15: Contact

Olivia took a few hesitant steps into the office, taking in yet another new office and person. She squinted slightly at the psychologist, Dr. Sullivan, as the afternoon sun beamed in through the wide open windows behind her. The sky! It’s been so long. Ortega shut the door behind her.

Several pictures adorned the office desk; a newborn baby, Dr. Sullivan in hiking clothes with a mountain in the background, some old ruins Olivia didn’t recognize, and a wedding photo. A couple of knickknacks, one a small brightly colored human skull, the other a model of a white building with a dome on top and four towers in the corner, rested on the two tall filing cabinets behind the desk. What’s with the skull? Dr. Sullivan’s computer was powered down, Olivia couldn’t hear a computer fan running. Oh, that’s a nice touch. 

“You can have a seat, if you like,” said Sullivan, motioning to a sturdy low stool with a thick pillow on top. A desk and a blank whiteboard had been shoved against the wall behind it.

Olivia gave a tiny smile. No backrest! I hate those things. Olivia sat and tapped a long clawed toe on the floor as the doctor wheeled up a high backed chair, ending up face to face with Olivia a few feet away. OK. I have no clue what’s going to happen now. Psychologists do brain stuff, right?

“I can dim the room, or are you happy with how it is now?” asked Sullivan, uncapping a pen and setting a blank notebook on her lap.

“No. Just, um, most people don’t see really well in the dark, but I can see fine. I don’t know if, you know, you’re fine.”

“Slow down, Olivia. What are you trying to say?” Well I messed that up. It was stupid to begin with, but then I just kept messing it up.

Olivia took a moment. Slow down. “Um, I like the sun, and I wasn’t sure why you would want to turn down the lights, because it doesn’t really make a difference to me, and you won’t see too well. Um, I think.” I have no clue how well other people see.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine, either way” said the doctor with a smile.

“Oh, OK. Um, sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“Oh, sorry.” Darn it! “I mean, I didn’t mean to be weird. Sorry.”

“Alright, it’s alright, Olivia. You’re not being weird,” said the doctor. “This is just an icebreaker session, but all sessions will be confidential. I will be writing notes, but I will always be listening, don’t worry. You can share as much or as little as you like.”

“But this stuff is being recorded, right?” That’s what Dr. Dabrowski said, anyways.

“By me. I will be giving them my psychological assessment. I will not share details with them unless I believe there is a risk of someone being harmed. That is what I mean by confidential.”

“Oh, OK.” Of course. I’m a security risk.

Dr. Sullivan nodded and smiled. “You don’t have to look so nervous. This isn’t an interrogation. I’m not scary, am I?” Olivia forced herself to relax. I guess I’m kind of tense. That skull is still weirding me out, though. The doctor tracked Olivia’s line of sight to the filing cabinets. “Is this about the skull?” asked the doctor.

“Um, kind of.”

“Have you never seen one before?” asked the doctor.

“No.” Should I have?

“It’s a painted skull. Don’t worry, it’s not a real skull. I picked it up when I went to Mexico three years ago. You’ve really never seen one before? They show up in Aztec art a lot.”

“I, no, I haven’t seen one before.” I don’t remember anything, remember?

Dr. Sullivan considered her. “I know that your memory has been damaged. What was the first thing you remember? I know the questions Dr. Dabrowski asked, but what I’m asking for is your interpretation.”

“I… well, I woke up,” answered Olivia.

“And the first thing you did?”

“I can… I can hear really well. And, um, it hurt. It felt wrong.” Dr. Sullivan remained silent. What more do you want? “I was confused. Really confused. I was scared, too, until my friends found me. Well, kind of found. I was awake for about a week before.”

“Kind of?”

“I was doing stuff before that. I wasn’t, you know, just cowering in fear.”

“What were you doing during that week?”

“Just trying to figure stuff out. I didn’t remember a lot of stuff. I’m better now, I guess.” I know, I’m weird.

“I can’t imagine you went a whole week without food or water or shelter.” Olivia tilted her head, considering the doctor across from her. Her words, while deliberate, seemed hesitant. Her body didn’t tense, as if Olivia would leap at her given the chance, yet Sullivan seemed cautious. It’s not physical. But she’s still almost afraid of something. What am I looking at?

“I didn’t. There was this abandoned apartment building I lived in. I scavenged stuff like food and clothes.”

“So,” began the doctor, brow furrowed. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you know to look for clothes? What was your thought process behind that?”

“Because people wear clothes. And I didn’t have any. Why? Was I not supposed to do that?” Why would I not do that?

“I apologize, that’s not what I meant. I’m just trying to get a good sense of what you remembered at the time.”

