Of course, they all chorused, “image”, and the mirror duly appeared, much to Harry’s amusement and their amazement.
Laurel noted Harry appeared to be making ready to leave. “I want you to eat, and also drink plenty of liquid,” he said. “It will help safeguard against space sickness.”
“Space sickness? Aren’t we going there?” Marta pointed through the window to the yellow planet.
“And aren’t we going to get answers?” Laurel reminded him of his prior obligation. His expression told her he hadn’t forgotten, but he continued to hedge.
“That planet is Mentelci. Homeworld and Central Government of the League.”
Laurel fixed Harry with a stare. He could try, but she wasn’t letting him get away without explanation. Harry realised it.
“Canon Akkuh hopes you may rest and refresh yourselves before he briefs you on your destination, and also answers the myriad questions we appreciate you have.” He then addressed Laurel directly. “Please understand, these decisions do not rest with me.”
Laurel nodded. Something told her he would have stayed and answered all and every question had he been permitted. Perhaps it was a matter of protocol that Canon Akkuh does the talking.
“Before I go…” Harry tapped a lit area close to the food dispenser. Instantly, each couch turned itself neatly into a bed, including the one Eli was slouched on, thrusting him into an untidy position with his legs slapping down hard, causing the cushions to fly up and land, both on him and the floor. Laurel suspected Harry meant to startle Eli and bit her lip against a grin.
“Beds or couches as you prefer,” he tapped the button again, and Eli zipped back up into a seated position. If he’d meant to use Eli as an example, he hid it well, merely smiling at each of them as he headed towards the door. Laurel followed him, and he paused, looking uncomfortable.
“None of you are slaves, Laurel,” he looked up at the others, their eyes on him, “nor will you suffer any further coercion.” The door unfolded and refolded as he left.
Outside, Commander Harry started to walk away before stopping to look back towards the whole souls’ apartment. Canon Akkuh gave him explicit instructions not to provide full details of the war, citing the need for the guests to have their physical issues dealt with and be fully rested beforehand. Harry was a physician; the Canon was not, and he disagreed with the Canon’s appraisal. They should be told; now, as a priority. Dehydration was simple to cure, the effects of the Transcender embalming was easy to counteract, but the psychological effects of what these people had just experienced may not be so easy to fix. They needed the truth, not be kept waiting. The woman, Laurel, she’d watched him. He knew whole souls were usually telepathic as well as empathic. Had she read his mind? He hoped not. Harry sighed before continuing on his way. Orders were orders.
Chapter 8
Xavier, Laurel, Marta, Helen and Chloe stared at the exit, not speaking, and not understanding why Commander Harry came to give them a tour of the facilities, but no explanation for their abduction. They weren’t slaves; so, what were they? Why all this?
Eli got up from the couch and grabbed Helen’s arm. He looked sick, his eyes were bloodshot and sweat dripped from his chin. “Why did he call you out to show how to work that food machine?” His accent was a rich bass, strong, clipped and identifying South African roots.
“I don’t know. You’re hardly the most approachable,” Helen shrugged him off, ignoring his antagonistic posturing.
“Show me,” Eli walked with painful, slow steps over to the dispenser. Helen didn’t follow at first, and he made a menacing gesture with his head that she does as he demands. Laurel felt the tension. The last thing they needed was attitude.
An anxious, silent moment passed before Helen said, “Okay,” and joined Eli. She showed him how to operate the machine as Harry showed her, but he sought to disrupt the operation by demanding several dishes in rapid succession; only his initial request was dispensed.
“I saw what you were trying to do, Eli,” Helen handed him the bowl. “Now eat it.”
“I don’t eat vegetables.”
“You shouldn’t have asked for them then,”
“You eat everything up,” Xavier said coolly, stepping closer to Eli.
Eli sneered. “And I suppose you’re going to make me, old man?”
Eli was over six feet, and under normal conditions, most likely physically strong. Xavier was only a little over five and a half feet and decidedly frail. Seeing Eli now, as bullying a figure as Darlen, Laurel wondered if she should intervene, but Eli didn’t advance towards Xavier, just stayed with the dish in his hands, as if he were considering tipping it over Xavier’s head. Xavier stood his ground, not once taking his eyes from Eli. When he spoke, his voice was calm.
