Last of the Chosen (Spirit of Empire, Book One)

by Lawrence P White

  His mind answered instantly. No! The fight in the desert had been real. The two ships were real. The bald-headed creatures, the cats, the witch woman, the blasters – all were real. One look at his ruined trousers was all the confirmation he needed. His mind was as sharp as it had ever been.

  What now? He stood up and moved about the room, idly testing the walls and looking for a door, but his mind was elsewhere. The woman had shot him. Obviously she had used a weapon that did not cause harm. Was he now one of those UFO abductees? Were these aliens going to experiment on him, operate without anesthesia like in the stories he’d heard?

  Had they already? He stopped, suddenly concerned about his body. He felt his head and neck carefully, then his torso and legs. There was no pain of any kind, no hint of an incision. Other than the hunger, he felt great.

  Then he got to wondering. Maybe he wasn’t on a ship. Maybe the aliens had just left him lying there in the desert. It was very possible that he had been discovered by the U.S. military and was in some kind of quarantine area, maybe even Area 51. Could he get out? He searched every inch of the walls but refrained from pulling down the padding. It was too soon. Until proven otherwise, he would assume he was a guest.

  “Hey, anyone there?” he yelled.

  >Hello, Man.<

  Uh, oh. The voice was crystal clear, but the choice of words was not what he would expect from someone from Area 51. “Hi, yourself. Come in!” he responded guardedly, turning from one wall to the next, wondering if a door would open. This might not be a complete disaster, he decided as a small kernel of hope germinated. At least someone was listening, and whoever it was spoke English.

  >Hello, Man,< the voice said again.

  “Hello, yourself,” he said again, puzzled. Whoever it was didn’t sound too smart – he was repeating himself. “Who are you? Let me out of here.”

  >I am Jake. I am here with you. I am part of you now. I am inside you.<

  Mike laughed. “Sure you are. They gave me an implant while I was sleeping, huh?” To himself he added, “After she shot me, the witch!” Then his eyebrows lifted in alarm. Maybe they had given him an implant. Maybe they wouldn’t stop at anything. After all, they were aliens. But wait, would they know how to do surgery on a human? Wouldn’t they mess it up? He started feeling around his head and neck again.

  >There has been no surgery, Man. And she is not a witch.<

  “Huh! Easy for you to say. She didn’t shoot you. Right in the face, too.” Mike didn’t care if she was listening or not, he was mad. “After all I did for her, she never even gave me a chance. Is that the way you aliens thank people? Why don’t you just come on in here so we can talk face to face?”

  >I have been in this room with you for several days. After we get over the hard part, this adjustment period, I think they will let us out. If you cooperate, the process will go faster.<

  “Cooperate! You’ve got to be kidding! I save all your butts and this is the thanks I get? Shot in the face and locked up in a padded cell talking to a speaker? Whatever happened to diplomacy? Who are you anyway?”

  >I am Jake.< Mike detected a trace of exasperation in the voice this time. >I’m repeating myself. Will you calm down and let me explain? It’s not supposed to be this hard. Are all Earthmen as stubborn as you?<

  “Stubborn!” Mike was mad, but he also knew that he was not in control of his life at the moment. He decided he’d better play their game. He sat down with his back against a wall, his bare feet straight out before him, arms folded across his chest. He could play the waiting game as well as anyone. Then, without warning he was struck by a troubling thought. Leaning forward, he said in a low, worried voice, “The lady that shot me – I called her a witch, but I didn’t say it out loud. I think I just thought it. Am I going crazy?”

  >Not yet, but you might.< Mike heard a chuckle, then a feeling of chagrin came strongly into his mind. >Sorry, Man. This is not a time for humor. Please understand that I am real, that I am in this room with you, and that you have not undergone an operation for an implant. Do you know what symbiosis is?<

  “I’ve heard the term, but why don’t you just tell me,” he said leaning back against the wall and hugging his knees to his chest.

