Chapter 15- Guinea Pig
It was a little chilly in the cargo bay, but Peter tried to keep his focus on the task at hand and ignore the stony glare emanating from Sylar, which was not an easy task. He did feel a little guilty in being so harsh in the sickbay, but in all fairness Sylar didn't know when to shut up even after he had been warned. People often mistook Peter for being a milquetoast because he so often chose to look the other way and not retaliate, but even he had limits and he wouldn't hesitate to mess up your day if you had crossed him. It was just such a rare event that it was like witnessing Haley's comet.
The truth was he was upset because as usual Sylar had found his weak spot. Angela was no doubt the most manipulative, despicable, cunning, cold blooded person Peter had known outside of Sylar, but she was still his mother. Call it a habitual flaw because although he knew the things that Sylar said about her were absolutely true, he could still see some good in her as a human being even if no one else could. The same was true of Nathan and even of Sylar himself. Even though most times all he could see was a heartless assassin, sometimes he could see the watchmaker in small glimpses and subtle changes in posture or facial expressions. It was for this reason he was hesitant to destroy him at Kirby Plaza and he hoped to whatever deity existed that he wouldn't have to this time either. He knew Sylar could be a better man, he could see it just under the surface. He chose to believe in redemption and second chances.
McCoy placed what looked like a tin can on a shelf and instructed Sylar to go first. "Seriously?" He asked looking insulted from the can to the doctor. "I once flipped an armored police truck and you are wasting my time with this?"
"Well, if you can't do it…" McCoy shrugged lightly taunting him. Sylar clenched his jaw and sent the can flying to the other side of the bay with a flick of his finger. It was official: he now hated the doctor more than Suresh.
He and Peter took turns making one object after another float until they had both successfully made a shuttle craft hover. "How are you feeling?" McCoy asked in general but directed more toward Peter. "Any fatigue, weakness, nausea…anything?"
"No." Peter answered with a smile. "Just a little cold."
"Then may we proceed to the next experiment?" Spock asked dispassionately. He went into a small control room and pushed some buttons until the far wall of the bay slid open to reveal the darkness of space shielded by a shimmering blue wall. Peter looked on in awe, but Sylar quickly figured the phenomenon out so the thrill was fleeting for him. Still it was ingenious; plasma shields to maintain the balance of positive and negative pressures. Spock returned and instructed, "This shield is sufficient to withstand a direct blast from enemy photon torpedoes, so it is logical that it will also successfully absorb the wattage of electricity that you can project. I see no reason for scaled trials. Perhaps we can gather all of the data necessary if you use as much force as possible."
"But won't that break it and suck us out into space?" Peter asked eyeing the wall apprehensively. He just couldn't trust something so….otherworldly.
"Dumbass." Sylar muttered under his breath. "Plasma is a stable superheated gas which is highly conductive. When we shoot it with electricity it will do nothing but charge the particles and make it even stronger because of the change in the electromagnetic field." When Peter looked suspiciously at him he sighed and continued, "Do you really think these two would stand out here with us if they thought there was even a chance of catastrophic failure? You and I could survive being shot out into space, but they can't!"
"His logic is correct, Peter." Spock reassured. "We would not ask you to perform an act that would place you or this crew in danger."
He was still unsure, but he concentrated hard and threw a stream of blue energy at the wall which to his amusement almost seemed to reach out and mingle with the projected power like those balls of static energy that move with your fingers when you touch it. When he was finished, Sylar rolled his eyes at him as though he were an amateur and took his turn.
While Sylar was busy giving the wall hell, McCoy whispered to Spock, "Are you getting anything?"
"I do not see any unusual activity within the peripheral nervous system that would create such a phenomenon." He answered scanning his pad thoughtfully. "The readings are only slightly higher than if he was at rest."
"Same here." McCoy sighed. "I don't know how the hell they are doing it, but they certainly are."
"Our data is incomplete, Doctor." Spock gently reminded. "Perhaps something will come of further analysis."
"I doubt it." McCoy grumbled. "This is one of those great mysteries that we are never meant to know."
"All mysteries are unsolved problems that resolve with proper and careful study." Spock argued.
"Damn hobgoblin." McCoy muttered under his breath.
Up on the bridge, Ando stood and stretched to relieve his sore muscles. It seemed like he had been sitting next to Sulu for days looking through pages and pages of useless information. He had to admit that as a former programmer for Yamagato Industries he had done much of the same type of work, but for some reason this seemed especially tedious. Perhaps it was the fact that he couldn't stop looking up to gaze out into space at the huge screen that hung in front of Sulu's station. He still couldn't believe he was in space. He shouldn't have been surprised; his life had taken one impossible turn after another ever since the day Hiro stopped by his cubicle to announce that he could stop time. It may have been boring, but it was important work. For once he was just as responsible for saving the world as Hiro and he sat back down to once again concentrate on the screen.
Jim sat with Noah at Spock's station and fired up the system. He might as well make himself useful while they were still in spacedock. While the system came up, he chatted with his usual vigor. "So, Noah, these guys seem to respect you. Are you like their captain or something?"
Noah chuckled and shook his head. "Not so much like that, no. Let's just say they listen to me because I have been at this for awhile while this is all new to them. I have made lots of mistakes in that time, but I try to help them and I think they know that."
"How do you do it?" Jim asked half laughing. "How are you able to hang around people that could crush you like a bug if they wanted to?"
"They could try…" Noah smiled mysteriously. "Like I told Dr. McCoy, I know them better than they know themselves. You have to look at it from their point of view: what would you do if suddenly one day you could fly, or instantly freeze things that you touched? Who would you tell? Could you tell anyone? Despite what you might think, it is a very lonely existence for them to hide in plain sight. It can also be dangerous if the wrong people know, which is exactly what got us here."
