by Linda Nagata
One of the boys behind Ela hissed. The one beside her dropped her farsights and grabbed her instead, his heavy arms locking her against his chest. She fought him for a second. A small cry escaped her throat. But it was a battle with herself as much as with him. Even as panic made her resist, she understood what he was doing. After a second she did what she could to help him, pulling her long legs against her body to make herself as small as possible while he hunched over her, shading her from the sight and sensors of the helicopter crew. Still, she could not stop herself from trembling. She never let herself get this close to any man. It wasn’t worth it. It was a trap.
There was no choice.
The boys did not try to hide themselves. They could not. The helicopter descended over them. They watched it resentfully, shading their eyes against the dust and flying leaves that swirled within the miniature hurricane of its prop wash. A booming voice fell out of its loudspeaker, speaking in Vietnamese so that Ela had no idea what it said.
The boy with the leash looked annoyed. He whistled to the dogs, then turned and picked up her rebreather. The helicopter still hovered directly overhead.
Ela remained huddled in the shadow of the boy with the muscular arms. He picked up her farsights and passed them to her. She slipped them on, careful not to let her elbows show. He murmured instructions, which Kathang translated: They will go away when we go away, okay? You must stay close to me until then.
The dogs went past, following their handler inland.
“How?” Ela whispered. She was a tall, ungainly foreigner, but he was strong. He held her against his chest as he turned, and began to crawl after his companions. She did her best to melt against him, moving her legs as he moved his, but it was a position too close to sex, and it shamed her.
There were many kinds of fear.
After they had gone a few meters, the helicopter peeled away, heading up the beach. The boy half stood. He still held her close to his side, but they were able to run together down a narrow trail between head-high foliage, then along the foot of a dike and into a tangled stand of mangrove. When the canopy of leaves grew so thick that only sparks of sunlight made it through, he let her go.
She scrambled away. She couldn’t help it. Her face felt hot; her body so dirty. Silt like fine sandpaper rolled in a layer of sweat beneath her wet suit. For several seconds she fought hard not to cry. Then they were moving again, heading inland as fast as Ela could clamber through a vague path that twisted up and down among the tangled mangrove roots.
The struggle to keep up with the boys left her with no curiosity, and no breath for questions anyway. She did not know why they protected her, and she was too tired to care.
After twenty minutes they headed uphill, emerging into the open on the back of a levee. Ela stumbled to a halt, gasping, her hands on her knees as she struggled to catch her breath. Black shadows crowded the corners of her vision. She had not eaten since last night, nor had anything to drink.
The one who had touched her—that one—he spoke to her in English. He did not look at her, frowning instead at his farsights, pronouncing each word individually and awkwardly as if echoing words he did not understand: “They-know-your-face-they-know-you-were-diving-the-closed-site—”
“Who knows?”
“They-are-looking-for-you-we-must-go.”
“Go where?”
He frowned harder. Then he nodded. “The I-B-C,” he said, pronouncing carefully each syllable. Then he added, “Inland.”
The IBC? She sent Kathang off to uncover what the IBC might be. Then she forced herself to straighten. “Who are you talking to?”
Kathang translated his reply as Mother Tiger.
It meant nothing to her. Nothing at all. She stared off into the distance, across a landscape checkered with fishponds and rice fields and farmers’ houses. It all looked very normal, but she did not feel normal. She was breathing too fast, wasn’t she? And the sun stood too high and too hot, as oblivious and enthusiastic as a lone drunk at a funeral.
“Joanie didn’t call me,” she whispered. It hurt to realize it. “She didn’t even send a message.” Her balance slipped. She staggered in the dust on the back of the levee. The ground here was very dry, except where blood from cuts in her feet had formed dark streaks of mud. “I’ve lost it all, haven’t I? Everything.”
Everything but her farsights, her wet suit, and Kathang’s paid-up account.
She laughed softly. There wasn’t even anything left to sell.
Talk about bad luck. Seriously bad. What fortune-teller could have warned her?
