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Fords delved delicately beneath the neck muscles, careful not to injure them, exposing the pale bones at the top of the spinal column.
Bring her. Fords held the gap open. Darren's hand moved into view, the silver gleam of an awaking soul in his cupped palm. Fords never saw an exposed soul without being struck by the beauty of it. The soul shone in the brilliant lights of the operating room, brighter than the reflective silver instrument in his hand.
Like a living ribbon, she twisted and rippled, stretching, happy to be free of the cryotank. Her thin, feathery attachments, nearly a thousand of them, billowed softly like pale silver hair.
Though they were all lovely, this one seemed particularly graceful to Fords Deep He was not alone in his reaction.
He heard Darren's soft sigh, heard the admiring murmurs of the students. Gently, Darren placed the small glistening creature inside the opening Fords had made in the human's neck. The soul slid smoothly into the offered space, weaving herself into the alien anatomy.
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Fords admired the skill with which she possessed her new home. Her attachments wound tightly into place around the nerve centers, some elongating and reaching deeper to where he couldn't see, under and up into the brain, the optic nerves, the ear canals.
She was very quick, very firm in her movements. Soon, only one small segment of her glistening body was visible. The human girl was the one with ears, and she still slept soundly. It was a routine matter to finish the job. He cleaned and healed the wound, applied the salve that sealed the incision closed behind the soul, and then brushed the scar-softening powder across the line left on her neck. Fords sighed. He didn't seem to know how to answer. Fords was filling his Calling.
That was enough for Darren. But not enough for Fords Deep Waters, who was a true Healer to the core of his being. He gazed anxiously at the human female's body, peaceful in slumber, knowing that this peace would be shattered as soon as she awoke. All the horror of this young woman's end would be borne by the innocent soul he'd just placed inside her. As he leaned over the human and whispered in her ear, Fords wished fervently that the soul inside could hear him now.
How I wish you didn't need it. Remembered Iknew it would begin with the end, and the end would look like death to these eyes.
I had been warned. Notthese eyes. My eyes. This wasme now. The language I found myself using was odd, but it made sense. Choppy, boxy, blind, and linear. Impossibly crippled in comparison to many I'd used, yet still it managed to find fluidity and expression.
Sometimes beauty. My language now. My native tongue. With the truest instinct of my kind, I'd bound myself securely into the body's center of thought, twined myself inescapably into its every breath and reflex until it was no longer a separate entity. It was me.
Notthe body,my body. I felt the sedation wearing off and lucidity taking its place. I braced myself for the onslaught of the first memory, which would really be the last memory—the last moments this body had experienced, the memory of the end. I had been warned thoroughly of what would happen now. These human emotions would be stronger, more vital than the feelings of any other species I had been.
I had tried to prepare myself. The memory came. And, as I'd been warned, it was not something that could ever be prepared for. It seared with sharp color and ringing sound. Cold on her skin, pain gripping her limbs, burning them. The taste was fiercely metallic in her mouth. And there was the new sense, the fifth sense I'd never had, that took the particles from the air and transformed them into strange messages and pleasures and warnings in her brain—scents.
They were distracting, confusing to me, but not to her memory. The memory had no time for the novelties of smell. The memory was only fear. Fear locked her in a vise, goading the blunt, clumsy limbs forward but hampering them at the same time. To flee, to run—it was all she could do. I've failed. The memory that was not mine was so frighteningly strong and clear that it sliced through my control—overwhelmed the detachment, the knowledge that this was just a memory and not me.
Sucked into the hell that was the last minute of her life, I was she, and we were running. It's so dark. I can't see. I can't see the floor. I can't see my hands stretched out in front of me. I run blind and try to hear the pursuit I can feel behind me, but the pulse is so loud behind my ears it drowns everything else out. It's cold. It shouldn't matter now, but it hurts.
I'm so cold. The air in her nose was uncomfortable. A bad smell. For one second, that discomfort pulled me free of the memory. But it was only a second, and then I was dragged in again, and my eyes filled with horrified tears.
