Tag: sci fi

Author’s Note: Someone said that this story needed side quests, so here you go. #NoOneWillUnderstandMySenseOfHumor

I am currently trying to write a novel while maintaining a real life, so this will be it for awhile.

Takes place between parts 6 and 7

Alternately titled: In Which Carol and Lambert Wash Laundry, Eat Dinner, and Do Not Have Sex.

Carol returned to her room to discover that she didn’t have any more clean clothes. She had been training with Lambert, and had stripped out of her sweaty t-shirt as soon as the door had closed behind her. It was then, standing half-naked in front of her closet, that she realized she had nothing else to wear.

The smell of her shirt, now that it had been removed from her body, was too unappealing to put back on. She turned to the boxes that she had never gotten around to unpacking, and dug around until she found something that she could wear. A few months ago, perhaps out of some unconscious impulse to prove that she wasn’t actually a boring and lonely sort of person, she had purchased a red satin pushup bra that she had promptly become embarrassed of and never wore. A little more digging produced an old white tank top.

Carol dressed, stuffed her dirty laundry in a big bag, then banged on her door. “Holmes!” she yelled. “Let me out! I need to talk to the captain!”

There was a click as the door unlocked, and Holmes stepped back as she barged through, his nose wrinkling up as the bag passed by him. “Whew-ee! Are you planning on pranking him with a dead cat? Where’d you get it from? Mind if I watch?”

She gave him her best ‘I wish you death’ stare. “No. I just want to talk to him.”

Carol trotted down the hallway, and managed to remember every single turn to get to Lambert’s office without getting lost. She let herself in without knocking, and found Lambert studying over his little notebook at his desk.

He glanced at her, flipped another page, then looked up again, this time openly staring. “Commander!” he barked. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Captain, I need to wash my laundry,” she replied, uncertain over why he seemed especially irritated to see her.

“You don’t need to bother me about that! That’s what Holmes is for.” Lambert kept staring. He attempted once to return his focus to his notebook, but his eyes wouldn’t stray from Carol. It was making her uncomfortable.

“Well, you see, sir…” She shifted uneasily. “Holmes is… normal.”

“What has that got to do with anything?” Lambert was on his feet now. Still staring.

“I’m scared to wash my clothes under the watchful gaze of someone who… I don’t know.” Carol looked down, losing her train of thought as her face grew hot with shame. “I feel safer around you,” she muttered, more to herself. Clearly she had made a mistake in coming there, and even she didn’t know why she had thought that only Lambert could help her.

“Commander,” he growled, skirting around his desk to come towards her. “You don’t have any clean clothes at all?”

“No, sir,” Carol answered. She couldn’t look at him, even when he towered over her and glared down.

“And that’s all?”

His question surprised her. She couldn’t guess what he was thinking, or why he was acting so weird. Maybe she had caught him at a particularly bad time. “That’s all, sir.”

Lambert’s jaw tightened, and he looked down at her for a moment longer. Then, as if tearing himself away, he stepped over to a cabinet and pulled a navy t-shirt out of one of the drawers. “Put this on, commander,” he said gruffly. “You look like you’re working a street corner.”

“What?!” Carol looked down at herself, and blushed heavily at the realization that her bra could be seen clearly through the clingy old fabric of her tank top. She suspected that from Lambert’s perspective above her, he had gotten an eyeful of cleavage as well.

She snatched the t-shirt away from him and quickly pulled it on. It was obviously one of his spares, and she was dwarfed in it. He kept staring at her anyway.

“Give me an hour to complete my paperwork,” he said. “Then we’ll go to my house.”

“I thought there was a laundromat on base, or something,” Carol sat down in one of the chairs, feeling tiny in Lambert’s shirt. At least she didn’t look like a hooker anymore, she thought.

“My clothes need washing as well,” Lambert murmured, moving back to his desk. “And I hate those cheap-ass machines. We’re going to my house.”

“I’m not so sure I want to go to your house,” Carol protested; especially after the way he had looked at her.

“Then get Holmes to take you to the laundromat.” Lambert waved his hand. “Now shut up so I can think.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Lambert kept glancing up at her, then back down, then up again. Finally, after ten minutes, he practically bellowed, “For fuck’s sake Carol, cut it out!”

“I’m not doing anything!” she exclaimed. She had been very careful to sit still and not fidget or make any noise, so she didn’t know what he had yelled at her for. Lambert was behaving very strangely.

He shoved papers into a folder and slammed it shut, then stood. “We’re going. Now!” He had switched into full-blown captain mode, and Carol jumped in response.

“Yes sir!” she yipped.

She had a hard time keeping up with the fast pace he set as they moved out to the parking lot to Lambert’s car. She barely had enough time to toss her bag of laundry into the backseat before climbing into the passenger side, pulling the door closed as Lambert began driving. She didn’t understand what had gotten him into such a foul mood – more so than usual, anyway.

They didn’t speak at all as they left the base. Carol stared out at the scenery as buildings gave way to trees, and she wondered how far out of town Lambert lived. She had a hard time imagining him doing anything that wasn’t centered around the military, so it was an odd glimpse into his private life to realize that his house was so far out of the way. Forty-five minutes passed before they pulled into a driveway.

Lambert’s house was old but well-kept, and surprisingly large for a bachelor who never had the time to go home. He must have paid someone to maintain the lawn and garden. Inside was organized but dusty, and held pieces of a life that he would have liked but never got around too – like Carol with her red bra. There was an expensive entertainment system and comfy chairs in the living room, and a gorgeous kitchen with an ornate shelf dedicated to fancy cookbooks. None of it looked used.

That was why Carol felt drawn to Lambert, and why she trusted him over Holmes even though he continually berated her. They were both hopelessly one-dimensional.

