Several more days had passed since my last so-called antivaccination session. My cells had completely devoured, broken down, and repurposed every single Earth pathogen Selina had managed to pull from the stockpiles of laboratories around the world, including cancer markers. The balance sheet of my health had now been pushed into an absolute, untouchable surplus. Even if someone deliberately pumped some concentrated Cold War era nightmare straight into my veins, my body would probably just shrug and write it off as operational waste.
At this point, I was simply serving out the mandatory quarantine period, enjoying some well-earned idleness in my sterile little cell. I had already studied Selina’s xenobiology files inside and out, so out of sheer boredom I had switched over to the media library. Too bad my brilliant researcher had not thought to load a few ten-season TV shows onto the hard drive. Endless background viewing worked far better with series than feature films.
The airtight door hissed open as usual.
“All biological safety protocols’ve been completed. Quarantine’s officially over,” Selina announced as she stepped inside. This time she was not wearing her bulky protective suit, only her usual white lab coat. “Congratulations, Tom. You can finally return to the barracks and reunite with your beloved teenagers. But why don’t I see joy on your face?”
“I’m speechless from the overwhelming happiness,” I drawled dryly, settling more comfortably into my chair.
There was a very distinct spark of mischief dancing in her eyes. Apparently, she had not forgotten my earlier jabs about her self-admiration and had decided to get even by weaponizing my inevitable return to daycare. Fine by me. At least it was entertaining.
“You’ll be leaving this dreary, isolated place,” Selina continued with exaggerated sympathy, carefully watching my expression. “Every morning, you’ll obediently sit through lectures and listen to material you already understand better than half the instructors here. And every evening in the barracks, you’ll get to enjoy the thrilling emotional dramas of your underage fellow cadets and their tragic school memories. Isn’t that the ultimate dream?”
“For the privilege of attending Professor Langstrom’s lectures, I’m willing to endure even that.”
“Flatterer.” Selina crossed her arms theatrically, putting up a mental wall, though the right corner of her lips twitched almost imperceptibly. “Get moving, Tom. You’ll need to hurry if you don’t want to be late for your S-Armor piloting class.”
I skeptically glanced around my sterile kennel. There was absolutely nothing here worth taking with me. The laptop was government property with a locked-down security system, and there was no slipping a floor-mounted shower or toilet into my pocket. My entire collection of worldly possessions consisted of the military clothes I was already wearing.
“Since the order to move out’s been given, let’s go.” Selina spun sharply on her heels, clearly intending to get the last word and deny me the chance for a comeback.
“Why do I even need to return to the regular program?” My calm question made her stop right at the doorway. She turned back toward me. “Objectively speaking, I’ve already outgrown the Corps’ standard curriculum. It’d be more logical and efficient to spend my time on something actually useful for our operation.”
“Such as?” She adjusted her glasses with one finger, and that dangerous gleam of pure scientific excitement flashed in her eyes again.
“We’ve already closed the books on viruses. The accounting’s balanced there.” I tilted my head conspiratorially. “But what about organic poisons, toxins, or heavy radiation exposure? We could also work on optimizing the gastrointestinal tract. History records cases of people digesting iron nails without harming themselves. Why not level up that skill too, if the system allows it?”
“You’re quoting my own research notes on the theoretical potential of your ability.” Selina rolled her eyes, though satisfaction crept into her voice.
“Good ideas’re worth using no matter who came up with them.”
“Flatterer,” she repeated, colder this time, though she still failed to suppress the fleeting smile. “Fine. I’ll admit I was already ahead of you. Here.”
She slipped a hand into the deep pocket of her coat and pulled out a small dark glass medicine bottle filled with cloudy liquid.
“What kind of cocktail’s this?” I caught the vial, turned it between my fingers, and held it up to the light.
“Belladonna concentrate. Classic atropine. I decided to start with basic Earth-based organic compounds to test the threshold of your toxic adaptation. Drink it, poison yourself, increase your resistance.”
“Which leads me to conclude that my stay in this lovely box’s been extended?”
