Essentially Human (2 page)

All during the recorded struggles to contain her, she’d said nothing. Forty eight hours later, and Sam had failed in getting her to talk. Drum found no physiological reason for her silence. The doctor’s gentle manner won some trust from her, and she’d taken the clothing from him, dropping the back closing gown the
Ballard
crew had given her and slipping into the fresh outfit with no show of modesty.

Sam considered how fast Drum had spun to look away as she’d changed. No sense of manners kept Sam from studying her body. The past photos of the author showed a woman approaching obesity. Not this present incarnation. She was curvy, but not to an extreme. At one point, she’d glanced at the one way mirror, eyelids narrowing. He suspected she’d known someone was watching, but didn’t care. He’d observed, poised to intercede if she tried to take advantage of Drum being a gentleman. She didn’t. She’d allowed Drum to run a full series of tests, watching the medical expert closely. She’d only shied away when he plucked a few hairs from her head. Perfectly understandable.

When Drum took her back to the cell and sat next to her with a computer notebook, she’d listened to him intently. Sam almost refused Drum’s request to see if she’d cooperate with a series of questionnaires. Right now, he thanked God his friend had convinced him.

“She knows what I’m doing. She’s watching and she understands every question. She seems pleased that she’s passing the tests. I don’t think there is anything wrong with her brain. She may not speak English but reads it and knows it. Did you see her grin when Shep cracked a joke about all that hair and the MRI machine?”

He’d nodded. Lord knows, she’d basically ignored his interrogation. Other than to shrug her shoulders and sigh a great deal when he spoke about the missing crewmen.

He watched again as she examined the notebook, and then showed she understood what Drum wanted. The doctor left her with the device, a Marine on watch. And then she sped through test after test. The entire expanded Briggs and Meyer test took her four minutes, the standard IQ tests, twice that. The tests on moral compass made her grimace and she skipped a great many of the questions, rolling her eyes from time to time. At the end of three hours she set the device down, yawned then folded her arms on the table, set her head atop them and went to sleep.

The testing had surprised everyone.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and considered the episode. Once she’d settled into the notepad, Drum left and joined him in the observation room.

The doctor stood at his side, his mouth slightly agape. Her answers were analyzed as quickly as she entered them. Drum quit attempting to follow along on his linked notepad after thirty minutes. The screen blinked and the computer readings appeared when she’d finished.

Clearing his throat, Dr. Drum, read the results and shook his head. Then rubbed at his eyes and blinked. In all the time that Sam had known the man, he’d never seen him so rattled. “Well, her answers match what we know of the author. Her moral readings follow the liberal arts background. Her knowledge of modern history is non-existent. She has little religious opinion, neither an atheist or a believer. Ambivalent, I’d say.” He’d let the notebook drop to his side. “I’m going to need time to understand this.”

“She answered so quickly, did she even read the questions?”

“Yes, her answers show an understanding of what was asked.”

“Could she have been coached on the standard tests?” It boggled the mind to consider that, but she’d seldom paused, her hands flying over the screen.

“Certainly, but the computer sets them in random order, no one could memorize a set of answers and spit them out that fast. Trust me, Monty. She answered from her first inclination.”

“Then why skip so many?”

“Because she simply didn’t like any of the answers. The option is left on the moral compass section, which are most of what she skipped. That test would be new to her, if she is the author.” Drum chuckled. “Quite a quandary. At least now we know, she can read and write.”

“She didn’t write anything.”

“Yes, she did.” He pointed to the final entry. “Under name she used the stylist to write
Ria
.”

“The initials of the author, Drum. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“But it does. She wrote without hesitation, after several hours. It was an automatic response. She considers Ria to be her name, period.” Drum slapped him on the back. “I’ll look this over tonight. Try not to stay here all night. Get home and get some sleep.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam spoke flatly.

“As if I could order you to do anything.” Drum chuckled and left the room. Sam stood and studied her sleeping form, then ordered her roused and taken to her cell.

