by Steve Perry
Salvaje reached up, as if to stroke the dreadful image of the hologram floating in the air behind him. His fingers passed through the image. “Others will have heard the call. I must speak to them.”
Crazy as a shithouse rat, Pindar thought. But of this he did not speak aloud. “All right. In four seconds. Three. Two. One.” He input the final number.
Salvaje smiled into the camera’s lens. “Good day, fellow seekers. I have come to you with the Great Truth. The coming of the True Messiah…”
Pindar shook his head. He would sooner worship his dog than this hideous image, which had to be a computer simulation. Nothing could really look like that.
* * *
The patient cafeteria was nearly empty, a dozen or so of the inmates shuffling their drug-calmed ways through the line with soft plastic trays. Billie moved in her own chemical fog, feeling tired, but unable to rest.
Sasha sat at a table next to the holoprojection chair, using a fork made of linear plastic to stir some ugly noodles around on her plate. The tableware was strong enough to lift the food but would curl up like cardboard if you tried to stick somebody with it. Somebody like yourself.
“Hey, Billie,” Sasha said. “Check out Deedee, she’s switching channels on the ’jector every three seconds. Why, I think that girl is mentally disturbed!”
Sasha laughed. Billie knew Sasha’s history. She had pushed her father into a vat of jewelry cleaning acid when she was nine. She’d been here for eleven years because every time they asked her whether she’d do it again if she had the chance, she grinned and told them sure. Every day of the week and twice on Sunday.
Billie glanced at Deedee. The girl was gazing at the ’jector as if hypnotized. The tiny holograms blinked as she changed the channels. With four or five hundred choices, it would take even Deedee a while to see them all.
“C’mon, have a seat. Try some of this worm puke, it’s real good.”
Billie sat, almost collapsing.
“You on blues again?”
Billie sighed. “Greens.”
“Crap, what’d you do, strangle a nurse?”
“The dreams.”
Billie glanced at the tiny viewer in front of Deedee. A deep-space ship flew across the void. Blink. A car chase on a multilane surface road. Blink. A documentary on feral elves. Blink.
“C’mon, Billie,” Sasha said, “you only have what, a month left until your hearing?”
“I won’t skate this time either, Sash. They can’t figure it out. They say my folks died in an explosion. I know better. I was there!”
“Ease up, kid. The monitors—”
“Hey, fuck the monitors!” Billie shoved her plate across the table, scattering the safety tableware and the noodles. The rubbery plate fell to the cushioned floor, bounced, but made hardly any sound. “They can send a ship a hundred light-years away to another system, they can make an android from amino soup and plastic, but they can’t cure me of nightmares!”
Attendants appeared as if by magic, but Billie’s rage couldn’t stand any longer against the sedatives in her system. She slumped.
Behind her, Deedee said quietly, “Hold channel.”
The image of a man with slicked-back hair and a smallish beard shined in the air before her. And behind him, behind him was—was—
“—join us, my friends,” the man’s voice spoke into the speaker implanted behind Deedee’s mastoid bone. “Join the Church of Immaculate Incubation. Receive the ultimate communion. Become one with the True Messiah…”
Deedee smiled as the attendants came and helped Billie to her feet. Billie didn’t see the True Messiah as she left.
“Dammit, let go!”
Then somebody pressed a green patch to her carotid and Billie stopped even that much of struggle.
* * *
Wilks and the robot reached the security door leading into MILCOM HQ Intel One. A scanning laser tapped a red dot against his eye and by the time he had finished blinking, the door’s comp had IDed him and begun to roll open. The bot said, “Go on in. I’ll wait here.”
Wilks did as he was told. He felt the pressure of stares against him, knowing he was being watched by computers and probably live guards, that his every move was recorded. Fuck it.
