Neon Genesis Evangelion Fan Fiction ❯ Second Coming ❯ Feet First ( Chapter 3 )

Chapter Three: Feet First

 

My dreams overnight focused on wild, crazy things. I was chased down the halls of my old school by a miniature, human-sized Angel; I stared down Giant Naked Rei. I drowned twice and nobody even batted an eye either time, thinking I was just practicing to be a pilot. I was hit by a race car and had to be put in a tank of LCL while I regenerated, drawing life energy from a vat of clones like the Reiquarium. I became trapped in an Evangelion, synchronizing so well that it took on my appearance and I lumbered around permanently as a 200 foot tall version of myself.

I can't even blame all this crap on eating too soon before bed, I grumbled upon waking up, trying to ignore my rumbling stomach. I'd have to get something from a snack bar - I was sure I'd seen one somewhere - on my way to the Cage.

Showering, cleaning up, and getting dressed were my immediate goals, in that order. It wasn't that hard, though I wasn't thrilled about putting the same clothes on two days in a row, especially since they'd been sandblasted the day before. In an effort to make them at least seem fresh, I took the travel iron that was tucked in my closet (I told you it was like a hotel room) and pressed each pressable item as best I could.

Mom, if you could only see me now, I said to myself, smirking as I stood there in my underwear, using an iron for the first time in at least a decade. Then again, if my mother - Jack's mom, the one I knew and remembered - had seen me at that moment, she first of all wouldn't know it was me, and second, even if she did know it was me, would be too shocked to notice what task I was performing.

"About as good as it's gonna get," I muttered, holding the skirt up for inspection. Putting it on, I surmised it was a largely wasted effort anyway, as I'd probably spend 90 percent of the day in my plugsuit instead. Still, it was high time I took pride in my appearance, as I'd promised myself when I woke up in the hospital, so it wasn't exactly completely hopeless.

Forty minutes later, I was finishing off the last of a can of apple juice and a sausage and cheese muffin as I arrived at the Cage. Dr. Andrews was waiting, of course.

"Well, good morning; glad you could join us," she remarked.

"It's 7:49," I said, glancing at the clock. "Don't I have 11 minutes yet?"

She smiled and commented to the technician sitting nearby, "I told you she wasn't easy to get flustered."

I blinked, not understanding what the whole deal was, and tossed my empty drink can into a nearby recycling bin. "Should I go get changed?"

"Not right yet, Pilot," Dr. Andrews said, standing up from the corner of the desk on which she was seated. "First we want to do some tests."

"I thought the whole day was tests," I said.

 

Oh.. this kind of test, I realized several minutes later, seated at a work desk, filling in blanks on a Scantron sheet with a certified number 2 pencil. The questions seemed to have been swiped right from the standard IQ test, various aptitude and standards tests, physics, math, scientific fields, and even a couple ones I would have considered moral or philosophical essays. (Don't ask how I answered that on the computerized scoring sheet. It wasn't pretty.) The test was all over the map and then some, and as I found out when I finished it, I still wasn't done. After I turned it in and while it was being marked, I was told to study my base map and memorize the locations of all first-aid locations. I was halfway through that when another test was slapped down in front of me, the papers still warm; apparently printed up specifically based on how well I'd scored on the previous test. This one focused on radio communications theory, more mathematics and biological sciences (never my strong suits), mechanical repair and upkeep theory, and, again, psychological profiling of some sort that was still hard as hell to put down on a multiple-choice answer form.

As the technician/exam proctor picked up my completed paper, I looked up at him with as fierce a glare as I could muster, considering my already-exhausted mental state. "If you put down a third test, you'll pull back a bloody stump."

He chuckled and walked away. I frowned and went back to the map memorization thing, having not been told to do anything else yet. The time was 9:43.

At precisely 10:00, the PA came on. "Pilot Thomson report to medical station 324A immediately." It repeated once and clicked off.

I blinked, standing up, and looked around. The tech, Dr. Andrews; no one was around. Was this part of the test - deciding if I could leave without permission?

I cursed myself as I started out the door back into the base proper. I'd been going through the list of aid stations numerically, as they were listed on my chart, and was only in the 240s when the PA called me out. I had noticed what I thought was a pattern to the numbering, though - it didn't follow the same scheme as the room or building numbers, of course - and got halfway across the base to 324A, in the northeast quadrant, in six minutes.

"Good time," a uniformed guard said as I ran up, panting. He held out a defibrillator - a blocky, 20-pound lunchpail-sized device. "This has to go back to the manufacturer for repair. The truck leaves at 10:15 from Loading Dock 17 in Building 9."

"B.. building 9," I said breathlessly, visualizing it in the southeasternmost corner of the base, where the gates were for semis and cars alike to come and go. "Got it."

"By fifteen past, Pilot!" the man called out as I turned and ran.

 

Sweet Jesus Christ, I cursed to myself four and a half minutes later, only about halfway to my destination, my arms burning from exertion only about half as badly as my legs were. A 14-year-old body can't push as hard as a full grown adult can, especially carrying a bulky, awkward piece of equipment.

