The Facilitator Read online

  But being Martine, she tended to do the opposite. Instead of demanding more perks, she stayed nearly silent. Instead of flashing her credits around, she spent hardly any of them and then only on necessities.

  And she always had something nice to say to the techs and nurses she interacted with during her work. She laughed with the guys who eyed her legs lasciviously, and gave a couple of nurses her code for the leather tunic they both admired.

  Life—and death—went on pretty much as usual for facilitators and clients.

  She told nobody that she’d begun dreaming, or that those dreams featured one person.

  John.

  She’d occasionally wondered how far the level of surveillance went on Eternal Tranquility employees. Of course there was security. And that would go double for facilitators, since there were very few of them.

  God forbid another company should try and woo her or her peers. It hadn’t happened up to now, so she figured security was solid. At what point security became intrusive-and-invasive monitoring was still an ongoing debate and probably always would be.

  But she’d been dreaming for several weeks now with no interference or questions. Thus she arrived at the conclusion that her routine well-being was indeed observed, but that the dreams either didn’t register or were no problem to those who watched her.

  They didn’t seem to be affecting her work nor was she dozing off in the middle of the afternoons. No, John’s increasingly regular nocturnal visits seemed to be something only she fully appreciated.

  And perhaps he did as well…she wasn’t sure yet.

  She did know she was finding the dreams…very pleasant.

  Sometimes they were too brief—a quick conversation, a smile or just some sort of warm awareness of his presence.

  Other dreams were more leisurely. He seemed to enjoy scenarios that were strange to her, such as a garden with unusual flowers and strangely carved statues. There was a small lake of fine sand, which fascinated her, as did the sharply tined rake she used to create designs. It was quite mesmerizing, and when she woke after that one, she almost reached for her comm system to see if she could order a tabletop version.

  Over the ensuing month, John became a fixture of her nights. Almost a part of her sleep—a part she eagerly anticipated. She carefully utilized her ability to compartmentalize, shutting the door on John and the dreams as she opened the one to her day and her work.

  She knew there had to be a connection, of course. As time passed she became more and more convinced that John knew a great deal more than he’d said up to now. But she kept those thoughts firmly tucked away. Her talent for shutting parts of her mind down made her the excellent facilitator she was.

  And now it helped protect the curious woman she was becoming.

  In her most private moments she acknowledged the fact she was becoming an enamored woman as well.

  Had John been real and standing in her bedroom, she’d have had him naked in five seconds and giving her the first of many orgasms in barely five more. He appealed to her on a psychological level, being intriguing, intelligent and humorous. All well and good.

  But it was what he did to her on a physical level that shocked her at times. It had been quite a while since she’d felt so aroused by a man. So alive and aware of her own sexuality.

  He had a way of looking at her, those stunning blue eyes filled with heat and what she hoped was desire. Because she was pretty damn sure that word could describe the way she looked at him. Either that or pass me a spoon because you’re dessert and I’m about to eat you right up. And lick the plate when I’m done.

  The whole lust thing was heating up, Martine realized. Probably not healthy or productive, having a bad case of screaming sweaty thighs for a dream man. In the nebulous sense of the word.

  The other annoying feature of her dreams was her total inability to initiate the topic of conversation. She’d tried more than once to ask John about that number he’d told her. About the odd coincidence she’d found in the data-storage division server.

  But, as was the way with dreams, her words wouldn’t come out right. And John blithely chatted on, ignoring her attempts to articulate questions. Then he’d do something like touch her hand or brush her cheek, or look at her in that way—and she was lost.

  She couldn’t help but realize the sexual attraction between them was growing. She hadn’t been naked with him since that first time. And she was starting to wonder if that was his doing or hers. Who was nervous about what might happen?

  She got wet thinking about it. Did dreams get hard-ons? Could they actually get down and dirty? The few brief moments Martine permitted herself to indulge in this train of thought passed rapidly. Then she shut it down. She wasn’t about to take the risk of doing any mental broadcasting of her newly enhanced sexual awareness. Guys tended to pick up on that sort of thing, whether it was pheromones or something else. Give a woman a hot night of sex and the next day men would follow her with their eyes, metaphorically panting. There was probably some scientific rationale for it, and doubtless it had been examined, explained and filed away in the annals of human sexuality.

  She didn’t know and didn’t care. She just wanted to make sure she kept her private thoughts exactly that. Private.

  So it was with a great deal of difficulty that Martine kept her reactions low-key when she was introduced to a new facilitator a few days later. She’d gotten a call to meet one of the admin secretaries in the Eternal Tranquility welcome lobby that morning. Not routine, but not out of the ordinary, so she didn’t think much about it, merely arriving punctually at the designated spot.

  “Martine, this is the latest rookie on the team.” The woman gestured to the man beside her. “Johann Eleven meet Martine TwoSeven.”

  Why her hand didn’t tremble as she extended it, she didn’t know. How she kept her jaw off the floor was another miracle.

  Because there, less than a meter away from her, was John.

  “Hello. Pleasure to meet you.” He shook her hand briefly.

