Alone

by Scott Sigler

  “Knock knock,” the man says.

  A surge of excitement. This is my grandfather. He loves to tell jokes.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Boo,” he says.

  “Boo who?”

  “Aw, Matilda, don’t be sad!”

  It takes me a moment to understand. Now I get it—boohoo. I laugh a little, then harder. Grampa laughs. A wide smile carves deep troughs in his stubbly face.

  Suddenly I am outside the canoe, watching myself and my grampa fishing.

  My grampa…a man I trusted implicitly.

  A man who was supposed to protect me.

  “Matilda, can you keep a secret?”

  I am looking at myself, at an excited face half-hidden by the blue robe’s hood. The little girl nods madly.

  “Of course,” she says, almost shouting it. “Of course I can, Grampa!”

  Grampa frowns, looks across the water. “Oh, I don’t know…”

  The little girl quickly reels in her line. The lure clacks against the pole’s last ring. Droplets on sharp hooks catch the sunlight, sparkle like molten jewels.

  “Please, Grampa. Tell me!”

  His smile fades. There’s a distant expression in his eyes.

  Something bad is about to happen. The girl doesn’t know it yet. I want to shout Get out of the boat but I’m not really there.

  “You can’t tell your mother,” Grampa says. “And you can’t tell your dad.”

  The little girl nods harder. So bright-eyed. So innocent. So trusting.

  Jump overboard and swim away!

  “Do you love your dad?” Grampa asks the girl.

  “Yes, I love Daddy so much.”

  Grampa doesn’t love Daddy. Daddy is his son-in-law.

  “Then this secret is very important,” Grampa says. “Because if you don’t keep it, your daddy will be hurt. Do you want your daddy to get hurt?”

  The little girl’s smile vanishes. She doesn’t understand what’s happening.

  Jump in the water it doesn’t matter if you drown because death would be better….

  “No, I don’t want Daddy to get hurt.”

  I know what comes next.

  I didn’t want to remember this. Not ever.

  Grampa smiles. Something about that smile makes the little girl lean away. Fear on her face now, fear of the unknown, of a grownup changing the rules.

  “Good,” he says. “Very good.”

  He rises, hands on the side of the canoe for balance. The canoe rocks slightly in the water as he moves toward the little girl, a smile on his face, a distant, wrong smile.

  The scene vanishes. Coldness in my soul. Deadness. What he did…how could the girl ever recover from that?

  It happened to Matilda.

  It happened to me.

  I’m in my bedroom. I’m scared and hurt. My world has shattered. I can’t stop seeing Grampa moving toward me, that sick smile on his face.

  My parents are in another room, arguing. Either they think I can’t hear or they don’t care. I came home…after…and told Mommy what happened. She called me a liar. She slapped me. Daddy heard and came rushing in. Mommy told me to be quiet, to not tell Daddy anything, but he picked me up, held me, petted my hair. I started crying so hard.

  I told him what Grampa did.

  My parents scream at each other. Mommy begs Daddy not to leave, says that he’ll wind up in jail, or get shot. Daddy throws things, punches walls. Our house shakes with his rage.

  Mommy believes me now. I can tell. She’s crying so loud. I did something wrong—this is my fault. I made her sad. I made Daddy angry.

  I hear the comm ring.

  Mommy answers. I can’t hear what she says.

  I hear the chirp of her disconnecting the call.

  “It was him,” Daddy says. “Was it him?”

  Mommy cries some more. “Yes. He…he said they had so much fun fishing.”

  I hear Daddy’s fist punch through a wall.

  “He was seeing if she told on him,” he says. “That bastard, that fucking bastard… I’ll send him straight to hell.”

  “There’s more,” Mommy says. Her voice is so soft I can barely hear it. “He said he’s enrolling her in the convent. He’s sending someone to pick her up tomorrow morning.”

  The pause is so long I wonder if they’ve both fallen asleep.

  The convent…I know that place. We visited there once. It’s part of the main church complex where Grampa lives.

