Progenitor

by Cassandra Chandler

  It took Meg a moment to remember what ASL stood for. American Sign Language. One of the girls she’d hung out with for a while had taught her a little. Meg had studied more on her own at the library.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Vaughn shrugged. “He’s outdoorsy. I’m agoraphobic.”

  “I don’t know that word.”

  “What, ‘outdoorsy’?” Vaughn said.

  Meg arched an eyebrow at him and scowled.

  Vaughn just laughed. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. It sounds ridiculous, but I’m afraid of being outside. Any large, open spaces freak me out. Like ‘continuous-incapacitating-panic-attacks’ freak me out. That’s why my room is so cozy and I love being in the sublevels so much. The ship is really my favorite place, but even crossing the cave to get to it is hard sometimes.”

  She couldn’t imagine not being able to go outside. At the same time, it didn’t seem like something that should have ended their relationship. It wasn’t like Tony couldn’t go outside by himself.

  “If he didn’t accept that about you, he wasn’t right for you,” she said.

  “Thanks. It was more than that, though. I was recruited by Porter right after college. He actually taught at our school while we were students.” Vaughn laughed again. “The girls were crazy about him, all mysterious and handsome.”

  “I can see that,” Meg said, smiling as well.

  “I couldn’t explain why I was suddenly spending time with this super hot guy. Tony would have thought I was crazy if I’d tried to, talking about dwellers and aliens. And if I’d tried to show him something to prove it to him, that would have put him in danger. I couldn’t even bring him to the ship because my father hadn’t told me about it yet.”

  There was a bitterness to Vaughn’s tone when he mentioned his father. Before she could ask about it, Vaughn went on.

  “Tony started to get jealous,” Vaughn said. “I was hurt that he didn’t trust me. It just kind of spiraled from there.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “But you still have his picture out where you can see it all the time.”

  “Yeah, I guess I do. It’s not so much about remembering him as having a reminder that there’s a normal world out there. A world that’s worth protecting.” Vaughn shook his head and let out a hollow laugh. “Sometimes I think the others don’t know why I do this. Why I work so hard for the Blades and support them with everything I have.”

  “Why do you do it?”

  “Because I believe in Brock’s vision. A world where dwellers and humans can coexist peacefully.”

  Meg had been left behind during her pack’s hunts, but could smell the blood on the others when they returned. Human blood.

  “Some dwellers are too dangerous to live side by side with humans,” she said.

  “So are some humans. And animals, and any number of things. There are many dangers in this world. That doesn’t mean we can write off everything and everyone that’s different.”

  He paused, staring off at nothing. It seemed to take some effort for him to swallow before he could speak again.

  “What I did…” he said. “What I did to Porter… It’s what all Blades have to be ready to do. We have to be ready to fight. Always.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know if I could have done what you did. I mean, I’m not supposed to—”

  “To what? Fight back?” Vaughn snorted. “I bet the real reason they put that collar on you was so they could control you, not to help you control yourself. You were young when you changed, like Marcus. He handles himself just fine.” Vaughn looked aside for a moment. “That sounded wrong.”

  Meg laughed. “He’s an alpha, though.”

  “Why does he get to be alpha? From what you’ve said, you were turned before him.”

  “That’s not how it works. The transformation process is a kind of test to see where you fit in the pack. The longer you fight before giving up, the higher you are in the hierarchy.”

  Her heart was pounding as she wondered if Roy would think this was oversharing, but her collar stayed dormant.

  “I remember Tessa saying something about that when I was interviewing her for the werewolf entry in the Dwellers Database,” Vaughn said. “Something about Marcus’s scars marking him as an alpha.”

  Meg nodded. “Any wounds he sustained after transforming would have healed. And any werewolf would recognize the marks of a turning. They’re very…compelling.”

  “Compelling?”

  “Scars in general, when we see them. They’re the mark of a leader. Someone who will fight to defend who and what they see as their own.”

  “Just wait till you see…” A haunted look shuttered Vaughn’s expression. He shook his head, all trace of mirth gone. “When I see scars, all I can think of is the pain people went through to get them. Pointless pain, like what you put yourself through.”

  “Me?”

  “The collar. You don’t have to shock yourself to keep from hurting people.”

  “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about that,” she said. “Is that okay?”

  He let out a sigh. “Your old pack really did a number on you. Things are different for you here. When you’re able to trust us, I hope you learn to trust yourself enough to let me take off that collar.” He smiled, and said, “And I’ll stop talking about it now.”

  She didn’t know what else to say, so she simply replied, “Thanks.”

  “Sure. But to get back to the original topic, the reason I’m doing this,” he tightened his arm around her shoulders briefly, “is that I’m still super freaked out. You seemed to be, too—at least, when we first arrived. I thought we could both use the comfort.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “In my experience, werewolves are really affectionate with packmates,” Vaughn said.

  Tears pricked at her eyes. Vaughn was claiming her as part of his pack, even though he was human.

  “They are,” she said.

  Not so much with her, but with the others in the pack. She didn’t mention that, just in case Roy was listening.

