Sons of Earth

by Geralyn Wichers

  She slammed the bedroom door, and then raced around the living room, grabbing the coffee mugs, tossing the blanket over the back, arranging the cushions. She took one last frantic glance around. Their clothes were all in the bedroom, right?

  The doorbell rang.

  “Hey, Khalia,” Jennifer, in her fur-rimmed hood and red toque, was way too perky. What time was it anyway? “Oh look at you, all bedhead. I brought you cookies. Merry Christmas.” A wave cold air rolled over Khalia’s bare feet and sent goose bumps up her legs.

  “Th-thanks.” Khalia took the plastic-wrapped paper plate. “Do you have Christmas plans today?”

  “Uh huh. Dinner tonight. The turkey’s been thawing for days.” Jennifer clapped her mittened hands. “You?”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh, too bad.” Jennifer frowned suddenly and peered at her. “Ya got something on your neck… oh hey, is that a hickey?”

  Khalia’s face went hot all at once. She clapped her hand to her neck.

  “Damn, girl!” Jennifer crowed. She leaned in. “Who is it?”

  Khalia forced a nervous giggle. “Don’t you want to know?”

  “You’ll tell me everything eventually.” Jennifer winked and backed down the walk. “Merry Christmas!”

  “Yeah, Merry Christmas,” Khalia muttered as she shut the door. She pulled her hand away from her neck and turned to look in the hall mirror. Sure enough, Dominic had left his mark.

  “Damn it, Dom.” She padded over to the bedroom and swung the door open. “Damn you!”

  Dominic was lounging languidly, swathed in her puffy, white duvet. He lifted an eyebrow. “Damn me?”

  “You left your mark.”

  “Oh.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Does she know I’m here?”

  “No, but she’s sure to try to torture it out of me.” Khalia sighed and flopped onto the bed, making it and Dominic bounce a little. “Is it okay if this is our secret? Whatever this is.”

  “Whatever this is?” He sat up. The blanket fell, bunching up around his waist. He rubbed his bare arms and stared at her.

  Khalia bit her lip and looked down at her toes.

  “I’m not much for relationships,” he said in a low voice, “I’ve never had a long-term relationship—not with family, not with friends. Certainly not with a woman. Forgive me, but I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Fair enough,” she whispered.

  “But yes, I can keep a secret if you want. Are relationships discouraged between coworkers?”

  She shook her head, still refusing to meet his eyes. "But you can see how this looks, right?"

  “I won’t say anything.” The bedsprings creaked. Dominic’s fingers lifted her chin and made her look him in the eye. “Trust me. I can keep a secret.”

  She leaned into him and sighed.

  His arms slipped loosely around her waist. “Still tired?”

  “Mmhmm. What time is it?”

  “Twelve-thirty.”

  “Oh!” She jerked upright.

  “Yeah,” Dominic said.

  “Do you have... some place to be?”

  “No.” He pulled her backward with him, and she landed on top of the covers and halfway on top of him. He didn’t do anything, just kept gazing into her eyes until she pressed her face into his neck.

  “Then stay.”

  __

  He hadn’t meant to stay, not any more than he’d meant to wind up freezing in her neighborhood.

  Dominic watched her, sleeping in the circle of his arms. She was so delicate. Her lashes fanned like bird’s wings over delicate skin under her eyes. Underneath them were dark smudges, like shadows, left by weariness. Her lips pulled a little tight over her teeth, like she had shrunk. When he ran his hands over her body, he could feel the distinct lines of her ribs, and her spine, and her pelvic bones. Khalia was like a sparrow. He could crush her in his hands.

  Desperately lonely, her truest weakness.

  And his. He knew it now. It was why he’d stayed. He couldn’t bear to walk out, go back to his apartment, the dead tree, the pristine kitchen he never cooked in, the couch he never lounged on, the cold, cold bed.

  Khalia stirred, and Dominic did his best to marshal his thoughts.

  She lifted her head. “Mm… what time is it?”

  He turned his head and glanced at her phone on the bedside table. “Three.”

