The Download

by R. E. Carr

  “You knew, but the Mountain did nothing?” Eon asked.

  Dailyn motioned his hand toward the shrouded summit. “Perhaps we should talk where it is more private? Our sister will escort you up the mountain. We will go and collect the others.”

  “Why shouldn’t I—?” Eon started.

  Dianna grabbed his hand. “We need to discuss things that your friends have no desire to hear. I’m sure by the time my brother is finished gathering your companions, we will be done,” she said with a fetching smile.

  “I always had a weakness for a beautiful face. Lead on, my lady.”

 

  “Serif-fan of the Beast Tribe, will you please talk to us?” Jenn heard as she picked herself up off the floor. “We want to help you.”

  “That’s what everyone says,” Jenn whispered as she slammed the phone back on the receiver. She groaned. She rubbed her neck and felt the indents from a row of buttons. She kicked the offending jeans out of spite.

  The clock by the bed read 8:01.

  “I’m stuck in this awful, horrible dream, and I can’t wake up,” Jenn sighed. She shook her head. “What am I saying? What’s so awful about steady work, acceptance back into school, and a boyfriend most girls would die for?”

  She stumbled into the bathroom and took a long, hard look in the mirror. She focused on the gauze—the obnoxious bandage on her forehead was peeling ever so slightly off her scar. She reached up to touch it. Before her fingers could yank the old, sticky tape, a shadow loomed in the doorway.

  “You ready, hon?” Ian asked, tapping his expensive watch. He looked at her faded T-shirt and jeans, then back to his suit. “Did you forget about dinner?”

  “Oh my God! I totally crashed. When did you—?”

  “I left you a message. I’ve been waiting in the car for twenty minutes.”

  “I am wicked sorry!”

  Jenn ripped off her clothes in a flurry and grabbed the dress she had brought over. It was an old number, cream with no back. As she was yanking on a miraculously run-free pair of hose, her reflection caught her attention again.

  “When was the last time I wore this dress?” she asked Ian. He shrugged.

  “No, you’ve never seen this one, have you?” she whispered. “Ian? Ian, I think I need to change my bandage. But, don’t you think it’s weird that I still wear it? Don’t you think my scar has healed as much as it is ever going to?”

  “Hon, let’s not worry about the scar now—not before tonight.” He peeled off the bandage and handed her a new one. His body, however, completely blocked the mirror with a vision of tailored grace. “I love you no matter what you look like.”

  “But it’s not that, is it? I’m not afraid that you’ll hate it, or think it’s gross. Right? There has to be some other reason that I won’t look at this scar. I think something is wrong—”

  “Maybe you should go back and see the doctor. He did say—”

  “I don’t need another shrink session, Ian. I need answers. Every time I get close to the truth, something stops me.”

  “Come on, we’re late.”

  “See what I mean? There is something here. Something in this room that no one wants me to see.”

  “Jenn, hon—”

  “I feel like I am dreaming sometimes. Like I need to wake up.”

  “You are not dreaming.” The words scrolled across the computer screen. Jenn turned deathly pale and pointed.

  “What? My screen saver? My screen saver freaks you out now?” Ian asked, his voice rising ever so slightly.

  “Ian, just back off. Please. Just back off!”

  “I am not just going to back off, not when you need help. I’m calling the doctor.”

  “No, no doctors. I’m going to figure this out myself. I have to get control.”

  “You are not in control,” the screen read.

  “Ian! Ian, look!” Jenn cried, pointing to the new words. They had scrolled off the screen by the time he turned to face it.

  “Look, if you didn’t want to go out tonight, you should have just told me. I’m going to cancel our reservation. Now, later, if you feel like talking—”

  “Ian!”

  He turned and smiled sadly. “Look, hon. Don’t throw away a good thing. You belong here. You belong with me.”

  “Rheak doesn’t want you to find us,” the screen read.

