Mireia had seen the boat before: a grand yacht over one hundred feet long that she’d first noticed about a month ago on the way to prom. It was hard to miss, and now that she neared it, she could make out a series of expensive-looking mirrored windows.
As secretive as Lasoren had been, it was surprisingly ostentatious.
The dog-thing kept its head low, muttering softly, “Is that a boat, a cruise liner, or a starship? I bet they’ve got a mini-sub.” As curious as the comment was, she wished he’d stop talking to her, but he wouldn’t shut up. “Best way to reach Main HQ. –That’s gotta be his car, ahead on the left. Beige ’94 Lexus sedan. You see an owner around?”
“No,” Mireia whispered. She was also concerned that if she spent too much time talking to him, she’d look like she was talking to herself.
The three-year-old car was as clean as the day it rolled off the lot. The interior was immaculate, and there was no one in sight. “Didn’t he say to go to the boat?”
“I don’t like boats,” the thing grumbled softly.
“I don’t like you,” Mireia said, moving on.
“This is gonna be difficult for both of us, then.”
“No, just for you.”
A lean female figure came out to wave at them from the deck of the ship. She was pale and pretty, with an adorable pastel yellow sun dress that Mireia was jealous of, and a large sun hat over her dark hair and old-fashioned aviator sunglasses. The hat and glasses were a bit old-fashioned, with that big white ribbon tied in an oversized bow. The woman was probably about as old as Mireia’s mother.
As Mireia scaled the ramp, the lady walked over to greet her, moving elegantly in a pretty pair of white heels and extending a graceful hand, accentuated with a few thin silver bracelets with exotic inlays. “Good morning! Miss Durant, I take it?”
Mireia nodded and shook her hand, disturbed by the sound of her own name, “Yes, ma’am, that’s me.”
“Samantha Lurizek. Everyone calls me Sam. It’s a pleasure to have you on board. I’m here on behalf of my husband, Daniel.”
“Did you just say ‘Rizek’?” Lasoren asked from the bag.
“I did,” Sam said to him without looking down or batting an eye.
“He said his name was Kago,” Lasoren muttered, “Oh . . . wait . . . never mind. I’m an idiot.”
Mireia tightened her lips, withholding a retort.
“Your friend sounds addled,” Sam observed, “Since he can’t stay quiet, let’s hurry along and get him someplace more private. His doctor is waiting. Dr. Maesera works here in town, so he wants to be seen as little as possible.”
Mireia followed her through a door into a round chamber with a vaulted ceiling, softly illuminated by white panels that rose to meet in the center.
There was a soft hissing sound, then Lasoren yipped sharply, “That burns!”
Sam took off her sunglasses, revealing lively brown eyes and youthful features as she explained, “This is a sanitizing chamber. If he’s injured badly enough, it might sting a bit. Our enemies deploy bioengineered microbial spies, so it’s the only defense we currently have against them.”
Mireia backed up until she hit the door. “They what?”
Sam reached for her arm gently.
She jerked away, crying, “You expect me to believe that?” She held up the bag. “I did what I was asked and brought him here. Just take him and let me go! You’re all nuts!”
Sam answered frankly, “I don’t expect you to believe anything, yet. Nor do I want you to panic, but it would have been more dangerous to lie to you. You need to understand the importance of secrecy. Once you go back outside, you may only speak freely of these matters after certain conditions have been met.” She glanced down at the bag. “How much has our friend told you?”
“Nothing,” Mireia said shortly, her heart pounding in her ears as she found herself trapped in a strange ship with strange people and a door she couldn’t open, “Not a single thing.”
Sam met her eyes, studying her, “I see. Since it’s clear things haven’t gone according to plan, I must apologize, Mireia. This isn’t how they normally operate.”
She realized Bernard must have given these people her name. She was going to strangle him.
“ ‘They’?” she asked, hating this more by the second.
“My husband’s company. Please try to relax. It’s only an airlock. We’re not going to hurt you.”
A door slid open, and they stepped inside onto a raised floor covered in thick, plush carpet that felt as though it might have a layer of dense foam underneath it. The room was wide, elliptical, and mostly empty. It was well-lit, with a high, stepped ceiling. A curved couch sat off to one side, along with a TV, and a deck lay beyond the tinted windows and doors on the opposite side.
A young man in formal attire walked over to greet them, dressed in a steel-blue long-sleeved buttoned shirt of fine linen, pressed slate-gray slacks, and black leather shoes. Pale red hair was mostly covered by a finely-woven ivory straw fedora that looked like it cost more than a hat had any right to, finished with a wide gray ribbon. He had porcelain white skin, freckled features, and gentle light brown eyes.
