“You mean at the hospital.” Erica flinched, “I really was hearing voices, you know.”
Ben nodded, at the time he had agreed she was nuts, but justifiably so. Now he was even more sympathetic, “I can sympathize.” Ben fingered the tag hanging from the suppresser necklace.
“They put you on a suppresser?”
Ben tilted his head, surprised at the knowledge she possessed, “Yeah, and they made it sound like if they hadn't, I would have joined you at your previous accommodations. I heartily agree with them.”
“Really ?What's your rating?” Erica plopped down on one of the lounge couches.
“I think it was something like 410,” Ben joined her, sitting in an overstuffed recliner.
Erica whistled through her teeth, “Really ?That's just a few points less than me. I'd just about bet the only thing that kept you out of the loony bin when Angela killed the creature was the fact they didn't have you all pumped up with drugs. So what's your cross?”
“My what?”
“You know, you're like half human half -?” Erica elaborated.
“Gene said I was plain human,” Ben braced for the usual reaction and wasn't disappointed.
“Straight, pureblooded HUMAN? Whoa, did you get lucky. According to everything I've heard you should have been in a rubber room long before me!”
“Well, I did become a cop, whatever that says about my sanity. So, if you aren't plain human, what are you?” Ben tried to brush off her comment.
“Me, I'm a spontaneous ethereal, basically I should have been born in the part of the universe where dreams delineate reality, but the stork almost literally got lost. Effectively I'm human, just not the normal kind. Of course I didn't find this out until well after they let me out of the booby-bin. I'm glad of it too. I imagine I'd still be there if I'd told them this kind of story.”
Ben hesitated to speculate as to what his friends from work would say about the last three days. “I know what you mean. So what are you doing here?” Ben pointed down to indicate that room in particular.
“My room is down that hall. So I guess I'm here for the same reason I'm in sanctuary. I am about two weeks training away from being a factor. Angela had me do most of my prelim's in the field.”
Ben turned her answer over in his brain. Erica was here because of a run in with the dark, and now Angela was getting ready to send her in for more. The idea soured his concept of Angela even more than her brisk and businesslike manner had. To him she seemed too stiff to be responsible for so many people. “You don't mind that she's sending you in for more of the same?”
“Mind? I signed on the minute I got out of the asylum. She had told me so much about what they do here how could I not? I'm here because I want to keep what happened to me and those other girls from happening to someone else.”
Ben's thoughts fell back on the refugees he'd helped screen that morning. He wondered how many of them would turn around and join Angela's tin army out of gratitude. His face showed what he thought of that idea, and Erica was quick to pick up on it.
“I may not be able to read your mind while you are on the suppresser, but I can read your face. What's wrong?” Erica interrupted Ben's train of thought
“I'm just worried that Angela is just taking advantage of people, with a hint of the too good to be trues.”
Erica looked at him seriously, “As my grandma used to say, 'She's a good egg.'“
Ben shrugged, “I was on my way out, to see the sights and do the town. Have you been here long enough to have any suggestions?”
She paused before answering as if contemplating pursuit of the prior subject. Then she too shrugged and answered, “Well, there's Club 52, a kind of dance club loungy place, and there's The Sim Hall. It's kind of like an arcade with a bunch of VR simulators.”
“Thanks, would you like to join me?”
She frowned, “It'd be nice to talk some more, but I'm scheduled to head out for my final training in about forty-five minutes. I'll pop-pad you when I get back.” Ben watched as she rose quickly to retreat back down the hall to her room.
Ben sat and digested the exchange. Erica was certainly much improved, but Ben worried she was a bit too enthused. Then there was Angela. Thought of her caught in Ben's gut and worried away at him. Slapping his thighs in an attempt to drive back his ill mood, Ben leapt up. He summoned the elevator and drove back his concerns by contemplating recreation.
