“Yeah, there is.” Bryan took a pad of paper out of his left pocket, and an ever-present ball-point pen out of his hair. Back on Earth paper was something you used for important things, like wedding licenses or magnificent artworks. You just didn’t use plant-based materials in an eco-system already damaged by humanity. But on Holton, organic cellulose was abundant. With all the extra trees, grass and algae it was either use it or burn it, and Holton hated waste. They made novelty products like paper, pens, pencils and retro bio-plastic bags that made a god-awful crackling sound every time you reached for chips.
So on this piece of paper that would have cost thirty cred back home, Bryan drew a lopsided galaxy approximation. “Milky Way.” He announced.
“Or the hurricane evac symbol.” She giggled.
He gave her a quick kiss. “Go easy on me, Picasso.”
“I’m more comic books than marble columns. Give me Stan Lee and stop making bunny trails. South Lawn. Milky way.” She nudged him. “Explain.”
“Jump Drive is based on triangulation. You have point A, B, and C, D-E-F if you need more precision. A is always Galactic North. The center of the Galaxy. That way.” He pointed down the middle of Holton. “B is always Earth. Using these points, your current location, and any other points you need, you can triangulate a course to your destination. It’s really limitless, but if you want to navigate the Galaxy, you have to be aware of at least two points, always. Your home point, and Galactic North.”
She dipped a strawberry in the champagne, then bit down. “And this has what to do with the South Lawn?”
“Naming it after a direction reminds us North is that way.” He pointed. “And a large lawn gives us a lot. Oxygen. A source of cellulose. A great place for picnics.” He drew a black lines across her calf.
She snorted.
“Hey, morale is important. They had sixty psychologists working together to build this place, so that we wouldn’t go apeshit living up here. It’s why we have lawns and trees instead of algae vats, and a day-night cycle we don’t really need. It tricks us into functioning when we ought to break down.”
“But it’s fake. And you know it.”
“Can’t fix that. They’ve tried.”
She laid in the perfect, genetically engineered grass and sighed. Stars and artificial sunlight bathed over her body. Bryan continued drawing on her legs, though now it felt more like chemical formulas than doodling. That was Bryan. He never did shut off. “So when does this end?” she asked, dreamily.
“What?” His hand didn’t still. Maybe he couldn’t shut down. They were close to solving the problem. They were oh so wonderfully close.
“Us.” She pushed up onto her elbows. “I love our experiments with silk scarf tensile strength, but I’m holding the current record for being in your bed. I want to know what more I can expect.”
The staccato writing on her skin ebbed. “Do you want to break up?” There was a peculiar hitch in his voice.
“No.” She took the pen out of his limp fingers. “But given how in over my head I am, I’d like to know if I need to breathe or drown.”
He sighed. “You know there’s a lot of bad blood between me and my brother, right?”
“You were circling like roosters when I got here. How could I miss it?”
“My brother was…close to my stepfather, let’s say. I made Dad leave when I was fourteen by shooting him in the thigh. I got away with it because…well, we don’t need to get into that. But both Mich and I believe it’s just a matter of time before I hurt someone else. There’s a knife in me, and it’s going to destroy everyone I love unless I keep you at arm’s length.”
“Love?” She whispered.
The rush of heat in his cheeks betrayed him. So did the bashful look in his eyes. “That would be all you hear. I broke my brother and my stepfather. I don’t want to break you, too.”
“It’s my choice if I want to risk it.” She began writing on the back of his hand, loopy, meaningless circles that wound up to his wrist. “And how do you know it’s a knife? You’re trying to protect all of us. If there is a blade in you, it’s a scalpel, not a sword.” She kissed his knuckles. “Dr. Landry.”
He smiled and pulled her down into the grass.
*****
Now:
Waking after a stun wasn’t like being asleep. It was like coming alive after dying. Alien hands on her ankles severed the bonds on her feet. A double-thumbed hand dragged her upright, supported her until her knees could hold her weight.
