Immune (The Rho Agenda #2)(50)

Despite that she hadn't slept at all last night, she had never felt more rested in her life. She had only closed her eyes to enjoy the meditative state she had experienced on the newly discovered tentacle couch onboard the starship. That experience had changed her in ways she didn't understand, but which felt right. As intense as her experiences with the ship had been up until now, they had been pale shadows of this.

Mark had gone first, remaining on the couch for a full hour during which he had remained conscious, even asking to see the printed pictures of normal brain activity that Jennifer had brought along. Unlike the medical couch, only the person on the couch could see the mental visions of the experience. Nevertheless, by the time Mark had arisen, letting the tentacles melt away from his body, he had seemed completely confident that he had mastered the desired technique.

Heather had gone next. Despite what she had observed with Mark, she had found herself completely unprepared for the sensations that stormed through her body and brain as the millions of needle points made their connections. Beyond exhilarating, it was as if she had awakened from a dimly remembered dream.

Unlike any other meditation she had ever tried, she had found herself simultaneously conscious of every nerve, every cell within her body. Slowing her breathing and heart rate, as she had observed Mark do when he had first tried the couch in the medical lab, was trivial. Speeding up her metabolism was just as easy, requiring no significant level of concentration. She merely thought about what she wanted and it happened.

Heather had looked through Jennifer's pictures of brain activity, memorizing each with a glance before handing them back to Jennifer. With a slight shift of her thoughts, she had pulled up a mental image of her brain, shifting it to match the orientation in the photos. While this took more concentration than the earlier exercise, she had quickly gotten the hang of slowing the neural activity in each part of her brain, memorizing the feel of what she was doing as it happened. Even this had felt good, almost like letting a part of yourself drift off to sleep.

By the time she had arisen from the couch, Heather had felt sure that she could duplicate the effects at will. The amazing part had come after she had relinquished the tentacle couch to Jennifer. The feelings of total connection to her body and brain had remained, unabated.

Last night's sleeplessness troubled her, but not in the way a sleepless night should. It was as if she no longer needed sleep. The effect might not be permanent, but it was certainly odd. Combined with the oddities of yesterday's trip to the ship, it left her feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

Jennifer's reaction was what bothered her most. Heather had expected Jen to put up some resistance when Mark and then Heather had slid onto the couch. Instead, she had seemed almost eager to watch them try it. And when Jennifer had climbed onto the couch, it struck Heather that she was already familiar with the thing.

Another thing that bothered her was just how good she now felt. Heather didn't know why that bothered her, but if this was how people on drugs felt, she could understand how you could get hooked. There it was. The thought of what she might feel like when she came back down off this mental high was what scared her.

A sequence of brilliant mental images flashed through her mind. It just didn't seem likely that this was a temporary effect. From the second she had climbed onto that couch, she had known that the ship was doing something to her, something that went well beyond what she had experienced on previous visits.

Heather slid out of bed and into her robe and slippers, wondering if her mom and dad were up yet. No, they weren't.

Heather froze. The answer had just come into her head. There was nothing particularly odd about that. Everyone had inner dialog. But the feeling she got thinking about that answer sent shivers up her spine. This was no guess. Somehow, she just knew.

One thing was certain: standing here in her bedroom wasn't going to rid her of the strangeness. Perhaps a cup of tea wouldn't either, but it sure couldn't hurt.

By the time Heather seated herself in the lawn chair on her back porch, her knees drawn up almost to her chest, hands cradling the steaming mug, the first hint of dawn had softened the darkness in the east. Cool and crisp, with just a hint of pine scent on the smallest of breezes, the air that tickled her nostrils smelled different this morning. Even the chamomile tea seemed filled with subtle new flavors.

A rustling in the grass at the far edge of her yard attracted her attention. Sensing her gaze, a bunny lifted its ears momentarily before returning to its nibbling.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupted her reverie.

"Good morning, Dad," Heather called toward the kitchen.

Gil McFarland stuck his smiling face out the door. "How did you know it was me and not your mother?"

"Dad, you're always the first one down."

"After you, that is. By the way, it's good to see you up early again. It's been a while since you played the early bird."

Heather laughed, something that sounded good, even to her own ears. "I guess I've finally caught up on my rest."

Her dad's eyes studied her for a moment and then he smiled once again. "You're sounding better. Let me get some coffee going. Your mom and I will come out and join you in a little bit."

"Sounds nice."

A movement to her left snapped Heather's head around. There in the bushes just beyond the tree line.

"Heather, what is it?"