The Mammoth Book of Futuristic Romance (Mammoth Books)

by Trisha Telep

  Beneath the helmet and outer suit was a humanoid. Tall, thin, but well muscled. Lean. Under the silvery cloth of the biosuit, the pilot wore a thin, form-fitting tunic and pants made from some sort of shimmering blue fabric. Eve examined the fabric. The weave was as fine as any she’d ever seen, but its composition didn’t feel like any cloth she’d ever touched. She cut the clothing off the pilot’s body and saved a small square of the interesting material to put in her analyzer. Eve was a woman who liked mysteries for the challenge of solving them.

  When she turned back to cut away the pilot’s pants, her breath caught in a little hiccup. She reached a hand out but stopped before touching. She held her hand there, hovering a bare inch from his flesh, trembling faintly. Her head cocked to one side. How odd. Why did the man make her hands shake?

  Perhaps because he was the first man she’d ever seen in the flesh? Or because he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, period?

  Nothing in the holovids about the world before the End had prepared her for him.

  His hair was silky and golden, the color of sunlight shining through clouds. It was cropped close to his skull, except for a slightly longer fringe on top that feathered across his forehead and filled her with the absurd desire to brush it from his eyes. His skin was a pale golden-brown shade, too, much lighter than her own. His face was beautiful. Straight nose, square jaw, well-defined cheekbones, full lips. Eyelashes long, thick, and straight lay against his cheeks. His body was completely hairless, the skin porcelain smooth and so soft to the touch even through the gloves of her biosuit that she could stand there, stroking him, for days without ever losing interest. Baby soft. Possibly softer. She tried to remember what Misha and Shar’s skin had felt like when they were newborns, and couldn’t remember it being like this.

  From the waist down, with the exception of the hairlessness, he had all the same parts as the men she’d seen in holovids, but somehow seeing a man up close and personal was very different from the clinical introductions offered in an anatomy lesson.

  Eve wet a cloth with cleansing liquid and began stroking the antiseptic, decontamination solution across the pilot’s skin. She washed him more slowly than strictly necessary, letting her fingers explore and linger. She’d never known a man. By the time she’d been born, the men in Homebase were all gone. He was her first. He was fascinating. She continued the decontamination cleanse down his legs and feet. Hands, feet, five fingers, five toes. He appeared perfectly human, a living replica of the men she’d seen in the holovids. Except, of course, that he had no navel.

  “Who is she?”

  Eve jumped a little at the sound of Misha’s voice, then laughed at her own ridiculousness. She’d been so caught up in her discovery, she hadn’t realized her youngest sister had followed her to the quarantine unit. Misha was standing just outside the unit, her small face pressed against the glass wall.

  “‘He’, darling. This is a man. You call him ‘he’ not ‘she’.” Eve smiled at the little girl. Familiar love swept over her in a rush. Misha was so adorable, with her big brown eyes, silky, coffee-colored skin, and the black hair Eve had lovingly braided and decorated with shiny crystal beads just this morning. She was only four, and full of curiosity. Her favorite word was “why”, followed closely by “how” and “what”.

  “What’s a man?”

  “A person, like us, only a different gender. You’ve seen men before, on your training vids.” With Misha there watching, Eve’s strange, almost trancelike fascination with the man had faded. She completed the decon wash of the man’s skin and hosed him down with a spray nozzle. Sudsy water poured off the examination table onto the floor and trickled down the slight slope in the floor to the gravity drain in the center of the room.

  “Why is she – he here?”

  “I don’t know, darling,” Eve said. “That’s what we’re hoping to find out when he wakes.” She ran the drying tube over the gurney and drew a sheet over the man’s body, tucking it beneath his arms in much the same way as she tucked Misha into bed each night.

  “Where did he come from?” Misha did a little dance on the tips of her toes, and ran her fingers on the glass near the man’s hand.

  “I don’t know.”

