Progenitor

by Cassandra Chandler

  But the outside…

  She rose to her feet. Her stomach churned, but she took the hand he offered and let him pull her back onto his lap. Onto Dexter’s lap.

  “I want you to explain,” she said. “Everything. Right now.”

  She couldn’t remember ever speaking to anyone so harshly. And for the first time in her life, she didn’t care.

  “I’m part of a dweller that’s known as a hydra. The original body and consciousness is mine. Brock.”

  He held up his hand, like he was answering a roll call. It would have been a cute gesture a minute ago. Now, she fought to keep from flinching.

  “When I turned eighteen, I…split,” he said. “There’s no other word for it. It was agonizing. Terrifying. At least my dad was there, but neither of us had any idea what was happening. A replicant emerged from my body. An exact copy. And then, the poor bastard split again. Into a right and a left replicant.”

  He held up his right hand and then his left. “Dexter and Porter. That’s what I named them.”

  “So, there are three of you,” Meg said.

  “Not exactly.”

  Of course, “not exactly”. Nothing was straightforward or clear with this man. Like the way she wanted to rip out his throat and kiss him at the same time.

  Except she didn’t actually want to kill him at the moment. And she wasn’t scared of him like she’d been before. The cold and aloof version of Brock must have been when Dexter had control of his body. Now she knew how to tell them apart.

  “Dexter and Porter have two bodies, but they only have one mind between them,” he said. “One consciousness, anyway.”

  “Okay. Three bodies, but two minds.”

  “To start with,” Brock said.

  She let out an exasperated sigh. “How many bodies and minds do you have now?”

  “I only have my own mind, but all of our consciousnesses are linked through me. And I can borrow any of their bodies that I want.”

  “How many?” she insisted.

  “There are eight of them. Nine counting my original body.”

  Nine. Nine different parts of one whole. No wonder Roy didn’t want her to lash out at Dexter. What would be the point, if there were eight more versions of him walking around?

  “But only four consciousnesses, aside from my own,” Brock said. “They call me the progenitor. The origin point.”

  The true head of the hydra.

  It was Brock. Brock’s body, anyway. She hadn’t found it yet, but now she knew what it was. And the truth about her mission as well.

  She wasn’t here to kill Dexter. She was here to kill Brock.

  A shiver passed over her skin as the last bit of hope that he could be spared left her. She felt sick to her stomach, the food she’d enjoyed so much threatening to come back up.

  Brock hadn’t been the one to destroy her pack. He’d been nothing but kind to her. How could she betray him? Surely there was some way to kill Dexter directly. Brock was being so forthcoming. Maybe if she asked, he’d just tell her.

  “My dad still can’t figure out what the hell it is about my physiology,” Brock said. “All the tests show me being one-hundred percent human. But I split every three years on my birthday. The last time, I nearly died. All of us did. We’re pretty sure this one’s going to kill me.”

  Tessa had been going on about having more time…

  “Brock, when is your next birthday?” Meg asked.

  “In two days.” He let out a tight laugh. “Happy big three-o.”

  Roy must not know that Brock was already dying. Meg’s whole mission wasn’t necessary. Relief and sadness warred within her.

  “Are you sure you won’t survive?” she asked.

  “My body is barely hanging on as it is. I can’t stand or even sit up without help.” He shook his head sharply, deep furrows cutting into the skin between his eyebrows. “Even if they manage to keep my body alive, my mind can’t handle the load anymore and will probably shut down. We’re not sure how that will affect the replicants, but I’ll be in a coma for the rest of my life, however long that is.” He laughed, but the sound was joyless. “At least I only have to die one more time.”

  “You’ve died before?”

  “Not me exactly. But any time the replicants die, I feel it along with them.”

  “I thought you said there were nine of you. If some of them have died, why are there still so many?”

  “Whenever a replicant dies, the remaining ‘twin’ splits again. There are always two of them. Only one goes into dangerous situations at a time to make sure the other is safe and can split if their ‘other half’ dies.”

