J. Spelbring: Perfection

“You look a little nervous.”

She felt like kicking herself. Since childhood, she’d perfected a mask to display, emotionless and deadpan. But with all the sensations roiling inside her at once—anxiety, fear, excitement—she was wearing them on her sleeve. Of course, she’d never thought she’d be using her skills to flee. She pulled at the hem of her blouse and concentrated on smoothing her demeanor.

“Don’t be,” the conductor continued. “Trains are a wonderful way to travel.” He reached behind her to take papers from another passenger.

“Thank you.” She stepped onto the platform.

The few people who had boarded before her milled down the narrow hall, searching for their compartments. Ellyssa quickly moved to her designated slot before more boarding passengers could crowd the cramped walkway and went inside.

Compared to her sterile room at The Center, the compartment seemed almost homey. The mahogany paneled room held two berths, dressed in ivory satin comforters that matched the lace curtain covering the small window. A thin, silver table, decorated with a menu holder and a small vase of yellow daisies, sat directly under it. Mounted on the wall to the left, a flat-screen television and a radio with two sets of headphones offered entertainment she had never been allowed before.

Ellyssa pulled back the curtain and peered outside, wondering if anyone had found the hidden file. All seemed normal, people wearing business attire and none wearing armbands of red signifying authority. Apparently, the Gestapo hadn’t discovered their mistake, yet. For the first time since she’d fled, her mind felt at ease.

Loud thrumming vibrated under Ellyssa’s feet, and the train started to rock gently from side to side as it slowly pulled away from the station. Ellyssa left her compartment and walked five cars down. Using her gift, she peeked into each space until she found one that was empty. She glanced down the aisle before slipping inside the vacant room.

Settling onto the berth, Ellyssa drifted into a restless sleep.

Dr. George Hirch watched over Leland’s shoulder as his assistant scrolled through pictures. The Center’s data files had thousands of employees across the world. None shared the identical hair and eye color of his soldiers. They were the purebloods of scientific research.

“Is it possible that she deleted all references to herself?” the doctor asked, trying to maintain his dwindling patience. He ran his fingers through his thick, silver hair.

Leland dropped his hand away from the mouse and turned to stare at George. “I’ve already explained to you that yes, it is possible,” he said irritably. “I’m trying to locate anything she might’ve forgotten. I realize you’re anxious, but breathing down my neck is not helping.”

George’s brow furrowed as he looked at Leland with contempt. Leland, a child of The Center, but a genetic foul-up with wavy golden hair and pale powder-blue eyes, had the nerve to talk to him with disdain. If not for Leland’s somewhat above average intelligence, he would’ve been socialized into the general population, taking some insignificant job.

Leland was not like George, who had been one of the first purebreds, seventy years ago. Platinum hair, eyes the color of the sky on a clear day, pale flawless skin, handsome, the doctor had been the poster child of Hitler’s vision.

At the age of five, George had had the fortunate opportunity of meeting the aging visionary when the Führer had visited The Center. Hitler had explained to George and the other subjects the meaning of his visions. It had been the most exhilarating moment of the young doctor’s life, only surpassed when he’d discovered and learned to manipulate the genetic coding of perception. From there, his soldiers were born.

His mind wandered back to the inferior Leland, and anger burned through him. “Just find her,” he snarled.

Leland shrugged and spun around in the computer chair. His fingers clicked across the keys. “This process of scanning pictures one at a time is going to take awhile. You might as well sit down.” The younger man leaned his head toward the computer as people’s faces flipped across the monitor.

Frustrated, George glanced at the screen. The familiar face of a female who worked on the second floor flashed, quickly replaced with some other woman who worked in the London facility.

Throwing his hands in the air, he returned to his executive-style desk and began analyzing Ellyssa’s psychological profile, yet again, to compare her to her siblings. Her personality tests had all returned without any wavers within the boundaries. Her physical and emotional tests exceeded the scope of established parameters. She even surpassed her siblings in martial arts and weapons training.

Where did things go wrong?

“What have you found?”

Concentrating on Ellyssa’s tests and profiles, the doctor started at the unexpected voice. Detective Angela Petersen, head of The Center’s Kripo unit, stood at the front of his desk, peering at him with questioning eyes. A twig stuck out of her disheveled hair, and dried blood was smeared along her cheek. As if nothing was wrong, she smoothed her rumpled skirt and shirt before sitting in the guest chair directly across from him.

Angela was living proof that, after the initial tweaking of man, nature would’ve eventually weeded out undesirable traits. Besides being beautiful, with angular cheeks, bright eyes—although a little too small and the wrong color—and unlined skin, the detective was highly intelligent, physically toned, mentally stable, and proud of her abilities. Close to having the required qualities without modification but, unfortunately, still lacking.

“Ah, Detective. Your German is improving,” George responded in his visionary’s native tongue. “What happened to you?”

“Your precious daughter is what happened,” she snapped.

He straightened in his chair, his lids widened minutely. “She attacked you?”

“Yes. It seems she is not as docile to authority as you thought.”

After grabbing antiseptic from the top drawer, he walked around the desk and examined the gash on the detective’s head. It was a small laceration, but deep. He soaked a cotton ball with the yellowish liquid. “This may sting a little,” he said as he blotted the wound. “Tell me what happened.”

“As we thought, she was heading toward the station, but at the last minute she crossed the street and went into Hitler Park.”

“The park?”

“Yes, she said she was going on a walk.”

The doctor chuckled while he dabbed the ointment on Angela’s head.

“What?”

“She knew who you were.”

“I was careful to keep my mind clear.”

“An impossible task. But to be on the fair side, Ellyssa’s powers are astoundingly developed, even beyond my expectations.”

“Maybe I’d have been better prepared if I had known of her ability before she’d escaped,” she hissed, jerking away when he applied pressure to the wound. “What are we going to do about her?”

“Well, Detective, you are going to capture her and bring her back home.”

“She is more dangerous than originally anticipated.” She pulled away from the doctoring hand and stood facing him. “You, yourself, said she would come willingly. That she would pose no problems. You were wrong.”

“What do you propose?”