Kathang whispered in her ears, Drink some water. A plastic bottle had appeared in her hand. So Ela drank, until the boy—that one—took the bottle from her lips. He spoke and Kathang translated. We need to go.
“Where?” she demanded. “Why are you here?”
He shrugged. Kathang took his words and changed them. I don’t know.
Ela considered that. Then she shrugged too, and followed him down the other side of the levee.
The overflights started shortly after that. Before the first one, they had a minute’s warning—time enough to hide in a stand of dense grass. Ela peered between the stalks as a patch of blue sky slipped loose to glide low over the dirt road they had just been walking. The blue disk moved in perfect silence: a drone aerostat, its button cameras glinting in the sunlight. Ela watched it while ants crawled over her ankles; it made her wonder how bad arrest could be. So she took a few minutes to peruse Kathang’s report on the IBC. After that, she decided ant bites probably were the best alternative.
The next warning came only ten minutes after they started walking again. This time two drones passed before the Roi Nuoc let her stir. At the third warning, Ela gave up. “No more!” she snapped at the boy—that one who had touched her. He was getting too used to touching her. She pushed his protective hands away.
Grabbing her rebreather from the dog boy, she stomped toward the nearest shrimp pond. The Roi Nuoc looked mystified as they watched her go, but uncertainty turned to panic when she waded into the water. That one who had touched her, he started after.
“Stay back!” she shouted, pointing at him with a warning finger. “Stay away. I know a better way to hide.” She fished the eye cups out of her pocket and slipped them onto her farsights; she put the respirator in her mouth. Then she lowered herself into the dirty water. That one, he grinned as he watched her sink beneath the surface.
Water like tea eclipsed the sky, while shrimp bodies scattered beneath her. Daylight faded to the color of heavy smoke as she settled against the bottom. The water was colder than she expected, but she forced herself to lie still, concentrating on her breathing. For a while the light grew brighter as the silt she had stirred settled back to the bottom. Then slowly, slowly, the sparse daylight that penetrated the muddy water began to fade. It felt like going blind. She could see only a brown haze, but she could see it less well all the time until there was only blackness.
Even then she waited until cold and hunger finally drove her to emerge, shivering and exhausted, to find the rusty colors of sunset still streaking the western sky.
The Roi Nuoc were gone. She searched the brush with nightvision, surprised to find herself alone. The rebreather was unbearably heavy, so she cached it in some bushes. Then, with wobbly steps, she climbed a small levee between the ponds.
A car waited on the dirt road that ran down the levee’s back. The driver’s door was open. A man sat there, watching her. In the luminous aura of nightvision she could see every detail of his face.
“Ky Xuan Nguyen,” she whispered.
He smiled. “Ms. Suvanatat. Ela. You are an intrepid young woman.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because you are here, of course. You found something very valuable at the crash site, didn’t you, Ela? It’s why the IBC pursues you so hard.”
Her eyes widened. For the first time in hours she remembered the plastic packet she had tucked under the strap of her sw
imsuit.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Are you cold?”
She nodded, telling herself it was better to deal with Nguyen then with the hard-ass cops of the IBC.
He brought her a blanket, then sat her in the front passenger seat. “I’ll take care of you now, Ela, all right?”
She nodded again, without meaning it. Australia seemed to be receding from her, retreating ever farther away.
chapter
12
ELA FELT SHE would never be warm again; the shower in the farmhouse to which Nguyen had brought her did nothing to change that perception. It was a thin stream of lukewarm water spilling without enthusiasm from a corroded pipe that lacked a showerhead. At least the water was clean, and the enamel walls of the stall a polished white.
To her consternation, there was no indoor toilet.
She peeled off her wet suit vest and dropped it on the floor beneath the flowing water. Her shorts and swimsuit followed. The shampoo smelled delicious, like chemical strawberries. She used it to scrub at the gritty mass of her hair, rinsing away a crop of chocolate brown suds. She was shampooing her hair a second time when her probing fingers found a scab on her right temple. It was a hard, grainy, flat patch the diameter of an earring stud. She picked at it, wondering where it had come from. There were bruises on her legs too.
