The Lost Finder

by Pamela Fryer

  She began to feel numb as the reality that this was an alien craft, and Jager was an alien man, sunk in. It was so incredulous her brain kept stalling over it, like a vinyl record skipping over a scratch.

  But she was both a Darwinist and a scientist at heart, and had always thought man’s belief he was the most intelligent creature in the universe only proved his ignorance.

  Still, the rational part of her insisted this was all FBI super-high tech.

  From Earth.

  As much as she resisted, gone was her safe little cocoon. She’d believed that criminals, disease, and natural disasters were her only enemies. Now, life seemed a lot more dangerous.

  “Just Brooke, are you feeling unwell?”

  It took her a moment to realize what he’d said. “I’m fine,” she lied. Did alien ships come with barf bags? “Please, call me Brooke. Just Brooke, as in, it is not necessary to address me as Brooke Weaver every time you speak to me.”

  “I see. I believe you should sit down, Brooke. Chair extend.”

  He took her gently by the arm and eased her back. She let him, her eyes straying across the cabin to the dead man.

  The backs of her knees touched something cushy and she sat. Instantly, she was cupped in a powerful static grip. She cried out.

  “Stay calm, Brooke. You have nothing to fear.”

  “Turn it off!”

  “Ionics off,” he said.

  She sagged into plush cushions as though gravity had been turned back on. Her heart hammered, trying to jump out of her chest. She realized she hadn’t seen a chair when she’d scanned the rectangular room.

  “It is ionic nanotechnology. Similar to your ionic micro static air cleaners, but many years ahead in development.” Jager squatted beside her and smiled. “I understand what you are seeing is very troubling for you to accept. I am sorry for upsetting you.”

  “I’m fine.” She swallowed. “But no more surprises, okay? Warn me when something strange is going to happen.”

  He chuckled. “I will try to remember to do so.”

  As terrified as she was, Jager had an incredible effect on her. His voice was so smooth and deep he could sing the blues, and his pale eyes possessed a soft kindness that slid past her inherently suspicious nature.

  She took a deep breath. The mysterious girl continued to hover in her chamber while blurry spots of blue light whirled around her like tiny glowing fireflies.

  Brooke glanced back to the dead man. “Who was he?”

  Jager followed her gaze to the body in the chair. His features clouded over. “My navigator. His name was Polin Reece. He was my very good friend.”

  “I...I’m sorry.”

  “He understood the risks of our mission.” Jager stood and started across the cabin. “Please do not touch anything. Many of the craft’s controls were damaged and I have not yet evaluated potential dangers.”

  He peeled off his shirt and dropped it on the floor as he walked across the tilted cabin. “Medical Two.”

  The second cylinder swiveled open. Brooke stared as he worked the front of his pants. Even from behind, she knew what he was doing. She glanced away as he pushed them over his hips and down...

  Brooke couldn’t not look. She gulped as his pants slid to his ankles. His butt couldn’t have been more perfect. It was as smoothly white as the rest of him, sculpted with muscle that dented on the sides as he moved. He stepped on the heel of each boot and pulled his feet out, leaving them and his pants discarded in a trail to the cylinder.

  If that wasn’t the trait of a true human male, she didn’t know what was. A human male with a gorgeous ass. Either he was from Earth, or spacemen didn’t have hampers either.

  He stepped into the chamber and turned around. All magnificent, six foot six inches of him. Naked, except for the chain with that strange pendant around his neck.

  Heat flooded her cheeks.

  Jager closed his eyes and tilted his head back, oblivious. Yep. Typical man. She glanced around the main cabin again, taking a more careful assessment. Anything to keep her eyes off all that magnificent male perfection standing erect in front of her. Fully erect.

  He stayed motionless, eyes closed, for a long time. Was he in a state of sleep? More important, would the exit door open on her command?

  She risked a glance back and let her eyes wander. He looked like a model from a Calvin Klein underwear ad: all pecs, abs, bulging thighs, and knotted calves. And every glorious part in between.

  Except that he wasn’t wearing any Calvins.