  Roy would sometimes hold Meg when she was scared or after other members had needed to use her to let out their violent impulses. That was why he’d stayed with her when they went after Marcus’s family. The pack’s beta had lost it earlier that day, and Meg was too freaked out to be alone after what he’d done to her.

  Roy had also made sure no one ever crossed the line and hurt her too badly or in ways that were forbidden. Those moments of affection made the coldness and hatred she also sensed from him that much worse.

  Except she knew better now. She knew his affection had always been a means to an end. Keep her in her position. Maintain the pack structure.

  Feeling Marcus and Tessa hold her was different. Their touch hadn’t been a reward or a way to placate her. It was genuine affection. Meg could feel how much they cared for her already through their embrace.

  And they were stuck in stasis tanks now. She was on her own.

  Vaughn spoke again in his gentle voice. “When Marcus and I became friends, he was really affectionate. We used to watch movies, and he’d put his arm around me. I don’t think he ever realized what he was doing. It led to a little…confusion on my part. But then I realized what was going on. He considers me part of his pack, and that bond goes beyond friends or even family.”

  Vaughn took the picture from her and set it on the coffee table in front of them, then picked up her hand again. This time, when he spoke, he looked directly in her eyes.

  “Megan,” Vaughn said. “You’re not alone.”

  She couldn’t cry, couldn’t let herself. If Roy saw, he might see that her resolve was weakening. He might decide to give up on his plan and just kill her with the collar. He might kill Vaughn, too.

  The collar wasn’t magic. That much she was certain of by now. But the level of technology that had gone into making it… It reminded her of Vaug
hn’s creations.

  Questions poured through her head, making it hard to think. Could it shock other people? Was it a bomb? Who had made it and how?

  “Megan?” Vaughn said.

  “Sorry.” The word came out like a reflex.

  “You don’t have to keep apologizing. Really. Whatever went on with you before, it’s over. You’re with a different pack now. A hell of lot better one.”

  She wanted to say something. To thank him, hug him, let him know that she wasn’t free from her other pack—that they were all in danger as long as she was with them.

  Her eyes filled with tears. She bit her cheek to try to keep them from overflowing, but this time, it didn’t work.

  “Hey, it’s okay.” Vaughn grasped her head and pulled her close, hugging her tight. She clung to him, gripping his shirt to keep from hurting him with her strength, soaking in his warmth as she cried soundlessly into his chest.

  “How did you know?” she whispered. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  “I’ve been besties with Marcus for a long time. I don’t need the pack’s telepathic bond to see when you’re in pain.”

  “What telepathic bond?”

  “You know, the telepathic link transmitted through the infection vector?”

  She pulled back so she could look up at him. “I don’t understand.”

  He laughed, then said, “All the werewolves in one pack can communicate telepathically.” Vaughn stared at her for a few moments. “Right?”

  Her mind started spinning, memories that had never made sense surging to the surface of her thoughts. The pack had been so coordinated, both in hunting their prey and in tormenting her.

  Roy had written everything off as “magic” and told her that the bond of the other packmates was beyond her reach as an omega. She remembered someone in the pack calling her “mindblind”. She’d thought they were calling her stupid.

  But if the others had been linked telepathically, it would explain so much. Including the voice in Tessa’s head urging her to kill.

  “Are you okay?” Vaughn said.

  “I’m fine.” Meg’s voice was high and shrill.

  If Roy was listening, he must not think Meg understood the ramifications of him having a link to Tessa and Marcus. Roy might think Meg was still so loyal that the information wouldn’t make a difference.

  He was wrong.

  She wasn’t the broken woman that Brock and Dexter had rescued from those trolls. And she was done being the omega to a dysfunctional pack.

  The Blades had claimed her, invited her into their hierarchy. Being with them—not just Brock—was what she wanted. She was ready to fight for it.

  She would find a way to warn them all.

  Chapter Eleven

  Brock’s awareness followed Dexter as he entered the ops center. Vaughn glanced up briefly, but then flinched before turning back to his monitors.

  “How was movie night?” Dexter asked.

  “Loads of fun.” Vaughn shrugged one shoulder. “She would have enjoyed it more if it’d been you, though.”

  “We didn’t think Meg was that fond of us,” Dexter said.

  Vaughn turned back to them. “Brock?”

  Dexter smirked. “Try again.”

  Vaughn’s gaze dropped a bit and seemed to get stuck on the fresh scar that circled Dexter’s neck.

  “Don’t worry. We’re going to invest in some turtlenecks,” Dexter said.

  “I’m so sorry—”

  “For what? You did what had to be done. If you hadn’t acted when you did…” For once, Dexter was shielding his thoughts from Brock. Brock could still feel the shiver that passed through Dexter’s body. “That situation wouldn’t have ended well for anyone. We’re still here because of you.”

  “I wish there had been another way.”

  Dexter crossed over to Vaughn and actually reached out to clasp his shoulder. “Let us be more clear in what we’re saying. Thank you.”

  Vaughn’s eyebrows hitched up his forehead. “Are you sure you’re Dexter?”

  When Dexter laughed, Vaughn shrank back from him, holding up his hands.