  Meg remembered Roy celebrating when he thought he’d killed Dexter. Roy had been kinder to her afterwards. But then, when they found out through the grapevine that Dexter had taken out a different pack, Roy had gone ballistic. It had been the worst beating she’d ever received.

  She shivered at the memory. Brock pulled her closer against his chest. Against Dexter’s chest.

  “Why are you telling me all this?” she said.

  “Because Tessa needs you. My family needs you. When I’m gone, I need to know that they’ll be okay. That my dad will be safe—and Vaughn. I don’t know why, but Tessa goes after him, too. It’s like she just goes crazy, hearing that voice in her head. She calls it ‘the puppetmaster’. Marcus says he hears a voice, too. His dweller. But he can handle it better than she can.”

  “It must be part of the curse,” she said.

  The furrow between his eyebrows deepened. “What curse?”

  “Lycanthropy. The curse of being a werewolf.”

  Brock chuckled. “I thought you were glad to be turned.”

  “I was. I am. But it’s still a curse. I don’t know what else to call it.”

  “With werewolves, we usually say that you’ve been ‘colonized’.”

  “Colonized by what?”

  “Alien parasites.”

  The thought of little green aliens running through her system was…fairly disturbing. But so far removed from reality, she couldn’t keep herself from laughing.

  “I suppose they were implanted with a prober by one of those tall gray aliens with the big black eyes?” She smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back.

  “What Scifi fans call ‘grays’, we call dopplegangers. The little shits love to mess with people, but they’re relatively harmless. The Blades don’t have a kill order on them.”

  “I’ve never met a doppleganger, but I’ve heard they’re one of the most dangerous types of fairy.”

  “Fairy?”

  “Yeah. They’re part of the Unseelie court. Humans would think of them as the bad guys, but there really aren’t ‘good guys’ among those who are born fey. Present company excluded, of course.”

  “Okay, now I’m confused,” Brock said.

  “You know, the born fey? Fairies start out magic instead of being cursed or bewitched like monsters are.”

  He cocked his head to the side as he stared at her. “Wait a minute. You do know that fairies aren’t real, right?”

  She laughed again. “Right. Like hydra and werewolves and trolls aren’t real. How can you not believe?”

  “I do believe those beings are real, but they aren’t fairies. They’re dwellers.”

  “You keep using that word. I’ve never heard it before.”

  His eyes widened. “You’re kidding me. The pack didn’t explain what you are after they turned you?”

  “They did. I’m the omega.”

  “But did they tell you where we all came from? What dwellers are?”

  “They didn’t have to. I’ve read enough to know about monsters and fairies.”

  “I don’t quite know how to react to this.” Brock shook his head, letting out a little laugh. “Meg, you’re not a monster or a fairy or a ‘cursed’ human. You have been colonized by an alien parasite.”

  “Very funny.”

  He kept staring at her, his expression earnest. She could a
lmost—almost—forget whose body she was sitting on.

  “It’s not a joke,” he said. “Thousands of years ago, a spaceship crashed on Earth. It was filled with alien life forms that escaped into our ecosystem. They had to join with the native species to survive, creating hybrids.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “How is that more believable than fairies?”

  “Well, for one thing, I’ve seen the ship myself.”

  “People can make things—”

  “Meg. I’m on the ship right now. That’s where my body is. Hundreds of feet below the Earth in a cave system beneath the ranch.”

  “But… Maybe Vaughn built it,” she said.

  “To do what? Trick people into thinking aliens are real? He’s only let half a dozen people even go near it.”

  “But his inventions—”

  “Come from the ship,” Brock finished for her. “I mean, yeah, Vaughn is insanely brilliant, but he’s the first to admit he’d never have been able to make the advances and discoveries he’s come up with without using the alien tech as a baseline.”

  “I’m not an alien.”

