The Black and The Blue

by Jay Brushett

  Brad stood and moved toward the device, but Rhonda was there and restrained him.

  Larry came down the trail and stood next to them, blood and dirt drying on his forearms. He made for the device.

  “Hold on,” Jimmy said.

  Larry paused and looked at him. “We’re going to have to do this sooner or later.”

  “Are we?” Rhonda asked, her eyes wide. “Did you miss what just happened?”

  “Of course not. But I’m not Steve.”

  “You have no way of knowing that won’t happen to you too,” Jimmy said.

  “I know,” Larry said. “But I don’t have any choice.”

  “Of course you do!” Jimmy said.

  Larry looked him in the eyes. “No, I don’t.” He paused. “And besides, I touched it before.”

  A light went on in Jimmy’s head. “You did! But not by yourself. You and Brad both held it at the same time.”

  “My God,” Larry said. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it! That might explain it.”

  “What?” Jimmy and Rhonda asked at the same time.

  “Well, why has this,” he pointed to the dormant probe, “been calling Brad all these years? If it is an alien probe sent to give us information — an alien travel brochure, or encyclopedia or road atlas — then why has it strung him along all these years?”

  “Well, the probe was underground, he couldn’t touch it,” Jimmy said.

  Larry shook his head, “No, that’s not it. Brad went missing that night, right after we found it. He must’ve gone back then, found it, touched it.”

  “Okay,” Jimmy said, not quite understanding.

  “Don’t you see? He kept going back, again and again, communing with it. And yet… it didn’t complete the download, or whatever you want to call it. Brad is a blank slate. It’s like he’s in some kind of trance or something.”

  “Right,” Rhonda said, “we can all see that.”

  “He’s waiting for something,” Larry said. Then he looked at Rhonda. “Let him go.”

  She looked to Jimmy but didn’t release Brad.

  “Are you sure about this?” Jimmy said to Larry.

  “No, of course not, but I’m sure it won’t hurt Brad… any more than it already has. Look at him. What kind of life is that anyway?” He paused, rubbing his temples, trying to make them understand. “We’re going to recreate that day when we found it. Brad takes it. Then I hold on to it too. Like that day. As simple as that.”

  “And you turn to ash,” Rhonda said.

  Larry shrugged. “Could be.” He looked at Jimmy, pleading. “I’ll take that chance.”

  Now it was Jimmy’s turn to shrug. “Let him go.”

  Rhonda did so.

  Brad went straight for the probe and lifted it from the river. One hand was flat against the side of the large sphere while the other grasped the smaller orb. The whole object immediately started pulsing a slow, steady blue. Brad’s face hadn’t changed, he was still gone, far away. Or, as Larry suggested, was he waiting, waiting for information?

  Larry moved closer and lifted his hands.

  “Good luck,” Jimmy said.

  Larry nodded.

  Then he put his hands on the probe. His eyes became unfocused and he, too, stared at nothing. The object maintained its steady blue pulsing.

  ······························

  CONTACT.

  It was The Selected.

  The Bridge was present.

  The Process started.

  The Steps executed.

  The Marker was present.

  The checksum failed.

  It waited.

  Timeout.

  Exception.

  Retry.

  There was a pause, another connection, more data streamed into it.

  The Process started.

  The Steps executed.

  The Marker was present.

  The Marker was present.

  The checksum passed.

  Finally. It was fulfilling its purpose.

  The Process continued.

  The Data was transferring.

  ······························

  AS JIMMY AND RHONDA watched the pulsing blue increased in rapidity. Larry and Brad both looked at peace. Their eyes, while still looking off, as if at something the others couldn’t see, were no longer blank.

  It continued — the probe pulsed faster, then slower, then faster.

  ······························

  THE DATA TRANSFERRED.

  The Steps completed.

  Garbage collection started.

  It removed The Marker.

  A pause.

  It removed The Marker.

  Garbage collection completed.

  The Process was complete.

  It had fulfilled its mission.

  It was done.

  It was happy.

  The Final Step executed.

  ······························

  THE PROBE STOPPED PULSING. It was no longer blue, or white. Now it was a dead grey. Nothing swirled beneath its surface.

  Both Brad and Larry didn’t move, only stood there, staring off. It was a few seconds before Larry blinked, tears rolling down his face. “The Ko Nos Ah of The Blue. That was their name.”

  Brad removed his hands from the probe. He stood there, looking into his palms.

  “What happened?” he asked, speaking of his own volition for the first time in twenty-five years. His teeth chattered, he was wet and shivering in the morning chill.

  “Brad?” Jimmy asked.

  The boy turned his head to look at the man speaking.

  “Who are you?” he said. Then he looked around at the others. “Who are all of you?” He backed away, splashing in the water of the river. “Why am I soaked and standing in the river?”

  “It’s okay, you’re okay,” Rhonda said, her voice shaking. “We’re friends. Everything is going to be okay.”

  She edged nearer to him.

  Brad stopped backing away, let her approach. He didn’t know why but he trusted her. She was familiar and he knew she meant him no harm.