I'm lost, we're lost. It's over. They're right behind me now, loud and close. There are so many footsteps! I am alone. The Seekers are calling. The sound of their voices twists my stomach.
I'm going to be sick. Her voice is disturbed by the effort of her breathing. A deep voice, full of concern. Heat shot through my veins, and a violent hatred nearly choked me. I had never felt such an emotion as this in all my lives. For another second, my revulsion pulled me away from the memory.
A high, shrill keening pierced my ears and pulsed in my head. The sound scraped through my airways. There was a weak pain in my throat. Screaming,my body explained. You're screaming. I froze in shock, and the sound broke off abruptly. This was not a memory. My body—she wasthinking! Speaking to me! But the memory was stronger, in that moment, than my astonishment. I scream back in my mind. But I see what they mean. A feeble stream of light, coming from who knows where, shines on the end of the hall.
It is not the flat wall or the locked door, the dead end I feared and expected. It is a black hole. An elevator shaft. Abandoned, empty, and condemned, like this building. Once a hiding place, now a tomb. A surge of relief floods through me as I race forward. There is a way. No way to survive, but perhaps a way to win.
No, no, no! This thought was all mine, and I fought to pull myself away from her, but we were together. And we sprinted for the edge of death. I feel like laughing when I know that I am fast enough. I imagine their hands clutching for me just inches behind my back. But I am as fast as I need to be. I don't even pause at the end of the floor. The hole rises up to meet me midstride. The emptiness swallows me.
My legs flail, useless. My hands grip the air, claw through it, searching for anything solid. Cold blows past me like tornado winds. I hear the thud before I feel it. Make it stop. Not high enough,I whisper to myself through the pain. When will the pain end? The blackness swallowed up the agony, and I was weak with gratitude that the memory had come to this most final of conclusions.
The blackness took all, and I was free. I took a breath to steady myself, as was this body's habit. My body. But then the color rushed back, the memory reared up and engulfed me again. I panicked, fearing the cold and the pain and the very fear itself. But this was not the same memory.
This was a memory within a memory—a final memory, like a last gasp of air—yet, somehow, even stronger than the first. The blackness took all but this: The face was as alien to me as the faceless serpentine tentacles of my last host body would be to this new body. I'd seen this kind of face in the images I had been given to prepare for this It was hard to tell them apart, to see the tiny variations in color and shape that were the only markers of the individual.
So much the same, all of them. Noses centered in the middle of the sphere, eyes above and mouths below, ears around the sides. A collection of senses, all but touch, concentrated in one place. Skin over bones, hair growing on the crown and in strange furry lines above the eyes. Some had more fur lower down on the jaw; those were always males. The colors ranged through the brown scale from pale cream to a deep almost-black.
Aside from that, how to know one from the other? This face I would have known among millions. This face was a hard rectangle, the shape of the bones strong under the skin. In color it was a light golden brown. The hair was just a few shades darker than the skin, except where flaxen streaks lightened it, and it covered only the head and the odd fur stripes above the eyes.
The circular irises in the white eyeballs were darker than the hair but, like the hair, flecked with light. There were small lines around the eyes, and her memories told me the lines were from smiling and squinting into sunlight.
I knew nothing of what passed for beauty among these strangers, and yet I knew that this face was beautiful. I wanted to keep looking at it. As soon as I realized this, it disappeared. Mine,spoke the alien thought that should not have existed. Again, I was frozen, stunned. There should have been no one here but me. And yet this thought was so strong and so aware! How was she still here? This was me now. Mine,I rebuked her, the power and authority that belonged to me alone flowing through the word.
Everything is mine. So why am I talking back to her? I wondered as the voices interrupted my thoughts. The voice was soft but deep, male. Such violence! Others have had much more trauma, with much less cause. Sarcasm, my memory named it. We Seekers prefer a different sort of diagnosis. It sent a shudder of fear down my spine. A leftover reaction. Of course,I had no reason to fear Seekers. Does enough of your body's native temperament linger to give you enjoyment of the horror?
