dk.solesurvivor-第71部分

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　intimate　perspective；　he　seems　to　be　virtually　in　the　middle　of　the　cinematic　experience。　Fourth；　he　can　receive　mood…elevating　drugs　that　make　him　as　happy；　in　some　ways；　as　any　boy　in　the　world。　Fifth；　and　best　of　all；　he　is　sometimes　allowed　to　go　remote　viewing　in　places　that　he　would　like　to　experience；　and　during　these　glorious　expeditions；　guided　by　his　own　interests；　he　knows　freedom…or　as　much　of　it　as　he　can　imagine。
　　Routinely；　no　fewer　than　three　staff　monitor　the　containment　vessel　and　its　occupant；　because　89…58　can　control　only　one　mind　at　a　time。　If　any　of　the　three　were　to　turn　suddenly　violent　or　exhibit　any　unusual　behaviour；　either　of　the　other　two　could；　with　the　flip　of　a　switch；　administer　sufficient　sedatives　through　the　intravenous　feeds　to　drop　89…58　into　a　virtually　instant；　deep；　and　powerless　sleep。　In　the　unlikely　event　that　this　should　fail；　a　doomsday　button　follows　the　sedative　with　a　lethal　dose　of　nerve　toxin　that　kills　in　three　to　five　seconds。
　　The　three　guards　on　the　other　side　of　the　observation　window　have　similar　buttons　available　for　use　at　their　discretion。
　　SSW…89…58　is　not　able　to　read　minds。　He　is　not　a　telepath。　He　can　only　repress　the　personality　of　the　person　he　inhabits　and　take　control　of　the　physical　plant。　There　is　disagreement　among　the　staff　of　Project　99　as　to　whether　89…58's　lack　of　telepathic　ability　is　a　disappointment　or　a　blessing。
　　Furthermore；　when　sent　on　a　wet　mission；　he　must　know　where　his　target　is　located　before　being　able　to　invade　its　mind。　He　cannot　search　at　will　across　the　populations　of　the　world　but　must　be　guided　by　his　handlers　who　first　locate　his　prey。　Once　shown　an　image　of　the　building　or　vehicle　in　which　the　target　can　be　found…and　when　that　place　is　geographically　sited　in　his　mind…he　can　act。
　　Thus　far；　he　is　also　limited　to　the　walls　of　that　structure　and　cannot　effectively　pursue　a　wanted　mind　beyond　the　boundaries　that　are　initially　established。　No　one　knows　why　this　limitation　should　exist；　though　theories　abound。　Perhaps　it　is　because　the　invisible　psychic　self；　being　only　a　wave　energy　of　some　type；　responds　to　open　spaces　in　much　the　manner　of　heat　contained　in　a　hot　stone　placed　in　a　cold　room：　It　radiates　outward；　dissipating；　dispersing　itself；　and　cannot　be　conserved　in　a　coherent　form。　He　is　able　to　practice　remote　viewing　of　outdoor　locations…but　only　for　short　periods　of　time。　This　shorting　frustrates　89…58　handlers；　but　they　believe　and　hope　that　his　abilities　in　this　regard　may　improve　with　time。
　　If　you　can　bear　to　watch；　the　containment　vessel　is　opened　twice　each　week　to　allow　the　handlers　to　clean　their　asset。　He　is　without　fail　deeply　sedated　for　this　procedure…and　remains　connected　to　the　doomsday　button。　He　is　given　a　thorough　sponge　bath；　irritations　of　the　skin　are　treated；　the　minimal　solid　waste　that　he　produces　is　evacuated　from　the　bowel；　teeth　are　cleaned；　eyes　are　examined　for　infection　and　then　are　flushed　with　antibiotic；　and　other　maintenance　is　performed。　Although　89…58　receives　daily　low…voltage　electrical　stimulation　of　his　muscles　to　ensure　a　minimal　life…sustaining　mass；　he　resembles　one　of　the　starving　children　of　any　third…world　country　racked　by　drought　and　evil　politics。　He　is　as　pale　as　any　job　on　a　mortician's　table；　withered；　with　elfin　bones　grown　thin　from　lack　of　use；　and　when　unconsciously　he　curls　his　feeble　fingers　around　the　hands　of　ministering　attendants；　his　grip　is　no　stronger　than　that　of　a　cradled　newborn　baby　struggling　to　hold　fast　to　its　mother's　thumb。
　　Sometimes；　in　this　profound　sedation；　he　murmurs　wordlessly　but　forlornly；　mewls；　and　even　weeps；　as　if　adrift　in　a　soft　sad　dream。
　　
　　At　the　Shell　station；　only　three　vehicles　were　at　the　self…service　pumps。　Tending　to　their　cars；　the　motorists　squinted　and　ducked　their　heads　to　keep　wind…blown　grit　out　of　their　eyes。
