Chapter 16
John remained restless and morose. He rode still, and saw Clare every day, but didn’t have the spirit any longer to irritate Davies, or to join in the activities of the soldiers. His telekinesis became more unreliable. He asked to have his meals in his room for a while, and his request was granted. He was deeply depressed. The next time he felt the first warning that the pain was about to bring him down, his gaze fixed on Bob’s holstered handgun. The handgun would blow his head to bits, he thought. They’d have nothing interesting left to dissect. And his head would never hurt again.
But by the time the attack was over, there was a change in the way his guards were armed. Now the close guards no longer wore handguns, but there were an additional two, who never came too close, who did. His intention had been guessed at. In his despair, he took himself to his tree and tried to make the power come and explode him, so then there’d be nothing left. But nothing happened. Nothing happened increasingly these days, when he tried to do things. It would be Autumn soon, and then the leaves would fall, and then there would not be a minute of the day when he could not be watched.
Two weeks after his discovery that he was marked, while he breakfasted in his room, the buzzer sounded. John was a well trained prisoner these days, and just rose and waited where he was supposed to. Mark came in, greeted him casually, and said that they should sit down while he finished his breakfast. John hadn’t seen him for weeks, and regarded him with a distinct hostility.
Mark was daunted, and wondered if, after all, he should have been accompanied by the guards. But then John only sighed and sat down.
“You’ve been depressed lately,” Mark started.
John shrugged. It was impossible for him to hide anything, and maybe it wasn’t worth trying.
Mark said that no-one always had exactly what they wanted, that content was being satisfied with what was possible. John glanced at him, wishing him to oblivion. And then he laughed suddenly, bitterly. Mark looked his question. John answered, “I’ve either got you, or I get someone a lot worse. No point wishing you to Hades!”
Mark was quiet, and then spoke frankly, abruptly, “Are you suicidal?”
John said indifferently, “Only if I can think of a way that doesn’t leave a body to be gloated over.”
Mark sat back stiffly. “No-one would be gloating over your body.”
John glanced at him, “Sorry,” but then looked down again. He couldn’t even cry. There was no privacy to even cry. He thought it might be the worst thing. Even in the treetops, they would hear if he let himself cry as he needed to.
Mark took a small bottle of tablets from his pocket. “I know you don’t like drugs, but these would be under your own control. Isaac says just one with breakfast every morning will help.” He looked directly at John. “No-one wants you to be miserable. You know you can’t be allowed free, but I am your friend, even if you can’t think of me that way. I want what’s best for you.”
John reached forward, and accepted the small bottle, turning it over and over in his hands. When he looked back at Mark, his eyes were wet, but he said, “Thank you,” and put the small bottle next to his coffee.
“Are you going to take them?” Mark asked.
“I don’t know.”
Mark stood to leave, and only turned at the door. “If you take them all at once, it’ll make you as sick as a dog for a few days. One a day, and ask Isaac for more when they run out.”
John picked up the bottle again after Mark left, and again turned it over and over in his fingers. Drugs? And he was seriously considering it? Where had his courage gone? Casually, he tossed the bottle in the bin.
Watching, Isaac shook his head. John looked up, and spoke direct to the camera, “No way, you bastard!”
Adam and Ernie had a rough ride that day, as John’s horse seemed to be full of the devil, bucking and kicking and rearing. Adam lost the rein once, and finally said that if John couldn’t make his horse behave, they’d have to go back. At this, the horse threw himself into a gallop, and the three raced around the track, as they’d done so often before.
John wanted to ride close to the barracks of B Force as they returned, outside the fence of course, but looking over at the men he didn’t know. They looked back, staring, curious. His horse seemed to be misbehaving again, backing itself around, and suddenly lashing out with its heels, striking the fence again and again. Ernie said, “For God’s sake, John, behave yourself!”
John held out his free hands. “What can I do? You have the reins.” But the gelding shook his head, and moved away from the bent fence.
He wasn’t hiding in his room any more, and presented himself in the staff dining room for lunch. But he still didn’t really want to talk to anyone, and chose a time when he knew few would be there.
A young man sat alone. He wore casual civilian clothes, had rather straggly long hair and a beard. John looked at him curiously, then carried his tray over and sat opposite him, greeting him and asking if he was new.
“I came two days ago,” said the man, and introduced himself as Cecil.
