Harsh Lessons, page 25
'So, anyway, you know how we've been making false IDs for me, for when I go on missions? Well, I was thinking, sometimes Uncle will need to go out too, right? So he should get a chance to build-'
'The Doctor will not be permitted to attempt to Heal your friend. The Department is not a charitable organization. Our existence must be kept secret. We-'
'That's why we disguise him and make up a false identity. We can-'
'Do not interrupt!' Mother looked angry: angrier, even, than normal. 'Do you have any idea of the level of media interest in this story? Disguise your Uncle?' She laughed. 'Your Uncle is a recognized and respected researcher, not an obscure nobody. And the area of his research – unlocking magical potential – is an extremely active one, of enormously high value. If anyone ever links you and your unique abilities to him, every interested Power watching will assume he managed to make you Unfold – regardless of any mere protestations to the contrary.'
'That's why we disguise him so no one recognizes him. And I go in as Jane, who has no magical-'
'No. It's out of the question. Can you not understand the Department must come first? Do you have no understanding of the stakes we play for? I begin to question your suitability.'
'Begin to? You've always questioned it!'
'You always give me reasons to.'
Do not punch Mother. Do not. 'Look, if we disguise-'
'No. The subject is closed.'
'Closed? How come you get to say the subject is closed? I'm going to ask Father!' Leeth spun on her heel.
'Leeth! I have not finished your debriefing! Leeth! Come back here! Leeth!'
Leeth couldn't quite believe it, when Father agreed with Mother.
'But it'd probably only take him a few minutes!'
'That's not the issue, Leeth. I understand: you want to help your friend. Commendable. But the chance for the operation going wrong is not low enough, and the risk-return is far too high. No.'
When she managed to see Eagle, and put her case, he studied her in silence for perhaps a minute. She fought not to fidget.
'Did you understand what Mother and Father told you?' he asked, finally. 'Even if you didn't agree with their logic?'
'Yes. But if we don't do what's right, what's the point in anything we do? Even if it does have a risk, or a big cost?'
He didn't say anything, but she thought he seemed pleased, and her hopes rocketed.
'Your logic is sound, Leeth. But in this case, I must agree with Mother and Father, and deny your request.'
But the look he gave her, as her heart plunged and then hardened, was… odd. Like he wasn't just studying her. She had the feeling he was expecting her to do something, or say something.
Only she didn't know what.
For a while, neither spoke. He waited, patiently. In the end, she nodded, frowning, and left his room.
She met his eyes again, as the door slid shut. And tried again to read the message in them.
Leeth's glasses were recovered, smashed alongside all the other communications devices in the boiled-dry fountain of the burned-out mansion. They were quietly switched with a simple audio-link pair, in case anyone ever performed a detailed forensic analysis.
Mark Dennis was not found, though a dead body was found later in a car parked near a clinic; where a man matching Dennis’s description had paid an exorbitant sum for medical treatment for broken bones and other severe injuries on that same night.
And Nelson found that the Mark Dennis ID had been a very expensive, very good fake.
His motives for kidnaping the entire drama school, however, remained unclear. Photo-matching from his fake ID revealed him to be Marc Disten, a very wealthy stock-broker from New York, who had simply walked off the job the previous year. Some kind of nervous breakdown had been assumed. But no criminal record. Nor had Disten resurfaced, as yet. His assets were frozen and wanted notices placed, of course.
Even after the week of mental torture that was the writing of her report, in the end no one actually said whether she’d passed the exercise, or failed! But then, no one said anything about having to repeat it, either.
They let Leeth, with a faked farmhouse bedroom computer-rendered behind her, chat by vidlink to Marcie in her hospital bed.
Things were not going well. Apparently, the injury was more extensive, and more severe, than they'd expected, and Marcie for some reason was not responding properly to the treatments.
Marcie tried to smile. 'Dad's arranging a cyber-specialist to come in and check me out for a bunch of nerve shunts. Maybe I'll end up being turned into robo girl. Maybe I'll get super powers? I'll ask Dad to get me some muscle augments at the same time. Then maybe I could throw men out of trucks like you did.'
