

## The John Doe:

by

### Veronice Ceccarelli

Published by Veronice Ceccarelli at Smashwords

(Copyright © 2011 by Veronice Ceccarelli

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Chapter 1

The John Doe was found in a gutter. A young man, naked and very cold. His only injury seemed to be some very severe anal tearing. There was a lot of dried blood. He wore no jewellery, not even a watch. Dental records were irrelevant, as it appeared he'd never had a filling in his life. There were no tattoos or piercings, and no sign of drug use. He had long hair, which was one handy descriptor, black but with white strands, unusual. And he had distinctive bracelet scars around both wrists. They were old.

A detailed description was sent to the New York police to see if they could match him to a missing person. There was no sign of physical trauma to the head, but the brain scan was distinctly abnormal. He remained deeply comatose.

He was a charity patient, and the surgeon was not in a hurry to perform the reconstructive surgery required. When he checked him finally, three days after he came in, he told the resident doctor that surgery was not needed. The resident had a close look, and compared what he saw with his notes. The man had healed amazingly well. He could have sworn surgery was needed. But he was a busy man, and soon forgot the oddity.

It was nearly Christmas. Another brain scan was performed with no change observable. There was brain activity according to the EEG results, but was atypical – not normal. The bed was needed, there was no sign of recovery, and the John Doe was transferred to Ward 14, the ward that housed over two dozen other comatose male patients, none of them expected to regain consciousness. Tubes kept them alive. Most had a nasogastric tube through which they were fed. Some had intravenous drips as well, often those with muscle spasms that sometimes had them screaming in pain, though supposedly not knowing anything, or feeling anything. All of them had the indignity of a urine bag hanging beside their bed. A few were on breathing machines, but if a person needed help to breathe, doctors at this hospital seldom encouraged relatives to keep them alive. The John Doe, of course, had no known relatives.

They left his hair long. Somehow it seemed to give him a touch more dignity in his helplessness, though it was more trouble than the very short haircut most of the long term patients had.

The weeks passed. On the first of March. Rebecca, the nurse, smiled. She thought that one of the other nurses must have a fondness for the John Doe, maybe Josie who was notoriously soft-hearted. Most of the patients were shaved every second day, but John was often left for three or even four days, as he had less beard growth than most. It was Rebecca's shift that was responsible for shaving the patients, but now Rebecca touched the smooth cheek, and thought that someone had obviously shaved him recently.

Several days later, Josie laughed to Taylor that Rebecca must be sweet on John, as he was being shaved every day now. She reached over and smoothed down the tape on his cheek that held the nasogastric tube and kept it from being put under strain. It was coming up at the corner again.

The vague shapes surrounded him. There was an irritation in his nose. His feeble hand tried to remove the tube, plucking at the tape. But consciousness faded and blackness returned.

It was not until the third week of March that Rebecca told the doctor that John might be coming out of it, that she'd noticed movement, that he'd been trying to remove the nasogastric tube. The doctor peered at him. The patient was young, of course, and sometimes the young ones did show improvement. And there had never been any obvious reason for the coma, in spite of the puzzling brain scans. There was more brain activity shown when they did another EEG. Maybe he was coming out of it.

The next day, Josie found the nasogastric tube lying on the floor, and the urine bag was leaking where John had presumably interfered with it. At least, the bed was dry. It was getting to be a nuisance, and although Josie spoke loudly to him, there was no response, not even when she tried painful stimuli. She adjusted restraints around his wrists instead. He could hurt himself pulling out the tube when he didn't know what he was doing.

Two hours later, he screamed, twisting and struggling frantically against the restraints. Josie pulled them off, and he gradually calmed, staring at her, before trying again to pluck at the tape that held the nasogastric tube. She pulled away his hands, trying to tell him that it was all right, that he had to leave the tube alone. But his eyes were closing, and she readjusted the restraints.

It wasn't until the next shift that he started to wake again and tried to raise his hands. Finding himself restrained, he panicked again, screaming and struggling, throwing himself as hard as he could away from those ties that bound him. Rebecca ran to him, holding his arms, speaking loudly, trying to penetrate his fear.

Her partner said, "Take them off?"

Rebecca nodded, and the restraints were removed, although with some difficulty as he kept jerking against them. Only when he could move his hands as he wanted, did he stop struggling and lie still. His eyes were open, and Rebecca took the opportunity. "What's your name?"

The blurred figure was known to the patient, who could feel her as an individual, even as his eyes saw only a vague shape. "You must not tie me up!" he said to her urgently. "Please, don't tie me up."

Rebecca explained to him soothingly that they were only restraints so that he wouldn't pull out the tube in his nose. But as she explained that he had to have the tube, even if he didn't like it, that he'd starve without it, darkness was swamping him again. But they moved him close to the nurses' station where he'd be easier watched, and they left off the restraints.

The next time he woke, Rebecca saw his beginning movement, a sudden frantic jerk of his arms. Finding them free, he sighed and relaxed, and stared at the ceiling before turning his head, trying to take in his surroundings. Rebecca jumped to attention as his hands rose to his face, but he only passed his hands once over his cheeks, and then put them down again, feeling, instead, the rails at the sides of his bed.

She went to him, saying a gentle hello. He looked in her direction, her shape interrupting the light from a window. The shape seemed to be shifting and blending into the background, and he squinted, trying to see more clearly.

Rebecca took his hand. They so rarely saw a patient recover in this ward, and the nurses had objected strenuously when it was suggested he should be moved, even though a waking patient could be a lot more work than a comatose one. Gently, she was telling him where he was, in hospital, and she said her name was Rebecca, and she introduced Simon, her partner. The nurses usually worked in pairs, as it was easier when there so much lifting involved.

Simon asked this time, "What's your name?"

John took no notice. But when Rebecca asked his name, he answered, "John." They'd been calling him John, or 'the John Doe,' but John was a common name, and his name, quite easily, could really be John.

"Tell me your full name, John," said Rebecca. "What's your full name?"

John put a hand to his aching head, but he answered Rebecca, who'd been around all his life. "My name's John Doe."

Rebecca and Simon looked at each other, but didn't press further.

His hand went to his face, plucking at the tape again, and he complained, "I don't like it!"

Simon pulled his hand away, and he resisted a moment, before sighing and closing his eyes. It had been barely five minutes, but the nurses were gleeful. John was getting better. Rebecca touched his smooth cheek. "I wonder who's been shaving him. It's not in the notes."

If there were indications of waking from him during the next two shifts, it passed unnoticed, though there was another brain scan that showed no change, and an EEG that showed little change, either. The wave pattern still indicated a comatose state. The resident doctor had a good look at him, and requested a senior doctor have a look. "When I'm not so busy," said the expert, looking at the notes of an acute care patient.

******

Morning shift again, Rebecca and Simon, Barbara Ritchie in overall charge of this ward, and the adjacent one, that held eighteen female comatose patients. It was one of the biggest hospitals in New York and accepted the largest number of charity patients. Rebecca and Simon were working at the other end of the ward, washing the men, one by one, shaving most, changing urine bags, the usual routine. It was a large workload, but it was all the staff they had.

They looked up at a crash, and a perfectly normal sounding, _"Bugger!"_ John was getting up from the floor, clinging to the railings of his bed, which he'd apparently climbed over. They abandoned the swarthy man they'd been tending, and hurried to him. The tube was on the floor again, and the urine bag was leaking all over the floor as well.

John was looking around, peering blindly. He smiled at Rebecca and Simon as they approached, and asked, "Can I have a shower now?" Simon grabbed a chair from the next door patient, whose wife occasionally visited. John was pressed into a chair, but looked at Rebecca, and repeated, "Please Rebecca, I need a shower."

Rebecca looked at Simon, who shrugged. "Stay here, I'll get it ready."

Rebecca asked John his name and address while he looked about. His eyes fell on the next door bed and he said sadly, "His bottom hurts. You should turn him on his side more."

Rebecca repeated her question, and he replied, puzzled, "You know my name. I'm John."

"John Doe?" Rebecca asked, and John nodded.

They put him in a wheelchair to take him to the bathroom, where he vanished into the toilet, closing the door. They waited, hoping he wouldn't fall. But they already knew that things were easier if they didn't try and restrain him. His shower was skimpy, and he was staggering when he emerged. Speedily, they took him back to bed, and he managed to climb in before closing his eyes, looking a lot more contented.

Simon touched his face. "He needs a shave," he commented. John passed two hands over his cheeks, and his face was smooth. His nurses stared at each other, mouths agape. How had he done that? It was definite, and they told each other again and again. Yes, he'd definitely needed a shave. Yes, he put his hands to his cheeks, and he no longer needed a shave.

Senior Nurse Ritchie laughed at them when they told her. But they insisted, and she came and touched his cheek. Maybe John didn't like her, because he muttered something and turned his head away. "Prove it then!" she finally told them. "Restrain him for a few days, so his beard grows a bit more, then we'll take the restraints off and we'll see what happens." They tried to explain that John panicked when restrained, but Barbara Ritchie was one of those supervisors who saw any hint of an opposing opinion as a threat, and she instantly made it an order instead of a request.

Rebecca and Simon had no choice, though Rebecca hated herself when next her patient woke and thrashed around in the bed, trying desperately to escape.

There was a very bad couple of days for John then. He struggled and fought, and when his strength ran out, he begged piteously for release, addressing his nurses by name. And when he was refused, no matter what reassurances they tried to offer, he sobbed in despair. But even so, his intervals of consciousness were only about ten minutes at a time, a few times a day.

Barbara Ritchie relented after two days, and although the beard growth was not a great deal, it was still discernible, and was obvious to the touch. There was an audience. The manager of the hospital was curious when Barbara mentioned the odd phenomenon that two of her nurses claimed to have seen. The resident doctor wanted to watch as well, but an emergency arose in another ward, and he couldn't be there.

Simon removed the restraints, and Rebecca told her sleeping patient that he was not tied up any more, and he needed a shave. He made no move. Rebecca picked up his hand, and touched it to his cheek. He frowned, and both hands came up, and the cheeks were smooth.

This time, there were four witnesses who felt his cheeks to confirm, but his eyes were open now, and he was looking around anxiously, repeatedly raising his hands to make sure that they really were free.

"Rebecca?" he queried, knowing which of the shapes she was.

She was reassuring. He wasn't panicking as he wasn't tied, but he was acutely unhappy. He didn't know what was wrong, but there were too many people, and they were all looking at him. He turned his head away and closed his eyes as if to hide. They knew he wasn't sleeping, as there was an anxious frown on his face. Simon held a hand and tried to reassure, but he never took as much notice of the man as he did the woman, and he only opened his eyes when Rebecca touched him on the shoulder and told him to stop worrying. Everything was all right.

He stayed awake longer that time, but he only relaxed when he was left alone. And then he was again plucking at the tape that held the nasogastric tube. Simon took a few quick strides to his side, and explained again that the tube was to feed him. John looked for Rebecca, but Rebecca was busy elsewhere, and he looked back at Simon. "I'd like a feed," he said. "I'd like ice-cream please."

Simon laughed, and called to Rebecca. "He wants ice-cream."

Rebecca looked up from her unpleasant job, and said, "Well, why don't we take out the tube and give him some ice-cream, then?"

They took out the tube, and they gave him some ice-cream, and he thanked them politely before closing his eyes. He opened them again though, and his voice was rather high pitched, frightened, as he said, "Are you going to tie me up again?"

Simon touched him gently on the shoulder. "I doubt we'll need to do that ever again."

John Doe was getting better. John Doe was a mystery and no-one understood how he could shave merely by touching his hands to his cheeks. His carers were bitterly disappointed when he was efficiently whisked away in the middle of the night, and they were not even told where he'd been taken.

******
Chapter 2:

He was tied up again, and again John fought desperately against the restraints and begged for release. But Rebecca wasn't there and nor were any of the other nurses he knew. None of them were even female. The hated tube was back in place. Cameras were pointed at him, fixed only a couple of feet above his face and working continuously, but his sight was poor, and they were only vague shapes to him. Other cameras kept the whole of the room under a constant surveillance. John Doe was very closely watched.

Enquiries were made, trying to ascertain his identity, but without result.

Colonel Mark Bedville was put in charge of Facility 19, where John Doe now lay. There were no other beds, no other patients. One of the walls was of a clear pale shade. It was kept free of furnishings. Behind the wall, there was a room where observers could watch every move the subject made. There were two male nurses on duty at all times. They were army nurses.

Isaac Berg was an army doctor, a man of about thirty, who looked solid, reliable, kindly. But he had an intense curiosity, too, and had been transferred to this duty from a hospital where research was being undertaken into the treatment of mental diseases. Neither Isaac nor the nurses were dressed in army uniform, Isaac in civilian clothing, the male nurses with white tunic tops over grey trousers. Two armed soldiers guarded the room, but outside the door, out of sight of the subject.

Outside, repairs were being made to the high fence, and the barbed wire that had been long removed, was replaced. The soldiers who guarded Facility 19 were armed with rifles, with batons, and with stun guns. The border patrol had attack dogs. The soldiers were subject to the Official Secrets Act, though hardly any of them knew why they were there. The Facility had been originally designed for bacteriological warfare research, though it had never been used for that purpose, and was more recently used to train commandos to take control of a building filled with 'hostiles.' There was a lot of repair work and modification going on, cameras were rigged in many areas, and those on the gates were briefed on the need for utmost security.

Again, there was an audience when one of the nurses removed the restraints. Joe Price called the attention of Colonel Bedville and the doctor to the scars that encircled the wrists of their patient.

"Probably why he fights against being restrained so much," remakred Isaac. "He's been traumatized at some stage."

"It can't have been from the rape," said the Colonel. "Those scars have to be more than a few months old."

Isaac agreed.

"White in his hair, too," commented the Colonel. "How old do you think he might be?"

"About twenty-four, twenty-five, not much older," said the doctor. "Take out the Nasogastric tube as well, Joe," he instructed. "We'll try feeding him normally. It seems they managed it the day before he was brought here." He added to the Colonel, "He might do a lot better now he's not restrained, especially if we can feed him by mouth. He urgently needs to put a bit of weight on." They had full notes, the originals from the hospital. The amended notes left with the hospital records no longer mentioned anything unusual.

Price told John that he needed a shave. He repeated it, speaking in a firm tone. The Colonel took over. "John, it's time to shave. Shave yourself."

The patient turned his head away. There was a continuous EEG reading now, the electrodes attached here and there on their patient's head. Isaac watched the readings attentively. Usually, they still mostly showed the characteristic coma pattern, but at the moment, it showed merely a sleeping pattern. He thought that John could wake up now, if he chose. But maybe, it would be better if they just waited.

Even the Colonel hadn't lost the soldier's ability to be patient when required, and now they stepped back from the bed, and waited. Two on one side, two on the other, none of them in front of the observers in the next room, and none of them obscuring the path of the several cameras in the room.

A half hour of silence passed. They waited. The movement from the man in the bed was convulsive as he wrenched himself over, pulling his arms up in a violent movement. But he was free and he stopped moving almost straight away, only looking around quietly. His hand went to his cheek, but he was only touching, feeling for the presence of the hated tube. It wasn't there. He didn't like these men who surrounded him. He wanted Rebecca, and he said her name, questioning, "Rebecca?"

They stayed silent. They had a suspicion he didn't see very well and still hoped he might perform that behavior that was so incredible. There had been four witnesses, but they wanted to see it themselves and they very much wanted it on film. Film was firm evidence. As intended, the beard growth was obvious now. They'd left him restrained for four days, making sure that the film would show clearly the phenomenon.

John stared at the ceiling, and spoke in a low voice, but quite clearly. "I don't like to be watched."

Isaac shrugged and went to him, saying who he was, and saying who his nurses were. John looked fully at him and then away. "Why did you tie me up?"

Isaac adopted an even more soothing tone. He said that he'd had to be restrained because he was not being sensible. They were only able to take off the restraints when he'd calmed down. John looked at him and said nothing. He was quite unable to be sensible when tied up and the doctor was lying. He could feel it.

Isaac was looking at him with an understanding half smile. It seemed his patient bore a grudge. "Would you like something to eat?"

The grudge was forgotten as John turned a delighted smile to him. He definitely wanted something to eat. He was very hungry.

Afterward, they helped him to the bathroom and he showered. He felt so much better. He slept again when he returned to bed and they readjusted the electrodes for continuous EEG monitoring. He'd been awake forty minutes, far longer than on any previous occasion.

Only his nurses were in the room next time he woke, and Price nudged Rockdale and pointed. Still with eyes shut, John passed both hands over his cheeks and the dark growth was gone. He was as smooth cheeked as a child. But their silent jubilation apparently penetrated the sleep of John, who turned his head toward them and spoke in an irritable tone, "What?"

They didn't answer, but his eyes were open, looking at the ceiling. A knowledge seeped into him. He was not supposed to shave like that. When people watched, he had to always use a razor. It was the first of April.

The watchers were disappointed that they didn't see the weird phenomenon again. But they had it on film, and the film was watched again and again. They didn't know what they had, but they knew it was not a normal human.

John was doing well, awake longer each day, eating well and beginning to put on weight. But when he asked for a razor so he could shave, they denied him. He stared at them in puzzlement. He had to be able to shave, he hated himself unshaven, and somehow the knowledge that he had a different way of shaving was lost.

On the fifth day he peered at the dark beard growth in the bathroom mirror. The see-through wall was right beside him and a man watched from just behind. Slowly, John turned toward the man and abruptly slammed his fist against the wall. The man behind the wall flinched and retreated.

John was looking black, peering at the wall, totally opaque from his side, and then returning to the bedroom area and striding up and down next to the wall, his head turned to it, appearing to be looking straight through.

Price and Rockdale pressed a button, otherwise just watching. Price finally asked, "What's the matter, John?"

John spared him a bare glance. He didn't like his nurses, any of them. He preferred Rebecca and Josie and Taylor.

Abruptly, he strode toward the door, trying it and finding it locked. He turned, leaning back to the wall, and started to tremble. He was staring at his nurses. He still had little strength and they were the ones who helped him shower, helped him dress, kept his room clean and tidy and brought him meals. They'd not been cruel or bossy, but they were not female. John didn't like them.

Isaac was in the observation room now, watching.

John said, "I want to go out."

Rockdale said, perfectly calmly, "You can't go out, you're not well enough."

John was already feeling the crippling weakness flooding his body. He turned to the door again, wrenching at the doorknob. It was opened. He tried to brush past Isaac, but Isaac put out a hand and caught his arm. "You're being silly, John. If you want to go out, we'll organize a wheelchair and your nurses will take you out."

John stood still, trembling. He was beginning to think he was a prisoner and was feeling the same fear as when he was tied.

He gave a deep sigh of relief when he was taken into the open. He felt with his senses and pointed where he wanted to go. Isaac nodded at Rocky. The area of grass felt good to him. Shakily, he stood out of the wheelchair, Isaac helping support him.

"I want to sit on the grass for a little while," he explained. And when they helped him down, he lay on his back, put out a hand and touched the living grass. He closed his eyes. The sunshine warmed him. It was a good feeling.

Isaac sat on the grass next to him. John still had his eyes closed. "What sort of a hospital is this?" he asked. "Where are the other patients."

Isaac said calmly, patiently, "It's a research hospital. The other patients are in other wards, but there are not many, as we only take those who are interesting cases."

John frowned. "Am I an interesting case?"

Isaac said, still in that calming voice, "Total amnesia is very rare."

John still frowned. "Have I got amnesia?"

"Do you remember who you are, where you came from?"

John thought for a few minutes, but then shook his head. "I haven't lived very long. There's nothing to remember."

Isaac nodded. Total amnesia was very rare, but it wasn't why John was carefully guarded in a large, secure facility, with no other patients. But it was obvious that he was worried about being a prisoner and the illusion would be maintained as long as possible, that it was just a hospital.

On re-entering 'Ward 3,' as they described it, John frowned again at the bare wall. "Why am I watched all the time? I don't like being watched all the time."

Isaac was still with him. "We're looking after you. You would never have had such careful treatment in the public hospital."

But John declared, "I prefer the other hospital. I'd like to go back, please."

Isaac gave him a lengthy and entirely fictitious explanation of why a patient could not be in a public hospital when there was a private hospital willing to take him. He finished, "Do you understand?"

John said no, but there was a lot he didn't understand, and he only looked to the table where a meal waited.

He'd been awake nearly three hours. It was a rapid and consistent improvement, although he was still quite unsteady on his feet. But now, when he rose to his feet, he stopped, looking uncertain and a little frightened. For a moment, he just stood, swaying, then he clapped his hands to his head and gave a strangled cry of pain, falling to the floor, writhing in agony.

He quietened after a few minutes, staying very still, but with his body tense, and when Isaac felt his pulse, it was racing. He was in a very great deal of distress. They put him in bed, though he resisted slightly when they first touched him and muttered that they should leave him alone. But it seemed that even those words cost him too much and Isaac felt his body become more limp as he lost consciousness.

It was only for a few minutes, as it seemed the pain was too great for such an easy release. The painkiller administered didn't make any difference, and when they started to fix the electrodes for continuous EEG monitoring, he started fitting. The first seizure went for a long time.

There were more in the next hours and days, periods of head pain, then seizures, followed by hours of unconsciousness.

He was sensible for brief intervals, though it seemed he was never sensible enough to leave the feeding tube in place. The third time he pulled it out, roughly, hurting himself, they decided to leave it out. Feeding him that way didn't seem to do him much good in any case. He wouldn't tolerate an Intravenous Drip at all, and if they tried to make him leave it in, he only panicked in the same way he panicked if he found himself restrained.

They handled him with tact and efficiency. He began to have more trust in Isaac and in his nurses, the four regular ones, and the ones who came to relieve when they went off for meal breaks.

As soon as he seemed to be over the episode of head pains and fitting, they started taking him outside every day. On several occasions, he saw men and women in dressing gowns, escorted by nurses. They were beginning to find him more cheerful, and he seemed to be ignoring the wall that hid the watchers. But the watchers were no longer continually observing, spending most of their time editing film that was taken. All the cameras were in continuous operation, and there were cameras everywhere. All film that showed the subject was retained, parts copied and edited as a separate record of different behaviors. Film where he was just sleeping or eating or showering was not very useful, but collections of instances where he appeared to show some sort of unusual ability, such as looking through the opaque wall, were collated and closely watched.

He still needed building up, and as he still spent large parts of each day sleeping, there was no attempt for the time being to give him meals at regular times. He was eternally hungry, it seemed, and never declined a meal.

He asked to see a book that Price was reading one day, but only gave it back. "I can't read," he said.

After that, Isaac put him through a series of eyesight tests, which served to confuse the doctor greatly. Sometimes, it seemed that John could barely see, falling over a chair if it was moved, for instance, and yet he always knew who was around him and sometimes he could apparently see perfectly well. He ran through the eyesight chart perfectly, for instance, then misjudged the doorway as he started to leave the room, bruising his side.

A few days later, Isaac had an array of pairs of glasses for John to try, handing him the pair he thought most likely to be effective. If it seemed to help, he could organize a professional optometrist. But John tried the pair of glasses, gave a yelp of pain, and clutched his head as the glasses fell to the floor. He tried again with a different pair, but the stab of pain was fierce enough to bring tears to his eyes.

Isaac quietly packed them away. John looked at them sadly. It would have been nice to have been able to read, or even just to see the films they put on for him sometimes. He could see them better if someone watched with him, though he kept that to himself. He didn't know why it was.

******
_Chapter 3_ :

As the days and weeks passed, John was able to walk easier and further, though still relying on a cane to stop him staggering, always to the left. He was beginning to know his surroundings, though he was never left alone, always with two male nurses close. Once he no longer spent hours sleeping every day, his meals were regularized, and his days settled into more of a routine. John thought he was a patient, although he didn't understand why he should be getting so much attention. He didn't like it very much, but knew no other life. He could barely remember the other hospital any more. It seemed lost in those days where blackness ruled, those days when he'd been born, it seemed to him, though he knew that he was around twenty-four. Isaac said so.

He'd been at the facility two months, and it was the end of May. Isaac said he was to have a brain scan. John was cooperative until he saw that he was supposed to allow himself to be put deep into a place that pressed around him. With panic in his voice, he refused to do it, only turning around and trying to leave, as Isaac explained that he would not be hurt, that it was just an examination. It was harmless, he could shut his eyes if he wanted. It would only take about ten minutes, and would give his doctor valuable information.

John took a grip on himself. But he could not go into that machine. In a shaking voice, he explained to Isaac that he was a damaged man, that he could not be put into that confined space, that he would not be _able_ to be still.

Isaac looked at him for long moments, and then nodded. "All right, we won't do it."

John sighed with relief, and didn't know that Isaac had decided that they'd just have to drug him.

Lunchtime, he took a mouthful of his meal and put down his fork. He was hungry, as he always was, still very thin, still needing more weight on. He tried again, carefully, tasting. He put down his fork and pushed away the plate. They suspected he had some telepathic ability by now, and his nurses had not been told that his meal was to be drugged in case they gave some indication that something was unusual. Rockdale asked if there was something wrong. John said that he wasn't hungry and asked if he could go out instead. Rockdale shrugged, put down his paper, and he and Price escorted John outside. He could walk longer distances now, and headed toward the area of tall trees that started not far from the buildings.

Isaac came to find him, having been quickly advised that the drugged meal was a failure. Rockdale and Price were not close, just keeping an eye on him as he walked. There were guards about also, in camouflage uniforms, but they'd been told not to come close, and John had never asked about them. The clothing he wore had been chosen by himself, from those he was offered. He wore jeans, and a bright red shirt, that pleased him. The color pleased his guards too, as he was so conspicuous. All of the shirts he wore were bright, mostly red, sometimes a vivid yellow, and one a brilliant blue.

Isaac came up with him as he leaned against a tall tree, looking up into the branches, not yet in full leaf. He greeted his doctor, unsuspicious. Isaac asked why he didn't eat his lunch. John still touched the tree. It was so solid, alive, different from the feel of humans. It was friendly and he wanted to climb it, but he knew he didn't yet have the strength. But he kept his hand on the trunk.

Isaac repeated his question. John finally answered that he didn't like his meal. Isaac was looking at him assessingly. He'd made a lot of progress in the last month, and he wanted to see if there was any change in the brain scan. John always spent hours outside, whenever his nurses would allow. He had not, so far, openly revolted against the decrees of his nurses, though they were careful not to oppose him when he was determined. He just might have unusual abilities, though magical shaving seemed harmless enough.

It was better if he continued to trust his regular nurses, so when he was lured back into the room with a promise of a replacement meal, it was a relief nurse that suddenly pressed in the syringe. John gave a roar of fury, swung around, and neatly and fiercely, knocked him out. Again, he'd surprised them.

John stared at the fallen man, and then, suspiciously, at Price and Rockdale. He gently rubbed his arm, beginning to feel a treacherous sleepiness. Urgently, he went to the door. He had to go out and hide. They were going to do something to him. Rockdale tried to detain him, grabbing an arm, but John wheeled on him, fists balled.

Instead of direct confrontation, they only followed him at a distance as he walked as fast as he could, straight across the parkland, further than he'd been before. He didn't see the fence, but walked straight into it and staggered back. He put out a hand, feeling the wire, and raising his head. It was almost invisible to him. Blackness was closing in on him, and he went down quite quickly once he discovered he couldn't easily escape.

