Wild Thing (19 page)

When he had informed her, Sara had
glowed
.

She devoted weeks to practicing the run from Shanahan's separate out-building, down to level B2 –closely supervised, of course.  She glued special “bump mats” on the corners of walls, for her to bounce off, and attached short loops of rope at the turns in the staircase to fly around the bends... her inventions had seemed endless.

She'd even outpaced Faith, on two occasions.  The other members of the Institute, too, took pleasure in her childish excitement, able to relax instead of being alert and tense, wondering what awful stunt she'd pull this year.

Her uncle even managed to get Professor Sanders to negotiate to leave her various modifications in place.

But fortunately, that year's episode – or “attack,” as Sara phrased it – had been as undramatic as Harmon had expected.  She of course remained unaware of the complexity of the true cycle, and also knew only of the mid-summer attacks, at the anniversary of d'Artelle's death.  She knew nothing of the tri-annual pattern: the steady growth in intensity over two years, followed by a slight fall the next.  Nor did she know of the disturbing other pattern.

Nor would Harmon ever tell her of the “king tide” expected in 2061, when all the cycles would coincide.  Fortunately, that was still seven years away.  By then, she would be seventeen, and presumably less trouble.

The second year went equally smoothly, although Sara's earlier intervention had clearly faded in Godsson's memory: his self-torture had continued to grow.  The only issue had been Sara's reaction during the episode itself.  Her distress had communicated itself to Faith, making it a fraught experience for all three of them.

Harmon was concerned: next year's event would be still worse, though it should still fall short of Godsson's suffering the year of Sara's dramatic “assistance.”

That
was a treasured memory for Harmon: the astonishing sight of the nine-year-old girl plunging through the ceiling like some tiny Valkyrie descending from Valhalla, teeth bared and fingers spread like talons, screaming like a banshee.

No, it had been a wonderful moment, despite thinking his heart would stop; and having to physically restrain the agent by his side from shooting her – notwithstanding FBI director "Smith's" assurance of his agents' perfect and instantaneous threat-assessment skills.  Neither Harmon nor the agent concerned had ever felt the need to correct the official record on that account, however.

Besides, if Sara and Godsson were right, and something could somehow leak past the Barriers, some incorporeal entity or magical pattern which was, impossibly, invisible to the Imaginal sight as well as to physical instrumentation – well, perhaps “Team Sara”
could
somehow help.

Not that he would ever admit that.  He could just imagine the response of that pompous ass, Ahronian, were the new arrangement run past him.

He was concerned how Sara would handle next year's event, however.  Still, she would be twelve.  Perhaps her increasing maturity-

Harmon caught himself.  What was he thinking?  Of course there would be trouble.  There was no doubt at all about that.
 

Chapter 18 

One day, three weeks before Christmas, Harmon was startled by Sara bursting into his office, eyes alight, bouncing with enthusiasm.  Before he could speak, though, she had crossed the room and begun tugging him to “come.”

'Keepie, Keepie!  I've got a surprise for you.  Come and see, come and see!'

Her excitement caught him up – he found himself genuinely curious to see what she planned, and decided to forgive her interruption.  'Fortunately for you, little one, I should take a break anyway.  Very well.  Surprise me.'

She squealed with joy, and with unexpected force, half tugged him from his chair.  He schooled his expression to conceal his surprise.  'You're getting quite strong, Sara, aren't you?  It must be all your healthy activities.'

His compliment seemed to please her, making her beam even wider.  Her small frame straightened up and he needed no mindmeld to tell what she thought.  She put her head back proudly and let go of his hand.  'Yes.  I'm very strong.'

She turned and strutted off, making him smile despite himself.

He followed her down the long corridors of the Institute, admiring the healthy play of muscles in her back and legs.  He wondered if her surprise related to her upcoming twelfth birthday.

They were in a part of the Institute he'd never visited.  Nor had many others, by the look of things.  A faint nervousness crept into his thoughts.  At some clinical level he noticed this, and found it intriguing that she could provoke such a reaction, in him of all people.  Her attitude, however, did not seem to involve one of her Hunting aspects; it seemed, in fact, unusually child-like.

