Close Remembrance

by Anna Zaires

  He was thirsty and hungry, but otherwise he felt great, his body practically thrumming with energy. The scientists said there was no physiological need for lonar or human blood, given the genetic fix, but many on Krina thought that some kind of a psychological need remained. Korum wasn’t certain if he believed that, but he did know that he rarely felt as satisfied as those times when he indulged himself with Mia.

  Holding the robe, he crouched next to her and studied her for a few seconds, enjoying the sight of her naked body. He rarely got a chance to watch her like this; usually his need for her was so intense he couldn’t look at her bare flesh without fucking her immediately afterwards. Even now, after last night’s sexual marathon, he could feel the warm stirrings of desire – although it was nothing compared to his usual craving.

  She was lying on her back, one slim arm extended over her head and the other bent across her ribcage. Fascinated by her breasts, Korum reached out and stroked one pale mound, smiling when the nipple hardened at his touch. Her skin was as soft as anything he had ever felt, its silky texture a constant lure for his fingers.

  Wrapping her in a fluffy robe, he lifted her up. She didn’t even stir, her sleep so deep it bordered on unconsciousness. It was always like that after he took her blood: her human body needed to recuperate from the excess of sensations.

  And so did his, albeit to a lesser extent. Korum could see how others had gotten addicted to their charl; Mia’s blood was a powerful temptation for him, its effect more potent than that of any drug. He used to think blood addicts were weak, but now Korum wondered if there was really that much difference between physical and emotional addiction. He certainly couldn’t imagine needing Mia more than he already did.

  Carrying her out of the shatela, Korum walked toward the grassy area where he’d left his transport pod. He hadn’t bothered disassembling it earlier, so it was now waiting for them.

  Looking around, he saw that the Arena was completely empty. It was also early morning, the sun just beginning to come up. Grinning, Korum realized that he must’ve been in the shatela much longer than usual. It was his first time celebrating with a human, and it was by far the best experience he’d had.

  They reached the transport pod, and Korum sent a quick mental command to have them taken home. A minute later, they were walking into his house, with Mia still asleep in his arms.

  As soon as they were inside, Korum headed straight for the cleansing room – the bathroom, in human terms. He was still covered in dirt, dried blood, and sweat, and some of the grime had rubbed off on Mia, leaving her pale skin marred with dark streaks.

  Another mental command from him, and the water came on, warm jets softly massaging their bodies and rinsing away all traces of yesterday’s activities. Korum enjoyed the sensation; it was both energizing and soothing at the same time. A few minutes later, both he and Mia were clean and dry, and he carried her to bed, knowing she needed to get more sleep. She was so exhausted she hadn’t even woken up during the cleansing.

  Laying her on the bed, Korum let the intelligent material flow around her and then covered her with a soft sheet, knowing that she liked the feel of blankets. Kissing her forehead, he took one last look at the girl he loved and headed out to start his day.

  * * *

  “He refuses to talk to us,” Alir told Korum as they walked toward the other side of the guardians’ building. “He says he will only talk to you.”

  “Will he now?” Korum said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “And what gives him the impression he’s in a position to make demands?”

  Alir shrugged. “I don’t know. But he seems convinced that you will be interested in hearing what he has to say. He says it has to do with Mia.”

  Korum’s hands clenched into fists at the mention of his charl. The fact that Saret dared bring up her name –

  “The report for the Elders is ready,” Alir said, changing the topic. “Would you like to review it?”

  “Yes,” Korum said. “Send it to me. I’ll run it by the Council.”

  Alir nodded. “Will do.”

  They had reached their destination, and Alir stopped before going in. “Do you want me there?”

  “No.” Korum was certain of that. “I want to speak to him alone.”

  “Then he’s all yours.” Turning around, Alir walked back, leaving Korum on his own.

  Korum waited until the leader of the guardians was gone, and then he took a step forward, toward the wall that shielded his enemy from his view. The wall dissolved, forming an entrance, and he stepped inside.

