Damaged Goods

Kit is missing, and her friends track down a doctor who knows who and what Kit really is. Can he help them find her again? Will he, even if he can?

Quentin sits disconsolately upon the edge of the simple bunk inside the cell, shoulders slumped and fingers playing incessantly with themselves...managing, somehow, to look both stressed and bored at the same time.

"Have everything you need?" Marlan says without introduction as she steps up to the cell, hands tucked into her jacket pockets.

"Your humor is overwhelming," Quentin remarks derisively, not bothering to look up from his preoccupied stare at the floor.

"I wasn't joking." Marlan replies and then shakes her head slightly, "They're upstairs searching the records now. Want to save everyone some trouble and tell me what they're going to find?"

Quentin shrugs his shoulders. "Simple enough in summary, though it is debatable whether any of them would understand what they find. Specifications for the Specialists, and if they have been retained, perhaps the original memory and personality engrams that would be uploaded for various missions."

Marlan nods slightly, "Kit....why did you feel the need to hide her away?" she asks, "She was breaking away from the programming...trying to reprogram her, it did't make sense."

Quentin snorts, finally raising his eyes to peer at Marlan with a decidedly patronizing air - completely different, now, from the preoccupied professorial type he had acted before. "You were hunting her down, determined enough to follow her across three worlds. Why should I *not* hide her away? And after finally reclaiming her, I find that she is damaged goods. I put in a stop-gap patch, but..." He shrugs eloquently.

Marlan snorts, "Damaged goods? Hoop. She was breaking through her programming, developing a personality of her own. What the hoop is damaged about that, da." she shakes her head, "Damaging her is trying to convince her that none of it's true, da. That its' all an invention of her mind"

"Damaged goods," Quentin reiterates with a stern look over the edge of his glasses, beginning to look quite a bit put out. "And she *had* a personality. We gave her one. But with the breakdown of the electronics' ability to properly shunt sensory inputs and memory storage and retrieval, she became confused, psychotic. If normal humans exhibited such symptoms, they're usually diagnosed with schizophrenia or multiple personality disorder and consigned to mental hospitals until they are 'cured'. We simply have a more direct method of 'curing' than they do."

Marlan snorts in response to that, "You said you put in a stop-gap patch. The chip is still malfunctioning?" she asks

Quentin shrugs. "It is no longer degrading, but I did not have the proper tools or information to fully upgrade it. I may have spearheaded the projects," more than a hint of pride there, as he sits up a little straighter, chin lifting imperiously, "but I could not, by all means, conduct every single aspect of it myself and still have a finished product within a reasonable amount of time."

Marlan nods, passing a compliment, "Kit *is* an amazing accomplishment, I don't think anyone would argue with you in that regard, da. Even if they don't agree with your intent."

Quentin sniffs with righteous indignation, warming to the subject as he stands, absently straightening his glasses as he begins to pace. "Oh, there were enough that agreed, until the SIS fell apart - but to have all that time, the research, the work, all gone to waste! And not a single paper published on the subjects to my name when there's an encyclopedia's worth of information! While that supposed 'doctor' Curtis Cheval was going to receive the honors of a seat at..." He pauses to shake a fist at the ceiling in impotent frustration. "But he won't be able to enjoy that now, will he? I ask you, where would the human race be if we did not push the envelope and take risks? Still crawling about in the dirt back on Earth, no doubt!"

Marlan frowns, "Perhaps, da. But that doesn't mean that some risks aren't a mistake. That doesn't mean we need to lose our humanity in the process, da." she shakes her head slightly, "Kit is more then a creation, da. She's a living being. She deserves the right to live as one instead of simply being a tool for someone."

Quentin snorts, clasping his hands behind him as he eyes Marlan condescendingly. "A debate that has persisted since the first Specialist was developed centuries ago - one that has not yet been argued to either side's satisfaction yet. I am not going to waste my time rehashing the same points."

Marlan shrugs slightly in response to that, "The reality though, is that Kit is out of your control now." she shrugs, "You have a choice, da. You can do as best as you can for her and tell us anything we may need to know...

"Or what?" Quentin drawls, turning to face her with a thin-lipped smile.

Marlan shrugs, "Or you don't, and you watch your last chance at fame potentially self destruct."

"Don't try to dangle that bait before me," Quentin sniffs, turning his back to her. "I am not stupid. Do you seriously think that I would believe I have any chance at the fame that I deserve right now, whether she survives intact or not?"

Marlan shrugs, "Don't see why not, da. I wouldn't agree to release her name...but releasing the research." she shrugs, "I don't think it'd be a bad thing, da. I'd say its a neccesary thing."

Quentin turns his head, just enough to show that he is listening, though he continues to face away from her. "Oh? And what of my incarceration?"

