Day Eighteen ∞ Monday evening

IT TOOK EFFORT FOR DANNY to stop pacing the room he was left in. At least he could hear Mickmi and she could still hear him, despite the unknown distance separating them. It was the only reason he could settle down enough to sit on the bench next to his water canteen with just his heels touching the cold floor.

That, and the possibility that Mickmi could also feel his anxiety from afar. He wasn't sure of her sensing range, but she was doing her tests now, and he didn't want to disturb her.

He stared at his socks, remembering the beeping that had his Swiss Army knife confiscated. They even took his hiking boots. Did they really think he'd try something with his shoelaces?

He sighed, his thoughts inadvertently jumping home with the usual slew of questions. Where did they take his sister and mother? Would they ever be able to forgive him? His guts clenched at the idea that they might be hurt. Were they even together?

Did Mickmi know?

Shut up, brain. Now wasn't the time. He grabbed the canteen and took two gulps against his stomach's grumbling advice, then leaned his head back on the wall. He felt like a headache wanted to come on, but somehow it remained lingering just outside his skull. If that were possible.

Intent on thinking about absolutely nothing, he closed his eyes. It was not long before a sharp prick in his left arm interrupted him, and he slapped it hard.

Damn mosquito.

The bite continued. Irritated, he sat up to look at the crook of his arm. He rubbed the invisible spot with his fingers and realized he hadn't heard any mosquitos whining around. It was unlikely any even existed in this place.

His jaw dropped as it sank in.

This was deeper than a bite.

This was Mickmi.

They were taking her blood, and he could feel the needle in her arm. It meant they were connected—really connected. Not only in mind... but also in body. It was difficult to believe but at least now he'd know if anything was wrong with her.

The profound realization caused a flood of relief to loosen the tension in him, the stress he'd been under for the past twenty-four hours, and he felt immensely tired. No matter how he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore.

∞

It was like a pristine prison cell with no privacy. The only thing missing were the metal bars.

Gina pushed the tray away, thankful for having been served a civilized meal after so many hours sitting here in isolation. But now the other problem couldn't wait any longer.

She glanced at the portable toilet in the far corner of the room for the umpteenth time, hating the idea that anybody could watch her from behind that glass.

With careful movements, she rose from the table, walked over to the one-way window and beat it twice.

"Would you mind?" she shouted. "Could I just get two minutes of privacy here?"

Stepping back, she looked at the camera, then at the speaker box, waiting for a crackle, for a bodiless voice to acknowledge her request. There was none.

Sighing, she realized she had no choice. She had to go. She could only hope that the man on the other side had some decency to avert his eyes.

∞

Dr. Kruger led the way past several doors to a vacant classroom. Mickmi, now dressed in white T-shirt and yellow shorts with tie-waist, two sizes too big for her, surveyed the room. Four rows of desks and chairs faced a blackboard, and maps and a few bookshelves lined opposite walls. A small stack of paper and a handful of sharpened pencils waited on the middle desk.

The doctor removed his face mask and stuffed it in his pocket, revealing his unruly salt-and-pepper walrus mustache. 

"According to preliminary lab findings," he said, "you're not carrying any dangerous pathogens. Did you enjoy your dinner?" He smiled and gestured at the center row. "Please take a seat, Miss Wamba. There are some written tests we'd like you to take."

Four men she had not seen earlier entered the room as she sat down. They radiated business-like interest.

"They are the same tests our personnel need to pass in order to qualify for officer school," Kruger continued, nodding to each of the men. "Our team of psychologists here will grade them as soon as you finish. That way we'll know your results right away." 

For the next few hours, Mickmi sat there, filling sheet after sheet of different mental agility and IQ tests, including pattern recognition, arithmetic, and association. Every time she finished a series of tests, she deposited the marked sheets to her right where eager hands grabbed them, and she pulled the next one from the stack on her left. She worked diligently, but the pile on her left keep growing. No matter how fast she worked, they kept bringing new tests for her to solve. 