  My skin feels like ice. I start to shiver. Grampa wants me in the convent so he can be closer to me.

  So he can do what he did in the canoe again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Finally, Daddy speaks. He’s not yelling anymore. His voice is just as thin and scared as Mommy’s.

  “We can’t let him do that.”

  “There’s no way to stop him,” Mommy says. “He’s a Mullah—he can do whatever he wants.”

  “Cardinals outrank him.”

  “We don’t know any Cardinals,” Mommy says. “My father runs the church here. You know that. You think some high-ranking church official is going to side with us?”

  The awful tone in her voice. I’m only a little girl, but I know I’m smarter than most people my age. Smart enough to understand that tone—my mother sounds helpless.

  But that can’t be. My parents know everything. They are the best people in our city, on Solomon, in the entire Purist Nation. They can do anything.

  “I’ll kill him,” my daddy says. “Swear to High One, I’ll kill him.”

  “David, please, listen to me—you won’t get near him. We have to think of something else. Can we leave tonight? Can we run?”

  “And go where? We have no money. If we go to the forest, we’ll die. If we go to another town, they’ll find us. We’ll never get clearance to leave the planet.”

  More silence.

  “There is one place,” my daddy says. “The Church of Mictlan. Those are the only walls your father can’t reach beyond.”

  “Mictlan? That crazy woman made the whole damn thing up! She cobbled it together from old Earth religions so she could trick people into building that ridiculous ark. Her religion is fake.”

  “More fake than ours?”

  I start to cry. Somehow this has become the thing they always argue about—religion.

  “Mictlan is a cult,” my mother screams. “Our faith is real! We know Stewart led the exodus from Earth! We made the pilgrimage, saw his landing site with our own eyes. High One led Stewart to leave that bed of sin and found the Purist Nation!”

  “The same High One that put your father in power?”

  Daddy’s words are quiet and cold. They bring silence.

  When Mommy finally speaks, she’s no longer yelling.

  “We might never see her again,” she says. “We don’t know anything about that place. And we can’t afford the tuition.”

  “We can. If we pledge our labor.”

  “David…that’s for life. We’d work until we die.”

  “Which is no different than our lives now,” Daddy says, his voice rising. “We work every day. We suffer, and for what? For the promise of Heaven? For knowing that our child will lead the same life we did? Your father blocked me from entering the church. There’s never been a way out for us. At least this way she’ll be safe.”

  “We don’t know that,” Mommy says. “No one knows what goes on behind those walls.”

  “We know what went on in that canoe. We know what will go on if she’s enrolled at the convent.”

  I pull my blankets tighter around me. Are they going to send me away? I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m a bad girl, a stupid girl, and this is all my fault.

  The ribbon of memory flutters. Another one waves in, soft curls sweeping me up, carrying me to a new place.

  It’s the middle of the night. I don’t hear any grav-cars. During the day our town is noisy, but now it is quiet and still.

  A metal gate
set in walls of stone. I know, somehow, that when I’m older I will see another gate that looks like this one, only much, much larger. This is the place the kids at school talk about: the Mictlan compound. It is a church, but not our church. My friends’ parents say the same things my mother says, that this place is blasphemous, that the lady who founded it can stand up to the Mullahs and Poseks and Cardinals only because she is richer than anyone in the Purist Nation.

  I’ve seen the children of Mictlan around town. They have circular marks on their foreheads. Tooth-girls. Halves. Circle-stars. Most of them have empty circles, though.

  Daddy is talking to a man dressed in black.

  The gate opens.

  The ribbon of existence flutters.

  I’m on a bench. Mommy and Daddy are talking to a woman dressed in black. She’s old, older than any person I have ever seen. She has so many metal parts on her I wonder if she’s actually a robot. She frightens me.

  Mommy is shaking. Daddy has his arm around her, holding her close. I’ve never seen them like this before. They’ve always been strong, the strongest anyone could ever be.

  They are not strong now.

