“Can we get a signal out?” I asked. “Maybe could we send vibrations through the rock? An explosion in one of the other chambers?”
“I doubt we could make a big enough disturbance to be noticed without blowing ourselves up in the process,” Dad said. “Besides, anything big enough to be noticed on the surface would surely be noticed down here.”
“Radio?” I asked.
“Couldn’t get a signal through the rock. I could get a neutrino stream out, but there’s no way of receiving those unless someone is looking for them or we know where a neutrino detector is located. I am working on certain harmonically tuned wavelengths that create detectable variations aboveground at specified distances. Those might work, but I won’t have a prototype for a year or more.
“But they’re taking my brain tomorrow,” I said.
“So we’re going to need to move a bit quicker, skip a few steps, like . . . No, that’s too soon. Could you have them take your brain next year, instead of tomorrow?” Dad said.
“Doubt it. They seemed determined to get it over with,” I said.
“We could hide her,” Warner said.
“No. They can locate us, even with the magnetic jammers, remember?”
Hypatia threw her hands up, accidentally catapulting an errant Pizzatillo across the room, where Gus was able to catch it in his mouth. “So we can’t fight them, can’t run, can’t hide, and we can’t even delay? It’s hopeless. Is that what you’re saying?”
My dad looked at her with patient eyes, as if trying to figure out whether she was joking. Finally, he nodded. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
17
BRAIN VS. BRIAN
Gus, it turned out, had an insatiable appetite for Pizzatillos and an uncanny ability to catch things in his mouth, no matter how badly thrown. I discovered this because things got pretty boring once we’d decided our plight was hopeless and there was no point in trying to escape or save my life.
I would have felt a bit down about it, but first I needed to know if I could bounce a Pizzatillo off a bench, the ceiling, and a wall, and still have Gus catch it in his mouth. The answer is yes, but it takes about three hundred tries.
“Stop that!” my dad said. “You’ll make him sick, and besides, I don’t think this is an appropriate or healthy reaction to the realities of our current plight. Not confronting your problems can lead to issues with your long-term emotional development.”
Dads. “Of course it’s not an appropriate reaction! I’m employing tedium and diversion to occupy myself in order to avoid frank consideration of harsh realities. Besides, being murdered tomorrow will pretty much render the issue of long-term emotional development completely moot, so who cares?”
He thought it over and shrugged. “Your reasoning is sound, but I’m still uncomfortable about you using a human being as a plaything. That’s not how I raised you.”
“You didn’t raise me at all. I pretty much did that myself.”
“Is that so?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.
I thought it over. I remembered transcribing parent-teacher conferences and emailing the notes to him, videotaping a school play so he could view it when he had time, fixing my own meals and washing my own clothes, taking a cab to get a haircut . . . How many six-year-olds have to convince their parents to eat their vegetables? “Yeah, I kind of did raise myself.”
“Well, in that case, you shouldn’t be doing that and you should have raised yourself better.” He had me there.
“I wish Darleeen were here. She’d know a way out,” I said, without thinking.
“Who?” my dad asked.
Warner jumped in, trying to steer the conversation away from our probably illegal adventure. “So tell us about this portable pulsar.”
I could tell Dad really wanted to get into the subject, and Warner’s ploy almost worked, but Dad only shook his head and continued. “Why on earth would this Darlene girl know a way out of here when I’ve been researching the matter for months and have nothing to show for it?”
“First of all, it’s Darleeen, and second . . . it’s a really long story. You don’t want to—”
“I most certainly do want to hear about it. I assume this girl is a parahuman with some unique ability? There may be a parahuman here who could help in the same way.”
“Ah, well, she’s not exactly parahuman . . . or human. But I bet there are plenty around here with the same abilities.”
He didn’t understand for a moment. Then he did. His face went from confused to surprised and eventually to stern. “Start talking, young lady.”
Fortunately, Hypatia jumped in and was able to relate the tale from her own viewpoint, which left out the somewhat sketchy role Fluorine had played. Coming from Hypatia, the whole affair seemed a lot more legitimate. I could tell Dad wasn’t exactly happy about it, but he seemed to understand, at least. Most important, he accepted that Darleeen was no longer the same as the other Old Ones.
“Well, it seems like it’s all settled, more or less. I’m not sure I buy the idea of you being able to hold that Jakki character in your mind. She was most likely toying with you for reasons we don’t understand,” he finally concluded. “By the way, I don’t want to hear about you leaving school without protection ever again. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, but I couldn’t just leave her on her own. It was kind of my fault she was in danger anyway.”
Dad smiled a bit sadly. “She’ll never be out of danger. When their names are taken, they lose an essential part of themselves. They can eat normal food for chemical energy and they can even extract energy from humans, if they can manage it without being detected, but without a name, there’s something they just can’t get anymore. I doubt she’ll last more than a few years without it.”
“Well, she has her name now,” I said.
“You didn’t mention anything about that,” Warner said.
