Freak Of Nature Part 3

Taking a deep breath, Kaitlyn composed herself. She could do this. It was just dinner after all, and Lucas had no idea of her hidden desire to rip his clothes off and trail her lips up the length of his body. She felt heat rush to her face, but her system quickly regulated it.

He looked even more attractive than usual tonight. The light blue b.u.t.ton-up matched his eyes, making them stand out even more, and it was unb.u.t.toned at the top, revealing a white t-s.h.i.+rt underneath. His khaki pants hung loosely at his hips and stretched over his muscular thighs. Kaitlyn absently wondered when he had time to work out. He seemed to always be at the lab.

Lucas s.h.i.+fted from one foot to the other. A sign that he was uncomfortable. He seemed just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and then pulled them out as if he was unsure what to do with his hands.

His gaze settled on her as he said, "Kaitlyn, it's nice to see you here. I didn't know you visited the Adams's home."

His rich, deep voice sent a strange feeling down her spine. It was almost as if a chill were in the air even though the fireplace ensured the room was a warm seventy-eight degrees, according to Kaitlyn's internal thermometer.

The sensations Lucas caused within her were confusing, and she was unable to process the meaning. When she scanned her mind, it came up blank. Yet again proof that computers don't know everything, she thought, slightly annoyed.

"This is the first time I have been," Kaitlyn said. "Quess invited me for dinner."

At least her mind and mouth were cooperating; that wasn't always the case in the presence of Lucas. Her hands were clammy with sweat, and her stomach felt funny. She wondered if that was what Quess meant by b.u.t.terflies dancing in her stomach.

"Nanny, it smells like dinner is ready," Quess interjected, saving Kaitlyn from the awkwardness.

Mrs. Adams sniffed the air, and then leveled her gaze on her granddaughter. "Why, yes, I do believe you're right, dear. Let's all go to the kitchen."

Kaitlyn rose swiftly, turning on her heel and heading in the direction of the kitchen with the rest of them close behind. The smell of roast beef, fresh bread and potatoes triggered something in Kaitlyn, but it was like a scratch she couldn't itch. The feeling caused a tingling in her memory; so close, but not close enough. To say it was annoying would be an understatement. This sometimes happened with certain scents. She wasn't sure what it meant and wished she could ask Lucas or Professor Adams, but that would be giving away too much.

The kitchen was rustic and well-used. There was very little wall s.p.a.ce that wasn't covered in pale wood cabinets, and the thin area of s.p.a.ce above was hung with old cast iron skillets and copper pots. It was five degrees warmer in the s.p.a.ce than the rest of the house.

"Have a seat anywhere," Mrs. Adams declared, waving her hands towards the large oval dining room table that sat in an alcove next to the kitchen. The table was covered with bright yellow placemats, and floral napkins.

Hesitating, Kaitlyn waited until the others were seated so she wouldn't take the wrong chair. Mr. Adams sat at the head of the table, as she expected, Lucas sat to the right of him, and Quess sat at the other end next to what would presumably be her grandmother's seat.

Kaitlyn made her way around the table and sat across from Quess, unfolding her napkin and placing it in her lap. Like she saw Quess do. There was one seat separating her from Lucas.

He tugged at his t-s.h.i.+rt collar as if it were choking him. His cheeks were flushed. She wondered if it was from the heat of the fireplace.

What is he thinking? Kaitlyn wondered. What was it that made him so uncomfortable? Quess had said he was anti-social. Maybe he was uncomfortable eating around others, but that seemed odd even to her.

Lucas cleared his throat. "Professor Adams, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but what is the meaning of this meeting?"

Professor Adams gave a half-smile, helping himself to the pitcher of iced tea in the center of the table. "Beats the h.e.l.l out of me. Ask the women of this family. I'm just as surprised as you are." He filled his gla.s.s and then filled his wives. "The sooner you learn women rule this world, the better off you'll be."

Just then Mrs. Adams walked in, carrying a large plate of roast beef, the thinly sliced meat pink at the center. Her smile lit up the room. "Ain't that the truth!"