She became aware of the increased excitement among the psychologists. Their buzzing discussion interspersed with low exclamations from the back of the classroom intruded on her focus. She tried not to feel discomfited by their comments,

"... genius level..." "impressive spatial awareness... emotional responses..." "short-term memory way above..." "apparent total eidetic memory..."

After four and a half hours of non-stop tests, she had enough. She ignored the next fifteen-page document just added to the pile and rose. There was immediate silence, and all eyes fixed on her as she stretched her body. 

Dr. Kruger approached with curiosity in his eyes. "What is it, Miss Wamba? Are you alright?"

"Aye. Just... tired of sitting so long—it weakens the body. Have you something more active for me to do?" 

He lit up. "Well, yes, we can do some ergonomic and kinesiologic tests. We're interested in your physiology too. I'm afraid our Psych team got carried away... If you would come with me?"

The room they entered looked like a combination of a gym and a medical laboratory. Mickmi surveyed the different exercise machines with interest. Each was surrounded by banks of monitoring machines, computers and a multitude of measuring devices, the uses of some only vaguely discernible to her. Everything was connected by a jungle of wires.

A few doctors watched her through a raised window at one end of the lab. The psychologists entered the observation room, their animated expressions infecting the others. But their voices did not leak through the soundproof glass.

While assistants put a cap connected with hundreds of thin, flexible wires on her head, and attached more sensors to her wrists, chest, arms, and legs, Dr. Kruger described what was involved. They would, among other things, be monitoring her heartbeat, blood pressure, CO2 levels, temperature on several parts of her body, and her brain waves. Then he launched into an enthusiastic explanation of how the veloergometer worked.

"—like an ordinary bicycle, except in that, by tightening this little wheel, we can increase the difficulty level. Its integrated sensors will tell us how fast you'd be going on a real bike uphill and for how long." 

Mickmi stepped out of the slippers and mounted the stationary bike. The machine was not entirely unfamiliar, but she saw no need to deprive the doctor of his enjoyment spelling everything out for her. 

"Now, you may feel some discomfort from the area the skin sample was—" 

He broke off when she lifted her T-shirt to pat the dressing next to her navel. Then she peeled it off, leaving unblemished skin. There was no red square of exposed dermis. 

"I am not sore," she said as his brows shot up. 

"Accelerated healing. Well, well. Fascinating." He signaled to the nurse who came over with a testing kit. "We're going to take a blood sample to check your sugar levels before you start, and another one afterwards."

Mickmi directed her Nanites to relax as the nurse disinfected the crook of her arm and drew a second syringe of blood.

"Are you ready?" 

She nodded once, and an assistant strapped a mask over her mouth and nose that connected her via a hose to one of the monitors.

"Good. We'll start with the lower setting, equivalent to cycling on a smooth flat road. You can ask for a harder setting as soon as you feel comfortable. Okay, go... Now."

She started pedaling at a comfortable pace. This was too easy. She tried to speak, but the mask muddled her voice, so she waved her fingers. A technician rushed forward to tighten the brake, and she felt the increased resistance on the pedals. This would give her a good workout. She pumped the pedals at increasing speed.

It did not take long before the technicians and doctors on the floor congregated around one of the monitor arrays, engrossed by the readings.

"She's going eighteen miles per hour."

She signaled for increased difficulty, allowing her to push harder. Her eyes were locked straight ahead with an iron focus she had not utilized in a long time.

"Now twenty— twenty-and-four... twenty-and-nine... She just hit thirty-and-two miles an hour uphill and she's breathing like she's just gone for a jog." 

Perspiration broke out on her forehead and her heaving chest as she kept her pace steady. She signaled again and again until the technician pointed at the dial that tightened the brakes and spread his arms, indicating it was at its maximum setting.

"Damn," someone said, "she's not human. She's a machine."

"Miss Wamba, you can stop now."

She blinked, the instruction just registering in her mind. She slowed her pace to a stop, and mentally checked herself as an assistant removed the mask from her and took another blood sample. She felt energized, and her Nanites were quiet.

