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“Hm,” he says, looking up from the text. “Must be a warmblooded thing.”
“What’s the treatment?”
“Well, we can give her drugs to try to manipulate her brain chemistry. Or…”
“Or?”
“We can talk to her.”
“Talk to her? We can either moderate her brain chemistry with drugs, or we can… talk? Those two things seem very, very different.”
“Humans are interesting creatures, their emotions and physical state are moderated by their social interactions and the way they feel about themselves. Their self perception. They are not as logical as we are. Warmblooded creatures are wild.”
“Hm,” I say. “So you’re telling me that there’s two main points of view. That the perception is bad because the chemicals are bad, and or the chemicals are bad because the perception is bad. In some humans it’s more one than the other, in some it’s both? How can they tell?”
“They can’t. So the treatments generally involve tackling both potential causes in the hopes that one or the other will be effective.”
At this point, Suli clears her throat.
“It’s not my thoughts. And its not my chemistry. It’s my brain chip. It’s broken. I need a new implant. I’m not going to be okay until I get a new one.”
That’s a series of words that makes even less sense than the absence of them.
“Explain.”
She is looking much more like her usual self now, assuming you do not look in her eyes. The expression in those big round orbs of hers is immensely vulnerable.
Sullivan
Thorn looks at me with a calculating gaze, his big alien arms folded over his chest. I see the scales rippling with the little motions of his muscles as he makes a concerted effort to stay calm. This is not something I ever thought I’d have to explain to anyone, but I guess now that I am broken, I don’t have much choice.
“It was implanted a few years ago after a crash. I had to have brain surgery, and while I was under, they put something in to stop me from being afraid. It worked very, very well. Maybe too well.”
Several years ago…
I am lying barely sensate in a hospital bed with crisp bleached white sheets. Nothing hurts anymore, and that alone is a relief. A lot of things were hurting for hours. A lot of things have been hurting for a long time, actually. Ever since I got into Galactic Prime Personal Security Academy, GPPSA for short, I’ve been getting hurt.
I cast my mind back to the day I arrived here…
I shoulder my bag nervously. Most of the other cadets have several suitcases, because you’re supposed to bring everything you need when you start at GPPSA. All I have is what I’ve come with, which isn’t very much. I don’t own many things. I’ve got one set of the uniform, one set of boots, a bedroll with a pillow, and I also have a toothbrush and three new pairs of socks. I thought that was a lot, but now that I’m watching others dragging big rolling cases behind them, I’m realizing I have nothing at all.
My dormitory assignment is in the basement. There are bigger, nicer rooms upstairs, but I’m here on a scholarship rather than a fee-paying sort of situation, so I go down while the others go up. If I had a big suitcase, that would make things easier, I suppose.
I glance at the card in my hand. It has my face on it and my name, and it also has my room assignment number, and a bar code that they can scan to know everything about you. There are just so many people here nobody can know them all by face and name. I’m a code now. A code assigned to this room right…
SMACK!
A fist comes out of nowhere, making harsh, crunching contact with my nose. I fall back, just barely missing cracking my head on the door frame. Lying on the ground, head spinning, nose bleeding, I look up into the merciless eyes of my attacker.
A woman stands over me, around my age, but twice my size. She has an expression of satisfaction on her face. “You’re not going to make it,” she says. “You’re going to wash out in the week. Colony trash.”
My roommate’s diagnosis proved to be accurate… lying in the medical bay with injuries so severe it’s likely I might not survive them, all I have left are my senses. I can taste blood. I can feel pain. And I can hear the doctor talking to my parents, who must have scraped the village’s last credits to come here. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I was supposed to be the one who made it out. I was supposed to bring pride and money to my family and village. Instead, all I’ve done is bring them shame and disappointment.
“She’s weak. That’s her problem, Mr and Mrs O’Shannassay. She’s soft. Not cut out for this. Not cut out for anything, if I’m to be honest. It’s a tough world out there, and our students have a reputation for being able to keep anybody safe in any situation. I’d recommend this procedure. Yes, it’s experimental. But I think the benefits outweigh the potential drawbacks.”
The only thing between my parents and the doctor and me is a frosted pane of glass and it’s not doing anything to stop the doctor’s voice from traveling. She’s a woman from a very privileged background, and every word she says sounds like it has been rolled around a mouthful of marbles.
It’s very different from my accent, and from the way my parents talk. They’re speaking more softly than ever. I know they’re ashamed. I’m their only child, and the only one who has any chance of bringing any money into the family. The village scraped up just enough money to get me into the academy, and though I’ve been working as hard as I can, I’m not doing very well.