"I can see that." Jim admitted. "People always fear what they are unfamiliar with. It was the same when we first made contact with the Vulcans. Even though they were similar to us, they were still aliens and people panicked for awhile until we realized they were not out to vaporize us with a death ray. Thankfully they were patient people, but if they are absolutely honest they would have to admit that we scared them shitless too."
"Well, alien is a relative term." Noah sighed. "I guess it can just mean anything not ordinarily human."
"I don't know." Jim protested typing on the keypad. "I didn't think I would ever get along with Spock, but sometimes he can be more human than I thought he was capable of. It just goes to show that Vulcans or evolved humans can beat us at our own game, which begs the question: what does it mean to be human?"
Noah was impressed with the younger man. Most of the time he seemed to fly by the seat of his pants, but on closer look it was controlled chaos. "Mr. Bennet! I might have found something." Chekov called with a smile in his voice. "It looks like information on this X-PAR project."
Noah made his way to the console and read the screen with a furrowed brow. He couldn't make heads or tails of what he was reading; it was all highly technical jargon with complex diagrams but he knew someone who could. "Someone get Mohinder up here."
"Aren't you hungry?" Claire asked Nathan as they sat in the Burnt Toast Diner in Texas. She was halfway through her burger and fries while Nathan's remained untouched in the red plastic wicker basket in front of him.
"Ah…no. I guess not." He smiled. He couldn't get his mind off of how he had come to be in this situation, but it hardly mattered now. He had for all intents and purposes turned his back on his previous life and most likely anyone that was in a position of power to help him. In a way he cursed himself for rushing headlong to find Claire. If he was using his head he would have taken the time to fake his own death to buy more time, but as it was he knew he could never go back to the East coast for fear of being captured. He still had to find Peter and think of a safe place to hide for as long as he could. That would not be easy. Perhaps the best chance they had was Belize or some remote corner of the Earth where the question would not be if, but when they were found.
"You look like you have something to say." She said cautiously. She hadn't spent much time with her biodad- but enough to know when his large brown eyes were full of misery. "C'mon. I am a big girl now. I can take it."
He gave a slight smile because she had grown so much since he first met her that it left him conflicted as to whether he should feel proud or not since he had next to nothing to do with it. "Am I that easy to read?"
"I would hope that you wouldn't try to be the politician with me. Not now." She said quietly.
"Ok." Nathan sighed. "You want the truth? The truth is we are in serious trouble. I can't find Peter and that may be because they already have him. If they do, he is as good as gone. I can't let that happen to you too. We have to run and we can't stop until they get us too because they will. It might take months or days, but as soon as they figure out I jumped ship, the hunt will be on."
"Then go back!" Claire urged wide eyed. "It isn't too late. You can say you went out for a Philly cheese steak or something." She didn't want to acknowledge the fact that Peter may have already been snared, that was something she simply couldn't deal with.
"I can't, Claire." Nathan sighed shaking his head. "I won't. You don't know what you are asking."
"So we just run? Why can't we fight?" She hissed.
"You can't fight people like them, Claire." Nathan patiently explained. "There are way too many and they have weapons that we have never seen before. Our safest bet is to run. Live to fight another day?" He prompted raising his eyebrows.
She sat back in her chair and shook her head in disbelief. "Since when did you grow a yellow tail?" She whispered. "When have you ever turned your back on Peter when he needed you? He could be out there somewhere in a dungeon being used as a guinea pig and you are going to hide?"
He looked back at her with a hardness in his eyes that made her flinch. "If they have him he is as good as dead. And if I hadn't come for you, you would be right there with him. Is that what you want? Is that the way you want to honor his memory? Is that what he would want for you? Don't lecture me about Peter. I have known him a little longer than you. Now you are a grown woman and you can make your own choices. I am going to go pay the bill and then I am leaving. It will be up to you if you want to sit here in this crappy diner alone or if you want to come with me."
Just as he said he would, he paid at the register and walked out the door. He sighed with relief when he heard the bell above the door ring once more as Claire followed him into the darkness. It was a big gamble and he was glad it paid off.
She slowly approached him and wrapped her arms around his neck in order to hang on. "So where are we going?"
"Not sure." Nathan admitted as he held her wrists and shot up towards the blanket of stars overhead.
Peter was glad he was back in the sickbay. He was starting to feel like a popsicle and the brief moment that he fired up his thermonuclear ability in the engine rooms in a containment box was not enough to warm him entirely. McCoy and Spock observed in full silver fire suits looking every bit like the space men they were.
"This last experiment will regrettably require purposeful injury." Spock said quietly. "We wish to gather real time data on your regenerative abilities. We will attempt to anesthetize the area before making an incision."
"Then you will be wasting your time." Sylar replied. "It won't stick around long enough to work. Give me the scalpel." He instructed holding out his hand.
"We cannot ask you to injure yourself in the name of science." Spock said hesitantly. "That would be unethical."
"No one ever accused me of being ethical." He retorted using his telekinesis to bring the sharp instrument to his hand. "Ready?" On Spock's nod, he quickly drew the blade lengthwise from his wrist to his elbow. Because the blade was so sharp, he hardly felt a thing until the tissue began to pull together again of its own accord.
He handed the instrument to Peter who looked determined. "This whole death wish is really more Claire's thing." He mumbled before taking a deep breath and repeating Sylar's action.
After his wound quickly healed, McCoy sighed and said, "I think we should call it a day, gentlemen. We can test your individual powers tomorrow. Go hit the mess and get some sleep."
"C'mon," Peter invited Sylar, "I can show you your room. It is on the same floor as mine."
"Great." Sylar mumbled. It seemed as though the entire crew conspired to make him spend as much time as possible with his nemesis.