DESPERATE MEASURES
PART SIXTEEN:
Sid awoke in the morning with no concept at first of where he was. Lying there on the cot,
his eyes traveled about the single room of the small shelter, recognizing the supplies he'd
arranged for the island. That was it! The island! But where was Brianna? He hissed in a
sharp breath, half-sitting. She hadn't slept in that cave by the waterfall? Surely not! Then he looked down and there she was, sound asleep on a blanket beside his cot as though
she had perhaps watched over him in the night. He lay back down, trying to remember what had happened to him. It was obvious,though,
that he as yet had no real concept of what all that might be. He just knew that everything,
simply everything, seemed different. Not the least of it was that he had "left" again, or
whatever happened to one during what was called "sleep." So the Maximus program had invaded his system like some powerful virus, had it?
Evidently it was causing him to have very human responses to certain things. But how
much? As if in answer, his stomach growled loudly and he became aware of a deep emptiness somewhere in the center of himself, rather like what he'd felt yesterday morning,
only greatly intensified. This was patently ridiculous! He couldn't be...hungry! If he even
attempted to ingest foodstuffs, they would clog his system instantly. He had nothing so
primitive as an alimentary canal. But his stomach belied his thoughts with an even louder
rumble, so loud it woke Brianna. "What was that?" she asked dazedly, sitting up, brushing hair out of her eyes. "I...I think it was me," Sid admitted almost shyly. His body had never done anything so
crude before. "You're hungry?" She cocked one eyebrow, studying him. "I don't know. I've never been...um, needed foodstuffs before." She got to her feet, opened a can, and handed him a bowl of sliced peaches. "Try this." "I can't...eat!" he said, truly horrified. "It will ruin me."
"Somehow I doubt that," she grinned, remembering the drop of red blood. He took the bowl, looking at its crescented contents as though they were snakes. Brianna poked a spoon toward him. "Here, use a spoon. Be civilized." Very, very reluctantly, he got a small drip of the syrup on the spoon and lifted it to his mouth. Oh, so slowly his tongue came out, delicately touching only its barest tip to the juice. Brianna watched, utterly fascinated. On some greatly reduced level, it was almost like waiting for Neil Armstrong's boot to encounter the surface of the moon. "Well?" she asked, impatient to know his reaction. "It's...sweet," he replied, his eyes wide. "At least I think that's what you call it." She laughed. "Yes, you're right. It's sweet. Do you like it?" "I'm trying to decide first if it will kill me." "Oh, be brave, go ahead!"
He looked at her, saw the amused expression on her face, decided what the heck and shoveled
two of the fairly large slices into his mouth. He closed his lips, holding them on his tongue. "Chew," she directed, "then swallow." Obediently he squished the peaches between his teeth, an utterly strange sensation. Then
suddenly he remembered oranges from Valencia, warm in the Spanish sun. He smiled and
swallowed. Then a look of deep concern washed over his features as he waited for some
inner system to shut down. He was aware, though, of them sliding down inside his neck,
onward into that empty place in this middle where they seemed to settle, making the growls
subside. "They're...in!" he announced. Then his brows lowered. "Do they just...stay...there?" "Um, no," she replied, unable to keep a straight face at his digestive innocence. "They come
out again." He put a hand quickly to his lips. "Must they?" "Yes, they must. Only you won't, um, recognize them as peaches by that time." "Why not?" His eyebrow cocked way up. "Well, they'll just look...different. Mixed in with other, um, ingested foodstuffs, and sort of,
um, brown." "Brown?" "Yes, brown." "When?"
"Oh, not for several hours at least. Eat some more. Make it worthwhile." The whole eating
thing had caused her to get lost in a certain light fondness for him and, without thinking, she
reached out and rested her hand on his thigh. Then she realized, and pulled it quickly back. He let it go, figuring it was wiser not to comment. "More, huh?" He took another spoonful. There were still a number of slices in the can and she dipped a fork in, eating them herself.
They sat there in what was actually a rather companionable silence, chewing peaches.
Maximus, alone, ate fish and mangoes. The brilliant orange sunrise told him there would be
another storm later in the day so he set out soon after breakfast for a bit more exploration,
experimenting with breaking open and eating a coconut. He thought briefly about Sid,
wondering what had happened to the man. Brianna said he did not get sick. That seemed
very odd to him. Everyone he'd ever known got sick. But, then, Sid did seem to be rather different from most men. Brianna had tried to explain a little about that once. Brianna. No,
he would not think about her now. Sid was feeling stronger and sat in the doorway of the shelter, watching the clouds gather.