Colonel Bedville was already watching film of the half-blind, sick man, as he displayed a lightning speed and ferocity in response to the shock of an injection. There would soon be more for him to think about. John revived halfway through the brain scan, panicked at finding himself in the enclosed space, and became uncontrollable. They fought him to a halt, but the scanner would cost tens of thousands of dollars to repair, and two guards and a visiting radiographer were out of action for a few days.

John was collapsed in exhaustion. Worse, he no longer had any trust in his nurses or in his doctor. He seldom spoke and he refused even to step on the scales for Isaac when he wanted to weigh him. About the only thing he would say was that he was better now and wanted to leave. They told him he was still too sick, and when he accused them of keeping him a prisoner, said again that it was just a research hospital. That he was just a patient. John behaved himself for a few days, eating all he was given, and walking as best he could when they took him outside.

It didn't take him long to get back to his previous level of fitness, and then to improve a bit more. A week after the brain scan incident, he started walking around the perimeter fence. It was a tall fence, and suddenly the image was clear in his head - about twelve feet high, and with barbed wire shiny, all along the top. An ordinary research hospital? There was a cleared area which extended inwards for about twenty feet, outwards for a lot further. No trees, grass mown. There were people watching. He peered, squinting, unable to see the soldiers. Then he started walking again.

The Colonel had been alerted and was watching the images from the cameras. There was no part of the fence not being filmed. John touched the fence now and again as he walked. He was beginning to tire, but he didn't stop until he came across the gate, and watched as a car approached, a guard checked identification, and the tall and solid gate was opened for it. The image abruptly blurred. It had been quite clear for a moment.

The guards were much closer than usual, and were alternately watching John and watching the gate, ready to act if needed. They knew the subject could not be allowed to leave, although they didn't know why. They knew their duty, however, and would follow orders. But John only crossed the road and continued following the fence. He was staggering now. He was still very thin, and he depended on his cane to keep his balance.

He stopped when he reached the place where he'd started. There had been just the one gate. He felt the wire again. He thought he could climb it, but only if he was barefoot. But not today. Today, he stumbled tiredly to the foot of his favorite tree, curled up on the ground, and slept. Three guards were not far away and his nurses were close. But Isaac said just to leave him.

Two hours later, he woke and sat up. And when he was pointed to a path off to the side, where a wheelchair waited, he didn't argue, but went where they pointed. They wheeled him back. He wondered when he'd be strong. Or would he be strong? He couldn't remember ever being strong. He wouldn't ask Isaac. Isaac couldn't be trusted.

Three days later, he made the test. He needed to know if he was really a prisoner, so he ignored the shouts, knocked down the soldier who grabbed at him, and continued out the gate which had just been opened for a car, striding fast, although still holding his cane. He was actually out the gate when the stun gun was held to his ribs, and the trigger pulled very briefly. It should have immobilized him only momentarily, enough for him to be overpowered. Instead, he fell instantly into a violent fit.

He was sick then for three weeks, fitting repeatedly to begin with, but then that terrible head pain came back. After the first few times, Isaac gave orders that when he went down to the pain, he was just to be left to lie. When he was interfered with, no matter how benign the intention, he was apt to start fitting again, and fits can do damage. John Doe was already very badly damaged.

The last week, he was back in a coma. Isaac finally got his brain scan. This time, John was under full anesthesia in spite of his apparently comatose state. It turned out to be a pointless test, no change from the very first time it was done when he was picked up from the gutter six months before. Distinctly abnormal, but not in a way they understood. Maybe he was a mutation.

They had to use the nasogastric tube again, but this time they kept a continuous monitoring of brain waves, and Isaac had a good idea when he started to emerge from deep unconsciousness. This time, the tube was already removed when he opened his eyes and felt his face. He had a beard now, as he'd been three months without a shave. But to their disappointment, he only asked for a razor, as he'd done repeatedly before. Oddly, now he knew for sure that he was a prisoner, he treated his nurses with less suspicion. It seemed he liked to know where he was.

Some of the guards were beginning to know him by sight now, and were pleased when he was seen outside again, although in a wheelchair, and again very pale and thin. They'd been told the barest minimum, and were very curious.

Rockdale was pushing his wheelchair, and Isaac walked alongside. But now Isaac introduced him to three soldiers. He gave him their Christian names, Zack, Rudy, and Bob. Without any further attempt at pretence, Isaac said, "These are your guards. There are others. Whenever you're outside your room, at least two of them will be close and will ensure that you do not escape. Sergeant Major Zack Willis is in charge of you, and if you have any unusual requests, you should ask Zack."

John, perfectly politely, shook the hands of the three soldiers, feeling their presence, but wishing they'd wear something he could see better. They were clear enough sometimes, but then they faded into the background again. He glanced at his own shirt, the bright red-orange that had pleased him so greatly when it was laid out for him. He realized now what a disadvantage that conspicuous color could be.

That day, and for the next few days, he did little except try and regain his strength. He was eating well again, but refused to step onto the scales so that Isaac could measure his weight. He wouldn't answer any questions either, saying that he didn't believe in cooperating too much with his jailers.

They didn't try and force him. They treated him with a great deal of care. They wanted to find out as much as possible about him, about what he was, and they knew for sure that he had an unusual power. Maybe he could be very dangerous. Whenever they doubted, they had only to look at that film again. They didn't know why he hadn't done it since, as it was obvious he hated his ugly beard. It was thin and patchy still, bedraggled looking, even after three months. Whatever else he might be good at, it was not growing beards.

The other thing was his possible telepathy. He seemed to know exactly when people were close, though his eyesight was so poor. And he'd known there was something wrong with his meal that time.

Isaac was blaming his patient's erratic eyesight on the head injury, as he blamed the frequent stagger, always to the left, and the attacks of trembling. The amnesia, too, of course. In consultation with Colonel Bedville, they decided to allow him as much freedom as possible. They would learn more about him than if he were kept closely confined.

It was deemed absolutely essential that he not be allowed to escape. He was an unknown quantity, and potentially dangerous. So now there was a second perimeter fence nearing completion, just as high, and topped with barbed wire. There was an electrified fence after that, and another lower fence, just to keep possible trespassers from electrocuting themselves. The guards, with their German Shepherds, patrolled between the two high fences. There was no ambiguity. The subject was not expected to be strong enough for a serious escape attempt for a while, but once he was, he was to be killed rather than be allowed past the perimeter of the Compound.

******
Chapter 4:

John was walking again, although still with a cane. Zack walked with him, Rudy and Bob close by, while his nurses had some time off. He was always escorted by guards now, rather than nurses, even though the male nurses were soldiers too. All of his personal guards had been MPs, most of them with the rank of sergeant, and none of them, they thought, likely to be defeated if the subject tried to fight. But John took his escort of large men for granted, and had a knowledge somewhere within him that they could be friends.

Zack walked on his left, where he could steady him when he staggered. John was walking alongside the Administration Building, studying it. Sometimes it was clear, and sometimes it was a featureless blur. He came to the imposing main entrance and turned to look at it.

"That's Staff Only," said Zack. Lots of places were Staff Only. It annoyed John.

"Who's the boss here?" he abruptly asked of Zack.

"Well, I am," said Zack, misunderstanding. "You have to do what I say." He sometimes thought that John didn't quite understand that.

But John said, "I mean the overall boss - who's in charge?"

"Colonel Mark Bedville is in charge," Zack calmly replied.

"I'm going to see him," announced John, and started toward the steps.

"John, wait," said Zack. John ignored him. "You can't go in there," said Zack. He was reluctant to physically intervene, as John was still so thin and weak, and he didn't want him fighting. He put his hand on his arm, gently restraining.

John said firmly, "A prisoner has a right to know why he's a prisoner. I'm going to see the boss."

Zack hesitated, now holding tighter to his determined charge. "We'll ask," he said, and he guided John toward another man whom John suddenly saw because Zack was looking at him. Zack saluted and put the request.

The lieutenant looked curiously at the subject, who glanced at him, then looked back at the large building, cocking his head slightly and extending his senses. Many people were in there. But he wanted to see the boss.

Within five minutes, they had their answer. The Colonel would see John in half an hour.

John sat down on the steps and waited. He had nothing better to do right now. There were already cameras in most of the corridors of the building, just in case they were needed. Now they were activated, set into play by a technician who hurried through the enclosed corridor that connected from the even larger building that housed Ward 3. Three cameras were rigged to cover the Colonel's large office. The message came back as soon as everything was prepared. It had only taken twenty minutes.

John stumbled as he rose, misjudging the steps. Zack grabbed his arm and was calmly thanked. Zack grinned to himself. John didn't treat him as if he was an enemy, but as if he was an equal, taking it entirely for granted when he was helped.

Colonel Mark Bedville was fifty. He was a tall, rangy man, with a searching expression. His hair was sparse, but carefully groomed, his uniform immaculate. John's casual attire, his apparent youth, his long hair held back in a ponytail, and, above all, his scruffy beard and half starved appearance, did not appear to measure up. But he nodded when the Colonel introduced himself, and said, "Hello, Mark."

The Colonel blinked. So did John's three guards, ranged at his back. No-one called Colonel Bedville 'Mark,' except, presumably, his wife. But Mark greeted John amiably, and invited him to sit down. There was a knock at the door, and a young soldier brought in coffee and a tray with plates of sandwiches and cakes.

John smiled at the young man, who was looking acutely anxious. But John invariably liked anyone who brought him food, and it appeared that the Colonel had a sweet tooth.

The Colonel spoke about the hot summer weather, and asked John what the climate was like in his part of the country. John looked surprised, and said that he had no part of the country.

Mark smiled at him pleasantly. "What's your real name?"

John looked away. He knew now that John Doe was just a convenient name for an unknown hospital patient. Zack was suddenly acutely sorry for him. He was sick, he'd lost his past, and he was a prisoner.

But John only took another sandwich, rose and leaned against the wall, and coolly looked at the middle-aged man in front of him. "I want to know why I'm a prisoner," he stated. "I have a right to know."

Mark looked at him assessingly. "Very well, I'll show you."

He had it ready, that piece of film that he'd watched many times. And now he watched it again, as did Zack and Rudy behind him. Bob was close to the Colonel, and to him, it was not in view. But John saw, and saw clearly. He frowned and looked closer. "Run it again," he said, his tone one of casual command.

Mark was surprised at the tone, but ran it again, and a third time.

John finally turned back to Mark, and spoke in a tone of polite incredulity, "And _this_ is why I'm a prisoner, someone's idea of an April Fool's Day joke?"

Mark gaped and checked the date. It had been filmed on the first of April. _Could_ it have been an April Fool's Day Joke? But he remembered, there were witnesses, four at the public hospital, and two in the room with him at the time, plus observers behind the see-through wall. Also film from other cameras, though they didn't show it as well.

He regained his composure, and now spoke in a tone of authority. "You have shown a power that we do not understand. This is why you will never be released."

John's expression didn't change, but his voice quivered slightly, "I will _never_ be released?"

The Colonel spoke gravely. "You _cannot_ be released. We don't understand what happened. You will never be allowed back into the community when you have an ability that could be dangerous."

John felt his total conviction. The man meant what he said.

There was a long silence. John still leaned against the wall. His face was cold, expressionless. At last he spoke. "This place, surely it's not just for me!"

Mark nodded and half smiled, "Just for you."

"It must be incredibly expensive. What happens if there's a budget cut and the place is closed down? Would I be released then?"

The Colonel's voice left no room for doubt. "You will never be released."

John nodded. "Thank you for telling me." He turned his back and left. Zack said nothing as he headed back toward his room.

His nurses greeted him. John regarded them and said that he was no longer sick, did not need nurses, and that they should leave him alone for a while.

Zack nodded. "Leave him alone for a while." He wouldn't really be alone, they'd be watching from the next room.

They watched for a long half hour as John sat in a chair, head lowered, and was still. He would never be released. He looked up, straight at Isaac, who was watching behind the wall. Isaac knew the situation. Mark was there too, standing at the back of the room.

John rose. He hated that wall. He knew there were people there, watching, watching, all the time. There was an IV stand in the room, which still looked exactly like a hospital room. John picked it up, went to where an observer peered at him from too close, and suddenly crashed the weapon into the wall, making the watcher jump back with a startled cry. John smiled.

Then, methodically, he started hitting the wall, working along the walls, searching for weaknesses. But the wall was bulletproof, and no IV stand was going to break it, no matter with what determination it was wielded. He turned to the rest of the room.

"Stop him?" one of the soldiers asked the Colonel.

Colonel Bedville shook his head. "Let him alone." And they only watched as John methodically destroyed everything in that room that could be destroyed. He turned his attention to the adjoining bathroom, shattering the mirror, but managing only to crack the toughened glass of the shower cubicle.

He returned to the main room, peered suddenly at where a camera was, and hit it, precisely, with his fist. The man who'd been watching the film as it happened, flinched and recoiled.

John was swaying with fatigue, but tried the external door, surprised to find it not locked. He was reeling and staggering as he left the room, depending heavily on his cane. His three guards merely followed at a distance. John went to his favorite tree, looked up at the branches where he wanted to be, but instead sat below it and stared into the distance. There was no place private enough even to cry.

Zack, Rudy, and Bob kept an eye on him, but left him alone to brood. Zack felt the vibration of the Zoster Communicator, like a mobile phone but more secure, that he carried in his chest pocket, and spoke to Isaac. John was to be left alone, but preferably taken for lunch when he was ready. Repairs were being undertaken in his room, and he was to be taken to the staff dining room as a temporary measure. Isaac didn't really want him missing meals, but thought he might well be too upset to eat.

But John was only staring into the distance, not fully realizing himself how close he was to collapse. He didn't have the strength for tantrums, and after a while, he lay down and slept until Zack gently shook him, asking if he wanted lunch. John looked at him blearily before pulling himself to his feet, Zack's steadying hand under his elbow.

There was another large building, Staff Only again, where the soldiers ate, where most of them slept, and where there were some recreation facilities provided. Isaac had a secondary office there, where he saw any of the staff who needed medical attention. John was not his only duty, though it was the primary one. More facilities were being organized, as security could be compromised if staff had ties outside the base. Another building was going up, more accommodation for soldiers. There had been some changes over the last month, and now there were hardly any who were married except some of the officers and a few of the specialists.

The few soldiers having a late lunch stared at the subject curiously as John came in accompanied by three guards. He was of only average height, very thin, and Zack was helping him again as he swayed unsteadily. It was a cafeteria arrangement, and he smiled at the pretty woman who doled out an excellent meal.

"I thought I might be on bread and water," he commented to Zack and Bob who were eating with him, though Rudy had taken position near the door.

"I wouldn't go making a habit of destroying things," Zack said, "But I've heard no plans to punish at this stage."

John shrugged. He was a lab rat, he supposed, and people didn't punish lab rats, they only noted down their interesting behaviors.

When he finished his meal, he said to Zack, "Isaac said to ask you if I had requests. I would like a proper bedroom please, where no-one watches and where there's no cameras, and I'd like a window."

Zack hadn't known that he knew about the cameras that surrounded him, but only said that he'd speak to the Colonel. He thought it a perfectly reasonable request. He'd go mad himself, he thought, if he found himself under constant surveillance. He was looking forward to seeing the film of John destroying 'Ward 3.'

Isaac came in and joined them at the table. "Feeling better?" he asked John.

John said calmly as he stood, "Maybe I'd best just have another dessert." He introduced himself to the woman that time, and smiled at her beguilingly, "Please, Sylvia," and she went to the trouble of getting him another dessert, although all the food had been put away.

Isaac watched approvingly. The man was too thin. There was a new feature in Ward 3 now, John's weight would be automatically monitored every day, as he walked through the door.

Two weeks later, John was told that he'd be put back into Ward 3 if he became sick again, but they showed him to a small suite of rooms, sitting room, bedroom and bathroom. There was only one entrance from the corridor, which opened to the sitting room. No-one watched the action on camera as it happened, as Isaac suspected that he could sense the presence of the cameras when they did that. But he knew his half blind patient would be unlikely to see the tiny lenses of cameras that peered at him from a dozen different angles.

John was delighted with his quarters, and showed his pleasure. The sitting room was spacious and comfortably furnished. It had a collection of music, and a player, and equipment to show films, a selected assortment arranged ready for his use. He went to look out of the window, suddenly seeing clearly as Zack joined him. There was a large tree, and a garden bed being worked on by a gardener. He may have been a prisoner for life, but he was to be very well treated, it seemed.

"The windows are barred, and of toughened glass besides," said Zack, in a matter-of-fact tone. "You'll be locked in every night, but you'll be alone. If you need something, the buzzer is next to the door."

John looked, went across to the door, but didn't find the clearly marked buzzer until Zack touched it, and he put his hand to it, too.

Zack continued. "Breakfast will be brought to you at seven in the morning, and you'll be released at eight unless we need you for anything. Other meals will be at noon, and at seven. There are coffee making facilities in the sitting room, as well as packets of biscuits, etcetera, and you can come and go freely during the day provided that you behave. Colonel Bedville asks especially that you cooperate with your doctor when he does his tests."

John looked around him with satisfaction, and smiled at Zack. "This is much better. Thank you."

Zack smiled back. It appeared that the subject was reconciled to being a prisoner, and after all, it was an easy and comfortable life. But still, business like, he explained the procedure when someone was coming into his room, a place near the far wall where he should stand and wait. "They can check from the corridor, of course," said Zack, still in a businesslike tone, as if it was perfectly normal that a sick and half blind man should be treated as a potentially dangerous prisoner.

Zack said, "By the way, there's an electric shaver in the bathroom."

John gave a smile of delight, "A shaver?" But he was puzzled when it was pointed out. It seemed he was unfamiliar with electric shavers, and even when Zack demonstrated, he shaved awkwardly, feeling his face, unable to see well enough in the mirror. But afterwards, he was cleanshaven finally, and only had a few very small whiskery patches left. And his eyes were merry when he turned back to Zack, who still waited in the room, though the others were now just outside his door. "Much better!" he declared happily, and Zack clapped him on the shoulder.

The light in John's bedroom was remotely operated, and he was never in darkness, the light at night only lowered somewhat, though there was a switch to make it brighter again if he wanted. In all his remembered life, he had never slept in darkness. He never queried his lack of choice.

John wasn't a fool. He could be friends with his guards, but they were his jailers, and they knew their duty. Zack and the rest carried stunners, batons and even handguns. And if necessary, they would not have the slightest hesitation in using them. They were professional soldiers. But until they were in conflict, they could be friends.

******
_Chapter 5_ :

Over the next weeks, John walked further, exploring the grounds within the Compound. It was mostly quite pleasant parkland featuring garden beds, many still choked with weeds, an avenue of overgrown climbing roses sprawled over a trellis, and trees, big trees, growing in clumps and avenues, with heavy branches intermingling with that of their immediate neighbors. Always, there was a chorus of bird calls.

For the guards, it was a more pleasant job than they'd expected. Their subject seemed cheerful and they were forgetting that he was not a normal human, but something else, possibly something dangerous.

The Colonel watched some film with Isaac one day, an edited collection that showed John's introduction to the new bedroom, and clips of him relating to his guards and to Isaac. John still refused to cooperate in any tests when requested, but it was in a perfectly good humored fashion. They hadn't attempted to force anything on him. He said, "I'm surprised he's settled down so well. The way he knocked out Will and destroyed Ward 3 didn't leave me optimistic."

Isaac said, "You forget. He has total amnesia which appears to be permanent. He doesn't know any other home, and as long as we treat him well, I expect he'll remain perfectly contented."

"He seems to be getting a lot stronger."

Isaac nodded. "Weight's improving all the time, and he's walking further and faster each day. The stagger that he used to show is gone, although he still has trembling attacks, maybe related to the fitting he's prone to."

Mark said with satisfaction, "We're learning things about him, too. The strategy of allowing him a reasonable degree of freedom is a good one."

"I wish I could get him to do an IQ test, and maybe a personality test. It's clear he's unusual."

Mark looked at him, thinking that they might be able to try a little trickery. There were demands for quicker results in certain quarters, and Mark had watched enough film of the subject that he felt a certain fondness for him. If Colonel Forster was put in charge of him, for instance, John could be treated very differently.

It may have been a relatively pleasant captivity, but John wanted his freedom. He was too well guarded, the fences were too high, even the entry drive now had two guarded gates, only one of which was ever opened at a time. Every day he walked the perimeter, which was now beginning to show a track, as it was a favorite walk of off duty soldiers, as well. He made friends with the dogs first, but soon knew most of the perimeter guards by name. The only conceivable escape would be by taking a hostage, but John recoiled at the idea. In any case, Rick had happened to mention that they had orders to sacrifice any hostage up to and including a general, rather than allow his escape.

He'd found some privacy now, in the treetops. He could see well in the trees, as it seemed they helped him. Even without touching, he could feel within himself where the branches were. He was quick and nimble, a lot more so than his guards realized. They always just stayed around at the foot of the tree that he climbed, knowing he was there from the flash of bright color high above. But John habitually took his shirt off, left it in his favorite tree, and then leapt to the next tree, and then another and another, ending up a considerable distance from his guards.

He spent hours just watching the gate, waiting for the times when his vision would clear, tolerating the times when he could barely see. He thought nothing of his eccentric vision. It was just the way he'd always been able to see. But security was complete. How on earth could he escape? Just one man, and there were scores of guards. And they were not careless or incompetent guards. From a high perch in a tree, he'd watched them at Physical Training, he'd watched them when they ran obstacle courses, and he'd watched them at rifle practice, which made him shudder somewhat, but he had to know.

The birds of the trees liked him, and he liked to talk to them. It was Autumn, and they were no longer nesting. But John never called them from the sky when people watched. He never saw other people talking to birds, and had become very secretive about anything which he thought might be unusual, though he still was sure that the film of the so-called 'shave' some weird joke.

They said he had more privileges because he was being well behaved. But John studied Isaac as he told him that he could use some of the soldiers' facilities whenever his personal guards permitted, the gymnasium, and the swimming pool as soon as it was complete. It was more of the same, a way of Isaac and Mark measuring his fitness and looking for evidence of unusual powers. There were still cameras everywhere. But John was sincerely pleased. Isaac thought he was still too thin, but John thought he was strong, not knowing how far he was from normal fitness.

Every day then, he added a stint in the gymnasium, his efforts always noted by Isaac. And when the indoor pool was finished, he started swimming every day, too. He knew a lot of the soldiers now, especially those who shared his tastes in exercise. They knew him as a personality, not just as the subject. Except for breakfast, he ate in the staff dining room, and his personal guards only watched from a distance as he joined those he knew, and laughed and joked with them, although there had been some natural awkwardness at the beginning.

It was the soldiers' talk that alerted him to a deprivation he hadn't even noticed. He was never allowed to watch TV or hear the radio. Isaac thought talk of current events might disturb him. He had films to watch, and now sometimes invited a guard or one of the nurses to join him. Only if someone watched with him could he really see what was happening, and he needed to know there was an outside world.

One Sunday, Rudy suggested that he should attend the weekly Church Service that was always held for the soldiers. John agreed, mostly on the basis that it was a good idea to seem settled. But he was soon yawning, fidgeted like a child, and left with relief.

The trees lost their last leaves, and John could no longer hide from his guards. He gave up swinging himself through the trees, as he wanted to preserve that ability for use next Summer. The thought that he would still be there next Summer made him very restless.

There was one of the perimeter guards whom he'd talk to every morning, as he made his customary circuit of the Compound. The officers had been told to encourage this sort of interaction, and the soldiers were expected to report on the conversation, especially if anything interesting was said. The way the trained attack dogs fawned on the subject was another piece of evidence that he was something different.

John liked Alec, and Alec was lured into talking about his family, and about the everyday doings of the small town he'd grown up in. John couldn't get enough, and listened avidly as Alec talked, John on his side of the high barbed wire topped fence, and Alec on his, Butch usually curled up next to the fence, as close to John as he could get.

The weather was getting colder, and although the large outdoor swimming pool was now finished, no-one ventured in. The heated indoor pool was popular, though. There began to be talk of Christmas plans, and John became more and more restless, no longer able to totally hide his discontent from those who watched. He'd come to realize that he did, after all, have cameras watching in his room, though he didn't know from where they looked. So when his eyes followed the women who worked in the cafeteria, or the few female soldiers, he turned away again. He had no privacy to be with a woman, and he thought that if he came too close, just to talk, it would hurt only more.

The soldiers had an undemanding job. There was only one man to guard, and he was easy to get on with, never threatened anyone, and seemed content to be just where he was. Security was relaxed, though still efficient. John's personal guards were satisfied to know where he was, and didn't stay very close except when he wanted company. There were usually only one or two now.

A female worker wanted to show her new baby to her workmates in the cafeteria, though it was not strictly allowed. John was at lunch, chatting to Kyle and Edward, with whom he'd been swimming. He looked up. Sheila had been heavily pregnant when she left, and now she had a tiny baby in her arms. She was surrounded by cooing workmates, and even some of the soldiers had gone to have a look.

Irresistibly attracted, John rose from the table, took a few steps, and held out his hands, a plea on his face. Sheila hesitated, but then put her baby in his arms. John held the tiny girl with an obvious familiarity, and caressed the soft cheek. He had tears in his eyes. No-one was very worried that he could be dangerous to either Sheila or her baby, his fighting ability having been almost forgotten.

Quite suddenly, he handed back the baby, turned and walked out, striding. His guards were caught inattentive, one having gone to the toilet. John had a long lead. He couldn't leave, of course. There was no alarm, no risk of an escape, the personal guards more to make sure that John didn't hurt himself or anybody else than to prevent escape.

By the time he came to the fence, he'd shed his shoes and socks. He scrambled over the first fence, ignoring the deep wounds from the barbed wire, crossed the intervening strip, only briefly patting Butch as he passed, and was up and over the second fence, ruthless with himself as more deep scratches hurt him. Alec ran toward him, shouting, too late to use the stun gun.

The orders came just in time, and the electrified fence was no longer lethal when John scrambled over it. He was at the last barrier. Alec called again, and then sent a stream of bullets across his legs. John jerked, and his legs dangled uselessly, and still he pulled himself up over the fence and dropped down the other side. He tried to get up and walk, but his wounded legs would not support him. Fallen, he still stretched a hand in the direction he longed to go.

Alec let himself and Butch out, and ran to his friend whom he'd had to shoot. Butch was already there, as John turned himself over onto his back. The pain hit, and John clutched a handful of the dog's thick ruff and buried his face against the strong warm body until it eased.

Butch whimpered, and licked his face. John took a deep breath, and when Alec knelt beside him, distressed, he smiled slightly at him and apologized for putting him in that position. But then he closed his eyes and just waited. There was so much blood - from his legs, and from cuts all over his body. Barbed wire was sharp. It was his own fault. He'd lost control just because he held a baby. But the memory of the tiny face sent a pain through him just as sharp as that of the bullet holes in his legs.

They let Butch go with him when they took him back to Ward 3. Touching the dog seemed to help him cope with the pain. He refused any injection, only saying to Isaac, perfectly calmly, that he was terrified of injections, and would fight if they persisted. Isaac nodded. Silly, silly man, how could he have been such an arrant fool? He had the story now, that holding a baby had so upset him that he'd made the doomed escape attempt. Isaac thought it might instead have been a suicide attempt. It was obvious that his apparent contentment had been either a sham, or short-lived.