  “Rheak? Who’s Rheak?” Jenn whispered, slinking toward the screen,

  “We know you are tired, but you must hold on. You are the only hope we have. Please, Serif-fan—”

  “My name is Jenn!” she cried. The phone rang again. She picked it up reluctantly, trembling. On the screen, Jenn could see a gray face. Its skeletal hands reached for her.

  “No!” Jenn screamed, shrinking back from the alien form. The screen flickered and the grainy movie flickered. Luminous black eyes stared at her.

  “No, no, no, no, no—” She sputtered. The invader faded back into her computer screen and an anatomical drawing of a human male drifted to the foreground. It turned back and forth, raising its arms up and down just like a high-tech version of Leonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man.

  “Species 956-781B. Homo sapiens sapiens by its own designation. Habitat range—limited terrestrial. Intellectual capacity—limited. Genetic enhancement potential—near limitless. Seed species for 23 planets. Origin planet 4253—species designation Earth. Communications status: Online.”

  Jenn stared at the words that scrolled in front of her like movie credits. She reached out to touch them, leaving her fingerprints on the screen. The image shifted to a traditional gray-skinned alien. Its ebony eyes stared through her.

  “Species 011-0211A. Iaxani by its own designation. Habitat range—any. Intellectual capacity—advanced. Genetic enhancement potential—nil. Seed species failed. Devolved for transport to Hykeria reserve. Origin planet 002—species designation NULL. Communications status: Offline. SPECIES EXTINCT.”

  “I’ve gone nuts. No, it’s just a computer. I’m being hacked—”

  “Hacked? Your consciousness has been invaded several times. You have been a part of the Network.”

  “What the hell is the Network?” Jenn asked the screen.

  “A vast stream of consciousness between every planet the Ancients once controlled,” it read. “We were one of the first to be invited into it. Although our bodies were difficult to reconstitute, our minds could travel the galaxy.”

  “This is ridiculous!” She started closing the laptop.

  “There is not much time, and we have much to discuss. Your Construct Assistant will only be occupied for a little while longer.”

  “Construct what—?”

  “You must understand the consequences of your actions. There is already another who has reached our kind. He will stop at nothing to destroy you, now that he knows the truth. Unlike the others, we think there is room for salvation. Bitterness has not overtaken our souls.”

  “What?”

  “We offer you a gift in exchange for your listening. We can offer you a way home,” the screen read.

  “What are you talking about? I am home. I am home right now!”

  She looked down at her feet. A paperback peeked through a pile of socks. Its title was The Scrolls of Nanut. She opened the well-worn cover.

  “Chapter Seven: “The Seal of the Soul”

  Once the Serif-fan and her chosen Sora-kahr have opened the First Seal and the Seal of Power, new options will open for the pair. They will be contacted, tempted, and entreated by all sides. Confusion will set in, and all that the Serif-fan holds dear shall come into question. Only by finding a true understanding will the seal break and the Path to the Heavens open. Between worlds, in the darkness, those with understanding shall find the power.

  Jenn plopped the book back down on her lap and just stared at the faded type. She looked at the computer. The screen had just become a normal desktop again.

  “Well, that didn’t make any fucking se
nse,” she sighed.

 

  Kei yowled as his last bone popped into place. Even as blood dripped from his mouth and his feet twisted in knots, he ran into the water. His howls intensified as salt water sprayed over his raw skin.

  “Ji-ann!” he snarled. The Serif-fan floated just beyond his reach, tangled in wires rising from the ocean depths. The gem on her forehead pulsed constantly. Kei tried to pull the plugs from his wife’s skin, but each tug made the prongs burrow deeper, as if tangled with her very bones.

  “Eon! Dailyn!” he screamed.

  A man in a long coat ran along the sand. “Help!” Kei howled.

  One of the wires came unplugged, and turned its sparking, three-pronged face toward Kei. His ears flattened. His roar echoed across the bay.

