by Mallory Kane
Instantly alert, his muscles tensed and ready to attack, he quickly and silently slipped on his clothes, then crept to the door of the living room on the balls of his feet, glancing in all directions, cursing himself for his weakness, aware that anything could have happened while he was out.
He’d allowed his loneliness and his need to override his determination, to get in the way of his mission. His heart lurched as he thought about his angel doctor. What was the matter with him? What made him lose all the TAINCC's careful conditioning when he touched her?
Kristen’s voice rose, and Rider jerked his attention back to her, his diaphragm lurching with regret and disappointment. For a while there, he'd actually thought his angel-doctor believed him.
She was talking on the phone, as she referred to the comlink, he finally realized, relaxing a bit in relief. At least the threat wasn't imminent. He started to crash into the room and rip the phone out of the wall, but he paused first, wondering who she'd contacted.
"No, Moira, I won't. Now listen to me. If you don't call them off, they're going to arrest him, or both of us. For the last time, I am not a hostage. And I am not going to tell you where I am."
She paused, listening, and Rider leaned against the doorway watching her. She rubbed her forehead with one hand.
"I promise. As soon as I can. Moira, please trust me." She laughed shakily. "I have no idea what I'm doing either, but, for some strange reason, it feels like the right thing."
Rider straightened and walked over to the desk. She looked up, startled, her eyes wide and bright, her throat working as she swallowed.
"I—I've got to go now. Take care, and t-tell Bill I'll talk to him as soon as I can. No, I'm f-fine. Bye."
Rider took the handset from her and slammed it down on the base, then picked them both up and jerked them out of the wall, garnering a cruel satisfaction when she flinched.
"Have a nice talk?" He propped one hip on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms.
"I told Moira to take me off the missing persons list." She gripped her mug with whitened fingers.
"Why?" He had gleaned that much from her side of the conversation. What he couldn't figure out was why she'd done it. She still didn't completely trust him, that was obvious, and he sure as hell didn't trust her. Had the conversation been a ruse, staged just for him? He didn't think so. She had a glimmer of the telepathic sense she'd passed along to her deviant descendants, but she wasn't trained in deception, she wasn't conditioned to perform impeccably under adverse conditions. He shook his head. If she'd known he was listening to her, she would have been stammering and nervous during the whole conversation, just like she was at the end. She'd never have been able to carry it off that calmly.
He focused on her face. She was watching him apprehensively. "I asked why. Why did you tell her to call off the cops?"
She shrugged, never taking her eyes off him. "I don't know. It seemed easier not having to deal with two sets of pursuers."
"So, have you decided I'm not a mongrel?"
"A what?"
"A barking mongrel. Psychotic."
She blinked and looked away. Yep, he was right. She still didn't believe him. So why was she acting like she did?
Her shoulders moved in a small shrug and she answered his unasked question. "You believe in yourself."
Rider felt like he'd been punched. Her words cut across his heart like a laser. Did he? Did he believe in himself? He'd never thought in those terms. At least not any more. The TAINCC conditioned self-centeredness out of you. The concentration was on the target. Being centered on yourself was a distraction, almost as much of a distraction as desire.
Kristen was still talking. He forced himself to listen to her.
"You have no doubt about who I am," she said, "or what your mission is." She looked up at him and he had to look away. Her Deviant, gold shot eyes could see too deeply into his soul. "You are confused about how you feel about me."
"Stop it," he growled. "Stop getting inside me like a—like a Deviant." His gut spasmed and hot sickness washed over him. "Just get the hell out of my head."
Kristen recoiled at his words, shock and hurt on her face. He wanted to reach out and pull her close, tell her he was sorry, but his insides were churning and his brain was whirling. He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, she was toying with an appliance of some kind. A breeze of familiarity brushed the edge of his brain and knotted his stomach, but when he tried to identify what was so familiar, it blew away. "What's that?"
"What?"
He nodded toward her hand. "That."
"Oh. Skipper's computer."