Whether he was frightened of drugs or not, he had to be anaesthetized when the bullet wounds were repaired. But he was weak from loss of blood as well as pain and shock, and when Zack and Bob held him down, the initial injection was made quite easily, to Isaac's relief.

The wounds were not as bad as they first looked, one bullet had shattered his right tibia, but the fibula was still intact. His left leg had taken two bullets, but both had gone straight through, one just barely grazing the tibia. The soft tissue, however, was a mess. It wasn't Isaac's area of expertise, and a surgeon was brought in. The repair work was done within the facility, a small, but well equipped operating theatre and X-Ray Department housed within the same block that included Ward 3 and John's living quarters.

When he woke again, much later that night, John turned his head slowly to look through that horrible wall. The man who observed turned his eyes away. It made him nervous when the subject met his eyes, when it was not supposed to be possible.

The IV stand looked a little bent, but a plastic bottle of blood dripped down through the narrow tube. Comprehension dawned, and the needle was yanked out before the nurse could intervene.

Isaac just shrugged. It was no good persevering, John was a very stubborn man. And anyway, it might teach him a lesson when he realized how slow his recovery would be if he didn't allow a blood transfusion. It had long been established that his blood group was shared by at least a tenth of the population. He was not unusual in that respect.

******
Chapter 6:

There were still nearly two months before Christmas. Colonel Bedville came to see John as he sat outside in a wheelchair a few days later, his right leg stretched out in front of him. He looked a touch pale, but Isaac said that he was making a fast recovery. It was the first time that the Colonel had come face to face with him since John had demanded an explanation of his captivity. The patient looked a lot better now, beardless, and altogether healthier.

John greeted him calmly and instantly as Mark. This was another of those odd things about John. Various pieces of film made it clear how poor was his vision, especially film of those first nights and days when he was alone in his new quarters. But this fact didn't seem compatible with the way he could recognize people. Mark pushed John's wheelchair himself, saying he wanted to sit down with him and have a chat. And when he stopped, it was next to an outdoor table setting. It was new. The gardens were beginning to show evidence of care and attention.

Mark said little for a while. The cool eyes of the subject surveyed him, and Mark felt an un-familiar discomfort. He finally spoke abruptly, "What can we do to make you happy here? You can't leave, but you're not a criminal, and I don't want to punish."

John smiled. "What can you do to make me happy?" And he leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head and his smile broadened. "I want a place that's totally private that I can take a girl, if only I manage to convince one to come with me."

Mark stared at him, and then broke into laughter. This was the last thing he'd expected.

John added, "You could replace Zack and the others with soldiers with names like Mandy, or Sue, or Tracey......"

Mark shook his head, but smiling. "You've just proven that personal guards are needed, and not for sex."

John shrugged, "Shame."

Mark asked more seriously, "Do you have any complaints about your guards?"

John shook his head. "Only that they're there, but I presume that's not negotiable. Otherwise, they're good blokes. I like them."

Mark was thinking about Alec Roberts. The boy had been very upset, hovering close as his dog sought to console the man he'd shot. His voice was serious as he said, "Private Roberts said that you apologized to him, you said that you should not have put him in that position."

John was silent. Mark waited. John glanced at him, and said, "I'm not some sort of a Martian, in spite of what you may think. I'm only human, and something upset me."

"The baby?"

John was looking away, his face sad. "Have you thought that maybe somewhere I have a wife and a baby of my own? It's possible."

Mark spoke stiffly. "You can't miss what you don't remember."

John said nothing. He was homesick. Whether or not he remembered a home, he didn't even know whether he had a home, but he was homesick. But why tell his jailers that? Instead he turned a brilliant smile on the boss, and said, "A horse would be nice, especially if I can ride further than the perimeter. Someone said that army land goes a lot further than the Compound."

Mark rose. "I doubt if that will be possible." Inexplicably, he wanted to apologize to the young man who was a prisoner, but reminded himself sternly of his duty. John had to be kept very, very secure. He may not have been a Martian, but even without further evidence of an inexplicable power, he was quite obviously not an ordinary man.

Two weeks after the shooting, John was trying to stand, complaining when it still hurt too much. Isaac was amused. "Surely you don't expect a shattered bone to heal in two weeks. It was a very nasty wound. Amputation was considered, except that I remembered a report of very quick healing before when you were injured."

"What injury was that?" asked John, innocently.

But the injury had been from a rape, and Isaac cursed himself for mentioning it. In that particular instance the amnesia was a mercy. He ignored the question. "It's healing very well. Probably in another week you can get about on crutches, but don't forget the other leg's hurt as well."

John stretched his left leg. "It's almost better. I can hardly feel it."

Isaac raised his eyebrows and asked to see it. There was another report to make. The subject healed miraculously quickly and obviously expected to, not apparently having any idea how long such an injury might be normally expected to take. He'd taken some deep cuts from the barbed wire, but they'd scarcely shown any traces after just a few days.

John didn't treat his guards any differently, greeting Alec as if nothing had happened when he saw him at dinner one evening. Alec had been given a commendation. He still felt bad and John put some effort into making him smile.

Colonel Bedville put into place more security measures, although the money needed was allowed begrudgingly. Results were too slow in coming, was the word from above. More tests should be done. The subject should be kept under a much tighter discipline. But Colonel Bedville felt that he had something very special in the person of John. He had begun to develop a considerable respect for his subject. He'd allowed him to know the guards as friends, which might make them reluctant to stop him if needed, which could be a problem. But there was the other side of it. There was the power that he might have, that it seemed he might have forgotten how to use. Maybe he could be very dangerous indeed. But he was human, and he would be reluctant to hurt the guards who were his friends. Even his concern for Alec showed that.

A pair of secure high fences was started around the outer area of the army land, similar to those that surrounded the Compound. There was to be another electrified fence between, and the guards would patrol outside the two fences. The rifles were sufficiently high powered that they could go straight through the wire, just as long as the guard didn't hit one of the steel uprights. This time, they were not going to use dogs - it was pointless when all the dogs quite obviously doted on John.

Including the Compound, the fences would securely enclose nearly three thousand acres. Different soldiers would guard the outer fence, but their accommodation would be away from the Compound, and they would not be allowed to meet the subject at all. These ones would not hesitate to shoot if John succeeded in getting that far. For the present, he was lame, and Mark had ignored the hints that it might be better if he were always lame. The man could barely see. Wasn't that enough handicap for one person?

******
_Chapter 7_ :

John was bored, not able to walk, and not allowed to get his plastered leg wet so he couldn't swim either. He took to watching the soldiers at their regular PT and training sessions. One lot went in the morning, and another lot in the early afternoon. It seemed it was a routine part of what was expected of a soldier. There was to be a general soon to inspect, their drill had to be perfect, and the sergeant loudly berated the soldiers drawn up in their orderly ranks.

John watched from his wheelchair. Even with his leg in plaster, there were always at least two guards again, and Sergeant Davies was irritated when John interestedly asked Zack why the one in charge was being so rude to the others. John met his glare with a bland look, and when Zack answered with the statement that it was the custom, asked why. The closest men could hear, and were battling not to giggle.

Sergeant Davies stalked across to Zack and demanded that John be taken away as he was disturbing the men. Zack shrugged. Davies didn't outrank him, and he was finding John's amusements a little entertaining himself. John smiled at Davies, and told him helpfully that he thought the man second from the end had his fly undone. At this, there were a few chuckles, though when Davies furiously wheeled on them, silent impassive faces concealed their amusement.

Harassing the sergeant amused John, and there was nothing the sergeant could do to stop him. But then the general made his visit. John didn't meet the general, though he watched from his wheelchair as a private opened the car door, and the bent, grey-haired man disappeared into the Administration Building. A younger man was with him, a Colonel, Bob told him.

The following morning, Zack roused him very early, begged him to behave and took him to Ward 3. "You have to stay here for a while," Zack said, and put a film on for him to watch. John felt Zack's anxiety and did as he was told, not even showing his resentment when he knew he was being studied from behind the see-through wall.

The following day, he was back watching Davies again, but this time, it wasn't drill. They were doing an obstacle course, and the men were racing, four at a time. John was interested as the heats continued, pulling himself to his feet, hobbling to the fence to get closer, and holding onto it as he watched. The men were shouting on their favorites by the time it was the finals, and so was John, to the amusement of Davies as well as Zack and Bob.

Davies and the men started to expect him, but it was weeks before Davies suddenly realized that he was designing the training with a consideration to what might amuse John.

A recurrence of problems made an appearance, even while he was still using crutches. Several times in the next weeks, John collapsed, racked with that searing head pain. They knew it was best not to disturb him when that happened, even when it lasted hours and he was quite obviously in agony. Once, though, it happened outside, as he was watching another PT session. He tried to walk away when he felt the warning, hating to be seen by so many. But he only ever had a few seconds warning before he went down. Oddly, Sergeant Davies, who complained so often about his presence, was most concerned, and it was Davies who gently lifted him onto a stretcher, and took an end as he was carried back toward Ward 3, where they still took him whenever he was sick. It was too cold to have left him outside, but when he was lifted onto his bed, he started fitting, to the acute concern of Davies, still present.

Isaac glanced at him. "It's not the first time," he reassured. "He's not a well man."

As usual, the collapse, whether he fitted or not, was followed by hours of unconsciousness, the EEG monitor showing readings akin to coma. Isaac wanted another brain scan, but he didn't want the scanner damaged again. And anyway, it never seemed to show any real difference.

John was up and about the day after, but when Zack asked him if he wanted to go and see the training, he first reddened, but then chuckled and looked at Zack with a wry amusement on his face. "I'm being ridiculous! I'm embarrassed just because I collapse in front of everyone, and yet there's not a minute of the day when I'm not being watched or filmed or both." He shook his head. "I might as well face them."

Davies was feeling bleak that day, and was punishing the men with blistering attacks on their physical fitness, ordering star jumps, and having them continue until most were at the point of collapse, and then straightaway starting them on pushups. A mocking voice said, "Being a bit harsh on them, aren't you, Rod?"

Davies spun around, a grin spreading all over his face. "Interfering again?"

John nodded, laughing. "I reckon you should make up for the lousy weather by giving them an early mark!"

But Davies wasn't having this, and only started the men on short runs, quick stops, and back again. He was disappointed, though, when he looked around again and John was gone.

John was in the gymnasium. There didn't seem much he could do with one bad leg, and one not so good, but there were a few things, and he needed to be strong, too. He wasn't staying here forever!

******
Chapter 8:

In wasn't even the middle of December when the plaster on John's right leg was removed and it was X-rayed. Isaac was stunned. The healing was almost complete, though a nasty scar would be left. The plaster could be left off. The left leg was apparently totally healed except for the inevitable scarring. John said with relief that it was about time.

Two days later, John was frightened. Something was wrong. He had a nightmare and woke screaming, fighting the bedclothes and finally falling to the floor. He was locked in, of course, and could only pace back and forth across the room until his leg became too painful and he had to sit. It was nearly dawn before he slept again.

But everything seemed normal in the morning, and he went about his usual activities, except that he was unable to walk far, having done too much in the night. He was nervous though, jumping violently when Rudy spoke to him unexpectedly. For a change, he hadn't noticed him come close.

"I wish you'd wear a solid color," he said pettishly. "I can't see you in that."

"What, even standing here?" said Rudy, very surprised.

"I don't see well, surely you know that!"

He spoke irritably, and Rudy wondered what was wrong. But John didn't know what was wrong.

Early in the afternoon, Rudy's zoster vibrated in his pocket. "We have to take you to Ward 3," he told John.

They were outside, and John looked at him, suddenly terrified, and put a hand to the trunk of a tree as if for strength. Bob and Lance were also there.

"We'd best go."

John didn't move. His eyes were wide, and his guards could see his fright. Bob spoke, puzzled. "There's no reason to think there's anything wrong. It's probably just another official or some such thing."

John looked into the distance and spoke softly. "When a lab rat is no longer useful, they kill it and do a dissection. They call it to 'sacrifice' the animal."

There was a brief silence before Bob told him roughly not to be so silly. John didn't move and Rudy said soothingly. "I'll ask what it is."

The sound from his zoster was not loud, and John watched as Rudy queried, and explained that John was frightened. John shook his head. He might be frightened, but he would not be able to stop them, no matter what they wanted to do. He was not so frightened of dying, but the idea that his body would be dissected for 'scientific research' filled him with a feeling of loathing and despair. But he took a deep breath, assumed a cool expression, stood straight and started walking.

His guards were relieved. The three of them could overpower him, of course. In fact, any one of them should be able to, and without using any weapons. But they far preferred not to come into open conflict with him.

Isaac and Mark waited for him in Ward 3. Mark gave a casual reply to the usual respectful salutes of the guards, and said that one should stay, the others wait outside. Isaac said reassuringly to John that there was nothing to worry about, and half laughed as he told him that he was certainly not a lab rat that was about to be 'sacrificed.'

John still wore his expressionless mask, and only leaned against the wall and waited. Isaac glanced at Mark, and said, "We're your friends, you can trust us."

But perfectly coolly, John replied, "You are not my friends, you are my jailers."

Mark said rather stiffly that he was no longer a jailer, as he was leaving, and Colonel Forster would be taking his place.

John said politely that it had been nice to know him, but he began trembling, even as he still wore his impassive pose. Mark looked at him a moment, and then abruptly turned and left, not staying to watch, but going to his office to pack his personal possessions.

Colonel Forster was in the observation room, and had noted the limp. John was a bit pale, too, from a collapse the previous day, though it hadn't lasted long. And now he was trembling. Forster smiled to himself. He certainly wasn't fearsome. Forster planned to get a lot more results, a lot faster than Bedville. He entered the room, Lance opening the door for him, before resuming his position outside with Bob. Rudy, Isaac and John waited.

Colonel Forster strode in, addressing John. "Things will be changing," he said. "You've been coddled. You've had it soft. From now on, if you do not cooperate fully when tests are made, you will be punished. For a start, you are about to have another brain scan as Doctor Berg requires, one in which you remain conscious, as it is likely to give different results to those done when drugged or in a coma."

Isaac was looking worried. He had mentioned that he'd like a brain scan, but that was all. John's expression didn't change. Forster's face creased into a slight smile. "You cannot be trusted to stay still, so you will be firmly restrained."

With a sudden movement, John took two steps forward, and knocked him out with a very hard fist to the jaw. Rudy grabbed John by the arm, and he staggered slightly, but then only leaned against the wall again, and his slight trembling resumed.

Isaac knelt by the side of Forster, gently touching his jaw. He gave a worried look at John. "You've broken his jaw - badly."

Rudy spoke softly, " _Shit_ , John, you're in trouble now."

"I rather think I was already in trouble," John said.

There were already communications flying, and Bob opened the door. "We're to put him in his quarters for the time being."

The three guards were very alert for any aggressive action, and John knew that this time they wouldn't hesitate to physically restrain him. He made no trouble, only entering his rooms as instructed and putting on a film to watch, selected at random. He looked up. He was being observed, and he now knew the position of at least one of the cameras.

He had to get away. It was no longer just homesickness, there was an acute feeling of insecurity. There didn't seem any way that he could escape unless he could somehow access that power that he'd seen just once on film, and didn't quite believe in. But all he'd managed so far was to somehow trigger the head pains that caused him such unbearable agony. It was a high price to pay. He couldn't attempt anything here of course, it might be seen, and when he had tried things, he'd made sure that it would not be picked up on camera. Just tiny things, like trying to make a blade of grass disappear, and he couldn't do that. He reminded himself that Mark firmly believed he had a power, and Mark Bedville was a shrewd man. It was more urgent now.

No-one came for a long time, and John found it impossible to stay still. He paced back and forth across the room. Sometimes he stared forlornly out of the window, wanting the light of outdoors. He could always see better outdoors. A few times, he tried the door, though he had no expectation that it might not be locked.

Finally, the buzzer sounded. Someone was finally coming. He didn't try anything stupid like rushing the door, just stood back and waited as Rudy, Zack, Bob and Lance all came in, looking grim. John wore again that cold, impassive face that concealed his emotion. He jumped. _Please, John, you have to behave_. It was Zack. Zack didn't know whether John would hear. His telepathy was only guessed at, and was quite obviously, not complete. It didn't seem as if he could really read minds, just that he sometimes had an abnormal sensitivity.

They escorted their prisoner back to Ward 3, the only comment was from Zack. "Colonel Forster is in hospital, having his jaw wired up."

John felt a satisfaction. He was not normally a vindictive man, but he'd felt Forster's pleasure as he contemplated a picture. And he'd seen the picture that Forster saw, of 'the subject' fighting against the restraints as he was manoeuvred into that terrifying space of the scanning machine. He'd been naked, and uncovered, though why he should have been naked in that context was unclear. It was Forster's picture, not reality. John's face remained expressionless.

Mark waited for him, with a cold and authoritative persona. He was being very firmly the Colonel. Bob and Rudy stood right beside John, each of them holding an arm as if to restrain him. Zack and Lance flanked Mark, standing a little in front of him. John was being treated as if he were a dangerous prisoner, and yet the feel of his guards didn't quite match. John stayed still and waited.

The Colonel's voice was cold. "You have attacked a high ranking officer."

Suddenly, John felt something of _his_ thoughts, too. Mark had his fingers figuratively crossed, and John's eyes flicked to where he knew a camera watched. This play was for the camera.

"You will be punished," said Mark, "and security will be tightened." But aside from being confined to Ward 3 for the rest of the day and night, the long list of regulations were only those already in place, although they sounded different when delivered in the cold, judgmental voice of the Colonel. Mark came to an end. "Clear?"

John answered in soldierly fashion, "Yes, Sir."

Mark nodded, "Very well, but I want to show you one thing more."

He nodded to Lance. Lance was a big man as all his guards were. Zack tried to send a message again to John, a message of reassurance as, one by one, Lance displayed the weapons he carried, the handgun whose capabilities Mark enumerated, the baton, and the stun gun, whose use that one time had nearly killed John. The capabilities of the stun gun were explained in detail. "The guards will not hesitate to use any of these weapons if they deem it necessary. There will be no more attacks on army personnel."

John said, "I understand, Sir." It was not a promise not to attack a soldier, but Mark didn't push his luck. The scene had gone a lot better than expected. John was unpredictable, and never had treated him with any exaggerated respect. This piece of film might help him stay in charge of the facility. There were few candidates, as John's existence was kept very quiet.

More hours of boredom, confined in the room that he hated. But John knew that he'd been let off very lightly. He suspected that he was a lot safer with Mark in charge, even though he so seldom saw him. He did a lot of pacing that day, until his leg became too sore. Mark was sorry for him, but some punishment was needed, even if only to show the general.

While John fretted against his close confinement, Mark had an argument with his wife. He wanted to cancel their planned three weeks' holiday, and couldn't tell her why, as John's existence was top secret. With Forster out of action, unable to talk, probably for months, the decision to replace him had been reversed, at least temporarily.

That Forster was to take over had been communicated to the Colonel just an hour before he arrived. But John seemed to have felt a warning well before then. For the first time, it had been reported that there had been a nightmare, and Mark watched the film - the awakening cry of terror, and his quivering agitation after as he paced the room. His guards reported his unusual irritability and nervousness that morning, as well. And there was his obvious fear when they'd been told to report to Ward 3, although similar things had happened before and he'd not seemed particularly disturbed at those times.

Mark knew that he must be feeling very insecure, worried that again there would be a change. Maybe he would become dangerous or suicidal, or maybe he would find himself able to access that mysterious power that even Mark sometimes doubted, in spite of the evidence. Mark wanted to stay, but his second-in-command had his orders and would follow his policies, unchanged. And then Mark had his orders, too. His wife would not concede. Mark would be going on holidays, and Major Greenspan was to be in command for those weeks.

Greenspan was a superstitious man, thoroughly nervous of the inexplicable. He'd always declined to meet John. 'Best to remain objective,' he said, and Mark agreed with that stated reason. There was no fear that John would be deliberately killed for dissection, as he'd suggested \- it was supposed to be a civilized country. But there was a possibility that one day he might have to be killed for other reasons, such as if he seemed too dangerous, or, of course, if he was about to make his escape. And if he was killed, for whatever reason, it was quite certain that his body would be very thoroughly examined.

******
Chapter 9:

The day after the Forster incident, as soon as he was released from his room, John went to his favorite tree, leapt up to the lowest branch, and swiftly climbed as high as he could. A bitter wind whistled, but John had as much privacy as he could ever manage. His guards shook their heads. They didn't understand his attraction to trees.

John held a twig. He paused, feeling the tree. There was no disturbance. He was fairly sure that there were no cameras in the tree, though no doubt there would be from further away. He turned his head, searching. Someone watched a screen and there came to him a distant image of himself facing the camera. It was a less comfortable position, but he turned his back to the camera, and then paused, feeling again. More images came to him, but none was clear enough that he thought anyone could see what he was doing. He turned his attention to the twig. Mark said he had a power and that was why he was a prisoner. Just once, he'd maybe done something, and his face had become smooth. But if it was there, he had no idea how to use it.

He tried to make the twig vanish. Again and again, searching inside himself where a mysterious ability might somewhere lie, somewhere in that part of him that seemed so blank. He thought he was just a shell sometimes, a hollow man. He knew now that he was very badly damaged. He was not really just someone who'd only lived a short time.

After an hour, he ceased his efforts, wondering instead, bleakly, if he would suffer later for the useless attempts. Below, Rudy glanced up and spoke to Zack. He was shivering himself, and said that John had to be frozen, sixty feet above the ground. Zack looked up as well. John was easily visible in his brightly colored jacket, and seemed to be just staring into the distance. "I really don't think we should let him climb trees. If he fell now, he'd probably be killed, but the Colonel only says not to interfere."

But John was moving, rather stiffly and cautiously, and shortly let himself fall gently to the ground, yelping as he landed a little too heavily on his bad leg. He ignored his guards and turned to walk toward the fence, limping rather more heavily than usual. Zack, Lance and Bob just shrugged and set off after him. They didn't stay too close when he obviously didn't want them, just close enough to do their job. Alec came to him when he whistled, and grinned at him, "I hear you were a very bad boy."

But John wasn't disposed to talk about his misdemeanor, and Alec found himself describing the Christmas traditions of his family instead. John didn't show how it hurt. He'd led the subject, and now listened intently, wanting to share a little. Alec had a few days off later, just four days, including Christmas Day and Boxing Day.

"Are many people having time off over Christmas?" John asked casually.

Alec looked at him suspiciously. "There's to be no reduction in security, and the outside fences are finished now, besides B Force moving in tomorrow."

"B Force?"

Alec explained the extra layer of security now in place. John said, disgusted, "You'd think I was bloody Superman, or something!"

Alec felt guilty, but reported the conversation afterwards, as he always did, and the faceless advisers and analysts behind the scenes noted what was said and drew their conclusions.

There was time before lunch, and John swam. He couldn't swim just when he wanted to any more, as there had to be two in the water with him in case he was struck with the pain, and two of his personal guards had still to be armed and alert outside the pool. Often, there was no trouble, as off duty soldiers used the heated pool regularly, and most were happy to be roped in for an hour. Kyle and Edward were both there that time. They hadn't happened to see him since he'd been shot in the legs, as their usual station was at the gates where he never went. But he greeted them as if nothing had happened. There were ugly marks on the front of his legs where the bullets had exited, although the entry wounds were only three quite neat marks on the backs of his legs.

Some of the soldiers couldn't understand that he didn't seem to resent them, but John thought that life would be impossible if he tried to live without the company of other people. The soldiers were all he had. Even the cleaners, gardeners and kitchen staff were soldiers, though he thought some of the specialist staff might not be. Kyle tried to draw him on the subject of his attack on Forster, but John didn't want to talk about it. Forster might be back, and the knowledge that he could be put in his power frightened him badly.

His bleak feeling made a resurgence at lunch time, as he heard someone complaining that they were not allowed to put up Christmas decorations.

"We're not supposed to upset the Martian," said Hank, casting a sidelong glance at John. The soldiers tended to forget that there would be listening devices wherever the subject sat.

John looked at him, and suddenly smiled. "Aren't you the boxing champion?"

Hank grunted an assent. He'd been refused time off for Christmas, and was not feeling polite.

John sat back in his chair, put his hands casually behind his head, and said, "Well, the Martian is already upset, and I'd just _love_ to hit somebody - how about a fight?"

Hank sneered. "I'm not an old man like Forster, taken off guard. _And_ I learned from professionals."

John's smile remained. "And I'm not really a Martian - Mars was abandoned long since. I learned my fighting on the streets of Kidos on Alpha Centauri, and you're just an American soldier. I reckon I can thrash you."

In a backroom, two men whom John had never seen, gaped at each other, before deciding it was probably just mischief. But one picked up a phone and the decision was made. They never stopped John providing them with extra information.

Zack's zoster vibrated, and Zack was told not to interfere in the potential fistfight.

Hank looked around. The faces around him were expectant. Hank was not very popular. He'd learned his fighting at the hands of professionals, but he'd practised on any victim available ever since early childhood, just a natural born bully. He looked questioningly at Zack, who had come to stand behind John. John still looked at Hank, whose face was suddenly more clear in his vision. Zack gave the verdict. "There has to be boxing gloves, but otherwise, if the potential participants want, the fight can go ahead."

Hank looked stunned and John kindly explained for him, "It's a bit like I'm an animal in a free range zoo, you see, they like to watch what I do."

Hank said, "I've got to go back on duty. I have no time."

John was disappointed, but only said, "Another time, then," and looked around restlessly. He wished there was something he could do. He'd already had a swim, he'd already talked to Alec, and he really did feel like hitting somebody.

Hank gave him an uneasy glance and left.

John finally went to the gym, where he laid into the large punching bag instead, hitting as hard as he could until he was staggering in exhaustion, watched by his three guards.

John wasn't told when Mark Bedville left, in case it worried him. It made no difference - he remained observably restless, they presumed, nervous. He could put on an imperturbable expression when he chose, but he couldn't conceal his jumpiness when watched twenty-four hours a day.

Every day, he tried again to make something move or vanish, hiding as much as he could from the cameras and from his guards. There was no result, but he wasn't collapsing with head pain, either.

Shortly after Greenspan was left in charge, an argument blew up when Private Rawlings took exception to him looking at one of the few female soldiers, and he had a fight. As Zack insisted, they wore boxing gloves, though John looked at his gloves with suspicion, and took five minutes to forget he wore them and start to hit back instead of just dodging.

They had their results. John didn't fight in the conventional style, apparently didn't know about using his gloves to deflect punches, but was lightning fast, and defeated Jimmy quickly enough that he looked both surprised and disappointed when Jimmy stood back, shaking his head, unwilling to take any more punishment. John had been scarcely touched. How he'd managed it when he was half blind was a mystery. Afterward, he walked straight into a projecting bar of one of the exercise machines.

Sunday, John's guards told him that he was to go to the church service and behave himself whether he liked it or not. It was orders.

John's attention wandered as the Minister droned, and hymns were poorly sang. The sermon, given the time of year, was to do with Christmas. The story of the babe in the manger. As al-ways, John was watched. Was the story new to him? Father Herley was coming to the moral of his sermon. "How would we treat Jesus if we came to us today?" He paused for effect, and repeated his rhetorical question in a lower voice, as if musing. "How would we treat Jesus if we came to us today?"

A mocking voice answered him. "You'd probably put him in a secure facility and surround him with guards!" Even Rudy and Bob were laughing as John was steered out. The congregation was in hysterics, to the considerable annoyance of Father Herley. It would be weeks before he saw the funny side of it.

