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MEGAN LEARNED A GREAT deal during their extended debrief. There was very little she could add to the discussion, even if she wanted to.
Her inability to communicate was an increasing source of exasperation. When she was questioned, she answered as best as she could.
The three Hoarders they’d met—did she know who they were? Did she have any recollection of the one called Connor, who appeared to recognize her?
Megan shook her head in response. No words were needed to augment her simple gesture, so she bottled her frustration and kept her mouth shut.
And listened.
Now, seated on the gurney—once her prison—she watched as Mateo poked and prodded at the deactivated Implant on Doc’s workbench. The same Implant she’d stolen in hopes of currying favor with the Givers, later returning it after a partial re-awakening of her human side.
“A remarkable piece of reverse engineering.” Mateo held the Implant up between them, admiring it. Megan had no reaction. “Whatever else one might think of the Councilor, his ability to use the Givers’ technology against them is extraordinary.”
“Tracker kill,” Megan said, her words clear enough. She clenched her hands into fists, twisting handfuls of the blanket between her fingers.
The animals on the hillside, near Amos’s cave—they died after feeding on the dead Tracker’s body.
She managed to force her uncooperative lips to form the words. “Animals. In the blood. Now dead.”
Mateo leaned against the workbench, setting the Implant down with care. He crossed his arms over his chest as he studied her. “I concur. The creatures were incapable of assimilating what our blood carries. It was too much for them.”
“What was too much?”
Megan hadn’t heard Garr and Doc approaching until the door swung open. The Colonel’s question hung in the air between them. Doc crossed to her workbench, casting a protective look over her instruments.
Mateo obliged her unspoken hint, stepping a respectful distance away. “Have you observed the unique properties of Tracker-enhanced blood, Doctor Simon?”
Megan saw the instant recognition on Doc’s face. Before she could answer, Megan made a guttural noise, a prelude to actual speech.
“Not for animals.” She choked the words out, resentment blossoming anew.
How can I explain myself when I can only grunt like a cavewoman? Frustrated, she gestured to Mateo, pantomiming her desire to write. Doc must have pencil and paper around here somewhere.
Mateo caught her meaning, and explained on her behalf. “Megan deduced a new aspect of the Givers’ enhancements. Simply put, they’re part of the larger process of becoming a Tracker. The wildlife we found near Amos’s hiding place died because they were unable to assimilate the enhanced blood. The results were, I’m afraid, rather grotesque.”
“What’s that got to do with your asking me to bring Doc here?” Garr interrupted, standing just inside the door. “This is all very interesting, Mateo, but if you’ve got something more practical, I’d like to hear it.”
Mateo lifted his chin. “My apologies, Colonel, but I assure you—my brief explanation for the scavenger casualties is very much connected to my request.”
Doc scooped up the Implant, using it as a pointer.
“Connected to this, in some way?” she asked, watching him closely. “A moment ago, you seemed quite interested in it.”
“All Giver technology is connected, Doctor,” Mateo replied without hesitation. “Darcy’s invention of the Implants, however distasteful we may find it, is just an extrapolation of existing Giver technology. Crude when compared with the originals, but effective.”
He eyed the Colonel as the latter approached the gurney. “Allow me to answer your earlier query. The freakish demise of the scavengers got me thinking. And I realized there’s an element Implants and a Tracker’s enhancements have in common. Specifically, the delivery system.”
“You mean blood.” Doc looked from the Implant in her hand to Megan, and back again. Her eyes widened, and she stared at Mateo. “What are you suggesting?”
Unperturbed, Mateo straightened, stepping away from the workbench. “You said it yourself, Doctor Simon. Much of the physical damage to Megan’s body has been repaired by her enhancements, but in sporadic—I think your phrase was ‘fits and starts.’ Megan would not have survived otherwise.”
He crossed the limited space to stand beside his fellow Tracker. “I’m proposing a simple experiment. Transfer some of my enhanced blood to Megan. Perhaps we can stimulate her enhancements to function as they were intended.”
