Rumi's Field (None So Blind Book 2)

by Timothy Scott Bennett

  "You checkin' out my field?" asked Keeley with a grin.

  Mary nodded. "All I see is love," she said. "My love."

  Keeley stretched up to kiss Mary, then sank into the covers. "What have you been up to?" she asked.

  "I spoke with Linda," said Mary, settling back down onto the bed. "Or chatted, I should say. She's feeling even worse now. Her throat's sore and her rash is spreading down her face. She's worried about the kids, of course. And Cole. And the... speech she's supposed to give. They've yet to isolate whatever it is that's causing her illness, which is pretty depressing. She says the constant tests are exhausting."

  "Have they... you know... told her about this Greensleeves thing?" Keeley pushed herself up onto one elbow and cradled her head in her hand. "I mean... Jesus..." Keeley shook her head in disbelief.

  Mary exhaled heavily. "She knows. They're giving her full access to media. Or as much as they can, given the limits of where she is."

  "Does she...?"

  "The doctors are operating on the assumption that Linda's illness and Greensleeves are the same thing, according to Linda. The first three cases were all in Augusta, and the..." Mary stopped and took a long breath while she waited for the word to come to her, "... the symptoms are roughly the same. Well, the facial rash matches, at least. But they're hopeful about Linda's case. If it is Greensleeves, then Linda's already had it for twice as long as the first two people who died. So maybe it hits different people in different ways. Maybe Linda's immune system will... fight it off. And maybe she'll help them figure out a cure. So, yeah, she's worried but hopeful."

  "They must know more than they're telling us," said Keeley. "I mean... just the fact that they brought her in before she was showing symptoms..."

  Mary ran a finger along the scar on her forehead. "I know. Linda thinks they must've found something in her blood. She'd had a routine physical two days before they came to get her."

  Keeley shook her head in frustration, then bent forward for another kiss, letting her loose hair brush across Mary's face. "I was worried myself," she said with a sigh.

  Mary reached out and took Keeley's hand and squeezed gently. Chatting with Linda no longer stirred up her old feelings of attraction for the President, about which she'd never told another living soul. Mary was Keeley's now. And Keeley was hers. A flood of warmth moved through her body.

  Keeley returned the squeeze, then twisted around and swung her legs out over the edge of the bed. "But I'm good," she said, turning to glance quickly back at Mary before looking away again. "No rash. No more stomach pain. Ready to go." Keeley stood and headed to the bathroom, where she grabbed a brush to fix her hair.

  "You going back to work?" asked Mary. She slowly uncurled herself and rolled over on her side. With a loud, dramatic sigh she pushed herself into a sitting position and slid her feet to the floor.

  "You're darn tootin'," called Keeley. She ran some water in the sink and splashed her face. "I got kids to find."

  Mary slipped her feet into her shoes, stood, made sure there was no dizziness, and then crossed the room for a parting kiss. "Don't you wear yourself out," she said to Keeley with a stern face.

  "I won't," said Keeley. "I'll wear Mike and Stan out."

  "Okay." Mary grabbed her bag from the table where Keeley had eaten. The sprig of lilac sat dejected and wilting beside the remains of her meal. "You want me to get these?" she said.

  Keeley poked her head around the corner to see what Mary was talking about. "The dishes? No need. I was going to go get a pot of tea anyway." She cocked her head. "Where are you headed?"

  Mary shook her head. "Not sure," she said, her forehead wrinkled and her eyes intense. "I think I'm supposed to go outside now. To look around."

  "Supposed by whom?" asked Keeley.

  Mary raised her eyebrows. "That would be the question, wouldn't it?" she said.

  4.10

  Emily hovered in the sky above the hospital, adjusting her senses back and forth between the physical and the Astral, noting the differences, trying to determine the best way of seeing. The fact that they could not get back into their bodies, that they could not even get into the room where they had left them, had filled her with worry. Grace had taught them how to see the thick psychic cords that sprang from their hearts and connected them to their bodies. All of the kids’ cords seemed intact. But they could not follow their cords back into their bodies, and Grace had no idea why that was. Perhaps it was the nature of their hiding place: that it kept them from being found at the cost of keeping them separated. Perhaps it had to do with the strange hand that had pulled them free of their bodies. Perhaps it was something else entirely. But the result was this: they were not sure now that they could get back home. Emily had not considered that that was even a possibility.