******
_Chapter 10_ :

Greenspan watched his subject on film, received his reports, and made a decision. They needed to keep a closer control of their subject. And he should not have as much close contact with the soldiers. John knew now in which state they were, though his casual question about the nearest town was evaded. John wasn't supposed to know where he was, or what was happening in the outside world.

John thought he was behaving well enough, doing what the guards said, and not even disputing when they denied him his swim because there were not enough helpers. It was an unpleasant surprise when the decree was relayed by Zack, that from now on, he'd be eating only in his own sitting room. The staff dining room was no longer open to him. But even then, he'd only sighed. After all, there was not much he could do. He was under the control of others. But he walked fast around the perimeter three times that day, scarcely limping, and not even talking to the dogs who were his friends, let alone the guards.

Alec was not there, gone to join his family for Christmas. John hoped that his wet eyes might be blamed on the bitter wind that whistled. It was over a year since he'd first been found in a gutter, though he called himself John Douglas now. His memory went back less than nine months. He thought that in a way he was just a baby, but was fully aware that tantrums could be severely punished.

So when Rudy said it was lunchtime, he was docile as he was escorted back to his room and a lunch was brought in on a tray. But it was not until the following day, Christmas Eve, that he took only a mouthful of his breakfast before pushing it away. Greenspan had suspected he might do this, but there would be no choice. The biscuits that had previously been left in his room were gone, as John quickly discovered when he searched for an alternative to satisfy his hunger. Even the milk in the fridge wasn't right.

Isaac watched the film afterward, and advised Greenspan again that John was best left alone as long as he was being reasonably well behaved. But Greenspan replied, as he had before, that John had to be kept under control, and the strategy of keeping him under mild sedation, which could be manipulated as desired, would be maintained. "He's not going to starve himself to death, after all," said Greenspan.

John's personal guards knew that he was to be allowed nothing to eat other than the drugged food provided in his room. And they very soon knew that John was refusing to touch his food, tasting, but not eating even when the drug was reduced to a trace.

Christmas Day came. John had the large noon meal delivered to his room, and Zack saw his nostrils quiver. He tried a taste, and threw the fork away from him, quite violently. "You think they could have given me some food I could eat, today of all days," he complained, leaving the table and trying the locked door.

"Orders," said Zack. "You have to come here every meal time, and you have to stay an hour."

John paced. Zack waited, stolidly, patiently. He was a soldier, and soldiers often had to obey orders they didn't agree with.

Christmas afternoon, John roamed the gardens, but no vegetables grew. "Not in the middle of winter," Rudy commented, guessing what he was after.

John said with a wry smile, "Obviously, whatever I used to be, it was not a gardener." He took his perch in his tree for a while instead, contemplating refusing to come in for the evening meal. Maybe he'd just stay here until he died of hunger. Did chipmunks store nuts? he suddenly wondered, and walked the grounds, feeling if there were any chipmunks. But there were no nut trees, and there didn't seem to be any chipmunks.

On the fourth day, he staggered when he was roused for breakfast. There had been a nightmare that night, and he'd paced for hours afterward. Isaac saw the stagger on film. The film was always watched, but not as it was taken. John could detect the cameras when the screens were watched in real time. Isaac shook his head. He found it hard to comprehend his patient's stubbornness. He was losing weight fast now, and was weakening, but he didn't even try his breakfast, just waiting, pacing the floor until he heard the door unlock for his release. Greenspan was equally stubborn, insisting that the subject had to be kept under control, and nothing that Isaac said would change his mind.

Some of the soldiers were going on a route march that day, and John joined Sergeant Davies as the men prepared. "How far?" he asked.

"Twenty miles," answered Davies. He no longer objected very much to John's presence, and John no longer set out to irritate him. Lance and Bob were close, although not within hearing. Rudy was having a short break.

Davies glanced at him. "You're looking thin."

John nodded casually. "I've been on a hunger strike. I want female guards around me. But I'm willing to break it now, if you have something to eat on you."

Davies laughed and fished out a food bar. "It's army rations, but that's all I've got."

John made sure that his guards only saw his back, as he ate, voraciously. Silently, Davies handed him another. It was half gone before Rudy walked back, saw what he was doing, and yelled. John quickly stepped back, behind Davies, and finished the bar. Davies looked at them both, very puzzled.

Rudy strode across to John and firmly took his arm.

"What's going on?" Davies asked, puzzled.

Rudy said, quite roughly, that whatever John had been telling him, he was perfectly well fed and it was his own fault if he chose not to eat. John just stood, his face expressionless. Rudy hesitated. Davies was looking hostile.

Rudy said to John, "Go and join the men, I'm having a talk to Rod."

John obeyed.

Davies nodded back at the men, "Sit, if you like." The men promptly sat, John with them. It hadn't occurred to him that the soldiers might be on his side, but Jimmy asked him if he was still hungry, and while his guard explained to Davies that Greenspan was trying to keep him sedated, John ate his fill. Bob and Lance pretended not to see.

John grinned at Jimmy and the others, thanking them. They were a bit confused, as he could only say that he hadn't liked his meals, not really knowing himself why he was so unwilling to eat the food provided. He only knew there was something wrong with it.

Davies disappeared, and the men lolled around for a half hour, John sitting among them and storing a few of the food bars in his pockets for later. If he had a chance, he planned to climb a tree where they couldn't easily follow, and eat them there, although his guards were not trying to stop him eating. He felt better already.

Davies couldn't contact Colonel Bedville, and finally returned, saying quietly to Rudy that he'd try again later. Rudy nodded. Davies roared at the men, saying that inspections would be made, and any who hadn't their full ration pack should straightaway remedy the situation.

More food bars poured on a grinning John, as the men did as instructed, filing in to the store, and refilling their ration packs. John was laughing. There may not have been much variety, but right now, the bland, hard ration bars tasted very good.

Finally, the men were lined up in their ranks, ready to march out. John called to Davies, asking if he could come, too, but Davies told him not to be so silly. John shrugged, and said to Rudy, "Surrounded by forty soldiers, what could I do?" Rudy told him not to be so silly.

No-one hindered him as he climbed his tree and stowed his food bars in the driest place he could find. He thought that he might stave off starvation for a few more days, especially if he managed to beg more from the men.

He was quite visible in his tree now, and Rudy nudged Bob and pointed. There was a bird sitting on his shoulder, and another on a tree branch close to his head. All the birds and animals seemed to love John. There were a few cats who'd decided the base was a good home, and they always twined around his legs at any opportunity, though he wasn't allowed to have them in his room.

There was an especially aromatic meal that evening, and John yielded to temptation and tried a mouthful but put it down again. He was locked in for the evening and Zack was watching a film with him. There had recently been several added to the collection, and he hadn't seen this one. They didn't stint on expense, in small matters or big, and although the films were vetted, there were some new releases.

The buzzer went at the door, the indication that someone was about to enter. John rose and waited in the designated spot. The guards briefly checked the outside scanner to make sure he wasn't near the door, and entered. He hardly saw the night guards, and Pete and Raymond were almost strangers.

"New orders," said Raymond. "John's to be confined to Ward 3 until further notice."

Two other guards waited outside. He was to be given a large escort, it seemed.

Even so, John hesitated as he went into the corridor, looking the wrong way. Zack said very quietly, "John, don't be silly."

Raymond pulled out the stun gun. They knew now he could fight very well, and he'd been almost fully fit before Christmas, except for a still weak leg. They could feel his tension. Raymond had his arm firmly in one hand, the stun gun in another.

Zack put his hand on his shoulder, and said calmly, "Come on, John. We have to obey orders."

John yielded and went in the direction desired, his expression again cold, impassive.

John didn't eat then for three days, as Greenspan insisted that he _would_ take the drugged food. When Isaac assured him that it was a minimal amount of tranquillizer and would help him cope with the stress of imprisonment, he was not answered. John just paced, interminably, every day, until he staggered with weariness. They could have overcome him with injected drugs, but the aim was to get him accepting the food he was given, with the dose adjusted as they chose.

Isaac was increasingly worried, and pointed out to Greenspan that John was so weakened that one of those attacks of head pain might kill him now. Greenspan was indifferent.

When Mark Bedville entered the room, John was pacing again, staggering now and then, not taking notice of his surroundings. He knew that people watched, all the time. He ignored them. He no longer even tasted the meals served up, no matter how tempting they appeared. They found it hard to comprehend his stubbornness.

"John?" Mark said.

John glanced his way and kept pacing. He looked terrible, and Mark suspected he was on the verge of total collapse. Compassionately, he said, "I'm back now, and your food will no longer be tampered with."

John paused, "Were you away?"

Mark nodded. "I came back early when I heard. This affair was not at my orders."

"Can I go out?"

Mark hesitated. John was never allowed out after dark, except to walk to the dining room and back. But he was obviously too much weakened to try anything now. He spoke to Raymond. "John's going out for a while. You and Fox just stay close to him, and we'll bring him something to eat outside."

John staggered as he left the hated room, and went right down on one knee as he stepped outside. But he looked around in gratitude. He was outside. Mark took his arm, and pointed to an outdoor table setting. Isaac brought him a meal himself, just a bowl of soup to begin with, which John ate quickly.

"You can have something else in a little while," Isaac said.

John started trembling. He'd been trembling a lot lately. No-one commented, and after a while, it died down. John was looking at the stars, faint, as the Compound was brightly lit. "This is the first time I've seen the stars," he said. But then the stars were lost as Peter looked at him instead, very surprised. They tended to forget that his remembered experiences were so limited.

It took a few days for John to feel strong again, and would take longer to regain the lost weight. It didn't take long before he started trying to make things happen without touching them, telekinesis, he thought it was called. He had to escape. He just didn't see how. Probably safe while Mark was in charge, but there were people who could tell Mark what to do. There was no feeling of security, although Mark came to see him quite often now.

He was welcomed back to the staff dining room with a cheer, which took him so much by surprise that he started trembling and turned bright red. And yet, he knew that these same men who laughed with him and clapped his shoulder, would probably shoot him if they were ordered, as Alec had. Soldiers always did what they were told. He would have to ensure that if he was shot, it would be by a member of Force B. But he didn't want to be shot. He wanted to go home.

******
Chapter 11:

The twin fences of the boundary fence were complete, the electrified fence was switched on, and B Force patrolled. Their barracks, and all the other facilities needed for their men were in a new area, surrounded by a high fence, outside the Compound, but within the external boundary fences. They had no contact with the subject, and only limited contact with A Force.

On the fourth of January, John was released as usual, eight in the morning, and greeted by Zack and Bob, who were smiling. Outside were three horses. Two were tall, speedy looking horses, being ridden by soldiers whom he scarcely knew. Mark himself held the third horse, much smaller, dun colored, with creamy mane and tail. She looked placid and a touch rotund. John gave Mark a smile of uttermost delight and went straight to the pony, caressing and murmuring to the small mare, and then, quite suddenly, hugging her neck, burying his face in her mane, wishing he was alone. He wanted to cry.

Mark glanced at Zack and spoke in a dry and matter-of-fact tone. "Her name's Bess, and if you'll just look up a moment, I'll introduce your escorts."

Ernest and Adam pretended not to see the wet eyes, and only explained that he could ride within the Compound with just their escort, but if he wanted to go outside the Compound, he'd be on a lead.

John looked at Mark, scarcely able to believe it. "I can go outside?"

Mark nodded. Zack took over and told him about B Force, and the external fences. John listened attentively, and only asked how close he was allowed to go before they would shoot.

"If you start to climb the fence, they will shoot. As long as you have your feet on the ground, or you're riding your horse, you're safe. But the men of B Force are not allowed to talk to you, and they do know exactly what you look like. Don't think of being stupid."

John looked into the distance a moment, that direction that for some reason, pulled him, but then said that he'd try not to be stupid.

Zack and Bob watched him ride off a few minutes later, smiling all over his face, though with long stirrups and a sloppy seat. Bob commented that he'd obviously not ridden much, but had to take back his words when they saw him flashing past at a speed that they wouldn't have thought Bess could go. The other horses were side by side, a little behind. Adam and Ernest were expert riders and were armed the same way as they were.

John had to wait before he was allowed outside the Compound, as several men in light jeeps were sent out. "They're sharpshooters, and have high powered rifles," said one of the gate keepers.

"Why, are there tigers out there or something?" asked John, teasingly. He was in a very good mood.

Staid Bess pranced and tossed her head. She'd never had a rider that spoke to her quite like this before. It made her feel youthful and full of zest.

There was some rearranging. John was deprived of his reins, and long reins were attached instead, one taken by Ernest and one by Adam. "Which direction?" asked Adam.

John looked around, as best he could, and finally said that they could decide. There was a brief consultation, and John was led out the gates that had confined him so long. He looked back, remembering that it was at that gate he'd been hit with a stun gun. He laughed exultantly, almost forgetting that he was a prisoner.

Every day then, straight after his release in the morning, he rode out, only missing a few times when his escorts were not available. It was a pleasure to him, though sometimes he would have liked a horse with more speed and endurance. Bess couldn't go as far and fast as he wanted. He came to be familiar with the larger area of army land, the areas of woods, some of it showing damage from weapons practice, and the lake. It was a favorite place of water birds, though he seldom saw any other wildlife, a few rabbits and a fox once. There were no hills and no areas very rough. In the distance to the east, well past the perimeter fence, he knew there was a much larger lake, though it was seldom in his view. He never saw any settlements, and the guards told him that there were no towns near.

He rode portions of the fence, watched curiously by unfamiliar soldiers, who held their rifles not quite at the ready. "They look as if they'd really _like_ a chance to shoot me," he remarked to his escorts, once.

Ernest shrugged. "They're probably bored. Guard duty is always boring." They'd begun to relax now that the Martian had proven to be just a man after all.

But now John started quizzing them. He wanted to know exactly what the soldiers were told about him. "They don't _really_ think I'm a Martian, do they?" he asked.

The pair were uncomfortable with his questions, and John glanced at them and asked if once he was back in the Compound, he could borrow one of their horses for a little while. He was refused, and Bess wasn't interested in bucking and playing with him as he'd like her to do. She was a dear friend, though, and he loved her.

Mark watched and was pleased. John seemed contented, and seemed not to be worrying about the future. Mark worried about the future for him.

But John was not contented, and still racked his brains for a way to escape, though he'd almost stopped trying to make things move just by thinking about it. That piece of film had to have been an April Fool's Day Joke. Even when he skipped his shave, and attempted it later, in his tree, he failed. It was risky, as he suspected that his jailers were still alert for that particular action, but he couldn't do it in any case. To avoid suspicion, he didn't shave again until the following morning, as if he'd only been a bit lazy that day. They may not have noticed, of course, just one day's beard growth.

More facilities were provided for the soldiers. Now there were two hot spas side by side, as well as a sauna. Close to the gymnasium, a physiotherapist took up residence. She was a qualified physiotherapist, specializing in sports injuries, but she was also an excellent masseuse. Clare had a small, external office where a list was left, and members of staff could write down their own names in their chosen appointment slot. When not occupied, she often sat reading in this area, or joined the staff as they swam or exercised. Then she had her clinic area, and leading from that, her sleeping quarters, though she often went to her own home at night.

John didn't seem able to keep his eyes off her - and didn't go near her. She waited. Clare was not a soldier, and the John Doe was her job. She didn't think it would be difficult, not after she was shown film of him laughing for joy as Bess reared and pranced for him. She'd seen film of him in the shower, too. He was not only to be made more content, it was long known that secrets were divulged in bed. But John only looked at her with an overwhelming yearning, and stayed away.

Isaac urged him to go to Clare, as a massage was so relaxing. John looked at Isaac with a troubled expression, and stayed away. They knew he was sexually frustrated. He had no privacy, and there were obvious indications. But he liked the spa, and one day, Clare joined him. A meaningful jerk of Zack's head ensured that a soldier decided he needed a sauna rather than a spa right now.

Clare spoke softly, gently, frankly. He looked up briefly, hopefully, and then said bitterly that he was watched every minute of the day. How could he?

Clare smiled. "Is that all? My room is private. I'll give you a massage, I'm free right now, and then, if you want to...."

John looked at her, and his reply was so fervent that she laughed. The massage didn't last long. John held her close afterward, and said, almost crying, that he didn't think he knew of anything else that could possibly feel so good. It was not until the second time that he noticed an unfamiliar action he'd taken - the tiniest surge of the mind that vanished semen. It seemed something that was part of sex, but when he thought about it, it was not a part of sex, just something that always came after. There was no memory of the reason, but he assumed for contraception. And maybe after all, he was not a normal man. _Could_ he do other things then?

Not long later, he nearly fell out of his tree with surprise as a twig vanished from the palm of his hand. He made it come back again, actually an identical twig conjured, though he didn't know that, and then he vanished it again, repeating the actions until he noticed Rudy's exasperated shouts from far below. He was to come down. It would soon be dark. Rudy was relieved when he finally seemed to hear him. He was beginning to think he'd have to come up after him.

He was a joy to be with that week, laughing, joking, acting as if he was having the time of his life. Every day, he had an appointment with Clare, though she discovered no secrets except that he was a very good lover. Men were all different, and she never gave a thought to an apparently scanty ejaculation.

The rest of the day, he worked his magic, learning to move things, vanishing and re-conjuring things, still only small and inconspicuous things. The day that he idly played with the wire fence as he talked to Rizo with his handler Marty, and made it vanish and reappear under his fingers, he knew that now he had a real chance to escape.

He resumed watching Davies as he trained. He was doing some interesting things with the men, and sometimes he participated, not worrying that his participation was probably planned as just another way of discovering his capabilities. They were disappointed one day, though. It was to be a sort of verbal IQ test, and John showed interest in participating, but just before a start was made, he looked straight at the camera that observed, and said casually that, after all, he didn't feel like playing soldiers that day.

Isaac, watching the action on screen, laughed, although he was disappointed. Bloody man, but even that action revealed how much he knew of the position of the cameras, and how much he guessed of their motives.

They tried him with foreign languages one day, but it was not a very subtle test, and he chose not to reveal that he spoke almost every language they tried. He told Clare, later, that he reckoned he was English, and when she asked why, he said it was because every now and then, he found himself thinking about Bloody Yanks!

His own conclusion agreed with theirs. His accent was English, although an expert on accents was unable to narrow it down further.

He was nearly always lured into the action events that Davies came up with, especially if there was competition. The teams never knew whether he was an asset or not. He was quick and agile, and apparently fearless, but sometimes there were delays as he felt blindly around for the rope, for instance, or fell straight into the ditch he was supposed to jump over.

One day, he took his turn climbing to the top of the tall tower, and then tilted his head slightly as he groped for the rope that he knew was there. But when he found it, he whooped with joy as he soared through the air. Davies roared at the reluctant ones who followed, that John could do it, even half blind, so certainly they could do it, too.

John was back in line waiting for his second go, when he took a few uncertain steps out of line, and said softly, "Rudy?" The next moment, he was on the ground, rolling and whimpering, fists pressed to his forehead. He stopped moving fairly quickly, his eyes open, agonized, his palms pressed flat on the grass as if for strength.

The last time he'd gone down, the pain had only lasted a short time, and that had been the only episode in months. Isaac, when he came, said they'd wait and see, not move him. The men were sent away. This time, the agony went on and on.

After two hours, he was getting too cold, and Isaac decided they had to take him inside. Disturbing him as little as possible, he was gently lifted onto a stretcher, and although he seemed to lose consciousness at the movement, he didn't fit. The faint lasted until he was in his bed in Ward 3. Isaac had learned from previous experience with him. There was no painkiller, no touching, the room was kept very quiet, and the light was dimmed. John endured, although knowing less and less of anything but the pain as time went on.

It lasted a little over thirteen hours, then his body finally relaxed as he sunk into a state of deep unconsciousness. The EEG sensors were finally attached, and Isaac looked worriedly at the characteristic coma pattern, but after a while, the waves changed to one indicating a more normal sleep. Isaac thought he could relax now, and went to bed, leaving him in the care of the nurses.

John wanted a shower the moment he woke, though slapping a face-washer rudely at an observer who seemed too curious. The see-through wall even formed one side of his shower. The observer recoiled, but only a few minutes later was calling urgently that Isaac needed to be fetched, as John went down again.

Isaac had him put straight back into bed, and attached the electrodes for the EEG again, but the disturbance caused fitting, which gave way to more pain which just seemed to go on and on.

John's eyes looked at Isaac without recognition, no longer knowing anything except the agony that was his world. Day and night merged, the terrible pain alternating with periods of unconsciousness, though there was little fitting this time, only occasionally in response to interference or noise, such as when the bent IV stand fell to the floor. Isaac knew he was in a very bad way when he didn't notice that he was now on an intravenous drip. He didn't use restraints. Having him panicking and fighting now could be the last straw, and Isaac cared for his patient.

The times when John was awake and free of pain, he always wanted a shower. He sweated so much when he was in pain, but Isaac always refused, and his refusal was justified, as again and again the pain hit, usually only minutes after he woke from sleep.

Twenty-five days it lasted, but stopped as suddenly as it started. John was very thin, very pale, and weak as a kitten. But when Isaac asked what he wanted, he grinned and said that he thought it was definitely time that he saw Clare, who would undoubtedly know just what he needed. Isaac said that if he couldn't walk that far, he certainly couldn't do anything else. John's eyes twinkled, and he said that he could definitely do something else. The report came back later. It seemed that he could. Clare thought that her room was private, though John wasn't so sure, and always insisted that it be darkened as much as possible, and showed a liking for being under the covers.

Davies was very happy to see him, though for the first time in a while, it seemed that John remembered that he liked to be a pest, mocking and interfering when he drilled the men. Davies cursed him, and stalked over to him, but John looked at him with bright, merry eyes from a thin, pale face, and Davies noticed that he held a cane again. The blast of fury was muted.

John resumed his rides very quickly, though only walking around the Compound on Bess to begin with, Adam and Ernest acting as personal guards. He could go further when he rode Bess, and he spent a lot of time walking her around the perimeter fence, sometimes turning her so that she looked straight at the fence as he peered, head tilted slightly to the side. He was able to see better when he was on a horse, and there were a few days that he spent watching the gates, the guards very alert. But all he did was watch.

Once he seemed a bit stronger, Adam and Ernest brought a different horse for him, a taller, faster horse. And he whooped in joy as the three galloped together, thundering around the external perimeter track. Except for that ill-considered flight triggered by holding a baby, he hadn't attempted escape, but Mark was alert to any behavior that indicated that he might. Two or three times a week, he would join him in the staff dining room, though he knew that the lower ranking soldiers didn't appreciate it. John just greeted him as 'Mark,' and spoke to him as easily as he did everyone else.

John was making plans, and was becoming fit again. He thought he could probably drive a car, it couldn't be that difficult, and he'd have to get as far away as he could, as quickly as he could. But he didn't try to work his telekinesis, not until he was over the latest illness.

******
_Chapter 12_ :

Spring, and the trees were showing beginning buds of leaves. John was still not fully recovered from the weeks of illness, but the constant rain would be a help. In spite of the lights, visibility would be poor outside at night. It was a gamble, as he hadn't practised that unknown power since he'd been sick, and he was planning to try things he'd never done.

He had no dull colored shirt, and there had been no chance to steal one, so he went bare-chested. The cameras stopped working for a little while, a pillow pretended to be a body in his bed, his locked door was unlocked, and Peter and Nicholas somehow didn't see him go. Two more locked doors were unlocked and he slipped through. More guards were evaded, and he rolled in the muddiest puddle that he knew. His horse had churned it up for him the previous day, pawing at the dirt while he laughed and pretended to Ernest and Adam that it was misbehaving. He was nearly black now, face, body and jeans. He wore no shoes.

He gave himself less than a fifty percent chance of success, so at least one fence had to be climbed, or they'd know for sure he'd done something inexplicable. He had to show that he'd crossed the barbed wire, though he didn't know how they'd explain that he crossed the two electrified fences. He planned to make them rise up, so that he could wriggle underneath and not be touched.

A flicker of movement caught the eye of a guard as he made a routine scan of the screens in the large surveillance room. It was a long way from the Compound, closer to the external fences. He thought it must be a fox, slipping silently through the heavy mist. He called the attention of his fellow to it. Frowning, they watched. For a moment they saw it a touch clearer. The brief glimpse didn't look quite like a fox.

Just as a precautionary measure, the watcher checked John's room. The half light showed a figure in the bed. "He's there," he said to the other.

For a long moment, the two peered at the silent room. Then a switch was flicked, and suddenly there was a bright light in John's room. There was no movement from the body in the bed, that didn't look quite right. Zoster communicators vibrated, phones rang, more guards were alerted, but it was only when John was definitely discovered to be gone from his room, that Force B was alerted.

John, crouching and hurrying, was praying for the heavy mist to continue. The bright lights that generously lit even this area, were dissipated in the moisture laden air.

Sirens rang, and the headlights of jeeps swung, dipped and dived as they crossed the rough open area where he was caught. He ran, trying to get closer to the fence, filled with urgency to escape, though he really knew there was no hope as soon as the alarm went. Searchlights started wandering. He was closer to the external fence than he'd thought. He dropped and only wriggled along the ground, still hoping. Maybe he could hitch a ride once he was out. Maybe he could clean himself with magic so that he looked more innocent. Maybe he could still escape.

A jeep roared past a foot from his head, and then turned and backed around, between himself and the fence, the headlights shining back at him. He wished he would not be seen, and added that surge of power. He was not seen by those on the spot, but reports were coming in from those who watched from the cameras.

After a moment, the jeep turned slightly, and the lights were no longer on him. He started wriggling again, still headed toward the fence.

More jeeps appeared, the beams of headlights lighting the area, supplementing the lights from the poles that also carried cameras. But it was only when night binoculars were used that John was picked up almost under the feet of Zack. He knew he was seen. Slowly, he rose to his feet, black with mud. For a moment he glanced at the fences, so close.

Triumphantly, a Force B soldier approached, carrying handcuffs. "You've got him then," and he added with a sneer, "Pretty careless, letting him get this far."

Zack saw John's eyes on the handcuffs. He was looking very tense, but Zack was furious with him, and was tempted to let the sergeant put on the restraints. But John looked at him, and said very softly, "Zack?" and he said instead that handcuffs were not needed, that John would give no trouble now.

John relaxed. The disappointment was extreme, but now that he'd found his power, there'd be other opportunities.

"In the jeep," Zack said curtly.

John looked at himself. "I'll make it awfully dirty."

Zack stared, then laughed. "You nearly get yourself killed, and you're worried about getting the jeep dirty?"

John got in the jeep. They took him to Ward 3, as he expected. There never had been a Ward 1 or a Ward 2, though there was a Sick Bay, occasionally used by staff.

They wouldn't let him shower or put on dry clothing, only taking from him the small package of food bars that was attached to his belt. Colonel Bedville was well aware of the value of some fatigue and discomfort when a man was interrogated. Nicholas, Peter and Raymond surrounded him, the night guards he scarcely knew. Two others had been brought in as well. He'd never even seen Josephs and Cunningham. Peter and Nicholas were feeling vindictive. Somehow he'd got past them although they'd been on station right outside his door. They couldn't understand it and they didn't like it.

