Day Nineteen ∞ Early Tuesday morning
DANNY SNAPPED HIS HEAD DOWN to look at his arm. The pain was gone, leaving a cooling chill in its place. The crisis must be over. It couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes, but it seemed much longer than that.
—Mickmi?
He looked up at the security camera again and threw up his hands. "You enjoyed the show?" He might as well waste his breath on a brick wall.
—Mickmi, are you okay? Turning around, he listened internally for a reply as fatigue set in. Mi?
It took a while before the response came. —I am...
Danny sighed and sat on the bench, lifting his sock-covered feet off the cold floor. —You okay? I felt your skin burning. Will they give you a break? I know you're—
—I apologize... I should not have allowed... the sensory link to remain.
—What? he thought as the tiredness vanished as if by the flick of a switch. No. No-no, it's okay, I don't mind. I can tell how you are. ... Mi? ... Mickmi?
He exhaled. He couldn't feel or hear her anymore. —Sleep well, Mi. Hopefully those doctors would give her a few hours.
His stomach grumbled as his gaze fell on the table. Somebody had left a tray of food when he was sleep-walking—
Wait... What was I doing? The air escaped him; he hadn't left the room physically, yet he'd witnessed Mickmi being tested. Or was that just a dream? It had to be. But the experience remained so vivid in his mind—it had to have really happened. Like he'd left his body and actually found himself in the same room where she was...
He furrowed his brow. The idea of leaving his body was disconcerting, something he associated with dying. Yet here he was, starving like a wolf. He stared at the tray for a few more moments. No point in letting the food go to waste.
He'd barely made it halfway through the beef stew and potatoes when the door opened. Two guards stepped in, one halted inside the door.
Danny stuffed a forkful of food in his mouth as the other guard dropped a pair of shoes on the floor.
My boots. He swallowed half of the mouthful. "Are you taking me to Doctor Kruger?"
"Put them on."
Danny pushed his feet inside the hiking shoes. Empty. Not surprising that they'd confiscated his Swiss army knife. He grabbed another mouthful and his water canteen before standing up, expecting to be handcuffed.
The guard handed him a hood instead. "Cover your eyes. I expect no trouble from you."
The man by the door rested his hand on his holster.
"Sure." Danny pulled the hood over his head. As long as they took him closer to Mickmi, he'd be all cooperation.
∞
—Queen Lepantra.
Mickmi found herself rising from the depths of sleep. She did not move as she tested the heaviness of her limbs at rest, felt the cap of electrodes on her head, sensed the wires leading to the electroencephalograph, where a doctor sat jotting notes.
—Hear you me, my Queen?
A sliver of her Guardian's energy body hovered above her at a respectful distance.
—Blanc Aave.
—Forgive me for disturbing your rest. There is a matter we must discuss before I leave to attend to your Shield's family.
Mickmi suppressed the surge of alarm without flinching, but she could not stop it from registering on the oscillograph. She did not stir as the doctor jumped up and approached quietly to check on her.
—They are safe, my Queen—though still detained.
Concern followed the initial relief at the assurance. But before Mickmi could express it, the voice in her mind continued.
—I shall ensure the trauma is minimized.
—Thank you, Blanc Aave. Calmed, she could focus on other matters. What wish you to discuss?
—I believe you have not shared the cause of your augmentation with these people.
—Correct, Mickmi responded.
—That is wise. I suggest you keep the Nanites to yourself, my Queen. This society is not qualified to receive knowledge of such free-moving technology.
—I have mentioned we conduct surgical procedures with nano particles. But that is all.
—That is fine. I take my leave now. Rest well, my Queen.
Mickmi's eyes flickered open, swept around the ceiling and closed again as she sank back into deep sleep.
The dream replayed the memory in vivid detail as if she were living it for the first time. She recognized her self—but not as Mickmi. This was her original self, Mic Lepantra Wamba, ready to launch into another training session.
She stood in the middle of the vast, domed room that was not as large as it looked, her head covered by a sleek helmet. Her body was comfortably enclosed in a tight-fitting suit lined on the inside with very soft but firm plexifoam, designed to absorb kinetic energy if she fell or bumped against any hard object. It bore some semblance to the suits used by the ancient F-16 pilots.