  >It describes a relationship in which two organisms exist in partnership, each gaining from its relationship with the other. You and I are now living in symbiosis. I am living inside you.<

  Mike thought about what had been said and about what he knew of biology, then he panicked. Jumping to his feet, he yelled, “You mean I have a parasite living inside me?”

  >No! I am not a parasite. The very idea sickens me. Parasites live on other organisms, taking what they need but not returning. There is no balance. Some parasites ultimately kill their hosts. I, on the other hand, will be helpful. You will discover many benefits to this relationship, I think all of them good. In essence, yes, I am an alien being, I am living inside you like a parasite might, but the relationship will be beneficial to you.<

  Mike laughed uncertainly. “Sure. Sure you are. You’re inside me, and you’re alive. Ha, ha.” Then, a smirk lit up his face. He crossed his arms, demanding what he knew to be impossible. “Prove it!”

  >I already have, but as you wish. Look down at your right foot, Man.<

  Mike looked down. His foot looked normal enough, maybe a tinge darker than normal. He moved his left foot over to compare. Soon, though, no comparison was possible. Purplish ooze seeped out between his toes and spread across the floor. He picked up his foot and the ooze stayed attached, continuing to grow.

  He fainted.

  Chapter Three: Witch Woman

  >So that’s how it is, Man. I know this is difficult for you, but there are advantages to the arrangement, I promise.<

  Mike was sitting with his back to the wall, his arms around his legs, his mind lost in space. He was over the shock, not over the confusion, and he might never get over the revulsion. This “thing” was living inside him experiencing everything he experienced. And there was no shutting it off. It didn’t talk out loud to him as he’d thought earlier. He’d tested that. It talked directly into his mind, though it sounded like regular speech.

  Its name was Jake, a name it had chosen for itself from Mike’s mind. The name held no particular significance to Mike, an important criteria to Jake who did not want a name burdened with memories of someone else. Jake was newly born, and he was an ‘it,’ not a he or she. Its species reproduced by fission. Jake’s race, called the Miramor but usually just referred to as ‘Riders,’ had lived in symbiosis with a number of other races for eons. Extremely rare, Riders reproduced only when the parent Rider sensed great need, and then only when a recipient was deemed by the parent Rider to be a good match.

  Jake’s birthing met the first requirement, that of great need, but it did not meet the second requirement – Mike was an unknown to Jake’s father, Wooldroo, hence his suitability was not known. Further complicating matters, Jake was born before his time and in a hurry. Wooldroo had lived inside the body of Jornell, the man in the cape who had died. Unwilling to leave Jornell’s dying body after a lifetime of friendship, Wooldroo had forced a hurried birth, creating a new being who was supposed to be a replica of himself.

  But Jake didn’t get the whole deal. There hadn’t been time.

  The rush to enable the transfer had been the reason the woman stunned Mike after the fighting ended. Mike was the only living body into which Jake could transfer. Jake was pretty certain the woman had expected Wooldroo to transfer himself into Mike’s body rather than clone a new being. If this suspicion proved correct, she would be in for a big surprise when the truth became known.

  >I sense how hard this is for you, Mike, but in my own defense know this: I am not just an alien mass of protoplasm floating around in your body. I am a real person, and I wish to be your friend. It is the nature of Riders to ride, not to control. I am an immediate source of information to you, we can offer council to each other, I will keep your body healthy, I
will ensure your sleep is peaceful, and you will never have to be alone again for as long as we live. Is that not of benefit to you?<

  “And you read my mind. There are no secrets kept from you.”

  >Nor will there be any secrets between us, in time.<

  Mike wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t read Jake’s mind at all, nor did he want to try. He felt unclean and wondered if this was what a woman felt like after being raped. No amount of washing would remove this creature from his body even if he found a way to get rid of it. Was he, Mike Carver, even a human being anymore? Would he ever have privacy again? Were all his thoughts read? And what about his feelings, were they open to Jake, too? What about all those stupid or embarrassing moments in life that you kept private, that you hated to even think about? Were they all open to Jake? Could he ever have a private relationship with another human being?

