Mirror of Stone

by Corie J. Weaver

  Eleanor scrambled to gather the prospector’s things, bundled them in her arms and tossed them into her own room.

  By the time Eleanor returned to her room that afternoon for a break before the dinner rush, any thoughts about the old man and his death had evaporated. The few pieces of shabby furniture in her small room had been gleaned from the other rooms as items judged too worn for guests. She hadn’t bothered to decorate further. But out her window lay another world. She reveled in the clear outlook all the way to the borders of town, provided by living in one of the few two-story buildings on her street. Eleanor took a seat on the wide sill and gazed out.

  The battered storefronts marched down the street like weary soldiers, waiting for a relief that would never come, their plastisteel surfaces long since pocked by pebbles kicked up from the street by passing flitters.

  Administration had promised to pave the town streets years before, but supplies had been delayed time and time again. Eleanor doubted the project would ever move forward. Dirt roads. Space flight and dirt roads. I’ll bet they don’t know that back on Claro.

  The pale sun glimmered off the beaten metal rooftops and the city transformed to fire before her, contained by the haze of the artificial cloud cover. When she swung away, eyes stinging from the brightness, the sight of the weather-beaten and dusty pack she had tossed in the corner that morning surprised her.

  It resembled any other prospector’s kit, battered, waterproof and cavernous. The colony on Travbon had been founded to take advantage of deposits of thorium, essential to the process that powered the ship engines and the machinery that kept the air clear. No other colony had been established so far from Claro or on a moon rather than a planet, or had undergone such massive transformation to make it habitable, if still rough around the edges. Prospectors were common enough here, but new tools were hard to come by. She could go down to the general store and sell it and its contents in the morning. She opened the fastenings and spilled the few bits and pieces before her on the bed.

  Finely worked tools, a well-worn, oft-mended spare shirt, a respirator. A logbook. A compass and map. A larger something she didn’t recognize, like a pale green, heavy brick.

  Eleanor turned the object in her hands and tried to make sense of what she held. No matter how she pulled and pried at the edges, she could find no way to open it. A pattern ringed the edge of what might have been the cover, a design of flowers and vines. Similar panels decorated the sides and on the two long sides the vines wrapped around three holes arranged along each centerline.

  She rifled through the drawer of her night table, found an old data crystal from class and tried to insert it. It didn’t fit. Besides, she’d never heard of anything that would take six crystals. How could it read them all at once?

  She pressed along the vines, poked the flowers to see if they held hidden buttons.

  Nothing. Bracing for a shock, she poked one finger gingerly into a hole. Still nothing.

  I’m going to regret this. This is probably some sort of booby trap. And I’m the booby.

  She took a deep breath, braced herself and inserted a finger into one of the holes. Nothing happened. The sides of the hole felt smooth and dry. She slid the three longest fingers of each hand into the holes on either side of the device.

  She gasped. Not from pain, but surprise. The front of the device flared into life, became a small vid screen. A city with jeweled spires reaching for pastel-streaked heavens filled the screen, graceful curved domes atop slim towers. Broad opalescent walkways surrounded gardens filled with bright flowers. She could imagine their perfume. Scene after scene rolled by in a parade of silent pictures.

  Eleanor sat, entranced. Historical vids she had seen in school, dramas on chips at home, newscasts everywhere, but never something so strange, yet real. It’s so close. I could reach through and touch the petals, the walls, be transported there in an instant. She withdrew one hand to touch the screen.

  The picture snapped to black.

  She put her fingers back into the empty slots. The screen again glowed with life and displayed the initial views of the city.

  She closed her eyes and listened for activity in the hallway. Nothing, she had time. She removed her hands, set the darkened vidplayer aside and examined the rest of her spoils.

  She picked up the next item, a small travel-stained notebook. A daily log. On the inside of the cover she found a name and brushed her hand over the spindly script. Joel Zacks. Eleanor bowed her head over the notebook and imagined how awful it would be to die alone and no one even knows your name.

  She flipped through the thin pages of the logbook, found day-by-day travel notes and sample results at first.

  “985.367.465 Another false positive, moving on. Further in than ever before. 984.356.476. Good traces. Planted markers.”

  Factual daily information changed into seasonal essays mixed with fragments of Joel Zach’s personal history, snippets of odd poetry, scrawls.

  “I’ve found them. They’ve been here all along, watching us.”

  “Them.” Eleanor shuddered. The stories were true. The mountains drove you mad.

  In school they’d learned the story of the settlement of Claro, the second planet of the System. The later survey ships, the slow expansion of the colonies, the decisions and reasons to establish each one. Never had a survey found a trace of any other life, not on any of the colony worlds, nowhere in the System. Humans were alone.

  She found gaps of weeks followed by small sketches of trees and rock formations. Scribbled in the margins she found a recurring verse.

  Mirror of rock

  Cold as space

  Passage through the dark

  The verse appeared for the first time next to a full-page sketch of a rock. Not a particularly interesting rock. Sort of bumpy on the sides and top and smooth on the face. Like a melted picture frame of stone.