She set the platter on the table and retreated back to the kitchen. Quess rose and hurried to help her grandmother. Soon, the table was filled with roast, potatoes, rolls, and vegetables.

The scents were wonderful, but Kaitlyn dreaded having to eat. The roast would taste no different to her than the potatoes. It was as if her taste buds had been removed, but more than likely it was a computer chip that overrode those senses. Sometimes she wished she could tear out all the sensors.

But then again, what would that leave of Kaitlyn? Would she even be able to survive without the mechanics? She really had no idea.

Quess tapped Kaitlyn on the arm. "Help yourself."

It seemed they all watched as Kaitlyn placed a small portion of roast, potatoes, and green beans on her plate. She bypa.s.sed the rolls. That would have been too much for her to eat. Her internal encyclopedia informed her of protocols of etiquette and leaving food on one's plate would be offensive to the host. She didn't want to offend Mrs. Adams.

Quess reached across Kaitlyn to grab a golden roll. "Hey, Gramps, I was thinking that you should add a slang chip to Kaitlyn. Half the time she has no idea what I'm talking about."

Kaitlyn's eyes snapped in the direction of Professor Adams. He rubbed his chin, lost in thought. "You know that's actually a great idea, Quess."

Quess smiled, obviously proud of herself.

"What do you think, Lucas?" Professor Adams stared at Lucas, awaiting his response.

Lucas shrugged. "I don't think it could hurt. If they want her to mix with the general population, it makes sense she would need to understand colloquialisms. I can work on a program tomorrow."

Professor Adams nodded. "Very good. Thank you, Quess. I would have never thought of such a thing on my own."

Kaitlyn watched the exchange, only somewhat interested. It was as if they were talking about a stranger and not herself. She didn't really care if she could understand slang, as they called it. It wasn't as if she had a say in the matter anyway. They always did what they wanted without consulting her.

At least the idea seemed to make Quess happy. The girl's round cheeks were flushed, and her eyes shone with pride at her grandfather's compliments.

Then Kaitlyn's sensors alerted her to something she'd missed during the conversation. Lucas had said the general population. Kaitlyn took that to mean she was going to leave the compound. The thought was equally as exciting as it was terrifying.

"Professor Adams, I am curious. Where did I live before moving here?" Kaitlyn asked between bites of roast.

She was met with silence. Kaitlyn wasn't sure if it was the question itself, or that no one had expected her to speak.

She watched as a look pa.s.sed between Lucas and the professor.

"Why do you ask?" Professor Adams asked calmly, setting his fork on the table and wiping his mouth on his napkin.

"I was just wondering. Virginia does not feel like home." Kaitlyn took a sip of water and waited for their reply.

All eyes, even Quess's, were wide and shocked. Kaitlyn realized she had made a mistake.

"Feel, Kaitlyn?" the professor asked. "Please, explain what you mean by *not feeling like home.'" Professor Adams focused his attention solely on Kaitlyn.

Her machinery kicked in, and her coded neurons warned her processing center that the situation was an uneasy one. One moment of a.n.a.lysis and she realized whya"she had used the word *felt.'

She meant it. Something inside her recalled some place, and she couldn't figure out how or why or where. It bothered her when she couldn't understand things. She was supposed to be a superior being, and yet the littlest things made no sense to her.

But the professora"and Lucasa"couldn't know that.

She considered her words carefully. "I don't know. Quess was telling me she grew up in Ohio. I must be from somewhere else. I have no idea where I grew up."

The professor's shoulders seemed to relax. "Perhaps because where you were from did not experience the drastic season changes. Summer is turning into fall, is that what you mean?"

Kaitlyn thought about his answer for a moment before replying. Her computer banks immediately began to filter through states and weather patterns. The professor had narrowed down where she was from without realizing it. "Perhaps, the change of season is what is triggering the random thought. It doesn't matter where I am from. What matters is I am here now."

The professor smiled, satisfied. Lucas, however, looked paler than usual.

