Tiera felt nothing to indicate that she had broken the surface of the sphere, but for an instant she simultaneously saw both the sunset-lit sidewalk she was running on and a seamless, circular white room. The next instant, all she saw was the room—and the shocked faces of the two men in white.
Chapter 5
Tiera and the two men stared at each other in silence for several seconds. Should I ask where the bathroom is? Tiera thought of her go-to response for whenever she was found somewhere she shouldn’t be. That probably won’t work. But she didn’t know what else to do—the two men were just staring at her . . . though their stares were different. The younger man looked a bit panicked, and the older man resolved.
“I, um, was looking for—” she started, but she was cut off by a sudden voice emanating from the ceiling.
Tiera looked up, searching for the voice. She didn’t recognize the language that was being spoken, but she felt like she should, as none of the sounds were foreign to her. It must have been coming from some sort of intercom, but Tiera couldn’t see it.
The younger man began speaking, responding in this same language, but the older man cut him off. His tone was much calmer than his companion’s, though they were both regarding Tiera like some sort of wild animal—though in different ways, like before. The younger man looked at Tiera like she may be rabid, but the older man looked at her more like a deer that he didn’t want to frighten off.
Tiera could feel her heart in her throat, and as she tried to breathe through it she realized she could be either.
When the older man finished speaking, no one responded, but Tiera heard something hiss directly behind the men in white.
“What’s that?” she asked, now uncertain if they could understand her. Soon, however, Tiera could make out seams in the wall behind them, forming a rectangular door which then opened inward. Tiera could make out a larger room beyond, filled with sleek-looking shapes of what looked like globular sculptures set up against the white walls of the room. More interesting than that were the people.
Half a dozen people in their mid to late twenties stood around the room. Tiera couldn’t really nail down their many ethnicities—some had pale skin, others dark; some had round faces, others narrow; some had heavy-lidded eyes, others wide—but that might have been from shock. They all had on the same white vest though: it was almost like a lab coat, but without the sleeves and oddly fashionable. And they were all staring at Tiera.
Tiera jumped as the older man reached out his hand toward her. She prepared to defend herself—but then she noticed that his palm was up in a nonthreatening gesture. He murmured something that he probably thought sounded soothing, though the foreignness of the language still unnerved Tiera. It looked like he wanted her to take his hand . . . so she did.
Tiera figured that, of all the people looking at her, this man seemed least likely to want to harm her—and, besides his age, there was something about him that made her feel like he was in charge.
One of the people in the room ahead said something, and then the room erupted into what must have been an argument. Tiera nervously walked out of the smaller white room and into their midst, her phone in one hand and the old man’s hand in the other. Though most of the peoples’ comments were directed at him, he just ignored them, intent on leading Tiera away.
What have I gotten myself into? Where am I? Who are these people? Dozens of other questions flitted across Tiera’s mind as the old man led Tiera into a narrow—but tall—hallway, closing the door on the cacophony behind them. They had only taken a few steps when what Tiera saw took her breath away.
An enormous, oval window took up much of the hallway to Tiera’s left, its seamless glass hardly noticeable, especially considering the view it afforded Tiera of the scene outside. She was inside an expansive white building on what looked like the highest floor. Every other building she could see was made of this same, shimmering white material, and the rounded buildings seemed to undulate and cluster in beautiful patterns, interrupted frequently by the deep green canopies of tall trees. There seemed to be at least as much forest as there was city, wherever this was.
As she looked out the window, Tiera noticed that the sky was an unusual, pastel gray color—an off-white. The sun almost blended in with the sky, and the white buildings definitely did.
Wait—the sun? It’s supposed to be night. Tiera’s attention was brought sharply back to the hallway as the window suddenly ended. She looked at the back of the fuzzy white head leading her who knows where, and at the strange white suit of the man it belonged to. Everything looked so foreign that Tiera wasn’t even sure if she was on the same planet anymore.
But that’s impossible, she thought as she and the man rounded a corner. Tiera was baffled by the fact that she was in Salt Lake City just a few moments ago, and now she was at least in a different time zone. Isn’t it impossible?
The man in front of her suddenly stopped in front of a rectangular indentation in the wall, then touched it with his free hand. This section of wall lit up, then the entire indentation slid to the side, retreating inside of the wall like a sliding door. Not like a sliding door. It is a sliding door. Tiera realized that they had been passing other indentations in the walls almost the whole way here. They must be doors as well. As she marveled at the things around her, Tiera willed herself to be distracted, pushing the anxiety out of her mind.
The room they entered was small, but cozy. It looked like an office of sorts: it had a desk, various chairs, and even one of those sculpture things. The desk and chairs looked like oak, but they were carved in a much more sinuous design than any office furniture Tiera had ever seen. The sculpture was maroon, and it matched the maroon cushions on the chairs. The man gestured to one of these seats, and Tiera hesitated, then sat down.
The man attempted a smile, his eyes crinkling closed, then reached into a fold in his jumpsuit. He pulled out two pieces of what looked like glass, as well as the most familiar thing Tiera had seen since she got here—an envelope. He immediately handed the envelope to Tiera, then placed the large, rectangular piece of glass between them. He pulled at its corners, and it began to expand—somehow unfolding upwards and to the sides—until it was much larger than before, but not as thick.