  Then, looking around the room but seeing in his mind the image of the UFO, he wondered once again where he was. With or without Jake, would he ever even see another human being?

  His life was changed forever, and the aliens on this ship were the cause. Change, all by itself, was hard enough to accept, but what really rankled was that he hadn’t been asked. They didn’t care about Mike Carver, they only cared about a repository for Jake.

  “We need to talk, partner,” Mike said.

  >I will take that as a term of endearment. Thank you! And you do not need to talk out loud if you don’t want to.<

  “I want to. And it’s not a term of endearment, okay? Can I get rid of you?”

  Silence . . .

  “Jake, do you or do you not have to answer my questions?”

  >I am a separate being, Man. We only share the same body. I do not have to answer your questions, but I wish to be your friend. I do not wish to have secrets from you.<

  “Let’s get this straight, Jake. We are not sharing my body. The body is mine, all mine. You’re just a guest. Got that?”

  >Yes, Man.< If a disembodied voice could sound hurt, Jake did. >You can get rid of me if you wish. In fact, I will leave on my own if I am not wanted.<

  “What would happen if you just left right now?”

  >Without another body to go into, and there are no others suitable aboard this ship, I will die.<

  “What about the woman, or the cat?”

  >They are not suitable.<

  Mike frowned. “Why not?”

  >Trust me, they are not suitable.<

  “So how long can you live without something to go into?”

  >How long can you go without breathing, Man?<

  “Oh.” That shut him up. After a while, he said, “I guess you can stay, but just for now, okay?”

  >Thank you, Man.<

  “You can call me Mike, Jake. All my friends do.”

  >Thank you so much, Mike.<

  Mike sensed the irony in Jake’s voice but did not rise to the bait. He needed to get out of this cell, then he needed to find another body for Jake to live inside. Everything else was secondary to those two issues. Even the fact that he was probably on a spaceship out in space took second place to getting rid of Jake. With lots of help from Jake, Mike struggled with the alien language until he was able to utter a simple phrase, assured by Jake that the phrase demanded he be let out of his cell.

  He spoke the alien words. “Ig’tniv wachizzca darigi, i.”

  A response came immediately: ”Gutav mn’dkee srynga, tuappalu fos.” Jake’s translation of the response was instantaneous. A woman’s voice had directed them to turn right in the corridor and proceed to stateroom B.

  An opening appeared in a wall as a door swung silently inward. Mike was free, but what awaited him beyond these padded walls? He approached the opening with trepidation to discover a corridor leading both ways. He turned to the right under Jake’s guidance.

  He expected a Spartan interior with narrow passageways connected by hatches that could be closed in the event of air loss, like the inside of a submarine. Instead, he found himself in a wide corridor stretching into the distance, curving noticeably to the left. The floor was made of a tough, dark brown material that had a slight give under his bare feet and was at a comfortable temperature. The walls and ceiling appeared to be panels of the same material in a lighter tan color. The corridor was lit by a soft light coming from around the raised panels. Mike sniffed the air, detecting no noticeable odor, but he’d been in the ship long enough that it would be impossible to detect anything but the strongest of smells.

  They came to a wide stairway on the left, and Jake indicated he should go up. When he emerged onto the next level, he questioned his vision. Another wide corridor stretched in both directions, but this time strategically hung pictures and tapestries and inlays with pleasing designs decorated the corridor walls. Color abounded, warm and inviting. His architectural instincts delighted in the tasteful positioning and the craftsmanship evident in each and every display. Jake had to prod him to move faster as Mike slowed to study the designs.

  The only thing missing from this perfect space was life. There were no crewmen bustling about their duties, there were no announcements from the bridge, there was nothing to give the ship life. Mike’s bare feet pulling away from the pliant floor material was the only sound breaking the hushed, eerie silence.

  Before long, he saw why. Scorch marks on the walls, floor, and ceiling cried out the obvious; this ship had been a battleground. Thoughts of pirates and mutinies flashed through Mike’s mind, but Jake chose to brush off the question, stating that it was nothing so simple. Explanations would come later.