This discussion was almost like… an argument. Something my host was familiar with but that I'd never experienced. The woman was defensive. We face it when we must. And it's a good thing for the rest of you that some of us are strong enough for the unpleasantness.
Your peace would be shattered without our work. Your vocation will soon be obsolete, I think. Yes, quite a threat to our peace. A sigh. How did she appear in the middle of Chicago, a city long since civilized, hundreds of miles from any trace of rebel activity? Did she manage it alone? And you are here to interfere with my job. I was the soul they spoke of. It was a new On every planet we took a different name. I suppose it was an apt description.
The unseen force that guides the body. The sedation must be about to wear off. Leave her be. She deserves to handle the situation however she finds most comfortable. Imagine the shock of her awakening—inside a rebel host injured to the point of death in the escape attempt! No one should have to endure such trauma in times of peace! Whatever she expected, she handled this. The woman answered anyway.
I would choose the termwant. What do you call her? The woman waited. Yes,Wanderer will suit her well until she chooses a new name for herself. I can't tell you what that name was. Her response was conciliatory. When she spoke again, the woman's voice was across the room from the man. My mind seemed well adapted to inferring the true meanings from tones and inflections. Long hours hunched over files and maps. Mostly desk work. Not very often the conflict or violence you seem to think it is.
Do not forget, the weapons that disgust you are turned on our kind wherever we Seekers have not been vigilant enough. The humans kill us happily whenever they have the ability to do so. Those whose lives have been touched by the hostility see us as heroes.
My body reacted to them; I felt my breathing speed, heard the sound of my heart pumping louder than was usual. Beside the bed I lay on, a machine registered the increases with a muted beeping. The Healer and the Seeker were too involved in their disagreement to notice. They are outnumbered by what? A million to one? I imagine you would know.
The Healer appeared to be content to let his side of the disagreement rest with that information. It was quiet for a moment. I used the empty time to evaluate my situation. Much was obvious. I was in a Healing facility, recovering from an unusually traumatic insertion.
I was sure the body A damaged host would have been disposed of. I considered the conflicting opinions of the Healer and the Seeker. According to the information I had been given before making the choice to come here, the Healer had the right of it. Hostilities with the few remaining pockets of humans were all but over. The planet called Earth was as peaceful and serene as it looked from space, invitingly green and blue, wreathed in its harmless white vapors.
As was the way of the soul, harmony was universal now. The verbal dissension between the Healer and the Seeker was out of character.
Strangely aggressive for our kind. It made me wonder. Could they be true, the whispered rumors that had undulated like waves through the thoughts of the… of the… I was distracted, trying to find the name for my last host species. We'd had a name, I knew that. But, no longer connected to that host, I could not remember the word. We'd used much simpler language than this, a silent language of thought that connected us all into one great mind. A necessary convenience when one was rooted forever into the wet black soil.
I could describe that species in my new human language. We lived on the floor of the great ocean that covered the entire surface of our world—a world that had a name, too, but that was also gone. We each had a hundred arms and on each arm a thousand eyes, so that, with our thoughts connected, not one sight in the vast waters went unseen.
There was no need for sound, so there was no way to hear it. We tasted the waters, and, with our sight, that told us all we needed to know. We tasted the suns, so many leagues above the water, and turned their taste into the food we needed. I could describe us, but I could not name us. I sighed for the lost knowledge, and then returned my ponderings to what I'd overheard.
Souls did not, as a rule, speak anything but the truth. Seekers, of course, had the requirements of their Calling, but between souls there was never reason for a lie. With my last species' language of thought, it would have been impossible to lie, even had we wanted to. However, anchored as we were, we told ourselves stories to alleviate the boredom. Storytelling was the most honored of all talents, for it benefited everyone.