  “Thank you. Same here.”

  “Martine, I’m hoping you’ll show Johann around. He’s an experienced facilitator of course, but not with Eternal Tranquility.” The woman smiled. “It took a lot of negotiating to secure his services for us. So we’d like to make him feel welcome.”

  “You’re very kind.” Johann gave her a little bow and one of his winning smiles, the kind that Martine had dreamed of for some time now.

  She felt her fingers instinctively curl into claws and fought the reflex. It could be a massive cosmic coincidence. It could be that this Johann was simply who he said he was and that her mind was doing the you’re-him thing.

  As the administrator droned on about inconsequential things, Martine took inventory of the man standing quietly near her.

  His eyes were the same—John’s eyes. That piercing blue of a tropical sky that had fascinated her the first time she’d dreamed of him. His smile—that was the same as well. His height…hard to tell given the difference between walking barefoot on a dream beach and standing on utilitarian imitation knotty-pine flooring in shoes. But it looked about the same.

  One major difference? He was bald. All facilitators were. While Martine had the long fall of wires, Johann was enhanced with more of a patch, a rectangular area on the back of his scalp featuring neatly ordered rows of connectors.

  She’d heard of a new development—retractable neural interfaces. Apparently Johann Eleven merited the expense. Which, she’d also heard, was considerable.

  “So if you’d be kind enough to show him to his quarters and then perhaps the various floors so he can find his way around?”

  It seemed the admin was winding down, and Martine’s focus snapped back to where it needed to be.

  “Of course.” She nodded. “I’d be happy to.” She smiled an impersonal smile at him. “Do you have everything you need? Passwords and so on?”

  “I believe so.” He smiled back, an equally impersonal expression.
r />   It was exactly as if they’d never met. Which they hadn’t, if you discounted their nightly dream interactions.

  Wondering if she needed to completely overhaul her psychological profiles or take that three-week vacation, Martine watched him say goodbye to the admin and then turn to her with a look of polite interest. “Lead on, Martine TwoSeven. I’m in your hands.”

  I wish.

  The thought was extinguished as rapidly as it had thundered into her mind. This whole thing was going past weird into freaky and surreal. With a sigh, she turned toward the elevators and began the process of introducing Johann Eleven to his new environment.

  All the while wondering if she would dream tonight, and if she did, just who the hell she’d be dreaming of.

  John or Johann?

  She was still asking herself that question at the end of what had been a very long day.

  Alone in her apartment, Martine followed her usual routine automatically, her mind churning over the events of the past hours and dwelling on Johann, pretty much to the exclusion of everything else.

  He’d appeared as exactly what he was supposed to be. He’d asked the right questions, behaved as a newcomer would behave and seriously impressed a couple of nurses to whom he’d been introduced.

  They’d eyed him with what Martine could easily describe as fascinated hunger, but somehow he’d deflected it, managing to convey his gratitude and disinterest with polite but effective decision.

  He’d also—she thought—occasionally implied he was interested in her. Strangely enough, these moments had not arisen when they were alone, only when there was an audience.

  No more than a slightly warmer smile, or a touch of his hand on her arm. It was as if he was setting the stage, subtly letting people know where he thought his interests might lie in the not-too-distant future.

  He was very, very good at it. At no time did he display overt sexual interest. Or a tendency to flirt. But overall, at the end of their time together, Martine felt that he’d deliberately created an image, a presentation of himself, to those people they’d met.

  There’d been no facilitations scheduled that day, but that hadn’t stopped either of them from taking a complete tour of not only the employee facilities but also the patient floors. Johann showed a knowledge and familiarity with all the vital equipment, even asking a couple of techs questions about their operating tolerances.

  He scored mega-points with the geeks after that little visit. She let him, since it was a guy thing and Tech Support got too much grief and not enough appreciation in her opinion.

  Courtesies notwithstanding, she’d been relieved when she’d left him at his apartment door—two floors up from hers, which told her how much they’d had to negotiate to get him for Eternal Tranquility’s Facilitation group.

  It was not only two floors higher, it was probably a shitload bigger too. But at that point she just wanted him in it so she could go hide in hers, and had no problems bidding him good night and walking to the elevator as he keyed himself inside.

  Not once during their entire time together had he indicated anything that might lead her to the conclusion he was her dream-John. No look, or touch, or comment that would give away a previous knowledge of her, or any reference to an experience they might have shared in another realm.

  Nothing whatsoever. It had been fucking exhausting—wondering, waiting and keeping her own responses in check, ignoring the questions shivering around the front of her brain.

  Once the door enclosed her and she felt herself dropping down to her own level, she sighed out a breath and leaned against the elevator wall.

  But it wasn’t until she was in her robe with some food in the prep unit that she truly felt her body relax. In fact, she was surprised to realize how tightly her muscles had tensed and how rigidly she’d held her posture during the day. Perhaps she too had been participating in the little show Johann had presented with his body language.

  “Look at us,” they’d said. “We don’t know each other. Never met. No, ma’am. Complete strangers.”