“No, I can’t make you, but I don’t expect for a moment we’re not being monitored. Those soldiers know what’s taking place in here. Failing that, between the three of them, Laurel, Helen and Marta could. You didn’t take the rehydration drink, nor the milk-shake or the bread—you probably feel weaker than any of us.”
They waited as Eli took in the truth of what Xavier said; Eli’s rejection of the pink liquid on the ship had slowed his recovery from the disorientation. He was surrounded by people in the same situation as he, but for some reason, that made him resentful, defensive. He looked down at the strong-willed, stooped elderly man who they knew, would be no physical match for him even in his weakened state. Eli took a menacing step forward before twisting away towards his couch, dish in hand.
“We should eat, too,” Laurel said, partly to ease the tension, partly because there’s no point in starving. “Eli’s very dehydrated,” Laurel murmured to Xavier, making sure Eli didn’t overhear. “It might explain his bad behaviour.”
Xavier glanced over at Eli. “I fear drinking water won’t cure what ails him.”
Marta and Laurel served water, and the coffee-like drink, but it’s similarity to coffee ended at its appearance, exhibiting a flavour as if it were made from a variety of sawdust, only drinkable in a kind of desperate-for-a-coffee way. Marta decided to try to communicate with Eli, but she met only with sullenness, finally giving up and joining the others.
“Eli won’t speak. He’s so angry,” Marta sat beside Laurel.
“I’m angry,” Helen said sharply, then softened, “well, kind of.” She looked so much better, her cheeks had regained colour, and her eyes were brighter.
“I was too, at first, if I’m honest,” Laurel admitted. “But these people, they don’t seem heartless. I think they’re as unfamiliar with the situation as we are.”
“I’m not sure why we only have one loo and one shower and have to put up with Eli,” Helen grumbled, folding her arms.
“I felt relieved to get out of that other ship,” Marta said. “Being with others in the same situation brought some consolation, but I didn’t get much chance to think about it,” she grinned at Helen, referring to Helen’s fainting attack.
“I couldn’t help it,” Helen sang out in defence. “I suddenly felt terrified.”
“I think my brain is inventing this,” Chloe said, flipping a glance at Eli and dropping her voice. She pointed secretively so that only the others could see. “I think he does as well.”
“Darlen said most humans are empaths; perhaps he’s right,” Laurel added. “My fear left me just after we arrived here. Aside from not knowing the future, I believe we’re following some path or other. I can’t explain it.”
“I don’t know about every human,” Xavier joined in. “I’ve had a sense of what other people are thinking since childhood, and I know this ability is why we’re here. Beyond that, I’m not sure.”
Marta nodded. “I’ve had so-called flashes of intuition. I’m an advertising executive and I’ve worked all over Germany. My success comes from my ability to tune in quickly to a client’s requirements. I thought it was just good business sense. I doubt I got inside their heads.”
“Darlen said no-on
e would miss us,” Helen said. “In my case that’s true, but you’ll be missed Marta if you’re so successful.”
“No, I won’t,” Marta shook her head. “I had an important presentation to deliver to a corporation in Bonn that day—I couldn’t deal with it. The company I worked for generally took my achievements as their own after I did all the work. I felt devalued, and that day, the lift was stuck on the 16th floor. I took it as a personal slight, as if even the lift couldn’t be troubled to come and get me, or it was a sign that said, ‘no more’. I went back to my car, called the office and resigned. Besides, I’m not married; I’ve no family, maybe that’s what he meant.”
“Me either,” Laurel said. “What about you, Xavier?”
“My wife died six years ago; we met in an orphanage in Sicily when we were eleven and married at twenty. We had no children.”
“So, us four possibly fill the criteria. Chloe?”
“Mum and dad and two bro…” Chloe’s face crumpled. Fighting tears, she fell into Helen’s outstretched arms and the girl wailed against her chest.