  “He’s very pretty. Why is her skin like that?”

  “‘His’, dear. His skin. And I imagine that’s what his people look like.”

  “You mean there are others like her?”

  “Him. And yes, I’m sure there must be.”

  “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How did he get here?”

  That, at least, was one question Eve could answer. “He came in a ship. It crashed in the dunes near Mount Carallon.” She took blood and tissue samples, setting each on the sterilized tray beside her.

  “Is he Alliance?”

  “Not that I can tell.”

  “Why did he come here?”

  Eve sighed and then had to laugh. “You already asked me that, darling, and I still don’t know. Until he wakes, I won’t have any answers for you, so why don’t you go help Nonna and Shar with the soil samples?”

  Misha’s big brown eyes never strayed from the stranger’s face. “I don’t want to. I want to stay here. Do you think he wants to be friends?”

  “I hope so.” He’d pointed what appeared to be a weapon at her when she’d boarded his ship. Now, possibly he’d only been being cautious, not threatening, but Eve was taking no chances. From every holovid she’d ever watched in her life, men were violent at heart. They were the ones who built weapons, who started wars, who murdered, raped and brutalized. She should remember that instead of being so drawn to his alien beauty.

  “When will he wake up?”

  Eve sighed again and reached for the deep supply of patience one needed when faced with Misha’s curiosity. The child had more questions than the world had answers. “I’m not sure, darling.”

  “Well, will he wake up?”

  “He should. I’m doing everything I can to make sure it’s possible.” She tracked the scanner over the man’s head again, going more slowly this time and watching the monitor as she did so. There was no sign of a cracked skull or brain swelling, which was amazing considering the force of the crash. Other than a few cuts, scrapes and bruises – and being knocked unconscious – he seemed to have emerged unscathed.

  But would he, upon waking, be friend or foe? She hadn’t thought about that when bringing him back to Homebase. Foolish of her, perhaps, but with Ghosts approaching rapidly, getting him to safety had seemed more vital than worrying about what sort of threat he might pose when he awakened.

  She finished up with the rest of her scans and samples, and packed up her kit. She exited the quarantine unit and waited in the decontamination airlock for the required three cycles, following protocol even though there was no indication the pilot posed any sort of biological or chemical threat. When the airlock opened, she shed her quarantine biosuit and stepped into the corridor to join Misha. “I’ve got to get these samples to the lab.”

  “Can’t I stay here?”

  “No, dear.” She ushered a pouting Misha out the door. “Not until we know whether or not it’s safe.”

  “But he’s sleeping. I won’t bother him.”

  “It’s not you bothering him I’m worried about.” She locked and sealed the quarantine unit doors, activated the motion sensor from the console in the center of the adjoining room, and checked the video feed on her portable comms device to be sure she’d be able to keep an eye on their guest.

  The quarantine room was the closest thing to security they had in Homebase. The clear, eight-inch-thick walls were bulletproof, the door locks unbreakable, and the containment system would allow her to flood the room with neural gas, or she could suck all the air out of the room with the touch of a button. If the visitor was a danger to them, she would be able to neutralize him before he had a chance to do any harm.

  “Come on, Mimisha. It’s time for les
sons.”

  The little girl pouted. “I don’t want lessons. I want to stay here.”

  “Time for lessons, all the same. You mustn’t neglect your education. He’ll still be here when you come back.”

  That seemed to mollify the child. Misha put her plump little hand in Eve’s palm and allowed herself to be led back to the schoolroom. Eve helped the little girl into her learning chair and lowered the teaching helmet over Misha’s head.

  “Comfortable?”

  The child nodded, and gave “thumbs-up”.

  “Good. Enjoy your lessons.” Eve patted the helmet and pushed the button to activate the instructional program. As the tape began and the sound of Misha’s sweet, childish voice began speaking answers to the training questions being posed by her helmet, Eve’s heart swelled with love. Misha was such a beautiful, precious child.