He pointed his thumb towards the laundry room, then went out to his car to retrieve his own dirty clothes from the trunk. His machine was a front-loader, and the only thing in the house that bore any signs of use. It had more buttons on it than Carol was familiar with.

All of her clothes were neutral tones, so she didn’t feel bad about shoving them in one load, but she couldn’t figure out what to do from there. The detergent wasn’t kept anywhere obvious, and she wasn’t technologically savvy enough to figure out how to configure the machine to simply wash without anything fancy. Carol felt herself slipping into a sense of paralyzation as she became overwhelmed.

Wordlessly, Lambert came up behind her and popped a pod into the machine, then pushed a button to turn it on. He was staring at her again, and she was growing tired of his gaze.

“Thank you, sir,” she mumbled, crossing her arms and hunching in an effort to shrink away.

“How old are you, commander?” he asked.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Carol snipped back. She could tell that he wasn’t going to say something flattering, and she didn’t want to give him any ammunition to use against her.

“You’ve obviously been an adult for long enough, so why on Earth does a laundry machine make you freeze up? How did someone like you survive alone?”

“I did just fine!” Carol was annoyed, especially because she couldn’t remember the answer herself. After using the Suit and losing all her personal freedom, she was forgetting what it was like to walk around alone, and she was becoming increasingly anxious outside of her giant mechanical body. It was unfair that Lambert judged her whole life based on the recent changes that she had undergone, and she hated him for it. His eyes narrowed, growing increasingly intense. Carol double checked herself, and couldn’t find anything provocative in the baggy t-shirt she was borrowing. Maybe he was high; it was a well known fact that soldiers used all manner of substances to cope with their jobs, and maybe she had caught him after he had taken a hit of something good.

“Wash my stuff too, and help yourself to the TV or whatever.” Lambert dismissed her, and retreated to the kitchen. A minute later she could hear beeps from the microwave, and imagined that he was preparing a frozen dinner for himself. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food, and she wished that she could have something too, but she didn’t imagine that Lambert was the sort who would share a meal with a subordinate. The long drive back made her heart drop.

Thirty minutes later, she reluctantly went after him to ask for help with turning on the dryer, and found him cooking in the kitchen.

“Sit down, commander, it’s almost ready,” he said, motioning to the kitchen table that had been set for two. “Don’t get excited, all the ingredients were either frozen or canned.”

“What is it?” Carol asked, picking a chair. The situation was surreal.

“Spaghetti. No comments, just eat it.” He brought a pot over and scooped out a big heap of noodles and sauce mixed with ground beef, then did the same for himself. The spaghetti tasted heavily of basil and peppercorn, but was otherwise better than the food they served in the canteen.

They ate in an awkward silence.

When they were through, Lambert helped with the laundry then turned on an old movie, settling down as they waited. Carol sat in the other chair and only half looked at the screen, feeling very aware of him lounging so he could watch her at the same time. The machines couldn’t work fast enough for her liking.

Finally, once everything was washed, dried, and folded, they made the long drive back to base, and Lambert escorted her to her room. Before she closed the door behind her, Carol asked, “Would you like your shirt back?”

“Keep it,” he growled, then stormed away.

Carol was never going to figure him out.

Next

“CAROL” the space alien announced. “YOU ARE ONE OF US!”

“Oh my god!” Carol gasped. “I never saw this coming!”

“YOU WILL RETURN HOME WITH US, AND LIVE IN HARMONY IN THE SUIT FOREVER. IT IS YOUR TRUE BODY.”

“I knew it!” Carol declared happily.

“YOU WERE SENT TO EARTH AND IMPLANTED IN A LITTLE GIRL. THE REAL YOU IS A CHIP THAT MELDED WITH YOUR HOST BODY. PEACE AND HARMONY FOOOOREEEEVEEERRRRRRR!!!!”

So, the spaceship returned home, and Carol was finally true to herself. The end.

The fire had burned down to embers, casting only a faint red glow about the cabin, but Captain Lambert didn’t care about the darkness. He stared out the window, watching the raindrops trailing down the glass as flashes of lightning illuminated them, followed by the delicate sound of thunder.

It had been a long time since he’d taken leave. After the incident with the Suit, the General had been discharged for approving a mission which had lost the military their top asset, especially with the captain’s objections on record. Lambert found it hard to care. The last thing he had done in his commission had been to fail to protect one his own, even if she hadn’t been a real soldier.

That damnable woman was the reason he was out here in a hunting lodge, a hundred miles from nowhere. He needed time and space to think, to reason out if there was anything he could have done.

And to mourn the dead.

He had known that she would never come back. Perhaps that was why he had given up everything in an effort to keep her solidly on Earth, where he could continue to watch over her. He missed her.

Suddenly he jumped as the phone in his pocket was vibrated. It was impossible for him to receive any calls; he was well outside of signal range, and had set it to airplane mode as well.When he drew it out, the screen lit up with the familiar answer/reject screen, only there was an anomaly – there was no incoming phone number. It didn’t even say “Caller unknown”. The space was simply blank.

Curiosity piqued, he swiped his finger across the screen and lifted it to his ear, gruffly answering. “Hello?”

“Hello, Lambert,” the voice echoed in his ear, and a sense of unreality washed over him. The voice was hers, but not at the same time. It resonated in a way that no human voice ever could, and the intonation was flat like that of a computer generated voice. He wondered if someone had found a way to play a sick prank on him.

“Who is this?” he growled.

“I’d like you to know what really happened.” the voice answered, ignoring his question. “I’m worried if I don’t tell you, you’ll end up drinking yourself into an early grave.”