　　The　lighting　was　as　bright　as　that　on　a　movie　set；　and　though　Joe　and　Rose　were　not　being　sought　by　the　type　of　police　agency　that　would　distribute　their　photographs　to　local　television　news　programs；　Joe　preferred　to　stay　out　of　the　glare。　He　parked　along　the　side　of　the　building；　near　the　restrooms；　where　huddled　shadows　survived。
　　Joe　was　in　emotional　turmoil；　felt　slashed　across　the　heart；　because　now　he　knew　the　exact　cause　of　the　catastrophic　crash；　knew　the　murderer's　identity　and　the　twisted　details。　The　knowledge　was　like　a　scalpel　that　pared　off　what　thin　scabs　had　formed　over　his　pain。　His　grief　felt　fresh；　the　loss　more　recent　than　it　really　was。
　　He　switched　off　the　engine　and　sat　speechless。
　　'I　don't　understand　how　the　hell　they　found　out　I　was　on　that　flight；'　Rose　said。　'I'd　taken　such　precautions。　。　。　But　I　knew　when　he　remote…viewed　the　passenger　cabin；　looking　for　us；　because　there　was　an　odd　dimming　of　lights；　a　problem　with　my　wristwatch；　a　vague　sense　of　a　presence…signs　I'd　learned　to　read。'
　　'I've　met　a　National　Transportation　Safety　Board　investigator　who's　heard　the　tape　from　the　cockpit　voice　recorder；　before　it　was　destroyed　in　a　convenient　sound…lab　fire。　This　boy　was　inside　the　captain's　head；　Rose。　I　don't　understand　。　。　。　Why　didn't　he　take　out　just　you？'
　　'He　had　to　get　us　both；　that　was　his　assignment；　me　and　the　girl…and　while　he　could've　nailed　me　without　any　problem；　it　wouldn't　have　been　easy　with　her。'
　　Utterly　baffled；　Joe　said；　'Nina？　Why　would　they　have　been　interested　in　her　even　then？　She　was　just　another　passenger；　wasn't　she？　I　thought　they　were　after　her　later　because。　。　。　well；　because　she　survived　with　you。'
　　Rose　would　not　meet　his　eyes。　'Get　me　the　key　to　the　women's　restroom；　Joe。　Will　you；　please？　Let　me　have　a　minute　here。　I'll　tell　you　the　rest　of　it　on　the　way　to　Big　Bear。'
　　He　went　into　the　sales　room　and　got　the　key　from　the　cashier。　By　the　time　he　returned　to　the　Ford；　Rose　had　gotten　out。　She　was　leaning　against　a　front　fender；　back　turned　and　shoulders　hunched　to　the　whistling　Santa　Ana　wind。　Her　left　arm　was　curled　against　her　breast；　and　her　hand　was　still　shaking。　With　her　right　hand；　she　pulled　the　lapels　of　her　blazer　together；　as　though　the　warm　August　wind　felt　cold　to　her。
　　'Would　you　unlock　the　door　for　me？'　she　asked。
　　He　went　to　the　women's　room。　By　the　time　that　he　unlocked　the　door　and　switched　on　the　light；　Rose　had　arrived　at　his　side。
　　'I'll　be　quick；'　she　promised；　and　slipped　past　him。
　　He　had　a　glimpse　of　her　face　in　that　brightness；　just　before　the　door　fell　shut。　She　didn't　look　good。
　　Instead　of　returning　to　the　car；　Joe　leaned　against　the　wall　of　the　building；　beside　the　lavatory　door；　to　wait　for　her。
　　According　to　nurses　in　asylums　and　psychiatric　wards；　a　greater　number　of　their　most　disturbed　patients　responded　to　the　Santa　Ana　winds　than　ever　reacted　to　the　sight　of　a　full　moon　beyond　a　barred　window。　It　wasn't　simply　the　baleful　sound；　like　the　cries　of　an　unearthly　hunter　and　the　unearthly　beasts　that　it　pursued；　hut　also　the　subliminal　alkaline　scent　of　the　desert　and　a　queer　electrical　charge　different　from　those　that　other…less　dry…winds　imparted　to　the　air。
　　Joe　could　understand　why　Rose　might　have　pulled　her　blazer　shut　and　huddled　into　it。　This　night　had　both　the　moon　and　the　Santa　Ana　wind　to　spark　a　voodoo　current　in　the　spine…and　a　parentless　boy　without　a　name；　who　lived　in　a　coffin　of　steel　and　moved　invisible　through　a　world　of　potential　victims　oblivious　to　him。
　　Are　we　recording？
　　The　boy　had　known　about　the　cockpit　voice　recorder…and　he'd　left　a　cry　for　help　on　it。
　　One　of　their　names　is　Dr。　Louis　Blom。　One　of　their　names　is　Dr。　Keith　Ramlock。　They're　doing　bad　things　to　me。　They're　mean　to　me。　Make　them　stop。　Make　them　stop　hurting　me。
　　Whatever　else　he　was…sociopathic　psychotic　homicidal…he　was　also　a　child。　A　beast；　an　abomination；　a　terror；　but　also　a　child。　He　had　not　asked　to　be　born；　and　if　he　was　evil；　they　had　made　him　so　by　failing　to　teach　him　any　human　values；　by　treating　him　as　mere　ordnance；　by　rewarding　him　for　murder。　Beast　he　was；　but　a　pitiable　beast；　lost　and　alone；　wandering　in　a　maze　of　misery。
　　Pitiable　but　formidable。　And　still　out　there。　Waiting　to　be　told　where　he　could　find　R