Chương 112: 7.14 No Return without Receipt or Label

2104: 04: 19: 10: 01: 12 The first round of tests was quite boring – as was to be expected, seeing as it revolved mostly around tests I'd already taken before during the GAC. Still, they went at it more thoroughly than before, and combined with the special Ngameni-Lawson-Safri (or NLS) tiles covering the walls ready to catch any exotic effects (read: superpowers), they were confident that the results weren't being 'spoofed' as the GAC might've been.

From their tone it was clear that they thought it hadn't been spoofed in the first place, but whatever. The second round of tests was more interesting. I was allowed – or maybe it was I that allowed them? – to test the Malfeasanic Interference Device on myself in a shifted state. While it didn't strip me of my form as I had initially thought it would, it did indicate that the crow I was pretending to be wasn't a 'real' crow.

Funnily enough, when I tested it with the mimics of Hexkey's and Motor Spirit's tech, the MID couldn't decisively declare I wasn't an original, though it did declare I was 'made' in the superpowered sense of the word.

The doctors Aguilar and Liang speculated this was either because: (a) being able to mimic a maker-tech device and have it function was rare to the point they hadn't heard of it before, and so the MID wasn't programmed for what happened if their subject was both; or (b) that because I ostensibly copied a part of the power source of the original maker, I was virtually indistinguishable from the real thing.

The MID did manage to flag the forms I'd gotten from Changelinger as a 'double-shift' though, but that could be explained by the fact that shifters copying other shifter forms wasn't too rare, and so accounted for by Doctor Malfus when he made it. In the end, it didn't flag base-form me as suspicious, so that was that. Another test that had immediate results was the Massed Projection Spectrometry, which tested whether I was a called or otherwise summoned being (spoiler: I wasn't).

It did this by bombarding me with photons at 'irregular waveforms', meaning that the wavelength was complexly patterned rather than at standard intervals. Ultimately, aside from a nice lightshow, oddly musical humming and the occasional queasy feeling in rattling my bones and spasming my muscles, nothing happened. Which was good because there'd been a chance of me dissipating if I turned out to be one.

Unlike androids, whatever callers summoned either weren't sentient or couldn't truly die on our plane of existence. The last test we'd already gotten back the results of was an examination through the Asuncion Device, a machine that mixed all the bulk of an old MRI with all the elegance of a pigeon's nest – meaning it would've collapsed if it weren't for a dozen anti-gravity thingamajigs stabilizing the thing. The Asuncion device tested one's 'phase state'.

Doctor Aguilar tried to explain to me what that was, but once she went from explaining 'quantum systems' to 'time crystals', I gave up. Either way, the results were that my phase state aligned with natural law, which sure, whatever. Great.

Other tests and experiments, among them the Malik's Maker Moribundancy Rate (a way to measure and calculate the speed of maker-tech degradation, and thus a test of Mad Android Syndrome), the Fresjaven Umbililacrum Test (to examine whether I was an avatar or otherwise 'exogenically influenced') and the specific measurements of the Ngameni-Lawson-Safri Pluritrometry Machines (the room's green tiles), had yet to bear results and would be bundled together with the outcomes of the first round.

These were to be given this morning. Right now, in fact.

"Good morning," Doctor Liang greeted as she entered the RAT maze. Doctor Aguilar and Doctor Jones, both holding tablets, followed in behind her.

"I would ask if you've slept well, but instead: how are you two doing this fine morning?"

"Bored," I said. My overnight stay had been, to put it bluntly, one of the dullest moments of my life. Both as to not interfere with the measurements and because it was required by law, all my electronic devices – phone, tablet, Paperfold – had been confiscated for the duration of my stay. I couldn't even chat or call with any of my friends – or Mom, for that matter. The entertainment they had given me, while extensive, had been a slog to rifle through and mostly from over a decade ago.

The only saving grace was that the books I'd been reading, Jake Saintly's Great Investigations series, had been in said collection. But the nervousness I held combined with the lack of activities I was allowed to do (I couldn't even do homework, master forms or exercise for the duration) meant it was difficult to focus on just reading. And there was only so many times I could view the previous day's memcordings. In short: it was a restless and boring night.

Mom, seated beside me on the couch where we'd shared our breakfast, said, "Well enough." She was clearly lying. Her eyes were bloodshot and the bags under them looked heavy enough to give to give a bodybuilder a good workout. There was a nervous energy to her as well, like she'd had three quadruple espressos sent straight into her veins. She'd been sent home yesterday once testing began, and aside from two-hour-long visit around dinnertime, wasn't allowed to stay in the same room as me.