"I am so not going to make it," I moaned in despair, trying not to give in and slow to a walk. Arriving at one of the longest skywalks in the complex, I blinked and saw a guy with an electric cart-like device idling in the open area where building lobby met skywalk.

I ran up to him, almost doubling over as I dumped the defibrillator in the back cargo area. "Sir, I need your help," I blurted out.

"Wha? I'm waiting for somebody," he protested. "We gotta move a--"

"Sir, I have to get this to LD17 B9 right now," I said with desperation, looking him in the eye. I don't know if he took pity on a young girl looking forlornly at him or what, but his expression softened.

"Right now, huh?"

"Faster would be better," I said, stealing a line from a favorite TV show.

"All right, get on then," he said, patting the seat beside him.

 

The golf cart screeched to a halt just inside Loading Dock 17 at thirteen minutes past the hour. I picked up the defibrillator and virtually dragged it over to the shipping counter at the dock.

"What's this?" the guy at the counter asked.

"Return for repair," I said, pushing the device towards him. "I was told it has to be on the 10:15 truck."

"I don't have it on my sheet," he said. "Where'd you bring it from?"

"Aid station 324A," I said, recalling the place from memory, luckily.

"Hmm. Okay, I can get it on." He hand-wrote the information on the bottom of the last sheet of his manifest. "Name?"

"Wha?"

"Your name, please?" he bit out.

"Oh. Jill Thomson," I answered. "Sorry."

"Sign here, please."

I took the pen and blinked as I stared at the signature line. This would be the first time I'd ever put my new name to paper. Trying not to appear as if hesitating, I scrawled out the two words; the handwriting reminded me a lot of how my old signature looked at age 14, albeit a little smoother.

"Got it, it's on its way," the shipper confirmed, putting it in a case and shoving it down the conveyor belt.

"Thanks," I nodded. I turned around and the guy with the cart was gone; so much for getting a lift back to where I'd commandeered him.

Suddenly, red strobes mounted on the walls began flashing, and an alarm sounded. On the PA, a voice declared, "This is a drill. This is a drill. All personnel report to your assigned emergency stations. This is a drill."

I let out a forceful sigh. "You got to be kidding me," I said, looking around. There was no other option but to run, again. I was reasonably certain my assigned emergency station would be in the Eva.

I departed the loading dock as people scrambled to and fro, gathering equipment and manning their posts. It dawned on me what was going on, and I shook my head a little. Pulling out all the stops, I mused. I hope these people don't figure out this is all because of me, or I might get lynched.

By 10:21 I was back at the Cage, my legs feeling like jello and my lungs threatening to burst. Dr. Andrews was standing in the offices where all this had started, and pointed towards the change room "Into your suit," she urged. "Quickly."

Yup.. exactly what I'd figured. I dashed wordlessly into the change room and stripped down, pulling out the freshly cleaned plugsuit and tearing it out of the silly plastic-wrap cover for the second day in a row. Climbing into the suit, I reflected that once I sealed it, at least my legs would maintain some semblance of shape if they Tangified from being run completely ragged all morning.

Once in the suit, I headed out the other side of the change room and was directed towards the simulation plug. This wasn't what I expected, but I did it anyway. As I climbed into the plug and waited for it to fill with LCL, I realized that I might not get into the Eva for weeks yet.

"Slow your breathing down," Dr. Andrews demanded after I'd transitioned to fluid breathing in the LCL. "Take it easy. Focus on synchronizing."

So that was the purpose. Get me all worked up, throw me a surprise alert, and see if I could still sync up. Well, I could handle that, I was confident.

I tried to control my breathing, but holding one's breath while your blood is being directly oxygenated doesn't have the same effect as when air is involved. Holding your breath normally increases a function called hypoxic drive, which is where you have an autonomic demand to take in a breath in order to pull in more air, which brings in more oxygen. With liters of LCL inside me, providing oxygen directly to me, I had no hypoxia (literally - lack of oxygen) to speak of, and, truth be told, I probably could have held my breath for a hell of a long time. One day I'll have to experiment with that.

So anyway, I had to physically focus on my actual breathing rhythm and will it to slow down. As I was trying to do that, I heard Dr. Andrews say calmly over the speakers, "Focus on the simulation body, please."

How inna hell am I supposed to do both.. I stewed, but decided to put the breathing exercises out of the way for a minute and try to envision my arms and legs becoming the simulation body's - or vice versa, however you want to put it. Once I got synced up, surely I could get my breathing under control.

The soon-to-be-familiar sensation of legs and arms overlapping with what I was getting from my own flesh and blood returned slowly, as if I was still unused to it - which was exactly the case, of course, this being only the second time I'd attempted synchronization. In another moment, the torso and head came to me, and I had as good a synchronization as I was going to get.

As I worked on calming down my breathing and heart rate, which was still hard due to the adrenaline coursing through me, I heard the tech call out: "Thirteen ei.. nine. Stable at thirteen nine."

