Designation
261
Catherine Miller
Copyright © 2019 Catherine Miller
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9781095233580
For Beth. We made it.
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Also by Catherine Miller
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The air was thick with dust and heat away from the Falls. The vegetation gave way from lush blues and greens to the golds of nature parched of water and dew.
But it would pass as it always did, leaving behind a temperate climate, a home nestled in the flora.
The wind increased, a loud whirring deafening the inhabitants, flattening the long grasses. A woman glanced up from her garden, a wary look coming to her as she took in the ship hovering over the open field. It did not land, but a gangway descended, a figure appearing as he emerged from the opening in the hull.
“Kal!” she called, though the act was unnecessary as her husband was already there, a blaster in hand.
“Get inside the house, Enys,” her husband instructed. Her jaw set, and though she retreated a few steps backward, she did not fully obey.
Her husband sighed, unsurprised, and approached the man still steadily descending from the craft.
Kal reached the end of the gangplank, his blaster at the ready. If he held any surprise at recognizing the newcomer, he did not show it.
“261,” he greeted. He did not want this man here. He was from a different time, a different life, one that had no place intersecting with the one he had now.
A slight bowing of the head. “932,” the other acknowledged. The man’s attention went to the blaster, his head tilting slightly to the side. “Usage of that will not be necessary.”
Kal did not lower it. “State your intention for being here.”
A hum, low and discordant, as if a measured sound that had been learned rather than a natural exhalation. But that was what this being was. Unnatural.
261 turned, retreated slightly back into the open maw of the vessel he had so recently vacated, and Enys noticed the way Kal’s finger drifted to the trigger, his muscles bunched and firm, waiting for action.
Rather than the weapon they had clearly expected, a bundle of fabric came instead, hiding the identity of his burden, but suggesting...
A lump settled in Enys’s throat, certain she did not understand. Certain she didn’t want to.
“I have been told,” 261 continued, looking at the bundle rather than the two he had evidently come to visit. “That it would be cruel to allow this to die when there are other options.”
Enys took an unconscious step forward, and though he did not move, she could feel her husband’s displeasure at the action.
“What is it?” he barked back, the blaster moving so that he aimed at the newcomer’s feet, evidently fully prepared to persuade him to stop moving if Kal did not approve of his approach.
261 glanced upward, his mouth a grim line. “A fourth-born. Or maybe a fifth. Who can truly say anymore?” A hint of a smile graced his features, but it did nothing to soften them. “Those who could are already dead.”
If Kal held any surprise at the man’s words, he did not show it. “Excellent. Now turn around and go. We need none of your trouble here.”
“Kal,” Enys murmured, her eyes riveted to the bundle. She would not pretend to know all that 261 was referring to—did not want to know. But she could well remember the men in their tanks, their growth accelerated until they could be of use.
Used to kill.
Used to obey.
Warped and twisted into something less than human.
That had been her husband, once. Until his own personal rebellions had purged him of the Project’s influence.
He liked to tell her it had been her. Her softness, her humanity, drawing him back from the brink of madness, but she did not fully agree. He had been the one to choose, and her life had been saved in the process.
She did not blame him for resenting the reminder of his creation. When they were alone again, she would hold him, would whisper sweet nothings in his ear as she told him of her love, again and again because sometimes he claimed to forget.
And that was all right with her. She did not mind the showing of it.
But that showing could not lead to children, sterilised as all of his kind were. It had been a fact that had not disturbed her. Saddened, yes, especially as time passed, their home beginning to feel a little empty, a wistful ache settling around the edges of her heart.
She did not resent him. She had no knowledge if she would have been able to conceive a child of her own, so it seemed ridiculous to punish him for knowing he was unable.
But it was a subject she dared not broach, knowing well he would claim she had made a mistake in choosing him in return, regardless of her affection for him.
“Well,” 261 clarified. “Mostly dead. Still a few to go.” He glanced again at his burden, soft sounds beginning to emit from the blanket. “Do you want the child or not?”
Enys noted that he did not pose the question to Kal, but to her. She could not fathom how he’d known to come here, how he’d found them, how he’d known to bring... bring what her heart fluttered to think might be held in his arms.
But he had.
And she did not know how to answer. Not when she yearned to step forward, to take whatever was offered—whomever was offered—and claim it as her own.
But she had a husband to consider, one who had never suggested any sort of affinity for children, and she could not speak for him. Could not bring a baby into a home where a father resented it, a living, breathing reminder of the Project and their experimentation.
“Kal,” she breathed, trying to be steady, trying to be still. “It’s a baby.”
