“Hi.” She smiles but is keeping her distance now. “Do you remember who I am?”
“Agent Beth Fynn with the IBI,” I answer, and her posture relaxes. “Is Agent Roebuck here, too? Tell him I didn’t mean to scare him. To be honest, I’m kind of scared, too.”
“He’s just cautious around Hannarians—long story.” She disappears for a few seconds but returns with two mugs of coffee, offering me one. I don’t feel like drinking anything, but the warmth feels nice. “Has anything come back to you now that you’ve healed up—your name or what happened?”
I move the bedspread to one side of the couch and sit down. Even without coffee, there’s a nervous energy coursing through me. It’s difficult to sit still. “I know this will sound crazy, but I don’t even remember being an alien. How long was I unconscious?”
It feels as if it could be weeks later, but Fynn is still wearing the same pant suit and shirt from the site and has dark circles underneath her eyes. She glances at her phone. “We found you about eleven hours ago. Our med team sedated you because you were in pain, and we drove you to one of our facilities for emergency surgery. It took maybe ten minutes for your body to stabilize after all the shrapnel was removed, and Roebuck and I moved you here as a precaution.”
“Where are we?” The living area has large displays with realistic landscape animations instead of windows. “I just noticed your decorator has a sense of humor—different season per wall.”
“This is safe house—safe bunker to be more accurate.” She takes a sip of her coffee and points to the ceiling with her other hand. “There’s a dairy farm about five stories above us—blends in with the surrounding landscape on satellite feeds, and the owners are retired agents. Even with your memory issue, we want to protect you as a potential witness—not hold you here against your will. As soon as we reach the Ambassador, we’ll make transfer arrangements and hopefully locate your family. We’ve done everything we know to do for you from a medical standpoint.”
I nod. “Thanks for saving my life. I’d like to help you, but I don’t know what to do or where to start. I remember Agent Roebuck finding me and then you showing up. I think before that I was actually near the bomb—tried to disarm it, but nothing seemed to work. How many people?”
“Relief teams are still searching for survivors.” She pauses, closing her eyes as if she’s having trouble keeping her composure. “Nearly three thousand confirmed dead and rising. If you hadn’t pulled the fire alarm, it would have been at least double that.”
A short flash comes back to me, and I check for dye on my hand. There’s nothing there. “How did you—”
“It was all over your clothes,” she explains. “We found no identification on you—not even a human alias—and your biometrics aren’t registered with the Ambassador’s diplomatic office or our databases. How did you know about the bomb? Did you contact anyone else about it, or did someone contact you?” There’s no accusation in her tone, but it bothers me that I have no solid answers.
“I remember seeing an old man with white hair out to here.” I gesture out from my head, not feeling any less crazy for describing Einstein. “He seemed to know me—or at least thought he did—but I think he mistook me for someone else. He told me he was going to find help—find you.”
Fynn seems confused but then brings up a photo of the man in her phone. “Is this him?”
“Yeah.”
“His name was Dr. Lance Jacobs.” She sighs and returns the phone to her jacket pocket. “He meant to find my uncle—not me. Just before the bomb detonated, they delivered a cure for the bioweapon victims in the quarantine ward. As far as motive for the attack, we believe several EIP terrorist cells wanted those victims dead rather than cured. The cure was never dispensed, but so far none of the bioweapon victims have been found alive. My uncle and Jacobs were located about five hours ago. Neither of them made it.”
“I’m sorry.” Another flash hits—the man with the gun. “I don’t know if he was EIP or not, but another man shot the bomb just before it detonated. I thought he was aiming for me at first.”
“Can you remember what he looked like?”
“Do you have a tablet with a drawing program? I think I could sketch him for you.”
She returns with a small tablet, and I draw the man from memory—late thirties, shaved head, military build, and a nose that must have been broken and reset incorrectly. Other details surface that I didn’t originally notice—that I shouldn’t have noticed—but I add scars on his chin and above his eyebrows. I hand the tablet to Fynn, and she takes a photo of it instead of doing a file transfer.
