Hidden Faults

• Title Page
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  

Hidden Faults

Ann Somerville

‘Hidden Faults’ Copyright © 2011 by Ann Somerville

Cover image ©
Yazan Masa - Fotolia.com

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

For more information please visit my website at
http://logophilos.net

Smashwords Edition 1,
July 2011

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Published by Ann Somerville

I walked up to the research wing, changing into a clean coat before going to the medical lab where I found Lamiw, my assistant, laying out the therapy inhalers ready for use.

I smiled at her. “Are we ready?”

“Yes. Shall I?”

I nodded, so she used the comm to contact security and have them bring up the first subject—a pyrokinetic, I noted from the chart.

A minute or so later, a tap came at the lab door, and then two security guards brought in our subject, one Neim hon Darzi, a man my father’s age, dressed in the nondescript grey overalls we issued to patients in our care. His tattooed hands hung loosely at his sides, and his expression held no purpose, his face weather-beaten and marred by broken capillaries. Life had not been kind to Mas Neim.

“Thank you for coming, Mas Neim. I’m Arwe Jodimai, and I’m in charge of this testing phase.”

He looked at me as if I’d spoken gibberish. I smiled reassuringly and gestured towards the treatment chair.

“Please sit down, Mas Neim. I’m afraid you’ll need to be restrained for your safety.”

The man shuffled over to the chair, where the guards secured him tightly and far from gently. Lamiw took no interest in the patient at all. She disliked paras and never made a secret of it. She was far from unusual in that.

I fitted the sensors. Mas Neim didn’t really seem to care what I did, rheumy blue eyes staring vacantly into space as if he was still on naksen. He wasn’t. He’d detoxed under supervision, and was doubtless as healthy and sober now as he’d been in years. It wasn’t just naksen that drove the will and health out of a man.

Once all the sensor pads were fitted, I waited as Lamiw took baseline readings. Mas Neim continued his empty stare, ignoring us both.

Finally she nodded at me. I cleared my throat and picked up a piece of paper from the desk.

“Mas Neim, I know you signed our volunteer agreement, but I’d like to get verbal confirmation from you. Do you mind if I go over the form before we move on?”

“No. Do what you like. I don’t care.”

Behind me, Lamiw made a small snort of derision. I ignored her.

“Still, I need to be certain this is with your consent. It’s not risk-free. Were the risks and side-effects explained to you?”

He made an aborted movement, as if he wanted to wipe his mouth or his face with his restrained hands, then sighed wearily. “Said I’d get sick. A cold. Could get worse—maybe pneumonia. Don’t care. Anything’s better than this.”

“There’s also the gene therapy itself. If it takes, we’re not sure exactly what effects it might have—”

“I said I don’t care, doctor. I might be a para, but I’m no fool.” His eyes were suddenly and briefly sharp. “Stop treating me like one.”

“Mind your mouth,” Lamiw snapped, but I held up my hand to quieten her.

“
I apologise, sir. I wanted to be sure
you
were sure.”

“I am. Do it.” He stared up at me again, this time pleadingly.

“Very well.”

I stepped back, waited for Lamiw to indicate the readings had settled down. When she nodded, I said, “All right, sir. If you would please make a small fireball?”

The guards pulled out their electroreeds and stun guns in readiness. Mas Neim ignored them.

Suddenly a tiny ball of white light popped into life right in front of my eyes, startling me. I jumped back, coughing in surprise, then yelled as the closer of two guards seemed ready to shoot the patient.

“No! It’s fine! No harm—don’t!”

The guard held the gun at the ready, but mercifully didn’t let off a shot. Mas Neim’s expression hadn’t changed.

“Sir, if you wouldn’t mind?”

The fireball disappeared.

“Er...thank you.” My heart still pounded from the fright but I did my best to appear untroubled, as much to stop the guards from overreacting as anything else.

Mas Neim looked up, the briefest twist of his mouth his only reaction. “Sorry. Control’s a bit sticky after all this time.”

Privately I doubted that, but if he wanted to risk an electroreed to the kidneys for the pleasure of getting a little payback on a normal, I couldn’t really blame him.

“Fine. We’ll be asking you to do that again, but if you could make sure you don’t let it come near anyone, then we’ll all be happy.”

He let out a harsh, humourless laugh. “Anything you say, doctor.”

The delivery of the viral agent was something of an anticlimax after that—the inhaler inoculated him very quickly, and before evening, he’d start to feel unwell. He’d be under strictly controlled conditions with constant care, but in a man of his age and not in good health, complications were always a concern. I asked him to display his talent once more. This time the fireball danced harmlessly in front of his own face.

