The Unborn

by Brian Herbert

  Meredith left without another word, to have her talk with Riggio. Like Nicole, he didn’t deny that something had happened between them. As Meredith spoke to him, he stared despondently at his hands, hardly making any eye contact with her.

  Finally he looked up and said. “I’m ready to accept my fate, whatever it is. If it’s to be fired, so be it; if the boss wants me to stay, so be that, too.”

  “He wants you to stay. He likes you. Everyone likes you, Riggio. You’ve done good work. Last night was a mistake, a bad decision.”

  He nodded, seemed ashamed of himself. “It won’t happen again.”

  “I have something that should help your mood. Tomorrow I’d like you to go with me on a click chamber trip. To the little Saturn moon Vanni.”

  He looked surprised, but not displeased. “One of the domed moons. Yes, I saw that on your schedule, but didn’t know you wanted me to go with you.”

  “Actually Vanni is a domed moonlet, only a hundred and ten kilometers in diameter—it’s not completely domed, but large sections of it are. It’s one of the minor satellites of Saturn that are not named after a god or goddess. The naming procedure was changed when some moons and moonlets were legally claimed under the International Law of Space and put to business and military use. Several moons and moonlets are shipping hubs for minerals mined from Saturn’s orbital rings and sent by click-chamber back to Earth, or shipped to other places around the solar system.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “You’re ready for this; you know how to use the scanners on this inspection.” She smiled gently. “Besides, I think it would be good for you to get away from all this for a few days.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  “The place we’re going is a partially enclosed, inhabited moonlet, constructed on airless rock. One of the marvels of human technology. I was quite impressed the first time I saw the workmanship and efficiency of this one, and I’m not easily impressed.”

  She discussed preparations with him, mentioning that under the International Law of Space there were no passports or visas required to visit the non-military moons of other planetary systems, although going to militarized moons or planets was a different, a much more complicated matter. For this trip, they just had to pay their fare, get in a click chamber, and go.

  Then she said, “I want you to bring four scanners—a couple of hand-held 37s, a model 501, and a model 523. We’re inspecting a robotics factory, and you’ve learned how to use all of those models.”

  “A robotics factory on a moon?”

  “Sure. Because of the cost effectiveness of click chamber technology, it doesn’t cost any more to have a robotics factory millions of miles away than it does to have it on Earth. Besides, they sell most of their robots to off-Earth businesses.”

  He nodded. “What time do we leave?”

  “Get everything ready to go right away. Make sure the scanners have been calibrated, and if not, you know how to do it. Leave everything in my office including the cases and carrying straps, and we’ll pick it all up at seven a.m.”

  “I’ll get right on it.” He thought for a moment, and his eyes misted over. Their gazes met for a moment, and he looked uncomfortable. He seemed to gather his courage, and said, “Thank you, Meredith. I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me. It’s more than I deserve.”

  “I don’t agree with that.”

  She looked at him closely, thinking she saw something peculiar. Riggio was obviously tired and worn down, but beyond that he appeared to be different. There was no evidence of beard stubble on his face at all, though she’d noticed it on his face at the office in the few weeks he’d been there, all through each work day. Now his skin looked smoother, and even less muscular. His eyes and facial features seemed slightly different, too, though she couldn’t say in what way.

  She told herself she was imagining this.

  “As soon as you get the preparations finished,” she said, “I want you to go home and get to bed early. I want you rested for tomorrow.”