“But… Dr. Dabrowski asked a bunch of those questions already.”

Dr. Sullivan frowned and rubbed the bridge of her nose for a moment. “Unless you’re in one of her test tubes Dr. Dabrowski can’t see past her to-do list. She’s a brilliant woman, just not very good when it comes to people.”

That reminds me. “Oh, yeah. Thank you for the stool. Because, you know, no backrest.”

Dr. Sullivan smiled. “You noticed that, didn’t you? No problem at all. The wings must get in the way a lot.”

Finally! Someone noticed without me having to tell them. “Yeah, they get annoying.”

“But you can fly with them, yes?”

“Oh yeah, that’s fun! I can go anywhere, and the air is all cool and quiet if you get high up. And…” Olivia trailed off. I haven’t flown for forever. They might not let me go out ever again. Those guards probably don’t want me trying to escape. Stupid. I really don’t want to be here, and I’ll just get shot a bunch if I try to get out.

“And?” asked the doctor.

“Um, nothing,” said Olivia, looking down. Stupid wings. I wouldn’t be in here if I didn’t have them. And the tail. And the claws. And every other stupid thing that’s wrong with me.

“Is something wrong?”

“I… no. Um, maybe. No.”

“Is there something you don’t like about your wings?” Are you serious?

“What?” began Olivia. “They’re ugly bat wings. You can see veins under the skin if I spread them. They’re these huge things sticking out of my back, they get in the way all the time, and I can’t sit back in a chair with them and my tail getting in the way. Do you know how many times I’ve accidentally scratched something with my claws or whacked my head or wings against something low or hurt my friends when I tried to give them a hug or… or…”

Olivia stopped herself. Just… calm down. Stay calm. Bad things happen when I’m not calm. She took a deep breath and looked down. I know, I’m weird.

“Do you need a moment?” asked the doctor with a concerned frown.

“No, I’m OK,” said Olivia, eyes still fixed on the floor. Please pretend that never happened.

“Are you having any problems we should be aware of?”

“Can we talk about something else please?” asked Olivia.

The doctor nodded. “Very well. Something else then.” She tapped her pen against her chin for a moment. “You’ve mentioned your friends several times now. How did you become friends with them?”

“They helped me. A lot.”

“How so?”

“Well, I mean, they, um, they answered questions. Um, they didn’t, you know, just run off or shoot me. Well, there was that… one… time. But I, um, I’d stopped a mugging or two. Everyone just looked scared of me. My friends didn’t, or weren’t, or… however you say that.”

Dr. Sullivan nodded in understanding. “Where did you get your name from? Was that from your friends?” 

“I saw it. I didn’t really know what else to pick. Because, you know, people have names.” 

Dr. Sullivan smiled. “It’s a lovely name, no need to get embarrassed. Is there anything we can do to make you more comfortable here? And I’m sorry, but before you ask, I don’t think Mr. Walker will allow you to go flying.”

Olivia sighed. Figured as much. “I liked those donuts.”

Another smile. “I’ll talk to the chefs here. I’m sure they can get more.”

“Um, books would be nice, I think I said that before. Oh! And music. It’s super quiet in there.” Please don’t say no, please don’t say no.

“I think we can do that. I know the books you requested are coming. I think they should be here today. Any music in particular you enjoy?”

“Um, well, I don’t know.” I know, I’m weird. “Just… any?”

Dr. Sullivan scribbled something down on her clipboard. “OK! I don’t think there will be any problems there.” She checked her watch. “I think we are running short on time. Anything else?”

“Um, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Um, well…” Olivia trailed off. “Everyone seems surprised when I’m not, you know, a monster. Why aren’t you?”

“Do you remember your talk with Cyrus over a month ago? That was recorded. We didn’t have, and still don’t have, much information about you as a person. We’ve gone through every scrap we could find, and that one video was the best view of you we had. But my point is, I didn’t see a feral across the table from Cyrus. Trust me, I work with the other intelligent ferals, I know.”

“How do you know?”

“You weren’t making vague, half formed threats, for one. Slinky, when he’s lucid, calls me Fleshy.” At Olivia’s confused look, she added, “Of course, he calls everyone Fleshy, but we’re reasonably confident he recognizes me and a couple others who have been on the staff here for a while. Sorry, I’m getting off track.”

The doctor continued, “A lot of people, even people here, were on edge when you surfaced. From what I could tell, you were just caught in a very bad situation, with no way to know what would have happened. You have constantly been quiet and considerate where, and I cannot emphasize this enough, almost every feral has lashed out at the first opportunity.”

“Almost?”

