Chapter 5 Chapter 3 Resistance

"She won't approve of the new name," the therapist muttered. A new affection distracted me.There was a change in the air as the hunter stood beside me, and it was a pleasant thing.I recognized it as a smell, different from this sterile, odorless room.Perfume, my new mind told me.The fragrance of the flowers, rich and heart-warming "Can you hear me?" the hunter asked, interrupting my analysis, "Are you awake?" "Take your time," the therapist urged, his voice softer than his previous one. I didn't open my eyes, I didn't want to be distracted.My thoughts provide the language I want, and a tone that cannot be articulated without many words.

"I was placed in a damaged host just to get the information you need, Hunter?" There's a gasp—surprise mixed with anger—and something warm touches my skin, covering my forehead. "Of course not, Wanderer," the man reassured. "Even hunters stop before certain things." The hunter gasped again.It was booed against, my memory corrected. "So why isn't this brain functioning properly?" There was a pause. "The scan was flawless," Hunter said.Her words are not reassuring, but express a different point of view.Is she trying to fight with me? "The body has fully recovered."

"Recovered from a devastating near-successful suicide attempt." My voice was stiff, still angry.I'm not used to being angry and it's hard to hold back. "Everything is perfectly normal—" The healer interrupted her. "What's missing?" he asked. "Obviously, you already use language." "Memory, I was trying to find what the hunter wanted before." Despite the absence of sound, a change occurred.The atmosphere that had been tense due to my accusations was now relaxed.I don't know how I know this, I have this strange feeling that somehow I'm getting more information than my five senses are giving me - almost a feeling that there's another sense , at the fringes, while not fully controlled, are better utilized.intuition?That's almost the right word, as if any living thing needs more than five senses.

The hunter cleared his throat, but it was the healer who answered. "Ah," he said, "don't be disturbed by your difficulty recalling some partial memories. Well, that's not exactly what was to be expected, given all these circumstances, This situation is not surprising.” "I don't understand what you mean." "This host is a member of the human resistance organization." Now there was a trace of excitement in the hunter's tone, "Those human beings who realized our existence before implantation are more difficult to conquer, and this one is still resisting."

There was a moment of silence while they waited for my response. resistance?The host is blocking my passage?Once again, I was amazed by the heat of my rage. "Am I strapping on it properly?" I asked, my voice slightly erratic as it came from between my teeth. "Yes," said the therapist, "all eight hundred and twenty-seven points are fixed in their optimum positions without error." This mind takes up more functions than any previous host—it only left me with one hundred and eighty-one additional connection points.Perhaps, the countless connections are the reason why the feelings are so vivid.

I decided to open my eyes.I felt compelled to double-check the promises my therapist was making to make sure the rest of me was working. Light, bright, unpleasant.The last light I had seen was in the ocean, filtered through a hundred fathoms of water, but these eyes had seen brighter light and were therefore attuned to what was before them.I forcefully open my eyes, making my lashes flutter slightly across the slits. "Do you want me to dim the lights?" "No, therapist, my eyes will adjust." "Very well," he said, and I understood that he approved of my casual use of the possessive "my."

They both waited quietly while my eyes slowly widened. My mind recognized this as a general ward of a medical institution, a hospital.The ceiling is tile on a white base, interspersed with darker spots.The lights are rectangular, the same size as the tiles, and there are some lights at regular intervals.The walls are pale green—a calming color, but also one of sickness.The color choice is terrible, I think so quickly. The person facing me is more interesting than the ward.As soon as my eyes fixed on the therapist, the word doctor rang in my head.He was wearing a loose turquoise suit with his arms bare, and his hands and arms had been thoroughly washed.He had a beard on his face, and it was an unfamiliar color, which my memory calls red.

red!It's been three different worlds since I last saw this color, or a color related to it.Even this turmeric gold color fills me with nostalgia. His face seemed to me a common, human face, but the knowledge of my memory chose the word friendly. An impatient breathing drew my attention to the hunter. She is very petite.It would have taken me longer to notice her standing next to the therapist if she had been motionless.She was unattractive, a shadow in the bright ward.Dressed in black, from chin to wrist - a silk turtleneck over a conservative suit.Her hair was also black, reaching to her jawline and combed behind her ears.Her skin was darker than the healer's, olive tinged.

Subtle changes in human expressions are so small that they are difficult to discern.My memory, however, was able to discern the expression on the woman's face.Black eyebrows slanted down from slightly bulging eyes to form a familiar outline.Not very angry, tense, irritable. "How often does this happen?" I asked, looking at the therapist again. "Not very often," the healer admitted, "we're running out of fully grown hosts left. Immature hosts are very susceptible, but you hinted that you'd rather be an adult to begin with" "yes." "Most of it is the opposite claim, the human life span is much shorter than what you're used to experience."