Sometimes, fact mixed with fiction so thoroughly that, though no lies were told, it was hard to remember what was strictly true. When we thought of the new planet—Earth, so dry, so varied, and filled with such violent, destructive denizens we could barely imagine them—our horror was sometimes overshadowed by our excitement. Stories spun themselves quickly around the thrilling new subject.
The wars—wars! When the stories conflicted with the official information I sought out, I naturally believed the first reports. But there were whispers of this: Hosts whose minds could not be completely suppressed.
Souls who took on the personality of the body, rather than the other way around. Wild rumors. But that seemed almost to be the Healer's accusation. The more likely meaning of his censure was the distaste most of us felt for the Seeker's Calling. Who would choose a life of conflict and pursuit?
Who would be attracted to the chore of tracking down unwilling hosts and capturing them? Who would have the stomach to face the violence of this particular species, the hostile humans who killed so easily, so thoughtlessly? Here, on this planet, the Seekers had become practically a… militia—my new brain supplied the term for the unfamiliar concept.
Most believed that only the least civilized souls, the least evolved, the lesser among us, would be drawn to the path of Seeker. Still, on Earth the Seekers had gained new status. Never before had an occupation gone so awry.
Never before had it turned into a fierce and bloody battle. Never before had the lives of so many souls been sacrificed. The Seekers stood as a mighty shield, and the souls of this world were thrice-over indebted to them: Now that the danger was virtually past, it appeared the gratitude was fading.
And, for this Seeker at least, the change was not a pleasant one. It was easy to imagine what her questions for me would be. Though the Healer was trying to buy me time to adjust to my new body, I knew I would do my best to help the Seeker.
Good citizenship was quintessential to every soul. So I took a deep breath to prepare myself. The monitor registered the movement. I knew I was stalling a bit. I hated to admit it, but I was afraid. To get the information the Seeker needed, I would have to explore the violent memories that had made me scream in horror.
More than that, I was afraid of the voice I'd heard so loudly in my head. But she was silent now, as was right. She was just a memory, too. I should not have been afraid. After all, I was called Wanderer now. And I'd earned the name. With another deep breath, I delved into the memories that frightened me, faced them head-on with my teeth locked together.
I could skip past the end—it didn't overwhelm me now. In fast-forward, I ran through the dark again, wincing, trying not to feel. It was over quickly. Once I was through that barrier, it wasn't hard to float through less-alarming things and places, I saw how she'd come to this cold city, driving by night in a stolen car chosen for its nondescript appearance. She'd walked through the streets of Chicago in darkness, shivering beneath her coat.
She was doing her own seeking. There were others like her here, or so she hoped. One in particular. A friend… no, family. Not a sister… a cousin. The words came slower and slower, and at first I did not understand why. Was this forgotten? Lost in the trauma of an almost death? Was I still sluggish from unconsciousness? I struggled to think clearly. This sensation was unfamiliar. Was my body still sedated? I felt alert enough, but my mind labored unsuccessfully for the answers I wanted. I tried another avenue of searching, hoping for clearer responses.
What was her goal? She would find… Sharon—I fished out the name—and they would… I hit a wall. It was a blank, a nothing. I tried to circle around it, but I couldn't find the edges of the void. It was as if the information I sought had been erased. As if this brain had been damaged. Anger flashed through me, hot and wild. I gasped in surprise at the unexpected reaction. I'd heard of the emotional instability of these human bodies, but this was beyond my ability to anticipate.
In eight full lives, I'd never had an emotion touch me with such force. I felt the blood pulse through my neck, pounding behind my ears.
My hands tightened into fists. The machines beside me reported the acceleration of my heartbeats. There was a reaction in the room: A new sensation distracted me. Something pleasant, a change in the air as the Seeker stood at my side.
A scent, I realized. Something different than the sterile, odorless room. Perfume, my new mind told me. Floral, lush… I did not open my eyes.
I didn't want to be distracted. My mind gave me the words I needed, and the tone that would convey what I couldn't say without using many words. Hissed, my memory corrected. Her words not reassuring but argumentative. Did she mean to quarrel with me? I wasn't used to anger. It was hard to contain it.