It would not surprise me if she'd spent the whole night worrying – or worse: working.

"Good to hear," Doctor Liang said.

"Then are you ready to hear the results?" Before I could so much as nod, Mom's hand struck like a cobra, grabbing mine. The movement was too fast, the grip too tight and too shaky at the same time. Shooting her a surprised glance, I saw Mom's eyes were firmly locked on Doctor Liang's. Something tight developed in my throat at the sight, a painful knot I had trouble pushing down. Had I expected that Mom would be nervous – extremely nervous, even – about today's results? Of course I had.

You hardly needed to be an augur to predict that much. But even with the talks we've had, the words she'd said and the promises she made that I believed only covered half of what she felt; even with all that, I had still underestimated what she was going through. Maybe it was impossible for me to understand what she was going through. And Mom had to suffer for it. The realization was unbearably uncomfortable. My mind searched for a solution, a way to either help me understand her, comfort her, but under the sheer…

somethingness – I couldn't even think of a word; discomfort? guilt? weight of expectation? – of the situation, I failed to come up with any words or gesture in support. All I did was squeeze Mom's hand back just as tight and nod to the doctor.

"Alright," Doctor Liang said.

"Doctor Jones. The results of the first rounds, if you please."

"For the most part, they align with the outcome of the GAC," Doctor Jones said.

"As before, all markers of identity from DNA to personality to physical anatomy are either the same or fall within standard deviations. Barring a few things that we'll discuss in a moment, there is no physical evidence that differentiate you from the Samantha Pearsson we have on record.

"Also as before, there is clear evidence of temporal displacement, and achronal displacement in particular if we go by the chronovariance and lagging chronosynchronicity within your body. Some parts of your body, cells and even down to individual atoms have had their movement forwards slowed and others – if you pardon my oversimplification for the moment – flowing sideways or at an off-angle through time. All non-harmfully, of course; you would still be wherever the displaced go otherwise.

"Now, the differences and discrepancies. First are those that come from things the GAC didn't test for, like the Molse-Moradi index. We found an increase muscle-to-active strength ratio, a stamina capacity at near-super levels, a greater-than-average – though not augur-level – alertness and focus, and a decreased requirement for sustenance and rest."

"Decreased?" I asked. Doctor Jones nodded.

"Yes. While you may not need sleep, there is a notable decrease in faculties after mental exertion, which recovers naturally. As for nutrients and hydration: your body processes them the same as anyone else, except with greater efficiency and fewer waste. In other words: unlike similar supers, your powers are supplemental, not a whole replacement for your daily requirements."

"Ah." I didn't know what else to say to that. So I actually did need to eat.

"But all that have been accounted for by the description of your powers," Doctor Jones said.

"More importantly, there is no evidence of you being biopharmaceutically enhanced, biomechanically engineered or, at least on a material level, of you being the creation of a maker one way or the other." Before either I or Mom could respond, "Which is where I come in," Doctor Aguilar said.

"As we already concluded yesterday, you aren't a called or summoned being, nor breaking the laws of quantum or non-quantum physics, nor guilty of malfeasance." She smirked at the last one. To the side, Doctor Jones visibly repressed a groan.

"As for the others," she continued.

"Hmm, how to put this… When we hypothesized on the outcome together, the issues we were focusing on were a 'tetheredness' to something outside of you. An influx of energy that could indicate something 'speaking' – for lack of a better word – to you or outright takeover of your body, right? What you call the Heroic Impulse and pseudo-Sam?" Mom and I nodded.

"Right. Aside from that, we attempted to measure the Moribundancy Rate of your alleged maker degradation, and searched for emissions that could spoof methods of detection or otherwise interfered with observations." Again, Mom and I both nodded, though I was starting to get confused. Was there something wrong? Had they actually found something? Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Doctor Aguilar scratched her head.

"Well, here is where the complications come in. Speaking generally, the results are either negative on all counts, or accounted for wholly by your nature as a shifter. To put it plainly, you are not an avatar of any kind, untethered from any entity that could influence your mind, and your Moribundancy Rate is the big oh." Doctor Jiang poignantly scraped her throat. Doctor Aguilar blushed slightly.

"Ah, that is, zero. You have no Moribundancy Rate, and since you yourself said your maker – or alleged maker anyway – is not currently alive, that disqualifies you from being a maker creation. Or your maker is still alive, but I suppose that is for the expedition in the afternoon to find out." Mom made a small, yet clearly elated noise beside me, and her grip significantly relaxed. Meanwhile, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I hated to do this to Mom, but, "You said there were complications?"

I asked Doctor Aguilar. Mom's grip tightened again.

