A Solid Core of Alpha

by Amy Lane

Marshall nodded, looking a little surprised, and said, “Cassie, I know you don’t want to admit it, but….”

  Cassie dropped her forehead into her hand. “Yeah, yeah. But if you tell anyone about this, I’m never going to forgive either of you.” She sighed and turned around. “Kate, I’m sorry I was rude. I know you’re used to interfacing with Anderson in a very different way, but I didn’t really expect company when I sat down to this routine task.”

  “She’s still trying to keep us at a distance,” said one of the other holograms. This one had a broad face, a square jaw, and blue eyes. And glasses.

  “How do you know?” whispered the tiny, pale blonde girl next to him. C.J. had hardly noticed her when he walked in. She was so small that her coveralls had needed to be extra stitched, and they bunched awkwardly around her waist and at her cuffs. C.J. had no sooner had that thought than the entire scenario of holograms staying up late nights to size their holographic clothing based on real clothing sizes laid itself out before him, and he looked at Anderson’s “people” with dawning awe.

  “She used the word ‘interface’,” said the young man next to the blonde girl. “If she’d said ‘talk’, she would have been thinking of us as human.”

  Cassie grimaced. “Look, guys, I hate to break this to you—”

  “We know!” Kate said, standing in front of the little blonde girl and her… husband? They were holding hands. “Look, we know what we are to you, okay? What you don’t seem to realize is what we have been to Anderson.” Kate gestured to the screen, where Anderson stretched out on C.J.’s couch with his head on his arm, his eyes closed as the colors of the vid flashed across his face. Very faintly, they could hear the sound of the movie he was watching.

  “You see that? That’s the first time he’s closed his eyes somewhere not on this ship in ten years, eight months, six days, and….” She paused, like she was doing math. “Eight and a half hours.”

  “Wait,” C.J. said, holding up his hands. “You just said you’ve only known him for eight and a half years!”

  “He was twelve when he was thrown on the ship,” Bobby snapped protectively. “What, did you think he just jumped into the ship and learned advanced holo-science in the first day?”

  C.J. pinched the bridge of his nose. “He spent two years in the ship alone, learning holo-science so he could program you?”

  Next to him, he could hear Cassie swear. “Oh, Jesus. Poor Anderson. What was he like when you came online?”

  Bobby looked at Kate. “I don’t know. Kate was the first one of us online. By the time I came along, he was a very young version of who you saw get off the ship.” Bobby’s voice sank a little, and Kate grabbed his hand and kissed it. “He smiled more. He laughed a lot. He liked creating amusement parks on the holodeck.”

  C.J. relaxed a little. “That boy is still there,” he said, thinking about the search for fruit and the perfect comedy vid. “Kate, do you have any idea why you were first?”

  Kate shook her head. “I know….” She frowned. “It’s probably in holodeck records, but I had a prototype. He canceled her—”

  “He did what?” Bobby asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, I know,” Kate said, still thinking. “He canceled her.”

  “Why is that strange?” Cassie asked, but C.J., watching the little family look at each other, read each other’s cues, simply interact like true people, began to have an inkling.

  “He didn’t like cancelling programs, or changing us, either,” the young man with the glasses said. “Uh, I’m Henry, and you would be…?” He extended his hand meaningfully, and C.J. smiled, getting the hint.

  “I’m C.J.,” he said, extending his hand. “And if they haven’t introduced themselves as humans, this is Cassie—”

  “We’ve met her,” Kate said dryly. “She was a lot nicer when we were piloting the big scary shuttle.”

  Cassie grimaced. “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding sincere. “I… I’m trained to work with people and to think of holograms as simply extensions of their programmers. I’ve… we’ve never had holograms that moved independently of their programming.”

  “Well, we’re programmed to move independently,” whispered the tiny blonde girl resentfully, and Henry looked at her fondly and took her hand to his lips.

  “Yes, we are, sweetheart,” he said softly. He looked at all of them. “This is Risa. She’s my wife.”