“Actually, no,” Selina cut me off. “Colonel Simpson’s already looking at my lab like it’s violating the sacred military code. It deeply unsettles him that a fully functional cadet’s lounging around in a sterile zone instead of sweating on the training field with everyone else. Typical army mentality.” She snorted dismissively, clearly holding little respect for the local brass. “Besides, unlike Marburg, poisons aren’t airborne. So there’s no reason to keep you in isolation anymore. I’ll give you doses throughout the day as needed. The protocol’s simple: you come to me, drink the test sample under my direct supervision, return the container, and go back to your normal activities. That rule’s non-negotiable.”
“I understand. Command reasonably suspects I might accidentally slip your belladonna into the orange juice of the academy’s priceless cadets.” I smirked crookedly, unscrewed the cap, and drained the bitter, astringent liquid in one swallow.
For the next five minutes, I sat silently in the chair, patiently waiting through the familiar internal restructuring. The sensations were not much different from the viral sessions: a brief spasm at the base of my skull, dryness in my throat, and then the familiar wave of warmth signaling that my liver and hematopoietic system had rapidly rewritten their operating parameters to accommodate the new substance.
“Process complete. I’m ready.” I stood and carefully placed the empty vial directly in front of her.
We stepped outside the medical block. Dense, dry midday heat immediately wrapped around us. I took a deep breath, catching the faint wind drifting from the training grounds. After a week surrounded by sterile air-conditioned plastic, the outside air felt unbelievably alive.
“Now I finally see a smile on your face, Tom,” Selina remarked as she walked beside me along the concrete path. “Though I still fail to understand the logic behind your emotions. I thought you were a dedicated shut-in.”
“I’m an introvert, Selina, not agoraphobic,” I corrected her mildly, looking down at her. “There’s a fundamental difference. Introversion just means noisy crowds and meaningless conversations with strangers drain my internal batteries quickly. It doesn’t stop me from appreciating sunlight, green grass, and actual fresh air. Strange that a woman with your IQ confuses those psychological markers.”
“That was sarcasm, you pedantic ass.” She arrogantly lifted her chin, quickened her pace, and moved slightly ahead of me, making it clear the discussion was over.
“Oh, so we’re already at the stage of the relationship where we exchange insults?” I raised an eyebrow slightly without slowing down.
“Possibly,” she replied evasively, staring straight ahead.
One of the corporate psychology books I used to skim back when I was still handling contracts claimed that a few hours spent together in an informal, stressful, or isolated environment could bring people closer than a thousand hours of rigid office etiquette ever would.
Honestly, that unofficial bridge was probably worth maintaining and strengthening. And it was not just because having a good relationship with the Corps’ leading specialist came with obvious advantages. This arrogant, science-obsessed woman was genuinely interesting to talk to, which was a rare quality among the people here.
“What about you?” I caught up with her while our boots tapped out a steady rhythm against the concrete walkway. “Do you still keep in touch with anyone from your Corps class?”
“No, of course not,” she shot back instantly, without the slightest hesitation, as if I’d suggested she go socialize with the tent-city junkies outside Portland.
“And you don’t even feel curious about how their lives turned out? Half of them might already be worm food by now.”
“And what exactly am I supposed to do with the stamps on their death certificates?” Selina stopped abruptly and tilted her head to the side with a subtle, feline grace as she studied me through her lenses. “You think I should waste my time visiting their graves, ordering wreaths, and squeezing out dramatic tears? For what, Tom? For a bunch of sniveling mediocrities fate forced me to share a classroom with for one miserable month of my life?”
“And somehow you still find time to mock my modest introversion.” I allowed myself a faint smirk. “Compared to you, I look downright sociable.”
“I don’t hate humanity,” she said, turning away and resuming her pace. “That’s far too energy-intensive of an emotion. I just don’t see any commercial or practical value in maintaining relationships with people who serve no useful purpose in my life.”
“So if I’m understanding this correctly, the Rogers family’s permanently secured a spot on your approved list of useful people?”
“What?” Selina stopped again, this time giving me a heavy, evaluating look. “How’d you arrive at that bizarre conclusion?”
“Mary called you Aunt Selina.”
“That little brat,” she clicked her tongue irritably, and a faint blush of annoyance colored her pale cheeks. “I’m not related to her, and I was never part of the Rogers family’s social circle.”
“Then where’d that familiarity come from?”
