“He can’t. It’s not possible. Can’t you and Gibbs figure out how to fly it?”
“I wish. I’m in fucking alien preschool, Jane. That’s not happening. Some of this shit’s organic or something. We could die of old age before I figure it out. We brought a fucking lot of computing power, but I don’t have a clue where to begin to interface it.”
So much cursing. That meant he felt supremely frustrated. If the situation weren’t so awful, she’d be smiling at the sound of it.
She rolled to her side and slid her hand reassuringly over his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out.”
His blue eyes roved over her face. “Will we? Before we turn into zombies? Before Bravo shows up and nukes us? Do you have a plan, Jane?”
A plan? A chill swept through her, clammy and uncomfortable. Her heart thudded, heavy and dull. She resisted the urge to press herself against him, to cling to him for warmth and security. Their roles were decidedly non-traditional at the moment, and tipping the balance back in that direction now was not the right thing to do.
He was asking her to lead them. Command had never been her goal. Duty, honor, altruism, self-sacrifice. Those were qualities she knew she possessed. But good leadership required something intangible that she couldn’t define.
NASA had believed her capable before they’d even met her. They’d construed her reservations as humility. Perhaps they’d thought her personality was a good counterpoint to Bergen’s raging hubris.
Had she deceived them somehow? That had never been her intent. She’d just… dammit… she’d just wanted to go on an adventure.
And, her conscience told her, the draw would never have been as strong if they hadn’t sent Alan to persuade her. During those early days in Houston, she’d vacillated wildly as she’d striven to make her decision. She’d had moments of certainty that she was going to walk away, hop a plane home, and dismiss the notion as a ridiculous whim. Then they would escort her through some building and she would spy Alan working, his massive intellect broadcasting like a beacon. He had intrigued her almost as much as the mission.
“Jane?” His voice was husky, hoarse, and he wouldn’t meet her gaze. He was looking down, watching his thumb trailing languidly over her skin. She’d always longed for someone to touch her that way—possessively, adoringly. It was intoxicating. He could do that forever.
“Yes?”
“I love you.” It was just a whisper.
Blood rushed in her ears. A thrilling sensation washed over her even as cold dread settled in her stomach. She pulled away to scrutinize his expression.
It wasn’t right.
Something wasn’t right.
No.
This wasn’t real.
19
It hit her with a certainty she couldn’t deny.
She scrambled up and away from him, grabbing the discarded sheet and covering herself. She glared at Alan, reeling with panic and revulsion.
Alan wasn’t surprised. He just stared at her blankly, unmoving.
“This scenario displeases you, Dr. Jane Holloway?” rumbled in her head. “Shall I choose another? Perhaps a milieu of a less intimate nature? A memory? Mayhap Sectilius? To further familiarize you with cultural convention and conduct?”
“Ei’Brai—you bastard!” she spat at him.
“Contextualize this comment, if you please. You experience anger. Explain.”
She coughed against the back of her hand. “You just violated me!”
Shock and indignation met her outrage. “None of my appendages were involved in this tableau.”
She shook her head. “What?”
And yet, as she took a ragged breath, she could sense his confusion was real. She struggled to rein in the feeling that an atrocity had just been committed against her—to evaluate dispassionately what had actually just happened. They’d been reminded countless times that their cultural references meant absolutely nothing, hadn’t they?
She was human. He was not. That was a certainty. Did he have any idea what he’d just done?
His tone, his manner, said no.
A sense of astonished inquisitiveness suffused his mental touch. Tendrils of thought were moving in gingerly to investigate and analyze her reaction.
She tried to sound calmer. “Ei’Brai—you just manipulated me in a vile, disgusting manner!”
“Mating requires privacy among your kind. It is also a reprehensible act? This I did not perceive.” She got a brief flash of insight into his species’ mating rituals and her eyes went wide at the deadly savagery of it.