Megan felt a stab of apprehension as the implications of his proposal sank in. The Givers had violated her with their technology. Now that she was free of them, she was reluctant to take any unnecessary risks. At the very least, I’d like some time to think about it.
She saw the resolve in Mateo’s eyes and knew he had no intention of waiting. She shivered, lowering her gaze to the scuffed floor.
Gar rubbed his jaw, frowning. “What if kick-starting her enhancements back-fires? Megan’s free of the Givers’ control for the first time in who-knows-how-long. Why risk that, based on just your hunch?”
Megan gasped, her eyes widening as a single snippet of memory resurfaced. “Five years . . .”
Mateo remained impassive. “Darcy and Connor may have recognized her, but she has no memory of them. We’ve focused on Connor, since he spoke her name. But there’s little doubt: Darcy knows who Megan is. Understanding that may give us a tactical advantage. We would be foolish to ignore it.”
Doc bristled with indignation.
“Megan’s not a tactical advantage.” Her fist tightened on the Implant. “She’s a part of this Hub, part of our family.”
Megan placed a hand on Doc’s shoulder, interrupting her tirade. She addressed Mateo with a plaintive look.
“My. Talk?” The words emerged in a jerky fashion.
Mateo studied her for a moment, his expression evasive. “I can’t promise that. As I indicated, it’s an experiment. But one I feel is worth the attempt.”
Doc stepped between them, her back to Mateo. She took Megan’s hands in her own.
“Are you sure you want this?” Doc spaced the words out as if she thought Megan was slow-witted. Megan felt a flash of resentment, but then relaxed.
No, Doc just wants to make sure I understand. But if there’s even a chance of regaining my speech, or my memory . . .
Garr intervened, addressing Mateo. “Is there any danger of the Givers taking control again?”
Mateo shook his head. “The technological center for the Givers’ control is located directly behind a Tracker’s scanning eye. Young Aubrey’s impetuous use of her prod—admittedly in self-defense—rendered Megan’s mental processors useless and irreparable. You need have no concern.”
He angled his neck to the right, pointing to a spot just under his left collarbone, near the shoulder joint. “There are numerous places where the enhancements can be accessed, Doctor Simon. This area will suffice.”
Doc produced a standard hypodermic needle, withdrawing a full syringe of Mateo’s blood from the area he indicated. “Would I be right in assuming I should inject Megan in the same spot?”
Megan tugged at her shirt collar, exposing her shoulder in anticipation of his reply.
Mateo held out a hand. “Not necessary. Any blood vessel in her arm will do.”
Megan shoved her left sleeve up, as high as the sturdy fabric would allow. Doc swabbed the area with disinfectant. She hesitated, lips pursed, before injecting the needle into a vein at Megan’s elbow.
Megan held her breath as Doc depressed the plunger and the dark liquid disappeared into her vein. She met Doc’s gaze, wondering how long she’d have to wait.
The reaction hit hard, and fast. A burning sensation raced up her arm, like a cascading wave of acidic insects.
Megan gasped out loud, lurching forward, clinging with desperate fists to the edge of the gurney. The insects encircled her ribcage, racing through her torso, spreading fire and agony in their wake. Up her spinal column, into her neck, and then . . .
Megan threw her head back, screaming as they invaded her skull. It was as if scalding needles pierced her brain, over and over. She sucked in desperate gulps of air, and as her eyesight cleared, she saw Mateo’s impassive face.
He stood at the foot of the gurney, observing. Garr and Doc Simon flanked him on either side, trepidation etched on their faces.
Doc reached one hand toward her, looking stricken.
A second spike of pain lanced through her head, finding its epicenter behind her ruined scanning eye. The room spun out of control, and she lost her balance, collapsing backward on the gurney. She writhed in agony, unable to escape.
“What did you do to her?” Doc’s outcry was muffled, barely penetrating Megan’s thoughts, as if she were submerged in a viscous liquid.
A dark hole gaped below her, sucking her down. Megan’s strength failed, and the vortex claimed her.