Five Elements Anthology Read online

  His goblet set aside, he accepts the box. “What is it?”

  “Your data-crystal.” She strokes the lid’s carvings as she rests her cheek on his shoulder. With her fingertips, she pinches the ivory handle and opens it. Inside, a softly glowing crystal, larger than any he’s ever seen, rests in a slotted base.

  “Why are you giving me this?” He twists to study her, not understanding. Was it a dare? A plea? A threat?

  “Because you will find it,” she whispers, her voice infused with unfeigned yearning and regret. She lifts her gaze to him, green eyes flecked with silver, the silk of her hair and dress brushing his forearm. “I can’t stop you if your wish is destruction. I can only ask that you trust me as Caspar trusted me. Have faith that I would never do anything to harm the ship or all her lives.”

  Quinn rakes a hand through his unruly hair, the conversation disconcerting, the nearness of her body, her scent, and the feel of her distracting. He’s having a debate with a holo as if she’s a person, an alien albeit, but close enough. Disentangling himself, he stands and walks to the hearth, tamping down an unexpected surge of blood and desire. This isn’t supposed to be happening. He stares at the crystal, at the leaping flames, aware of the heat, the whole display so incredibly tangible. “I have orders,” he says, releasing a long exhale.

  “Then grant me a few intervals of your favor.” She raises her empty goblet and tilts her head toward the crystal decanter. “I ask only that you glimpse what you’ll destroy before deciding our fates.”

  The way she phrased it gives him pause, and he struggles to shake his uncertainty. He can’t do anything now without apprising Landry of the situation, and it won’t hurt to have evidence corroborating or contradicting the established suspicions. The excuse to linger sounds plausible enough. He nods, the brief reprieve welcome.

  The holo smiles and rises to kiss him.

  **

  Hands behind his back, Quinn stands before Captain Landry’s desk, giving his oral report. Placards and framed memorabilia dug from the ship’s archives checker monotone walls, every indication that Caspar Chevall existed neatly erased and replaced. The thought depresses him well beyond the surface presentation.

  A first-class prick, Landry doesn’t offer a seat or cup of kava. He doesn’t glance up once from the graphic submission Quinn tendered earlier that morning, the report scrolling down a holo-screen at the desk’s corner. Quinn isn’t sure the man’s even listening. “In summary, Sir, based on the innocuous nature of the virus and our long history of coexistence, I recommend we take no action to purge it.”

  “It’s a holo, Lieutenant.” Landry taps the screen and it vanishes. “A fabrication. A program with a flaw, a serious flaw.”

  “I appreciate your reasoning, Sir,” Quinn states, careful with his words. “The ghost acknowledges the virus and insists it’s dangerous to us only if we try to remove it.”

  “Ghost?” Landry barks a laugh. “You sound like Chevall.”

  “I understand his word choice.” Quinn meets the captain’s steely eyes. “The holo isn’t your typical data-point; she’s too multi-dimensional, too real to have been invented. I believe she was modeled after a living alien.”

  “And your ghost says she can’t control this cataclysmic event that will occur if we shut her down. How convenient for her.”

  “I have no reason to assume otherwise.”

  “How do you know this virus isn’t a chrono-bomb set for some future date?” Landry raises a blond eyebrow. “With or without the holo’s knowledge? The thing has infiltrated the ship’s major systems including defense, Lieutenant.”

  “How do we know it isn’t symbiotic at this point, Captain? We could be interdependent.”

  “You reason she was a living alien. That implies this holo is an alien program, an implant. What if it’s waiting for outside activation?”

  “An invasion?” Quinn doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. That thought never occurred to him, but why would it? He trusts the ghost, believes her, and in some marvelous, mysterious way, he’s in love with her. “Captain, it’s been over a hundred years since we even discovered the infection.”

  “How long is that to an alien species?” Landry narrows his eyes, the smirk on his lips cold.

  “Captain, she’s not dangerous. I’m certain of it. She has no reason to destroy us or herself.”

