Convergence

by Marita Smith

  When he turned around, Ariana had disappeared. Terence propped his gumboots outside and saw her enter the yurt set back in the meadow, the lizard clutching her back. Dusk all but smothered the field. He closed the door, picked up his mug and headed down the hall to his father’s study. The glow from his laptop was an alien presence against the gleaming, knotted wood. The study felt cold without his father being there, more like a museum exhibit with its staged array of eccentricities – ammonite fossils, chunks of quartz. Terence sank into the armchair. Bry had been so determined to return his wife’s ashes to the Isle of Skye that he’d set off as soon as the last well-wisher departed, disappeared to the windswept rocky outcrops Terence’s parents had hiked nearly every summer. A month, maybe two, Terence wasn’t sure when Bry would return. Sighing, he pulled his laptop onto his knees. A quick check of his email, he promised himself, then back to the kitchen. His cursor hovered over the sequencing emails from Weaving. His supervisor could wait, but one email caught his eye. Intrigued, he opened it. Sinking into the comforting embrace of the armchair, stunned by what he read, he took a restorative sip of tea. He downloaded the attached files.

  “Holy crap,” he spluttered, spraying milky liquid over the keyboard. Holding the laptop at arm’s length, he wiped it with his shirtsleeve without really processing the damage. His gaze flitted to the window, where Ariana lay on her stomach, watching the lizard gambol on the grass in front of her. Terence felt his brain fog and then darkness washed over him.

  Terence woke on the study floor, dust clogging his nostrils, with a concerned aqueous eye in front of his own. He jerked sideways and sneezed, sending the lizard skittering backward. Ariana squeaked, hand rocketing out to collect the reptile. A salamander, Terence realised, smattered with bronze speckles that caught the light.

  “Be careful,” Ariana remonstrated. “Jericho’s tiny.”

  “Jericho?” Terence managed. Ariana nodded as he brought himself into a sitting position and leaned his head against the armchair. Warm liquid trickled against his shoulder. The mug had sent a stream down the edge, now dammed by his body.

  This is crazy, he thought to himself, but he had to ask.

  “Ariana, can you – can you talk to Jericho?”

  Ariana glanced down at the salamander before turning back to him with new assurance. “Yes. Jericho says you’re going to help us.”

  Terence nodded, eyeing the whisky on the top shelf. Tea wouldn’t cut it.

  15

  Intercept

  “Fletcher and Eli. Their DNA is unusual.”

  “We already knew that. Isn’t that the whole point? Like earth-bound coal, deep veins of uranium.”

  “It’s beyond that. It’s baffled the staff in Beijing, Brock. They’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “So the key is buried nice and deep, I take it.”

  “You are insufferable, you know that? The others are growing stronger. Sara is … incredible.”

  “You can’t pump chemicals into everyone, Miranda.”

  “I know that. Which is why we need Catherine. Losing Derek and Robyn has been a major blow. Fang is brilliant, don’t get me wrong, but maybe a fresh set of eyes could make all the difference.”

  “Derek. Yes, I couldn’t have predicted that. He seemed so meek, or maybe that was just Vulcan’s influence.”

  “The man has a presence, I’ll say that much. But we will need him.”

  “Vulcan? The man is unhinged, Miranda. Be careful how much trust you place in him. The others – Weaving, Deckker – are harmless house flies. That man is the march fly that rises with the change of season, intent on only one thing: destruction.”

  “Very poetic.”

  “I mean it, Miranda. Once they crack this –”

  “So you agree it can be done?”

  “Of course. I’ve shadowed Robyn long enough to know she is more than capable. If the others are anything like her, they will bring you your key. It is only a matter of time.”

  “Brock. And me?”

  “You’re the spider, Miranda. But you already knew that.”

  Catherine’s message came at midday as Robyn balanced soup on her lap with a hunk of steaming cornbread. Fletcher drank straight from his tilted bowl across from her, rusted knife at his feet. He’d been quiet all morning after she’d told him about Beijing. They were all still processing the information. Robyn couldn’t believe that someone, one of them, could be helping the MRI experiment on kids. She didn’t think she could knowingly be part of a group that did that, which made Fang a dangerous wildcard.