She focused on her surroundings. The back of an Overseer fighter. Cold, dark, dank, humid. Inhaling was like breathing through a sponge. The Overseer crossed the deck and hit the yellow lights on some shipboard organelle. A door rolled open, liquid dripping from its sides. A wall of steam rolled in behind it.
Swamp, gray with twilight, waited beyond. Not an improvement.
Bad, bad, bad luck. We don’t have missions to swamp zones, we don’t have outposts near enough a swamp to make a difference to me. Overseer planets are cinders in the process of being reterraformed. This is an independent planet with some kind of deal with the monsters. Which means rescue might not come at all.
The alien regarded her for a moment, as if measuring what she could take. Then it pushed her out into the murk. Spongy black dirt squished under her feet, and mud splashed up her torso when she fell to her knees. The Overseer clomped down the gangway with a heavy box of Enzyme under one arm. It pulled her upright without pausing and dragged her into the murky trees.
The ground gave way to water and the muck below it wrapped around her ankles. Knobby tree roots jutted from the surface like an old man’s elbows. Hidden branches tangled in her boots and dragged her face first into the water, over and over again. Twice, the alien waited while she righted herself, the second time coughing up murky water. The third time, it lifted her to its shoulder and braced her there as if she were a sack of grain. Then it went on, tracing a purposeful path though the drab green-gray around them.
Swamp. What a perfect place for an Overseer to hide. Yellow flowers curled around bugs like mouths. Vines wound into trees and choked them to death. Small, froggy things blinked up at her with golden eyes. It was almost a relief when the natural horror gave way to glossy Overseer tech. Black carapace twisted around vine-choked trees, blinking yellow and blue lights indicating some sort of filtration system. It brightened as the alien came near, leading them both to the outpost. It was a mound of blackness teaming with strange lights, some organic tech, some phosphorescent bugs. The lights brightened, the outpost welcoming its master back home.
Doors unfolded like pill-bug shells, fluids dripping from well lubricated joints. She braced herself for some unholy alien stink. After twenty paces or so, she had to admit it didn’t smell that bad. Wet, like concrete on a rainy day. It was warm, and mist rose from the floor, cross lit by the dim hallway lights. Barely enough light to see by. After a few days of this, she might well go insane. Monitor screens blinked some kind of information to the monster in its native tongue. A power-pack heart beat as they passed by.
I’m in the guts of a living thing, she thought, and would have gagged if there were anything in her stomach to bring up.
It reached one large room and gently set her in the center. Wires, tubes, bladders and veins wound through the walls and tables, went deep into the floor. Computers of incomprehensible design beeped softly to themselves. It must be some kind of lab.
Something clicked behind her head. When she turned the Overseer had the enzyme case open, vial in one hand, applicator in the other. The needle on the applicator gleamed.
Adry’s nerve broke. Hands still bound, she raced for the door. Only it was so dim, so dark, she didn’t see the low bench until she tripped over it and went flying. Her teeth rattled as her chin bounced off black exoskeleton flooring. A two-thumbed hand gripped the back of her neck. Nematocysts prickled tooth-like against skin, and she screamed. The first sound she’d made in hours tore through the darkness
, and the applicator needle punctured her skin like a pin through a balloon. Chemical burn, the Enzyme was now in her blood stream. She gritted her teeth and waited for the pain of entry, for her life to be drained away.
The monster let her fall sobbing against the bench. It was cool, the surface relatively dry against her forehead. She was quiet a long while, just breathing.
“I have no intention of harming you. I did not believe you would be comfortable in my presence without any protection.”
Blood ran from the injection site, cramps crawled through the muscles in her back. It knelt, bringing its head nearer to hers, black mask to bare face. Without visible eyes, it was expressionless, like a breathing corpse. Its lips parted, the faint glow of its tongue ghastly in the darkness. If she shot it, would it bleed? Or would it be as hollow as it looked, collapsing into a puff of air and dust before the gunshot faded? She ached to test this hypothesis. The look on its cold face was hungry, as if it desired the same for her.
She would not be the first to speak next.
She couldn’t afford to be.
