That didn’t tell him much of anything. He looked at the room. Fairly non-descript. A series of shelves held a dozen books of assorted sizes. A bench sat against the wall, near an opening he assumed was the doorway, in line with the bed they sat on. “Where am I?”
“With the Aleena, somewhere in the Atlantic.
Another unhelpful bit of information. Well, wait. In the Atlantic?
“So, this is a ship?”
“Yes, of sorts. An underwater vessel. I can’t pronounce the name, so I just call it the vessel.”
“A submarine? Is that how they infiltrated the base? No sub can get that far up the Elizabeth River.”
“They did. I suppose they are submariners. I never really thought about it a great deal.”
He turned to look directly at her. Her eyes met his without hesitation or avoidance, as they had on the base. They were a deep brown, almost black. Her hair swept away from her face in two waves, to blend into a large open weave braid down her back. Her free hand rested on her thigh, palm down. He frowned at her. “Why are you talking now and not before?”
“I knew you’d think me insane if I answered the questions you asked me. And I do not lie well. So, I stayed silent.”
“Who are you?”
“I think I was once called Rachel and I wrote books. But I died twenty six years ago. The Aleena found me and saved me. It took them eleven years to convince me to accept rebirth.” Her eyes moved across his face, then she drew a deep breath and looked down. “You think me insane.”
“I don’t know what to think.”
Of course she was insane, or part of some trick.
She swallowed and her head rose, to gaze out at the room. “That is better than immediately rushing to judgment, I suppose.”
“Who are the Aleena?”
“An alien race that fell to earth centuries ago. They were part of a larger armada, but the big ships moved on, having no means to mount a search and rescue mission. The mother ship of this vessel sank into the depths of the ocean and they adapted, stayed and made a home for themselves.” She appeared to address the bench across the room, as if unable to meet his eyes. “That is what they told me.”
“And you believed them.”
She raised her free hand and examined it. “I remember age spots, and the stringiness of tendon and muscle. I saw my reflection and assumed I’d gone mad. Or landed in some odd version of an afterlife. What did aliens compare to that reality? Why not? I remembered stories about alien races.”
He let go of her hand, trying to put the pieces together. She’d been found by underwater aliens, who brought her back to life and made her young again.
Right.
Either she was delusional or had been brainwashed to a degree that impressed him. Maybe be a test subject of some new brainwashing technique.
She reached behind herself and pulled her braid forward, began to stroke it where it lay coiled on her lap.
He needed more information. “Why?”
“I’m sorry, why what?”
“Bring you back to life, make you young again, go to such lengths to rescue you. And where is the crew of the Ballard?”
“Oh, they were returned to the base. I imagine they’re fine, the Aleena do not lightly harm others. As for why me? They’d never found a living human being. At least none that they could help. Milaar admitted there were others in the past, but they didn’t know enough about human physiology to help them. I was lucky?”
A sense of relief tried to rise in his heart regarding the Ballard crew, but he squashed it. She could be lying. Or lied to. Too many died without need in the world.
She stood up and walked to the shelves. He watched her, eyes drawn to the curve of her hips and the swell of her ass. Not a tan line in sight, but she had been naked in that raft. Without much though, he reached behind and picked up the small pillow, set it in his lap. He couldn’t help his reaction, but he could keep it out of sight.
“I didn’t know who I was for three years. They called me Ria.” She picked up something from the topmost shelf and brought it back to him. A bracelet dangled from her fingers. The gold sparkled brightly, the gem stones swung and he heard a tinkle. Reaching up, she let it drop in his hand.
Three bells, four charms and a center placard with three initials, R.I.A. He examined the charms as she sat down again. The Statue of Liberty, from before the damage done by the bombing. A guitar, the Golden Gate Bridge and the Seattle Space Needle. “What do they represent?”
“The cities where I won the KATHY awards. The stones are all varieties of topaz. They found it on my wrist and made the assumption that the initials were my name. By the time I remembered it didn’t matter. I’d become Ria.”