Sullivan nodded and took a quarter spin in her chair, pointing out a book on her shelf. “During the Renaissance, a doctor working at the hospital in Florence, one of the first of its kind, took to studying ferals. He also took an interest in ferals after one tore through a couple houses outside the city. What interested him is that the locals reported it spoke, and that not a single child under the age of twelve was harmed. A lot of our scientific understanding comes from his work, flawed as it is. Ferals are not inherently mindless, even though it would be easier for everyone to pretend they are. How many others were never given a chance?”

“I don’t know. I’m just trying to get by.”

Sullivan smiled. “You have my sympathy, it can’t be easy.”

I don’t want sympathy. I want to go home. Olivia nodded. “Thank you,” she said, though she couldn’t put her heart into it.

If Sullivan noticed, she made no comment. “Do you have anything else you want to talk about?”

“Um, no.” 

“If you want to talk about anything, let me know. Just ask for me over the speakers in your cell, and I’ll wrangle something out of the gun toting Neanderthals,” said the doctor as she got up. Olivia blinked. Wow. They’re not bad. Olivia got up and followed her to the door. “Clones, Ortega, we’re done,” called the doctor. To Olivia she said, “After this weekend I believe you’ll be seeing Dr. Ruskov again. Take care!”

The guards were waiting outside, lounging against the walls in boredom. They came to attention once Olivia left the doctor’s office. With a friendly nod they began leading her back to the cell. A smell of cigarettes caught her nose well before they crossed paths with a familiar overweight man in an ill-fitting tweed jacket.

“Oh, oh, they’re letting you out already!” said Dr. Grey. 

Olivia met his eyes. At first glance they seemed dark brown, but the longer she looked the more they looked steel grey. There’s something strange going on there. And not the complete lack of emotion in there. They look too shiny. Dr. Grey turned his head to address the lead Clone, breaking her brief examination. She glanced to the side. Ortega also tilted his head at the man. He sees it too? That’s creepy.

“Dr. Grey, please get out of the way,” said the Clone, choking out the please. 

“No, no, there’s nothing wrong with an honest conversation.” Stay away from me.

Olivia hissed and uncurled her fingers. The doctor giggled, though he made the mistake of looking her in the eyes again. The iris’ and pupils, never adjusted, never expanded or contracted. The veins of the whites appeared flat, painted on, details so small no human could ever see on their own. Those aren’t eyes. Olivia sniffed the air. Beneath the cigarette smoke, he smelled human. His voice sounded human. But his eyes were a facsimile of the real thing.

“Clear it with the boss,” said Ortega, making a show of hefting his rifle. Two Clones, following his lead, did the same, one moving to move Dr. Grey out of the way. The doctor slipped to the side, allowing them to pass without a fight or another word. She could feel his knowing smile boring into the back of her head as they walked on in silence. 

One elevator ride later, she asked Ortega, “You saw that too, right?”

He didn’t spare her a glance, keeping his eyes on the elevator door. “Yes, yes I did.”

Clone nudged him with an elbow and asked, “What’s up? What did you see?”

“I need to talk with Walker. Face to face, no comms. Can you handle her?”

“She’s fine,” said Clone with a shrug. “What’s got you spooked?”

“Bad feeling, man. Very bad feeling. Actually, can one of you come with me?”

“I’m stretched a bit thin.”

“Trust me. Right now.”

Clone nodded. Olivia felt her hackles rise. 

***

Despite her misgivings about Dr. Grey, the weekend passed uneventfully. Olivia finally got a pair of books, which lasted her for half a day. Restless pacing and unrelenting boredom consumed the rest. The meat is the same every day now. Maybe I should ask about different foods. The first thing Monday, she received visitors. Dr. Dabrowski, along with a pair of Clones, took her to a large clinic on the bottom floor. The guards stayed outside as Dabrowki rushed off to grab something forgotten in her office. No one has said anything about Dr. Grey. I guess they knew what to do.

“Hello, Olivia. Take a seat, we’ll start when Dr. Dabrowski returns,” said Dr. Ruskov, motioning to the rubber bed with the low cabinet next to it. Dr. Ruskov looked busy, typing away at a computer. Olivia took her seat. Aside from the cabinets, a glass wall on the other side looked out over a giant machine of some kind, a gigantic tube that reached the ceiling. 

“Work, work, work,” he muttered under his breath as he typed.

“Sorry,” said Olivia.

“No need to apologize. It is my job, after all.” Why put up with it? This place has no sun or sky.

“Why, um, sorry. Never mind,” stammered Olivia. I guess he can just leave.

“Do you have a question?”

“Well, why are you a doctor? Why here?”

