Fluency

19

It hit her with a certainty she couldn’t deny.

She scrambled up and away from him, grabbing the discarded sheet and covering herself. She glared at Alan, reeling with panic and revulsion. She felt physically ill.

He wasn’t surprised. He just stared at her blankly, unmoving.

“This scenario displeases you, Dr. Jane Holloway?” rumbled in her head. “Shall I choose another? Perhaps a milieu of a less intimate nature? A memory? Mayhap Sectilius? To further familiarize you with cultural convention and conduct?”

“Ei’Brai—you bastard!” she spat at him.

“Contextualize this comment, if you please. You experience anger. Explain.”

She coughed against the back of her hand. “You just violated me!”

Shock and indignation met her outrage. “None of my appendages were involved in this tableau.”

She shook her head. “What?”

And yet, as she took a ragged breath, she could sense his confusion was real. She struggled to rein in the feeling that some kind of atrocity had just been committed against her—evaluate dispassionately what had actually just happened. They’d been reminded countless times that their cultural references meant absolutely nothing, hadn’t they?

She was human. He was not. That was a certainty. Did he have any idea what he’d just done?

His tone, his manner, said no.

A sense of astonished inquisitiveness suffused his mental touch. Tendrils of thought were moving in gingerly to investigate and analyze her reaction.

She tried to sound calmer. “Ei’Brai—you just manipulated me in a vile, disgusting manner!”

“Mating requires privacy among your kind. It is also a reprehensible act? This I did not perceive.” She got a brief flash of insight into his species’ mating rituals and her eyes went wide at the deadly savagery of it.

“You—it—I—oh, this is ridiculous.” She slumped on the bed, covering her face in her hands. This went so far beyond mere mortification. It was too much to process.

“This act was coveted by the pair of you, as individuals. It is much on Dr. Alan Bergen’s mind—the sequence you enjoyed was lifted almost seamlessly from his habitual musings on the topic of copulation. It is clear he greatly desires to engage in these behaviors with you. You also cogitate on the possibility of coition with him, frequently. It seemed a natural departure point, given your subconscious maundering.”

She clenched her fists tight, nails digging into her palms, the resultant pain fueling her fury. “I don’t want you rooting around in my subconscious maundering!”

A consternated, probing purr was his reply.

She concentrated all her mental energy to push him back through the mental layers to the surface of her thoughts. She registered nothing but startled surprise from him as she forced him back.

“Where am I—really? I’m still in the tank, aren’t I?”

His voice came back haughty, hurt. “Convalescence is nearly complete.”

“I want out. Now.”

“Unacceptable. Premature egress could result in permanent infirmity.”

“I don’t care. Let me out.”

“That is not rational.”

“It most certainly is. You’re toying with me. I’m not going to play along anymore.”

“On the contrary, I—”

“I see plainly what you think you were doing. You thought you were distracting me, but the scenario you chose crossed a line, Ei’Brai. Again.”

“It is to be expected. The Sectilius tolerate my shortcomings when it comes to cultural sensitivity. You are not as forbearing. The contrast is noted. I shall employ more caution going forward. Enlighten me, if you will. Is this an example of human cultural mores? Or more properly assigned to your own personal construct? How may we resolve this concern?”

His voice had taken a patronizing tone, precisely the kind of tone Brian took with her frequently—disdainful, like she wasn’t sophisticated enough to understand. It rankled, especially staring into Bergen’s blank expression.

“Turn off this fantasy—now!”

She sensed a begrudging reluctance as her surroundings dissolved. The reality of the tank crashed over her—the dark room, the light bathing her in a magenta glow. The complex network of filaments—now, seemingly doubled—restricted her movement even further.

She closed her eyes against it, wishing that other world had been real, that Alan had been real and safe and in love with her. She didn’t want to face this reality, trapped, where Alan might actually be dead.

But it didn’t do any good to wish. That didn’t solve anything. Nothing happened without action. It was time to stop letting things happen and start making them happen.

She painstakingly wove her fingers through the mesh toward her leg.

Ei’Brai emanated something akin to a mental glower. She ignored him. Her leg was numb and foreign-feeling, bristling with strands over every square inch. The fibers rustled under the brush of her hand like some kind of amorphous, invertebrate sea creature.

She lifted her head to look, but the gel distorted her vision and the threads formed a tight matrix that bound her, nearly mummified, in place. Frustration throbbed in her. The impulse to thrash and yank on the filaments was strong.

Ei’Brai manifested a thought, hidden from her before she could fully glimpse its purpose. Instinctively, she extended herself to follow it. It led her down pathways she had only glimpsed before, had never tried to explore. She sped down them, heedless, gleaning information along the way. Data flowed through her mind at a seemingly impossible pace. She marveled at how much of it made sense.

The atmosphere changed subtly from organic to digital as the thought she traced transitioned, bridging the gap between Ei’Brai and the ship’s neural-electric pathways. The sensation was wholly bizarre, but not troublesome. This was a command pathway, she realized, it was how he maintained control over the ship’s functions.

