Incarnate- Essence

by Thomas Harper

  “Not particularly,” I said, speaking loudly over the din of the music and conversation.

  “Suit yourself,” she shrugged, making her way towards the bar.

  Once again, I was a lone observer to the lives of everyone around me. Yet there was comfort in taking up that position again. The past thirty-three years were the most I’d taken part in actual events in quite some time. And doing that meant having to be responsible for other people. And failing in that responsibility meant people ending up like Akira. It wasn’t something I wanted to-

  “Not enjoyin’ yourself?” A voice came over my earpieces, easily audible over the music and chatter.

  I turned to see Doctor Taylor sitting down next to me, a glass of some kind of mixed drink in her hand. Her conversation symbol had appeared in my ARs without me noticing. Everyone at the gathering had turned their ARs to party mode, using Masaru’s password, which allowed designated people to chat with them over their tech without having to opt-in to the connection. This allowed Doctor Taylor’s voice to transmit right to my earpieces, making it easier to talk at the noisy gathering.

  She had a long, black skirt on, draping going down to her stiletto shoes. Her gray hair spilled straight down so that the sides hung over the front of her shoulders. Her deep red lipstick was parted into a smile.

  “I am,” I said, flashing her a smile, “this is just how I enjoy myself.”

  Doctor Taylor laughed, “I understand. I’m sometimes the same way.”

  “You guys did a good job getting all this arranged so quickly,” I said, both of us looking back out to the dance floor. They were now playing more contemporary music, bass thumping as people danced.

  “I think everyone was motivated,” she said, “lotta prospective parents willin’ to donate time and money. And Masaru,” she chuckled, “nobody was more motivated than him. I can see why they call ‘em the Masaristas.”

  “He does have a certain love for them,” I agreed, “and they do for him, too. He was their biggest advocate after the Christmas Crossing.”

  “You shouldn’t sell yourself short,” Doctor Taylor said, taking a sip of her drink.

  “I didn’t do that much.”

  “Everyone says you were the mastermind behind it all,” Doctor Taylor said, “but I gather you aren’t too interested in the spotlight?”

  “Not particularly,” I said.

  “Does it have to do with your…affliction?” she asked.

  My heart skipped a beat. “My affliction?” My reincarnation?

  “Your seizures,” she asked, giving me a smile that indicated she saw my nervousness. “I saw the memes. Where you started flippin’ everyone off. I asked Masaru about it and he said it was a seizure. An issue with your corpus callosum.”

  “That’s one issue,” I said, leaning back in my chair again.

  “I might know a way to treat it,” Doctor Taylor said, taking a sip from her drink, “if you’re interested.”

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  She chuckled, “I can imagine. I can get you scheduled in for it soon as I can.”

  “That…that would be great,” I said.

  “More than happy to help,” Doctor Taylor said.

  “Thank you.”

  Doctor Taylor took a sip from her drink, eyes scanning across the crowd, ultimately landing on her daughter Teagan. She looked similar to Deidre, but with shorter hair that had a few gray streaks in it. Teagan’s dress looked like something she made herself, which I understood was a hobby of hers.

  “It was nice of Teagan to move back to help Deidre with the kids,” I said.

  Doctor Taylor smiled weakly. “It is.”

  “I’m…sensing some tension there?”

  She sighed, “Teagan and I don’t much get along. Its why she moved to Cheyenne in the first place.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  She took another sip and sighed. “Teagan’s my oldest. By almost seven years. She…remembers her father. Deidre don’t.” Doctor Taylor shook her head. “Teagan blames me for stayin’ with ‘em, even though…”

  “He was abusive?”

  Taylor took another sip, keeping her eyes on Teagan as she danced with several of the Masaristas, but said nothing.

  “Maybe this is your opportunity to patch things up?”