"All right," Dr. Andrews said, not sounding elated, but not disgusted either. "Jill, you've reached synchronization. Well done."

"Can.. can I just sit here for a bit?" I asked, finally catching my breath. "With or without the simulation body active, I don't care. I just need to sit for a few minutes."

"Of course," she said. "Do you want to try it with the simulation body left on?"

"Sure," I shrugged.

"Very well." To the techs: "Continue monitoring, but prepare for disconnect on.. Pilot Thomson's order."

"Thank you," I told her. Clearly from her tone of voice, she was entrusting me with something I shouldn't have the rights to at this skill level.

"Just relax. You passed, Jill. Well done."

"Thank you, Doctor," I repeated, smiling and shutting my eyes.

 

Dressed and dried some 45 or more minutes later, I was finally granted leave to go get some much-needed supplies. They provided a car and an escort in the form of Agent Shirobu, who chauffeured me into a medium-sized town nearby with a Wal-Mart.

Getting followed around the store by my shadow - in the form of the tall Japanese man in a dark suit - was rather annoying, but couldn't be helped, I figured. They weren't about to let me out of their sight for anything.

Pushing an empty cart before me, I went into the young ladies' section of the clothing department, drawing a deep breath. In short order, a roaming clerk asked if I needed help.

"Let me get this all out in one breath," I told her. "I've got literally nothing but the clothes on my back. I need everything; bra, underwear, shirt, pants, shoes, socks, whatever. I'm not interested in making a fashion statement and I don't want to be here for 9 hours trying on trendy crap. I just want some comfortable, functional clothes to wear. That's it."

That seemed to get my point across. I hate to perpetuate a stereotype, but I was interested solely in getting in and out with the least hassle, like a guy would. I didn't want to be mistaken for the typical young girl who wanted to spin around before a mirror for the rest of the day, trying out things she'd never have a real chance to wear in a normal setting.

It still took about 45 minutes, but I ended up with the cart about three-quarters full, with a number of pairs of pants, socks, two pairs of shoes (one set of runners and one dressy pair, if you really must know); a bunch of T-shirts and some button-up shirts, as well as a couple of blouses; some shorts and other athletic wear, plenty of undergarments, and yes, all right already, I did pick up two skirts. Get over it.

Shirobu balked as I wheeled towards another section of the store instead of heading to the checkouts at that point. "Miss, where are--"

"Music," I declared. "I need some tunes."

"Miss, we're here strictly to obtain clothing for you.."

I stopped and looked over my shoulder, upwards at him. "Section Two gonna condone me downloading five or six hundred songs off torrent sites?"

He looked down at me silently, lips forming a thin line.

"Thought so," I said, resuming my trek towards the electronics department.

I found myself humming Komm Süsser Tod while I flipped through the racks of CDs. It dawned on me at that point that there was a whole portion of my favorite music that would not be available in this world - most likely - namely everything done for the Evangelion series, among some other stuff. I mourned internally for its loss and moved on to the next aisle.

After I was done selecting music, I decided to grab some groceries too, to stock up my fridge. No, I did not make a trip past the cosmetics counter on my way to the cashiers. You people are relentless, you know that?

Shirobu helped me load my $2000+ US shopping spree into the trunk of the dark Crown Vic while I wondered if I'd just spent my first three or four paychecks before even getting them. I wonder how much being a savior of the planet pays? I quipped to myself.

On the way back to the base, I fiddled with the controls in the limo-style staff car, trying to distract myself from the task that would be at hand once I arrived 'home': No, not supper - starting on my first 'homework assignments' in the self-managed learning modules. I was going to have to get busy on them, I figured, with the course load I had laid out for myself.

I am going to be bagged when this day is over, I sighed, lowering the window and letting the wind blow through my hair. And this is just the start of things.

 

"The meteorite impact released enough energy to flash-melt 96 percent of the ice shelf surrounding the southernmost continent," the documentary video droned on as I sat and watched, perched on the chair, munching on some potato chips. "The result was a series of tsunamis which killed millions instantly upon landfall, and raised the sea levels 60 meters in some locales. Many hundred millions more died as a direct result of the tsunamis' destruction of local infrastructure."

"Weak cover-up," I muttered to myself, watching the footage of various areas that seemed too badly damaged to consider 'disaster zone' an adequate description. The way I recalled it from the series, Second Impact caused the instantaneous death - or 'ascension', or whatever - of at least 2, maybe 3 billion people. I'd lived through.. well, that's maybe the wrong way to put it. My original world lived through a monster tsunami in 2004, reportedly caused by an earthquake off Sumatra, which killed a hundred thousand or more - and it took weeks to build that death toll. Even a tsunami on an orders-of-magnitude greater scale would still take time to take as many lives as the Second Impact cover story was blamed for. Even if they'd blamed part of it on the dust and debris kicked up by the meteor impact, that still would take something on the order of months to kill people off.

