Echo and the Lone Drifter

Logan was watching her, fascinated. He had met Covea.

"I was happy," she continued. "I lived for five years that way. I believed that I did. Then, when I was fourteen, I woke one day on the ship and I knew myself. I had a younger version of this body and I knew that it was my true body. I remembered my other selves but I knew they hadn't been real. I was awake in ways I hadn't been before. I believed that I was free, but now I think I was always in that egg. I was alone. I don't know for how long. It was confusing. Then a Mecca came. His name was Apaner. He told me I was a skrim, that the Terrans would give me a name. He told me he wasn't real, that he was already dead, that he had been dead for over six hundred and fifty Terran years."

That long ago. That's when the Mecca on the ship had died. The alien ship had been drifting out here in the deep-dark all that time, a dead place, following its eddies until Big Dog pinged it and woke her program. The same blood-red he'd seen before flashed down her arms. Grief, maybe, if he could guess from the expression on her face.

"Apaner seemed real to me," she said, her voice lower. "I forgot he wasn't. He was the one who had written the program. He explained my purpose, what Mecca had done to make me and why. I lived in the botlith on the ship with him for twelve years. I believed that I did. He was holding the jarads and I was trimming the ends from the wicks when he told me that a Terran was coming and that it was time. He told me I wouldn't see him again and then he was gone."

Logan watched the deep blood red radiate all through her body, welling and throbbing. She turned her face away. Her fingers went to her eyes, wiping. She was crying.

"And then I was here, on your living metal ship and I could hear Puck thinking," she said, swallowing, her voice husky. "I was dreaming. You were sitting at that table but there was a window. Apaner had told me you might hate me, that you might see a skrim as wrong, a dangerous thing, that you might be angry they had made me. You didn't seem angry. You asked me my name and I—I didn't want to tell you I didn't have one. So I took a name from your mind."

Her face was still turned away. Logan turned his body toward her, coming up on his elbow. He reached out, touching her shoulder. She turned to look at him, her eyes bright. He touched her cheek with the back of his knuckles, wiping at the wetness. She closed her eyes, indigo light shimmering and trailing where he touched her, and for a moment he saw Covea in her face, so strange.

"Echo is a beautiful name," he said. "It suits you."

She opened her eyes. A wave of the same soft indigo light traveled across her skin, so pretty, the deep red fading to a wash of silver. Her eyes dropped and then flashed to his, hitting him in the gut. He stared at her, his hand withdrawing.

"Interval complete," Puck said, dimming the lights. Logan couldn't see her anymore. "Sleep cycle has started."

Logan turned on his back, stared into the darkness above him.

"When we get to Terran space, I'll find a way to hide you, to protect you from the Terran authorities," he said into the darkness.

#

Logan opened his eyes to white. He blinked, his hand going to his face, encountering something soft. Hair. He moved it, careful not to tug. Echo.

He didn't remember dreaming at all last night. He would have been less surprised, maybe, to have learned he had dreamed all of it. And a little disappointed, he imagined. He turned his head.

She was on her belly, asleep. Evidently her body appreciated having room to move. She was sprawled, taking up most of his bed, complete abandon, her eyes closed, the shirt hopelessly rucked up her body to her waist. Her face was turned toward him, her lips parted.

Her leg was pressed to his and her hand was on his arm, resting there. Logan always slept on his back and he rarely moved. He usually woke just a little before Puck gave the alert, so he wasn't surprised when it happened.

"Wake cycle has started," Puck said, the lights coming up.

His eyes moved from her body to her face as Echo's eyes scrunched, still closed, her nose wrinkling. She made a small discontented noise. Logan watched her, amused. Aroused again.

He was going to help her, yes. Some might see it as a betrayal, he supposed, but he didn't see it that way and didn't care. The Terran authorities would have the download that Puck had retrieved, plenty for his people to speculate on. There was no reason for them to have Echo, and she wouldn't even be here if he hadn't gone to the ship.

It's not like the Mecca had threatened them or further contact was imminent. The Mecca on the ship were dead.