  Doctor Taylor sighed again. “Teagan’s always been strong-willed. She gets it from me. But, for some reason, when it came to men, my will just…seemed to go out the window. Thank God neither of my girls inherited that from me.” She grinned to herself. “Teagan always had poor taste in men, but she’s never been shy about losin’ ‘em when she had to. Left her husband shortly after Andrew was born. He was cheatin’. She booted ‘em right out. Deidre’s always more discernin’ with men. She’s lucky…John worships the ground she walks on. But me…Teagan didn’t even tell me she was back in town. I heard it from John, actually. He figured I knew.”

  “Have you tried talking to her?”

  “I tried callin’ when I heard she was in town,” she said, “left a message. Still haven’t heard back yet. This’s the first time I’ve seen her in…God, five years.”

  “Well, there she is,” I said, “worth a try.”

  “Easier said than done,” Taylor said, forcing a smile, “you’ll see one day when you have kids.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “but I think most people regret the things they didn’t do more than the things they did do. If you don’t try now, you’ll probably regret it.”

  She laughed, “I think I see why people follow you. You’re wise beyond your years.” She took another sip of her drink before climbing to her feet. “I think you’re right. I think I’ll go try’n talk to her.”

  “Good to hear.”

  “I’ll let you know when I can get you in for the procedure,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  Doctor Taylor’s chat symbol disappeared. Her red lips parted into a smile as she walked back out into the crowd, moving toward Teagan, who was now speaking with Colonel Reynolds. The eldest daughter watched as her mother approached, a neutral expression on her face. Reynolds read the situation and took leave, raising his eyebrows as he took a long sip from his glass, walking away.

  I wasn’t sure if anything Doctor Taylor could do would actually help with my split-brain situation – especially since my brain was abnormal even without the split-brain episodes – but what was the worst that could happen?

  I looked to where Akira was sitting. She was alone at a table, much like me, her face once again dour as she stared out at the dance floor. She had made an effort to dress herself up, putting makeup on again for the first time in quite a while. I considered going and sitting next to her, but I could tell that what she really wanted was to leave and be by herself. A feeling I wasn’t unfamiliar with.

  There was an ebb in the volume of conversation when another group of guests arrived late. Masaru ran to greet them as they strode into the parking lot, their faces becoming visible once the lighting overcame the dwindling sun. Salia led Kantor and Aveena through the tables, other guests’ heads turning to see the highly modified transgenic woman, then turning back to talk quietly about the bizarre spectacle. The snarl-like grin on Salia’s face told me she enjoyed the attention. Aveena had replied back to Masaru’s invitation saying she probably wouldn’t be able to make it. That had perhaps been a ploy to let Salia make a grand entrance.

  Salia walked with Masaru and her small entourage over to some of the children who weren’t participating in the dance and started speaking with them. Aveena looked to me and gave a nod. She brought what I asked her to.

  “The silent hero uh’the hour,” a man’s voice said as Aaron Reynolds’ chat symbol showed up in my ARs.

  I looked over to see him standing next to my chair. Reynolds had a glass of whiskey on ice in one hand, his other arm still in a brace from the second round of reconstructive surgery after getting hit with the .45 caliber that had breached his exoskeleton during the raid. He fiddled
with the top of his pants, looking uncomfortable in a suit. His usually stoic expression, shaved clean of its stubble, displayed a flavor of cheerfulness brought on by intoxication. A man who works hard and drinks hard, I take it.

  “I wouldn’t want to oversell it,” I grinned back to him.

  “Bullshit,” he said, “folks who know’re aware’uh who did what for the Easter Emancipation. You got it rollin’. And you that did more’n your part when we were under fire.”

  “Well, I certainly couldn’t have done any of that without your people,” I said.

  Reynolds laughed, “I like to think we did it for noble causes. And don’t get me wrong, we did at that. But I’d be lyin’ if I said this little stunt hasn’t been great for business. LoC Security is whoopin’ Liberty Protection in new clients, even up in the Republic,” this sent him laughing even harder. I watched in amusement as the man who had been so worried about every minor detail of the operation now looked so jubilant.

  “I guess that’s a nice bonus then,” I said.