They could use this information to narrow down the blond haired guy, and perhaps learn something about her past.

Chapter Seven.

Professor Adams attached the blood pressure cuff to Kaitlyn's arm and turned away, one fist pumping the small bag and filling the cuff with air. "Don't move," he told her, his eyes on the gauge.

This would be a good time to roll her eyes Kaitlyn thought. As if she would have moved.

While her arm was slowly gripped tighter and tighter by the cuff, Kaitlyn sensed someone coming down the hall, but they were too far away to determine who it was. Hopefully, it was Lucasa"she hadn't seen him all day. He was probably working on the new coding, the *slang' they had spoken of at dinner. The day seemed longer when he was not around. She longed to see his face and hear his familiar voice.

Instead, she had been stuck inside all day with Professor Adams running tests on her artificial heart. Thirty minutes at maximum speed on the treadmill, and then a blood pressure check. Thirty minutes of sitting still, then a blood pressure check. Boring. Monotonous.

Kaitlyn glanced at the old man. His spectacles had slid so far down his nose it was a surprise they hadn't fallen off. Not for the first time, she thought she should have hated him for taking away her old life, but for some reason, she didn't. She only felt indifference for the professor and the rest of the staff. They had probably programmed her that way.

Kaitlyn was tired of never knowing which thoughts were her own, and which were IFICS.

"Well done." The professor pulled apart the velcro and released Kaitlyn from the cuff.

Like I have anything to do with my blood pressure. I don't even have a normal heart. With all her knowledge she couldn't even comprehend how her body was able to function properly. A medical marvel was often thrown around in regards to her body.

The professor rolled his chair around where Kaitlyn was sitting to glance at the computer screen. It was hooked up to electrodes placed on her chest. Adams was obsessed with bio-rhythmics, and was constantly tracking all her numbers searching for any anomalies. He said it was the mathematician in him. Bio-rhythmics consisted of three cycles: physical, emotional and intellectual. It didn't seem very scientific to her.

"Amazing." He muttered staring at the data. "Your readings are always the same. No matter what we do to you."

There was a knock at the door, and Frank, her firearms instructor, entered the room. "Time for the shooting range."

Finally, something that wasn't boring. Kaitlyn had to suppress a smile that wanted to spread across her face. After her initial training, she only spent one day a week on the range. Frank claimed she was so accurate, anymore time would just be a waste of bullets. They just wanted to keep her from getting rusty.

She was quite sure her parts could not rust, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

With haste she made her way to the arms room and grabbed her gear.

There was something calming about the feel of cold steel in her hand. It was as if the gun was an extension of her hand.

Maybe they were right. Maybe she was born for this. Or maybe she would never know since she couldn't recall her life before the accident.

Kaitlyn slammed a fresh magazine into the Browning MK III. Legs planted firmly, she leaned forward just a little, arms locked, and lined up the red dot. Letting out a breath, she squeezed the trigger repeatedly in rapid succession.

She lowered the pistol and pushed the b.u.t.ton to the right of her. The electronic carrier brought the black silhouette forward, edges of the paper waving in the breeze as it moved.

Her instructor, Frank, whistled under his breath and stared at the quarter-sized hole in the middle of the target's bulbous forehead. "d.a.m.n girl. Forty-five meters. That's the stuff of legends."

"Legends?" Kaitlyn asked, staring at Frank. He was a big guya"broad shoulders, a huge, muscular torso, and a neck as thick as a tree trunk. Kaitlyn had to peer up at him he was so tall.

Frank stared at her, but didn't reply. He ran his hand through his greying goatee and he opened his mouth about to say something, but thought better of it and clamped his mouth. He wasn't allowed to talk to her unless it was in regards to training. He turned his back on her and jerked down the target. "Let's try that again. Only this time, left arm only."

Kaitlyn waited patiently as Frank attached two new targets and hit the switch to send them back down the training field. He stepped away and motioned. "Two to the chest, one to the head."