261 was still staring at her expectantly, and she wondered how much patience he possessed. From their brief encounter from before, she did not believe it was much. It was little wonder he did not intend to keep the babe for himself.
Kal gave a grunt. “We don’t know that. He could have an Altgarian Wood-hound tucked away in there.” A knot of worry bloomed in her belly. That he really would force them to leave, that he would say no, that her opportunity for motherhood would be gone forever...
She chastised herself for such thoughts. She had been content only an hour ago. Prone to moments of longing, yes, but otherwise happy. She would be again. Even if, in that moment, she was certain there would be a long bout of tears following 261’s departure.
“Or,” she countered. “It’s a baby. A baby that needs raising in a good home, with... with parents who would try their utmost to be good ones.” She took another step toward her husband, her hand reaching out and touching his arm gently. He did not lower the blaster, but there was no denying the softening of taut muscles at her touch, though she would not have known unless she had been the one to feel it. “I love you,” she reminded him, hoping he would understand how fully she meant it. “History and all. And...” she glanced toward the bundle that was beginning to fuss more fully. “And I would love it too.”
He spared her a glance, though she knew instinct would scream at him to keep his focus solely on the intruder. “Why,” he asked, not for the first time. “Why would you want to?”
She smiled, knowing that truth had a way of working on him, perhaps even more than touches. “Because I don’t regret you. Haven’t for a moment. And I don’t think anyone would understand that baby and what might have happened to it more than you. So don’t you think that makes us rather qualified?”
He shifted, returning his attention to 261, but she could see the discomfort in him. “You did not press for a child,” he reminded her, a hint of chastisement in his tone. This was not a conversation for here, not in front of a witness. She would explain it to him, would tell him that she cared too much about his feelings to fully share some of her own. But not now.
“No,” she answered simply. “But one is being offered now, and I would really like to accept it.”
Kal said nothing, but she took that as what allowance he was able to give in that moment. She prayed he would not resent her for it, would see the joy that would come from an addition to their home.
Or perhaps he had already fantasised about such things, in the privacy of his own mind. If he imagined a smaller version of her playing amongst the greenery, hiding away in all too obvious spots, only to be discovered by an indulgent parent. Or perhaps a little boy, as serious as his father, insisting to know how every bit of technology worked within their home.
But, knowing Kal, he would not have done so. He would have acknowledged the impossibility, and not allowed thoughts to turn to fantasising.
Eminently practical, her husband.
She turned, ready to walk up the gangway, only for Kal to slide the strap of the blaster over his arm and go forward himself. Instinct urged her to follow, but sense told her to stay. He would assess. He would decide.
And she would live with the consequences.
Kal walked up the gangway with measured, purposeful steps. He did not trust the situation, did not trust the man he was walking toward, but Enys was curious, and he did not miss the pleading look she had given him to investigate.
She had briefly questioned, on a particularly satisfying evening, if he thought that their coupling might result in a pregnancy.
He had disabused her of that possibility.
And she had never spoken of it again. Clearly he should have pursued the conversation further.
His hand itched to reach for the blaster, his eyes drifting to the opening of the vessel beyond. There was the slightest hint of shadow suggesting another was on board, and the desire for his weapon grew all the more. But, on the off chance that 261’s reason for coming was genuine, he could not hold both the blaster and the...
Baby.
He had to keep his nose from wrinkling at the thought. Not at the prospect of a youngling, but what this one was. Taken from a pod too early, before growth and manipulations of the mind could be carried out as intended.
Kal had been happy to leave that day, for the Seneschal to be dead and be done with the Project entirely.
261 evidently had employed his time differently.
Perhaps more efficiently, though Kal could not bring himself to regret his choice. Not when it would have meant sacrificing the peace and contentment he had found with Enys. There was work, too. The days often too short, as could be their tempers, but he would not trade it. Not even for the satisfaction of killing more of his creators.
He was close enough to see the face of the infant, and there was no denying that it was truly a babe. Face scrunched, perhaps because of the harsh light of the day, perhaps of some intestinal distress—Kal had no idea. He knew nothing of ones so young.
“It will be a boy then,” Kal murmured to himself, perhaps a reassurance. Men were not terribly complicated creatures, and surely their younger selves were not overly so either.
261 reached forward, seemingly pleased to pass over the burden to another—one that possessed very little idea of how to hold one so small, though Kal tried to repress his trepidation.
“No,” 261 corrected. “Apparently the Project decided to dabble with girls.”
Kal’s head shot up, and he almost demanded the man take the squirming little creature away. She weighed hardly anything, and absently he pushed one of the blankets back, the heat of the day perhaps adding to her distress.