  The phone vibrating in her jeans pocket jerked her back to the barn. Robyn plonked her food on the bench and jumped to her feet.

  Just checking in. En route to a genetics conference in Beijing with my monitor. Should be back in three days. Nothing unusual to report. Hope you’re having fun with Winnie and friends.

  “Oh, no way.” Robyn stared at the message.

  Fletcher put his bowl down. “What is it?”

  “Catherine. Her supervisor is taking her to Beijing. A conference – yeah, right.” Catherine didn’t know about the barn, about their close call with the MRI. Robyn had completely forgotten to call her, to warn her. Everything had happened so fast. Shit.

  “They’ve got Catherine?” said Derek.

  Kara turned around from her laptop. “Not if I can help it.” She rolled her shoulders. “Kate?”

  The generator stuttered into life. “On it.” Kate dusted off her hands and put the jerry can down.

  Kara cracked her knuckles as she flipped between screens with alarming speed. “Who have we got in Beijing?” she asked Kate, who scrolled through a long list of names.

  “This one’s on Bohai. He owes me,” replied Kate, singling out a name. Robyn made out a picture of a Chinese man with closely cropped hair and oversized glasses.

  Robyn swore under her breath. “How exactly does this man owe you?”

  Kate peered over her shoulder. “Later,” she promised.

  She was getting sick of later. She wanted to know what Fang was up to now, and she’d had enough of being kept out of the twins’ tech loop. The bank of laptops purring under their fingertips looked more at home on an episode of CSI than in a dilapidated barn in rural North Carolina. Robyn had never seen such an intense look of concentration on her best friend’s face before – a mix of complete focus and abandonment of the world around her, like nothing else mattered except what was going on inside her computer. In a way, maybe nothing did. Robyn sat back down on the straw bale to wait.

  Terence paced along the window, watching the planes manoeuvring onto their respective runways. Tangential journeys. The mysterious Kara had transferred funds and booked their tickets. The passports had arrived by express mail; he had thumbed through them over oats and honey at the kitchen table as he watched Ariana at the gate palming the ducks off to the neighbour. The documents seemed heavy in their illicitness as he weighed them in his palm. Espionage.

  Heathrow had been a nerve-wracking jostle of bags and beeping security clearances. Jericho, in a tiny pet box, had sailed through the scanner. Terence hadn’t been able to resist peering over the operator’s shoulder to get a glance at the miniature skeleton. Part of him had needed to see that the salamander was a real, breathing animal.

  Ariana flipped through a magazine on the floor, with Jericho curled up in a corner of the box. The girl reached out a hand without looking up. “Chocolate?”

  Terence took the half-eaten bar and turned back to the window. They still had a long way to go before any of this made sense. If it ever would.

  Catherine blinked stupidly at the attractive Chinese guy who’d just grabbed her wrist. He held an enormous bouquet of balloons, one of those garish, crinkly concoctions that reeked of overkill. It seemed to shut out the noise of the arrivals hall, cocooning them away from the thrum of peop
le.

  “You are in danger and must come with me, please.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Robyn sent me.”

  Unease settled low in Catherine’s stomach. She glanced over her shoulder, but Deckker was stuck behind an elderly couple battling with a mess of fallen knitting. Red yarn had somehow wrapped its way around her supervisor’s ankles.

  “My name is Bohai.” The pressure on her arm increased. The niggling feeling that something was amiss hadn’t left her the entire flight; her supervisor had even been humming as they landed. Catherine hadn’t heard him hum since his Belgian waffle maker cleared customs in the winter. Something is wrong.

  “Okay.”