Leeth tried to smile. Knowing all too well that it had been Marcie who’d shown true bravery.
Chapter 41
Things settled back into their old routine. But the delight was gone: she wasn't even sure if she wanted to be here anymore. Wasn't sure the Department was what she'd thought it was. Wasn't even sure they were really the good guys.
The excitement, the joy she'd discovered in mixing with ordinary people, people her own age, seemed just an impossibly-bright dream.
And on top of the Marcie disaster, things were getting much, much worse.
This time it started in her uncle's class. Leeth was sure he was deliberately dragging the lesson out, just so she couldn't go to the pool before dinner. She could tell the other agents were only pretending to be interested. Who cared if the Japanese gesture of a hooked forefinger meant "thief": someone hooking away your possessions? She didn't know any Japanese people, and at the rate things were going, she probably never would. They'd probably keep her locked up in this underground maze forever. Sterile rooms linked by sterile corridors, with fake "daylight" lighting, and phony windows onto the real world.
Like the walls of this cramped training room, for example: virtual windows looking out across a darkly sparkling bay to Alcatraz. She wondered what it'd be like to swim those deep waters to the old prison. Cold, probably. Maybe a shark would attack her, and she could-
'Am I boring you, Leeth?'
She jumped, met her uncle's eyes: noted the superior smile. How she hated that smile.
'Not just me, Uncle.'
His face went blank.
Her stomach roiled in instinctive dread – dread, followed by anger at that cowardly reaction. The anger burned away the fear. She wasn't scared of him.
His head slumped and one hand lifted to cover his mouth. From his own lessons on body language, she knew that meant he was struggling to bite back a response. She had to fight to keep her small surge of delight from showing.
«Leeth: mode one.»
No! Hot glee chilled to ice at the scarcely-vocalized words. For several seconds she couldn't believe he'd done that to her right in front of the other agents.
She wanted to shout, to scream: tell them what he'd done. But just the idea of trying to do so sent her thoughts spiraling out of control, collapsing into mere babble. She flailed in the mental trap, thoughts bouncing off walls she scarcely sensed. Leeth, mode one. Just words. Barely whispered words. Now he'd even found a way to use her special hearing against her. She latched onto the thought, chased it: would he one day find a way to use her sight against her, too? Hold up a sign in the dark for her alone to read: "Leeth, mode one"?
Slowly, she climbed from the spinning mental pit, her reason steadying. Could written words do it? Maybe she should test that herself? No, that'd be stupid, since she could never remember the words he spoke to end it and return her to herself. She might wind up stuck.
She realized no one had spoken for a long time, and twisted around to James, then Emma. They looked uncomfortable, avoiding her eyes. What was the matter with them? Couldn't they see what he'd just done?
Oh. Remembering, she realized why her uncle had covered his mouth. It hadn't been to hold in words. He'd done it so his lips couldn't be read. Just in case they were being vidded.
Bastard.
Turning back round she froze as she caught his stare. A predator's gaze, now: sure of its prey. Bracing herself, determined to resist, but knowing she couldn't. Surely, in front of the others, he wouldn't make her do things?
Please, not in front of the others.
'Leeth, Leeth, Leeth. What are we to do with you? Still treating all this,' he gestured vaguely, 'like a child's game. Still imagining we're all here just to entertain you.'
He sighed. 'Well, perhaps a child's punishment will drive the message home. Go and stand quietly in the corner.'
Her thoughts churned into a gray muddle. When at last the confusion ebbed, she got determinedly to her feet and stalked to the corner.
'Face the wall.'
Again the gray churning of her thoughts, but she fought it down and turned away from her uncle, away from James and Emma's embarrassed faces, from Preacher's grin. She'd show them. She stared into the pixels of the dark waters rippling on the wall. Silent, resolved to stand there till they all died of old age.
That was how it had started: but it had been only the first act.