When she picked up her swimsuit to rinse it out, the packet of LOVs fell to the floor. Mud sloughed off the plastic, so she turned it over with her toes to let the other side rinse clean while she washed her wet suit, and then her farsights. A moth fluttered around the ceiling bulb as she dried herself and dressed in the clothes that had been left for her: a white long sleeve T-shirt, almost new, and blue running shorts. She could hear Nguyen speaking to the housewife as she crouched to retrieve the LOV packet from the shower floor.
There was a thin film of mud inside the packet.
How had mud gotten inside?
She held it up to the light, her heart jumping as she squinted, checking for the LOVs.
The packet was flat, empty but for a little muddy water. She rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger to be sure. Tiny perforations riddled the plastic, and the LOVs were gone.
She found herself taking quick, shallow breaths. The LOVs must have been loose inside her wet suit. The thought brought on a shudder of revulsion. She scrunched her eyes shut to suppress a scream. Maybe she had washed them down the drain?
But if so, then this whole, horrible day was for nothing …
Her hand jumped, to touch the scab on her forehead. A terrible suspicion dawned as her finger slid over its hard, grainy surface. She didn’t remember hitting her head, so where had the scab come from? Why wasn’t it soggy after soaking so long?
There was a little mirror over the worn porcelain sink. She looked into it. The scab didn’t look like a scab at all. It looked like a glossy spot of speckled, blue-green glass glued to her skin just above the fading red impression left by her goggle cups.
Without taking her eyes off the mirror, she groped for the light switch and toggled it off. In the darkness, the scab gleamed and flickered faint blue-green.
A sharp tap on the door made her jump. “Ela,” Nguyen called. “Are you all right?”
She tried to slow the panicked pace of her breathing, telling herself things weren’t so bad. Kathang had reported that LOVs could attach to living flesh. It had happened before. It had happened to other people … like those scientists in America. It wouldn’t kill her. Not directly anyway.
“Ela?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m okay.” But her voice sounded too airy, too high in pitch.
“Come have some food.”
“I need to hang out my clothes.”
“Mrs. Dao will take care of it. Come eat.”
She wanted to run away. Instead, she made sure her hair fell over her temple. Then she opened the door.
Nguyen stood in the dim, steamy hallway, surrounded by the smell of hot rice. Ela was so hungry he seemed to be that smell. She thought she might forever confuse him with that smell. Oh why was her heart beating so hard? She took a step back into the lightless shower room. He stepped after her.
She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust protective men. Their interest was always a trap. They would be kind until they took your freedom away with blackmail or babies or jealousy, and if you rejected their kindly advances, there was always rape.
She tried to slam the door. Nguyen caught it; he held it open. He was a silhouette, but Ela could feel his anger in the strength of his hold on the door. “Ela, are you so afraid of me?”
“No. I … I don’t know.” She feared Nguyen. She feared the IBC. She feared the LOVs.
But she felt immersed in a terror independent of any of these. A sourceless terror that seemed almost to come from outside herself. “Shouldn’t I fear you?”
“Perhaps.”
She forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply.
“… if you have lied to me?” Nguyen finished.
Well she had certainly lied. She had told him she’d brought nothing away from the crash site except her video. It was almost true.
She looked at her hands, commanding them to let go of the door. It would not be wise to encourage his anger. “May I eat now?” she asked softly, brushing the hair out of her face. Nguyen’s sharp intake of breath exposed her blunder. In the lightless shower room, the glowing scab of LOVs was easy to see.
She stiffened as his hesitant fingers reached toward her temple … but he drew his hand back again before he touched her. “So. You did bring something from the crash site.”
She didn’t trust herself to speak. She had told him about finding the broken fragment of the EquaSys module, but she had not mentioned the LOVs.
