by Dima Zales
“Bye,” I say gently and exit the house. I don’t envy Hillary this reunion.
George exits after me and walks across the street. I follow him. He gets inside a BMW in the neighbor’s driveway and starts the car, then opens the passenger door for me.
“Where to now?” I ask, getting into the passenger’s seat.
“The airport,” he says.
“Oh, back to Jacksonville?”
“No, my plane is parked at the local airport.”
As he drives, I check my phone for updates from Bert. According to Bert’s email, in the hours it took Hillary and me to reach Florida, he and Eugene managed to set up the mobile lab.
“This is Pandora,” George says when the car stops next to an airfield.
Pandora is a Challenger 600. If a Ferrari had a sister that was a plane, she would be Pandora. Compared to commercial airliners, the plane’s small, but for a private jet, it’s huge.
A woman is standing next to the plane. She’s wearing military-looking boots and a tight leather outfit that makes her look like either Catwoman or a dominatrix. Something odd is sticking out from behind her shoulder, a black handle of some kind. I notice all of this peripherally, because what stands out most is her overly symmetrical face, with piercing gray eyes that seem as weirdly old as George’s.
“Kate, this is Darren,” George says to her. “He’s going to the Island.”
“Are you carrying any weapons, Darren?” Kate asks, looking amused.
“Please cooperate with Kate,” George says to me. “She’s part of our security force.”
With that, he waltzes onto the plane.
“No, I’m unarmed,” I answer.
Suddenly, the world goes silent, and a second Kate is standing in front of me. She pulled me into the Quiet for some reason.
“Why did—”
Before I can finish my question, she reaches behind her head for that black handle and pulls out an honest-to-God sword. She throws it on the ground, where I get a better look at it. It appears to be one of those katana swords, though I’m no expert when it comes to weapons.
Entranced, I watch Kate bow to me.
As she leaps toward me, my body reacts before my mind can catch up. I move to block the attack, unsuccessfully.
Kate’s slender fist goes right into my stomach.
Chapter 7
It takes all my willpower not to cry out. I’ve been hit a lot lately, too much in fact and by a variety of people, but this has to be one of the most debilitating punches yet. Considering Kate’s lean build, the hit seems disproportionally painful. If Mike Tyson had hit me, this would make more sense. Pain aside, the place where her hand made contact with my body becomes the focal point of an excruciating, yet numbing sensation. Did she damage an internal organ?
I block her next hit, or at least I try to. When she sees my elbow rising for the block, she taps it with the knuckle of her right index finger, a sly smile touching her eyes.
The result is as familiar as it is unbearable. She hit my funny bone. For the record, there’s nothing funny about hitting your funny bone, nor is it a bone. I believe it’s actually a nerve that’s close to the surface of the elbow region.
The pain reminds me of what she did to my stomach. Did she go for this effect on purpose?
I retreat and she follows me. The way she moves is really strange. Every large movement consists of smaller sub-movements that are pieced together unnaturally. Every little twitch of her body is like a piece in a strange mosaic, all erratic and hard to respond to. For the first time in a while, I have no clue what this style of fighting is, or even whether it’s a type of martial arts or a weird, avant-garde dance. Her movements are fractal—which is a mathematical concept that, according to Bert, is responsible for the way most music players’ visualizations work, as well as clouds and tree leaves. How does a person learn to move this way?
I move to dodge her right-handed strike to my neck, so she hits me with her left hand instead.
I fall to the ground, my body completely numb.
I wonder whether I’m lucky enough to have already met the Super Pusher. Could Kate be the one? Could she have been Guiding Kyle? That would mean she’s about to make me Inert, and afterwards, she’ll likely kill me. Given how good she is, I don’t understand why she would bother making me Inert first.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her walking toward her body.
In the next instant, the strange paralysis is gone and I’m back on my feet, the sounds of the world around us again.
She phased us out.
“What was that about?” I ask Kate carefully. I’m cognizant of that sword, which, in the real world, is still sheathed behind her back.
“Weapons can be of different kinds,” she says.
“I told you I’m unarmed.”
“One’s body can be used as a weapon, so I had to test you.”
Though it goes against my best interests, I say, “Actually, I can hold my own in a fight, so I’m not sure if you should dismiss me as—”
“My only concern is your potential as a threat to the Elders. Given their capabilities, you do not pose a threat. Now follow me,” she says and starts walking toward the plane.
As I follow her, I don’t argue about my fighting skills, since winning this argument might result in me not being allowed to see the Elders. Instead, I ask, “Did you have to make that test hurt so much?”
“Inflicting pain was necessary to ensure you weren’t pretending to be uncoordinated. Your suffering was an unfortunate side effect.” She runs up the small staircase and ducks to enter through Pandora’s small, round door.
I follow her inside, making sure I don’t accidentally bang my head on the door and thus confirm what she said. Even Caleb, the rudest person I know, never called me uncoordinated.
Once inside, I mumble, “A pretty significant side effect.”
“If it makes you feel any better, you weren’t actually that bad—for a layman,” she says, her eyes looking younger for a moment. “There are some Ambassadors whose asses you could kick, though that’s not saying much.”
