Deviation (3 page)

Angular features cast deep shadows under her cheekbones and nose, made all the more prevalent with the tight bun keeping her pale hair in place. The position of the knot of hair was high enough on her head that he could see the wink of metal invading where skin should be. Hedric relaxed a bit, watching her with fond familiarity. He knew the robotic bits that traced up her neck, spiking like fingers around the left side of her face, were battling against that part of her that was his mother. The machine would process the best course of action; the woman in her would find a way to reach him in his desperate state.

Just beyond her, through the window, he could see the bright sprinkle of fragments that made a crescent over the whole of the sky. Phobos, the moon that had disintegrated as it lowered into Mars' orbit, was now a long ring twinkling like the stars high above. The pieces hung transposed in the sky, so close one could almost reach out and grab them. Silence stretched while they watched the Martian night, a view both spectacular and ordinary all at once.

"I am sorry for your pain, son."

"I know."

She clasped her wrist behind her back, military style, and cleared her throat. "I might have a way to fix it."

Hedric snorted, "The Novo Femina can alter death now?"

"I didn't say that. I said I might have a way to fix it." His mother turned to face him. "But it would be dangerous."

"There was nothing left of her body to clone if that's what you're suggesting."

"No, that wasn't what I had in mind."

He stared at her, frustrated at her hesitance. "Out with it, mother."

She surprised him by walking to his side. Some of the tension seeped out of him as she squeezed his shoulder. Then she sat beside him with a sigh, her hand still on his arm as she shook her head.

"I cannot explain everything. Not yet anyway. And you would have to agree to follow my instructions to the letter." A strained smile passed her face and for a moment Hedric completely forgot that she was part robot. "Any deviation will kill you."

He cocked an eyebrow.

She'd sent him on dangerous missions before, but had never put the prospect of death at the forefront of her summary. He'd always assumed that was a testament to the confidence she had in him. If he was right, then his mother thought he wouldn't succeed in whatever she wanted from him, which perked his curiosity considerably.

"What are you asking for, mother?"

Her dark eyes cast to the floor and she retracted from him. Hedric sensed the struggle she went through, it was written in the tense line of her shoulders, the puckered brow and the brief contortion of her mouth. For a moment she looked as though she was going to reconsider her request. But then she straightened, her frown deepening in a determined sort of way.

"A flight pattern would be given to you," she said. "After you follow it, I need you to locate a woman by the name of Caresse Zimmerman and bring her to me."

"And this Zimmerman woman can do what? Reanimate the dead? Rewind time?"

"I don't know how it works, son." Celeocia took his hand and squeezed.

She was telling the truth. His mother always called him "son" when she was telling him something real. In the end, it was the way she looked at him, worry evident in her eyes that made his decision. Anything was better than dwelling on the pain of Mesa's absence. He wanted reckless danger, the mystery of his mother's actions.

"I'll do it," he said.

The words were final, pressing heavy in the room as his mother made an involuntary flinch. He knew by her grimace that she didn't like his answer. At the same time, she was resigned to it. Zimmerman was that important to her. If he'd cared at all, he would have felt a spurt of alarm as she stood, kissed his forehead, and left him. Motherly affection was not over-used between them and she had touched him no less than three times in their conversation.

Whatever he was about to face, Hedric knew his mother had already seen it.

"Makeem Scientists announced early Monday morning that they had discovered a cure to the Mavirus Carcinoma. After two days of testing, the newly appointed World Scientific Community has confirmed the proclamations of hope. W.S.C. Representative Allan Byrne has issued an order for all surviving females to undergo the extreme treatment. The announcement was met with unsettled silence as many wonder if this miracle cure has come too late."
-- A.P. Wednesday, April 27, 2184

September 17, 2010

The latch on her luggage pushed into her thigh in an uncomfortable manner. Kate ignored it for the most part, watching Reesa's small boat come into the harbor. It was better than sitting on the pier, where she'd witnessed a handful of fishermen gut their catches. Private fishermen, of course. Commercial fishermen had more efficient means for this. And the sight had held a small amount of charm to it since these had been fathers and sons of varying ages.

