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“We have secured your original records, Mireya.”
Her gaze lifted to mine, and the pulse at her throat quickened.
“Intelligence will authenticate them. Any findings worth pursuing will be passed to other physicians. They may build on your work, and patients may benefit.”
The tension eased from her shoulders.
“Without you.” I smiled. “There will be no institution bearing your name, no portrait or honours, and no account of your achievements written for future physicians to admire.” I shrugged. “So much work, and no recognition.”
“But it is my work.” She tried to straighten, pressing her palm against the stone. “My discoveries.”
“The records are ours now.”
“You cannot give them to someone else.”
Her voice caught on the last word. She swallowed and tried again, her hand lifting towards me before she seemed to remember whom she was reaching for.
“They will need me. There are things I must explain.”
“I don’t believe so. You were very thorough with your notes, after all. I am sure they will manage.”
She lowered her hand and looked down at it, her mouth trembling. Drawing her injured arm against her stomach, she slowly folded forward. I had watched her endure pain with more composure than this.
“My life’s work,” she whispered.
“We shall keep whatever is worth saving, of course,” I said. “I suppose you still have that.”
She shook her head without looking up. I waited, but she seemed unable to form words.
The lock disengaged, making her flinch. A whimper escaped her when two guards entered carrying a narrow black case. They placed it on the floor between us. At my nod, one released the catches and lifted the lid, revealing the knot replicator.
“Please.” Her gaze remained fixed on it.
“You disappoint me, Mireya. I had hoped you would be pleased to see it again, considering how much you enjoyed using it.”
She said nothing, but there was no need for an answer. I had spent hours reviewing her records. She had documented every use of the apparatus, the injuries that followed, the treatment and the date each person was considered ready to endure her torture again.
“You could have sedated them,” I said. “Your physicians recommended it repeatedly.”
“It affected…” She swallowed, struggling to get the words out.
“The response,” I finished for her.
She nodded, and I rested my hands on my knees.
“Yes. I read your explanations, but I also watched the recordings.” I tilted my head. “You continued making your notes every time they begged you to stop.”
“I was required—”
“To smile?”
Her mouth remained open, but no answer followed.
“I saw you smile during more than one of your examinations.”
She pressed her lips together, then looked towards the guards behind me.
“You enjoyed it, Mireya.”
