The Host (5 page)

Jared's poorly healed scar had never been much of a disguise.

I flicked on the light beside my bed, waiting for my breathing to slow, veins full of adrenaline from the realistic dream.

A new dream, but in essence so much the same as the many others that had plagued me in the past months.

No, not a dream. Surely a memory.

I could still feel the heat of Jared's lips on mine. My hands reached out without my permission, searching across the rumpled sheet, looking for something they did not find. My heart ached when they gave up, falling to the bed limp and empty.

I blinked away the unwelcome moisture in my eyes. I didn't know how much more of this I could stand. How did anyone survive this world, with these bodies whose memories wouldn't stay in the past where they should? With these emotions that were so strong I couldn't tell what
I
felt anymore?

I was going to be exhausted tomorrow, but I felt so far from sleep that I knew it would be hours before I could relax. I might as well do my duty and get it over with. Maybe it would help me take my mind off things I'd rather not think about.

I rolled off the bed and stumbled to the computer on the otherwise empty desk. It took a few seconds for the screen to glow to life, and another few seconds to open my mail program. It wasn't hard to find the Seeker's address; I only had four contacts: the Seeker, the Healer, my new employer, and his wife, my Comforter.

There was another human with my host, Melanie Stryder.

I typed, not bothering with a greeting.

His name is Jamie Stryder; he is her brother.

For a panicked moment, I wondered at her control. All this time, and I'd never even guessed at the boy's existence–not because he didn't matter to her, but because she protected him more fiercely than other secrets I'd unraveled. Did she have more secrets this big, this important? So sacred that she kept them even from my dreams? Was she that strong? My fingers trembled as I keyed the rest of the information.

I think he's a young adolescent now. Perhaps thirteen. They were living in a temporary camp, and I believe it was north of the town of Cave Creek, in Arizona. That was several years ago, though. Still, you could compare a map to the lines I remembered before. As always, I'll tell you if I get anything more.

I sent it off. As soon as it was gone, terror washed through me.

Not Jamie!

Her voice in my head was as clear as my own spoken aloud. I shuddered in horror.

Even as I struggled with the fear of what was happening, I was gripped with the insane desire to e-mail the Seeker again and apologize for sending her my crazy dreams. To tell her I was half asleep and to pay no attention to the silly message I'd sent.

The desire was not my own.

I shut off the computer.

I hate you,
the voice snarled in my head.

“Then maybe you should leave,” I snapped. The sound of my voice, answering her aloud, made me shudder again.

She hadn't spoken to me since the first moments I'd been here. There was no doubt that she was getting stronger. Just like the dreams.

And there was no question about it; I was going to have to visit my Comforter tomorrow. Tears of disappointment and humiliation welled in my eyes at the thought.

I went back to bed, put a pillow over my face, and tried to think of nothing at all.

Hello there, Wanderer! Won't you take a seat and make yourself at home?” I hesitated on the threshold of the Comforter's office, one foot in and one foot out.

She smiled, just a tiny movement at the corners of her mouth. It was much easier to read facial expressions now; the little muscle twitches and shifts had become familiar through months of exposure. I could see that the Comforter found my reluctance a bit amusing. At the same time, I could sense her frustration that I was still uneasy coming to her.

With a quiet sigh of resignation, I walked into the small brightly colored room and took my usual seat–the puffy red one, the one farthest from where she sat.

Her lips pursed.

To avoid her gaze, I stared through the open windows at the clouds scuttling past the sun. The faint tang of ocean brine blew softly through the room.

“So, Wanderer. It's been a while since you've come to see me.” I met her eyes guiltily. “I did leave a message about that last appointment. I had a student who requested some of my time.…”

“Yes, I know.” She smiled the tiny smile again. “I got your message.” She was attractive for an older woman, as humans went. She'd let her hair stay a natural gray–it was soft, tending toward white rather than silver, and she wore it long, pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her eyes were an interesting green color I'd never seen on anyone else.

“I'm sorry,” I said, since she seemed to be waiting for a response.

“That's all right. I understand. It's difficult for you to come here. You wish so much that it wasn't necessary. It's never been necessary for you before. This frightens you.” I stared down at the wooden floor. “Yes, Comforter.”

“I know I've asked you to call me Kathy.”

“Yes… Kathy.”

She laughed lightly. “You are not at ease with human names yet, are you, Wanderer?”

“No. To be honest, it seems… like a surrender.”

I looked up to see her nod slowly. “Well, I can understand why you, especially, would feel that way.”

I swallowed loudly when she said that, and stared again at the floor.

“Let's talk about something easier for a moment,” Kathy suggested. “Do you continue to enjoy your Calling?”

“I do.” This
was
easier. “I've begun a new semester. I wondered if it would get tiresome, repeating the same material, but so far it doesn't. Having new ears makes the stories new again.”