  Brooke rose and followed his trail of laundry across the tilted cabin. The hum increased as she neared the cylinder.

  Jager’s cropped blond hair was too short to move like the girl’s, which danced around her head like the lightning beams in a plasma ball, but Brooke knew he was undergoing the same treatment by the tiny blue and white lights whirling around him.

  He had a chiseled chin with a small cleft, and a straight nose. His tawny lashes were long, fanned out in perfect crests beneath neatly arched, golden-brown brows.

  He must be from outer space. Nothing this perfect could come from Earth. He had a few small scars on his face, but damned if they didn’t make him more attractive, in a dangerous sort of way.

  Good thing dangerous men weren’t her bag.

  His eyes flashed open and focused on her. “You may use the medical chamber to refresh yourself, if you wish.”

  She stumbled back and nearly fell on her rear. For some reason, she hadn’t thought they could converse through the strange, swirly field. His voice was as clear as if they were standing only inches apart, which they were.

  “No thanks. I’ll stick to good old water.”

  He groaned as he flexed and stretched his shoulders. His hands strayed outside the whirling lights’ range. So it wasn’t a physical boundary either.

  She moved back another step, glancing away from all that male nakedness. She could feel his gaze on her.

  “I sense you are afraid, Brooke. Please place your trust in me. I will not harm you. It is my duty to protect you.”

  She met his eyes. She’d never been shy around a naked man before, and he certainly wasn’t going to be the first. Yet every time she’d been in this situation, it had been invited.

  This time, it had not. And he didn’t seem at all aware it was inappropriate.

  He reached out, as though seeking her hand. She didn’t move.

  “The ionics will not harm you. Long ago, the people of your planet discovered the healing properties of magnets. This is much the same. You will not feel pain.”

  She shook her head.

  He took a deep breath and smiled. His pain was gone. Had the thing knit his broken ribs that quickly? Impossible. He’d been exaggerating, or mistaken about the extent of his injuries.

  Still, she could not deny all she’d seen. Or was trying to see. It was difficult to concentrate on anything other than all those beautiful muscles.

  He closed his eyes and rubbed at his neck. Brooke took the opportunity to continue her perusal. He was truly masculine perfection, if you were into that sort of thing. She let her eyes stray to his shoulders, his chest, and to that magnificently flat belly. The erection pointing straight up at Medical Two’s ceiling. It was a beautiful penis, as far as penises went. Thick, ivory white, with a blush red crown bulging at the tip. Oh, Lordy.

  She looked up and found him watching her. How long had he seen her staring? How long had she been staring?

  A chime sounded and the blue lights vanished. He stepped out of the cylinder and took a step toward her, leaning forward.

  Brooke caught her breath. He looked like he was going to take her in his arms and kiss her. Pull her up against that solid chest and press that straining arousal against her belly. God, if he did, would she let him?

  Instead, Jager shifted, popped a crick in his back, and turned to a small closet-like compartment in the wall.

  The clothes he removed seemed like Earth clothes, yet when he pulled the shi
rt over his head, she would swear it adhered to his body like shrink-wrap. He slipped into an identical pair of cargo pants whose waistband reacted the same way, without first adorning anything underneath.

  A bare essentials man.

  He sat at a small bench and pulled on thin, sock-like stockings, and then slipped his feet back into the boots. They closed up automatically with a shwipp sound.

  She watched him in silence, unsure what to say.

  “You will feel much better if you ionize.”

  She could only shake her head. She was hovering on the verge of information overload. Receptors in her brain were sparking so frantically that if she closed her eyes, she’d probably pop a fuse. She moved to Medical One and blinked her eyes, forcing her brain to function.

  “Why is she still in there?”

  Jager moved beside her. Warmth radiated from his skin, and he smelled wonderful. It wasn’t that he had used sandalwood soap or Old Spice for Men, but he was clean, and the only scent coming off him was pure male virility.

  He tapped on a computer panel with oddly-marked keys near the cylinder. “She is infected. Additionally, she carries a blood-borne disease. I am searching for a translation.”