Yeah, okay. “Where do I sit?” I look around the Spartan, military-looking fuselage, which, at a glance, has about a dozen seats.
“First, I need you to take this.” She pulls something out of her pocket.
I gingerly approach and look at her upturned palm. She’s holding a pill bottle.
“What is that? Why should I take it?”
She opens the bottle and fishes out a pill. “It’s zolpidem.”
“Oh,” I say. “Good old zol-cyanide. Why didn’t you say so before?”
“It’s also known as Ambien.” She walks over and grabs a water bottle off the seat near the entrance before returning to me. “It’s a sleeping pill,” she explains, “and it’s harmless.”
“You don’t want me to know where the Elders live,” I guess, remembering the shot Caleb gave me when he kidnapped me to bring me to the Enlightened. “Thanks for making this voluntary.”
“Go ahead,” Kate says. “Please.”
I reach for the pill and the water bottle and proceed to take my medicine.
“Say aahh,” she says.
Feeling as if I’m five again, I open my mouth. She expertly checks my mouth to make sure I swallowed the pill.
“Now I suggest you sit there.” She points at the seat nearest the cockpit, on the right side.
“All set?” George peeks out of the cockpit. He has a serious-looking headset on, so I’m guessing he’s piloting this thing.
“I’m ready.” I plop down into the chair, which turns out to be very comfy.
George nods and disappears into the cockpit.
I’m determined to fight the effects of the pill. Just because I took the pill doesn’t mean I agreed not to uncover this super-secret location. I heard that if you fight Ambien, you might get a high instead, which would be a bonus.
It takes us about ten minutes to get into the air. With every
passing minute, keeping my eyes open becomes harder. I yawn and decide I can still fight the effects of the drug with my eyes closed; it’ll just make the hallucinations that much richer.
I close my eyes and focus on staying as alert as possible.
My consciousness goes out like a snuffed flame.
* * *
When I wake up, we’re no longer in the air.
Great. There goes my plan of trying to figure out where I am.
I reach for my phone, but it’s missing.
And there goes my idea of using my phone’s GPS to pin this location.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and check the plane. It’s empty, but the door is open.
I exit the plane and find myself in a giant forest meadow that seems to have been repurposed as an airport. Several planes are here, including George’s. There’s a single-piston Malibu Mirage a few dozen feet away, and a twin-engine Super 700 Aerostar a little farther. I’m planning to buy myself a private jet one day, so I did a little research, in case that wasn’t clear. Still, even I don’t recognize some of the other makes, except for one—Northrop Grumman B-2 Spirit, also known as the Stealth Bomber. It belongs here, among these private jets, about as much as a lion would on a rabbit farm.
George is standing barefoot in the grass, doing some kind of stretching exercise. He’s changed into a gray, homemade-looking poncho. It’s drab, but has the feel of a traditional outfit, if the tradition was to take a potato sack, put holes in it, and wear it. The effect is that George now strongly resembles a hippie.
Noticing me, he says, “I’m glad you’re up. That Ambien really knocked you out. Kate and I couldn’t wake you up after we landed. Just as well you got some sleep, though, since nothing happens on the Island at night. We should get pulled into the Elders’ Mind Dimension soon.”
“What time is it?” I ask, my throat dry.
“Early in the morning,” George answers. “Last I checked, it was six-thirty.”
“Good morning then,” I say. “They’ll just pull us in? No hello?”
“Someone might greet us, but not the Elders. You will never see them outside the Mind Dimension. They do everything they consider stressful—and thus unhealthy—exclusively there,” he says with a hint of disapproval in his tone.
“When will this Mind Dimension conversation take place?” I ask.
“Soon. Could be in a minute, could be in an hour. It depends on when they all wake up, and they don’t use alarm clocks.”
“Where’s Kate?”
“She went to stretch her legs.”
I lick my dry lips. “Do you have anything to eat or drink?”
George points downward, at a basket sitting on a piece of cloth. “There’s some breakfast.”
I examine the cloth. It looks like it’s made of the same potato sack material as his outfit. If he were to lie on it, he’d blend in like a ninja. “You were planning a picnic?”
The basket, which is just a plastic crate, is filled with cheese, bread, cold cuts, and those little single-use condiments they have at fast-food places. Drink-wise, there’s some sparkling water and a couple bottles of beer. Beer in the morning?
“I knew there was a chance we’d have to wait, so I came prepared,” George explains at my look.
I sit down on the cloth and make myself a sandwich. George joins me on the ground and mimics my legs-akimbo pose.
“I wanted to apologize,” he says, “about Kate attacking you, and about the secrecy.”
I shrug. “She wanted to make sure I couldn’t use my body as a weapon against the Elders, and I’m not too surprised that this place is a secret.”
“I’m glad you understand. I think it’s always bad to start a new relationship in the spirit of distrust.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t trust you either, and I trust the Elders, people I haven’t met, even less.”
“This is precisely why I wanted to take this chance to talk to you,” he says. “If there’s anything I can do to repair this—”
“Ever the Ambassador, huh?” I give him a sardonic look.
