‘Gabriel, the man who recruited me,’ she said at last. ‘He said that the voices I’ve been hearing in my head are electronic signals. Is that true?’

‘Well, it’s a bit of a broad-brush description,’ Dix muttered disapprovingly. ‘But yes. In layman’s terms, you could say that.’

‘And that I’m a sort of “receiver”? He said the headaches come because I haven’t learned how to unscramble all the data coming in?’

Dix wrinkled his nose disdainfully. ‘I do wish these operations Johnnies would leave the scientific explanations to the scientists. It sounds as if “Gabriel” has given you half a picture at best.’

‘But about the headaches?’

‘About the headaches, yes, he’s correct. It’s true that once you gain mastery of the auditory side of your capabilities – once you learn how to tune into certain signals and out of others – your headaches should stop. Or at least vastly reduce.’

Ella exhaled. If nothing else good came from this bizarre chapter of her life, putting a stop to the debilitating migraines would make everything worth it.

‘You said the “auditory side”,’ she noticed. ‘Is there another side to my … to the changes my parents made?’

‘Oh yes!’ Dix’s eyes widened. The uncontained enthusiasm was back. ‘Absolutely. We believe … we hope … that you have the capability to develop all sorts of visual data interpretation skills.’

‘I’m sorry?’ Ella looked baffled.

‘You already hear things,’ Dix explained. ‘But you ought to be able to see things too, things that other people can’t. And to store and interpret that information in unique ways. For example, I’m hoping to teach you how to use your eyes like cameras, to take and record a “mental picture” of what you observe.’

‘Like photographic memory, you mean?’ Ella asked, remembering the ease with which she’d been able to study for tests at school, retaining information at a glance.

‘A much, much more detailed version of it, yes. Only in your case, theoretically at least, we might be able to download stored images directly from your brain!’ The little man was practically hopping from foot to foot with excitement. ‘Imagine that? We’re not there yet, of course, but once we start working together, who knows? The sky’s the limit! And speaking of the sky …’

Ella found herself willing him to take a breath.

‘Satellite technology has of course advanced very considerably since your parents edited your genes. I’m hopeful that you should eventually be able to receive and interpret all sorts of GPS data. And obviously the strategic applications of something like that are pretty much limitless. You could use satellite coordinates to navigate, for instance. To visualize vast areas of land or sea, or even space. Theaters of war.’

I’m not going to war, thought Ella. I’m going to fix my headaches, learn more about my family, and go home. But at least coming from this kind, excitable old man, she didn’t resent the assumption. If anything she felt worried about how to let ‘Dix’ down gently.

‘Did you know my parents?’ she asked him, changing the subject.

He took Ella’s smooth hand in his gnarled ones. ‘Only by reputation, I’m sorry to say. But I have the greatest respect for both of them. As scientists and as people. They were fearless.’

‘That’s probably why they’re dead,’ muttered Ella.

Most people might have winced at the bitterness of such a blunt comment, but Dix seemed to find Ella’s perspective amusing. ‘Ha!’ he laughed loudly. ‘I daresay it might be! Well said, my dear! How refreshing you are.’

Ella was pleased. Whatever else happened at Camp Hope, Dix was clearly going to be a kindred spirit. ‘Refreshing’ was not a word often used to describe her. Most people opted for ‘tactless’ at best and ‘outrageously rude’ at worst. Ella liked ‘refreshing’. She would have to tell Bob that one.

> The professor’s colleagues returned bearing a tray of tea and food, and Ella suddenly realized how ravenous she was. Dix watched, delighted, as she inhaled three slices of specially imported Fortnum’s fruitcake, washing them down with a large mug of Twinings Earl Grey tea.

‘Now. No one’s told me how long you’re staying here,’ Dix told Ella, as she drained the dregs of her cup. ‘But for as long as you’re at Camp Hope, I’d like us to work together at least four days a week, if that’s all right with you. My mission is to have identified the full scope of your gifts and to have you mastering as many of them as possible before you leave. How does that sound?’

‘Fine,’ said Ella. ‘Good,’ she added, trying to echo at least a fraction of his own enthusiasm.

‘You don’t sound very convinced.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Ella sighed. ‘It’s just, to you, my brain is a “gift”. But to me, it’s always been more of a curse.’

Dix looked at her intently. When he spoke it was with a kindness and empathy that almost made her cry.

‘I understand, Ella. You’ve suffered. But your brain – your unique, enhanced, incomparable brain – is a gift. It is. A potent, fascinating, wonderful gift, not just to you but to the entire world. To science!’ He grasped her hands again. ‘I hope, once you discover how to use it, you will begin to see it that way.’

‘I hope so too,’ said Ella sincerely.

‘And now, speaking of gifts,’ he said, clapping his hands together and grinning in an attempt to lighten the mood. ‘I have something for you. Follow me.’

Tags: Sidney Sheldon Thriller
Source: readsnovelonline.net