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“I am.” She doesn’t look back at my face as she speaks. She keeps her eyes on her work as she unwinds the bandage around my arm, cleans the wound, and wraps it back up.
“You defected from Mills.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
She stops and looks into my eyes. She moistens her lips and then looks away.
“The original plan of supplementing food sources with synthetic compounds is sound,” she says. “However, they took it too far too quickly. The human body isn’t meant to survive strictly on supplements. Their callous attitude toward those who were trying to restore the soil—wasting time and money, Graham Mills said—didn’t sit right with me.”
I stare at her, waiting for the rest of the story.
“I spoke out against Robert Grace on synthetics as a complete solution to the food shortages. After he was killed, I was informed my life was now in danger.”
“But he was killed by Peter Carson,” I say, “or someone carrying out his instructions.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“Who, then?”
“Maybe someone who could see the future,” she responds with a shrug. “I don’t have a name; I only know he was set up to be a martyr.”
I narrow my eyes as I try to learn more details about her from the information contained in my implants, but the information is either not there or inaccessible.
“Did you work on Project Mindstorm?” I ask.
“No.” She goes back to wrapping my arm. “I knew about the concept of creating a cyber-enhanced soldier but none of the details. Not until I left. Roll over to your back, please. I want to change the bandages on your legs.”
I comply. I don’t see a reason not to. She’s a doctor, like Riley. She should have some natural inclination toward empathy, which would make her an easier target for manipulation. If I can placate her, make her see me as non-threatening, she could be taken by surprise. I could even use her as a hostage.
Anna can’t get at the bandages on my thighs by pulling up the legs of the linen pants I’m wearing, and ends up having to pull them down off my hips instead. In the process, my shirt rides up as well. Anna’s eyes focus on my stomach briefly, then slightly lower.
She licks her lips again, and I sense the dark flavor of desire on her.
Another potential avenue for escape.
She’s attracted to me. Instead of taking her by force, she could be a willing hostage—someone who will help me escape if provided with appropriate motivation.
I watch her closely as she changes the wrappings around my legs. Her fingers tremble as she slides her hand against my skin, and she continues to lick her lips with nervousness. I’m fairly certain she didn’t have this same reaction when she treated me before, and I wonder what the difference is.
“How do I look?” I ask when she finishes her work. I give her an intentionally seductive half-smile when she glances at me.
“You heal very quickly,” Anna says. Her blush is quite noticeable now. “I thought I had the wrong room when I opened the door. Your face was so bruised before, I barely recognized you.”
Anna places the leftover bandages in her bag and pulls out a syringe.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Just vitamin supplements,” she tells me. She places the needle at the inside of my elbow and pushes the plunger. “Merle said you didn’t eat much today. You really need to take in nourishment to keep your strength up. How are you feeling?”
“Everything hurts,” I answer honestly.
“I’m not surprised.” She presses her lips together. She doesn’t like how I was treated when I first arrived.
“Do they do that a lot?” I ask. “Torture prisoners?”
“I’m not entirely sure they’ve ever had a prisoner before,” Anna says. “But no, they don’t normally act like that, and I’m not very happy with them.”