"I know all the facts, therapist. Have you ever dealt with resistance like this yourself before?" "Myself, I've only experienced it once." "Tell me the reality of this experience," I paused, "please." Feeling a lack of politeness in my order, I added hastily. The therapist breathed a sigh of relief. The hunter began tapping his fingers lightly on her arm, a sign of impatience, her reluctance to wait for what she wanted. "This happened four years ago," the healer began, "and the associated spirits asked for adult male hosts. The first one that could get was one who lived with a handful of resistance groups, from the They've been around since the first few years. This guy knows what happens when he gets caught."

"Just like my host." "Uh, yes," he cleared his throat, "this is just the second life of this soul, who came from the dark world." "Dark World?" I asked, tilting my head involuntarily. "Oh, sorry, you don't know our nicknames. Although it used to be one of your nicknames, didn't it?" He pulled a device out of his pocket, a computer, and glanced quickly, "Yes, The seventh planet you have lived on is in Area 81." "Dark World?" I asked again, my tone now disapproving. "Yes, well, some people who have lived there prefer to call it the Singing World." I nodded slowly, I like the name better. Turning my eyes to her, it took me a while to realize that she was referring to some hideous flying rodents, and I squinted, trying to find the corresponding image in my mind. "I guess you've never lived there, Hunter," said the healer lightly, "we originally called this soul the Race Song—in the singing world, that's an inaccurate translation of his name. However, it wasn't long before he took on his host's name - Kevin. Although he was identified as working in musical performances, given his background, he said to continue his host's previous career direction - something to do with mechanics Work—he'll feel more at ease." "These signs were a bit worrying to his appointed counselors, but they worked well together within normal limits." "Then Kevin started complaining that he would have periodic dizziness, and they brought him back to me. We did a lot of testing to make sure there was nothing hidden in his host's brain. During the checkup, several therapists recorded very striking features of his behavior and personality. When we questioned him about this, he insisted that he did not remember certain words and actions. We continued to observe him and eventually, together with his counselor, discovered that the host periodically Take control of Kevin's body." "Control?" My eyes widened, "but the soul doesn't know? The host took back his body?" "Sadly, that's the way it is. Kevin isn't strong enough to conquer this host." Not strong enough. Would they think I was cowardly too?Am I still too weak to force this thought to answer my question?Yet more cowardly, because her living thoughts are in my head, where there should be nothing but memories.I've always thought I was strong, and this feeling of weakness is daunting and makes me feel ashamed. The therapist continued: "Something happened and the final decision" "whats the matter?" The therapist looked down at the ground without answering. "What?" I pressed again. "I believe I have a right to know." The therapist sighed, "You do have a right to know. Kevin made a personal attack on a therapist when he wasn't himself." He said in horror, "He knocked a therapist out with his fist and then in A scalp was found on her body. We found him unconscious, and the host tried to tear the soul out of the body." It was a while before I could speak.Even then, my voice was hushed: "What happened to them?" "Fortunately, the host wasn't able to stay awake long enough to do real damage. This time, Kevin was relocated into an immature host. The host that caused the trouble was in poor repair and eventually had to Give up, because it doesn't make much sense to save him." "Kevin is now a few years old in human years, and quite normal. Apart from the fact that he still has the name Kevin, everything seems to be on the right track. His guardians take good care of him and make him Full access to the music, and it's going well" The last words are added as if to be good news - in a way they offset the rest of the negative news. "Why?" I cleared my throat so I could raise the volume a little, "Why aren't these adventures being shared?" "Actually," Hunter interrupted, "it has been very clearly stated in all the recruitment propaganda that assimilating remnant adult human hosts is much more challenging than assimilating young children, and we strongly recommend immature hosts." "Challenging isn't the word that fully captures what Kevin's going through," I said softly. "Yes. Well, you'd rather ignore such a recommendation," she held up her hands in conciliation as my body tensed up, causing the stiff sheets of the narrow bed to click softly, "I don't Not to blame you. Childhood was uncharacteristically boring, and you're clearly no ordinary soul. I have every reason to believe it's within your ability to handle it, it's just another host, and I'm sure it won't be long before you're fully Get in and control it." As I watched the Hunter carefully now, I was amazed at her patience to wait out any delay, even my own personal adjustment period.I sensed that she was disappointed in my lack of confidence, and this brought her back to some unfamiliar angry feeling. "Didn't it ever occur to you that you could find the answers you need by implanting yourself in this body?" I asked. Her body became stiff: "I'm not the captain." My eyebrows raised automatically. "Another nickname," the healer explained, "for those souls who have failed to complete a life cycle in their respective hosts." I