A chime-like tone came from the maroon sculpture in the corner of the room, and the large rectangle lit up like a computer screen in response. She could still see the old man through the icons on the screen, who touched the smaller piece of glass in his hand to manipulate the screen between them. Tiera realized that this was kind of like using a smart phone to cast to a TV.
“What do you want me to do with this?” Tiera asked, holding up the envelope he had given her. It looked like a piece of junk mail from a credit card company.
The man said something that Tiera couldn’t understand, then pointed to his mouth, then his ears, and finally pointed to the screen between them. He touched the thing in his hand—Tiera decided to call it smart glass—and a picture of a glass of water suddenly appeared on the screen between them. He gestured to it, staring intently at Tiera.
“It’s water,” she replied flatly. “Are you asking if I’m thirsty?”
The image of water was replaced with that of a cloud, and was accompanied by the same gestures and intent stares.
“It’s a cloud.”
The old man looked ecstatic, and a new image appeared.
“A lightbulb.”
Again.
“A sink. A toilet. A knife—were these all taken at the mall?” Tiera asked, beginning to recognize the background of some of these pictures. “Is that all you were doing when I saw you at the mall? Taking pictures of random stuff?”
The man responded by giving Tiera a stern look, then pointing at the screen again.
Tiera sighed. “Knife. Dog. Box. Shoe. Tree. Shirt. Fire—did you set something on fire?!”
The old man ignored Tiera’s question, his eyes crinkling in an excited smile, and the screen changed again. Tiera watched a
s the man moved thumbnails of all of the images she had identified, now paired with icons that looked sort of like a digital representation of sound waves, to some sort of program with a lot of text.
Some of that is English! Tiera thought in surprise. She watched the old man work in anticipation. Maybe he’ll use that to communicate with me?
Tiera saw English words come out of the mass of text and begin pairing themselves with the images: the word “water” with the glass of water, the word “cloud” with the image of a cloud, and so on. Tiera thought it was amazing, until—
“That’s wrong,” she said, pointing at the word “torch” paired with the picture of a lightbulb. The man stopped his work, confused. “Wrong,” Tiera repeated, frowning and shaking her head at the mismatched pair. He slowly removed the pair from the program, and the farther he dragged the icons the more Tiera smiled and nodded.
The old man gave an embarrassed smile, then proceeded with the rest of the pairings, but now he looked to Tiera every time for confirmation. When they were all correct, he smiled confidently and pointed to the envelope in Tiera’s hands.
She gave the envelope a good look for the first time since it was handed to her. Tiera was right—it was junk mail from a credit card company. The piece of mail was addressed to a Deborah McClellan, but “RETURN TO SENDER” was scrawled across it. “Do you want me to open it?” she asked, but then realized it was already open, the top split by a long, clean cut. Tiera pulled out the pages inside and unfolded them, then looked up.
The old man had opened up a copy of the letter on the screen, but it was surrounded by symbols that reminded Tiera of the icons one might see in a word processing program. He then came to Tiera’s side of the table and pointed at the paper, line by line.
“You want me to read it,” Tiera said in understanding.
Of course the man didn’t reply—he just looked at Tiera with the same expectant look as before.
Tiera took a breath. “Congratulations, Deborah McClellan! You are the lucky recipient of a platinum rewards card!” she started, then paused when she sensed movement on the screen. All of the words she had just read were now highlighted and superimposed with a soundwave pattern.
The old man said something, then pointed until Tiera brought her attention back to the paper.
Tiera nodded, then continued, “Please fill out the attached personal information form to receive an instant $500 credit to your platinum rewards card!” Tiera read through the rest of the nauseatingly enthusiastic piece of junk mail, glancing up every now and then to see her progress correctly represented by the program on the screen.
When she finished, the man put his smart glass in front of Tiera’s face, placing his free hand on top of her head—Tiera guessed this meant she should keep her head still. He then slowly moved his smart glass around Tiera’s head, and a new program popped up on the monitor in front of her. Tiera couldn’t know for sure, since she had never personally received an MRI scan, but what appeared on the screen looked suspiciously like her brain.
After consulting the image, the man placed metallic stickers on Tiera’s left temple and behind Tiera’s left ear. Tiera opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing, but then figured it was pointless as long as they couldn’t understand each other.
That might be fixed soon. She thought of everything he had had her do up until this point, and figured he was configuring some sort of language-learning software. Either that or he was screening her for brain cancer, but that just didn’t seem likely. It could still take us months to understand each other though. How long does he think I’ll be here? Am I some sort of prisoner?
The itching panic of Tiera’s anxiety bubbled to the surface as these thoughts occupied her mind. Trying to breathe regularly, Tiera pretended with all her might to believe that she would be allowed to leave whenever she wanted. She had come here of her own accord, after all. Plus these people seemed pretty civilized for aliens. They are not aliens. I’m just—I’m just in the Mediterranean or something. The landscape she had viewed earlier reminded Tiera of pictures she had seen of coastal Italian neighborhoods covered in brilliant white plaster—she clung to that idea as hard as she could.
