The Passenger Book 2: Chameleon chapter 1
Oct. 7th, 2005 01:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
serafina20More firefly
Simon walked carefully through the unfamiliar hallway of Garrison's immense base camp. The place reminded him much of the schools back on Osiris. Technologically advanced, open, spacious. The grounds were beautiful, the rooms plush and comfortable, and everything was clean.
It should have felt like home, but home was a distant memory. And, in some ways, Serenity was more his home than any other place had ever been. All he'd been through had made him what he was today, and, truthfully, Simon liked who he was. Yes, if he had a choice, he'd give up everything just to have his sister back, but if were to make do with what he had, finding Serenity and Mal and his crew had been a Godsend.
Of course, that was when Mal wasn't pitching a fit and being a chun zi. He hated being lied to, Simon knew that. And he didn't give his heart easily. And yet, somehow, Camille had managed to worm her way in. And when Mal had discovered the lie...
Truth be told, when it all came out and Fredrick had explained who and what Camille was, Simon wasn't surprised. The resemblance between her and his sister had been there all along, nagging at him. No, they weren't identical. Camille, though bright, wasn't the genius River had been and still was. And she was bolder, more sarcastic, more like Mal. A soldier, one who'd never been in a real war, perhaps, but one who'd survived the horrors of war just the same.
Maybe that's why Mal had been drawn to her. She was a solider, tough, resourceful and brilliant, wrapped in a beautiful package. Irresistible, especially if one wasn't having brotherly feelings towards her.
Mal's feelings weren't brotherly. Unfortunately, like Simon, Mal was having problems dealing with the idea of people like River and Camille having overloaded sex-drives. Simon knew what his problem with it was because, shang di, what brother wanted to think of his sister as being sexually insatiable? But Mal had different reasons for being upset and Simon had yet to untangle the mess that was Mal's psyche.
Simon pressed the computerize panel on the wall to verify that he was going in the right direction. "I'm looking for Camille," he told it.
"Agent CAM-462 is in treatment room three. Blue, blue, green, blue." Lights began flashing on the wall in the pattern the computer had described. Simon followed them, noticing the subtle changes of the hallway and surroundings as he left the dorms and entered the hospital wing. The carpets disappeared and the lighting changed somehow. The air, also, took on the sterile, antiseptics smell that all hospitals had.
"Treatment room three," the computer announced. The pattern stopped.
"Thank you," Simon said distractedly. He knocked on the door, unsure of how things worked around here. Garrison had assured them that they were all welcome anywhere within the base, but, generally, treatment rooms were reserved for doctors and their patients. He had sought Camille out at River's insistence.
"Come in," an unfamiliar voice called.
Simon opened the door. "I hope I'm not... interrupting." He frowned and entered the room slowly.
A very pretty female doctor looked up from Camille's arm. She was holding a dermal mender over Camille's lacerated arm. Obviously, the bulk of the surgery was done, because Camille was slowly clenching and unclenching her hand, testing her mobility.
"Dr. Tam, welcome. Please, have a seat," the woman said. "I'm Dr. Irene Douglas."
"Um. Hi." He looked around the room, trying to understand what he was seeing. It wasn't like any treatment or exam room he'd ever seen before, and he'd been in quite a few in his lifetime.
To start with, it looked more like a bedroom than a place to perform medical procedures. Yes, it had the sterile smell, the computers and equipment and all the accoutrements one normally found in a treatment room. But, where most such rooms consisted of equipment and a cot or bed and perhaps a chair or two, this one had three couches, a video monitor, a book shelf, and a music system. The walls were blue and decorated with paintings and lamps that looked like candles that were held in elegant sconces. There was no carpeting, but there were pillows scattered around and the floor was a soft, cream colored rubber instead of hard tile.
And there were people in the room, non-medical people, who seemed to be lounging around without purpose. Two of the people--"kids", Simon understood the patients here were almost universally referred to, no matter what their age--were playing a game of cards. They were being watched narrowly by the nurse helping Dr. Douglas, as if he expected the kids to break out into a riot at any moment. A third kid was stretched across a sofa, book in hand. His startling blue-green eyes were on Simon, a sort of lazy and appreciative smile on his face. He seemed to be staring right through Simon, and Simon didn't appreciate that he was probably being read without his permission.
The bed Camille was lying on looked like your standard operating table, only it was plush and comfortable-looking. She sitting up, as if on a deck chair, a black visor over her eyes. The garment she was wearing was clearly designed for easy access during medical treatments, but it looked to be made of a soft cotton and the cut was flattering.
"You look like you have questions, Dr. Tam."