“Is this what the IBC is seeking? This is the thing in the news?”
“I only took a little! I left most of it there.”
He reached for her temple again. She forced herself not to flinch as he ran a finger across the gleaming, glassy scab. “These are LOVs?”
She nodded. The news descriptions left little doubt of that. “They are supposed to make people smarter.”
He chuckled. “I think you are very brave, Ela. Or very desperate.”
Tentatively, she touched the scab. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
He nodded, looking thoughtful. “You don’t have any more?”
“No. This is all.” Silently she added, All that’s left.
“Well then, I’ll have to take very good care of you.”
THAT was the promise he made. But the next morning when she awoke to the crowing of an army of cocks and looked out the window of the neat farmhouse, his car was gone. She let the brittle lace curtain fall back across the screen. Black-and-white portraits of smiling children looked at her from the walls of her little room; the air bore the musty smell of old possessions. She pushed aside a red coverlet and stood up from the low bed where she had slept. The wooden floor creaked beneath her feet as she stepped barefoot to the door.
It felt flimsy as she opened it, the knob smooth and loose with age. She peered into the dim hallway. She could see no one about, but the rhythmic beat of a metal spoon against a metal bowl told her old Mrs. Dao was at work in the kitchen. Ela ran her fingers through her hair, knowing she must look a sight: a gangly, wild-haired, red-eyed foreigner. Mrs. Dao, though, had not seemed to notice. Last night she had tut-tutted over Ela, spoiling her with smiles as if she were a favorite granddaughter.
Drawing a breath of courage, Ela crept down the hall. She managed to surprise a little boy in the cluttered living room. He yelped and darted into the kitchen. Mrs. Dao emerged a moment later, smiling and nodding a greeting, her white hair gleaming in the dusty light that spilled in through a screen door. Ela tried her sparse Vietnamese, asking “Where is Mr. Nguyen?”
With Kathang translating, Mrs. Dao explained that he had left the night before, shortly after she’d gone to bed. She was careful to relay Nguyen’s instr
uctions: Ela was to stay in the house, and away from the windows, as much as possible. When she must go outside to use the outhouse, she was to wait for clearance from the Roi Nuoc. Mrs. Dao took Ela by the hand and led her to the screen door, nodding at two farsighted youths lounging on the covered porch. Ela wondered if they were Nguyen’s private soldiers.
After obtaining permission, she made a quick trip out the back door, returning to find a breakfast of eggs and noodles and thick, sweet, gooey coffee laid out on the table. While she ate, she checked her brief queue of messages. There were three, where usually she had none. The first was from the national police:
Ms. Ela Suvanatat, your identity and activities are known. You have been charged with an act of trespass on a prohibited site. In addition, you are wanted for questioning by the International Biotechnology Commission. Only by surrendering yourself immediately will you gain the mercy of the court.
Perhaps she would receive the same mercy the Honolulu police had shown to that EquaSys researcher? The news links had drooled with violent reenactments of the shooting, and his subsequent, terrible death in the dark. Ela had higher hopes for herself.
From Joanie Liu there was this terse note:
Ela, I tried to keep you out of this mess. Now we’re both in trouble. Give yourself up now, girl, if you ever want to see the light of day again.
Ela felt sure it was written with the approval of the national police. No doubt by this time the officer was Joanie’s new boyfriend. She liked to work that way.
The IBC had tried a different tone:
Ms. Ela Suvanatat, our records show you were present at the impact site of the EquaSys module. It’s known that certain contaminants were released into the water following this accident. There is a strong possibility that you have been affected by these contaminants. Your life could be in danger. Please report your whereabouts immediately, so that every necessary step may be taken to assure your continued health and well-being …
Ela touched the glassy patch on her right temple. This missive might have persuaded her … except the LOVs were the only asset she had left. What good would it do her to be cleared and released by the IBC, only to starve to death, or find herself consigned to the sex trade? Better to be gunned down and die alone in a dark tunnel.