Abruptly, she became aware of his intent. Without hesitation, Jane countermanded Ei’Brai’s order for the device to deliver greater sedation and yet more restraint. Stunningly, the device accepted her command. Ei’Brai contracted, nonplussed at her sudden involvement.

She flexed within the system, feeling for other controls that she knew must be there. She couldn’t let the moment slip by. The layout was intuitively designed. The imprint in her mind seemed to include a blueprint of this framework, permitting unconscious ease of navigation.

Ei’Brai’s state of mind reflected some form of breathless anticipation as she explored the root command controls for the tank. Within seconds, she had it. Ei’Brai didn’t try to stop her as she executed the command. He merely watched as she directed the device to withdraw all medications, release and retract the mechanical filaments, and drain the gel.

Red warnings flashed into her consciousness. She ignored them. Circumventing safety protocols, consenting releases…she exhilarated, relishing the power of it. She felt a sense of accomplishment and realized with surprise that the same sentiment resonated in Ei’Brai’s mind.

A wave of nausea swept the gratification aside. Her body was regaining sensation. She gagged, trembling with a sudden chill, as she worked to accomplish her goals before she was dragged back to her own immediate, visceral needs. She didn’t have the control Ei’Brai had. She was incapable of segmentation, unable to multitask away pain or discomfort.

“Such mastery is within your reach, Dr. Jane Holloway,” he rumbled reassuringly. “I will instruct you. In time.”

She noted his smug satisfaction as he watched her struggle. He’d wanted this.

There was no time to contemplate that. Numb for so long, it was an incomprehensible flood.

The filaments retracted—all at the same time, tenting her skin, slithering over and through her. Her lips curled and she coughed as the strands drug over her lips, exiting her throat en masse.

She hit the bottom of the tank with a thunk, sending a painful jolt through her leg. Ei’Brai was right. It wasn’t healed yet. Well, he hadn’t lied about that. That was something.

She shuddered with a bone-deep chill. Slowly, she reached up and wiped the gel from her eyes. That helped. Sight was definitely helpful.

She sat up slowly, expecting weakness after the long, inactive submersion. But weakness wasn’t the problem. Her teeth chattered and slimy, chilled strands of her hair slapped her face, dripping with gel.

She gripped the side of the tank and hauled herself up on the good leg. Her right leg ached and burned. The slightest movement sent pain slicing through her. She was going to have to use it. There was no other way. The violent shivering was only making it worse.

She tested the edge of the tank by leaning against it, then put all her weight on it and swung both legs over the rim and slid down, faster than she intended. The residual gel was slippery. Her feet slid out from under her. Her head struck the side of the tank, narrowing her vision to a tunnel of light. After a few moments, she came back to her senses, leg throbbing from the impact. She grunted, regained her footing, then half walked, half hopped to the wall.

Her fingers touched a protruding module. It eased out. She grabbed the silky material inside, wrapping a length around her hair, using another to dry herself. The fabric was incredibly thirsty and efficient for its weight. She felt better almost immediately.

She opened various drawers and shook out the garments inside until she found a tunic and a pair of drawstring pants. The pants and sleeves were far too long, but she tight-rolled them at wrists and ankles and left her feet bare. The gauzy fabric instantly warmed her, allowing the chilled tremors to subside. She tugged at her turbaned hair and found it slightly damp, lanky, and matted. She ran fingers through the tangles for a moment, then gave up. There was no time for that now.

Ei’Brai tried to convince her to do a scan, to hear the computer’s assessment of her condition, provide some kind of mechanical support—at the very least get some kind of an injection to control the pain. But she wouldn’t let him slow her down or distract her again. She’d make do.

She hobbled out of the infirmary and down the corridor to the deck transport. Just a few floors away was the protection she needed—Sectilius battle armor. It would keep the nepatrox off her, give her defensive weapons. Since it was mechanical, used minimal effort to operate, it would take some of the stress off her leg.

By the time she got there, she knew Ei’Brai had been right. Healing was far from complete—she could be doing permanent damage. Her breath hissed through clenched teeth with every jolting, painful step.

She leaned against the wall and slapped her palm on the door control. The door slid open to reveal undulating rows of gleaming obsidian armor. Jane wrinkled her brow. These things were designed to protect, to kill, and yet the sight of a sea of them in graceful, inverted U-shapes was compellingly beautiful, moving.

Each suit was designed to conform to fit the entire spectrum of Sectilius body types. Meant to be stepped into, the legs stood short and squat, open at the waist, compressed like an accordion. The torso was split down the center and arched back, the compacted arms terminating in gauntlets that gently rested against the floor, like the advanced yoga pose upward bow, urdhava dhanu, that she’d never successfully managed.

She took a tentative step inside. The nearest suit twitched. She staggered a step back to grip the doorframe, until she realized it had just turned itself on in response to her presence and intent.

