CHAPTER 13
Jasper Rowan was pleased.
Not only had T-89 survived the procedure, he was showing signs of advanced evolution: not one extraordinary ability, but two. T-89 was proof that his methods worked. As a side benefit, the current appeared to have stabilized his psychosis as well. He no longer suffered from seizures, blackouts, or suicidal tendencies.
Of course, these new gifts meant Rowan could no longer safely enter the cell with him. T-89 would very much like to kill him. His aggression had focused outward, lighting reasonably on the man he saw as responsible for his personal woes. It was not, in fact, an inaccurate assessment. That didn’t mean Rowan intended to let T-89 have his way.
Before starting the session, he recorded some notes on the man’s physical appearance. Subject appears to show complete recovery. Cognitive functions restored; mood swings stabilized. Eyes are clear; skin shows no signs of lesions. Muscle mass appears to have increased by as much as 15 percent. Subject is approximately thirty years of age, retrieved from Minneapolis four years ago. Participation in the Pine Grove program yielded unsatisfactory results; therefore, I initiated another treatment, details outlined elsewhere.
He tapped the intercom. “Are you ready to begin?”
“Fuck off.”
The hostility was new, an intriguing development. Before, the subject displayed only despair. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I’ll give you one more chance.”
T-89 got to his feet and came over to the mirrored glass that permitted Rowan to see into his cell. Deliberately, he rotated his right hand and extended the middle finger. “I said, ‘Fuck off.’ Or don’t you speak English, asshole?”
“This recalcitrance benefits no one,” Rowan said reasonably. “And only you will suffer for it.”
“I figure that’s not true. You want me to perform my tricks for you. You need to document what I can do. So you’re not going to torture me in ways that will do me permanent harm. You’re certainly not going to kill me. The way I hear it, you treat Miracle Girl like a fucking queen. So go on, make my life miserable, I dare you.”
“Who’s been talking to you?” Rowan demanded.
And about Gillie, too. The nursing staff and orderlies had express instructions not to gossip with the test subjects. Talk encouraged fraternization, and there was no telling where it might lead. Pretty soon Rowan would have a mutiny on his hands. He couldn’t permit that, not with so much at stake.
T-89 smirked at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Rowan clenched his teeth and reminded himself that anger was a totally unproductive emotion. “Very well.” He left the intercom on as he contacted the charge nurse. “Subject T-89 is not to be offered any refreshment until he decides to cooperate. Is that clear?”
She responded, “Perfectly, Dr. Rowan. I’ll make a note in his file.”
The subject scoffed. “You really think starving me will have any effect, after all this? Face it, Doc. You’re going to have to offer me some incentive.”
“We’ll see how you feel after fasting for a few days,” Rowan said. “I’m sure you’ll realize you’re being obdurate for no good reason.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“I’m in control now. I have something you want. So you’d better start looking for positive reinforcement, or maybe I’ll never choose to cooperate with your fucked-up agenda. Maybe I want you to stop feeding me. Maybe I intend to starve myself to death because I know it’s the only way I’ll ever leave this place.” T-89 flattened his palm on the mirror, eerily close. It was as if he could see where Rowan was standing. “You can’t afford to lose me, Doc. So far, Miracle Girl is the best thing your lab has produced, and you know how it is with big business.”
Rowan didn’t like the way this test subject was thinking-that he was in control. And yet he was fundamentally correct on several points. This was going to become extremely irritating. But very well, he could prove himself a rational man.
“I take your point. What do you want from me?”
“I want walking-around time. I refuse to spend my life locked in a cell like a primate, regardless of what you’ve done to me. But that’s not all.”
Rowan wished he could simply force compliance via the right combination of drugs, but he’d already discovered that strong sedatives neutralized T-89’s abilities. If he was drugged, he couldn’t participate in the experiment, which rendered him worthless, just another mouth to feed.
“What more do you want?” he asked with exaggerated patience. “A mariachi band?”
T-89 smiled. “Something you’ll hate even more.”
“I have work to do. Make your demands known.”
“All right. I want an hour a day with Miracle Girl.”
Anger filled his brain with blood; Rowan’s hands curled into fists. Refusal trembled on the tip of his tongue. She was his, and he’d never been good at sharing. He liked knowing she never spoke to anyone but him. Sometimes Rowan imagined how he must fill her fantasies. More than once, he’d pictured her in bed, fingers inside her panties while she relived their conversations. He’d studied the video footage a few times before realizing she must confine her self-exploration to the greater privacy of the bathroom. He approved of such modesty, even as a small part of him wished he could watch her pleasure.
He forced himself to be logical. “And if I meet your terms, you’ll cooperate fully in the tests?”
T-89 crossed to the cot in his cell and fell back on it, folding his arms behind him. “You bet. Give me what I want, and I’ll light this place up like the Fourth of July. You can film it, and I’ll smile pretty for the camera.”
“Then I’ll agree provisionally,” Rowan said coldly. “You’ll be sedated before we allow you out of that cell. I can’t have you turning your abilities on my personnel.”
“Are you saying my word’s no good, Doc? I’m crushed.” T-89’s words took on a mocking edge.
Rowan ignored that, but couldn’t help asking, “Why do you want to see her?”
“Word on the ward is: she’s smoking hot. A tight little redhead with a killer ass. I figure she’ll be so grateful to see a new face that she’ll be riding my pole in under a month. What do you think, Doc? Will she put out?”
He fought a wave of fury so primitive it all but blinded him. “If you touch her, I will have you killed. Don’t overestimate your importance. You might be my first success, but I took good notes. I can repeat the procedure. I have plenty of meat in the cells, and every one of them is just like you.”
“Hit a nerve? Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’re the crazy butcher who keeps her in his dungeon. She’s never going to show you her titties and beg you for cock.”
Rowan trembled because the other man’s words summoned such a powerful picture. He had envisioned it so many times-she’d be waiting naked when he slipped into her apartment. She’d beg him for sexual initiation.
His penis stirred, hardening at the mere idea of Gillie’s virgin blood. Could sex with her heal the sick as well? He’d wondered, but he had never brought it up to the board because they would auction her virginity off to the highest bidder, some syphilitic old husk. Rowan would never let anyone else touch her.
“Perhaps not,” he said tightly, “but your life is in my hands. I recommend you show a modicum of self-preservation and refrain from provoking me.”
“Ah.” There was a wealth of satisfaction in T-89’s voice. “So you admit I’m right. Good of you. That’s ammunition.”
Belatedly, Rowan realized he’d shown weakness, not advisable with an enemy who wasn’t exactly human. He couldn’t let the man provoke him further. Rowan released a lever, sending a flood of gas into the cell. The man struggled at first, eyes bulging as he realized he was losing control of his motor functions and his intimidating abilities. Then Rowan tapped the intercom button that connected him to the charge nurse while leaving the one to the cell live. “Nurse, send Silas to discipline subject T-89.”