The tiny changes in humans’ expressions were so minimal they were very hard to read. My memory could name the look on this woman’s face, though. The black brows, slanted down over the slightly bulging eyes, created a familiar design. Not quite anger. Intensity. Irritation.
“How often does this happen?” I asked, looking at the Healer again.
“Not often,” the Healer admitted. “We have so few full-grown hosts available anymore. The immature hosts are entirely pliable. But you indicated that you preferred to begin as an adult.…”
“Yes.”
“Most requests are the opposite. The human life span is much shorter than you’re used to.”
“I’m well versed in all the facts, Healer. Have you dealt with this… resistance before yourself?”
“Only once, myself.”
“Tell me the facts of the case.” I paused. “Please,” I added, feeling a lack of courtesy in my command.
The Healer sighed.
The Seeker began tapping her fingers against her arm. A sign of impatience. She did not care to wait for what she wanted.
“This occurred four years ago,” the Healer began. “The soul involved had requested an adult male host. The first one to be available was a human who had been living in a pocket of resistance since the early years of the occupation. The human… knew what would happen when he was caught.”
“Just as my host did.”
“Um, yes.” He cleared his throat. “This was only the soul’s second life. He came from Blind World.”
“Blind World?” I asked, cocking my head to the side reflexively.
“Oh, sorry, you wouldn’t know our nicknames. This was one of yours, though, was it not?” He pulled a device from his pocket, a computer, and scanned quickly. “Yes, your seventh planet. In the eighty-first sector.”
“Blind World?” I said again, my voice now disapproving.
“Yes, well, some who have lived there prefer to call it the Singing World.”
I nodded slowly. I liked that better.
“And some who’ve never been there call it Planet of the Bats,” the Seeker muttered.
I turned my eyes to her, feeling them narrow as my mind dredged up the appropriate image of the ugly flying rodent she referred to.
“I assume you are one who has never lived there, Seeker,” the Healer said lightly. “We called this soul Racing Song at first—it was a loose translation of his name on… the Singing World. But he soon opted to take the name of his host, Kevin. Though he was slated for a Calling in Musical Performance, given his background, he said he felt more comfortable continuing in the host’s previous line of work, which was mechanical.
“These signs were somewhat worrisome to his assigned Comforter, but they were well within normal bounds.
“Then Kevin started to complain that he was blacking out for periods of time. They brought him back to me, and we ran extensive tests to make sure there was no hidden flaw in the host’s brain. During the testing, several Healers noted marked differences in his behavior and personality. When we questioned him about this, he claimed to have no memory of certain statements and actions. We continued to observe him, along with his Comforter, and eventually discovered that the host was periodically taking control of Kevin’s body.”
“Taking control?” My eyes strained wide. “With the soul unaware? The host took the body back?”
“Sadly, yes. Kevin was not strong enough to suppress this host.”
Not strong enough.
Would they think me weak as well? Was I weak, that I could not force this mind to answer my questions? Weaker still, because her living thoughts had existed in my head where there should be nothing but memory? I’d always thought of myself as strong. This idea of weakness made me flinch. Made me feel shame.
The Healer continued. “Certain events occurred, and it was decided —”
“What events?”
The Healer looked down without answering.
“What events?” I demanded again. “I believe I have a right to know.”
The Healer sighed. “You do. Kevin… physically attacked a Healer while not… himself.” He winced. “He knocked the Healer unconscious with a blow from his fist and then found a scalpel on her person. We found him insensible. The host had tried to cut the soul out of his body.”
It took me a moment before I could speak. Even then, my voice was just a breath. “What happened to them?”
“Luckily, the host was unable to stay conscious long enough to inflict real damage. Kevin was relocated, into an immature host this time. The troublesome host was in poor repair, and it was decided there wasn’t much point in saving him.
“Kevin is seven human years old now and perfectly normal… aside from the fact that he kept the name Kevin, that is. His guardians are taking great care that he is heavily exposed to music, and that is coming along well.…” The last was added as if it were good news—news that could somehow cancel out the rest.
“Why?” I cleared my throat so that my voice could gain some volume. “Why have these risks not been shared?”
“Actually,” the Seeker broke in, “it is very clearly stated in all recruitment propaganda that assimilating the remaining adult human hosts is much more challenging than assimilating a child. An immature host is highly recommended.”
“The word challenging does not quite cover Kevin’s story,” I whispered.
“Yes, well, you preferred to ignore the recommendation.” She held up her hands in a peacemaking gesture when my body tensed, causing the stiff fabric on the narrow bed to crackle softly. “Not that I blame you. Childhood is extraordinarily tedious. And you are clearly not the average soul. I have every confidence that this is well within your abilities to handle. This is just another host. I’m sure you will have full access and control shortly.”