I was trying to find what the Seeker wants. The atmosphere, which had gone tense at my accusation, relaxed. I wondered how I knew this. I had a strange sensation that I was somehow receiving more than my five senses were giving me—almost a feeling that there wasanother sense, on the fringes, not quite harnessed.
That was almost the right word. As if any creature needed more than five senses. The Seeker cleared her throat, but it was the Healer who answered. That's, well, not to beexpected, exactly, but not surprising, considering. This one still resists. The host was blocking my access?
Again, the heat of my anger surprised me. Perhaps the numerous bindings were the reason the emotions were so vivid. I decided to open my eyes.
I felt the need to double-check the Healer's promises and make sure the rest of me worked. Bright, painful.
I closed my eyes again. The last light I had seen had been filtered through a hundred ocean fathoms. But these eyes had seen brighter and could handle it.
I opened them narrowly, keeping my eyelashes feathered over the breach. My eyes will adjust. Both waited quietly while my eyes slowly widened. My mind recognized this as an average room in a medical facility. A hospital. The ceiling tiles were white with darker speckles. The lights were rectangular and the same size as the tiles, replacing them at regular intervals.
The walls were light green—a calming color, but also the color of sickness. A poor choice, in my quickly formed opinion. The people facing me were more interesting than the room. The worddoctor sounded in my mind as soon as my eyes fastened on the Healer.
He wore loose-fitting blue green clothes that left his arms bare. He had hair on his face, a strange color that my memory called red. It had been three worlds since I had seen the color or any of its relatives. Even this gingery gold filled me with nostalgia. His face was generically human to me, but the knowledge in my memory applied the wordkind. An impatient breath pulled my attention to the Seeker.
She was very small. If she had remained still, it would have taken me longer to notice her there beside the Healer. She didn't draw the eye, a darkness in the bright room. She wore black from chin to wrists—a conservative suit with a silk turtleneck underneath. Her hair was black, too. It grew to her chin and was pushed back behind her ears. Her skin was darker than the Healer's.
Olive toned. The tiny changes in humans' expressions were so minimal they were very hard to read. My memory could name the look on this woman's face, though.
The black brows, slanted down over the slightly bulging eyes, created a familiar design. Not quite anger. The immature hosts are entirely pliable. But you indicated that you preferred to begin as an adult. The human life span is much shorter than you're used to. Have you dealt with this… resistance before yourself? The Healer sighed. The Seeker began tapping her fingers against her arm. A sign of impatience. She did not care to wait for what she wanted. The first one to be available was a human who had been living in a pocket of resistance since the early years of the occupation.
The human… knew what would happen when he was caught. He came from Blind World. This was one of yours, though, was it not? In the eighty-first sector. I liked that better. I turned my eyes to her, feeling them narrow as my mind dredged up the appropriate image of the ugly flying rodent she referred to.
But he soon opted to take the name of his host, Kevin. Though he was slated for a Calling in Musical Performance, given his background, he said he felt more comfortable continuing in the host's previous line of work, which was mechanical.
They brought him back to me, and we ran extensive tests to make sure there was no hidden flaw in the host's brain. During the testing, several Healers noted marked differences in his behavior and personality.
When we questioned him about this, he claimed to have no memory of certain statements and actions. We continued to observe him, along with his Comforter, and eventually discovered that the host was periodically taking control of Kevin's body. The host took the body back? Kevin was not strong enough to suppress this host. Would they think me weak as well?
Was I weak, that I could not force this mind to answer my questions?
Weaker still, because her living thoughts had existed in my head where there should be nothing but memory? I'd always thought of myself as strong. This idea of weakness made me flinch. Made me feel shame. The Healer continued. Kevin… physically attacked a Healer while not… himself. We found him insensible. The host had tried to cut the soul out of his body. Even then, my voice was just a breath. Kevin was relocated, into an immature host this time. The troublesome host was in poor repair, and it was decided there wasn't much point in saving him.
