Arianna

Arianna

a novel

by Nancy Hand

Copyright 2011

Published by Nancy Hand at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.

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Chapter 1

~~~

Micha Trout was not a child. As near as could be determined, he was actually a year or two older than Violet Jamison. She'd heard, more than once, from the female staff and patients, about how handsome and charming he was. Violet wasn't impressed. To Dr. Violet Jamison, Micha Trout was self-centered, arrogant, willful, intelligent, cunning, and, very possibly, violent. He'd been taken as a prisoner almost half a calendar year ago. He'd been subjected to interrogation, in however many variations the military had felt warranted. He'd been given a number of drugs, some of which had come close to killing him. He'd been lured and cajoled with an assortment of men and women. Micha Trout had provided no information to the military. Somewhere, deep in his mind, it was felt he held the keys to the location of secret enemy training camps. Also, buried deep behind his eyes, were thought to be plans for attacking the outposts, if not the central worlds.

As Violet sat on the bare floor and played checkers with Micha Trout yet again, she cursed her luck. Yes, she'd said she could reach through the fog in his mind, through the effects of too many drugs, through his natural reticence, and bring forth the information the military wanted. That was then. Now, well, frankly, she'd just as soon be rid of him.

He called her Mommy or Mother even though he was older than she. He'd never exhibited adult behavior in her presence. He'd always assumed the manner of a young child. He played games. He sang nursery rhymes and got his colors wrong. Blue was purple. Green was yellow. Brown wasn't recognized. He pouted and whined. He wanted candy, cookies, other sweets, instead of real meals. Some days he refused to get out of bed while on others he refused to go to bed.

And Violet couldn't get far enough through the haze to tell what was real and what was only an act.

***

Micha screeched in a manner suitable to a spoiled three year old. No. You can't move that way. No.

Violet answered in her calmest manner. Micha. I've explained the rules to you before. Yes, I can move the checker in that direction.

No! I won't let you. His voice was riding up the scale in volume and tone.

Micha.

No. Mommy isn't playing fair. There was a glint in his eye, far behind the childish tantrum, he was playing more games with the doctor than just checkers.

Violet kept her voice level, professional. I am playing fair. You are being difficult. The rules allow me to move my checker that way. She hated having this man address her as Mommy but she fought the urge to slap him. It wouldn't help.

No! His screech set her teeth on edge. She'd heard two and three-year-old children hit that particular note, but never had she heard an adult male come even close.

Micha! Calm down.

No! Mommy is cheating!

Micha!

In response Micha closed his eyes and started to scream at the top of his lungs. He pounded his fists against the bare floor. He held his breath until his face started to purple. He gulped in air and screeched again.

Violet sat patiently and waited. She waited for him to tire of the game. She waited for him to run out of air or go hoarse. She waited for his attention to wander onto something else.

She didn't need to wait long.

To amuse the patients and staff Violet had brought a cat into the clinic. Mr. Tab was an ordinary-looking gray tabby cat of average size with extraordinary patience. She'd given him free run of the clinic in hopes he would help calm patients. Now, unfortunately, he strolled across the room behind her.

Micha noticed the cat almost immediately. Mr. Tab! He made a lunge for the cat without noticing anything, or anyone, between them.

Checkers skittered across the floor in several directions and Micha's knee connected with Violet's shoulder as he tried to jump over her. Mr. Tab shot across the room and through the cat-sized hole in the door as Micha and Violet landed on the floor with a thud.

Micha sounded like he was crying though there was no sign of tears. Mr. Tab. Come back, Mr. Tab. I won't hurt you, I promise. He sobbed on Violet's shoulder as he lay on top of her. Why doesn't he like me? Why does Mr. Tab hate me?

Micha. Please get off of me. You're heavy. I'm having trouble breathing. Please get off me. Micha smelled of cheap perfume, probably a gift from one of the staff, something strictly forbidden.

Micha looked at the doctor as though he didn't understand anything she'd said.

Micha. Please. Get off me. The bare floor under her back was cold, hard, and unforgiving. Micha's left knee jabbed uncomfortably into her right thigh.

But Mr. Tab doesn't like me!

Violet was having trouble getting enough air in her lungs to speak. I'm sure Mr. Tab was only startled. Please get up.

Micha's excitement rose as his temper shortened. Why does Mr. Tab hate me? He slammed his fist onto the floor near the doctor's head. Why does he hate me?

The door slid open and two men rushed in to rescue the doctor. It was one of the few times in her career when Violet was actually glad for surveillance systems.

Andy Blount grabbed Micha and started to lift him off the doctor as Wayne Roberts pulled her away. They'd done this kind of thing before. Not all of the patients could be kept calm and many of them had been trained in hand-to-hand combat. Wayne now sported a replacement eye, courtesy of a previous patient.

Andy distracted Micha with an offer of a different game and something to eat. Wayne helped Violet stand up and shielded her as they left the room.

Are you alright Doc?

Thank you, Nurse Roberts. I think I'm only shaken, maybe a little bruised.

You sure? Dr. Tsung is available if you need anything.

Thanks. I'll probably call him later. She dusted off her trousers and straightened her jacket. It was getting close to break time anyway.

Wayne didn't seem entirely convinced, but he'd worked with Dr. Jamison long enough to know she refused to get excited about what she called 'little things'. Lunch should be ready in about fifteen minutes. Would you like yours in your office?

Thank you, no. I'm fine. I'll join everyone in the mess hall in a little while. Violet finished dusting herself off. Really. I'm fine. See if Nurse Blount needs any help with Micha, please.

Wayne nearly responded with a salute. He'd been in the service for years and it was habit, but he stopped himself. Yes Dr. Jamison. But he didn't move until she was safely out of range of Micha, and half-way down the otherwise empty hall towards her office.

Violet stepped into her office and sighed as the door slid shut. She would have leaned against the door, but it was programmed to open before people got that close. She walked across the room and sat down at her desk instead. Had she been of a different temperament, she would have cried in frustration. As it was, she sat, with her eyes closed, and forced herself to calm down.

Micha regularly tested Violet's professional restraint. Despite all her years of training, it irritated her to have him address her as Mommy. It made her feel old and ugly. She tried every trick she knew to keep from showing Micha how she felt about being addressed so, but it was equally obvious he could see through her. After six weeks of playing this game, she felt she'd lost more than one battle and was almost ready to cede the war.

