CHERUB: The Sleepwalker - Robert Muchamore Page 0,90
mid-morning snack in the dining-room, but Lauren darted off the path as she spotted a white-coated man heading into the medical unit.
‘What’s up with you?’ Bethany shouted.
‘I’ll only be a sec,’ Lauren said. ‘Get me a hot chocolate and an almond croissant while you’re in the queue.’
‘What did your last slave die of?’ Rat yelled, but Lauren ignored him and kept running.
After cutting across a muddy lawn, she passed through a pair of automatic doors and entered the oppressive heat of the medical unit. She’d caught up with the slender doctor who supervised the medical examinations of every CHERUB recruit.
‘ ’Scuse me, doc,’ Lauren yelled.
‘Yes,’ the doctor snapped, with a German accent. He clearly didn’t appreciate being called doc.
‘Sorry, I mean Dr Kessler. Sir, I think you’re doing a physical on Fahim Bin Hassam this morning and I wondered if he was doing OK?’
‘Look behind you,’ Kessler said, frowning so hard his eyebrows practically switched sides.
Lauren turned and saw a line of muddy trainer prints on the immaculate white floor.
‘Oh god, I’m really sorry. Is there a mop or something?’
‘Nurse Halstead will do it. Just take those filthy things off your feet before you make another step.’
Lauren removed her trainers, revealing novelty socks with eyeballs on top and a grubby yellow bit around the toes that was meant to resemble a duck’s beak.
Kessler cracked a smile. ‘Very fetching.’
Lauren flushed with embarrassment. ‘I’ve been away and I’m behind with my laundry. It was these or a pair of bright yellow football socks I picked up in Australia.’
‘I heard about your latest mission,’ Kessler said, his voice becoming friendlier. ‘My wife is marooned in Hamburg thanks to your investigation.’
‘Sorry,’ Lauren said. ‘Better safe than sorry though, isn’t it?’
‘Two extra days without my wife is a blessing,’ Kessler grinned. ‘Her miserable face saps my will to live.’
Lauren laughed. ‘So am I allowed to know how Fahim’s doing?’
‘I have a sprain from the training course that needs attention, but if you go through the third door on the right you’ll find the observation room and you’ll be able to see for yourself. He’s unfit, but I’ve seen worse.’
‘Thanks,’ Lauren said.
‘And remember you mustn’t speak to—’
‘Can’t talk to orange,’ Lauren nodded.
The rule that you can’t talk to guests wearing an orange shirt on campus was strictly enforced, although it seemed pointless under the present circumstances.
Third on the right took Lauren into a space two metres wide and four long, with broad rubber strips hanging across the doorway at the far end. The wall contained a slit of one-way glass and Lauren crept up to it and shielded her eyes to block out reflections.
She’d never been in this viewing area before, but the two identical stations in the fitness testing area triggered grim memories. All new recruits go through a gruelling medical exam and fitness assessment when they’re first recruited. Once they’re accepted, cherubs have a six-monthly check-up, plus an extra one after any mission lasting more than six weeks.
While a few push-ups and a short run could determine Fahim’s current fitness level, CHERUB needed to know not how fit Fahim was, but how fit he had the potential to become. X-rays determined bone density, ultrasound had been used to examine the composition of his muscles, then urine and blood samples were taken.
After monitoring equipment had been attached to Fahim’s body, the fitness test proper began. Eighteen tests measured everything from muscle strength and body fat, to how fast Fahim could run and how long he could hold his breath. These tests pushed young bodies to the limit, and while Lauren herself had never thrown up during a test the smell of puke and disinfectant always hung in the air.
Lauren watched as Fahim took one of the easiest tests. He was walking briskly on one of the two treadmills, with an oxygen mask over his face and electrode patches stuck to his chest. Nurse Beckett kept one eye on him as his blood sample spun in a centrifuge. Beckett’s role administering fitness exams had earned her the nickname Miss Sickbucket, but she was actually a gentle-mannered lady with permed grey hair.
Fahim wore a mask and his breath passed down a fat tube, similar to a vacuum-cleaner pipe. A machine measured the oxygen level in the air and compared it with the amount of oxygen he breathed into the pipe. The less oxygen Fahim exhaled, the more efficient his lungs were and the greater his chances of passing basic training.