"Well, yes. My sister is going to be... treated soon, and I guess I'm concerned with what and how it's going to happen." He looked around the room; the boy--Prophet; Camille had introduced him as Prophet--was still looking at him. "Is it generally this... social?"
Dr. Douglas nodded. "For the most part, yes. It depends on the student, and the procedure being done, but every room at the base is open to everyone all the time. Even treatment rooms."
"Isn't it rather unorthodox? What about doctor-patient confidentiality."
Prophet snorted. "On a moon full of mind readers?" he asked sardonically. His head tilted. "Or do you think the illusion of secrecy is so important to maintain that one should overlook reality?"
Simon blinked. "I was speaking of confidentiality, not secrecy."
"Same difference."
"No, not really. Secrecy implies something needs to be hidden. Confidentiality means that something is kept private unless the subject is willing to share it with those around her."
Prophet closed his book, holding his place with his long, elegant fingers. Leaning forward so his arms rested on his knees, holding his weight, he asked, "But why would the subject feel the need to keep something as trivial as her health from her friends?"
"There are some things that... some people want to keep, or do not in front of an audience."
Prophet's smile was breathtaking. "She's not having a pelvic exam, Doctor. And, if she were, we're at her head, not her more delicate areas."
"You see the problem," Dr. Douglas said.
Simon looked at her. "Vocabulary?"
Prophet snorted, but Dr. Douglas answered, "Not exactly. More like trust. Everything that was done to these kids was done in secrecy. They weren't told what was being done to them, it was just done. They were taken into rooms and operated on by people whose faces they never saw. They weren't allowed to talk to one another unless it was business. Prophet never saw anyone else after his treatments began."
"Objection, your honor," Prophet said lazily. "The word treatment indicates that it was either a treat or something helpful. What was done to me was neither and I resent the implication."
Dr. Douglas rolled her eyes. "Withdrawn."
"Don't patronize me."
"Don't read my mind," she replied evenly. She looked back at Simon. "Everything we do here is designed to keep the kids as calm and relaxed as possible, otherwise..."
"We kill them."
"Anything we do to help them isn't effective. Besides, they've been through so much and..."
"Can be used to fight Garrison's little holy war against the Alliance."
"Need to get their abilities under control, or they self destruct." Dr. Douglas sighed and shook her head. "I've been here since the beginning and before we really understood what was going on, we lost a few kids."
Simon nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. Prophet was pretending to read now, and the other two were cleaning up their game. "How do you keep a sterile environment?"
"Well, they aren't allowed to touch any of the equipment."
"You trust them?" Simon glanced back at Prophet a bit pointedly.
Prophet made a crude gesture, as if to show what he enjoyed doing with the equipment when no one was watching.
"Not especially," Dr. Douglas said. "Everything here is under surveillance, but they all know that. We need to watch them and they are welcome to watch us. There's nothing here that is off limits, but until we're sure that the Alliance's programming won't kick in and force them to do something either to themselves or anyone else, we need to keep an eye on them. So we know if someone has been fellating the medical equipment, and when he's just trying to shock the pretty new face in the room."
"Oh, bite me," Prophet gripped.
Simon had another concern. "Everything is under surveillance?"
"Well, not exactly. Bedrooms and bathrooms are monitored for heartbeat and respiration, but are not recorded by camera. We all want some privacy, after all, and the kids, well. Their private lives are already public enough; we don’t need to turn anyone into voyeurs or stars of pornographic cinema."
"Although some of us would do really well in smutty movies," said Prophet. "Where are you two going?" he asked as the two card-playing kids stood.
"Bored," one, a dark-haired girl, said. "I was hoping that Camille would talk, but she's made it clear that she's not going to talk to us."
"Damn right," Camille said, eyes still covered by the visor.
"Come on, Cam," the other one--a blond--wheedled. "What's going on between you and Garrison?"
"Tabitha, I though you were so sick of hearing about Garrison that you would be forced to drive a metal stake through your ears should I ever speak about him again."
The blond rolled her eyes and rose from her chair. "That was before."
"Before?" Camille sounded bored. She raised her hand to the visor and pushed a button on the side. "Nothing's changed."
"Something has totally changed," the dark-haired girl said. "Why?"
"Maybe I've gotten over him?"
"The current poll claims hell would freeze over before that happened," Tabitha replied.
"Get out your ice skates, girls."
"See?" Tabitha looked pointedly at Prophet. "Jasmine and I figured we'd go see the new kid. Wanna come?"
Prophet shook his head. "I'll stay with my bian se long. You two run off and have fun. See you at dinner."