“I hear good things about you from Curt. He says your class is among the most requested at the university.”

My cheeks warmed a bit at this praise. “That's nice to hear. How is your partner?”

“Curt is wonderful, thank you. Our hosts are in excellent shape for their ages. We have many years ahead of us, I think.”

I was curious if she would stay on this world, if she would move to another human host when the time came, or if she would leave. But I didn't want to ask any questions that might move us into the more difficult areas of discussion.

“I enjoy teaching,” I said instead. “It's somewhat related to my Calling with the See Weeds, so that makes it easier than something unfamiliar. I'm indebted to Curt for requesting me.”

“They're lucky to have you.” Kathy smiled warmly. “Do you know how rare it is for a Professor of History to have experienced even two planets in the curriculum? Yet you've lived a term on almost all of them. And the Origin, to boot! There isn't a school on this planet that wouldn't love to steal you away from us. Curt plots ways to keep you busy so you have no time to consider moving.”

“
Honorary
Professor,” I corrected her.

Kathy smiled and then took a deep breath, her smile fading. “You haven't been to see me in so long, I was wondering if your problems were resolving themselves. But then it occurred to me that perhaps the reason for your absence was that they were getting worse.” I stared down at my hands and said nothing.

My hands were light brown–a tan that never faded whether I spent time in the sun or not. One dark freckle marked the skin just above my left wrist. My nails were cut short. I disliked the feeling of long nails. They were unpleasant when they brushed the skin wrong. And my fingers were so long and thin–the added length of fingernails made them look strange. Even for a human.

She cleared her throat after a minute. “I'm guessing my intuition was right.”

“Kathy.” I said her name slowly. Stalling. “Why did you keep your human name? Did it make you feel… more at one? With your host, I mean?” I would have liked to know about Curt's choice as well, but it was such a personal question. It would have been wrong to ask anyone besides Curt for the answer, even his partner. I worried that I'd already been too impolite, but she laughed.

“Heavens, no, Wanderer. Haven't I told you this? Hmm. Maybe not, since it's not my job to talk, but to listen. Most of the souls I speak with don't need as much encouragement as you do.

Did you know I came to Earth in one of the very first placements, before the humans had any idea we were here? I had human neighbors on both sides. Curt and I had to pretend to be our hosts for several years. Even after we'd settled the immediate area, you never knew when a human might be near. So
Kathy
just became who I was. Besides, the translation of my former name was fourteen words long and did not shorten prettily.” She grinned. The sunlight slanting through the window caught her eyes and sent their silver green reflection dancing on the wall.

For a moment, the emerald irises glowed iridescent.

I'd had no idea that this soft, cozy woman had been a part of the front line. It took me a minute to process that. I stared at her, surprised and suddenly more respectful. I'd never taken Comforters very seriously–never had a need before now. They were for those who struggled, for the weak, and it shamed me to be here. Knowing Kathy's history made me feel slightly less awkward with her. She understood strength.

“Did it bother you?” I asked. “Pretending to be one of them?”

“No, not really. You see, this host was a lot to get used to–there was so much that was new.

Sensory overload. Following the set pattern was quite as much as I could handle at first.”

“And Curt… You chose to stay with your host's spouse? After it was over?” This question was more pointed, and Kathy grasped that at once. She shifted in her seat, pulling her legs up and folding them under her. She gazed thoughtfully at a spot just over my head as she answered.

“Yes, I chose Curt–and he chose me. At first, of course, it was random chance, an assignment.

We bonded, naturally, from spending so much time together, sharing the danger of our mission.

As the university's president, Curt had many contacts, you see. Our house was an insertion facility. We would entertain often. Humans would come through our door and our kind would leave. It all had to be very quick and quiet–you know the violence these hosts are prone to. We lived every day with the knowledge that we could meet a final end at any moment. There was constant excitement and frequent fear.

“All very good reasons why Curt and I might have formed an attachment and decided to stay together when secrecy was no longer necessary. And I could lie to you, assuage your fears, by telling you that these were the reasons. But…” She shook her head and then seemed to settle deeper into her chair, her eyes boring into me. “In so many millennia, the humans never did figure
love
out. How much is physical, how much in the mind? How much accident and how much fate? Why did perfect matches crumble and impossible couples thrive? I don't know the answers any better than they did. Love simply is where it is. My host loved Curt's host, and that love did not die when the ownership of the minds changed.”

She watched me carefully, reacting with a slight frown when I slumped in my seat.

“Melanie still grieves for Jared,” she stated.

I felt my head nod without willing the action.

“
You
grieve for him.”

I closed my eyes.

“The dreams continue?”

“Every night,” I mumbled.

“Tell me about them.” Her voice was soft, persuasive.

“I don't like to think about them.”

“I know. Try. It might help.”

“How? How will it help to tell you that I see his face every time I close my eyes? That I wake up and cry when he's not there? That the memories are so strong I can't separate hers from mine anymore?”

