Harsh Lessons (37 page)

Yes, he and Eagle needed to speak.  But not now; not while he and Leeth were still so very much on probation.  No sense in rocking the boat just yet.

The
only
interesting work he had at present was that with Nelson on his brain modeling, and on Leeth herself.

With an effort he raised his head, opening his eyes to stare at the deceptive and distracting rural scene on the wall before him….  It would take him years to free the two of them from this trap.  Although at least, since her friend Marcie's crippling, Leeth also saw the trap.

Knowing her as he did, however,
that
was as much cause for concern, as celebration.  He wasn't at all sure though she realized just how expendable she was, to the Department.  Or perhaps she did, but simply accepted it as a fair price to pay.

But should she die – or, perhaps worse, be permanently maimed or crippled – Eagle would find the misuse of his ward came with the steepest price which could be paid.

Harmon would ensure that, even if it took the rest of his life.

Chapter 44 

After the Doctor, Preacher moved on to Father.

'Hmph.  Do you really think she's ready for this?' he asked.

Preacher lounged against the door, hands thrust into the pockets of his habitual black leather jeans, before slouching in to sit down.  He shrugged.

'Sure.  It's not like it's a mission.  And I'll be there to take care of her.  Dojo agreed it'd be a good test.  Hell, he said to try her against two at once.'

Father frowned.  'Dojo said that?'

'Well, he agreed she's never had practical experience at fighting anyone other than him.'

'And you, I believe?'

'Sure, sure,' Preacher smiled.  'That's how I know she's good enough to go up against a street scum or two in a FistFest.  Chit, it'll be good background for her, too – meeting real street people, picking up some of the vocab.  Should be a real lens-opener.'

'And if you happen to make a little money on the side….'

'Hey, I'll be the one risking a loss if she loses, won't I?  'Sides, it'd help my rep as a good judge of character – if she wins.  “Dad can scan 'em,” they'll say.'

Father sighed.  'She has been somewhat, ah, distracting, lately.  Using up enormous amounts of Dojo's time.  And always asking about getting the Doctor to Heal her friend Marcie, or declaring her mission-readiness.  She's almost as disruptive as when we tried training her to be alert for random attacks at all times.'

'Funt!  Heard about that: glad I missed most of it.'

Though he wished he
had
been there when Mother had pulled the tissue from her jacket pocket during a briefing session.  Apparently, Mother still had twinges from the pulled shoulder; and he sure would've enjoyed seeing Leeth injure herself while leaving the trail of wrecked desks in her wake.  Emma said Leeth had been like a grenade with a five-millisecond fuse.

'It may interest you to know that Dojo suggested it was perhaps the sterile environment here that was the reason for her failure in the surprise-attacks exercise.  That perhaps in a more natural setting, she would not be so over-sensitive.'

Preacher stared at him.  'More natural?  Like, outside?  Is he
nuts
?  Drop her outside and tell her someone's hunting her?  What size death toll are you planning on?'

Father nodded.  'That was roughly my own assessment of the idea.  So I take it, you think Leeth will perform adequately at this gladiatorial event?'

'Sure.  Besides, it's not for six weeks, yet.  She'll have plenty of time to study up for it, learn how to fit in.  Might even be a good idea to toss her into the area before then, let her wander around a bit.  Become known.  You know.'

Father watched him, but Preacher simply looked innocently back.

'Very well.  But let us be quite clear on one point, Preacher: when the contest rolls around, I want you to back
only
Leeth in any betting.'

Preacher's mouth opened, but Father's expression made him close it again.  'Sure.'

'One last thing.  If she can convince your gang she'd be an asset, let her join.  It would be excellent training for her.'

'Doubt she's ready for that,' Preacher shrugged, 'but she can join if she impresses the crew.' 
Over my dead body
, he thought.

'Dismissed, then.'

The man nodded, elbowed the touch panel, and sauntered out as the door slid open.  As it shut behind him, Father negotiated a link-up to Mother, choosing "visitor" mode to superimpose the vid feed from her office over the image of the just-vacated chair across his desk.  Apart from the thin frame that labeled it a virtual scene, it looked just as if Mother were physically sitting there.