“Is that why she was so out of it when we got there?” Hypatia asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “It was all kind of a blur after it was all over. I was pretty tired after that whole thing with Jakki, and I guess I assumed you guys knew the whole thing, but you weren’t there for that, were you?”
“So what happened?” Warner asked.
“Basically, Jakki wanted Darleeen’s name to die with her, whatever that means. She said that name kept causing them problems and she wanted to be rid of it, so Jakki gave it back to her. She was going to blow us all up right after, but I stopped her from doing that after you guys came in and kind of woke me up a bit.”
My dad held up a hand, like you raise your hand to ask a question in class. I nodded to acknowledge him.
“She gave this Darleeen her name through you? That could have killed you or at least . . . ruined you like one of them.” He nodded in the direction of Gus, who was busy throwing Pizzatillos across the room and trying to run fast enough to catch them, which is a lot harder to pull off when you’re on both ends of the stunt.
“Yeah, Darleeen said as much at the time. But it didn’t, as far as I can tell.”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t know because you’re stuck inside your brain. Maybe you’re really just like Gus now, and we’re just being polite,” Warner added.
“Thanks, Warner,” I said.
“Can you call her?” my dad asked.
“I’ve only ever emailed. Why? Is there a pay phone around here somewhere?”
“No, and if there was, I’m sure spare change would be forbidden.”
“So how would I call her?” I asked.
“It was just an idea. They have some guards down here . . . When someone is really damaged, when they’re far beyond the point that they can be useful, the Old Ones will turn them into something like a watchdog or a security camera. One of the Old Ones will give their name to the victim, and if that doesn’t kill them,
the victim becomes able to summon that particular Old One almost instantly.”
“How?” I asked. I remembered Darleeen had said something about calling her.
“Haven’t the faintest. But it can’t be all that difficult if the victims can manage it. One of them hangs out by my lab every morning so I’ll tie his shoes for him before his shift. One time I was in a hurry and might have inadvertently not noticed him, and he had his mistress there a second later.”
Hypatia gasped in fear. “What happened then?”
“Well, I tied his shoes. Didn’t have a choice. His mistress—I think her name was Desmerelda—she pretty much ordered me to, and you either do what they say or suffer. So I tied them.”
“Desmerelda?” Hypatia asked, making a face like she was tasting something awful.
“I’m pretty sure that was her name. I never heard her talk, so I only got her name from others. She might be primordial. In any case, she was a real stinker. She smelled like burning hair and rotten fish. I had to go home and wash my clothes right after. Missed half a day of work over it.”
“But you don’t know how it was done?” I asked.
“Of course I know!” Dad said incredulously. “You just throw your things in the machine, add some detergent, stick three quarters in the slot, and push a button!”
“Not laundry, Dad! How he called her.”
“Oh. No idea. He closed his eyes, and she was there a second later.”
“Maybe you just say the name to yourself?” Warner suggested.
“It’s not like that,” I said, trying to remember what it had been like. “It’s not a name name. It’s like a jumble of ideas and impressions and things like that. It’s not so much a word as a complete description of who she is.”
Warner looked like he was trying to imagine it. “Can you describe it?”
My memories of that night were vivid—traumatic events have a way of sticking with you, after all. Despite that, the memory of Jakki forcing the idea through my head at Darleeen was a bit unclear. It was almost too big to think about at one time, like when you almost understand a math problem but can’t quite wrap your head around it without writing it down.
Darleeen’s name had been a lot of things at the same time and more than a few contradictions. It wasn’t a name of sounds you could make with a mouth. Not like Kate or Michelle or Tyler, but a name of feelings and concepts. Every time I tried to think about it or tried putting it into words, I was struck with a headache and a wave of nausea.
I tried my best. “There was a picture. Something small and . . . a mountain?” I tried to describe the mountain, but before I could, I was suddenly dizzy.
Hypatia noticed before I did and guided me back to my seat in the booth. “Sit. Don’t push it.”
My dad made a motion as if he meant to pat the back of my hand and appeared to change his mind.
I shook my head. “It’s too big to think of it all at once,” I said, admitting defeat.
Dad had gone back to his tablet. “Probably for the best. A healthy human mind isn’t supposed to be able to contain one.”
Hypatia sat across from me, reached out, and actually did take my hand. “Can you remember what it felt like?”
“A bit,” I said. “It was nice, actually, but a bit scary and . . . kind of dangerous? But not reckless dangerous—more like how people think change is dangerous, even when it’s good.”
Warner pulled a chair to the end of the booth and sat down, earning a testy glance in his direction from my dad—he was starting to feel crowded. “Try thinking about it sideways. You mentioned a picture. What did the picture feel like? What did it mean?”
I closed my eyes and saw a vague memory of the image. It was still unclear, but there was something about it, something the image wanted to accomplish . . .
It flashed into my head, and for less than an instant, it shone brightly in my memory.