  “Your contracts are for life,” the woman says, a machine making her raspy voice just loud enough to hear. “You serve at my discretion. Your daughter will get an education. She will be safe behind our walls. If you do this, she belongs to us. Do you understand?”

  Mommy asks: “Will we be able to see her?”

  “Possibly,” the machine-woman says. “But not for the first few years. Even then, we make no guarantees. What we’re creating here is bigger than you, than her, than any family. The True God calls, and we all answer.”

  “The ark,” my daddy says. “Will she be sent to the ship? Will we?”

  The woman’s machine voice is cold, uncaring. “That is not your concern. You are not the first parents to come here seeking safety for their sons and daughters. The Purist Church is corrupt beyond belief. They treat women like property. They turn a blind eye to unspeakable child abuse. If you enroll Matilda with us, she will be protected. She will serve a greater purpose. My only regret is that we didn’t get her earlier. She’s too old for advanced training. However, as she grows and matures, she may have children of her own. Your grandchildren could be doctors, engineers, scientists…all things are possible.”

  My parents look at each other.

  “Too old,” Mommy says to Daddy, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. “That means our daughter will be a servant. I don’t care what they call it, we’ve seen the people with circles on their heads in town, catering to the people with those other symbols. Our daughter will be a servant her whole life.”

  Daddy twists in his chair, looks at me. He looks for a long time. Then he turns back to Mommy.

  “It will be dawn in a few hours,” he says. “There are worse things than being a servant.”

  Mommy hides her face in her hands. Her shoulders shake.

  She nods.

  The machine-lady pushes a small black box across her desk. The box has a hole in it. My daddy slides his thumb into the hole.

  A little light on top of the box turns green.

  “It is done,” the machine-lady says.

  The ribbon flutters, but doesn’t vanish. It shifts, slightly. I’m sitting on Daddy’s lap. I don’t know where Mommy is.

  Daddy is crying. He’s trying to hold it back, to hide it, but I see his tears. I hear the pain in his voice.

  “Matilda, I have to send you away. I know you can’t understand right now, but you will. The only way I can keep you safe is to hide you. There may come a time when the tooth-girls tell you to do something dangerous, or the double-rings try to hurt you because they know no one will punish them. If that happens, remember—do whatever it takes to survive.”

  I shake my head. They can’t leave me. They are my parents.

  “I don’t want you to go,” I say. “Please, Daddy…I want to stay with you.”

  He pets my hair. He smells like soap.

  “You’re going to be special,” he says. “You’re going to be one of the Cherished. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

  I don’t know what that word means. If it means I can’t be with him, then I hate the word.

  “Daddy, please.”

  My words make him wince. For the first time in my life, I realize that words have power. A hard lesson that I will carry with me forever.

  He stands, lifting me like I weigh nothing at all, hugs me, then sets me down. A woman in black clothes enters the room. She has a circle mark on her forehead.

  Daddy kneels, kisses my cheeks.

  “I’ll see you again, sweetheart. Do what you’re told. This will be hard for you, but I know you can do it. I know you can.”

  He turns, walks away. I reach for his hand but he’s too fast—he’s already gone.

  My grandfather hurt me. Because of that, I’m losing my mom and my dad.

  I’ve lost everything.

  The world wavers and twists, the ribbon of memory shifts into something new.

  I am eleven. I smell animal shit. The world is bright, but it’s dimmer than real sunlight.

  Because I’m on a starship.

  A ship that is shaped like a big tube.

  There are kids here with me, kids from my lacha. Korrynn Bello, with her frizzy blond hair. Little Bashar Brewer, my best friend. He’s always looking out for me. Tall Boris Aramovsky, who is so good at chess. Theresa Spingate, so gorgeous—I wish I looked like her. Jason Yong, the bully who always sneaks up on me and yanks my braid.

  Kevin O’Malley, the boy who is so pretty it sometimes hurts to look at him. All skin and bones, nothing like the man he will become.

  And a brown-haired girl with a snotty look on her face.

  Nyree Okadigbo.

  I hate her.

