Tesseracts Nine: New Canadian Speculative Fiction

by Nalo Hopkinson

  He returned to the inn, asked for his key, and went up to his room. He sat down on the bed, unsure of the proper course of action. Should he communicate with the bureau now, or wait? To call now was to admit defeat: like a child too stupid to understand anything about life. But not to call was to let the situation stagnate. In the end that was worse.

  Kelly pulled the suitcase from beneath the bed, pressed the lockpads, opened the lid and unpacked the wireless equipment. The quadrangular antenna he positioned on the nightstand, while the generator and receiver he lay on the bed. To connect the generator, he had to disconnect the lamp from the room’s single electrical plug.

  He put the earphones over his head. He adjusted the tuning dials and rotated the antenna until he finally heard the carrier-tone. He depressed the pulse-key seven times, then seven more, then sent out his name by Morse code. Presently above the hum of the carrier-tone came a thin, higher-pitched whine, in pulses brief and long. Kelly wrote down the dots and dashes, but he knew the code well enough to interpret directly.

  KELLY REPORT

  TALKING DOGS CONFIRMED, he replied. CONTACTED DR. JONAS. REFUSED ALL OFFERS. HOSTILE. ADVICE?

  YOU MUST GAIN INFO. USE WHATEVER MEANS NEEDED. WE AWAIT RESULTS.

  WILL COMPLY, he said, his finger heavy on the pulse-key.

  The Bureau agent in the wireless office in Centrality, hundreds of miles away, did not reply. Kelly listened for a minute more to the blank carrier tone, then he shut down the wireless and put it back into the suitcase. We await results.

  Kelly withdrew from the suitcase a small unmarked metal cylinder, with a rubber valve on top. Squeezing the valve released a jet of narcotizing gas, effective on all forms of mammals. He slipped the cylinder inside his left jacket pocket and his lockpick’s tools in the right-hand one. The Bureau wanted results, and Kelly would have to provide them or face demotion.

  He opened the door of his room. He had turned off the lamp two hours ago, and prepared himself by the sparse moonlight that came into the room. Now he slid out of the room, and drew the door shut behind him. He crept down the staircase, paused at the bottom of the landing, alert for the slightest noise. He felt a childish pang of guilt: guests were supposed to turn in their keys at the desk when they left.

  Kelly made his way to the front door. There was a chain-bolt, but it hadn’t been set. He unlocked the door and slipped out.

  It was about half past one. The air was chilly; Kelly’s breath made faint plumes of steam. He made his way out of the town, through the fields, past the stand of trees, down into the valley, to Doctor Jonas’ house.

  He felt sure that at least one augmented dog would be on guard. He kept the canister of narcotizing gas in his left hand as he crept toward the house, making frequent pauses.

  He almost lost his chance; the dog also had been silent, and Kelly was surprised when it rushed him, making a sound that was both bark and shout. The jet of gas struck the dog’s muzzle off-centre, but the effect was strong enough to slow down the animal; Kelly was able to dodge its jaws. The dog landed heavily on its feet and hesitated. Kelly got off another blast, squarely into its nostrils. The dog shuddered and collapsed. Its mouth worked, and disjointed words came out. “The lady,” it said, and “cause the doctor — even if — bite, bit, bitten — no dog good dog…” Its breathing came regular and slow now; it would wake up after six or seven hours.

  Kelly was about to leave it and move on, but something nagged at his mind. There was something wrong about the dog… Then he figured it out. The dog’s forehead did not bulge. It encased a brain no larger than normal. Things were getting stranger; but he could not stay here, next to the dog’s body. He had to go on.

  Kelly made his way to one of the rear windows without further problems. Working quickly, he got it to open and stepped inside the house.

  There was a heavy silence. The corridor was in darkness but Kelly knew his way; he shone a pencil-light briefly around him to check, then set out for the laboratories downstairs.

  Kelly had noted two doors next to the one Doctor Jonas had ushered him through that morning. These were most likely to lead into the interesting rooms. He sidled up to the first one, and set to work picking the lock.