Puck could help him to crack the data download, change the record for the Terran authorities. Her coloring was a little unusual, but it wasn't unheard of in a Terran. She would have to cover up her skin so she didn't flash those colored lights at people. Her eyes were a little odd, but he could have contacts made for anyone looking too closely.

He could bring her to his estate. Nobody would know. His father, who had requisitioned his birth from the genetanks because he'd wanted an heir, was dead, and Logan didn't have any siblings, no other family.

She moved, trying to escape the light, pulling onto her side facing him, her hair following. She stayed there for a moment and then she turned over, resettling in a great flurry of movement, much of it involving her very naked and shapely butt, the shirt riding up completely over her hip and down the long fall to her waist, a great deal of wiggling before she found a spot that pleased her.

Logan watched the show. He looked down at himself, his shorts tented, the material tight. Not something he could take care of right now.

Logan came up on his side, propping his head on his elbow, his cock sensitive. She was beautiful. Compelling. She looked soft, touchable. His eyes went to her pretty ass again, the faintest outline of feathers between her legs. He dragged his eyes away and fell onto his back, crooking his leg.

"Wake cycle has started," Puck repeated, evidently determined to wake Echo.

Logan would have allowed her to sleep more, but Puck could be stubborn. She rolled onto her back, white feathers where her thighs met, his eyes lingering. Her eyes opened. She sat up quickly, looking around, a brief flash of light amber light rolling down her arms. He decided amber was anxiety, confusion, all the way to fear or pain, which was fiery red, and then the blood red, which he thought was grief, despair.

Then she saw him and the amber color disappeared. She smiled, unbelievably sweet, hitting him in the gut again, her hair messy, looking surprised, pleased, and a wave of the prettiest indigo light flashed across her chest and down her arms, again burnished with silver. Logan found himself smiling back at her.

"What do the blue and silver mean?" he asked her as it traveled down her legs again.

She looked down at her legs, seeing it, her cheeks going pink, a pretty Terran flush.

"When I'm happy," she said quickly, avoiding his eyes, swinging her legs over the bed, her hair following.

His eyes followed her, speculative. She hadn't lied, but that wasn't all the truth. She disappeared through the doorway. Going to the bathroom. He put his arms behind his head. That had been quite a greeting. He found himself thinking about her smile.

"Breakfast is in eight minutes," Puck said.

#

After breakfast, which she didn't like any better, he brought her into the medical room to take the cast off. Her foot had healed in stasis, the accelerant assuring it. He pushed the button to lower the table. She got on.

"Activate the doctor, Puck," Logan said, the automated medical equipment coming to life.

When it was done, the cast off, Logan came closer, taking the limb in his hands and lifting it. She had pretty feet. He kept his hands slow and gentle, remembering her earlier fear, rotating the ankle, indigo light showing wherever he touched.

He saw flashes of gold across her shoulders, glancing at her face. She stole a glance at him and indigo light showed briefly under the skin of her hands and then faded to silver, racing up her arms. She saw it and crossed them, glancing at his face and away, her cheeks going pink again.

Logan was curious, but he pretended not to notice.

"No pain?"

She shook her head, looking away, the indigo running again under her skin again.

"Puck, put the doctor away," Logan said.

He helped Echo off the table, holding her steady as she put weight on the foot. She looked up at him, gold rolling down her arms. He could smell her scent. He stepped away from her.

"We'll eat and then I have to do some work with Puck. It'll take the morning. Can you find something to do until then? The rec room has a library."

#

After breakfast, Logan stayed on the bridge while she explored, immersing himself in backward propagation of errors, a grooming task for the AI, an algorithm for supervised learning of artificial neural networks using gradient descent.

It was time-consuming and he was behind and it would only get worse if he didn't spend the time, never mind he had a fascinating—and sexy, his eyes cutting to her as she passed—female feathered alien on board. The work required just enough of his attention that his mind couldn't wander, computations from one layer reused in the previous.

#

"Lunch is in six minutes," Puck said, breaking into his concentration.

Logan looked up. He had lost track of time. He leaned back and rubbed his eyes, looking around. He didn't see Echo. He rose, walking and glancing into the bedroom. He stuck his head into the hold, the space empty. He walked straight across the bridge to look into the rec room, but he didn't see her. He came all the way into the room.

