It took slightly longer than usual for the soft blue light to flash, signaling that Llana's thoughts were at rest. I flipped on the holo-globe and watched as the familiar misty haze filled it. Almost immediately, colors and shapes began to swirl in and out of the wisping clouds, slowly taking a more solid form. Sounds hissed through the speakers, digitized and arranged from the patterns forming in Llana's mind. They grew more melodic, less confused, with each passing second. I fought off a rush of dizziness that was more intense than what I'd felt earlier, not wanting anything to interfere with my efficiency in this crucial procedure. Determined, I kept my eyes trained on the globe.
Then she was there. I flicked the switches that would begin the compilation of data necessary to capture her, to draw her forth from wherever she haunted Llana's mind. The LEDs moved steadily upward, clearing the preliminary stages without pause. As the display began the long climb through the red, I stole a quick glance to the couch, to check on Llana. Standard procedure forbade any interference on my part unless Llana's safety was threatened. And judging from her appearance, it was!
Her brow was beaded with sweat. Her lips quivered. She gripped the armrests so tightly that her skin was colorless, and I feared she would snap them loose. Every ounce of energy she possessed was riveted to that image, centered on completing it. It seemed, almost, as if the effort were painful, though it should not have been.
I shot my eyes back to the globe, knowing I should stop it, that Llana was under too much strain. But she was there again, Llana's precious vision which meant so much to her. Breathtaking in her beauty, she danced flawlessly to the haunting strains of the strange music. It seemed, now that I was searching, that I could read the expression of her face--sorrow, and possibly love. There were tears on her cheeks, flying off in scattered droplets as she flung herself about. Again I was entranced, though pierced by a bolt of jealousy I could not resist. Had this woman's lips kissed Llana's as mine had? Had she caressed my lover's body and intertwined her limbs with hers? Had she . . .
Desperately I blotted out my thoughts and stole a glance at the meters. I saw them flicker at the top of the red, hesitantly, then the green began to grow bright. She was in!
I snatched at the controls, locking the image in memory, and immediately began the transfer to the Dendrite crystal. This done, I rose quickly, turning to Llana with a smile of joy. It died in a flash of horror. She was still sweating, limbs jerking convulsively, coated in sweat. I ran to her side, ripping the sensors from her head and drawing her close. I reached up quickly to sound the alert for the medical team, then turned my eyes and attention to her trembling form. I slapped her once, watching her eyes for a reaction, and got nothing. I slapped her again, harder, and called out her name. After moments that seemed eternities, her eyes fluttered weakly, and she slumped against me, sobbing helplessly into the warmth of my breast.
Behind us, unobserved, the crystal worked its magic. The woman danced her dance, the music played from the computer's digitized recording, trapped for all time. The attendants found us just like that, me sitting, arms nearly numb from supporting Llana's weight, and Llana in deep slumber, exhausted by the effort of her creation.
They pried her from my arms, laying her back on the couch, and sounded another alert for assistance.
"What happened?" demanded a tall, stern-faced security attendant. "It's your job to see that no harm comes to the imager." He looked down at Llana, then at me, and something happened in his face. I remembered that he had been interested in Llana but that she had resisted his overtures. "What went wrong?" he said. "What did you do?"
I couldn't speak, not then, and certainly not to him. I pointed, shifting his gaze to the crystal. He did not repeat his question or speak at all. He stared, entranced, as I had been, his voice lost in the awe-inspiring beauty of Llana's vision.
Stumbling to my feet, I followed the others, followed Llana. I knew my actions had very likely won me an immediate transfer. I had, after all, ignored procedures.
Even the wishes of the imager were not to be allowed to create a dangerous situation. I had not stopped Llana, even after I saw her struggle--her pain. I had seen Llana's eyes when she lost her the first time. The price of giving Llana her vision was not too high. They had taken her to the emergency care unit. Though she appeared only to be sleeping, the symptoms of mental exhaustion are subtle.
