Robb's shoulders moved dismissively. "Jeff took a swing at me, but it wasn't too bad."
"Well, why don't we let the computers be the judge of that," he said.
Five minutes later, stripped down to his gym shorts, Robb met Collins in the tiny exercise room off the boys' gymnasium. Despite its small size, it was packed with a large variety of workout equipment, all of it attached by a series of cables to a small computer on a desk in one corner. Robb began a familiar routine of exercises, ones he'd performed hundreds of times before, quickly moving from one machine to the next. Here, his progress was monitored by the movement of the machines themselves, rather than of his own body. Though he knew the measurements taken were nowhere near as exact as the ones the machinery at Rocky Mountain High were capable of, it was still always interesting to see the results which came out on a series of graphs and charts the printer spewed forth at the end of each session.
Fifteen minutes later he was done, and a moment after that the printer came to life, chattering madly for nearly another full minute. At last Collins tore off the printout, studied it for a moment, then handed it to Robb. "Not bad," the coach commented. "But not really great, either."
Robb looked at the graphs and found that while he'd done as well as ever on most of the routines, his bench presses were off from his norm, as were his leg lifts. The vague ache in his jaw, where Jeff's fist had connected with him the night before, told him what the problem was. He looked up at the coach, who was already scribbling a note on a pad of paper.
"This'll get you out of classes for the rest of the day," Collins told him. "I want you to go out to the center and let Ames look you over. If you're going to play tomorrow, you've got to be in top condition."
Grinning happily, Robb Harris returned to his locker, dressed, and headed to the bike rack behind the gym.
"What's this all about?" Mark asked from the backseat of one of the station wagons. There were orderlies on both sides of him, and though his chest ached a little, the pain wasn't really too bad. But he felt crowded, and wondered why both the orderlies had gotten into the car with him. The other station wagon, ahead of them, was occupied only by its driver.
"Your dad just wants me to have a look at you, that's all," Dr. Ames told him from the front seat.
"But why?" Mark pressed. He'd been trying to get a straight answer out of Ames since the doctor had first come into his room half an hour after his mother had left. He'd introduced himself and told him he was being transferred to Rocky Mountain High. It still didn't make any sense to Mark-Dr.MacCallum had said he'd be able to go home tomorrow morning.
"I think your dad wants me to recommend some exercises for you," Ames told him now. "And I have a vitamin complex that might help you get over your growth problem."
Mark frowned. His father hadn't said anything to him about it at all. "When did he come up with that?" he asked. And then, of course, he knew. Last night, after the fight, when he hadn't even been able to run away from JeffLaConner. Still, if his folks had decided to send him out to the sports center, why hadn't his mother told him about it? His eyes fixed on the back of Ames's head. "Does my mom know about this?"
As if feeling Mark's eyes on him, Ames turned around to give the boy a friendly smile. "Your dad, as I understand it, would like you to be able to defend yourself, and I assume your mother feels the same way. And since I understand you've started exercising on your own," he added dryly, "I'm also assuming you're getting a little tired of being the smallest kid on the block, too."
Almost in spite of himself, Mark found himself laughing. He had to admit it was true-well, he didn't have to admit it to Dr. Ames, but he'd already admitted it to himself. And his dad must have figured it out, too, even though he'd tried not to make a big deal out of what he was doing.
He leaned back in the seat then, and tried to relax, but still felt crowded by the two orderlies on either side of him. It was almost like they were taking him to prison, he suddenly thought, and were afraid he might try to escape.
When they came to the high gates protecting Rocky Mountain High from the rest of the valley, the image of a prison grew stronger in his mind. "What is this?" he asked. "A sports center or some kind of concentration camp?"
He heard Ames chuckle in the front seat. "Actually, it does look sort of like a prison, doesn't it?" he heard the doctor say. "But it's to keep people out, not in. We have a lot of valuable equipment out here and a lot of programs we'd just as soon not let anybody else in on." He turned and winked at Mark then, and Mark thought he understood. It was likeTarrenTech, and all the other companies in Silicon Valley that spent half their time trying to keep their new ideas from being stolen and the other half trying to steal everybody else's stuff. To him the whole thing had always seemed kind of dumb. After all, everybody eventually found out what everyone else was doing anyway, didn't they?
The gates swung open and Mark gazed curiously at the big building that housed the center. It looked nice-like a lodge, not a hospital. Then he remembered what Robb Harris had told him about it.
"How many kids come here in the summer?" he asked.
"Almost fifty this year," Ames replied, grinning at him.
"Of course, we don't give them the full benefit of everything we know. If we did, the home team might get some competition." He paused, gazing speculatively at Mark. "You interested in football?"
Mark shook his head. "Not really," he admitted. "In fact, I've always thought it was kind of stupid." The car he was in passed the front of the building and drove toward the rear while the other car pulled up near the main entrance. "Where are we going?"
"Around in back," Ames replied. "We'll go in through the garage." A few seconds later the car pulled up to a pair of imposing metal doors, then the doors swung slowly upward. As soon as they were open, they drove inside. The doors closed behind them with a heavy metallic clang.
"Here we are," Ames told him. One of the orderlies slid out of the backseat and held the door open for Mark. He followed the orderly through a door and then down a hall, turning finally into a treatment room very much like the one Dr.MacCallum had examined him in the night before.
Except that in this room there were heavy straps made of thick webbing attached to the examining table.
Mark frowned at the straps, and suddenly recalled the strange marks he'd seen on JeffLaConner's wrists the morning after he'd spent the night here.
"Wh-What are those?" Mark asked, his voice betraying the fear that had begun to play once more around the edges of his mind.
"Nothing to worry about," Ames told him. "Just take off your clothes and put on this," he went on, handing Mark a pale green hospital gown.
"Why?" Mark demanded. "You already know what's wrong with me, don't you? I just got beat up. I'm not sick."
Ames's voice hardened. "Just do what you're told, Mark. We're not going to hurt you. All we're going to do is help you."
Mark's eyes flicked toward the door, but one of the orderlies was blocking it, his eyes fixed on Mark as if he knew what he was thinking. Mark hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding.
Then he reminded himself that it was his father who had sent him here. So whatever this was all about, it had to be okay, didn't it? Still, his nervousness only increased as he slowly took off his clothes and put on the hospital gown.