  Eve thought about the pilot, about the weapon he’d pointed at her, about the possibility he was from the Alliance or Cartel. She had saved him from the Ghosts. Rescued him despite the weapon he’d pointed in her direction. And she’d brought him here, to Homebase, to mend any wounds he might have sustained.

  But if he threatened Misha, Eve would kill him without a second thought.

  “So, you’re awake.” Eve put her hands in her lab-coat pockets and regarded the stranger with her head tilted to one side. It had been an hour since she had finished her initial examination. Her tests had all come back negative for any chemical or biological contaminant that might pose a hazard, so she’d left her biosuit hanging in the locker outside the quarantine chamber.

  The man’s eyes opened, and Eve received yet another shock to her senses. His eyes were blue, the rich color of deep seas she’d only ever seen in photographs. She already knew that, of course, having checked his pupils for dilation when he was unconscious, but noting the color when he was unconscious had nowhere near the impact of meeting that deep, arresting blue gaze head-on.

  Her pulse rate increased, and her breathing grew shallow. Eve moistened her lips. Her palms were sweating. What a strange reaction. She didn’t understand it. He was naked, strapped to an examination table. He posed no threat to her. And yet her pulse still raced, and she could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  The man looked at her blankly, started to sit up, then stopped and glanced down at his restraints.

  “You pointed a weapon at me when I boarded your ship. You’ll stay restrained until I find out who you are and what you’re doing here. Do you understand me?”

  He frowned at her, regarding her as if she were some sort of odd puzzle he didn’t understand. It occurred to her that he might not understand her language at all, but then he spoke.

  “I understand.”

  His voice was low and possessed a stirring, musical quality. The sound of it penetrated her skin and vibrated deep in her bones. She shivered, tiny, trembling little quakes that shuddered through her as she stood there. Good heavens. It was all she could do not to press a hand to her thundering heart.

  “What is your name?”

  The man tugged against his restraints then fixed his gaze upon her. “Release me.”

  Eve stood her ground. “Not until you tell me your name.”

  “I will not harm you. That is not my purpose.” And his gaze remained so steady, so penetrating upon her, that she could not look away. It was mesmerizing, that look. It made her feel lightheaded and calm all at once. Was it possible for him to control her mind with just his eyes and the sound of his voice? The scientist in her started to scoff at the idea, but thoughts were just energy. Sights and sounds were energy, too . . . just different wavelengths detected by specialized centers in the brain. Audiovisual stimuli had long ago been proven capable of putting the brain in different states.

  She forced herself to turn away, and the broken connection let her regather her wits. “You pointed a weapon at me when I boarded your ship. That seemed like a threat of harm to me.”

  “You pointed a weapon at me, too. You fired yours.”

  “I—” She stopped the apology just before it came blurting out. What did she have to apologize for? And why in heaven’s name was she blushing? “And I saved your life. The Ghosts were on the way. Believe me, you wouldn’t want to meet them.”

  “Then I thank you for my life and I ask you to release me.”

  She ignored the request as if he hadn’t spoken it. “You said you’re here for a purpose. Are you with the Alliance? The Cartel?”

  “No.”

  “Then who are you with? Are there other factions?”

  “I am not of this world. I am the noah of it.”

  She crossed her arms. “You’re trying to tell me you’re – what? An alien? A little green man from another planet?” She gave a bark of disbelieving laughter. “Right.”

  “I am alien to this planet, yes,” he replied, “but I am neither little nor green.” His expression remained completely deadpan. “I am the watcher of this world. The preserver of its life.”

  “Right. Well, if you’re a preserver of this world’s life, you’re a few centuries too late,” she scoffed. “Most life here was extinguished three hundred years ago.”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  That got her attention. Her gaze slammed into his as forcefully as if it were hitting a concrete wall. It left her reeling. “You . . . uh . . . you remember? Remember is a word that implies you created a memory engram in your brain of an event that you personally experienced. You mean you remember reading about it?”