“That gives us a start.” She waves for me to follow her to an elevator. “There’s no Internet or DMR access down here for safety reasons. If anything happens where you need to leave, there’s this elevator and a stairwell near the kitchen. You’re actually free to leave at any point, but please tell one of us if you do. We just don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
“I wouldn’t even know where else to go.” My thinking feels clearer, but trying to force memories forward isn’t working. “Unless I remember something, I’ll be here when you get back. Otherwise, I’ll come up and find you.”
• • •
I wait a few minutes after Agent Fynn leaves before I wander around. The stairwell door is between two oak pantry cabinets, and I open it long enough to determine I’m on the deepest level of the bunker. If anyone else is on the other four floors, I can’t hear them.
There’s a large wall display between the living and kitchen areas, but it appears to be more for movie and music storage than communication. The cameras and microphone for video calls have been removed, which makes sense to me from a tracking standpoint.
I browse through the movie and music titles, hoping something will prompt my memory. I can remember entire scenes from some of the children’s titles, and there’s a sci-fi movie that catches my attention. I turn it on and lower the volume. The special effects are shoddy by current standards, but I remember it terrifying me as a child.
“Aliens are real, you know,” a young boy says as he sits down beside me on a couch. He’s brought us cereal but taken all my marshmallows for his trouble. He grins at my disappointment and then places a handful into my bowl, giving me more than him. “They’re not like the ones in the movies, though. Hannarians are more like us—just scarier in a different way, I guess.”
“Fan of the classics, I see.”
I whip around and shove Agent Roebuck against a wall. My fingers clasp tight around his throat, and the pulse in his neck starts to race. I can’t let go or back away. My own body won’t let me, and I’m terrified I’m about to kill him.
Roebuck raises his hands in surrender, and his voice is strained. “Sorry—my fault! I thought you heard the elevator. Can you get control back?”
I take a deep breath and release him, backing away to the farthest corner of the room. It feels like forever before I’m able to speak again. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry. I couldn’t help it.”
“I think I’ll live.” He flinches as he rubs his neck but forces a smile. “Seriously, I’ve been through much worse with other humans. Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not…” I shake my head, and his smile fades as I start pacing. “None of this feels right. I don’t know what happened to me, but I think I used to be human.”
• • •
“Normally when a Hannarian goes missing, they contact us—not the other way around.” Despite insisting that he’s fine, Agent Roebuck puts a damp hand towel around his neck and talks to me from the kitchen. “Jernard answered my messages but said he didn’t recognize you—told me he’d contact us back once Earth wasn’t under impending attack by giant lizards. I couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not.”
“Jernard?” I ask. I don’t know the name, but Roebuck seems to think I should. “Is he your Hannarian contact?”
“I stabbed him in the foot when I was seven, but I’d like to t
hink we’re on decent terms now.” He enters the living room but stands in the doorway closest to the elevator. “He thought you might be one of the bioweapon victims who had turned sooner than the others, but that doesn’t line up with what you told Beth. No one in quarantine was showing symptoms according to the last uploaded reports, and you obviously have a degree of control over your abilities. From what I understand, that doesn’t just happen overnight.”
“Did you sneak up on me on purpose—to test me?” I ask. He doesn’t answer, and I feel a surge of anger. “Thousands of innocent people are dead, and you’re wasting time on—”
“Helping you remember may be the best use of our time.” His voice is calm, and he steps aside when I walk toward the elevator. “This is the fifth time we’ve seen this type of device in two years, but we keep hitting dead ends when it comes to tracing the components. Someone is making them specifically for these attacks—nothing else. The fact that you almost managed to disarm one—”
Almost managed…my stomach twists, and I feel sick. “Look, I can walk you through everything I tried, but it will only delay one—not stop it. Your techs need to design something to interrupt an external signal being sent to the timer. I might be able to help them with that—maybe recreate something they could test without anyone getting hurt.”
