Refraction

by Christopher Hinz

  Don’t pull a Blackie Redstone. Always think smart. That’s the only way to stay ahead of your troubles.

  The memory of his father’s presence and those words served to lift Aiden from the all-consuming funk. Despite Cho’s revelations, the pillars of his life had not been destroyed. A foundation remained, strong and abiding, built deep into the bedrock of Byron and Alice Manchester’s unconditional love.

  He was a freak, yes, but he was a freak who’d been raised in a strong and supportive environment. His birth might have been swaddled in unreality but his upbringing was not. His parents had endowed him with the strength to face whatever challenges were thrown in his path.

  He straightened. The breeze seemed sharper, the faint sounds of traffic on the intersecting avenues keener.

  A car horn blared. He turned. A green Honda SUV nestled up to the curb in front of him. Ana Cho’s son was behind the wheel.

  “Get in,” Grant urged.

  Despite freeing himself from those bleak thoughts, Aiden wasn’t ready to return to their home.

  “I’m not heading back to the house,” Grant said. “Mom is brilliant and I love her. And there probably wasn’t a good way to reveal the truth to you. But sometimes she can be insensitive, out of touch with how her words can hurt. And, for what it’s worth, as fascinating as she finds the whole quiver kids experiment from a scientist’s perspective, a part of her feels terrible about her role in it.”

  Aiden wasn’t swayed. Nevertheless, common sense won out. Alone and dashing haphazardly through a strange city with a limited supply of cash didn’t present a lot of options.

  He hopped in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?”

  “I have something to show you.”

  “I’ve had enough surprises for the day.”

  “This one you won’t want to miss.”

  FORTY-SIX

  They drove west. For a time, neither of them spoke. Aiden sensed that Grant was waiting for him to make the overture. He kept silent until they’d crossed the Willamette River into Portland’s downtown.

  “Do the other quiver kids or anyone else know the truth about me?”

  Grant shook his head. “At least I don’t think so. Maurice Pinsey could have told someone, maybe at his church. But Mom always doubted it. He was too frightened by the whole thing. And Colonel Jenkins wasn’t the kind of man to share secrets. If he had, you can bet that Pentagon spooks would have been tracking the seven of us to this day. To the best of our knowledge, that didn’t happen.”

  “What about your Mom? Could she have inadvertently leaked it to someone?”

  “No. Like I said, not even my adoptive father knew.”

  Aiden found himself chuckling. The emotional release felt good.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “That word, father. I just realized that as well as having an adoptive one, I have you.”

  “I suppose that’s got to feel weird.”

  “FYI, I’m not going to start calling you Dad.”

  “Good. And technically, I’m only one-sixth of your parentage.”

  Aiden’s amusement evaporated when he considered that his heredity also included Michael de Clerkin. And on the female side there was Jessie. The physical revulsion he’d felt toward her when intimacy threatened now sort of made sense. Some innate part of him may have recognized that hooking up with one of his biological mothers was a genetic no-no. But for whatever reason, Jessie didn’t experience the same reaction.

  His thoughts wandered to the one quiver kid he knew nothing about. “What about Cyan? What’s her story?”

  “Her name is, or was, Meira Hirshfeld. Mom tracked her early on, same as she did with you and Michael. Meira was adopted by a couple from Washington State who’d established a chain of upscale restaurants.

  “But when Meira was ten, her parents sold the business and moved them to British Columbia, to a small town north of Vancouver. Not long after that they pulled a disappearing act, went off the grid. Mom tracked them as far as Australia. One rumor has it that after Meira reached adulthood, she traveled to Thailand and became ordained as a Theravada Buddhist monk.” Grant shrugged. “But we really have no idea whether that’s true, or if she’s even still alive.”

  “Age ten,” Aiden mused. “Early puberty maybe, the start of the manifestations? Sounds like Meira’s parents did something similar to Jessie’s mother, moved away from civilization to protect her child.”

  “That’s Mom’s theory too.”

  Aiden had refrained from asking the obvious question: What ability did Grant possess? He had a hunch that Green – the real Green – was planning to reveal it soon.

  “Mom mainly does freelance work these days, neuroscience consulting for tech companies. But no surprise, her real passion is trying to make sense of the quiver phenomenon and the seven of us. You showing up unexpected, and with what you’ve told us about the others, will keep her energized for months. Still, sometimes I think Maurice Pinsey was right. According to Mom, he used to say that the more quiver was studied, the less it was understood.”

  “He’s still saying it.”