  She watched him as he left her office, hoping things worked out for him. He seemed like a lost soul, a person who was being buffeted by forces around him, and accepting his destiny, whatever it was meant to be. She hoped she could help him. She owed him that.

  ~~~

  After all the effort Zack had made to see Meredith, he did not expect this day to go well. He expected to see her, because he was going to walk right into the Johansen Agency and head straight for her office—unless she was out on a client call. But he was taking a chance on that, hoping she would be there, and hoping she would not throw him out when she saw what he had brought for her.

  To calm his mind, he’d gone for an early morning run, followed by a long shower. He wore blue jeans and a brown plaid shirt she’d always liked, hoping it would be a subconscious—or even conscious—reminder to her of the good times they’d had together. The jeans had a little paint on them from working in his studio, but was the best pair he had.

  Carrying the wrapped watercolor painting, he stepped into the lobby. He knew the receptionist, Jill, a mousey young woman with long hair that looked a little greasy. An odd-looking receptionist, he’d always thought, but she had a nice, outgoing personality, so that undoubtedly helped her keep the job.

  Looking at him with surprise, she said, “Mr. Lamour!”

  “Is Meredith here this morning?”

  Jill nodded.

  He thanked her and walked past. A new person was sitting at the desk outside Meredith’s office, a young man with black hair. She was not in her office, so he looked around. Not seeing her, he went inside and sat in one of the two visitors’ chairs, and leaned the painting against the wall beside him.

  He looked through the doorway at the young man, and had an unsettled feeling about him. He’d sensed something passing his desk, too. As a painter, a close observer of life, Zack often based his judgments of people on appearances. Not that he was superficial; far from it. He liked Jill, and a lot of other people who were not particularly beautiful, not even close to the beauty of his ex-wife.

  He was still thinking about the young man when Meredith entered her office, glared at Zack, and closed the door. She was more beautiful than ever, but she was not pleased with him. He’d seen that expression on her face too many times.

  “You have a lot of nerve,” she said, in a low voice. At least she wasn’t screaming at him like the last time. “I guess you didn’t get the hint when I didn’t answer.”

  “I got the hint, but there’s something I have to do.” He unwrapped the painting and propped it on one of the chairs so that she could see it.

  She stared at it, not saying anything, but starting to cry. She wiped tears from her eyes. “It’s beautiful,” she said, surprising him. “Travis looks so real. You are very talented. I’ve always known that.”

  “I painted this from love, not from talent.”

  Zack was about to open the door to leave when he paused and turned back. “Who’s that guy out there? At the desk outside your office.”

  “Riggio Tarizy, he’s a general assistant to all the risk managers.”

  “Watch out for him. I don’t like his looks.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just be careful around him, OK? You know I’m good at judging people on appearances, and there’s something strange about him.”

  “Don’t give me any of that. You were always saying things like that when we were married, telling me to stay away from so and so, and so and so, without having any good reasons. Well, here’s a flash for you, Zack. We’re not married any more.”

  “Just watch out for him. Stay on your toes.” He looked very serious. “Trust me on this, Meredith.”

  He opened the door and strode past the young man. His feelings were only reinforced. Something in his eyes; he was not to be trusted.

  He glanced back at Meredith, saw her staring at the painting. She looked more sad than angry.

&
nbsp; Zack had always prided himself on being able to recognize danger; his military experience provided him with the training, and he was so good at it that fellow soldiers thought he would become a cop when he got out of the service, or a federal agent. He had a strong survival instinct.

  He went down the stairs outside the building. His heart was heavy, but he was glad he’d painted Travis, and glad he’d had the courage to give it to her. She might destroy it, but he didn’t think she would. Meredith still had a certain softness about her, a certain grace that went deeper than her external beauty. And he sensed that she still cared about him, no matter the terrible things that occurred between them.

  “Zack.” It was her voice, behind him.

  He turned, saw her at the top of the stairs, holding the door open. “Thanks for the beautiful painting. I really love it.”

  He smiled, felt awkward. “You’re welcome.”

  “We’ll talk when I get back from a cross-space inspection trip I have to make, OK? I’m going to Vanni, one of the smaller moons of Saturn.”

  He nodded, hardly able to believe he was hearing this.

  “Actually,” she said, “I also need to make an inspection southeast of Seattle when I get back... a new entertainment facility that one of my clients is building underground.”

  “Underground?”

  She nodded. “It’s a year-around resort with an artificial sun, a marvel of technology that he calls Sun Under.” She paused. “Give me ten days or so from now, and I’ll call you.”

  “All right. We have a lot of things to talk about. I’m sorry for everything.”

  “So am I,” she said. Her eyes glistened. “Oh, Zack, so am I.”

  He wanted to climb the stairs and hug her, but held back. This was already far more than he had expected, and he didn’t want to push it. He wanted her back, wanted her back desperately. But she might not feel the same way. She might only want to become his friend, to have an amicable break-up, instead of the terrible way it ended.

  Zack would take that. He would take anything she had to give him, no matter how small. He turned quickly before she could see him cry, and walked away.

  CHAPTER 17

  Riggio awoke early, to pack for the trip to Saturn’s domed moonlet. They would only be away for four days, so he wouldn’t need to take much.

  In the bathroom he stood in front of the mirror, holding his straight razor. He stared at himself in the mirror, long and hard. For a moment his face seemed to go out of focus, and then sharpen in definition. He’d gotten a good night’s rest, but he’d noticed occasional times when his vision was not quite sharp in the morning, and then would improve as time passed during the day. That must be what it was.

  He looked away, then back at the mirror. His face went out of focus again, this time even more, before coming back to himself. There were strange hints of another face behind his own, flickering in and out. It brought to mind the nightmare in which he’d seen himself dressed as a woman, not quite looking like himself, and then as three other similar women—four of them, and all resembling him, but none were actually him.

  The muscles on his face twitched and stretched, as if something was just beneath the surface of the skin... then he felt abdominal pain, and the sensation of something kicking inside, trying to get out—like a baby in a womb. These were impossible thoughts, of course.

  What an imagination he had! This wasn’t really happening!

  But there was something in his eyes, too. The color and sparkle seemed a little different. He was getting prettier.

  And he remembered a voice in a dream, a woman whispering to him that he was a murderer, that he had killed all of the women in his terrifying visions, and more.

  ~~~

  Tatsy Demónt knew a secret, a big one. She was in possession of a human consciousness and full awareness, but had no adult body of her own. Instead she was a tiny fetus, weighing no more than a pound, with stunted arms and legs, and large eyes that peered into the darkness.

  She was concealed inside the abdominal cavity of Riggio’s body along with the even smaller unborn fetuses of their three sisters—Lizbeth, Callie, and Anneya—where they had been for more than twenty-eight years. They were all supposed to be quintuplets—four females and one male. But in the womb the male fetus had wrapped itself around its weaker, much smaller twins, severing their umbilical cords and trying to steal all of the nutrients from the mother.

