eighties. Psychic research is the most compelling science of the twenty-first century, and it’s evolving every single day.”
He led us through a warren of white linoleum cabinetry and stainless steel countertops in which every bin, door and drawer was labeled—seriously labeled. It looked like someone with clinical OCD had been handed a label-maker and turned loose on the science department. Pipettes. Burettes. Bulbs. Forceps. Clamps. “So what is it you’re testing?” I asked.
“The results are classified,” Dr. K said. “But generally speaking, we’re trying to figure out the specific mechanism of how Psych works. How much is genetic? How much is environmental? How common is it, really? And how can it be augmented?”
I bit back a disdainful snort. Augmentation? That was rich. All the Psychs I knew would be happier to get fitted with an off-switch.
We delved deeper into the lab. The coffee supply bins in the corner were clearly marked as regular, decaf and tea … sugar, sugar substitutes and creamer. Cups. Napkins. Stirrers , too. I supposed I should find that encouraging. If there was any medical hardware I wanted to steer clear of, it would be easy enough to identify. Even to an amateur like me.
“Is there anything in particular you need to see?” Dr. K asked. Jacob and Bly had dropped back a bit, and now that Dr. K was alone with me, he seemed more likely to chat. I wondered how I ever got anything done without Jacob to wrangle people for me. “I can’t give you the data…but I can show you around.”
“Well, just walk me through. I’ll, uh, know it if I see it.” I wasn’t sure how likely it would be to find ghosts in the lab, but when I thought about it too hard, Camp Hell memories of the marathon session with a dead woman’s wig made my throat flutter. Because how else do you put a medium through their paces in a laboratory setting, if not by torturing them with relics from the dearly departed?
Or maybe there’d been an accident, like some unfortunate science geek who’d blown themselves up, or gotten too close for comfort with an electrical current. Or maybe a test subject took some psyactives that disagreed with them. Or maybe the science team sacrificed people to create a spot that was likely to be haunted…although if they did, I presumed they labeled it properly.
What I found instead was a bored-looking guy with a couple of electrodes stuck to his temples staring at a houseplant. He was in a room with plexi walls, white plastic table and chairs, fluorescent lighting, and not much else. “Plant communicator?” I asked.
“We’ve never had one of those,” Dr. K said with amusement that seemed fairly genuine, answering my question in a kinda-sorta indirect way. “This isn’t about Phil—we already know his abilities and limits. But, that?” Dr. K gestured, and a good twenty yards away, behind a bank of bland-looking computers, I noted a cabinet of exposed electronics that included a TV tube with horizontal bars of static rolling past. A GhosTV, or at least the guts of one. I shuddered. “I take it you’ve seen something like it before—so I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”
Although Dr. K knew exactly who I was, and exactly what I knew about GhosTVs, I had no plans of divulging my most valuable secrets to him within ten minutes of making his acquaintance. I answered with a noncommittal shrug.
“We’re determining if the equipment affects Phil’s performance.”
Given that I didn’t know which flavor of Psych this Phil guy was supposed to be, I wouldn’t know if a GhosTV would affect him or not. Besides, who’s to say the damn thing was tuned to the right channel, anyway? I glanced back over my shoulder to see if Jacob had burst out in his telltale red Psy-veins, but he and Bly had hung too far back for me to tell. At first they looked pretty embroiled in whatever conversation they were having, but then I realized it was a kind of
He led us through a warren of white linoleum cabinetry and stainless steel countertops in which every bin, door and drawer was labeled—seriously labeled. It looked like someone with clinical OCD had been handed a label-maker and turned loose on the science department. Pipettes. Burettes. Bulbs. Forceps. Clamps. “So what is it you’re testing?” I asked.
“The results are classified,” Dr. K said. “But generally speaking, we’re trying to figure out the specific mechanism of how Psych works. How much is genetic? How much is environmental? How common is it, really? And how can it be augmented?”
I bit back a disdainful snort. Augmentation? That was rich. All the Psychs I knew would be happier to get fitted with an off-switch.
We delved deeper into the lab. The coffee supply bins in the corner were clearly marked as regular, decaf and tea … sugar, sugar substitutes and creamer. Cups. Napkins. Stirrers , too. I supposed I should find that encouraging. If there was any medical hardware I wanted to steer clear of, it would be easy enough to identify. Even to an amateur like me.
“Is there anything in particular you need to see?” Dr. K asked. Jacob and Bly had dropped back a bit, and now that Dr. K was alone with me, he seemed more likely to chat. I wondered how I ever got anything done without Jacob to wrangle people for me. “I can’t give you the data…but I can show you around.”
“Well, just walk me through. I’ll, uh, know it if I see it.” I wasn’t sure how likely it would be to find ghosts in the lab, but when I thought about it too hard, Camp Hell memories of the marathon session with a dead woman’s wig made my throat flutter. Because how else do you put a medium through their paces in a laboratory setting, if not by torturing them with relics from the dearly departed?
Or maybe there’d been an accident, like some unfortunate science geek who’d blown themselves up, or gotten too close for comfort with an electrical current. Or maybe a test subject took some psyactives that disagreed with them. Or maybe the science team sacrificed people to create a spot that was likely to be haunted…although if they did, I presumed they labeled it properly.
What I found instead was a bored-looking guy with a couple of electrodes stuck to his temples staring at a houseplant. He was in a room with plexi walls, white plastic table and chairs, fluorescent lighting, and not much else. “Plant communicator?” I asked.
“We’ve never had one of those,” Dr. K said with amusement that seemed fairly genuine, answering my question in a kinda-sorta indirect way. “This isn’t about Phil—we already know his abilities and limits. But, that?” Dr. K gestured, and a good twenty yards away, behind a bank of bland-looking computers, I noted a cabinet of exposed electronics that included a TV tube with horizontal bars of static rolling past. A GhosTV, or at least the guts of one. I shuddered. “I take it you’ve seen something like it before—so I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”
Although Dr. K knew exactly who I was, and exactly what I knew about GhosTVs, I had no plans of divulging my most valuable secrets to him within ten minutes of making his acquaintance. I answered with a noncommittal shrug.
“We’re determining if the equipment affects Phil’s performance.”
Given that I didn’t know which flavor of Psych this Phil guy was supposed to be, I wouldn’t know if a GhosTV would affect him or not. Besides, who’s to say the damn thing was tuned to the right channel, anyway? I glanced back over my shoulder to see if Jacob had burst out in his telltale red Psy-veins, but he and Bly had hung too far back for me to tell. At first they looked pretty embroiled in whatever conversation they were having, but then I realized it was a kind of
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