Chapter 6
By the time they got back to campus, Colt’s body ached and his eyes were heavy and all he wanted was to go back to his dorm room and sleep, but Danielle grabbed him by the arm and started walking him to the infirmary.
“What about my report?” he said.
“It can wait,” she said. “Besides, we already called it in. Let the investigators handle it.”
“Tell that to my commanding officer.”
A girl approached wearing one of the new Intergalactic Defense Academy uniforms. It was formfitting, like neoprene, and it had the IDA crest and orange striping that signified she was part of Jackal Squad.
“Don’t look now, but I think Miranda’s trying to get your attention,” Danielle said, rolling her eyes.
“Sure she is,” Colt said.
Miranda Patel was widely considered the most beautiful girl on campus. Whenever she was around, the male cadets stopped and stared. It didn’t matter if she was walking, running, or eating an apple; it was like she had super-powered pheromones that hypnotized the opposite sex. Then again, it could have been her enormous brown eyes, full lips, dark skin, and that long black hair that bounced with each step she took.
“Hi,” she said as she walked past them.
“Um . . . hi,” Colt said with his voice caught in his throat. She smiled, and without realizing what he was doing, Colt turned and watched her walk away.
“You might want to put your tongue back in your mouth,” Danielle said.
“What?” Colt turned back around and ran his hand over the stubble of his shaved head.
“Could you be any more obvious?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.”
Danielle stayed at the medical facility long enough to make sure he checked in before she left to take a shower and get something to eat. He sat in the waiting room and stared at the floor, wondering why his appointment was with someone named Dr. Roth instead of the medical team that had been monitoring him since he arrived at the campus.
Twenty minutes later a door opened, and a white robot on track wheels entered the room. It was roughly the size of a mini-fridge, with a red cross on its chest, a wide rectangular head, and two of its eight retractable arms fully extended.
“This way, if you please,” the medibot said in a synthesized voice. A series of eyes lit up as it wheeled back around and led Colt down a hallway. It passed the examination rooms and stopped at an elevator.
“Where are we going?” Colt asked as he entered the elevator.
“Dr. Roth maintains an office on sublevel three.”
“Sublevel three? Wait, what happened to Dr. Cornelius?”
“He is currently indisposed . . . Mind your fingers. Some of our subjects are a bit aggressive,” it said as the doors opened.
Three other medibots were in a room that was about as big as a fast food restaurant, each one of them attending to a variety of caged animals. Their domed heads sat on top of tapered bodies that were wider at the base than they were near their shoulder joints. Their retractable arms and the cluster of eyes reminded Colt of the creepy mechanical spiders that had attacked him back at Greg’s Comics in Arizona.
The walls were lined with cages made of thick glass. One held a chimpanzee that simply sat there, staring at him. Another had a nervous dog that paced back and forth, its tail swishing as it yapped. But most were filled with strange creatures.
The first thing that stood out was an enormous green slug resting in the branches of a tree like a length of gelatinous intestine. According to the plaque it was called a Storaab and was from the jungles of Gathmara, the home world of the Thule, but Colt hadn’t run into any during his training scenarios in the hologram rooms. He stood there, entranced by how disgusting yet fascinating it was. The only light in its cage emanated from its body, where a complicated network of veins was lit up like a neon sign beneath translucent skin.
Nearby, colorful reptiles called Kyax fed on a carcass. One tossed a hunk of marbled flesh into the air and snatched it in its jaws as its leathery wings pounded the air. The Finopod in the adjacent cage looked like a Venus flytrap, but it was nearly as tall as Colt. And he recognized monkey-like creatures called Twilek as they glided from a platform to a series of poles, using membranes that ran from wrist to ankle like those of flying squirrels. It was incredible to see them in the flesh instead of as a holographic representation.
“Interesting, aren’t they?”
Colt turned to see a man with the beginnings of a goatee and hair that hung down to his shoulders. He was in good enough shape that his tight black T-shirt didn’t look too ridiculous, and most of his right arm was covered in an intricate series of tattoos.
“Sorry,” Colt said. “I, um . . . I was looking for Dr. Roth.”
“Then you’re in the right place,” the man said. “You must be Cadet McAlister.”
“Dr. Roth?”
“In the flesh.”
“Are you a veterinarian or something?”
“Not exactly,” Dr. Roth said. “Though I do know a thing or two about Thule physiology. In fact, you might say I wrote the book on the subject.” He stood there like he was expecting applause, but Colt just stared at him. “Anyway, given the unusual nature of your condition, I’ve been asked to take over your medical care.”
“What about Dr. Cornelius?”
“He’ll still be part of the team, but in more of an advisory role.”
“Does my grandpa know about this?”
“We had lunch yesterday,” Dr. Roth said as he pulled a penlight from his pocket. “He’s quite the storyteller. May I?” He pried Colt’s eyelid apart without waiting for a response and shined the light at his retina. “When did you first notice that your eyes had turned color?”
“I don’t know . . . a few weeks ago, I guess.”
“Fascinating. And you haven’t noticed any other physical manifestations? Scales? Protrusions? The start of a tail?”
“No.”
“What about your emotional state? Do you have extreme mood shifts?”
“Not really.”
“What about fits of crying? Hopelessness? Anger?”
“Sometimes,” Colt said. “The anger part anyway—like today when I thought a friend was in trouble. Something snapped, and the next thing I know I’m covered in blood, my knuckles are raw, and the Thule is lying there not moving.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“I don’t know,” Colt said. “Scared, I guess. I mean, what if something happens and I turn on someone I care about?”
“That’s certainly a fair question, though I wonder if it has more to do with the stress you’re under. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to have the weight of the entire world on your shoulders. It can’t be easy.”
Colt averted his eyes. He knew Dr. Roth was talking about Project Betrayal and how because Colt had blood from a Thule coursing through his veins, people actually thought he was part of an ancient prophecy that would destroy the Thule and save humanity. Just thinking about it sounded laughable . . . and yet maybe it was true. Maybe this was the plan God had for him all along.
“I want you to be honest with me,” Colt said.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Do you think I’m turning into one of them?”
“The Thule?” Dr. Roth asked as he started chewing the inside of his cheek. “If it’s honesty you’re after, then I’d have to say that I have my doubts. After all, you’ve been carrying their DNA for the better part of ten years, and the only physical manifestation has been your eye color, right?”
“Yeah,” Colt said, which was the truth. What he didn’t say was that he had heard the Thule speak inside his mind.
“Still, you’re the first of your kind, which means we won’t know until it happens—if it happens. All we can do for now is watch and wait.”
“I was thinking that maybe they should lock me up just in case.”
“That might be a bit extreme—at least for now. But I appreciate the thought. It shows your character.” Dr. Roth walked over to a bank of drawers and pulled out a needle and syringe. “Would you mind if I took a blood sample?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice.”
Colt closed his eyes and held out his arm, and Dr. Roth tied a piece of medical tubing just above his elbow. Colt had never been a fan of needles, and if Dr. Roth was going to stick him, then he didn’t want to watch.
“There we are,” the doctor said. “Now this may pinch.”
Colt felt something hit his arm, but there wasn’t any pain. When he opened his eyes, Dr. Roth was standing there looking at a needle that was bent at odd angles.
“That was unexpected,” the doctor said.
“What happened?”
“I’m not exactly sure.” Dr. Roth placed the needle into a disposal container. “Let’s try that again.” He slammed the second needle into Colt’s arm like he was trying to drive a nail through a board, and once again it crumpled.