the gift page 2

‘What exactly is wrong,’ he asked, ‘in your terms,’ he quickly amended. 

As with many of our species this child showed symptoms of early onset spaceotemporal manipulation, which then lead to occasional ambient psychic events.  These events were initially minute. 

‘But…’ 

But…the events soon become significantly more elaborate than anything we had ever seen.  Soon the child was manipulating small objects, then larger ones, and then those attending him reported instances of confusion and disorientation. 

I see where this is going,’ said the Doctor, deep in contemplation.  The Doctor’s welcome had been more confrontational than he had expected, and that, he expected, was not so much out of anger, but fear.  A child’s fear. The guard’s had fallen like toy soldiers, implying that the power over them was not perfect, nor completely controllable.  The fact that after control was relinquished the people knew what had, and was happening, meant that this power was over the physical form only, not the mind.  ‘Has the child responded to any treatment?’ 

No, came the Regent’s somber reply. 

‘And the events have become increasingly violent.’ 

Indeed.  Our continent is in a state of chaos.  At first it was just isolated groups attacking neighbours, but recently the entire population of this continent has started attacking other continents, and there have even been reports of individuals on these other continents with the same symptoms we had here when this first began. 

The Doctor was fiddling with the psychokinetic scanner attached to the child when he snapped up to attention and looked the Regent direction in his eyes.  ‘It’s going global?’  The Leader’s lack of response was an answer all the same.  ‘The child’s power is growing exponentially.’ he mumbled.  ‘Has the duration of the episodes been growing longer or shorter?’ 

Shorter, but just barely. 

The effects of the child’s power was growing, but at a cost to duration, which generally, in the Doctor’s experience, meant that the output of power was draining the child’s energy, or, it could be the case that the boy was running out of energy and the power output was going critical due to the stress, much like a star at the end of its life.  This child was in the process of going nova! 

‘This condition, if it were a normal occurrence, what would be the usual prognoses?’ 

Eventual death for all who become afflicted, although adults live longer on average, ten to twenty years in some cases.  Adults have built up enough mental strength to compensate for the disease’s effects, at least partially.  Children rarely survive for long, perhaps one year, two at most. 

‘And how long since the diagnoses?’ 

The Doctor dreaded long pauses before answers. 

Nearly five years. 

The Doctor sprang into action.  He raced around the small room checking, and rechecking every reading, every display.   ‘Is the boy ever conscious?’  The answer was no.  ‘I have to speak with the boy,’ he yelled.  The Regent’s response was that it was impossible.  ‘Even with your telepathy?’  Again, the answer was no.  ‘Then I have no choice. Do you have a neurological bridge handy?’  The Regent affirmed there was.  ‘Good, bring it here immediately.  We have no time to lose!’ 

Doctor, I must insist.  Your cerebral cortex is not compatible even with a healthy Clyreonite, let alone one in such a condition.  I must insist— 

‘My cerebral cortex is brilliant!’ 

The Regent didn’t respond. 

‘You called me here for my help, did you not?  Then let me help.  This is all I can think of that might give us any answers.  I have to try!’ 

The Regent hurriedly left the room to bring back the neuron-bridge, or so the Doctor hoped. It was his only chance, and a very slim one at that.  There might be some way to stop the events if he could reach the boy’s consciousness directly, although nothing was certain.  He was dealing with a child, not an adult.  He had no other choice.  The boy was going critical. If he wasn’t stopped now there was no telling how far these vents could go.  If the boy was surviving so much longer than usual, there was no telling just how long he would last, and by then, the situation could encompass the whole planet, or even farther. 

The Doctor looked around the room.  Everything was in place.  There was nothing he could do but wait for the Regent to return, leaving him to listen to sounds of the equipment surrounding him.  It was now unavoidable; the Doctor’s gaze fell directly onto the child in the bed.  He had avoided looking at the child until now because he just didn’t have the stomach for the suffering of innocents, let alone the suffering of children. 

‘I’ll try my best, I promise.’ 

The boy stirred in his bed.  The Doctor leaned closer. 

I have brought the neurological bridge as requested, came the Regent’s voice, visibly startling the Doctor.  But I must reiterate my objections to— 

Bring it here.  Now!’ 

The Regent obliged.