  But what do I know about rocks or prospecting? She shrugged and put down the notebook. Prospectors might think a certain type of rock promised to be full of thorium. Maybe it marked his claim. No way of knowing. No way of asking.

  Worn fold lines threatened to rupture the continent displayed on the tattered map. She rotated it, got her bearings, then smoothed the thin plastic out on the bed in front of her.

  She put a finger on the spot near the coast where the town of Prime lay, drew her hand to the northeast, towards the mountains, across wide farmland and forests and paused over a river. The prospector had said the flooded Namok had trapped him, delayed him.

  In Eleanor’s mind she forded the rushing river as her finger crossed the thin line, then continued east and north. The mountains, she thought. He said he went in further than anyone else, but which way? Where did he go?

  Her fingers traced back and forth over the range, as if they could scout the path for her.

  Wait.

  She stopped and ran her finger over one small area again.

  Here.

  The section of the map felt textured, as if someone had repeatedly run a stylus over the area.

  Downstairs in the bar, prospectors often argued about who had been where, claimed what, mined what. As they made their points, they thrust grimed fingers at the large map pinned to the wall, stabbed it as if the force of the gesture could carry along their heated words. The scored area lay in a section of the mountain range she couldn’t remember that anyone had ever argued about.

  Eleanor put the notebook down, cleared the other items off her faded blue and green quilt and stowed them back into the old pack. She reached for the strange vidplayer and activated the screen. Lost in the images of the ethereal city as they flickered by, the shout from the end of the hall startled her.

  “Tables need washing again before the dinner run gets here.”

  Eleanor jerked upright and scowled at
the door. “I’ll do it later,” she called. “And the tables are fine,” she muttered, “You’re never happy with anything.”

  A deep sigh, audible even down the hall. “Now, Eleanor. You know there’s never time later.”

  Eleanor rolled her eyes but put the device under her pillow and left for the next round of chores.

  Hours later she returned to her room too tired to further investigate the contents of the pack or the odd video, but dreamed of towers in a faraway city lit by a strangely colored sky.

  In the month after the departure of the trading ship, business returned to its usual steady state. Late one afternoon, Susan cleaned glasses at the bar and confided in one of the regulars. “Never seen such a thing. I didn’t curl up into a bottle when my Scott died, did I? Sheer weakness on his part. He knows someone will always cover for him. Even as children, Greg Weber always left everything to me. He’s still at it.”

  Susan smirked at Eleanor passing by with a tray of dishes. She lowered her voice, but not enough. “And if somebody didn’t keep mollycoddling that brother of mine, he’d realize all the sooner he has to get back to work and deal with facts, like everyone else.”

  Eleanor didn’t believe it. Her father had given up all pretense of eating the food she brought him; argued about every sip of fortified water.

  She had tried to limit his access to alcohol. When she locked the cellar door, her father tore apart the kitchen and front room looking for the key. It took her a full morning to put everything to rights.

  Life settled into a new routine. Every night Eleanor sat in her room and watched scenes of the graceful city in the strange device. The views changed; distant forms passed through the images. Their shapes, how their bodies moved, struck her as unnatural, yet mesmerized her. Fabrics that flowed and shimmered in the light draped over elegant, elongated shapes topped by pale masks shaded with bright colors.

  She couldn’t hear them. The strange vidplayer showed pictures but no sounds. Instead she imagined stories about the figures, gave them names, made wild guesses as to their hidden faces. Frequently, dawn came and found Eleanor unsure if she had slept and dreamt of the city, or stayed awake entranced by the pictures.

  Early one morning Susan barged into her room with a round of complaints. “I swear, that man better get himself pulled together. I’m not going to be stuck with this mess.”

  Susan’s voice broke off and she gaped at Eleanor’s hands still engaged in the vidplayer.

  “Hey now, what’s that you’ve got there?”

  “Nothing.” Eleanor tried to slide it away under the covers.

  “Didn’t look like nothing to me. Let me see it.”

  Susan reached across Eleanor, held her back with one hand while she groped under the quilt. She withdrew the vidplayer with a satisfied grunt.

  Susan turned the device in her hands. “So, what is it? How does it work?”

  With a surge of anger, Eleanor grabbed the vidplayer with both hands and twisted to free it from Susan’s grip.

  Susan backhanded her. “Watch it, girl. You’ve been allowed to get away with far too much in the past, but not anymore.”

  Stunned, Eleanor lay on the floor as the sting of the blow spread across her face.

  “Now, tell me what this is.”

  The numbness in her cheek made it difficult for Eleanor to answer. “Some junk I found in that prospector’s pack. I was only looking at it. It doesn’t do anything.”

  She held her breath as Susan ran her hands over the designs on the sides, paused at the finger holes. Susan tried to stuff one finger inside, but the narrow hole refused her.

  Serves you right, you cow, Eleanor thought.

  Susan’s bulk belied her speed. She swooped upon Eleanor and grabbed her hand, attempted to shove her slimmer fingers into the holes.

  Eleanor curled her fingers to her palms.

  “Open your hands, girl, or you’ll regret it.”

  Another sharp crack to her cheek and Eleanor let her hands go limp. She put her fingers in the slots and the screen lit.