  After less than a minute he felt the last tumbler slide into position. He pushed open the door and entered the room. He shone his pen-light onto the walls. There were anatomic charts and breeding tables here as in the room Jonas had shown him, but these appeared more complete. Somewhere there must be a journal, a diary of experiments, or maybe even a monograph. Kelly opened the doors of a large armoire and felt a row of leather spines under his fingers.

  He grinned, and at that moment the lights came on.

  Kelly whirled around, his hand reaching for the gas canister. Then he relaxed, tried to appear friendly. It was the doctor’s simple daughter.

  She was smiling at him; Kelly put his finger to his lips and went sssh comically. Lydia muffled a giggle and copied his gestures. Kelly went past her, closed the door and whispered in her ear, “What are you doing here, Lydia?”

  She whispered back, “I don’t sleep much, I’m always up before Mister Sun is. What are you doing here? Your name’s Kelly, right? Cotton told me.”

  “Yes, my name is Kelly. I’m playing a game, but it’s a very serious game and you mustn’t spoil it, okay?”

  “I won’t. What’s the game?”

  “Well, I bet myself I could get into the house and get out without your daddy finding out. I had to be very careful, and now if you tell him I was here I’ll lose the game. You understand?”

  “Yes. You’re playing spy.”

  For a moment Kelly wondered if the imbecility was a careful act; but if it was, he had lost everything already, and it cost him nothing to go on with the charade.

  “Yes. That’s it. Spy. Now will you help the spy get back to his home so he can finish the game?”

  “Only if you do something for me. And if you do that, I promise I won’t tell anyone anything.”

  “All right. Whatever you want.”

  Lydia lay down on the floor, rumpled up her blue nightgown, pulled her underpants down to her knees. “Rub me, please.” Kelly hesitated, taken aback. “My wee-wee,” she said, impatient. “Please. Like this.”

  Numbly Kelly kneeled at her side and began to massage her. Lydia shut her eyes and smiled. Soon she started to clutch at his left arm and to buck her hips.

  Kelly felt soiled by the act; Lydia had a mature body, but still it felt like forcing a child. He turned his gaze away, accelerated the back-and-forth movement of his fingers along the girl’s cleft, to bring her to climax as quickly as he could.

  Lydia gripped his left arm fiercely; she began to moan through clenched teeth, then her whole body shook. And Kelly felt the girl’s arm against his grow burning hot, and for a second or two it seemed that it had lengthened, like squeezed putty, and reached farther along his back than was physically possible.

  Then she was coiling up on her side, panting, bringing his moist right hand to her mouth and kissing it.

  “Are you happy, Lydia?” he made himself ask.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So you won’t tell? I can go and finish my game?”

  “I promise.”

  Kelly did not dare to continue his examination of the room. He went out, leaving Lydia still on her back, half-naked, scratching at her legs and smiling idiotically. He made his way back to the window he had eased open. He felt a knot in his abdomen, a vague nausea of shame.

  He managed to return to the inn and back to his room. He went into the small bathroom with its hissing toilet, ran the water in the sink and scrubbed his hands, trying to wash the smell of Lydia’s body off his fingers. Then he sat down on the toilet’s closed lid.

  He had failed, and must accept his failure. Depression seized him, a
wave of gloom colouring all his thoughts. There was a flicker of impotent rage toward the Bureau. Doctor Jonas was too important an individual to warrant only an inexperienced agent! When he passed in front of the review board, come what may, he would make that complaint heard.

  He was too good at Eidetics: once again, an image of Lydia rose unbidden in his mind. He saw again her half-naked body, his hand caressing the cleft between her legs. He had turned his head away. He had turned his body to the side, and his head even further, so that he was looking at her bare legs and feet. He felt a small shock, his training asserting itself. He summoned up the image of Lydia he had absorbed at their first meeting. He had noticed then she had a deformed foot; but tonight, he had seen that both her ankles and feet were perfectly normal.

  It might be that he was confused, that tension and fear of failure had impaired his functioning. Somehow he thought not. Kelly shook off his inertia. His incursion into the house would probably have consequences; he could not trust Lydia to remain silent. He must return to Centrality at once, present a detailed report, convince the Bureau to send a full task force and salvage this mess. If he argued his case well he might still save his position.