I shut up and turned my attention back to the video, which was pointing out to me that regardless of the story, true or not, the end result was the same - lives were lost in great, heretofore-unfathomable numbers. As I mentioned earlier, New York City was all but lost. Coastlines around the world were redrawn, sometimes day by day as water levels sought their final point. The planet's climate abruptly changed; according to the video because the meteoric impact had caused a shift in the planet's axis, actually turning the world in its orbit. Probably closer to the truth was the introduction of so much new liquid that had been until that point essentially a land mass had caused some profound ecological revisions.

I sat up straight in the chair at that point, getting out a pencil and paper and jotting down the revised capital cities that they mentioned in passing - rewinding and replaying the section over and over until I got them all down. To anyone who lived through it, that section of the video would be little more than a slight bit of commentary, and it was glossed over pretty quickly. I freeze-framed it and stepped through it slowly, like a Star Wars fanboy inspecting a CGI scene, so that I would not look like a total twit when I found that I was making reference to a city that had been abandoned in 2000 and moved 75 or 80 miles inland to the new shoreline.

I could just imagine what someone would think if they dropped in on me at that point. What'm I doin'? Oh, nothing, just fortifying my knowledge with things I should know as a native of your reality. Want a potato chip?

As I resumed my original seating position, feet up on the seat of the chair along with my butt, knees drawn in close to my chin (I enjoyed being smaller than I used to be, in some respects), I put another handful of chips in my mouth, and the disc continued on with more about the aftermath of Second Impact. The story was being told of how the UN managed to take control of the situation and bring nations together, though there was feuding of some sort on many fronts for months afterwards. That was solved when the UN amalgamated a number of its member countries' armies into a conglomerate something something..

I woke up when I hit the ground, having fallen completely off the chair sideways to the floor. I dropped potato chips all over the floor, the empty plastic bowl clattering away into a corner. Getting up and feeling bruises already forming on top of the day's earlier bruises, I decided maybe it was time to stop and rest for the night.

Cleaning up the mess as best I could, and shutting off the notebook computer that was my classroom teacher, I shed the T-shirt and shorts I'd been wearing as lounge wear and headed to bed.

 

The next few days played out much the same way, save for the shopping trip. A pattern developed: I was to do my fitness lessons every morning immediately before arriving at the Cage, the reason twofold. One, it ensured I was keeping up with my physical fitness and learning schedules; two, it got me physically worked up right before I entered the sim plug. The end result was that my synchronization abilities were becoming easier and easier to do at will, regardless of my physical condition, and I actually started to see a rise in points. Nothing spectacular, mind you - from almost 14 percent on the first true day of testing, through to 17.7 at the end of that week.

I studied my brains out when I wasn't doing Eva-related training - either in the sim plug or committing to memory aspects of the Eva and its support systems. I was actually getting fairly good with knowing the things I was supposed to know already. The part which startled me the most was how well I was picking up my two alternate languages - the mandatory Japanese and the elective German. I suppose the fact of the matter was that as a dedicated anime fan, I had been exposed to a lot of Japanese; and having been a product of the Canadian school system in my past life, I'd learned French, which meant German wasn't that hard to assimilate either.

I lay on my bed one night, eyes shut, trying to learn how to control my breathing in different ways, to help with the sim plug practice. My mind started to drift to the timeline that I knew, if it even applied any more.

I wonder what's going on in Tokyo-3 right now. Has Rei had her failed activation experiment? Has Sachiel appeared? Is Shinji on a train or still living somewhere else?

And just how exactly does Three's current status fit into that? I wondered. As far as I knew, the Eva was well on its way to being completed and ready for me to get in and test - or, it could be ready to go now, and they could just be blowing a lot of smoke in my direction with the 'work is still underway' crap. This was way ahead of schedule as far as I knew.

Then again, the fact that Nevada was First Branch instead of Second Branch turned all that on its ear, anyway.

Am I going to disappear in a puff of anti-matter during a super solenoid test? I asked myself. That too didn't fit the timeline; Three was to be contaminated by Bardiel upon its first activation test - taking place in Japan, not America - and be destroyed at the hands of Shogouki, Eva 01.

"Stop trying to find ways to die," I scolded myself. If I had anything to say about it, I was going to survive all my startup tests, and feel the power of an Evangelion and its AT Field. I would see it all through to the moment of Third Impact, and do all I could to help the other Children during that time - whether we stopped Instrumentality or not. I would either experience it with them, or help them prevent it.

There is no guarantee things will go the way you recall them, I found myself thinking as I drifted off to sleep, surely to have more outrageous dreams, like I had ever since assuming Jill's identity.

 

June started on a Monday that year. I should have known that everything was going to go to shit, from the very fact it was Monday.

Dr. Andrews wanted to take me in for a full physical and medical, for starters.

"Why now?" I protested. "After a month of sim body testing, now you're going to see how my real body stacks up?"

She stopped walking down the hall with me to the infirmary and turned to me. "I'm going to be frank with you."

Can I be Jack, then? I barely resisted quipping.