John was made to stand, shivering and just waiting, as Mark, Isaac and Zack watched film in the observation room next door. The technicians were checking through all film from the last three hours, finding the traces of his passage. He was seen in the corridors, once slipping behind a guard who should certainly have seen him. There was quite a good shot of him rolling in the muddy puddle, but then he wasn't spotted until a glimpse was seen of him crossing the barbed wire of the first fence.

Isaac looked at the bedraggled figure in the next room, and said that there must be some deep cuts under the mud. Mark said briefly that no doubt he'd recover.

Again and again, the footage from the cameras in his room was run. The technician concluded, "The cameras in his room stopped working, I think, all of them, probably for about fifteen minutes."

Mark looked at their subject. He wasn't doing anything. Five guards surrounded him, and both Nicholas and Peter had their stun guns out in a tacit threat. John leaned against the wall, muddy hands in muddy pockets, and stared into the distance, his face impassive.

Mark finally went in and started questioning. John was trembling, although whether it was from fear or cold, they didn't know. Colonel Bedville didn't find it too difficult to harden his heart. The man had nearly escaped, and he surely must have used that strange power.

John, as the Colonel had expected, was not cooperative, only saying that he'd found the door open and thought it worthwhile having a go. He was silent as he was asked how he'd passed the guards without being seen, how he'd negotiated the electrified fence without being killed, how he'd gone through at least three locked doors.

After a half hour, the Colonel stopped. John asked if he could have a shower now. Colonel Bedville said coldly that his guards would tell him when he was allowed to have a shower. John looked after him as he left, and his eyes followed him also as he entered the room next door. Isaac was there, too, he could feel him. John fidgeted. There was a deep cut on his upper arm, that was paining with the mud in it. There were other cuts. Nicholas snarled at him, "Stay still or I'll use the stun gun." He stayed still.

Isaac objected. He wanted to look after his patient, but Colonel Bedville was in charge, and the Colonel was deeply disturbed. Losing the subject would cost him dear. Within himself, Mark felt aggrieved. John had been treated so well. It seemed ungrateful.

Two interrogators were brought in from B Force. For hours, they hammered at John, who stayed still, stayed silent, and endured. They were not allowed to touch him, Mark had made that quite clear. And each of the guards, individually, was told that they were to use the batons, if necessary, rather than the stun guns. Mark didn't want his subject nearly killed by a zap from a stun gun.

Mark watched from the observation room, getting tired as the morning wore on. The interrogators were taking it in turns, as they, too, tired.

John was silent. He was wondering when the expected head pain would strike. Maybe it would take a few days. Maybe even it would not strike. He smiled bleakly at that thought. He always had to pay when he used that mysterious power.

Nicholas saw the smile, and his anger rose in him again. Nicholas thought it a very good idea if he was knocked about a bit, teach him a lesson.

John's eyes touched him briefly, but he only thought that there was nothing that the guards were likely to do to him that would hurt nearly as much as his head periodically hurt.

Mark and Isaac were speaking in Mark's office. Even here, they could turn on a screen and watch what was happening in Ward 3. The picture was large, clear, and in color. The guards in John's room had been changed and he was now surrounded by his more familiar day guards, Zack, Rudy, Bob, Lance. He was trembling again, and very pale now. He was on the verge of collapse.

Isaac said to Mark, "Enough?"

Mark nodded, and said, "We'll have to do it now."

"Next time he goes down? It'll make it a lot easier."

Mark said heavily, "Next time he goes down." He paused, "If there's a suitable cut on either of his legs, that, too."

Isaac pleaded, "Mark, I can't."

The Colonel looked very tired. "It may not be on film, or witnessed, but I'm satisfied that he has a power and is learning to use it. Slowing him down is better than killing him. You just hand the dressing and the ointment to the nurse, and the nurse will use it as normal."

Isaac said sadly, "The other thing won't hurt him, but crippling him will hurt him."

Mark was looking again at the image of the mud stained figure leaning against the wall. "I know." He added, "I won't punish him, and those two procedures are not for punishment. But he stays in Ward 3 while you treat him, and he'll be under constant surveillance in his room from now on."

Mark felt it his duty to watch as his instructions were carried out. John was swaying, white with fatigue, when he was finally allowed to shower, helped by Joe Price, one of the nurses. It was mid afternoon. His wounds were checked, Isaac pointed to one on his leg with a glance at Price, and then told John that the one on his arm would need to be stitched as it would scar too badly otherwise.

His patient smiled tiredly, and said that he had enough scars to be going on with, stitch it if he wanted. Isaac said, "It'll hurt, and I suppose you'll refuse an injection."

John nodded. "No injections." But he seemed almost asleep when the nurse dressed his wounds, including the one on his leg, and Isaac put a couple of neat stitches in the deep cut on his arm.

It was not until the early hours of the morning that he woke, ravenously hungry. Two guards and a nurse were in the room. The nurse was a woman, and he smiled at her as he swung himself out of bed, pleased. He liked women a lot better than he liked men, he thought. Not that he knew many. Clare was almost the only one, but he certainly liked Clare. He hoped he'd still be allowed to see her. No doubt there'd be punishment, and he sighed. His next attempt would be in the daytime, as he doubted he'd succeed in leaving his room at night again.

Nicki introduced herself and asked how he was feeling.

"Just hungry," he answered.

She briefly checked pulse and temperature, and then said, "You can go back to your room, if you like, and a meal will be brought to you there."

John was delighted. "I can?"

Nicki smiled at him. Peter put in, using an ominous voice, "You'll be told what's to happen to you in the morning." He didn't want him thinking he'd got away with it.

But John only nodded and looked for some clothes. There were some kept here as well as in his bedroom, blue jeans, and a vivid red shirt. They'd standardized the color now, though John said that he'd really prefer a variety, maybe even some brown or green shirts.

He limped slightly when he left his bedroom in the morning. The ointment rubbed into a cut irritated him, but Nicki only said that the dressings were to stay in place, and he'd be checked every morning before he left his room. John smiled his thanks. Life was easier when he was friendly with those who surrounded him, even if they sometimes were in conflict. He was astounded when Zack told him that there were no changes in the way he was to be treated, except that he wouldn't be riding that day.

Davies welcomed him when he turned up at PT training. They'd taken their cue from him. They might come into conflict, but it was best to pretend, afterward, that nothing had happened. It was difficult sometimes. They'd all been out searching the night before last, and some had witnessed an argument between the commander of B Force and the Colonel. They had a very good idea where the subject was, and Hindmarsh had wanted to simply plaster the whole area with bullets. Luckily, Bedville outranked him.

The rain finally stopped and the sun shone, although the soldiers still squelched through puddles in their boots. Only PT that day, and John wandered off, his escort following, Zack next to him, Bob and Lance not far away. He swung himself up into his tree, thinking it wouldn't be long now before the trees would be in full leaf, probably only two or three weeks. He needed the cover before he made the next planned attempt. Next to his habitual perch was a pair of birds busily building their nest, not disturbed in the slightest by the human who smiled on them.

******

Life went on, and John was still a prisoner. At meal times, the soldiers were easy with him, and when he claimed he undoubtedly had better quarters than any of them, he was rewarded with quite a good description of the army barracks he planned to raid. The only change was that he was continually watched when in his rooms, and he now knew exactly where each of the cameras were, though he tried not to show that he knew. He now knew, too, where the camera in Clare's bedroom was, but didn't dream of giving up his visits now. He knew she reported on him, and tried to ensure she'd have enough to report that she was thought valuable. He needed her. She never learned anything he wanted to keep quiet, though.

Nicki checked on him every morning before he was released from his room. The dressings were removed from most of his wounds, though she said that Isaac's orders were that the one on his leg was to stay untouched. John shrugged and did as he was told, though it was a nuisance when he couldn't go swimming or use the spa.

Isaac waited, wondering why it was taking so long. He would have expected a raging infection by day three. Instead, John stopped limping, and said that he thought it was cured. After a week, Isaac had Nicki take off the bandage and dressing, and report. Nicki didn't know that the wound had been deliberately infected with some very nasty bacteria. She only said that it was completely healed, and threw away the dressing that seemed a lot cleaner than expected.

Isaac reported to Mark. Mark smiled and said, "To tell you the truth, I'm relieved. In all my career, it's the worst thing that duty has called for."

"We're not going to try again then?" said Isaac.

Mark shook his head. "I haven't been sleeping too well."

Isaac nodded, "Me, neither." And after a minute, he said, "It's an indication of another difference, though, you realize. The leg should have been gangrenous by now. He must be very resistant."

Mark said thoughtfully, "I wonder if he'll get the flu that's going around."

Isaac shrugged. "Flu's not like gangrene, we could make sure he's exposed, and see what happens."

******
_Chapter 13_ :

General Buller and Colonel Forster made a visit for a few days. John was moved back to Ward 3, they said that some modifications were needed in his own room. John wondered why they bothered with excuses. He was a prisoner, and could do with him pretty much what they wanted.

The first morning in Room 3, John was showering. He frowned. He was sure that it was Forster watching closely, but maybe it would be more prudent not to show that he knew. He turned the shower on as hot as he could stand instead, hoping that the window would fog up sufficiently that he was invisible. He twisted a towel around his waist as soon as he was dry, though he seldom bothered normally. There was an uncomfortable sexual element in that inspection of his body.

In the observation room, Forster was casually saying to Isaac that the subject seemed quite healthy now. Isaac wished he could think of a way to stop him licking his lips over John's body. It hadn't occurred to him before, but now that he was fit and healthy, John had a body that might tempt a man that way inclined. At least John was safe enough from any real molestation, as there was not a moment of the day that cameras were not on him. They could be a protection as well as an intrusion.

The general with his off-sider, Forster, watched a lot of film of John that day and the following. Buller was amused when Forster took certain film to his room; he knew the weaknesses of his subordinate. In the file were some photographs of John as he'd been found. Forster looked at those a long time. Buller wasn't sure if anyone had told John that he'd once been raped. There was no real purpose in telling him.

The second morning in Ward 3, John switched on the hot tap in the shower and ran it for a while before he even stripped. And again, afterward, he put a towel around his waist. It was just a visit, he'd been told, and there was no hint that Forster might again be put in charge of him. He wasn't happy, but didn't feel the fear that had gripped him the previous time Forster was around.

He was released at the same time as usual. A lot of the soldiers were off with the flu, but Ernest and Adam were all right, and John enjoyed a gallop on the track they'd started to wear next to the external fence, the three big horses thundering around together. The B Force guards watched him, the man in the bright red shirt looking happy as he rode, even though on lead. The leather thong that usually held his hair in a pony tail had broken that day, and his long hair streamed out behind him.

"Martian or just a hippy?" one said.

"He's actually from Alpha Centauri," said the other, in a voice of authority.

Zack met him when he returned, saying that Davies thought he'd enjoy the planned activity for the day. John knew that probably meant that the activity was planned with the participation of Isaac, who thought it a good way of doing his research on the lab rat. But the things that Davies devised were often fun, and he walked with anticipation.

The obstacle race was to be run in teams, and was carefully planned. Isaac had formed the hypothesis that John was using his telepathic talent to know where things were. At each place where he was expected to have difficulty seeing, there were to be stationed two men, primed to think hard of the rope or the beam in a different spot than it actually was. The technicians had been hard at work rigging extra cameras. No move would be missed. There were to be prizes for each on the winning team and Davies held up a box of chocolates and a green T-shirt, hopefully an additional temptation for John.

John glanced up at the camera that watched as Davies asked if he wanted to take part. Mark was anxious, far more than he should have been. John frowned. Mark crossed his fingers. John turned to Davies, who was also holding his breath, "Of course I want to participate. It looks enormous fun." Mark gave a quiet sigh of relief.

Isaac watched closely, as did Mark, General Buller, and Colonel Forster. John hesitated longer than usual at the first of the difficult places, but then grabbed the rope and was off. The misdirection had no apparent effect thereafter.

His was not the winning team, and he asked Zack, grinning, how long he'd have been allowed to keep that shirt in any case.

Zack grinned back. "I'd have let you keep it for the day."

Mark was pleased, and wondered again how much his subject knew of what was supposed to be hidden from him. The general was impressed, but said that the interrogation would proceed as planned. Mark objected again, but Buller was adamant. The escape had been too nearly successful, and while the planned measure to be taken, was approved, he said that it was essential that they know how John had managed it.

The senior officers were served with a very good lunch, during which Bedville spoke persuasively of the benefits of allowing the subject a large degree of freedom in order to learn as much about him as possible. Buller listened, and observed that the morning's demonstration had been impressive.

Forster spoke equally persuasively of the benefits of a closer confinement coupled with rigorous discipline.

Buller looked at him with amusement. "Didn't work too well, last time, did it?"

Forster flushed. Two weeks in hospital, and several more having his meals through a straw.

Mark said, "Since adopting this policy, I have not had a single man hurt, and I suspect the subject could be very dangerous if he chooses."

Isaac went on to talk about examples of apparent telepathy.

"What about the woman?" asked Buller.

Mark said, "Nothing of a great deal of significance. He says he's a hollow man, and she's convinced the amnesia is genuine, but we never really doubted that."

"Fancy providing a prisoner with a whore," said Forster, in disgust.

Buller said reprovingly that Miss Glover was a highly skilled agent, and John Doe was, by no means, an ordinary prisoner. "We need to know what it is that he can do," he said, "And while Mark's results might be slow in coming, they are coming." But then he nodded at Forster. "You can have a go at him this afternoon, however, and we'll see how you do."

Lunchtime, John was chatting with Jimmy and Brian, as Zack and Bob watched from their position near the door. Zack took a message, and murmured to Bob. Bob looked worried. Shortly afterward, Lance and Nicholas filed into position next to them.

John was trying to persuade Sylvia to let him have a second dessert. "You're not sick any more, John," she said, "You don't need it."

John turned beseeching eyes on her. "Yes, but I might get sick at any moment, and then if I'm fat beforehand, I won't get so thin!"

Sylvia laughed at the argument, and handed him a second dessert.

Jimmy looked at his second dessert when he rejoined them. "They won't let us have any more than the allotted meal!"

John twinkled at him. "I'm privileged."

They let him finish his meal, and even have coffee before coming for him. And when Jimmy saw his face become expressionless, and the four unsmiling men who walked close, he thought him not so privileged. He and Brian glanced at each other, and were very quiet as they walked back to their position on guard at the main gates.

John had only once been in the Administration Block. This time he was led to a large room, bare except for one solidly made chair. On two sides were large windows he couldn't see through, but he knew that men watched from behind. He started to tremble. No matter how he tried, he could never control his trembling. His face showed no expression.

More men waited, five of them. He felt them, and knew he'd never met them. The ones he knew, left the room. He stared after them, feeling momentarily deserted, before reminding himself that it made no difference really. Zack and the others - they too, were his jailers.

"Sit in the chair," a man told him. He wore glasses, this man, and looked more like a clerk than a soldier, but John only saw his appearance when someone behind him turned his eyes on him. He hesitated. He didn't want to sit in the chair while those threatening men stood around him.

Two men close to him pulled out their batons, and ran them through their fingers. The gesture was wasted on John, who didn't see. But he felt the threat nevertheless. "Sit in the chair," was repeated, with more emphasis.

John sat. Now that he looked more harmless, Colonel Forster entered the room. "These are men from B Force," he said. "Sergeant Nicholls is going to ask you about the night you nearly escaped. If you do not cooperate with proper answers, you will be handcuffed to the chair in which you sit, until we do get answers."

John's trembling, oddly, ceased, and he looked apparently calmly at Forster, but his voice had a tremor. "I panic when I am tied. I cannot help it. If I panic, then someone could be hurt."

Forster smiled at the man he knew could barely see. "We'll risk it." He turned and left the room.

Isaac wasn't present, though he had a good idea what was planned. He didn't want to see John hurt, even though Buller agreed that there would be no physical hurt. He used the excuse that he had the flu, very much hoping that John would not need him afterwards. A replacement was doing the daily soldiers' clinic, but he didn't want anyone else looking after John.

Mark had no choice whether or not he should watch. Forster watched avidly through the window. He was loving this. He'd watched old film of John panicking and begging for release when restrained, and knew that the fear of being tied up would soon have him begging.

Nicholls began the questioning. "How did you make the cameras stop working?"

When John only looked stony in response to his questions, he nodded at Lockyer, who grabbed John's right wrist, and handcuffed it to the chair, with the help of another. Young, on the other side, failed to restrain the twisting figure in the chair, and was hit instead.

John was tied to a chair, the panic was in him, and he started fighting. His left fist was brought into play first, but then he discovered that the chair could be lifted and swung with the right arm. It made a fearsome weapon, and his speed and fury were awesome. Only Nicholls escaped from the room, four others were fallen. One tried to rise, and the chair crashed down on him again. Buller was stunned at the swift defeat of five soldiers.

Bedville smiled slightly. "Release him?" he asked Buller.

Buller inclined his head in defeat, "Release him."

John was still struggling against the restraint, hurling the chair at the window now, as if that might free him. His wrist streamed with blood. He was not seeing, not sensible, though he ignored the fallen men as long as they remained motionless. Zack was brought in to the observation room, staring awestruck through the window at the man he'd been in charge of for so many months. "He's gone mad!" he said quietly.

Mark shook his head. "I don't think so, and you're his friend. Come straight back out if he threatens you, but try and persuade him to let you take the handcuffs off." He flinched as the chair crashed into the window again.

Zack edged quietly into the room, trying to talk to John. John crashed the chair at him, but it went to the side. Again, this time to the other side. Zack went on talking, watching him closely. He tripped over one of the fallen men, unable to dodge, and the chair came crashing down - on the floor next to him. John was breathing fast, still in a panic. Zack slipped out the door. "Try Clare?" he suggested.

Back in the interrogation room, Lockyer suddenly tried to reach the door. Unerringly, the chair came crashing down on his back. John was still a moment, fighting to remove the handcuffs, continually jerking his wrist against the chair, held in his other hand. But his relative selfcontrol seemed to desert him again, and he started beating the chair against the floor, totally ignoring the injury he was causing himself. The chair was beginning to disintegrate.

Mark watched closely, flinching as the chair came crashing against the window again. A crack now ran across the toughened glass.

Clare paused, looking at her terrified lover, and the bodies strewn around him. None were unconscious, each of them just lying very still, and waiting. Silently, Forster handed her a key. Clare nodded.

John was backed up against a wall, whitefaced, and trembling again. Clare held up the key. "I'm going to take off the handcuffs, John, and then you can be calm again."

John stared at her, but didn't move as she slowly approached. She undid the handcuff, and he held his wrist, the blood streaming between his fingers.

"Come to me," she said, and put her arms around him.

He was still silent, trembling, but didn't resist the embrace.

When Mark entered, she calmly asked if she could take John to her room. Mark nodded. His four familiar escorts followed, and then took up station outside her room. Clare held him close and comforted him. They had hardly ever before watched in her room at the time the action happened, but now she could be in danger from the subject, and she was watched. The pair sat on the edge of the bed, until John was suddenly crying in her arms. When his sobs finally ceased, it was Nicki who came in and tended to the hurt wrist.

"I'll take you back to your room when you're ready," Clare said.

John looked at the floor and spoke in a low voice. "They'll probably kill me now."

Clare held him close, and stroked his head. "They won't kill you. I don't think anyone's even badly hurt."

"One day they'll kill me, and then I'll be just their specimen to dissect." Clare pulled him closer.

She took him back to his room after a while, and he squeezed her hand, thanked her in a low, shamed voice, and went inside. He was not locked in until dark, but all afternoon, he never tried his door, just sat in a chair, staring into the distance, and, more often than not, was seen to be trembling.

His evening meal was brought to him in his room. Afterward, Mark went to see him. He shook his head at Josephs as he started to follow him into his room. Mark spoke in a carefully neutral tone. "John, let's just sit a while, and talk."

John nodded. Mark noticed that again, he was trembling. John stared at the floor and said, "I'm sorry."

Mark leaned forward and touched his shoulder. "The men are only bruised, a couple have a few cracked ribs."

John still wouldn't look at him. "I panicked."

Mark smiled slightly. "I've never seen anyone panic in quite such a spectacular fashion."

John glanced up. He'd expected severe punishment.

Mark said, "Can I make you a coffee?"

John stood, "I'll make it," and Mark watched as he prepared two coffees, only feeling around a touch for the milk in the small fridge, scarcely bothering looking when he couldn't see in any case. "Biscuits?"

Mark accepted a fancy chocolate biscuit. John smiled suddenly. "It's Lyn, she does the room and keeps me supplied. I seem to be getting fancier and fancier biscuits."

Mark laughed. "So if Clare vanished, you'd have Lyn for company."

John shook his head. "Lyn's about sixty. She would like to mother me."

Mark said, "You know, if you wanted to keep me in charge of you, you couldn't have done better. You cooperated beautifully this morning when my philosophy was followed. But the General insisted that Forster try his methods. You made a fiasco of his interrogation. Mine may not have been any more effective, but at least no-one was hurt."

John was beginning to relax. "Was it your idea, offering a prize of a green shirt?"

"Did you see through that?"

John touched the red shirt he wore. "I love this color, but green would be nice for a change."

Mark thought that he was doing well. John was a lot more relaxed. It had hurt Mark, a little, when he'd seen him tell Clare that one day he'd be just their specimen to dissect. Is that what he really thought? He spoke seriously. "John, as long as you behave reasonably, you have nothing to fear from us. I know you think we're your jailers, and so we are. But we are not inhumane. You will not have to suffer cruel treatment as long as I'm in charge, and I do not expect anyone else to be put in charge after today."

John's eyes were on Mark, and Mark wondered if he was feeling for the sincerity behind his words. He added, "Even today. I admit you were treated cruelly, but I don't think General Buller understood your terror of being tied up. You were never in danger of being beaten or otherwise seriously mistreated." He rose. "You will not be punished. You can't ride tomorrow, but it's only because both Adam and Ernest are down with flu."

John rose, and said, "Mark, thank you."

Mark smiled. "I'll just have another of those biscuits. They don't give me biscuits like that."

John told himself firmly the following morning that there was no point being embarrassed at his ridiculous behavior, he couldn't hide, and he couldn't run. So he put a brave face on things, apologized to Zack, thankful that the chair hadn't hit him, and when the time came, strolled over to where Sergeant Davies roared at the men to get ready, as they were doing thirty miles today, bruises or not.

He watched for a while, waving in answer to the called greetings. "They've been fighting," he remarked to Zack.

Zack grinned. He'd been fighting, too, though the bruises didn't show. A major brawl between A Force and B Force. A few were still in the lockup. A few were out of action entirely. 'The Martian' had been hurt by B Force. B Force said that four of their number had been injured by the Martian. A Force reckoned that John was theirs, and B Force declared that they had every intention of shooting him the moment they had an excuse. Zack didn't explain, only saying that soldiers could be as irresponsible as anyone else when they chose.

"Can I come?" John called to Davies, as they prepared to depart.

"Don't be silly!" said Davies, as he always did.

"I could hardly escape from the middle of forty or so soldiers," said John to Zack.

But Zack just shrugged. He didn't know what John could do, and thought that it would be very foolish indeed for him to be allowed outside, even with the escort of forty soldiers.

There was only Zack and Lance with him that day, as both Bob and Rudy were down with flu. The ranks among the soldiers were diminished for the same reason. John's wrist was bandaged, and when he jumped to the lowermost branch of his favorite tree, he swore, and dropped back to the ground. Discontentedly, he sat at the base instead.

"Wrist sore?" Lance asked.

John nodded and reddened. "I was incredibly stupid yesterday. It serves me right."

Zack joined them. "I heard you did warn them," he said, "They deserved a few bruises."

John cast him a scant, sidelong glance. "I'm very glad I didn't hurt you."

Zack said calmly, "You weren't trying. I've seen the film. You quite deliberately missed me."

John was surprised, "Did I?"

Zack nodded. John's blush deepened. "I hope I did. I wasn't thinking straight."

"Going to see Clare later?"

John nodded. "You can't not see people just because you've made a fool of yourself," and added, "Mind you, if I was a free man, I'd be in Australia by now, and never face anyone again!"

Lance laughed and punched him lightly on his arm. "You make life interesting!"

John grinned and looked up at his tree. The leaves would be thick enough soon.

******
Chapter 14:

Isaac's voice was still a croak when he remarked to Mark that it was fairly obvious that John wasn't getting flu, in spite of the deliberate exposure. He'd tried three times.

Mark said, "You're better yourself?"

Isaac nodded, "A lot better now, just my voice."

Mark said thoughtfully that it might be worthwhile not leaving that particular report in the file, in case others in the future attempted to use him to develop antibodies or something.

Isaac looked at him in surprise, and Mark said, "Remember, he's just a young man, and I won't always be in charge of him, and neither will you."

Isaac's curiosity was apt to make him forget the consequences of his research sometimes, but Mark's measured words were enough to convince him to drop this part of his reports.

Rudy made it back to work, and Lance went down to flu. Zack was still fit, but a new guard was introduced to John. Timothy was very big, and very black. John liked him immediately. He was much younger than the others, and John found him good to play with, though he couldn't lure him into the outdoor pool. "Too cold," he said, ignoring John's accusations of cowardice.

Even the heated indoor pool was not well patronized. With the flu epidemic, there were often not enough people available to have the specified number in the pool with John, in case he was struck with the head pain.

John said optimistically to Zack that it'd probably never happen again. It was nearly a month since his last escape attempt, and longer than that since that terrible time when he'd been down for so long. He wasn't trying to practise what he termed his telekinesis though, in case it made him sick. The strategy of using it only when needed, had worked well last time, and he hoped it would again. It would be very soon, he thought. Just another few days and the leaves would be thick enough. The short staffing could only help. Quite a few of the soldiers were doing jobs they were not accustomed to.

Isaac, when consulted, agreed that the extra precautions were no longer needed, and John could go swimming as long as one good swimmer joined him in the pool, and there were two personal guards. There was an ulterior motive. Timothy was a champion swimmer. It was the reason he was now one of John's personal guards, as Isaac was curious to discover just how well John could swim. They knew he was fast and smooth, but Timothy was to lure him into racing.

Nearly every day, with the reduced safety requirements, John could swim, indulging in horseplay with Timothy, and sometimes playing a rather rough game of something like water polo. John was the more agile and had quicker reflexes, but he sometimes lost sight of the ball or goal posts, and Timothy's long arms gave him a big advantage. They'd become close very quickly, enjoying each other's company.

Isaac had his wish, and John and Timothy were competing a couple of days later, a fifteen hundred meters race, several soldiers barracking for their chosen favorites.

John's smooth stroke suddenly broke, and he turned toward the side of the pool. _Zack?_

Zack heard the frightened voice in his mind, as his charge reached up a hand for him. His friend pulled him out of the pool, and John staggered a little, looking uncertainly around. He was frightened of the pain that he knew was about to hit. It had lasted so long the last time.

"Don't worry!" said Zack, and put an arm around him. "It won't be so bad this time," as if he knew.

John looked at his face, trusting his word, though for no good reason, Zack thought, wrenched with pity. But then John jerked as if he'd been struck, and his legs no longer supported him. Zack lowered him as gently as he could, and just waited until he stopped moving. He always tossed himself about to begin with, until he was able to stay still and just wait, enduring the terrible pain until it stopped.

Timothy was out of the pool by now, and others stood around, staring. Zack sent them back. The less disturbance the better, and people too close disturbed him. Zack had seen this a few times now.