Negative reactions were common, could even be permanently damaging. I tried to enter the room, to go to her side, but another attendant barred my way.
"You've done enough harm," he grated. "This woman may never create another image."
I reeled away, stunned. Such an outcome had not occurred to me at all. The implications, considering Llana's fame and talent, were staggering. Still, though it was probably selfish, I could not find room in my heart to worry over their damned crystals, or even to properly worry for Llana. The realization washed through me like a wave of ice; I had found my dream, and now I was almost certainly not only losing it, but to be punished for it as well.
The passageway between medical and my own compartment was a teary blur. My arms banged painfully on the walls and hatches. I ignored everything and everyone I passed, clawing my way through the doorway and slamming it tightly behind me. I collapsed against it, sliding to the floor where I lay until sleep brought troubled dreams to re-animate my numbed mind. I don't know how long I was there.
The opening of the hatch startled me into wakefulness, causing me to slip the rest of the way down onto the cold metal deck. I looked up in alarm. It was not, as I had feared, the Director, or one of the stiff-necked, military attendants. Llana stood there, staring down at me with a strange smile on her lips. In her hand, carefully cradled, she held the crystal. The computer-generated music, of course, was absent, but the woman danced, suspended in the clear beauty of the Dendrite and rivaling it with her own.
Helping me to my feet, as I stared first at her, and then the crystal in amazement, Llana led me farther into my room, closing the door behind her.
"I . . . I don't understand," I stammered. "Are you okay? The attendant . . ."
"Don't worry about them," she smiled, pulling me down to sit very close to her on my bunk. She held up the crystal again, gazing into it with misty eyes.
"I've found her secret, Chelisa," she said softly. "You and I, we captured her. Now my memories have cleared. She's beautiful, don't you think?"
I was too dazed to do more than mumble my assent. I was torn, again, between my rival in the crystal and the warm depths of her eyes. "Who is she?" I whispered fearfully. "Do you know her?"
"I do," she stated calmly. "Chelisa, meet my mother."
Her eyes won. I was lost in them, caught in the wonder of it. "But," I said, "how do you know?"
"The dance is not the only memory that has returned to me," he smiled. "It was just the strongest. The others have followed, now that I can watch her without the need for such deep concentration. It's her, all right. I still don't know where she is, or who my father was, but it is something. I feel--part of something. And then there's you."
Her last words caught me by surprise. "Surely you know, Llana," I said, "that what I've done is inexcusable? I should have cut you off, should have looked after your safety first. At the very least, they'll transfer me to some God-forsaken asteroid. I . . ."
She stopped me with a kiss that shocked me yet again. She seemed not even to be listening.
Pulling back, but only slightly, she said, "True, Chelisa, your days as a tech on the imaging machines are over. Regulations, you know. Also true that your next assignment will be far away--somewhere where you can do no further harm."
Now I pulled back, hurt rushing to my eyes, but she continued. "Of course, I have a bit of pull around here, considering my reputation. I have used it to request your, uh, temporary transfer . . . to my quarters. Unless, of course, you object, we are to be companions."
Companions? I waited for her to continue.
"Of course," she w
ent on, supporting me on one strong arm, much as I had held her earlier, "your designation had to be changed. There are regulations against techs and imagers fraternizing, and they need your open position to be filled.
I've had the computer readout--modified. You are now a Temporary Professional Pleasure Companion."
I straightened, puzzled by the word 'temporary,' which she had used before. "You didn't!" I cried, smiling despite my outrage. "I, I've had no such training!"
"I vouched for your, uh, natural abilities," she smiled, placing the crystal carefully on the nightstand and turning to me. When she spoke next, her voice was sad. "But I suspect that we won't have much time--three or four weeks at most. You see, I believe that soon the Confederation will make you leave."
"Make me leave?" I tried to laugh but couldn't. "But why? If I'm your companion . . ."
Gently, she stroked my cheek. "I said, my temporary companion."