~~~

Chapter 2

~~~

Patta cake, patta cake, baker's man. There was a slight pause. Mommy, what's a baker? Micha sat, cross-legged, on the bare floor in an almost empty room.

Years ago there were people who took the basic ingredients of things like bread and combined them to make the finished product people could eat. Those who made breads and cakes were called bakers because the items had to be cooked in ovens before they were edible.

Ovens?

Closed, insulated boxes where a heat source could maintain a preset temperature. The room they were in was warm, but cold still seeped up through the floor making it uncomfortable for Violet to stay seated on the floor across from Micha.

There was another pause. Did you ever bake anything?

Her sigh might have been heard in the next room. Once. A long time ago. One of my teachers thought we should know what was involved in making a cake. It took him weeks to find all the ingredients the recipe called for. It took most of us at least a week to figure out the directions once we had the ingredients. I think one team managed to produce something we could actually eat and none of us really thought it was worth all the effort. Violet had given up trying to determine how much Micha understood or what he paid attention to. He wasn't ignorant, certainly he wasn't stupid, but she had not been able to identify the limits of his game.

He stared at the wall behind Violet as he continued to beat out the rhyme with his hands. If it took so long, how did people ever eat?

Apparently they were much more adept at baking than we were. Otherwise, I'm quite sure everyone would have starved long before now.

His clapping changed pitch and sped up as his mind shifted to some other subject. Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jump over the candlestick.

Before he could ask the next, very obvious, question there was a soft knock at the door. Violet looked up, unsure if she should be relieved or annoyed at the interruption. Yes? Come in.

The door slid open far enough to allow a middle-aged woman to step through. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. Would you prefer I come back?

There was that about her tone and manner that said something needed attention. No Lalika. What is it?

I'm sorry Mistress. You have a visitor. He's waiting for you in the parlor.

Mistress. A visitor. In the parlor. All of them were code phrases to be used in case a certain visitor arrived at a time just like this. I'll be right with you Lalika. She turned, Micha, I have a visitor I need to see. Will you be alright if I leave you alone for a short while?

Micha's pout was impressive. Of course Mommy. I'll be okay.

She bit back a number of harsh words as she stood to leave, Micha? Andy will be in shortly to play GoFish with you.

Micha didn't look up as he continued to beat time to a rhyme only he could hear. He didn't bother to say anything, his displeasure at being abandoned was sufficiently obvious without words.

The two women stepped out of the room and waited for the door to close behind them. Nurse Barango, how did I ever get myself into this mess?

Nurse Lalika Barango looked down at her toes, undoubtedly checking for dust that wasn't there, before answering. Dr. Jamison, I'm sure it didn't seem so terrible a position when you applied.

Violet watched her head nurse for a moment. Lalika Barango had to be the most patient woman ever born. In two years of working with Nurse Barango, Violet had never seen her get upset, never heard her raise her voice, and never known her to misstate a fact. Dr. Jamison sometimes wondered if the nurse was really human. So, the general is in my office?

Yes Doctor. I'm sorry for interrupting you. The general insisted he needed to see you immediately.

Did he say why he was here?

No Doctor.

What kind of mood did he seem to be in?

Doctor? Nurse Barango looked up at the doctor, concern on her face. Nervous. Fidgety. The usual.

Violet shook her head as she started down the corridor. You know, my medical journals are full of tantalizing articles from people working with empaths and telepaths. People working on the exciting edge of the field with fascinating subjects. Me? I get the usual psychopaths and sociopaths to treat, with an occasional case of battle fatigue. Now I have a general who would probably benefit from regular sedation and an adult who acts like a child. It really makes me wonder why I ever got into the field.

Nurse Barango smiled but stopped short of giggling. Dr. Jamison, that's an awful thing to say. We have lots of interesting people here and you've done wonders for some of them.

Well. Maybe. Chrissano was certainly interesting, though I can't say as I helped him much. Villers and Walloon, frankly, I think they got better despite treatment.

It was an old game the women were playing with each other and, though the tone seemed light, the rules were strictly adhered to. Doctor! Really!

Oh, alright. Would you send Nurse Blount in to keep Micha amused while I talk to the general?

Of course Doctor. Would you mind if I suggest some game other than GoFish? The last time Andy and Micha played, Micha got quite upset about losing.

Sure. Warn Nurse Blount I mentioned the game, he's going to have to talk Micha out of it now.

Nurse Barango nodded as she turned away and started back down the corridor away from Dr. Jamison's office.

Violet counted to ten as she collected her composure. She noted the indicator by the door. Someone had already turned off the surveillance equipment in her office, so this was to be a private discussion. She shoved a lock of hair back into place, idly noting the increased number of gray strands, and wondered if she should just start dying it or whether she should make an appointment with Dr. Tsung for a full physical workup to see what else might be failing instead. Then she counted to ten again before she opened the door and stepped into her office.

***

General William Walshingham was slouched in the chair in front of her desk, idly drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair as his left foot beat out a different rhythm on her carpeting. Like many of the very thin people Violet knew, the general was never still. She'd once proposed a study to determine if such people were thin because of their constant motion or if their constant motion was