Before Isaac came, he made a phone call. The specialist would be on his way within the hour. Although the placement of the location device under the muscles of John's upper arm would not be difficult, the device would provide more information than just his location, and the probes had to be very carefully placed without doing damage.

As it happened, Zack's assurance to John happened to be correct, and it was less than an hour before his body relaxed into unconsciousness. The first thing that Isaac did was to give him an injection, even before taking him to the operating theatre.

The operation didn't take long, and when the surgeon left, he was cautioned again about the need for secrecy. He was curious, but contained his curiosity, only asking to check John's legs that had been damaged by bullet wounds not so long ago. He remembered it well.

John was back in Ward 3, and was to be kept under heavy sedation until the arm wound healed. He was not to know that he now could be tracked wherever he went. He would not know, either, that Isaac had a continuing measure of blood pressure, pulse, and muscle tension. From now on, the film stored would be matched with notes and graph lines on the bottom, that gave physiological information. Isaac couldn't wait to see how it worked, though Mark fretted about the ethics of it, even when he deemed it essential.

The small wound healed quickly, and just four days after the operation, Isaac removed the Intravenous Drip. He could wake up now.

Zack remembered that he should not allow his loyalties to be divided, as he'd said sternly to Timothy when a reported conversation seemed very brief. He told Isaac that John had called to him, telepathically. It was a valuable piece of information.

John was up and about quite quickly, allowed to ride on Bess, but not outside the Compound as Adam and Ernie were not yet fully fit. It was a nasty flu bug, and tended to leave people feeling lethargic for weeks.

He chose a day when Timothy and Bob were on, just two. Timothy had always been a bit careless, and Bob was suffering the after effects of flu and might not be as conscientious as usual. They were accustomed to John disappearing into his tree, and thought it amusing when he took up slices of bread to feed the parent birds.

John felt very carefully for the cameras. They moved them around sometimes, though not, thankfully, this time. His red shirt was left as a decoy, and then, taking as much care as possible not to be seen, he started working his way carefully from tree to tree toward the soldiers' barracks. There were some cameras that needed to stop working, though when he tried to do that, he told them in his mind to freeze at the scene they had, and added that tiny surge of the mind that was his power. He was pretty sure he'd done it right, though it would be better, of course, if he could practise and see his results.

In an empty soldier's room, John stole a camouflage uniform, tilting his head and squinting, trying to put the scarcely visible uniform on correctly. The broken pattern was very difficult for him. He touched his hair, but was lucky to find scissors to cut it. No soldier had a long pony tail. The staff always showed ID tags when they came and went. Jimmy had shown him once until Rudy interfered, suspicious of John's motives. John had one, stolen two days before, though he hoped Hank wouldn't get into too much trouble. But Hank was coughing and sneezing, and maybe wouldn't leave his room for a few days.

Feeling for the presence of those around him, John, looking as anonymous as he could, strolled confidently and casually toward the gate. He used his power again, to wish the guard inspecting his ID not to look at him closely, that he was right to pass. The guard opened the gate for him, and he passed through. One to go and he'd be out of the Compound. When the alarms started shrieking, he looked around casually. "A false alarm, do you think?" he asked the soldier, luckily a stranger to him.

"Probably," said the gate man, "but you'll have to wait now. No-one in or out while the alarm is on."

"Pest," said John. "I was supposed to be waiting on the road. A friend was to pick me up." He wished that the guard would decide to let him out, and again tried to add that tiny surge of the power he didn't himself understand.

The guard looked at him, undecided, even started to open the gate. But then he raised a hand, "Just a moment," and lifted his zoster to his ear.

John swore bitterly to himself, especially when he heard the guard say that there was no-one he could see close, just a single soldier waiting to leave. The guard said in a surprised voice, "Of course I won't let him go. I know the regulations."

John had failed again, but just in case, he leaned casually against the wall of the guard box and put his hands in his pockets. When a jeep came fast toward the gates, and more soldiers seemed to come running from all directions, he tried wishing that he was in Hallsville, which he knew to be the nearest town. He added the surge of power. But nothing at all happened, except that the jeep was allowed through the first gate.

Abruptly, John remembered that soldiers never casually leaned against walls when in the presence of officers, and straightened, saluting, though it was something he hadn't thought to practice. Mark was stalking past to talk to the guard on the gate, ignoring the anonymous soldier. Abruptly he stopped, peering. "Sorry, John."

John sighed, "Yeah. Me, too."

Mark took him back in the jeep.

"Back to Ward 3, I suppose?" he asked Mark.

Mark nodded, "For the moment." He looked irritably at his subject, "I can't understand how the guards didn't stop you."

John said casually, "It was not their fault, I was in disguise."

"What disguise?" said Mark, skeptically. "Wearing a uniform shouldn't have fooled them."

"I cut my hair. They didn't know me because I cut my hair."

Mark reached out, pulled off the uniform hat and laughed. "That's the worst haircut I've ever seen!"

"I've never done it before," explained John.

Mark shook his head. The driver chuckled, and John leaned forward. "By the way, Jack, I was wondering if you might teach me to drive."

Jack glanced in the mirror at the Colonel, "Unlikely, I suspect."

Timothy and Lance were in trouble for losing their prisoner. Timothy had to climb the tree and retrieve the red shirt, although crashing to the ground afterward and hurting his ankle. Timothy was no longer feeling at all friendly toward John.

Once back in Ward 3, John was deprived of the soldier uniform and the supplies of bread and chocolate biscuits in the pockets, and Mark started to question him. Instead of a rough battering of questions, he tried relaxing him by sharing a coffee, but while John was perfectly prepared to act as if he was a friend, almost the only thing that he would say was that the soldiers should not be blamed. Mark gave up, leaned back in his chair, and said that he'd have to visit the barber, as his hair looked appalling.

John reached up, and felt the ragged ends, but then stood, swaying, and looking around him in some panic. The few seconds when he knew the pain was about to strike were always terrifying, especially as he didn't know whether he'd be down for an hour or a month. Mark hadn't seen it before, except on film, and knelt beside him when he staggered violently and fell, grabbing his hand, feeling John's finger nails bite hard into his own hand, drawing blood.

It was another very long bout of illness, periods of unconsciousness, sometimes a brief awakening, and then the pain would hit again. Mark looked in most days, but Isaac kept John as much as possible in the quiet and half dark, especially when he was in that distant world where the only reality was pain. After the second week, there were painkilling drugs and an Intravenous Drip, although that was violently pulled out a couple of times.

A nurse stayed in attendance, Nicki mostly in the daytime, whom John seemed to like, as well as always at least one of his personal guards.

There was plenty of time to analyze the escape attempt at leisure, and to equip far more of the guards with RABs, so that they could instantly know the position of the subject. The grid pattern on the calculator sized gadget showed the area of the Compound, and the scale could be changed to show the whole area of army land, or it could show a detailed segment, so that John's position could be checked very accurately. It was a sophisticated and expensive device that Mark now deemed essential. They called it a RAB 2.

RAB 1 was what John carried unknowingly tucked behind the muscles of his right upper arm, and the faceless men who worked behind the scenes had RAB 3s. The RAB 3 was much larger, and gave the measures of muscle tension, pulse and blood pressure as well as location, though there was a pocket version, too, but that showed only the medical information. The guards were only told that it was a location device, so that John, if he read their minds, would not know that it gave additional information as well.

Time and again, as John lay helplessly sick, film of his attempted escape was run, and compared to the readings of pulse, blood pressure and muscle tension. There was a subtle change now and then, that seemed to correspond with times when John had success that he shouldn't have had, cameras that failed, and guards on the gate that accepted an obviously false ID. Was this the physiological indication that accompanied use of his strange power?

There was a certain admiration as well. He was obviously not superman, but he had courage. There was film of the casual walk of just another soldier, whom they now knew to have been the subject, but they had readings of pulse and muscle tension, and could even see where there'd been a jolt of alarm as the siren sounded. And yet the posture remained apparently relaxed. The guard had nearly allowed him out, they suspected, even after the siren.

Mark was having increasing concerns about division of loyalties among his men. He knew himself how he'd come to care for his prisoner, a mixture of admiration for his spirit and pity for his situation. It had been heart wrenching, even for a tough professional soldier like himself, when John had gripped him so hard when the pain struck. It didn't make any difference. The Colonel was still convinced. John was something different, and he could not be allowed to escape from their hands. It was infinitely better that he died than that he was free, with the potential to do unimaginable things. But better than that, they really needed to try and find out just what was his power.

Timothy was one of those who did his shift in Ward 3. His anger at John had not outlived the sight of him in such terrible pain. He wondered if anything would come of the anonymous letter he'd sent to the British Embassy about the detention of one of their citizens as a prisoner. He suspected not. John's existence would just be denied.

They learned something more before John was finally over the latest illness. There were a couple of short-lived attacks of pain after the main episode, almost like aftershocks. An observant technician noticed a subtle change in the readings that seemed to occur up to half an hour before John felt anything unusual. If they were right, they would have warning when John was about to go down, much more than the few seconds that John mostly seemed to have.

******
_Chapter 15_ :

It was full Summer when John was again out and about, again very thin, again weak, tiring easily. He couldn't work out how he'd been detected, and couldn't get any hints. Things had been going so well. Finally, he concluded that the cameras he thought he'd stopped had just kept going. He had to _practice_ his telekinesis. He couldn't rely on doing it right when he was trying something for the first time. He shivered at the thought of the penalty, the head pain that cursed him afterward, but this time, just as soon as he was a little stronger, he was going to practice.

Mark and Isaac had a serious talk with him one day, asking just how he planned to survive outside. He had no money, his sight was too poor to get a job, and he needed expert care on a regular basis, whenever he was sick. He would either starve to death, or die under a bush somewhere when he went down to the pain. John said they were obviously quite right, they looked after him very well when he was sick, and he'd try and be more content. Isaac smiled at him with surprised relief. Mark looked at him with a great deal of suspicion.

Later, in bed, Clare probed for his real feelings, but her serious questions about his feelings were evaded, as they usually were. She asked him instead, what he thought he'd been in life before the amnesia, and he laughed and said it was obviously not a barber. She tried asking him what he thought his skills might be, as old knowledge and some old skills had obviously been retained.

John cocked his head, looked at her half teasing, and said that he thought he'd been a professional surfer, as he'd watched a film of surfers, and he knew just when to catch the wave. Whether or not he was serious, the surfing world was checked for mysteriously missing young men, who might have had long hair.

John was surprised that his movements hadn't been limited. Instead, his freedom was increased a little. He was allowed to the store, where small items such as combs and shampoo, as well as confectionary could be purchased. He was never allowed any money, but it seemed he had credit. His guards had power of veto over any purchases, and things like scissors, pocket knives and green T-shirts were not allowed. They did let him buy a small backpack, though, which surprised him.

There was a library, too, and he went in one day, Zack with him, Bob and Timothy taking up position outside. It was only Zack who saw him fondle the books and even take one out. He touched the pages gently, as if with affection, but he was holding the book upside down. He put it back, but later asked Isaac if he could try glasses again. This time, he didn't just have a stab of pain, he fell to his knees, momentarily blacking out.

They tried encouraging him again to attend the Sunday church services, but didn't compel him. Father Herley was prompted by General Buller, and obediently volunteered to see him alone in order to give him spiritual comfort. John politely declined, saying to his guards after that he couldn't think of anything worse than listening to an ignorant man try to offer 'spiritual comfort.' Timothy was shocked, being religious himself. Clare probed later, and discovered that he did indeed seem familiar with the basic tenets of the Christian faith, even though indifferent.

He was letting his hair grow longer again, although it had been trimmed a little more evenly. When questioned, he said that it had always been long, that it seemed right like that. He thought that he could always cut it again if he wanted to look more ordinary, though he didn't say that.

He fully expected to be stopped the day he was strong enough again to leap to the lowest tree branch of his favorite tree. But his guards only looked at each other and let him go. He didn't notice that Rudy was keeping a close watch on something small in his hand. The baby birds were trying to muster courage for their first flight, and John watched and felt, half seeing, half simply knowing their presence. He felt more at home surrounded by the friendly strength of his tree than he ever did indoors.

Quite suddenly, a few days later, it seemed that strength came flowing back, and he took advantage of the guards' leniency to leave his tree, out of sight in the heavy foliage, and make his way to a vantage point where he could watch the soldiers at target practice. Then he perched and waited. He knew the soldiers' presence, and images would come to him suddenly, clearly, and then die away again. Patiently, he waited. His vision had always been like this, and he accepted it as normal for him, though Isaac was beginning to guess at the reality, that he borrowed images from other minds for his own use.

The red shirt was left in the other tree, though he didn't expect his guards to still be fooled by that trick. But he felt, looked down, and saw Rudy just underneath his tree. Looking through the leaves, he saw that the two others were also close. He frowned and felt for cameras. The tree was friendly, and he thought he could feel if there was a camera attached. He was sure no-one was looking at him. Silently, he moved away. His guards followed, and again, he was sure that no camera looked at him, and he should have been invisible. He sat a while, watching.

Rudy, far below him, make a grinning comment to Bob, and suddenly he saw an image of a blinking dot on a gridded map. He knew now; he was marked, probably in his clothing. He made a test, stripping off every stitch of clothing while in one tree, and then moving away, waiting. The guards consulted their devices, and followed. Slowly, scarcely believing, he felt over his body. Not in his clothing, in himself. Almost automatically, he returned to the first tree and dressed. It was too bad for tears but tears wet his face anyway. How could he escape now? Recklessly, angrily, he focused his gaze on a single dead tree a hundred yards away, and after a while, it crashed to the ground, to the sudden alarm of his guards. John felt a brief satisfaction.

Maybe he could feel the intrusive thing inside him, and then make it vanish. And maybe he'd wreck himself if he tried that. His power didn't always work, and there had been times when he'd tried to make something vanish, and something next to it vanished instead. And, anyway, if it stopped working, the bastards might just replace it. Or maybe just cut their losses and decide it was time for the dissection. Once, in the night, it had occurred to him that they might try things while he was rendered helpless - vivisection, but that dark thought was put away. Mark and Isaac wouldn't do that to him, surely. On the other hand, he would not have expected them to do this to him, either.

Not trying to hide, and quite swiftly, he made his way through the treetops toward the fence, sometimes swinging from boughs, more often climbing, knowing as if by instinct which branches would support his weight. He finally dropped too heavily to the ground and rolled, before walking as hard as he could around the perimeter fence, not taking any notice of his guards, hurriedly following.

Later, in the gymnasium, he viciously attacked the punching bag, and when a laughing pair of soldiers pulled Hank toward him, saying that Hank was ready for his fight now, he said that right now he was far too dangerous and Hank might get killed. He was not joking, and they looked at his face and backed off.

His guards had been tickled pink with their RABs, a little jocular - John wouldn't be able to outwit them now. John didn't think he'd be able to outwit them, either, but he didn't think it funny. To him, it was deadly serious. They stayed only as close as they needed to be that day.

When the shift changed, there were some quiet words, and the new shift was warned. John didn't even go and see Clare, although he never, normally, missed a day. He had his evening meal in the staff dining room, as always, but picked at his meal and sat at a table alone. Jimmy started to approach him, but Rudy intervened, shaking his head at him.

It was still light outside afterward in the warm Summer evening, but John always had to return to his room straight after dinner to be locked in for the night. This time, he hesitated, standing staring out over the Compound. What if he simply refused to go? They'd hit him with the stun gun or something, he supposed.

They stood around, waiting, fingers crossed. He started trembling, wishing desperately for escape, unable to do anything about it. Even now, he was on camera, and Mark watched, prepared for a crisis. It was unfortunate that Clare had left for the night. Mark suspected she might be the only one who could handle him now without brute force. He was sure he knew the problem, having watched film and heard the reports. John knew now that he was marked, and was not taking the knowledge easily. Rudy's zoster vibrated. A warning to the guards from the men whom John never saw - the subject was very tense. Avoid confrontation if at all possible.

John felt himself quite unable to submit to being locked up that night. For more minutes, he just stood, trembling. His guards waited. Zack wasn't on duty, but broke the deadlock, arriving casually, a film in hand, going straight to his friend and taking his arm. He asked if he could come and watch the latest Nick Kingsley film with him. John looked at his friend as if he scarcely saw him, and then nodded, to everyone's profound relief.

Zack stayed with him for most of the evening. John just sat, staring blindly at the film when Zack put it on. Afterwards, when John made no moves to go to bed, he quietly put on another one. "Do you want me to go?" he asked. But John shook his head. There was such a pain within him, and he thought he might explode with it if left to himself.

"You'll be able to go riding tomorrow," Zack mentioned. "Adam's still off sick, but this time they've found someone to take his place."

John nodded. "Riding helps."

Zack finally rose, touched him briefly on the shoulder, and left. There were four guards at his door that night, rather than the usual two.

******
Chapter 16

John remained restless and morose. He rode still, and saw Clare every day, but didn't have the spirit any longer to irritate Davies, or to join in the activities of the soldiers. His telekinesis became more unreliable. He asked to have his meals in his room for a while, and his request was granted. He was deeply depressed. The next time he felt the first warning that the pain was about to bring him down, his gaze fixed on Bob's holstered handgun. The handgun would blow his head to bits, he thought. They'd have nothing interesting left to dissect. And his head would never hurt again.

But by the time the attack was over, there was a change in the way his guards were armed. Now the close guards no longer wore handguns, but there were an additional two, who never came too close, who did. His intention had been guessed at. In his despair, he took himself to his tree and tried to make the power come and explode him, so then there'd be _nothing_ left. But nothing happened. Nothing happened increasingly these days, when he tried to do things. It would be Autumn soon, and then the leaves would fall, and then there would not be a minute of the day when he could not be watched.

Two weeks after his discovery that he was marked, while he breakfasted in his room, the buzzer sounded. John was a well trained prisoner these days, and just rose and waited where he was supposed to. Mark came in, greeted him casually, and said that they should sit down while he finished his breakfast. John hadn't seen him for weeks, and regarded him with a distinct hostility.

Mark was daunted, and wondered if, after all, he should have been accompanied by the guards. But then John only sighed and sat down.

"You've been depressed lately," Mark started.

John shrugged. It was impossible for him to hide anything, and maybe it wasn't worth trying.

Mark said that no-one always had exactly what they wanted, that content was being satisfied with what was possible. John glanced at him, wishing him to oblivion. And then he laughed suddenly, bitterly. Mark looked his question. John answered, "I've either got you, or I get someone a lot worse. No point wishing you to Hades!"

Mark was quiet, and then spoke frankly, abruptly, "Are you suicidal?"

John said indifferently, "Only if I can think of a way that doesn't leave a body to be gloated over."

Mark sat back stiffly. "No-one would be gloating over your body."

John glanced at him, "Sorry," but then looked down again. He couldn't even cry. There was no privacy to even cry. He thought it might be the worst thing. Even in the treetops, they would hear if he let himself cry as he needed to.

Mark took a small bottle of tablets from his pocket. "I know you don't like drugs, but these would be under your own control. Isaac says just one with breakfast every morning will help." He looked directly at John. "No-one wants you to be miserable. You know you can't be allowed free, but I am your friend, even if you can't think of me that way. I want what's best for you."

John reached forward, and accepted the small bottle, turning it over and over in his hands. When he looked back at Mark, his eyes were wet, but he said, "Thank you," and put the small bottle next to his coffee.

"Are you going to take them?" Mark asked.

"I don't know."

Mark stood to leave, and only turned at the door. "If you take them all at once, it'll make you as sick as a dog for a few days. One a day, and ask Isaac for more when they run out."

John picked up the bottle again after Mark left, and again turned it over and over in his fingers. Drugs? And he was seriously considering it? Where had his courage gone? Casually, he tossed the bottle in the bin.

Watching, Isaac shook his head. John looked up, and spoke direct to the camera, "No way, you bastard!"

Adam and Ernie had a rough ride that day, as John's horse seemed to be full of the devil, bucking and kicking and rearing. Adam lost the rein once, and finally said that if John couldn't make his horse behave, they'd have to go back. At this, the horse threw himself into a gallop, and the three raced around the track, as they'd done so often before.

John wanted to ride close to the barracks of B Force as they returned, outside the fence of course, but looking over at the men he didn't know. They looked back, staring, curious. His horse seemed to be misbehaving again, backing itself around, and suddenly lashing out with its heels, striking the fence again and again. Ernie said, "For God's sake, John, behave yourself!"

John held out his free hands. "What can _I_ do? You have the reins." But the gelding shook his head, and moved away from the bent fence.

He wasn't hiding in his room any more, and presented himself in the staff dining room for lunch. But he still didn't really want to talk to anyone, and chose a time when he knew few would be there.

A young man sat alone. He wore casual civilian clothes, had rather straggly long hair and a beard. John looked at him curiously, then carried his tray over and sat opposite him, greeting him and asking if he was new.

"I came two days ago," said the man, and introduced himself as Cecil.

"My name's John," said John, shaking his hand. "You must be a specialist."

Cecil agreed, and nodded at the soldiers. "Not a very friendly bunch, are they?"

John shrugged. "They're all right when you get to know them. Don't have much of a sense of humor sometimes."

There was an urgent consultation going on among people who watched the action and listened closely to the talk. John appeared relaxed. "So anyway, what are you here for?"

Cecil said, "New cameras. I'm an expert at putting cameras in areas difficult to access."

John asked, "Like what?"

"Trees, mostly. I climb trees very well, and for some reason, they want cameras in the trees."

"Did they tell you why?"

Cecil shook his head. "Need to know basis, they said, and I didn't need to know." Cecil looked at his new acquaintance, "And you? What do you do?"

John said, "Sorry, Classified Information." And then asked quickly, "Where else besides trees?"

Zack sat down beside them. John courteously introduced Zack to Cecil, mentioning that Cecil was new. Cecil was enjoying his dinner, enjoying the fact that someone was finally being friendly. Zack was in a dilemma. The visiting civilian didn't know why cameras were wanted, and wasn't supposed to know. But he was giving out too much information.

John said, "Where else besides trees?"

Cecil started to answer, but Zack interrupted. "Everything's secret here. You can't say anything to _anybody_ about what you do."

John said casually, "Don't be silly, Zack. I've been here forever. There's not many secrets from me." And then to Cecil, "Don't worry about Zack, he's a bit paranoid, a security fanatic. There's nothing secret about trees and cameras." And then he said, still casually, "Now, my work, of course. It wouldn't do to have too many people knowing about the Flu/Ebola cross I'm working on."

Zack groaned. Cecil stared. John continued, "That's what the tree cameras are for, of course, just in case any of the sick monkeys get out."

Zack rose, "Come on, John. That's enough. You're going back to your room for a while." Bob and Timothy were beside him.

John rose, winking at Cecil, "I told you they don't have much of a sense of humor!"

Cecil had to eat in the officers' dining room after that, and found them even less friendly than the soldiers. The limited explanation of the reason for the facility they gave him sounded not quite credible to him, the dismissal of John's words seemed false, and when his mouth opened too far once he finished his two weeks' work and left, it was Flu/Ebola crosses that he spoke of.

John wasn't really punished, his minders too pleased that he seemed more cheerful. They hoped that he might have finally resigned himself to an easy and pleasant captivity. But John was working. Every day, very methodically, trying to make his power work and work consistently. He paid the price, though the head pain seldom lasted more than a few hours at a time, and after a while, the frequency and severity of attacks began to diminish.

The backroom analysts included some who were not army, recruited to a different service for different reasons. They were still theoretically under the command of Colonel Bedville, but made separate reports, as well. They watched and drew their conclusions, and now suspected that the subject was trying to use that mysterious power, from that subtle change they saw in the readings, almost always when he was out of sight in the treetops. The new cameras never showed anything. As inconspicuous as they were, as cunningly hidden, he seemed to have a very good idea of their position. They didn't know that he had a feeling, that the trees almost told him where there was a disturbance.

When the analysts gave in to temptation and tried to watch what he was doing as he did it, it only confirmed, for John, what he already knew. He could smash those cameras when he chose, but what he really needed to do was to stop the RAB working. He even knew what it was called now, startling Bob one day by dropping out of a tree almost on top of him while he was checking it, and asking what he called it. Bob looked at Rudy, close by, and Rudy said casually that it was just a RAB, that they were testing them to see whether they might be better than the zoster communicators.

Davies saw John most days, and John participated again in any activities that seemed sufficiently dangerous to be interesting. He was reckless and Davies was concerned, but the word was still to let him have as much freedom as possible. He was still allowed to climb trees, still allowed to climb and swing on ropes, only when he swam were extra precautions taken, two swimmers in the water with him at all times. There was no problem now, in the height of Summer, the extra people needed easily recruited.

He fell once, from a tree, but he'd already been rapidly descending, and only fell ten feet. Once, Davies had a call, and changed his planned activities as requested. Twenty minutes later, John was writhing on the ground, pressing his fists to his forehead. They could tell, for sure, when he was about to go down these days, the warning usually about thirty minutes, but sometimes a lot less.

******
Chapter 17:

Major Greenspan had been transferred, and the next in line, Captain Prendergast, blanched at the thought of taking over, but Mark had to go into hospital for a hernia operation. General Buller said that of course, Forster would take over. He was willing, it was best not to let any new people know about Facility 19, and he assured Mark that Forster knew not to make any changes in policy. Mark protested, but the general clapped him on the shoulder and said jovially, "What harm can he do in just ten days or so?"

Two days later, Forster dropped in, just to be brought up to date, he said. Mark refused to have John taken to Ward 3 for closer observation, but agreed when he requested to see recent film of his activities. He was especially interested in watching as the subject exercised in the gymnasium, or played with others in the pool. There was a game of informal water polo that was now a regular thing, and John was an enthusiastic participant on every occasion he wasn't ill. Forster would have liked to ask to see footage of John with Clare, but couldn't think of an excuse. Once he was in charge, of course, he could even make copies and take them home. He knew it was top secret, but anyone accidentally seeing it would not know that it was anything special.

There were things that Mark didn't bring to his attention, especially his worry that John was practising his mysterious power. He emphasized his sickliness, instead, but regretted it when Forster didn't sufficiently hide his pleasure when he watched film of John rolling on the ground in agony.

"But what can we do?" Isaac said, when Mark shared his worry.

Mark looked at his friend soberly. "He's having nightmares again. He knows there's something wrong, though no-one's told him, of course."

Isaac said, "Some would label him a Sensitive."

"And so he is, but a lot more than that, I think." He added, "I go in Monday."

Isaac nodded. He already knew, less than a week now.

Isaac stared out the window for a while, and finally stirred. "No matter what the general says, John will almost certainly come into conflict with Forster. Forster won't be able to resist exercising his power." He smiled slightly. "He won't risk John hitting him again, of course."

Mark smiled as well. He didn't like Forster. Isaac continued. "Anyway, what we have to do, I think, is knock him out until you're back."

Mark looked surprised. "Keep him unconscious?"

"It might keep him alive."

"He's going down fairly regularly at the moment, isn't he?"

"Every few days, it seems. We'll take no chances. Next time, he just won't wake up until you're back."

Mark shook his head. "He's a responsibility."

They waited. But John didn't go down. When Isaac referred to the attacks, John said optimistically that maybe it'd never happen again. He'd said that before, every time he was free of them for a while. As always, he refused to cooperate in any examination, although his weight was automatically recorded each time he stepped though the door of his bedroom.