  Now she wanted to run, put as much distance between her and Deckker as possible. Bohai gripped her arm and shook his head, as if sensing the tension in her body. Catherine settled for the brisk pace Bohai set, heart hammering. Her legs quivered as they reached the security gates. She concentrated on breathing as the line moved forward. Slow. Too slow. Her eyes flitted to the gates at each turn of the cordoned area, red ribbon already caging her in. It felt like half an hour by the time they reached the tiny aperture in the window, though Catherine knew it couldn’t have been more than minutes. She watched wide-eyed as Bohai slid two passports across. The Canadian one in her pocket burned against her skin.

  Bam. Bam.

  Two stamps and they were through. Catherine gripped Bohai’s hand as he wove between the crush of people. Elbows dug into her back and bags jammed into her ankles. The air was thick with a soupy haze that seemed to thin the air in her lungs. By the time they reached a motorbike propped up against an overflowing dumpster, Catherine heaved for breath. In a daze, she slipped on the neon helmet Bohai handed her. The roar of the bike jolted her back, ethanol rising from something fermenting deep in the bin by her elbow. As Bohai skidded across the pavement onto the road, Catherine clutched his waist, curling her fingers into his belt.

  The bike snaked between wheezing trucks and flash cars that careened from lane to lane without so much as a cursory jab of the indicator. Taxis seemed to graze the pedestrians that poured from buildings lining the roadside before disappearing into a haze of smog. It was like landing on another planet.

  She must have closed her eyes. When the bike stopped, she squinted into the dark alleyway feeling disoriented. A flaked red door opened and a toddler poked her head out. Motioning toward the doorway, Bohai yanked off his helmet. Catherine followed, her legs tense and stiff. The little girl nudged Catherine’s thigh and grasped her hand. Catherine squeezed back.

  In the dim room she saw a kid-sized table and chairs occupied by three people – one male, two female. They launched into a flurry of Mandarin; Catherine hung back, wishing she’d learned an Asian language. The old man pointed at her while the woman sent little hand flicks in her direction. Subtle.

  Bohai raised both arms and the chatter stopped. The old man shook his head, muttering under his breath.

  “Li,” said Bohai, jerking his head toward the girl at the table. She was eight, maybe nine, Catherine guessed. A book lay open on the red plastic table. “And Cho.” The little girl by Catherine’s side released her hand and skittered over to the older girl.

  “You can call me Ma, everyone does.” The older woman made some sort of sweeping hand gesture that felt like Catherine’s grandmother’s equivalent of a rushed sign of the cross. Strong fingers pressed into her back, and Catherine folded into one of the chairs. It creaked under her weight and Li giggled behind her hand. Catherine’s knees rose high above the table, her height making her a giantess compared to the others. The old lady shuffled back with a pot of tea, wrist shaking as she put it down. Catherine stiffened as wrinkled hands cupped her face, fingertips on her temples, but forced herself to slowly relax under Ma’s grip. The woman huffed and straightened, seemingly satisfied. Of what, Catherine had no idea. Ma poured the tea into tiny dollhouse cups. Catherine breathed in the heady jasmine scent as she took a sip.

  Bohai waited until she’d put the cup down, then slid over the wine-red passport and a SIM card.

  Robyn paced from barn door to workbench. “It’s taking too long. Something’s gone wrong.” Visions of Catherine locked up played before her eyes. It’d be my fault, Robyn thought. The MRI knew Derek was on the run with her now; it was only a matter of time before they made a move for Catherine. Stupid, so stupid. She should have foreseen this. Robyn clenched her fists by her sides. Kara had assured her that Terence was safe, but for how long?

  “Calm down, Robyn. It takes as long as it takes,” Kate said from her position on a straw bale, limbs splayed wide. Kara, silent at her laptop, kept vigil with her hands in a prayer position against her lips.

  Our father, who art in heaven … Robyn slipped into her childhood prayers without realising and was halfway to the barn door again when the laptop pinged. She whirled as Kara jerked forward. Kate flipped back onto her feet with more grace than Robyn would have credited her with.

  “Bohai got her out,” Kara exhaled.

  Robyn sank onto the straw bale Kate had vacated. Catherine was safe. Her stomach fluttered, and Robyn tasted soup at the back of her throat. She swallowed with difficulty, and Kate’s voice seemed to come from far away.

