Essentially Human (9 page)

She took a deep breath and studied the Admiral. According to Pritchard, he could be trusted. But with how much?

“Sir, how do you know Agent Montgomery?”

He peered at her, then snorted and a quick smile crossed his face. “Don’t blame you for being suspicious. Montgomery treated my son after he suffered a breakdown in the jungles of Argentina. This was before he joined the HRSD as a profiler. He worked as a therapist. And I didn’t appreciate the techniques he used. Fought him tooth and nail to be truthful. Luckily for my son, I lost that battle and Montgomery pulled him out of it. James went on to serve another fifteen years before dying after being exposed to T-17, off of San Diego. One of the Navy’s damned attempts to test the limits of the spill.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I wasn’t aware of any missions of that nature.”

“Of course you weren’t. At least he lived long enough to marry and have children. Because of Dr. Montgomery and his Music Intervention Therapy.”

Hermione  stretched, saying nothing. She hadn’t been aware that Monty had a Ph.D. He’d been instrumental in MIT development?

Jenkins sniffed. “So, why is Hammer trying to muddy these waters?”

She straightened and decided to trust the man, to a certain extent. “I believe it’s all about profits. Either he is involved in illegal cloning experiments with the author and he’s covering his tracks, or some new drug, used on the
Ballard
crew? Or something else.”

“Something else, I’m sure of it. Though profit is undoubtedly part of it. Don’t bullshit me, young woman, you know more. I don’t need details. Have you heard from Montgomery?”

Damn it, how much could she trust this man?

She sat down next to him and bent forward, resting her elbows on her thighs. She turned to gaze into his steely grey eyes and studied his face. Then she nodded.

“Fine. Tell him to stay low. If he’s got that woman, keep her out of Hammer’s grip. I’ve got contacts and will see about a way to bring him in without ending up in some cell, never seen from again.” The Admiral stood. “You need to take the back trail on down. Erica will get the bib back to your apartment so that tracking device on it stays current.” He handed her a business card with a number on it. “This is untraceable, to be used once only. See Montgomery has it.”

“Thank you, sir. And, sir?”

“Yes?” He unfolded sunglasses, preparing to slip them on.

“Hammer. He had the cure for the Shakes. He’s had it for nearly a year. He also, we believe he was also instrumental in the San Diego disaster. Be very careful, sir.”

The grimace shot at her and the pain in the old man’s eyes struck her like a blow. She took a step back.

He spit to one side. “Not surprised. Time for that bastard to be brought down. Pritchard and I, you can trust us. The rest are tainted directly or just plain stupid. She has a place in Maine, off the grid. If Agent Dancer or Dr. Drummond need someplace to shelter…”

“Yes, sir.

He pointed behind her. “Down the trail a quarter of a mile is the detour. Keep your head down. You’re doing good, Agent Bales. And don’t let Hammer get you anywhere alone.”

“I have no intention of doing so, sir.”

The man nodded abruptly and turned away. She took a deep breath and carefully took off down the alternate route.

She knew they put trackers on the bibs, but they were supposed to have a limited range, just used for the race so that no runner could cheat or get lost. But it could follow her home? She shook her head, why wasn’t she more surprised?

Ria set the tablet down, appalled at the network Hammer directed. She rubbed at her forehead, wondering at the world she’d left behind and how many changes she’d missed. Finding the music available had been wonderful, but she’d avoided searching out anything else. She suspected news about the issues she’d embraced when alive would disturb her equilibrium. The report on the many balls Hammer juggled had been bad enough.

She’d left the world behind over twenty five years ago and found herself reluctant to consider stepping back to it. Jumping from the cruise ship seemed a definite barrier to the very idea. From what she’d read on Sam’s tablet, the world sped faster and faster into a hell she wanted nothing to do with.

Save for the music. She pushed her chair away and left the room, heading back to the viewing room Testa had set aside for her. A stroke of her hand saw the control buttons lift on the bench and she paused before bringing up the new internet. Between Sam and the engineers on the ship, she felt certain no one could trace the stream and discover them. She imagined if any notice was taken, the sheer amount of topics would be more than confusing.

The Aleena were endlessly curious and ravenous for information. They absorbed and adapted to change faster than any species she’d ever heard of when alive.

Alive! God, that was an odd thought! But true. She now lived two eras. BS and AS. Before suicide and after suicide. She lifted a corner of her mouth at the labeling, accurate.

The very walls of the ship hummed with the exchange of ideas and everything they were learning. She knew they approached Sam, more than her, with questions, after she’d grown pale and withdrawn when asked about politics. After that, she retired to the music room and let herself wander in the throb and pulse of remembered songs.

How could she answer questions about economics or politics without spewing nothing but poisonous opinion? She didn’t trust herself. Milaar asked about the awards she’d won and she’d tried to speak of it, but found herself going blank, unable to remember.