  Determined to learn as much as she could about this realm in which they appeared to be stuck, Emily continued to test her perceptions and abilities. She'd mastered the two default forms available to them - the "fireball," as Iain called it, and the human form - and had discovered that, in fact, they could take any form they wished, though it took more energy to maintain a form different from one of the defaults. Iain, following her lead, had transformed into a huge dragon he imagined from the fantasy novel he'd been reading. He swooped and soared about them, laughing and spitting fire. But he found that it quickly drained him, and had been quiet since. Emily, more moderate by nature, and proudly so, had simply experimented with different sorts of hands.

  "You ready?" asked Grace, pointing upward. "We were going to go check out the Grid." She bent down to scratch under Dennis’s chin, who wagged his tail in readiness.

  Emily, in human form, as were all three now, smiled weakly. "I guess," she said.

  "Let's blink there," said Grace. "For practice."

  Emily exhaled her uncertainty. "Okay," she said, hesitating. She was not sure she'd figured that one out yet.

  "Key in on me," said Grace. "You know? Get a sense of how I vibrate. And then just follow that."

  "Sounds easy enough," said Emily, her tone of voice saying just the opposite.

  Grace tucked and rolled, then popped back into human form, one finger raised in remembrance. "I know!" she said. "I'll send you both a packet of my previous experiences here. Then you'll know everything I know!" Without waiting for a response, Grace rolled back into fireball form, glowed brightly, and flashed like lightening. Iain and Emily fell back as the packet of experience, memory, and data washed over and through them.

  "Whoa!" said Iain. "Give us a warning next time!" He popped into fireball form and spun like a gyroscope. Emily faded and flickered but maintained her human form. Her eyes were closed.

  "Sorry," said Grace.

  "There's so much information," murmured Emily. She opened her eyes to speak to her little sister. "You were really afraid."

  "I was," said Grace, reaching out to pat Dennis's head. "Some of the time. But I had Dennis. And others came later, to help along the way."

  "I can't think through it all so quickly," said Iain, back in human form. His face was clouded with distraction.

  "Just review the part about how I got around," said Grace.

  "Oh," said Emily, as noticing something she hadn’t seen before. "Got it." She looked at Grace and then Iain. "Ready?"

  "Let's do it," said Iain.

  The three of them blinked up to the Grid.

  Or tried to. No matter what they did, they could not seem to get near. Every time they got close, the Grid seemed to recede into space. Yet, when they stepped back to survey the situation, nothing had changed. The Grid was right where it had always been. They tried again and again; there was no getting near it. And when they attempted to blink out beyond the Grid, they found that there was no getting through.

  "We're trapped inside," muttered Emily, shaking her head in frustration.

  "And we can't get back to our bodies," said Iain.

  The kids drifted back down toward the city below, Dennis in tow, finding som
e comfort in knowing that Augusta, and their home, and their father, and Mary and Ness, were not far away, even if they couldn’t reach them. Dennis began to whine, a quiet, plaintive sound that seemed to sum up all of their feelings.

  Grace patted her dog and turned to face the East. She stared at that distant horizon for a full minute. Her face was slack, her gaze soft.

  "What is it?" asked Emily.

  Dennis sat heavily at Grace's feet and watched the East as well, his head cocked.

  At last Grace turned back to her siblings. "I really, really want to head in that direction," she said, tilting her head toward where she'd been looking. "I think that's our next move."

  "Couldn't Alice just tell us what the heck is going on?" asked Iain, his voice snotty with frustration.

  "I don't know," said Grace. "I don't know where she is or what's going on. All I know is that I want to head in that direction." She pointed to the Eastern horizon. Dennis pricked his ears and barked, as if he really wanted to go there as well.

  Emily glanced at Iain and they both raised suspicious eyebrows in unison. "Your 'wanting' is what got us into this," said Emily to Grace, her tone one of gentle warning.