Lambert glanced to the glass on the table beside him, barely visible in the dim light. It was mostly empty, as was the bottle beside it, and he laughed humorlessly. “You’re not too far from your mark,” he replied. “Okay, so what actually happened?”

“They sent me up to the ship, but you already know that. You also know I never came back. People all across the planet are probably wondering why the ship disappeared so suddenly: was it scared off? Left for reinforcements? I’m sure there are rumors.”

Lambert nodded, unconsciously beginning to pace as he listened. “Yes, something like that.”

“The reason,” the voice murmured into his ear, sounding more and more like her, yet still frustratingly mechanical at the same time, “was that it was a retrieval mission. They were only interested in retrieving me. I wasn’t joking that night when I said the Suit was my real body, and as it would turn out, I was more right than either of us knew at the time.”

Lambert came to a halt. “So let me get this straight: I spent all that time working with an extraterrestrial?” He couldn’t stop himself from adding, “I always thought aliens would be more dignified than that little mouse.”

There was a peculiar buzzing on the line, which changed gradually into laughter. “Yes and no. The body I live in – the biological body – is human. The Suit is mechanical, as is the Commander – the part of me which connects the two. I’m far more complicated than you gave me credit for.”

Lambert snorted. This was preposterous. Even if it was true, that just meant the world itself was a bad joke.

“Oh, don’t be like that. We’re not a threat. And nothing you could have done would have stopped me from returning. We’ve been doing this sort of thing for a long, long time. Everything about Carol, the cleaning lady, was designed to ensure things would play out like they did. If it’s any consolation, you figured it out much faster than average.”

“It’s not a comfort,” he retorted. “But I suppose I’m glad to hear that you’re not dead. By the way, you know that my phone is tapped?” He began pacing again, smiling.

Carol chuckled. “No one will ever know about this call unless you tell them.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” Lambert turned to stare at the dying embers in the fireplace, and thought of how he could draw the moment out to last a little longer. “Just out of curiosity, what would have happened if I’d managed to have you confined away from the Suit?”

Her reply was blunt,“There are certain protocols that can be remotely activated. It wouldn’t have been pretty, but the result would have been the same. My body would have found me, and I would have left Earth. The only difference is that people would have died.”

This time Lambert frowned, his eyes fixed on the faint red glow until they stung from dryness. “There are things worse than failing, I suppose,” he murmured.

“I wanted to apologize for letting you down, and to let you know that you didn’t do anything wrong.” Carol’s voice sounded more like her old self, feminine and a touch neurotic. He had never considered her as a woman before, but that fact seemed more evident on the phone than it had in person. “I thought you deserved that from me.”

Lambert nodded, slowly. It was true – it had been eating at him ever since that day at the hospital. He had blamed himself for failing her as he had with Hartmann, and believed that it reflected poorly on his abilities as a leader. The closure she gave him helped enormously.

“Thanks, Commander,” he replied.

“Please, call me Carol. I’m still as much human as I am Aurigan.”

“Is that the name of your species?”

“Yes.”

Lambert glanced back at the empty alcohol bottle. Somehow it didn’t seem quite so appealing, but neither did going back to civilization. “Say, Carol…” He felt nervous for some reason. “I don’t suppose your people are looking for individuals with a military experience and a background in psychology.”

“That… is quite a thought, captain.” There was a pause, and Lambert cursed how blind he was, speaking over the phone. He wanted to see her face, to read her body language, and know what she was thinking. After an eternity, she said, “I didn’t expect that. Are you serious?”

“As serious as I can be with this much whiskey in me.” His heart was pounding. Was he really asking to run off on some alien spaceship? He must have gone mad. However, there wasn’t anything left for him on Earth. He was no longer in the military, and his country was on the verge of a crushing defeat. What he wanted was to start somewhere fresh, even if that meant traveling the stars.

Her answer was simple, “I’ll ask the others. Perhaps we’ll be in touch.”

“Good enough for me,” he said, moving back to the window to look out at the sky. He wondered where she was, the mousey woman who lived in a giant mechanical body. Was she hidden just beyond the clouds and rain, or had she already left the galaxy? He unconsciously touched the glass.

“Goodbye, Lambert,” she said.

“Goodbye, Carol,” he replied. The phone signal went dead, and there was no record of the call. If it hadn’t been for the sheer craziness of the conversation, Lambert would have thought that he had hallucinated the whole thing.

He hoped that he would see her again.

~Fin~

Carol was let out of her room by someone she didn’t recognize. He introduced himself, but she didn’t catch his name, and when she asked what happened to Lambert she was curtly told that it wasn’t her business. She was to pilot the Suit up to the spaceship and not ask questions.

She wasn’t going to complain. Carol made sure that she was acting ‘unambitious and obedient,’ hanging slightly behind the new man and biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from grinning. She didn’t speak a word the entire time as she walked to the bunker, clipped the radio onto her shirt, and climbed into the Suit.

Holmes looked suspicious at her turnaround from earlier, but he didn’t tattle. Instead, he waved with a melancholy expression on his face, as if to say, “Goodbye forever.” She didn’t wave back.

“All right, we want to make peaceful contact if possible, so don’t attack unless absolutely necessary. Do you understand?” the new man said.

“Yes sir,” Carol answered mechanically. It was difficult waiting for the signal to leave, but she reminded herself again and again that she didn’t want to ruin her mission at this point. She was going to the spaceship, and that was all that mattered.

It felt good to be inside the Suit again, to move around as her real self. The contrast made her realize how much she hated her tiny human body in comparison, and she wondered if she could live inside indefinitely. She knew that she didn’t have the strength to exit ever again.

Lambert had known that too.