Marlan shakes her head, "Your incarcation isn't thanks to me. Although personally, I don't think you deserve to be released, da." she shrugs, "That said, fame from your research isn't dependent on your status as a prisoner."

"And who are you, that you can guarantee that my research is published and that my name is attached to it?" Quentin asks, turning back to her with a suspicious frown.

Marlan shrugs, "Been published more then a few times myself, da. Know individuals at the Sivadian College of medicine who would probably be very interested in the results of this research."

"Not enough," Quentin states boldly. "I can't just sit somewhere in a corner for the rest of my life. I want to be working again; I need to research and *learn* things."

Marlan shaks her head, "I can promise you your research will be published. I can't promise you you'll be allowed to work again. That's a conversation to be had with other individuals."

"Then bring them in," Quentin says as he moves to reclaim his seat on his bunk, folding his arms obstinately afterwards. "I'm not going anywhere."

Marlan nods and shrugs, turning for the door, "Fine then..but i can't promise you they'll be as willing to speak to you as I am."

"If you want my help, you should try turning your persuasive talents on them," Quentin returns stubbornly, eyes following the woman out.


 * Sometime later... ***

Quentin sits disconsolately upon the edge of the simple bunk inside the cell, shoulders slumped and fingers playing incessantly with themselves...managing, somehow, to look both anxious and bored at the same time.

Innokentevna slowly walks down the long aisle of the detention block, until she stops outside the mad doctor's newest den. She turns then, leaning back against the far wall, eyes narrowed as she considers him and his condition.

Silvereye follows along slightly behind Katya, glancing into the cells as they pass and finally into Quentin's new abode, narrowing his silver eyes at the doctor and crossing his paws over his chest, giving the prisoner a harsh look.

Quentin pays only enough attention to glance up and see who it is that is visiting before returning his gaze to the floor, casually straightening his legs out before him and hooking one heel over the other. "And is it a pleasant day outside today?"

Innokentevna looks back to the doctor with a smile, a soft shrug of her shoulders added to it. "Eets as nice as eet gets here. I am sure folks can be confince't to let you take a valk outsite. I atmeet, eet toes breeng zee consekvences ov a certain vort to mint."

"The suspense is killing me," Quentin notes dryly, finally lifting his head as he folds his arms across his chest, rocking back as he regards them.

Silvereye glances to Katya and then returns his gaze to Quentin. "I think it would be best not to play games, doctor. This is your future, afterall." He pauses, tail lashing. "Of course I'm just a dumb Demarian."

"Extradeeshun." Innokentevna just shrugs her shoulders. "Sifatian lavs an sense ov justeece are just too compleecate't for a frontier Ungstiri like me."

Quentin snorts, casting Silvereye a sharp scowl. "And sarcasm is all very well and good, but the jokes can only stretch so thin." Returning his focus to Innokentevna, he says, "I already discussed quite a bit of this with your other friend. If you haven't spoken with her yet, I suggest you do so now before coming back for a discussion. I'll wait."

"Don't say things unless you're willing to eat them, doctor." Silvereye retorts, "We have talked to her. Now we want to hear what you have to say. Please give my companion an answer and we'll all have a better time of this."

"Da ..." Innokentevna looks across to the Doctor. "I ton't theenk eets you vho unterstant. Last theenk you vant to hafe happen to you ees me trag you across zee stars to ungstir, vhere you are nyi a person ... but a toureest. An no one meesses toureests. Eets nyi me z'at has to confince you, Toctor .. eets you z'at has to confeence me vhy I shoult go easy on you."

The corners of Quentin's mouth pull down sharply and he plants his feet on the floor beneath him, though he does not stand, bracing his hands against his knees. "Posture all you want, but right now, mine is the only mind who can still comprehend and translate all that research you've been trying to dig up for the past night. The very fact that you are both standing there, talking to me, instead of waltzing off back to your homeworlds, tells me that there's something you want. Well, very simply, there is something I want too - prestige, and freedom to continue to practice what I love best; science. Now that we have cut to the chase, as they say, what do you plan to do about it?"

Innokentevna just watches quietly, looking back to Quentin with a raising or lowering of her shoulders. She stays still, as his words wash about her, and then a hand rises to rub behind her neck. She nds once, as if finished considering his words. "You deedn't ansver zee kvestshun."

"And you would kill for it." Silvereye remarks calmly, gaze still fixed on the doctor. "I think you're going to get infamy if you live at all, doctor. We can't give you prestige, but maybe we can let you dabble a bit. You're not getting off of this without punishment." He glances at Katya, then back to Quentin. "She is dead serious, you know."

"That's because I didn't hear a question mark anywhere. All I heard were vague implications and threats," Quentin snaps before turning to the Demarian. "As if you cats have anything to talk about! I know enough about what your people have found offenses punishable by all manner of ridiculous tests that were clearly not survivable, and declared it the fate decreed by some cosmic will, to find your attempt to remonstrate me laughable. I have been punished! I am forced to live in ignominy when I have probably made the greatest breakthroughs in the understanding of the mind, memory and consciousness in the history of mankind, and I am to be vitiated, my work lost to the ignorant ramblings of what is the current fad in social sensitivities!"