I stopped abruptly, clenching my teeth.

Kathy pulled a white handkerchief from her pocket and offered it to me. When I didn't move, she got up, walked over to me, and dropped it in my lap. She sat on the arm of my chair and waited.

I held on stubbornly for half a minute. Then I snatched the little square of fabric angrily and wiped my eyes.

“I hate this.”

“Everybody cries their first year. These emotions are so impossible. We're all children for a bit, whether we intended that or not. I used to tear up every time I saw a pretty sunset. The taste of peanut butter would sometimes do that, too.” She patted the top of my head, then trailed her fingers gently through the lock of hair I always kept tucked behind my ear.

“Such pretty, shiny hair,” she noted. “Every time I see you it's shorter. Why do you keep it that way?”

Already in tears, I didn't feel like I had much dignity to defend. Why claim that it was easier to care for, as I usually did? After all, I'd come here to confess and get help–I might as well get on with it.

“It bothers
her.
She likes it long.”

She didn't gasp, as I half expected she would. Kathy was good at her job. Her response was only a second late and only slightly incoherent.

“You… She… she's still that…
present?
”

The appalling truth tumbled from my lips. “When she wants to be. Our history bores her. She's more dormant while I'm working. But she's there, all right. Sometimes I feel like she's as present as I am.” My voice was only a whisper by the time I was done.

“Wanderer!” Kathy exclaimed, horrified. “Why didn't you tell me it was that bad? How long has it been this way?”

“It's getting worse. Instead of fading, she seems to be growing stronger. It's not as bad as the Healer's case yet–we spoke of Kevin, do you remember? She hasn't taken control. She won't. I won't let that happen!” The pitch of my voice climbed.

“Of course it won't happen,” she assured me. “Of course not. But if you're this… unhappy, you should have told me earlier. We need to get you to a Healer.” It took me a moment, emotionally distracted as I was, to understand.

“A Healer? You want me to
skip?
”

“No one would think badly of that choice, Wanderer. It's understood, if a host is defective –”

“
Defective?
She's not defective.
I
am. I'm too weak for this world!” My head fell into my hands as the humiliation washed through me. Fresh tears welled in my eyes.

Kathy's arm settled around my shoulders. I was struggling so hard to control my wild emotions that I didn't pull away, though it felt too intimate.

It bothered Melanie, too. She didn't like being hugged by an alien.

Of course Melanie was very much present in this moment, and unbearably smug as I finally admitted to her power. She was gleeful. It was always harder to control her when I was distracted by emotion like this.

I tried to calm myself so that I would be able to put her in her place.

You are in my place.
Her thought was faint but intelligible. How much worse it was getting; she was strong enough to speak to me now whenever she wished. It was as bad as that first minute of consciousness.

Go away. It's my place now.

Never.

“Wanderer, dear, no. You are not weak, and we both know that.”

“Hmph.”

“Listen to me. You are strong. Surprisingly strong. Our kind are always so much the same, but
you
exceed the norm. You're so brave it astonishes me. Your past lives are a testament to that.”

My past lives maybe, but this life? Where was my strength now?

“But humans are more individualized than we are,” Kathy went on. “There's quite a range, and some of them are much stronger than others. I truly believe that if anyone else had been put into this host, Melanie would have crushed them in days. Maybe it's an accident, maybe it's fate, but it appears to me that the strongest of our kind is being hosted by the strongest of theirs.”

“Doesn't say much for our kind, does it?”

She heard the implication behind my words. “She's not winning, Wanderer.
You
are this lovely person beside me. She's just a shadow in the corner of your mind.”

“She speaks to me, Kathy. She still thinks her own thoughts. She still keeps her secrets.”

“But she doesn't speak for you, does she? I doubt I would be able to say as much in your place.” I didn't respond. I was feeling too miserable.

“I think you should consider reimplantation.”

“Kathy, you just said that she would crush a different soul. I don't know if I believe that–you're probably just trying to do your job and comfort me. But if she
is
so strong, it wouldn't be fair to hand her off to someone else because I can't subdue her. Who would you choose to take her on?”

“I didn't say that to comfort you, dear.”

“Then what –”

“I don't think this host would be considered for reuse.”

“Oh!”

A shiver of horror jolted down my spine. And I wasn't the only one who was staggered by the idea.

I was immediately repulsed. I was no quitter. Through the long revolutions around the suns of my last planet–the world of the See Weeds, as they were known here–I had waited. Though the permanence of being rooted began to wear long before I'd thought it would, though the lives of the See Weeds would measure in centuries on this planet, I had not skipped out on the life term of my host. To do so was wasteful, wrong, ungrateful. It mocked the very essence of who we were as souls. We made our worlds better places; that was absolutely essential or we did not deserve them.

But we were
not
wasteful. We did make whatever we took better, more peaceful and beautiful.