by D. K. Mok
Chris looked into his eyes. There were some things you never said, things that always seemed too cheesy, or too painful, or seemed best left to your deathbed when you knew there would be no awkward encounters in the supermarket later. You never said those things, hoping that they just knew.
Old habits died hard.
“Your arms still work, right?” said Chris.
“Possibly enough to control a hand puppet, but only a very simple one,” said Luke.
“Can you hold onto me?”
“Chris, even without most of my blood I weigh a lot more than a pot plant—”
“Can you do it?”
Luke studied her face, her eyes blazing with such sincerity, such conviction. A maelstrom of thoughts and feelings flared in those eyes, some of them quite random, but he could see the one there meant for him.
Believe in me. You wanted something to hold onto. Here I am.
“I haven’t let you down so far, have I?” he said.
Luke wrapped his arms across Chris’s shoulders, and she could feel him trembling with fatigue. As the ground bucked beneath them, Chris leaned forward, taking on Luke’s full weight. Stubbornly fighting gravity and physiology, she managed to rise to her feet, trying not to imagine her kneecaps popping off. Steadying herself, she dragged her feet forward.
Chris bent against the stinging gale of sand and grit, staggering towards the chopper ladder as it flapped madly, the lights twisting like a cloud of fireflies. As she neared, her hand strained towards it, only just out of reach. The aircraft suddenly tilted sharply, as a falling boulder narrowly missed the windscreen. The ladder twisted away, then dipped back as the craft steadied.
The ground heaved and a thick crack suddenly tore across the cavern floor like black lightning, surging towards Chris and Luke. As the ladder swung past again, she stood on her toes, one hand straining upwards. Her hand grasped the bottom rung, closing around the rubbery surface. As she reached her other hand towards the ladder, she could see gigantic cracks racing across the cavern ceiling, like fault lines on a breaking egg.
The ground suddenly swept out from under Chris as the Bumblebee darted back out over the abyss, just as the stone archway came crashing down in broken chunks. Chris gripped the ladder as her legs swung out over the chasm, and the cavern behind her collapsed slowly in on itself.
The wind whipped around them as the chopper pulled away, spinning to avoid the falling debris. She could feel Luke’s arms shaking with effort as he held onto her.
Please don’t let go, thought Chris, suspecting that Luke was thinking the exact same thing.
The ladder tugged steadily upwards, and she saw Emir leaning out of the chopper, drawing the ladder up into the cabin. Chris cast one last sweeping glance behind her, at the crumbling cavern complex, at the island tumbling slowly into the abyss, while sheets of rock calved around them. She felt the weight suddenly vanish from her shoulders and looked up to see Emir hauling Luke into the cabin. A moment later, Emir grasped her arms, pulling her into the relative safety of the chopper. Chris turned to stare out the hatch, watching as ancient ecosystems sank into poorly documented history.
“This is why scientists hate corporations,” said Chris breathlessly.
“I don’t hear any complaints about the extraction chopper,” said Hoyle from the cockpit.
“Well, I guess thanks,” said Chris, hoping he wasn’t going to ask about Marrick.
Hoyle’s eyes fixed briefly on Chris, and she had the uneasy feeling that some kind of facial recognition scan was going on in those goggles.
“Arlin. You were supposed to be Researcher on this team, weren’t you?” said Hoyle.
“Funny thing, about that…” said Chris, with the distinct feeling that Hoyle was not only holding a pretty good hand of cards, but probably also owned the casino.
“I’d like to speak with you, when we get back to head office,” said Hoyle, turning back to the console.
Chris leaned in to Emir.
“He’s not going to make us pay for the rescue, is he?” whispered Chris. “Because we’re really just hitching a ride with you.”
Emir shrugged. With Marrick gone, who knew what would happen?
Chris looked towards Luke, who lay on the thrumming floor, staring up through the transparent roof of the chopper. Between the spinning rotor blades, it was like looking up through falling rain, as dust and rocks sailed down.