  "That and your fussing about one stupid mole," retorted Grace, lifting her chin.

  Emily stopped, took a long breath, nodded. "Right,” she said. “I'm sorry. I don't need to blame this on you. I just... well... are you sure?" She lifted her shoulder. It wasn’t like she had a better idea.

  Grace nodded her head, accepting Emily's apology. "I'm sure that I want to go," she said. "I don't know why I have this feeling of wanting, but I do. I'm not sure of anything else."

  Dennis barked again. His vote seemed to seal the deal. With a glance down at their hometown, the three kids and their gray-muzzled Whippet set off toward the East.

  4.11

  Stan stood for the longest time, just staring at Cole, two tall, strong men facing off in the Secretary's hot, humid State House office. It was like a game of Who Blinks First?, but there was nothing confrontational about it. It was more a matter of hard drives spinning and software rendering, a matter of assessing and calculating and scenario planning. What Cole had just proposed was something neither of them would have ever considered. But that was before...

  "I'm in," said Stan at last, his eyes narrowing. He scratched his large, red nose. It was clear that he didn't like Cole’s proposal. It was also clear that the idea filled him with excitement. Like Cole, Stan Walsh was ready to do something.

  "You can..." Cole nodded toward the closed door, "… you know... get us out without..."

  Stan chuckled softly, a glint of mischief in his eye. "I can," he said. He gestured toward the door, beyond which worked his assistants and secretary. “My people will cover for me,” he said. “For a while, at least.”

  "Will it be dangerous?" asked Cole. "Out there?"

  As if on cue a siren sounded in the distance. Stan glanced out his office window, across Capitol Park and the river beyond. He turned back to Cole. "The people we need to fear most wear suits and uniforms, Cole," he said. He gestured toward the east with a wave of his hand. "I don't think regular people are our biggest problem."

  Cole exhaled heavily. "When should we go?" he asked.

  "I'm not heading this expedition, Mr. Thomas," said Stan firmly, reminding Cole of who he was: the President's husband. "You tell me."

  Cole stepped to the window and studied the landscape. The Kennebec River might be only the first of many obstacles. Squirrel Island was less than an hour away by car, but Cole had no idea what they'd find along the way. The country had changed dramatically in the last eighteen months. It might be the zombie apocalypse out there, for all he knew. Cole sighed again and looked at Stan. "I think we go now, Stan. If you can get us out of here. Now. Before I lose my nerve."

  Stan grinned more broadly. "Now it is," he said. He grabbed his keys from his pocket, unlocked a desk drawer, and pulled out a handgun. "You know how to use one of these?" he asked Cole.

  Cole nodded. "I've been training," he said. He'd asked for and received rifle and handgun training from the Secret Service since coming to Augusta. The increasingly dangerous world seemed to demand that of him.

  Stan reached into the pocket of the sports coat hanging on the back of his chair and pulled out a second gun, this one smaller. He held it out to Cole, grip first. Cole took it without a word, tested its heft, then held it awkwardly at his side. Stan went to a closet in the corner, pulled out a pair of backpacks and stuffed them with a few boxes of ammo from a high shelf. He grabbed a banded stack of cash, two stainless steel water bottles, and a box of high-protein energy bars. He pulled out two concealed-carry holsters and tossed one to Cole. It was as if he'd been expecting this moment. Stan was ready to bug out at a moment's notice. Cole blushed. He hadn't even thought to grab his wallet.

  Stan lifted the smaller backpack and handed it to Cole. There was excitement in his eyes. "I'm ready for a meeting with my President," he said.

  4.12

  Paul DuPont froze the video with a wave of his hand, leaned back in his chair, and sighed with satisfaction. That’ll do, pig, he thought, a line from a movie he’d loved as a kid. The higher-ups had sent a last minute change in the President's summit speech, having decided that the VLT could not give a speech now without some mention of her missing children, word of which had leaked just a few hours ago. Paul had had to bust his ass to get the speech just right, and on time.

