by Marie Brown
Life became increasingly strange for Kevran. Gone was his easygoing good humor, his willingness to laugh troubles away. A brooding quiet grew in its place, along with a state of nervous tension. Under the surface of his thoughts, Kev could feel a nameless longing. He grew listless and discontent. He argued with Kellina frequently, over her protectiveness, over her concern. . . over anything.
Soon he was able to put his finger on what was bothering him: the Mask. He wanted to have his Mask back. Without it, he was nothing- not human, not. . . other. He managed, despite the alarming chunks of missing time, to find where it was kept.
It was in a locked box. He could feel it within, calling to him in a voice that matched his own longing. But he couldn't break the lock, he could only stand there and stroke the hard plastic surface.
Kellina found him in the lab. "Kevran?"
No answer. She flipped on the light switch. "Kev, I know you're in here, Joel saw you come in here hours ago and never leave. . ." Her voice trailed off as she saw him at last.
He was on the floor, curled tightly around a plastic box. Tear tracks ran down his face from red and swollen eyes. "Help us, Kellina," he begged.
Us?
"We can't be apart like this. . . we're dying in here, in this dark airless place. We need to be complete. . ."
"What do you mean? Kev, are you okay?" She knelt beside him and felt his forehead. He was cold and clammy.
"No, not okay. . . must be complete."
She checked his pulse, to find it thready and racing. His breathing was shallow. Suddenly he burst into activity, trying to get into the box. He whimpered in frustration, then clutched the box to his chest, panting from the brief exertion.
"Help us. . ."
Kellina sighed. She thought she knew what was in that box, the mask they had removed from Kevran. Perhaps it was more important than anyone had realized at first. She pried the box loose from Kevran's grip and examined it. He kept reaching for it, pleading with his eyes.
It had a simple combination lock on it. She fiddled carefully with the tumblers, feeling the slight catch whenever she passed the right number. She had all three of the numbers in the right order quickly and the box popped open. Kevran sprang forward with a cry and was in the mask before she had a chance to blink.
"Ahhhh. . ."
Kevran sighed with intense relief and sank back against the wall. The bars of the mask framed his brown eyes, which went utterly blank. The pupils were mere pinpricks, nearly invisible. He turned that blank stare on Kellina and smiled.
"We thank you, human."
Kellina shrank back from that harsh, cold, inhuman voice. "Who—what are you?"
"We are the one you know as Kevran, but more. We are complete now."
Kevran gazed at his surroundings with wonder. This was surely how things were meant to be seen, this glorious clarity brought by the Mask, everything in preternaturally sharp detail, outlined in colors no mere human was capable of seeing. He saw the female—Kellina, whispered a small voice of humanity—move away from him in a predictable reaction to the voice distortion. Humans were incapable of hearing the beauty of the tones produced by the Mask. To another of his own kind, the voice of the Mask would be as sweet as the finest music.
"Kev—" the human started to speak, then paused and swallowed. She tried again, with more success. "Kevran. What happened just then? Why do you sound different? Why are your eyes like that?"
"It is the Mask," he said simply. Humans were such limited creatures. They had no appreciation for the subtleties of the Mask.
Something inside of him responded to the human's disturbance at a deep emotional level. He smiled in an attempt to be reassuring. "Do not worry," he said. "We are still Kevran, and we still love you."
"I hope so," Kellina muttered, quietly enough that an ordinary human wouldn't have heard.
Part Seven
Kellina sat in the darkness, alone. There was no one else up at this hour, save the poor souls with the night watch. She could feel the hum of the Zelda's interstellar drive as it propelled them through space in search of yet another asteroid belt to mine.
She shifted on the cold metal. Ahead of her was the airlock door. All it would take was a single push of a button, and it would all be over. No more worries about Kevran, no more fear of what he had become over the last few weeks. . . Why hadn't he stayed dead? It was easier to deal with the news of his disappearance and probable death on the asteroid than it was dealing with the Mask.
He had changed, without a doubt. Whatever the unknown enemy had done to him had changed him completely. Kevran no longer bore even a superficial resemblance to the light-hearted, cheerful man she'd contracted with. The Mask had changed all that.
She shuddered at the thought of the obscene thing, stretching its twin bars across his face from temple to temple. It was disgusting, unclean. . . She hated the sight of it, hated the way it made his pupils shrink to mere pinpricks and turned his voice into a harsh, nearly metallic croak. She hated even worse the way he spoke of it. . . as if it were a living entity. More, as if it were the most important living entity ever to exist, worlds away more important than her. He always spoke of himself as we now, and she was not a part of that we. Only the Mask, only that revolting piece of technology which had stolen her lover away.
She smiled at the blackness outside. Before, she had held on to life because she didn't want to hurt Kev. But now—now, she wasn't sure he would even notice if she was gone. Now there was nothing to hold her here.
She slammed a fist into the unforgiving metal of the deck in sudden anger. "Damn you! Why are you doing this to me? I thought you loved me!"
Love. It was supposed to be strong enough to withstand anything. But whoever said that had never had to deal with a situation like this. A loved one missing, presumed dead, who returned miraculously. . . only changed. Full of little metal implants, which kept all internal organs functioning smoothly, completely at one with the alien technology of the Mask. No longer human, but something else. Something more, he'd said.
"Something less," she muttered resentfully. Emotionless, cold, inhuman; he no longer cared for anything except that Mask.
Especially not her.
There was no room left in his heart, if he even still had one, for her. He had made that painfully obvious today.
"What is wrong?" he'd asked, finding her alone in their quarters. The harsh, distorted voice had made her jump.