The flight to the alien craft was short. Without thinking about it, Carol directed herself toward the aft where the Suit’s instruments indicated a landing bay was opening up in response to her approach. She had been expecting that.

As Carol approached the opening, waves of inexplicable feelings washed over her, including excitement mixed with apprehension. But most overpowering of all was the unmistakable sense of homesickness, and the peculiar sensation of doors opening within her mind that she had never known existed.

She felt a tug as she crossed the threshold of the bay, and automatically spun to land on her feet, reacting instinctively to the artificial gravity which lent her surroundings a clear “up” and “down”.

All around her were mechanical constructions, strange yet familiar; stacks of cargo and materials; and most significantly, standing in the shadowy rear of the bay, was another Suit like her own.

She took a hesitant step toward the other Suit, then another – with every moment the uncertainty hindering her seemed to fade away as recognition took its place. She knew this person. How was that even possible?

Welcome home, Commander.

The words simultaneously scrolled across her visor and echoed in her ears, although she was quite sure she hadn’t actually heard anything. Her steps broke into a run, and she skidded to a halt when she was practically touching him. She reached out with both arms, her palms facing him, and he returned the gesture, leaning forward to touch their hands together.

The next few fractions of second happened very quickly. It was like sitting in a comfortable room with an old friend or close family member, and they spoke easily to each other, although neither of them were moving their lips.

“It is good to see you again,” the Suit said. “What do you call yourself now?”

“Carol,” she replied.

“That is a good name.” He nodded, approvingly. “You might not remember mine – I am Xigian.”

Carol floated through their dream-like exchange. It was easy to accept whatever happened, but she still had questions; she had been born on Earth, and to her knowledge had spent her whole life there. How did she know this person?

“Who are you?” she asked, “Are you another human, like me?”

Xigian gave a gentle chuckle, and there was the strong impression that he reached forward and squeezed her shoulder fondly, even though neither moved.

“I’m as human as you are – well, not exactly. In a sense, you’re a lot more human than I am … but in another sense, neither of us are human at all.”

Carol frowned, confused. She hated it when people gave roundabout answers to direct questions, then expected her to understand what they were talking about. “But I am human! I remember growing up on Earth. And if I wasn’t, the doctors would have noticed when they were busy poking and prodding me just a few days ago.”

Xigian shook his head. “That’s … partly true. One part of you, the human part from which you got your name, was indeed born on Earth. But you, the Commander, were not. That part of you came from here, from me – I created you.”

“How?” was all that Carol could manage.

“Our people are the Aurigans. We’re not entirely mechanical, but we’re not entirely biological, either. The Commanders are our mechanical aspect. It’s a chip about the size of –” he paused, as if looking something up “– about the size of your little fingernail. When a new Commander is created, a body is created along with it. But that body is incomplete until the biological component is added to it.”

“Then… the Suit really is me.” It was the most wonderful news that Carol had ever heard. It was no wonder that she had loved it so intensely as she cared for it.

“It completes you. Your body – your biological body – is also you. Or a part of you. We approach the limits of what can be achieved with mechanical processing, but that is not enough. To be whole, we require a biological brain as well. Usually, those are grown from samples we have of species we have encountered before – but every so often, we encounter a new race whose abilities are interesting enough that we wish to expand ourselves to include them.”

“So you sent me…” Carol nodded, then a thought niggled at her. “But why did you wait so long? Why was I forced to exist… incomplete… for over thirty years?”

Again, there was a brief pause, as if Xigian were referring to some invisible source of information, before he replied, “It was only twenty-eight Earth cycles. Your body was around three when you joined it.”

A wave of horror washed over Carol and she exclaimed, “No! You couldn’t have … I couldn’t have! I was found as an orphan! Did you… my parents…” She trailed off, feeling numb at the suggestion. Was her beginning really that dark?

“No, you didn’t kill your parents. We aren’t interested in harming the species we encounter. Your earliest protocols would have guided you to seek out and identify a very young member of your target species that was in a significant state of physical and psychological distress, and separated from its parents. The child you found probably would have died without your intervention. We study our targets thoroughly before sending a Commander to integrate with them; you would have known exactly what to look for.”

She was relieved. Carol couldn’t have accepted the idea of tearing a child from its parents, but did take comfort that she had saved a child’s life – her life.

“You were installed into your target, but integrating takes a long time – not just to grow the connections, but to allow the Commander to adapt itself to its host. It functions like another decision making center in the brain, but it has to work effectively and fluidly with the others. Without that, there wouldn’t be any point – we can harvest corpses as much as we want for biological material, but without integration we don’t gain the unique aspects that make each species so distinctive.”

An image from an old sci-fi movie that she had once watched flashed across Carol’s mind, and she shuddered in response, blurting out, “Biological material? That sounds more than a little distasteful.”

Xigian shrugged. “Perhaps it is, but we’ll need enough genetic samples to produce more human bodies when we want them. Plus, that’s how we come to understand the hosts enough to make integration possible.”

Carol was a little giddy from the weight of everything that she had learned. “Is that all? I had horrible images of human bodies being reused somehow. That just seemed all wrong.” She giggled, and wanted to lay down somewhere dark and quiet. She wished the Suit would activate the help system and everything would make sense.

Her companion frowned slightly. “That’s an interesting aversion to have. You’re right – we don’t do that – but the idea doesn’t bother me like it does you. I hope when you complete your Remembrance that I’ll understand better.”

There was an unusual telescoping sensation as both Carol and her companion let their hands drop to their sides again. From her internal chronometer, she could tell that approximately a quarter of a second had passed during the entire exchange.

