Fortune's Detour: Prequel of the Deka Series by Abigail Schwaig

by Abigail Schwaig

  “Hard to hold?” he supplied.

  “Yeah…It’s hard to handle something that may be true, and if it is it will turn your world upside down.” What makes him see me? Sam’s a man who has his hands full with real-life obligations, and he takes the time to not only look but see inside my soul.

  “Well, you’re an artist.” He was casual, as if that was explanation enough for him.

  I snorted.

  He laughed. “What?! I know a few things. Though I may not be an artist, I can kinda get what makes one.”

  I was silent again. “The sad thing is I wish it were all true. But it’s not.”

  “Why not?”

  “It can’t be. The Amaranth Power left a long time ago,” I scoffed. “We’re all alone out here, on our stupid little chunks of rock, living out our stupid little meaningless lives.” I shrugged and stared out the window into the night sky over World City. Even with all the hydrogen pollution in the atmosphere, you could always see tons of stars each night. “I don’t need a miraculous spiritual explanation for my existence to feel alive or good enough. I’m fine the way I am.”

  “But you’re always experiencing the miraculous,” Sam spoke quietly.

  “How do you see that?” I held my tongue before something snappish spilled out. He wasn’t being confrontational and he certainly didn’t deserve to be snapped at.

  He searched for the right words.

  I waited, biting my tongue.

  “Because we’re always experiencing life. Especially you, Nicki. The way you drink life in- like it’s a buffet for the senses. I feel like I live vicariously through you the way you talk about things. That’s a miraculous gift,” he sighed.

  “You think the way I live is miraculous?”

  “Nothing short of it. You’d be surprised how many people have no idea how many simple experiences they look past. But you don’t. You pay attention to the details. You appreciate it. You appreciate it so much that it’s become your religion.”

  “And that’s somehow bad?” I said self-protectively.

  “No. It’s just shortsighted. Do you ever think-”

  “No. Do you think that this “constructive criticism” is somehow helpful? Don’t you think I know what a krivving spacer I’ve been?” Images of my stupidity with David flashed through my head. A hot lump in my throat rose up to clog my windpipe.

  There was silence over the Comms for several moments.

  I battled the pain of swallowing, but the blasted feelings (I refused to take ownership of them) wouldn’t fade into the background. They wanted to come out.

  “I meant no offense,” he spoke quietly. “Take my apology?”

  I stared out the window, trying to be ok, pressing the tears back behind closed lids.

  He sighed over the Comms. “I’m a skipe. Sometimes I forget myself and push it down other people’s throats…”

  I shook my head, dealing with tears I didn’t want to shed. “No, it’s not your fault. I’m just- just.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Ugh...I try to express myself verbally. It doesn't work so well.”

  “Try.” His voice was neutral; encouraging.

  "It's like a gnawing inside. I keep having this dream- I’m not sure if it’s a nightmare. At least not anymore now that I’m used to it.” I paused, feeling the urge to cry dissipating.

  “There are these skeletal figures with claws instead of hands and they grasp and tear at me with sharp, razor-like deadly slashes. Their clear flesh exposes the frame within- bleached bones and dark maws where eyes and jaw should reside. They recline in a fancy sports vehicle with a polished wooden interior and a liquor shelf. And then they look at me with those large, blind pools inside their heads. They don't blink, they don’t do anything, they just sit there, smiling because they can't make their jaws do anything else.

  And then I faint. From fear- I guess. And then I wake up in my bed in Tom’s loft wondering how it could seem so real. The same cycle over and over. I wonder if it means something, but then I force myself to stop thinking about it because it nibbles my brain away and it hurts to breathe."

  Silence.

  "I wish I could explain it better. Words in ‘the natural’ tend to elude me. But if I'm in my head, it usually makes sense."

  "I don't believe the part you said about words eluding you. The way you explained to me- you found them and made them perfect. For that moment, I was there, with you. I got shivers and the hairs on my arm stood up."

  I bit my lip, smiling at the affirmation. "Just one arm?" I reverted to teasing.

  "Yes. Sorry. The arm closest to your spooky voice."

  I laughed. "Thanks for that."

  "Anytime.” He chuckled.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Miss! Miss!” An irate customer waved an empty smoothie tumbler at me. Inwardly I groaned. We had discontinued the cup refills after tons of customers took their complementary jugs home with them and started coming back every day for a free “refill.” I didn’t look forward to getting verbally abused by client and manager alike, and that was exactly what was going to happen with this situation. I stepped slowly over to the young woman- probably just a few years older than me, judging from her eye make-up. It was heavy and dark and matched her sleek, glossy black racing uniform. Obviously one of the hordes in World City that owned a dangerous two-wheeler. She sported a thick stifling glare that practically bore a hole everywhere she looked.

  I didn’t look into her eyes, but concentrated on the middle of her forehead. “Yes?”