  “But I think she’s cute,” he’d said.

  “He’s an interesting male that might appeal to me if I get around to thinking about it,” she’d said.

  She ate something. What it was, she couldn’t remember, but it was hot and nourishing. She had a glass of wine and, when her body began to ache a little as it eased down from its subtly exhausting adrenaline high, she indulged in another one.

  It was well into the evening before she could really say she was done, and know she was relaxed enough to sleep.

  And that was when her door chimes sounded. She wasn’t really surprised when she activated the external monitor and saw who it was.

  There, with a small wrapped something in his hand, staring unconcernedly into the camera with those blue eyes, was Johann.

  When she opened the door and smiled at him, he smiled back.

  And there he was.

  John.

  Chapter Five

  It was definitely John. Not Johann Eleven.

  How could she tell? The heat in his eyes when he looked at her, that special smile she’d become accustomed to in her dreams.

  And the fact that he briefly touched one finger to his lips in the age-old signal for caution.

  She blinked and stood back, offering him access. “Good evening. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes indeed.” He stepped inside as she released the door and it hushed itself closed, activating the self-lock mechanism. “I wanted to say thank you for your kindness today. You made me feel right at home and I’m very grateful.” He held out the present. “A little something to express my thanks.”

  “How kind.” Warily, Martine took it. “You didn’t have to do this.”

  “It felt right.” He looked around with interest. “Please. Open it. I hope you don’t have it already.”

  She followed him as he strolled into her living area, then over to her counter where he picked up her half-empty wineglass. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.” She shook her head, then began unwrapping the gift. He’d gone to some trouble to find pretty paper, and she unfolded it carefully, not wanting to tear it. So many things were preprocessed, instantly biodegradable or self-destructing. It was quite nice to unwrap a real gift from real paper. Not to mention the rather fancy ribbon.

  Which, sadly, self-destructed when she put it down.

  As if he read her mind, he chuckled. “Sorry. There’s only so much available on short notice.”

  She grinned back. “You did good on the paper. I haven’t expected miracles in years.”

  He walked over to her side. “And yet here we are.”

  Her head shot up and she stared at him, only to see him shake his head in a tiny negative motion. “Here.” He tugged on her arm. “Come and sit down and tell me if you like the gift.”

  She obeyed him, although whether out of curiosity or eagerness, she wasn’t quite sure. “Oh…” The smile was there, the pleasure flooding her as she revealed a book. A real book. Printed pages and everything. “Where did you find this?”

  “I confess…it’s one of my favorites. And I have this thing when it comes to this story.”

  “Thing?” She carefully turned the little volume over in her hands and riffled the pages with delight.

  “Yeah a thing. When I make new friends, I give them my copy or copies of this particular story. Then I get more. I like to think that this book marks a trail of people who are special in my life.” He touched her hand. “I’m hoping you’re going to be one of them, Martine.”

  She dropped her gaze, unsure of how to respond. The book lay in her hands and she read the title aloud. “Ubik.” Glancing up, she met a hot blue stare. “Odd name.”

  “It’s by a favorite author of mine. An ancient writer from several generations ago. I hope you’ll find it entertaining.”

  More and more puzzled, Martine simply nodded. “I’m sure I will. Thank you, J…Johann.”

  H
e reached out, cupped a palm around her cheek and drew her close. “You’re very welcome…Martine…”

  He was going to kiss her. For real. Put those lovely lips on hers and maybe slip his tongue into her mouth. Oh fucking Lord, this was incredible. Talk about dreams coming true…

  Millimeters before their lips met, he whispered against her mouth. “Take me into your bedroom. We can be private there.”

  Then he kissed her, a full-on lip lock that sent her hormones into a sizzling frenzy, hardened her nipples and almost made her forget what he’d asked. Yes, there was something more going on, something important—but for a few blissful moments she was just a woman getting a really nice kiss from a very attractive guy.

  Then reality snapped back and Martine assumed the role of seductress, which was what she figured John was after. “That was nice, Johann. Really nice.”

  “It was. I knew it would be when I first saw you this afternoon.” His hand drifted to her shoulder and lower, finally resting on her breast, searing it through the thin fabric of her robe. “I’d like more.” His palm moved, sending a shiver down her nerve endings from her nipple.

  “Mmm.” She sighed with pleasure. “Me too.”

  “Can we?” He moved back a little. “Is it permitted here?” His blue eyes fixed on her intently.

  She understood. If there were listeners, they’d be hearing all the things they expected to hear from a couple talking about hitting the sack together for some screaming hot sex.

  “Yes. Eternal Tranquility stays out of our private lives. We can get involved where and with whom we please.”

  “Good.” Both hands returned to her body, one to each breast, and her spine arched with pleasure.

  “You understand we’re expected to be discreet.” She moaned as his hands abraded her sensitive peaks.

  “Of course. I promise not to fuck you in the lobby.”

  Her snort of laughter was cut short as he kissed her again. “Your bedroom.” He mumbled the words against her mouth. “Where is it?”