  “Infected—what does that mean?”

  “She has been contaminated by pathogens from the Tetra. It has either scratched her, or broken her skin with its mandibles. If the skin was broken by its mandibles, acids from its saliva will speed along the infection.”

  “Was Emily Randall infected?” The unknown girl in the medical chamber appeared relaxed, her expression almost pleasant, like she was having a nice dream.

  Brooke looked at Jager when he remained silent. His expression was guarded.

  “The girl in the old place was consumed.” He said the words with reluctance, as if he thought she couldn’t handle it.

  Brooke dragged in a deep breath. She almost couldn’t.

  The computer beeped. English letters replaced the strange symbols.

  “Hepatitis-B,” Brooke said. She didn’t know if it was curable, or incurable but survivable. C-strain was the deadly one, if she remembered correctly. At the moment, she wasn’t entirely sure of anything.

  “The Tetra feeds on body fluids and soft organs through a puncture it creates in its victim’s soft tissue with a tube that extends from its throat. Her blood was unsuitable, so it used her as a lure in a trap set for us.”

  Oh joy. Brooke’s head began to swim. “But it didn’t puncture her.”

  “It didn’t need to. The Tetra has highly developed sensors. It can smell the disease.” Jager smiled. “It is this female’s good fortune. She will recover fully.”

  He pressed a key and a refrigerated compartment slid open with a puff of white vapor. He retrieved a small, silver cylinder that held a glass reservoir of blue liquid at the tip. He reached for the girl’s arm and pressed the other end against her skin. With a soft whish, the liquid drained from the cylinder.

  “She has been infected less than two hours, so the effects are fully reversible. Additionally, she will no longer have hepatitis.”

  “And if she’s infected longer?” Brooke asked. Do I really want to know the answer?

  “An infection must be treated within thirty-six hours, or the victim’s cells will begin to break down. The DNA mutates and the body contorts as vital organs liquefy. An infected humanoid will survive three, possibly four days. It is a painful death.”

  “So your job is to kill this thing before it can infect others, or reproduce.” She looked at him. “You almost sound more like a scientist than a hunter.”

  “I am specially trained to provide medical service in the field, but I am foremost a soldier.”

  She swallowed again, forcing down bile her body seemed determined to spew.

  “Perhaps you should sit down again. Your face has changed color.”

  “Actually, I should be going now. I have, uh, I’m meeting someone. Someone’s expecting me. Could you please open the door?” Her heart thundered at the daring of her question. Would he let her go?

  Medical One beeped. The blue lights stopped and the girl moaned softly. Her hair fell back into place, but the ionics Brooke had felt in the chair were clearly still working. The girl swayed, but didn’t collapse.

  She opened her eyes and blinked. Her loopy gaze slid from Jager to Brooke. “Where am I? I feel strange.”

  Brooke stepped closer. “You’re safe now. Do you remember the FBI raid at the compound?”

  The girl squinted like a drunk trying to focus their eyes. She stared off at nothing for a moment, blinking as if it would help clear her memory. Suddenly her expression crumbled and she began to cry.

  “Something attacked us...”

  “Get her out of there,” Brooke demanded. She reached into the medical chamber, through the ionics field, to grab the girl. The hairs on her arm stood up. It felt like the kind of static electricity kids created by rubbing latex balloons on their hair, only a hundred times stronger.

  Jager took the other arm and they guided her out. “She will need to lie down.”

  They eased her over to the side of the cabin where Brooke had been sitting. Only there was nothing there now.

  “Extend chair,” he commanded. A panel opened and eight sections of padding unfolded like an S-shaped lounge. Thankfully, the girl didn’t seem to notice its magical slide out of the wall and allowed them to sit her down.

  She covered her face with her hands as she doubled over. “It was awful!”

  Brooke knelt before her. “You’re safe now. It’s all over. Can you tell me your name?”

  Her tears stopped suddenly, like she’d turned them off with the flip of a mental switch. She eyed Brooke suspiciously. It was the cult’s training kicking in, surmounting her fear.

