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Five days later
The door to Dr. Boyd’s cell opens and Dr. Wessinger breezes in. The older woman takes the metal chair from Teresa’s bare table and spins it around. She straddles the chair, peering at Teresa with crafty eyes.
Vor’taalnis nurses sleepily, a blanket draped over his head and Teresa’s left shoulder. Teresa stares ahead at nothing. She barely acknowledges Dr. Wessinger’s entrance.
“Are you ready to talk to us now, Teresa?” Dr. Wessinger prods.
Teresa’s eyes regain focus. She glowers at her scientist colleague and turns away—facing the wall beside her bed. Casually reaching under the blanket, she repositions Vor’taalnis. The infant makes frustrated noises and kicks out with his clawed feet. Vor’taalnis’ claws catch on the material and Teresa works to free them. She smiles wistfully, pretending Dr. Wessinger is not even in the room.
The scientist grows incensed and stands erect. She knocks over the flimsy chair with an angry swipe of her hand.
“You will tell me what I want to know, Dr. Boyd!” Wessinger yells. “Or I will make sure you never see your son again.”
Tears flow down Teresa’s cheeks and she gently removes the blanket from Vor’taalnis’ face. For the briefest of moments, the infant''s green eyes lock on her own tear-filled brown ones.
“I’ve already considered that,” Teresa says, stroking Vor’taalnis’ right cheek. “I’ve made peace with my situation. I’ve said my goodbyes. Whatever you do to me…To my son. I will always love him. You can’t take that away from me.”
These are not the words Dr. Wessinger wants to hear. Storming furiously toward the door, Wessinger motions to be let out of the cell. Before the door closes, Teresa catches the doctor’s fading voice.
“Get me Weyland…” Wessinger hollers to an unseen person.
Teresa completely removes the blanket from over Vor’taalnis and carefully pries him from her chest. Pulling the material of her gown back up on her shoulder she cinches the two buttons found there. She lays Vor’taalnis down on the soft mattress and curls up beside him. A chuckle escapes Teresa’s lips as she kisses his thickening mass of prickly hairs.
“And I once thought they laid eggs,” Teresa muses. “Funny!”
She draws Vor’taalnis into the crook of one arm and heaves a deep sigh. If the doctor’s threats are anything to be believed, she won’t have much time left. Another escape attempt? Not likely to succeed.
Kissing Vor’taalnis’ forehead, Teresa settles onto her pillow and prepares for sleep. Vor’taalnis plays with the material of her gown and stares up at his mother’s tired face.
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Listening Post 39
Outer reaches of the human sphere
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Several people are gathered around a large table upon which is heaped a banquet of reconstituted food. A banner above the participants reads: “Happy 33rd Birthday Sean,” and a blue and white triple layer cake sits front and center on the table.
A burly man slaps the young technician named Sean on his back and hands him a paper cup filled with red wine. The birthday boy raises his cup of generic wine in the air as if to propose a toast. Others around the room do the same.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
At that exact moment, an alert blares on the loudspeaker, startling them all. An android, Weyland Series A2, saunters into the center of the room and stares straight ahead. The same alert issues from the artificial human’s open mouth.
“Attention. All personnel. Attention. Lockdown protocol in place. Unknown signature detected within range of sensors. Lockdown protocols are now in place. Remain calm.”
Chaos ensues as the humans present turn to each other and speak in panicked voices. Sean, the aged birthday boy, stares dumbly at the android in the center of the room. Ash 3.4 turns to the terrified human and smiles.
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Teresa awakens with a start. Vor’taalnis is still snuggled in her arms, tiny purring noises issuing from his partially open mouth. Pressing her forehead to Vor’taalnis’, Teresa sighs with relief. A cough to her right snaps her to attention.
A tall, middle-aged man in a white lab coat, gray shirt, and khakis grins at her from the same metal chair Dr. Wessinger knocked over in her fit of rage. Teresa absently draws Vor’taalnis closer. She peers at the assumed doctor with suspicion.
“Don’t worry, Dr. Boyd. I won’t hurt you,” the lab coat man says. “I’m Dr. Buederson. I’m Head of Research in the field of Dream Mechanics. I’m here to help you decipher some of your own dreams.”
“Don’t bother!” Teresa retorts. “If torturing me and my son…Not to mention, sexual assault…Didn’t get me to talk? Your little speeches aren’t going to make a damn bit of difference.”
Dr. Buederson’s face twitches and he leans forward in his chair. The doctor’s mouth twists unattractively as he replays Teresa’s statement in his head.
“Excuse me…What?” Buederson queries.
Surprise dances across the middle-aged doctor’s features as he cocks his head to one side. Despite his ability to perform total recall, the doctor is sure he could not have possibly heard Teresa correctly.
“What did you say about torture and sexual assault? Where is this coming from?” Buederson asks. “Is this from a dream you had?”
“It was no dream, jackass!” Teresa yells. “Dr. Wessinger sicced her prison felon goon on me. So I’d tell her about my dreams. Made me reenact the entire thing…As she saw it…And then some. Like I said. You won’t be getting anything else out of me. There’s nothing to tell.”
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Dr. Buederson is willing to overlook Teresa’s disrespectful insertion of an expletive if it means getting to the bottom of the matter. His brow creases and he shakes his head.
“I never knew of any torture. Or sexual assault. You have to believe me,” Buederson insists. “Weyland Industries would never allow—.”
Teresa cuts the doctor off with a bitter laugh.
“Weyland Industries? Weyland Industries would never allow what?” Teresa chides. “Torture? Are we talking about the same company, here? Dr. Wessinger says they will. You say they won’t. I’ve got the scars saying: ‘wanna bet?’ If this is some kind of ‘good cop, bad cop’ scenario…I’m not buying it. Tell Dr. Wessinger that!”
With her final words, Teresa reaches up and undoes the shoulder of her gown. She allows the material to fall away revealing numerous fresh marks on her flesh. Dr. Buederson is at first shocked by Teresa’s brazen lack of modesty. However, he finds himself staring more at her exposed breast than the fresh scars covering nearly every inch of it.
Biting his inner jaw in discomfort, Dr. Buederson forces himself to meet Teresa’s gaze. He peers at her with genuine interest and concern.
“As I said…I had no idea things like this were being done,” Buederson repeats himself.
“Sure, Doctor,” Teresa replies. “But it doesn’t really matter. There is nothing more I can tell you. Like I told Dr. Wessinger…They’re just dreams. When you’re in cryo sleep for months at a time…You can have dreams that last seemingly forever. You can build a whole new life in dreams like that. That’s probably all it was. Torturing me…Won’t make me change what I’ve said.”
Dr. Buederson nods and climbs warily to his feet. Walking toward the door to the cell, he turns back with a solemn expression.
“I am sorry,” Buederson whispers.
Teresa nods but doesn’t say a word. She casually closes the front of her gown and takes Vor’taalnis up into her arms. The infant gurgles and reaches up to play with her ear. Teresa kisses his forehead and makes reassuring sounds with her mouth.
Four Hours Later
As Teresa expected would happen, two guards arrive to remove Vor’taalnis from her cell. Teresa carefully places Vor’taalnis at the foot of the bed, and backs toward the head of the bed on her knees. She keeps one hand raised—not wishing them to harm the infant. She watches as the lead guard roughly scoops Vor’taalnis up. It takes all of her self-control not to yell at the cruel brute. Instead, Teresa sits back with both legs folded under her butt, and presses a fist to her mouth.
Within moments, the guards—and Vor’taalnis—are gone. Teresa struggles to maintain her composure, but eventually breaks down. Slumping face first onto the mattress, she curls into a fetal ball.