He snorted, ignoring the flutter of apprehension the word computer brought to his brain. "Yeah, right." He grabbed her wrist. "Now, what is it, another type of communications link?"
"You're hurting me. No. It's just a computer." She was prepared to wrench her hand out of his grasp, so rather than snap her wrist, he let go.
He stared at the bulky box. "That's right," he muttered to himself. "Bionanochips weren't popular until the twenty-fourth century."
"Bionano—?" Kristen stared at him.
He hadn't realized he'd been speaking aloud. "It's a genetically engineered virus that functions as a computer chip. You can build—" He stopped. Kristen's face reflected total bewilderment. "Never mind. So what are you doing with this—computer?"
"I was thinking about looking at Skipper's files. You know, I told you I hadn't been here since he died. He was working on a project. Looking at the genetics of empathy. You know, a gene that carries empathy."
A gene. A link. A strange hope began to build in his breast. What if her brother was right? What if Rider had stumbled across a way to accomplish his mission without having to kill her? He quelled the traitorous thoughts that rose like the bile in his throat. "Let's look at it."
Kristen shrugged. "I've never been in Skip's computer, and he was always a little paranoid. He had a conspiracy theory about everything. He even thought our parents’ deaths weren’t accidental. I may not be able to access it." She turned on the device. A harsh grinding and buzzing began.
"What's wrong with it?" Rider asked, eyeing the box. Something was definitely familiar about it, although by the twenty-sixth century every person had a biocomlink, a tiny voice-activated device implanted in the ear. The idea of having to enter commands with your fingers was unheard of in his time. So why was it familiar to him? And why did it trigger disturbing snatches of memories he couldn't capture and couldn't stop?
"Nothing's wrong with it. It's just booting up."
"Sure is slow." Rider watched her as they waited for the antiquated contraption to power up. Her profile was so perfect, so delicate, that it made his heart hurt. She was so beautiful. He swallowed against a faint sickness as his gaze devoured the curve of her neck, the slight upward tilt of her chin, her delicately rounded lips, the short straight nose.
Damn. He was almost beginning to feel human again. Very sick, and major confused, but human.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rider saw a pale blue screen with several icons on it. Kristen sucked air between her teeth as she clicked on one of them. Nothing happened. She sighed and clicked on another one. A small window opened. "Password," she muttered.
"Password? Like an entry code?"
"Right. I told you Skipper was paranoid."
"What can you do?"
"I'll have to guess his password. Skipper thought everybody was out to get us, plus he loved games. The password won't be his birthday or mine, I can tell you that."
She tapped a fingernail lightly on the keys. Her brow furrowed in concentration. "Plus, he's probably got a lockout on it. If I get it wrong too many times we'll never get in."
"So if he didn't use your birthdays and I'm guessing you don't think he used your name, then what?"
"I don't know. It could be a randomly generated set of numbers and letters." She pushed air out between her teeth. "But that's not like Skipper."
"Wouldn't he use something you could figure out?"
Kristen glanced at him and smiled. "If that was what he was going for, he'd make the password ihavenoidea."
Rider laughed, noticing how stiff his face was. How long had it been since he'd really laughed? "Didn't have much faith in your computer skills, did he?" he said, earning a glare "Hey, it was your joke."
She bit her lip and ran her fingers through her short black hair. "Password. Three tries. Skipper, this is serious. Come on!"
Rider couldn't take his eyes off her. When she bit her lip, he yearned to be her teeth. His fingers twitched to be the ones running themselves through her silky hair. He had to force his brain to concentrate on the computer.
"So what means something to you and your brother that nobody else in the world would know?"
"Favorite color? Baseball team? How should I know? You don't understand. Skipper didn't think like other people. He was so smart—a genius." Her lips curved into a sweet smile of memory as her eyes glazed slightly.
Compassion twisted Rider's insides. "Come on, Doc. Think. Something between the two of you. Something he knew you'd know."
Her eyes focused on his face. "Whale songs!"