  “She’s a fucking holo, Lieutenant. Of course, she’d destroy herself. Why not, she’s a program. Programs are programmed.”

  “She’s more than that. She’s—” Quinn’s jaw clenches as he clamps down on his emotions.

  The captain leans back in his chair, studying him with eyes sharp enough to cut. “You’ve come under her spell, same as Chevall.”

  Quinn forces himself to engage the captain’s gaze, though the urge to look away borders on irresistible. He exhales a slow breath. “There’s something happening here we don’t fully understand. I urge you to reconsider. Go meet her, spend a few intervals in her company, and make an assessment for yourself. It’s imperative, Captain, that you choose the correct course here. Our lives depend on it.”

  “Is that an order, Lieutenant?” Landry asks, the icy demeanor taking on a pall of threat. “Chevall was a fool to keep this ghost alive. He risked this ship and everyone on it. You’ll go back there, Lieutenant, and this time you’ll obey my orders or start a three years stint in lockup.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Quinn’s back stiffens, further argument pointless.

  “Good.” Landry taps the air and the holo-screen reappears at his fingertips. “Portence, Systems Engineering and Integration.”

  “Captain, Portence here.” The feminine voice clicks on, all business.

  “Lieutenant Morales is in my office. Explain the action.”

  “Hey…” Quinn hears her catch herself before she slaps him with a droll greeting. She flips swiftly to operational details, “At exactly 17:00, we’re shutting down the entire ship, everything, and I mean everything, Quinn, uh, Lieutenant—respiration, rotation, communication—you name it. We’ve got eight intervals before life-support becomes a concern, so no problem there. Having communication and circulation down is inconvenient, but we can override locally if necessary. It’s the loss of sim-grav that’s going to be a nightmare right from the start. The whole place is going to lift off, so the quicker we get this done, the better. How much time do you need to deactivate the holo?”

  Quinn’s hand scrapes through his hair, primarily to conceal his fury, his report an obvious exercise in futility. In fact, he’s certain Landry began planning this before Chevall died. “Fifteen minutes,” he replies. “I know where she keeps the data-crystal.”

  “We’ll give you thirty,” Portence states. “Then we reboot and restore with our purged back-up. No sweat.”

  “This is a go, Ensign. No second chances here,” Landry warns her. “We’re taking this holo’s threat seriously.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Portence practically snaps a salute over the com.

  The captain taps her out and looks at Quinn. “Don’t screw this up, Morales.”

  “I’ll handle it, Sir.”

  “Where does she keep the data-crystal?”

  Quinn pauses. “An ivory box on the fireplace mantel.”

  “I’m putting a security unit outside the holocell as backup.”

  “Yes, Sir.

  “You have a problem, Lieutenant?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Then get the fuck out of here and do your duty.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Quinn salutes, turns on his heel, and strides from the office. He marches around the corridor’s bend and punches the wall, the blood in his veins on fire. He wants to throttle the man. Technically, the order makes sense—a realization that burns him. It’s almost risk free unless the threat is hardwired or somehow cloaked, or external, or…it all just seems so improbable. The peril Juliette presents is most likely a ploy, whether she knows about it or not, a holographic self-preservation program, or something o
dd like that. Perhaps the designer couldn’t bear to see his creation destroyed, which is exactly what would happen if the ship died. So why kill the ship?

  His back to the wall, he hangs his head. He’s in love with a holo, a ghost of an alien, after only a few intervals. Another rush of anger surges through him, jealousy of Chevall’s position as captain, his freedom to choose for himself, to live an entire lifetime with his love regardless of what or who she is. Chevall hadn’t cared and neither does he.

  Yet, if he doesn’t follow orders, someone else will. He can see Landry charging in there with a security detail, blind to the beauty, bent on destruction. The bullish man will put an end to Juliette, her candles and clock, her tapestries and spinning globe, her sparkling crystal chandelier, and all the intricate details of her world. He can’t let that happen.

