The Key to Fear - Kristin Cast Page 0,3
MediCenter’s reflection trapped in its windows like the two were locked in a staring contest. Aiden didn’t bother wondering which would win. The MediCenter would. The Key always won. His toes clenched in his boots. “Be harsh. I can handle it.”
Again, Dr. Scott’s thin lips tightened. “This is serious. If certain people were to get wind of the fact that you’ve been bouncing around from career to career, you would end up in Rehabilitation.”
Each muscle in Aiden’s back stiffened. “I haven’t really been bouncing around.” He straightened and slid to the edge of his seat. “I’m trying to figure some stuff out, but I’ve stayed within the same career, more or less—”
Dr. Scott pushed the holopad across her desk. The transparent screen lit up, blue-tinged white and black text came into focus. “You’ve trained as an anesthesiologist, a surgical core technician, a long-term patient care tech, a short-term patient care tech, in the pharmacology department, the behavioral health department, as well as medi-bot maintenance, cancer research … the list goes on and on.” And it did. So much so that the last line was partially blurred by the bottom of the screen.
Instead, Aiden sat back in his chair and propped his ankle on his knee. “Yeah, but is it really hopping if I’m staying in the same field?”
“Yes!” With a jolt of exasperation, Dr. Scott tossed her finely manicured hands in the air. “And of course you’re staying in the same field. Your tests revealed an aptitude for the medical sciences. We know this is where you’ll thrive.”
He sagged again, plopping his elbows against the plastic armrests. “Maybe I don’t want to have a career yet. Is that something your tests took into consideration?”
Dr. Scott swept the holopad back to its place in front of her. “You are almost eighteen. People your age have been in their assigned career for years and are racing to the top of their field, not dillydallying, trying to figure some stuff out.” Dr. Scott adjusted the row of styluses on her desk until they were all parallel with the edge. “Aiden, there’s nothing to figure out. It’s better to follow the path chosen for you, and the Key has made it simple. I have made it simple. And Rehab—”
Aiden lurched forward. “You know I don’t need Rehabilitation.” He scrubbed a hand along the smooth undercut lining his mohawk’s tight curls. “I can’t go. I won’t. Put me in whatever career field you want. I’ll stay with it.”
Dr. Scott’s thick brows lifted, deepening the creases just below her hairline.
“I swear.” And he meant it.
Her nails clicked against the polished white desktop. “You’ve run through too many other careers. I’ll do my best, but chances are you won’t like where you end up.”
“Anything is better than Rehab. I’ve heard stories.” His gaze fell to the dirty toes of his heavy boots. “I won’t survive there.”
The pink light had drained from the office as the sun cleared the buildings, pinning itself high above the city.
Dr. Scott folded her hands across her desk. “This is the last time I can reassign you. I’ll get it sorted and have your new career assignment within the hour. You know where to find the details. It’ll start today. Go home and change, but don’t be late. You want to make a good impression on your new supervisor, so no stopping somewhere that will get you into more trouble.”
Aiden stood and nodded stiffly, the delicate tinkling of his zippers at war with the heavy clomp of his boots as he shuffled toward the door.
“And, Aiden, tread lightly. You don’t want all that dirt you’re tracking in to give someone a heart attack.”
He gingerly lifted each foot, admiring the powder of dirt left behind. “Guess it’s a good thing we’re in the MediCenter.” With a grin, Aiden strolled through the open door, dirt crunching in muted applause with each step.
Elodie had never been so relieved to leave for work. As long as she could keep from thinking about her mother and about that disturbing lesson fifteen during her ride on the commuter train, she’d be fine. Once she got to work, she’d be swallowed by her job, and the little girl’s screams would be scrubbed from her memory to make way for more pertinent information.
Focused on the day ahead, Elodie jogged down the wide front stairs of the renovated Craftsman she shared with her parents. She paused at street level and pressed the small, purple button on her Key Corp–issued cuff. A comforting