Assimilation Read online

  About Assimilation

  She was far away, this woman he’d been. He knew her child’s and husband’s names. He could see their faces. But Natalie was a ghost.

  Natalie Keller was a happy, attractive woman in the prime of her life: a mother and a wife. The kind of woman some people are jealous of. When a fatal car accident ends Natalie’s life, a new technology allows her husband to bring her back. Except it isn’t Natalie who wakes up over a year after the accident. It’s Andrew.

  Andrew is not the only one who has returned from death profoundly changed, and he soon finds a group of misfits who share his fate. They include the brilliant and reckless Oz, who decides to make Andrew his project. The closer they become, the more Oz pushes Andrew into a carelessness that jeopardizes both of their lives.

  Having paid for the procedure, Natalie’s husband Robert has control over Andrew’s body and legal identity. In order to get his life back, Andrew must play a dangerous game, keeping Robert in the dark and preserving his own sanity until he can legally revoke Natalie’s identity. But Robert is not the only threat. CryoLife, the company behind the new procedure, is eager to cover up any “mistakes”.

  In a world where a new life is possible, there are still those who would tell Andrew and Oz how to live theirs. When the truth of who they are is on the line, what are they willing to sacrifice for their freedom?

  A dystopian sci-fi thriller for fans of Ann Leckie, Lila Bowen and Kameron Hurley.

  Contents

  About Assimilation

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Acknowledgments

  About James Stryker

  Copyright

  For Jayme, her favorite since she’s my favorite.

  Chapter 1

  His consciousness was reborn in a sea of fog. He wouldn’t have described it as black or dark. With no sense of light, there was only emptiness as he crossed from “unbeing” to “being.” He vaguely remembered having a body, but now nothing extended beyond his thoughts. Without sensory input, he felt like a brain in a jar, which, of course, he had been for the past sixteen months.

  Where am I? What am I? What’s the last thing I remember?

  Talking to the first responder crouched by a car.

  “Where’s my baby? I can’t hear him crying.”

  “We got him out.” The man had smiled, but his eyes betrayed him.

  He remembered the agony this lie had caused. In his mind he’d seen the image of a George Minne sculpture. The woman’s arms cradled the body of her child, its head lolled forward with the chin to her hand. Her own head tilted to the sky, her neck elongated and mouth parted to release her anguish.

  Mother grieving over her Dead Child. And it’s no longer a plaster statue in a Belgium museum. It’s me.

  With this thought, the pain overcame everything else. The anxiety for the other boy, the physical suffering, the terror that he was going to die. His child was dead.

  If the EMT had been more convincing, would he have had the strength to go on? As the building ache boiled from his stomach, it went too fast. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t speak. He opened his mouth like the grief-stricken sculpture to release the pain. But instead the pressure foamed into his head.

  A weight cut through as if he’d collapsed into himself, and he struggled with it at first. He knew that he should want to live, that he was expected to. No one wanted to die when they were young and healthy. Not when they had so much to live for. But his resolve slipped as the heaviness drained him of everything. So at last he allowed the weight to crush him.

  This had been death. And whether from the severe injuries, or loss of the child, he knew he’d died, passing from one plane of existence to another. Wherever this place was.

  So there’s no great light. There are no angels or paradise. Death is just being recreated into a new life.

  And whatever he was now, he knew he wasn’t the same.

  She was far away, this woman he’d been. Distant enough that in combination with the clearing haze, he couldn’t recall her name or what she’d looked like. He knew her children’s and husband’s names. He could see their faces. But she was a ghost. So impersonal that he was unable to fully connect with her feelings. Even the suffering from realizing the baby was dead. He felt sad about it in general. But Michael might’ve been a dead pigeon in the gutter, and the statue was just a piece of art once more.

  These people are shadows to me. They might’ve mattered to her, but she’s over. I imagine, as I can’t remember any life before her, I’ll forget about being her altogether. I’m new.

  A sense unlike anything he’d experienced before as the woman rippled outward from the concept of “new.” At death, the paintbrush had been lifted and a linen canvas was switched for a panel of Masonite. The tip of the brush touched the fresh material and the texture was unyielding. Smooth without the acrylic seeping into the weave, the density gave the paint a different control. Him. This life would be created as a him.

  And he had a name. Heard somewhere in the old life, or in a prior existence. His thoughts paddled in a tranquil circle and it surfaced:

  Andrew.

  He relaxed as the last wisps of creeping mist evaporated. And because it was difficult to be detached, his mind wandered to a place. He envisioned a bench before a large black painting and thought of being immersed in the swirling brush strokes. He wasn’t sure how much time would pass before he’d be reborn, but he was content to wait.

  He didn’t have long.

  A faraway voice was calling a name.

  You’ll have to come to me, Voice. Wherever I am.

  The voice spoke again. It sounded closer this time, which was exciting. That something could be approaching him meant he held a position in the universe.