  Jake directed him to the assigned room. The door slid aside at a touch. Mike took one step into the room and stopped in astonishment. Expecting a shoebox, he was confronted instead with the living room of an expensive home. Tapestries and well-placed paintings, just as in the corridor, hung from the walls. Bronze-like sculptures and green plants seemed perfectly positioned about the room. Two couches and a pair of padded chairs were arranged around a coffee table across the room, and beyond them, tucked into a corner, stood a desk clearly meant as a work area. Immediately to the left of the doorway, six chairs surrounded a dining table adorned with a bowl of fruit. Everything was done in comfortable earth tones, blending together to create a pleasing impression of home away from home.

  Not necessarily his home, he knew instantly. The walls of his condo, decorated with several Indian sand paintings and a couple of old, rusty fighting axes reputedly from Scotland, didn’t come close to competing with this place that welcomed so thoroughly.

  As he crossed the room, he discovered his duffel bag leaning against the desk. Hmm. He knew the cat would have had something to do with retrieving it, and his lips lifted in a grin. He liked the cat. He didn’t need to open the bag, he knew what was inside, but he ran his hand along the side of the bag, knowing it was the only possession he had left to remind him of his home.

  As he continued into the room, he brushed a hand lightly across a particularly pleasing sculpture of an animal that resembled a hunting dog, then went through an opening into a bedroom half the size of the living room. He discovered it included an attached walk-in closet full of clothes, a dressing room, and a bathroom.

  All this just for him?

  Mike had not eaten for three days. He returned to the living room, his eyes homing in on the bowl of fruit on the table, but he hesitated.

  >I’m hungry, Jake. Can I eat this food?<

  >You can, Mike, and you definitely need to eat. I’m a high energy user. If you eat anything that’s bad for you, I’ll take care of it. I’m not going to let you get sick.<

  >You can do that?<

  >I’m a Rider, Mike. It’s what we do.<

  Mike set safety aside and dug in, choosing something that resembled a pear. It didn’t taste like a pear, it was sweet with a hint of tartness, but it tasted good and it smelled wonderfully fruity. As he ate, he roamed the room, idly touching things, wondering what came next. More fruit was what came next, then a shower. J
ake guided him through the operation of the shower controls, and he felt like a new man after cleaning up. He chose a dark blue, one-piece coverall from the closet, fumbling a bit with the closures, but everything fit, including the soft leather boots.

  He was congratulating himself on the new clothes as he returned to the living room. Those thoughts evaporated the moment he looked up. The witch sat primly on the edge of a chair, her hands in her lap. The cat paced before her, its gaze glued to Mike.

  The woman rose, forcing him to rethink the label of “witch.” Earthy was the first thought that came to mind. She wasn’t glamorous, but she was beautiful in a wholesome way. Medium length brown hair brushed neatly back along the sides of her head gave her a business-like appearance. Her brown eyes sparkled, dominating her appearance, drawing him as would the eyes of a puppy or a deer. A wide mouth with full lips complemented her eyes. Slim, of medium height, dressed in loose, billowy, expensive slacks and blouse, soft leather boots on her feet, there was no trace of makeup or jewelry, nor was there a need. She glowed with freshness, the color in her cheeks and shiny hair radiating health. Her age was impossible to judge since she was an alien, but Mike would have put her in her late 20’s had she been human.

  Until he looked back into her eyes. Those eyes suggested something he couldn’t pin down, seeming young and old at the same time, hinting at wisdom and sadness beyond her years.

  Remembering what she had done to him with those eyes, he avoided eye contact at first, then decided that simply would not do. He was determined to gain the upper hand: he could not act the coward. From their brief encounter during the fight in the desert and the milliseconds here since he’d entered the room, her body language clearly telegraphed to him the fact that this lady was accustomed to having her own way. Well, she was in for a surprise. He would control this meeting.

  He reached out a hand in greeting at the same moment she began speaking in a somber voice, “Welcome back, Wooldroo. I am so sorry for your loss.”