  Saret was sitting on a float, a crime-collar around his throat. Korum smiled at the sight. He remembered having an argument with Saret about the collars a few hundred years ago, with his former friend trying to convince him that the collars were demeaning and unnecessary. Korum had disagreed, believing that the shame of the crime-collar was part of the deterrent for would-be criminals.

  It was good to see Saret wearing one now, particularly in light of his views about it.

  “I see you’re out of your disguise now,” Korum observed, studying his enemy’s familiar features. “Miscalculated a bit, did you?”

  Saret gave him a cold smile. “Apparently. I underestimated how much Loris hated you. If I had known he would try to prolong the process of killing you, I would’ve shot you twice.”

  “Live and learn,” Korum said. “Isn’t that what humans say?”

  “Indeed.” Saret’s eyes gleamed with something dark.

  Korum gave him a mocking look and sat down on another float, stretching out his legs in a gesture of disrespect. “You wanted to talk to me,” he said coolly. “So talk.”

  “All right,” Saret said. “I will. How is Mia doing, by the way? She seemed a bit upset yesterday.”

  Korum felt a surge of anger, but kept his expression calm, amused. “She was. But she’s happy now, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

  “Of course she is,” Saret said. “And adjusting so well to life here, isn’t she? It’s almost as if she didn’t lose her memory fully, wouldn’t you say? It’s like she still knows you on some level, maybe even loves you. And she’s so accepting of everything. Nothing fazes her for long. Amazing, isn’t it?”

  Korum froze for a second, a chill running down his spine. The only way Saret could know that would be –

  “Yes,” Saret said. “I see you’re on the right track. I miscalculated again, you see. Mia was supposed to end up with me, not you.”

  “What did you do to her?” Korum said quietly, the fine hair on the back of his neck rising.

  Saret laughed. “Nothing too awful, believe me. I merely made sure she would be receptive. She’s still herself . . . mostly.”

  “What did you do?” Without even realizing what he was doing, Korum found himself out of his seat, his hand wrapped around Saret’s throat.

  Saret made a choking sound, his hand tugging at Korum’s fingers, and Korum forced himself to release him, taking a step back. He was shaking with rage, and he knew he would kill Saret if he didn’t put some distance between them.

  “It’s called softening,” Saret said, rubbing his throat. His voice was raspy from Korum partially crushing his trachea. “It’s a new procedure I developed specifically for humans. A softened mind doesn’t feel fear as sharply. It’s also more open to new impressions, new ideas.” Saret paused dramatically. “New attachments. In fact, such a mind seeks something – or, rather, someone – to attach to.”

  Korum stared at Saret, ice spreading through his veins.

  “And that someone can be anyone, you see. It should’ve been me – but instead, it was you.”

  You’re lying. Korum wanted to scream, to deny what he just heard, but he couldn’t. It made too much sense. The girl he met in New York wouldn’t have accepted everything with such ease, wouldn’t have invited him into her bed after knowing him for just a day. She would’ve been frightened and mistrustful, and he would’ve had to earn her trust and affection all o
ver again. And instead, she seemed to love him with hardly any effort on his part.

  Except she didn’t. Not really. Her feelings for him weren’t real. None of it was real. Her behavior, her apparent attachment to him – it was all a result of Saret’s procedure.

  “Does she still have her memories?” Korum buried the agony deep inside, where it couldn’t cloud his thinking. “Or did you erase them anyway?”

  Saret grinned, visibly delighted by the question. “No, the memories are gone. It just seems like they’re there because she’s absorbing everything like a sponge, learning at an incredible rate. Pretty soon, she’ll be more acclimated to our world than she was before – if she’s not already.”

  “Can you undo it?” Korum knew it was futile, but he had to ask.

  “What, the softening or the memory loss?”

  “Both. Either.”

  Saret’s grin widened. “I can’t. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. You might have her now, but you’ll never truly have her. You’ll never know if anything she feels for you is genuine – or if she would’ve felt the same about any other man who spent time with her upon her awakening.”