"You okay?" the assistant asked.

She nodded, keeping her gaze on Kruger. She felt comfortable around him, despite her being in the spotlight like this.

Kruger turned to the head technician. "What's your assessment, Doctor Werner?" 

The man tore his eyes away from the readings to look at Mickmi, his mouth working. "Well," he shook his head slowly, "to put it into perspective... It's like... she's climbing uphill at almost vertical incline... and going 34 miles an hour. I didn't know something like this was possible. In fact, nobody here can hope to compete with her."

"Amazing! Let's try some other tests, shall we?" Kruger led Mickmi to a padded bench next to the bike, careful not to cause damage to the wires still attached to her. Most of the assistants and technicians followed in a sideways curve as if they were part of her halo. 

"How much weight do you think you can lift at once?" 

Mickmi looked at the metal stand at the head of the bench, recognizing the barbell from Daniel's encyclopedia. Weight-lifting?

"I know not what you expect me to do here," she said. "Have you somebody who can demonstrate for me?"

She looked up at the group of men who exchanged uneasy glances as if they deemed it an inappropriate activity for them. Tilting her head, she felt their interacting energy patterns. Why would lifting weights be beneath these men—when physical activity was very important for keeping a healthy mind?

Finally, one of the technicians, a strong middle-aged man stepped forward. "I'll demonstrate it for you." 

Everybody looked relieved, except Werner. "I don't know, Doctor Martin." He sounded nervous. "I need you to fill up the paperwork from the last batch, and assist me with classifying all our findings. Jensen, go find one of the grunts who's always exhausting themselves in this kind of physical activity. They love it, so no chance they'll harm themselves while performing a demonstration." 

There was a murmur of agreement. 

Jensen headed outside and returned a few minutes later with a large individual in tow. "Sergeant-instructor Phillips has volunteered. He'd love to demonstrate how it's done." 

The man with arms bulging out of his crisp, short-sleeved army uniform looked a little surprised at seeing Mickmi. He gave her a once-over. "Is this the one you want to test? It doesn't look like she can even hold up the bar, let alone push it up with some disks on." 

Kruger looked uneasy. "We just want to take some basic readings of how her muscles respond to the strain." 

"Worry not." Mickmi realized he felt a bit guilty. "If it is too much, I will not attempt to lift it."

Muttering under his breath, Phillips loaded the bar with some weights, the technician Martin assisting him. He threw her a skeptical look as he straddled the bench-press to lay on his back. In quick motion, he lifted the heavy bar off the overhead support and pumped it up and down over his chest. Mickmi paid close attention to his technique as he did twenty repetitions and returned the bar to the stand.

"This is how it's done," he said to the technical team and stood up, directing his attention to Mickmi. "Wait till I unload some of the weights for you." He turned to the stand. 

"There is no need, thank you." Mickmi's calm voice halted him before he could pull off the end disk. "Now I know what you expect me to do." She looked blankly up at his incredulous expression, towering a head above her.

"Are you nuts? How do you expect to lift 130 pounds? That's probably more than you weigh." 

"Perhaps you should start warming up with a lower degree of difficulty?" Kruger approached, hands twisting together. "You seem to enjoy a challenge. But you can hurt yourself. We wouldn't want that."

Mickmi met his gaze without waver. "You are interested in how the upper limit of my parameters compares to humans of your world. We save time starting closer to my upper limits than starting from the bottom. Remember...  you were given only twenty-four hours." 

Without waiting for a response, she stepped to the bench. Three technicians hovered around her, rearranging her train of wiring as she reclined on the bench. Wrapping her fingers around the bar above her head, she felt its cold weight. She was very aware of how she was perceived—her wrists and arms looked thin and fragile against the solid steel. 

Martin and Phillips exchanged bewildered glances of disbelief and took immediate positions of readiness on either side of her, expecting the bar to prove too heavy for her. 

— ∞ —

©2018 by kemorgan65

A/N: Many thanks to @Jorkam for helping me develop the testing scene!