Anew: Book Two: Hunted

by Litton, Josie

  The sun sends shafts of warmth into the shadows on the porch. They fall across my back, dissolving into the far greater heat that is Ian inside me. My inner muscles clench around him, release, clench again and again.

  He gives a strangled groan as his head falls back. I press my lips to the pulse beating wildly in his throat and surrender to the floodtide of ecstasy that engulfs me.

  Gradually, I become aware that I am still sitting astride Ian, his hands clasping my hips, his cock resting inside me. Both of us are breathing hard. His eyes are closed but as I gaze at him, they open and meet mine.

  “You,” he says, only to break off as his chest heaves. He lets his breath out slowly, visibly struggling for control. A rueful smile softens his mouth. “You astonish me, Amelia,” he says softly. “I had no idea what I was capable of feeling until I met you.”

  He gathers me closer, his hands stroking my back under the T-shirt. The gesture is soothing, as though he understands how completely undone I am at this moment.

  “Thank you,” he murmurs.

  I look at him in surprise. “For what?”

  “For coming to me the way you did just now.” He hesitates, then adds, “I still need reassurance that this is what you want. That I’m not compelling you in any way.”

  I’m so astonished that he could still think that is even a remote possibility that I almost laugh. “Because of that paperwork you’ve got?” I tease.

  He looks at me seriously. “No, because I worry that I’m taking advantage of your inexperience. You’ve had so little chance to discover the world for yourself, meet other people. If you’d grown up normally--”

  Pain stabs through me, regret for all that I was denied and will never know. But I refuse to give into it.

  “But I didn’t and nothing can ever change that. I’m not a child, Ian, or even an adolescent. I’m an adult and not just physically. The neural imprinting gave me an adult’s mind and knowledge. I’ll admit that it was a strange way to arrive in the world but here I am. So much time has already been taken from me, I won’t waste a moment more looking back or regretting what I missed. I’m going to live, fully and completely.”

  It’s a disturbing conversation to be having in so intimate a position, with him still inside me, but perhaps this is the only way that we can have it.

  “Your courage awes me,” he says softly. “So does the way you embrace the world. You hold nothing back.”

  I wish that were true but I know that it isn’t. Ian has shared his past with me to a remarkable degree but I’ve failed to do the same with him. I still haven’t told him about the memories that I’m not supposed to have, the ones formed in the gestation tank. That experience shaped me at least as powerfully as anything I received from Susannah. I suspect that it’s why I truly am an adult, strengthened by hardship and matured by adversity.

  I want to tell him that but I still can’t bring myself to do so. The word he used--‘normally’--stands between us. I don’t want him to think about me the way I was, floating in limbo, not a person but a thing waiting to be harvested so that a child who, unlike me, was valued and loved might live. A part of me is glad that Susannah and Edward’s parents aren’t alive. They would not like what I would say to them.

  “You’re cold,” Ian says. Belatedly, I realize that I’m shivering but that has nothing to do with the temperature. My own thoughts chill me.

  Before I can respond, he stands with my legs still wrapped around his hips and strides into the house. He doesn’t stop until we are in the bathroom, where he quickly flips on the shower and peels off his jeans. I watch him unabashedly, well aware that I will never get enough of his beauty, his strength, and-- I am almost afraid to admit even to myself--his love.

  Ian smiles as he draws me with him under the water. His hands are gentle but thorough as he washes every inch of my body, removing the traces of sand, salt, and his possession. Neither of us says a word. I’m not sure that I even could, dealing as I am with my joy at being with Ian while at the same time confronting the pain and anger buried within memories I can’t admit to having.

  When he’s done, I take my turn, finding solace in the feel of his big, hard body slick with soap. By the time he turns off the water, wraps a towel around his hips and envelops me in another, I’m feeling more at peace.

  “Sit,” he says and I do so, on the edge of the bed as he gently dries my hair. A sweet, calming languor spreads over me. I’m barely aware when he pulls the covers over us both. I’ve never napped before but I do so now, falling away into sleep between one breath and the next.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~

  When I wake hours later, the sky beyond the bedroom windows is tinged with pink and lavender, and hazed by the misty opalescence rising from the sea. I stretch luxuriously, my earlier cares forgotten for the moment. With a smile, I leave the bed, find the skirt and top that I arrived in and put them on again.

  Ian is in the kitchen. He’s wearing the jeans again but he’s added a T-shirt that hugs his broad shoulders and sculpted chest. His smile warms me all the way through.

  “Hi, sleepyhead, feeling better?” he asks.

  I nod, feeling suddenly unaccountably shy. I’ve bared far more than my body to this man. My only consolation is that he’s done the same for me.

  “Much, this napping thing could catch on.” With a glance at the various dishes set out on the counter, I ask, “What are you doing?”

  “Getting ready to fix dinner. I thought steaks. All right with you?”

  “Sounds delicious but let me help.”

  He does, willingly. While I shred lettuce that is remarkably fresh for having been kept vacuum sealed in the refrigerator and make a salad, Ian takes charge of grilling the steaks. Before long, the aroma of charring meat makes me realize how hungry I am--again.