She programmed the room for privacy and searched for the videos of the awards ceremony. Part of her hoped they weren’t available anymore, that the sheer amount of information storage would have seen some things archived. But there it was. The life of Rachel Inez Aster, BS.

The wall in front of her showed several selections. She hovered at a collection and took the plunge. She recognized the music and shuddered, muting it instantly. Then she watched the huge screen as the montage progressed.

That is me.

No, that was me.

Why don’t I feel anything?

Again and again, she found herself remembering name and book titles, as familiar faces appeared. The facts surrounded her, but she still didn’t register any sense of loss or regret. Only a great hollowness and distance from the people on the wall. Especially the woman she once was. A sharp stab of something hit her when the video showed her husband, smiling as she accepted an award. But it quickly faded.

Standing, she walked to the screen and reached up as if she could touch the people sweeping across her view. A faint memory of thick hair, or the smooth sweep of a silk dress, the scent of that cake on her birthday, the taste of a tart honeycrisp apple as she bit through the skin. Too many bits and pieces, incomplete and fractured, drifted around her.

The montage ended. Her hand dropped back to her side and she slowly turned away.

When had she last felt anything? Her brain scrambled with the question. And she found times and events she could list when her blood grew warm or chilled. They were present in her memory, but not the true sense of them. The facts, the figures, what she did, the words spoken were sharp, but nothing more.

Perhaps it was just the anger. She knew anger meant she grew weary and slept. An improvement over raging and trying to do damage to herself, but still a wall she presently faced.  She sat and considered when she’d last smiled, or laughed.

And she knew it. Yes, with the music. She could touch the sense of being human again when the room filled with music.

She sat and brought up the music archives again.

What had she listened to when writing? She found an old playlist her writer-self had made and programmed it, plus other songs by the same groups.

I want to feel again.

To know what it’s like to be human again.

She turned it up loud, and sat.

“Agent Montgomery? Please, wake up.”

Sam rolled to his back and blinked up at Milaar.

“Problem?”

“I wanted to wait for you to wake naturally, but it’s been fifteen hours and I have need of advice.”

Fifteen hours? He needed to get up and connect with Hermione again.

Milaar sat across him at Ria’s small table. He ran a hand through his hair, now brushing his shoulders and shrugged. “So, what’s with my hair?”

“Your hair? Oh, you mean how it’s growing. It’s interesting, Ria’s reaches her feet and then stops. I’m sure yours will also.”

“I’d prefer not having a braid to my feet. Why?”

“I can only assume it’s the water and food difference. I’ve never done detailed research into it. You can cut it if it bothers you.” Milaar blinked at him. “I’ve been reading the psychology text you recommended. Have we done permanent damage to Ria?”

He sighed before replying, thinking carefully how to answer honestly without causing distress. “I can’t say for sure. Everything you’ve told me leads me to believe you did what was necessary to keep her alive. Suicide is not a natural answer for my species. She jumped from that ship because problems already existed. I don’t imagine waking to find herself surrounded by aliens helped that situation.”

“We didn’t know she’d jumped for a long time. We assumed she’d fallen. She didn’t tell us the truth until the propensity to inflict further harm to herself rose.” Milaar’s chin tentacles retracted until they appeared to be little more than bumps.

They were an easy species to read.

“Perhaps we did wrong to keep her alive.” Milaar whispered. “But we were so desperate to understand your species and thought she would help us.”

“I’m sure she has. The drive to save her life isn’t something to regret. Has she ever accused you of interfering?” He’d been wondering about that.

“No. She neither thanked us nor cursed us. She simply moved forward. Your presence has shown us that lie. You are vibrant. She is…”

“…muted.” Sam finished the statement. “She’s repressed, Milaar. But she’s had no example for remodeling her personality save what surrounded her. Your species is more analytical and middle ground. What have you surmised from the videos of humanity?”

Milaar bowed her head. “In some ways, I’m very impressed. I’m also appalled. We were aware of the human ability to evade responsibility. We live in the oceans and are exposed to the damage the surface dwellers cause. We had no idea their powers of denial ran so deep. In face of their own scientific studies, they refuse to change.”

Sam smiled slightly. “Some understand, but are swallowed by the louder voices of the shortsighted.”

“It troubles us.”

“As it does many humans. I have no answers, save that you must be aware as you explore that the internet provides both truth and lies. As well as the majority, which lies somewhere in between. Men like Hammer manipulate the information and lead those who find it easier to follow strength, than to break away on their own. But, I believe, if we can expose what he has done, things will change. At least for my country. And I suspect for others, since he is a multinational businessman.”

Milaar raised her head to examine him sharply. “We have discovered so much. He cannot hide from us. Sam, be prepared.”

Her seriousness caused a chill to run up his back. Slowly, he nodded. “Okay. I need to eat and find T’talin, discover out what the next step is. Has the cure gone out?”