The other four looked at each other; this couldn’t be right.
“Then why say we have no-one to miss us?” Helen said, looking over Chloe’s head as she stroked her hair and made shushing sounds. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking Eli what his situation is?”
Eli looked up at the mention of his name. “No-one; no family, no home.”
“Then Chloe is the only one who doesn’t fit the mould,” Laurel said. “Darlen must have made a mistake.”
The discussion ended abruptly when the lights dimmed.
“Maybe it’s night,” Xavier looked around for a light switch.
“More like a hint to go to bed. I must admit I wouldn’t mind a nap,” Laurel said, standing, and reminding herself of the process she’d seen Commander Harry carry out earlier. At the flick of a beam of light, the couches turned into beds.
“I’m going to christen the shower first.” Helen smoothed Chloe’s fuzzy remnants of hair, “C’mon chick, you’ll feel better when you’ve had a nice wash,” she said, as she and Chloe disappeared into the “slot” together.
“Helen’s been dying to use that bathroom—that, ‘slot’. What kind of word is that?” Laurel smiled at Marta. “She’s got the right idea. I wish they’d brought us a change of clothes though.”
“I think they’re doing their best.” Marta dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and bowed her head. “I hope we’re safe sleeping in here with Eli.”
“Apart from that show with Xavier,” Laurel whispered back. “I think he’s just as confused as the rest of us.”
“He’s no threat,” Xavier glanced over at Eli. “I’d say he’s a survivor.”
Then they were in good company, Laurel thought, because they each had to survive this unknown somehow.
Later, Chloe fell asleep cuddled up to Marta, Xavier snored softly in a seemingly untroubled sleep, and Eli arranged himself as close to the wall as possible. Despite her weariness, sleep eluded Laurel. Each of them had the same questions about where they were going, their purpose, why the golden planet hadn’t been their destination, or why they were remaining on this ship.
Laurel lay on her back and tilted her head towards the huge window. She’d never contemplated being in space; she liked to watch sci-fi shows and movies and read fantasy novels, relishing the escapism from her real world, which was in truth, very solitary. Her work offered the only real purpose, caring for the sick and injured, but outside that, there was nothing apart from short courses in history and languages at night school. But right now, an odd, quiet acceptance grew inside her.
Helen was lying on her side, watching. “Have you ever watched Star Trek?” she said, propping herself up on her elbow.
Laurel nodded.
“Are we boldly going where no man has any business being?”
“I don’t know about that, Helen. It seems we’re following in the footsteps of many others.” Laurel turned over onto her stomach and rested her head on her arms. “I’m guessing you can’t sleep either?”
“No, I was watching you not sleeping and deciding whether to speak.”
“I was reflecting on my life.”
“I guessed. You worked in a hospital, didn’t you?”
“Yes, an emergency department nurse. I grew up in Maine. An aunt took me in when I was 11, and she got me through university. She and her husband were amazing, but they’re both dead now. My real mom was crap at relationships, and I inherited her lack of judgement. I’ve moved around a bit. I was working in Chicago. What’s your story?”
Helen sighed. “In the last year, my husband divorced me and moved in with his girlfriend. My hours got cut at work—not that it’s much of a job, working a checkout in a hardware store. I was born in Sydney and lived there my whole life, an only child of a single parent. No idea who my father is, I don’t think my mum did either, and she died years ago. I was in Bali trying to decide what to do with my life when I was taken.”
Xavier stirred, and Helen edged herself closer to Laurel, not wanting their chatter to disturb him. “Xavier’s got to be at least eighty; and what about Chloe? Her parents must be distraught.”
Laurel wriggled herself over to close the gap, “I know, I can’t imagine. I hope we get answers in the morning.”
“I wonder how they work out when it’s morning, it must always be dark outside,” Helen peered out of the window, “although that planet’s pretty bright.”
“I expect people who can invent space travel have it sorted,” Laurel said as the bright planet suddenly zoomed out of frame; a panorama of stars and smoky colours taking its place.
“We’re moving,” she said to Helen.