  For a moment, he shuts his eyes and rests his head back, calming his rampaging feelings and slowing his heart. He hauls in a deep breath and lets it slowly blow through him. He spent a magical night in her tree bed, bathed in the light of twin moons. Not engaged in what he ordinarily defined as sex but in a sublime sensory rapture, every nerve in his body alive with…love. It was an experience beyond ecstasy, an immersion in sound, color, smell, taste, and touch, the swell of emotion pulsing through him in rhythm with the waves of her alien sea. She was luminescent, almost translucent, the galaxies within her body rippling with light, her eyes emerald fire. She played him like music, all parts of him in perfect harmony, until the final crescendo erupted from his soul and—

  “You alright, Quinn?”

  His eyes pop open to find Portence looking up at him.

  “Right as everyone else, Selene.”

  The cute redhead rolls her eyes, a commentary he fully understands. “He’s an ass. We’ll work around him.”

  “It won’t be easy,” Quinn warns her. “The captain’s no fool.”

  “Whatever. I could kill Chevall for dying on us.” She quirks her lips and punches his bicep. “You good with this plan?”

  “No. Yes, it makes sense and it’ll work. But no.”

  She crosses her arms. “It’s the holo, isn’t it?

  A shrug lifts his shoulders.

  “Chevall couldn’t fool me and neither can you. Longrow and Wilton have been slathering over her since they first started holodeck duty. Talk about cushy detail, by the way. So, she’s something else, isn’t she?” When he doesn’t reply, she smiles knowingly. “We all fall for holos, Quinn. I have my own little pirate program that’s good for a romp. Sex in a hammock; I swear I’d lose my mind without it. So, I get it.”

  “She’s not like other holos, Selene.”

  “Yeah, that’s what we all say, lover-boy.”

  “No, I’m serious. I’d swear she’s…sentient.” He glances down the hall, his suspicions demanding a voice. “What if she is conscious? What if she’s—”

  “Quinn,” Selene interrupts him. “She’s a holo. She even showed you her crystal.”

  His head drops back and he blows out a sigh. “You’re right. Forget I asked. I don’t know what I’m thinking.”

  A sly smile dimples her cheek as she leans in and lowers her voice. “Listen, after the deed is done, bring me her data-crystal. I’ll stay up way past my bedtime, back her up, wipe the anomalies, virus, whatever is screwing with the ship, and reload the whole program. You can have your own private love nest—and owe me big time.”

  “You can do that?” The possibility staggers him, and he can’t imagine why he didn’t think of it.

  “Give me a break.” She twists her face in disbelief. “You command officers probably think dark-matter warp-drives are high tech. Ever think of joining the twenty-eighth century?”

  “Why didn’t Chevall have you do that?”

  “He was pretty sure it’s alien, the crystal larger than ours for one, and he didn’t want me to mess with it. I offered.”

  “She says shutting her down will destroy us.”

  “Listen, we’ve got it covered.” She glances down the corridor toward the captain’s office. “I need to run. Bring me that data-crystal. If it can be fixed, I’ll fix it.”

  **

  “Will you toss another log on the fire?” Juliette asks. Quinn gazes at her from the mantel where he sips his Artemisia, his face aglow in the warm light. She laughs at the wonder in his eyes and rises to join him. “You Earthlings are so bound by your artificial environment; you retain no memories of ordinary planetary life.”

  “I understand fire,” he says, an indignant smirk on his face as he rests his goblet on the mantel. “I’ve just never tended one.” He picks up a log and awkwardly places it within the hearth, careful not to burn his fingers.

  “Now use the poker to shift the wood and coals beneath,” she instructs. “That will shake off the ash suffocating the flames.” He picks up the iron poker, studies the contraption’s hooked end, and stabs at the wood.

  The flames leap to life and he smiles as he turns to her. With his fingers, he traces the tails of falling stars that curl and shift in her arms even as he touches them. She looks up into his dark eyes, threads her fingers in his black hair, drawing his forehead to rest against hers. She loves these humans so effortlessly, so completely, their entire beings suited to her need for connection. She is symbiotic, incapable of living in solitude, as though they embody her sustenance, her breath, the lifeblood of her being.

