“Okay,” Zeke said, sounding regretful. “USN
Luke
now submerging.”
“Wait, give him a few secs to get ready,” Dave said. He looked worried, and that worried
Luke. “Flood your lungs with air, Luke. And try to be calm. When your body’s on red alert, it
uses more oxy.”
Luke gasped in and out half a dozen times and submerged. Zeke’s hand came down on his
head and gripped his hair. Calm, calm, calm, Luke thought. Also, You fucker, Zeke, you fucker,
I hate your sadistic guts.
He made the ninety seconds and came up gasping. Dave dried his face with a towel. “Stop
this,” he murmured in Luke’s ear. “Just tell me what I’m thinking. This time it’s a movie star.”
MATT DAMON, the bar sign in Dave’s head now said.
“I don’t know.” Luke began to cry, the tears running down his wet face.
Zeke said, “Fine. Let’s go for a minute forty-five. One hundred and five big seconds, and
don’t forget to put a
howdy-do
between each one. We’ll turn you into an abalone fisherman
yet.”
Luke hyperventilated again, but by the time he reached one hundred, counting in his head,
he felt sure he was going to open his mouth and suck in water.
They would haul him out,
resuscitate him, and do it again. They would keep on until he
either told them what they
wanted to hear or drowned.
At last the hand on his head was gone. He surged up, gasping and coughing. They gave him
time to recover, then Zeke said, “Never mind the animals and sports teams and the whatever.
Just say it. Say ‘I’m a telep, I’m TP,’ and this stops.”
“Okay! Okay, I’m a telep!”
“Great!” Zeke cried. “Progress! What number am I thinking of?”
The bright bar sign read 17.
“Six,” Luke said.
Zeke made a game-show buzzer sound. “Sorry, it was seventeen. Two minutes this time.”
“No! I can’t! Please!”
Dave spoke quietly. “Last one, Luke.”
Zeke gave his colleague a shoulder-shove almost hard enough to knock him off his feet.
“Don’t tell him what might not be true.” He returned his attention to Luke. “I’ll give you thirty
seconds to get fully aerated, and then down you go. Olympic Diving Team, baby.”
With no choice, Luke inhaled and exhaled rapidly, but long before he could count to thirty
in his head, Zeke’s hand closed on his hair and shoved him down.
Luke opened his eyes and stared at the white side of the tank. The paint was scratched in a
couple of places, maybe by the fingernails of other children subjected to this torture, which was
reserved strictly for pinks. And why? It was pretty obvious.
Because Hendricks and Evans
thought the range of psychic talents could be expanded, and pinks were expendable.
Expand, expend, he thought. Expand, expend. Calm, calm, calm.
And although he tried his best to enter a Zenlike state, his lungs eventually demanded more
air.
His Zenlike state, which hadn’t been
very Zenlike to begin with,
broke down when he
thought that if he survived this he’d be forced to go two minutes and fifteen, then two minutes
and thirty, then—
He began to thrash. Zeke held him down. He planted his feet and pushed, almost made it to
the surface, but Zeke added his other hand and pushed him down again. The dots came back,
flashing in front of his eyes, rushing toward him, pulling back, then rushing toward him again.
They started to swirl around him like a carousel gone crazy. Luke thought, The Stasi Lights. I’m
going to drown looking at the—
Zeke hauled him up by the hair. His white tunic was soaked. He looked fixedly at Luke. “I’m
going to put you down again, Luke. Again and again and again. I’ll put you down until you
drown and then we’ll resuscitate you and drown you again and resuscitate you again. Last
chance: what number am I thinking of?”
“I don’t . . .” Luke retched out water. “. . . know!”
That fixed gaze remained for perhaps five seconds.
Luke met it,
although his eyes were
gushing tears. Then Zeke said, “Fuck this and fuck you, sport. Dave, dry him off and send him
back. I don’t want to look at his little cunt face.”
He left, slamming the door.
Luke floundered from the pool, staggered, almost fell. Dave steadied him, then handed him
a towel. Luke dried himself and got back into his clothes as fast as he could. He didn’t want to
be anywhere
near this man or this place,
but even feeling half-dead, his curiosity remained.
“Why is it so important? Why is it so important when it isn’t even what we’re here
for
?”
“How would you know what you’re here for?” Dave asked.
“Because I’m not stupid, that’s why.”
“You want to keep your mouth shut, Luke,” Dave said. “I like you, but that doesn’t mean I
want to listen to you run your mouth.”
“Whatever the dots are for, it doesn’t have anything to do with finding out if I can go both
ways, TP as well as TK. What are you guys
doing
? Do you even kn—”
Dave slapped him, a big roundhouse that knocked Luke off his feet. Water puddled on the
tile floor soaked into the seat of his jeans. “I’m not here to answer your questions.” He bent
toward Luke. “We know what we’re doing, smartass!
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