An hour later, the class on body language finished. With her face still turned stubbornly to the wall, Leeth heard Preacher leave and, more slowly, James. Finally Emma's footsteps moved hesitantly to the doorway, then stopped. 'Doctor, shouldn't Leeth-?'
'There is no need to concern yourself, Agent Emma. We both know we can't have Leeth miss out on her training because of a childish outburst. Although listening to a lecture is not her preferred learning method, as she herself demonstrated. Best if I turn the lesson into a game – if she and I act out the gestures. Use role playing techniques.'
Leeth's skin prickled. Roleplay. Alone, in his rooms. No!
Her determination to stand quietly facing the corner almost failed her, then. But The Rule kept her silent. Never reveal what we do together, alone. Frantically, she tried to find a way free. Maybe Emma would insist on staying, would sense-
Footsteps, leaving.
She squeezed her eyes shut, hard.
Behind her, she heard the faint rustle of her uncle's clothes as he turned. Facing her. Watching her. She could imagine the expression on his face: the coldly certain smile.
Slow, heavy seconds slunk past.
'Come, Leeth. We will continue the lesson in private. So you won't feel embarrassed should someone enter the classroom. Come.'
Helplessly obedient, she spun and followed him from the room.
-
Six hours later: Leeth skipped happily, as instructed, down empty corridors, a smile which she couldn't seem to alter pasted to her face, and her hair tied up in two short pigtails.
Pigtails. They looked silly, childish. Yet somehow, she wanted them. And each time she considered removing them, or the ribbons, a gray fog swamped her thoughts.
It was after two in the morning, the recessed lights in the ceiling now off, only the glow from night-dimmed scenes lighting the walls. She paused to stare "out" at a distant farmhouse nestling darkly at the foot of a hill, wishing she could escape through the wall and into that scene.
Escape, and rescue Marcie: save her.
She was trying to draw the journey out, hoping someone might still be up, might wander by and ask questions; might be able to read something in her eyes; see through the false smile. But empty corridors swallowed each solitary silent step.
Perhaps she could simply call on James, or Emma. Emma was a woman, and smart. If Leeth woke her in the middle of the night and then couldn't answer the questions she'd be sure to ask-
Thought dissolved into gray curls of fog. She almost stumbled as her feet turned her from the wall, heading her back toward her quarters. She puzzled as she continued on. Hadn't she just been thinking… something? Skipping back to her rooms, and now singing a silly rhyme, the memory continued to elude her.
Reaching her door, she palmed it open. The instant she crossed the threshold the joyful mask vanished. Safe: here she was safe. It was only in his rooms that he-
She cut the thought off and leaned back against the protective barrier, now closed behind her. It slid snugly shut, plunging the interior into darkness. But all too soon the room reappeared in monochrome tones as her eyes adapted.
She sagged back against the door, her expression blank. Numb.
Her breasts still ached: the cells remembering. Even after the healing, the shocking pain lingered as an echo in the flesh.
One arm holding her own shoulder, her other arm clasping her waist, she hugged herself, imagining the arms around her were James's, or Emma's.
For long seconds she stared blankly across the room. Gradually, the accusing glares of the heroes in the Demons-bane image penetrated her awareness. The elven valkyrie Hildr stared at her accusingly. She tried to stare back, but her lower lip trembled.
She dropped her head in shame.
At least tonight he hadn't made her dress up in some humiliating child's costume. Or, as he sometimes preferred, half of one. Usually just the top half. So she couldn't pretend she'd simply opted for the freedom of going bare chested.
Dully, she unwrapped her arms from herself, lifting them before her, marveling at the once-more seamless skin. Still faintly damp from the shower he'd made her take to wash away the evidence: the blood.
Eyes unfocused, she remembered her own hand descending slowly toward her arm under his command; his words like dripping acid, scouring her soul. “Self-mutilation is a terrible thing, Leeth. A clear sign of sick self-hatred. I had hoped you would be strong enough to resist….”