  She struggled to sit up. “Aren’t you hungry? I could make you some eggs.”

  “I’d love some eggs.”

  She disentangled herself from his arms and sat up.

  He stared at the ivory ridge of her backbone as she fished through the drawer of the bedside table and popped a pill. He reached out and brushed his fingers over the small of her back. “How long have you been addicted to oxycodone?”

  She jerked away from his hand. “I-I’m…”

  He pushed himself up on his elbow. “Khalia, I work with you every day and I'm observant."

  She looked over at her shoulder at him. There was a hunted expression in her eyes. “I…” she opened her mouth and shut it again.

  “Before or after your husband died?”

  “Does anyone else know?” Tears spilled out of her eyes. She turned away and crossed her arms over her breasts and hunched her back. The prominent lines of her shoulders bunched together, forming a wall between them.

  Dominic sat up, struggling with the blankets, and grasped her shoulders gently, but hard enough that she couldn’t shrug them off. “I don’t know if anyone else knows,” he said softly, “But I won't tell anyone anything.”

  Are you sure about that?

  Best hedge your bets.

  He brushed his lips across her shoulder and wrapped his arms over hers. Their skin melded together. “Khalia.”

  She spoke, finally, in a voice that broke, and patched out like a bad connection. Tears dropped onto the covers and left little round marks. “The last six months of our marriage were really… rough, and Jeremy was busy with his union crap, and I was-was put on them because of a minor surgery, and just never got off of them. Please, you can’t tell anyone about this.”

  “You can’t take them forever. They’re dangerous.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” She jerked against his restraining arms, but he held her tight. “I can’t exactly be withdrawing during the MFP2 project, can I?”

  “No.”

  Her voice lowered. “Dom, my work is all I’ve got. I’ve got no family, I’ve got no husband, and between that deadbeat son of a bitch and the oxycodone, I’ve got no money. Maybe once the project is done I can take some time off… get clean…” She sagged against him, and leaned her head back on his shoulder. Two tears tracked down her pale skin. “I don’t know.”

  “I’m not judging you.”

  She sat still in his arms, and he held her because he had no idea what else to do.

  She was the first to move. She twisted around, kissed him on the cheek, and pulled out of his arms. “Do you still want eggs?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “It’s not much of a Christmas dinner.” She wiped at her eyes and her nose and picked her shirt up off the floor. “I mean, we could order something in,” she said as she pulled it over her head.

  Dominic slipped out on the other side and searched around for his pants. “You still aren’t throwing me out? Haven’t I made you cry twice now?”

  She glanced back as she did up her jeans. “Well, you’ve made it up for in other ways.” Her smile wobbled, but stayed put, and suddenly he felt much, much better. “Why, do you suddenly have somewhere to be?”

  “Very possibly at a fine restaurant, with you.”

  Her face lit up and fell in an instant. “But, I can’t… I gotta… not like this!”

  Dominic pointed at his bare chest. “I’m not exactly in countenance either. Put on that dress you wore at the Christmas party. And I’ll… well, maybe we should go by my place and pick up some decent clothes.”

  Her e
yes brightened. “Okay. I should take a shower. Do you need one?”

  "You first."

  She slipped into the bathroom and tossed playful glance over her shoulder with her bloodshot eyes.

  Dominic blew out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

  __

  “You still have the tree up.” Khalia spun around in front of it, her cheeks flushed with the cold night and the wine.

  Dominic caught her by the shoulders, sliding his hands under her coat to rest on the fragile bones of her shoulders. He gazed into her bright eyes. “I like it. I didn’t think I would.”

  She raised her face. He bent and kissed her mouth, her ear, and buried his face in her neck.

  “It’s midnight,” she breathed against his hair. “Merry Christmas, Dominic.”

  But later, as she slept nestled up to his side, Dominic turned his head and saw his phone glowing on the nightstand. He picked it up and rubbed his eyes to see it clearly.

  “Merry Christmas,” it said, signed by Uncle Jim. Then, “You still have something that belongs to me. 26th, 22:00, 324 26th street.”

