He is going to have to go all in. If Clive leaves after this, Rolle isn't sure what he might be forced to do; he doesn't want to think about it. He has to convince him he isn't crazy. He continues, “Her race made it through their singularity, so I know it can be done. I believe we are running out of time. We need help, and I think her people are the ones who can provide it. I don't know if they will, so it is a bit of a gamble. If you want out, just say so; you'll be well taken care of.” Rolle realizes that can have a double meaning.
Clive sniffs at that. “Don't insult me. I've done enough digging around through the years; I know more than you think. I know about your nanomachine research, and I suspect you are more than you seem. Are you one of them?”
Damn, he'd trained him a little too well. “No… Fine, since you asked… I've never told anyone the whole story. The girl in there, her real name is Zaleria. I met her over 10,000 years ago in what is now Finland. I was a simple hunter. Her spacecraft had crashed. I investigated. We were attacked by some creature not of this world. It nearly killed us both. She saved my life but somehow changed me. I don't know why, but I eventually learned how. Nanomachines. The person who suffered more grievous wounds was me. Once, many thousands of years ago, I was seriously wounded in a skirmish. As in full decapitation. They left my body on the battlefield. It took those nanomachines three weeks to regenerate my head. They stored my memories, so I didn't lose a damn thing but three weeks.
I haven't seen Zaleria since we parted 10,000 years ago until just following the attack in Denver. She was there at the Hotel, and took out one of the perimeter guards as I was leaving. Her hair and eye color were different, but I could tell it was her. The reunion isn't going as planned.” He is telling him too much; he won't be able to digest it.
Clive turns away. “How do you know it’s the same girl?” Clive's phone rings.
“Answer it,” Rolle says. Clive answers the call. “Our nanomachines can talk to each other when we're nearby. Just as I'm using mine to talk with you now. She was at the hotel in Denver; we made a brief connection when I was leaving. When I saw her picture in the file you left me, I assumed she was following up. I just sent you a few pictures. The machines augment my memories. I once thought I'd been given magic or god powers, but you can see how our technology is now very close to theirs. The final steps are not that large. That's why I know we're running out of time.”
Clive looks more than a little nonplussed. He looks at the images he sent him, pictures of the crash site, of Zaleria, of the beast that attacked them—just as he remembers them.
“Those pictures are not perfect, because the machines didn't fully populate until a few weeks after those events. Those are human memories, held in perfect storage for 10,000 years.”
Clive shakes his head. “I… actually believe you. Her wounds are already starting to heal. The last time I checked on her, about an hour ago, most of the puncture wounds from the shrapnel had fully closed, and there was flesh growing over where her lower jaw was. And she now has a faint heartbeat. I couldn't believe it.” He shakes his head again. “I knew you were different, a little weird. Hell, what billionaire isn't eccentric? But there was always something that just didn't seem right. I had to know why, so I did some digging. What I found, I couldn't explain. I never conceived of this.”
Clive stares off at the mountains. “We lost a three good men yesterday. My men.” He turns and looks at him. “It damn well better be worth it. You're going to need help within the company to keep doing your work, whoever you really are.”
Rolle smiles. “My real name is Achi. You know just about everything else; there's no reason to hold that back. No last name, there weren't enough people around back then to need them.” Achi grimaces. “I hate losing people. I should have foreseen what might happen. I'm sorry.”
Clive nods. “You should get going. There's a lot of work that needs to be done.” He is right. They shake hands without another word, then Clive gets into the van and departs.
Achi walks around the outside of the garage, looking in all directions. It is fairly secluded. There's only the main road, which gets very little traffic. This part of the country is pretty desolate, which is why he decided to put a secure facility here. It makes it easy to spot threats. He is surprised none of Zaleria's people are here. He wonders why; they should be able to track her.
He enters the garage and takes the lift down. He enters the shelter, sends the lift back up, and throws a breaker to shut off its power. Even if her people show up now, they'll have a hard time getting in without his at least getting some advanced warning.