"All right. See you, Camille," Tabitha said.
"And don't think we're not going to find out everything," Jasmine replied. She took Tabitha's hand and they left the room.
As soon as the door closed, Camille ripped off the visor and tossed it aside. "Finally. The stupid movie ended fifteen minutes ago. I've been dying for them to leave."
"Why didn't you say anything, xin ai? I would have gotten rid of them." Prophet rose and came to stand next to Simon at Camille's bedside.
Camille looked up at him. "My powers aren't quite back to normal yet. I didn't want to risk sending the message and having it hit them."
"Since when do you care about people's feelings?"
Simon raised an eyebrow, surprised; even though Camille could be a bit of a brat, she'd never seemed inconsiderate of others.
"It's hard to keep secrets about how you feel about other people around here," Camille said, meeting Simon's eyes. "You know those private thoughts you have, where you just get angry or frustrated with someone and all this poison just starts bubbling in your brain?"
"Yes."
"It's hard to keep the other kids from hearing it sometimes. So we all try to be very honest."
"If we're not honest with each other," Prophet said, "we become nothing but lies." He glanced at Camille. "At least, those of us who are allowed out of the house, do."
Camille shook her head and gave Simon a "just ignore the idiot" look. "Anyway, we all learned to be extremely honest with one another about our feelings. And to try and grow a thick skin. It doesn't stop us from being hurt sometimes, but as long as we learn to distinguish between thoughts that are heavily influenced by our current emotional state and actual feelings that aren't going away, it's not as bad as it could be."
"I see," Simon said.
"All right." Dr. Douglas out the mender down. "Done. How does your arm feel?"
"Great. As good as new." Camille lifted it slowly, opening and closing her hand.
Dr. Douglas took Camille's hand and opened it. "I'm going to test to make sure you have feeling. Do you mind if I prick you with a needle?"
Camille sighed. "No; go right ahead." Her other hand shot out, though, seeking Prophet's.
He took it and held it in his, his thumb slowly caressing her knuckles.
The doctor carefully pricked each of Camille's fingers, then the center of her palm. Camille reacted normally, although the simple test seemed to distress her more than it should. Simon watched, concerned.
"Okay. Your pain receptors are acting normally." She put the probe on a tray. Next, she ran her index finger down the center of Camille's palm.
Camille curved her fingers in. Her body shuddered slightly, and relaxed. "That feels good."
"It was supposed to. Very good; your arms is fine. Now let's talk about your head. Can you read anyone's mind?"
"A little. Like through fog. I can't get a clear read."
Dr. Douglas rose and crossed the room. Opening a cabinet, she said, "We've cleaned your blood of the sedative, so it might just be disuse or a lingering affect. I'm going to give you a shot. It will stimulate your temporal lobe should bring your powers back online." Returning with the hypodermic needle, Dr. Douglas carefully sterilized the spot. "I'm giving you the injection now." She glanced up at Simon. "We're very careful, here, to explain every step as we do it." She gave Camille the shot. "We want the kids to feel fully prepared and involved in what's going on."
"Never mind we can read their minds and already know," Prophet said.
"Again, we do this so the kids know that we are honest with them about everything and will never do anything without their knowledge." Dr. Douglas was very good at pretending that Prophet hadn't spoken; Simon got the feeling that it was something she had to do a lot. "I'd like to say that we never do anything without their permission, but that isn't true. Many of them, especially in the beginning of their stay here, refuse treatment of any kind. They fight us. Some continue to fight even after they come to understand that we're here to help. What the Alliance did to them was so traumatizing, that they probably will never trust anyone again, not just doctors." She stood and put the medical equipment away.
"River hasn't been able to tell me exactly what happened to her," Simon said. "I know they cut into her brain and made her a psychic and…"
"These kids all had psychic powers before entering the program," Dr. Douglas interrupted. "They weren't made this way."
Shock made Simon lose his words. River had always been a reader. All of them had. There were so many, he'd counted at least forty in all, and he knew that Garrison had yet to free all of the children who'd been experimented on at the academy. Where had all these psychics come from?
Camille slid off the chair. "That's their theory, at any rate," she said, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "I personally don't remember reading no one's mind before the Alliance took me to their special school."
"Camille, we've been over this before. You know…"
"Oh, shut up," she snapped.
"Camille." Simon put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. "You needn't be rude."
"You're not my brother. Don't act like it." Then she closed her eyes tightly and said, "I'm sorry. I'm just…"
"She gets cranky when someone forces her powers to wake back up," Prophet said. He was rubbing her neck soothingly, his hand occasionally brushing against Simon's. "Don't mind her."