I hesitated. "Llana, what do you mean? Why can't I be your permanent companion?"
She sighed. "Oh Chelisa. Soon, you're going to be so much more than that." She nodded at the globe. "Look at her face."
"What?" Confused, I did as she asked. "What do you expect me to see, Llana? It's just your mother."
I started to turn back but she stopped me. "Look closely at her face, Chelisa, and tell me what you see."
Mystified, I obeyed. But what was the point? It was just a face, that's all, the beautiful face of the woman who had borne her.
Then it changed. Blinking, I saw that there was another, fainter face superimposed upon it. It was . . .
My face.
I caught my breath. "You did that?"
"No," she whispered, her breath at my ear. "You did, and you did it unconsciously without sensors, too. It must have been the intensity of your feelings for me, and, I suspect, your fear that I was attracted romantically to this woman. For the first time, Chelisa, you were more than just a technician. I think you're on your way to being an imager yourself. And judging from your first effort, even a better one than I am."
I thought of the dizziness I'd felt at both our recent sessions. "It can't be," I said. "It's impossible."
"Is it?" She smiled sadly at the image. One moment it was her mother, the next it was me. "There are so few imagers," she said, "and even fewer with my ability. We know so little as it is about the gift. Who is to say that under the right conditions over a prolonged period of time, that this couldn't happen between people with a strong rapport who cared intensely about each other? Who can say that I didn't awaken and channel your latent talent?"
I trembled, seeing my own face in the globe as I joyfully danced. "But I don't want it." I spun to her, suddenly realizing the full implications and that she had been trying to soften the blow ever since we'd sat down. "They'll make me leave if they find out, and I'll never see you again! We must keep it a secret so I can stay with you!"
Llana kissed my forehead. "A developing talent like yours needs to be nurtured and trained so that one day you can create fully-realized images and music to surround them with. Besides, having such a gift is something that's hard to hide, especially when the evidence was obviously created simultaneously by two different minds." She gently stroked my hair. "They have seen it, Chelisa, and a specialist has already been dispatched here to handle your case. She's expected to arrive in three weeks."
Despite my pain, I found myself wondering what it would be like to be an imager myself, to be the one who actually created the visions. Might there not be realms and opportunities waiting for me that I had never dreamed of? Might there not even be fulfillment and satisfaction that transcended Llana?
No! I recoiled from the thought, which should have been unthinkable. Llana had been the absolute center of my life for so long, the only thing that really counted. I had never actually been happy as a technician. It had seemed mechanical, somehow separate from me. Indeed, the only satisfaction I had drawn from it had been through my association with Llana. Now, though, for the first time I glimpsed something new--something unexpected. It both scared and terrified me. I did not want to think that there could ever be something even as remotely important to me as Llana, especially since I had just learned that she actually loved me in return. I raised my fingers and touched her cheek, her lips.
"Maybe . . . if you're right, and I do become an imager, I'll be good enough to see you again. Isn't that possible? Llana, if we both want it, we can use our influence to be reunited. After all, they wouldn't want two imagers to be unhappy, would they?"
Llana nuzzled my fingers with her lips. "Anything's possible. After all, it's a big universe."
Yes, I thought, it is. And who knows, there might even be room in it for a new dream. Not just Llana, but my being an imager, and sharing it with her. Perhaps one day, if I had faith . . .
Managing a smile, I let Llana pull me down on the bed, feeling bittersweet comfort in the wonders of her arms, which I must soon leave. Why had this happened? Could there be some purpose behind it? As she kissed me, I uttered a silent prayer that there was and closed my eyes. Even so, I still saw her.
The woman with two faces danced a dance of re-birth, of renewed dreams . . . of a new and uncertain life to come. She was very beautiful.
That Extra Mile
By David Niall Wilson and Brian A. Hopkins
The road ahead shimmered in the heat, warping Scott's vision with myopic waves and shifting perceptions. He brushed sweat from the corner of his eye. Four miles already. Two more to go. A mile further than he'd ever gone, and on this scorcher of a day no less.
