Generation-9
895 Words
LYING ON HER BACK IN her bunk, her arm over her face, Jas groaned quietly to herself. The mental health assessment hadn’t gone well. In fact, it’d gone very badly. She could have sworn that Sparks had been deliberately, subtly antagonizing, but also, just maybe, she’d let her emotions get the better of her.
Her memory of the encounter was painfully clear.
He didn’t believe her. Despite all her explanations about how the records of her conception were lost, how she’d spent her first few years in a government institution on Mars, how she’d never wanted to have herself tested, she could tell from his expression that he thought she was a natural, and she was lying to cover up the fact.
He gave her a patronizing look, rested a hand on her knee, and said, “You don’t need to say any more. I understand your caution, but it isn’t as if you can help it, is it? We can’t choose our parents, after all, nor their economic situation. Don’t worry. As I said, the answers you give are completely confidential.” He leaned closer. “I won’t tell a soul.”
The force with which Jas knocked his hand away was a little too strong, because Sparks fell forward and toppled to the floor. As he got to his feet, his practiced mask of serene benevolence broke for a moment. He scowled before regaining his composure. He straightened his tunic and resumed his seat. Raising a hand, he said, “I understand this is a difficult subject for you. No need to apologize.”
Jas hadn’t been about to apologize. “I’ve told you as much as I know about my genetic status, okay? I’ll answer the rest of the questions.” She pressed the fingerprint scanner on the interface screen. Her name flashed up as the device registered her identity. She skimmed the questions. Did she ever wish to harm herself or others? She threw a hooded glance at Sparks as she pressed no. Did she ever feel restless, agitated, tense, or frantic? Only when confined to her cabin for three days. No.
It was standard, obvious stuff. Anyone with half a brain could fake their answers to make it appear they were functioning normally. Jas answered as she thought someone who wasn’t mentally ill would answer, with one or two slightly questionable responses just in case the test was set up to identify fakers. Most of her answers were true anyway.
She handed the interface back to Sparks. “Don’t you have a brain scan for this kind of thing these days?”
“Not yet, though I believe they’re working on it. But we do have a physical assessment. The physician interprets the results.”
“What?” Jas scooted back a little on her bunk. Sparks was going to examine her? And it was up to him to say if she passed? It was game over. The man couldn’t tell the difference between the thermatic plague of K.76309c and the common cold, and even if he were competent, there was no way he would clear her as mentally fit now that he thought she was a natural.
“Can I refuse?”
Sparks smiled. “Who in their right mind would refuse?”
Jas grimaced and turned onto her side as she recalled what happened next. Sparks had shone a small flashlight in her eyes and tracked her eye movement. He’d tested her reflexes and made her go through a set of physical exercises. She’d grown gradually angrier. What he was asking her to do was ridiculous. She’d suspected he was making it all up. Playing with her. Finally, she’d lost her temper.
“I’m not taking any more of this. Get out.”
The doctor was in the middle of keying his findings into his interface. He looked up. “What?”
“You aren’t going to pass me no matter what I do, are you? Get out of my cabin.”
Sparks looked amused. “I appear to have upset you.” He brought his hands together as if in prayer. “I’m so sorry.” A slight smirk appeared on his lips.
The smirk had been the final straw. She’d grabbed him, opened her door, and pushed him into the corridor.
Jas shook her head. She was an i***t. If she’d just played ball, if she’d just lied and said she was modded, she might have been back on duty the next day. Finding out what it was on that planet should have been her focus. She shouldn’t have let that obsequious, two-faced bigot get to her.
She sighed and her arm fell to her side. Opening her eyes, she gazed, unseeing, at the low ceiling. How was she going to protect the crew? She had to do something, but what? She had to get out of her cabin, for a start. She couldn’t do anything trapped in there.
She turned on her bunk screen to check the time. It was the quiet shift. Most of the crew would be asleep. She might be able to get around the ship without being seen if she were careful. But where to go? The answer was obvious. The danger was on the planet. If she could get down there and continue her investigations, she might find something concrete she could show the master; if she displayed the evidence in front of the other officers—something he couldn’t ignore—he would be forced to act.
There was only one way to get planetside. She removed her comm button, which contained a tracer, and placed it on her bunk.
***
- Writer
