoked. Wait,” he said as I drew breath to protest. “This is strictly by the book. I have no choice in this, no matter what my personal views.” His eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Tell me, without any embellishments, exactly what happened. Take your time.”

I explained as best I could, and without any emotional language, though inside I seethed, anxious and nearly ready to puke from stress. Kregan listened to all I had to say without commenting, and only nodded when I finished.

“
Very well. Go home, speak to
no one
about this—your calls
will
be monitored—and write me up exactly what you’ve told me, and in the way you’ve told me.”

“Darno—”

“Darno has gone home too, and he’ll be preparing a statement as well. He’s not suspended, but I don’t want him in contact with either of you.”

“And Haban?”

He gave me a reproving look for the informality. “He wants to press charges of assault.”