"Remember that time when you shifted in front of us, in front of the MID?" Doctor Aguilar asked.

"Well, the MID already concluded you out of being a shapeshifted imposter there, so that idea was already off the table. However, when you shifted between your maker-tech forms, the NLS tiles did register something: both an emission and an influx."

"Shouldn't that be normal for shifters?" Mom asked.

"Yes and no. For something to be detected? Absolutely, and it did so in both your maker-tech mimics and the normal ones. But for that signal to be exogenic, to reach inward from somewhere outside the shifter?" She shook her head.

"No. I have neither seen, nor ever heard of something like that occurring – not without there also being proof of the test subject being an avatar of some kind, which nothing except those shifts into a maker-tech form show."

"So… I am linked to something outside of me?" I asked.

"Well, that's the thing: we don't know," Doctor Aguilar said, scratching her head.

"From all we know, you can't be; the Fresjaven and other tests would've caught that. The other option would be that, somehow, your powers are linked to whatever force or space the temporally and achronally displaced people go and come from – but if that had been the case, the Asuncion Device and NLS tiles would've measured some form of quantum and/or spacetime shenanigans happening. And even then, it still doesn't explain the difference between maker-tech mimicry and your other forms."

Mom and I were silent for a moment, exchanging a quick, confused look at each other. So… what did that mean, exactly?

"To summarize what Aguilar said," Doctor Liang interjected, "you are tethered, but not to something wholly outside of yourself. Like you are, somehow, by yourself, your own physical embodiment of another you. An avatar of a physical being, native to our own plane, standing right here in front of us and occupying the exact same space at the exact same time that you do currently." We stared at her numbly. Again, what did all that mean? Without us saying as much, Doctor Liang answered that question.

"We don't know. It is, in fact, a paradox." Silence hung in the air for a good ten seconds.

"S-so, after all this effort you are saying, what? That you don't know?" Mom asked with the kind of angry confusion that could instantly switch to outright rage or a complete meltdown. Something Doctor Liang seemed to be aware of.

"Quite the contrary," she stated as plainly, directly as possible.

"Going by the Three – or Four-" she glared at Doctor Aguilar before she could try something, "-Principles System, the Samantha Pearsson here in front of us is unequivocally the same Samantha Pearsson that got displaced nearly eight years ago." That seemed to be it for Mom. All strength sapped out of her and if it weren't for the fact we were already sitting, and that I was still holding her hand, she would've collapsed right then and there.

I quickly steadied her with a hug, which she eagerly – if weakly – returned. From the wet I felt on my check and shoulder, Mom was crying now. Softly, I heard her whispering something I couldn't quite hear – a few thank-yous or thank-Gods, maybe? – as she shook all over. Not that she was alone this; my own eyes pricked as tears flowed freely from their ducts.

While my true nature was still ambiguous, the looming crisis of personality still hovering above me and many, many questions I had were still unanswered, I felt immense relief wash over me. The greatest crime I'd thought I committed, I was not guilty off.

"Now, while I do not wish to break up the happy atmosphere," Doctor Liang began, "we do still have one test to run before the heroes' expedition to the Olympic Peninsula." Mom and I let go of each other and wiped our eyes of tears.

"The mentalists," Mom said between sniffles.

"Exactly. They're already waiting outside. May I call them in?" Both of us nodded, Doctor Liang nodding in return to Doctor Jones, who left for the door and opened it. We all turned to face the entrance.

"Allow me to introduce to you to-" Doctor Liang said. An old man, grey of hair and beard, wearing a neat tweed three-piece suit with a lab coat replacing the jacket, stepped into the room.

"-Marcel Dulang, doctor and licensed professional psychic, along with his aide for today-" Millie, in full work regalia and wearing a bright grin below her visor, followed the older man.

"LieSpy?" Doctor Liang, Mom and I all said in various degrees of disbelief, shock and greeting. I looked at Mom, feeling an odd kind of sting for her participation in this- this joke of Millie's. But from the look on her face, she seemed to have nothing to do with it, so I directed my hurt gaze towards Millie instead.

"Ah, good, you've heard of her," Doctor Dulang said, a small smile on his lips.

"That saves me from…" He noticed our expression, and his smile slipped away. He turned to Millie, whose grin had started to waver seeing our not-so-pleased look. The mentalist turned to the doctors.

"May we have…"

"Of course," Doctor Liang said, no doubt having noticed the atmosphere.

"We'll be right outside. Call us whenever you're ready." With that, the three doctors left the room in professional hurry.