On an infinite black plain under an endless black sky, a small, weak thing stood in defiance before a massive storm. But it was more than a storm. It held chaos, threat. The small thing was overwhelmed and outmatched—almost afraid, but not afraid yet. The small thing was armed. It held a swirling sensation of trust and skepticism, a desire for solitude, and a deep fear of loneliness. A wide, indestructible swath of independence and a tiny, shameful kernel of kindness. It was light as air, blue, and warm, and held very, very close. Concealed. It must be kept hidden. It was a threat on its own, more dangerous than forces that could tear worlds apart. It stood in opposition to itself, which was all of it. It was all together, the storm, the plain, all of it. It was all the same . . .
I tried to tell Hypatia and Warner what I was remembering, but before I could speak, there was a bizarre sensation of the room gently tilting back and forth around me. I tried to grip the edge of the table for support with my free hand but caught only air. A hard thump on the side of my head jarred me, and everything went black.
When I opened my eyes, I was treated to a close-up view of the dining room floor. It smelled like grease and old soda. A bead of sweat stung one eye. I must have passed out for a second. “Sorry, I’m fine,” I said. “I had it for a second there. I bet if I try again, I can—”
There were three pairs of shoes on the floor in front of me. There were Hypatia’s brightly sequined yet sensible flats, Warner’s black canvas sneakers, and a pair of battered brown work boots I hadn’t seen before. Attempting to maintain my balance (and my lunch), I raised my head to discover they were attached to Darleeen.
She was dressed in a bright red polo emblazoned with a DAIRY SHED logo under a matching DAIRY SHED ball cap, which was ornamented by a congealed glob of strawberry syrup that clung to the bill for dear life. Clearly Darleeen had been able to put her frozen-treat-related experience to work in her new location. She looked slightly irritated, but I’d never been as happy to see a fast-food worker in my life.
“Where did you come from?” I asked.
“I was at work,” she said. “My first day out of orientation, and we were shorthanded to begin with. Probably going to get fired for this. Let’s get you off that floor.”
She lifted me like I weighed nothing and set me gently in the chair Warner had occupied before I’d blacked out. I leaned back and gathered my bearings. Hypatia, no longer concerned about whether I was going to wake up, was looking at Darleeen in amazement. My dad was studying Darleeen closely with great interest and a bit of skepticism. Behind me I could hear Gus counting to five sideways. Warner returned from somewhere and thrust a glass of water into my hands, which I drank immediately.
Maybe I’d been dehydrated, because as soon as I’d drained the water, I felt completely restored. I stood and gave Darleeen a huge hug, which she tolerated for almost two seconds.
She gently separated us and took a step back. “I’d be happy to see you, too, but I have a feeling you’ve called me somewhere I really don’t want to be right now, haven’t you?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, well, we’re kind of in a bind, actually.”
She took in our musty surroundings, sniffing the air. “You don’t say,” she said sarcastically.
I charged on. “Sooo . . . I thought maybe you could help out?” I said.
Hypatia and Warner watched in tense silence while we spoke, aware this was a particularly sensitive negotiation. Fortunately for his piece of mind, my dad wasn’t affected by the tension in any way. He sidled out of the booth and walked carefully around Darleeen, circling her completely a couple of times, staring in fascination and remarking quietly to himself how “real” she looked.
Darleeen graciously ignored him. “Well, since you’ve gotten me stuck here, too, I really don’t have much choice but to get out of here, do I? You all might as well come along.”
“Hey, you help us out of here, and I’ll owe you one again,” I said.
My dad sniffed the air near he
r deeply, his eyes bugging out in shock. “She doesn’t even smell! Well, she does, but not like them!” It was like he thought she was on display at a science museum.
He was right, of course. My nose had again detected the distinct odor of baking bread as soon as Darleeen appeared. But unlike my dad, I had remembered that some people consider rudeness to be impolite and had not acted all weird about it.
It was clear he was testing Darleeen’s patience, but she again kept it to herself. “You’ll owe me more than one. More like ten or twenty.”
“Sure. I’m not really in a position to bargain here,” I said.
“Can I . . . can I touch your hair just a sec?” my dad asked, his hand darting furtively toward one of Darleeen’s braids.
She looked to me with rapidly dying patience. “I came to help, but I’m about to straight up murder your dad here.”
“Dad!” I snapped. “You’re being rude!”
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’ve just never been this close to an Old One who wasn’t scrambling my brain.”
Darleeen looked to me with a question in her eyes, and I nodded.
She smiled at my dad with a kind of warmth that hadn’t been there a moment before. “I understand, but you don’t really think I’m all that interesting, do you?”
“Good point. I don’t. I think I’ll take another look at the schematics for my portable pulsar again to see if I can make some progress on the power containment issue,” he said, and returned to his seat.
“So how do we get out of here?” I asked.
She shrugged. “The door is probably your best bet. That’s how I’ll be leaving.”
“You mean the emergency exit? Not interested.”
“No, not the hole. The door. There’s one about four miles that way,” she said, pointing at a perfectly unremarkable patch of wall.
Warner couldn’t help himself. “There’s a door? A freaking door?”
“Yeah,” Darleeen said, a little surprised we hadn’t known about it. “It’s how they used to let normal people and parahumans come and go before they came up with catastrophic translocation.”
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