Between the two of them, Mireia felt distinctly and uncomfortably under-dressed in her jeans, casual blouse, and simple flat-soled black shoes. Her slim black pocketbook and gold-plated jewelry were her only saving grace, but the expensive and expansive yacht made her wish she’d taken another shower after the beach. She felt altogether icky.
The young man extended a hand, “Good afternoon, Miss. My name is Dr. Zachary Maesera, and I’m the company’s Regional Emergency Medic. Typically only by night, since I work for St. Francis Hospital by day. Fortunately, you’ve caught me on a day off.”
Mireia shook his hand uncertainly, introducing herself with what she hoped was confidence and not the shaky distrust rocking her gut, and found his grip to be much like his mannerisms: gentle yet firm at once. She wanted to like him, and under different circumstances she might have respected him.
Lasoren responded, “I have to apologize—I would’ve called a standard medic, but whatever happened was serious.”
“No need to concern yourself,” the doctor assured him, “Serious matters lie at the crux of my vocation.”
“Was that English?” Lasoren asked.
Mireia responded, “He says this is his job.”
The doctor gave a small sigh, “Well, if the human between us understood me, then I pray it wasn’t too archaic.” He gave a bow of his head to Sam, “Thank you, Captain.” Then he gestured toward a hall near the couch, “If you would bring him downstairs, Miss Miriea. We have a . . . rather modest medical facility, but it will suit our purposes.”
Mireia did her best to steady her breathing as she moved further into the huge ship—Sam’s ship, from the sound of it. As far as she could tell, it was totally empty. There was nothing of note in the galley as she passed it, nothing on the dining table, and the doors in the unsually broad hallway were closed and silent. Everything smelled clean and new. One door near the end appeared to be a very wide elevator.
They walked down a set of stairs, and turned into a room across from the lower elevator door—through a doorway wide enough to accommodate whatever must come from the elevator. The room was colder than the others, and nearly as large as the common area above them. It had a cream-colored vaulted ceiling patterned in veins of light that came to life the moment they opened the door. The floor was marbled in beige and pink, and the slightly curved walls were covered in some sort of textile panels, elegantly painted with pastel silhouettes of pine trees and ferns.
If this was their idea of a “modest medical facility,” she was almost curious enough to know what first-rate looked like—if she hadn’t wanted to leave so badly.
The doctor moved an operating bed to the back wall and called back, “Just place him there on the table, if you would, please.” His voice didn’t echo, but still sounded clearly across the room.
Mireia reached into the canvas bag and pulled out the small dog, placing him on a padded table in front of her, near a countertop, sink, and cabinets.
Slowly, Lasoren shifted back to the form she’d first seen him in.
Dr. Maesera set aside his hat and pulled on a pair of gloves, a surgical mask, and an apron before opening a large tackle box full of all sorts of miscellaneous equipment. Mireia realized for the first time that despite its ostentatious appearance, the room was sparsely stocked.
He began by asking Lasoren, “Am I correct in understanding that you aren’t sure what happened?”
“I’m tryin’ to remember,” the small creature responded, its accent returning, “I . . . don’t shift the way everyone else does, so I avoid doing it whenever I can. I only use my canine forms for covert work, and I gotta switch to my real body, first. I got no memory of doin’ that. I just . . . I had dinner in Beaufort, and I was going back to my car. That’s it. Everything goes black about three blocks from the restaurant. I remember drowning, but I don’t know when or why. And fear. Helplessness. Feeling tiny and pathetic.”
Mireia drew a breath, attracting attention from the other two, and finally asked the question she’d been avoiding, “So, I get that you’re shapeshifters. However, um, unexpected that is.”
“You can say it,” Dr. Maesera told her, “It’s bizarre. It shouldn’t be possible—a point you’ll find most of us concur with, even if we disagree on its moral consequences. Some would go so far as to consider it an aberration of nature.”
Mireia pointed at Lasoren, “So you mean to tell me that something as small as him can be human?”
Dr. Maesera nodded as he inspected the tiny creature’s injuries, “By various means, yes, that’s correct.”
The doctor’s eyes took on a bloody crimson hue as he examined the gash across the front of Lasoren’s shoulder. As nice as he seemed, he had the eyes of a demon, and that was more than Mireia could handle.