  Kelly pulled his suitcase from beneath the bed, unlocked it and once more arranged the wireless equipment. He sent out a message.

  AGENT KELLY REPORTING.

  ACTIVITIES OF DR. JONAS BEYOND WHAT WAS EXPECTED. INDICATIONS OF VERY ADVANCED EUGENETICS.

  ADVISE BUREAU SEND CLASS B TEAM TO INVESTIGATE.

  AM RETURNING TOMORROW MORNING TO PRESENT FULL REPORT.

  At this late hour, there would be no reply from the Bureau officials. The technician on duty acknowledged reception of the message and Kelly signed off.

  He repacked his equipment then, and went to bed. There would be a train to Centrality at 10:28; he would be at the station by a quarter past ten.

  In the morning he rose, ate a meagre breakfast, and announced his departure. The proprietress grumbled, and demanded payment for the two days originally booked. Kelly paid her, went to fetch his suitcase and set off for the station. She watched him leave, standing in the doorway, and Kelly got the impression she knew something. He told himself he was becoming paranoid.

  He was at the station by ten past ten. He went to the stationmaster’s office, stated that he must board the 10:28 train. The stationmaster threw a set of switches on a large board; panels swung out from signposts, requesting the train to stop when it reached the station.

  “Tell me, Sir,” said Kelly. “I was lunching at the inn yesterday and noticed some photographs on the wall. You’re in one of them, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Sir. Those were taken not long after the Revolution.”

  “There was a woman with you in the photograph; a brown-haired woman, dressed in a light suit. May I ask who she is?”

  The stationmaster’s face darkened. “That was the wife, sir; she’s ten years dead.”

  “My condolences,” said Kelly. “I didn’t know.”

  “Yes, well, I have work to do now, Sir, if you don’t mind.”

  Kelly left the stationmaster at his duties and went to sit on a bench. His observations were starting to form a pattern, but it was not yet complete. Still, it reinforced his conviction that the situation was too much for an inexperienced agent.

  The train seemed slow in coming. Again, the day was overcast, and the station was bathed in a weak grey light.

  Kelly stood up, walked back and forth, suitcase in hand.

  He heard footsteps close to him and turned around. It was Doctor Jonas and Lydia, accompanied by a large dog. Kelly recognized the animal: it was the one he had anaesthetised the previous night.

  “Good morning, Mister Kelly.”

  “A pleasure, Doctor Jonas. Miss Jonas.”

  The Doctor reached inside his bourgeois’ suit and brought out a handgun.

  “Mister Kelly, I must ask you not to move.”

  Kelly felt the burn of adrenaline flooding his muscles. “I will remind you that I am an agent of Centrality. You are committing a serious crime even by threatening me.” He noticed that Lydia was smiling delightedly, cocking her head to the side. The dog had pulled back its lips, showing off dark yellow teeth, and was tensing up.

  “Spare me your revolutionary bluster, please,” said Doctor Jonas.

  “You will be seen, Doctor. The stationmaster or the other workers will see you. Put the gun away now, and I won’t report this incident.”

  “The stationmaster and the others support me. No one will interfere.”

  Bloody pre-revolutionary lumpen. Kelly wasn’t really surprised. They’d have to revere whoever came closest to an aristocrat in their shitty excuse for a town. Kelly let the pulse of rage at his betrayal fade away. He did not have time for sentiments; he must consider his options. Doctor Jonas held the gun confidently; Kelly believed he would not hesitate to fire. At this range, there was hardly any possibility of missing. He must gain time. He might well use the arrival of the train as a diversion. In the meantime, if the others shifted their positions, it might be possible to grab hold of Lydia and use her as a shield. The dog, however, might be the most serious opponent.

  “What is this about, Doctor?”

  “It is about your visit of last night. Jeremiah didn’t much like being gassed, and Lydia told me you’d read my experimental diaries. You have seen too much, Mister Kelly, and I can’t have you making a report about it.”

