Lizard People Read Online Free PDF Page B

him back to the University,” the man told it.
    â€œI didn’t come from there,” Marco said.
    â€œNone of us did,” the man said, barely concealing a smile.
    â€œWhat is this place? Where are we? Is this a hospital?” Marco asked him.
    â€œAre you saying you’re one of our patients?” the man asked.
    â€œNo,” Marco said. “I’m just visiting, and I want … uh, I need to find your cure for mental illness.”
    â€œSo you are one of ours,” the man said. He sang something to the tube and it turned and projected a zoom-in of Marco in the park, Marco chasing gliders, Marco standing in front of the terminal in the other building.
    The man sang again, and the tube clamped onto Marco’s arm. “You’ll go to Dr. Gila on the second floor,” he said.
    â€œYou don’t understand.” Marco tugged at the tube. “It’s not for me! It’s for my mom. I arrived here through a tunnel, a space tunnel that let me out in that park you just saw. I just came out near that tree. Right before I started chasing the gliders.”
    â€œI understand,” the man said. “That’s what they all say.”
    I kept listening, deep in the story, maybe like a trance, eyes closed, but in another part of my mind, questions accumulated. A cure for mental illness? The year 4000? Has he gone nuts on me?
    Dr. Gila was a tall, blunt-featured, muscular woman in a pale blue jacket and skirt and matching sandals. Her whole outfit was edged in black, and she had some stripes and medallions, too. She was standing in front of her console, her hands folded in front of her. She waited for Marco to speak.
    â€œI don’t need this,” Marco told her. “I’m trying to help my mom is all. I’m okay.”
    She looked compassionate, patient. It was probably her eyes.
    â€œI came here because I found a wormhole, a time-portal deal, and I thought you people seemed really advanced. You might know lots of things … uh, how to cure diseases or how to cure mental illness … and my mom and other people need help.”
    â€œIs this the role they gave you at the University?” she asked. “Are you in premed or psychometry?”
    â€œI don’t know about any University,” Marco said. “I don’t even know what you call this place. I’m from Riverton. California.”
    â€œOf course,” she said. “So you won’t mind if I connect to the University for some information?”
    Marco didn’t know what to say.
    The woman stood very straight, very still. Her hands raised and opened in front of her, framing her face, fingers pointing toward the ceiling. The flesh around the bridge of her nose began a slow swelling, blunting her features, and her complexion, even her hands, took on a scaly bronze-green coloration, something like the skin of a reptile.
    Marco jumped back, but the woman didn’t seem to notice. She had closed her eyes and started a thin, high-pitched, atonal whistle. She stopped and waited. Whistled again for a minute or so. Waited, listening, and then she opened her eyes and lowered her hands. The swelling dissipated and her skin returned to its normal texture and light coffee color.
    I couldn’t seem to interrupt his monologue. I was kind of trapped, but curious.
    â€œThe University confirms,” she said. “You’re not registered. And, Dr. Monitor on the first floor tells me you have no chart with us. Do you have a supervising caregiver in this city or are you a transfer?”
    â€œHow can I get you to believe me?” Marco asked her, aware that his voice sounded whiny.
    â€œI’ll believe you the minute you start telling me the truth or making sense,” she said.
    â€œGive me a lie-detector test,” Marco said.
    â€œAll right,” she said.
    A small black cube entered the room from the side and attached to the back of Marco’s head. It