Innokentevna listens as the scientist bombasts, hazel eyes narrow and harsh as steel. Halfway through it she raises her hand, as if to ward off the stream of words. When she speaks her voice is soft, soft and perfectly controlled. "I ton't care." Three simple words. "Leesten." A pace of speech perfectly balanced, probably a touch too controlled, as the temperature in the room slowly drops. "Nyi threat or eenuando. Speakink zee facts. Gifink you fair varnink ov vhat veell happen to you, eef you ton't geef me a reson nyi to. Nyi zee ozer vay arount. An steel you ton't ansver zee kvestshun. Vhat can you to for me, z'at veell make me choose nyi to sent you to zee aluminum smeltink peets? You ent up zere ... no prestige, no science, nothink except manual labor for zee rest ov your life."

Silvereye laughs, the doctor's words, tone and expression working on him to produce a small bit of laughter. "The Desert Trials not survivable? If I ever see Stumppaw Sandwalker I will have to tell him you said that, and then we will both laugh at your narrow mind. The trials judge on merits, and right now the woman a few levels below us has more merit than you may ever have." He pauses, "But the trials can also be redemption. The only way, doctor, that you will ever have the fame and recognition you want is to listen carefully to what my companion has to say and then give us what we want."

Quentin winces, muttering beneath his breath as he finally stands, striding toward the bars dividing them. "Why you continue to persist in these games...you want what I know about the construction of the Proteus Children and their maintenance," he states with a glower. "Happy now? Have you gained some vestigial delight in hearing me state the sole reason why you even bothered coming here to see me, rather than leaving me to rot with the Sivadians?" Sniffing, he turns a baleful look on Silvereye. "And it is merit to throw away all those who do not have the physical attributes of olympians but, instead, hold their strengths in mental processes? It is a wonder that your species managed to throw themselves out of their home planet's gravity well at all."

Innokentevna looks to Quentin and just asks, very very quietly. "To you really theenk z'ats vhat I vish?"

"You still do not understand, doctor. Sometimes the strongest do not survive...It takes more than muscles or physical ability to survive. Stumppaw Sandwalker has been missing a hand since birth and he was the leader of his community." He pauses, turning to Katya, realizing that his own arrogance and pride might be getting in the way. "Answer carefully, doctor. This one could be the most important."

Quentin's brows draw upwards. "Is it not?" he asks rhetorically. "I've certainly heard enough about your 'Kit'. Isn't that the persona you've been trying to track down for the past week or two?" Snorting, he says in aside, "Son, remind me to give you a basic course in statistics and natural selection sometime."

"Zat's right. Zee stable personaleety, zee one zat's vetvare encote't an nyi hartvare encote't. Zee funcshunal one. An most eemportantly, my drook. I vant her back, I vant her stable, an i vant her to nyi hafe to vorry for zee fugues again. Naya vants nefer to vake up ... Tina unterstants she ees just a serfant oferlay ... an Tania ees completely tysfuncshunal. Kitt ees Kittianna's soul." Simple words, for her friend. Innokentevna stands firm. "Nov, eet's Marly' z'ats all googly eye't for your vork. I couldn't geef a hoop myself. You help us breeng my frient back from zee nightmare you hafe trapp't her een ... an I'll consiter lettink Sifatian courts hantle you." She then leans forward. "Zere ees one theenk you ton't knov. I fery, fery rarely put my foot tovn, vhen eet comes to Marly. But she knovs. I say you tie een zee alumeenum peets, you veel melt een zere heat. So eets you choice, Kitt an I consiter leafink you here to cut a teal vith my sysetra."

Silvereye's teeth clench and the fur on the back of his neck begin to rise. For the first time during the interrogation he actually seems angry, pissed, in fact. His tail lashes furiously as his eyes bore into the doctor. "You are not my father." He struggles to say, "And if he was here he'd kill you for even suggesting it. You are fortunate that I am not half who my father was, or I'd kill you too, right here, Sivad be damned. By Altheor you will help her, or a slow cook in the aluminum pits will seem pleasant to what I will do to you." He seems very serious, the doctor struck the wrong nerve.

"It's called a *euphemism*," Quentin says condescendingly, though he slides an unconscious, wary step back. Clasping his hands behind him, he curls his shoulders into a sullen slouch. "Why can't you just work what I want into the deal, eh? After all, without me, Kit wouldn't have even existed. Bloody hell, I was the only one who was trying to collect them back and repair them! Someone else was hired to simply terminate them - someone you've already encountered once, while completing one of his assignments. What was his excuse for them, eh? And he was hunting down your Kit too, wasn't he?"