  We eat on the porch, both of us deliberately keeping the conversation light. Afterward, I insist that he let me clear up, a task that’s quickly accomplished without him to distract me. When I rejoin him, Ian is standing, his hands in his pockets, staring out at the night sky.

  “I haven’t seen the stars like this since we were at the palazzo,” I say.

  He nods and draws me to him. “The glare from the city blocks out everything else.” Ian is silent for a moment before he says, “I have to go back but you could stay here or at the palazzo. I’d join you as soon as--”

  I’m shaking my head before he can finish. “There’s no possibility of that. You’re not going back without me.”

  I’m braced for an argument but Ian only sighs. His expression is somber as he says, “This is an insanely dangerous world, Amelia. I mean that literally. Our science and technology have evolved far faster than we have. We’re floundering and that doesn’t bring out the best in people. I have to know that you’re safe. Promise me that you’ll stay at Pinnacle House at least until all this is settled.”

  “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” I tell him truthfully.

  His hands stroke up my arms, one settling at the small of my back as the other curves lightly around the nape of my neck. His mouth on mine is gentle, at first, evocative of his relief that I’ve agreed. But quickly enough the passion between us that can never be more than briefly satisfied returns in full measure. His kiss hardens, becomes demanding. I match him with my own need. When he bends and lifts me into his arms, I twine my own around his neck.

  I expect him to carry me to the bedroom but he surprises me. He sets me down on the rug in front of the fireplace and turns away for a moment. The muscles of his back flex as he lights the fire that’s already been laid.

  “It’s cool enough,” he says as he returns to me. “And I thought you would enjoy this.”

  I stare into the flames as they begin to catch. There is something mesmerizing about them. I think of what Ian said about us not having evolved enough yet to cope with the world we’ve created. Perhaps on some level we’re all still huddled around the fire, hoping it will keep the monsters at bay.

&nb
sp; He stretches out beside me, one arm bent, his chin resting on his palm. Quietly, he says, “I’ve wanted to ask you but I haven’t known how. Now I must. Tell me what it’s been like for you.”

  A flicker of apprehension moves through me but I ignore it. He opened up to me at the Crystal Palace, revealing more about himself than he ever had before. If only I could do the same. The thought of sharing anything about myself from before I met him is still too anguishing. Beyond the pain of the memories I’m not even supposed to have, I don’t want Ian to think of me as I was then, floating helplessly in a state that denied even my most basic humanity.

  “I want to try to understand what it felt like to awaken the way you did,” he says when I hesitate. “You’re an incredibly brave woman, Amelia. The way you deal with the world is frankly awe-inspiring.”

  I can’t conceal my shock that he should think of me in such terms. Nor can I let him go on doing so. Shaking my head, I say, “I’m not brave, Ian. There’s a lot in this world that frightens or even horrifies me.”

  I think of Davos, the plight of the scavengers, the terror of the Crystal Palace. Above all, I can’t shake the sense that the city around me is descending into a level of moral decadence that will destroy it. Not because of the sexual customs, although they can be startling, but because of the callous disregard for anyone who isn’t among the chosen few. Surely, when people deny the humanity of so many, they end by losing their own.

  “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m intensely grateful for what I’ve been given,” I say. “The moment I awakened, I felt an overwhelming sense of freedom and joy. I still do.”

  He nods. “You see the world with new eyes which means you see it more clearly. I wish I could do the same but that’s not going to happen. At least when I’m with you, I’m reminded of what really matters.”

  “What is that, Ian? What matters for you?”

  Without hesitation, he says, “You do. And not out of any misplaced sense of duty or responsibility because of how you came to be. You matter, Amelia, tremendously. I can’t imagine the world without you.”

  I don’t hesitate. Launching myself at him, I laugh when he’s taken by surprise. Thrusting my fingers once again into his hair, I say, “How about finishing what you started on the porch?”

  He gives a low growl. Before I can breathe, I am flat on my back in front of the fire, my skirt bunched up around my waist and my panties tossed aside. Ian’s head delves between my thighs, his relentless tongue driving me higher and higher until I am writhing in need and sobbing his name.

  We sleep finally, a deep and dreamless sleep wrapped in each other’s arms. I would cling to this night forever if I could but when I wake, the blissful embrace of darkness is yielding to the gray light of dawn. We steal another hour in each other’s arms but our blissful interlude is ending. The demands of the world can no longer be denied.

  The sun is a harsh red eye rising behind us as the chopper carries us back to the city.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ian

  I leave Amelia with Hodge. He’d clearly taken a shine to her and she’s relaxed and comfortable with him. As much as I want to stay with her, duty calls.

  Gab snags me as soon as I set foot on the Operations floor. “No luck so far identifying the guys who left the Crystal Palace with Davos,” she says straight off. “The sat images are slanted at an acute angle, obscuring most of their facial features. Plus their body language says they were deliberately trying to avoid being recognized.”

  I curse inwardly. Knowing who was with Davos will go a long way toward figuring out if they were the targets. Or if they got out when they did because they knew the attack was coming.

  “There’s got to be some way--” I break off when I see the look on Gab’s face. She knows I’m not going to like what she’s about to say but that’s not going to stop her.