'Yes?'

'She's done it.'

Mother's eyebrows raised.  'Already? 
Preacher
has reversed his position?'

'Correct.  Suggested he should slip her into an upcoming FistFest in his turf.  Says she's ready, good experience, et cetera.'

'Revenge?'

'Hrmph.  Something shifty about the proposal, yes.  Yes.'

'He'll be trying to retire her.'

'Expect so.  Expect so.  Still, can't make an omelet.  Proper test.'

'Don't let the Doctor attend.'

'Wouldn't fit.  Might dump Preacher's cover.  Agreed.'

'If
she's
retired, the Doctor will have to follow her into retirement.'

'Hmph.  Check with Eagle, but likely.  Makes it a test for both, really.'

'A little more final than Eagle had planned, when he told the Doctor that only Preacher's assessment was holding her from active assignment, don't you think?'  Mother's smile held a vicious edge.

Father shook his head.  'If you think that, Mother, then you still don't know Eagle.'

They decided to change her hair color to blonde for the upcoming exercise, and changed her eyes to a vivid blue.  Staring into the mirror at them, made her feel odd.  Like in losing her amber coloring, she'd lost part of herself.

Not that the Department cared.

It was the initial briefing for the upcoming Fist Fest exercise.  Even though it was, like, six weeks away.  More like six
years.  Surely there couldn't be that much to learn about living in the Dumps?

But she didn't say any of that aloud.  Just stood, watching Father, and Mother as she
finally
got to the last item on the agenda.  'Have you given any thought to the name for the “young runaway” you'll be portraying, Leeth?'

Leeth brightened up, at the question: she'd put a lot of thought into it.  'Yeah!  I've been studying some of those real old 2D training movies for spying, and I thought of a perfect one: Honey Lick.'

Mother and Father said nothing.

They simply sat, blinking.

It wasn't the reaction Leeth had expected.

«I'm not touching that,» Father messaged.

Mother, however, was made of sterner stuff.  'Honey.  Lick.'

'Yeah, as in I'm sweet, and I'm good at licking
and
can also mean I'm good
to
lick!'

Mother stared at her, hard.  Several times her lips moved.  'No.  Too obvious.'

Leeth looked surprised, then pleased.  'Thank you, Mother.  I do
try
to dress well.'  She stood even straighter, which helped make her chest stick out.

Father messaged again.  «Carry on, Mother: you're doing so well.  Besides, cultural modalities are your area.»

«Is the girl
deliberately
trying to wind me up?»

'How about “Kitty-”?'

'No, Leeth, I'll think we'll adopt the Doctor's suggestion, and let
them
name you.  It will also help us garner their impression of you.  Hopefully, indicating something more related to combat than to sexual skills.'

'Oh.'  She frowned.  'Yeah, good point.  Oh – that reminds me: when do I get
my
license to kill?  Are there special tests I have to take?'

Leeth thought Mother's upper arms moved, slightly, like she was doing something with her hands, out of sight below the lustrous black desk.

«I think I've worked out what she meant by “old training movies,”» Father offered.

«This is not funny, Father.  The girl-»

«Sink or swim, Mother.»

Mother ground her teeth.  'There is no such license, Leeth.  You did understand those “movies” were fiction, yes?  Good.  Any killing has consequences: it is why we have specifically instructed you, that unless-'

Leeth tuned her out.  It was bad enough being treated like a baby.  They didn't have to treat her like she couldn't remember, as well.

She'd learned, though, it was best just to nod and say 'Yes, Mother.'

Six weeks, though?
  Marcie couldn't wait six more weeks.
 

Chapter 45 

'Everyone says you can regrow nerves.  Why aren't
Marcie's
regrowing?'

Dr Ranatunga frowned.  'How are you related to Miss Dunkirk?'

'Dunkirk?  Oh.  Marcie.  She's my best friend.  She was the one who saved us, on the truck.  It should've been me, not Marcie, who got the controller from Mark Dennis.  But I… froze.

'It should have been me.' 
If it had been me, Uncle would have already Healed me.