"Your synchronization and harmonics scores.. they're not the best in the world. They're not even second best. We're somewhat concerned about what might be causing this."

"I thought biological stuff didn't affect sync ratios?" I said, before realizing yet another slip up.

Luckily, she missed or ignored it. "They don't. But perhaps there is something we can deduce from looking at you." She turned to continue on, prompting me to follow once more. "You should've had this when you came here, anyway - the only reason we didn't was because you were already under a doctor's care."

"Right," I said. I wasn't looking forward to poking, prodding, checking, and generally undressing in front of anyone. So far I'd managed to keep nudity to myself, and I didn't know how I'd react when stripping in front of another person.

Hah, you thought I was going to say another woman. Dream on, fool.

 

"Well, that settles that," Dr. Andrews said, stripping off the exam gloves.

"Does it now?" I queried, putting my underwear back on.

"You're the picture of health," she declared. "Even your leg injuries are quite nicely healed up. I trust you're not having any problems with them?"

I thought back to the day I'd been run ragged - day two of the sim body tests. "I think we can say they've held up to the punishment nicely."

"Before you get too much more on, let's weigh you and such." She gestured to one of those balance-scale pedestals, on which I stepped obediently.

The little weight on top stopped in between 6 and 7. "Um.." I said, confused, never having been able to read those scales properly.

"Almost 47 kilograms," she said, gesturing to the larger weight just below the first one. "About a hundred and four pounds."

"Oh," I said with surprise, blinking. First I went from 5 foot 10 to 5 foot 3.. then from ... well, a lot.. down to 104?

"You really should put on a bit of weight."

I blinked again. "Excuse me?"

"Ideal weight for a girl your size is 107 to 111 pounds. Have you been doing some sort of diet?"

"..No," I said, though I couldn't exactly admit to her that I'd been watching what I ate since my brain was still wired to accept two double bacon cheeseburgers and a large fries as a normal-sized meal.

"Have a couple of celebratory dinners once in a while," she joked. "Especially now that you've started a serious fitness regime, you're going to be burning more calories than you're used to. Have a milkshake every now and then."

I smirked. "I'm dreaming, right?"

"Don't let it go to your head," she said dryly. "Or your stomach. Just enough to bulk up a little bit."

"You're the doctor, Doctor," I replied. Shifting gears, I said, "So, um.. if my medical came out clean, then.."

She understood what I was getting at, and sat down on the edge of the exam table. "I honestly don't know. Are you nervous? Worried? In the simulation plug, I mean."

"I don't think so," I shrugged. "I just want to do a good job. I want to pilot Eva."

She hmm'ed, mulling it over. I went on: "Is it possible I'm trying too hard?"

"I don't know about that," she said with a shake of her head. "I guess it's something we can, at the very least, rule out. Have you ever tried meditative exercises?"

"Not seriously," I told her. In Jack's life, I had been given a couple sessions one time by one of those workplace ergonomics feng shui new age-ists.

"It might be worth a try," Dr. Andrews mused.

I sighed and finished putting on my clothes. "Well, I guess it's good to know I'm healthy."

"Yes," the doctor said distractedly, looking over my chart.

I paused, and asked, "Could I go through a test today?"

"A test.. you mean a synchro test, with the simulation body?" she asked. When I nodded, she said, "The staff isn't assembled.. there's no one to monitor the--"

"Doctor," I said, "forgive me for getting ahead of the curve a bit here, but it's occurred to me that there will be some times when I'll have to start the Eva by myself. I won't have an army of technicians to watch and monitor every little bit. I'm reasonably certain that while you might like to have 47 techs in the room when I do a sync test, they're not all required."

Dr. Andrews looked over my smiling face, and pulled out her cell phone. Dialing a number, she paused to let it connect, then said, "Mister Quinn? Andrews here. Is there anyone you can grab and sidetrack for a few minutes? ... Lina? That'll do fine. Please meet me in the sim control room at the Cage in 15 minutes."

"Thank you," I mouthed, and hurried out the door towards the lockers.

 

"Jill, are you ready?"

I stopped 'holding my breath', amused that I'd done it for 3 minutes and 27 seconds with ease in the fluid atmosphere. "Yes, doctor," I called out.

"Very well. Begin."

I thought about the process and ran over the checklist in my mind. LCL filled.. check. Entry plug in position.. not applicable. "Initiate nerve connections."

Just speaking it didn't do anything. I blinked, and must have seemed puzzled. An amused Dr. Andrews said, "Did you engage the switch?"

"Oh!" I said, lunging for the manual control that initiated the process from within the Eva, as I was trying to do. The now-familiar sensations of the sim body gradually came into focus. Okay.. um.. guess I can skip the bit about primary and secondary lock bolts.. "Synchro start."

"Interesting," Dr. Andrews said after a long pause. She was looking at the display in front of the male tech she'd called in.

"What? What is it?" I asked curiously.

"How do you feel?" she said. "Any different than usual?"

"..No," I said, after taking stock of myself and the sim body's returns.