  C.J. blinked. “Man, we’re going to have to get Julio in here to talk to you,” he said, almost overwhelmed by the number of improvements Anderson had made on what they knew as the basic hologram program. Holograms were good sparring partners, opponents in chess or video games, or even role-playing games, as long as their settings were on low-impact. They were not, as a rule, conversationalists or friends or… family.

  “Wait,” Marshall was saying. “Why wouldn’t he cancel you or reprogram you?”

  “Well, he had to cancel a lot of us when we started doing the power drain calculations,” Kate said practically. “But that….”

  Her hand and Bobby’s were so tightly intertwined that her knuckles were white. C.J. noted that detail again and tried not to boggle—they were saying important stuff about Anderson.

  “That was hard for him,” Bobby finished. “He felt guilty. I think he would have rather… uh….”

  “Canceled himself,” Henry said quietly. “He would have rather canceled himself than canceled more of us than he already did.”

  “He might have,” Risa said quietly, “if it wasn’t for Al….” She saw the three heads turning toward her in fear. “…pha,” she finished lamely. “This is why I don’t talk,” she muttered miserably, and now C.J., Marshall, and Cassie were all meeting eyes.

  “Where is this Alpha?” Cassie asked grimly, and Kate looked away, the action at odds with her practical, take-charge demeanor.

  “You won’t find him,” she said softly. “He’s… he’s disappointed that Anderson didn’t delete us all before we pulled into port.”

  “Why would Alpha want that?”

  Kate’s expression hardened. She turned toward the image of Anderson, sleeping, and touched it softly. “You’ll have to ask Anderson,” she said. She turned and looked at the three of them. “Look, I know you won’t understand this, but I think we’re all tired of talking to you. Not in a bad way, just in an… adjusting way. Can we just sit here for a while and watch him so you can do your jobs?”

  Cassie rolled her eyes as if to say, “Thank God!” but C.J. watched curiously as the other four “people” in the room gathered around the image of, well, what was he? Their father? Their god? Their brother? Their friend? Whoever he was to them, they seemed reassured that he was sleeping contentedly, and for an hour, C.J., Cass, and Marshall spoke only in that brief code that professionals tend to use when they’re about their task.

  “C.J., monitor left quad data port.”

  “System running. No barrier. Breach.”

  “Data import, files loading. Scan next port.”

  “Scanning. Marshall, what are we getting?”

  Marshall grunted and took a look at the files as they flowed into the space station database. “Mostly what he said, colony records. It looks like every family had a big chunk of data invested on every ship—family records, pictures, letters to family off-world, creative endeavors, degrees, scientific contributions. I think what Anderson did was program the data to dump sort of big stuff first—family videos, favorite movies, living diaries, computer programs, that sort of thing—the stuff that took the most space. What he was left with was a thumbnail sketch of each family, including names, birthdates, and next of kin. I think he was just about to start eating into that before he docked.”

  “He was so relieved,” Kate said faintly, and they all looked to where the holograms were watching Anderson sleep. Risa had actually closed her eyes and curled up at the foot of an empty console chair with her head on the seat. She snored slightly in her sleep, and Henry stroked the pale blonde hair away from her
face. It was such a tender gesture, and such an unconscious one, that C.J. was utterly arrested by it for a moment.

  Cassie sighed. “Look, ‘people’, I don’t want to ask this, I really don’t, but the data he was trying to preserve, that was important. I mean, I know he didn’t like to cancel you, but….”

  C.J. shook his head at her, and she scowled. “What?”

  “We can talk about this outside, later,” he said softly. “Right now, let’s get in and do our jobs and let them rest.”

  Cassie looked startled. “Rest?”

  “This is their sleep cycle, Cass. Look at them.”

  Cass actually stopped talking long enough to look. “They’re….”

  “They’re falling asleep. I think they’re programmed to go down when Anderson is down. Maybe that’s why they were so agitated when he was off the ship.”

