Page 46 of Skinwalker's Bane
Peterwasat the Institute. He could see the short man’s dark head of hair, in amongst Noa’s admin people. He was using one of the general terminals in the middle of the long, narrow set up.
Adam took the terminal next to him and compiled his shift report quickly. He’d done it so many times, he barely had to think about it anymore. He did hesitate when he reached the personnel section. It was here that any insipient personal problems were to be reported, including anything that had the potential to disrupt the crew or the work. Haydn liked to know about the mental health of the crews, although he never, ever judged.
Adam hesitated. He was supposed to reportanyissues. Technically, the moment in the locker room was an issue. That it was centered on him should have nothing to do with it. Only, he had resolved the issue. The crew had operated normally, in his estimation. Therefore, he really didn’t need to include it in the report. It wasn’t a potential problem anymore.
Keeping that in mind, he finished, sealed and sent the report, then turned to look at Peter before he could reconsider what he had done.
Peter had been sitting, waiting. He was familiar with Adam’s post-shift reporting and knew it wouldn’t take too long. “Midnight Garden,” Peter said firmly. “You can buy me a hot chocolate to celebrate your return to work status.”
Adam didn’t argue, although he knew that Peter wasn’t thrilled with hot chocolate. It was a pretense that would put them both out of earshot of anyone from the Institute, though.
They picked one of the tables farthest away from any of the occupied ones and settled with the two steaming mugs between them. Adam looked at Peter expectantly.
Peter shook his head a little. “The shit Corin had, that I took from him. Remember?”
“I do. I just hadn’t thought about it since then,” Adam admitted. “Lots going on,” he added.
“I saw that,” Peter said, with a grin.
“No smart mouth about Patricians and getting too full of myself?”
Peter shrugged. “Like I care who you bed. Have I ever?”
As Adam’s housemate, Peter had seen companions come and go, as Adam’s crew did not—at least, not as often as Peter had.
Adam relaxed. “Good,” he said firmly.
“Although I will say she’s gorgeous and completely out of your class, Wary.”
“Asshole,” Adam muttered.
“You are,” Peter agreed. He leaned forward. “I’ve been researching the stuff Corin tried to give you. I’m not sure who to tell about it. I have to tellsomeone,though.”
“Why?”
“It’s brutal,” Peter said flatly. “It does everything Corin said it did. It makes you work like a machine, you don’t need much sleep. Energy spikes. Metabolism soars. Endorphins rise. So you’re happy while you’re doing more work than you ever thought possible and you never get tired. You’re stronger. Faster.” Peter shook his head.
“The downside,” Adam asked, unhappiness oozing into his middle. Corin was taking this stuff? Regularly?
“You build a tolerance for it,” Peter said. “Along with a massive addiction, that is both physical and psychological. So not only can you not stop taking it, but you also need more and more of it to even feel normal.”
“What if you do stop taking it?”
“Withdrawals. Everything reverses.” Peter sighed. “That’s the brutal part. Your metabolism tanks.”
“That’s brutal?”
“Metabolism is the engine of the body. Without it, you’re dead. A too slow metabolism creates a shitload of problems that are endemic and incurable. Weight gain. Gut issues. Systemic inflammation, which means you’ll spend the rest of your life having to get second degree cancer treatments, just to begin.”
Adam grimaced. Secondary cancer treatments were painful. He’d suffered through only one course of them and it was enough. “Why would you stop taking the stuff, if the withdrawals are so severe and the benefits are so spectacular?”
“Because they stop being spectacular very quickly,” Peter told him. “They stop altogether, actually. The body can’t cope with that sort of stress and most of it is centered on the brain. Loss of memory, impaired judgement. Slowed reactions.”
Slow reactions could kill, outside. Adam stared at Peter, his heart thudding. “Does this shit show up in the blood?”
“Not with any of the usual screens. I could build a test for it.” Peter met his gaze. “You’re thinking of Lincoln, aren’t you?”
“So are you,” Adam replied. “They never really settled on why the accident happened. Everyone else got out of the way, except for Lincoln. I saw it. He just stood there, as if hewantedthe rock to go through him. Now I’m wondering if he just couldn’t get his shit together fast enough to bounce out of the way. If you could build a test, we could ask that his archived sample get tested.”