Xigian turned to leave the landing bay and Carol trotted to walk beside him, the two of them falling into perfect unison. They spoke without words now, and without the visor. She felt as if her heart strings were being tugged in every direction, but one thought emerged as more important than the rest. She asked, “Hey, you said you created me. Does that make you my father?”

“Father – another concept humans value highly. We encountered the familial terms early in our analysis; the EM communications of Earth are absolutely stiff with them. That was one of the things we wanted to gain. We do have creators, and creations, and we do take a special interest in them. I requested your retrieval personally because I was very curious to know how your integration had played out. But humans go far, far beyond that with their creators and creations. The extremes humans go to in order to protect or enhance their creations is extraordinary – unrecorded in our studies of any other species. We decided that gaining that would be enormously beneficial.”

Sorrow welled up inside her chest, but was abruptly carried away as if the help system had activated in response to her wish. With detached clarity, Carol reflected that he wouldn’t understand how much the question meant to her, not until her human experiences were shared with the Aurigans. When he did understand, he could greet and comfort her as her long-lost father. Until then, it was illogical to be hurt by his indifference.

But she still wanted to express how she felt.

She reached toward him, and Xigian did not resist, humoring her as she clasped his hand in hers and threaded their fingers together. Together they walked out of the landing bay – no longer an orphan, she walked hand in hand with her father as he led her home for the very first time.

Next

Carol jolted awake at the sound of urgent pounding on her door. Dizzily, she stumbled to the door and opened it to find Lambert, who grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly into the corridor. She had to trot to keep up with him as they sped through the base, avoiding the faces of the soldiers that peered at them, self-conscious of still wearing her pajamas. Lambert looked intently through every window they passed, but was otherwise too distracted to notice anything else.

When they reached the doors to the outside, Lambert barged through then took Carol by the shoulders and pushed her forward out from under the eaves. She saw it immediately.

A giant spaceship.

Hovering right above them.

When she realized her connection with its appearance her heart sunk, then suddenly leaped in ecstasy. After having spent so much time lovingly polishing it, she recognized that the ship was made from the same metal and paint as the Suit. The beacon had reached home after all.

Lambert was livid. “Did you have anything to do with this?” he snarled.

“No!” Carol blurted, then immediately felt like a small child for telling the lie. “I mean… it might have been me… on accident.”

“Do you…!” Lambert couldn’t finish. He was glaring at her, hard.

Carol couldn’t resist the urge to stare at the spaceship. She liked the way the light glinted off of it, and the angles in the design were beautiful in a way that nothing on Earth had ever appealed to her. It held as much sway for her as the Suit, and she itched to fly up and see what the interior was like. Unconsciously, she stepped forward and reached up to feel closer.

“Solitary confinement, commander!” Lambert barked, yanking her back.

“What?! No!” Carol pulled against him, but was physically no match. If she was in the Suit where she belonged, she could do what she wanted whether he allowed it or not. But as a human, she was powerless. She fought Lambert as he dragged her back through the base, resorting to tactics used by toddlers and letting her whole body go limp as a dead weight. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, where all she could do was pound on his muscular back that didn’t even give her the dignity of bending under her weight.

She wanted the spaceship, more than she had ever wanted anything. Everything inside of her was screaming that she needed to get on board, and all she could do was put up a futile fight.

Lambert tossed her onto her bed and threatened to tie her down if she didn’t behave, then exited her room and locked the door behind him. “Make sure she doesn’t get out,” he ordered Holmes, who was dumbfounded by what he had witnessed.

“What is going on… captain?” Holmes could barely remember protocol.

“That goddamn spaceship is making her crazy! No more questions, soldier!” Lambert stomped off, taking a moment to kick the wall and leave a dent with his steel-toed boot along the way.

While there was no doubt that the spaceship was of the same origin as the Suit, Lambert didn’t know if it had been inadvertently summoned by Carol accessing full command, or if she lied and had deliberately called out to it. He missed the old Carol who had skipped around as a permanent civilian; she had died during her first mission, and returned a different person. Another unrecognized casualty.

The military had hailed the spaceship but received no response. Because there was no sign of any activity onboard, they were waiting to decide what to do next, the tension palpable. The entire world had already turned its eyes on them, watching. Judging.

For captain Lambert, the event was personal.

The General arrived within the hour, and Lambert was part of the ensuing conference. He was not remotely surprised when the General announced, “Let’s send in the Suit.”

“General,” he began, his speech already rehearsed, “I would advise against it. The spaceship is undoubtedly here because of the Suit, and there will be unexpected consequences if we send it up to them. Furthermore, it is demonstrably provable that the Suit influences the mental state of those who pilot it, so we cannot trust that our pilot will remain loyal to us once up there. We should wait to see what the aliens do first.”

The General raised his eyebrows. “Wasn’t your last mission a resounding success?”

“Yes, sir. But…”

“We need to show the world that we are fearless.” The General pounded his fist for emphasis. “If the extraterrestrials wanted us dead, they could have done it in an instant. We aren’t going up there to fight, but to make first contact. It is possible that they are unable to receive our transmission, and have no idea of our desire to communicate.”

“I have a bad feeling about doing that, sir,” Lambert muttered.

The General paused thoughtfully. “Are there any other ideas?” When no one answered, he continued. “We need to take action, and that’s the best we’ve got. We’re sending up the Suit. I trust that your training with that woman has gone well?”

Lambert thought for a moment, then stood and saluted. “I must stand against this decision.”

“Are you defying orders, captain?” the General asked quietly.

“Yes, General. I will not send the Suit under any circumstance.” The words were hard to say, but Lambert strongly felt that he would much rather face the consequences of speaking them than the guilt that would follow if he didn’t. His inner voice insisted he talk about Carol, to tell them about the changes in her personality and the obvious allure that the spaceship held for her, but in that regard he held his tongue to protect her.