  “Good. And he knows the plan?” Kate was back on her chair.

  Kara nodded.

  “We’ve got a plan now?” Fletcher ripped another chunk of cornbread from the stub on the table and dipped it into the pot of soup. Robyn turned away, afraid the smell would trigger the bile at the back of her throat. Her eyes fell on Derek instead, who shrugged.

  Kara turned to face them. “Yeah. We’re going home.”

  Robyn frowned. “Home?” Surely she didn’t mean …

  Kara held both hands up in surrender. “Your place is ideal, Robyn. And with your parents away, it’s sitting empty just waiting for us. Come on.”

  Fletcher spoke over his mouthful. “Where is it?”

  “Cobalt Valley.” Kara tapped her fingers on the bench.

  Robyn stared at her friend. It’s not that they grew drugs or anything, but the farm was different. No-one ever came to the farm. Not even her supervisor knew where it was. Robyn started.

  “It’s perfect.”

  Kate and Kara shared a glance. “Good. We leave tonight.”

  16

  Convergence

  “Deckker lost Catherine. The imbecile.”

  “Another researcher from the program missing. You think Robyn is involved?”

  “It’s not just her, that much is clear. First the reactionary team, now this. Someone’s helping her. I don’t like it, Brock.”

  “And Terence?”

  “Weaving assures me he is still on leave, though she could just be covering her ass. I’ll look into it.”

  “But you’ve got what you want.”

  “We’re no closer to unlocking Eli or Fletcher’s DNA. Sara is promising, I’ll admit, but we’ve had to resort to the implants to maintain control. She’s spirited, that one.”

  “And the other? The boy.”

  “Jacob still hasn’t paired, though he survived the radiation. It’s no matter. I’ve tasked Fang to the gene sequences.”

  “Do you think she can crack them?”

  “Robyn isn’t the only one with initiative, Brock. Be patient. You’ll see.”

  Robyn breathed in the stale, turpentine-heavy air, wondering if she’d finally been away long enough to divine the unique smell of home. She paused in the doorway, trying to retain it, but Kate and Kara burst past her and it disappeared, sullied by the intrusion.

  “Get some air in here,” Kate called to her sister. The twins flooded the kitchen with sound as they wrenched open windows.

  Robyn’s skin felt clammy and gross after spending most of the day first slumped in a sticky chair in arrivals and then sneezing away in the musty
bus seat. Not to mention the preceding flight. Robyn felt like she’d done enough travel to tide her over for a lifetime. Catherine, on the other hand, didn’t look rumpled at all. Completely unfairly, she looked like a walking advertisement for a travel company. Robyn glanced at her over her shoulder.

  “Come on in.” Robyn moved aside. “Home sweet home.”

  Catherine tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and stepped over the threshold. “It’s lovely.”

  Robyn followed Catherine’s gaze as she took in the rough wood, the sloping valleys of the lime-rendered walls, the little alcoves for candles. Robyn had spent two summers stamping dirt into tyres and working render between her toes. This place was a part of her. Light danced from the bottle wall and Catherine moved toward it, entranced. Robyn shifted her weight to the other foot. Catherine hadn’t seen the wood burner or the compost toilet. Maybe it would be less lovely then. Robyn sighed at the sight of the spanner and washers stacked by the kitchen sink. There were probably more repairs-in-waiting scattered around the house. Her mother was a fiend with a paintbrush but not remotely confident with wrench and screwdriver.

  “Hey, could I borrow some clothes?” Catherine stood in the kitchen, rubbing one arm. Sea-green light foamed in her hair.

  “This way.” Robyn tipped her head toward the corridor.

  It felt strange to have someone she barely knew in her bedroom. Catherine had the wardrobe doors splayed open, and Robyn felt exposed, remembering Catherine’s chic apartment. She must be a traveller, Robyn mused, thinking of the tapestries, the jewellery. Different continents on her wrist. Robyn perched on the edge of her bed, stifling a yawn as Catherine flicked through the hangers. Camping trips up and down the coast didn’t really equate to a cultured childhood.