“You were injected with almost two-ounces of water saturated with billions of particles of nanomachinery, Alexander, programmed for replication and recovery protocols,” Michael said, almost casually, as if it were a normal thing, regrettable perhaps, but something to be expected. “Your heart started beating about twenty seconds after the injection, and you started breathing again within a minute.”
Alex looked at his hands, at the blue veins running just underneath the skin, and wondered.
“Are they still inside me?”
The question seemed somehow terribly important, his throat dry and his voice hoarse. He had to fight the urge to scratch at his skin.
“I’m afraid so,” Michael replied, looking sadly at Alexander. “It’s not a reversible procedure, Alex.”
“Why would you do that?” He was almost shouting, halfway out of his chair and onto his feet. “Who told you could do that?”
“Sit down, Alex,” Michael ordered sternly. “I won’t bother to repeat the ‘you were dead already’ part, since we covered that, and move to the other half — we would have done it to you, anyway, regardless of the injuries. We would have asked your permission, but, hey, I was there, watching you bleed out, son. If you’d prefer that I explain myself fully to an unconscious kid, before deciding to try and save his life, well, I’m not sure how realistic your expectations are.”
Alex glared at Michael, hands knotted around the arms of his chair, for a long moment. Then he sat back, sighing.
“What exactly have you done to me?” he asked, resting his head in his hands.
“It’s not as bad as all that, son,” Michael said, his smile back. “They did save you, after all. And those little machines, the nanites, they can do it again, too, if it becomes necessary. You’ll find dying pretty difficult from here on out, my friend.”
Something in Michael’s tone resonated with Alex.
“Do you have them too?” he asked, almost pleaded. “Are there machines inside you?”
“Sure I do,” Michael said, reassuringly. “And so do all the students here, and the entire faculty. For people like us, it’s an absolute necessity.”
“Why?”
“You’ve got power inside you, Alex, like everyone else at the Academy, to one extent or another. We don’t know why, but you were born that way. But power isn’t everything…”
Alex shook his head, bewildered.
“Look at it like this,” Michael said, leaning forward in his chair excitedly, “electricity, it isn’t much good, all by itself, right?”
“Huh?”
“You don’t just build a power plant and then sit back and enjoy the fruits of your labor, right? Electricity alone won’t do it. You need light bulbs, right?”
“Light bulbs?”
His response was nothing more than a weak echo.
“Power isn’t everything, Alex, I already told you. Application, that’s what we’re talking about now, son. Energy alone is meaningless, unless you can make it work for you, and you need tools for that. Something inside you provides the power, sure, but those nanomachines, they’re the tools. With them, you can apply energy, and do work.”
Alex raised his head from his hands to stare at Michael incredulously. Neither of them responded to the quick knock and rapid entry and exit of Mrs. Nesbit, and neither reached for the steaming coffee mugs she left behind.
“So, what can I do?” Alex asked dubiously. “I have powers, now, because of these machines inside me, right? Can I fly or something?”
Michael laughed and picked up his coffee.
“That’s good, Alex. I’m glad you asked about flying.”
“I can?”
Alex almost jumped out of his seat, gaping and incredulous.
“No, I’m afraid not,” Michael said, chuckling to himself, “but it’s good that you asked. Normal people ask about flying. Perverts ask if they can turn invisible.”
Alex almost choked on his first sip of too-sweet coffee.
“I’m just playing with you son, trying to lighten the mood,” Michael said, with an amiable grin. “Yes, you’ll be able to do some things, now, but we won’t know what till we do some tests. It’ll take some time. And a lot of it, like I mentioned earlier, will be up to you.”
“I get a choice?”
Alex set his mug down on the edge of the desk, hoping he had sipped enough to be considered polite. Apparently, being injected with some sort of mysterious nanomachinery had not changed his opinion of coffee for the better.
“To some extent,” Michael affirmed, “you do. What you are capable of, well, that’s predetermined, but what you do with it — that’s going to be a bit of a compromise. Some of it will be about what you want. Some of it will be about what we need from you.”
“Oh?”
Alex didn’t bother to hide the suspicion from his voice. Normally, he would have been more diplomatic, but this whole situation had shaken his reserve.
“Don’t make it sound so sinister,” Michael protested. “We are like any other organization, son. We’ve got operational needs, and we need the right personnel to fill them.”
“What kind of needs?”
Michael stood up and looked out the window at the trees, the top of the clock tower visible above the maples, the green slowly eroding from the leaves.
“Well, this place is a lot of things, Alex. Like any school, we need teachers. Our hospital needs doctors, just like any other. Our laboratories need scientists and engineers. Our network needs programmers. But I can already tell that stuff isn’t for you, son…”
The ‘son’ was starting to irk him a little, but he suppressed it. Alex didn’t plan on embarrassing himself any more today, not if he could help it.
“Yes?”
“Yes,” Michael turned away from the window to look at him benignly. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Alex, a lot longer than you probably think. And I can tell an Operator when I see one.”
“What’s an Operator?”
“Mitsuru is an Operator,” Michael said by way of an explanation, “And, a long time ago, I was too. An Operator is a field agent, Alex.”
“A soldier?”
“No, not just a soldier. Soldiers fight wars. Operators do work, war or no.”
Michael frowned and looked back out the window for a moment.
“The world functions within set parameters, you know that right? Physics, that’s basically a set of rules that we think everything follows. Operators can, to some extent, modify those parameters. In particular, Operators are trained to affect parameters relating to combat and intelligence work.”
“You mean they fight those werewolf things?”
Alex tried to push the conversation in a more prosaic direction. He wasn’t sure at all what Michael was talking about.
“Weir, Alex. They are called Weir. And not just them — Operators fight the Witches, the Outer Dark, and the things that came before man, the named and the nameless. All the enemies of Central, the enemies of mankind.”
“I have no idea what you just said. You want me to fight monsters?”
Alex could barely keep from laughing aloud. He’d already met werewolves, so it wasn’t that he didn’t believe Michael, not exactly. The whole thing sounded absurd, even in the face of recent experience.
“I think that you want to, son. I can see it in your eyes already. But Operators don’t spend all their time fighting monsters. They spend a great deal of it fighting each other, or worrying about having to.”
