Psion Gamma by Jacob Gowans Page B

you okay?” Sammy asked her.
    Either the girl didn’t hear him or didn’t understand him.
    “Hey,” Sammy called out a second time. “Are you all right?” he peered across the room at her. Her short hair didn’t hide her face well. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She clutched her left arm as if it were badly hurt, but he saw nothing wrong with it. Copious amounts of drool fell down her lips and onto her soiled shirt.
    “Do you have a name?” he asked. “Can you help me or can I help you?”
    When she failed to respond a third time, he stopped asking questions. He huddled against the wall, angling his head so he could watch her across the way. Somehow, he fell asleep in that position.
    The next day, the cell door opened and a bowl of soupy oatmeal slid across the floor to him. Some of it sloshed over the sides as it came to rest near Sammy. Another bowl slid to the girl. He’d thought she was sleeping, but the moment the bowl came to rest, she picked it up, drained its contents, and sucked up whatever had spilled near her. Sammy picked up his own bowl and sampled the contents.
    It tasted like worn socks blended into small bits. However, he was famished, so he finished it. The girl eyed the little puddle of sludge near his knees, but he wasn’t about to eat off the floor. Moments later, in walked Stripe.
    “Good morning,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”
    Sammy didn’t answer.
    “Was it better than the gutter you came from?”
    More Aegis came in. This time they were wearing their regular uniforms—the green and brown clothes with the pattern muddied in such a way that it hurt Sammy’s eyes to look at it too long.
    “Are you ready to play?”
    Sammy was led into the room with the black door. He felt the same fear he’d felt the day before. The guards secured him to the chair and left.
    The scent of cinnamon was present again when Stripe got close to him. “Did you do your homework?” was the question.
    When Sammy wouldn’t answer, the helmet came down. His breakfast came up within five minutes of swirling lights and flashes. When Sammy was good and dizzy again, Stripe spoke up.
    “Are you ready to tell me your name so you can leave?”
    When Sammy didn’t answer, the creams came out. This time, Stripe introduced Sammy to pressure. He smeared it across the back of Sammy’s hand and waited. Slowly the cream went to work, inducing the most bizarre sensation that someone was sitting on him. As the pressure built, Sammy’s hand began to ache, then worse. At its peak, his hand felt like it was being crushed under an immense weight. All the while, Stripe spoke to him in a calm voice about the history of his pain research and how humans had evolved an especially keen perception of pain.
    “We are meant to perceive pain more than other animals. Pain defines us; molds us from infancy. Nothing makes a more indelible impression on our minds than pain.”
    About ten minutes into the pressure cream, Sammy started to cry. He stared at his hand, knowing nothing was wrong with it, but unable to stop imagining a giant boulder squashing it. He tried to imagine all the different things that could cause such agony: anvils in cartoons, furniture falling over, an elephant stepping on him—anything to keep his mind off the pain.
    A voice in his head begged him to tell Stripe his name, but the voice wasn’t strong enough and Sammy pushed it away. Somewhere far from his consciousness, time ticked away until Stripe called it a day.
    As the Aegis led Sammy out of the room, Stripe spoke to him. “It doesn’t have to be like this. Remember that. It can all go away. Remembering that will be your homework today.”
    In his cell, as Sammy cradled his hand, which still throbbed horribly, he thought about what Stripe had done to him. His gut told him that Stripe hadn’t expected him to break. Maybe he’s just testing me . The idea that Stripe had even worse tools on hand that he hadn’t used yet kept Sammy up late that