Countdown

We both looked at him blankly.

He cleared his throat. "Rogan, would you mind giving us a few moments alone?"

Rogan's expression tensed. "I'd rather stay here."

Jonathan's smile grew. "To protect her from me?"

"Maybe."

"Trust me, that won't be necessary." He paused. "I really would prefer you leave of your own free will because I asked nicely, Rogan. If not, then there are other methods I can use to remove you from the room."

The silent white-clad men stood at the doorway with their arms crossed.

"It's okay." I touched his arm to find that it was tensely corded muscle.

He met my gaze and nodded once, then rose from the side of the bed and, with a last look at Jonathan, one edged with warning, he brushed past the men.

With a nod from Jonathan, they, too, left the room, closing the door behind them.

We were alone.

"Who are you?" I asked after a moment had gone by.

"We already met earlier. Jonathan, remember?"

I rolled my eyes. "I remember vividly everything that's happened. Consider it all burned into my brain forever, but it still doesn't explain a damn thing."

The smile still played on his lips, and I was finding it annoying, to say the least.

"What's so funny?" I demanded.

"You are, Kira."

"Is that so?" I straightened up in the bed, my fists unconsciously curling tightly beside me.

"Don't take it as an insult. I mean it as a compliment." The smile faded around the edges and I noticed that it didn't include his eyes. They were very serious. "Most normal women would not have lasted as long as you have in The Countdown. When you were chosen to play I had my doubts, but they are dissipating with every passing level."

"Normal women?"

He spread his hands. "We've had men play, exclusively. Criminals who are accustomed to a life of struggle and violence, whom no one would miss should they be … unsuccessful. Some rise to the challenge and others crumble under the pressure to perform or face the consequences of failure. We've never had a female competitor before."

"Why was I the lucky chosen one? I'm sure there're a lot of women in prison who would have jumped at the chance to come on this reality TV show from hell."

"Is that what you think this is? A reality TV show?"

"Isn't it?"

"This competition may bear a slight resemblance to the television programs available decades ago, but that was then and this is now. The Countdown is nothing like those innocent survival games."

I glared at him. "Yeah, Rogan was telling me something about 'elimination' meaning death. And that robot guy put a bullet in my leg to prove it."

He looked down at the white sheet that covered me from my chest down. "How is your leg? May I see?"

"No, you may not."

He let out a long breath. "I know you don't trust me, Kira-"

"Oh, should I trust you? As far as I can tell you're just one of the bastards who put me and Rogan in this situation in the first place."

"You include Rogan. Have you come to care for his safety as well as your own?"

I slunk down in the bed. "That's none of your business."

"It is curious to me how a vibrant young woman like yourself would so quickly come to care for someone like Rogan. You are aware of what he was in prison for, aren't you?"

I frowned at him. "'Crimes that I'd never forgive anyone for."

"Yes, given your history and what happened to your family, I can sec that. But you care for him anyhow. And why is that?"

"Because he's innocent."

"Are you so sure of that?"

"I'm sure."

"Did you use your psi ability on him? Your ability to connect empathically with another?"

I went very cold and still at his words. Nobody knew about my flex. Nobody.

He waved a hand. "Don't be alarmed. It isn't common knowledge. In fact, I am one of the very few connected with The Countdown who know of your hidden talents."

"How did you-"

"How did I know? We know everything. All doctors keep very special records on their patients. A large percentage of female children born after the plague are psychically gifted."

"A large percentage?" I asked. This was the first I'd ever heard of this.

He nodded. "Your abilities are marked down as low-level, which typically would not cause much of an interest from the scientific community." He walked toward the small window overlooking another gray building. "Many of the other girls with high-level psi powers were taken to Offworld as soon as they were discovered so they could grow up in a much more stable environment. Those with the low-level abilities such as yourself were mostly ignored. But it is still in your markup-your DNA profile. I thought your abilities might help you along in the game in some small way. I may have been wrong. He doesn't believe it makes any difference at all."

There was no smile on his face anymore as he turned from the window to look at me again.

I struggled to sit higher up in the bed. "Who are you talking about?"

"Gareth. The producer of The Countdown. He is pleased with your showing so far but doesn't feel that your psi abilities have anything to do with your success. Our subscribers are also very happy. We've had a 20 percent increase in viewing time since your game began. And the more they view, the longer they use their implants, and the more they pay."

I tried to process everything he'd told me. If my doctor had written in my profile that I had psi abilities, did that mean my parents knew? They'd never discussed it with me. It had been a total and complete surprise one day when I was sixteen and I happened to tap into it quite by accident when I touched somebody. It had hurt so badly that I hadn't attempted it again for six months.

There was no reason Jonathan had to share all of this with me. All he had to do was patch me up and let me get back to the game, but I swear I saw concern in his gaze as he looked at me.

I felt an unbidden tear slip down my right cheek. "Jonathan, you have to help me. Help us. I don't want to die."

He nodded grimly. "I know you don't." He took in a deep breath and let it out. "Please, Kira, let me see your leg."

I shook my head.

He rolled up his right sleeve and thrust his forearm at me. 'Touch me. Use your ability if you don't trust me. See that I mean you no harm."

I studied him for a full minute before I decided to do as he said. I touched the skin of his arm just below his elbow, pressing my fingers against his flesh. I could feel his quick but steady pulse.

I closed my eyes and tried to push out all other thoughts from my mind. This took a couple of minutes, since my mind was currently rather full.

And then I flexed.

The images and sensations came to me in flashes. Nothing coherent or totally understandable. It wasn't home movies of the mind. Just flashes. Words. Thoughts.

:::::::::Tired

Angry:::::::::

:::::::::Determined

Sincere:::::::::

:::::::::Sad

Hopefuclass="underline" ::::::::

:::::::::Guilty

A wash of goodness swept over me. Sadness. Angst and despair. A good man forced to do things he didn't agree with. Someone who wanted to help to make things better.

Then a spear of pain lanced through my head and I let go of him, pressing my palms against the sides of my head.

Agony.

Par for the course. One of the reasons I tried to use my flex as little as possible.

After a moment I felt a cold cloth on my forehead and opened my eyes slowly. The fluorescent lights above now seemed too bright, and I squinted. Jonathan held a wet towel against my forehead. He stared at me with wide eyes.