"Nothing." She refused to look at him, to look at that thing.
"We don't think that is true. If there were nothing wrong, then why would you sit all alone?" He sat on the couch beside her.
"Who else would sit with me?"
"We would."
"Kevran. . ." she sighed. "Is there anything special about today?"
"We do not know. How do you mean, special?"
"Special as in unusual, as in remembering that something different happened—oh, say, two years ago, on this date?"
His blank look had torn her heart out. "We don't know what you mean."
"Nothing, like I said." The depression had settled firmly upon her then. She rose to leave the room. "If you don't remember our anniversary, that's your problem, not mine."
Whatever he was now, he was not her Kevran any longer. Her Kevran would have remembered, would have planned some extravagant evening, would have pampered her outrageously. . . not just given her a blank stare and a pathetic attempt to find out her problem. He really didn't care.
The pain of her loss twisted within her. She turned slowly, fixing her gaze upon the glowing red light of the airlock control. It would be so easy. . . just a single touch, and no more worries about Kevran ever again. . .
Her hand caressed the button lightly. Memories played through her mind of Kevran courting her, of Kevran loving her, of Kevran just being himself. She felt hot tears steaming down her cheeks and let them fall. Her Kevran was no more. Whatever inhabited his body now was a cold, inhuman machine, with no
emotions left to care about her.
"I love you, Kev," she whispered, then pressed the button.
Part Eight
"We thank you for bringing the information."
Kevran shut the door in the human's face and stood for a moment in stunned disbelief. Then he turned to face the room he had shared with Kellina, up until her departure several hours ago. The part of him which stubbornly remained human fell into complete shock. He had just that day determined that he would ask Kellina's help to return to humanity, rather than continue to become whatever he was now. He had been shaken by her revelation that this was their anniversary, because he had not remembered at all. Kellina herself just hadn't seemed that important, not when compared to the Mask. And now the Mask was all he had left. . .
Kevran moved slowly to the seating unit and sat, reaching for the framed holo which stood on the end table. It showed Kellina and himself, both smiling, on the day they contracted. . . two years ago today. The Mask symbiont was disturbed as human emotions directed tears to fall slowly from his blank eyes.
"Forgive me, Kellina. . ." he whispered, but there was no response. There would never be a response again.
An unknown length of time later, a voice intruded upon Kevran's private misery.
Come to me. It is time.
"What?" he said aloud, startled from his silence. The voice had come from nowhere and had only sounded through the Mask, rather than the pathetically weak human ears.
Come, Kevran. It is time now.
"Time for what?" Kevran looked around, but could see nothing.
It is time for you to join us. Go to your ship.
"Why should I?" Resentment flared up in him. How dare someone, even an unseen voice, disturb his mourning!
You do not belong there. You belong here. We are waiting. We are your kind.
Kevran began to feel a compulsion to investigate the voice. Curiosity stirred in his human portion, through the pain of loss. He could feel the symbiont urging him to return to the ship, repair the damage, and go home.
Home.
He looked around the room. Reminders of Kellina were everywhere. Her image in many holos, her favorite wallscreen, her sweater laying over the back of the chair. . . all twisted in his heart like daggers. Perhaps a change of scenery wouldn't hurt, after all. . . The symbiont urged him strongly. At length, he sat the framed holo back in its accustomed place and rose decisively. There was nothing for him here. Kellina had been the only reason he was staying here anyway, and with no hope of her safe return. . . He'd do just as well to follow the voice in his Mask.
The corridors were hushed. The Zelda was not a large craft, and the loss of one of the bridge crew was felt throughout the entire ship. He was aware of unfriendly eyes on him, aware of the restless mutterings which followed his progress. The human part of Kevran wallowed in guilt, hearing and agreeing with the accusations. It was all his fault. If he hadn't changed so much, Kellina would still be alive. If he had never come back, she would have been fine. It was all his fault. . .
The symbiont guided Kevran's body effortlessly through the Zelda until the objective was in sight. Then Kevran was jolted into awareness as the symbiont cried out in pain. An unseen barrier blocked his progress, keeping him from his ship.
Kevran allowed the human portion of himself to surface and deal with this problem. He looked around and noticed a shield generator box mounted on the wall, with a glowing red light. He walked over and touched it. The Mask stripped data on its workings from it with contempt and made the necessary adjustments. The light switched to green and the barrier dropped.
The ship waited for him, sleek and elegant. He touched the smooth side and was reassured by the welcome he received. Yes, this was the right thing to do. He no longer belonged with these beings. He opened the entry portal and stepped inside.
The severed lifeline was the first thing he saw. He dropped to his knees and picked it up, cradling it protectively.
"What did they do to you?" He felt the ship's pained response through his Mask. He looked around the interior—empty, save for the pilot's chair—and spotted the first aid cabinet. He laid the lifeline down carefully and opened the cabinet. Fortunately, he wasn't the first pilot to have such a mishap, and the Masters had provided the means for healing.
He extracted a small sealer unit carefully and applied it to the lifeline. As soon as it touched, the line incandesced and sealed over. The ship hummed with satisfaction as the lifeline regrew its missing pieces. Kevran, trembling with eagerness, returned the sealer unit to the cabinet and placed the lifeline ends against the temple receivers on the Mask.
A feeling of rightness permeated him. He sank into the supportive embrace of the chair and powered up his engines. Ahead of him was the open shuttle bay. It was the work of a moment for the Mask to command the Zelda's computer to drop the airshield. Kevran turned his shipself into position and launched, reveling in the freedom of once again streaking through the stars.
* * * *
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