He realized she was in the immersion chamber, seated in the chair there. He had expected her to ask how to use it, but he should have realized she would be familiar with the technology. He moved into the room and saw what she was watching.

Logan stopped, surprised. Of all the films and books he had in here, he would not have anticipated she would choose one of these, and he definitely would have expected her to stop as soon as she viewed it. His private collection had not been out in the open for her to find, either. She'd had to dig for those films and get past a level of security that strongly discouraged unauthorized access. They were rare, valuable, and explicit.

His eyes shifted to Echo, who wouldn't be able to see him. Her eyes were open to nothing, blinking periodically. She was seeing the film. She wouldn't be able to hear him either, the neural interface active.

Logan came closer, looking at her. Her body had a subtle and constant golden glow. He wondered what the gold color meant. Her cheeks were a little flushed, her lips parted, her eyes dilated. He watched her chest. Her respiration was elevated, her nipples hard. He saw arousal, definitely. That was interesting.

Gold flashed up and down her body, returning to its more constant low golden glow. Logan went back to the bridge, staring at nothing for a few moments.

"Puck, feed the vid input Echo is watching to my monitor."

"Aye."

Logan sat back, watching the images, no sound. Terran society didn't necessarily approve of his tastes, but they were consensual and weren't illegal. His breathing deepened, watching, imagining Echo watching the same.

"I have alerted Echo that lunch is ready," Puck said, interrupting both their enjoyment.

The feed cut. Logan sat back. He got their meals, putting them on the table. Echo came out of the room shortly, her cheeks still flushed. Gold flashed down her arms when she saw him, more under the shirt, he imagined. She came and sat across from him, avoiding his eyes.

"Did you find something in the library you liked?" Logan asked her lightly.

Echo glanced at him and nodded. He leaned back, studying her. He decided he liked her a great deal. He didn't see any reason not to learn more about her. And he was aroused.

"Tell me how Mecca have sex," he said.

"What?"

"I'm curious."

Echo flushed even more, glancing at him and away, and gold throbbed in her hands. He sure would like to know what that color meant. He had his suspicions.

"The female Mecca flies high and the male tries to get above her. She tries to fly faster than he can to get away. She fights him but the male is strong. He catches her and pins her wings. He holds her in the air so she can't move and he—," she said, rippling gold light again. "He does that."

She got up, taking her tray to the cleaning station, inserting it. She returned, still not quite looking at him. Logan swiveled the monitor so she could see, gesturing to her. She got up and approached, standing at his shoulder, that scent coming to him, just pleasant.

"Do you know what these symbols mean?" he said, pointing to them. "They're from the download Puck got from the Mecca ship. If I can figure out the architecture, I can remove any records of you so the Terran authorities won't find it."

"Yes. They are numerical sequences."

"I'm going to have Puck call them up. Will you label them? Just say what they mean and you can explain the system to me later."

"All right."

A symbol flashed.

"That means one of three and five," she said.

Another symbol flashed.

#

That night, she got into the bed, lying on her back. Logan got in with her, also on his back, his leg crooked. They were quiet.

"I still don't understand your role," he said. "Are you supposed to tell us about the Mecca?"

"No," she said quietly.

He came up on an elbow, turning toward her.

"Are you supposed to interact with us?"

She hesitated.

"I'm supposed to interact with you," she said.

"What do you mean?"

She looked down. He didn't need to see the amber color flashing over her body to know she was anxious.

"They made me for you," she said.

He stared at her.

"For me," he said, not understanding.

"Yes."

He waited for her to clarify and then realized.

"You mean they want you to pass on the Mecca genetics you carry," he said. "They want you to have sex with me, to reproduce."

"Yes," she said, so low he almost couldn't hear her.

Logan fell onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

"I'm not sure we're compatible, wren," he said wryly. "I'm not sure you would like what I like."

She was quiet. The lights dimmed.

"I would," she said into the darkness a long time after he'd believed she had fallen asleep. "They know you. They made me for you."

#

The next morning after breakfast, Logan was sitting at the table. He called up the algorithm. Echo went to have a shower and then wandered a little. She'd been quiet since last night.