"Your sync ratio today is over 19 percent," she told me.

I blinked. It was over a whole percent gain from my previous personal best. "Really??"

"Nineteen point three. It's still nothing to write home about, but it's an improvement. Have you been holding out on me?"

"No! No ma'a.. doctor! I swear!" I said happily. Finally things were looking up.

However, as I said before, this was a Monday, and Mondays dislike me for some reason.

Be proud of me now, mom! I thought to myself, visualizing Jack's mother in my head. Suddenly, a shudder ran through me.

"Psychograph unstable," Mr. Quinn told the doctor.

"Sync ratio dropping, down point five," the other tech called out.

"Jill, focus," Dr. Andrews cautioned me.

Ohshit, what did I do? I worried. Unbeknownst to me, though, my control over the fake Eva was already lost, my mind distracted by thoughts I shouldn't be having.

"Still dropping," Lina added.

"Pilot Thomson," the doctor bit out. "Focus!"

"I'm trying--" I protested, just before controls started to flash red and an alarm sounded in the control room.

"Below the threshold," Lina declared. "Synchronization lost."

"...Sorry?" I squeaked at a glaring Dr. Andrews.

"I think we're done for today, Jillian," she said curtly, sending the commands to cut power and drain the LCL. "You are dismissed."

 

Don't fucking blame me, I fumed, back in my room, having flopped down on my bed. It's not like it was my fault.

I knew that to be a lie the moment it entered my consciousness. Everything inside the simulation plug was because of my actions, one way or another. Whatever had caused the house of cards to tip over and crash was my own doing.

So what happened? I wondered. Everything turned to shit when I started thinking of Mom..

I blinked as the reality of it hit me. Not possible, I protested. The simulation body doesn't have a soul like the Eva. It can't grouse about me calling another 'mom'.

Did that mean I was conceding that Jill's mother was in Eva-03? I set that question aside for the time being and carried on with my internal explanation of what had gone wrong. The sim body can't perceive the difference between 'my' mom and.. I shook my head. "Stupid," I said aloud. No, but it surely can sense a mind at odds with itself.

When I thought of my mother, the first thing to pop into my mind's eye was, of course, Jack's mom. However, my body, and the life I'd been consciously working at leading for the past few weeks, contradicted that image. Somewhere in my subconscious, I knew I was getting conflicting signals, and that was what was causing disruption in my concentration.

Is that it? Is that what's keeping me from syncing? I wondered. Memories of my mother?

I sighed and shut my eyes, listening to my breathing, in and out, rising and falling. In a fashion, I was doing the meditating the doctor had prescribed without actually realizing it.

You won't mind if I put you out of my mind for then, will you, Mom?

I had to make a conscious effort to put Jack behind me, at least during synchronization, and be Jill in whole.

Just focus on the sync ratio, I urged myself. You don't even have to be Jill. Just be the Fourth Child. Just 'be'.

 

In the morning, I stood before the mirror, brushing out my damp hair - which was a task I was still getting used to again, considering as Jack, I'd managed my hairstyle with an electric trimmer - keeping it so short as to not be able to comb it at all. As I've said before, though, I liked this length of hair on Jill. In any case, comparing hairstyles with past lives was furthest from my mind at that point.

I was worried that the possibility of my being Fourth Child was actually in jeopardy. As is usually the case with me, having time to sleep on things had the opposite effect from what it had for normal people. Most folk would calm down after they thought on something for a while. In my case, my mind just came up with dozens of new ways to worry about things.

It's simple, I tried to reassure myself. Just do the job. Forget about everything else. I smirked as a mangling of a line from an old Chevy Chase movie came to me. Be the Eva. Nnnna-na-na-na-na-na-na..

"Today," I told my reflection, "you are going to break twenty. And never look back."

 

I tried not to wither before the stern gaze of Dr. Andrews upon my arrival at the Cage.

"Good morning," I said sheepishly.

"Good morning," Dr. Andrews echoed. "Let's get right into things, shall we?"

"Okay," I said, and my surprised reaction must have been more overt than I thought.

"Yesterday was yesterday," she said. "It's behind us now. Start fresh today."

"Yes ma'am," I nodded eagerly.

"Today, providing the synchronization holds, we're going to go for a sustained harmonics test. You'll be in the plug for a few hours at least. Do you want to get something to eat first?"

"Um.. yes please," I nodded. The most I'd been in the simulation plug at one time to date was the day I'd run myself ragged with the silly defibrillator scavenger hunt, and even then, it'd only been 45 minutes at most.

"Go ahead. Be back in half an hour."

I headed out to a snack bar and found something to fill my belly, hoping it wouldn't go through me too quickly - the worst thing I could imagine was needing to 'go' while in the plug for an extended period of time. I know I've said that before, but it's such a significant concern that I bring it up again.

Having said that, I went and ate, then did my business, going into the change room directly instead of doing an exercise run or a shower. The boss seemed to imply she wanted to get right to work instead - and I had to agree - my sync ratio was more important than attaining it in all sorts of conditions.