The words had drizzled on, and on: a cold leaching rain as the silken bite of her own fingertips carved-
Desperately, jaw clenching, she smashed down that memory, too. Vision blurred as water welled in her lower eyelids, sinuses thickening. Tears were for weaklings. She fought them down. Water brimmed, blurring everything. She wouldn't blink. If she didn't blink, there'd be no tears.
She stood in the dark, fighting the flood, fighting her own body-
He'd caged her in her own body! Made her his puppet, his toy.
But one that fought every step of the way. Never co-operated. He'd had to command every act, every word. Every gesture.
Oh Keepie, every gesture! It had made her realize: Keepie was dead. Gone. Instead, this monster had replaced him, swallowed him whole. And she didn't think there was anything she could do to get him back.
Sunk to her knees, he'd made her spread-
'No!' But then the breath she didn't know she'd been holding cracked her lips, escaping in one deep moan that drained the strength from her stomach, and legs, and she slid down the door to the carpet. In her mind, he stood over her still, staring at her. Weak, he sneered.
'No!' She screwed her eyes shut trying to block the memory, tears flinging from her shaking head, and then her nose joined the treacherous flood as her body flew from her command, again, only this time he hadn't ordered it, it was she herself, failing, weakening-
She tried to breathe, but her chest shuddered and spasmed, the breath juddering in as her own lungs fought against her.
But even in this new betrayal by her body, a betrayal that shattered her control, still she struggled. She wanted to smash the floor, but didn't; wanted to collapse into a boneless puddle, but wouldn't.
She clamped her jaws to silence the weak little girl shrieking inside. She'd never give in, never give him the satisfaction of truly controlling her, controlling her true self.
Piece by piece, she locked away that small girl; sealed her up inside and turned away from her, to claw her way back toward normality. Her hands were shaking, she saw. She clenched her fists, but that only made it worse. Now all the muscles in her forearms stood out like they'd been carved.
Carved… No! Don't remember!
Now her arms shook, too. But the harder she fought, the further it spread, until her whole body locked rigid.
Sometimes, Miss Leeth, the body knows better than the mind. Sometimes, you must let your body lead. Dojo's cool words. But still she resisted, even as that control coiled the knots of agony tighter.
She didn’t know what was happening: it felt like her own body was killing her. She fought even harder to stop it: and felt the agony twist still tighter.
Dojo’s face glowed in her mind. Could she trust him? Trust her body? Stop fighting?
She had to.
She let go, as scared and exhilarated as if jumping from a high cliff.
Her body spasmed in an agony of release so terrible she thought she'd made a fatal mistake, even as she clung desperately to Dojo's words; a talisman of hope.
Panting, curled on her side, she only slowly realized it had ended. The pounding in her head, easing.
One arm was flung out over her head, her hand stabbed through the carpet, clutching it tight. Mourning the man who'd raised her? He had loved her, once, she knew. Had held her after she'd Pounced him, that night in his rooms. Caught her when she leapt from the trampoline. Let her snuggle up to him, after the first time they'd made love.
Or… had that been love-making, really?
Either way, that man was dead. And she had had enough.
Chapter 42
Emma stood outside the doors to the dojo, looking in through the perspex windows, frowning.
Inside, Dojo and Leeth faced one another. Neither moved. What were they doing?
Then Leeth’s weight shifted. Something about Dojo’s stance changed, and Leeth immediately froze. Then her shoulders moved fractionally, and Emma sensed the tension drain from Dojo.
He slid his left foot forward, Leeth accelerated into motion…. But Dojo swayed minutely and Leeth slowed, and stopped; hissing in frustration. Then turned, slightly.
An opening! Except Dojo apparently didn’t agree. After a second Leeth smiled, her shoulders moving in the faintest shrug. As if to say, “well, it was worth a try.” Emma frowned. Had there been a trap there?
Then Leeth began circling, her bare feet sliding lightly over the mats, a curious fluidity to the movement of her body as Dojo turned, and turned, facing her.