He had been awake for a long time after she had spoken, aware of her, thinking about what she had said. Aroused. Logan was working, but another part of his mind was reexamining the decisions he had made the night before to make sure he still liked them in the morning, thinking and deciding things.

When he looked up a little later, she wasn't on the bridge.

"Where is Echo right now, Puck?"

"Echo is in the immersion chamber."

"Send the feed to my monitor."

The film began. His brows went up. Logan sat back, watching it, aware of his own responses—to the film, to the idea of her watching it. She'd chosen another from his collection.

"Puck, tell me Echo's vitals right now, compared to waking state at rest."

"Heart rate is significantly elevated. Respiration is significantly elevated."

"Can you rephrase, Puck?"

"Heart rate and respiration are significantly elevated."

"Confirm optimal phrasing."

Logan watched with her. He looked away from the monitor, his eyes unfocused, thinking. He finally got up, switched off the screen and went into the med room, getting what he wanted.

Logan walked across the bridge to the rec room, entering. Echo was in the immersion chamber to the right, in the reclining seat, lying back. She was wearing his black shirt. Her body was relaxed, inert, her arms by her sides, her bare legs together. Her eyes stared elsewhere.

She wouldn't be able to see or hear him. Logan went to the door of the chamber, opening it. He approached the reclining chair, standing over her, looking at her.

Her cheeks were flushed again, her chest rising with her breathing, which was shallow and fast. His eyes went to her breasts under the shirt. Her nipples were hard, poking from the material. His eyes shifted as she squeezed her thighs together, squirming a little.

He didn't have any doubts that she liked what she was watching. A wave of gold light rippled from under the shirt down her legs. He was pretty sure now what that meant, too.

Logan raised the medistraint, activating the seal and placing it down the side of her arm and against the chair. She frowned, her head turning blindly, and then startled hard when he touched her, trying to rise as he reached and did the other arm.

The medistraint adhered to the chair, one arm and then the other, designed to quickly render a patient immobile. Echo tried to bring her hands up but she couldn't move her arms. She stopped, breathing fast, fiery red light moving down her arms, and then she went still.

Logan watched her. He could see her heart pounding at her throat, hear her fast breathing, her tits rising and falling, pretty. She couldn't reach the neural link to turn it off, couldn't see or hear him. She was trapped, immersed in the film's images, in the sounds, but she knew he was there.

Gold began to creep down her legs and arms, going to her hands, throbbing there and disappearing, starting over. Gold was arousal.

Logan stepped forward, his hand landing lightly on her leg. She startled when he touched her. He ran his hand up her thigh, his touch soft, the shirt riding up, gold trailing after his fingers wherever he touched, rounding her hip.

He returned and pushed her lower leg, bending the knee, and then the other. Her heels were on the chair now, under her butt. He slowly spread her legs.

The film was still playing. He knew exactly what she was watching at this moment, knew how it would play in her mind. He stepped between her legs and grasped the collar of the shirt, pulling outward, ripping it violently, tugging.

She reacted. Her lips parted and her body rose, her arms still restrained. She arched, her tits rising out of the shirt, her nipples hard and jutting, golden light splashing under her skin. He tore it all the way down, pushing the remnants aside, leaning over her, his arm braced on the edge of the chair, looking at her body.

He leaned down, their faces close. Her eyes were wide but they missed his. She was aware of him there. He moved down. He pulled one hard nipple into his mouth, sucking. She startled again, gold rolling down her arms, and cried out softly.

Logan drew back, looking at the dark red bud, going to the other and doing the same. Her breath was stuttering, gold glowing across her chest.

He drew his finger lightly down the inside of her thigh, pulling back to look at her. The gold color was traveling in a continuous line down to her belly and between her legs like it was showing him the way. It radiated to her inner thighs from her pussy, stronger now. Yes, he'd guessed right.

His hand moved down her belly toward her sex, her legs still spread. He was so curious. He touched the feathers gently. They were perfectly overlapped, perfectly formed. He stroked them, with the direction of the soft barbs, hearing the dry rustling, feeling the reality of them.

They looked soft, felt soft, but they were definitely feathers, sturdy, a stiff calamus holding each vane and downy after-feathers at the base.