  “You’re a modest sunuvabitch,” Reynolds said, taking a sip, “it’s a goddamn windfall’s what it is. People callin’ up askin’ for our service from places way outside the LoC.”

  “Like in Wichita Kansas?” I asked.

  He laughed again, “we’re lookin’ into it, but it’s still preliminary.” He took another sip, “But the real bonus is seein’ that ugly mug friend of yours – Derrick or Darren or whatever – fallin’ for our medic. That boy’s in for a ride with that girl, let me tell you.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  Reynolds didn’t get a chance to tell me. The parking lot seemed to go quiet again. Reynolds and I looked over to see a large crowd of the children standing with Teagan as they gathered around Salia, looking up in astonishment. She was facing away from them as she carefully unwrapped her shawl, letting it spill to the ground. Her arms spread out wide, revealing the dark brown skin of her naked body.

  The children stared in awe at Salia’s wings. Gasps and screams arose – from children and adults alike – when bioluminescent vessels began dancing with a dazzling array of colors. Some of the younger kids ran away, the girl’s dresses flowing behind them.

  Salia’s sharp-toothed smile couldn’t get any wider as she put on her show. Some of the older kids cautiously approached. She allowed them to reach out, lightly touching her wings and arms, making splash patterns in the bioluminescence wherever any of their fingers made contact. The older kids giggled, some grownups clapping.

  “Christ,” Reynolds laughed, “that ain’t somethin’ ya see every day,” he took another sip from his drink, his gaze going to where Teagan led the scared children slowly back towards Salia.

  “I take it you know Doctor Taylor’s daughter?” I asked.

  Reynolds turned back to me, jaw clenched again. “I’ve known her since she was a little girl. Back when I was a rookie cop.”

  “I see,” I said, “did it have to do with Doctor Taylor’s husband?”

  He raised an eyebrow, “she tell you about ‘em?”

  “A little.”

  “He was a real piece’uh work,” Reynolds said, “Name was Ben. Benjamin Eddington. Folks all called ‘em Benny. Was Teagan that called the police on ‘em. That’s when I showed up.” He shook his head. “I sure was glad when he left town. I think Teagan figures it was me that run ‘em out. She always seemed to think I was some kinda hero.”

  “It wasn’t you, though?”

  “I mighta had somethin’ ta do with it,” he shrugged, “Benny came to the station one day accusin’ me of havin’ an affair with his wife. He was gone a couple days later.”

  “You think Teagan will forgive her mom?”

  “Hard ta say,” Reynolds said, “I think she knows Amanda’s sorry about everything she put ‘er through, but that girl can be stubborn as a mule. I figure it ain’t my place to get involved.”

  “No children of your own?” I asked.

  The Colonel grinned, “nope. Me and my wife were both cops before the referendum. Met on the force. Both went to LoC Security after. She works up at the offices now. Both of us were always too busy to start a family.”

  “You could always adopt one of the Masaristas,” I said.

  He laughed, “the wife’s mentioned that a couple’uh times now. Haven’t given it much serious thought. Spose it ain’t outta the question,” he shrugged, looking over to a gathering group of people from LoC Security. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got some subordinates that need to be drank under the table.”

  “Good luck with that,” I grinned, watching him begin to move away with a slight limp, his chat symbol disappearing from my ARs.

  “Won’t need luck,” he called back to me without the aid of tech as he continued moving away, “I got years of experience!”

  I saw Rosaline Riviera amongst the group. Her family was with her, Keme talking loud. Reynolds joined in, seeming familiar with Rosaline’s family.

  Rosy looked to me and gave an uncomfortable grin. She looked even more awkward than her boss. The slim, strappy black dress she wore clashed with her stark tattoos, shaved head, and muscular physique. I gave her a nod and she gladly slipped away from the crowd. I opened a chat link with her as she approached and she quickly accepted.

  “No drink?” she asked, raising her own glass slightly, “when I was your age, I woulda been several deep by now.”

  “Not really my thing,” I said.

  She grunted, “I dunno if I could do this without it.”