'Where are we going, little one?'

She looked back over one shoulder.  'A Special room,' she said in mysterious tones.

Involuntarily, the nervousness strengthened.  Annoyed at his own reaction, he resolved to no longer play her game, and asked no further questions.

At last they came to a tall set of double swing-doors.  Pushing through them she spun around, spreading her arms wide.

'Ta-daaa!'  Excitement shone in her eyes.  He followed her in some surprise into the very large room beyond.  A gymnasium!  He hadn't known the Institute had a gymnasium.  He noted the faded beige walls, the paint peeling in places.  It was chilly down here, too.  Winter had reached in, making each of their breaths a small puff of cloud.

His eyes swung back to his young subject as she raced toward a springboard and vaulting-horse.  She jumped and bounced up, to land running along the top of the horse.  Racing over it, she leapt nimbly down to land on the long balance beam beyond.  Speeding along that she jumped down, running then to the far wall where climbing bars rose up to the high ceiling.  She flew up them – then, at the top, leaned out.

A rope from the ceiling hung a good three meters beyond her reach.

She leapt out into space.

For one long moment his heart stopped.  Then she had the rope.  It swung wildly as she climbed down, and his jaw clenched as he noticed the age of the fixtures.  She jumped the last couple of meters to the ground.

Her eyes were glued to him, beaming with pleasure as she soaked up his every reaction.  She sounded only slightly out of breath as she ran over to a large trampoline in the center of the room.  As she clambered up onto it, she looked over her shoulder at him.  'Just watch, Keepie:
this
is best of all!'

Bounding to the middle of the tight-woven blue netting, she began jumping up and down, rapidly building height with each bounce.  The thing creaked alarmingly.

He winced each time she came down, but was drawn closer against his will.  He fought down the protective urge that welled up, while his dispassionate side noted the reaction with amusement.  At the side of the trampoline, it was clear that the frame was rusty, with parts of the elastic material pulled away from the edges.  The padding had peeled off the rim and there were no protective mats on the floor around it.  The thing itself squeaked and groaned in agonized protest with her every bounce.  Yet, despite all this he found himself captivated by her simple grace as she leapt and tumbled in the air.  And then the big finale, obviously: higher than ever, somersaulting over and over as she flew up, then straightening as she descended, her legs fully extended as her feet once more kissed the surface.  Her slender legs folded dramatically, soaking up the entire impact, and the great arcing movements instantly stopped.  One more tiny bounce, and then with unnatural suddenness she was still.

She stood above him, panting slightly, radiating pleasure; anticipating his approval.

'I practiced and
practiced
to surprise you!'  she declared with pride.

He stood for a moment, expressionless, as he analyzed what would be the best reaction for his purposes.  For once, though, he realized he didn't care, and simply grinned.  He found himself applauding, which made her beam even wider.

'Well, Wild Thing, you were right: it
was
a surprise, from start to finish.  And you know what, I think I've just worked out a Christmas present for you.  Suppose I arrange some maintenance for this equipment so it's safe for you to use?  Maybe even add an apparatus or two?'

For one disconcerting moment he had the illusion she had physically lit up, glowing with joy.  He blinked, and in that instant she launched herself through the air to him.  Automatically, he reached out and caught her as she impacted solidly against him, clinging tight.  He staggered.

'Oh Keepie, you
do
care about me.  I love you!'  she exclaimed, burying her head against his neck.  He stood, extremely conscious of the small, hot form pressing into him.  Smelling her fresh personal scent.  The sudden intimacy broke through his defenses and his arms tightened round her in the simple physical pleasure of contact.  For once his clinical side lay silent.

He stood there, gazing unseeingly across the room.  Simply feeling.

-

Within a few weeks, the gymnasium had been refurbished.  Fortunately, Professor Sanders had been agreeable, once Harmon had pointed out that it was a good resource for all the staff – few as they were – and the patients.  All but one, naturally.