Dr. Andrews said nothing as I passed the simulation control center, on my way to the sim plug. No 'good luck' or 'let's do better today'. Not a thing.

So I climbed into the simulation plug, watching the lid slide shut, and waited for any commentary from the control center. When none occurred, I declared, "Ready for LCL fill."

"Commence LCL fill," tech Mr. Quinn said.

I waited for the gooey orange fluid to come to my chin level, then opened my mouth and took a gulp of it. I was hoping that, with practice, I could be ready and breathing LCL before the plug was even fully filled.

"Initiate nerve connections," I called out, reaching forward to throw the switch.

"Progressing," was the response. "Clear through 2580. A10 connection nominal."

I shut my eyes and took a calming 'breath'. Okay. Let's do this.

"Absolute borderline reached.. and passed," Quinn declared. "Psychograph stable."

All I concerned myself with at that point was the simulation body and linking up with it. I willed every segment and section - limbs one at a time, torso, head - to come into full focus, before I moved on to the next portion.

As everything resolved itself, I looked up to the video link showing me the control center. Andrews and Quinn were looking at the screens, not saying a word.

"What's my sync ratio?" I asked.

No one responded for a moment. Shit. "Is it that bad?" I said softly after a pause.

"Eighteen point six," Andrews answered.

I was miffed. "You can't be seri.. Fine." If I could have sighed in the LCL, I would have.

"Don't worry about it right now. It works, and we'll continue with the harmonics evaluation."

"All right," I said, shaking my head.

To the technicians, Andrews said, "Let's set the plug depth at 2.5 for the moment. Confirm, please?"

"Confirmed," Quinn responded. I heard a whirring noise outside the plug, acting like the entry plug screwing deeper into the plug cavity in the Eva. At least, I presumed. I didn't have time to dwell on that, as I was suddenly feeling different sensations from the simulation body.

"I got that," I said, though the fact was they probably didn't need any verbal confirmation from me whatsoever. It's hard to describe in words; suddenly my senses seemed clearer in some ways and less defined in others. I guess a good analogy would be taking two halves of an image on two separate pieces of paper and trying to make them line up. It seemed like plug depth 2.5 was better than whatever it had been before, but still wasn't perfect.

No response came from the control room. They communicated with one another for a few moments, using terminology that even as an Eva pilot (or prospective one) was above my talent level. Then, a request: "Jill, try to flex your right hand. Your Eva's hand, I mean."

My simulation body's right hand, I silently corrected her. Concentrating, I envisioned my hand opening and closing, trying not to connect it mentally with the similar scenes seen frequently in the anime. I felt the feedback one would normally get from making her hand into a fist over and over.

Again the crews chattered together. "Increase depth by zero point one every two seconds until we reach 3.0."

Abruptly, everything seemed to line up perfectly, to recycle the analogy used earlier. Well, when I say perfectly, I mean better than it had before. I was still keenly aware I was sitting in a cockpit, not lumbering around freely, but the difference was noticeable.

"Whoa. Did you see that?"

Andrews peered over Quinn's shoulder at the screen. "Hmm," she said. "Jill? Concentrate on walking, please."

"Roger," I said, envisioning my left leg picking up and taking a step forward. I felt the duality of the sim body answering my impulses and my own body still perched in the sim plug's control seat.

Right leg.. left leg.. I said to myself as I deliberately devoted my full attention to each footstep. After about thirty seconds, I didn't even have to concentrate on it.

"Remarkable," Andrews exclaimed in a hushed tone.

"Want me to jog some?" I joked.

"Pilot, you'll be pleased to hear this.. your sync ratio has spiked today."

"Above 20, I hope!" I shot back excitedly.

Andrews put her hand over the mike just as Quinn was about to announce it. Despite the muffling, I heard her say, "Don't give it to her yet. Let her wait to find out when she's done."

"Awww, Doctor Andrews.." I complained.

"You can know when you get out," she answered with a smile. "I don't want you to know what it is now and be trying to best it or regain it if it drops."

"Okay," I said. "But that must mean it's good."

"It's your best yet," she nodded, again smiling. "For now, just follow Mr. Quinn's directions so we can fine-tune the harmonics and complete the test."

"Yes, Dr. Andrews," I grinned. I didn't know if she did it on purpose or not, but telling me it was my best score yet already let me know that it had to have breached 20 percent. A 'spike' surely had to be a significant amount, and since I'd been in the mid-nineteens already, it wasn't hard to guess.

I noticed that while I was still walking just fine, or at least the sim body was, 'my' arms were perfectly still and stiff - I'd forgotten to include them. As I brought them into my mental focus, my walking stride seemed to smooth out a little more. If you ever want to explore just how much of the human body actually moves when performing even the simplest tasks, try to map movements from your mind onto a giant robot - er, you know what I mean. You'll notice things you'd never considered before.