There was only one other door in the corridor, so he couldn’t miss it. It opened as he approached. He stepped into the office. Nothing but an oval table, big enough to seat a dozen people, three chairs. Two of the chairs were occupied. In one was a full bird colonel, wearing interior regulations. No combat medals, a desk pilot. He’d be the MI officer in charge. There was an oxymoron, “military intelligence.”
The other man was in civilian garb, and he had the look. Wilks would bet a month’s pay this guy was a t-bag—Terran Intelligency Agency. Any odds anybody wanted.
“At ease, marine,” the colonel said. Wilks wasn’t aware that he’d been at attention. Old habits die hard.
Wilks noticed that the colonel, his name tag said “Stephens,” kept his hands behind his back. Like maybe he was afraid to touch him.
Not so the civilian. He extended one hand. “Corporal Wilks.”
Wilks kept his own hand down. Shake with one of these guys and you might need finger grafts.
The civilian nodded, withdrawing his offer of a handshake.
“You saw the recording,” Stephens said.
“I saw it.”
“What did you think?”
“I thought the guardsmen were lucky they got blown to atoms when they did.”
The colonel and the civilian exchanged quick glances. “This is, ah, Mr… Orona,” Stephens said.
Yeah, right, and I’m King George the Second, Wilks thought.
“You ran into these things before, didn’t you?” the one they called Orona said.
“Yeah.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What can I tell you that you don’t already know? You’ve seen the recordings of my ‘examination,’ haven’t you?”
“I want to hear it from you.”
“Maybe I don’t want to tell it to you.”
Stephens glared at him. “Give the man the story, marine. That’s an order.”
Wilks almost laughed. Or what? You’ll toss me in the brig? That’s exactly where I’d rather be than here. But if they wanted him to talk, they could pry it out of him, the military had dope that could make a crowbar sing opera. He shrugged.
“All right. I was part of a unit sent to check on a colony on Rim. We’d lost contact with them. We found one survivor, a little girl named Billie. Everybody else had been slaughtered by some kind of alien. Same thing that got the guardsmen.
“One of them got onto the lander when it dusted off. Killed the pilot, crashed it. There were twelve of us in the squad, stuck on the ground. I was the only one who got out, me and the little girl. They shipped her off to live with relatives on Ferro, after they wiped her memory. She was a good kid, considering all the shit she saw. We spent some time awake on the ship before we climbed into the deep freezers. I liked her. She was tough.
“Later I heard there was another nest of the things somewhere, killed another colony. Supposedly a marine and a couple civilians got away from that one, too.
“When I got back, the medics patched me up, then took my brain apart. Only thing was, all of a sudden nobody wanted to know from aliens eating colonists and laying eggs in them. It got buried. Top secret, total wipe like the kid if I opened my mouth. That was more than a dozen years ago.
“That’s it. End of story.”
“You got a bad attitude, Wilks,” Stephens said.
Orona smiled. “Colonel, do you suppose I might have a word with the corporal alone?”
After a moment Stephens nodded. “All right. I’ll talk to you later.”
He left the room.
Orona smiled. “Now we can talk freely.”
Wilks laughed. “What? Do I have ‘stupid’ tattooed on my forehead? If there isn’t a battery of recording gear going full blast right now I’ll
eat that fucking table. Probably the colonel is in the next room watching in full holographic surround. Give me a break, Orona, or whatever your name really is.”
“All right,” Orona said. “We’ll play it your way. Stop me if I get any of it wrong.
“After you managed to escape from Rim, you spend six months in quarantine, to make sure you weren’t infected with some kind of alien virus or bacteria. Nobody even tried to see you, no personal visits, nada. You wouldn’t let them reconstruct your face.”
“Women love scars,” Wilks said. “Makes ’em sympathetic.”
Orona continued. “When you were put back on active duty, you turned into a chemhound. Nine arrests and subsequent terms in the brig for Stoned and Disorderly. Three for assault, two for damage to property, one for attempted homicide.”
“Guy had a big mouth,” Wilks offered.