  Cassie sighed and rubbed her eyes. They were silent for a moment and watched as Bobby sat down cross-legged and pulled Kate down to sleep on his lap. She was long-legged and didn’t quite fit at first, and then she took Risa’s cue and put her head on a console chair. Henry sank down next to Risa and simply laid his head on his stretched-out arm above her. They continued to watch, their eyes growing heavier and their breathing growing quieter, until they were almost asleep.

  Cassie turned to say something to C.J., but he never found out what.

  Kate was the last one to sleep, and suddenly, she jerked, as though waking herself up. “Anderson,” she murmured, “what are you doing?”

  C.J. and Cassie both looked to the monitor in surprise, and Cassie’s next sound was wounded.

  So was C.J.’s.

  Anderson had sat up on the couch and was screaming, mouth open, head thrown back, chest out as he sucked in air, screaming, except….

  “Cass,” C.J. said, realizing that he was going to obey his every instinct and bolt out of that little ship in just a moment, “isn’t there sound?”

  “Yeah,” Cass muttered, and she reached past Kate and fumbled with it. The vid Anderson was watching could be heard clearly through the connection, but nothing else.

  “Oh, Anderson,” Kate murmured, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Why?”

  C.J. didn’t stay to answer the question. He’d never had cause to run from the docking bay to his room; usually it was a nice ten-minute wander. Cassie told him later that he made it in about two minutes at a dead-on sprint.

  He burst into the room, and Anderson was still screaming, silently screaming, until C.J. fell on his knees in front of him and shook him, hard.

  Suddenly he was gasping, sobbing, thank the gods he was making noise, and C.J. simply folded him up into his chest as Anderson howled against his shoulder. Eventually the storm passed, and C.J. went to move away.

  “No,” Anderson gasped, his voice still broken. “You’re real. I’m sorry. I… you’re real.”

  C.J. smiled tiredly and said, “Here. Scoot over. You can sleep on my lap, okay?”

  That smile—sodden and torn, but still… sweet. There was still a sweet boy in that smile, one who had been smiling at the universe for over ten years and eight months, just having faith that someone would see his heart in that smile. “Thank you. Just… thank you.”

  It’s hard not to feel something huge and painful for a person when they’re falling asleep trustingly in your lap. C.J. sat for a while and stroked back that wispy cut hair (would Risa do that for him, or would Kate?) and hummed tunelessly until he felt Anderson start to relax.

  “Anderson?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How come you don’t make any noise when you do that?”

  There was a silence, and C.J. realized that Anderson had started stroking C.J.’s thigh almost absently. You’re real.

  “How come?” C.J. asked softly, afraid Anderson was going to fall asleep before the answer.

  “I don’t know,” Anderson murmured. “Who was there to hear?”

  Not his “people,” C.J. knew; that wasn’t what he was talking about. He was talking about the two years before the people, when he’d just been a very young boy on a small ship in the middle of the gigantic black.

  “There’s someone now,” C.J. murmured, stroking Anderson’s scalp, lifting the sweaty strands of hair up so it would cool. “No worries, okay?”

  But Anderson didn’t answer. Maybe he was already asleep.

  AN HOUR later, when it looked like Anderson was going to sleep soundly for a while, C.J. managed to scoot unnoticed off the couch and get into his room with his personal monitor. Using the earpiece, he placed a call planetside and was actually surprised when Jensen appeared on the screen not only dressed, but dressed professionally, complete with the age-old white coat. On Jensen, it only managed to make his muscular body look even more fit and highlight his auburn hair and green eyes. Handsome bastard.

  Jensen’s smile, though, was all bedroom, and C.J., still warm from Anderson’s trusting snuggle on the couch, couldn’t help but blush. And then, as quickly as possible, he told him about Anderson.

  Jensen’s analytical mind was frightening to watch in action, and C.J. was suddenly very, very grateful he wasn’t this man’s bed-partner for keeps. Molly was a brilliant neurosurgeon, and she could probably keep up, but not C.J. He sat there and let Jensen pepper him with questions for a while, keeping an anxious eye on Anderson from the connecting door.

  “So no one’s seen this Alpha since he put in to port?” Jensen said again, and C.J. looked back at the screen and shook his head.