nodded knowingly.In those other worlds I've lived through, we have our own name for this too.That's not fun in any world, so I give up trying to tell the hunter what information I can get. "Her name was Melanie Strider, and she was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico. She was in Los Angeles when she learned about the Occupation, and she was hiding out in the wild for a few years before finding um, sorry, I later Will try hard to find that out. The body is twenty years old, and she went from driving to Chicago" I shook my head," with several stages, not all of which were hers alone, and the car was stolen. She was looking for a cousin named Sharon, whom she had reason to hope was still human. She was neither found nor contacted before she was found, but "I fought desperately against another blank wall," I Think I can't be sure I think she left a note somewhere." "Then she hopes someone will come looking for her?" asked the hunter eagerly. "Yeah, someone will miss her if she can't make the appointment" I gritted my teeth and was actually struggling now.The walls are black and I can't tell how thick it is.I tapped hard continuously, beads of sweat gathered on my forehead.Hunters and healers are very quiet in order to allow me to focus. I tried to think about other things—the loud, unfamiliar noise of the car's engine, the shudder of adrenaline rush every time the lights of other cars came closer in the road.I've got this information and there's nothing stopping me.I let the memory lead me forward, let it skip this scene of trekking through the icy city under the shelter of the dark night, let it detour to the building where they found me. It's not me, it's her.My body shuddered. "Don't overwork yourself," the therapist began. The hunter snapped at him. I found the hunter with a hatred almost overwhelming to everything else, and I let my thoughts dwell on the horror of this discovery.Hate is evil and it is painful.I could barely bear to feel it, but I let it spread, hoping it would spread resistance and weaken the line. I couldn't take my eyes off her efforts to hide, only to learn that she had nowhere to hide.A mark, hastily drawn with a broken pencil on a piece of rock debris, hastily tucked under a door instead of a random door. "The way it was done was along the fifth door in the fifth corridor on the fifth floor, where her correspondence took place." Hunter had a small phone in her hand, and she spoke quickly into it in a low voice. "This building is supposed to be safe," I continued. "They know it's been declared unused. She doesn't know how she was found. Did they find Sharon?" A shiver of fear sent goose bumps on my arms. This question is not mine. I didn't ask this question, but it just slipped out of my mouth as if it was my question, and the hunter didn't notice the inappropriateness. "Cousin? No, they didn't find any other humans," she replied, and my body relaxed reflexively, "This host was found when they entered the building. Since they know the building has been declared unusable Now, the townspeople who saw her were worried. He called us, and we watched the building to see if we could catch more than one person, and then realized that the odds of that happening didn't seem high. We went in. Can you find a date spot?" I tried it. So many memories, all of them so colorful and so visible.I saw hundreds of places I had never been and heard their names for the first time.A house in Los Angeles surrounded by a row of tall palm trees.A meadow in the forest with tents and campfires just outside of Winslow, Arizona.A deserted, rocky beach in New Mexico.A cave with the entrance hidden by a rain curtain, somewhere in Oregon.Tents, huts, crude shelters.As time went on, the names became less and less specific.She didn't know where she was, and she didn't care. My name is Wanderer now, yet her memory matches my own just as well, except my wanderings are of my choice.These fleeting memories are always tinged with the fear of the hunted man, not roaming but running. I try not to feel sympathy, instead I try to focus on the memory.I don't need to understand where she's been, just where she's going.I sorted out images that were closely tied to Chicago, but each scene was just a jumble of images, and I expanded my search.How is it outside of Chicago?Cold, I thought.It's cold out there, and there's some concern about that. where?I urged, and the wall got in the way again. I gasped. "Out of town—out in the wild in a state park, away from all the settlements. It wasn't somewhere she'd been, but somewhere she knew how to find." "How long?" asked the hunter. "Soon." The answer came out without thinking, "How long have I been here?" “We put the host through a nine-day healing period just to be absolutely sure she was fully recovered,” the therapist told me. “The implantation took place today — day ten.” For ten days, a warm current of relief shook my body. "It's too late," I said, "for the date and even the note." I could feel the host's resistance to this—could feel very strongly that the host was almost complacent.I let her say the words that came to her mind so I could learn them. "He's not going there." "He?" Hunter emphasized the pronoun, "Who?" She slammed the dark wall shut harder than she had ever used before.She responded quickly, leaving only half a second of hesitation. The face filled my mind again, that golden bronze face, beautiful and charming, and a pair of black eyes.I felt a strange deep joy as I looked at the face so clearly in my mind. Although the wall closed with a wave of malevolent loathing, it didn't close fast enough. "Jared," I replied, as quickly as if it had come out of my mouth, and a thought that didn't belong to me followed the name. "Jared is safe."