Fluency

18

It was womb-like and quiet. No sound disturbed her drifting slumber. She bobbed in and out of twilight, opening her eyes for brief moments of clarity, gazing into the gloom through the glowing, colored-glaze of the gel, long enough to register that she was there and whole and mending somehow, before something like sleep swept her under again, to wander through unknown landscapes, to touch foreign stars, amidst the scores of remembrances Ei’Brai had gathered from the individuals his mind had touched.

Only the broken leg was completely immobile now. Her other limbs floated within the slackened web-matrix that anchored her, the mechanicals of the device still swarming over her like busy insects. In the hushed stillness, she was aware on some level of the filaments piercing her skin, threading her veins, flushing her body with various medicaments that made her want to move restlessly or slip back into the quiet recesses of Ei’Brai’s mind.

Her hands were limp things. She brushed them against herself absently. She felt numb and unquiet. She noted with faint surprise that her garments had been completely removed, giving the filaments greater access to her.

Ei’Brai was always there when she woke, but he was reticent. He occupied himself diligently with the incessant needs of the ship, rarely resting himself for more than moments. He was a soft reminder of life beyond the gloaming.

She dreamt of Alan…of urgent, open-mouthed kisses and swirling tongues…of heavy-lidded eyes and feverishly hot skin…of inhaling musk and tasting salt…of arms and legs restlessly twining…throbbing…aching…rolling…opening to him…her hands sliding over his broad back…kneading his flesh…rocking…her legs wrapped around him…panting for more…pulling him deeper….

She aroused to find her hips bucking against the ribbons of confinement, acquisitive fingers wending their way to seek release.

She felt dizzy.

Her body was tensed with anticipation, poised at the tipping point. With only a light touch, she was riding unending waves of bliss. It multiplied and compounded in her sleep-soaked, foggy mind, her body arching, contracting….

And choking.

Even as the last twitches of the aftershocks trembled, she fought for breath that wasn’t there. Her heart exploded in her chest. Her heels drummed against the floor of the tank. She gagged, tried to cough, tried to pull in nonexistent air, writhing against the bindings.

It was only seconds before the apparatus compensated, filling the alveoli of her lungs with a greater supply of oxygen in counterpoint to the pounding of her heart. But she’d had enough.

She thrashed—arms, head, feet—against the sides of the tank in a blind rage, desperate to get to the surface.

Ei’Brai leapt to her mind to calm her, to console her, to assure her it was not much longer now.

She didn’t care. She pushed him away, forcefully. It’d been too long. She needed to see the rest of the crew, to know they were ok.

She felt cool sedatives flow into her veins and grappled with the strands, trying to pull them out, to free herself. But even with the new strength of the additional air and a surplus of adrenaline, she couldn’t stop the flow of the drugs, couldn’t remove the latticework of strands tethering her to the device.

Her struggles gradually slowed along with the rhythm of her heart. Her muscles went lax and the fibers ceased to contract against her exertions. She could feel them resume their minute ministrations. A wracking sob rose to her throat that she was powerless to express. She closed her eyes on tears of frustration and drifted away, again.

She opened her eyes to semi-darkness. The glowing lights had been extinguished. She blinked. The drag against her eyelashes, the pressure against her corneas was gone. She inhaled sharply, and let the breath back out as a surprised laugh. She was out of the gel. How had that happened?

She heard movement and froze, every sense acutely attuned to the sound. She couldn’t tell where she was or how she’d gotten there. She felt for Ei’Brai, but he was silent, disconnected. She tried to still her frantic breathing and search for a clue to what was happening.

“Jane?” a groggy voice uttered. “Are you awake?”

“Alan?” Her voice sounded thin, child-like, and choked from disuse. She coughed a little to make it sound stronger. “Where are we?”

She could hear rustling movement, the soft, padding steps of bare feet, and the dry sound of a hand brushing the wall. Then Alan was looming uncertainly above her, shifting from foot to foot, an intense expression on his face. He was wearing some kind of oversized tunic, which frankly was a bit ridiculous. He seemed self-conscious and worried.

“You ok?”