Thankfully, the old man gave her something she could use to occupy her mind completely. He pulled up a program that took up the entire screen, leaving no translucent gaps, and started it by tapping his smart glass. English letters and corresponding foreign characters appeared in rapid succession, each punctuated by a pronunciation that Tiera realized was her own voice. Tiera was barely given enough time to process them all. But Tiera did process them all—and she remembered them perfectly.
The program then moved on to words, though this time it skipped the pronunciation—this language’s alphabet was strongly phonetic, Tiera noticed, so she didn’t need to learn sounds on a word-by-word basis.
Before the list of words had gone on for very long, Tiera watched with her peripherals as the old man lifted her slightly from her seat, then put her down again, placing a large jug of water on her lap. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes away from the screen—and she didn’t want to. The words flitting across it hypnotized her; she could hardly think of anything else.
Tiera vaguely recalled the old man taking her phone from her hand and placing it on the desk, but after that she couldn’t remember seeing him again. She couldn’t remember anything but the words. She couldn’t even tell how much time had passed, since there were no clocks or windows in her immediate line of vision.
And it didn’t end with words: after words there was an onslaught of phrases, idioms, and sentences. Tiera began to notice an exhaustion creeping in on her, and she thought she would pass out—or maybe she already had. Consciousness was a weird thing when all that filled her mind was this new language—the Original language, as they called it here.
And then it was over.
Tiera stared blankly at the screen, which said “Congratulations and welcome!” in Original. After several seconds, the screen wiped itself of the program and fell backwards, slamming onto the desk. This jolted Tiera enough from her stupor that she began to slowly look around. The large water jug the old man had left her was empty now, and Tiera vaguely recalled sipping it every now and then as she learned. She looked at the wall opposite her, searching for a clock or a window, but the wall was completely blank. It did seem to glow a bit, however.
Tiera stood up to investigate but immediately fell forward, her muscles stiff and aching. She caught herself on the desk. Why am I so sore? How long have I been sitting here? She noticed for the first time that her jeans were just a little too low, like she had put them on while lying down. She pulled herself up to lean against the desk, turning around in the process, and realized what it was that she had been sitting on all that time.
Where there was once a chair cushion, there was now an oblong, white cylinder, almost like a . . . Is that a bedpan? What the hell is going on? Tiera strained, trying to remember if she used it, and then she did. Oh my gosh. It’s a bidet too. How long have I been here?
Realizing that her phone was just a foot or so behind her, Tiera turned and grabbed it. The desk glowed where the phone once was, then that glow slowly faded. The desk must have been charging it, because when Tiera looked at her phone its battery was at 100 percent. She looked at the time. Then the date.
It’s been three days! I’ve been here for three whole days! Tiera forced herself up and hobbled over to the glowing wall. She noticed that her purse was still around her shoulder—that it had been since she left Farr’s Fresh Ice Cream three days ago. She finally let it fall to the hardwood floor, then jumped at the sound of it. Feeling frazzled, she leaned against the wall; standing was still uncomfortable.
The space where her shoulder hit the wall vanished, as did the entire wall, and Tiera saw that she was now leaning against a window. That’s why it glowed. It’s like shining a light behind a piece of paper. The same brilliant white city she had seen before sprawled out and meshed with th
e vibrant green vegetation below, though this window didn’t have quite the view the hallway window had. The part of the building she was in took up much of her right, so she couldn’t see the city beyond it. A few windows were open—or translucent—however, so Tiera could see a few people at their desks. None of them saw her though. It reminded her that she was alone.
Tiera sighed. Am I supposed to be waiting for the old man to come back? Should I just leave? Can I just leave? She unlocked her phone, which was still open on the camera app. Since thumbnails of videos on her camera app showed the very last part of the video, Tiera saw the old man looking back at her. Curious, she decided to play the video.
“Tiera, did you hear me?” Natalie’s worried voice played back at her, punching her right in the emotions, and Tiera’s eyes watered at the force of it. “I think he might be calling the cops. We should go!” The camera shot only showed the setting sun, but she wished she could see Natalie again. What if I never get back?
“It’s a public sidewalk. Besides, he’d probably call Temple Square’s security first, so we have some time.” After hearing her own voice, Tiera decided to skip forward in the video. She almost skipped to the end—to see what the old man was doing—but then she realized she might be able to understand what was happening around her when she first arrived, since she understood Original now.
Tiera dragged the cursor of the video’s progress until all she saw was white. She hit play, and heard her own voice again.
“—was looking for—”
“Everything’s running great, Professor,” a female voice started speaking in Original. “Welcome back to Faroa—wait. Who’s in there with you? Did something go wrong? Darshy! Get the generator door open—they might be in danger!”
“No! Send us ba—” Tiera thought she recognized the voice of the younger man in white, but it was interrupted by the older man. The professor?
“No need to be rash,” the professor said firmly. “Byrani, we’re not in danger, but please let us out as soon as you can. And please do not alert campus security. I will do that myself.”
Tiera's Earth (Andromeda 9 Book 1) Page 5