  “Natalie Keller. Natalie, can you hear me?”

  The name was strange but familiar, like putting on an old shoe that hasn’t been worn in a while. He felt no ownership, but he tossed it around.

  That could’ve been your name. Is Natalie still here?

  “She hears us!” Another, higher voice.

  “Thank God. With that chunk of crystallization in the frontal lobe, I thought she might be veg.”

  Andrew wanted to pull away, but there was no physical body to move, let alone a sense of where it might be possible to escape to. Something gnawed at him, and the comforting grasp he had on the painting in his mind faded.

  “Natalie Keller.” The first voice was stern and close. “This is Dr. Mitchell Brigman speaking. You’re located at the Cryobiotic Treatment Center in Savannah, Georgia.”

>   Anxiety struck through him. A machine beeped.

  Let me be a speck of dust on a wall. A molecule in a window shade. A self-aware atom on the floor!

  “Mrs. Keller, I need you to calm down.”

  Though the fog was gone, his thoughts thrashed in the sea – chopping the water in desperate, volatile struggles to stay above the crest. The woman had never had an anxiety attack. She’d gracefully bent under pressure, but Andrew’s panic was a fire striker hitting over and over.

  He remembered:

  The Cryobiotic Treatment Center.

  CryoLife.

  The rider on the joint life insurance policy – taking advantage of medical technology’s latest and crowning achievement.

  “Sedate her! She’s going to stroke!”

  It’d seemed like a good idea. The amazing CryoLife scientists and doctors had extinguished the failing systems of the past and brought society into the future. Peace of mind by preventing death from wedging apart a family.

  The woman had selected the option for her children. Andrew remembered her thinking of them as she signed the legal document, and her relief that Michael and Simon would never be without their mother.

  But she’d also opted in for Robert. The smiling family on the brochure that’d last forever would be them.

  “I’d want you back, Rob.”

  “I’d want you back too.” Robert had curled a piece of long blond hair around his fingertips. “You’re my everything.”

  And Andrew was gone.

  *

  When he crawled back into awareness, it wasn’t how previously waking had been. This time he’d been washed ashore. His fingers dug into a sandy beach as he dragged himself from the waves. He felt hazy, but bruised. And he heard the voice immediately.

  “Showtime.”

  He raised his face from the grainy rocks.

  “Natalie Keller. This is Dr. Mitchell Brigman speaking. You’re currently located at the Cryobiotic Treatment Center in Savannah, Georgia.”

  As Andrew remembered where he was, the anxiety built. Beeping. Beeping as his thoughts flew.

  No, this feels wrong. Wrong. I’m not her. I’m me!

  “Mrs. Keller. I don’t want to sedate you again. I need to read you this statement before we proceed. You’ll feel better once your eyes are open.”

  Think of anything. Paintings. Think of the fourteen black canvases. Of being inches from them. Absorbed in them. Part of them.

  And the beeping slowed.

  “Thank you.” A piece of paper crinkled, and the words rolled from Dr. Brigman’s mouth. “Mrs. Keller, you were involved in a vehicular collision and declared imminently dead approximately sixteen months ago. Thanks to the research and development at the Cryobiotic Treatment Center and your enrollment in the CryoLife program, you’ve been successfully reanimated.

  “Per the terms of the legally binding agreement you entered with CryoLife, and in accordance with United States law, a conservatorship has been established wherein your conservator may grant you the full benefits and entitlements of your previous identity after a period of six months.

  “You’ll remain at the Cryobiotic Treatment Center for rehabilitation until you’re released to your conservator, Robert Keller. Further instructions will be provided when necessary, and you’ll be given the opportunity to ask questions once you regain the ability to speak.”

  There was a pause, as if the doctor anticipated a response. And where the pliable Natalie would’ve waited for the next move, the flint and high carbon steel of Andrew lit a spark on the tinder.

  Obviously I can’t say anything! You said it yourself, fucking moron!

  “Bring in the husband.”

  His outrage iced over as the cage he found himself in expanded to admit another prisoner.

  He heard a door opening. A motor murmured, and his mind tipped with vertigo as the beeping machines changed position. Fast breathing filled the room.

  “For now, Mrs. Keller, welcome back.”

  Andrew met the light. The room was dim, but while his eyes strained to adjust he could only look straight ahead, as if his nerves and muscles were frozen.

  It seemed like any normal hospital room. He sensed the machines to his right and the doctor standing next to an IV on the left. Flowers and brightly colored balloons crowded the windowsill and table across the room. But much to his upset, his vision centered on the man sitting on his bed.

  It was the Robert he’d seen in the emptiness, though thinner and more care worn. Tears ran down his gaunt face, for all that his eyes glowed. And while this was the man the woman had loved enough to dedicate her life to him, when Andrew looked at Robert, he felt nothing. Except perhaps pity.