Camille sighed and squeezed the bridge of her nose. "Doctor, can I go?"
"Of course. I recommend that you eat something before dinner, just to help absorb the drug. If you start feeling anything unusual, please find a doctor."
"I will." She swallowed. "Thanks." Turning, she looked at Simon. "Are you staying, or coming with me?"
"I'll come with you. Thank you, Doctor."
Dr. Douglas smiled. "I'll see you at dinner."
Simon followed Prophet and Camille into the hallway. They were standing very close, and Prophet had his arm around her waist. The closeness and constant contact was something very common here; Simon had noticed it right away. When given a briefing on Camille and her condition by Garrison right after she'd been sedated on Firefly, he'd explained that physical contact helped all the kids focus their physic abilities and relax them. It explained a lot about Camille and her behavior aboard Serenity.
Unfortunately, Mal was taking everything the wrong way. He believed that because Camille craved intimacy, she didn't care whom it was with. And, in some ways, it was true; when upset or shaken, she threw herself at whomever was closest and attractive. But her feelings and attraction for Mal was more than a simple, biological and emotional need for another mind to connect with. Everything she felt for him was a real and genuine as his feelings were for her.
"How is everyone settling in?" Camille asked Simon.
He nodded. "Well. We're all together, which is nice. I mean, in the same hall, not the same room. But close by. And close by your room as well, from what I understand."
She nodded. "Good. I’m glad. I mean, I want to be there for River when things start to get, you know. Harder. And I'm used to you all by now." Camille frowned, looking sad. "I'd hoped to get to fly with you a bit longer. I guess I'll take this."
Simon took Camille's hand and squeezed. "It'll get better, Camille. He'll…"
"I'm sorry, by the way," she interrupted. "About almost raping you. I shouldn't have lost control like that."
"You tried to rape him?" Prophet looked Simon up and down very slowly. "Well. I can see why."
Simon felt his face heat.
"Is he the reason that you and Garrison seem to be on the outs? I mean, he actually went to kiss you, and you turned away. That has never happened in the history of the Chameleon; you've been all over him practically since you were created. What's changed?"
"Not Simon." She glanced at him. "No offense."
"Believe me, none taken," he replied. Then, at Prophet's look, he said, "I think of her as a sister. The ordeal they went through affected them in some of the same ways, and ever since I met her, I saw River in her. Having sex with Camille would be wrong in many, many ways."
"Do you think that'll carry for the rest of the kids here?" Prophet asked. "It's a little rude to think you can waltz in here looking like you do and think you're above sleeping with us."
He really had no clue how to answer that. "I… I don’t see it at all as a matter of being above you," he stammered. "And I don't know how I'll respond to you individually. I just know that I felt brotherly towards Camille and when she came on to me, was highly uncomfortable." Wanting to end the conversation right now, he looked at her and said, "River sent me to find you."
"I'm on my way to see her. Are you coming, or are you going to find more people to question about how things work?"
"I think I'll wander a bit more, get the lay of the land and all that. But if she needs me…"
"If she needs you, I'll call," Camille promised. She stood on her toes and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "See you at dinner, okay?"
"All right."
Camille started walking away, but pivoted the moment she realized that Prophet was still standing next to Simon. "Aren't you coming?"
Prophet shook his head. "Naw. I've got other things to do. I'll catch you later, niu."
She looked troubled. Her eyes slid from Prophet's face to Simon's, then back again. "You haven't talk to Rive yet, have you?"
"I will. When the buzz dies down. The last thing I want to do is be in a room surrounded by a dozen fawning admirers, all right?"
"Prophet."
"Go on." He went to her and kissed her lightly on the lips. "I'll see you at dinner." Pressing his lips into her forehead, Prophet let her go and stepped back again.
"Fine. See you later. Bye Simon." Turning again, the medical gown--which, unlike so many, had fastenings in the back not only for modesty, but, seemingly, for style--flowing around her legs, Camille seemed to drift down the hall.
Simon cleared his throat. "Well. I suppose I'll see you later as well."
Prophet snorted. "Later? I'm coming with you."
Woa de tian ah. "I assure you, that's not necessary."
He smiled. "I know. But, I'm bored. So. Lay on, McDuff."
Simon sighed wearily and turned. Just what he needed; an obnoxious tagalong with a penchant for Shakespeare. It almost made him long for Jayne. At least with Jayne, Simon usually knew what he'd do; people like Prophet tended to be unpredictable and, right now, Simon wanted a little predictability.
Next to him, Prophet laughed. "Believe me, Doctor, around here there is no such thing as predictable."