She realized she was lying flat on her back on a bed. She sat up. “Yeah. I think so.”

Alan’s lips twitched into a secretive-looking smile before he averted his eyes and turned toward the door.

“What happened?” she asked him.

“I’m, ah…I’m going to get Ajaya. She told me to get her right away when you woke up.”

“Wait a minute,” she called after him. But he was already gone. She looked down and cursed. Why the hell was she always waking up naked? She pulled the filmy sheet up and wrapped it around herself, then eased herself to the edge of the platform bed. The sheet worked its way up onto her lap as she scooted, revealing her leg. It was unmarked, pristine. There was no evidence that it had ever been broken and torn. She was still puzzling over that when Ajaya strode into the room, exuding brisk efficiency. The lights came up to full-strength.

“Jane. It’s so good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” Ajaya was already taking vitals, testing reflexes. She was wearing a tunic similar to the one Alan had been wearing. It was Sectilius, Jane realized with a start.

Alan did not reenter the room. It was just the two of them.

She searched for an answer to Ajaya’s question. Disoriented? Overwhelmed? Unnerved? “I’m not sure what happened. What’s going on?”

Ajaya met her eyes, briefly, and nodded. “Understandable. May I?” Ajaya gestured at the uncovered leg.

Jane nodded and mentally braced herself for pain as Ajaya ran her hands over her leg, pressing and feeling the long bones under her skin.

“Feel any pain when I touch here?” Ajaya asked, peering at her quizzically.

“No.”

“How about here?”

“No. Nothing. It feels normal.”

“Good.” Ajaya held out a hand to Jane. “Let’s try putting some weight on it, shall we?”

Something was wrong. Why wasn’t anyone explaining anything?

She slid down from the bed and stood, slowly, carefully, clinging to Ajaya’s firm, warm grip. She expected the blood to rush to her feet, to feel weak or sick or incredible pain, but nothing happened. She just stood up.

Ajaya tilted her head to the side. “How does that leg feel now?”

“It feels completely normal. Like nothing happened.”

Ajaya nodded, looking thoughtful and pleased.

“What did happen Ajaya? Are we safe now? You have to tell me something!”

Ajaya smiled indulgently. “We are safe. Things are progressing quite well. We’ve accomplished a great deal. We still have plenty of concerns, issues, but things are falling into place. You need not worry, Jane.”

That was a paltry explanation. “Why is that all you’re saying?”

Ajaya sighed and settled on the edge of the bed, primly, assuming her most patient air. “Jane, I hesitate to say too much, because I have no idea what you experienced, what you know. I think it might be best if you tell me what you remember. Then I can fill in the blanks for you.”

She felt a surge of anger. Ajaya’s answer was infuriatingly pat. “I’m not a mental patient, Ajaya!”

Ajaya raised her brows and spoke slowly. “Of course you’re not.”

Ajaya’s methods were always cautious and considered. Jane knew that. She swallowed her anger. She was not a petulant child. “I’m sorry. I’m feeling overwhelmed.”

Ajaya nodded and waited for her to begin.

“I was heading for Tom. I…the gravity went out, then came back on. When I fell, my leg was broken—”

“Did you see your leg? How did you know?” Ajaya interjected.

Jane ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back in a practiced, unconscious gesture and wished she had something to tie it back with. It felt clean and silky. That was unexpected and she filed that fact away with some confusion as she continued, “I’d never felt pain like that before. It looked wrong—really, really wrong.”

“Yes, that’s what Walsh and Alan said. It was the angle.”

Jane nodded, slowly—the mental picture coming quickly to mind: that horrible, disgusting angle—and then the bone, the ragged, bleeding tissues through the gel. “Yes. Then Tom came and rescued me. Except it wasn’t Tom.”

Ajaya’s eyes narrowed, but she betrayed no other sign of emotion.

Jane hesitated, not sure Ajaya would believe her. “It was Ei’Brai.”

Ajaya nodded curtly. “That would explain it.”

Jane stared at Ajaya hard. She’d expected disbelief. Blithe acceptance felt wrong. Warning bells were going off in her brain, but she couldn’t figure out for sure what they meant.