He recalled this bracelet dangling from the wrist of the author on the video. He imagined it was a well-known element to her fans and easily reproduced. He handed it back. “When did you remember? And why didn’t you know immediately?”
“Shock, I imagine. Milaar made certain I stayed calm, gradually loosening the mental wrapping she kept on my emotional centers. At least, that is how she explained it to me. For years, pictures and bits and pieces of memories danced around my head. Nothing concrete and no sound.” She looked up from the jewelry, which she’d been pouring from one hand to another. “It’s a very quiet ship.”
“I noticed.” A ship? Doubt that.
“They have a room filled with books. When they find sunken ships, or lost containers, they harvest what they can. It’s amazing, what they can restore. I could read, though not very fast and a lot I didn’t understand. But I still liked to touch them and examine them.” She gestured at the bookshelf. “One day, I found a book that changed everything.”
Abruptly, she stood again and strode to the shelf. This time he followed her, keeping the pillow with him. Eyes on the shelf, not on her body. She pointed to one of the books and he slid it free to examine it. Secret Passions by Rachel I. Aster.
“You recognized the name?”
“No, the photo on the inside back cover.”
He flipped it open and stared at one of the photos from the memorial video. It caught her laughing, eyes sparkling and totally at ease.
“After I saw that, the memories started to cascade into me. Still not terribly coherent or in order, but they were there. I struggled for over a year as they settled. But even now, after fifteen years, there are elements of who I was and what I knew that escape me. Day to day things that most people take for granted remain distant.” She didn’t touch the book, as if uncertain of its place.
“Did you read this and remember writing it?”
“I tried, but it felt like trying to read Sanskrit…” She paused as if uncertain of her phrase. “Did I say that correctly?”
“If you meant it made little sense to you, then yes. Unless you speak Sanskrit.” He lifted an eyebrow.
“Oh, no. I don’t. I think.” She stared into the mirror on the wall above the shelf, blinking several times before focusing on her face. “I did read the acknowledgements and I saw the faces that went with the names. The Aleena search for more of my former self’s books, but it’s been the only one found. I remember reading the book titles listed and knowing there were more. Better books.” She set the bracelet back in the polished half shell, directly below the mirror.
He watched her reflection. She didn’t seem connected to anything in this room, not even the bracelet or the book. Her speech patterns made him think English wasn’t her first language, until she let something like the Sanskrit phrase drop so casually. But she took his reply so literally. There were no smile lines around her lips, nor frown lines. If he’d been asked to use one word to describe her face, he’d have to say blank.
Until he looked at her eyes. Those chocolate eyes, wide open, stared at nothing yet looked for everything. They shifted to meet his gaze in the mirror and her yearning for answers cried out to him. She gradually tilted her head. “Am I insane?”
He gave her an honest response.
“I don’t know.”
A tear hovered at the edge of her left eye, but she blinked it away before it fell.
“Will you tell me if I am?”
His hand rose as she turned and met him face to face. He touched her cheek.
God, this woman radiated vulnerability.
A throat cleared at the doorway and he spun, literally stepping in front of Ria as he did so. He stared, uncertain what stood there.
He felt a hand settle on his upper arm. He tensed, ready to…do what? He had no weapon…
“It’s Milaar. Just Milaar. She is head of the medical facilities and my friend.”
“She’s…!”
“Aleena.” Ria stepped around him and went to the figure, taking the tray from it and moving to a small table against a side wall to set it down. “Thank you, Milaar.”
He almost dropped the pillow as it – no, she – smiled. He thought it was a smile. The familiar taste of copper rose in his mouth and he quickly inhaled through his nose, exhaled across his lips, lessening the likelihood of fainting. It had been decades since he’d humiliated himself by falling unconscious. He blinked, still frozen in shock, but at least he still stood instead of sprawled on the floor.