On his way up in the elevator, Ben decided he was in the mood to join a crowd. When he reached the garage level, he stepped into the transport booth in the corner. “Club 52 please,” Ben said and then tapped the activation button. Half an instant later, Ben was assailed by the noise and fury of a nightclub in full swing. Being mid-afternoon Sanctuary time, Ben had expected some people but not the full house he found.
Ben shrugged it off as another peculiarity associated with the place and stepped up to the bar. A quick glance in each direction told him he wasn't aware of even half the alcoholic possibilities in the universe. A bartender snuck up on Ben while he visually explored the possibilities.
“So, what can I get you?” A man with a red mop of hair on top of his head asked from behind the bar.
Ben carefully examined his options again. A purplish drink bearing an umbrella especially intrigued him, “What is that?” Ben asked pointing to the drink.
“A trimani, it means 'sunrise' in an Aurailian dialect. It's safe for Agurians through Zneedians, with the exception of Tanerians but they can't seem to hold any kind of liquor anyway.”
“Trimani,” Ben rolled the name around on his tongue and contemplated the drink, “give me one of those.”
The bartender set about mixing it with a flourish. He placed a glass in front of Ben and began pouring red, yellow and gold liquids so that Ben could watch them mix forming a dull shade of royal purple. Then the bartender plunked an umbrella on top. Ben sampled it and found it enjoyable. The taste was deceptively more fruity than alcoholic, but previous experiences in other bars warned him not to be fooled by its sweetness. He made note not to over indulge in it.
It really was too bad that after three of them, he had forgotten that note.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 9
Very Promising
------------------------------------
Miranda was jarred out of a state very near sleep by the screech of a poorly handled public address system. “Botanical gardens, last stop.” Miranda waited while the rest of the passengers disembarked, taking the time to gather herself. At a hurried glare from the bus driver, she slung her knapsack over her shoulder and stepped down off of the bus.
Miranda took several measured steps towards the gate. She felt silly, silly because she was here to literally smell the roses, and silly because she had waited so long. The last world had been her closest call yet, illustrating the desperate ends to which the dark ones were willing to go. They had used the fears, greed and prejudices of the natives to turn the otherwise innocent people of that world into a murderous mob. Miranda didn't want to fight the mob because they weren't her enemies but avoiding harming them had driven her practically into the arms of a Djheen capture squad.
Barely, Miranda had escaped. This morning when she awoke she had taken stock of her life. She had started running so long ago that she couldn't calculate the time it had consumed. It didn't help that she had no local calendar to consult. A few days here, a month there, she had no absolute to measure the time against. Nothing held any constancy other than the run, the fear of capture, and the weariness that haunted her even after a full night's sleep in a comfortable bed.
This morning she had dressed, paid for her room, and gotten on the first bus to pass her motel, ready to resume her routine, run, hide, then run some more. Sitting down she had spotted an ad for the botanical gardens, it was full of roses. Not really thinking, Miranda decided she wanted to see real roses. Three busses later she stood at the gates of the botanical gardens, fe
eling as silly as she had ever allowed herself to feel.
She shuffled up to the line of people formed behind the gate and allowed herself to be carried forward by it. Robotically, she paid to enter. Inside she wandered around aimlessly looking for roses. The scents of the green growing things tickled at her nose unnoticed.
“May I help you miss?” A woman clad in a gardeners pocketed apron asked. She knelt in a planting bed, obviously interrupted in the act of digging a hole for a small potted flower.
“Pardon?”
“This area isn't prepared for the public. May I help you?”
Miranda blinked rapidly, finally taking notice of her surroundings, “I'm sorry, I guess I was looking for the roses.” Her eyes caught on the bare soil which was undergoing planting.
The gardener smiled, “I'll take you there.”
“No, I wouldn't dream of imposing, I'll find my way there eventually.”