“You—it—I—oh, this is ridiculous.” She slumped on the bed, covering her face in her hands. This went so far beyond mere mortification. It was too much to process.
“This act was coveted by the pair of you, as individuals. It is much on Dr. Alan Bergen’s mind—the sequence you enjoyed was lifted almost seamlessly from his habitual musings on the topic of copulation. It is clear that he greatly desires to engage in these behaviors with you. You also cogitate on the possibility of coition with him, frequently. It seemed a natural departure point, given your subconscious maundering.”
She clenched her fists tight, nails digging into her palms, the resultant pain fueling her fury. “I don’t want you rooting around in my subconscious maundering!”
A consternated, probing purr was his reply.
She concentrated all her mental energy to push him back through the mental layers to the surface of her thoughts. She registered nothing but startled surprise from him as she forced him back.
“Where am I—really? I’m still in the tank, aren’t I?”
His voice came back haughty, hurt. “You are in the Sanalabreum. Convalescence is nearly complete.”
“I want out. Now.”
“Unacceptable. Premature egress could result in permanent infirmity.”
“I don’t care. Let me out.”
“That is not rational.”
“It most certainly is. You’re toying with me. I’m not going to play along anymore.”
“On the contrary, I—”
“I see plainly what you think you were doing. You thought you were distracting me, but the scenario you chose crossed a line, Ei’Brai. Again.”
“It is to be expected. The Sectilius tolerate my shortcomings when it comes to cultural sensitivity. You are not as forbearant. The contrast is noted. I shall employ more caution going forward. Enlighten me, if you will. Is this an example of human cultural mores? Or more properly assigned to your own personal construct? How may we resolve this concern?”
His voice had taken a patronizing tone, precisely the kind of tone Brian took with her frequently—disdainful, like she wasn’t sophisticated enough to understand. It rankled, especially staring into Bergen’s blank expression.
“Turn off this fantasy—now!”
She sensed a begrudging reluctance as her surroundings dissolved. The reality of the tank crashed over her—the dark room, the light bathing her in a magenta glow. The complex network of filaments—now, seemingly doubled in number—restricted her movement even more than it had before.
She closed her eyes against the truth, wishing that the other world had been real, that Alan had been real and safe and in love with her. She didn’t want to face this reality, trapped, where Alan might actually be dead.
But it didn’t do any good to wish. That didn’t solve anything. Nothing happened without action. It was time to stop letting things happen and start making them happen.
She painstakingly wove her fingers through the mesh toward her leg.
Ei’Brai emanated something akin to a mental glower. She ignored him. Her right leg was numb and foreign-feeling, bristling with strands over every square inch. The fibers rustled under the brush of her hand like an amorphous, invertebrate sea creature.
She opened her eyes and lifted her head to look, but the gel distorted her vision and the threads formed a tight matrix that bound her, nearly mummified, in place. Frustration throbbed in her. The impu
lse to thrash and yank on the filaments was strong.
Ei’Brai manifested a thought, hidden from her before she could fully glimpse its purpose. Instinctively, she extended herself to follow it. It led her down pathways she had only glimpsed before, had never tried to explore. She sped down them, gleaning information along the way. Data flowed through her mind at a seemingly impossible pace. She marveled at how much of it made sense.
The atmosphere changed subtly from organic to digital as the thought she traced transitioned, bridging the gap between Ei’Brai and the ship’s neural-electric pathways. The sensation was wholly bizarre, but not troublesome. This was a command pathway, she realized; it was how he maintained control over the ship’s functions.
Abruptly, she became aware of his intent. Without hesitation, Jane countermanded Ei’Brai’s order for the device to deliver greater sedation and more restraint. Stunningly, the device accepted her command. Ei’Brai recoiled, nonplussed at her sudden involvement.
She flexed within the system, feeling for other controls that she knew must be there. She couldn’t let the moment slip by. The layout was intuitively designed, and the imprint in her mind seemed to include a blueprint of this framework, permitting unconscious ease of navigation.