Finally, after what seemed like endless tests that covered everything from simple motion and movement to tactile response and perception, I was set free. Before I even hit the showers, I dashed into the control room. "Okay, show me! Please?"

"Pilot!" Dr. Andrews barked, surprised to see me there, tracking goopy LCL footprints off the soles of my plugsuit. She softened when she saw the eager look on my face (I presume), and stepped aside. "Show her, Mr. Quinn."

I peered in towards the computer display as the tech pointed to a number, trying not to shrink back from the odor of the LCL.

"T-twenty two point seven?" I asked, leaning closer. "Is that my sync ratio?"

"I told you it was comparatively high," Andrews smiled.

"It's great!" I cheered. "Thank you!"

"Don't thank us," she replied. "You're the one who did it. Whatever you did differently today, keep doing it."

"I will! I promise," I grinned. I let a moment pass, and asked, "Am I done for the day?"

"Indeed," Dr. Andrews nodded. "You've earned some time to yourself, I think."

"Thank you!" I repeated. As I turned to go, I noticed the small pool of sticky fluid around me. "Oh! Um.."

Dr. Andrews waved a hand dismissively. "Try not to do it again. This time I'll let it slide. A cleaning 'bot will deal with it."

"Thank you," I said. "Sorry for the mess!" I turned and hurried out towards the change room, eager to start the rest of the day.

 

When I got 'home' - back to my room - I went straight to the phone and dialed the security center.

"This is Pilot Thomson," I said when the attendant picked up. "I'm looking to go into town for some personal time. Do I need an escort or a car or something, or can I be trusted on my own?"

I rolled my eyes listening to the answer, reaching out with a foot to kick the sliding door of my closet open. "Yes, I signed the papers. When I got here. I appreciate the secrecy of the Project, Sergeant."

I glanced out the window at the sizzling weather and back into the closet at the set of clothes that was 'next up' (as I usually just pulled on whatever was on the top of the pile, same as I had as Jack). "No, it's not that I want to.. No, Sergeant.. I just don't see the need to tie up a car and agent when I don't even have a plan of where I want to go. I just want to get away and unwind for a few hours."

The thigh-length skirt, if it had had eyes, would have stared right back at me.

"I don't know! Go wander around a mall, take in the sights, maybe hit a movie or two.. do you guys really need to know every last detail?"

I shrugged and turned my full attention back to the phone. "Okay. So you're saying no, then. So have a car ready for me, please, at building 5 in 10 minutes. Okay? Okay. Thanks!"

I slammed down the phone and shook my head. Going over to the closet, I pulled the skirt off its hanger and held it in my hands.

"Why not," I said, tossing it on the bed. I opened the dresser drawers and pulled out a fresh shirt, depositing it with the skirt, and headed into the bathroom to attend to my bladder.

While on the toilet, though, I had a horrible, gut-wrenching jolt of pain tear through my lower abdomen. Already nearly doubled over as it was, I folded even more and let out a muted whimper, gritting my teeth. I'd felt this way once before, and it didn't take long to realize what it was.

"Stupid.. sonofa.." I panted, clutching my shins with my hands and squeezing my chest to my thighs. Well.. there goes wearing a skirt for the next week or so.

"Had to.. start the week with a Monday.." I griped.

 

You don't want to know how the rest of that week transpired. I'm sure you didn't even want to know the part I described above. But if I have to put up with it now every month, so do my readers. Deal. If it makes you feel any better to laugh at me, I did have to make a hurried trip to the store, boggling at the feminine products aisle and its myriad of options. What the hell? C'mon! I just need the 'normal' stuff!

Anyway, my sim plug sessions continued, though they lasted longer and only occurred half as often - every other day now instead of daily. I don't know if that was supposed to be a reward, or if it was planned, or what, but I took advantage of it by digging into the study materials on the off days. I had cleaned out most of the basic, pedestrian courses that I'd taken - the mathematics and so on - and I was diving headlong into the languages and the other tricky stuff. Learning a new language was fun to me, for starters, and secondly, I had no idea when (or if, I suppose) I'd be called upon to head to Japan and fight alongside the others. I had no inkling of what the current state of affairs was; for all I knew, Asuka could already have been transferred, or perhaps Rei hadn't even had her activation experiment mishap yet. Rationally, I had to presume that the fact I hadn't been advised of any Angel attacks yet meant the latter case was more likely, but dealing with an agency like NERV, with all sorts of double talk and secrecy, one could never be sure.

Speaking of other languages (as I was half a paragraph ago), I think I amused the good doctor one day when I reconfigured the language/logic interface for French just before activating the sim plug. I was rusty, but my memory and the practice from learning German was good enough to maintain a passable sync with the sim body.

In late June, my ship finally came in. I was on my way for the usual sim plug test when Dr. Andrews stepped out of the control room and blocked my path.

"Not that way. Not today," she said.

It's a good thing that the plugsuits fit tightly, or I might have involuntarily filled mine up at that moment. "Say again?" I asked.

"Pilot Thomson," Andrews said, pointing me toward the Cage proper, "it's time."