Nine hours later, he was back to watching her, the monitors showing stills of her face from every conceivable angle. She sat, her face and most of her body hidden by the curtain of hair. A sudden thought occurred to him and he searched the data base for the MRI picture Drum had shown him before leaving. Could that be her hair? He shifted to a live view of the scan and noted that she did lie on the long strands. He magnified the picture and compared it with the scan. It shouldn’t pick up that mane, and hadn’t in its entirety, but those seven lines directly matched that mass of wavy strands. She had something hidden!

He turned from the monitors and headed for the elevator. Just then, the discordant ringing of the building’s alarm went off.

*****

Ria glanced up as the bell began to ring. She held her hands to her ears, wincing. She doubted it sounded so loud to the rest, but she lived in a very quiet world and the clanging bell echoed inside her head, making her wince. She glanced up the corner of the cell. No doubt a camera watched her and recorded every move she made.

Damn, her body sagged with exhaustion, and her mind. They never stopped asking her questions. She didn’t know where the sailors were. She suspected, but she didn’t
know
. The tall man, with the striking blue eyes, seemed so worried about them. She sensed a patient and hiding anger behind those eyes. Hell, she hadn’t snuck up while they napped in the sun, overpowered them, and forced them to board her raft! No doubt, he blamed her for their disappearance.

She couldn’t tell Agent Montgomery what she didn’t know. And she didn’t dare speak. Once she opened her mouth, it would all spill forth and then they’d lock her away forever, convinced she’d gone insane. So, she kept silent.

At least that doctor trusted her to cooperate, without the constant battering. Fascinating to see how far notebook computing had come. That tablet had been no thicker than a standard magazine. It forwarded to the next page, or set of questions she supposed, without prompting. Some of those problems made her uncomfortable. Like a pebble dropped into her calm pool. Even now she found herself contemplating why they would want to know such invasive things or ask questions without better options.

One in particular filled her with an emotion she knew was rage, but she couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt it.

You’re on a lifeboat and three children cry out for help from a sinking raft. There is no room on your lifeboat unless an old man who is unconscious is thrown overboard. What do you do?

She’d looked for the option of getting out in place of the children and it wasn’t offered. What sort of people were these?

The bell shut off and she sighed in relief. A moment later, she heard the locking mechanism to her cell click and the door flew open.  Agent Montgomery shouted something to the guard and reached behind himself. He pulled forth something she did recognize. Handcuffs.

With a shriek, she shot to her feet and tried to back away from him, smacking into a wall. He followed, reaching for her right hand. She thrust her hands behind her back, tangling them in her hair and struggled with him. It proved useless, he overpowered her and strong-armed her to the floor, snagged her wrist and clicked one cuff closed. To her shock, the other closed around his left wrist. He hauled her up and thrust her at the door.

“No one is breaking you out of here! Might have worked aboard the
Ballard
, but not here!” He growled as the lights went out. “Not so silent anymore?” She felt him shove past her, then jerk her forward by the link on her wrist.

She stumbled and a moment later fell forward, pulled off balance. Reaching out she tried to figure out what she’d tripped on and found Agent Montgomery, sprawled on the floor. She felt around his body, searching for the key. But her hand slipped on something warm and wet. Lifting her hand she sniffed. Blood. He’d been hurt.

She left off looking for the key and ran her free hand up his body. She found a deep laceration at the side of his head. It had already soaked the short cropped hair. She tried to remember what to do with a head wound. If she tried to staunch the blood with fabric, would it act as a wick and increase blood loss or help the clotting process?

She couldn’t remember!

So damned many things she couldn’t remember.

A sound from the doorway made her turn a head. A soft glow approached. She could see the body of her guard, blocking the doorway. It was carefully eased to one side. She looked and relief filled her. “T’talin! Help me, he’s hurt!” The familiar form of the present leader of the Aleena towered above her. He was strong, he could help her with Agent Montgomery.

“Ria, we must leave quickly.”

“I know, but he’s bleeding. Help him.”

“His people will tend to him.” T'talin slipped into the room and tried to help her stand. Despite the alien strength, the deadweight of the unconscious man made it impossible. She glanced at the body and saw the blood pool spreading. Without hesitation she lied.