  Strange drugs had been administered to their mother under laboratory conditions, and there had been cellular manipulations of the male fetus before the delivery, but none of that was an excuse for the selfish thing Riggio did.

  In one of her earliest moments of consciousness, Tatsy recalled being undernourished and weak, and swimming into the developing abdominal cavity of her brother’s healthy, larger fetus, taking the other three with her and connecting their umbilical cords to his blood supply. In that place, they were safer than the place he wanted them to go, into his digestive system. She likened her action to finding a life raft and climbing onto it, her only hope against overwhelming odds. Even as a tiny fetus, much smaller than her brother’s, she had been strong enough to do that.

  The sisters had remained connected to the host fetus after it was removed from the womb prematurely, and grew into a man. Now they still floated in the space within Riggio’s abdominal cavity, but were in stasis, not growing and thus not enlarging his belly, so that there was no outward sign of their existence.

  Tatsy was the strongest of the girls, the only one with a semblance of both arms and legs, as well as eyes. Callie and Anneya were comatose, floating beside her in a fragile, perpetual state of near-death. Only Lizbeth had awareness and could communicate paranormally with Tatsy; Lizbeth had eyes and arms, but no legs. Tatsy hated her brother. He had attempted to murder his twins, to cannibalize them, and had almost succeeded. But not quite.

  We have never been born, she thought.

  The terrible injustice made her angry, so angry that she could kill—and sometimes, when she lost control of her rage, she did exactly that, compelling Riggio to do bad things for her when he was not fully conscious, without him realizing she was even there, or what she was doing to him. So far they had left seventy-nine bodies in their wake in the eight years since Tatsy commanded Riggio to remove the electronic device that kept him under lab control... all women with whom he had either been involved, or to whom he had attracted. The last had been in Denver.

  Tatsy had begun with a spark of awareness that she was in danger, and through her bitter, unrelenting determination to survive, she had made it this far, and intended to go farther. She spoke to her hated brother in his dreams—dreams he did not remember afterward, until the last one, when she whispered to him after his sexual debacle with Nicole Sheehan that he was a murderer. He’d thought it was a dream, but she’d been able to make it seem like more to him. And he had not forgotten it when he awoke.

  Prior to that, only a few days ago, she’d also managed to give Riggio a sharp pain across his forehead when he was talking to Meredith Lamour and Piers Johansen in the old man’s office, revealing that he’d been suffering memory lapses. It was something Tatsy had not wanted him to reveal, and she had at least managed to express her displeasure to him when he was awake.

  Tatsy was getting stronger.

  It would require more of her energy to speak to him when he was awake than to do it in his dreams, when he was not totally aware, when he was open and vulnerable. Her stronger statement, her accusation, was making him uneasy, and she liked that. It left him with questions, and she intended to torment him over his past, not giving him the answers he needed.

  For some time now, Tatsy had been able to do certain things. Not only speaking to him in dreams, but more. She had actually compelled him to do things when he was asleep.

  Bad things.

  It was like sleepwalking, but broader. Tatsy called it putting him into “sleeptrance,” causing him to reach out and find objects by the beds of his
lovers to use as weapons, or to go and find weapons in the house or apartment and return to do the killing.

  In that manner Tatsy had been able to take charge of Riggio’s body so that he never remembered what she made him do, the violent, bloody acts. She’d done this after Riggio made love to another woman, an act that angered Tatsy enough to take control of him without his knowledge, when he slept and his mind was most open to her. She’d ordered him to stab that woman and others to death, and to kill many more by varying means.

  She’d had nothing to do with the strangulation he’d almost completed against Nicole Sheehan, an asphyxiation he’d stopped on his own. Yet it was a good thing Sheehan hadn’t died, because Tatsy had not been prepared for what always had to come afterward. Whenever she took command of Riggio, whenever she forced him to strike out in brutal violence, she had to quickly whisk him away to safety—just as she’d sent him to Seattle, more than 1,000 miles from the most recent murder scene. It would never do for him to be caught and executed, or shot down in a hail of police bullets, because Tatsy and her sisters would die with him.

  So over a period of time before the murder of the Denver woman, Tatsy had compelled Riggio to do things while he was in sleeptrance, under her powerful spell—obtaining the false documentation, programming the navigation system in the car so that it was set for Seattle, causing him to steal money so that he would have funds for the trip. All done at night when he walked around doing her bidding, but was not awake, and did not remember doing any of it. Then, with everything set up, Tatsy had commanded him to kill, to clean himself up, and to flee.

  Whenever he exerted himself like that, he always made up for it by sleeping for a long time, and she always left him alone to recover, allowing him to regain his strength. Until the next time.

  So far, Tatsy had been able to take charge of her brother physically when he slept. She wished she could do more, that she could make Riggio’s body do other things, normal things when he was fully conscious. But thus far she had not been able to do so. When he was awake, there seemed to be a barrier up, preventing her from telling him what to do. Lately, however, she’d seen signs that the barrier was beginning to weaken.