Ei’Brai’s state of mind was one of breathless anticipation as she found and explored the root command controls for the tank. Within seconds, she had it. Ei’Brai didn’t try to stop her as she executed the command. He merely watched as she directed the device to withdraw all medications, release and retract the mechanical filaments, and drain the gel.
Red warnings flashed into her consciousness. She ignored them. Circumventing safety protocols, consenting releases… she exhilarated, relishing the power of it. She felt a sense of accomplishment and realized with surprise that the same sentiment resonated in Ei’Brai’s mind.
A wave of nausea swept the gratification aside. Her body was regaining sensation. She gagged, trembling with a sudden chill, as she worked to accomplish her goals before she was dragged back to her own immediate, visceral needs. She didn’t have the control that Ei’Brai had. She was incapable of segmentation, was unable to multitask away pain or discomfort. After being numb for so long, it was an incomprehensible flood.
“Such mastery is within your reach, Dr. Jane Holloway,” he rumbled reassuringly. “I will instruct you. In time.”
She noted his smug satisfaction as he watched her struggle. He’d wanted this.
There was no time to contemplate that.
The filaments retracted—all at the same time, tenting her skin, slithering over and through her. Her lips curled and she coughed as the strands dragged through her lips, exiting her throat en masse.
She floundered as the gel was quickly suctioned away and she hit the bottom of the tank with a thunk, sending a painful jolt through her leg. Ei’Brai was right. It wasn’t healed yet. Well, he hadn’t lied about that. That was something.
She shuddered with a bone-deep chill. Slowly, she reached up and wiped the gel from her eyes. That helped. Sight was definitely helpful.
She sat up slowly, expecting weakness after the long, inactive submersion. But weakness wasn’t the problem. Her teeth chattered and slimy, chilled strands of her hair slapped her face, dripping with gel.
She gripped the side of the tank and hauled herself up, getting her good left leg underneath her. Her right leg ached and burned. The slightest movement sent pain slicing through it. She was going to have to use it. There was no other way. The violent shivering was only making it worse.
She tested the edge of the tank by leaning against it, then put all her weight on it and swung both legs over the rim and slid down the sloping outer wall, faster than she intended. The residual gel was slippery. Her feet slid out from under her. Her head struck the side of the tank, narrowing her vision to a tunnel of light. After a few moments, she came back to her senses, leg throbbing from the impact. She grunted, regained her footing, then half walked, half hopped to the wall.
She knew where to find what she needed. Her fingers touched a protruding module. It eased out. She grabbed the silky material inside, wrapping a length around her hair, using another to dry herself. The fabric was incredibly thirsty and efficient for its weight. She felt better almost immediately.
She opened various drawers and shook out the garments inside until she found a tunic and a pair of drawstring pants. The pants and sleeves were far too long, but she tight-rolled them at wrists and ankles and left her feet bare. The gauzy fabric instantly warmed her, allowing the chilled tremors to subside. She tugged at her turbaned hair and found it slightly damp, lanky, and matted. She ran fingers through the tangles for a moment, then gave up. There was no time for that now.
Ei’Brai tried to convince her to do a scan, to hear the computer’s assessment of her condition, to obtain some kind of mechanical support—at the very least to get an injection to control the pain. But she wouldn’t let him slow her down or distract her again. She’d make do.
She hobbled out of the infirmary and down the corridor to the deck-to-deck transport. Just a few floors away was the protection she needed—Sectilius battle armor. It would keep the nepatrox off her and give her defensive weapons. Since its limbs were power-augmented and required minimal effort to operate, it would take some of the stress off her leg.
By the time she got to the compartment she needed, she knew Ei’Brai had been right. Healing was far from complete—she could be doing permanent damage. Her breath hissed through clenched teeth with every jolting, painful step.
