Nat came to his senses for what was this, the fifth time today? He was starting to lose his patience, especially because this didn't feel at all like waking up from an episode. He'd been ignored, then knocked out — somehow — and the thought was inflaming his temper, which was rising quickly into outright anger.

  At least he could see, and hear, and wasn't nauseous. Perhaps illogically, that thought caused the roiling irritation to settle into a slow simmer, instead.

  The familiar ceiling told Nat he was back in his room, laying atop the duvet on his bed, still clothed. He threw his legs over the side and sat up — he said nothing, but instead focused on listening to the raised voices clearly in the middle of a contentious conversation; one that bore similarity to his own line of thought. He remained sitting, wanting to see how this played out — considering some choice phrases and maybe an explicative or two while awaiting his turn.

  “This is not how you build trust, Lyn.” — that was Moira, the tinny voice was instantly recognizable.

  “I made a decision, and I am comfortable accepting the consequences of that decision.”

  A voice Nat did not recognize joined the heated discussion in progress. “You are not authorized to make decisions that could affect the safety of the residents or staff of Bell House. I am the administrator of this facility.” Hmm. That didn't sound like the administrator, but Nat considered that he'd never heard the man angry.

  “There was no time to notify you! How could you let him wander the facility unescorted, unobserved?” Lyn was on the defensive. Good, thought Nat. He was not feeling charitable at the moment.

  “We only found out that he was awake a few minutes prior! We were gathering staff to scour the facility as soon as he was spotted on his way to the gardens.”

  That was the administrator again. This conversation was becoming vaguely disturbing. Were they talking about him? Why?

  “You don't have alarms? Monitors in place? Someone checking on him?”

  “Someone checking on him? What, once an hour, for years? And of course we have alarms in place. But they were all destroyed — none of them were designed to withstand a blast furnace!”

  “You knew about the thermal events — the monitoring devices should have been engineered to withstand them.”

  “When we checked the room, the stone was still glowing slightly, Lyn. The stone.”

  “And now you've learned an important lesson — build backup external monitors that alarm on destruction of the internal ones.”

  Moira interjected in that tinny voice, “Sorry to interrupt, but that implies that there's been an escalation of output?”

  “There's a correlation with the duration of the episode. The episode duration has increased, so yes. Lyn is aware. It's all in the notes.” Nat decided he disliked the condescending tone the administrator applied liberally to his response.

  “The notes do not mention anything at the levels of energy output you are suggesting,” Lyn snapped back.

  “Output had not increased this disproportionately before! The prior long freeze was almost 30 years ago — was almost twice this duration — and did not have a fraction of this output. Some childhood events were similar, but the ignition-level events did not continue after the affinity adjustments, at least we assume affinity changes, since they ceased after the eighth year equinox; with no system it's impossible to know for certain.”

  “30 years? Well, that means the timestamps are likely accurate — that raises some other questions for later. Regardless — he has an interface, but it had been rendered partially non-functional. I've made some provisional repairs and restored safeguard functionality, but it's fragile and may break again. I will be able to detect if it goes offline.”

  “Repairs? How is that possible? And how could you possibly know that? Who exactly are you?”

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  “I'm an Agent — and, I'm an Agent. I'm Moira. That's all you need to know right now. Lyn?”

  Lyn interrupted, “There will be no more questions directed at Moira. You can direct them to me, or Moira's participation — critical as it is — in this conversation is over.”

  “Lyn — who is this? An agent of a creche?”

  Lyn deadpanned, “That would be technically accurate.”

  Moira added, “The best kind! Now, let's get back on track — we've got a situation that needs addressing.”

  “Lyn? Do you vouch for her? I suppose it would explain the unusual,” the administrator paused meaningfully, “presence here.”

  “I do. I've worked with Moira for years, and I can vouch for both her authority, and knowledge in this matter.”

  “Fine, then. Regardless — I am in charge of this facility and if a creche has reason to interfere, I will be consulted, beforehand! Now, let's talk next steps. He's back in his room, but if we have reason to believe that thermal events are going to continue any time he has an episode, we're going to have to constrain him to his room — there are no other facilities on the premises capable of handling that kind of output — it was specially constructed, at great expense, after the last event.”