Three months earlier, if anyone had told Scott Danning he'd be four miles into a six mile run and smiling about it, he'd have laughed in their face. What had started as a dare from his athletic wife Jean had become a fast addiction. He'd never been very athletic, might have even been considered a wuss by many. They might like him—he was an extremely affable fellow—but they'd never pick him first for their ball team.
Now he religiously did four miles a day at lunch time, often skipping his meal entirely. He couldn't remember a time when he'd ever felt better. His waist had begun to trim down and overall he'd dropped fifteen pounds.
Christ, he thought as he rounded the final curve and began the last long stretch of road leading to his health club, I'm actually starting to enjoy this.
His legs were moving rhythmically, beyond the need for conscious control. His mind was wandering. He wondered briefly if he might be pushing himself too far too fast, but the thought slipped away. With the exception of a slight tingling sensation at the back of his neck and a few fleeting moments of imbalance, he felt fine.
Endorphins, he acknowledged with a grin. He'd learned about the natural, exertion-produced drug from the half dozen or so jogging and running books he'd bought since launching his new fitness program. The beginning of a run still hurt, but it was more than worth it for the exhilaration he felt once that "high" had been reached.
The fifth mile was behind him now. He could feel the pavement, hot beneath his feet. His concentration centered less and less on the road in front of him, seeming to jump perspective every few strides.
There was a car pulled off to the side of the road up ahead, an old Dodge Charger, and two figures stood in the ditch beside it. There was something odd about the two, but he was having a hard time concentrating on them. Something . . . one of them was on his knees. Her knees. She was blonde, young, attractive. The other was a burly, longhaired man in dark glasses and an expensive three-piece suit.
The images shifted in and out of focus as he neared the car. The lightness in his head was making his knees rubbery. Neither the man or the woman looked up as he approached, even when he managed a hoarse, "Hey!" The man had his hand raised above his head, and something in it glittered brightly in the sun.
Lurching awkwardly, Scott fell. The car was there, then it wasn't. As he reached out to steady himself against it, he pitched headlong, narrowly missing the side of the pavement with his sho
ulder and scraping his knees painfully.
"What the hell?" he exclaimed, pushing himself to a sitting position. He was in the ditch beside the road, directly to one side of where the car had been parked and almost on top of where the man and woman had been only moments before, and yet he was alone. There were no people. There was no car. There were, in fact, not even marks in the gravel to indicate it had ever been there.
Shaking his head, which brought on a sharp pain and a wave of nausea, he rose unsteadily to his feet. Closing his eyes tightly, he used his shirt tail to wipe the sweat from his face. When he opened his eyes, nothing had changed, but the pounding of his heart had begun to settle. After giving his scraped knees a final, apologetic wiping off, he turned toward the club once more.
The half mile that remained seemed more intimidating than the entire run had when he'd begun, but he managed it at a slow, labored pace. His mind was fuzzy—out of focus—and he kept reviewing the run like a strobed slide show, trying to sort out what might have happened.
The only explanation that made sense was that he had just overdone it. The day was hot, he'd gone a mile further than he'd ever attempted before, and it had just proven too much for him. He was still trying to convince himself of this when he rounded the corner of the parking lot and headed on into the club.
He waved absently at Carol, the receptionist, and headed straight for the locker room. His knees were beginning to ache, and he wanted very much to just sit down on the bench in front of his locker and catch his breath, but sitting would be the worst thing to do after a run. A hot shower was the answer. He stumbled into the locker room, peeled off his sweat-soaked clothes and stepped into the shower.
As the steaming water washed over him and down the drain, it carried some of his weariness with it. His mind began to clear. By the time he'd finished and was toweling himself off, he was chuckling over the incident, and by the time he'd reached his car for the short drive back to work, he'd forgotten it almost entirely.
Intermusings Page 25