He shrugged. “Well, I enjoy my job.”

“But why?”

“I was a medic for the Russian Army on the Siberian front for five years. The injuries I’ve seen in this place are… tamer,” he said, pausing as if choosing the right word in his head.

“There are a lot of doctors here,” said Olivia.

“They all have different reasons. Some of them are fine to work with, some of them can get… annoying.”

“Like Dr. Grey?”

Dr. Ruskov smiled mirthlessly. “William Grey. This place is a career killer and he knows it.”

“What?” asked Olivia.

“Well, those scientists, they get higher up in their… pecking order by publishing findings and studies,” replied Ruskov. “No one cares about whatever information comes out of here. Too small of a sample size to be taken seriously with unrepeatable data from each feral.”

“What about you?”

“Me? Well, I’m just a doctor. I don’t care for research. I tried it for two years. Hated it.”

“But the other people I’ve talked to also have Doctor in front of their names.”

“Oh! Oh no, I’m a medical doctor. They have scientific doctorates. Dr. Dabrowski specializes in xenobiology; I believe that is why she has been assigned to you. Dr. Grey, I believe, has a degree in neuroscience.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. So the only ones who work here are the ones that can’t get a job anywhere else, or have a personal interest in ferals. I know at least one man on staff had someone close to him go feral.”

I wonder where my family is. Would they take me back? They would, we’d be family. Right? Dr. Dabrowski returned, sparing Olivia the need to respond.

“Now, I’ve been thinking about the blood sample issue,” said Ruskov, speaking up now that it was not just him and Olivia. “I have a couple ideas that I would like to try, if you are willing.”

“Sure,” said Olivia. 

“Well, first of all, I’m thinking I gave up on the original needle too easily. Just curl up your sleeve, for whichever arm you care less about.”

Olivia complied. He pressed the tip of the syringe to her arm. It bent once he applied pressure.

“As expected. Never hurts to try,” he said as he tossed the useless needle in the trash.

He grabbed a brown glass bottle from the top of the counter and a small cotton pad. Indecipherable medical terminology covered most of the white label on the bottle. I wonder if anyone actually understands any of that. The USMHD stamp on the bottle caught her attention. Meta-Human Unit? No, department. I think they’re different. Like psychologist and psychiatrist, I have no idea what the difference is, but I know it’s there. The doctor unscrewed the lid, held the cotton swab to the opening, and upended the bottle for a moment. Dabrowski looked up, jotting down a couple notes as he did so. 

“This should weaken your skin for a bit. Should. You should feel a… tingling on your arm wherever I rub this.” He rubbed the cotton pad on her upper arm. Hey, it’s tingly. That’s kind of cool. The doctor produced another needle, and pressed it to the same spot on her arm. It bent.

He added a little more of the liquid to the cotton swab, then repeated the process. That’s really tingly now. The next needle bent.

The doctor nodded. “Alright, never mind. If I use too much your skin will start flaking off. Maybe. I don’t really know with you. Do you want to find out?” he asked, holding the swab to the bottle again.

That sounds terrible. “No thank you,” said Olivia, just as Dabrowski interjected, “That might not be a good idea.:

He smiled. “I thought so.” He opened a shelf and rifled through the contents. “Now, this is an iron needle,” he said, holding up a silver and grey syringe. “You seem to be part dragon, and dragons are… associated with magic. I doubt this will work, but if it doesn’t, the government has wasted far more money than forty dollars.”

I didn’t know they made iron needles. The doctor pressed the tip of the needle on her arm. It slid into the vein. That doesn’t hurt at all. His eyes widened for a moment, but he drew the plunger. Dabrowski began scribbling furiously. Her blood flowed into the clear plastic tube. He removed the syringe, opened a small refrigerator next to Olivia’s seat, and placed the syringe on a cradle thing. The door shut as a mechanical arm came down. 

“Magic, huh? I don’t suppose you control it,” said the doctor, righting himself and leaning back against the wall behind him, stroking the stubble on his face.

Olivia shook her head.

“I don’t suppose you’ve had your Wildfyre or S.P. shots, or…” he trailed off, frowning. What are those? “Or would you be immune? Or would the shots kill you? Hrm.” He returned to his computer, his eyes flickering over the monitor.

“Shots? Wild fire?” None of those sound like good things.

“A shot will… inoculate you against a disease. Those things I mentioned are diseases specific to magic users,” said the doctor, not looking up. “Wildfyre burns you out, it will kill you if you are unlucky. S.P. is a parasite, it leeches magical energy. That’s all I know, magic is by no means my specialty.” 