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She picked up her bag, “Look, we stumbled upon him purely by accident. We don’t want any trouble. It seemed as though he’s back with his own kind, and I’ve got plans this afternoon.”
Dr. Maesera paused and looked up at her, “I can hear your heartrate, Miss Mireia. There’s no reason to fear me. I’m really a doctor. I promise.”
She wanted to believe in such a kind man. But those eyes!
“I’m an ER surgeon. I have a medical degree from MUSC.”
“Then your friend’s in good hands,” she said, nodding curtly.
The doctor sighed, setting his hands on the table as his eyes faded back to brown, “I understand your preference, and I’m inclined to agree with the most direct and obvious action, which is to deliver him to our main headquarters and permit you to be on your way, but I must defer to my given instructions. The best I can do is set his broken bones and administer painkiller until someone delivers a healing scanner from HQ. We don’t have very many of them, so I’m planning to send an email momentarily. . . . No one answers the phone when I call.”
“I’ll call,” Sam offered immediately, causing Mireia to jump. She hadn’t realized the woman was still there!
Sam pulled a cellular phone from her pocket as she left. Her voice could be heard just down the hall, crisp and direct, like a military officer.
Mireia stared down at the table, still trying to get her head around Lasoren turning into a full-sized human being. “How . . . how much larger are we talking?”
Lasoren whispered, “Just over five-six. About two-ninety.”
The doctor’s eyes widened, “Two-ninety? How? I can see your ribs!”
“Volunteered for an experiment.”
The answer drew a look of dismay from the doctor.
Mireia tried to picture a five-foot-six adult male weighing nearly three hundred pounds . . . coming from the tiny creature on the table in front of her. The doctor resumed care of Lasoren’s wounds—drawing no complaint from the previously whining Marasuchus. Now that she got a better look at him, Mireia realized that he was actually quite beautiful and fascinating. She could see why Bernard had been so drawn to him. It wasn’t every day a creature like that came along. Still: she wanted nothing to do with it. She especially didn’t want it back in her car.
Sam returned, “Someone will be here in a few hours. Can you stay that long, Doctor?”
The doctor leaned on the table in apparent relief, eyes closed. “I can. Thank you, Captain Rizek.”
She set a hand on his, smiling warmly, “I’m no Captain, here. I’m not even an agent.”
The remark drew a slight, nervous smile from the doctor. “I couldn’t bring myself to insult you with anything less, Ma’am. You earned the title fairly.”
Mireia glanced between them. They both seemed like very capable adults, so she adjusted the bag on her shoulder meaningfully, “Well, it sounds like you’ve all got things under control. I should get going. I promise I won’t tell a soul.”
Lasoren looked up at Sam. “She does need to leave. If she doesn’t show up soon, she’s told Sparker to call the cops.”
Sam sighed, “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
“Yeah,” Mireia said, “ ‘Cause we have no idea who you people are! Look: I just finished high school. I’ve got plans. I’ve already spent a lot of money on this weekend, and if all I have to do is forget this happened, I’d be more than happy to. No offense, but y’all can take any other plans you had back wherever you came from. We don’t want it.”
To her surprise, Sam appeared to be stifling a grin. “Well, that’s not what you told us last time.”
Mireia wasn’t even sure she’d heard her properly. “Excuse me?”
“You were practically begging to sign up. Though . . . in all fairness, you were also more than happy to go back to normal.”
“I think you’re full of crap, and it’s time for me to leave,” Mireia said as she headed for the door, “There’s no way I’d forget something like this.”
“But you did,” Sam said, “Because I’ll bet you don’t remember where you were on Christmas Eve in 1988.”
“Of course I do!” she laughed, “It was in Nebraska. Ms. Rhonna hosted dinner that year.”
“Did she?”
Mireia rolled her eyes, and decided to play along just to prove she was right, “Um, yeah, she did. Bern had been in the hospital earlier that year because of the . . . car wreck. Or was it the house fire? Yeah. That was the year we went on vacation in Arizona and the cabin . . . caught fire. . . .” It had only been nine years. She was starting to feel terrible for not properly remembering something so important, and foolish because her plan was already falling apart.
Sam was smiling openly, “And who bought you that pretty silver dress? The one made from crushed velvet with the pink flowers around the neck, and the matching sandals?”
She had loved that dress, but hearing it come from this stranger was disturbing. “How the hell do you know about that?”
“Because I spent five hundred thirty-two dollars and fifteen cents on Christmas that year, not including the cost of decorations or the expense of dinner. Do you remember what Bernard got that year?”