  “Okay, now you’re just freaking me out,” Vaughn said.

  “Death changes a person.”

  “I thought you’d all died like dozens of times.”

  “The others have. Not us.” Dexter stood and paced a few steps away. “When a replicant dies, they’re shut off from us until after they’ve split. We all know the memory of each other’s pain, but that’s different from going through it ourselves. Only Brock bears the pain of us all as we feel it.”

  Vaughn let out a breath. “Lucky guy.”

  “You’re in a sharing mood,” Brock projected.

  “Like we keep saying, death changes a person.”

  “I was able to get a better look at Meg’s collar during our time together,” Vaughn said. “But I couldn’t do anything more than run passive scans. It seems totally normal—”

  One of the monitors flashed a series of numbers, drawing their attention. Brock recognized bits and pieces. One of Vaughn’s algorithms had been tripped.

  “That doesn’t seem normal,” Dexter said.

  “It isn’t.” Vaughn spun his chair around so that he was facing the screen.

  “Wait, the monitor, or her collar?” Dexter asked.

  “Both.” Vaughn started typing, his fingers flying over the surface of the table. “My scans didn’t reveal anything about the collar. As in, they didn’t even detect that it was there.”

  “That’s odd,” Dexter said.

  “Yeah.” Vaughn only seemed to be half paying attention. “I’m working on some modifications to the scanner in my watch that should give me better data. And now I’m going to need you to step outside.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my algorithms are detecting odd behavior from Meg.”

  “Bring it up on the monitor.”

  “She’s in the bathroom.”

  “We assume your algorithms wouldn’t be alerting you to something if she was just…doing the regular things people do in bathrooms,” Dexter said.

  Vaughn twisted around in his chair so he could glare at Dexter and keep typing. “She hasn’t showered or slept or anything since she arrived. I told her to take a bubble bath after the movie and get some rest.”

  “We appreciate your concern for her privacy,” Dexter said. “Now bring up the camera view for her bathroom.”

  “Dexter…” Brock thought.

  “If she’s taking a bubble bath, her privacy will be preserved.” Dexter spoke out loud so Vaughn could be part of the conversation. “Or you can blur the image. We’ll even close our eyes till you tell us you’re ready.”

  “Thanks.” Vaughn’s tone reeked of sarcasm.

  Brock’s view winked out as Dexter closed his eyes. Brock hadn’t thought Dexter was serious about actually doing so. Maybe dying really had changed him.

  For once, Brock had been spared from experiencing a replicant’s death and the split that always followed. Which meant that DP had been forced to face their first death alone.

  If Brock tried to talk to them about it, he was sure they’d tell him it was no big deal—that they were glad he’d been spared the experience. That only added to the guilt he felt over not being there.

  After a few moments and a lot of typing, Vaughn said, “That’s weird.”

  Dexter opened his eyes. Brock felt a wave of gooseflesh pass over his body back in the ship when he saw Meg on the central monitor. Her hair was down, slicked back against her scalp and draped over her shoulders. She was submerged in the tub and covered in thick bubbles. Vaughn had still blurred everything below her neck.

  Her arms were stretched above her at an awkward angle as she leaned against the tile. Her elbows were bent, as if she was using her arms to cushion her head from the tile, but instead of that, she had her hands above her head and was wiggling her fingers.

  “That looks really uncomfortable,” Dexter sai
d. “What’s she doing with her hands?”

  Vaughn sat up straighter. “That’s ASL.”

  “What?”

  “American Sign Language.” Vaughn started typing frantically, bringing up another monitor with Meg’s image. The feed rewound, and his gaze darted back and forth between the two views. “I told her I knew ASL during our movie night. She must be trying to talk to us without anyone else hearing.”

  Dexter leaned in closer, one hand on the back of Vaughn’s chair. “Who else could be listening in?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ve initiated a full security sweep.”

  All of the monitors flickered, their screens rotating through multiple camera feeds, with text continuously scrolling over them. Dexter opened his thoughts to the others, drawing on their mental abilities. Brock could feel them channeling through his own mind.

  He didn’t fight it this time. The resentment he usually felt—the invasion of his space—was gone.

  “That’s…different,” Bradley projected.

  Dexter glanced from one monitor to the next in rapid succession. “Focus on the issue at hand.”

  Data flooded Brock’s mind. Coordinates, ambient temperature, lighting levels, motion records. He could see every camera feed at once, processing what they displayed along with the information Vaughn’s algorithms had come up with.

  “No detectable threats,” Malcolm thought.

  “Then why is she communicating this way?” Zachary added.

  “He’s watching.” Vaughn’s voice broke through the chorus of thought in Brock’s head.

  There were a hell of a lot of “he’s” watching at the moment.

  “You blurred the image,” Dexter said.

  “No, that’s what Meg is signing. Over and over again.” Vaughn glanced up at Dexter. “You don’t think she means me, do you?”

  On the monitor, Meg dropped her arms to the top of her head. She stared up at the ceiling, tears rolling from her eyes. Then she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she cried.

  “Should one of us go up there and comfort her?” Vaughn said. “Except then she’ll know we really are watching her.”