The Bumblebee dodged and wove, climbing towards a growing pinpoint of light. As they pulled higher still, the falling debris slowly cleared, and they could see that the point of light was a break in the rock, a crack in the crust of the earth. From above, it would appear as an unremarkable scar in the desert, a crevasse pressed against the shadows of a ragged mountain range. But venture down, far down, and the chasm plunged deep into the heart and memory of the world.
Xian-Fei’s hands slid across the controls like a pianist’s as the chopper barrelled towards the line of light. The aircraft shuddered, roaring upwards at increasing speed, straining to align itself with the narrow gap. There was a breathless moment as the chopper plunged into the rocky gap, craggy walls rushing past them on all sides, the rotors rattling in the tight space.
There was an odd silence, followed by a rush of air, and suddenly they burst into the sunlight, embraced by open sky. A vista of grey mountains flowed into the wide golden desert, awash in the morning light.
21
Marrick’s office had already been cleared by the time Hoyle returned to headquarters. The stone table had been replaced by several large, white, drafting desks, and the wall-to-wall screens now displayed scrolling schematics and flow charts. No one had questioned the succession, and Hoyle did not try to quash the rumours regarding Marrick’s unexpected demise.
The private flight back from Massari had been somewhat awkward, with SinaCorp’s three guests remaining tight-lipped regarding the events of the Eden Two mission, citing exhaustion and gunshot wounds. However, it had not escaped Hoyle’s attention that both of the bullet wounds appeared to be from Marrick’s personal handgun.
Chris had insisted on taking Luke and Emir to public hospitals, despite Hoyle’s offer of complimentary medical care at SinaCorp’s private facilities. She had made it quite clear to Hoyle that she wanted no favours from SinaCorp. She had, however, stayed true to her word, and returned immediately to SinaCorp’s head office for a liability-free chat with Hoyle.
Chris stood in what used to be Marrick’s office, looking as uncomfortable as she had the first time Hoyle had shown her in. It was as though just being in the building gave her hives.
“I like what you’ve done with the office,” said Chris. “Less human sacrifice, more posh architect.”
Hoyle gave a faint, tidy smile, leaning against a nearby desk.
“As you’re aware, SinaCorp has recently had a change of management,” said Hoyle.
Yes, thought Chris. I think we had something to do with that.
“As a consequence, a significant amount of funding has been freed up,” continued Hoyle. “I have an interest in expanding SinaCorp’s research and development arms. Engineering, nanotechnology, biomedical.”
Chris felt as though the floor was slowly tilting, and she was sliding towards something not entirely pleasant.
“I think we could use a cryptobotanist,” said Hoyle, watching Chris casually.
Chris had the uncomfortable feeling that this was a test of some kind. She cleared her throat nervously.
“I’m not sure if I ever made it clear to you, but I pretty much think that SinaCorp is evil.”
Hoyle didn’t blink.
“I think ‘was’ would be more apt,” said Hoyle.
There was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, and for some reason it made Chris feel both uneasy and intrigued.
She glanced out the window at the panorama of the slowly buzzing city.
“Do you know who killed Rana Arlin?” said Chris quietly.
“No,” lied Hoyle.
There was a pause, as thin clouds drifted across a blue grey sky.
“But I suspect it caught up to them,” said Hoyle. And pushed them down an elevator shaft.
Chris looked down at the grubby paper slippers she had picked up at the airport, then at the banks of flowing screens, then back at Hoyle, still watching her with casual poise.
“To be honest, I don’t think I’m worth your trouble,” said Chris. “But if you want to start convincing me you’re worth working for, there are some things I’d like to see you do first.”
* * *
Doctor Linneas Ogden of Varria University had received a very unusual letter that morning. It would seem that some corporation had read his paper on “Inverted Quantum Strudels,” and while they felt it was somewhat esoteric, they believed his approach to the matter showed considerable potential. In fact, they had an opening for a physicist on their engineering design team, working to overcome the problem of increasing the payload on their search and rescue helicopter, while maintaining a high degree of manoeuvrability. If he would like to interview for the position, they would love to hear from him.