  Korum looked at the man he’d once considered a friend. Memories of their childhood, happy and carefree, flashed through his mind, leaving the bitter taste of regret in their wake. “Why?” he asked quietly.

  “Why do I hate you?” Saret lifted his eyebrows. “Or why did I do all of this?”

  Korum just continued looking at him.

  “The answer is the same to both,” Saret said, his grin fading. “I was tired of always being in your shadow. No matter how much I achieved, how high I climbed, I was always just Korum’s buddy. Korum the inventor, Korum the designer, Korum who brought us here to Earth. Your ambition knew no bounds – and neither did my hatred of you.”

  “Yet you supported me,” Korum said, the pain of the betrayal somehow distant, not fully reaching him yet. “You were always on my side on the Council. You helped me get us here, to Earth.”

  “I did,” Saret agreed. “Because I knew it was foolish to do anything else. Even the Elders dance to your tune these days, don’t they?”

  Korum didn’t justify that with a response. Instead, he gave Saret a look of contempt. “So all your grandiose plans for humans, your supposed desire for world peace, it was all out of petty jealousy?”

  “No,” Saret said, his eyes narrowing. “I saw a way to shape history, and I took a chance. What could be a greater achievement than peace for an entire planet? Do you think any of your gadgets could compare to that?”

  “An achievement that would’ve involved the deaths of fifty thousand Krinar.”

  “Yes,” Saret said, and he had the gall to look regretful for a moment. “That would’ve been unfortunate. Unavoidable, but unfortunate.”

  “Unfortunate?” Korum could hardly believe his ears. “What is wrong with you, Saret? How did you get to be this way?”

  Now Saret was beginning to look angry. “What is wrong with me? You ask me that while you’re standing there, with Loris’s blood still fresh on your hands? You think something is wrong with me because I wanted to better the lives of billions by killing a few thousand? How many Krinar have you killed in the Arena, Korum? Twenty, thirty? And what about humans? You think I don’t know that you enjoy killing, just like the rest of our fucked-up race?”

  Korum stared at him, trying to understand this man he’d known his whole life. “You’re wrong,” he said quietly. “I don’t enjoy killing. I didn’t want to kill Loris yesterday – and I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t interfered. I like the fights themselves, not the end result of them. And that’s how our fucked-up race is, as you should know, since you’re the mind expert here. We love danger and violence – we crave it – but we don’t have to be murderers.”

  “And yet we are,” Saret said. “You can fool yourself all you want, but that’s what we ultimately are. We came to Earth and thousands of humans died during the Great Panic as a result. And what you want to do now will result in more deaths. She won’t forgive you for that, you know.”

  “Won’t your procedure take care of that?” Korum said, his mouth curving into a bitter smile. “Isn’t she going to love me now no matter what?”

  Saret shook his head. “No. With enough provocation, her love will turn to hate. You just wait and see.”

  Chapter 18

  Mia woke up with a scream, her heart racing and her skin covered with cold sweat.

  In her dream, Korum’s body had been a mangled, mutilated corpse, swimming in a river of blood. She had tried to save him from that river, to pull him ashore, but it had been futile. The current had been too strong, tearing him out of her hands and carrying him away, down to the waterfalls, where the water was as dark as dried blood.

  Sitting up straight, Mia tried to get her breathing under control. It was just a bad dream. Korum had won the fight. He was safe.

  Safe – and fully recovered, if yesterday’s celebration was anything to go by.

  Remembering just how recovered he had been, Mia immediately felt much better. Her lover’s stamina was literally out of this world. The pleasure he had given her had been incredible, almost more than she could stand. She’d never felt such ecstasy as when he’d bitten her; she never could’ve imagined that such sensations even existed.

  Smiling, she climbed out of bed and headed toward the shower. The fight was over, Saret had been captured, and there was nothing else to fear.

  She and Korum were safe at last.