He stared at her. "Whale songs?"
"Sure. You know, the beautiful calls of the whales to each other?"
Rider frowned. "Whales. The ancient sea creatures? I thought they were a myth."
She stared at him. "Oh, Rider. Are they gone? Oh, no." Her eyes filled with tears.
"What? What are you talking about?"
"The whales. Oh, Rider, they're so beautiful, and so intelligent. I've got to show you. I can't believe we let them die!"
"Doc! Worry about the whales later. Do you think whale songs is the password?"
"It's what Skipper always said my thoughts sounded like. See, I could sometimes figure out what he was thinking. It was almost like words inside me, but he said mine was more like a whale song. A pretty, melodic tune that he would have to try and figure out from the sound—" Her voice trailed off into memory.
Rider put his hand on her shoulder. He wasn't sure if it was to stop her words that searched out the places inside him where the conditioning had buried his past, or to stop her painful memories. "Try it."
"It's not that simple. Just 'whalesongs' is too easy. Passwords are getting more and more complicated, to keep hackers from figuring them out." She made a growling noise and lightly banged her fist on the desk. "He used to say that words mean nothing to a computer."
"What does that mean?"
"Computers translate everything into binary. It's all numbers." She looked at him. "Don't you know anything about computers?"
He grimaced. "I'm a tank, remember. I don't know anything about anything. At least, I don't remember," he lied. The trouble was, he was beginning to remember more and more. Her manipulations of the ancient device had triggered a chain reaction in his brain. He remembered using an old-fashioned keyboard computer, sitting in a dusty office with pale sunlight streaking in through dirty windows. He remembered staring out the window, thinking about Mari. He shuddered, and clenched his jaw against the disturbing thoughts.
"I'm sorry," she said.
Rider stared at her. She always knew when he was hurting. Rousing himself, he forced his thoughts back to the problem at hand. "What would whale songs be in binary?"
Her eyes lit up. "Let's see. W is the what—? Twenty-third letter in the alphabet. And in binary, 23 would be—damn it, Skipper. You know I hate binary!" She slammed a fist onto the keyboard.
"Careful, Doc. Don't break the computer."
She glared at him. "You want to try it?" She pulled a pad and a pencil from a drawer. "Let's see, twenty-three. Two times four is eight, two times eight is sixteen, two times sixteen is—no. It has to be sixteen." She counted on her fingers. "One, two, four, eight, sixteen. Fifth position. And twenty-three minus sixteen is seven, and seven is less than eight—"
She scribbled on the pad, muttering to herself, while Rider watched the top of her head. She ran her fingers through the mop of curly hair, mussing it and making his heart throb with her loveliness.
"That means there's a zero in the—"
After dozens of scraps of precious paper were thrown in the trash, and the pencil had to be sharpened four times, she sat back and rubbed her eyes and flexed her shoulders. "I think that's it. You want to check the numbers?"
He shook his head. "Be my guest," he said. "I was into history not math."
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing. Go ahead."
Kristen typed the numbers carefully, paused, then hit the ENTER key. Incorrect password. The empty text window reappeared. "No!" she cried, then slumped in the chair. "It's not binary—or it's not whalesongs—or I did it wrong."
"Would he have written it down somewhere?" Rider asked. "I don't know much about all this. With comlinks, each person's link is coded with his DNA so that he's instantly identifiable and nontransferable."
Kristen stared at him. "DNA? And you're worried about somebody knowing—or caring—what you're thinking?"
"What?" he asked. "There's nothing private about DNA. It's not the same thing."
"Except that it could prove that you were at a particular place. It can prove that you're related to someone else. It can prove you raped or killed someone. It can be used to trace every single member of your family."
"Right," he said, frowning at her. "Like I said. Not private. Not like thoughts."
She shook her head in wonder.
"Well?" he continued. "Would he have written it down somewhere?"
Kristen leaned back in the chair and pushed her fingers through her hair. "I don't know. I don't think so. If it were hidden somewhere, then someone could find it."