When she looked up again, the doctor's expression had softened.  'Well, I can't share details of Miss Dunkirk's case.  But I can describe a hypothetical case, if you understand?'

It took her a second to work out what he was really saying, but when she did, she nodded eagerly.

'In general, the spinal nerve regeneration problem has been solved: we can reset the damaged cells to a juvenile state so they regrow instead of scar over.  But in about three percent of cases, for reasons we don't fully understand yet, the cells refuse the instruction to reset.'

He waited for her to absorb that.

'So… okay.  But… I heard that even when
that
doesn't work, you can implant cyberware to, you know, connect stuff together.  If you can't heal her, why can't you do that?  Her Dad's pretty rich, right?'

The doctor sighed.  'Money is not the issue.  However – again speaking hypothetically – digital neural connections are more successful, the simpler the injury.  In cases where the root injury is at the brain-stem itself, the success rate is lower; as is the degree of function that's restored.  And in a few, rare cases, the patient's body reacts badly to the implant materials.'

Leeth went very still.  'And that's it.  That's the best you can do.'

For some reason, Dr Ranatunga took a step back.

'What about magic?  If a mage who was good at Healing came?'

'
Magic?'
He shook his head, his expression disdainful.  'This is very delicate neural surgery.  It's not like healing cuts or broken bones, Miss Baker.'

'Oh?'  She stepped forward, and poked him in the chest. 'What about if the mage was someone who could mend a heart that'd been cut in two, at the same time as healing a sliced-up lung?  Someone who could heal a cyborg dog who'd been blown up by her own rockets?  How about
then?
Are you saying even a mage like
that
couldn't heal Marcie?'

The doctor no longer looked either disdainful, or so sure of himself.  He looked shocked, if anything.

Leeth glared at him, then spun on her heels and ran from the hospital.

Back in her room, she paced.  What was the point of anything?  Marcie was never going to walk again, and it was all her fault.  Nobody listened to her, nobody wanted to help Marcie. 
Which made no sense.  Aren't we supposed to be the good guys?
  She wasn't so sure anymore.

How could they not know what her uncle was doing to her?  Weren't they supposed to be, like, super-observant?  Some spies
they
were!  She can’t get away from her uncle and his torture and control.

And she was trying so hard, doing her best, but getting nowhere, achieving exactly nothing.
What’s the point in even trying anymore? I can’t do anything for Marcie, I can’t even do anything for myself!  I’ll never be my own person again.  Just Uncle’s slave.  And there's nothing I can do about it.

There's no hope.

And then, there in pride of place among all the others on her wall, the red and yellow and blue poster practically glowed at her.

That Marcie had given her.

"The 'S' stands for 'Hope'," Marcie had said.  And that hope was indestructible.

And it really was that simple, she realized.  There
was
hope.  There was
always
hope, just like Marcie said.  Just like Dojo said.

I
can
do something
.

I
have
to.

Unseeing, Leeth was scarcely aware of the door opening – seeing only Marcie's tear-filled eyes as she'd explained how her body was rejecting the cyber implants.

She blinked.  Her uncle was looking at her from behind his desk.  'Well?  What is it now, Leeth?'

'I need you to heal Marcie.'

'Again with this?  I assure you, Marcie is in the best-'

'They can't fix her.'

'What?'

'I spoke to her doctor.'

'Leeth, I am sure you thought you spoke to
a
doctor-'

'I went to the hospital and spoke face to face with Dr Ranatunga.'

She explained what he'd said, and saw her uncle's expression shift from disbelief to surprise; before becoming kind of wary, and then finally going blank.

'I see.  And I am sorry to hear that.  But Leeth, if you think I can Heal her – it's… not possible.  The nerve tissue will already have scarred over – as far as her body is concerned, the healing has finished.'

Leeth stared at him.  'You're saying if you could've Healed her the first day, while the injury was fresh, she'd be okay?  You could've done it?'

He didn't answer her right away.  She watched him consider her question.

At last he met her eyes.  'Yes.  I'm sorry to admit it, but given the… extensive opportunities you have provided for me to sharpen my understanding of healing the human body, I probably could have.  But it has simply been too long, now.