“I specialize in genetics, Corporal, but anybody who’s ever taken a psych course can see you’re on a one-way trip down the reaction tubes.”
“So? It’s my life. What do you care?”
“Before those two Coast Guard clowns blew themselves up, they downloaded the derelict’s data banks. We have a trajectory of that old ship. We know where it came from before it came home to die.”
“Ask me if I care.”
“Oh, you should, Corporal. You’re going there. Whatever your problems are don’t matter. I need a specimen of the thing the Coast Guard found. You’re going to bring me one.”
“I won’t volunteer for it.”
“Oh, but you will.” Orona grinned.
Wilks blinked. Something unhappy roiled around in Wilks’s belly, like a trapped beast wanting to get out. While he was still wondering if he were about to vomit whatever was left from his most recent meal, Orona hit him with another one.
“You know that little girl you rescued? She’s here. On Earth. In a mental center. They keep her sedated and run a lot of tests on her. She has these nightmares, you see. Apparently the brainwipe didn’t completely take. She remembers things, in her dreams.
“You could wind up in a place like that, if you don’t do the right thing.”
Billie was here? He hadn’t thought he’d ever see her again. He had been curious about her more than once. She was the only person who’d seen those things the way he had, least the only one he knew about. He stared at Orona. Then he nodded. If they wanted you, they would get you, he’d been in the Corps long enough to know that. He would go or damn sure wish he had. There were worse things than dying.
He took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go.”
Orona smiled, and when he did, it reminded Wilks of the aliens.
Damn.
4
Billie slept. She could hear voices in her dream, a distant overlay of ghostly sound wound among the shimmering and frightful images.
“—dreaming again. What’d you give her?”
A door loomed in front of Billie, partially open. Behind the door, blackness. Eyes gleamed in the dark there, and light flashed briefly on rows of serrated teeth.
“—thirty of Trinomine—”
The undulating door swung wide, creaking loudly. A kind of… presence oozed through. Billie couldn’t see it clearly…
“—thirty? That’s twice the usual dosage. Aren’t you worried about brain damage?”
The presence coalesced, forming a quavery image. Black, tall, toothed. The monster. It grinned at Billie. Gnashed those teeth. Moved toward her.
Billie was frozen. Couldn’t even turn away as it came for her. She opened her mouth to scream—
“—well, that’s a risk, isn’t it? She’s already halfway insane and none of the conventional therapies work. Besides, medical-grade androids have taken up to forty milligrams without significant damage—”
The monster reached for her. Opened its mouth. Slowly a toothed rod extruded itself from that hellish mouth. Came toward her, slow, oh, so slow, but she… couldn’t… move…
“—she’s not an android, though—”
“—might as well be—”
A hand touched Billie’s shoulder.
Billie awoke, her heart thudding rapidly. She was sweating hard.
It was Sasha.
“Oh, Sash. What are you doing here?”
“You have a visitor, Doc sent me to tell you.”
“A visitor? I don’t know anybody on Earth except the medics and the inmates here.”
Sasha shrugged. “Doc says somebody is in V4 for you. You want me to go along?”
“No. I can handle it.”
The truth was, she didn’t feel particularly adept at the moment; the drugs coursed through her system and the latest nightmare still vibrated in her memory. But if she was ever going to get out of this place, she had to look as if she were in control.
Billie found her way down the hall, was admitted into the visitor area. The door to V4 scanned her and admitted her into the “private” room. Inside was a monitor inset into the right wall and a single form-chair facing a fully polarized wall that shined like a black mirror.
Billie sat.
Who could it be?
The monitor came to life. Onscreen was a computerized image of a kindly, white-haired grandmother. Her chip-voice when she spoke was also kindly, but full of quiet authority. Billie also knew the voice was full of subsonics and sublims designed to calm and soothe a listener, as well as engender obedience.
“You are being monitored,” Grandma said. “And any discussion of hospital therapy will result in termination of this visitation.” Grandma smiled, forming lines at the corners of her eyes. “Visitation is a privilege and not a right. You are allowed ten minutes. Is this understood?”