“It's no imposition, I love the roses. We have so many of the older more fragrant varieties. Some of the new ones were bred far too quickly for their blossoms, not enough time was taken to preserve the aroma. I don't mind a bit taking you to see and smell the difference.” The woman pocketed a small spade and rose brushing the dirt from her knees.
“But you obviously have a lot of work to do here.”
The gardener laughed, “Helping the guests is part of my job, and I'd move half the oak trees in the gardens just to have an excuse to pass through the rose garden.” She led Miranda back around a previously unnoticed sign marking the area as off limits to guests, then set off at a purposeful pace.
The gardener, paused at each turn in their path to make sure Miranda was still following. After about five minutes she stopped and turned to Miranda. “Here we are.” The woman gestured broadly at a lightly informal interpretation of a rose garden. All of the bushes were in bloom, releasing a storm of fragrance into the air.
Miranda stepped up to one of the bushes and mechanically stuck her nose into a blossom. She only half smelled it. Her thoughts centered on a promise kept, freeing her to resume her flight.
The gardener danced lightly from bush to bush chattering briefly about the different merits of each variety. She was halfway down the path before she stopped and noticed Miranda stood frozen in position still smelling the first blossom.
The gardener returned to Miranda's side, “You seem preoccupied, is there something wrong?”
Miranda shook herself and straightened, “No, and yes, I woke up this morning and got on a bus. I'm not sure from there when I decided to come here and keep a promise. Just now, I think I realized how tired I was of running from my problems.”
“Well, if you want the opinion of an unbiased stranger, I would have to say that maybe it's time you turned and faced down those problems. It's just about the only way to get rid of them for good.”
Memories of the frenzied hate filled eyes of a stranger on the last world flashed through Miranda's skull, so did memories of childhood tortures. She thought of the impossibilities of turning to fight and face her fears. Then the image of a cornered wolf sprang to mind. It was a memory not of her own, but she understood it. There was a point when hunted animals seemed to realize that they had nothing more to lose. Then they turned to fight back. Miranda looked the stranger in the eye and realized she was ready to do just that.
Decisively, Miranda bend down and inhaled deeply of the rose's fragrance. She locked the memory of that smell in her brain. On impulse she plucked one of the petals and tucked it into her pocket.
“Thank you,” Miranda said turning swiftly to face the gardener, only to find the gardener had left. Though briefly confused, Miranda clung to her new purpose and set course for a new world, where she could be of help.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Ben awoke to the thundering sound of his own heartbeat. Between that and the dull ache behind his eyeballs, and the dry cotton of his tongue Ben had all the hints he needed to know not to open his eyes. What had he been thinking last night? He yawned against the taste in his mouth and sat up slowly. He berated himself. It just wasn't like him to get so smashed, and the dreams he had.
Ben got out of bed, with the intent to shuffle to the bathroom with his eyes closed. That's when he ran face first into the wall. “What the!”
“I do not know,” Bea answered softly.
Ben snapped his eyes open fuzzily realizing that his odd dreams hadn't exactly been dreamt. Now he recalled sharply why he had gotten so uncharacteristically smashed. He cinched his eyes closed again. “Bea could you turn the lights back off?”
The lights dimmed. “I have ordered a soothing beverage it is in the delivery box. It will help with your hangover.”
Ben opened the cupboard and chugged it expecting something that would possess a taste somewhere between vomit and gym socks. He was pleasantly surprised but not until well after it was gone and the message finally got from his taste buds to his brain. “Not too bad,” Ben savored the light fruitiness that remained on his lips. He was doubly surprised when his hangover began to subside.
“I did say it was a soothing beverage.” Bea's tone managed quite a good imitation of smugness. “You should report to Gene as soon as you can get dressed. He has made several inquiries as to your condition. I have already informed him that I would send you there on waking.
“What about breakfast?” Ben asked while heading into the bathroom with an armful of clothes.
“I will have a nutritive drink waiting in the delivery slot.”