"Amaltea. Wild Forest scenario."
The vessel's intrinsic intelligence's immediate response came from the space to her left, "Wild Forest scenario, aye."
The space filled with instant trees as far as she could see, huge trunks towering high above her head. A wide dirt pathway stretched before her, overgrown and cluttered with thick branches and heavy boulders. Between the branches overhead and the ground, a jungle of vines and brambles weaved a labyrinthine web, leaving very limited room to squeeze through.
This was one of Mic's favorite scenarios. Vines with sharp, poisonous prickles, trees full of thorns, and cracked rocks with jagged edges—all ready and waiting to tear and shred her body, were she to fall on them.
She stilled her breath. Were I to fall on them.
Slowly, she removed her helmet and placed it on the ground. Then her hands started pulling the locks on her protective gear.
"Mic Wamba, I strongly recommend you keep your helmet on at all times." The female voice grew in intensity as Mic loosened her belt and slid the suit off her shoulders. "I must insist you keep your helmet on at all times AND your gear securely in place at all times."
Without paying the voice any attention, Mic stooped to remove her soft boots and pushed the suit off her legs.
"I must warn you, Mic Wamba," Amaltea's tone became slightly hysterical, "if you don't secure the protective gear immediately, I will have no choice but to stop the trial!"
Mic, now only in her underwear, lifted her head to the simulated sunlight, felt it warm her bare skin. It was exhilarating.
"You know I need to do this," she said as she started her stretches.
"No, I know no such thing! The protective gear is mandatory whenever doing hazardous training, which possesses life-threatening risks." As if to emphasize her words, Amaltea's slightly plump motherly avatar appeared in front of Mic, dressed in her usual casual uniform.
"Of course it is mandatory," Mic responded calmly with her head touching her knee. "At first. After you excel, you need to test yourself. If there is no danger, how can you really be sure you are prepared to overcome it? You would just be deluding yourself."
Amaltea's stern visage did not waver. "You mean to tell me, the series of tests you have already overcome, qualify you to become a trainer, to decide what the best methods are to prepare you for your future role?"
"I am saying," Mic stretched to the other side, "I can do this scenario easily. I am saying, it has become too easy. What I need now is to test myself, to be really sure I am really able to overcome the obstacles—even if I am scared, fearful for my life, in conditions where any error will be very painful."
Mic straightened herself to lock eyes with Amaltea who had been her one steady companion, teacher, and friend since her fourth year day. It was not often the virtual woman appeared with a troubled expression on her face. Mic knew her dilemma. On one hand, as an artificial intelligence, she was programmed to follow commands given by certain authorities, as per her original protocol. On the other hand, her key functions were to protect Mic, the ship, and secondarily, the whole of humanity. She also was programmed as a caregiver, to help Mic personally. The situation was further complicated by the fact that Amaltea, being an AI, was not programmed the same way a computer was to follow its programming no matter what. She was supposed to adapt to mutable circumstances, to learn and evolve.
"Soon I must face my final test," Mic said, softening her voice. "I need to do this, Amaltea. I need to know I am as ready as possible. You tell me many times, it is not possible to be sure of what type of trials may await me in my future. So the better I am prepared, the better chance of success I will have."
The last sentence echoed in Mickmi's mind as she rose from the depths of sleep to consciousness with a long breath. The better chance of success I will have.
∞
"Is that him?" Dr. Kruger watched the figure pacing past the table in black-and-white. "He's just a boy."
"They just brought him over from S-4," replied the officer manning the security feeds. "That's all I know."
Kruger hummed as the ruffled-haired subject paused to look up into the camera feed with a troubled furrow on his brow. Must be in his early twenties.
The door to the security room opened and Lt. Loxley entered. "You were asking for me, Doctor Kruger?"
"Ah... yes, lieutenant," Kruger slipped off his lab coat. "Would you do me a favor? Would you pretend to be me and find out why that young man is asking for me? How does he know my name?"
"Uh..."
"I know it's an unusual request, but this is an unusual situation."
"Of course, doctor." Loxley took the lab coat with the name tag and pulled it on. "Anything specific you need me to ask?"
"Just why he is here... Though I suspect I know."
"Will do," Loxley responded and left.
Kruger returned to the pacing on the monitor. The boy completed three more laps before coming to a sudden halt at the sound of the door opening.