  “I’m not with the FBI,” Brooke assured her. “I’m a private agent searching for Sara Brown. I’ve been hired by her father. Was Sara with you today?”

  The girl sniffled and nodded. Her face scrunched up again. “It got her.”

  Brooke glanced at Jager.

  “There was another girl with us,” she said, sniffling. “After it got Sara, me and Emily hid in the old factory. But it came back, and I ran. I don’t know what happened to Emily.”

  Brooke rubbed the girl’s back. She would avoid telling her Emily Randall’s fate if she could. “What’s your name, honey?”

  “J-Jill. Jill Tucker.” She got a faraway look. “I don’t feel so good.” Her eyes rolled back in her head and she started to slump over. Brooke caught her arm and eased her into a prone position.

  Jager lifted the girl’s feet onto the chair. “She will recover quickly. Her cells are adjusting to the antibodies.”

  “That fucking thing has Sara.” Brooke shot to her feet and narrowed her gaze on Jager.

  This was all his fault. Okay, rationally she knew it wasn’t, but she didn’t feel very rational right now, and needed someplace to focus her anger.

  “It will feed her to its clutch when they hatch.” Jager went to the far wall and opened another compartment. “To find Sara Brown, first we must find the nest.”

  Brooke ground her teeth as she stared back at the mysterious man from Mars. So much for dumping him like two-day-old bread. She sat on the edge of the chair beside Jill and grasped her hand. She pressed her index finger to the girl’s carotid artery and felt a strong pulse. It was a small comfort, but one Brooke needed immensely.

  “Do you have a conveyance?”

  She looked across the ship. Jager was gearing up with more high-tech gizmos.

  “A transporter?”

  “A what?”

  He slipped that unfolding Palm Pilot back into his pocket. “A mobile craft?”

  “I have a car,” she told him. If he wasn’t from outer space, he sure was good at acting like he was.

  He strode across the tilted cabin, heaved Jill up, and tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry again. “Door open.”

  The outside door slid op
en. The ramp to the forest floor was still extended. If she had known it was that easy, she would have left a long time ago.

  Brooke’s knees went rubbery as she started down the ramp. She stumbled, sprawling to her hands and knees on the moist forest floor. The pungent scent of damp soil, sticky pine needles, and ozone brought back a little reality to a world that had gone off-kilter, but it was too little, too late. She dry heaved, almost enjoying the clenching of her stomach muscles.

  Nothing came up, but she stayed where she was, breathing in the beautiful aroma of the Oregon forest.

  It seemed like hours ago that she had stepped up this ramp into Wonderland. Everything she’d seen came barreling at her in flashes.

  Mutant spiders.

  Futuristic appliances.

  Medical tubes that healed with invisible powers.

  Otherworldly crafts half buried on impact.

  Jager really was from...somewhere else.

  Chapter Six

  A pattering sound caught her attention. It was still raining. Yet that light-bending gizmo, whatever it was, also deflected the rain. Only now did she realize that while inside the craft she hadn’t heard the din of heavy drops on the roof.

  “Brooke, are you injured?”

  “No, I’m okay.” She dragged in a deep breath and pushed to her feet. Now that she’d accepted it, she almost felt like laughing. The stress of her disbelief, of her need to disbelieve, had lifted, giving her a momentary feeling of gleeful calm.

  In the next instant, heavy fear settled like a crushing weight. She was small and insignificant against things so huge and fear-inspiring they were unfathomable. She was a gnat in the grand scheme of the universe.

  Brooke felt both paralyzing fear and overwhelming excitement. There really was more out there. But it was damned scary.

  Ignorance truly is bliss.

  If she had the choice of going back in time and unlearning it all, would she? No. It’s better to know. Or was it?

  “I’m okay,” she repeated. “Let’s go.” She started into the woods, glancing over her shoulder as Jager followed, carrying Jill. His posture was ramrod straight and he appeared unfazed by the girl’s weight. Apparently he’d been completely healed.