Later that day, Ogden pulled the scrunched-up letter from his wastepaper bin, and re-read it. That evening, he sat in the living room and sketched doodles of airflow and resistance equations, while repeats of Doctor Who sputtered on the television. That night, for the first time in a very long while, Ogden dreamed of science.
* * *
A scooter buzzed down the narrow laneway, bouncing over uneven Neapolitan cobbles. The courier tossed a parcel through an open doorway, and inside the cosy soup kitchen, Father Patrick caught it like an easy football pass. Around him, the regular lunchtime crowd shuffled their chipped bowls and bent cutlery, while the aroma of boiled lentils filled the air. Patrick squinted at the package in his hands. It was wrapped in brown paper, tied with string, and it was addressed to “Paul and Fernice.”
Patrick snicked the string with a blunt steak knife, and unwrapped the layers of crumpled paper. Inside lay a pair of clear prescription glasses and a round-trip plane ticket to Iowa.
* * *
Demeter Arabest sat on a white, cast-iron bench in the east garden of Lilydale Progressive Care Clinic. She tried to spend as much time as possible in the gardens, but today she wasn’t here for the sunshine.
Today was the day her sister would come.
Every seven months, like clockwork, her sister would visit for three days. No more, no less. They would lie under the wisteria and chat about television, politics, relationships. Her sister would ask about her health, and Demeter would evade her questions. Demeter would ask her sister about work, and her sister would give vague assurances.
But today, Roman did not come.
Instead, a young man with a serious face and sad eyes came to see her. He said his name was Emir, and that he was a friend of her sister’s. He told her Roman couldn’t make it to see her, but had asked him to pass on her message of love and reassurance. He told Demeter that the remainder of her treatment had been paid for, and that the final course should be completed within five months. He told her he would visit her again then.
Demeter already knew what he would tell her during that visit, but she would wait for him to bring the news. Five months would give him time to process his own grief, and then perhaps they would both be ready to hear it said aloud.
* * *
Hoyle stood at a long metal work bench in the spotless laboratory, glancing over the various humming, whirring machines. The researcher across the room selected several vials from a multi-level centrifuge, then limped back towards Hoyle, inspecting a dropper of clear liquid. The researcher was dressed in a fashionably pin-tucked lab coat, covering the permanent metal brace running down her right leg.
“How’s it progressing?” asked Hoyle.
“Much better than their prototype batches,” said Lien, turning the colourless dropper in the light. “The nanites are doing a great job of repairing blood vessels, but we’re still having difficulty getting them to repair muscles and tendons. We’re making progress with nerve repair, but now we’re getting these mushy side effects.”
“Mushy?” said Hoyle, having visions of liquefying flesh.
“Emotional side effects.” Lien rolled her eyes. “It’s creating a heightened sense of affection and generosity in test subjects.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” said Hoyle, the schematics in his brain incorporating the new data.
“If one more participant tries to hug me, I’m going to bludgeon them with my cane.”
“Naturally,” said Hoyle. “Out of curiosity, would it be possible to isolate the function creating this psychological effect?”
Lien considered this. Creating nanites to heal the world and unite humanity in a joyous brotherhood of love—it sounded like something that would end in the courtrooms of a post-apocalyptic Hague.
“Sure,” said Lien. “Why not?”
22
It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d stood outside this grey laminate door, her head and heart churning with impossible questions. Chris stood in the doorway of the religious guidance office, watching as Luke packed a handful of magazines into a small cardboard box. He adjusted a small pot plant on the desk; two silver, heart-shaped leaves swayed on slender stalks.
“Hey,” said Chris.
Luke looked up with a warm smile.
“You’re looking much better,” he told her. “You look nicer when you don’t have things crawling all over you.”