“Yes, and the reaction has been encouraging. There were attempts to block its distribution, but the popular demand overwhelmed those objections. News from the infected areas is good. The company in the southern hemisphere devised a method of aerial spraying that has already stopped the advance of the disease.”

Sam blinked back tears. Her sisters… With a deep breath, he pushed away from the table. “Good. So good. As for Ria, watch her carefully. Exposure to the greater world may prompt a return of her former difficulties. I’ll check in on her. You know where she is now?”

“Music. She has immersed herself in music. Her physical conditions are monitored. They are extremely volatile.”

“As long as she doesn’t attempt to harm herself I’d leave her alone. I suspect she’s looking for who she was in the music she once knew. It’s what I would do.”

He excused himself. He paused at the music room and glanced in. Ria swayed, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the center of a large room. She’d been joined by a dozen Aleena. They all watched the screen as colors faded to computer generated effects, kaleidoscoping from one interpretation of the music to another. At present, classical music poured forth. “Ode to Joy” signaled a sweet place. He left them to it.

The next twenty five hours were exhausting and exhilarating. He couldn’t get over the progress the Aleena made while he slept. Testa gave him a cell phone tricked out for communicating within the ship. “You cannot hear the system we use, so this will enable anyone needing to contact you to do so directly.”

He studied the device, noting a new app on the screen, the curl of wave. “And can I contact T’talin? Or Milaar?”

“Yes, though there may be a delay in their response, depending on their proximity to their communication tools. As we modify our normal devices that will change. The engineers would like to discuss a method to leave the cable and remain connected. They believe they have devised a way, with some limits.” Testa walked next to him. “Ria has asked me for a music player.”

“Make sure it has sufficient memory.” Sam thought the idea a good one. He made a mental note to talk with the woman as soon as possible.

He didn’t see her until returning to their room two days later. Sam staggered with weariness, barely able to focus beyond the idea of a shower and sleep. One of younger Aleena assisted him to the room. He turned away from the bed. “No, I need to clean up first.”

Without argument, the alien kept one hand on his elbow and led him to the chamber. They passed Ria, asleep on her bed and stepped on her negligee. Sam picked it up and could feel the dampness on it. She’d been dancing again. He handed it to the youngster. “This needs to be cleaned. I’ll be fine, go on.”

Ten minutes later, he wished he’d sent his shorts for cleaning, too. He took the robe and headed back for his bed. A shaft of light fell on Ria, sprawled on her back, breathing slowly. He paused, shifting out of the light so it fell on her face. There appeared to be dark circles under her eyes, but that could be nothing more than the shadows in the room.

He resolved to find time for her when he woke up. The sheer volume of what needed to be done kept detouring him. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be exposed to so much of the world she’d left behind. The changes were so many. He’d found a brief moment to glance at her musical selection sometime yesterday, or earlier today. Or whenever. A great deal of the songs he recognized, and a few raised some red flags for him. He’d noted them and meant to check them out in detail. When he had time.

He sighed and blinked, gazing down at her. She’d fallen into bed naked. Sam didn’t try to hide his appreciation. He was only human and she intrigued him for more than the emotional puzzle she presented. His training made him acutely aware of her psyche, but she also presented a lovely picture of the female form. His exhaustion kept him from much more than a distant admiration. With a sigh, he stumbled to his bed and fell onto the soft pad.

Hours later, he woke with a grunt as someone struck him on the shoulder. “What the…?” He rolled to his back to see Ria swaying at the edge of his bed. “Ria?”

“…lied…never had a chance… I didn’t care! But…I could have…if I’d known…” She drew her hand back and before he could register what she intended, she’d hit him again. The slap fell with a sharp sting and he sat up.

“…lost my chance!” She swayed and sagged. Then suddenly surged at him. He caught her this time and held her from hitting him again. She didn’t struggle for long, growing limp though still babbling about
chances
and
not knowing
.

“Ria?” He softly spoke and she didn’t reply. Damn, she’d walked herself to his bed while sleeping. He felt her twitch and suddenly she really flailed. A bare knee struck his thigh with force and he grunted. She’d come a bit too close to doing some real damage. He rolled, pinning her partly under his body. She cursed him, then drifted away again.

“Damn it, woman.” He drew a deep breath and took advantage of her calmness to untangle her braid and make certain her limbs weren’t bent sharply. Then he used his leg and arms to keep her from continuing the mild rampage. Too tired to deal with what it meant, he simply held her and drifted off to sleep again.

Ria stretched, drifting in that sweet spot between awake and dreaming. The lingering aftereffects of a sensual dream involving dancing in the arms of a tall, strong man made her sigh. Her body floated, looking for a finish to the naked interlude. Slowly, the pressure of an erect cock at her thigh and a hand holding her bare breast registered as more than a dream.