  They are capable of immense love, devotion that consumes, that ignites the cells and nerves of their bodies as it radiates in limitless light. Yet, all the while, their incredible power lies entangled with fragile innocence, the naiveté of a new species with an insatiable urge to explore boundaries and test their wills. Their love is veiled with fear, and in that pairing, she beholds the poignancy that fills her with such hope and sadness.

  “I haven’t eaten anything like that before,” he says. “It was real, wasn’t it? Real food.”

  The galaxy beneath her skin glitters as she laughs, face lifted to kiss him. “Your mind lingers on food?”

  “Everything, Juliette. I’m mesmerized, enchanted by you and your world. I could stay here forever, for the rest of my life.” He picks her up easily, and she wraps her legs around his waist, the sheer panels of her silk shift leaving her legs bared. Her hands clasp behind his neck as he carries her up the narrow stair and sinks to the edge of her bed. With a smile, he reclines, her slender body straddling his.

  “Your captain no longer wishes to erase me?” she asks, leaning over him, her quicksilver hair falling forward into a molten pool by his head.

  The peace in his face falters. “I wouldn’t say that,” he admits. “But I have no intention of losing you. I can’t. I love you.”

  “Do you trust me?” she asks.

  “I love you. I trust you completely.” He draws her down, his lips to her neck and chest. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” she replies, without a choice, his betrayal never guaranteed.

  On the bed of gray fur, she engages in a dance of souls, offering him the sensuous experience of flesh that Earthlings so desire. She is responsive, radiating, probing the networks of his physical body with tendrils of light and energy. Subtle ripples of electricity activate the neurons in his skin, pulse with his blood, and breach the barriers of his brain. She surges through his thoughts, leaving his mind open, present, without the limitations wrought by fear. He is so terribly thirsty for love that she streams it into him, his soul expanding, flooding first the room, then blasting through the tower windows in a torrent of bliss. He is enraptured, uncontained, and borderless, one with the entire galaxy. She dances in him, thriving in his power, enriched by his love, her essence pure white light.

  A shift in his presence draws her into her body, waking her. The sheer webbing draped from the smooth branches billows as the door closes. On the windowsill, the candle has burned low, wax puddling and dripping in a long, bubbled strand down the wall. She rises and treads silently down the staircase, the light in her opa
lescent body darkening as she recognizes once again the looming betrayal.

  He stands by the hearth, the ruby coals casting crimson shadows across his naked chest. In his palm, he holds the box, its lid already removed and resting on the mantel. His eyes dart up as he senses her presence, an expression of guilt or agony contorting his face. “I’m not betraying you,” he insists, desperately, stepping away from her. “I’m saving you.”

  “I beg you,” she whispers. “Don’t remove it. You don’t understand what you do; you don’t understand what you risk. Please, Quinn. Trust me, I beg you.” She slowly approaches him, her hand reaching for the box.

  His eyes shift to the clock, trying to discern the time, to make the intricate conversions. He retreats from her reach, backing toward the wall and the port. “We’re going to purge the virus from the ship,” he explains. “But I have a friend who’ll clean your data-crystal and give it back to me.”

  “No. You don’t understand,” she implores him, following after him. “I’m not a virus. You need me. Please, I’ll tell you everything I know. I’ll tell you the truth.”

  Her words scarcely seem to register, his mind closed to all but his desperation. “I love you, Juliette. I have orders, but I won’t do anything to harm you. I love you.” He glances uselessly toward the clock face and then looks through the port. When she takes another careful step, his fingers reach into the box, the warning stark on his face.

  “Quinn, wait.” Her hands up, she retreats and sits on the chaise, calming the swirling light of her skin, the color muting to a soft blue. His tension eases and she breathes with him.

  “What do you mean, you’ll tell me the truth?” he asks quietly, his eyes on the ark’s rotating rings.

  “I love you, Quinn.” She smiles, her face softening. “I love you all and plead for the lives of every soul on this ship. I’m not a ghost, Quinn. I’m not a holo,” she whispers. “You’re—”