  Roy had told her they were monsters. It was part of why he kept losing control. Why he needed her to keep the curse at bay.

  Why he hurt her so much.

  Brock lifted his arms around her and tapped on his watch. Lights appeared above the table forming a partial outline of a ship that looked like something out of a Scifi movie. Then again, the lights themselves looked like something out of a Scifi movie.

  The outline filled in, presenting a transparent view of the back end of a ship. It slowly rotated in front of her.

  “Is this a hologram?” she asked.

  “Something like that. It’s fully interactive. Go ahead.”

  She reached toward the glowing blue image, cautiously touching it with her fingertips. The panel she tapped disappeared, letting her see inside the ship more clearly.

  “This is so cool,” she said.

  “If you use both hands, you can zoom in or turn it to see better.”

  “Are you supposed to be showing me this?”

  “No, so you better hurry up before we get caught.”

  She dropped her hands to her lap and turned back to him. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  “Relax. I’m the leader of the Blades, remember? Kind of like their alpha.”

  “You don’t act like any alpha I’ve ever met.” Her heart seemed to stutter for a moment when she realized the implications of her words. If she’d said something like that to Roy, she would have earned a beating.

  Brock only laughed. “I try not to be a dick about it. Unlike Dexter.”

  He sneered a bit when he said the name. Was it possible he didn’t like Dexter, either?

  “He’s a part of you,” Meg said. “Isn’t he?”

  “Not exactly. I mean, he came from me, but each replicant consciousness has his own personality. Even the right and left bodies are a little different after each split.”

  “This whole concept is confusing.”

  “Tell me about it.” He shook his head. “Our relationships are complicated. My dad wishes I’d see them all as brothers—like he views them as his sons—but that’s not easy. I have to keep them in check.” His lips pulled into a thin line and he shook his head. “I’m still furious over what they did to you.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Meg said. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m glad you’re fine, but it’s not something I can overlook.” He lifted his hand to her cheek and gently stroked her skin. “I’m so sorry.”

  She didn’t know what to say in the face of such kindness. She was spared from trying to think of something when the image of the ship blinked out.

  Brock let out a sigh, then smirked at her. “Busted.”

  The monitor hanging on the wall to their right flicked on. Vaughn was centered in the screen, nothing but white walls behind him, like on the level she’d first been in when she arrived. Meg wasn’t used to seeing him frown.

  “Brock, we’ve been over this,” Vaughn said. “I don’t care how much you want to impress the new girl. You can’t tell her about my ship to do it. Use your winning personality or something.”

  Brock laughed. “I’m not trying to impress her. She didn’t know she’s an alien hybrid.”

  “What?” Vaughn’s eyebrows hiked up his forehead. “I thought all dwellers knew that.”

  “So did I,” Brock said. “She doesn’t even know the word ‘dweller’.”

  “We’re not aliens.” Meg clamped her lips shut, but the words were already out.

  “See what I mean?” Brock gestured to Meg with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her waist.

  Could Vaughn see them? But then he knew Meg was still sitting in Brock’s lap. Her cheeks tingled and no doubt had turned bright red.

  “I don’t understand,” Vaughn said.

  Brock shrugged. “She thinks we’re fairies.”

  “Fairies?” Vaughn’s smile returned as he laughed. “Oh wait. You’re serious?”

  “Werewolves aren’t fairies,” Meg said. “We’re monsters. Fairies are the ones who are born magic, remember?”

  Brock shook his head, then turned to the monitor. “You see why I was showing her the ship?”

  “Yeah.” Vaughn let out a deep sigh. “I guess that means she doesn’t know what a curator is.”

  Brock looked up at Meg.

  “Sorry, I’ve never heard of that, either,” she said. “Well, except for the ones who organize museum exhibits or art shows.”

  “I’m guessing dwellers mean something different when they use the word.” Vaughn looked at Brock. “I’ll give you a pass this time. You should bring her to ops so I can help you explain better.”