She stared at it, bemused. There was no good way to get into the thing. She’d have to put all of her weight on the bad leg at some point. She was afraid she might fall in the process. There was nothing to hold onto.

Ei’Brai’s voice flitted gently against her mind, a recommendation.

She frowned, but followed his thought toward a simple command and watched with awe as the suit picked up one foot and then the other, moving toward her in odd, shuffling, mechanical steps. She hopped back, pressing herself into the wall as the suit positioned itself precisely before her and the contents of the entire room shifted in a roar of clinks and thuds to fill in the empty space the suit had left behind.

She laughed out loud. She almost expected it to wag a tail.

This was going to be a far different experience from the EMU.

The smile remained plastered to her lips as she eased the warm clothing back off. The suit was meant to be worn naked, which was simply absurd, but utterly Sectilius. Their attitudes about the physical body and sexuality were completely different. They were Pragmatists by culture and inclination, innately.

That thought gave her a moment’s pause. How did she know this with such certainty? She mentally raised a brow at Ei’Brai. She could feel him now—smugly swelling. He didn’t have to say a word. He’d used her time in the tank wisely, indoctrinating her mind with Sectilius experience and knowledge.

She cursed at him viciously in Mensententia and felt his vibrating, answering chuckle. She was bound to this lunatic now, for better or for worse.

She turned and braced herself against the wall, put all her weight on the good leg, and lifted the injured leg with a hand, guiding it up, back and into the corresponding leg of the suit.

She inhaled sharply as the boot constricted around her foot and lower leg, locking into place.

She gripped the doorframe, easing her weight onto the injured leg, partially supported now, and slipped the good leg in, quickly. She managed to stay upright, knuckles white, inhaling in a strangled gasp from the pain. She leaned down and gripped the handholds inset into the waistband in a practiced manner, almost like she’d done this before, and lifted up. Her every muscle tensed as the suit took over with a whirring boost, adapting to the contours of her lower body and molding over her injury. There was a brief squeeze as the internal computers tested her anatomy and then settled the suit into a semi-comfortable position. It’d do better once the entire suit was donned, she knew.

To that end, she had only to lean slightly to the side and slip her arm down into the gauntlet. It stretched and constricted against her shape. She expected it to be heavy, but the gear moved proactively, reducing the load for her. The other arm was waiting, exactly where it needed to be, for ease. She bit her lip and shoved her fingers down the tube.

A dizzying flurry of mechanized movement made her pulse throb. Her right arm was enveloped. The suit closed and locked over her chest. The helmet closed up and over her head. She winced as the plumbing engaged with an uncomfortable rasp to her private parts, surprisingly sensitive from her recent mental diversion.

She was protected now—from the vacuum of space, from the elements, from chemical or biological warfare, and all but the most potent weapons. The suit was designed for combat with the Swarm. It would easily handle the nepatrox.

She stood there for a moment, dazed, adjusting to the new sensory input. A huge red symbol hung before her eyes, its three-dimensions telescoping in and out of focus.

“Delay action momentarily,” it said.

She wasn’t done with the filamentous medical devices. The suit utilized the same technology to medically assess and deliver rudimentary care under combat conditions. Without the gel buffering the sensation, they pinched as they drove under her skin at strategic points all over her body.

The suit triaged her. She realized with a start that it had threaded her brain and was delivering a digital assessment of her medical state in a real-time HUD behind her eyes. The suit’s right leg adjusted its configuration slightly, to support the healing skeletal structure and minimize further damage.

A shunt was established at the site of the nerve root of her right leg, which already felt blessedly numb. New pathways of control for the movement of that leg were routed. A software patch was installed and coupled with the primary motor cortex on the left side of the prefrontal lobe of her brain, to ease the transition.

Behind her eyes, a dazzling symbol prompted, “Practice?”

She felt the suit moving nearly effortlessly, in servomotor creaks and whirs, as she unconsciously nodded her head. She let out a soft laugh. She felt like a comic-book hero. Which one was it? She couldn’t remember the name. Alan would know.

The suit wanted to optimize the customization of the suit for her personally. In her mind’s eye she could see that it was requesting that she perform a series of maneuvers, first like calisthenics, then increasingly more complex movements like some kind of martial art.

She had to find him—all of them. Ei’Brai claimed he didn’t know where they were, or what had happened to them. She didn’t know what she was going to find, but she had to go now.

Her primary concern at that moment was simply to master walking in that getup. She turned carefully toward the door, intending to make headway as she worked it out.

Her gait was clumsy at first. The right leg pounded into the floor, jarring her all the way up to her teeth. The suit’s adaptive software adjusted the code-patch with each step, until walking became less drunken crashing and more slightly-disjointed stomping. Perhaps that was the best she could do.

The suit prompted her to continue the practical exercises to perfect the hardware/software integration. She forcefully disregarded the request. She didn’t need to move like a ninja. She just needed to get there. She set off for the deck transport, picking up speed as she went.