Helen swivelled her head to look, then turned back to Laurel. “I wonder where we’re going? And I’d like to know how a spaceman gets to be called ‘Harry’ if he’s from another universe.”
“We’ll find out, perhaps tomorrow, when they figure out an explanation. I’m not sure they know what to tell us. We were dehydrated, but I reckon they used it as a stalling tactic.”
“Yes,” Helen tucked her hands under her cheek and yawned. “Maybe they’ll bring us clean clothes to wear.”
Somewhere between chatting with Helen and what remained of the night, Laurel slept. Morning came when the lights brightened, steadily, so as not to startle awake. This consideration was much appreciated. Marta and Laurel handed out the coffee-that-was-not-really coffee and even won a grunt from Eli, them both having decided that if they were going to be stuck with him, then his attitude would not stop them from being polite.
Asde arrived with several piles of clothing, laid out on a floating gurney like the one that transported Helen. Asde addressed Laurel. “Stinks,” he said, pointing to the clothing, his smile so cheerful, he made it impossible not to smile back, even if they didn’t know whether he referred to the smell of bodies in the room, largely contributed to by Eli, or if it was a reference to the piles of garments. Asde was a shade under the six-foot mark, well-built, round-faced, blue eyes and short, curly brown hair; he peered round Laurel and winked at Chloe.
“We were about to have coffee,” Laurel just had to guess at a suitable answer.
“Good,” he answered, not understanding, but that was just details to Asde.
“Stinks to put on,” he said, lifting the clothes. “Not fancy, but clean.”
“Asde seems agreeable, not like a jailer at all,” Marta said after he left.
“I wonder what he meant by ‘stinks’,” Helen picked up a shirt. “I hope it wasn’t a personal reference. We all washed last night,” she gestured over her shoulder, “except for Eli.”
“Must be a word for clothing,” Xavier selected a pair of slacks and a shirt. “I don’t care what he calls it. I feel exposed in this gown.”
“It’s odd,” Helen said. “We’re slaves, but to whom and to what? I hope this isn’t a kind of torture where they treat us nicely and then take
it away once we start to trust.”
“My God, Helen!” Laurel was horrified. “What books have you been reading?”
“I’m just saying,” Helen defended herself, “it’s a possibility. Sometimes, captors let their prey go, then hunt them down again. It’s psychological torture.”
Chloe’s jaw dropped, but Eli roared with laughter, drawing their attention to where he lay on his stomach on the couch, his butt cheeks only just hidden under his gown.
“She’s right,” he sneered. “Happens all the time at home, take us out, shoot us or let us go, then catch us because we got no gun, no car and bare feet.”
Xavier glared at them, seeing Chloe’s frightened expression.
“Helen! Eli!”
“I’m sorry, just thinking out loud,” Helen patted Chloe’s hand. “Don’t mind me, sweetie. Come on, let’s rummage through this jumble. Then we’ll have breakfast.”
They each sorted through the piles of wide leggings and baggy shirts.
“Parachutes,” Helen said, holding one up against her small frame. “They gave us parachutes.”
“At least they’ll cover us up more than the gowns, and we don’t have to keep looking at Eli’s backside,” Marta took up one of the shirts and lifted out the arms. She nodded her agreement to Helen, “They do look like parachutes.”
“Harry said they would be more dignified,” Laurel selected one for herself, “obviously hasn’t got an eye for fashion.”
The clothes didn’t fit well, particularly on Chloe who had to roll up the sleeves and tie the bottom of the shirt to stop it flapping around her knees.
“I suppose they didn’t consider clothing,” Laurel said. “They may have expected Darlen to give us something more appropriate.”
“They weren’t very organised for our arrival if you ask me,” Marta said. The clothing fitted Marta’s statuesque frame better than the others, but the leggings made her long legs look even thinner, and the baggy shirt hung inelegantly. Xavier selected an outfit for Eli and tossed it to him; true to form, he left it where it fell and turned his face away from the proceedings. For a brief second, Laurel saw sadness and loneliness in his eyes.
The Soul Monger Page 6