  “Need a refill.” She twirled the jug in her fingers and spoke briskly.

  “I’m sorry; we don’t do that anymore.” I tried to be as cheerful as possible. I think I failed, because she wasn’t buying it.

  “I’m sorry; I’m going to have to speak to your manager.”

  “Alright. He’s in the back taking care of some stocking, so if you’ll wait he’ll be out soon.” I smiled and quickly traveled to the other side of the smoothie bar, to where actual paying customers leaned over the slab of wood and demanded a swirl.

  I gritted my teeth and glanced over my shoulder where the woman was animatedly talking to my manager.

  “Hey watch it!” A voice right in my ear made me jump.

  The shake I was making slipped from my hands and fell with a splat to the floor, covering my shoes and the bottom half of my jeans.

  “Oh man, I’m sorry.” One of my fellow waiters was speaking to me. I was disoriented by the crowded bar area- so many people were staring- I knelt to the floor and mopped up the roseberry pink mess. “It’s ok,” I mumbled. It didn’t matter, he was already off, pouring shakes for the customers and picking up their tips. I laughed at myself. I suck at this.

  “Hey.” A gentler voice spoke above me. I glanced up to see one of my waitressing mates. We’d never spoken. Or rather, I’d never spoken to her because I was concerned we would become friends and I would want to tell her about my past.

  “It gets crazy this time of day.” Her dark face gleamed like satin with a scarlet rosebud for a mouth. Her crinkly, deep brown hair haloed her head and her eyes were bright amber and impish.

  “I’m Simone,” she grinned.

  “I’m Na- ahem. Nicki.” I cough-smiled and gestured to my dirty hands. “Sorry. Don’t want to make you messy.”

  “She was a real twister, wasn’t she?” She winked.

  I smiled. “Yeah. Real scary.”

  “Well, don’t worry about that. Manager knows you’re the nicest one here- she won’t take

  it out on you. She’s a good one.”

  “Good to know.” I breathed a little easier.

  “Take your lunch break with me.” She smiled, making her declaration seem more like a request.

  “Okay,” I laughed.

  ~

  That evening I told Sam about my new friend. He cautioned me not to get too close unless I planned on spending the rest of my life on Hecta, making smoothies and talking shop with my waitre
ssing friends. I laughed, because it was kind of true.

  Seriously, the only thing Simone talked about was boys. But I liked her. She reminded me a little bit of Lex. That memory wasn’t so easy to forget. I missed my friends. I missed my life, even though being Nicki-Ray was healthier than being Natalie. I missed

  my ocean and the abundant freedom of wandering along the sand forever. And I was getting anxious to re-start my art studies and add more drawings to my gallery.

  ~

  In the days following, Simone and I started eating our lunches together and sometimes the others would join us. Ange was kind of dreary, but once I got to know her better I rather liked her. She and Simone were tight, so I mostly spent time with the both of them. They were all good people, maybe a little lacking in initiative, but I worked at the Tumbler too, so I shouldn’t judge.

  I was bored.

  I tried to get a handle on it. I was a fugitive from a murderous cartel for Hecta’s sake. I didn’t have the luxury of getting bored. I needed to keep my head down and forget the smell of salt in the air and the way the sky over the ocean looks after a storm.

  I started typing up a lot of poetry on the Exan machine to replace the words that were lost to me in that charred little ruin on the beach. I wrote of Gran, of losing her. Of losing the home where all of her memories were. I wrote of being afraid for my life, of not knowing which way to go. I wrote of my conflicting loyalties to Processor Theory and my burning, desperate hope that Amaranth was real.

  I tried to be passive once again. I tried to enjoy the nebulous path I was on, but I just couldn’t.

  It wasn’t the different people or necessarily the lack of beach- Tom was great; his place was great. Simone and the others at the Tumbler were cool. My job didn’t suck more than average jobs, and I didn’t get cold in World City unless the wetness sank into my bones and wouldn’t let me dry out during a particularly humid spell. All in all, I had a very good life.

  It just wasn’t the one I wanted.

  ~

  Summer passed.

  Sam was invaluable to my sanity. I talked to him during breaks at the Tumbler. Simone wandered over once, took one look at him, and inserted herself into the conversation. After that, I switched to audio only while at work. She was flirting enough for the both of us. I wasn’t sure which part made me more unsettled: the fact that she hijacked my conversation, or the fact that Sam laughed and smiled a lot more because of her.

  I used the typewriter every single day. It began to have fits. Tom started working on it several times a week, in addition to his work schedule.

  ~

  Fall was much the same. Until Sam showed up.

  ~

  4811/10/2/9

  Right out of the blue, he just walked into the Tumbler. Nothing unusual had happened that day; I was wiping the counters down. The lunch crush had just dissipated enough to clean up after the last wave of humanity descended upon us for their smoothie fix.