"Wonderful."
Simon walked carefully through the unfamiliar hallway of Garrison's immense base camp. The place reminded him much of the schools back on Osiris. Technologically advanced, open, spacious. The grounds were beautiful, the rooms plush and comfortable, and everything was clean.
It should have felt like home, but home was a distant memory. And, in some ways, Serenity was more his home than any other place had ever been. All he'd been through had made him what he was today, and, truthfully, Simon liked who he was. Yes, if he had a choice, he'd give up everything just to have his sister back, but if were to make do with what he had, finding Serenity and Mal and his crew had been a Godsend.
Of course, that was when Mal wasn't pitching a fit and being a chun zi. He hated being lied to, Simon knew that. And he didn't give his heart easily. And yet, somehow, Camille had managed to worm her way in. And when Mal had discovered the lie...
Truth be told, when it all came out and Fredrick had explained who and what Camille was, Simon wasn't surprised. The resemblance between her and his sister had been there all along, nagging at him. No, they weren't identical. Camille, though bright, wasn't the genius River had been and still was. And she was bolder, more sarcastic, more like Mal. A soldier, one who'd never been in a real war, perhaps, but one who'd survived the horrors of war just the same.
Maybe that's why Mal had been drawn to her. She was a solider, tough, resourceful and brilliant, wrapped in a beautiful package. Irresistible, especially if one wasn't having brotherly feelings towards her.
Mal's feelings weren't brotherly. Unfortunately, like Simon, Mal was having problems dealing with the idea of people like River and Camille having overloaded sex-drives. Simon knew what his problem with it was because, shang di, what brother wanted to think of his sister as being sexually insatiable? But Mal had different reasons for being upset and Simon had yet to untangle the mess that was Mal's psyche.
Simon pressed the computerize panel on the wall to verify that he was going in the right direction. "I'm looking for Camille," he told it.
"Agent CAM-462 is in treatment room three. Blue, blue, green, blue." Lights began flashing on the wall in the pattern the computer had described. Simon followed them, noticing the subtle changes of the hallway and surroundings as he left the dorms and entered the hospital wing. The carpets disappeared and the lighting changed somehow. The air, also, took on the sterile, antiseptics smell that all hospitals had.
"Treatment room three," the computer announced. The pattern stopped.
"Thank you," Simon said distractedly. He knocked on the door, unsure of how things worked around here. Garrison had assured them that they were all welcome anywhere within the base, but, generally, treatment rooms were reserved for doctors and their patients. He had sought Camille out at River's insistence.
"Come in," an unfamiliar voice called.
Simon opened the door. "I hope I'm not... interrupting." He frowned and entered the room slowly.
A very pretty female doctor looked up from Camille's arm. She was holding a dermal mender over Camille's lacerated arm. Obviously, the bulk of the surgery was done, because Camille was slowly clenching and unclenching her hand, testing her mobility.
"Dr. Tam, welcome. Please, have a seat," the woman said. "I'm Dr. Irene Douglas."
"Um. Hi." He looked around the room, trying to understand what he was seeing. It wasn't like any treatment or exam room he'd ever seen before, and he'd been in quite a few in his lifetime.
To start with, it looked more like a bedroom than a place to perform medical procedures. Yes, it had the sterile smell, the computers and equipment and all the accoutrements one normally found in a treatment room. But, where most such rooms consisted of equipment and a cot or bed and perhaps a chair or two, this one had three couches, a video monitor, a book shelf, and a music system. The walls were blue and decorated with paintings and lamps that looked like candles that were held in elegant sconces. There was no carpeting, but there were pillows scattered around and the floor was a soft, cream colored rubber instead of hard tile.
And there were people in the room, non-medical people, who seemed to be lounging around without purpose. Two of the people--"kids", Simon understood the patients here were almost universally referred to, no matter what their age--were playing a game of cards. They were being watched narrowly by the nurse helping Dr. Douglas, as if he expected the kids to break out into a riot at any moment. A third kid was stretched across a sofa, book in hand. His startling blue-green eyes were on Simon, a sort of lazy and appreciative smile on his face. He seemed to be staring right through Simon, and Simon didn't appreciate that he was probably being read without his permission.
The bed Camille was lying on looked like your standard operating table, only it was plush and comfortable-looking. She sitting up, as if on a deck chair, a black visor over her eyes. The garment she was wearing was clearly designed for easy access during medical treatments, but it looked to be made of a soft cotton and the cut was flattering.
"You look like you have questions, Dr. Tam."