  “We’re on our way,” Brock said.

  The monitor went dark again.

  Brock smiled up at her. “Damn.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “To go downstairs, I’m going to have to stop holding you like this.”

  She felt herself smile back. “There are other ways to hold people.”

  Taking his hand in hers, she stood, gently urging him to follow. As soon as he was on his feet, she pulled his arm over her shoulder, then wrapped her arm around his waist.

  Their sides were pressed together as they smiled at each other. Held eye contact, and smiled.

  There was no dominance, no threat. Only that warmth that always seemed to fill her when he was near.

  His voice had a bit of a rasp to it as he said, “Shall we?”

  Chapter Seven

  “Welcome to my humble abode.” Vaughn greeted them with a bow as they entered his ops center. Brock would have to thank Vaughn for the lengths he was going to, trying to make Meg feel welcome.

  “You live here?” Meg asked. Her gaze quickly passed over the plain white walls, floor, and ceiling, then lingered for a moment on Vaughn’s desk.

  It looked like a shiny chrome counter jutting out from the one wall that was “decorated”. At least a dozen monitors of various sizes covered the space above his desk.

  “I don’t actually live here.” Vaughn let out a sigh. “It just feels like it most of the time.”

  “It’s hard to get him to leave the ops center,” Brock said. “Unless he’s in the kitchen.”

  “Hey, all it takes to lure me away from my monitors is the promise of pizza and a romcom marathon.” Vaughn looked back and forth between Meg and Brock when neither responded. “Seriously?”

  “You said you had a presentation?” Brock gestured to the monitors.

  “I do.” Vaughn pushed one of the extra black mesh chairs over to them, then gestured for Meg to sit. “Madam.”

  Meg gave him a small smile and sat down. Vaughn spun the chair around in a couple of quick circles. She let out a surprised squeal, then laughed as he wheeled her closer to his desk.

  Brock would totally give him a raise if Vaughn hadn’t been right about being the main funding source
behind the Blades. Damn, that chafed a little.

  “What about me?” Brock asked. “Don’t I get a ride?”

  Vaughn shrugged as he sat in front of the main console. “You can get your own chair.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Brock wheeled the last free chair over to the table and sat close to Meg.

  Vaughn started typing on the smooth surface of the table, accessing command keys etched into the metal that Brock could barely see. The monitors flickered to life, showing various views of the house, the grounds outside, and a few choice feeds from security cameras scattered throughout Providence that Vaughn had tapped into.

  Meg let out a gasp. “Wow, what is this thing?”

  “This thing is my computer desk. And by computer desk I mean my desk which is also a computer.” Vaughn pointed at a smooth square and then the etched area, saying, “Trackpad. Keyboard. And the entire desk is the CPU chassis. If you could crack it open—which only I can, because it’s keyed to my DNA—you’d see that pretty much the entire interior is motherboards, processors—”

  “We get it, Vaughn,” Brock said. “You’re super smart.”

  “Super-duper smart.” Vaughn grinned at Meg.

  She smiled back and said, “Wow.”

  “This is nothing.” Brock leaned closer. “Remember the hoverbike we rode in on?”

  Her smile grew. “How could I ever forget?”

  “Vaughn’s design.”

  “Seriously?” She stared at Vaughn with wide eyes.

  “And lovingly built with these surprisingly soft hands.” He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. When Brock and Meg just stared at him, Vaughn added, “Okay, that was a little weird. Anyway… If you’ll direct your attention to the central monitor, we can begin the show.”

  He typed in more commands, bringing up a video file Brock instantly recognized. It was from a recent patrol Lee had recorded to get Vaughn better data on pixies. One of their newer recruits, Rose, was running the camera.

  A glowing blue light whizzed across the screen a few times, darting through a field dotted with pale mushrooms. Brock had to admit, the scene did look pretty magical. He could understand Meg’s confusion, even if he was still baffled by her pack lying to her about their origins.