“No idea. Maybe the girl just wanted to make herself sound important. Standard teenage insecurity.” Selina waved a dismissive hand and quickened her pace. “I did visit the Rogers estate a long time ago, but it was strictly for research purposes.”
“Now that part deserves more detail. The accountant in me appreciates specifics.”
“Tom, you’re fully aware that if I start spilling details about my cadets’ family lives, it’d be a direct violation of professional ethics.”
“Ethics are flexible. It’s not like we’re talking about classified state secrets sworn under oath,” I countered calmly, matching her pace without effort. “I’m just interested in the cause-and-effect chain.”
“And that’s completely unrelated to the fact that you used to be close friends with her mother when you were little?” Selina narrowed her eyes slyly.
I immediately noticed my pulse spike. Busted.
“Fine, there’s really no great mystery here,” she finally relented. “Mary’s case is an extremely rare deviation. Her abilities awakened far earlier than the biological norm. At four years old.”
“What a remarkable coincidence.”
“What coincidence exactly?”
“It sounds too contrived. You’ll probably dismiss it as useless noise anyway.”
“Tom, let me remind you that I’m a scientist, not some mid-level office drone,” she said with pointed emphasis. “There’s no such thing as ‘useless noise’ in my methodology. Every hypothesis deserves preliminary analysis.”
“Fair enough.” I sighed internally, fully aware I was stepping onto unstable ground myself. “I just compared two opposite extremes. My case was an abnormally late awakening. Mary’s was an abnormally early one. And both extremes somehow connect back to the same point on the map. Megan.”
“And that’s the full extent of your profound analysis?”
“That’s the full extent.”
“That’s not noise, Tom,” Selina sighed, and this time genuine disappointment crept into her voice. “It’s just the standard human tendency to look for patterns where none exist. Sometimes lightning strikes the same tree twice, but that doesn’t turn the tree into a superconductor.”
“Like I said, pointless speculation.” I calmly dropped the subject, unwilling to waste time on an argument that’d go nowhere. “Is Mary’s theoretical foundation so weak because you personally explained all the limits and possibilities of her abilities to her when she was a kid?”
“That part’s fairly obvious.” Selina adjusted the arm of her glasses, confirming my assumption.
“And one more thing. Eight years ago, the only reason Mary didn’t get dragged into a Corps camp was because federal law prohibits drafting small children, right?”
“Maybe there’s some legal restriction about that. I’m not a lawyer, so I couldn’t care less,” Selina replied after a brief pause. “Besides, her case is unique enough that nobody’s writing laws around it. But I do know for a fact that Crowley personally accommodated Megan by arranging a special draft deferment for her daughter.”
“I doubt a general hands out favors for pretty eyes alone.”
“Trust me, Tom, there’s no shortage of pretty eyes wandering through those offices, and some of them’re attached to women far more striking,” she said, suddenly fixing me with a direct look. Her large blue eyes, magnified by her lenses, looked almost unnaturally huge now, strangely mesmerizing. “Megan isn’t just an officer. She’s the Corps’ crown jewel. The people at the top owe her a great deal.”
“Care to elaborate on the nature of that debt?”
“Absolutely not. That information’s buried under a very serious classification level. But I’ll tell you this much: her influence inside the Corps was strong enough to pull someone of my caliber out of active laboratory work and send me to her mansion as an absurdly expensive elite nurse hired to examine a child.”
Selina fell silent. The tension in her back and the tightness of her lips radiated a deep, long-standing resentment toward administrative interference. I decided pushing that topic any further would be tactically unwise, so we spent the rest of the walk in a heavy but perfectly functional silence.
She headed toward the main academic building while I made my way toward the men’s barracks at an unhurried pace. I needed to change clothes before the S-Armor piloting class.
Ted was already waiting for me on the front steps, leaning against the doorframe with one shoulder. The second he spotted me, his full attention locked on.
“Welcome back, Tom! Looks like you didn’t waste your time in there!” He grinned broadly and conspiratorially pressed the tips of his index fingers together. “So, uh... I kinda saw you walking around with Langstrom earlier... You guys’re, like... dating or something?”
Mentally, I rubbed the bridge of my nose.
Ah yes. The exact kind of deeply intellectual teenage conversation I had supposedly missed so much.