"Well, yes. My sister is going to be... treated soon, and I guess I'm concerned with what and how it's going to happen." He looked around the room; the boy--Prophet; Camille had introduced him as Prophet--was still looking at him. "Is it generally this... social?"
Dr. Douglas nodded. "For the most part, yes. It depends on the student, and the procedure being done, but every room at the base is open to everyone all the time. Even treatment rooms."
"Isn't it rather unorthodox? What about doctor-patient confidentiality."
Prophet snorted. "On a moon full of mind readers?" he asked sardonically. His head tilted. "Or do you think the illusion of secrecy is so important to maintain that one should overlook reality?"
Simon blinked. "I was speaking of confidentiality, not secrecy."
"Same difference."
"No, not really. Secrecy implies something needs to be hidden. Confidentiality means that something is kept private unless the subject is willing to share it with those around her."
Prophet closed his book, holding his place with his long, elegant fingers. Leaning forward so his arms rested on his knees, holding his weight, he asked, "But why would the subject feel the need to keep something as trivial as her health from her friends?"
"There are some things that... some people want to keep, or do not in front of an audience."
Prophet's smile was breathtaking. "She's not having a pelvic exam, Doctor. And, if she were, we're at her head, not her more delicate areas."
"You see the problem," Dr. Douglas said.
Simon looked at her. "Vocabulary?"
Prophet snorted, but Dr. Douglas answered, "Not exactly. More like trust. Everything that was done to these kids was done in secrecy. They weren't told what was being done to them, it was just done. They were taken into rooms and operated on by people whose faces they never saw. They weren't allowed to talk to one another unless it was business. Prophet never saw anyone else after his treatments began."
"Objection, your honor," Prophet said lazily. "The word treatment indicates that it was either a treat or something helpful. What was done to me was neither and I resent the implication."
Dr. Douglas rolled her eyes. "Withdrawn."
"Don't patronize me."
"Don't read my mind," she replied evenly. She looked back at Simon. "Everything we do here is designed to keep the kids as calm and relaxed as possible, otherwise..."
"We kill them."
"Anything we do to help them isn't effective. Besides, they've been through so much and..."
"Can be used to fight Garrison's little holy war against the Alliance."
"Need to get their abilities under control, or they self destruct." Dr. Douglas sighed and shook her head. "I've been here since the beginning and before we really understood what was going on, we lost a few kids."
Simon nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. Prophet was pretending to read now, and the other two were cleaning up their game. "How do you keep a sterile environment?"
"Well, they aren't allowed to touch any of the equipment."
"You trust them?" Simon glanced back at Prophet a bit pointedly.
Prophet made a crude gesture, as if to show what he enjoyed doing with the equipment when no one was watching.
"Not especially," Dr. Douglas said. "Everything here is under surveillance, but they all know that. We need to watch them and they are welcome to watch us. There's nothing here that is off limits, but until we're sure that the Alliance's programming won't kick in and force them to do something either to themselves or anyone else, we need to keep an eye on them. So we know if someone has been fellating the medical equipment, and when he's just trying to shock the pretty new face in the room."
"Oh, bite me," Prophet gripped.
Simon had another concern. "Everything is under surveillance?"
"Well, not exactly. Bedrooms and bathrooms are monitored for heartbeat and respiration, but are not recorded by camera. We all want some privacy, after all, and the kids, well. Their private lives are already public enough; we don’t need to turn anyone into voyeurs or stars of pornographic cinema."
"Although some of us would do really well in smutty movies," said Prophet. "Where are you two going?" he asked as the two card-playing kids stood.
"Bored," one, a dark-haired girl, said. "I was hoping that Camille would talk, but she's made it clear that she's not going to talk to us."
"Damn right," Camille said, eyes still covered by the visor.
"Come on, Cam," the other one--a blond--wheedled. "What's going on between you and Garrison?"
"Tabitha, I though you were so sick of hearing about Garrison that you would be forced to drive a metal stake through your ears should I ever speak about him again."
The blond rolled her eyes and rose from her chair. "That was before."
"Before?" Camille sounded bored. She raised her hand to the visor and pushed a button on the side. "Nothing's changed."
"Something has totally changed," the dark-haired girl said. "Why?"
"Maybe I've gotten over him?"
"The current poll claims hell would freeze over before that happened," Tabitha replied.
"Get out your ice skates, girls."
"See?" Tabitha looked pointedly at Prophet. "Jasmine and I figured we'd go see the new kid. Wanna come?"
Prophet shook his head. "I'll stay with my bian se long. You two run off and have fun. See you at dinner."
"All right. See you, Camille," Tabitha said.
