xp_logs | Fiddler's Green: Worse News

Jean fills Nathan in on the revelations from Brazil, as Angelo tries to get the kids to eat.

"Jean?" Nathan took a step into her infirmary office as if he was trying to convince himself that yes, he wanted to come in and face the firing squad. His posture fairly screamed anxiety, and he was a shade or two paler than he should have been. "Why are there four very quiet kids with familiar-shaped minds in your infirmary? I didn't know you were coming back from Brazil with strays..."

"That's because we didn't know, either." Jean definitely looked strained, her normally excellent posture completely shot as she had poured over documents spread out on her desk, but now that Nathan was there she straightened up, waving him towards one of the chairs opposite. "They were why Machado called us. Well, them and a few other things. The kids were rescued from Tagytos a year ago and she was hiding them, but that's no longer an option."

Nathan sank into the chair, his hands closing around the arms, going white-knuckled. "Jean," he said, and waited until she looked up at him. "I'm not using the Trojan Horse on them. They're not violent, they're not a threat-"

"What?" Jean cut him off, eyes widening in shock. "No, Nathan, no! That is not..." She stopped, took a deep breath, and then continued. "No, Nathan. That is not it. Their conditioning was never completed and Charles will be able to handle any deprogramming, if he decides that is what is necessary. We wouldn't ask that of you," she added, voice soft.

Nathan stared at her for a moment, the trapped look in his gray eyes fading slowly. He managed a faint, weak smile that flickered and died almost as soon as it took shape. The lack of any semi-witty defensive comment in response to Jean's reassurance was telling. He seemed to finally notice the documents on her desk.

"... that's related," he said. It wasn't a question. "She sent them with paperwork?"

"In a way," Jean said, sighing. "The man who got the kids out brought these out as well. They're fairly comprehensive and it includes... Nathan, whoever's behind Taygetos thinks they're ready to start a breeding and training program to get themselves more telepathic handlers."

Nathan went white, leaning back into his chair as if he was trying to draw away from Jean's words physically. "... it was always the one thing Mistra avoided," he said faintly. "Telepathic operatives. They were afraid of not being able to control us. That's why they half-trained me, and probably why they separated Carly..."

"But if they start from the beginning," Jean said, then swallowed, anguish clear on her face. "Conditioning as soon as the mind is clear enough to sense, before there are defenses, before there is any awareness... Their outline is... explicit." And after she'd read them she'd had to go out to the quarry for a good long while because she couldn't set the rocks on fire and no one would care if there were more of them and they were smaller than they'd been.

Nathan's expression - crumpled, there was no other way to put it. He bowed his head for a moment, his shoulders shaking, and when he looked up again, the neutral mask was there, if rather broken around the edges. "The more we find out, the worse it gets," he said softly.

"I know," Jean said, and the anguish was just as obvious in her tone. "But... there are four kids out there who are safe. They're out and we can help them. Try... try to think about that."

Nathan swallowed, then inclined his head jerkily at the documents. "Tell me about the rest of it," he said.

In response Jean picked up the files, piling them back together and standing up. "There's a lot of it," she said, "and none of it is terribly pleasant. Given the medlab doesn't give you the same warm fuzzies of being able to help people it does me by a long shot, let's go down to the boathouse. Plus, it's less likely we'll be interrupted. That'll help."

===

"Dinnertime!" Angelo announced cheerfully, pushing his way into the infirmary with two trays balanced on each hand. "Who wants what?"

The four youngsters from Brazil looked up at him almost in unison and then away again. Keeping them in the infirmary to run some tests prior to moving them to Muir had seemed like the best idea, especially as it wasn't clear just how they'd interact with a large group of strangers. A few diversions had been provided - books, a computer, even a television, but none of them seemed particularly interested. They seemed to prefer sitting with each other in a circle, backs facing the world. It was almost a defensive posture, in a way.

"C'mon, kids", he said encouragingly, wafting the trays in their direction. "You're hungry, right? It was a long flight."

The blonde girl glanced back at him, then in an odd gesture, covered her eyes with both hands. One of the boys leaned towards her, muttering something under his breath.

"Only here to give you your dinner." He took a step forward. "I can get Angel to bring it back if you want. You remember, your friend with the red hair?"

The boy picked up one of the books, putting it on the girl's lap. She dropped her hands and started to examine it closely. The other two were murmuring at each other, eyes flickering occasionally to Angelo.

He stretched two of his trays invitingly towards them on flat platforms of skin, not sure if they actually had preferences for food or if that came with the personality they'd hardly had a chance to form. "Look good?"

One shifted out of his crosslegged position, eyes flickering to the sandwiches, then back to Angelo. After a moment, he licked his lips, almost unconsciously.

Angelo studied him for a moment, trying to judge what was behind the hesitance, and then he remembered where these kids had come from. Only one way to fix mistrust, and that was with proof. "Okay. Pick one. Any sandwich, any tray, and I'll eat it right here for you to see."

The boy's gaze went back to the plate of sandwiches. After a moment his hand darted out to indicate the roast beef.

"Okay then." He grinned and a strand of skin shot out to the roast beef sandwich, which Angelo proceeded to eat with enjoyment and - of course - no sign of drugging or any other ill effect.

The boy's reaction wasn't immediate. He eyed Angelo for a few minutes, assessingly. Only when there was no sign of ill effects from the sandwich did his hand dart out again to grab the other half. He ate it so fast that it wasn't clear whether or not he was actually chewing.

"Take the plate", Angelo urged. "You chose the one for me at random, right? So the others must be okay too. That goes for the rest of you."

The boy looked over at his companions and grunted, the monosyllable seeming to convey multiple levels of meaning. The other three moved forward slowly, still looking wary of Angelo - and then fell on the food like a pack of starved wolves.

"Thought so." As soon as their hands were clear of the trays, he stepped over to set them down. "You all doin' okay here?"

"Want out," the boy said, startlingly. His voice was gutteral, his intonation oddly slurred. "No windows."

"I know", he said more quietly. "But you won't be here for long. They're gonna take you to a much better place - you ever been to Scotland?"

"Want Mariana." It was the blonde girl speaking, this time.

"Mariana's not here, chiquita. But you can talk to her on the phone, any time you want, you just tell someone. And maybe she'll be able to come visit you once in a while. There'll be another lady looking after you in Scotland, name of Moira."

The boy who'd been the first to take a chance on food reached out and grabbed one of the pickles on the tray, biting into it. He made a surprised face at the taste, which melted, surprisingly enough, into a very small smile.

That got a laugh. "Never had one of those before? Well, you like them, you can have all the pickles you want. Long as you don't go makin' yourself sick with them."