“I can’t come without him. He chained me to him and I don’t know how to free myself. He’ll die before they can tend to him, and I’ll be found with his body. They’ll lock me away so deep you’ll never find me.” She didn’t know where the lie came from, but she didn’t correct herself. Some part of her needed this man to live.

T’talin leaned down and hefted him up. “Come. We’ll see to him.”

She grabbed the slim pillow off the cot, ripped its cover free and quickly wrapped it around Agent Montgomery’s head before allowing him to lead the way from the complex.

Dr. Hermione Bales lay staring at the dark ceiling above her. Another night where sleep abandoned her. If this kept up, Drummond would notice and probably report her. She sighed, no, he wouldn’t do that. He’d just insist she come to dinner with his family and then, maybe, suggest sleeping pills. Or therapy.

She hated taking medication, but preferred it over sessions with some company shrink. Granted, she could use a false name and … no, she knew how tight a leash the government kept on people with a level of security clearance as high as hers. She’d take pills only if it began to affect her work.

If only she hadn’t met her former college instructor in the café that day, accepted his invitation to dinner and the dates that followed. She’d been lonely, and he didn’t take advantage of that. He only listened and eventually, he provided avenues of thought she hadn’t considered regarding decisions she’d made, what had influenced them and whether she may have been manipulated. Along with everyone else.

“Hermione, we’ve been fighting this war on terror for fifty years. And it only gets worse. The slightest provocation and we send bombers. We’ve set Iraq, Iran and Syria into the dark ages. But it hasn’t gotten better. All we hear is
Be vigilant! Keep watch! Report anything suspicious!
It does no good. Somehow, new groups form. Sometimes Islamists, or South American Communists or cults from Timbuktu. Ever noticed how they are always based in areas rich in minerals or other natural resources we need?”

“Basic conspiracy theory stuff, Terrance.” She sipped at a beer and rolled her eyes at him. Maybe if she’d been less dismissive he wouldn’t have proven his point and ruined her peace of mind.

Though her mind seldom experienced a calm moment, even before Terry slipped away one night and the package arrived in the mail. A sixty-year-old hard-drive, no Internet access of any sort and a package of floppy discs. She’d had to read up on how to access them. The letter, cautioning her to keep an open mind and stay away from networks of any sort, poked her into doing exactly what he’d wanted. Luckily, her skill as a computer information specialist left no door closed when it came to the older storage system.

Curiosity drove her, as it usually did. The evidence they contained proved compelling. She’d cautiously checked the documents out, using paths that ran so deep through the Internet they were impossible to trace. She infiltrated and gradually, she began to see the patterns.

Hermione never saw Terry again. Two months after he’d left her the package, she read his obituary on line. A hit and run accident, with a stolen car set on fire, destroying whatever evidence might have still been present. The investigation amounted to nothing. She mourned, privately.

He’d come into her life at the right time, as the clamor of doubt echoed too loud to be ignored in her head. Ten years of ignoring questions ended with her instructor’s death. He’d probably count that worth the cost. Maybe.

Her coworkers in the intelligence agency were good people, smart enough to question sources diligently, deserving her trust, but that was about it. She’d considered passing the information onto to Montgomery. Maybe, after this case finished.

Sleep had just begun to creep into her brain when her alarm went off. No, not her alarm, her phone. She groaned and snatched it off the small bedside dresser. The digital clock glowed at her, 4:55am.

Christ on a crutch, what the fuck had happened?

“Professor? We need you at headquarters. Alarms have gone off, Agent Montgomery is missing, as well as the prisoner and there are sixty-five naked crewmen passed out on the lawn.”

“Excuse me?” She rubbed at her eyes, sitting up, her mind already engaged. Where the hell had Monty gone? Naked crewmen?

It took her thirty minutes to get to the facility. Every light in the place shone brightly as men in uniform patrolled with flashlights and large dogs. She hadn’t seen a dog in ten years, another victim of a botched cloning operation. These looked like shepherds, but it could be difficult to tell. So many breeds were completely destroyed.