"And don't think we're not going to find out everything," Jasmine replied. She took Tabitha's hand and they left the room.
As soon as the door closed, Camille ripped off the visor and tossed it aside. "Finally. The stupid movie ended fifteen minutes ago. I've been dying for them to leave."
"Why didn't you say anything, xin ai? I would have gotten rid of them." Prophet rose and came to stand next to Simon at Camille's bedside.
Camille looked up at him. "My powers aren't quite back to normal yet. I didn't want to risk sending the message and having it hit them."
"Since when do you care about people's feelings?"
Simon raised an eyebrow, surprised; even though Camille could be a bit of a brat, she'd never seemed inconsiderate of others.
"It's hard to keep secrets about how you feel about other people around here," Camille said, meeting Simon's eyes. "You know those private thoughts you have, where you just get angry or frustrated with someone and all this poison just starts bubbling in your brain?"
"Yes."
"It's hard to keep the other kids from hearing it sometimes. So we all try to be very honest."
"If we're not honest with each other," Prophet said, "we become nothing but lies." He glanced at Camille. "At least, those of us who are allowed out of the house, do."
Camille shook her head and gave Simon a "just ignore the idiot" look. "Anyway, we all learned to be extremely honest with one another about our feelings. And to try and grow a thick skin. It doesn't stop us from being hurt sometimes, but as long as we learn to distinguish between thoughts that are heavily influenced by our current emotional state and actual feelings that aren't going away, it's not as bad as it could be."
"I see," Simon said.
"All right." Dr. Douglas out the mender down. "Done. How does your arm feel?"
"Great. As good as new." Camille lifted it slowly, opening and closing her hand.
Dr. Douglas took Camille's hand and opened it. "I'm going to test to make sure you have feeling. Do you mind if I prick you with a needle?"
Camille sighed. "No; go right ahead." Her other hand shot out, though, seeking Prophet's.
He took it and held it in his, his thumb slowly caressing her knuckles.
The doctor carefully pricked each of Camille's fingers, then the center of her palm. Camille reacted normally, although the simple test seemed to distress her more than it should. Simon watched, concerned.
"Okay. Your pain receptors are acting normally." She put the probe on a tray. Next, she ran her index finger down the center of Camille's palm.
Camille curved her fingers in. Her body shuddered slightly, and relaxed. "That feels good."
"It was supposed to. Very good; your arms is fine. Now let's talk about your head. Can you read anyone's mind?"
"A little. Like through fog. I can't get a clear read."
Dr. Douglas rose and crossed the room. Opening a cabinet, she said, "We've cleaned your blood of the sedative, so it might just be disuse or a lingering affect. I'm going to give you a shot. It will stimulate your temporal lobe should bring your powers back online." Returning with the hypodermic needle, Dr. Douglas carefully sterilized the spot. "I'm giving you the injection now." She glanced up at Simon. "We're very careful, here, to explain every step as we do it." She gave Camille the shot. "We want the kids to feel fully prepared and involved in what's going on."
"Never mind we can read their minds and already know," Prophet said.
"Again, we do this so the kids know that we are honest with them about everything and will never do anything without their knowledge." Dr. Douglas was very good at pretending that Prophet hadn't spoken; Simon got the feeling that it was something she had to do a lot. "I'd like to say that we never do anything without their permission, but that isn't true. Many of them, especially in the beginning of their stay here, refuse treatment of any kind. They fight us. Some continue to fight even after they come to understand that we're here to help. What the Alliance did to them was so traumatizing, that they probably will never trust anyone again, not just doctors." She stood and put the medical equipment away.
"River hasn't been able to tell me exactly what happened to her," Simon said. "I know they cut into her brain and made her a psychic and…"
"These kids all had psychic powers before entering the program," Dr. Douglas interrupted. "They weren't made this way."
Shock made Simon lose his words. River had always been a reader. All of them had. There were so many, he'd counted at least forty in all, and he knew that Garrison had yet to free all of the children who'd been experimented on at the academy. Where had all these psychics come from?
Camille slid off the chair. "That's their theory, at any rate," she said, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "I personally don't remember reading no one's mind before the Alliance took me to their special school."
"Camille, we've been over this before. You know…"
"Oh, shut up," she snapped.
"Camille." Simon put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. "You needn't be rude."
"You're not my brother. Don't act like it." Then she closed her eyes tightly and said, "I'm sorry. I'm just…"
"She gets cranky when someone forces her powers to wake back up," Prophet said. He was rubbing her neck soothingly, his hand occasionally brushing against Simon's. "Don't mind her."