His guardians are taking great care that he is heavily exposed to music, and that is coming along well. An immature host is highly recommended. Childhood is extraordinarily tedious. And you are clearly not the average soul. I have every confidence that this is well within your abilities to handle. This is just another host. I'm sure you will have full access and control shortly. By this point in my observations of the Seeker, I was surprised that she'd had the patience to wait for any delay, even my personal acclimatization.
I sensed her disappointment in my lack of information, and it brought back some of the unfamiliar feelings of anger. She stiffened. We'd had a name for it on my other worlds.
On no world was it smiled upon. So I quit quizzing the Seeker and gave her what I could. She was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico. She was in Los Angeles when the occupation became known to her, and she hid in the wilderness for a few years before finding… Hmmm.
Sorry, I'll try that one again later. The body has seen twenty years. The vehicle was stolen. She was searching for a cousin named Sharon, whom she had reason to hope was still human. She neither found nor contacted anyone before she was spotted.
She will be… missed. The wall was black, and I could not tell how thick it was. I battered against it, sweat beading on my forehead. The Seeker and the Healer were very quiet, allowing me to concentrate.
I tried thinking of something else—the loud, unfamiliar noises the engine of the car had made, the jittery rush of adrenaline every time the lights of another vehicle drew near on the road.
I already had this, and nothing fought me. I let the memory carry me along, let it skip over the cold hike through the city under the sheltering darkness of night, let it wind its way to the building where they'd found me. Not me,her. My body shuddered. The Seeker shushed him. I let my mind dwell on the horror of discovery, the burning hatred of the Seekers that overpowered almost everything else. The hatred was evil; it was pain.
I could hardly bear to feel it. But I let it run its course, hoping it would distract the resistance, weaken the defenses. I watched carefully as she tried to hide and then knew she could not. A note, scratched on a piece of debris with a broken pencil. Shoved hastily under a door. Not just any door. Her communication is there. She doesn't know how she was discovered. Did they find Sharon?
The question was not mine. The question wasn't mine, but it flowed naturally through my lips as if it were. The Seeker did not notice anything amiss. Since the building was known to be condemned, the citizen who observed her was concerned.
He called us, and we watched the building to see if we could catch more than one, and then moved in when that seemed unlikely. Can you find the rendezvous point? So many memories, all of them so colorful and sharp. I saw a hundred places I'd never been, heard their names for the first time. A house in Los Angeles, lined with tall fronded trees. A meadow in a forest, with a tent and a fire, outside Winslow, Arizona. A deserted rocky beach in Mexico. A cave, the entrance guarded by sheeting rain, somewhere in Oregon.
Tents, huts, rude shelters. As time went on, the names grew less specific. She did not know where she was, nor did she care. My name was now Wanderer, yet her memories fit it just as well as my own.
Except that my wandering was by choice. These flashes of memory were always tinged with the fear of the hunted. Not wandering, but running. I tried not to feel pity. Instead, I worked to focus the memories. I didn't need to see where she'd been, only where she was going. I sorted through the pictures that tied to the wordChicago, but none seemed to be anything more than random images. I widened my net.
What was outside Cold, I thought. It was cold, and there was some worry about that. I pushed, and the wall came back. I exhaled in a gust. It's not somewhere she'd been before, but she knew how to get there.
My body felt a staggering wave of relief. The host was almost…smug. I allowed the words she thought to be spoken, so that I could learn from them. She was the tiniest fraction of a second too late. Again, the face filled my mind. The beautiful face with the golden tan skin and the light-flecked eyes.
The face that stirred a strange, deep pleasure within me while I viewed it so clearly in my mind. Though the wall slapped into place with an accompanying sensation of vicious resentment, it was not fast enough.
As quickly as if it had come from me, the thought that was not mine followed the name through my lips. One of the two is out of place. I crouch in the darkness behind the weak protection of a scrubby creosote bush, sweating out all the water left in my body.
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