Their eyes met, and the General spoke, “In that case, you are relieved. Thank you for your service.”

His face stoic, Lambert finished his salute and marched out of the conference room. It wasn’t until he was in his office that he let his mask drop, kicking his desk repeatedly as he cursed, “Goddamn you, Carol!” She would never appreciate what he had tried to do for her.

Oddly, the one thing that he regretted the most was knowing that he would never see her again, or give her a proper goodbye.

Next

When Carol reported to the bunker the next morning, Lambert wasn’t there – to make it worse, the two armed guards turned her away. She spent the day bumming around base, jittery at the thought of the Suit sitting all alone without her.

The day after was a replay of the same scene, and annoyed that she couldn’t properly sulk in front of an audience, Carol snapped at Holmes to get off her back and leave her alone. He repeated that he was assigned to escort her, which made her even more irritable. She spent the day hiding in her room.

By the end of the third day, her nerves boiled over; she couldn’t take it anymore. She stormed to Lambert’s office, half expecting to discover that he was vacationing in the Bahamas without giving her any notification, so it surprised her when she flung open the door and saw him sitting behind his desk.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, venting her pent-up frustration. “You said that I was fine, but we haven’t done any training in the Suit since I went on that mission. What the hell?”

“Sit down, commander,” he growled indistinctly, not bothering to look at her as he poured himself a glass out of a blue-tinted bottle. Carol gaped as she pulled out a chair.

“Are you drinking, captain?” she asked.

“Correction: I am getting drunk,” he replied.

“I don’t see how that could possibly be constructive. I’ve been reporting to the bunker every morning for days, and you’ve been letting me down. I thought that our training would go much more smoothly from now on, and that I would finally make you proud, and yet you just suddenly drop out like it doesn’t matter. So, seriously, what the hell?”

“That,” Lambert pointed at her. “It’s because of that. Irritability and aggression. We already lost MSG Hartmann because no one paid attention, and now you’re exhibiting personality changes as well. If I had the authority, I would decommission the Suit altogether.”

“My personality is not changing; you’ve just never seen me angry before,” Carol spat, then shied at sound of her own voice. She was jonesing for certain, but being inside the Suit made her feel like she was more herself. If she was changing, it was to her true nature.

“Commander…” Lambert took a moment to nurse his glass. When he spoke again, his voice sounded even less articulate than it had before, “Do you know how long we’ve had the Suit? The military found it when you were… still in diapers, I’d bet. Do you know why we didn’t start piloting it until the last few years?”

“No, sir,” she replied, crossing her arms and leaning back. She didn’t want to waste time on chitchat, but Lambert was too inebriated to notice or care.

“We had to study it. We had to reverse engineer ammo for it. Bullets don’t form out of thin air, you know.” He chuckled to himself. “The first man to climb inside was terrified that he was going to die, but his bravery was inspiring. You have any idea how often I think about him and wish I was more like that?”

“No, sir,” Carol grumbled.

“MSG Hartmann paid a price for using the Suit. I think that it’s too fundamentally alien to work with human brains, and we should lock it away for good. But you see, the General-” Lambert pointed up at the ceiling “-doesn’t want to do that. The fact is, commander, we’re losing. It’s a closely guarded secret, but our situation is a clusterfuck right now, and everyone is hoping that the Suit will carry us singlehandedly to victory.”

“Is that why you’re getting drunk?” Carol tried to keep her voice sharp, but she wasn’t feeling it anymore. Lambert seemed too pensive and pathetic to berate.

“Yes, ma’am, it is. It worries me that your psychological profile has changed so drastically. The Carol I started with couldn’t have killed a mouse without mourning it, but now look at you: I’ve seen grown men cry after their first kill, but your reaction was to have dinner. You were a completely different person.”

“Captain, I just…” Carol struggled to figure out what she wanted to say. “I need to pilot the Suit. I don’t think you understand what it’s like for me.”

“Maybe I understand too much.”

Lambert poured himself another glass, and Carol watched him drink in silence for a moment. A thought came to her out of nowhere, and compelled by curiosity, she asked, “Did anyone figure out those numbers I read to you on the first day?”

“They’re dates, commander,” Lambert snorted.

“Obviously. I just wondered if we learned anything about them.” Carol couldn’t explain why she felt an urgent need to know, other than it was somehow personally significant to her in some way.

“They’re interstellar dates. Now, get outta here, you’re interrupting my meditation time.” Whatever mood had possessed him before, was gone now. “Enjoy your vacation, ’cause eventually I’ll be forced to reunite you with your real body, whether I like it or not.”

Carol stood slowly, studying Lambert closely. “You remember that?” she asked quietly.

“I sure as hell do. Now, git!” He grabbed a book and threw it at her, missing by a wide margin but his point was made. Carol scampered out the door.

She wished she had kept her mouth shut.

Next

The morning greeted Carol with a pounding headache, dry lips, and sluggish muscles. She had never been hungover before, and she wondered why on earth anyone would continue getting drunk after experiencing it just once. No matter what was said, she was going to stick with her single glass of moscato in the future.

Holmes looked only slightly better than she felt, with dark circles under his eyes. She met him with a simple “Hello,” then continued on her quest for breakfast. He had grown accustomed to her ignoring him whenever she wanted the semblance of solitude, and didn’t attempt any conversation. In fact, he was relieved when she made a beeline for the coffee, and knowingly passed him the first cup.

“Fun night, huh?” Holmes said after a few minutes of sipping in silence. “Well, maybe not so much for you, but I had a blast.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Carol replied. “Lambert took me home last night.” It was an uncharacteristic thing for her to imply – the result of having spent so much time around the military’s sense of humor – but it was worth stepping out of her comfort zone to see the way the young soldier’s mouth dropped.

