Essentially Human Page 10

  When they adjourned, the man approached her.

  “Professor Bales, I hope you will personally communicate to Agent Dancer that I disagreed with the majority on the issue of his leave.” The Admiral stood ramrod straight, his lips curved downward at a steep angle.

  “Yes, sir. I will. It seems likely he’ll resign.”

  The man tightened one eyelid and peered at her. “He shouldn’t. I understand he has vacation time available. He should consider taking time off to visit one of National Parks.”

  Did he wink at her? He’d been quite dismissive of her attempt to speak of Celeste Pritchard before the meeting.

  Hermione tilted her head before replying. “Some hard hiking in the wilderness would likely be good for him, sir. I’ll pass on the suggestion.”

  “Just keep to the local parks.” He spun and all but marched down the hallway.

  “Fascinating man, Admiral Jenkins. Stellar career, but I fear the Navy has outgrown his generation. He once spent several days in the brig for disobeying a woman officer.”

  She knew of that incident but acted surprised as she replied to Hammer. “Really? The services have changed a great deal in seventy years. I imagine he’s learned to adjust. Excuse me, I need to contact Agent Dancer.”

  “Of course, I’ll be in touch regarding my invitation.”

  “I’d like that.” She hung her head and slumped as she headed for the security gate, straightening after half a dozen steps. She figured he watched her. And the incident he tried to use to alienate Jenkins from her consideration him an ally? The female officer in question ordered him to report to her cabin, supposedly for a briefing. The woman later underwent a court martial for sexual harassment. Hammer certainly played with facts.

  She left the base, found a coffee shop and set up a diversion with Jermaine. He’d take the clone of Harold’s phone into the nearby park and go hiking. That might buy the agent a few more days to reach New Mexico and see his family evacuated before the order went out for his arrest.

  When a flyer advertising a 10k run in another park arrived via e-mail a few days later she studied it carefully. After putting it through several filters she found the small Navy cross symbol at the 8k marker and decided a competitive run would be good for her. She signed up and prepared for the event with some well-placed comments at her local café about how she assumed she’d do poorly, but she might as well do something with her time off.

  Hammer sent an invite for dinner the night before and she debated whether to accept it. Finally, she did so, but requested an earlier start and change in venue, citing the run as the reason. He suggested they wait and dine two nights later. At his home.

  She shuddered as she read that and sent a quick message that she’d get back to him. Then logged off and shut her system down.

  The man seriously gave her the creeps, but she might be able to ascertain something more of his plans if she met with him. But not slept with him. At his home that might be difficult to avoid. She decided to consult with Drum before accepting anything.

  The night before the race the agency put out a warrant for Harold arrest. He’d disappeared four days earlier after the agents sent to track him found his abandoned cell phone thirty five miles up a hiking trail. By then he’d arrived in Arizona, gathered his extended family and seen them to the central valley of California.

  That same day Hammer let her know he needed to leave town and their dinner would have to be postponed. That e-mail made her smile. The news of a Shakes vaccine had broken hours before. Two pharmaceutical companies in South America and one in Canada announced shipments would commence in a matter of days.

  An outcry rose in response to an attempt to block the shipments, politicians dashing here and there to cover their asses, citing concerns that the vaccine was untested. The public didn’t give a damn and wanted it sent. Anything being better than nothing. She knew the black market and underground was already in place to see it spread. The actual compounds needed to create it were simple and within the quarantined zones medical personal toiled to see it put together. The stock of Hammer’s drug company sank like a rock on the stock market. She bet he was too busy for a dinner with her!

  As she laced on her running shoes, Hermione found her spirits lifting higher than they had in years. The dance to avoid Hammer and clear Monty’s name, not get fired or arrested, along with accepting the reality of an alien race existing within the ocean depths for several centuries, brought out the best in her. And by all accounts, she should be giggling uncontrollably while being strapped into a straightjacket, instead of relishing the days ahead.

  Her parents had been new age believers who ran away from the growing conservative tilt of their country, fleeing to Canada when the freedom of information act was repealed in Washington. She understood and didn’t argue with them, much. Her sense of patriotic duty ran too strong to follow them. Years of justifying the means to the greater good finally caught up with her as she realized her definition of greater good seldom jibed with who actually considered themselves greater.

  She’d grown cold and distant the last five years, but finally the spring approached. Looking forward to the future and the innovations Monty claimed the Aleena held, made her want to smile all the time.

  The light cloud covering kept the heat from growing too oppressive as the runners gathered at the starting line. It had been years since she’d run a cross country race and she almost wished this were nothing more than a race instead of a contact point with Jenkins. As the beginning of the race saw the runners take off, she hung back, content to follow the main pack. The trail began gently enough, but grew quite steep after two miles. She nimbly placed her feet, missing the obvious tree roots and occasional deep rut. At the three mile mark, volunteers handed out water and she gladly accepted the cup.

  The clouds kept the heat down, but didn’t defeat it totally. The trees grew thicker on the downslope and the runners spread out. By mile six she hadn’t seen another runner for several minutes. Then the sounds of another runner came at her back. The trail widened and the other runner drew parallel to her.