He heads to the bedroom to examine the damage and see if there is anything he can do for her. He feels a mental tingle. His nanomachines have connected with hers. He gets a readout. There is massive damage, but repairs are underway. He counts 15 puncture wounds, five of which are severe and go all the way through. All have sealed up, but the healing process is just beginning. Her ribs are fractured in seven places, as well as her left wrist, which is cracked. Her left femur is fractured from a piece of shrapnel that nearly took off her leg. He knows all this will heal, but it will take time. Her symbiots estimate three weeks, but that could be accelerated if he can find a way to add nutrients and water. Huh? He'd never called them symbiots before, but he knows it's the right name. Her face suffered the worst damage. A piece of shrapnel took off half her lower jaw and kept going through the side of her neck and clipped the bottom of her skull. Right where her communication device would have been. That might explain why her people haven't shown up.
He goes to the bathroom to get a couple washcloths and some towels, then goes into the kitchen and fills a basin with warm water. He returns to the bedroom and gets to work. He washes out any remaining open wounds first, being careful to remove any debris. He then resets the femur as best he can, eventually using some cord to rig up a traction system to keep it from slipping out of alignment. Her symbiots will prioritize that repair so he can remove the ligature. They estimate two days. He then goes into the hidden locker where he keeps medical supplies and pulls out some IV bags. He hooks them up and finds a decent vein in her right arm. He adds a mixture of iron and other minerals that he has found over the years best helps support his little friends' work. Zaleria's symbiots now estimate critical repairs will be complete in 12 days, at which time she can regain consciousness. He informs them they should not wake her until her jaw is restored. That will take 15 days. He sighs. He has done what he can. He sits there, exhausted, staring at her. “I hope you can help; you better be worth all this trouble. What are you really like?” he wonders.
“NO! Don't share my memories with Zaleria!”
He slumps down. This is
bad. He's got 15 days to think through options, then the whole collective will know about him. Speaking of which? “Give me a status of Zaleria's comm system.”
“Do not restore comm system until Zaleria regains consciousness and orders it herself, to prevent tracking by potentially hostile entities.” He is taking a gamble.
He goes to the living room, pours a glass of bourbon, and sits down to start reviewing what Zaleria knows. He is not looking forward to what happens when she does the same thing with his memories. This is not what he had in mind…
∞∞∞
“Where am I? What happened?” Zaleria feels very strange. She has been damaged, severely. There was an explosion, an attack. She was moved. To an underground shelter. How does she know this? Two weeks have passed. “Zaleria… Zaleria.” She feels a connection, local. “Thank you for trying to protect me. It pains me that you were injured. I've tended your wounds, so you can return to your life, and then we will leave this place. Do you understand?” Her symbiots are pumping her full of sedatives to try and induce a coma. Who is making them do that? …Achi? Where has she heard that name before, she thinks groggily. Achi… Achi, Achi…, “He points to his chest and says. Aaah Cheee…”
A name she'd not thought about for thousands of years pops into her mind out of her on-board storage. Achi? Yes, that was it. The first human she ever met. The boy she didn't want to die because of a long list of mistakes she had made. What's happened? It doesn't make any sense. He would have died millennia ago. She reaches out and connects. There is no mistake, it is Achi, and he is infested with her symbiots.
In a flash, she remembers—they were side by side, the thermal oscillator had just destroyed the kel'taite, and all she cared about was that he not die because of her mistakes. Their blood had mingled. Genetically, he was galanen. A handful of symbiots gained access to his body, and carried out her command. Oh Creator, what had she done!? She contaminated Earth over 10,000 years ago!!
Suddenly, she is alert. Her eye flies open; the other one is stuck closed. Her adrenal response is overwhelming the sedatives. Achi! She is assaulted by mental anguish so acute, it is driving her into a near panic. Echoes of distant memories reverberate, but they're not hers, or are they? “Why did you do this to me? There has to be a reason. Don't tell me my life is just one cosmic mistake!! WHY?!!” What did she do to him? He's infested with her symbiots. He's here, in this place. He's in her head! He doesn't want to be, but he can't help it. It was her, her doing! She starts thrashing around, confused. She didn't know! She was responsible. She'd corrupted a primitive. No!
She fights the accusation, but she can't flee from herself. From him. She forced him to live a life he wasn't prepared for. It was a lifetime of pain. She can remember it—all of it. It is too much! Their connection is like nothing she has experienced before. She can't shut him out, can't protect herself, can't hide anything. They are one and the same!! All of his memories, complete photographic memories, are now hers. And more, every feeling, every sensation he ever felt floods over her, through her. She takes it all in, she can't stop herself. It is more than she can bear; she starts to convulse.