  Humming to herself, Mia let the cleaning technology do its thing while she stood there thinking about her lover – and how essential he had become to her again.

  When she was clean and dry, she went to the kitchen and had the house prepare some breakfast for her. According to the information on her tablet, her lab partner Adam was supposed to return from his week-long vacation today – which meant that Mia could start relearning everything she had forgotten about her apprenticeship.

  The lab wouldn’t be open, given the recent events, but she was hoping there would be some way for her to continue learning about the mind. The subject fascinated her now more than ever.

  * * *

  Korum walked aimlessly down the ocean shore, letting the roar of the pounding surf drown out the cacophony in his head. For the first time in his life, he felt lost. Lost and hopeless . . . and angry.

  His anger was directed mostly at himself, though a healthy portion of it was reserved for Saret. Korum hadn’t let himself think about his friend’s betrayal before, too focused on Mia and her memory loss. Then the fight had consumed his attention. Now, however, there was nothing to distract him from the fact that a man he’d regarded as a friend had turned out to be his greatest enemy.

  Korum knew he wasn’t universally liked. It was a state of affairs that had never bothered him before. He was respected and feared, but there were only a few individuals he’d ever considered his friends. Most of them remained on Krina, busy with their lives and careers there. Saret had been the only one to accompany him to Earth.

  Even as a child, Korum had always been self-sufficient. He had discovered his interest in design early on, and that passion had consumed his life – until Mia. Now he had two passions: his work and the human girl who was his charl. He wasn’t a loner, but he rarely needed the company of others. Unlike most, Korum was just as happy by himself – or now spending time with Mia – as he was surrounded by people.

  Saret’s betrayal proved to be agonizing on multiple levels. Korum had trusted Saret; he’d confided in him for centuries, sharing his goals and dreams. They’d played together as children, discussed their sexual conquests as teenage boys, and often worked toward a common goal as members of the Council. When had Saret begun to hate him? Or had it always been that way and Korum had just been too blind to see it? Could any of his friends be trusted, or were all of them like Saret, just waiting to strike when his back was turned?

  These thoughts were both painful and
disturbing. Self-doubt was not in Korum’s nature, but he couldn’t help wondering whether he had brought this upon himself. He knew he could be harsh and arrogant at times – even ruthless when it came to achieving his goals. Had he done something to make Saret hate him to such extent? Or was it simply jealousy, as Saret himself had intimated?

  Reaching the estuary where he’d sat with Mia on the rocks before, Korum stripped off his clothes and waded into the surf, letting the water cool him down. He’d always found the ocean therapeutic. The power of the waves appealed to him, and he especially liked it when the current was strong, as it was right now with high tide. It picked him up, carrying him out to deeper water, and Korum let it, floating along until the shore was a few miles away. Then he began to swim back, the tug of the current providing enough resistance to make it a challenge. The mindless exertion of swimming helped clear his mind, and he felt a tiny bit better when he finally emerged from the water.

  Sitting down on the rocks, he let the sun shine down on his bare skin, warming him up again. The worst thing about Saret’s betrayal wasn’t what it did to Korum: it was the consequences for Mia. She had not only lost her memories, but her freedom of thought as well. Whatever she felt for Korum now was involuntary, a byproduct of this ‘softening’ Saret had done to her. His sweet, beautiful girl was not the same person she’d once been; her mind had been tampered with in the most unforgivable way.

  She had been afraid of that, Korum remembered. When she’d first arrived in Lenkarda, she had been hesitant about the language implant, afraid of having alien technology in her brain. Korum had been amused at the time, but it turned out she’d been right to fear. Saret had been dangerous all along.

  And Korum had failed to protect her. The thought gnawed at him, eating him from the inside. He, who had never failed at anything before, had been unable to protect the person who meant the most to him. Could Mia ever forgive him for that? And if she could, how would he know whether her feelings were real? If Saret were to be believed, she would now accept most things with equanimity, her reactions different from what they would’ve been before.