She leaned against the wall and slapped her palm on the door control. The door slid upward to reveal undulating rows of gleaming obsidian armor. Jane wrinkled her brow. These things were designed to protect, to kill, and yet the sight of a sea of them in graceful, inverted U-shapes was compellingly beautiful, moving.
Each suit was designed to conform to fit the entire spectrum of Sectilius body types. The legs stood short and squat, open at the waist, compressed like an accordion—meant to be stepped into. The torso was split down the center and arched back, the compacted arms terminating in gauntlets that gently rested against the floor, like the advanced yoga pose upward bow, urdhava dhanu, that she’d never successfully managed.
She took a tentative step inside. The nearest suit twitched. She staggered a step back to grip the doorframe, and then she realized that it had just turned itself on in response to her presence and intent.
She stared at it, bemused. There was no good way for her to get into the thing. She’d have to put all of her weight on the bad leg at some point. She was afraid she might fall in the process. There was nothing to hold onto.
Ei’Brai’s voice flitted gently against her mind, a recommendation.
She frowned, but followed his thought toward a simple command and watched with awe as the suit picked up one foot and then the other, moving toward her in odd, shuffling, mechanical steps. She hopped back, pressing herself into the wall as the suit positioned itself precisely before her and the contents of the entire room shifted in a roar of clinks and thuds to fill in the empty space the suit had left behind.
She laughed out loud. She almost expected it to wag a tail.
This was going to be a far different experience from the EMU.
The smile remained plastered to her lips as she eased the warm clothing back off. The suit was meant to be worn naked, which was simply absurd, but utterly Sectilius. Their attitudes about the physical body and sexuality were completely different. They were pragmatists by culture and inclination.
That thought gave her a moment’s pause. How did she know this with such certainty? She mentally raised a brow at Ei’Brai. She could feel him now—smugly swelling. He didn’t have to say a word. He’d used her time in the tank wisely, indoctrinating her mind with Sectilius experience and knowledge.
She cursed at him viciously in Mensententia and felt his vibrating answering chuckle. She was bound to this lunatic now, for better or for worse.
S
he turned and put her left hand on the edge of the doorway, put all her weight on her left leg, and lifted the injured right leg with her right hand, guiding it up, backward and down into the corresponding leg of the suit.
She inhaled sharply as the boot constricted around her foot and lower leg, locking into place.
She gripped the doorframe with both hands now, eased her weight onto the injured leg, and quickly slipped the good leg into its place. She managed to stay upright, knuckles white, inhaling in a strangled gasp from the pain. Then, shifting most of her weight back onto her good leg and dropping her arms to stand upright, she leaned down and—in a practiced manner, almost as if she’d done this before—gripped the handholds that were inset into the waistband and lifted up. Every muscle tensed as the suit took over with a whirring boost, adapting to the contours of her lower body and molding over her injury. It tightened around her hips, butt, and midriff. There was a brief squeeze as the internal computers tested her anatomy and then settled the suit into a semi-comfortable position and the load lightened considerably. It’d be even better once the entire suit was donned, she knew.
To that end, she had only to lean slightly to the side and slip her arm down into the gauntlet. It stretched and constricted against her shape. She expected it to be heavy, but the gear moved proactively, reducing the load for her. The other arm was waiting, exactly where it needed to be, for ease. She bit her lip and shoved her fingers down the tube.
A dizzying flurry of mechanized movement made her pulse throb. Her right arm was enveloped. The suit closed and locked over her chest. The helmet closed up and over her head. She winced as the plumbing engaged with an uncomfortable rasp to her private parts, surprisingly sensitive from her recent mental diversion.
She was protected now—from the vacuum of space, from the elements, from chemical or biological warfare, and from all but the most potent weapons. The suit was designed for combat with the Swarm. It would easily handle the nepatrox.
She stood there for a moment, dazed, adjusting to the new sensory input. A huge red symbol hung before her eyes, its three-dimensions telescoping in and out of focus.
[Confluence 01.0] Fluency Page 21