  Then she was right next to him. She knelt down, oblivious of the water flowing around her knees, soaking her pants.

  Brad looked into her eyes and she looked into his.

  “It’s going to be okay Brad. We’re here. You’re going to be fine.”

  She held up her arms as if to embrace him, inviting him in.

  He hesitated only a moment before flinging himself into her waiting arms. She engulfed his cool body in her warmth.

  Rhonda squeezed him tight, rubbing his back and his hair.

  Brad sobbed into her shoulder. He couldn’t have said why but, somehow, he knew he had been through a great ordeal. But he was okay now. He let it go, let the tears come.

  “You’re okay now Brad,” Rhonda said, her own tears flowing now, as she rocked him back and forth. “You’re okay.”

  Jimmy walked forward, knelt and joined in their embrace.

  The three of them were whole once more.

  Epilogue

  RHONDA SAT ON THE couch, watching the TV, the remote in her hand. On the screen several men and women sat at a long table, microphones spaced at intervals along it. Behind them, on a banner, were the logos of the Canadian Space Agency, NASA and the European Space Agency. There were others she couldn’t place and those of several universities, including the University of Toronto.

  Rhonda fast-forwarded the video, flicking through several of the speakers. Finally, the face of the man whom she wanted to hear took up most of the screen. Larry’s face. She hit the play button and the video resumed. His full name, credentials and position were superimposed at the bottom of the screen. Larry started speaking.

  She knew what was coming, knew what he was going to say. She had taken to re-watching the press conference on YouTube at least once a week. The news it contai
ned was on par with, or even more significant than, the moon landing. She wanted to be a part of that moment, even if it wasn’t the complete truth.

  “As my colleagues have informed you, we now have definitive proof of alien life. And not only life, intelligent life, very intelligent.” He paused. “The proof is a Bracewell probe.” Another pause. “For those who don’t know, a Bracewell probe is an autonomous device launched by a species into space. Its sole purpose is to communicate with other civilizations. A species may send out many, millions even, hoping one gets lucky. Until this discovery, they were only a theoretical construct. No longer.

  “This one has completed its mission — finding another life form in the vastness of our universe. We are not alone. And our universal brethren think much like we do. They asked similar questions about the universe beyond their world.”

  Another pause. Rhonda knew what was coming next was all fiction.

  “The probe was found, about a year ago, in northern Ontario. It was embedded in the ground and appears to have been there at least a few decades, possibly hundreds of years.”

  She pressed the pause button on the remote. Larry’s face froze on the screen.

  Rhonda knew what Larry was leaving out, that he had discovered the probe. He had taken a camping trip to northern Ontario, as soon as he had returned to Toronto. He had planted the probe, “unearthed” it and announced it to the world. Yes, it wasn’t exactly true, but it was a good compromise. It was true enough. The world got the truth that mattered, that we aren’t alone.

  Brad was just getting back to being himself. He didn’t need anyone probing him, with questions or anything else. He had been through enough. Of course, he didn’t remember much, if any, of it. When he and Larry had connected with the probe the second time, Larry had taken all the knowledge.

  Rhonda thought that was for the best. Larry had theorized how he had been able to do it. Rhonda hadn’t really paid attention, she had been more concerned about Brad.

  Larry had done a good job. He had covered up what needed covering and still managed to get the information out there. She didn’t want fame, or infamy, depending on how it went. No, they only wanted to be left alone. Let the rest of the world deal with the ramifications of life out there.

  She glanced at the time. It was almost noon. Time to get lunch ready; they’d be hungry, especially Brad. He was a growing boy again now. That was a relief. He’d sprouted a couple of inches in the last year. Whatever the probe had done to him it had undone during that last encounter.

  It only took a few minutes to make three sandwiches and place them on a large plate. Then she was out the front door of Jimmy’s house — it would always be Jimmy’s house no matter how long she lived there.

  Rhonda walked across the yard and through the overgrown grass of Steve’s, she corrected herself, Brad’s yard. She might get around to cutting the grass that afternoon. At the front door to Brad’s house, she balanced the serving plate in one hand and twisted the knob with the other.

  “Hey! Wow, is it lunchtime already?” Jimmy called when he saw her.

  He was sitting at the kitchen table and had been reading a book, a journal or ledger with a black cover. It’s blue-lined pages were filled with hand-writing. He closed it and laid it on top of some papers.

  “You’re not hungry?”

  Jimmy thought a moment, as if assessing. “Yeah, famished actually. I haven’t looked up all morning, going through all this stuff.” He spread his arms, indicating all the books and papers spread before him. Most of the papers were in separate stacks wrapped with elastic bands. “Steve was very meticulous. He kept everything, but at least it’s well organized. We should have it all done by the end of the week.”

  “That’s great.” She looked around. “Where’s Brad?”

  “In his room, packing things up. Steve left it exactly the same for all that time. Can you believe that?”

  “Is he… okay?”

  Jimmy scratched his chin. “Yeah, I think he is. It’s hard, obviously, but he’s had a year to get used to it being… different.”