 

  “Are you feeling any better?” Ian asked as he sipped his latte. The couple sat in the window seat of a rather posh coffee house in Cambridge’s Harvard Square. Jenn nursed a steaming chai.

  “I—I talked to my shrink. He said my hallucinations and blackouts are normal. I don’t feel normal, though.”

  Ian smiled and took her hand. “I knew you weren’t feeling well. It’s OK.”

  “I still feel bad. You worked so hard to get those reservations at Radius.”

  He shook his head. “Relax, hon. I’m sure I’ll get other chances to take you to dinner. Especially—”

  “Especially what?” Jenn asked with a coy smile. She leaned over the table, letting the collar of her button-down shirt ease open slightly. “Hmm? I’m waiting.”

  “Well, you know you don’t have to go back to your mom’s,” he said staring up at her. “Ever again.”

  “Ian . . .”

  “You know fate must have brought us together. I mean, we saw each other, what, a few times in college? And then, boom, you run into me on the street? It’s kismet.”

  “It’s clumsiness.”

  “Karma,” he said as he leaned across the table with a wicked grin.

  “Dumb luck.”

  “Destiny,” he whispered before kissing her.

  She closed her eyes and let herself sink into the moment. As she opened them, however, a shocking inconsistency appeared across the street. There, amid all the tourists and lunchtime crowds, a man in a rabbit-fur vest glared at her through the looking glass. Jenn gawked at his gray skin, his inhuman ears, and a bright-blue stare. She blinked, and then all she saw was an angry-looking young man in a fake leopard-skin jacket.

  “I know that guy,” she whispered.

  “What, hon?” Ian asked.

  “It’s nothing. Just thought I saw someone I knew. So, are you heading out soon? They going to drag you back into the server room today?” Jenn asked.

  “You trying to get rid of me already?”

  They finished their drinks and gave each other a quick hug and kiss before parting ways. Ian headed straight for the subway station, but Jenn wandered to the wide sidewalk area across the street. All around her, groups of tourists walked into the shops along Brattle Street, paying her no mind. She tried to catch sight of faux leopard again, but the closest she got was a handbag passing around the corner. With a sigh, she settled onto the edge of a raised planting bed and let the midafternoon sun sink into her.

  Minutes passed before she noticed the frantic scratching sounds of pencil attacking paper. She looked to her left. A man in a black tank top, black jeans, and scuffed-up boots sat not ten feet away, sketching furiously in a notebook. He looked up with bright blue eyes and smiled. “You look like you are lost,” he said before returning to the drawing.

  Jenn could barely distinguish the collar of his jacket against the concrete beside him. “Hey, didn’t I see you somewhere before?” she asked.

  The man shrugged. “It is a big city.”

  “But your eyes and your hair—didn’t I see you somewhere?” she asked.

  “I go lots of places. What is it to you?”

  Jenn got up and started to walk away. She rolled her eyes as she heard the stranger laughing behind her.

  “Hey, do you want to see your picture?” he called after her.

  “What?”

  She turned to see a pencil sketch of her grabbing her knees, perched in front of the street. He had captured every detail, from her hair straggling out of her ponytail to her BU T-shirt. The only unclear spot was a large thumb smudge in the middle of her forehead.

  “I thought I would leave the smudge. It is more artistic than that stupid bandage. When did you bump your head?”

  “If you have to know, it’s not a bump at all. It’s covering up a scar.”

  “Well, that is dumb,” he said as he tucked his art pencils away into a little pouch.

  “Dumb? It happens to be a really awful scar. I don’t want people to see it.”

  “I like scars,” he said with a wicked grin.

  “Good for you.”

  She grabbed her purse and began walking down Brattle Street toward the main subway entrance. Before she could cross to it, however, the stranger was a step behind her, tapping her on the shoulder. She rolled her eyes. “What do you want now?”

  “I do not know. I thought you stepped outside to look for me.”