  I looked up the instant I heard him speak. Simone was on her lunch break and started to chat him up. He was courteous. I gulped. I would have some serious explaining to do later. She looked at me like I was a juicy paganda fruit to squeeze, her next gossip mill to extract. A devious smirk, uncannily resembling Tom’s whenever I was on the Comms with Sam, lounged across her beautiful face. I felt my own grow warm.

  She gestured for him to sit down next to her; he did.

  Without a look my way, they began to make conversation. I gritted my teeth, growing upset. I couldn’t figure out why exactly, just that I was not okay with them.

  Five excruciatingly long minutes later Simone’s break was finally over and she passed me on her way to the back while giving me a you’ll-dish-to-me-later look. I glanced up at Sam, making his way over to the counter once the plastic door swung back and forth shut behind me.

  I wished I was off work so we could go outside and talk without gorgeous people like Simone around. “Hi.” I felt lame.

  “Hi.” He chuckled, looking down at his knuckles on the bar. There it was again. That honeyed gravel sound.

  “So, you’re here.” Brilliant observation.

  “Yeah. I came by to see how everything is going. I haven’t checked in on you in a while.”

  “Nope.” I nodded, scrubbing vigorously at a nonexistent stain.

  “Nice music they play here.”

  I snorted. “Not as good as those fertility chants of yours.”

  He laughed. “Nothing is as good as Kila music. Nothing.” As he tapped his fingers to the rhythm of the music, I couldn’t help but laugh full out. The awkwardness was gone.

  “How are you holding up?” It was the common question that he always started out with.

  I was glad, for the thousandth time, that he couldn’t read what I was thinking in a bubble above my head. I shook my head to get some sense in there. I looked at him, training myself to think of business. I concentrated on how he was always so straight-forward and stated things out in the open.

  It really was nice to have some form of tradition and conventionality in my life. I would have to figure out a way to thank him properly for being there. “It’s going pretty good. I haven’t seen my shadow recently, so that’s good I guess. I’m not scared anymore.” I looked at him and smiled, squinting through the shaft of dayshine that spilled out over us from the wall of windows.

  “I’m glad.”

  “If anything I’m bored.” I smiled- a silly little smile that matched the bright dayshine streaming inside the Tumbler. “But I know the moment I say that…”

  “Dire things can happen,” he agreed, laughing silently at my upbeat disposition. “I’m glad you’re relaxed and comfortable here.” He paused. “I mean, really glad.”

  We shared eye contact and a secret smile.

  “After my shift, you want to come over to the house? Check it out for bugs and such?” I teased.

  “Haha- no. That’s Tom’s department and I trust him whole-heartedly. Actually, I thought getting a hot cup of something would be nice-?” He glanced at me side-ways, as if for my approval.

  “You mean you actually drink the beef brew that Tom inhales every morning? This I’ve got to see.”

  He laughed.

  ~

  I added up the two breaks I’d skipped that morning along with my lunch break; and stripping off my holographically checkered apron, scooted out from under the counter and came with him.

  We talked about random things and laughed, and before long we had crossed another street and were stepping up to a Nibs Bar. The nib nut was a dark and jagged nut, often mistaken for a small pebble or bit of scree, but when brewed up, it became a heavily aromatic drink. Thick and sweet, lots of people were fashionably addicted to it. Sam said it took some getting used to. It smelled really good in the bar, completely unlike beef. I wondered what piece of junk Tom used to brew his in; probably another gasoline smeared antique. I bet he bought it at a vehicle restoration shop.

  “One of the reasons I’m here is because we need to go over some more questions and get your answers recorded. The judge who is reviewing the case has formulated some more thoughts, and we just need you to say a few things in response.”

  “Alright.” It didn’t matter much. I was used to it. Sam asked questions in a way that didn’t upset me so I knew it wouldn’t be too awful.

  He reminded me it was supposedly Nicki-Ray’s annum today.

  “I had no idea.” I probably should have paid more attention to my new ID card. “I’m really glad you’re here though.”

  He looked down quickly, fishing around in his jacket pocket. It was the leather one, the one he had shared with me on the drive to Sky City on Tera and the subsequent shuttle ride.

  I smiled. I liked that jacket. A lot.

  “About that- I brought something along for you. Someone you know from back home asked me to present it to you.”

  “Oh! My parents?” I whispered.

  A small smile stole over his lips. He spoke self-indulge
ntly. “I can’t say who it’s from.”

  “SAM. You have to tell me.” I played along, teasing him right back. When did I get so flirty?

  “Nicki- I really shouldn’t. It’s for your own protection, you know.” His voice was lofty to match his skyward glancing eyes.

  “All right… I trust you.” I felt the impulse to wink and stifled it. Whew. That was a close one. I looked around, down at my fingernails, anywhere to avoid making a complete idiot of myself.

  He located what he searched for within the never-ending depth of his pockets and handed a small box to me. It was about as big as my hand.