"Does he-" I and, "I swear to God, Millie, once we're done here, you'll-!" Mom said at the same time. Okay, so Doctor Dulang did know Millie's identity. And Mom seemed to know of Millie's association with the doctor, although not that he and Millie would be the ones coming here to examine me. Before Mom could finish her threat however, Marcel Dulang whirled around to face Millie.

"Millie. You know these people in your civilian identity?"

"Yes, I-""And you knew this to be the case before you asked if you could help me?" He continued relentlessly.

"I-""And you did not see the need to inform me why, exactly?" Millie looked at the floor.

"I- I just wanted to help my friend…" Doctor Dulang stared at her for a few seconds before turning to Mom and I.

"I deeply, sincerely apologize for LieSpy's behavior." The man sounded borderline horrified by the situation.

"I swear, if I'd known beforehand, I would have never let her come." Faced with such sincerity, with Millie's clear shame, Mom not knowing of the situation, and the coldness in Doctor Dulang's tone during his brief interrogation, much of my anger had already faded. I should've known something was up from Millie's erratic behavior yesterday, but never could I have guessed this.

"Why, Millie?" I asked.

"Why do… this?" I gestured at her and Doctor Dulang.

"I know you want to help or whatever, but why not just tell me -" okay, maybe the anger wasn't totally gone, "-yesterday that you'd be here?" She trembled in place briefly, opening and closing her mouth, but ultimately said nothing. Before I could ask again, Mom laid a hand on my shoulders. I turned to look and saw most of her anger had been replaced by a sort of sad, yet simultaneously disappointed look of understanding aimed at the situation.

"Sam, we'll talk about this la-""No," Millie said "No, I'll… I'll tell her." She fidgeted, nervously looking at all three of us before beginning her explanation.

"I... I had a very good friend, my neighbor where I previously lived. One day, all of a sudden he… he changed on me. Subtly at first, but then he started changing everywhere else as well – in school, at the kids theatre I went to. Started to become more evasive, started lying about where he was going and with who…

"And then rumors started flying around as well and we – that is, me, my parents and his – tried for days, for weeks to try and get him to talk. Figure out what he was doing, and why he had suddenly become so… so withdrawn.

"I became obsessed with it, even developed my powers because of it, until… until I found out he and his friends had been bullying another kid to- to the point he almost…" Millie looked sick, growing increasingly pale and starting to sweat.

"Okay," I said, having heard enough.

"I- I get it, Millie – or the gist of it anyway." I didn't need to know what happened before, only that she just had to know the truth.

"You don't have to say any more." She nodded shakily at that. Doctor Dulang sighed.

"Despite the… understandable circumstances, Millie, I have to say I'm deeply disappointed in you. We might not have had much time to talk about the ethics of our work, but you should know better than this."

"I… I'm sorry, sir," she said. How rare, her calling anyone 'sir'.

"I apologize-""Not to me," the mentalist said.

"To them." She turned to us.

"I'm… I'm sorry. Really, I swear. I shouldn't- shouldn't have done this."

"Good," he said, releasing a pent-up sigh.

"Still. Psychics have it hard enough already reputation wise, and this…" He sighed.

"I'm sorry. The Board will have to revoke your temporary license to practice, and likely revoke the possibility to study the psychic art beyond application in the masquerade altogether – and even inside the masquerade only limitedly."

"I- please, Marcel! Can't you-""No, LieSpy, I cannot."

"I…" I began, "I don't really mind, you know? That she's here, I mean." Doctor Dulang – and Mom too – looked at me in surprise.

"Truly?"

"I mean, it wasn't a nice thing that she did." Millie winced at my tone.

"But as for her being here and… reading my mind or whatever it is you're planning to do – it's whatever." I snorted, albeit humorously.

"Besides, she's already looked in my mind once," I said, "and at my own request, no less."

"She has?" Mom asked. I nodded.

"To get my friends to believe I wasn't lying about the whole… you know." I turned to Doctor Dulang.

"Maybe that and a success today could help somehow?" Millie looked at me wide-eyed in gratitude, then pleadingly at her psychic mentor.

"Hm," he said. He was silent for a moment, humming and hawing before ultimately sighing.

"I'll… try and bring it up with the Board. Depending on how the rest of today goes, and after an extended period of probation and a few… sensitivity lessons, they might – and I emphasize, might – go lenient in this case." I saw Millie visibly repress the urge to hug the man.

"Thank you! Thank you!" she said, jumping for joy instead of hugging. For the how-manyeth-time today, Doctor Dulang sighed.

"Shall we proceed, then?" X The other doctors were called back into the room and Doctor Dulang started explaining what he and Millie would be doing.

