Sleeping Player (Project Chrysalis Book 3) by John Gold (highly illogical behavior .txt) 📗

had said a week before. He could describe every detail of a fight that had taken place a month prior. The key to unlocking those images were emotional sparks, tactile associations, sounds, really everything. When the boy stopped talking, I was the one who sent him to see other psychologists.”

Eliza grinned.

“What’s so funny? This is usually where people either praise or feel sorry for the patient, or at least criticize me for failing at my job as a psychologist.”

“When Anji was thirteen, he could have gotten his basic diploma and professional certificates, but he deliberately refused. Why didn’t you write anything about eidetism in his file?”

The old lady frowned at the unpleasant question.

“The study wasn’t official, and even the superior ArtIn wouldn’t give you all the information about that period. I’m only telling you this because the boy died. We tried a number of different experiments with problem children from different orphanages to see what would stimulate their brains, but Anji Ganet neither had a photographic memory nor developed one after the experiments. The results let us look at the development potential of each child, their raw abilities, and recommended growth paths. We were able to develop a method for identifying strengths—the areas they could have success in as future specialists. During the tests, the boy did not demonstrate a high intellectual level. He just read quietly or sat there thinking, doing nothing to manifest himself as part of the group, though he was willing to mix it up when the other kids got on his nerves. Nothing about the group or its interests mattered to him. Early development tests pointed to high-functioning autism, though we didn’t pay much attention to that since it’s something thirty percent of adult humans have had since the digital age. Just like the other kids in the experiments, he had a hard time fitting in at his orphanage, both before and after. I know about his work at the space port, and also about the bleeding and his hospitalization. Believe me, our experiments had nothing to do with any of it. The children were all under the supervision of the station’s superior ArtIn, and there were no deviations noted. His academic success is unrelated to the work we did.”

“What was the point of the experiment? Why did you use the kids like that?”

“We wanted to identify potential before the formation of the personal identity. We were able to develop a way of identifying potential, sort of a way to see if a child is a genius.”

“Did Anji fit into that category?”

“No. He wasn’t a genius, and he wasn’t even that smart. He was just one of the kids at his orphanage, like any other. Twenty-six different medications found nothing, and then they were completely filtered out of his body. There were no structural deviations in his body or the way his brain worked, and his psyche was untouched. The only side effect was the boy’s accelerated maturation. The only one!”

“In that case, how do you explain his academic success?”

“Miss Donovan, again, our experiment enabled us to look at potential; it didn’t do anything to change existing intellectual ability. Whatever the reason is, it has nothing to do with what we did.”

Moro, the ArtIn, recorded the whole conversation on a secure disc in Eliza’s purse.

***

I thought I’d already been through Hell, but I was wrong. Hell isn’t where you suffer endlessly, where devils boil you alive or torture you with hot rods, where the souls of sinners are tormented with cold, hunger, fire, and parasites. My entire life has been one long string of suffering interrupted by short flashes of light in the darkness. There was the nursery with the bigoted nanny, the orphanage with the mean kids and the supervisor padding his modest pension. My work at the space port in Galboa’s brigade, my games with Finx, and the talks we had were bits of happiness set against a backdrop of constant fighting at the orphanage. Then, there was the moment of joy with my family, my caring mother and my strong father. That was followed by Hell, and constant pain for a year and a half. And for what? Just to find out that my friends betrayed me, and my parents were hurt because I couldn’t help them? Just to find out how weak and insignificant I am? Again, there was pain: two and a half months of wild impotence and hope placed in another person, a weak girl. However brave and intelligent Femida may be, she’s still just a woman.

But then again, there was happiness—my family was whole and healthy. They were able to find a corner of the world, and they always believed that I would find them. I gained a little sister, a wonderful miracle of life. The feeling you get when you have someone new to love and a life you’re responsible for is indescribable. There was mama, father, little Rosie…and pain again.

My past stabbed me in the back, as if I hadn’t been through enough. How could anyone even think of killing my parents? Why? I don’t understand people. Why would anyone kill someone who’s done nothing to them? Why kill someone who forgave you? It all just hurts so much. Then, LJ was born. He’s like an animal who just lives his life and searches for love. His faith in people, openness, and kindness is unlimited, not to mention his appreciation for any good deed done to him. He loves people regardless of the pain we’ve been through. When your heart hurts, feel your way through the pain and keep going. You can’t bury it deep in your soul, otherwise it will end up eating you alive.

LJ loves people and believes there’s a reason for everything they do. He says nothing, just senses the relationships he has with people and their actions. As long as there’s one person you care