  Last event? What the heck were they talking about? Had his episodes been causing problems? He didn't recall that at all, but he always took time to recover after one. But even so, it was never that much time — maybe he'd lose the memory in a subsequent episode? They did tend to cluster together.

  The voices were still close by, but now that the yelling had stopped, they were no longer easily understood. He caught a few words here and there, but nothing that revealed more than a basic gist of what they were talking about. They were clearly concerned that something about his talent was dangerous, but if that was true, why hadn't anyone told him?

  Or had they? His memory had been getting worse. But he did recall large swaths of time here at Bell House, so that couldn't be true. All they'd have to do is wait a day or two for the cluster to end — he could remember entire seasons without episodes, and he knew he didn't lose days unless everyone was deceiving him by adjusting the calendar.

  Hmm. Nat thought back and realized that at some point calendar dates had stopped being referenced when talking to him. He didn't really normally notice — what was 'time' when each day was the same in a hospital? He barely knew what day of the week it was, normally. To Nat, only the seasons themselves really mattered, and that was because he enjoyed watching the local wildlife and identifying the various shrubs and flowers that came and went.

  It was time to get some answers, he decided. There might be something wrong with him, and he might not remember even having the conversation later — episodes happened that would wipe out entire days, after all. But, if he didn't try, he'd be giving up autonomy and letting someone else make all the decisions about his life — and if that happened, then what was even the point?

  He stood up, and made to step out into the hallway to confront the group of people making decisions about his life without him. Too fast, apparently — his vision grayed out, and he stumbled and yelped as he banged his knee on the ground.

  The voices in the hallway suddenly stopped. So much for his dramatic entrance asserting control of his life. Well, whatever — he'd manage it all the same.

  “Ah, Nat. You're awake.” The administrator came around the corner into view first, looking into the doorway. Nat, as bad as he was with faces, was well–practiced at recognizing posture and the unique body movement that people possessed. He'd never met this man before — he was sure of it, but he'd been listening to him yell for a few minutes now, so he fit the voice to the role.

  The prior administrator had been somewhat mousey with glasses that made him look a bookworm. This current administrator in no way resembled that description. He was a large man, in every sense of the word. Tall, broad-shouldered, muscular, but with a paunch to match. Nat's very concept of an administrator was at odds with the reality of the man. He looked more like a recently retired blacksmith. It takes all sorts, he supposed.

  Next came an orderly, close on the administrator's heels. Nat didn't know the guy — he was in the usual white smock they wore. Nat's mind just skipped over him for now.

  Tanner was next — his broad grin in place as always. Though as a lupine Brin all of his facial expressions were wide and toothy, so that wasn't really noteworthy. Nat was aware others could find Tanner's smile disconcerting, but it never bothered him. Faces, even those of Brin, just didn't really register emotions with Nat, so he didn't tend to feel nervous about a sharp, toothy grin. The number of times he'd mistaken anger for happiness or missed that someone was smiling was not inconsequential.

  After that Lyn shuffled in reluctantly, looking somewhat embarrassed — interestingly that facial expression was one that always grated on Nat's nerves — it was a loud emotion to him. It always made him distinctly uncomfortable just to see it. He looked away — which might be taken as dismissal or anger, but in this case was just to avoid feeling discomfort. And maybe he was still a little, just a tiny bit, barely a smidgen angry, he admitted to himself with slight reluctance.

  Nat waited for Moira to enter, but it seemed no-one else was going to come in. Perhaps she'd decided to stay outside, or had something else to do.

  The administrator and the orderly both remained near the door. Tanner approached, his demeanor friendly and engaged as usual — his body language was always welcoming, even if he was having a bad day with tics. Lyn also moved further into the room, approaching the bed, which Nat was now standing next to, after having recovered from his dizzy stumble.

  “So,” Nat started, “Is anyone going to tell me what's actually going on?”