Ria tried to put herself in his place. She tilted her head to look at Milaar, then back at Montgomery. Yes, the Aleena must look strange. She recalled when she thought they were frightening. She’d been scared and screamed, tried to get away from them, cried a great deal. She could picture it like a film on a screen. Milaar had given her the buffer, soothing away the panic and the actual vibrancy of the moment faded.
She didn’t miss the ups and downs of adrenaline.
Usually.
Watching Montgomery, she realized how alive he appeared. Engaged and alert. Did she ever look like that?
With a sigh, she compared the two figures. He stood, ramrod straight, unmoving. She could see the tension easily at his muscles. He balanced on his feet, legs slightly bent, ready to fight. He held his jaw slightly open, nostril flared as he took deep breaths, the ridges of his chest expanding and contracting with deliberation. His skin showed a lack of sun, save at his arms, neck and face. The difference stood out in the surprise of the moment.
Used to call that a farmer’s tan.
His hair, stiff and short, revealed nothing. She admired how it shone slightly in the light.
He was all angles and tautness, ready to pounce. She hadn’t missed the protective movement. He didn’t know her, not really, yet he prepared to defend her.
Milaar? She stood, almost rippling. Because Ria knew what to look for, she noticed the uniform bell of her lower body showing the stress of ridges where the tentacles lay tight against each other, almost blending into the one shape. When relaxed, they weren’t discernible. Her upper body held to a humanoid form without much effort, a slender waist, with two bumps meant to mimic breasts. The appendages that Ria considered arms lay near the body, only the ripple of the five smaller fingerlings betraying how she tasted the air currents, attempting to diagnose the man ten feet away.
Her smile remained, but she doubted Montgomery found it reassuring. Most Aleena hadn’t mastered the adaptation of lips and revealing the multiple beaks no doubt appeared more of a threat than comfort. T’talin alone had managed teeth but at least the medic showed small beaks and not the single fierce one Ria recalled seeing when they’d attempted to resurrect her the second time. Milaar’s eyes protruded from her face slightly, very round while the catlike irises were narrow, closely watching. Compared to the agent, Milaar didn’t have a nose. His proudly jutted from his face, sharp and defined, hers lay broad and close to the surface. Her two remaining facial tendrils waved from her soft chin, one reaching toward Ria, the other toward Montgomery.
Ria took a step forward, holding a hand out to Milaar. “I think he’d like something to cover himself. Can something be found?”
“Is he cold?”
“No, he’s…” Ria thought a moment, wanting to use the right word. Somehow she thought shy would raise objection. “…circumspect.”
“That would be appreciated.” His voice sounded tight but at least he’d spoken.
“Milaar, this is Agent Montgomery. Agent, this is Milaar, the medical professional who brought me back from the suicide attempt.” She took Milaar’s hand and pulled her slightly into the room. As she suspected, the agent couldn’t buck good manners. He held out his hand and only shuddered slightly as the Aleena took it.
He snapped his eyes down at his hand and slowly lifted it higher. He blinked at the suckers and then deliberately let go.
“We adapt. The first creatures we observed were crude cephalopods. An apt comparison it turned out.” Milaar tilted her head and looked up at him. She stretched her torso until she could meet him at an even level.
He took a small step back before speaking. “What do you really look like?”
“I don’t remember.”
Ria saw him take that in, one eye pinching slightly and his head turned a fraction. He didn’t believe her.
“They don’t really know how to lie, Agent Montgomery.”
“Everything knows how to lie. It’s a survival technique.” He examined Milaar’s face. “You’re adapting to a more human form? You intending to infiltrate the human race?”
“No, but we hope to interact eventually and a more familiar form won’t be so frightening. Now, if you will forgive me, I will inform T’talin of your recovery. Please feel free to roam, but take Ria with you. No one will disturb you.” Milaar backed away. “And do not hurt our N’sila.” She gestured at Ria as she used the strange title.