"We'll be making a copy of your neural pathways and patterns, a so-called 'pseudo-mindscape'. We do this inside of carefully sectioned off parts in our own minds – both physically and extra-physically, in the psychosphere."

"That sounds…" I began.

"Highly invasive?" the mentalist asked.

"Dangerous." The man looked taken aback, then smiled.

"Very perceptive. You are right: it is dangerous – though not as dangerous as you might think. While there is a risk of creating a form of self-induced schizophrenia, the psychic's mind is, by its very nature, highly flexible, and thus paradoxically highly resilient to these sorts of changes on the long term," he said.

"In short: the mind doesn't like being something that it is not, and so will always attempt to heal itself and throw off whatever is influencing it."

"That's why it is nearly impossible for a psychic to take control of someone," Millie added.

"And completely impossible to do it on the long term, even through implanting subtle suggestions and playing the long game."

"And why it is that, despite the psychic's old reputation, it is usually the augurs that are to be feared when it comes to influencing people," Doctor Dulang said, finishing the tangent.

"Either way, despite that resilience, the risk still exists. Which is why we usually do it in pairs; reconstructing and holding only half a mind is exponentially easier than trying to do a whole one by oneself."

"Because even a fake construct of a mind wants to exists," Millie said.

"Once we've built a copy of your mindscape," Doctor Dulang continued, "we'll be looking for outside influences and the 'missing memories' you've reported during your pseudo-Sam episodes. Unfortunately, we'll have to look extensively inside your mind in the process we'll have, so while you have already signed the waiver, I will ask one more time: do you agree to have your mind scanned?" I nodded. Doctor Dulang returned it.

"And now, with that out of the way: shall we begin?" I nodded my assent again and they began. Not that there was much to it; all I needed to do was set, wait, and 'accept' the mental prodding coming from Millie and Doctor Dulang. Something I found easy to do considering the experience I'd gained against recognizing outside influences. Though from the looks on their faces – closed eyes and intense looks of concentration – it was not so easy for the mentalists to do as it was for me to endure.

It also led me to conclude that while the Heroic Impulse really was an outside force, pseudo-Sam likely was not. Or at least, the efforts of Millie and Doctor Dulang were recognizably similar – if much lesser in force, impact and skill – than that of the Heroic Impulse, whereas pseudo-Sam's was completely different, often going completely unnoticed. After about thirty minutes of them doing as they did, they opened their eyes at the same time, Millie letting out a shaky breath.

She was looking at me oddly, a look of both worry and happiness uneasily coexisting on her face. Before I could ask, and without a second of hesitation, "There is no doubt whatsoever that an outside force is influencing Sam," Doctor Dulang shared his conclusion. The other three doctors' eyebrows raised at the same time.

"Truly?" Doctor Liang said.

"Our own tests had found indications of something going on, but was ultimately unconclusive." Doctor Dulang nodded.

"We've managed to locate and interpret the previously-inaccessible memories of Samantha during her phase as 'pseudo-Sam'," he said.

"Pseudo-Sam is not a constructed personality, it is Samantha Pearsson, one with both sets of memories – of her current and prior to her displacement – albeit in incomplete co-existence."

"Split personality?" Doctor Jones asked.

"In a sense, but not nearly as dramatic," he said.

"As it is externally enforced rather than naturally occurring, it is eminently solvable."

"What-" I began, but cut off. I already knew. Doctor Dulang turned to me and nodded.

"Yes. Your Heroic Impulse is the one doing it."

"But how?" Doctor Liang asked.

"We should've noticed if-"" Because," Doctor Dulang interrupted, "the Machine, as it likes to call itself, is not extraplanar. It is atemporal, existing in conjunction with our own world, albeit in a very difficult to access dimension. One intersecting only through our fourth."

"What dimension? Where?"

"The Achronality," Doctor Dulang said. At that, the doctors were stunned before they all began furiously discussing amongst each other. A discussion I was in no mind to enjoy. Instead, "So, what am I?" I asked no one in particular. Turning away from his discussion for a moment, "Human," Doctor Dulang said. Millie nodded in emphasis.

"You're Sam," Mom said teary-eyed.

"Both of them, but always my Sam." Like before, she went in and hugged me without restraint. This time, though, I didn't return it – not fully at least. Only a shallow, instinctive one. Because while I understood what everyone was saying – that the Machine was the Heroic Impulse and, apparently, not just a program; that pseudo-Sam was other-S- my pre-displacement memories forcibly kept apart by the Machine – there was still one question on my mind.

If I wasn't an android made to be a superhero, and the Heroic Impulse was the Machine, and pseudo-Sam was the real Samantha Pearsson – then what did you call the rest?