Chapter Nineteen
The Human brain is a marvelous, wondrous instrument, with razor-sharp cutting edges that can slice in countless directions. At all times, the user must be careful not to harm himself with such a powerful weapon.
—Noah Watanabe, Commentary on Captivity
Noah didn’t like the odors inside the CorpOne medical laboratory; the disturbingly strange chemicals he could not identify. His vivid imagination worked against him now, making him wonder what the doctors and other technicians intended to do with those substances, and with the dangerous-looking array of medical instruments he saw in clearplax cases all around him. In the few days he had been housed in the facility, he had not been able to get used to the underlying sense of evil that permeated the place, and he knew he never would.
Early each morning, Dr. Bichette’s assistants brought Noah out of his heavily guarded, locked room on the top level and took him down to the laboratory on the main floor, which had an operating theater in its central chamber. The laboratory was metal and plax; gleaming silver and white. Everything was voice-activated. Whenever the doctor wanted a vial or device, he spoke it by name, held his hand out, and waited for the elaborate machinery of the chamber to give it to him. Instantly, conveyors and servos in the ceiling whirred to life, removing items from cases and lowering them to his waiting hand.
From tiers of seats that circled above central operating station, around twenty people looked on, men and women. On previous days, Noah had noticed his detestable twin sister sitting in one of the front-row viewing seats above him, and he had watched her send messages to the medical personnel down on the central floor. This morning, however, she stood beside the doctor at the examination table and glared at her brother while the assistants activated electronic straps over his wrists and ankles to secure him in place.
In response, Noah gazed at her with calculated, loveless disdain.
Under different circumstances he might have been the owner of his father’s corporation and all of its operations, including this one. In an odd image, he tried to imagine what it might be like to be himself, strolling into the laboratory, looking at himself on this examination table. But the hardness of the table against his backside, along with the people looking at him like a bug under a microscope, reminded Noah only too harshly that he had no degree of control over the situation. Not in a physical sense, anyway.
But he still had his mind.
In this facility and in the prison before that, Noah had been forced to undergo rigorous medical examinations, with the doctors paying close attention to the healed gun wound in the center of his chest and his regenerated left foot—wounds that showed no easily visible scars or signs of internal injury. He wondered what was on the agenda for today, and did not have long to wait for his answer.
Without warning, he saw Francella shove Bichette out of the way. “This is going too slowly for me,” she snapped. “Give me a tray of surgical tools!” She held her hand out, but the machinery did not respond.
“If you will just return to your seat, we can proceed,” Bichette said. “You must have faith in my abilities. I know this patient well, and the Doge has entrusted him to my care.”
“Like hell! Lorenzo has placed him in my care, not yours. You work for me, you dolt, and you will do as I say.” The fingers of her extended hand twitched, as if giving hand signals to the servomachines, telling them to do her bidding.
“I have authorization from the Doge to perform complete medical examinations,” the doctor insisted. “You must let me proceed.”
She arched her shaved eyebrows in displeasure. “How dare you act as if I am interfering?”
Narrowing his eyes, he said, “That is not my intent. I’m sure we can work this out.”
“I’m your boss, you fool. I own this facility, and Lorenzo put me in charge of the investigation. Don’t you understand that?”
“But the Doge sent me a telebeam message yesterday afternoon, telling me how important my work with Noah is. He thought I might be on the verge of a momentous medical breakthrough, and that—”
“He should not have communicated with you directly! I have an agreement with Lorenzo that all decisions concerning the fate of this”—she nudged Noah roughly in the side—“are up to me.”
“With all due respect, Ms. Watanabe, you don’t know what you’re saying. You’re too close to the situation—since it involves your brother—and you need to take a step back. Granted, you own this medical facility, but you don’t know how to run every aspect of it. Prince Saito understood that, and he delegated important tasks.” He glanced at Noah. “This is an important task.”
“You think I don’t know that? You say my judgment is impaired because I’m too close to the situation? What about you? I think you like my brother and you’re going easy on him, showing favoritism toward him.”
“You could not be more wrong,” Bichette insisted.
In a rage, Francella smashed a hand against a case and broke the plax. Reaching through the jagged opening, she brought out a sharp, gleaming knife.
Noah braced himself, but tried to show no fear.
She waved the instrument wildly in the air. Bichette backed out of her way and she swished the blade close to Noah’s face. In response, the captive did not close his eyes or flinch, but stared at her emotionlessly. He felt a spinning sensation and a hum of energy all around him. Where was it coming from? Noah couldn’t tell.
“This is not the way!” Bichette said.
Francella hurled the weapon in another direction and it skidded and clattered across the floor. “Get me some results,” she snapped, “or, by God, I’ll do it myself!”
As she stormed out of the laboratory, Noah breathed a sigh of relief, but only a little one. Somehow he had an odd, unsettling sensation that his apparent immortality might be penetrated by that insane woman.
***