  “You saw them. You should be able to give at least some description that we can add to the sat images and improve our chances of getting IDs.”

  “I saw them for a second or two. We’re lucky that I even know there were six plus Davos.”

  “You’re sure about how many?”

  I think for a moment, remembering what I saw. The silver-haired bastard leading the way out a side door with six men behind him. I can see their forms clearly enough to be certain of the number but everything else, including their faces, is a blur.

  “I’m sure. Maybe there are other images from other sats. Root around a little, see what you can find.”

  “I already have and I came up dry. Like I said, I think they were trying to avoid being recognized.” She stands with her hands on her hips, blocking my way onto the floor, and glares at me. “I can’t be absolutely sure of that but I do know what you’re trying to avoid. Clarence won’t bite. Put on your big boy pants and go talk to him.”

  Gab’s usually a whole lot more respectful than that even when she thinks I’m being a horse’s ass. I take her lapse as an indication of how tired and frustrated she is. Even so, I say, “It isn’t a him. It doesn’t have a name. It’s a fucking A.I. I hate A.I.s”

  I’ve got good reason. The Special Forces did a lot of things right but bringing in the A.I.s and hooking them directly into our implanted links went too far. I can still remember what it felt like to be woken up by one of those bastards, the sound of that synthetic voice in my head imparting what was almost always very bad news. The memory makes me shudder. I wouldn’t have one of the things anywhere near my business except the hard fact is that without an A.I.’s ability to process certain kinds of information far faster than the human brain, my people would be at unnecessary risk in the field.

  “Studies show that humans interact much more successfully with artificial intelligence when the A.I. adopts a human persona,” Gab says patiently. “Clarence picked his own name. For Clarence Darrow, by the way, the guy at the so-called monkey trial who defended the theory of evolution. He--it, if you insist-has a very nice way about him. If you’d just give him a chance…”

  “You know it’s thanks to A.I.s that this world is so screwed up,” I remind her. “They’ve taken over too many jobs, put people out of work, left real humans--not that persona crap--feeling like they have no value or purpose. We unplug them all tomorrow, we’ll be a lot better off.”

  I’m not actually that much of a troglodyte but I’ve got deep reservations about what technology is doing to humanity. At the same time, I can no longer imagine my life without the woman who wouldn’t exist if not for some of that technology. Yesterday with Amelia was amazing. Her pleasure in the world, her exquisite passion, her generous, giving nature-- I’ve never met anyone like her and having met her, I have no intention of ever being without her again. Which means that I need to keep my head in the game.

  “Just talk to him,” Gab urges. “It wouldn’t take long and it could make all the difference.” She looks at me squarely. “That is if you’re serious about getting to the bottom of whatever it is that’s going on.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I mutter and take an end run around her. I can hear her exasperated sigh as I walk away.

  I don’t get very far. The truth is that Gab is right. She’s a natural intuitive who’s spent most of her adult life honing that innate ability. No one’s better than her at accessing the nuggets of usable intel hidden in the vast and ever expanding cloud of data that is the net. If she says it can’t be done in this case, then it can’t. We have to find another way. I did see the men. I just wasn’t focused on them. But that doesn’t mean that my brain didn’t register more than I consciously know.

  Damn.

  I get a cup of coffee and catch up with Hollis. When we’re done, I review the data from the Crystal Palace wreckage, looking for any hint of who hired the men who died there. Then I glance over reports from various departments and have fairly detailed conversations with several techs who seem pleasantly surprised, if a little nervous to be on the receiving end of my attention. An hour goes by b
efore I finally crush my coffee cup, toss it in the recycler, and go do what I have to.

  ‘Clarence’ is waiting for me in a small room furnished in a womb-like style the psych-babblers call “trust inducing”. The walls and ceiling are made of textured foam core tiles tinted beige and thick enough to block out ambient sounds. The synthetic rubber floor puts a spring in every step. There’s a small seating area arranged around the low table where a plain leather box rests.

  Personally, I think the vibe is more padded cell than a place to have a friendly chat with a machine but that’s just me.

  “Hello, Mr. Slade,” the disembodied voice says as I enter. “I’m so glad you could stop by.”

  I feel a spurt of annoyance at the pretense that the A.I. is in this room. It’s actually everywhere in the building and beyond, wherever we’re running operations. But humans associate such omnipresence with a deity and no one wants to encourage that kind of thinking about an A.I., hence the subroutines that create an impression of locality. Understanding all that doesn’t make me any less irked by it. I should be in a better mood after the day with Amelia but the frustration of not being with her right now combined with the sense that we aren’t making any headway in the investigation has me on edge.

  “Hello to you, too, Clarence,” I say. “How’re they hanging?”

  Silence for a moment before he--it, whatever--says, “A colloquial reference to the healthiness of my testicles. As you know, I don’t possess any. However, if I did, they would be hanging very well indeed, thank you. How are yours hanging?”

  “Never better. Let’s get this over with.” I sit down on the couch and reach for the box. Before I open it, I say, “You understand this is a quick in-and-out. The memory I’m looking for may not even exist. But if it does, it’s a flash, nothing more. Find it, get all the details you can, and get the hell out.”