  The girls wear white blouses and plaid skirts. The boys, white shirts and black pants. School uniforms. We’re forced to wear these. I want to wear pants, but that’s not allowed for girls.

  “This is so boring,” Theresa says. “Like I need to see any of this.”

  She twirls a finger in her perfect red hair. She’s trying to get O’Malley’s attention. He’s not watching her. Aramovsky is, though.

  The world seems to expand around me, the dream-memory taking on detail.

  Up above, the long ribbon of light that runs through our world. In front of us, a red wooden building with white trim: a barn. Green grass. Mud and dirt. Black cows. A pen with black pigs. A few chickens—also black—running loose.

  A man walks out of the barn. He wears a funny hat. He smiles, that stupid way adults smile at kids they don’t know.

  “You all are here to see where your food comes from.”

  Aramovsky lets out a heavy sigh.

  “It comes from the cafeteria,” he says. “This trip is preposterous.”

  He’s trying hard to look bored. So is Theresa. They’re both nervous, though. I’ve learned that I can tell how people really feel, sometimes when they don’t even know themselves.

  “We kill animals quickly, with as little pain as we can,” the farmer says. “That’s the humane way. But it’s not a pleasant experience. For some things to live, other things have to die. You understand?”

  O’Malley and Bello nod. Okadigbo pretends not to hear. Aramovsky is busy looking at his shoes.

  “Today, you’ll watch us harvest a pig,” the man says. “These are tame animals, but we still have to be careful. A pig is a strong creature. Any animal will fight hard once they realize they’re in danger.”

  Aramovsky sighs again. “Right. Sure. Our pork chops are dangerous. What a stupid blank.”

  At that last word, Bello shrinks in on herself. Blank. It’s a bad word, like empty.

  The farmer is a grown man, much bigger than we are. No symbol on his dirt-smeared forehead. His hands are callused. He’s supposed to avert his eyes, defer to the Cherished, but he stares straight at Aramovsky.

  “You
brats think you know so much. Here’s something you don’t know. The pig you eat for dinner? If you’re not careful, that pig can hurt you. It can kill you. A pig will eat anything—grass, dirt, bugs, crops, meat, cloth, wood…even bone.”

  Aramovsky doesn’t look bored anymore. He’s surprised, as am I, that a vassal would talk to us this way.

  Okadigbo, though, finally perks up. She loves it when someone challenges her. Or her friends. She lives to put people in their place.

  “I guess we don’t have to worry about killer pigs,” she says. “Since no one in my lacha will ever stoop so low as to work on a farm.”

  The farmer glares at her. Unlike Aramovsky, Okadigbo doesn’t back down.

  “I suppose not,” the farmer says. “Come with me.”

  He takes us into the barn.

  On the way in, Okadigbo stops, stares down at her shoe.

  She stepped in shit.

  Yong sees this, laughs a cutting laugh.

  “Idiot,” he says.

  Okadigbo looks at me. She smiles.

  “Clean off my shoe, Matilda.”

  My face grows hot. She’s doing this in front of O’Malley?

  The farmer steps closer. “No need for that nonsense, missies. Just come along.”

  Okadigbo turns on him, her eyes alive and eager.

  “Shut your mouth, blank,” she says. “Or I’ll tell Cardinal Reyez how you were staring at my legs in a way that made me feel funny.”

  The farmer’s eyes go wide.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “Very sorry. My apologies, miss.”

  Okadigbo smiles at me. She lifts her foot.

  “Well, empty? Before we watch the little piggy get slaughtered, clean this shit off my boot.”

  I’m so mad at her. I hate her. I want to see her die.

  Brewer grabs a rag off a fence rail.

  “I got it, Mattie,” he says, smiling as always. “I’ll take a sample and use it for my project on animal digestion.”

  Okadigbo slowly shakes her head.

  “If my shoe isn’t cleaned, by Matilda, then Matilda gets the rod.”

  Brewer stops in his tracks.

  She’s done things like this before. If I don’t do what she says, she’ll tattle. I’ll be punished, because I have to do what she says—I belong to her.