"Good morning," the lieutenant said, closing the door behind him. "I believe you were asking for me? I'm—"
"I asked for Doctor Kruger."
"I'm Doctor Kruger." Loxley indicated the name tag on the lab coat.
The boy leaned against the table, crossing his arms. "No, you're not. You don't look anything like him."
Loxley glanced at the camera, and Kruger chuckled, his curiosity peaked.
"You're a military officer or something," the boy continued. "I saw you."
Loxley unbuttoned the lab coat. "You're right, I'm not Doctor Kruger. But first things first: who are you and why do you want Doctor Kruger?"
The boy turned to look into the camera. "I want to know if Mickmi is okay. Queen Lepantra. Is she okay?"
"Sir, your name."
"Danny McGahn," the boy responded without paying Loxley any more mind. "Is – Queen Lepantra – okay?"
Kruger left the security room and met Lt. Loxley halfway along the corridor.
"The kid's not stupid," Loxley commented with a wry smile, returning the lab coat to the doctor.
"Indeed. What do you make of him?"
"Regular civvie. I doubt he's even had basic training."
"Yet he's here... Come with me, lieutenant."
∞
Just as Danny decided to sit down, the door opened again and two men entered, one older. He recognized both of them—the doctor and the officer who'd pretended to be the doctor. He jumped up. "Doctor Kruger, where's Queen Lepantra? Is she okay?"
"She's sleeping." Kruger sat on the edge of the table and faced him. "Would you mind explaining how you know who I am, young man?"
Danny sank down again and glanced at the officer who remained standing inside the closed door. He didn't seem armed. "I saw you. I saw him too. I saw what happened in that machine."
Kruger's bushy eyebrows rose. "You did, did you? You just arrived. You were nowhere near here. Yet you are so sure. Explain that."
"Well, I— I was sleeping and saw you running tests on Mickmi, with her lifting weights and throwing darts, and you made her drink that awful stuff... I don't know how I saw except that she made it possible. We're connected somehow."
"Connected? Are you from her planet?"
"No. No, I'm the one who found her when she... crash-landed. But," Danny decided he could tell this doctor most things, "somehow, it's like we're connected—like soulmates. She hears me, and she communicates with me. And I dreamed of watching you testing her, and it felt like I was really there."
"Fascinating. Have you been able to do that before?"
"Never."
"Is that something that runs in your family? Psychic abilities?"
"Huh? Psy— No... I don't think so." Danny furrowed his brow. Did Grandma? He couldn't remember.
The doctor sat silent a while, studying him with crinkled eyes. "Would you be willing to submit yourself to some tests? I'd like to measure this connection between you and Miss Wamba."
Danny leaned forward. "Not until I get to see that she's okay."
The ends of the mustache moved upwards in a grin as Kruger rose. "Well then, Mister McGahn. Please come with me."
The guard outside the door escorted the three to the security desk.
"I'll take it from here, thank you," Kruger said. "Thank you, Lieutenant Loxley."
"You're welcome, doctor." The officer suppressed a grin as he nodded in respect, and turned to follow the guard.
Kruger registered Danny, clipped a visitor's Level 3 security clearance badge on Danny's shirt pocket and told him to sign his name. A couple of corridors, security checks, and an elevator later, Danny found himself in an observation room further underground. A lab coat sat at the monitor console with a cup of coffee. Through the window, past another lab coat and a mobile console of dials and small screens, a bundle of wires lead to the figure on the narrow bed. A plain sheet covered the body to the chest, with arms resting at the sides. Hair protruded from under the cap, framing the still face.
"Anything interesting, Doctor Martin?" Kruger asked.
"Just the usual proportion of Alpha and Delta waves. Nothing abnormal."
Danny stared. He couldn't tell if she was breathing... She had to be breathing. A tap on his shoulder startled him.
"Come look here, Mister McGahn." Kruger indicated a TV screen showing a closer view of Mickmi. "Don't worry, she's fine."
It took a few seconds before the rise and fall of her abdomen reassured Danny. He drew a deep breath with her in relief.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked without taking his eyes off the monitor.
— ∞ —
©2018 by kemorgan65
A/N: Thank you Jorkam for Mickmi's flashback dream.