Every death of every loved one; every child, grandchild, great grandchild, until he couldn't count them anymore; every death he suffered; she feels every last one of them, all at once. She feels the depth of his insanity as he believed he was the anointed of gods, only to lose everything and come face to face with his inability to help anyone he cared for. “Can't stop the sickness; they're all dying!! Why can't I help them?!!” It gets so bad, he tries to kill himself, but he only comes back. He was trapped with his pain, for millennia. She feels each of the different lives he lived. The hundreds of times he tried to live a normal life, just to lose everything and have to begin again. It is too much.
Every synapse in her brain feels like it will explode. She feels him rush into the room, trying to comfort her, soothe her, trying to calm her down, but he only succeeds in adding the explosive force of his profound guilt to mingle with hers. She can't tell who is who? All she can do is sob hysterically, great racking sobs, tears streaming down her face, until at some point, her symbiots finally succeed in pulling the plug, and she passes out.
Chapter Six
A Time to Heal
Zaleria drifts in the darkness. She is between life and death; she knows this somehow. She is living the nightmare again, picking up where it left off. This immense being is restless, moving around. She can't see it, can't tell what it is, but she can feel its size, and its movements. It is as if the universe itself is coming alive, quickening, growing aware, of…something. Something important. Something much bigger than insignificant Zaleria.
The leviathan—the name just comes to her—swirls up around her, coiling like a massive snake. It regards her, impassively. It is neither hostile, nor caring. She is so insignificant compared to it, she is barely worth its notice. But still, it regards her. It finds her important, for some unfathomable reason. She feels a slow gathering of thoughts. A question is forming. Massive in its implications, to match the size of this creature.
“Do you know who you are?”
She tries to form an answer. “I am Zaleria. A galan…” Her thoughts trail off, buried in a humorless, deep rolling laugh.
“That is what you are, not who you are. You still do not remember me.” It is a statement, not a question.
She feels an immense rumbling, as if the entire universe is moving in sympathy with the immense sigh let out by the leviathan.
“You must learn.”
Zaleria wakes up. She's been in a coma for nearly three weeks. It's been a week since…the incident. She feels terrible. Her system is still flooded with neuroregulators, trying to moderate her reaction to the alien memories, and they are barely helping. She sees an IV bag hooked into her arm—she knows that is what it is called, and what it contains—but she doesn't need it anymore, so she pulls out the needle. She recalls everything vividly, but she can now step through it a bit at a time. Where is she? She looks around and deduces she is still in the underground hideout—the old, abandoned gas station. She is surprised he didn't just cast her out when he learned the truth. No, that doesn't feel right. He is seeking help, not revenge.
What had she done? Even now she can barely take it in without slipping back into a catatonic state. So much pain, so much fear, so much death. How had he remained sane? He hadn't. He'd fallen into despair and tried to end his own life. But couldn't—he was utterly trapped. But there is more. Now that she can weed through the pain and anger, there is much more. There are other themes he kept returning to. He'd loved, and lost, and loved again. He raised children, and grandchildren, and then grew to see all of humanity as his children. He'd killed, been killed, regenerated, only to do it over again. He had done very evil things… Things that still haunt him. But he eventually became disgusted with it all and endeavored to take no more life. At least human life, she notes. He is still a hunter at heart and enjoys eating flesh. Really enjoys it. His memories of it turn her stomach, as well as many of the things he has done. And all those memories are hers too, now. She feels dirty, violated.
She finds she can't communicate with the collective or reach her essence. That's probably for the best. Where is the collective? They must be looking for her.
d a private conversation; he got much more. He wants their help but doesn't know if he can trust them. It's all there, and he knows it, too. He's terrified of what she'll think. And well he should be. She is having a hard time coping with millennia of primitive urges, violence, and… atrocities.
Still, she realizes he is vastly different now. Changed. What he was is no longer who he is. She doesn't know how to put it all into context; there has been nothing in her experience to compare it to. It's unlikely there's been anything like this in the history of the collective. Despite all that has happened to him, he is now nearly as much galanen as she is. It is in some ways quite remarkable how he's endured, grown, matured—evolved. She sits up on the bed. She appears fully regenerated, but she needs to feed her symbiots. Achi supplemented them through the IVs, which helped a lot. He knows she is awake, but he wants to give her space. Hard to do when she knows his thoughts almost as fast as he does.
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