The neurological bridge was shaped like a helmet from a more barbaric time.  (Any planet, any species, it didn’t matter, as every species seems to have had a more barbaric time.)  It was covered with concentric rows of cylindrical crystals, each with a bundle of filaments branching out from the top and connecting to other crystals in an incredibly complex network.  Two braids of fibres came down from panels over the cheeks, bending up over the shoulders before attaching to another panel positioned over the brainstem.  The device was self-adjusting, and reshaped itself to fit the Doctors head snugly.

‘Alright,’ said the Doctor, a streak of adventure glimmering beneath his uncertain eyes, ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained, wouldn’t you say?’ 

The Doctor reached behind his head and flipped the switch at the base of the helmet.  White-hot pain bleached the clarity from the Doctor’s vision and soon the whole world around him bled away.  Everything he could see or sense was a mentally projected interpretation of his consciousness.  At first the sensation was terrifying; it felt as though every bond holding every molecule of his body together suddenly let go at once.  He struggled to keep mental cohesion, as it was critical to maintain some sense of personal boundaries and self throughout the process.  He could see the electro-chemical pathways between the neurons in his brain, and he could detect the delicate, imperceptible entanglement that linked every atom in his body to the entire universe.  It was almost impossible to navigate.  He only had the pinging memory of himself as a centre point, but slowly he managed to reach out and detect the other beings around him; first the Regent, and then the child.

The Doctor called out to the child.  ‘I’m the Doctor.  I’m here to help.  Can you answer me?’ A sharp spike in emotions travelled through every pathway in the Doctor’s mind; fear, anger, confusion, hope, loneliness, and dismay all hit at once, nearly forcing the Doctor to lose cohesion.  But he held on, and asked again, ‘Can you answer me?’

Help me,’ came a ghostly reply. 

‘Do you know what is happening to you?'

I’m afraid, please help me!’ 

I want to, but I don’t know how.  Please, you have to fight it.  You must try to think pleasant thoughts.  You must never play soldiers again, do you understand?’

It hurts. I’m afraid. I’m alone. Please help me!’ 

I’m sorry, I can’t help.  Your condition, it is only going to get worse.  But I beg you; you must think only positive thoughts!’ The words—or, more aptly, thoughts—rang hollow even in the Doctor’s hearts.  How could he ask any sick child not to feel afraid and confused and angry and alone?  ‘You asked for a gift when I arrived.  What can I get you?’  He knew this child’s condition was terminal and that there was no way to ease his suffering.  If the boy wanted anything at all the Doctor would try his hardest to get it for him.

The child’s message was unclear.  Words failed to coalesce in the Doctor's mind, but pure emotion took their place; hope, pleading, desire, love, and compassion all painted the fragmented word the Doctor was navigating a bright, almost optimistic hue. 

End it!’ 

The Doctor burned with compassion.  ‘I told you, there is no hope.  I’m sorry, but I can’t—

Kill me!’ 

The Doctor didn’t know how to respond—couldn’t respond!  Such desire should never be held by a child.  Even in this state of hyper-consciousness the Doctor felt his hearts sink.  And then, suddenly, he could sense the boy’s consciousness slipping away.
‘No, don’t go.  You mustn’t—‘ 

Pain bled through the Doctor’s perceptions, blurring the effects of the neuron-bridge and ripping him from its embrace.  Blinded, the Doctor ripped the helmet from his head and was staring up at the Regent, who was standing over him holding a tall piece of medical equipment in both hands like a spear.

‘No, stay back!’  But the Doctor knew his plea was futile.  While under the boy’s control there was no way to reason with those he was controlling.  The Doctor spun like a log as the Regent slammed the equipment into the floor.  The Doctor jumped up and rounded the bed so that the child was in between himself and the Regent.  The Regent circled to his right around the corner of the bed, and the Doctor mirrored him by moving to his own right.  This went on for a short while, back to the left, then the right, and so on, until the Doctor was no longer amused, ‘Enough!’  He revealed to the Regent a hypo he had taken off a tray during one of the turns of their dance.  ‘Stop right now or I’ll put your physical body into critical just to stop you.’  He was talking at the Regent, but to the boy.  ‘I don’t want to do it, but I will!’ 

The Regent raised his makeshift weapon over his head, and charged.   The Doctor hesitated for only a nanosecond before placing the hypo up to the child’s neck and releasing the medicine.  Innumerable rings and buzzers and beeps and whines and whistles began sounding all at once.  Simultaneously, the Regent collapsed, and a wet snap followed as his weapon slammed into one of his forearms.  Quickly, the Doctor set about re-stabilizing the child with other prepared medicines lying around, and soon the boy was stable, or, as stable as he could be considered.

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