Camille sighed and squeezed the bridge of her nose. "Doctor, can I go?"
"Of course. I recommend that you eat something before dinner, just to help absorb the drug. If you start feeling anything unusual, please find a doctor."
"I will." She swallowed. "Thanks." Turning, she looked at Simon. "Are you staying, or coming with me?"
"I'll come with you. Thank you, Doctor."
Dr. Douglas smiled. "I'll see you at dinner."
Simon followed Prophet and Camille into the hallway. They were standing very close, and Prophet had his arm around her waist. The closeness and constant contact was something very common here; Simon had noticed it right away. When given a briefing on Camille and her condition by Garrison right after she'd been sedated on Firefly, he'd explained that physical contact helped all the kids focus their physic abilities and relax them. It explained a lot about Camille and her behavior aboard Serenity.
Unfortunately, Mal was taking everything the wrong way. He believed that because Camille craved intimacy, she didn't care whom it was with. And, in some ways, it was true; when upset or shaken, she threw herself at whomever was closest and attractive. But her feelings and attraction for Mal was more than a simple, biological and emotional need for another mind to connect with. Everything she felt for him was a real and genuine as his feelings were for her.
"How is everyone settling in?" Camille asked Simon.
He nodded. "Well. We're all together, which is nice. I mean, in the same hall, not the same room. But close by. And close by your room as well, from what I understand."
She nodded. "Good. I’m glad. I mean, I want to be there for River when things start to get, you know. Harder. And I'm used to you all by now." Camille frowned, looking sad. "I'd hoped to get to fly with you a bit longer. I guess I'll take this."
Simon took Camille's hand and squeezed. "It'll get better, Camille. He'll…"
"I'm sorry, by the way," she interrupted. "About almost raping you. I shouldn't have lost control like that."
"You tried to rape him?" Prophet looked Simon up and down very slowly. "Well. I can see why."
Simon felt his face heat.
"Is he the reason that you and Garrison seem to be on the outs? I mean, he actually went to kiss you, and you turned away. That has never happened in the history of the Chameleon; you've been all over him practically since you were created. What's changed?"
"Not Simon." She glanced at him. "No offense."
"Believe me, none taken," he replied. Then, at Prophet's look, he said, "I think of her as a sister. The ordeal they went through affected them in some of the same ways, and ever since I met her, I saw River in her. Having sex with Camille would be wrong in many, many ways."
"Do you think that'll carry for the rest of the kids here?" Prophet asked. "It's a little rude to think you can waltz in here looking like you do and think you're above sleeping with us."
He really had no clue how to answer that. "I… I don’t see it at all as a matter of being above you," he stammered. "And I don't know how I'll respond to you individually. I just know that I felt brotherly towards Camille and when she came on to me, was highly uncomfortable." Wanting to end the conversation right now, he looked at her and said, "River sent me to find you."
"I'm on my way to see her. Are you coming, or are you going to find more people to question about how things work?"
"I think I'll wander a bit more, get the lay of the land and all that. But if she needs me…"
"If she needs you, I'll call," Camille promised. She stood on her toes and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "See you at dinner, okay?"
"All right."
Camille started walking away, but pivoted the moment she realized that Prophet was still standing next to Simon. "Aren't you coming?"
Prophet shook his head. "Naw. I've got other things to do. I'll catch you later, niu."
She looked troubled. Her eyes slid from Prophet's face to Simon's, then back again. "You haven't talk to Rive yet, have you?"
"I will. When the buzz dies down. The last thing I want to do is be in a room surrounded by a dozen fawning admirers, all right?"
"Prophet."
"Go on." He went to her and kissed her lightly on the lips. "I'll see you at dinner." Pressing his lips into her forehead, Prophet let her go and stepped back again.
"Fine. See you later. Bye Simon." Turning again, the medical gown--which, unlike so many, had fastenings in the back not only for modesty, but, seemingly, for style--flowing around her legs, Camille seemed to drift down the hall.
Simon cleared his throat. "Well. I suppose I'll see you later as well."
Prophet snorted. "Later? I'm coming with you."
Woa de tian ah. "I assure you, that's not necessary."
He smiled. "I know. But, I'm bored. So. Lay on, McDuff."
Simon sighed wearily and turned. Just what he needed; an obnoxious tagalong with a penchant for Shakespeare. It almost made him long for Jayne. At least with Jayne, Simon usually knew what he'd do; people like Prophet tended to be unpredictable and, right now, Simon wanted a little predictability.
Next to him, Prophet laughed. "Believe me, Doctor, around here there is no such thing as predictable."
"Wonderful."