  “Ah, no,” she said as the light turned. She groaned as she realized the skinny, pale guy was planning to follow her all the way across the street and into the famous Harvard Square pit. Amid all the Goth boys and punks, he suddenly looked at home.

  “Look, sweetheart, I know you were looking at me,” he said.

  “I look at lots of things. Now buzz off.”

  The stranger shrugged. “I think you do want me following you. There is something about me that you want to know about. Am I wrong?”

  “God, you’re an ass.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  Jenn turned and started walking toward Massachusetts Avenue. “I could walk back to Boston with less hassle.”

  He kept walking just behind her. Finally, she whirled around again. She glared at his cocky grin. “OK, there’s something I want to know. Were you watching me?”

  “Why?” he asked with a raised brow.

  “Hey, you asked what I wanted to know.”

  “I come out here sometimes to sketch the tourists, and I saw you across the street with tall, dark, and stupid looking. I thought it was fate, so I decided to check you out.”

  Jenn shook her head sadly. “Don’t check me out, OK? Tall, dark, and stupid looking just happens to be my boyfriend.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “God, you are unbelievable. Just go away, OK?”

  He took a few reluctant steps back. “Hey, I just call them like I see them. I am sure that guy is nice, but I do not think he is your type . . .”

  “How would you know my type?”

  “Well, for one thing, he is all suits and cell phones. I bet he went right out of college on daddy’s money and got some sort of cushy downtown job, maybe finance, probably computers. Furthermore, I propose that he has a nice apartment, an imported car, and possibly a sizable portfolio of stocks and bonds.”

  “Last time I checked, those weren’t bad things.”

  “To a jeans-and-T-shirt girl with paint on her cheap-ass work boots? I bet you always have dirt under your nails too.”

  “You’re a dick.”

  “I am right, though. I noticed your hands when I was sketching you. They have got a lot of character.”

  “So you’re saying that I’m not good enough for him, right?”

  “I was thinking it was the other way around, actually.”

  “Whatever.”

  She picked up the pace, trying to leave both Harvard Square and the stranger behind. As she passed the last of the main set of shops, she whirled around. The same smug grin awaited her.

  Before she could tell him off, he spoke up. “Look, I know that guy. He seems nice, but he is not for someone like you. Trust me.”

&nbs
p; “You know him?”

  “Known him for a long time.”

  “Ian never—”

  “We fought over a girl.”

  “Oh, I see.” She moved to the side of the sidewalk and stopped. “I don’t want to get involved. Ian and I—”

  “Do you ever wake up in the morning and wonder why you are here? Do you look outside, and all it ever seems to be is murky, cloudy, gray?” he asked suddenly.

  “All the time.”

  “You feel like you are dreaming . . . ?”

  “And I just want to wake up,” Jenn finished.

  They stared at each other for a while, until a rude pack of kids shoved past them. “Watch it!” both Jenn and the stranger said in unison. They started to giggle.

  “OK, what’s your name, stranger? Mine’s Jenn.”

  “Blue.”

  “Blue? Like the color?’

  “Like the color.”

  “How’d you get a name like that?” Jenn asked as they resumed their afternoon walk. “Were your parents hippies or something?”

  “My mom named me that after she saw my eyes. I guess she did not think anything else was necessary. She was a very practical person.”

  “It’s pretty cool. Unusual, but cool. My mom just chose the most popular name out there. So, you are Blue. What’s your last name?”

  “Zhan.”

  “Blue Zhan, not a lot of syllables.”

  Blue chuckled. “No time for syllables. My family is always focused on being practical, to be short and to the point. Got to be that way for the family business.”

  “Do you work in the family business?”

  “No, I decided to be different. I went to a seminary for a few months.”

  “You wanted to be a priest?”

  “No. A monk, actually. Have you not ever just gotten to the point where you want to cast aside your earthly concerns, to give up everything? I was so sick of being the outcast. Rank and privilege and tons of people who could not stand me surrounded me, but no one would dare say anything because of my father. I guess I thought it was time to move on.”