“He carried me and put me in some kind of medical device. He put Tom in one too.”

“Yes. That’s where we found you. Thomas is still submerged.”

“Oh. He—is he ok?”

“I believe so. Every indication is yes. Of course, my methods of measurement are primitive by comparison. The device is still working on him. I have the impression he’ll be in there a long time. We’ve submerged Walsh as well.”

Jane took an involuntary step back and put her hand out to the wall to steady herself, the other still clutching the sheet to her chest. What the hell is going on here? She looked up and noticed Alan was standing in the doorway, holding a ship-colored, plastic object in his hand, listening intently to their conversation. How long had he been there?

“Walsh? You put him in a tank? Why?”

Ajaya stood and moved briskly to a large protuberance on the wall. She touched it lightly and it slid open. She pulled out a voluminous article of clothing—greenish, just like theirs—and extended it to Jane. “We had no choice. He became catatonic, just like Tom. The rest of us appear to be fine—for now, anyway. We’re working on it, Jane. We’re going to find a solution. I’m confident of that.”

Jane looked from Ajaya to Alan, bewildered.

He surged forward. “Are you hungry, Jane? The food we’ve managed to make has a weird texture, but some of it doesn’t taste too bad. We’re still analyzing the parameters of the printer’s output. The technology is pretty fucking amazing. It’s fun to tinker with.”

Ajaya rolled her eyes. “Yes, Alan and Ronald have spent a lot of quality time with the food machine. Do you want to get dressed first or nibble on something?”

Jane swallowed hard. “How long have I been out?”

Ajaya grimaced before answering, “Seventeen days, Jane.”

She sat on the bed heavily and let all of her disbelief show on her face. It had felt like a long time, but not that long. “How—when—did you find me in the gel? Did you pull me out?”

Alan ducked his head. “I tried to cut you out with a knife. The tank didn’t like that. It sort of…fought back.”

Ajaya patted Alan’s arm. “We decided it might be wise to leave you alone and just observe you for a while.”

“It healed my leg.”

“So it would seem,” Ajaya agreed. “I’d like to get back to work, if you don’t mind? I think Alan can take it from here?” Her voice was light, breezy, but she sent Alan a meaningful look as she left the room.

Jane watched her go, completely nonplussed.

Alan perched himself casually on the edge of the bed a couple of feet away.

“Back to work? What is she doing? How did you all get past the nepatrox? Food machine? What the hell, Alan? Start talking!”

“A lot’s happened, Jane. Sure you don’t want to eat?”

“Do you want me to drink the Kool-Aid, too? No, Alan—tell me what’s going on!”

He smirked and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, the most valuable thing that’s happened is we’ve had some very primitive communications with your alien friend.”

“What? Ei’Brai? How? I thought he couldn’t communicate with us unless we could speak Mensententia?”

“Oh, he’s not speaking to us, at least not anything we can understand. He sends us mental images. It’s like playing a game of telepathic charades. We have to figure out what he’s trying to tell us to do. When we do, he, ah….” He seemed embarrassed. It was a new look for him.

“What?”

“He stimulates the part of the brain that registers pleasure.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“He does that to you too, Jane?”

She looked down and clutched the sheet a little tighter. The memory of the erotic dream in which Alan had played a starring role came vividly to the front of her mind. Her cheeks felt hot. She hoped she wasn’t blushing.

He huffed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She searched for something to say that would obviate their mutual embarrassment. “What does that mean? What has he told you?”

“He convinced us to stay in the storage room for a while. That was the first thing. That…I didn’t…that was….” He was clenching and unclenching his fists. His eyes were hard and hot on her.

“Why?” she whispered. Her voice sounded husky to her own ears.

“We think he released a gas in the hallway. We heard a lot of noise. It sounded like they were climbing the walls and killing the shit out of each other. Then it got quiet and the doors opened. When we walked out there, they were mostly dead or dying. That’s not to say more haven’t hatched by now, I’m sure, the stinky little bastards. One of ’em got me in the leg. I couldn’t walk on it for two days. We’re going to have to deal with that shit eventually.”

“How did he convince you to stay there?”