  “Give me your number!”

  Hermione glanced at the woman. Looked remarkably like her, even wearing the same color shorts and shirt. She quickly pulled the little bib over her head and handed it over. The woman slipped it on and pointed to a fork coming up in the trail.

  “Go that way.”

  With a nod, Hermione did so. The fork took a sharp right turn and ended at the shade of huge boulder. She stopped to catch her breath and Admiral Jenkins stepped around the other side. “Over here, out of sight.”

  Wiping sweat from her face, she followed.

  The elderly man perched on a fallen log, dressed in jeans, a beat up t-shirt with a straw cowboy style hat shading his face. He handed her a bottle of water and she gladly drank.

  “I’m not normally one for such subterfuge, but Hammer and his cronies have made it all but impossible to simply speak to you without inviting investigation.”

  “I understand, sir. What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine, but you need help or you’re going to end up without a career. I don’t understand what his agenda is, to ruin the reputation of Agent Montgomery. I don’t care for your boss’s way of doing things, but he’s no traitor.” Jenkin’s pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. “Now, my wife is a big reader and I’ve seen that author’s picture. What is Hammer up to, Agent Bales?”

  She took a deep breath and studied the Admiral. According to Pritchard, he could be trusted. But with how much?

  “Sir, how do you know Agent Montgomery?”

  He peered at her, then snorted and a quick smile crossed his face. “Don’t blame you for being suspicious. Montgomery treated my son after he suffered a breakdown in the jungles of Argentina. This was before he joined the HRSD as a profiler. He worked as a therapist. And I didn’t appreciate the techniques he used. Fought him tooth and nail to be truthful. Luckily for my son, I lost th
at battle and Montgomery pulled him out of it. James went on to serve another fifteen years before dying after being exposed to T-17, off of San Diego. One of the Navy’s damned attempts to test the limits of the spill.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I wasn’t aware of any missions of that nature.”

  “Of course you weren’t. At least he lived long enough to marry and have children. Because of Dr. Montgomery and his Music Intervention Therapy.”

  Hermione stretched, saying nothing. She hadn’t been aware that Monty had a Ph.D. He’d been instrumental in MIT development?

  Jenkins sniffed. “So, why is Hammer trying to muddy these waters?”

  She straightened and decided to trust the man, to a certain extent. “I believe it’s all about profits. Either he is involved in illegal cloning experiments with the author and he’s covering his tracks, or some new drug, used on the Ballard crew? Or something else.”

  “Something else, I’m sure of it. Though profit is undoubtedly part of it. Don’t bullshit me, young woman, you know more. I don’t need details. Have you heard from Montgomery?”

  Damn it, how much could she trust this man?

  She sat down next to him and bent forward, resting her elbows on her thighs. She turned to gaze into his steely grey eyes and studied his face. Then she nodded.

  “Fine. Tell him to stay low. If he’s got that woman, keep her out of Hammer’s grip. I’ve got contacts and will see about a way to bring him in without ending up in some cell, never seen from again.” The Admiral stood. “You need to take the back trail on down. Erica will get the bib back to your apartment so that tracking device on it stays current.” He handed her a business card with a number on it. “This is untraceable, to be used once only. See Montgomery has it.”

  “Thank you, sir. And, sir?”

  “Yes?” He unfolded sunglasses, preparing to slip them on.

  “Hammer. He had the cure for the Shakes. He’s had it for nearly a year. He also, we believe he was also instrumental in the San Diego disaster. Be very careful, sir.”

  The grimace shot at her and the pain in the old man’s eyes struck her like a blow. She took a step back.

  He spit to one side. “Not surprised. Time for that bastard to be brought down. Pritchard and I, you can trust us. The rest are tainted directly or just plain stupid. She has a place in Maine, off the grid. If Agent Dancer or Dr. Drummond need someplace to shelter…”

  “Yes, sir.

  He pointed behind her. “Down the trail a quarter of a mile is the detour. Keep your head down. You’re doing good, Agent Bales. And don’t let Hammer get you anywhere alone.”

  “I have no intention of doing so, sir.”

  The man nodded abruptly and turned away. She took a deep breath and carefully took off down the alternate route.

  She knew they put trackers on the bibs, but they were supposed to have a limited range, just used for the race so that no runner could cheat or get lost. But it could follow her home? She shook her head, why wasn’t she more surprised?

  9

  Ria set the tablet down, appalled at the network Hammer directed. She rubbed at her forehead, wondering at the world she’d left behind and how many changes she’d missed. Finding the music available had been wonderful, but she’d avoided searching out anything else. She suspected news about the issues she’d embraced when alive would disturb her equilibrium. The report on the many balls Hammer juggled had been bad enough.

  She’d left the world behind over twenty five years ago and found herself reluctant to consider stepping back to it. Jumping from the cruise ship seemed a definite barrier to the very idea. From what she’d read on Sam’s tablet, the world sped faster and faster into a hell she wanted nothing to do with.