  Dominic sighed. And you have some explaining to do.

  CHAPTER 9

  "It's quite simple." Chassagne sipped from his insulated mug and settled back against the seat. The car pulled out onto the highway. Its tires hummed on the icy pavement as it accelerated. "It's Caspian. They've been watching me ever since I started recruiting scientists for my facility. They're mad as hell that a small corporation such as mine would challenge them."

  "I guessed as much," Dominic said. "But you swore to me that you'd wiped up every connection between us, that Caspian would never put the two together." He clenched his hands inside his coat pockets. They were still icy from his wait outside the supermarket.

  "I did." Chassagne let out a gusty sigh and dropped the cup into its holder with a clunk. "And as best as I can tell, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They're having a field day on me right now. Andre was caught with cocaine in his luggage when he flew in from China last week."

  Dominic's eyebrows shot up.

  Chassagne thumped his fist against the leather seat. "Damn that boy. You can design your children's DNA, but there's no guarantee they turn out well. No guarantee." He laughed. "And it's too late to wipe him out and start over."

  Dominic gritted his teeth to keep the disgust off his face.

  Chassagne waved his hand. "He swears, 'Papa, it wasn't mine. I've never seen it before.' And I'm inclined to believe him. There's no telling what my enemies might do." He picked up his cup again and slurped from it.

  Dom grimaced. "So they're dredging dirt up on you. Are they going to start harassing me next?"

  "They might, now that we've been seen together. But I sent one of mine to look into that. The right hand has a wondrously bad connection with the left in the police force. I've exploited their inabilities in communication before."

  "My computers are clean. My notes are clean. But I don't want..." he was about to say that he didn't want Khalia compromised, or their tenuous new relationship compromised. "I don't want my work hindered by people nosing through it." He imagined Adam might enjoy doing the honors.

  Chassagne glanced at him over the lid of his travel mug, "I've got a contingency plan, Dominic. I'll pull you out before things get too far. But right now you don't have a choice in this. You're not pulling out of Caspian because you're scared."

  Dominic's faced flushed, but he bit back his retort. "I'm not scared yet, sir."

  Chassagne's eyes narrowed. "Good."

  __

  “Off you go.” Justine tugged Sebastian’s collar into place and squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t outdo Casey this time, okay?”

  Sebastian smiled shyly. “Justine, as Casey says, ‘he who will not work will not eat’ and I eat more, thus I must outdo him in working.”

  “And also in being a smart-mouth.” Casey picked up his bag and leaned in to kiss her. His calloused hand was gentle on her cheek, and his lips on hers. “Have a good day, sweetheart.”

  “Be safe,” she whispered to him, holding his jaw until he slipped her hand away and turned to the door. They would be gone almost until the gates closed. First, they’d take a bus to the outskirts of the city, then hike into the rolling fields and gullies, and the treed patches along the river where Casey had set his traps. It was a long way, and it was cold.

  The door shut behind them, and she heard twin sets of footsteps receding down the stairs.

  She didn’t really have time to mourn the passing of Christmas holidays. Her bus would arrive in five minutes. Justine stuffed her feet into her boots and slipped her arms into the new wool coat that had been Casey’s Christmas present. It was second-hand from Ernest’s shop, but barely worn. The thick blue-grey wool was the same color of her eyes, and the hood was rimmed with luxurious fur—fake, of course, but she didn’t mind.

  They would be fine. Fine. At least Casey had Sebastian with him now.

  He wasn’t their child, exactly… more like a little brother. But they were training him like a child—to work, to learn, to think for himself, and to discern instead of trust blindly.

  “I don't think he'll be the first,” she had whispered last night, when Sebastian was asleep on the worn couch in the living room, and she was snuggled up to Casey in the bedroom.

  "He said no," Casey sighed against her shoulder.

  "He's so cold."

  His voice was weary, "He's right—it's dangerous. And remember that he was raised believing that he isn't human, Justine. I don't think we can expect him to react and feel as we do."

  "He is human. Sebastian certainly is."

  "Yeah."