His jaw worked. “I told you. He showed us images of stuff. We talked about it. Ajaya put it all together.” He didn’t seem to want to say any more about it, so she decided to drop it for now.

“He told you where I was?”

“Yes. And how to find you.” His lips tightened. “We didn’t know what was going on. I thought—I thought you were dead at first. It took us a while to figure out what was happening to you, and to Compton. We decided, eventually, to put Walsh in there too. That decision wasn’t made easily. Ultimately, we let Ajaya make the call.” He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

He was so intense. More so than usual. His eyes would probe hers, then travel down hungrily before he would twitch them away self-consciously. She felt a thrilling feeling growing inside her, settling low, and throbbing. It seemed they were safe now. She wanted to trust that, but she needed to hear more.

“What have you been doing all this time?” she asked him.

“Learning.” He smiled, his eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “Ajaya and Gibbs have been learning the language—they go down to a language lab on level 15 and spend a large part of every day there. Ajaya knows some Latin, but we’re all just limping along. It’s not coming as easily to us as it did to you, Jane. Ajaya says she can almost get the gist of what the alien dude is saying to us now.”

“But you haven’t been studying the language? What have you been doing, Alan?”

“I’ve been studying it some. But I go down to Engineering. He shows me stuff, amazing stuff. How it all works. This ship is so much more than we ever could have imagined, Jane. This is going to change everything.”

She smiled at his expression. This was the side of him that she could understand. Their interests weren’t the same, but they shared the same kind of enthusiasm for them, nonetheless. She wanted to reach out to him, to touch him, but she didn’t know how to uproot herself and get closer to him, without feeling silly and forced.

“You mentioned a printer, earlier—what did you mean by that? Some kind of food machine?”

“Oh, yeah.” He picked up the green container from the bed and held it out to her. Inside was a small mound of speckled, tan cubes. “The closest thing we have to this back home is 3-D printing technology. You pour in the raw material—the stuff we found the first day in those tubs—and it spits out these things.”

She wrinkled her nose. “The stuff that looked like cat litter?”

“Oh, yeah. Yep. That’s exactly what it looks like.” He laughed his raucous laugh. She liked the way he laughed. Unfettered. It was so true to his personality, to the way he lived his life.

She tittered and took the container from him, slowly, intentionally letting her fingers brush his. He scooted closer, clearly interpreting the gesture as an invitation.

She felt flushed.

“Yeah. You pour it in and make selections and it configures the crystals to taste different ways. We’ve been experimenting with it. Some of it’s pretty weird tasting. Most of it’s palatable.”

“What does it taste like?” she asked hesitantly.

His smile turned mischievous. “I’m not saying. You’ll have to see for yourself.”

She looked down into the bowl, sure she was grinning like a loon. “Are they all the same? They look the same.”

“I didn’t know what you’d like. Each one is different. You tell me what you like.”

Somehow he’d gotten closer when she wasn’t looking. She felt pleasantly unfocused. He was so near, she could feel his warmth on her bare arm.

She selected one at random and nibbled at a corner of it. It was moist and dense. Her first thought was that it was bland, barely palatable, but as she chewed, flavor burst from tiny granules imbedded in it. There were fruity elements—no single fruit came to mind, though. It was pleasantly acidic and slightly sweet and there were floral notes that made it seem really refined and lovely. It was somehow the essence, the very best of fruit.

“Which one is that?” he asked, light dancing in his eyes as he watched her chew.

“I think it’s some kind of fruit. I like it.”

“Yeah, that one’s ok. Try another one.” He seemed to come to himself with a start. “Oh, sorry. You probably want something to wash it down with. Here.” He pulled a limp object from a concealed pocket on the loose tunic he wore. It was a tube, made from a soft version of the ubiquitous greenish plastic. It was warm, from being close to his skin. “It’s a water pouch. Works pretty much just like ours. Just stick that thing in your mouth and slurp.” He leaned in close to point at the outlet of the pouch and his other hand snuck behind her to rest on her back. It felt like a hot brand. It was all she could think about.

“So, we haven’t talked about the fact that you’re wearing a dress,” she said with a soft snort. She felt giddy. She sipped the water, eyeing him slantwise, like a teenage girl.