She parked and saw guards corralling a group of naked men and women in a group. First things first. Hermione strode to the man in charge. “Who are they?”

“None of them have spoken, it might be shock. They seem dazed, but dog tags identify them as Navy.” He held up a handheld scanner. “Every single one of them serves on the USS
Ballard
.”

“Ma’am?” A well-built young man moved closer, his hands attempting to cover his privates and still maintain a sense of military protocol. “We’re cold.”

“Aren’t talking?” She snorted. “Get them something to cover up and scan DNA and fingerprints. And see if they need any food or water.” She turned to the brave man and nodded. “At ease, sailor. We’ll see blankets to all of you. What do you remember?”

“Ma’am, I don’t know. I was on the ship, then a fog covered us and then we were here?” He shivered. “Coffee?”

“We’ll see what we can do.” She turned away and headed for the building. One mystery solved? No, but maybe a concern done with. They weren’t dead, and that was a relief. This facility didn’t have the room to house and debrief that many people. She lifted her cell phone and called the nearby Naval base commander. A nearby phone buzzed and she twisted about, seeing the man in question reaching for his belt. A quick pause and she’d arranged for him to transport the miracle crew to somewhere safe and secure.

As she entered the main investigative office, Officer Harold looked toward her from his desk. He nodded at the monitor wall to her right. “I just got the screens back up. He spent the evening and the last few hours going over video of the author, comparing it to the prisoner. These were the last images he examined before darting to her cell and…well, here look for yourself.”

He keyed in a few commands and one of the screens cleared to show the prisoner sitting on the cot, then jumping to her feet and backing away as Montgomery rushed in, subdued her and handcuffed himself to her. One step toward the door and the video cut out.

She studied the read outs on the timeline of when the power failed, calculating the timeline involved. “He saw the power drain and tried to head off her rescue. He saw the link to what occurred on the
Ballard
.”

“Yeah, but when the power came back up, they were both gone and there was a large pool of blood on the floor of her cell. It’s already been sampled and it’s Montgomery's, Professor.” Harold’s voice didn’t betray his emotion, but she saw how he bounced up to pose on the balls of his feet. He wanted a fight.

So did she.

“How much blood? Did the tech say whether it was life threatening?”

“Didn’t think so. It looked like he’d tripped or been shoved against the edge of the cot. She found hair and skin.” He pointed to the fresh image of the cell with the ominous bloody spot and the offending cot.

“Always wanted them to put in something without metal.” She hissed, angry at the lack of foresight that saw her boss injured. She stripped off the jacket she’d hastily donned before leaving her apartment. “I assume a perimeter search yielded nothing.”

“Only the naked sailors.”

“About them, just sprawled about or in a pattern? No message of any sort?”

“They were carefully laid out. No one atop another, not exactly rows, but orderly. Only thing on them were dog tags and assorted bits of jewelry. A few rings, earrings, etc. No signs of injury, no bruises that were easily identified. And no message.”

“Make sure the techs look for needle marks and take blood for sampling. The one man I spoke to couldn’t remember anything of the last forty-eight hours.” She took a seat at the keyboard, bent her head and began to backtrack Montgomery’s search pattern, looking for what he’d found. It didn’t take her long to spot the anomaly. He’d been heading for the elevator before the alarm began to sound. What did he see?

Twenty minutes later, she spotted it. She stood and walked to the big wall, traced the lines on the MRI and turned to see Harold already had his phone in hand, he nodded then spoke to her. “Drum is on his way up.”

“Her hair. You see it? Something in her hair.”

“Yeah, how did we miss it?”

“Her hair was incredibly thick and heavy. It wouldn’t be hard to secure something if it were disguised well.”

“Drum checked her head. He x-rayed and nothing showed up.”

“Let’s hope he has some ideas. Because I’m fresh out.”

“His phone wasn’t found, so he may have that on him. I’ve already tried to remotely turn it on and search for him, but nothing pinged.”

“If he’s okay, he’ll find a way to contact us. At the moment, we can only assume he sustained an injury and was taken when her confederates rescued her.”