"But he had to make sure you could find it."
She sighed. She was so tired and so frustrated. "Skipper," she said, sitting up again. "Please, give me something." She put her fingers on the keyboard. "I'm out of ideas."
The computer made a small bell-like sound and a link appeared.
"What's that?" Rider asked.
Kristen was already reaching for the mouse. "It says password hint. Bless you Skip." She clicked on the link.
HI K, USE YOUR SENSES. WHAT'S RIGHT UNDER MY NOSE?
Rider leaned over to read the small print and a strand of his hair tickled Kristen's nose. "What's he talking about?"
"I'm not sure," she said. "What's right under my nose? The keyboard. The desk. The chair." She looked around the desktop. "The lamp. A mug filled with pens."
Before she finished saying that, Rider picked up the mug and emptied it. A dozen or so pens scattered across the desk, along with a few paper clips, a quarter and three pennies and a dust ball the size of a marble.
"Nothing there," she said. "Do you want to check the bottom of the lamp?"
Rider quickly turned the lamp base over. "It's solid. Want me to break it?" He shook it. "I don't think there's anything in there."
"What's right under my nose?" Kristen repeated. She looked down at her nose. "Well, there's my mouth."
"Your mouth?"
"My mouth." She looked back at the screen. "Hi K, use your senses," she read aloud. "What's right under my nose. My nose." She stared at the words. "His nose!" she cried. "What's right under his nose."
She turned to Rider. "His mouth. His mouth! His mouse!" It made sense now. Now that she'd stopped and read his hint carefully. She jumped up and ran into his bedroom.
Where was it?
"What is it you're looking for?" Rider asked.
"His mouse," she said, looking around. There were shelves lining one side of his room, stuffed with books. In front of the books were a few small things he'd stuck on the shelves. A clock she'd given him. A couple of photos of their parents in little frames. A bowl with pocket change in it. A ceramic box he'd picked up somewhere that he liked. "I don't see it."
"Tell me what it is. What kind of mouse?" Rider said with a note of impatience in his v
oice.
"It's a mouse. A stuffed toy. He had it when he was little. It's missing one ear and I had to sew a button on once for its eye, so the eyes don't match. But he loved that little thing."
"A stuffed toy?"
"What can I say? Skipper was always paranoid." She finished scanning the shelves and went over to the bed. There was nothing remotely similar to a stuffed toy on his bedside table. She got down on her hands and knees and looked under the bed. And there it was. Ragged, stained, lying in a layer of dust that almost obscured it.
She reached until she got her fingers on it. "Here it is!" she cried, pushing herself to her feet. Her shirt was covered with dust, but she didn't care. She shook the little mouse to get rid of the dust. Then she held it out to Rider. "You're going to have to tear into it. I can't."
He took the mouse and deftly ripped its head off.
Kristen made a pained sound and closed her eyes.
"Here it is, whatever it is," Rider said.
When she opened her eyes, she saw a small flash drive in his hand. "Oh my God," she said. "That's it!" She ran back to the computer and plugged the flash drive into the USB port.
Rider followed her.
She watched as the computer screen changed from the sign-on screen to the flash drive. Then, to her dismay, another password window popped up. "Skipper, damn it!" she muttered.
"Now try whalesongs," Rider said.
She glanced at him sidelong, then typed in the binary code for the letters in the word whalesongs. Another window opened and a young man with black hair and green eyes very much like Kristen's appeared.
She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
Rider had no doubt that the man was her brother, Skipper.
"Hey Krissy. I knew you could do it. I know this sounds clichéd but if you're watching this, then I'm probably dead."
"Oh, God. Oh Skip—" her words dissolved into sobs.
Rider watched her crumple before his eyes. He wanted to reach out to her, but he knew instinctively that he couldn't do anything to help her through this. It had to be heartbreaking to find out that her brother had known he was going to die. He started to touch her shoulder, to try and give her some encouragement, but he stopped his hand as Skipper continued talking.