“Yeah,” said Chris, watching as the spartan office became even more spartan. “So you’re really going? Denouncing the priesthood and everything?”
“I’m not denouncing the priesthood. You make it sound like I’m burning Bibles and hurling them through church windows. I’m politely resigning. We’re allowed to do that if we realise…we’re not doing it for the right reasons.”
Luke raised a hand slowly, almost uncertainly, and pulled the clerical collar from his neck. He held it for a moment, looking at the plain band of fabric, then laid it gently on the grey desk. He took a slow breath, almost as though a weight he hadn’t realised he’d been carrying had been lifted.
Luke straightened the tray of FAQ business cards on the desk and placed another tray of cards beside them, promoting “Licensed Weddings at Almovar’s Castle!”
“I think I have a lot to figure out before I can answer someone else’s questions,” said Luke. “But it’s been a heck of a sabbatical.”
There was a knock on the door frame, and a red-haired woman in a green camisole and grey woollen skirt peered in uncertainly.
“Thena?” said Luke.
“Hi,” said Thena with an awkward smile. “You’re alive!”
“You sound surprised,” said Chris.
“Well, the last I heard, you were in the canyon with Bunsen, you couldn’t hear what I was saying, and then the phone went dead,” said Thena. “Usually that means you’ve been eaten by Bunsen. Not that it happens very often.”
“We used the command,” said Luke. “Thanks for that.”
“It worked?” said Thena.
“You sound surprised,” said Chris.
“Well, it’s just that sometimes it works, but sometimes it just makes her angry,” said Thena, giving a faintly apologetic smile. “But I’m glad it worked.”
“Just to set the record straight, we didn’t have anything to do with the, you know, tranquillisers,” said Chris. “That was SinaCorp. We did tie up Tate, but we thought he’d appreciate the irony.”
“I’m no longer working with Tate,” said Thena. “After the incident with you two, there were some heated debates in the group, and we’re now two separate organisations: the original cryptoconservationists, also known as the militant cryptoconservationists, and the progressive cryptoconservationists, also known as the soft-power cryptoconservationists.”
“You’ll have fun fitting those on business cards,” muttered Chris.
�
�I’m glad you’ve found a better way to achieve your objectives,” said Luke. “Things like that will follow you.”
“Which brings me to why I’m here,” said Thena. “I don’t suppose you happen to have the keys to the truck?”
There was an awkward silence, then a clinking noise as Chris rummaged through her pockets.
“Oh, you mean these?” said Chris, pulling out the keys to the cryptoconservationists’ monster truck. “Yeah, we didn’t get a chance to, um, return these.”
She tossed the keys to Thena, who caught them with a gracious expression.
“Well, I have to be going, but it’s good to see you survived,” said Thena. “If you’re ever interested in joining the good fight, drop me a line.”
“Thanks,” said Luke.
Thena gave them a bemused smile before disappearing down the corridor.
“Yikes,” said Chris. “I mean, seriously, were we supposed to trek back through the desert to find their secret base and return the keys?”
“I think they were actually expecting to take the keys from our mauled corpses in the canyon.”
There was a contemplative silence. In the bland fluorescent lighting of the tiny office, the events in the desert seemed almost like a dream.
“So, where are you going?” asked Chris.
Luke stretched his back, gazing at some distant horizon.
“I’m not sure. I need some time to think things through. I thought I might spend some time with a group rescuing sea turtles on the coast of Thailand, then maybe the orangutan orphanage in Borneo. I thought I might try saving non-humans for a little while.”
“Sounds very tropical—I mean topical. Very noble,” said Chris with a crooked smile.
Luke piled the last of his books into the box. After a pause, he added the pot plant.
“So you’re really staying?” he asked.
“Yup,” said Chris. “I’m going to spend some time with my dad, keep applying for research grants, and continue studying plant samples from a very memorable trip. And next year, who knows?”