"She ees steel alife, eesn't she?" Innokentevna returns quietly. "Ve are settle't betveen me an heem an' Kitt. But z'at's niezer here nor z'ere. An for a smart person, you to nyi seem to be gettink eet. You are een zee cage, you eediot. You vant fame and prestige an a chance to vork. I TON'T CARE. Da ... you can geet all high an mighty, sayink you are zee only one vith z'eese eenformashun ... but ask yourself, ees z'at prite vorth zee kvaleety ov life you hafe left? I am zee one stantink betveen you an your chance to bargain for z'at. Zee kvestshun ees seemple ... to geet to z'at point, are you villink to offer up vhat toes matter to me? Zen you mite geet your chance. Because, Toctor Kventin, I ton't geet kitt back you are nefer nefer goink to see anytheenk close to a fair trial. You'll face Ungstiri justeece, you got zat. An just vhen you are hopink to die just to escape, z'ats vhen I'll geef you to zee Temarian. because eef Kitt toesn't fint her vay back, I am goink to holt you personally reesponseeble."

Silvereye steps forward as Quentin steps back, until his face is nearly touching the bars. He is still angry, claws visible as he lays them on the bars. "Altheor spit on your excuses." The Demarian seethes, "That's all you are, excuses. You should know by now that we are very, very serious. Step up, worm, you gave up rights to whatever power you had as Kit's creator-" He avoids the word father, "-when you let this happen. You only have one choice, worm. Forget everyone else involved in this, and do what you can. Your excuses are tiring and weak, do what you can, take some responsibility, and maybe you will get out of this with more prestige in your heart than any headline can give you."

"I never said I wouldn't be willing to restore her," Quentin snaps. "I just want to make sure that I'm not throwing away the sole bargaining chip that I have. And I am not interested in any metaphysical claptrap. If my work is published, if the right doctors and scientists understand it, years from now, it may be hailed as the breakthrough for successful treatment of mental patients. You can apply it however you want. But I have a talent that others do not possess, and I aim to see that it is not wasted." Straightening, he looks at each of them sternly. "If you want, I can have the electronics deconstructed completely and made inert. But I want to have the chance to do what I do best."

"Fint Kitt ... an help her back, stable an vhole " Innokentevna answers, serious and quiet, "An I'll talk to Marlan Ranix for you. Zat'll geet you your chance. Kitt comes feerst."

Silvereye steps back, lowering his paws to his side but keeping his eyes on the doctor. "We are not unfair." His voice softens somewhat, the anger subsiding. "Prove your worth and I'm sure something will be worked out." He nods absently to Katya.

Quentin grimaces, peering over the edge of his glasses toward them. "Only a chance?" he asks, the faintest note of plaintiveness creeping in.

Innokentevna just lifts her head. "A chance ees better z'an nothink. You hafe alreaty try't to decife us ... fool me once, da. A secont time, nyet. You shoult help us vith Kitt ... as eef your life tepent't on eet, Toctor Kventin. Because eet toes." Innokentevna then crosses her arms. "An eef you hafe any kvestshun ov vhat my vort means, vhen I say i shall talk to marlan Ranix, geef you your chance ... remember, eet vas my vort z'at follov't Kitt from Ungstir to Comorro, to Ungstir, Temaria, Antimone, Sifat an here. You vant me speakink for you ... nyi against you, da?"

Silvereye's ears perk upward and he raises his eyeridges, speaking somewhat in disbelief and anger, "A chance is all we can give you, doctor. We can't guarantee fame or recognition, that's up to you. We can just give you that chance if you do as we ask."

Quentin sighs. "Very well. Someone will have to let me access records and equipment for a day or two, however. After all, it has been over a year, and I will need to refresh my memory concerning the details of the API."

"I am sure z'at can be arrange't ... an sviftly." She pushes herself off the wall, hooking her hands into her belt loops. "You hafe mate zee rite choice totay, toctor. Just keep eet up. Da svidaniya, Toctor Kventin. I shall see you on zee morrov." She nods to Silvereye as she heads down towards the security gate. "Come on gospadin Silfereye ... you look like you coult use sometheenk to eat."

Quentin snorts as he turns to walk back toward his bunk. "I don't need verbal pats on the head, madam. And what does one have to do for some reading material around here?"

Silvereye nods to Katya, flicking an ear towards Quentin before turning away from him without a word. He doesn't look at Katya as he walks away, staring over her and ahead into space.

"Better z'at z'en a boot elsevhere toctor. Take atfantage ov my goot humor." She pauses at the door. "I'll tellz em to geet you a cuple books to start. I hafe no itea vhat sort ov reatink materials are left here." She then passes through the gate, vanishing behind the metal door.

Silvereye follows after Katya, not bothering to look over his shoulder at the cells or the doctor.