  “So you’ll kill me? The Bureau of Intelligence will send out people after me, and you will find yourself in grave trouble. I’m only a minor agent, but the Bureau cares for its own.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t simply kill you. I know your superiors expect you back in Centrality. And they will see you, tonight; you will give them a confused, incompetent report, which will convince them I am not to be disturbed yet. I may be forced to vanish, but at least I will have time to do so.”

  Lydia had been staring at Kelly throughout the conversation. Now she nodded, as if finally satisfied. “I can do him, Daddy,” she said.

  “Go ahead, dear,” said Doctor Jonas. Lydia started to undress. “Please take off your clothes, Mister Kelly.”

  “Why?”

  “Just take them off.”

  The dog growled. “Nice dog, Jeremiah,” said the girl as she pulled off her gown.

  “Lydia,” said Kelly. “We’re friends. Tell me what’s going on.” He would have to do something desperate soon. Three of his fingers uncurled from the handle of his suitcase and made contact with the frame.

  “I have to play you, Kelly. So that means I have to take your clothes. It’s the first time I get to be a boy.”

  “Take your clothes off,” repeated Doctor Jonas, waving the gun.

  “If you shoot me,” said Kelly, “you’ll damage the clothes. You don’t want that.” His fingers were pushing the lock-pads unobtrusively, one at a time, very slowly.

  Doctor Jonas hesitated; his forehead was beaded with sweat. Obviously, for all his determination, he had qualms about shooting a man in cold blood; Kelly’s argument about the clothes would only worsen his reluctance.

  Lydia was now completely naked. She frowned in concentration, then relaxed. She began to grow taller, her torso flattening, her shoulders bulking up. Her face altered as well, its planes shifting, hair sprouting over the cheeks and on the upper lip.

  “I had guessed,” said Kelly, surprised at the calmness of his voice, “but I couldn’t be sure. I must admit she’s the most impressive example of eugenetics I could imagine. Were you aiming for shape-changing abilities when you altered her? Or is this an unforeseen consequence of an attempt to increase her intelligence?”

  “That doesn’t concern you, Mister Kelly.”

  “You intend to pass her off as myself. But she’s too slow-witted to do it.”


  “She will be well advised. Jeremiah is the best of my dogs, and probably more intelligent than yourself. I have no fear.” Doctor Jonas mopped his bald forehead.

  Kelly thought he heard the noise of the train, still far off. Lydia had by now almost exactly copied his features. He had to keep talking, to gain the brief time he needed. He was afraid, but there was no other way out.

  “You do know that she’s been fucking the stationmaster?” Doctor Jonas flinched. Kelly went on. “He got your daughter to copy his dead wife. I saw her yesterday, as I arrived. She was cutting her own hair, and eating it. Re-ingesting her own cellular tissue, I suppose. Shapeshifting has to be subject to conservation of mass. Which means that Lydia can’t copy me accurately.” Kelly’s fingers kept pressing the lock-pads. It wasn’t the unlocking code he had been entering, but another one, designed for a slightly different purpose.

  “She can do the face. Only the face matters.” It was Jeremiah who had spoken. Doctor Jonas’ eyes shifted back and forth from his daughter to Kelly.

  Lydia’s features had now firmed and matched Kelly’s to near-perfection. The moment had come. Kelly took a short step towards her, holding forth his right hand, palm forward, letting the suitcase swing toward the front of his body. “Lydia,” he said, “don’t do this. We’re friends, aren’t we? Remember how nice I was to you?”

  Doctor Jonas, his face white, pointed his gun more sharply. “Don’t move, Kelly!” As Kelly had expected and hoped, Jeremiah stepped forward, growling, to interpose itself between Kelly and his mirror image; and at that moment Kelly’s middle finger pushed the last lock-pad, and the code set off the explosives embedded in the suitcase’s lid.

  The force of the blast threw him backwards, close to the edge of the platform; he spun sideways, slamming his limbs into the concrete, almost glad, for a few seconds, to surrender to the energies of the bomb and let them do what they willed to his body.