Harmon had even had a holo-feed installed there: filtered to receive only appropriate programmes, of course.  It meant that Sara had the examples of skilled athletes and gymnasts to follow.  He remembered his purchase of the unit with some amusement.  The salesman had been quite perplexed by the end of the sale, despite the smooth control with which he'd started…

'Yes, sir.  All netcasts are introduced by a digital code according to their classification.  We find that many parents find the built-in censorship of the Kyosei CX perfectly suited to their children's tender years.'

He had frowned, projecting an air of doubt.  'I see.  However, I think I want something a little more flexible.  For instance, I may want to set it to receive only sporting programmes.'

'Ahh.  Sports!  A very popular choice.  Yes.  The model ZX has a password-guarded category-selectable screening facility.  For instance, you can program it to display only sports, but avoid blood-sports or sex-sports.'

The device gleamed like a sleek black beetle.

Harmon waved dismissively.  'Can I choose
specific
sports for it to receive, or select programmes by content?'

'Uh.  Well, there
is
a digital abstract of the programme broadcast after its category identification, so…' greed began to gleam in the man's eyes '… so if you upgrade to the Hitachi AutoCrit software, you can even program it to select – er, historical dramas with a happy ending, for example.  And for a small extra sum, you can have a verbal input module, which will respond only to your voice.'

The salesman's encouraging smile was just a touch predatory.  Harmon
did
rather like the sound of the voice-module, though.  Oh well – a simple problem.  'You will, of course, be able to give me a substantial discount to close the sale, won't you?'  he Suggested.  A highly illegal use of magic, but who would ever know?

The salesman blinked, looking a little confused.  'Aah… yes… yes… of course… a substantial discount…'
 

Chapter 19 

Early in the new year, Sara woke one morning with a cry of pain.  For a moment she lay there in sleepy befuddlement, before the pain stabbed again, suddenly.  Deep inside her.

'Oh!'  she gasped.

She curled up, and for a little while that helped.  The ache seemed rooted deep within her though, like something inside her was dragging downwards.  She curled up tighter, hugging her sides.  But the pain still built, tearing at her again.

'Aah!'

What was happening to her?  The pain surged, deep within.  It felt like something had torn.  What was
wrong
with her?

A trickle of liquid suddenly ran between her legs.  Her cheeks burned, shame piling on top of fear.  She'd wet herself!  'No!'  she whispered, horrified.  But somehow it didn't feel normal… she reached down, felt between her legs.  Brought her hand back up, holding it before her.  And stared at it in shock: blood.  She was bleeding.  Something inside her had broken, and she was bleeding to death.

A small moan escaped her before she could clamp down on it.  She shook her head, disbelieving. 
Why
did it hurt so much?  What had she done to make this happen? 
How
had she failed? 
I must be bleeding all over my bed,
she realized.  Her cheeks flamed brighter at the thought of her uncle finding that she'd ruined her own bed, too.  She forced herself to move, to get out.  Into the shower.  Where she could at least wash off the blood.

So she went; hunched over, clutching at her stomach; stifling the sounds that tried to tear from her throat.  Small cries escaped her lips, and she bit down on them, trying to face her death bravely.  But tears streamed down her face at just how badly she was failing, what a mess she'd collapsed into.  She made it to her shower stall, turned on the water, and finally gave in to her body's protest, lying down and curling up with the warm water raining down on her.

Harmon found her, a minute later, after hearing odd sounds from her room.  As he entered the bathroom and saw her huddled form, the traces of blood, dismay smashed into him.  Then she moaned, and moved, and suddenly the situation became clear.

Her eyes opened, staring into his in anguish for a moment before she looked down, curling away from his gaze.  He hardly needed to slide his magical probe into her mind to know her torment.  Kneeling over her, ignoring the spray that soaked him, he laid a comforting hand on her slim side.

'Oh Sara, Sara.  It's all right, it's perfectly natural.'  He laughed, in genuine relief and sympathy.  'Congratulations: you have just reached womanhood!'