  “I understand the nuances of your language. I understand the nuances of all languages of this planet. And I did not read about the End. I witnessed it. I told you, I am the watcher of this world. I am its noah.” He nodded to the sink in the corner of the room. “May I have a glass of water?”

  Feeling a little dazed, she went to the sink and filled a plastic glass beneath the faucet. When she turned back to the pilot, she screamed and dropped the glass.

  The man had somehow freed himself from his restraints and had crossed the room to stand directly behind her – well, now in front of her. In a swift move that left her blinking, he caught the falling glass without spilling a drop. She stumbled back against the sink and gripped the porcelain with both hands as he tilted the glass to his lips and downed the water in four swallows.

  “Your restraints cannot hold me, and I choose not to be immobilized.” He reached around her to set the glass on the edge of the sink, then returned to the gurney and sat on its edge, his arms folded across his chest.

  He seemed not the least embarrassed by his nudity. Indeed, he seemed unaware of it entirely. But she was not. Eve wondered at the strange fluttering in her belly. She had seen many photographic images and many holovids of men. She had studied the differences in their bodies, their musculature, their voices, their skeletal structure. But she’d never experienced this strange ache in her lower abdomen that made her groin feel heavy and tight.

  Stop, Eve! He is a man. You cannot forget that. Men were fascinating creatures, but driven by aggressive, hormone-powered tendencies. The holovids had made that perfectly clear. Men were destructive. It was men who had made the wars and the weapons that had ended life on the planet. Yet here, standing before her, was a man who could clearly overpower her, but who instead exercised restraint and claimed to be a preserver of life. A noah, whatever that was.

  “A noah collects archetypal samples of all native organisms from the worlds he watches,” the man said, his intent gaze never leaving her.

  “So, what, you’re some sort of alien biologist cataloging all life in the universe?”

  “Not exactly. When the time comes, I transplant the organisms I have harvested to a world of the creator’s choosing so that life may begin anew.”

  “The creator?”

  “The entity you call God.”

  “Ah.” Humor the man, Eve. At least he’s talking. And staying on that side of the room. “So yo
u were sent to this world to harvest samples of all life and transport it to a new world?”

  “Yes, that was my purpose.” He looked down. He interlaced his fingers and steepled the thumbs. “But I find I can no longer perform the duty for which I was made.” Abruptly, the noah’s belly rumbled and he glanced down at his abdomen in surprise.

  “Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?”

  “Eat.” He frowned, as if he had to process the information. “Yes, to eat would be good.”

  “I’ll bring you something.” She started for the door.

  “There is no need to confine me. I am no danger to you.”

  “Yes, well, that remains to be seen.” She dialed the lock code on the touchpad and waited for the sound of the seal pressurizing and the lock bars sliding into place. Then she dialed another code to release a mild sedative into the controlled space. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  True to her word, she returned thirty minutes later. She carried folded clothes and a plate of grilled vegetables and soybean curd in her arms, a charged disruptor in her lab-coat pocket. She wasn’t going to make the mistake of entering the quarantine room unarmed a second time, not even with the sedative she’d pumped into the chamber. Not so long as her guest, the noah, was so adept at freeing himself from his bonds and moving with such astonishing speed and silence.

  The noah was sitting on the floor, slumped in one of the chairs near the gurney. He was still conscious – she’d been careful to keep the sedative dose mild – but he wasn’t going to be making any sudden moves on her this time. Eve dialed the code to filter the air, then opened the quarantine chamber and entered.

  She needed to hurry. Misha would be done with her current training session in ten minutes, and Eve knew the child would make a beeline for this part of Homebase as soon as the training helmet lifted. The visitor would draw her like a magnet. After all, he drew Eve the same way. But until Eve understood exactly who the man was and what he was capable of, letting Misha near him while was conscious seemed like a very bad idea.