The Lasaran (Aldebarian Alliance #1) - Dianne Duvall Page 0,3
meals a day. She’d also participated in a study researching whether or not arnica gel could decrease muscle soreness after exercise in comparison to a placebo. That one had been easy peasy. So had another on the effect of Concord-grape-juice consumption on cognitive function. The one on the effects of grape supplementation on physical endurance had probably been her least favorite.
When Dr. Aguera had mentioned participating in studies, he had also encouraged her to let him look them over first so he could warn her away from any that might be too risky. “My wife—then fiancée—freaked out my first year of grad school when I participated in a trial for a sleep aid that gave me such horrific, vivid nightmares that I woke up screaming once or twice per night,” he had confided. So she had shown him every prospective flyer that caught her eye.
“They’re not going to want you for this one,” he said, handing her another page. “They’ll be looking for subjects with a higher BMI.”
“Oh.” Lisa had been forced to choose between paying rent and buying groceries so often since her father’s death that she was at the low end of a normal BMI. She’d been underweight, her rib cage and collarbones uncomfortably prominent, for so many months that she was actually thankful she made the scale now.
His brows drew down as his eyes widened. “Hell no on this one. One of my other students checked it out, and the possible side effects are terrifying.”
Lisa glanced at the page he handed her. “Really? It’s for an allergy medication.” She had seasonal allergies, so she’d thought this one would be a win-win.
“I know. You’d think that would be okay, but…” He shuddered. “Don’t do that one.”
“Okay.”
He perused the next. His expression lightened as a smile dawned. “I’m tempted to try this one myself just to see who else shows up.”
She grinned. “Is that the psychic one?”
“Yeah. The Anomalous Cognition Research Institute,” he read. “That’s a mouthful, isn’t it?”
She laughed.
“They appear to be looking for psychics.” He sent her a narrow-eyed look over the paper. “You haven’t been holding out on me, have you, Holt? I could really use those winning lotto numbers.”
She sent him a wry smile. “So could I. Then I wouldn’t have to do these trials.”
He scanned the flyer. “They pay you for the time it takes to go through the screening program.”
“Right. And I can do it on my lunch hour, so I won’t miss work.” She had a two-hour break between classes.
He read a little more. “Looks like they’ll do the old What card am I holding up? test.”
She nodded. “I checked out their website. It seems legit.”
He handed her the flyer, then retrieved his phone from his battered briefcase. “Let me give it a look and make sure they aren’t crackpots.” A moment passed while he browsed. “Hmm.”
“What?”
“I think their parent company might be funded by the government.”
She frowned. “Really?” She hadn’t seen that.
“Seems okay though,” he murmured, swiping and scrolling through the site. “Read the fine print on whatever forms they give you first. Make sure it doesn’t mention testing any drugs or herbal supplements they believe can enhance psychic abilities or anything like that. If it does, don’t commit until we check those out. Their website doesn’t really go into depth on how exactly they plan to study you if you’re selected, so if they want to do any scans that involve exposure to radiation, tell them no.”
“You really think the government is looking for psychics?”
He shrugged. “Wouldn’t surprise me. They’ve been known to use remote viewers in the past.”
She stared at him. “Really?”
“Yeah. Pretty wild, right?”
“Right.”
He put his phone away. “You heading over there today?”
“May as well.”
“Let me know how it goes,” he said with a smile as students for his next class began to meander in.
“I will. Thanks, Dr. Aguera.”
The Anomalous Cognition Research Institute ended up being in the basement of a pretty sleek two-story medical building. The exterior looked new and modern, lots of brick, glass, and steel. The lobby was crisp and clean with marble flooring and enough artsy accents to remind her of a high-end dermatologist’s office.
The woman at the information desk directed Lisa to an elevator that took her down to the ACRI office. Though the basement was bright and clinically clean, it lacked the flare of the lobby and was a bit of a letdown. She would likely only see it once though, so it made little difference.