"Tsk, it looks like rain," he commented idly. "You sound like Winnie the Pooh," Brianna chuckled. "What is a 'Pooh'?" "Tsk, tsk, it looks like rain...straight out of Winnie the Pooh and the Honey Tree." "I repeat, what is a 'Pooh'?"
"Pooh is a bear, a stuffed bear who loves honey." "If he's stuffed, how does he...eat?" "You would think of that!" she laughed. He loved the sound of her laughter. "Well, I think it's a fair question." "You are not supposed to worry about such details. Pooh just...eats." "Does it come...out...again?" "No, I think Pooh's honey just stays in his tummy." "I don't understand." "You're not supposed to. It just...is." "Oh," he said, grinning slightly. "Not like me and the peaches, though?" "Not at all." "Why does he go 'tsk, tsk, it looks like rain'?" "Well, Pooh himself actually doesn't. He has Christopher Robin say it, over and over, in fact." "Um, why?" "To fool the bees, of course." He cocked an eyebrow again, trying to keep the conversation going, no matter how ridiculous
it was. This was the most Brianna had ever said directly to him.
"Ok, this is how the whole thing went down. Pooh wanted the honey in the honey tree but the
bees didn't want him to have it. So Pooh had Christopher Robin hold an umbrella and walk
back and forth under the tree so the bees would think it was going to rain." "And if it rained, how would that permit Pooh to get the honey?" "Well, Pooh, you see was floating up tied to a balloon and singing that he was just a little
black raincloud so that the bees wouldn't know he was actually a stuffed bear who wanted
their honey." "Ah," he said seriously. "I think I begin to understand." "You do?" "No, not really," he laughed. "It makes no sense whatsoever." "You're right," she joined his laughter. "And it DOES look like rain. Good thing we have
this shelter, eh?"
Yes, he thought, remembering the first time the coming storm had whipped through the
island, and she was close to death in her little cave by the waterfall. It is a very good thing,
indeed. Instead of that, there she stood right behind him, the laughter still curving her lips. She saw his eyes, that expression he had so often of late of looking at her with some sort of
relieved appreciation. Give her time. She would discover the why of that. For now, though,
she said, "How are you feeling? What do you think has happened to you?" "I'm not entirely sure yet," he replied thoughtfully. "I have my suspicions. I think my...
addition...was more than expected. But, yes, I'm feeling much, much better." He tipped his
head, looking up at her. "I can't begin, Brianna, to...," his voice faltered, "to let you know
how sorry I am for...all of it." She gazed back at him, still not sure what to make of him the way he was now. "I can't say,
'Oh, it's all right, Sid.' I can't say that and mean it...not yet. You put me through a great deal
of hell." He looked down at his hands. "I know. You're right. I did. I can't take it back or change it,
Brianna," he turned his eyes back to her, "but I would if I could. And I mean that." "I almost believe you." "I deserve that 'almost'." "You do." He sighed, smiling wryly. Thinking was still a strange process. He remembered both plotting
the time on the ledge at night and falling off the ledge onto the rocks below. How did one sort
it all out, make sense of it? He wished he could explain that to her. But he needed to
understand it for himself first. "Ever since I was...formed," he attempted for both their
sakes, "I had the memories of dozens of separate individuals in my programming. But it was
all I knew and for me they all merged into the one being that I was...Sid. But now, it's all
different. I know you know about the Maximus program, so I won't try to hide its existence. But it's not like the addition of just one more individual into my matrix. I thought it would
be, but it's not. It was only Sid, Sid as Sid, who was brought into existence by what we call
our 'source.' All the individuals who were used for that original programming, none of them
were from that source. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?" She nodded. "But Maximus, well, Maximus is different. He does have the same source, and he has it in
the most powerful, vital way imaginable. More than I realized. And there's something...
unexpected and unexplainable...about the two versions of the same source uniting. Maximus
didn't just slip quietly in there and take up his place in some little box. He's invaded
everything, conquered it, made it more his than it was Sid's. I...I don't know what else to
say." He shrugged. "He's like that," she smiled gently. "I know."
"So, who does that make...me?" "I guess we'll find out, won't we?" "Will you help me...find out, Brianna? Will you help me?" She reached her hand down, letting it rest on his shoulder. "I'll try. I can't promise anything,
but I will try."
"You can start by telling me who Christopher Robin is," he grinned.
ON TO PART 17
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