She wore nothing but a strip of fabric between her legs and pinned about her middle, and Kal was struck with how utterly unprepared he and Enys would be with her care.
The thought surprised him—he had not intended to even consider keeping it. Her.
261 must have noticed some of his concern. “She likes Formula 874.23 on the replicator. Wouldn’t take any of the others. She had a clean napkin less than an hour ago.” 261 gave a glance toward their home, suddenly appearing dubious. “You do possess a replicator, yes?”
Kal did not bother to bristle. He knew their dwelling was inadequate by many standards, but it was more than enough for theirs. It was clean, and he kept the structure in good repair, though most of it was made of wood and plaster rather than metal and hollos so prevalent in the larger cities.
“We have one,” Kal answered calmly. And it worked. Most of the time. But this squirming bundle would need it to work more often than that, so time would have to be devoted to inspecting its issues more carefully. He could do that. While Enys got to know their newest addition.
261 continued to watch, slightly disbelieving of his counterpart’s reaction. He seemed mesmerised by the child, his arms slightly too stiff, as if uncertain what to do with her. 261 could understand that well—it had taken some time before he could be confident that he was not harming her in the process.
“I will not make an attempt to contact you in future,” 261 informed 932. “This was a necessary detour, but I do not anticipate repeat occurrences.”
932 gave a grunt. “Should I be asking how you managed to locate me?” Cool eyes met his. “When you leave, will another ship be taking your place?”
261 stared steadily back. “No. They have more urgent problems at the moment than an errant agent already expunged from the record.”
932’s eyes widened. “Why would you have done that?”
Lips thinned. He was not willing to answer that, not when it would prove an admission he was not prepared to make. “That is irrelevant.” He turned, ready to be off this planet, ready to finish what he’d started. He heard steps behind him, and instinct made him turn, to ensure the threat would be dealt with accordingly, only to find that the 932’s female had hurried forward, close enough that she could see the child.
He had forgotten about her arm, the time since he had seen her last evidently doing nothing for its healing. Had she been one of the Project’s creations, she would have been eliminated long ago. Permanente damage was reason for termination.
He readied himself to turn back, but the female addressed him. “Will... will she grow normally?” she asked, glancing down at the infant, clearly already infatuated with it.
261 merely stared. “I haven’t the least idea.”
And then he turned and went back into his ship.
The door shut with a rush of air as metal sank into waiting metal, and he had to stop himself from sinking against the closed door, suddenly weary. He could not afford to rest, not until the work was done, but he could admit the temptation, if only to himself.
He glanced to the side, his skin prickling with the sensation of being watched. “Thank you for doing that,” she murmured, fresh tears pooling in her eyes, others streaked against her cheeks. “You didn’t have to.”
“Yes,” he corrected. “I did.” He stepped closer, not because any sort of impulse suggested it, but because he knew her reactions, knew what gave her comfort, even if he felt so little himself. “Because you asked.”
She smiled, a thin, watery thing that would have been better left unformed.
She took a breath, then another, and he could see her leaning subtly forward, as she usually did when she desired contact with him. Perhaps it was done unconsciously, perhaps purposefully, but he saw little point in denying her. They needed to get moving, but the
gangway still needed to be cleared before they departed, so there was time to see to her.
He opened his arms and allowed her to sink into him, and he closed them again, his fingers drifting through her hair as he knew she liked. It was all a matter of watching, of listening, something he never thought he would choose to do for matters outside abject necessity.
But it was worthwhile, in its way.
To have a companion rather than an unwitting captive.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “For coming here. For... for doing the right thing.”
He opened his mouth, ready to remind her that just because she believed this to be the correct course of action did not intrinsically make it so, but he closed it again. She was his conscience because his seemed to have been purged from him long before, and despite his efforts, it did not seem keen on returning.
Not how he expected, at least. He caught himself, at times, thinking of what she would do, what she would have him do, rather than simply proceeding with whatever his first impulse demanded. It was a strange realisation, one that he had not expected as a consequence to her presence on his ship.
But one he could not wholly say he regretted.
“You are welcome,” he said at last, his voice its usual grit and rumble. He had tried to learn to be soft, for her, but even now it was not always successful. He grimaced as she looked up, and he readied himself for her disappointment, but there was only a smile instead, a little strained around the edges, but a much better offering than she had last supplied.
“So, where to?” she asked, not a usual question for her.
It should have been a wholly unnecessary query, something she avoided as she claimed that it irritated him. He had tried to disabuse her of such a notion, but she persisted that it was so, and so he’d allowed her to maintain her delusions rather than persist in correcting her.
Designation 261 (The Wholeness Project) Page 1