  "And they're more or less brothers. So why won't he save more?"

  "He claims to have a better plan." Casey leaned in and dropped a peck on her lips. "But I don't know how long he'll hold out. It must take its toll to see your race—however you value them—killed as if they have no value."

  Justine leaned away from him. "I keep getting the feeling you're unconvinced, Case. I want you with me on this. I want you to believe me."

  "On a purely logical level, I cannot deny his humanity. On the level of the heart, Sebastian convinces me a little more each day." He kissed her again. "You should hear the questions he asks me. 'Why am I here? Why are you here? What are we supposed to be doing? Why is this wrong? Why is that wrong? How do I know?' I mean, how do I know sometimes? How do I know that when I try to do good, I am not actually nailing together my own coffin?"

  She had only touched his face and averted her eyes. "I don't know."

  Outside, she could hear the distant rumble of the bus. Justine sighed, bringing herself to present. She clambered down the stairs. As she slipped out the door, the air nipped at her nose and her fingers through the wool mittens. She pulled her hood up to block out the wind, shoved her hands in her pockets, and gazed down the block, where her neighbors were emerging into the snowy morning to go to work.

  She didn't say it to Casey, but if Dominic came to her, she wanted to take another MFP.

  __

  Dominic had just washed his plate and cup when his phone dinged on the table. He dried his hands and picked it up, hoping it wasn’t Chassagne.

  But it was Khalia this time, texting: “What are you up to?”

  “Reading,” he replied. He glanced at his German copy of Narcissus and Goldmund, his only plans for the evening.

  “Meet me for coffee?”

  But before he could reply, she said, “On second thought, come here? I’m working on the training plan. Bring your book and keep me company.”

  Dominic smiled. Perfect. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Khalia’s hair was up in a knot on top of her head, tendrils poking out in every direction. One slender shoulder poked out of her oversized, grey sweater. She raised her face for a kiss, but drew back almost as soon as his lips brushed hers.

  “I do intend to work tonight,” she said
breathlessly, “What did you bring to read?”

  He held up Narcissus and Goldmund.

  “German, huh?”

  “It is my project of the year. Last year it was Italian, to complete the Romance languages. Now I’ve begun on the Germanic ones.”

  She laughed again. “You really don’t have a social life, do you? Well, neither do I. Do you pick up languages easily?”

  “One per year is quite manageable.”

  Khalia laughed, “So yes, then.” She touched his cheek. “Will you help me with this regime, or read German to me?”

  Dominic grimaced. “The regime.”

  “Good choice. Coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She turned to the stove and pushed the kettle onto the element. It began to clunk and pop as it heated up. The coffee-grinder whirred. Dominic followed her into the kitchen and leaned against one of the flimsy metal chairs at the table.

  “Why so many languages?” she asked as she dumped the grinds into the French press. The greenish fluorescent light bounced off the rim, and reflected in her eyes.

  “To maximize options,” he said. “I’d like to travel. Perhaps work abroad in one of Caspian’s partner plants.”

  To maximize where I can run. Dominic fought the urge to clench his fists, and kept his face relaxed as she turned and stirred the coffee in the press. He slipped up behind her and rested his chin on top of her head. She leaned back into him, and they stood there until her timer beeped and she depressed the plunger.

  “You’ve been lonely, haven't you?” she said softly. Then she pulled away from him and poured the coffee into two mugs.

  Dominic sat across from her at the kitchen table as she opened her laptop with one hand and lifted her coffee to her lips with the other. Her dark brows pulled together a she scanned what she had on the screen.

  “So, as we’d discussed, I’ve been focusing on the mental prowess of the MFP2’s,” she said, “What I have so far is quite slanted toward problem-solving ability and strategy.”

  “Personal strategy or team strategy?”

  “Well, personal strategy mostly. I requested to add team building training, but Adam has vetoed anything I’ve suggested so far. He said it is irrelevant.”

  He would say that. “Irrelevant? They’re going into combat scenarios where they will fight as units, not individuals.” Dominic narrowed his eyes. “I’ll go over his head.”