  “It’s just a toy. You see them around town sometimes. He must have bought it from the trader ship as a present.”

  Susan took the device back, squinted at it. “Might be worth something. I’ll take it to the store, see what I can get for it.”

  “But it’s mine!”

  Susan raised her hand and Eleanor retreated.

  “Nothing’s yours unless I say it is. About time you learned that.”

  The view from the window failed to comfort her this time, the shimmer that of a mirage. It’s all a trap, she thought. No matter what I do. Eleanor left her hair loose over her bruised cheek. She put down the brush and scrutinized herself in the mirror, then dropped her eyes. I can do it. I don’t have another choice.

  Eleanor found Susan in the kitchen watching a drama vid. “We’re almost out of talik grass, and someone always wants it crumbled over their dinner. I’m going to go to the store while it’s quiet this morning.”

  Susan didn’t answer for a moment and Eleanor felt her stomach twist. She has to let me go, she thought. I’ve got to get out of here.

  At last Susan shrugged. “I’m glad you’ve started to think about your responsibilities. Don’t be too long, I want you back here before the first guest arrives.” And she returned her attention to the vid screen.

  Eleanor pulled a heavy jacket on over her jumpsuit and hurried out the back door into the watery light. The wind blew, kicked up dust and chilled her lungs with every breath. The grey buildings hunkered close to the ground, clustered together as if for company. Straggly blooms grew in pots by doors, owners inviting luck to come in, to be attracted by the bright colors. Eleanor tilted her face toward the distant sun, but it did nothing to warm her.

  She stood across the street and watched people pass by the store. Old people, children, but far fewer young adults than she had expected. The sun and wind whipped the face of a broad woman. Farmer. White respirator marks on a grizzled man. Prospector. A pair in the dark uniform of the Guards. A merchant or two. No one else bustled down the busy streets of a city of a quarter million people. Of course. The Navy ships that had escorted the traders. The recruiters had been busy.

  She dodged two children as they swooped out of the store and shrieked around the candies in their mouths. Supplies and notions of all kinds filled the building, tall shelves stacked to the ceiling. But she noticed gaps, empty spaces on the shelves the slider arms skipped over as they plucked crates down and slid them towards the front of the store.

  Around the corner she could hear Mrs. Reilly helping someone with an order. But no Doug. Maybe he’s out on a delivery.

  “Darling!” Mrs. Reilly stood before her, beaming. “Whatever happened to your face, dear?” She reached towards Eleanor’s cheek.

  “I ran into an open cabinet in the kitchen.” Eleanor forced a laugh. “I’m really clumsy sometimes.”

  Mrs. Reilly lowered her hand, eyes narrowed. “I see. Well, sometimes there’s nothing to be done.” She brightened. “But I’m sure you’re not here to chat with me. Doug’s in the storeroom. Go on back, you’ll be a nice break for him.”

  She came around a corner and found him in the workshop to the side with his head and shoulders buried inside a torn-down engine.

  “You don’t walk particularly quiet. Hand me that gauge.”

  “What do-” she spat out, then stopped herself. This had to be done right, this had to work. She lowered her voice. “Doug, come on.”

  He took the instrument from her but didn’t look up. “I’m working.”

  “And I’m apologizing.” she heard her voice rise again and laughed. “But maybe not very well.” She sat next to his legs and breathed deep of the familiar scent of machine grease and fuel. “I don’t know what to do an
ymore. I don’t know if I can fix this.”

  The clank of metal on metal stopped, but Doug stayed silent.

  “Doesn’t he love me anymore?” she whispered. She squinted into the dark corners of the storeroom, focused on distant shapes, tried to tease their purpose from her mind, anything to distract her from the threatening tears.

  “Hey. Quit that.”

  She blinked, glanced over to where he emerged from under the engine.

  His lips twisted to the side in a half-smile. “None of that snuffling here, El. You’ll make me nervous.”

  She focused on her hands, rehearsed the next words in her head, over and over. She could only be sure she had finally spoken aloud when his body stiffened.

  “Doug, before we argued...before I got angry.”

  He shifted in place, but didn’t answer.

  “You know there’s no other options. I can’t enlist in the Navy, they’ve already left. Maybe SecDept would have me a year early, but we both know I’d be lousy at it.”

  “You’d be cute in the uniform, but that’s about it,” he muttered.

  “What else can I do?” She hoped she had read his intentions right. Well, if I’m wrong, nothing’s harmed. If I’m right...

  And she wasn’t wrong.

  He put down the wrench he held. He hissed through his teeth as he held her hair back from her bruised cheek. She jerked away from his touch.

  “You can’t live like that. No one should have to.” His eyes searched over her face. “Come here. Live here.”

  Eleanor leaned back, the wind knocked out of her. She had wanted this, right? Then how could it feel like something crushed her chest, like she couldn’t fill her lungs? She forced a smile.

  Doug pressed onward. “I know, it would be strange, but we could try. Try with me?”

  Eleanor let out the breath she had held. “I think I’d like that.” She tilted her face up to his, made her eyes soft, and held her breath.