“Actually, that title is probably misleading, as my actual role doesn’t require me to be diplomatic in the way that the Unencumbered ambassadors are. I just want to foster goodwill because you’re a relative and I feel like you’re a good person.”
Huh. Well, this is my chance.
“You know,” I say carefully, “I was curious about something. Hillary told me of a rumor. She said the Elders can Split into the Mind Dimension while already in the Mind Dimension, thus reaching a different version—”
“I know about those rumors,” George says, his eyes looking even older than before. “I really wish you hadn’t chosen this topic as a means to forge trust, because I’m afraid I can’t substantiate those rumors.”
“I don’t think they’re just rumors.” My sandwich tastes dry, so I add a tiny packet of mayo to it.
“What you described is a subject that we, the Ambassadors, do not discuss. That’s all I’m allowed to say on the issue.” He looks genuinely regretful.
“Great.” Mira-like sarcasm creeps into my voice. “I feel a strong urge to trust you coming on already.”
George twists off the cap of one of the beers and takes a sip. “I know how this will sound, but ask me anything else, and this time, I’m sure I’ll be of more help.”
“Okay. This one is another rumored ability.” I add extra cheese to my sandwich and take a hungry bite.
“Good.” He offers me his Guinness. “There aren’t any more abilities I’m restricted from discussing.”
I fight my instinct to refuse the beer, and instead accept the bottle, taking a sip. Even though Guinness, with its soup-like texture, is probably my least favorite beer, a welcome wave of relaxation spreads through my body. I hope this little bonding activity will cause George to rethink his stance on not telling me about Level 2.
Sharing beer like this reminds me of when Bert and I shared a forty of Crazy Horse, which I later learned wasn’t beer, but malt liquor. That day became known as the time Bert and I woke up at the Kappa Alpha Theta sorority house without knowing how we’d gotten there or why we’d gone. If either of us got lucky that day, no girl came forward to admit it. Then again, us being teenagers, we assumed they didn’t step forward because they didn’t want it known that they had broken the law by sleeping with underage boys. And yes, in case it wasn’t clear, Bert and I had a strange college experience.
“I heard it’s possible to control where you appear when you Split into the Mind Dimension,” I say and pass the bottle back. “Are you allowed to discuss that?”
George takes the bottle, finishes it, and gives me an evaluating look. “Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t tell you about it, but I’ll break the rules this one time.”
I give him an encouraging nod, doing my best to look grateful, and take another bite of my sandwich.
“The skill is indeed real,” he says. “It’s something only the Elders, the Ambassadors, and those in our inner circle know about.”
“Is it an innate skill only a few possess, or is it something that can be taught?”
“I see where you’re going with this,” he says. “Yes, I can teach you—I wouldn’t have told you of its existence if I weren’t willing to do that—but be warned: it’s a skill that requires much practice.”
“Gentlemen,” Kate’s teasing voice intrudes. She sounds as if she left unsaid, And I use that term loosely.
“I’m glad you’re here,” George says, looking up at her. “I was just about to teach Darren how to Teleport.”
Kate’s eyes widen for the briefest moment, but if she has a problem with this development, she doesn’t voice it.
“Do you want to partake in his first practice?” George asks. “Or are you hungry?”
“I already ate.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I’ll help.”
I swallow the last of my sandwich and look at George. He appears either thoughtful
or constipated; it’s hard to tell the two apart.
Then everything goes silent. Instead of sitting on the ground, I’m now standing off to the side. The warm tropical breeze is gone, and I realize I’m in the Quiet. So that’s what that look was about; he was Splitting.
George is looking at my feet calculatingly. “Okay. I’d say about a meter. Do you agree?”
“I don’t understand the metric system,” I say, “but even if I did, a meter from where to where?”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve been told I’m a terrible teacher. From your body, of course.”
I look at my frozen self. He/I am still sitting on the blanket. We’re about three feet apart, plus or minus a couple of inches.
“Why does it matter?” I ask.
“You’ll see,” he says and walks up to his frozen self. Before I can ask any more questions, he phases out.
“Kate, be a dear and bring out a few crates from the plane,” George says.
I hear the sound of a cricket coming from the grass. As Kate walks toward the plane, she purposefully steps on where the sound is coming from. The little guy is silenced. Is that her way of hinting at her disapproval? I sure hope it’s George, and not me, whom she symbolically crushed.
“Don’t move,” George says when I try to get up.
Complying, I ask, “Why not?”
“All will be revealed in a moment.”
Kate returns with a couple of plastic boxes, exactly like the one that housed our breakfast.
“Over here, right?” George asks, pointing to a spot three feet away from me.
“You mean where I was standing in the Quiet? That is, the Mind Dimension?” I ask.
“No, he means the place where you had a gynecological exam,” Kate says, earning a stern look from George that stops her from chuckling.
“Just an inch to the right, I think,” I say to George, directing him to where I materialized.
George places the crate in that spot and looks as though he’s concentrating. In the next instant, I’m in the Quiet again, only this time it’s different.