He seemed to like that. He leaned closer, amused. “It was this or the bathrobe.” His hand slid up to cup her bare shoulder and pull her closer. “I like what you’re wearing, though,” he murmured in her ear.

Oh, God. He was good at this.

This was probably a really stupid idea. It would surely end badly. But she didn’t want it to stop.

She couldn’t say anything to him. What could she say? She couldn’t think.

She just sat there, head bowed, waiting for him to make his move. Her chest heaved and fell. The sheet was slipping and she wanted it to.

He wanted her. Her—frumpy Jane Holloway. This gorgeous, genius of a man wanted her.

So, his nose was too big. So, he needed a shave. So, he laughed too loud. So, what?

He smelled divine. Musky, masculine. A hint of sweat. The good kind. He’d been exercising or something.

“Aren’t you hungry, Jane?” His breath was hot on her ear and his hand was already taking the dish and pouch away.

She managed a tremulous smile. She was going to let this happen. It would be ok. He might hurt her later, when they finally got back to Earth. He might find someone younger, prettier. But she wouldn’t worry about that now. That would take all the fun out of this.

This. This moment was all that mattered, right now.

He was hovering so close, just a breath away from kissing her. He was teasing her, drawing it out. The anticipation was delicious.

He was panting softly too. His hands roamed over her back, bare now; the sheet had slipped down.

She looked into his eyes. They were boring into hers, hungry and questioning. He was waiting for her to say this was ok.

She leaned into him, just the slightest movement, her hands finding their way to touch him, his bearded face, his shoulder. He reacted instantly, pulling her hard against him, covering her mouth with his.

Kissing wasn’t nearly enough. She clutched at him, trying to get closer. The angle was all wrong. Sitting perched on the edge of the high mattress was awkward.

His hand slid up to her bare breast and she gasped against his mouth. Gently, reverently, he kneaded and squeezed and lightly brushed his thumb over her nipple.

She pulled ineffectually at the filmy tunic that was keeping his skin from her.

He broke off the kiss and stood, pulling the tunic over his head. He dropped it to the floor, and came back to her, pushing her back and scooping her legs up onto the bed in a swift, practiced motion.

He rested his hip on the bed, his hand skimming her skin. His eyes roved over her body. They seemed to devour her. It was a heady feeling.

The evidence of his desire pressed firmly against her thigh.

She experienced a moment of disquiet. The only man she’d ever been with had been Brian and that was a long time gone now. Alan was athletic. His body was firm. She was out of practice, out of shape, and accustomed to a mindless succession of uneventful missionary. She wondered if she could be the kind of lover he wanted.

He dispelled her fears instantly. He touched his nose to hers playfully and kissed her hard and deep, his tongue swirling around hers, while he slowly ran his hand up her thigh, pushed her leg aside, and cupped her. His touch wasn’t greedy or callous, but reverent with an aching sweetness that seemed counter to his nature.

She arched against his hand and let out a whimper. His caress was gentle, insistent and, precisely targeted for maximum impact. Leave it to the engineer to know how things worked.

Was this an indication of the kind of care and sensitivity she could expect from him? If so, she’d underestimated him utterly. She was so overwhelmed that she was unable to do much more than cling to him, as his fingers and lips played over her, until she was at the very edge of it, trembling and gasping with it.

She opened her eyes to find him contemplating her unguarded expression with a hint of a smug smile on his lips. A giggle bubbled up out of her, unbidden. She ran her hands over his back, restlessly, putting pressure on him, trying to pull him into position.

He resisted, his fingers sliding in her slippery wetness, his tongue rasping over a nipple. She put her hand over his, stilling its movement and the incipient waves that were imminent. She captured his mouth in a kiss and took him in her hand to increase his sense of urgency. “I’m so close,” she moaned against his lips. “Please, Alan, come with me.”

He moaned against her neck, a guttural sound that made her pulse race even faster, then complied without further prodding. It was just the two of them. There was nothing else.

His eyes locked with hers as he slipped inside. It felt entirely new, more intensely gratifying than ever before. He held his body high and, glancing between them, slowly moved, the length of him dragging over her sex.

