Paragon ✓

IV. The Widening Gyre

General, man is very useful.

He can fly and he can kill.

But he has one defect:

He can think.

– Bertolt Brecht

She dreamt again of amethyst lights. She wanted nothing more to do with them. Moments of terrifying lucidity punctured her nightmare: distorted faces gazing over her; her arms and legs struggling uselessly against impossible strength; the sound of her own scream, fading away, until there was nothing but silence and amethyst lights.

A slow and steady beep echoed the toll of Katia's heart.

"Heart rate, twenty beats per minute," an English voice declared.

"That's too slow, isn't it, Dr. Clark?" a second voice asked.

"No, it's simply more efficient," the Englishman – Dr. Clark – explained. "Look at this graph – she's perfect. Perfection perfected."

"She ought to be. She cost enough," the second voice grumbled. His voice changed, softening. "I must say, in sleep, she rivals Iris."

"In sleep alone, I should hope, else we're all in for a lot of trouble, Mr. Harper," Dr. Clark laughed.

"And is she dangerous?" the second voice – apparently Mr. Harper – asked.

"Oh very likely," Dr. Clark replied, no hint of fear in his voice.

Katia couldn't understand what they meant. Her eyes were still glued shut, but she could feel again. Round sticky pads were attached to her chest, wrists and ankles. She was lying on a narrow table, cold against her back. She felt the fabric of a thin gown covering her, and nothing underneath.

Where are my clothes?

The disconcerting thought faded in the light of her next discovery.

Katia was paralyzed. She struggled to open her eyes to see or mouth to scream, but every fibre of muscle remained flaccid and useless. The incessant beeping mimicked her panic, and more tones and bells joined in the menacing song. Waves of terror coursed through her powerless body.

"Oh dear. The anaesthetic worn off before the muscle relaxant." Dr. Clark stated, sounding utterly unconcerned. "She'll be awake now, and terrified. Stand back, sir. Kappas, Omega-one, get in here," he barked in a strange code.

"Why not the Epsilons?" Harper asked.

"They would only frighten her more, Mr. Harper," Dr. Clark explained brusquely. "Now I must ask you to please leave the room. Beta-one, fetch the others."

She heard footsteps coming into the room, footsteps leaving, a door slamming, and then she felt the push of a cool, burning liquid through her veins. Her little finger twitched. Her eyes fluttered, and slammed shut again. The squeak of a cry pressed through her lips.

"Omega-one," Dr. Clark directed. "Touch her shoulder... no, through the fabric. Don't touch her skin again."

She felt the press of a fingertip, then two, through the fabric of her gown. A flicker of strength spread like a slow shock from the point of pressure, down her arm, and up to her neck. She opened her eyes again, and this time, they stayed open. Looking down on her was her nightmare. The sight of Holden's eyes so unhinged her that her first instinct was to flee.

So she did, her limbs moving so swiftly that she could not control them.

She twisted away from him like a whirlwind, leaping off of the examination table and landing on the other side. As she did, leads and cords tangled around her, sending machines into a cacophony of panicked beeps. She tugged at them desperately, only getting more tangled.