“My name’s John,” said John, shaking his hand. “You must be a specialist.”
Cecil agreed, and nodded at the soldiers. “Not a very friendly bunch, are they?”
John shrugged. “They’re all right when you get to know them. Don’t have much of a sense of humor sometimes.”
There was an urgent consultation going on among people who watched the action and listened closely to the talk. John appeared relaxed. “So anyway, what are you here for?”
Cecil said, “New cameras. I’m an expert at putting cameras in areas difficult to access.”
John asked, “Like what?”
“Trees, mostly. I climb trees very well, and for some reason, they want cameras in the trees.”
“Did they tell you why?”
Cecil shook his head. “Need to know basis, they said, and I didn’t need to know.” Cecil looked at his new acquaintance, “And you? What do you do?”
John said, “Sorry, Classified Information.” And then asked quickly, “Where else besides trees?”
Zack sat down beside them. John courteously introduced Zack to Cecil, mentioning that Cecil was new. Cecil was enjoying his dinner, enjoying the fact that someone was finally being friendly. Zack was in a dilemma. The visiting civilian didn’t know why cameras were wanted, and wasn’t supposed to know. But he was giving out too much information.
John said, “Where else besides trees?”
Cecil started to answer, but Zack interrupted. “Everything’s secret here. You can’t say anything to anybody about what you do.”
John said casually, “Don’t be silly, Zack. I’ve been here forever. There’s not many secrets from me.” And then to Cecil, “Don’t worry about Zack, he’s a bit paranoid, a security fanatic. There’s nothing secret about trees and cameras.” And then he said, still casually, “Now, my work, of course. It wouldn’t do to have too many people knowing about the Flu/Ebola cross I’m working on.”
Zack groaned. Cecil stared. John continued, “That’s what the tree cameras are for, of course, just in case any of the sick monkeys get out.”
Zack rose, “Come on, John. That’s enough. You’re going back to your room for a while.” Bob and Timothy were beside him.
John rose, winking at Cecil, “I told you they don’t have much of a sense of humor!”
Cecil had to eat in the officers’ dining room after that, and found them even less friendly than the soldiers. The limited explanation of the reason for the facility they gave him sounded not quite credible to him, the dismissal of John’s words seemed false, and when his mouth opened too far once he finished his two weeks’ work and left, it was Flu/Ebola crosses that he spoke of.
John wasn’t really punished, his minders too pleased that he seemed more cheerful. They hoped that he might have finally resigned himself to an easy and pleasant captivity. But John was working. Eve
ry day, very methodically, trying to make his power work and work consistently. He paid the price, though the head pain seldom lasted more than a few hours at a time, and after a while, the frequency and severity of attacks began to diminish.
The backroom analysts included some who were not army, recruited to a different service for different reasons. They were still theoretically under the command of Colonel Bedville, but made separate reports, as well. They watched and drew their conclusions, and now suspected that the subject was trying to use that mysterious power, from that subtle change they saw in the readings, almost always when he was out of sight in the treetops. The new cameras never showed anything. As inconspicuous as they were, as cunningly hidden, he seemed to have a very good idea of their position. They didn’t know that he had a feeling, that the trees almost told him where there was a disturbance.
When the analysts gave in to temptation and tried to watch what he was doing as he did it, it only confirmed, for John, what he already knew. He could smash those cameras when he chose, but what he really needed to do was to stop the RAB working. He even knew what it was called now, startling Bob one day by dropping out of a tree almost on top of him while he was checking it, and asking what he called it. Bob looked at Rudy, close by, and Rudy said casually that it was just a RAB, that they were testing them to see whether they might be better than the zoster communicators.
Davies saw John most days, and John participated again in any activities that seemed sufficiently dangerous to be interesting. He was reckless and Davies was concerned, but the word was still to let him have as much freedom as possible. He was still allowed to climb trees, still allowed to climb and swing on ropes, only when he swam were extra precautions taken, two swimmers in the water with him at all times. There was no problem now, in the height of Summer, the extra people needed easily recruited.
He fell once, from a tree, but he’d already been rapidly descending, and only fell ten feet. Once, Davies had a call, and changed his planned activities as requested. Twenty minutes later, John was writhing on the ground, pressing his fists to his forehead. They could tell, for sure, when he was about to go down these days, the warning usually about thirty minutes, but sometimes a lot less.
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