  “Quiver seems to have been engineered by some fantastic alien science and sent here by unknown means seventy thousand years ago. Beyond that, it’s pretty much all guesswork. It’s possible we don’t even have the language or tools to comprehend quiver’s fundamental nature. We can only explore the edges, pick at the outer layers.”

  “The IQ boost would seem to be a big part of it,” Aiden said. “Maybe quiver is like those black monoliths in 2001: A Space Odyssey. It’s meant to push the human race into making some kind of quantum evolutionary leap.”

  “On the surface that sounds plausible. But Mom and I have come to doubt that raising mammalian intelligence is quiver’s main purpose. She still has contacts at Tau Nine-One who tell her that the IQ boost remains the primary focus of their research. No more testing on human babies, obviously, but plenty of infusing all sorts of other infant mammals. They’ve even experimented on dolphins. But no manifestations have ever resulted from those test animals. That suggests only Homo sapiens can develop such abilities. A logical conclusion is that quiver is human-centric.”

  Aiden gazed ahead. They’d left Portland’s urban core for a mountainous region northwest of the city. The hilly two-lane road curled through a forest of Douglas firs and big-leaf maples. Verdant treetops formed a wavering outline against a rich azure sky.

  “We suspect that the IQ boost is merely an enticement,” Grant said. “It makes us curious enough to want to experiment further with quiver. Looking at it another way, quiver is a delivery system for endowing an intelligent species with enhanced abilities. The manifestations and whatever they lead to are what’s important, not the raised IQs. That’s just a trick to get us to bring babies into contact with the quiver stone. And from what you’ve said about the others, it seems certain that our abilities come in six different forms.”

  Aiden recalled Cho saying that the quiver kids were part of a jigsaw puzzle, that they fit together to achieve a common purpose.

  “But what’s the ultimate objective?” he wondered. “Why would these presumed aliens go to all this trouble?”

  Grant shrugged. “I suppose that’s up to us to find out.”

  “Up to the six of you, maybe. It’s pretty clear I’m odd man out. I don’t have abilities like the rest of you.” Aiden grimaced. “I’m just a side effect.”

  “Mom believes that but I’m not so sure. There are other scenarios to consider.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like we’re here,” Grant said, turning into a gravel parking lot. It served as a transition point for exchanging rubber tires for rubber-soled boots. At the end of the lot, a trail snaked uphill through the trees.

  “Ready for a little hike?” Grant asked.

  Aiden looked doubtful.

  “You can’t beat nature as a tonic, especially when your day’s gone to hell.”

  “Fine. Lead on.”

>   Aiden followed him up the winding dirt path. They encountered a trio of hikers coming downhill. Beyond that, the trail was deserted.

  The sound of cars on the road below grew muffled. Other than chirping birds, the woods grew silent as well. Stepping on twigs produced inordinately loud crackling.

  The trail finally leveled off. Grant took a spur that angled to the left. The side trail was narrower and overgrown with tangled vines and protruding branches. Aiden had to walk far enough behind him to avoid being face-whipped by springy shoots he pushed aside.

  The path grew even less hospitable, disappearing entirely in spots. Aiden tripped on a vine and almost fell. He was about to protest they’d gone far enough when they reached a small clearing. Four boulders were positioned evenly around its perimeter like makeshift seats. A ring of stones in the center marked an old campfire.

  “Stumbled on this place a couple years ago,” Grant said. “It’s become my go-to rest stop.”

  The boulders were draped in moss and dead leaves. Grant swept debris off two of them and sat, motioning Aiden to the opposite boulder. They perched across from one another, the campfire stones between them.

  Grant folded his hands in his lap and closed his eyes. A serene expression came over him, as if slipping into a meditative state. Aiden forced patience but soon felt antsy. Any sort of New Age, contemplate-your-navel activities had never been a strong suit.

  “If you start in with chanting and mantras, I’m out of here,” Aiden jokingly warned.

  Grant’s eyes remained shut. “I’m trying to get in the right mood so I can show you.”

  “Show me what?”

  “This.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Grant opened his eyes. A manifestation appeared in the air between them. It resembled one of Aiden’s chunkies. But it didn’t fall to earth. Fascinated, Aiden watched the levitating brown sphere grow larger until it was about four feet in diameter. The center became translucent then faded entirely, leaving a hole the size of a manhole cover. When the manifestation completed its transformation, it reminded Aiden of a giant chocolate donut.