“Why risk so much for a romance author? Or the clone of a romance author? Or whoever she is?” Harold softly asked.

She didn’t answer.

*****

His eyes opened and he stared at the featureless wall less than a foot from his face. Blinking, Sam attempted to orientate himself and assess the situation. Firstly, his head hurt. Not a massive pain, but an annoying bite that generally heralded a bump or a bruise. Secondly, he was naked and lying down on his side. He didn’t feel cold, the room temperature hovered at a comfortable range. He heard soft murmuring at his back and waited.

“…should be fine, Ria. I’ll see some food and water is brought. Are you sure you’ll be safe with him?”

“I should think so, I certainly have nothing to threaten him with. Thank you for seeing to his head, Milaar.”

“He would have been fine with a simple bandage and this would done and over with.”

“I know, but I didn’t realize how simple the chain would be to break. I’m sure T’talin will devise a way to return him to the mainland.”

“I will discuss this with him. The alarm will sound if he grows violent.”

“I know and I have every confidence in the Aleena to keep me safe. Thank you.”

He heard the soft slap of feet on a floor and a moment later a hand brushed at his head. He spun on the bed, grabbing that hand and hauling her in front of him on the bed. A moment later, he realized her naked ass now nestled at his crotch. He grimaced and held her still, intently aware of the skin to skin contact. She didn’t struggle, but remained complacent. He slowly released the tightness of his grip.

“Why didn’t an alarm sound? I heard her say…” he paused.
Her?
Yes, he thought the second speaker was female.

“Because I am not setting it off,” Ria calmly spoke, remaining still under his grip. “You’re not doing me any violence.”

She’d answered him! At least that provided a positive change. He pushed her away slightly and sat up, keeping her next to him. “Where are my clothes?”

“The Aleena recycle fabric. And the temperature is kept comfortable.” She shrugged. “I’ve never missed having clothing.” Her brows knit. “I think they assumed clothing was for warmth, so once the climate is controlled, it isn’t necessary.”

That didn’t tell him much of anything. He looked at the room. Fairly non-descript. A series of shelves held a dozen books of assorted sizes. A bench sat against the wall, near an opening he assumed was the doorway, in line with the bed they sat on. “Where am I?”

“With the Aleena, somewhere in the Atlantic.

Another unhelpful bit of information. Well, wait.
In the Atlantic?

“So, this is a ship?”

“Yes, of sorts. An underwater vessel. I can’t pronounce the name, so I just call it the vessel.”

“A submarine? Is that how they infiltrated the base? No sub can get that far up the Elizabeth River.”

“They did. I suppose they are submariners. I never really thought about it a great deal.”

He turned to look directly at her. Her eyes met his without hesitation or avoidance, as they had on the base. They were a deep brown, almost black. Her hair swept away from her face in two waves, to blend into a large open weave braid down her back. Her free hand rested on her thigh, palm down. He frowned at her. “Why are you talking now and not before?”

“I knew you’d think me insane if I answered the questions you asked me. And I do not lie well. So, I stayed silent.”

“Who are you?”

“I think I was once called Rachel and I wrote books. But I died twenty six years ago. The Aleena found me and saved me. It took them eleven years to convince me to accept rebirth.” Her eyes moved across his face, then she drew a deep breath and looked down. “You think me insane.”

“I don’t know what to think.”

Of course she was insane, or part of some trick.

She swallowed and her head rose, to gaze out at the room. “That is better than immediately rushing to judgment, I suppose.”

“Who are the Aleena?”

“An alien race that fell to earth centuries ago. They were part of a larger armada, but the big ships moved on, having no means to mount a search and rescue mission. The mother ship of this vessel sank into the depths of the ocean and they adapted, stayed and made a home for themselves.” She appeared to address the bench across the room, as if unable to meet his eyes. “That is what they told me.”

“And you believed them.”

She raised her free hand and examined it. “I remember age spots, and the stringiness of tendon and muscle. I saw my reflection and assumed I’d gone mad. Or landed in some odd version of an afterlife. What did aliens compare to that reality? Why not? I remembered stories about alien races.”