Sunday morning, they ran out of time. Forster was coming early. John was to be confined to Ward 3 until he arrived. A quick check of the RABs located him in the library, and checking the appropriate screen showed a clear picture of him running his hand along the backs of books as if choosing one to read. Mark looked at Isaac. "We'll try and persuade him, but it's going to wind up brute force, I suspect. Is it worth it?"

Isaac looked very grim. "You've seen Forster drooling over him in the shower, you know the sort of film that interests him. John's best protection right now is to be safely unconscious in bed."

By the time Isaac and Mark started toward John, he was heading toward the swimming pool change room. With Isaac and Mark, were Zack, Rudy and Timothy, the guards John was closest to, although they'd been supposed to be off duty. They would keep their mouths shut and would follow orders, especially if they knew it was for John's own protection. The guards on duty would come in if needed. But Isaac hoped to persuade John to trust him and accept the injection. After all, he'd looked after him so often now, as his doctor, and he thought John _should_ trust him. He couldn't tell him why he had to have an injection, though. As few as possible must know that he was to be kept deliberately unconscious. Anyway, it was certain he wouldn't agree to being put to sleep for at least ten days.

John sat on a bench in the change-room. He'd already taken off shoes and socks, but was now involved in listening to Rossi, one of the soldiers who worked in administration. Rossi had girl troubles.

Nicholas and Lance stood within the room, at either side of the door. Peter was outside, surprised that they were apparently about to be replaced. John looked up as Isaac and Mark entered, followed by three more guards. A quick word, and Nicholas and Lance left the room. Mark nodded at Rossi, "Thank you, Corporal, we just need to talk to John alone for a moment."

John stared, his eyes going to the three guards whom he knew so well, and who knew him so well. He stood, moving softly, but quite quickly, to a different wall, where no bench might strike him in the back of the legs if he had to fight. He'd known that something was about to happen. Zack's roster vibrated, and a warning voice cautioned that the subject was extremely tense. Isaac started talking. John had to go to Ward 3. He had to have an injection. It was for his own good, and he just had to trust his doctor. Mark thought that Isaac had made a basic mistake. He thought that no mention should be made of any injection until it had been administered.

John was showing no trust at all. His eyes flicked warily to the guards. His face was calm, but he was trembling. Mark said, "You have to trust us, John. We're acting for your safety. Trust us to keep you safe."

But John answered coldly, "You _cannot_ be trusted."

Mark said sadly, wearily, "Please, John. You have to have an injection. We can't tell you what it's for, but believe me, it's for your own good."

Isaac stepped forward, soothing. "Just a little pinprick, and it'll all be over."

John raised his fists slightly. His voice was still calm, "No."

Zack almost pleaded, "John, we don't want to have to hold you."

John replied, "I didn't want to have to fight you, ever, but I will _not_ submit to an injection."

Mark said, trying to use a calming, reasonable tone, "How about we go to Ward 3, and we'll talk about it there."

John cast his eyes around, "There's less to trip over in here. I think I'd rather fight here if it's all the same to you."

The guards started to spread out. Isaac said urgently, "Don't use the stun guns!"

John's trembling ceased. Now he stood tense, legs very slightly bent, very slightly on tiptoe, ready for an attack. Isaac and Mark moved back, and Isaac turned his back on John, as he pulled the prepared syringe from its container. Isaac's zoster vibrated. Zack and Rudy were starting to move in, one on each side, Timothy faced John, and waited. John was fully alert, knowing exactly where they were. A step forward, and big Timothy shook his head. How was he on the floor?

John was again backed up, to a different wall this time. But there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run to. Isaac said loudly, "Wait!"

Zack and Rudy paused. Mark jerked his head, and the guards joined him at the door, Timothy rather slowly, still dazed from the lightning blow. The information was shared in a very low voice, the men watched warily by John. John was going to go down. All they had to do was wait. No-one was attacking John now.

John dropped his fists, and put his head very slightly on one side, trying to work out why they'd changed their minds. Mark said calmly that they'd walk to Ward 3 just as soon as John saw reason. There was no hurry.

For ten minutes, they waited, John still tense, but puzzled. He wasn't about to see reason. They should have known. It was like being tied up. He couldn't see reason when he might be made helpless with a drug.

Isaac left the room for a moment so that John wouldn't see him checking his pocket RAB 3. Indications were that he was still very ready to fight.

Maybe it was because of his tension, but John appeared to feel no warning at all, just suddenly fell, convulsing in a violent fit. They had him in his bed in Ward 3 even before the spasms had completely died down, and an Intravenous drip in place hardly any time after that. It seemed that the pain was just too great for drugs to work, and John's eyes opened, but glazed, and showing the agony he suffered. Isaac soothed. John was scarcely aware. The pain ceased and John's body relaxed.

By the time Forster strutted in, making no effort to be quiet, John lay unmoving, drugged. The nurse, Joe Price, was just adjusting restraints around his wrists. It would please Forster, no doubt, as well as ensuring that the needle in his arm would stay in place.

Isaac nodded at the drip. "To combat shock. The pain he suffers is quite extreme."

Forster looked. "How long is this likely to last?"

"Recent episodes have been only been about a half hour of pain, followed by an hour or two unconscious. It's unpredictable, of course, and I've seen him suffer for fifteen hours nonstop, and almost continuous illness for over a month."

Forster came closer, reached out, and stripped off the covers of the bed. Isaac tried hard to keep his face from registering his disgust. Forster ran a hand over bare ribs. John always seemed thin, seldom well enough for long enough to put on a decent covering of flesh.

"Don't you have to put in a tube in order to feed him?" Forster asked.

Isaac said calmly that he didn't think that would be necessary, as he'd probably be up and about fairly shortly.

Forster nodded. "Very well, call me if there's any change."

As soon as he was gone, Isaac covered the naked body again and set up for EEG monitoring. John must not be allowed to wake up. The screen that showed John on the bed was left on in Mark's office, now being used by Forster. A separate screen soon showed other film of John. It was justified, of course, in Forster's mind. The whole facility was because of John with his possible mysterious powers, and if sometimes he thought that maybe he shouldn't dwell quite so much on those instances when John was fighting or ill, he would caress the jaw that had been so badly broken, and forget his misgivings.

In the morning, Forster visited early. And again, he pulled down the covers. Now there was a urine bag. Isaac said calmly, "He hates being helpless, and, of course, panics totally when he is restrained or when he has injections."

Forster thought he concealed his satisfaction. He was waiting for the time that John would wake up and fight against the restraints.

There was no change until the middle of the night. Nicki was acting as night nurse, and called Isaac, urgently. Lance was in the room, as well, as guard. John was fretting, probably a nightmare, and looked as if he was about to wake.

"More sedative, straight away, and take off the restraints," said Isaac. "I'm coming."

Nicki managed to get the restraints off just before John woke with a cry. He wrenched himself out of bed, and stood, swaying uncertainly, back to the wall, in a defensive position that seemed instinctive to him. He was looking confused, and when he saw Isaac, said that he had to have a shower.

Isaac nodded. "Of course. We'll get it ready. But how about you get back into bed while it's prepared?"

John's gaze wandered, and then he asked, rather pathetically, "Are you looking after me?"

Isaac soothed, "Yes, I'm looking after you," and suggested again that John get back into bed.

John looked at the bed. "I can't get back into bed. The sheets have to be changed."

Isaac said calmly, "Nicki, change the sheets, please."

The sheets were perfectly clean, but Nicki shrugged and changed the sheets, quickly and efficiently.

When prompted again, John walked unsteadily to the bed and lay down. His eyes found Isaac's, and he said plaintively, "I don't like it." But his eyes closed even as tears trickled down his cheeks. When he was securely asleep again, the various tubes and sensors were reattached, the restraints as well.

There was no further change, except that in the morning, when Forster almost demanded it, the nurse inserted the nasogastric tube. Isaac said calmly, "He hates the feeding tube."

Forster shrugged, and uncovered John again. "Look at the poor chap. He's far too thin."

When Forster left, Price awkwardly manoeuvred John into a pair of sleeping shorts. Price was not a particularly compassionate man, but saw no need for Forster to see his patient's nakedness.

Forster was beginning to be frustrated. He wanted some live action from the subject. He knew he wasn't supposed to provoke confrontation, but this was boring. For several days, he left John alone, trying to satisfy himself with watching film of John and Clare together. He wished they wouldn't darken the room so much, or would be a bit more uninhibited. Surely under-the-cover action was old-fashioned, and neither of them were supposed to know there were cameras in Clare's room.

Once, out of a dark curiosity, he watched the film of John's lightning move when he'd had his jaw broken. Not all the film of John ill and in pain, could reconcile him to that episode.

Isaac was in contact with Mark every day. His recovery was proceeding well, though he admitted he was surprised at just how painful the wound had been, and just how little strength he seemed to have the first few days. "Doctors tell lies," he said. "Minor discomfort, my ass!"

Isaac grinned. Doctors did tell lies. What did he tell John not so long before? Just a little pinprick, and it'd all be over?

The day before he was due to leave, Forster visited John one more time, wishing he could think of an excuse to ban the use of sleeping shorts. He liked seeing him as undignified as possible. It should have been enough that he was helpless, restrained, and had the feeding tube he hated. He reached across and touched the closed eyes. "I wonder if he knows that he was thoroughly raped not long before he was found. It must have been several men, and it must have been quite brutal, as there was blood all over his buttocks." He spoke musingly.

John's eyes slowly opened and he looked at Forster for a long moment, and then smiled slightly and closed his eyes again.

A technician in another room pointed to the pattern they'd begun to think was that of John trying to use his power. This time he was successful. Forster would be afflicted with boils, although they wouldn't start showing for a day or two. There had been a change in the EEG readings, too, but it was disguised by the change caused by the brief awakening, and went unnoticed.

******
_Chapter 18_ :

John came to himself slowly, and for a while just lay there trying to work out what had happened. He touched his cheek. He'd been sick, it seemed, at least a week, from the feel of his face. They never shaved him when he was sick, just in case he was tempted into doing it himself, without a razor. Carefully, dizzily, he pulled himself up. Isaac let down the side of his bed, but when he took his arm, John snarled at him, "Get away from me!"

Isaac stood back. John was convinced that this time he was not just sick. They'd done it to him, and maybe they'd done other things to him. John was filled with a roiling bitterness.

Nicki put a cane in his hand, and he silently accepted it, using it to make his way to the shower. He was very shaky and needed it. But he snarled at Zack, too, when he came close to help. Expressionless, Zack stood back. Mark, in his office, was notified that John was awake, and flicked to the Ward 3 screens. John was in the bathroom, clinging to the washbasin with one hand and using an electric razor to shave with the other. He looked up and Mark jumped as the screen went blank, followed by two others situated in the bathroom. It wasn't anything inexplicable, just a fist.

By the time John came out, there was a breakfast on the table, and Isaac was trying to tell him that everything was all right, that he should just have something to eat, and then he could go outside, or to his room, or whatever he wanted. His soothing voice was ignored. John just silently dressed, though he accepted Nicki's help to do the buttons and tie shoelaces. He trembled too much to do them himself. Without a look at the breakfast, John went to the door, finding it unlocked. It seemed that he had the same three guards who'd helped Isaac and Mark make him sick. Zack, Rudy, Timothy. Rudy started to walk close as John staggered, but Zack shook his head at him, and they spread out a little instead, wondering if he was about to collapse. He was very pale, still shook, and was far too thin again.

All the same, he made it to his tree, and stood, looking up at the branch that he always jumped to.

"Don't go up, John," called Zack, urgently, "You're not strong enough. You'll fall."

John looked at the ground, and shook his head, dizzily. It seemed he could barely see at all today, but he knew exactly where the branch was. He was surrounded by enemies who did unknown things to him while he lay helpless. Only the trees were friendly. In spite of the weakness left from nearly two weeks of lying in bed, he caught the branch and swung himself up into his tree, climbing to his own place. He sat a long time, hooking himself securely into a fork. Watching from a camera, Isaac thought he could have been sleeping, though he couldn't see his face.

The guards had a communication. Try and get him to lunch. John had no watch of his own, which he wouldn't have been able to see in any case. They always told him when it was mealtimes. Calls went ignored. There was a consultation, and a check from those who watched the screens. He could have fainted, they concluded. Maybe a rescue was needed.

Timothy had twisted an ankle last time he'd tried to climb that tree, so Rudy went up this time, slowly and carefully. John was leaning his head back against the trunk of the tree. He was very pale, and his eyes were shut. Rudy touched him on the shoulder.

For a moment, John looked confused, and then furious. "Get out of my tree!" he said, and when Rudy tried to say something, he pulled himself up, and said even more forcefully, "Get out of my tree!"

Rudy's words were ignored. John was trembling, and spoke in a deadly tone, "Get out of my tree or I'll throw you out!"

Rudy shook his head, and descended. Sixty feet above the ground was no place for a fight.

John held the branches of his tree. The tree would help him, she was strong and friendly. The lenses of the tree cameras were mostly very small, and tucked into holes made in branches, or in the trunk. Often their presence was disguised in a natural knothole. John held out his hand, and a foot long, pointed stick appeared in it. Carefully, the stick was pushed against the camera lens, and then bashed in with a flat surfaced stone, also conjured. One camera down.

Methodically, John went from tree to tree, and destroyed each one of the tree cameras so carefully installed not so long before. Mark watched from his office with a slight smile on his face, as one screen after another went blank. It was hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of damage. It was apparent that John felt a little aggrieved.

John stayed in his trees most of the day, sometimes sleeping. He didn't want to talk to his enemies whom he used to treat as friends. There was no trust left in him.

Once, Zack looked up, feeling his gaze on him. John was only fifteen feet or so up. Zack shivered. What was he thinking? For the first time, he thought he could really be in danger from the young, sick man who could sometimes access a strange power.

Isaac and Mark were in Mark's office. "We'll have to do something, Mark." Isaac finally said. "He's not strong enough to go without food. And besides, this is John. I don't think he can live and stay sane if he doesn't have companionship."

Mark said, "Prendergast was talking to me. There's been problems with discipline since we took John down. The men know, and they don't like it."

"Rudy had a black eye ten days or so ago. There's been fighting." No screens showed John any more, although Mark had one open that showed the area of trees he was known to be in. Underneath, there were some graph lines, with occasional numbers coming up. Isaac crossed to the screen, and looked closely. "Tell him?"

A nod, "We'll tell him"

John was tired and hungry. When Zack ordered him firmly to come down, and told him they were to go to Mark's office, and maybe a few things could be explained, he did as he was told. Silently, he accepted the cane, but shrugged away the helping hand. Zack stayed close. John was not fit enough yet for this.

When he entered Mark's office, Mark calmly greeted him. There was an array of food on the large desk, although nothing else. John leaned against the wall, face impassive, as Mark remembered he'd done when he'd first told him the reason for his imprisonment. Mark said, "The cameras have been switched off, all but one, and even that one has been taken out of the network. I expect to destroy the film after this little talk."

John abruptly abandoned his cool facade. "What did you do to me?" His voice shook.

Mark very calmly said, "We kept you safe from Forster. I had to have an operation, and Forster took over while I was off duty. We thought it best if Forster had no excuse to hurt you."

John just stood. He didn't know what to believe. His head was buzzing with fatigue and he was filled with distrust.

Isaac said, "Mark, why don't you show him the scar."

Mark was a bit reluctant, but looked at John. John was never given a chance to retain any dignity. Silently, he undid his belt and drew his trousers and underpants down sufficiently that the livid scar from the inguinal hernia repair was clearly visible.

John was irritable. "There's no point showing me. I can't see."

Isaac glanced at the guards, all of them politely looking away. He looked closely at the scar himself, and John looked surprised at Mark. "But that's barbaric! Surely the healers could fix you without doing that to you!"

Mark smiled and shook his head. "If they know a better way, they didn't tell me!"

John sat, and when Mark passed him some sandwiches, accepted one without demur, suddenly ravenously hungry.

Isaac smiled and he also knew just a little more about the strange man. He thought operations were barbaric - where had he come from? And he could see if someone else saw. At the same time, he wasn't reading minds, and didn't even seem to know that they were acting for his own good until he saw solid evidence.

******
Chapter 19:

John's relations with his guards didn't return to what they had been, although they seemed to on the surface. They could do what they wanted to him, whenever they wanted, and when he thought about his helplessness to prevent it, he felt very badly frightened. His behavior became more erratic, and his recklessness in the trees, and often on Davies' equipment, worried his minders. When he rode, it seemed as if he just wanted to gallop as hard as he could. He was sometimes hard to control, and they were changing horses every day now, as he always wanted to gallop hard enough to thoroughly tire the horses.

They heard him apologizing to the horse he rode once, burying his head against its neck. They suspected that he cried. There were times when he'd decline to go out of the Compound, so that at least he'd be off the lead. Adam and Ernie reported that on these occasions, his horse would often be bucking furiously, as if viciously, though he never looked to be in the slightest danger of falling. It was an expression of John's turmoil.

He exercised rigorously, swimming constantly whenever he was allowed, and working determinedly in the gymnasium at other times. He was walking too, hard and fast, around and around the perimeter track, seldom stopping to talk to the guards who had been his friends. The leaves colored, and started to fall from the trees. Autumn again.

His telekinesis was finally beginning to become more reliable, and when he conjured a bread roll out of thin air, he abandoned the term, and thereafter thought of it simply as magic. Unfortunately, the bread roll tasted vile. But if he could do magic, he _must_ be able to escape. Sometimes he looked at his guards with a shadowed gaze which made them nervous. But still, he didn't want to hurt anyone, and didn't even know if he _could_ hurt anyone with his magic.

One morning, he made his escorts quite nervous when he sat on his horse, and watched through the fence at a sergeant who was drilling some of B Force. He watched a long time, not saying anything, just looking closely at the men, who glanced nervously at him whenever their sergeant wasn't watching. Nothing happened though. They still put as few constraints on him as they could.

Quite suddenly, his rides were limited, and he was no longer allowed to go anywhere near the external fence. It took a while for him to find out why. His escorts wouldn't tell him, and he finally overheard some talk at dinner time. Demonstrations against Germ Warfare, becoming larger and more organized all the time, at the gates that B Force guarded, and at spots around the fences, too.

The true reason for the well guarded area of army land was secret, so in the absence of an alternative explanation, rumors spread. When he mentioned it to Adam and Ernie, making it obvious that he knew what was happening, their tongues were loosened. "It was on TV last night," said Ernie. "Apparently there's rumors we're developing a Flu/Ebola cross."

John laughed and his escorts grinned. Poor John didn't laugh enough these days.

John was docile the following day as they led his horse out the gates of the Compound. Adam and Ernie were relieved. He wanted to walk as close as they allowed him, staring at the crowds of people beyond the fence, almost out of sight of even his guards. "You know, they're the first people I've ever seen who don't work here, and almost the first civilians."

The pair who accompanied him, gaped at each other. They knew theoretically that he had amnesia, but didn't comprehend the reality.

John was gazing across at those far in the distance. He was feeling now, trying to feel those in the crowd, not noticing the way that Adam and Ernie looked at him. He turned back to them, and said persuasively, "It wouldn't do any harm just to go a little closer."

Adam nodded. "A little closer." They couldn't satisfy John, who yearned to see those people from outside.

There was a new horse for him the next day, and, as Ernie wasn't available, there was Marinon, who'd done the job a few times before. The black mare was a beautiful animal. There was a slash of white on her rump, and the black mane and tail had white strands. "She's called Naji," said Adam, as John greeted the animal. "Only a five year old, bred in England, a stud that specialize in hunters. Colonel Bedville chose her for you personally - he said that black hair with white strands - it had to be meant for John."

"She's beautiful," said John, moving close. The mare whickered to him and blew in his face, so that he laughed and hugged her.

Again, John wanted to go as close to the crowds beyond the fence as his guards would allow. The mare went kindly for him, but horses always did. He didn't know why this one should make the homesickness rise in him so much more than usual. He reminded himself as he had before, that he may not even have a home. He didn't know. He only knew that his prison, the only home he remembered, was not home, no matter how Mark might try to make it as if it was.

Adam's zoster vibrated in his chest pocket. He listened briefly, closed it, and said to John, "We have to take you much further away. A couple of them have binoculars."

John looked back as they started to lead him away. But suddenly the misery rose in him and his mare reared, pulling the rein out of the hand of Marinon and breaking the one held by Adam. And then she streaked away, heading towards a stand of tall trees, much closer to the fence. He had the single remaining long rein in his hand by now, so that Naji wouldn't trip over it.

There were still sharpshooters with rifles stationed in jeeps around, but while they aimed, they didn't shoot. Guards of B Force were aiming as well, to the shocked exclamations of civilian spectators, especially those with binoculars.

Naji jolted to a stop under a tree. John swiftly knelt and then stood on the saddle, grabbed a high branch, and climbed. Trees were his friends. Without any waste of time, he went as high as he could. He wanted to see the people who were free. Naji shook her head and moved off, alertly watching the swearing, furious guards. RABs were being consulted, and jeeps were moving closer to the trees where the subject was hiding, far too close to the boundary.

The demonstrators started chanting again. They were just a colorful blur in his sight. There was a woman in red right at the front and suddenly, he could see her. There were children. John thought he'd never seen children, except on film. The soldiers were trying to make them go further back, off army land, which extended only a hundred yards or so back behind the twin high fences. One raised a hand, threateningly, to the woman in red. The woman stood her ground.

John felt the soldier, felt his cruelty, felt his mind. The soldier fainted. John had his head tilted. He'd done it, but was the man all right? He waited. He thought he was all right. If he could make a soldier faint, he thought he might be able to escape, though he also had to make the RAB stop.

He glanced down. There seemed to be at least a dozen soldiers beneath him. He swung himself to a different tree, leaping recklessly across the intervening gap. Rifles followed him. They'd shoot him if he gave them much further excuse. He dropped to a low branch, and he whistled. Naji came galloping, and he swung himself down, onto her back, and crouched, as Naji streaked back towards the Compound. Marinon and Adam turned their horses to follow, galloping hard. The stables were outside the Compound, surrounded by a fence. John had never been allowed there, but now he slowed and trotted Naji through the open gate.

Marinon and Adam were warned. The subject was very tense, and might fight. Try not to provoke a confrontation. They watched, and hung back.

John was very tense. He might be miserable, but he was somehow going to go home. He didn't want to be shot. As if casually, he greeted Gus, who looked after the horses. He'd never met Gus. "I rode her too hard," he remarked.

Gus grunted. "You're always doing that. I'll walk her a while."

John regarded him. "Would you mind walking me back into the Compound first? If I'm escorted, they probably won't shoot me."

Gus nodded, and gave a sidelong smile. "They might give me a medal."

John was beginning to relax. He shrugged ruefully, "I'll be in trouble." He stroked Naji. "She's the most beautiful horse."

Naji whickered, and then stepped closer, putting her head over his shoulder. He hugged her, holding her very tight for a moment. Gus grunted, looked away, and then said they'd best be going.

Gus was commended. John was confined to his room for the rest of the morning, and advised that he wouldn't be allowed to ride out of the Compound for a week, and after that, only on Bess. He could still ride inside the Compound. They were lenient, but Isaac and Mark spent an hour looking at film and reading the reports about John's almost magical communication with his horses. He'd ridden Naji for the very first time that morning, and she'd done exactly what he wanted her to. She'd even galloped straight to him when he whistled from the tree. They learned more when John was disobedient than when he was being docile.

In his room, John thought carefully of the soldier whom he'd made faint, and suddenly knew he was fine. A picture came to him, somebody mocking his faint, and he felt the anger of the soldier, who wanted to punch. It was a triumph. He could make a soldier faint, and without really hurting him.

At lunch, Mark dropped into a chair next to John. John wasn't alone. He was listening to Rossi's girl problems again.

John looked up and smiled. "Naji is the most wonderful horse!" he said enthusiastically, and proceeded to amuse Mark by describing at length just how wonderful she was.

Mark smiled at him. "She only cost us as much as one of the cameras you break whenever you're in a bad mood."

John shook his head. "If I broke cameras whenever I was in a bad mood, you'd have none left."

The soldiers didn't like it when Colonel Bedville ate in the staff dining room with John. Officers should leave them in peace while they ate. Rossi finished his meal quickly and left. Others of the soldiers were quiet, constrained. None of them lingered. Mark thought with amusement that only his prisoner treated him with no respect whatever, and yet he totally ruled John's life. He didn't rule his soldiers' lives.

"You're an awful lot of trouble, you know, John," he said.

John looked frowningly at him, and suddenly said, "Come for a walk with me?" Mark looked his surprise and John said again, "After lunch. Come for a walk with me."

Mark slowly nodded, and once they'd both finished their meal, John led the way to a large open area. There were no trees. The guards, at Mark's look, stayed out of earshot.

John stopped after a while, and looked all around, head up, almost as if feeling the air. He started to slowly walk again. "The trouble with soldiers," he said, "is that they don't think."

Mark was silent.

"They obey orders, but if only they'd think for themselves, wars would be impossible for a start."

Mark said firmly, "Soldiers have to obey orders. Sometimes wars are necessary."

John turned, pacing back slowly the way they came, keeping to the same open area where he'd seldom been. Backroom analysts were undecided. This sort of behavior would normally have them aiming long distance microphones. But John was talking to Colonel Bedville, the one in charge of the whole facility.

John stopped a moment, looking directly at Mark. "You're a soldier, and you're not thinking. It was twenty-four years or so before I came under your control. No disasters occurred, the world didn't end. I am _not_ dangerous."

Mark was silent. John stood looking at him. Mark wished he wouldn't ask, but he did, quite simply. "Mark, let me go?"

Mark started walking again, John paced him. Quietly, he said, "It would be my career, of course."

John said nothing.

For ten minutes they quietly paced, back and forward across the open area of land where no microphones listened to what they said. In the end, Mark sighed heavily. "If I thought it was the right thing, I would sacrifice my career. But it is _not_ the right thing. The right thing is to do my duty, and I firmly believe that my duty is to keep you confined, and try and discover, if possible, just what the strange power is that you have."

John said sadly, as if sincerely, "I have no strange power. I'm just an ordinary man who's been very badly damaged. But I won't ask again."

Mark glanced at him. "Ask for whatever's reasonable, and I'll try and do it for you."

John was feeling a bitter depression, but he smiled brilliantly at Mark. "I want the store to start carrying ice-creams, and in at least twenty-four varieties."

Mark clapped his shoulder, laughing. "Done!"

That night there was a power failure. The emergency generators failed. Even the RABs that ran on batteries, failed. They searched and searched for John. All that day, and most of the next, they searched, until the RABs quite suddenly started working again. They found him hidden in a wet hole, not far from the external boundary, past both sets of high fences, but still on army land, just near the low, perfectly ordinary fence that ran alongside the road. He was covered with mud and scarcely visible, even when one stood almost on top of him. The area had been searched several times without result.

John was in a deep coma. The illness had struck at the most fortunate time for his jailers, the least lucky for John. On the other hand, he was very cold, and his illness continued for the next week. Undiscovered, he would have died.

Mark came into Ward 3, very softly, on the third day. The light was dimmed. John was awake, but his eyes showed the agony that attacked him. Mark stood looking at him for a while until John turned glazed eyes to him. Mark silently stepped back.

John was becoming more blatant in his use of his power, although there was still no evidence caught on film. Mark thought they wouldn't hold him for much longer unless he was brought more firmly under their control. Option C, they called it, but it was still not ready. About three weeks, they thought. They couldn't test it on humans. Even on a condemned criminal, it would be unethical.