“You could build one of those devices from memory?” He’s staring at me again, and I realize I may have said too much. “I’m not an expert on amnesia, but how could you recall that and not know who you are? Beth and I will understand if you’re trying to protect yourself or someone else, but we need to know the truth.”
“I know I’m not a victim, Agent Roebuck—bioweapon or otherwise.” Part of me feels as if I need to ask for a lawyer, but the IBI tends to stay five steps ahead on these things. I haven’t been charged for a crime, but bringing me somewhere isolated works more to their benefit than mine. I just need them to understand that we want the same thing. “I came to the hospital to stop the bomb, but I can’t remember how I knew about it. That’s the truth. We need to be focused on preventing anything like it from happening again.”
“You believe there will be more attacks soon?” Based on his tone, he thinks I’m aware of something specific.
“You don’t?” I ask, and he sighs. “Look, I don’t want anyone else to get harmed or killed—same as you. I just—”
We both look at the elevator door when it dings. Fynn is still holding her phone, and she shows something to Roebuck before she speaks to me.
“Can you remember if disarming bombs is something you do often?”
“You mean, like a hobby?” I’m confused, but she frowns at my response. “I knew the overall basics of what I was looking at, but this device was different—new to me. If I’d had more time, maybe I could have done more to try to stop it. Why?”
She hands me her phone where she screenshot a message. “This is an inventory of what the surgeons removed from you and what our experts were able to indentify—so far.”
I scroll through the list and finally realize why she’s upset. “Only a portion of the fragments were from the device today. The other pieces are older tech—probably multiple devices from the looks of it.”
“Who are you?” she asks, and I shake my head. “We’re running tests of the other components against all our open cases. If they match any previous attacks, we’ll know soon. Do you understand?”
I take a deep breath, trying to keep my tone even. “I am not lying to you.” I push up my sleeves again and show them my wrists. The blue light pulses have now become constant lines—resembling another set of blood vessels. “Take me to one of your labs. Run all the tests you want. Do whatever you have to do so you can focus on the people actually behind this!”
Another flash hits.
“You don’t have to do this!” I’m shouting at the boy from before, but we’re both older now—late teens. I chase him down an alleyway and grab his jacket’s hood. “What if you’re caught? What if you get yourself killed? I can’t lose you, too.”
“You think Mom and Dad died for some great ideology—freedom from the big bad aliens from up above?” he asks in a bitter tone, and he pries my hand free. “They did what they had to do to keep us alive—to keep us from starving. If I bail on this tonight, the EIP will kill me and try to use you next. I don’t want that for you, Anna. Your mind could be used toward so much greater things. Just let me do this. Let me keep us safe long enough to find a better way. Please.”
He’s cradling something in his other arm—something that shouldn’t have existed in reality. Something I created.
“I thought it was a model—some sort of physics game,” I try to explain, and I realize what’s happened. “Dad’s program shared my modifications, didn’t it? The EIP thought you did it instead of me.”
He turns away and continues walking. “The target is an abandoned warehouse that needs to come down anyway. The owners are aware of it—need the insurance money for some new project they can’t afford. No one will get hurt.”
“But it’s a test of the design—and when it works the EIP will distribute it to their entire network. We can’t let that happen!”
He stops and faces me again, angry tears in his eyes. “Go home, Anna! Now!”
I become aware of the IBI bunker again. Fynn and Roebuck are still blocking my path to the elevator, but there’s a clear shot to the stairwell…where a few dozen armed IBI agents could be waiting on the surface. I have to fight an urge to run, knowing it won’t do me any good long-term. I need answers from Fynn and Roebuck just as much as they need them from me.
“What year is this?” I ask. Roebuck gives me a skeptical look. “I’m serious. I thought I knew, but now I’m not so sure.”
“It’s 2300—will be 2301 in a little over a month,” Fynn answers. “Why?”