  He was the only man for the job. He'd spent more time with the VLT than anyone, and more time studying the real Linda Travis. And he'd been the lead driver on most of her communications with the outside world since Changeling had been implemented. He knew just how much sadness to put in. How much anger. How much determination. And he understood the President's manner of speaking and gesturing like no other. For all intents and purposes, he was now the sole puppeteer behind the leader of the free world. Never before had the metaphor been so apt.

  With the speech ready, there was little for Paul to do but watch and wait. They'd denied all requests for contact, using the President's need to save her energy, and her ailing throat, for her upcoming speech. Paul wished they'd thought of the whole throat thing earlier. Made it a part of the Quietus, even. It would've saved him sitting through a great many excruciatingly boring conversations. The President and her husband might have some great love going on in real life, but on the phone or online they were awkward and dull. The hubby was dull, at least. Paul, driving the VLT, just went with it.

  With another wave of his hand he checked his mail. He'd requested information on the missing children, and any Intel his superiors might have on alien incursions into human space. So far there had been no response. He didn't know whether no news was good news or bad news. Or whether they were just busy with Phase One of the Quietus. Or whether it was something else. Perhaps it meant that it was none of his gods-damned business. Certainly he'd been told that before.

  It wasn't like he didn't understand and accept the need for compartmentalization. There was more than one player in the game now, and some of their opponents could get pretty nasty. No need for Paul to know anything he didn't need to know when there were people, or sort of people, willing to torture that knowledge back out of him. But he didn't have to like the situation. And it wasn't like not knowing would get him out of the torture. It was the torture that would demonstrate what he didn't know, after all. Unfortunate that it worked that way, but there it was.

  But if there were aliens headed his way in woks, shouldn't he know about that? Paul certainly thought so. He was sitting on a pretty important project here. The Life could put a stop to it in an instant, if they so desired. If they even had desires, that is. Who the hell knew?

  What Paul knew was that he'd be glad when Changeling software could run itself. Or when the higher-ups decided to just kill the good Ms. Travis off completely, both real and virtual. He understood the whole need for hope thing. And why they'd chosen to locate his VLT divisi
on here on this godforsaken rock, right beside the bozos who were keeping POTUS on ice. He just wasn't sure it was worth it. And he wasn't sure it wasn't just some Family members yanking Sleepers around for shits and giggles. Who the hell cares about the Sleepers? That was Paul's thinking. The Families were outta here soon, weren't they? Let the zombies eat each other. There would be justice in that, wouldn't there?

  Paul waved off his computer, stood, and stretched. The Sim was complete. Linda Travis was ready to speak to the whole world. Now it was time for those nachos and beer.

  4.13

  "So this is Phobos, then," said Linda as they hovered in space near the larger and much closer of Mars' moons. They floated with their faces to the sun, with Earth hanging near their star like a tiny, pale blue jewel. Deimos had reminded Linda of a large tooth, a premolar perhaps, and it seemed to hover almost stationary over the Martian surface below. Phobos, on the other hand, was shaped like a potato, and was covered with a crisscrossing of grooves that made the moon look like it was fabricated from woven fabric, like a wicker basket. As they matched Phobos' orbit, the Martian surface rotated visibly underneath. Not that directions like "underneath" made any real sense here. With a flick of her perceptions, the great mass of Mars could just as easily appear to dominate the "sky" overhead as the "ground" below. Dominate, as in seeking to crush her.

  The Fisherman turned to face the President. "It is, Madam. And it's appropriate that we begin our conversation here."

  "Is it?" said Linda. "How?"

  "I'll tell you inside," said the Fisherman, flashing his eyebrows. "Follow me." This Fisherman vanished.

  Linda, startled, spun around, expecting to find him behind her. He was not. She floated away from Phobos, noting again the strange, unnatural lines that covered it, then flew around it's great potato shape, hoping to find him hiding on the far side. The Fisherman was not there. Linda glanced back toward the sun. Toward Earth. With a quick glance back toward Phobos to see if her captor had reappeared, she leapt toward home, speeding away from the Martian surface as quickly as she could conceive. The sense of acceleration was exhilarating and Linda put everything she had, everything she could think of, into escape. Yet when she glanced back at Mars, she found she'd barely moved. Phobos, though a bit smaller, was still right there, silhouetted against the red glow of the planet's surface.