*****
Then:
“It’s called Stockholm syndrome.” Holton’s main psychiatrist turned away from her holo screen. Paige Jordan didn’t get to talk to people often. She was too busy analyzing psych profiles. Her office was a gentle haven, one wall open to the winds blowing through the green concourse. Adry’s own reflection looked back from one chrome wall. Fabrics here were cream and beige, a mental safe zone. Square in the middle of all this engineered refinement was a velvet painting of Monde Castor, the larger-than-life performer from New Vegas, mirrored with a similar painting of Elvis. It was all wonderfully tacky. Paige crossed her legs and continued with her lecture. “It was identified in the nineteen hundreds during a bank robbery. Something they thought the credit system would end, you know?”
Adry smirked. Yesterday four people had hacked the biggest bank system in New York and triggered a massive cred transfer. All transfers for the day had to be canceled, millions were lost, and the scummy little bastards still got away with it. “You were explaining about the slave process, and what happened to Major Abrams?” she reminded.
“Yes. The first step in breaking an individual is a major shock to the psyche. A kidnapping, a hostage taking, something you can’t escape from quickly. The second step is time. The longer you’re with your captors, the more likely you are to identify with them. You come to view any kindness on their part as a personal gift of life.
“When someone is drained to the second stage, they’ve lost everything. Identity, memory, sense of self. And the first thing they find when they open their eyes is usually the Overseer that drained them, tending their wounds and caring for them.”
Adry blinked. “You’re kidding.”
“The feeding process is very intense. They can’t just drop a victim and expect them to survive. Newly created slaves require days of TLC just to function physically. And all the evidence we can gather says they give it to the slaves in spades.”
“What about people in…in Abram’s situation?”
Paige took a deep breath, like someone about to jump off a cliff. “You’ll need to get Bryan or Mich to give you the full story.” She tapped a pen on the desk, uncomfortably. “He was Michel’s best friend. They went through basic together. Bryan…he blames himself for what happened. Hell, we all blamed Bryan for what happened.”
“I don’t even know what did happen.” Adry said.
“Bryan won’t talk about it?”
“Not to me.”
Paige nodded. “I don’t know how it started. It was well under way when I…” she stopped and shuddered. “The Overseers attached this…thing to Abram’s head. It began a very slow, very painful transformation from a human being into…” Paige swallowed, very pale.
“Into the thing in the cryo tube, back in Bryan’s office,” Adry said, numbly.
“When I came on base, he was about half changed. Soft tissues, lungs, heart, skin. The skeletal changes began, he screamed for four days, passed out, and when he woke up the man we’d known was…gone.” Paige sighed. “He attacked three guards and killed two of them. Snapped one neck and he…fed on the other one. That’s why they keep giving us suicide pills every time we leave the station. Winding up like that…I’d rather go out the air lock without a suit. Bryan killed Abrams.” Paige shrugged. “He wouldn’t let anyone else do it. Mich wanted to save him, wouldn’t admit that the fight was over. I thought it would put him over the deep end. I even filed a mental health complaint, which I haven’t withdrawn.” She shrugged. “Mich has…issues. Be careful around him.”
Adry nodded, shivering even though it wasn’t cold in Paige’s office. “You know, it was all straight forward before I found out about subsumation. You hate them, you kill them. But now that we know they can make us into them…who’s on the other end of the bullet? Can we save them?”
“Those questions are how soldiers get killed.” Paige sighed. “We’re sitting on this information because we think, when it becomes common knowledge, it’ll break us. It’s why Bryan’s working so hard. So that when the population do find out about subsumation, we’ll have an answer. He’s leveling the playing field for us.”
Silence in the room. Artificial breezes fluttered the long, sand colored curtains Paige had hung in the windows. Adry rubbed her hands together, feeling strangely haunted. Funny. Millions of light years from Earth, humanity still believed in ghosts. “What should I do if I get taken?” she whispered.
“Suicide pill.” Paige said. “Unless Bryan comes up with a miracle.”