  I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened, Robert, but you’re not looking at your wife. I don’t feel like Natalie, I don’t think I’m her anymore. I’m not even a woman.

  Robert didn’t divert his gaze, but he took a hand that’d been lying on the bed.

  “She can’t feel you yet, Mr. Keller.”

  Andrew was grateful that he could only watch Robert smooth his short fingers over the hand’s knuckles. If he’d been able to feel the touch, he would’ve vomited. Or maybe stroked. And he’d rather have that. Wasn’t nausea in the brain? It didn’t have much to do with the stomach. Which would explain why, though Andrew felt no physical part of the body, there was a churning sickness at the idea of Natalie’s husband holding his hand.

  “That’s okay.” Robert’s voice crackled. “Thank God you’re back. I missed you so much, Nat.”

  The panic ratcheted higher when Robert brought the hand to his face.

  Stop touching me.

  Andrew knew the hand was his. Robert pressed it to his cheek and closed his eyes.

  Stop touching me, Robert.

  He imagined the sticky, freshly shaven texture of the man’s skin.

  Stop fucking touching me! Get—

  A tremor passed through Robert’s body and hulking sobs poured from him. The last sixteen months of pain had been bottled, and it looked like his insides were being torn from his mouth in thick, raw strips.

  The omnipotent machines sounded their urgent, furious code.

  “Mr. Keller.” The doctor touched Robert’s shoulder, and Andrew recognized the voice he’d heard in the thick mist as belonging to Dr. Brigman. “She’s temperamental. If she gets too anxious, she could stroke.”

  Robert bolted up and, in gulping too much air, launched into a coughing fit. He accepted a cup of water and sputtered until he could speak.

  “I’m sorry.” He stared at Andrew, and his aching flooded the room with steam. “It’s been so hard. But that’s over. You’re alive.”

  No, Robert. She’s dead. I’m not Natalie.

  “When can she come home? When can I bring Simon to see her?”

  Simon. Andrew thought of the boy with Robert’s dark hair. Simon running, Simon laughing, Simon playing. Sitting between them to watch television. Crawling into his parents’ bed in the middle of the night. The knees of his pants caked in mud from unearthing bugs in the yard. And Simon as a baby. The way his skin smelled of powder and freshness. How it’d been to hold him, feed him, hear him gurgle, and feel they were the only people in the world.

  He remembered these things, but with detachment. Simon wasn’t his. He was a random child on the playground.

  But better a child than a dead pigeon.

  “She needs to stay for observation and physical therapy before we can release her. The process usually doesn’t take long.”

  Robert brought the hand to his lips and talked around it. “She’ll want to be home with us as soon as possible.”

  The machines restarted their beeping as Andrew thought about going with Robert. Unsettling snippets of filling Natalie’s role spun in his mind. Feeling Robert’s touch and being expected to return it – not with neutrality, but with love.

  “It goes faster than you’d think. Just coaxing the nerves and neural pathways to reactivate. It’s easi
er than with your original body.” Brigman laughed. “Shattered my knee two years ago; took me months to run. Give her a few days and she’ll be talking. Then we can discuss what comes next. I wouldn’t recommend bringing your son until she has full upper body control.”

  “But I’ll be here every day.” Robert bit his lower lip. “I can’t stop looking at you. I can’t believe you’re alive.”

  Dr. Brigman glanced at the flashing monitor lights.

  “We need to let her rest, Mr. Keller. It’s been a lot for today.”

  From the corner of his eye, Andrew watched the doctor fill a syringe. Robert’s grip tightened on the hand.

  “She’s afraid of shots. Don’t you have a smaller one?”

  Andrew remembered the woman’s phobia, but a hypodermic needle seemed pathetic. A brief stick was only that. What awaited him beyond the reactivation of neural pathways was unthinkable.

  Put me out. Please put me out. I can’t deal with this. I want to go back. I want to go back!

  “She can’t feel anything, remember? She can’t feel she has arms, let alone a syringe going into one.” Brigman shifted his focus to Andrew. “You do have arms, Mrs. Keller. You’re absolutely, completely perfect.”

  You don’t understand. There’s something wrong, there’s—

  “It’s true. You look just like yourself.”

  The doctor still held the filled needle, but the hospital room blurred. Though Andrew couldn’t close his eyes, he concentrated on the outlines of his vision as he thought about Natalie. Unlike before, her image came clearly to him as if she’d strode into the room and sat beside Robert on the hospital bed.

  The imaginary Natalie ran her manicured hand through her golden hair and looked at Andrew. She crossed one knee over the other in an elegant motion and leaned toward him, the clingy fabric of a low-necked blouse hugging her curves. When she smiled, a nauseating sweetness lit her delicate features.

  Whatever I am, whoever I am. This is not me.

  “I’ll be here when you wake up, Natalie. I love you.”

  Robert’s voice grew muddled and the room fell dark.

  Chapter 2