Ben made a curious grunt. Having stripped down, he stepped into the shower stall. "Yeeeowe!" Ben hollered as the shower came on full blast, spraying him with icy water. “Hey Bea, don't just turn the water on like that! Especially not if it's icy. Imagine treating a man with a hangover like this!”
“It is the pre-programmed response to alcoholic excess, bright lights, restorative drink, ice cold shower. Be thankful you did not specify a wakeup call. The pre-programmed sequence would have then included the 1812 Overture, in its entirety.
“And which sadist pre-programmed you?” Ben toweled off and dressed. Yanking on his jeans, Ben's thoughts rapidly turned back to the primary reason for his bender, “No wait, let me guess, Angela.”
“I was pre-programmed by Sinclair Chavez. The program is justified by reason of aversion therapy.”
Ben frowned. He remembered Sinclair. That man left almost as bad a taste in Ben's mouth as Angela or whatever those drinks were last night. He scrubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to get rid of the taste of his morning after breath. He shrugged it all off and retrieved the drink from the cupboard. It was thick like a milkshake only warm. Ben hesitated then upturned the cup. It tasted horrible, while upholding the possibility that it might actually be good ice-cold. He gagged against it. “Let me guess, more pre-programmed torture!”
“Correct, Now report to Gene.”
“I'll go on one condition, can I change this pre-programmed response?”
“Now that I have completed it, yes.”
“Good, first no 1812 Overture, ever, and if I ever get into this condition again start with lights dimmed, that first drink, a normal temperature shower that turns on at my command not before, and ending in an appetizing breakfast. Oh yeah, don't shake the bed to wake me unless you want to clean up the consequences.” Ben counted each thing off on his fingers.
“I don't mind cleaning. Does that conclude the new program?”
Ben answered with an affirmative grunt before stepping out into the hall. He hoped the rest of the day went better. Down the hall in the common area, Ben found three of his roommates, Martin and two women he hadn't met yet. Martin sat cross-legged in the library corner reading a book. The two women were deep in discussion over trays of food in the kitchenette. Ben attempted to sneak directly to the elevator, avoiding conversation completely, but he didn't succeed. One of the women spotted him.
“Hey, there's the new guy.” She said pointing
at Ben.
His shoulders slumped at his failure, and then so did his eyebrows in internal reproach. This was the first time he had tried to avoid beautiful women, and they both were exceedingly beautiful. The one that had spoken was tall, blonde, and blue eyed with full red lips. The second was a petite brunette with tight curly shoulder length hair. Ben forced a smile on his face and walked up to them. “Hi, my name is Ben.”
“Trinny, and this is Mona,” The brunette responded, indicating first herself then the blonde.
“Pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand, each took it in turn. The blonde, Mona, had cold clammy hands. Trinny had a warm firm grip, which went perfectly with the smile she flashed at him.
The conversation stalled there for the length of time necessary for a round of awkward measuring glances then Trinny tried again. “So, Ben, you're from Earth, like Erica.”
Ben nodded dully, “Yes, the same one actually.” Ben wondered why Bea hadn't leapt in with the welcome rescue of reminding him of his meeting with Gene. The awkward pause in the conversation gave him plenty of time to realize that Bea's mobile remote sat still pinned to last night's shirt somewhere on his floor.
If you ladies would excuse me I forgot my room's remote pin.” Ben darted back down the hall and into his room. When the door sealed behind him he set about looking through the unnecessarily large pile of dirty clothes strewn about the floor for his shirt. He was a very messy drunk.
“Ben, you have a meeting.”
“I know that Bea. What I don't have is my remote pin. Could you help me find it?”
“Of course.” With those two words all of the accumulated mess disappeared from the floor. “Hold out your hand,” Bea ordered. Ben complied and the pin immediately materialized there.
Ben took in the suddenly clean room while attaching the pin to his collar, “Thanks Bea.”
“You are most certainly welcome,” Bea's voice chirped with simulated pride from the speaker built into her remote.
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