“How are you feeling?” inquired a distant voice.
The girl snapped her eyes open, taking in the details of the man that stood above her. He was a tall man, with slightly hollowed looking cheeks and acute green eyes. His eyes, she thought, could penetrate iron.
“Do you have any headaches, muscle soreness or other pains?” the man asked.
She shook her head. “Where am I?”
He gave her a small smile, as if he was talking to a five-year old. “Someplace safe. That’s all you need to know.”
The girl nodded, then asked, “Who are you?”
“You may call me Dr. Spencer.”
“Okay, Dr. Spencer. Do you think I could have something to eat?” Her stomach rumbled as it to support her words.
“Of course! How rude am I not to offer you some food.”
He pulled out a thin piece of glass and tapped on it. It’s an electro-slate, the girl’s brain supplied her with the information. Dr. Spencer stowed away his electro-slate and said, “Cook will bring up some food in a few minutes. I will see you after lunch.”
The Doctor strode over to the door and placed his thumb on a scanner besides it. There was a soft whirr as the lock unlocked and the door opened.
“Wait, Dr. Spencer!” said the girl.
He paused, one foot out the door already. “Yes?”
“What’s my name?”
He gave her another one of his half-smiles. “That’s something we will have to figure out later.”
There was a soft rap on the door. Before the girl could respond, the door slid open and a short, petite woman rolled in with a cart pile high with food.
“Are you Cook?” the girl asked.
The woman made a face. “Is that what Dr. Spencer is calling me now?” She let out a small sigh. “My real name’s Asha, but I suppose you can call me Cook as I’m the one doing all the cooking at the Complex.”
The girl thought for a moment before saying, “Then I’ll call you Cook Asha.”
Cook Asha beamed. “Cook Asha. I like the way that sounds. From now on, I am Cook Asha, head cook of the Complex.”
The girl wanted to ask what the Complex was, but her hunger overpowered her curiosity and she edged towards the food cart. Cook Asha saw this and said, “Help yourself to anything you want. Dr. Spencer wouldn’t allow you to ingest any food for seventy-two hours after your operation, so I would imagine that you must be starving.”
The girl snatched a roll off a tray and tore into it. Cook Asha leaned against the wall and observed the girl eating. Feeling self conscious, the girl tried to slow down the rate she was shoving food into her mouth. Once the edge of her hunger had diminished, she asked, “When will I see Dr. Spencer again? He said he would see me after lunch.”
“You’ll see him as soon. Are you done with the food?”
“Almost.” The girl drained a bowl of minestrone soup, nibbled on a few saltines, then said, “I’m done now.”
“Alright. We’ll just freshen you up a bit then you can go join Dr. Spencer and the others at the conference room.”
Cook Asha motioned for the girl to follow. She knocked on the door. A few seconds later, the door opened. So Cook Asha can’t unlock the door herself, thought the girl. She needs someone else to do it.
