Speshul
an excerpt

“Can I come in?”

Mr Logan fidgeted with the papers on his desk for a moment. “Yeah, sure,” he finally said, giving the other teacher a smile. He turned his swivel chair around to face him just as he sat on the edge of the window, small box of cafeteria French fries in his hand. “What can I help you with?”

But Mr Smith was looking out the window at the field, apparently not paying attention. “You know, all this time, never even noticed you were next door. Sorry about that. Easily distracted. Chip?”

“—Oh, sure,” Mr Logan replied, reaching across to take one of Mr Smith’s proffered fries. He popped it into his mouth, savoured the taste. There was something off about it, but from other teachers’ statements the cafeteria ladies had been slightly off-par that week.

There was a moment of silence between them as Mr Smith turned his head to look out the classroom window again, apparently transfixed by something, before he returned his attention to Andrew. Reaching up and removing his glasses, he crossed his legs at the ankles and gave the other teacher a long look.

Mr Logan returned it.

“Just out of curiosity ... I don’t suppose you’ve found, well, anyone of particular suspicion in your class?” He shrugged and frowned in a nonchalant manner. “Just wondering. We’ve had plenty of reports from the other staff ... but not from you.”

“Really,” Mr Logan replied, his expression a practiced one that refused to give anything away. “I’ve been keeping an eye out, but nothing’s come up.”

Mr Smith just nodded at this, glancing at the ceiling. “I see. None at all? No ... unusual jumps in test scores, no hot patches, no oddly accurate paper airplanes being lobbed into girls’ hair?”

“I’m sorry, but no. As I said, if I see anything I’ll let you or Mr Leidman know.” At this Mr Logan turned his chair to face his desk again, closing a couple of binders to put into his bag.

For a while Mr Smith just stood to his left by the window, and he knew that he was watching him. So Mr Logan just continued with his business until Mr Smith apparently decided to speak again.

“Well, I’ve got something to fix that. Make it a bit speedier. ‘Cause – and no offense to you – this sort of needs to be done very soon, so you’ve sort of got to find out who to submit to the immunization program. Here.”

And he was digging into his pocket, Mr Logan temporarily frozen to the spot as he watched. Brody had told him about this, so he’d figured that it would be brought up to him – but not so soon, and not in such close quarters.
Mr Smith pulled a small phial out of his pocket, holding it between his thumb and finger. He gave it a shake. The Itronin.

“This is Itronin,” Mr Smith said. “Special chemical. It’s similar to the immunization in chemical makeup, but not nearly as potent. It’s not good for much – tasteless, odourless, pointless, really – except ingestion by a Subject gives off a subtle reaction that isn’t found in anyone else. Nothing major. You wouldn’t even notice it if you weren’t looking for it.”

Warily, Mr Logan eyed it. “And that would be?”

“It’s in the eyes,” Mr Smith replied, lifting his chin a little. “Just the eyes. It causes a retinal refraction of light, bit like a cat. Short and quick. Well. Length of it depends on how much has been ingested, but it only takes a drop for a reaction.” He looked at Mr Logan in a way that brought the words looking into to his mind. “One drop. Particles made airborne, cup of tea ... food.”

Mr Logan felt the salty aftertaste of the fry he’d just eaten.

Realisation hit him like a ton of bricks.

“You shouldn’t have lied to me, Andrew,” Mr Smith said in a tone he assumed was pitying. “You should’ve turned yourself in straight away, because now things are much, much worse.”