“I think I know why I didn’t flag your databases.” I slowly make my way to the couch to sit down, keeping my hands visible. “Your profiles are normally filtered by age, right—to save on search time? Some of the parts your surgeons found in me were over thirty years old. Run everything again with no age range set. I think you’ll find me.”
“Do you already remember something?”
I nod and wipe my eyes. It’s more of a gut feeling than a memory, but I know my older brother is dead. “Nothing good.”
• • •
Fynn leaves again, and Roebuck stays with me. We’re both quiet for a while, and he goes into the kitchen and returns with a tray of turkey sandwiches. He leaves them on the coffee table, and my stomach rumbles until I take one. The taste is off from what I expect—too salty—but it’s the least of my problems.
“My parents were both in the EIP.” Roebuck sits down across from me and hesitates, almost as if he’s afraid someone else will hear him. “Beth’s uncle led an IBI team to raid their house when I was a kid—had no idea I existed. All I knew was that I had been alone for days, and there were strangers with guns in my house. So I did what I was taught—hid with the biggest knife I could find and defended myself when some guy got too close.”
“What happened?” I can see scars on his face now, but they’re faint relative to the man who shot the bomb.
“Well, it turned out Jernard had picked that day to do a ride-along. I was lucky—considering what could have happened—but he reacted and lost the ability for anyone to understand what he was yelling. I ran from him—tripped over an electrical cord and fell down our basement stairs. I woke up in a hospital—Beth’s uncle waiting by the bed to tell me my parents had died in a failed attempt to kill Jernard’s wife and son. Jernard still covered my hospital bills, and Beth’s aunt arranged for my adoption by the Roebucks. That’s basically how I got to here.”
“Why are you telling me all of this?”
He breaks eye contact with me and looks down. “I know what it’s like to believe your family connections will ruin any chance you have at a good life. It’s still not easy for me, but the people who surroun
d you can make a big difference. Regardless of what we find out about your past, the IBI has programs if you want out. You just have to make the choice.”
“I’m not faking the amnesia, Roebuck. I try to think about certain things, and it feels like running up against a wall.”
“I’m not saying you’re lying.” He makes eye contact again. “There are things I wish I could forget if I could. Maybe Hannarian minds can protect themselves as a survival instinct—no different than your body reacting to any other kind of threat.”
“Is there any way to know if taking the cure will help me remember again?” I ask, but he shrugs. “I don’t believe I wanted to be like this, but in a strange way it makes me feel safer. I just don’t want to hurt anyone else.”
The elevator dings, and Fynn is back sooner than I expect. “We all have to go—now.”
“What’s wrong?” Roebuck puts his hand on his holster but doesn’t draw his gun. “Are we compromised?”
Fynn shakes her head. “Rossetti’s team in Atlanta just found another device.”
• • •
“How much time do they have?” I ask. The three of us take the stairwell, but I’ve almost gotten too far ahead of both agents. I slow down. “I don’t know if this is something I could talk somebody through over a video call. If they can get everyone out first—”
“It’s at a power station.” Fynn catches up to me, and I let her and Roebuck pass and then keep pace behind them. A worker found it during a routine inspection, but the timer isn’t active. We don’t know how long it’s been there. Everyone except building security has been evacuated, but the biggest risk is to the grid—and whether this is the only device or one of several.”
“Were any of the bioweapon victims flown to Atlanta?” I ask.
“I’m not aware of any. Why?”
“Motive,” I reply. “The EIP leadership wouldn’t do something like this without hurting themselves in the process. I think this might be someone else.”
“A rogue cell, maybe?” Roebuck asks, talking more to Fynn than me. “Kressler didn’t exactly make a lot of friends with the ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’ approach. Some of the more radical chatter makes it sound as if he was working with the Hannarians—that his bioweapon would later lead to the spread of a contagious virus across the entire planet.”
It's A Bird! It's A Plane! Page 4