“Wow, he must have been way more drunk than he let on!” Holmes exclaimed.

Carol punched him in the arm.

Appearing as if in response to their summons, Lambert entered the cafeteria and quickly located them. He distractedly handed Carol a large water bottle as he consulted his little notebook. She was surprised to discover it wasn’t water; it was something slightly sweet, and slightly fruity, and slightly salty, but instead of revolting her, drinking it felt strangely good and helped ease the ache in her muscles. The captain wasn’t the slightest bit affected by the previous night, and Carol tried to recollect how many glasses she had seen him drain. It had been more than she had.

“Commander, you have a doctor’s appointment in thirty minutes,” Lambert said.

“What for?” she asked.

He rapped his knuckles against the top of her head. “Full physical, plus brain scans. We want to keep a close eye on how the Suit is affecting you.”

“Too bad you didn’t do that for MSG Hartmann, huh?” she said flippantly, annoyed that he had aggravated her headache. Lambert didn’t react, but from the way his mouth pressed into a tighter line, she suspected she had gone too far.

“We need to leave right now if we’re going to get there on time. Move, commander!” Lambert barked.

Carol regretted her spiteful comment. She had the feeling that Lambert had intended to give her some extra time to care for her hangover, but instead she had provoked him into rushing her. From the look in his eyes, she wouldn’t even be allowed to finish her coffee.

The captain continued, “Holmes, you won’t be needed. You’re on leave for today.”

“Yes, sir!” Holmes grinned, and Carol noticed his hand subconsciously brush his pocket. He was going to spend all day chatting with his girlfriend. She found oddly relieving that he had a personal life, unlike herself – or, she guessed, Lambert.

Lambert took Carol to the hospital. He was horrendously out-of-place in the waiting room, and paced around impatiently like a nervous cat until they were called. A nurse brought Carol to a curtained alcove, where she donned the customary gown while Lambert stood stiffly outside, and then led her to an exam room.

The doctor performed a routine physical, then she was led to another wing where all the high-tech machinery was kept. For the next few hours, technicians subjected her to one scan after another. She didn’t mind – most of it was lying still, and it was nice to relax her fatigued body.

When the technicians were finished, she was told that she was dehydrated and they wanted to put her on fluids, so a nurse led her to a private room and helped set her up in bed with an IV. Carol was asleep as soon as she closed her eyes.

Lambert had slipped away to attend to outstanding duties on base, then returned to the hospital to consult the doctor privately. “All the results are normal so far,” the doctor said, pulling up images of Carol’s brain on a computer screen. “Except we did find one anomaly: there’s something in her brain stem, about a quarter of an inch in diameter.”

“Do you know what it is?” Lambert asked, frowning at the section that the doctor had highlighted on the scan. It was hard to make out, but there was definitely some sort of spot in the picture.

“Not without cutting her open for a look – but, given its location, that would likely kill her,” the doctor explained. “It could be a tumor, but…” He trailed off, seemingly unwilling to complete the thought. “None of the scans gave a clear picture; we can’t even tell how long it has been there.” He looked at the paperwork on his clipboard before continuing, “I can tell you one thing though: the EEG revealed that it’s sending electrical signals to the rest of her brain.”

“This is classified information,” Lambert said slowly. “Carol does not need to know.”

“Yes, sir. We kept her detained like you asked, but she’s ready to go at anytime.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

A nurse woke Carol and told her that it was time to leave. She dressed in her regular clothes and went out to the entry way, where Lambert was waiting for her. He was unusually polite, and even held open the car door as she climbed inside, causing Carol to break into a cold sweat. There had to be something seriously wrong with her.

It took her several minutes to work up the nerve to ask in a tiny voice, “Is it terminal?”

“No, Carol, you’re completely fine,” Lambert muttered in reply, keeping himself unnaturally focused on driving.

“Something has to be going on,” she pressed. She knew Lambert well enough to know it was extremely atypical for him to behave this way. How he said her name was too abstracted, and lacking any of his usual condescension. Lambert’s face darkened slightly, but he didn’t give in to her nagging.

“It’s been a long day, commander. Now leave it.”

They returned to base in silence.

Next

Carol reluctantly pried herself from the Suit after returning to base, knowing that she would lose the sense of detachment that the help system provided her. Internally she kicked and screamed at letting go of the giant metal body to once again become her tiny self, and the frazzled nerves that plagued her every thought and action.

The inevitable debriefing was tedious, with more paperwork than she expected, as well as a recorded Q&A session. Lambert had wanted her to transfer the Suit’s onboard surveillance onto a flash drive, for someone to review on a later date, and Carol surprised herself by executing the task effortlessly.

When Carol was given her freedom, she went straight to the canteen with Holmes, though she didn’t talk to him. It bothered her that she was starving after she had killed several dozen people, but the emotions that had crippled her that very morning had become a distant memory – they belonged to a different Carol. It was as if the effects of the help system were lingering in her mind, keeping her sane even outside of the Suit. She ate enough to make up for the meals that she had skipped.

Lambert intercepted her as she was heading back to her room, with Hartmann in tow. He insisted that they all go out for drinks, pulling rank on Carol to negate her protests about wanting to rest alone. So, all four of them went out to the nearest dive. She didn’t know why Hartmann had to come along – perhaps because he belonged to the military camaraderie, and having shared a small part in the mission, he was now also sharing in the celebration.

Carol had to admit that her grudge against Hartmann was a personal emotion that no one else shared, and they saw the cast he wore as punishment enough for his mistake. She hoped that under the influence of alcohol, he wouldn’t try anything violent against her.