  Save for the music. She pushed her chair away and left the room, heading back to the viewing room Testa had set aside for her. A stroke of her hand saw the control buttons lift on the bench and she paused before bringing up the new internet. Between Sam and the engineers on the ship, she felt certain no one could trace the stream and discover them. She imagined if any notice was taken, the sheer amount of topics would be more than confusing.

  The Aleena were endlessly curious and ravenous for information. They absorbed and adapted to change faster than any species she’d ever heard of when alive.

  Alive! God, that was an odd thought! But true. She now lived two eras. BS and AS. Before suicide and after suicide. She lifted a corner of her mouth at the labeling, accurate.

  The very walls of the ship hummed with the exchange of ideas and everything they were learning. She knew they approached Sam, more than her, with questions, after she’d grown pale and withdrawn when asked about politics. After that, she retired to the music room and let herself wander in the throb and pulse of remembered songs.

  How could she answer questions about economics or politics without spewing nothing but poisonous opinion? She didn’t trust herself. Milaar asked about the awards she’d won and she’d tried to speak of it, but found herself going blank, unable to remember.

  She programmed the room for privacy and searched for the videos of the awards ceremony. Part of her hoped they weren’t available anymore, that the sheer amount of information storage would have seen some things archived. But there it was. The life of Rachel Inez Aster, BS.

  The wall in front of her showed several selections. She hovered at a collection and took the plunge. She recognized the music and shuddered, muting it instantly. Then she watched the huge screen as the montage progressed.

  That is me.

  No, that was me.

  Why don’t I feel anything?

  Again and again, she found herself remembering name and book titles, as familiar faces appeared. The facts surrounded her, but she still didn’t register any sense of loss or regret. Only a great hollowness and distance from the people on the wall. Especially the woman she once was. A sharp stab of something hit her when the video showed her husband, smiling as she accepted an award. But it quickly faded.

  Standing, she walked to the screen and reached up as if she could touch the people sweeping across her view. A faint memory of thick hair, or the smooth sweep of a silk dress, the scent of that cake on her birthday, the taste of a tart honeycrisp apple as she bit through the skin. Too many bits and pieces, incomplete and fractured, drifted around her.

  The montage ended. Her hand dropped back to her side and she slowly turned away.

  When had she last felt anything? Her brain scrambled with the question. And she found times and events she could list when her blood grew warm or chilled. They were present in her memory, but not the true sense of them. The facts, the figures, what she did, the words spoken were sharp, but nothing more.

  Perhaps it was just the anger. She knew anger meant she grew weary and slept. An improvement over raging and trying to do damage to herself, but still a wall she presently faced. She sat and considered when she’d last smiled, or laughed.

  And she knew it. Yes, with the music. She could touch the sense of being human again when the room filled with music.

  She sat and brought up the music archives again.

  What had she listened to when writing? She found an old playlist her writer-self had made and programmed it, plus other songs by the same groups.

  I want to feel again.

  To know what it’s like to be human again.

  She turned it up loud, and sat.

  “Agent Montgomery? Please, wake up.”

  Sam rolled to his back and blinked up at Milaar.

  “Problem?”

  “I wanted to wait for you to wake naturally, but it’s been fifteen hours and I have need of advice.”

  Fifteen hours? He needed to get up and connect with Hermione again.

  Milaar sat across him at Ria’s small table. He ran a hand through his hair, now brushing his shoulders and shrugged. “So, what’s with my hair?”

  “Your hair? Oh, you mean how it’s growing. It’s interesting, Ria’s reaches her feet and then stops. I�
�m sure yours will also.”

  “I’d prefer not having a braid to my feet. Why?”

  “I can only assume it’s the water and food difference. I’ve never done detailed research into it. You can cut it if it bothers you.” Milaar blinked at him. “I’ve been reading the psychology text you recommended. Have we done permanent damage to Ria?”

  He sighed before replying, thinking carefully how to answer honestly without causing distress. “I can’t say for sure. Everything you’ve told me leads me to believe you did what was necessary to keep her alive. Suicide is not a natural answer for my species. She jumped from that ship because problems already existed. I don’t imagine waking to find herself surrounded by aliens helped that situation.”

  “We didn’t know she’d jumped for a long time. We assumed she’d fallen. She didn’t tell us the truth until the propensity to inflict further harm to herself rose.” Milaar’s chin tentacles retracted until they appeared to be little more than bumps.

  They were an easy species to read.

  “Perhaps we did wrong to keep her alive.” Milaar whispered. “But we were so desperate to understand your species and thought she would help us.”

  “I’m sure she has. The drive to save her life isn’t something to regret. Has she ever accused you of interfering?” He’d been wondering about that.

  “No. She neither thanked us nor cursed us. She simply moved forward. Your presence has shown us that lie. You are vibrant. She is…”

  “…muted.” Sam finished the statement. “She’s repressed, Milaar. But she’s had no example for remodeling her personality save what surrounded her. Your species is more analytical and middle ground. What have you surmised from the videos of humanity?”

  Milaar bowed her head. “In some ways, I’m very impressed. I’m also appalled. We were aware of the human ability to evade responsibility. We live in the oceans and are exposed to the damage the surface dwellers cause. We had no idea their powers of denial ran so deep. In face of their own scientific studies, they refuse to change.”