Playing Favorites:
X5-452's nighttime wanderings brought her to the infirmary one night. On a normal night, that wouldn't have been a problem, except this time two X3s were there, sick. They had just returned from a mission -- and had brought back a virus. X5-452 promptly fell ill with the fever.
I decided to pay her a visit on her second night in the infirmary. However, before I could enter, I saw Lydecker. I was surprised to see him there, but I knew better than to intrude. I couldn't help but hear a little bit.
"I shouldn't be here, Max, should never show favoritism..." he sounded tired, "...I wish there was a way to keep you away from what they do to you kids, but there's only one way, and I can't do that. Besides, they're making tremendous progress with the research on you kids." He mumbled out the last sentence.
Max didn't seem to comprehend him -- she looked at him as if barely aware, or half asleep. She still looked pretty sick. For some very odd reason, an image popped into my head: Max as a 20-year-old in the same situation. She would say something like "Is this some new form of torture? Lock people up and babble at them?" I almost laughed. But the real, barely 8-year-old Max wouldn't dare talk back like that, and was very sick. I left the two of them alone. Lydecker stayed with her all that night and part of the next. She re-joined her group at the end of the week.
X5-452's nighttime wanderings brought her to the infirmary one night. On a normal night, that wouldn't have been a problem, except this time two X3s were there, sick. They had just returned from a mission -- and had brought back a virus. X5-452 promptly fell ill with the fever.
I decided to pay her a visit on her second night in the infirmary. However, before I could enter, I saw Lydecker. I was surprised to see him there, but I knew better than to intrude. I couldn't help but hear a little bit.
"I shouldn't be here, Max, should never show favoritism..." he sounded tired, "...I wish there was a way to keep you away from what they do to you kids, but there's only one way, and I can't do that. Besides, they're making tremendous progress with the research on you kids." He mumbled out the last sentence.
Max didn't seem to comprehend him -- she looked at him as if barely aware, or half asleep. She still looked pretty sick. For some very odd reason, an image popped into my head: Max as a 20-year-old in the same situation. She would say something like "Is this some new form of torture? Lock people up and babble at them?" I almost laughed. But the real, barely 8-year-old Max wouldn't dare talk back like that, and was very sick. I left the two of them alone. Lydecker stayed with her all that night and part of the next. She re-joined her group at the end of the week.