*****
Now:
The lights were switched to human bright, and the alien left her alone. A folding chair of human design sat at what could, possibly, be a desk. If, that is, one ignored the glowing lights and cords of hardened exoskeletal fiber. A canteen, an MRE and a knife sat on the seat. A clear invitation. Cut your bonds, eat, drink, and do work for me.
Not a prayer.
Leaning back, she ignored the hollow throb in her gut. Not that it was easy to avoid. There was no sunlight here, no ticking clocks. Nothing to prove time passed at all, save for the burn in her stomach and throat. She closed her eyes. Distraction, before she went insane. Anatomy books. Torso, ribcage, lungs, heart, shoulder blades, shoulders. Biceps, triceps, elbows…hands…red scars twining up wrists, opening to reveal sharp, white teeth. No! She opened her eyes. There, in the pool of pale light, was the knife, the bottle, and envelope of food.
Fine. She twisted her wrists against the zip-ties. You’ll win eventually. But not yet, monster. Not yet.
Movement behind the heavy door. Its plates rolled back, lubricant dripping across black flooring. The monster entered, a dark monolith in twilight silence. If she could see its eyes, if she could only see it looking back, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. The dead curve of its mask made her sick. It stopped at the chair, hissed softly, then slowly turned in her direction.
Eyes to the floor. Her heartbeat tripled. Stay silent. Don’t move. Don’t even breathe.
“You are not following the script.” The monster knelt near her, faceplate almost level with her eyes. “I deserve at least a name, rank and serial number.”
It deserved nothing, except a hot shot to the cranium. Not that she’d say that out loud.
It waited a few minutes more, then returned to the console in the center of the room. With a flick of its fingers, the lights dropped back to twilight shadow. Then it removed its faceplate. A vid screen blinked inside, going dark as she watched. She turned her eyes back to the monster’s silhouette. Don’t turn around, she willed it. Don’t turn.
It raised a precious golden vial to the dim lighting. It tested the lid, perma-sealed to the glass, then broke the neck with one powerful thumb. Pouring the golden liquid into a pulsating bladder, it pushed a few buttons on a read out pad. It hissed again, this time sharp and tight, as if frustrated. Then it reached for another vial.
“Don’t w
aste it!” She said, then closed her eyes, slammed her wrists into the bench in frustration. Goddamn it, she couldn’t manage ten minutes of silence.
The terrible hands stilled. “I had samples of an enzyme from your central base. It did not work. This does. I wish to quantify this difference and then synthesize the enzyme. It will be easier, and less wasteful, if you will assist me.”
She darted eyes back to the floor. The creature walked in her direction, boots echoing loudly. And all she could think of were its hands, nematocyst teeth puncturing flesh, coiling around bone as life was drained away.
“It’s what you want. A greater distribution of your life’s work.”
Bryan’s work. Not mine. And if you think I’m going to give it to his killer, you’re insane.
The boots walked back to the work station. When she was sure it was occupied, she looked back up to the monster’s head. Untidy chin length hair, white like starlight, stuck out in a lion’s mane. Stiffer than human hair. Despite her disgust with the monster, she wondered how hair like that felt. What were Overseer standards of grooming? This one could use a bath.
“You will be here until I have successfully synthesized the enzyme. The sooner I am finished, the sooner you will go home.” It turned once more. Her eyes dropped to the floor, catching no more than a glimpse of white eye. This time pale hands intruded on her vision, holding water and the MRE. It set them at her feet and returned to its work once more.
After a few minutes, she took the bottle in her bound hands and drank.
*****
Then:
“Can I talk to you?”
Adrienne looked to the door. Mich Landry stood in civvie clothes, hands in his pockets. Weird. Mich usually avoided Bryan’s lab like it had plague. She’d seen him twice this week. This trip made three. Well, maybe it made sense on one level. Bryan and Adry had had a breakthrough. Two successful simulations. The second one showed the Enzyme might not just protect them from being drained; it would also prevent the subsumation process. And while the protection from feeding only lasted about six hours, subsumation was off the table permanently. No one who took the Enzyme would have to worry about losing themselves in a monster’s form, ever again. If, that is, the Enzyme worked.
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