Her legs trembled. She arched, crying out, heedless to who might hear, as she shuddered with potent, chaotic spasms.

She gasped for breath. Still, he watched, nostrils flaring, jaw set, sharp eyes penetrating. He picked up the pace.

She rocked to meet each thrust, every sensation heightened, building already, again, to the next peak.

He buried his face in the hollow of her shoulder, clasping her closer, grunting, pumping, tracking her ascent, until he drove them both over the edge, together.

He stayed in place, his weight pleasantly pressing on her, and kissed her fervently. He rested his forehead against hers and choked out, “We thought…I thought. Oh, fuck, Jane. I thought I’d lost you before I could ever even have you.”

Anguish? From Alan Bergen? Over her?

He smoothed her hair. She searched his bloodshot, watery eyes and saw truth staring back at her.

She didn’t know what to say.

“Alan, I’m ok. Everything’s going to work out. We just have to trust him. It’s the only way.”

His lips tightened and he slid to her side, one hand left possessively at her waist. “Yes. I see that. At what cost, Jane? What does he want from you?”

“I—I’m not sure what you mean. He’s trying to protect us, keep us alive.”

His expression turned fierce. “He wants more than that and you know it! What’s he telling you, right now? Did he just…?” His expression shuttered down and he sank heavily onto the bed, one hand capturing one of hers, squeezing hard.

She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see his angst. It didn’t look right, didn’t settle right over his features. She didn’t like seeing him so uncertain. She wanted to see him smirking, confident, strong.

“He’s not here right now,” she murmured, shrugging self-consciously. Why did she feel guilty? Ashamed?

“Tell him to take us home, Jane.” There was a plaintive note in his voice that didn’t belong there, not when he seemed so sure of himself half an hour before.

“He can’t. It’s not possible. Can’t you and Gibbs figure out how to fly it?”

“I wish. I’m in fucking alien-preschool, Jane. That’s not happening. Some of this shit’s organic or something. We could die of old age before I figure this shit out. We brought a fucking lot of computing power, but I don’t have a clue where to begin to interface it.”

So much cursing. That meant he felt supremely frustrated. If the situation weren’t so awful, she’d be smiling at the sound of it.

She rolled to her side and slid her hand reassuringly over his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out.”

His blue eyes roved over her face. “Will we? Before we turn into zombies? Before Bravo shows up and nukes us? Do you have a plan, Jane?”

A plan? A chill swept through her, clammy and uncomfortable. Her heart thudded, heavy and dull. She resisted the urge to press herself against him, to cling to him for warmth and security. Their roles were decidedly non-traditional at the moment and tipping the balance back in that direction now was not the right thing to do.

He was asking her to lead them. Command had never been her goal. Duty, honor, altruism, self-sacrifice. Those were qualities she knew she possessed. But good leadership required something intangible that she couldn’t define.

NASA believed her capable before they’d even met her. They’d construed her reservations as humility. Perhaps they thought her personality was a good counterpoint to Bergen’s raging hubris.

Had she deceived them somehow? That had never been her intent. She’d just…dammit…she’d just wanted to go on an adventure.

And, her conscience told her, she could see now that the draw would never have been as strong if they hadn’t sent Alan to persuade her. During those early days in Houston, she’d vacillated wildly as she strove to make her decision. She had moments, certain she was going to walk away, hop a plane home, and dismiss the notion as a ridiculous whim. Then they’d escort her through some building and she’d spy Alan working, his massive intellect broadcasting like a beacon. He’d intrigued her almost as much as the mission.

“Jane?” His voice was husky, hoarse, and he didn’t meet her gaze. He was looking down, watching his own fingers trailing languidly over her skin. She’d always longed for someone to touch her that way—possessively, adoringly. It was intoxicating. He could do that forever.

“Yes?”

“I love you.” It was just a whisper.

Blood rushed in her ears. A thrilling sensation washed over her even as cold dread settled in her stomach. She pulled away to scrutinize his expression.

It wasn’t right.

Something wasn’t right.

No.

This wasn’t real.