Mireia nodded, “Yeah. Ms. Rhonna bought him a dog.”
“She didn’t spend a dime on that gorgeous beast. I picked up a Rottweiler for her from my husband’s friend in county law enforcement. Not that it would have helped our situation, but it was the thought that counted and Bernie was at least a little happier having the dog around. . . . It wasn’t a house fire.”
“Of course it was,” Mireia scoffed, “And that dog came from a breeder. Chester lived to be 12.”
“They did breed him,” Sam said, “We called him Jester, though, because he always had a big silly grin on his floppy face, and he was too much of a goof to complete his training program.”
The doctor glanced up from his work, at Sam, “Should I, um—”
“You can stay,” Sam told him, then she smiled at him as though sharing a secret, “I trust you not to go gossiping to every nosy Nasu on the planet.”
He lowered his gaze back to what he’d been doing, flushing as he muttered, “Verily, truer words never spoken. . . .”
Mireia started to argue with Sam. “It was a fire! I remember seeing him in the hospital!”
It was a hospital, wasn’t it?
“How big was the cabin?” Sam asked her, “How many floors? How long was the trip? What did you do while you were there? Was there a pool? Where did you sleep after the cabin burned down? Can you describe the hotel? Do you remember the drive to the hospital?”
Mireia faltered, unable to answer any of her questions.
For pity’s sake, she thought, I was nine years old! It wasn’t that long ago!
She was starting to realize she was wrong. There hadn’t been a fire. Bernard had gotten lost. In the desert. But she couldn’t remember how it happened.
“Or was it a helicopter and not a hospital?” Sam asked her, “A single family home and not a multi-family cabin? Weeks of worrying and searching after his abduction, followed by a trip that only two of us needed to make, but damn near everyone got involved with? Followed by medical recovery, research, and asking you girls to keep an eye on Bernie because we knew he’d been hit with an endurance drug, but we didn’t know what else was in it. Remember that?”
“That’s insane!” Mireia cried, “Of course I don’t . . . I don’t remember anything like that. That’s ridiculous. We were worried after he had a heat stroke later that year, of course—”
She faltered again. It wasn’t right. She could have sworn her version was the gospel truth, and now nothing she remembered about it felt right. Bernard had collapsed unexpectedly a few weeks later, as a result of some . . . alien drug.
Her knees felt weak. The room was tilting fast. A hand—the doctor’s hand—guided her into a chair. He was speaking, but she wasn’t listening. Everything she remembered about that year was wrong.
A lot of things she remembered were wrong.
But she remembered that ruffled dress of crushed silver velvet. It was her favorite. She’d worn it with white stockings, matching sandals, and a pink sequined jacket. It made her feel like one of the pop-rock stars on MTV. She could have sworn Jez’s parents had bought it. But that wasn’t right. Jez’s father was a high school English teacher, and they’d bought her an adorable children’s stationary set to practice her penmanship with. Because she’d missed a lot of school . . . because . . . because of Bernard.
She shook her head violently, “No. No, Bernard is my brother. I’ve been there since he was born. I would know if he’d been . . . if he’d. . . ,” she couldn’t say it. She glanced up at the green Marasuchus lying on the padded table, took a breath, and made herself say it, “I’d know if he’d been abducted by aliens.”
“Would you?” the Marasuchus asked.
Sam knelt in front of her, “I’m sorry, Mireia, but we need you.”
She shook her head again, stifling tears, “No you don’t. You don’t. You don’t. You don’t need me, or, or Jez, or Bernard. Especially not him. You . . . you can’t.”
Then something occurred to her, “That’s right! You can’t! You . . . you’ve got rules! You can’t do this! You’ve got to go away and leave us alone!”
Lasoren spoke up softly, “Mireia, I’ve already told you about Terry. It’s a long story, but the thing you should know right now is that we work for an alien immigration and planetary protection agency. Sometimes . . . to keep bad things from happening . . . we need help. We need you. We need Bernard.”
Sam took her hands, brown eyes gazing into hers, pleading, “But we’ll have a whole new host of problems if your parents find out. They won’t remember us, and it needs to stay that way. First of all, that’s policy—”
“Because you were supposed to leave us alone,” Mireia whispered, fighting the tears that came as she began to realize the truth in Sam’s words.
“Second of all,” Sam went on, “we don’t have the same circumstances as the last time we met. For all the things that went wrong back then, we did have a few factors that worked in our favor. This time, they won’t stop until the whole world knows, or the government has buried us alive under paperwork and red tape.”