She could almost imagine her own husband and child out there. Quinn was too young to stand still for long, so Ben would restrict their fishing to the edge of the pier. It was just too dangerous to try sailing and watching the six-year-old alone, and fishing wasn't something Kate would accompany. Not that she wouldn't have enjoyed it, just that tradition marked it as a male sort of holiday, a special moment for father and son.

That and she hated hooks. They just looked sinister, all spindly and sharp, and they seemed to carry with them the desperation of their would-be prey.

In a sense she was fishing, just not for anything under the water. As Reesa wrestled her boat into the harbor, skin gleaming with a three-week tan, muscles straining under familiar exertion, Kate tried to compare her friend's movements to that of a gasping, flopping fish. Propping her chin in her palm, Kate smirked. While the graceful movements on board the little boat did not resemble flopping, she knew that internally Caresse Zimmerman loathed every second of seeing civilization again.

For once in their twenty-three year friendship, Kate Woodson understood. Reesa was skittish to begin with; add the trauma of watching a friend shot, a fan blow themselves up, and you had the makings of a bona-fide hermit on your hands. But Kate wasn't about to let her friend just disappear. There were very few things that Kate could call her own in the crowded family life she'd grown into. Reesa was one of them. Ben had grumped about losing Kate for a week, but he'd agreed that the extreme circumstances required action.

So when the harbor master called to let Kate know Reesa was inbound, she'd shared a hurried meal with her family, squeezed a laughing and breathless hug from Quinn, and rushed to the pier. Her bag was only mostly packed so she knew she'd have to visit a store before trailing Reesa, but she'd been too afraid of missing her to stop on the way.

Water slapped against the side of
Ho'ola Jane
, the small ketch boat Reesa had purchased after the sale of her first book. Its white and red paint stood out against the darker blue of the ocean, looking almost new. In the back of her mind, she could still remember the day Reesa had gotten the thing. There had been squeals of laughter and the general excitement of a well-made and well-earned purchase. She watched as Reesa anchored to the pier, moody blue eyes frowning at her from the deck.

"It's a little early for you isn't it?" Reesa asked.

Kate looked up at the foggy, pale morning sky, "A bit."

Propping one foot on the rim of the boat, Reesa rested a hand on her hip, displeasure rippling out from her. Kate recognized it but was undeterred. She'd waited four hours on that pier, she wasn't going to give up yet. Or to be honest, Kate seldom gave up on a fight she felt was worth her attention. And her best friend's mental health was certainly worth her attention. Reesa seemed to recognize this because her shoulders slumped and she huffed an irritated sigh.

"I told you I wanted to be alone."

"And I left you alone," Kate stood up. "For three weeks I left you alone. Now I'm going to invade."

"What if I don't feel like sailing anymore?"

"Cross country is fine by me. But you're not going to be alone anymore and that's final."

Reesa lifted her eyes heavenward and growled in frustration. Not perplexed, Kate waited. She knew that patience would get her what she wanted. Fifteen years ago they'd gone through a similar situation. Kate had never discovered the circumstances behind the last break down, but she'd known it was significant. So significant, in fact, that Reesa hadn't been home or spoken to her mother since.

"Look, I'm not asking you to talk about it. I just want to keep you company. It's not healthy to be alone so much. Not to mention the dangers of sailing by yourself." There; her two most valid points were made. Reesa couldn't possibly argue. Or so she thought.

"Kate. I'm a writer. I process things differently."

For a moment, all Kate could do was stare. Then, with all the irritation of four hours spent sitting on a luggage latch, she lifted her suitcase and threw it onto the deck. The metal handle of the luggage scraped across the wood, making a god-awful sound. If she hadn't been so mad she might have flinched at it. With a stubborn lift of her chin, Kate took a long step into the boat.

"Now you can process with a human being in proximity. Or I'll call Jake and tell him to commit you." Reesa recoiled at his name so Kate made a quick attempted at humor. "He'll find the sunny side of having you in a loony bin. Compare you to Sylvia Plath or something. Tell the world that your creative genius needs to be protected at all costs."