  “No. The other holos seem afraid of him, but none of them have bruises, either.”

  Jensen raised his eyebrows. “They’re holograms! Wouldn’t the bruises go away?” he laughed, and C.J. struggled to put that thing into words that he hadn’t been able to tell Cass.

  “Yeah, but I think he made rules for them. It’s like… one of them was really teeny, and her clothes didn’t fit. I could see where they’d been hand sewn, right? And I think that was part of the parameters he set. It’s like… like if these were going to be his friends and his family, then they were going to be his friends and his family. He drew that line and wouldn’t cross it.”

  Jensen stopped and started chewing on the inside of his finger. “Uh-oh,” he said. “I’m an idiot. I’m a total idiot. Of course he did. Of course. He had to. It’s the only reason he’s still functionally sane, for the moment.”

  “For the moment?” C.J. peered at Anderson again. Oh God, he looked so innocent. “What do you mean for the moment?”

  “Okay, C.J., I take it from the way you’re looking right now that he’s at your place?”

  C.J. nodded. “Yeah, he’s asleep on my couch.”

  Jensen sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Then three things, and I’m going to make it quick, because yeah, you don’t want him to wake up in the middle of this. I’ll send you something longer later, but, well, this is the gist. Are you ready?”

  “Hit me with it,” C.J. said solidly, smiling a little at how earnest and sober the hard-playing Jensen could be when he was talking professionally. C.J. hadn’t seen that when they’d been in school together. In fact, for a while, C.J. had been convinced that the hard-playing side of Jensen was the only one he’d ever see.

  “It’s no joke, C.J. Thing the first, they’re real. Treat them as real. Call them holos, let him know that they’re not flesh and blood, but listen to what they say, and when you watch the recordings of their development, take notes, then stream me the whole thing. I’m going to need it.”

  “What do you mean you’re going to need it?”

  “That’s thing the second. Thing the second is that your guy is coming to see me.”

  C.J. felt his face go cold. “You can’t. Jensen, he’s too attached to that ship. We can’t ship him downside to you, not right now! It’ll kill him!”

  Jensen shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You don’t get it, C.J.—those people are people because they’re all him.”

  “Di
dn’t I see that horror vid? It wasn’t very convincing.” C.J. frowned, because the idea really was pretty melodramatic.

  “What’s so hard to see? You’ve got the happy one, the forthright one, the quiet one, the one who likes to keep the peace. We’ve all got those parts. Anderson programmed those holos, and then he set them not to change. That made them follow through with whatever a real human with those traits would do. When you watch them interact, you’re watching Anderson talk to himself, because, quite frankly, there was no one else to talk to. They’re important. Listen to what they have to say, and tell your sister that I told her so, because I know she thinks she knows everything.”

  “You’re telling me!” C.J. said with a snort. “Okay, I got it. The holos are real. What about Alpha?”

  Jensen’s face hardened. “I’ve got an idea of why he’d program an abusive spouse. Let’s just say that just like in real life, I’m betting the relationship didn’t start that way. Abusers are very often triggered, and yeah, we’ve all got one in us. Stress makes everyone show their least pretty side, you know? You just need to figure out what triggered Anderson’s ‘alpha male’ to start whaling on him. And when you get that far….”

  Jensen shook his head, and C.J. shivered, hard, in the temperate air of the station.

  “That’s going to be hard,” C.J. said softly, thinking about the painful huddle of holo-graphic people gathering soulfully around the image of Anderson.

  Jensen shook his head adamantly. “It’s going to be fucking catastrophic, that’s what it’s going to be.”

  “He may surprise you,” C.J. said, feeling earnest and hopeful. “You haven’t met him. I mean… he’s smart, and he’s… he’s adventurous. He was trying new foods, and he can still laugh and—”

  “And he’s been through a catastrophe and seven hells since,” Jensen said implacably. “Look, C.J., I know you, man. You live your life on the sunny side of the planet. I know you’re looking for a happy ever after for this guy already, and you may get one. But I’m telling you, he’s going to have to take a long, hard visit down here on the dark side before that happens.”