“C’mere and sit down, commander,” Lambert grinned as he pulled out the chair next to him, almost sounding light-hearted. “How does it feel, now that your cherry has been popped?”

Carol’s face burned bright red. “Captain,” she said reprovingly, “that is not an appropriate thing to say.”

The three men around her burst into laughter.

“It’s because you’ve had your first successful mission out in the field,” Holmes explained, wiping tears out of his eyes. “Carol, you’re a hoot.”

“She needs booze to work that stick out.” Lambert put an arm around Carol’s shoulders, giving her a strong whiff of his deodorant, and pointed to Holmes. “Go get us whisky, and lots of it.”

“No. No.” Carol shook her head. “I don’t drink anything that burns… Champagne would be nice though.”

Again, all three men burst into laughter.

“Commander,” Lambert almost purred into her ear, tickling her skin. “Today, you are one of us; today, you will drink like us.”

Holmes returned a few minutes later with glasses and a bottle labeled Jameson. Lambert poured a generous amount and set the glass in front of Carol, ordering, “Down the hatch!”

Everyone was watching her expectantly, waiting on her before touching their own drinks. Reluctantly, Carol picked up the glass and put it against her lips, the fumes burning her sinuses already. She took as big of a gulp as she could manage, then coughed as her face twisted up and a shudder ran through her. They laughed uproariously, and in turn downed their own drinks.

“You know, Carol, I expected you to be a sobbing mess right now,” Lambert mused, pouring everyone a second round, including Carol who hadn’t even finished her first. “Yet you are still coherent and on your feet. I have to say, I’m proud of you.”

“What’s that ‘help system’?” Hartmann asked, breaking his silence. He was different from what he had been a couple of weeks before, and only distractedly fingered his second glass as he studied Carol. “I’ve been piloting the Suit for ages, and I’ve never come across it. Sure made all the difference for you, though.”

Carol shrugged then shook her head in an effort to refuse the whisky that Lambert was pushing on her. “I don’t know. I just stumbled across it, that’s all.” Her resistance wasn’t that strong, however, because just watching everyone else drinking in the bar caused her to cave. Her reaction was even stronger when she swallowed than it had been the first time. She did not like whisky; it was already affecting her head.

“You know, the first moment I saw the commander here, I thought to myself,” Lambert spoke in a contemplative tone, and Carol suspected he was a philosophical drunk – he was going through whisky faster than anyone else. “That’s not a woman… that’s a mouse!” he finished, and everyone roared with merriment, including Carol. It wasn’t that she thought it was particularly funny, but more because the combination of alcohol and joviality was sweeping her up out of her control. “And it’s true!” Lambert slapped the table. “Carol is the most mousey person I have ever even heard of. She looks exactly like one too.”

“Well, you, captain, are a mean bully, and I do not like you,” Carol replied haughtily once she managed to get ahold of herself, causing everyone else to howl more.

“You’re blooded now, Carol.” Lambert chuckled. “You have my sincerest apologies for that, but it had to be done.”

“What about you, MSG Hartmann?” Carol’s head was really swimming now. “I don’t remember what you told me about you. With the hospital, I think.”

Despite all the whisky and laughter, Hartmann’s voice was sober when he replied, “They couldn’t repair all the nerves in my hand. I’m lucky that I didn’t lose it, but I’ll be partially paralyzed for the rest of my life.”

“I’m not sorry. That’s what you get for trying to hurt me,” Carol answered, then felt horrified at how bluntly she had spoken. She really didn’t like whisky – it was hitting her too hard. She tried to soften her voice, but her tongue slurred more instead, “What did you say about your brain?”

“I have decreased blood flow to my prefrontal cortex, while my amygdala has gone haywire,” Hartmann replied.

“I have no clue what an amygdala is,” Carol snickered. “I’m not that smart. I know that you’re not supposed to say that about yourself, but I’m really not. I barely graduated high school.” The booze was making her blab too much, so she drank even more to stop herself from feeling embarrassed.

“It means he’s unfit for duty, but it’s not his fault,” Lambert cut in. “MSG Hartmann will be given a medical discharge when the time is right.”

“Does that make me a bad person? ‘Cause I hate you.” She was really feeling dizzy now.

Hartmann shrugged, so Lambert replied, “Yes, commander, it does. MSG Hartmann dedicated his life to serving our country to the best of his abilities, and in reward he has to return as a disabled veteran with only one functional hand and a damaged brain, because no one knew the Suit had side effects. If you had a heart, you’d forgive him.”

Carol didn’t reply. The fuzziness in her head was rapidly dropping down to her stomach, and she felt herself turning green.

“Bathroom is over there,” Lambert pointed with his thumb. Carol got up and ran.

As she hunched over a toilet, trying hard to get past the funky smell of urine and deodorizer, she thought about what the captain had said. She didn’t want to let go of her grudge, but because she saw the wisdom in his words, she decided that she was going to hate him for it too. At least until she got it out of her system.

Sometime later, Lambert fetched Carol out of the bathroom and drove her home, though he didn’t provide any explanation about where Hartmann or Holmes had gotten to. Once on base, he carried her piggyback to her room, and let himself inside where he sat down on the edge of her bed.

“You can let go now. We’re here,” he said softly.

She dropped back onto her mattress and giggled. “Captain,” she said thickly, speaking through the taste of vomit that still clung to her tongue. “The Suit… it’s the real me. Not this…” she pinched her upper arm and pulled at her skin. “…thing. I just thought you should know.”

Lambert walked to the door, then paused, staring at her with hard, calculating eyes. “Goodnight, commander,” he said, and left.

Next