She nodded and got in position. Frank moved the targets this time, back and forth and side to side. She calculated the distance and squeezed the trigger. As the targets continued to move, Kaitlyn's mind kept up with them as if they were standing still. Moving targets were so much more fun than stationary.

"Come over here and let's work a few different drills." Frank walked away, not bothering to check if she was following. Shaking his head, he shot back over his shoulder, "Before long you will be teaching me drills I've never heard of."

Kaitlyn slid the pistol into its holster and followed behind her firearms instructor to the shooting box.

Across the field was a set of six steel plates in the shape of human heads, each about 8 inches in diameter and arranged side by side on a supporting stand.

"Okay, load and make ready."

Automatically, Kaitlyn removed her pistol from its holster and locked the slide to the rear. She quickly checked the chamber to ensure it was empty, then removed a full magazine from her magazine carrier on her left hip and inserted the magazine into the pistol, the motion so smooth and practiced it felt natural. With a flick of her thumb, the slide slammed forward, loading a round into the chamber of the pistol. She then conducted a *press check,' reaching underneath the pistol, pinching the slide, and moving it to the rear just enough to see that a round was actually in the chamber. Seeing the bra.s.s, she released the slide and holstered her weapon.

Standing in the shooter's box, she faced the steel plates, hands at her sides and waited. Without turning, she knew Lucas was near. Sometimes he came to observe her during target practice. He never mentioned it, but she always knew when he was near. She liked knowing he was close by.

The instructor moved to her right rear, reset his shot timer and said, "Shooter ready?"

Kaitlyn nodded her head once, affirming that she was ready.

"Stand bya" and then there was a loud "BEEP" from the timer.

Kaitlyn immediately drew her pistol and punched it straight out, arms extended in what was known as position four. She already had the sights lined up and on the left-most target before her arms were even straight. As she reached full extension, she pressed the trigger and then moved the pistol to the second target, using both the momentum of the pistol's recoil and her own muscle movement. As soon as the sights were on the second target, she fired again, repeating the process a total of six times with a metallic "ping" punctuating every gunshot.

Once she was done, Frank barked, "Unload and show clear."

Kaitlyn complied, movements quick. Reflexive.

"Holster."

She shoved the gun into position and let her hands dangle at her sides expectantly. In the back of her mind wondered what Lucas was doing. She could sense he was approximately fifty yards behind her to the left. It gave her a slight thrill knowing he was watching her when she was in her element.

Looking down at the timer, the instructor raised an eyebrow and said, "Two-point-three-five seconds. Lets do that again, this time from right to left." He reset the targets, and then went through the same series of instructions for her to *Load and make ready' and *Standby.' The timer went off, and Kaitlyn repeated her performance.

"Two-point-three-seven." Frank eyed her as if he wanted to say something else, but shook his head instead. "Alright then, let's move over to the next apparatus."

They walked to another shooting box in front of three steel targets that were twelve inches square, three meters apart from each other, and ten meters down range. Kaitlyn stole a glance back at Lucas. He lifted his hand and waved. She felt her fake heart flutter.

"This drill is called *El Presidente.' I want you to have two magazines of six rounds each. Face *up range,' back to targets, hands at your sides. On the buzzer, you'll turn, draw, and engage each target with two rounds before indexing to the next target. Upon slide lock, conduct a magazine change, then re-engage targets in the opposite direction, again with two rounds each. Any questions?"

Having none, Kaitlyn didn't say anything as she started setting up her magazines per instructions. Once that was done, the instructor went through the range commands again, and then the buzzer sounded.

BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAMa click click, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM.

"Unload and show clear. Holster. Three-point-nine-five seconds. That'sa" he paused to self-censor himself, "a unheard of. Let's try that strong-hand only."

She continued to shoot the various drills the instructor set-up and explained. Each time, unknown to Kaitlyn, she performed at a world cla.s.s level, something that took compet.i.tion shooters years of practice and hundreds of thousands of rounds. She did it all without question, without hesitation, and with near-perfect precision.

As they finished, the instructor said. "Maybe I can get the docs to wire me upa." He grinned and shook his head.