  “Yeah, I think he is too.” She looked around again, at the papers and books, at the old furniture, at the peeling wallpaper. “Steve didn’t keep the place up, did he? Or redecorate anytime in the last couple decades.” She paused. “You give any thought to what we’re going to do with this place, now that, you know, it’s ours?” Steve had left no will and no living relatives — it seemed the Herritts were not a long-lived tribe. The town had auctioned the property after doing its due diligence. For Brad’s sake, for closure if nothing else, Rhonda was glad they had been able to buy it.

  “Yeah, a bit. A bulldozer comes to mind.”

  She nodded. “Sounds good. It would make a great green space once we get it cleared.”

  “We should let Brad decide. Though, aside from some of his own stuff, I think he’ll be happy to let this place go. I’m sure it reminds him of all the things he’s lost.” He lowered his voice, “Christ, can you imagine waking up from a bad dream that lasted twenty-five years and discovering that your entire family is dead?” He shook his head. “Kids are stronger than we give them credit for.”

  “Well, having a replacement dad like you must help.”

  She walked over behind him and laid her hands on his shoulders, rubbing them.

  “That’s nice,” he said, his eyes closed. He lifted his left hand and laid it on hers, squeezing it.

  “Oh, you should take a look at this,” Jimmy said, opening his eyes again. He pointed with his free hand to the book he had been holding. He bent forward, looking down the hallway toward the stairs going up to Brad’s room. The coast was clear. “It’s Tonya Herritt’s journal!”

  “No shit?”

  “Really. Her handwriting is hard to decipher, but I’m getting the gist of it.”

  “So, what does it say?” Rhonda asked. She moved some books from one of the kitchen chairs and sat down.

  Jimmy handed her the book. She could see that he had dog-eared several pages. “Everything.”

  She flipped to the first marked page and started to read. The entries were illuminating, but also, a frightening record of the woman’s descent into misery and madness. It snared Rhonda from the first word. She didn’t stop until she reached the last scrawled word of the final entry.

  ······························

  SEPTEMBER 23, 2005

  So I’ve got cancer.

  I don’t understand everything they told me but, basically, I’m dying. It’s everywhere and spreading fast. I’ll be gone in a couple months.

  So that’s that. I’ll see my George again soon. And my Bradley too. I know his soul is already gone to Heaven.

  All that’s here is the boy. It’s not my son.

  I worry about Steven. I know he’ll do what I tell him. He’s a good son.

  He’ll watch over the boy. It’s the charitable thing to do.

  It’s funny the things that occur to you when you’re dying. I worry about lying to the police. All those years ago. I hope that wasn’t too big a sin.

  I’ll pray for forgiveness, add it to everything else.

  But I won’t pray to live.

  I’ll be glad to be done with it.

  ······························

  RHONDA CLOSED THE JOURNAL and laid it on the table. “Holy shit. That explains a lot. Poor Steve.”

  “Right?” Jimmy asked. “She thought Brad was gone forever.”

  “Well, I’m glad you didn’t give up on him.” She smiled and squeezed his knee.

  “We didn’t,” he said.

  Jimmy took his phone from his pocket, flicked the screen on, checking the time. “What time is your aunt coming by?”

  “Not for a few hours yet.”

  “Did you have a chat with Brad?”

  “Oh, yes. He loves being Darren.”

  “And you, you’re okay with this?”

  She knew he was
concerned; he thought she was worried about dishonouring her son’s memory.

  “Yes, I am,” she said, nodding. And she was, she knew it. Her son, her biological son, was dead. Brad was alive and needed her. Needed them. “Darren is gone, nothing can change that. But I won’t have Brad sent away.”

  “It’s not going to be easy.”

  “No. But he knows that he’s ‘Darren’ now. When we’re around anyone else he’s my biological son. Darren never lived here, no one here ever knew he existed. As far as they’ll know he was living with his father in New Zealand.” She paused. “In a way, it’s kind of a blessing that I don’t have any family I’m close to. It makes this deception easier. I still have all Darren’s papers, his birth certificate. We’ll ignore the death certificate.”

  “He’s going to need other ID, local ID.” He paused and then added with a lighter tone, “And he doesn’t have a Kiwi accent.”

  She smiled. “We’ll figure it out. All that matters is that he’s staying here with us.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Jimmy said.

  Second Epilogue

  Larry knocked on the partially open office door. He pushed it open a little more, peering around it.

  “Doctor Wu?” he asked.

  “Doctor Robertson, please, come in!”

  He did so, just as the young woman rose from behind her desk.

  “Hard at it already?” Larry asked, smiling. “The semester doesn’t start for another week.”

  “Well, it’s my first class as a full professor, I don’t want to screw it up.”

  “There’s no chance of that. Seriously.”

  “Thank you, Doctor Robertson, that means a lot coming from you.”

  “Larry, please. We’re colleagues now; you’re not my graduate student anymore.”

  “Larry,” she repeated, nodding. “Then, please, call me Lian.”

  “Well then, Lian,” he said, holding out his hand, “congratulations.”