“Wait, what is the name of this ship?”
Ria covered her ears as Milaar answered. She noticed even Montgomery winced. He shook his head and she walked back to the food bowl. “I told you it was unpronounceable.”
“It must have a human translation.” He approached the table and looked down at the bowl of food cubes. “What is that?”
“Everything they eat comes from the sea, so I imagine it is a sort of protein. The translation for the name never made sense to me. I forgot it.” She popped one of the cubes into her mouth and chewed, hoping he’d drop the inquiry. “This is flavored to resemble a cereal I enjoyed.”
He hesitantly lifted one to his mouth and first inhaled. A barely noticeable tilt of his lips betrayed he knew that scent. He tossed it into his mouth. “Captain Crunch? I haven’t tasted that in decades.”
“Recalled due to its toxic color or something of the sort?” She sat and poured herself a glass of water, providing one for him.
“I don’t remember exactly. What is that word she called you as she left?” He accepted the drink.
“N’sila? Adopted one? Pet? Their language is complex. Depending on the stress she uses, it might designate teacher.” She bowed her head, not wanting to address the issue. He wanted to know about things she’d deliberately ignored.
When she looked back up, he stared at her, eyes narrowed. She must remember that he didn’t distract easily. He asked outright, “What would you teach them?”
“What do you think?” She gathered the bowl. “Would you like to walk? I can’t show you everything, there are areas it isn’t safe to enter, but I’ll take you where I can.”
Please, leave it alone.
He nodded. “Fine, take me where I can get some pants.”
She doubted she’d ducked answering for long, but any time was welcome. Would he consider her a traitor to humanity?
“And call me Sam.”
3
Hermione fought to keep her hand from rising to rub her forehead. Or tear out hair. She hated formal reports, facing the long table full of military bureaucrats, coats heavy with medals, the same steel grey close-cropped haircuts, pasty white faces, thin lips. All staring at her. This meeting was premature.
Three days ago, the Ballard crew turned up, Montgomery disappeared with the prisoner Harold simply called the clone. Drummond insisted she wasn’t a clone
. He still labored to identify the odd strand chemical signature he’d found in her cell structure while his three assistants took over the rest of the lab, testing the Ballard sailors. Nothing had turned up unusual in the fifty three men and twelve women. They still could not remember where they had been, a black hole existed in their memories.
Oddly enough, most seemed perfectly at peace with it and simply wanted to get back to work. She doubted most of them would see duty ever again. It wasn’t right, but it seemed likely they’d be considered security risks. Most would be shunted off to some clerk job or encouraged to resign, take up civilian life.
She drew a deep breath, fighting not to blow it out with exasperation.
She could give her report with eyes closed at this point. After only getting seven hours sleep out of the last seventy two, she’d likely just drift away if she tried it. But the idea of attempting the technique tempted her.
Wonder how they’d react if I dropped off, mid-report?
Picking up the coffee mug, she took a sip, then turned back to the keyboard to continue. “As you can see, we’ve covered the entire base three times. Agent Montgomery isn’t to be found. We’ve even searched the ashes of the three old furnaces and nothing has turned up. We have deduced the invasion force came from the River Elizabeth.”
“How?” An admiral who likely hadn’t seen the deck of a ship in more than ten years zeroed in on her, a scowl on his face. Lafferty, she thought that was his name. She’d been introduced, but it had been a blur.
“We aren’t certain, sir. Since it seems the depth of the river would rule out an actual submarine, we believe a sort of silent hovercraft with a stealth capability took advantage of a late season fog.”
Silence greeted this supposition and she didn’t blame them. But nothing better came out of the dozens of progress reports she’d collected. It certainly held more feasibility then the idea of a flying saucer or a transporter from science fiction television.
She detailed the blood and tissue tests on the Ballard sailors, answered what questions she could, passing the rest onto the assistant Drum sent with her.
Essentially Human Page 3