“We’ll need to monitor her for any allergic reaction to the iron syringe,” said Dabrowski.

“No. Um, I was cut with an iron knife thing before, and I was fine later,” said Olivia.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Dabrowski asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing else has made me bleed besides a bunch of bullets,” said Olivia with a shrug. I think I’d know what hurts and what doesn’t. Then again, I am weird, so maybe not.

“You don’t seem surprised by this,” observed Dabrowski.

Olivia shrugged once more. Is she mad? I didn’t lie, but I didn’t tell her everything. Should I lie? They aren’t my friends. But it’s still wrong. “I’m weird.”

Dabrowski pursed her lips, but said nothing. After Ruskov gave her the thumbs up from his blood analysis machine, she brought Olivia to the glass wall. Olivia took in the device beyond, a giant white plastic donut set upright with several computers hooked up to it.

“I mentioned last week getting X-rays of you. After some delays, we’ve decided this may be better. That is our CT scan machine, sized for some of the smaller ferals like yourself. This will let us see into your body without having to cut anything.”

“I remember,” said Olivia, eyeing the machine with suspicion. “Do I do anything?”

“You just lie on the platform and keep still. The machine and technician will do all the work.”

“And it’s safe?” 

“Perfectly. Smaller versions are used in hospitals all over the world.”

“OK. If it will help.”

For all the technological mystique and power the machine exuded, the process proved remarkably boring. Olivia laid on her back for nearly an hour as they scanned her, piece by piece. When they finally let her up, she had to flex her wings and tail several times just to get the muscles back in working order. She joined Ruskov and Dabrowski at a small bank of computer monitors, to find her own skeleton displayed front and center. Huh, that’s me.

“What on Earth?” murmured Dabrowski. Olivia looked over her shoulder. She tracked Dabrowski’s gaze to a small white blot on the back of Olivia’s neck. 

“You said dense stuff shows up white like bones?” Metal seems dense.

“Yes. That looks metallic. Definitely manufactured.”

“That’s the tracker. It’s made of iron, I think like that needle. We couldn’t get it out.”

“Why do you have an iron tracker in the back of your neck?” asked Dabrowski, baffled.

“I was fighting a robot and it punched it in there. I think they said it was an Overlord robot. They kept saying that name like it was important.” And he hurt Miya.

“Overlord?” demanded Dabrowski, the color draining from her face, and knuckles whitening as she gripped the mouse. Even Ruskov leaned back in his chair, worry written plain on his face.

“Yeah.”

“Why did a robot come equipped with a magic proof tracker? Why did it know to use it on you? Why on Earth were you fighting a robot in the first place!” Olivia could only shrug. “Stay here,” said Dr. Dabrowski, hurrying from the room.

Olivia sat in awkward silence, broken only by the computer fan. She looked to Ruskov and asked, “Should I have told everyone about it?” She was freaking out.

“Probably.”

“Why would anyone here care about him?”

“You know about him, yes?” asked Ruskov.

“He’s evil.”

He grinned. “Fair enough. He’s bad news. I’m sure we’re safe. Regardless, I am still going to have to keep you here to make absolutely sure you don’t go into anaphylactic shock or get a seizure.”

I don’t know what either of those words mean. “Um…” began Olivia.

***

They talked for the next hour, interrupted only once by a Clone sticking his head in for a moment. Dr. Ruskov scolded him for not knocking and shooed him out. They talked about different pieces of medical equipment, various diseases, the doctor’s war stories, and so on. Dr. Dabrowski never returned.

Eventually, they heard a knock on the door. “Bosses want her back in her cell soon, getting close to closing time,” said a Clone, opening the door all the way.

“Very well. We’ll talk again later, Olivia.”

Olivia got down from the table she’d been sitting on. But, but, fine. I don’t want to get Ruskov in trouble. “OK. Bye. And thank you.”

The guards escorted her through the annoyingly small corridor and back to her cell. She found a surprise on her bed.

Oh, a couple more books! And a little music player thing! After fiddling with it and the earbuds for a couple minutes, she clicked random. Loud, loud, loud. She turned down the volume, then scrolled through the various songs. She found a screen where the songs were sorted by genre. From the looks of it, they’d put on a grab bag of different types of music.

She avoided the louder, faster paced songs. Right as she settled into some songs she liked, the music faded. What? The earbud said, “Olivia. Act like this is a normal song.” Olivia kept herself from jumping upright when she recognized Amanda’s voice. What? Amanda! Amanda continued, “This is a recording. I don’t have much time, and I can’t say much in case this ends up in the wrong hands. But stay safe, and stay strong, OK?”

The voice vanished, and was replaced by music once again.