“Yeah, right.”
“Very good. Enjoy your visit.”
Grandma smiled again and faded from the screen. A small red dot pulsed in her place, reminding Billie that the conversation was being recorded and observed.
The polarized wall faded from black to clear.
A man, one side of his face scarred, sat in the chair two meters away from her. He wore a military uniform.
Who…?
“Hello, Billie.”
It was as if somebody suddenly slammed a fist into the side of her head. The jolt rocked her physically. Billie jerked and stared as a memory they’d tried to take away from her swam to the surface like a whale needing air.
It was him! The man who’d always saved her in her dreams.
“Wilks!”
“Yeah. How they treating you in here?”
“You—you’re real!”
“Last time I looked, yeah.”
“Oh, God, Wilks!”
I wasn’t sure you’d remember me.
“You—you look… different.”
He touched the scars on his face. “Colonial Marine surgeons. Buncha butchers.”
“Wh-what are you doing here?”
“They told me you were in this place. I figured I had to see you, once I found out you were having the dreams, too.”
“About the monsters.”
“Yeah. I don’t sleep that well myself. Haven’t since Rim.”
“It was real, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah. It was real. They had me, I’m in as long as they keep reactivating my secrecy clause, but you were a civilian. They decided to wipe you, but it didn’t work, least not all the way.”
Billie slumped, but at the same time felt a sense of relief like none she’d ever known. It was real! She wasn’t crazy! The dreams were memories, trying to get out!
* * *
Wilks stared at the kid. Well, she wasn’t really a kid anymore, was she? Turned out to be a nice-looking woman, even in the hospital whites and obviously stoned on whatever they gave her.
He wasn’t sure why he’d come, except that maybe she was the only other person who would understand the dreams he kept having. He’d tried to track her down a long time ago, along with the other marine and the civilians who’d escaped from the second bug nest
, but they’d all been carefully hidden away. Probably in some medical center like this one, or on some outpost a dozen light-years from anywhere. Or maybe they were dead.
“Why did you come?” she asked.
He pulled his thoughts back to the young woman on the other side of the thick, clear plastic wall. “They found what they think is the homeworld for those… things,” he said. “They’re sending me there with some troops.”
A few seconds went past. “To destroy it?”
Wilks smiled, but it was a sour expression. “To collect a ‘specimen.’ I think MI wants to use the things as some kind of weapon.”
“No! You can’t let them!”
“Kid, I can’t stop them. I’m a corporal.” And a drunk and chemhead brawler, he added mentally.
“Get me out of here,” she said.
“Huh?”
“I’m not crazy. The memories are real. You can tell them. They’re trying to convince me everything I remember is an illusion but you know the truth. Tell them. You saved me before, Wilks, do it again! They’re killing me in here with the drugs, the therapy! I have to get out!”
The monitor screen next to her flowered, and a white-haired old lady appeared there, smiling. “Discussion of therapy is not allowed,” she said. “This visit is terminated. Please leave the visiting area immediately.”
“Wilks, please!”
Wilks found himself standing, his fists clenched.
“Please leave the visiting area immediately,” the old lady said.
Billie stood and leapt at the clear wall. She slammed her fists into the hard plastic. “Let me go!”
The door behind her opened and two large men entered. They grabbed Billie. The young woman struggled, but it was no use. The wall began to polarize and darken.
“Hey, fuckheads, let her go!” Wilks yelled. He lunged at the wall, slammed into it. He backed off, threw his shoulder into the wall again. The wall was unmoved.
The monitor on his side of the darkening plastic came to life. The same old woman. “This visit has been terminated. Please exit now. Thank you for coming. Have a nice day.”
“Wilks! Help me!” Billie screamed.
Then the sound faded and the wall went totally dark, and she was gone.
Wilks leaned away from the wall. He stared at his hands. “Sorry, kid,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