Reesa snorted a laugh. "Not even Jake could find the selling point in forced therapy."

"Jake Mersin could sell prison time to inmates. He could manage this."

"Well he'd try at least," Reesa's eyes drifted to the land mass of Tokeland, Washington.

The box-shaped little marina was positioned near the tip of a finger of land that stretched into the ocean, a wet mesh of green and brown just before the water cut into it. Kate knew when her friend had resigned herself to the situation. She also knew that Reesa was thinking hard about visiting Jake - which was a very good idea, but Kate had already pushed to accompany her, trying to force Reesa into a six hour round trip to Mersin's office would only backfire on her. So she grabbed her luggage and headed for the small cabin door.

"Be forewarned, I need supplies," Reesa said.

"Good, so do I," Kate took the five steps down into the cramped cabin.

Paperwork fluttered in the wake of her arrival, some of it pinned, taped or stapled to the walls. The trail continued over the table, reluctantly making space for the laptop sitting near the center. Intermixed with the flood of paper were candy bar wrappers and the occasional book. Kate stared for a moment, her mind running through a list of things that were wrong with the sight. Foremost on her mind was that Butterfingers did not count as a major food group but just beyond that was what was really important.

"You've been working?" Kate asked, half accusing and half aghast.

"I told you, I process things differently."

"Well yes but," Kate half-turned and then paused. There was a recurring theme to the patchwork wall paper. Written in different shades of ink, circled or underlined, but on nearly every page were the words "Patient Zero." Kate had to settle a creepy feeling as it crawled up her spine and tried to fathom her friend's obsession.

"It, uh, looks like you're stuck."

The words sounded stupid even to Kate but she had to say something. God knew she would be cleaning this cabin before sleeping in it, and it wouldn't be helpful if Reesa caught wind of her unease. She told herself it was harmless, that Reesa was just dedicated to her work; there was nothing to be alarmed about.

"I am," Reesa said after a minute. Kate watched as she moved into the room and pulled down one of the pages. "Something Tattoo said got me wondering."

"Tattoo?"

"The woman who shot Jake, she was adamant about finding patient zero."

Kate chose to ignore the insanity of nicknaming the dead assailant. "But you haven't written about patient zero," she said. She didn't like the way Reesa was staring at the paper.

"For the most part I haven't." Reesa set the page down and gave a wan smile. "I have exactly three lines about patient zero, and none of them tell me her name."

Kate set her bag against the left wall, "What are the lines?"

Reesa looked reluctant, but after a moment she recited the lines; "Surrounded by doctors and nurses, she cried out for help. Maybe it was for herself, to battle the pain, or maybe it was for something else. Like she knew she was the beginning of the fall."

"Poetic. Creepy. Your fans will love it."

Reesa snorted another laugh that managed to sound feminine. She had that sort of beauty that all women hated and admired at once. Trim body proportioned just right with a gentle curve from waist to hip, blonde hair bleached by sun and saltwater. Reesa's hair was something Kate was openly envious of. Bountiful was a good word for it, though her friend kept the wavy locks subdued in some form of ponytail.

Reesa kept frowning at the paperwork littered against the walls, talking about complicated plot points and issues with the timeline of her novels.

"I keep seeing this blurry picture of her," Reesa said. It took a moment for Kate to remember they were talking about patient zero. "She's darker, I can see that. White jackets keep huddling around her. I can recognize a sort of desperation in her eyes, but other than that, I have no idea who she is."

"Maybe you're asking the wrong questions," Kate started clearing off the table. "Instead of asking who she is, ask what she wants. Isn't that Creative Writing 101?"

"I don't know," Reesa began pulling pages off the walls and adding them to the growing pile on the table. "I never took a creative writing class."

"If I didn't know how psychotic you are, I'd hate you. Do you have any idea how many unpublished authors there are?"

"Several million, I'm sure. Jake keeps trying to get me to teach a class."

Kate laughed as a sudden vision of Reesa at the front of a classroom came to mind; "How to embrace psychosis?"