******
_Chapter 20_ :

By the time that John was out and about again, the trees were bare and the weather suddenly colder. John was optimistic. He'd be out by Christmas. He would have managed it last time if only he hadn't become sick. They couldn't keep him now his magic was working so much better. He seldom had failures any more.

John was _never_ out from under the eyes of guards now. They were even in his room at night, two of them. He was ready to try again. But when the lights went out and Nicholas fainted, Peter took two quick strides to John and used the stun gun, sending him into a fit.

The zosters buzzed. Peter answered that John was still in custody and was warned that the cameras were not operating, but they'd be told as soon as they were online again. The emergency generator kicked in and there was more light.

Nicholas quickly revived, and he and Peter waited a little until John recovered consciousness. As they expected, he was dazed and disoriented. Nicholas took his revenge. John made no move to defend himself, and Nicholas tried to leave no marks.

Zack was surprised the following morning when John declined his ride, although talking to Naji, and making a fuss of her. He only said that he'd slept very badly, and was tired. He didn't climb any trees, although he swam for a little while, and spent a long while in the spa. Only Clare noticed that he moved with difficulty at times, but Clare had other things on her mind and didn't report the observation.

Nicholas and Peter were apprehensive. Use of the stun gun was justified, but taking it upon themselves to administer punishment could get them into big trouble.

But John said nothing, reckoning that a few bruises that didn't even show, were a small price to pay for keeping this escape attempt quiet. He could try again, though not with Nicholas and Peter, who'd been too quick and were now warned. He complained to Zack that he couldn't sleep while hostile guards watched him, that if he had to be watched at night, maybe the male nurses could do it. At least he was used to them.

Zack checked and it was confirmed for him that John was sleeping very badly, often spending hours just pacing.

Mark, when consulted, pointed out that maybe his dislike of these particular guards meant that they were being effective. They watched some film. Each time that John was apparently asleep, Peter and Nicholas held stun guns, out and ready, and usually, at least one of them at other times, too.

On the other hand, John joined them one night as they played cards, and coaxed them into describing their families' Christmas traditions. It seemed he couldn't get enough and wanted all the details, even those of tired, cross cooks, and evening hangovers.

"What about your own Christmas traditions?" asked Nicholas. "What does _your_ family do?" Some of the guards never quite believed in the amnesia.

John leaned back, and gave them a highly imaginative story of Christmas on his home planet of Chroostya, where they fattened glowchooks, and ate them after the second sun went down. When the glowchooks were gone, of course, it was dark, and that's when the fertility festival started. John entertained himself considerably with his own imaginings, although Nicholas and Peter were not at all sure whether to believe it. The three men laughed together, but when he lay down again to sleep, getting toward dawn, they pulled out the stun guns.

Mark showed Zack the film, and afterwards, Zack agreed that Nicholas and Peter should stay. John wasn't really suffering, and he didn't think any of the other guards would be quite so ready for problems. Eight in the evening until eight in the morning, every night, no days off, and no meal breaks, except those they had in John's room. When they complained, they were promised a lengthy holiday over Christmas.

The day after the story of Christmas on Chroostya, John drifted off to sleep in Clare's bed, sinking deeper and deeper into sleep. Clare stroked his hair. She'd become very fond of John, who always showed such an obvious joy in their lovemaking, and gave as much pleasure as he received. The watchers said to the Colonel that it was obvious that when it came time for his operation, they could take him as he slept with Clare. Clare was an agent. Maybe she could administer the injection as he slept.

They didn't tell him she'd left a suicide note. Only that she'd been called away suddenly and would not be back. John stared blankly at Zack when he was told, and said quietly that she should have told him goodbye. Zack said stoutly that she was doing a job, the same as the rest of them, and probably there would be a replacement. John looked at him, and finally said, a break in his voice, that women were not replaceable, that he didn't want any other woman.

But two days later, to Zack's amusement, his eyes were following Emilie, one of the few female soldiers.

Clare Glover had planned it carefully. Although at first, she'd considered an abortion, her heart turned over at the very thought. She couldn't do that. But she didn't want her child watched, possibly imprisoned, as John was. Her baby might be unusual. Her agent's skills came in useful. Evidence of a suicide was strong, although it didn't include a body. False identification was well within her capabilities, and her travel documents were all under a different name. John's baby, conceived in spite of excellent contraception, would be brought up in New Zealand.

******
_Chapter 21_ :

John started having more frequent nightmares. His escape was urgent. He didn't know some-thing was planned, but was filled with the sense of the urgency. He couldn't get away at night, and he hadn't previously thought of evening, as there were always so many around. But he was beginning to be desperate. Night fell early in Winter, and it was full dark by dinner time.

Bob and Rudy watched from close to the door of the staff dining room, Timothy next to the internal door that led to the large kitchen and officers' dining room. John was at a table, looking relaxed, even carefree, listening to Kyle and Jimmy try to explain the rules of baseball. It seemed he wasn't familiar with the game. His guards were warned. The subject was woundup, tense. It was thought that he might be about to try something. They knew the watchers had information they didn't. They were very alert.

John had just made a laughing comment to Kyle, when the lights went out. The guards grabbed the torches they were now issued with, and played them over the room. John was discovered suddenly in bright light again, with his hand on the far wall. There was no door there. "Grab him!" bellowed Bob. A nearby soldier, rather hesitantly, took John by the arm as his guards strode over to him.

John leaned against the wall, looking as if amused. "Don't get your weasand in a wonk! There's not even a door here."

"Don't get your _weasand_ in a wonk?" said Kyle.

John shrugged, still hiding his acute disappointment. He'd been about to make a hole in the wall, step through, fix it, and be gone before they could work out what was happening. But he still tried not to make his magic obvious, and this time, he only said, "Just an expression. It means don't get upset." He looked kindly at his guards, and spoke to Kyle. "They get nervous, poor chaps, just because there's a blackout now and then."

At that moment, the lights came back on. Bob and Rudy both had John now, holding him very firmly, one at each arm. Timothy actually had his baton in hand. John glanced at the baton, and asked if it was all right to finish his dinner. Rudy said bitterly, "I should bloody handcuff you to the chair!"

A jolt of alarm surged through John, but he tried to show no indication, only said with some apparent indignation, "I've been perfectly well behaved. I was eating dinner and there was a blackout."

Rudy looked skeptical, and he'd felt the flinch as he mentioned handcuffs, too.

Delivered afterward to his bedroom, Peter and Nicholas were warned that he'd tried something, though they didn't know what. John said nonsense, and asked if Peter and Nicholas would like him to make them coffee. They glanced at each other, and accepted. Like John, they'd come to the conclusion that life was easier if they pretended to be friends whenever not actually in conflict. But when John was supposedly watching a film, he was racking his brains again. He had magic, didn't he? Surely he must be able to get away, and without hurting anyone.

Nicholas felt John's eyes on him, and drew his stun gun. They were always ready. John looked away.

The anti Germ Warfare demonstrators lost their enthusiasm with the cold weather, and the sight of an apparent prisoner riding a horse didn't fit their theories. With the disappearance of the demonstrators, the limitations on John's riding were eased. There was no way he could escape in full daylight, with riflemen watching him. He loved Naji, and seldom exhausted her, so that nearly every day, it was Naji that was led into the Compound for him. They let him visit the stables afterward now, when he wanted to, and he could talk to all eight of the horses, including Bess, whom he was so fond of.

There were only a few days left of November when General Buller came to visit. For the first time, he asked Mark if he could meet the subject, rather than just see the film.

"Of course," said Mark, "But don't expect any great subservience from him - he'll probably, perfectly casually, call you Stan."

Buller smiled. "He sounds a character."

"Sometimes, it's like he sparkles with life, and yet, other times, he looks as cold as ice, as if he has no emotion whatever."

He then impressed the general by quickly checking the RAB, bringing up four screens, and pointing to one that showed John and three soldiers, including a woman, eating ice-creams in the very weak sunshine.

"Ice-creams!" said Buller. "In the middle of Winter!"

"I asked him about that. He said that this cold is nothing compared to that of Riosta, where he comes from."

"Riosta?"

"It means nothing. He just likes to keep us hopping. The backroom boys are still trying to work out where the expression, 'to get your weasand in a wonk' might originate. But they think he made it up."

The soldiers saluted and edged off respectfully as the senior officers approached, but not before John whispered in the ear of Emilie, who shook her head laughingly. She'd have liked to, but where?

As expected, John greeted General Stanley Buller as Stan, and asked why he hadn't met him before. Buller made an evasive reply, before starting an easy conversation about Christmas rituals.

John asked, "Did you hear about the glowchooks?"

Buller smiled, "They told me about the glowchooks, but I wanted to know what you'd really do for Christmas if you were free."

John looked at him. The man was quite small, and his hair was grey. He wondered if this man could free him if he chose. And when he looked musingly into the distance, for a change, he didn't pretend. "There would be lots of lights. Lots and lots of all colored lights so that other people would sneer at the vulgarity of the display. But they'd sparkle over the snow, and look like nothing but Christmas."

Mark had never seen this face of John. He'd spoken in a yearning tone, not hiding his longing. "Who would be there, John?" he asked softly.

John laughed, "I'll have seven sisters and three brothers. They all have children, and there would be fights all day, because Timothy told me, cousins always fight."

Buller asked, "Do you have a wife, John?"

John stared at the vision in his mind. He would have a wife. It must be so wonderful to sleep with a woman all night, to be able to reach out a hand, and touch whenever he wanted. He shook his head, and spoke now in a flat voice. "I don't know."

The two senior officers glanced at each other. It didn't look as if they'd get anything more out of John, and there was no information in what he'd said. Just the desire for a normal life, and the longing not to be so alone.

General Buller changed the subject, and he and Mark talked about horse breeding, until John started to speak more naturally again.

Buller finally said, "Can I see this wonderful horse of yours?"

John looked at Mark. "The stables are outside the Compound. It's up to the boss." Mark nodded.

John was accustomed to the guards that surrounded him, but Buller was surprised when three personal guards stayed close, and four more soldiers surrounded them at a greater distance, all very aware of the subject. The stables along with a small field nearby were fully enclosed with a fence that didn't look easy to climb, and the gate was firmly closed after they passed through. But John seemed relaxed, and Buller reminded himself that this sort of environment was all he knew.

John caressed Bess, "She's the best little mare, Stan. It's not really in her nature, but she learned to buck and play with me when I wanted it. And she's quiet and easy if I'm not well."

Buller was surprised. "And _this_ is the famous horse?" They were in the field, where the horses spent most days, though stabled at night. John whistled, and the glossy, black mare pranced over to him.

"This is Naji," he said. "She's the best too, in a different way."

He knew all the horses, and they all knew him, even those that Adam and Ernest habitually rode. There was some competition. They all wanted to be close to him, but little Bess was closest.

As they started walking back to the Compound, General Buller looked at the more distant soldiers. He'd ask Mark about those later. John didn't even seem aware of them, and he knew that his eyesight was erratic. He'd known each horse though, even the ones who looked quite similar to each other.

John said a friendly hello to the gate guards as he was let back into the Compound. He still acted as if it was routine, not as if he was a prisoner desperately looking for escape. General Buller said casually, "It's unlikely that Jarred Forster will be back, by the way, John. He's on long term sick leave. Boils. Every time he seems a little better, they just come back. I saw him yesterday. He could barely walk. A very inconvenient spot, apparently."

John said, surprised, "I thought no-one had boils any more. Isn't it a very old fashioned thing? A bad diet or something?"

Buller threw him a very shrewd look. "It is rare. And the doctors don't seem able to help. That's why I wondered if you had something to do with it."

"Me?" said John, in blank astonishment. "I haven't even seen him since..." He reddened. He still hated to think how he'd so completely lost control, and nearly hurt Zack.

Mark said casually, "When Jarred was here in September, John was ill. I don't think he even saw him."

John confirmed, "I don't remember seeing him then."

John stood still, watching after Stan as he left with Mark. He'd quite deliberately exposed himself a little, but he didn't think it had made the slightest difference. He went to the gymnasium, and hammered into the punching bag for a while.

In Mark's office, the general was saying that John did cause a conflict of loyalties sometimes.

Mark nodded. "The female agent who used to report on him finally committed suicide. She said that it was too hard any longer."

"I saw the report. Is she to be replaced?"

"I've asked for a replacement. She gave us more of an insight into John's true feelings than we had from any other source. Today was unusual. I think it's almost the first time he's shown himself so much."

Buller frowned over his coffee. Finally, he put it down on the desk. "Mark, do you think we're really justified, keeping this young man prisoner?"

Mark nodded with certainty, "We're justified. I didn't know about Forster before, but now I'll show you something."

It took a while to find the particular piece of film. It showed John unconscious. Forster had looked at him, and spoken about the rape. Quite clearly, John was seen to open his eyes, smile, and then close them again. Mark said, "He was unconscious, ill, and probably doesn't remember. But see this graph tracing along at the bottom of the picture. It shows a pattern that we're convinced indicates those times when he's using, or trying to use his power. Just before he smiles. I think it very likely that John is responsible for Forster's boils."

Buller said after a pause, "Jarred has his faults, but he's in almost constant pain now. I don't think he deserved that."

Mark said nothing, but he thought that Forster had asked for it.

Buller spoke again. "It would have appeared to have been an unequal battle, but it appears that your John Doe won."

Mark sighed. "It's not Forster who's scheduled for a brain operation next Tuesday."

"Next Tuesday?"

Mark nodded. "They're just trying to establish the likely range, but after Tuesday, brainwaves will be monitored, and at the press of a button, we can disable him by rendering him unconscious, and if he becomes uncontrollable, he can be killed. And at a distance of eighty kilometers, maybe more."

Stan Buller said heavily, "Option C. I know."

"We've labeled the device, CUZ, for convenience. Like RAB, it doesn't actually stand for anything, although it misleads anyone prying. But I'm quite convinced that Option C is essential. He's becoming harder and harder to control. Even surrounded by guards, encircled by high fences, often ill, and yet he's come close to escape more than once. And I don't think he yet knows his own full power. It's either this, or simply ensuring that next time he goes down to the head pain, he doesn't wake up."

Buller spoke irritably. "I know, I know. I wouldn't have approved it if I didn't agree the necessity. It's just that seeing him today......."

Mark smiled sadly. "I like him too."

Buller walked to the window, looking over the well tended grounds, the high fences as a backdrop. "The same surgeon?"

"Bartlett will assist, but he says it's very precise brain surgery. We've found someone, though." His face was grim. "He's been deregistered for unethical research, but he's an expert."

That night, John screamed and fought his bedclothes in his panic to escape his nightmare. Nicholas took the lead, acting to soothe him as he shook violently afterward, tears still on his face. Peter set a mug of hot chocolate on the table for him, and after a while, he used both hands to take the soothing drink. They wouldn't let him outside to walk it off, of course, as he wanted, but the unexpected kindness stopped him trying, the next night, to make them both faint at once.

Instead, Sunday afternoon, in low light and drizzling rain, he walked behind a shelf of books in the library, and was not seen again until he was stopped with a warning burst of rifle fire from one of the guards on the fence. He was becoming more desperate, and Isaac and Mark knew that he was having repeated nightmares. They stayed away from him. If they came close, they thought, he'd know.

Monday, he raced as hard as he could, riding Naji, the long reins held very securely by Adam and Ernest, on their horses. The sharpshooters in their jeeps were very alert. All the soldiers knew of the increasingly reckless escape attempts. It was harder to be relaxed with him now, when their orders made it clear that he was liable to try and escape from anywhere, any time.

Monday afternoon, Emilie took him to bed with her in her own room in the soldiers' barracks. The encouragement had come from her own supervisors, on instructions from above. Afterwards, he held her very tight, and quite suddenly, he was sobbing in her arms as she held him close and tried to calm him.

He was very apologetic afterwards, and when she asked why he couldn't just be content with what he had, he caressed her face, and only said that he was a fool. To tell her that he was terrified that they were about to do something to him would only lay an unnecessary burden on her. She thought she was a tough soldier, in spite of her gender. John could never think of a woman as any sort of a soldier.

They were watched, though Emilie didn't know that. They hoped he might fall into a deep sleep, and then he could be drugged as he slept, in Emilie's room. They still preferred him not to start fighting. But he only made love with her a second time, kissed her very tenderly afterward, and went to his cold, bare tree for a while, ignoring the rain. Emilie stared a while from a distance, at the lonely figure surrounded by his guards. There seemed to be more guards all the time.

The operating theatre was prepared for brain surgery. Ward 3 was prepared for the recovering patient. They expected he'd miss Christmas, as the head wound had to be completely healed before he was allowed to wake. He was not to know what they'd done to him. His hair would not be shaved, for the same reason.

Worried by his guessed at powers, they aimed to take him down in the early hours of the morning, when he was most likely to be asleep, although that was by no means certain these days. The surgeons would be ready for him at four in the morning. Nicholas and Peter would not be warned, in case he was alerted by a difference in their behavior, or simply by somehow knowing what they knew. He was a Sensitive.

******
Chapter 22:

It was a little after three in the morning, very early Tuesday, the second of December, not quite two years since he'd been first found in a New York gutter. The zosters vibrated soundlessly in the breast pockets of Nicholas and Peter, both. Their separate messages were identical. John was about to be overpowered and drugged. They were to help.

John's eyes opened even before the door of his room. It was now, and he swung himself out of bed and tried to fight as four men piled onto him. A chloroform pad was held to his face, and another tried to hold his arm still long enough for Price to do the injection. John fought off the cover over his face, and cried desperately to where he knew the camera was, _"Mark! Don't do it to me, Mark!"_

Mark was watching, but only set his jaw and tried not to betray his tension to those others in the large Surveillance Room, those whom John had never met, though he guessed at their existence. The injection was made finally, through the material of sleeping shorts. John still tried to fight, though his face was covered with the pad of Chloroform. His struggles became weaker and finally ceased. The soldiers stepped back, panting.

Captain Prendergast formally commended Peter and Nicholas on an excellent job, and gave them six weeks leave and a caution not to tell anyone anything, except that John was ill again. They saluted and watched their helpless charge wheeled away. "He had tears on his face," commented Peter.

A little later, as they turned into the soldiers' barracks, Nicholas said something else, "Maybe we should have turned our backs - just let him go."

Peter nodded glumly. In the showers in the morning, as the hissing water hopefully made any microphones useless, the information was passed on. John was sick again, but it was because they were doing something to him.

For the next few nights, it was Mark who found he couldn't sleep. The shrieked words came back to him again and again. _Don't do it to me, Mark!_ It was easier for Isaac, as his sheer interest in the procedure, and the subsequent unnaturally fast healing of his patient, kept him enthralled. There was no need for any EEG monitoring this time, as CUZ gave the same information, and a bit more.

The physical wounds were healing very quickly, but John was not supposed to wake for at least another week. It was an hour and a half before dawn. Isaac was called, and then Mark was notified. The patient was fretting, sometimes briefly soothed when the nurse, Nicki, spoke to him, but then starting to mutter and turn his head again, as if irritated. The feeding tube was removed from his nose, and he settled down for a little while.

The Intravenous Drip kept blocking up, and Isaac finally gave up on that one, and made a new opening into the vein. Eyes squinting, frowning, John twisted in the bed, and hit away Isaac's hands, along with the needle. Isaac swore, and jabbed a needle into his upper arm instead, injecting him with as much sedative as he dared. He watched the indications of brain activity on the large screen near the bed. John should have been quite unable to make himself wake.

As soon as he seemed quiet, he fixed restraints. Again, a needle was carefully inserted into a vein, and the Drip connected. A patient couldn't survive prolonged unconsciousness without the support of something like that, even if it contained no more than a solution to combat dehydration. A further advantage was that drugs could be injected straight into the fine tube that ran into his vein, which worked a lot quicker than a jab into an arm or a buttock.

John was quiet again for a time, and Isaac breathed a sigh of relief and joined Mark in the Observation Room.

Nicki checked the drip and looked toward the Observation Room, though it was a blank wall to her eyes. "Isaac? The Drip's blocking again."

Isaac asked Mark, "Do you think he could be doing it?"

Mark looked to the technician next to him, who said, "No indication of any abnormal pattern."

Mark shrugged, going himself with Isaac, and looking at John's face. His eyes were still closed, but there were tears on his face. _Don't do it to me, Mark!_ and he'd done it to him. Mark sighed heavily and returned to the Observation Room. Perhaps one day John would become resigned to his captivity. There was the new agent to take the place of Clare, and he said to Isaac, "Leanne will make him feel better maybe."

"Private Hinch?"

"We let her transfer."

Nicki still tried to persuade the Intravenous Drip to start working.

John raised his arms, found them restrained and screamed in his panic. He was struggling, and the restraints vanished from his arms. The side of the bed fell at his touch, and he came to his feet, looking around, trying to know what was happening. Two guards as well as Price, the male nurse, surrounded him. Nicki spoke in a gentle voice, trying to persuade him to return to bed. He always took more notice of a female voice.

Isaac indicated, and the guards and Price fell back. Isaac was foolish in some ways. He still thought that John should trust him, and now he assured John than everything was all right, that he'd just been sick for a while, and that they were looking after him.

But John looked different, and Isaac shook his head - surely he was not _glowing_. Angels were supposed to glow, but Isaac didn't believe in angels, and in any case, John was no angel. But there was a glow, faint but quite definitely there. He looked different, radiating power as they'd never seen him.

John cast a look around the room. Isaac and the three other men in the room fell. He looked at Nicki. She stayed very still, suddenly terrified. His gaze passed her by. He needed to be away from here. How he hated Ward 3. Observers behind the wall watched, open-mouthed. John vanished in front of their eyes.

Nicki regained her senses first, her training as a nurse taking over. Quickly she checked the fallen men in Ward 3, and looked up. "They're all right, I think, like they just fainted."

At this assurance, Mark also got over his shock, and snapped at the technician. "Where is he? Check the RAB."

The answer came quickly, "At his tree."

The appropriate screen was brought up, and John was seen quite clearly, still naked, in his usual perch in his tree, a leg hooked securely around a branch. The light was not bright, but adequate, from a nearby light pole. There was a camera, right next to him, cunningly hidden. John was not glowing, and Mark thought that he must have been imagining things, to think that the sick man could glow. He said quietly, "Use Option 3. Disable him."

The chief technician picked up a pocket notebook sized device from his desk, pressed in the digits of the password, and pressed a red button. A scream rent the air, and John could be seen as he jerked in the sudden agony.

"I thought it was only supposed to make him faint!" said the technician, Brett. His voice was high pitched. He'd watched John so often, though John had never met him. The scream was suddenly cut off as the camera and the microphone were destroyed by a blow from a fist.

In the tree, John was still racked by pain, but the head pain from his attacks was worse, and he was beginning to be able to think in spite of the pain that still raged. But Mark was thinking, too. If he could disappear from one spot and reappear in another, then John was uncontrollable. He looked again at Brett, and said clearly, "End it. The black button."

Brett said in a pleading tone, "No, don't kill him! What's he done to you?"

Mark held out his hand, "Give it to me."

Slowly, reluctantly, Brett handed over the device. Mark took it, pressed in the numbers, and then firmly pressed in the black button. Graph lines on screens all over the room ceased.

"What'll we do now?" said Brett bitterly. "Pick up the body for dissection, like he always said we would?"

Mark turned to an expressionless soldier, "Find him. He'll probably be at the foot of his tree. Take him to his own room."

And then he turned and left. His voice was a touch shaky. "I'll be in my office."

******

Having destroyed the thing in his head that hurt him, and stopped the RAB straight after, John still sat in his tree, feeling dazed and ill. But the urgency allowed him no time to recover. He had somehow managed to use his magic to escape from Ward 3. He tried to do it again. To go away, it didn't matter where.

After the third attempt, he gave up. Whatever he'd done, it seemed he couldn't do it again. If only he could be a bird.

He could see the flashes of torches coming toward him. There was no time left. John melted his form into that of a hawk, and flew across the fences toward the rising sun.

******
_Chapter 23_ :

It was a while before Mark was convinced that John wasn't to be found. Hadn't he pressed the black button himself, and seen the graph lines cease? He'd done his duty, but when he thought that maybe he really had escaped, he felt a surge of hope. The last thing he wanted was to kill John. And maybe - _should_ the graph lines have ceased? Shouldn't they just have flattened out?

He didn't mention to anyone that he thought he'd seen the man glowing - like an angel maybe. No-one else said anything about that either, fearing to be laughed at. It had all happened so quickly at the end, and each witness put it down to imagination, especially as the camera didn't show it.

He was not the only one who was hoping. The soldiers' resentment had been scarcely hidden. But as they searched, combing the Compound, and then the larger area, walking almost arm in arm, there began to be laughing and joking. There were sidelong, triumphant looks at the commanding officers, as they became convinced that John, in spite of all that could be set against him, had escaped.

Film was scanned again, the area of trees where he was last known to be. The hawk was ignored at first, Mark scarcely even noticing it to begin with. On the fifth viewing, he suddenly thought that he'd never seen a hawk in that area before. Could it be? Impossible! But disappearing was impossible, too. All the same, he didn't admit to anyone else that he thought it possible that John had turned himself into a hawk and flown away.

When a larger search was mounted, with orders to shoot on sight, they teamed a B Force man with each A Force man. A Force couldn't be trusted. John's vivid personality, like the bright, bright, shirts that he wore, seemed to have permeated the whole of Facility 19.

Liaison with the State police was cautious. They couldn't say to these, Shoot on sight, so they said instead that a very dangerous man was loose. That while he could appear harmless, fits of homicidal mania were frequent. No chances could be taken. Stun guns were effective, but Colonel Bedville or General Buller should be advised as quickly as possible if he was sighted or detained.

John was sighted, they thought. Or rather, a thin, naked man was sighted by two women who were walking in thick forest. The women hurried away, but rang the police as soon as they could. Most of A Force and B Force were trucked the seventy kilometers, and started combing the area. Greater manpower was considered, but it would have meant a further compromise of secrecy.

John was collapsed in exhaustion. He'd flown on and on, in spite of fatigue and pain, calling on his last reserves of energy in order to get away, far away. The RAB in his arm was small, but far too large to be in the wing of a hawk flying long distances. There was an enormous black bruise on his right upper arm.

Claude from B Force was teamed with Jimmy, from A Force. The two soldiers quite suddenly spotted him, just ten feet away. He was still naked, lying on his back under a tree, legs bent as he'd collapsed. His face was turned toward them, his eyes closed. Claude aimed his rifle, the orders were to shoot on sight. Jimmy moaned, "No."

John opened his eyes, and looked at the two. He didn't move. Claude dipped the barrel of his rifle, and when he heard a shouted query, called back, "Nothing here."

Jimmy breathed a deep sigh of relief, and they moved off, rejoining the strung out line of searchers. John tried to move, but it seemed he was just too tired. He made a hole instead, with his magic, and hid himself before closing his eyes again. Searchers came close a few more times as they combed the area, but no others saw him. Claude and Jimmy didn't speak of it, even to each other, but later, off duty, Jimmy bought Claude a very large beer. Sometimes, soldiers do think for themselves.

Two days later, there was another report. It seemed that a funny man with funny clothes, had been in the grounds of a primary school, and several children had given him some of their lunches. He'd run away from home, he told them, and was very hungry.

There was nothing further.

The End.