As the guards uncuffed Mas Neim, he looked at me again. “How long before it works?”

“You’ll be mildly ill for a week. If there’s no indication of any effect from the therapy two weeks after that, then you’ll be put back on the naksen.”

“Two weeks? Is that long enough? I mean...what if I’m just slow? I don’t mind being locked up if you just...don’t put me back on that stuff. Please.”

He made to grab my hand, but the security guard yanked him back, almost off his feet.

“You said you knew what you’d agreed to, Mas Neim,” I said, infusing coldness into my voice to hide my pity for this wreck. “It’s unlawful for you to be at liberty without the naksen. You know that.”

“Then put me in jail!” He jerked in the guard’s grip. “Please! That drug, that horrible drug...please, don’t make me go back onto it—”

“Calm down, Mas Neim. Getting like this won’t help.”

He suddenly spat at me, a great gobbet hitting my arm. “Heartless bastard. We’re animals to you.”

I didn’t move to wipe his spittle from my sleeve. “No, you’re not. Please, calm down. Take him out to the ward, and treat him with care, please,” I said to the guards. “Don’t blame him for this reaction.”

I didn’t have much hope they wouldn’t take it out on him, but I had to try.

“Come on,” the older guard said, dragging the man around and forcing him to the door. All the fight had gone out of Mas Neim before he left the room.

I plucked a tissue from a box on the treatment table to wipe off my arm and wished we had a real alternative, rather than pie in the sky dreams of a complete cure for paranormality. Naksen’s brutal, overwhelming obliteration of paranormal ability, even at the price of obliterating the spirit too, was all that kept people like him from annihilation. But was death worse?

I dropped the soiled tissue into the hazardous waste bin. Lamiw curled her lips in disgust. “Don’t they realise we’re trying to help them? I wonder why we bother.”

“If you don’t know, then why are you working here, Arwe Lamiw?”

Her eyes widened in shock. I would normally never dream of speaking to any of my staff so sharply, but I’d grown tired of her attitude.

“If you don’t believe in this project, I can easily transfer you to another where you’ll feel more committed.”

“I-I...I do. I believe...I just...the way he spoke to you. And to spit like that.”

“We ask a great deal of these people. They’re the foot soldiers in a war they may never see an end to. A little tolerance is a small price to pay for their cooperation. Sign off on those readings, please.”

I turned away from her before I said something that would ruin our working relationship for good. I found myself facing the tall, imposing figure of my boss, Kregan hon Sersa, and my stomach tightened in reflex.
Shitting hell.

I forced a polite smile. “Sir? I wasn’t expecting you here during the therapy administration.”

“I wanted a word with you, Arwe Jodimai. Are you pressed for time?”

I’d known him since before I’d graduated, had become something of a family friend, but in public, he always used my full name and title. This time it indicated his displeasure rather than his innate formality.

“We’ve got four more subjects waiting, sir.”

“Five minutes, no more. Arwe Limiw, if you would excuse us for a moment or two?”

She bobbed her head and fairly ran for the door, closing it behind her, her reaction pretty standard for anyone encountering Kregan. Part of that resulted from his appearance. His heterochromic eyes unnerved people, and his great height and luxuriant hair made him seem like some ancient god come to walk the earth.

He sat down at the desk. “Now, Jodi. What was that all about?”

“What did you hear?”

“You threatening Arwe Limiw’s job. I don’t approve of that kind of behaviour. It’s not like you.”

He could always make me feel twelve again, standing before my father for some childish prank. Keeping me standing while he sat, contributed to that feeling.

“No, sir. I simply found her attitude frustrating. I know she doesn’t like paranormals, but if she doesn’t think there’s any point to our research, then why doesn’t she work on something else? She asked to be on this project, and yet I’ve seen no evidence she believes in what we’re doing.”

He scrutinized me over the top of his glasses. “Not everyone sees their work as a holy mission, Jodi. She’s young, and probably thinks this will look good on her résumé. Does it matter, so long as she does what you ask her to do?”

“No, sir. I lost my temper. I’ll apologise.”

“I’ll speak to her. If she managed to make you angry, she must be irritating indeed.”

He gave me a brief, cool smile. I tried and failed to imagine him losing control of himself under any circumstances—even sex. A machine. Everyone said it—even joked about his wife having to oil his gears for him once a week. A mind like a steel trap to go with it, too. That
he
was head of this project and we had still failed, was the most depressing thing about it.

“I was on my way down to ask if you were all set for tomorrow. A thankless job I’ve given you there.”

“I’m looking forward to it, actually.” He raised a dark eyebrow at me. “Not our presentation—the conference should be interesting, that’s all. Kanar’s speaking, and he’s always inspiring.”