Down on the table, Lasoren sat up, “Wait: even if they did call the Feds, that shouldn’t be a problem. We’ve got people in every branch who handle this sort of thing. I’ve been a mobile field agent for more than two years. I should know—that’s where my orders come from.”
Mireia glared at him, “You said it would start a war!”
“I panicked,” he protested, “And I technically died!”
Sam explained, “He’s not entirely wrong. Even though we have people who can intercept these things, there’s always a risk that word could get to the wrong humans, or back to our enemies, or both, and we could have a war on our hands if we’re not careful. I would daresay the risk is less since my people started rising through the ranks.”
“Thank goodness,” the doctor murmured as he resumed his work, gently pulling Lasoren back down.
“Wouldn’t that increase our chances of going to war?” Lasoren asked, lying back obediently.
Sam rose to look at him and shook her head once, in a swift, firm action, “No. We may be warriors, but we’re better prepared to avoid a war than to start one—and to win if it happens or die giving it everything we have.”
“Yet you don’t have a military. . . .”
“We’re shattered.” She tilted her head, gazing down at him in a way that felt hawk-like. “By war. My people are here to find peace, the same as any of you.”
Miriea took a step back from them, watching their eyes, their body language as she tried to process all of this. “How many of you are there? And what are you?”
Dr. Maesera glanced up at her, “That depends on which details you want to know.”
Sam answered her, “Our ancestors were dinosaurs, as you must realize by now. We’re the results of alien experimentation and ages of evolution. Currently, there are just under half a million of us working for the company, mostly off-world. I’m not sure of the civilian count.”
Mireia put a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “I’m sorry, but I can’t deal with this. You’re going to have to find someone else. I promise I won’t say a word if you just leave us alone.”
Sam sighed, “I’m afraid we don’t have much of a choice. Go ahead and leave, but don’t forget: if the wrong ears hear you, the consequences could be disastrous for both our peoples.”
The doctor added, “Even our best sorcerers couldn’t save us from that.”
“They won’t,” Sam said, “There are a lot of rules around how and when and why they can act on a situation, and it’s usually only if the solution isn’t one we could manage by our own hands. Their roles are . . . often beyond my understanding, no matter how many times my brother has explained it.”
“The sorcerers are real?” Lasoren asked.
The doctor answered him, “Her brother is Taii Rei’ik Rizek, one of the Sorcerers of Ryozauggex.”
“Her brother?!”
“Sorcerers?” Mireia asked weakly. Dinosaurs, demons, shapeshifters, false memories, and sorcerers. Microscopic enemies. It was too much. A hand touched her shoulder, and she was startled to realize Dr. Maesera was standing by her side again.
“I’d ask you sit back down, but I understand you’re short on time. Can I interest you in a cup of tea?”
On any other day, it would have been the weirdest thing he could have asked her. Instead, she gave her watch an anxious glance. “I need to get out of here.”
“The door’s open,” Sam told her, “When you’re ready.” Then she left.
He reached in his tackle box, and turned to her with his hand outstretched, bearing a few brownish-yellow pills. “Passionflower, Ashwagandha, and Lemon Balm. For your nerves. Most of the other things I have will make you drowsy. Technically, as a doctor, I’m not supposed to make or give you this, so I’m offering it as an herbalist, not a physician. I’m certified off-world, if that helps any.”
“Thank you, but I should go.” There was no way she was taking anything from him, no matter how good he claimed to be, or how nice he was.
She now had fifteen minutes to get back to her car, drive back to the Market, radio Bernard, and find a parking spot. As soon as she got out of here, she swore she’d let Bernard pick every single meal for the rest of the weekend, and buy herself at least one new outfit for every day of her first week in college if it cost her the rest of her savings. Anything but this.
“Then I recommend that you stay on your feet as much as you can and take a good long walk. It will keep your blood moving so you can think more clearly, as well as releasing endorphins that reduce stress hormones and help you feel better.”
Maybe he was a real doctor, and maybe he wasn’t. She wasn’t sure what was real anymore, but she could agree with that last piece of advice: she could do with a good, long run. As it was, a walk Downtown would have to suffice.
“Thank you,” she muttered uncertainly, before running upstairs. There was no sign of Sam. The airlock opened from the inside like a normal door, releasing her into the warm sunshine of early summer. She struggled to return to her car without breaking into a dead run, and nearly wrecked it four times before she finally parked it again.
Despite all the warnings, part of her was hoping Bernard had called the cops.