  “The dress?”

  “Doesn’t feel right,” she said, looking down at herself with a grimace, “you sure look dapper, though. Wear a lotta tux’s back in the DRC?”

  I shrugged, “goes with my international man-of-mystery mystique.”

  She laughed, “men sure got lucky with the clothing double standard. I was gonna come in a tux myself but Marlina forced me to wear this. Now I’d be useless if we got ambushed.”

  “Something you worry about often?”

  She smirked, “with all these kids around, ya never know.”

  “Not a fan of children?”

  She shrugged, taking a sip, “I don’t hate them.”

  “I’m guessing the rest of your family wants kids?”

  She smiled sheepishly, an expression I imagined a woman like Rosaline Riviera only gave while intoxicated. “They’ve been talking about having kids for over a year now. Especially Zachary and Marlina.”

  “Why don’t they just have a kid then?”

  “They want all four of us on board,” she said, exhaling slowly, “It used to be me and Keme against them. He’s come around to their way of thinking.”

  “And you haven’t.”

  She shrugged.

  “Too much responsibility?” I asked.

  “Yeah…but, I’m also just, you know, philosophically against it,” she said, “I’m an anti-natalist.”

  “Hm,” I said, “you’re a person of very strong philosophical principles, I take it?”

  “Or I’m a stubborn bitch,” she took a sip, “depends on your point of view.”

  “Why anti-natalism?”

  “Once you’ve seen how terrible humans can be to one another,” she said, “the idea of bringin’ more of ‘em into the world seems…abusive?”

  “The Korean concentration camps…”

  She nodded, this time taking a drink decidedly larger than a sip.

  “What about you and your girlfriend?” she asked, “the mopey white girl? When are you two gettin’ hitched?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” I said.

  Rosy smirked, “of course not.”

  I took a deep breath, about to argue further. Instead, I exhaled slowly.

  “You’re a good guy, Eshe,” Rosy said, slapping a hand on my shoulder, “and smart. Don’t let any of that get in the way of somethin’ good,” she grinned, walking away.

  I sighed, looking over to Laura. She sat next to Yukiko and one of the rescued boys,
drinking from a glass of clear liquid. Most likely vodka. The boy was opening a package as Yukiko looked on, Laura not paying attention to either of them.

  Once the package was opened, the boy took out something too small for me to see. It became clear they were earpieces when he reached over and gently placed them in Yukiko’s ears. She stared at him confused for a moment before a smile spread across her lips. Child-sized translators.

  My eyes wandered back to Salia. She had her shawl back on, several kids still gathered around her. Masaru brought before her the three kids who had been horribly deformed with gene doping. Salia looked on them with pity and affection as they slowly neared her. She knelt down and started talking to them, their faces lighting up in delight. They felt less freakish to see Salia relish in her own bizarre appearance. It was like they-

  “Hm,” I grunted, seeing someone else I recognized.

  It was Bita. She was in casual clothes – slacks and a blouse – looking around. I started toward her. When she saw me approaching, she nodded and came toward me.

  “Quite the get-together,” she said in English, shouting over the din rather than opening a connection.

  Her Indian accent was stronger than before. Likely from having been in India for months speaking her native tongue.

  “You came back,” I said.

  “I heard about the rescue,” she said, “it was pretty big news even in India.”

  “Gopal’s not dead.”

  Her smile faded, “not wasting time, are you.”

  “Did you know?”

  She nodded slowly. “We needed to get him out of here.”

  “Why?” I asked, “was the bombing an attempt to kill him? Why would someone want to kill him?”

  “Those are questions even I cannot answer,” she said.

  “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  “Both,” she said, “but what I can tell you is that he was here with me and my son to keep him safe. From what, I don’t know. Whether the bombings were after him, I don’t know. But he is no longer safe here. I am not told where he is now.”

  “You’re selling your store?”

  “My purpose for being here has changed.”

  “Your purpose for being here?” I asked, “you were only here to protect Gopal?”