  “My manifestations began at puberty too,” Grant said. “But I didn’t figure out how to do this until a few years ago.”

  “Exactly what are you doing?”

  “I call it a cleaving, I can only keep it stable for a few minutes. Imagine holding your breath. The longer you do it, the more you feel the need to exhale and suck down fresh air. So we don’t have much time. I’d like to try a little experiment. I’d like you to stick your hand through the hole.”

  Aiden hesitated.

  “No one’s ever been harmed,” Grant assured him. “Mom and I figured out a way to secretly give this test to hundreds of people.”

  Aiden recalled the giant ceramic clown in Ana Cho’s living room. “The hole in its belly. You create one of these donuts, hide it behind the clown and entice people to tickle its innards.”

  “Exactly. What they’re really doing is sticking their hand through a cleaving. Hidden cameras and test gear are set up to record any effects. But please, Aiden, save your questions for later. Like I said, I can’t keep this intact for very long.”

  Aiden approached the hole. “My dad once said that when a lion willingly opens its mouth, that’s not the best time to practice animal dentistry.”

  “You need to hurry.”

  “What do you expect to happen?”

  “I have no idea.” Grant sounded frustrated that Aiden wasn’t being a good little volunteer. “That’s the whole point. It’s a test.”

  “Screw it,” Aiden muttered, ramming his hand and forearm through the hole before he could think of more reasons not to.

  The extended appendage disappeared. It seemed to have passed through an invisible barrier into some other realm or dimension. Startled, he withdrew the arm. He was relieved when it became visible again. More importantly, it seemed normal.

  “Try it again,” Grant whispered. His voice was strained, as if finding it increasingly difficult to maintain the cleaving.

  Aiden complied. This time he kept the invisible arm inserted through the hole.

  “Feel anything?” Grant asked.

  “A slight drop in temperature. But that could be due to the breeze.”

  “There is no breeze.”

  Aiden raised his other hand, rotated the palm in search of air currents. “You’re right. The breeze is only in there. Weird. What if I tried sticking my hand through from the other side of the hole?”

  “There’d be no difference. Our tests indicated that cleavings are bidirectional.”

  Grant started to say something else. But Aiden’s attention was snared by another voice, one he’d heard many times before.

  “Singularity beguiles, transcend the illusion.”

  It was Bobbie Pinsey, or whoever or whatever was speaking through her. The words seemed louder and more resolute than in Bobbie’s bedroom or in his green dreams.

  “Do you know that phrase?” Aiden asked.

  “What phrase?” Grant asked.

  “You didn’t hear it?”

  “Hear what?”

  Grant stared quizzically. Before Aiden could explain, the breeze wafting across his extended arm turned icy cold.

  “Whoa! Suddenly feels like my hand’s stuck in a freezer. But the rest of my body seems perfectly normal and–

  “Oww!”

  He yanked his arm from the hole. Something jagged, like coarse-grained sandpaper, had scraped the back of his hand. He examined it, expecting to see a brush burn. But it was unmarred.

  The donut began to fade. In seconds it was gone. Grant hunched forward on the boulder, his brow covered in sweat.

  “I’ll be OK in a sec,” he said, breathing hard. “Why’d you yank your hand out?”

  “Something else was in there with me. It brushed against me.” He acknowledged a tinge of fear as he imagined what it might have been. Something alive? Something monstrous?

  “This happen to any of your other test subjects?” he asked

  “No. Mom and I performed the experiment hundreds of times. Friends, relatives, acquaintances, neighborhood kids who wanted to tickle the clown’s innards. But nothing unusual ever occurred. It was just as if they were sticking their hand through an open window.” He paused. “You’re the first to have any kind of reaction.”

  Aiden should question Grant and Cho’s ethics for performing such a test on unsuspecting victims. But the effort would have been wasted. He was fast learning that quiver kids and ethics had no business sharing a sentence.

  “Ever stick your own arm in there?” he challenged.

  “Physically impossible,” Grant said. “Ever try to bring together the like poles of a really powerful magnet? You can’t do it. The poles repel one another. Same thing with me and a cleaving. The harder I try pushing through it, the harder it pushes back.”

  “And your mom?”

  “Same as everyone else, no effect. But I’ve always sensed that there was something on the other side, that I’m opening a portal into another universe or dimension. You’re the first person able to reach across to that place.”

  “And you call this other place the shroud.” He recalled the word from Cho and Grant’s cryptic conversation.

  “The name popped into my head. It seemed appropriate.”

  Grant got up from the boulder. He looked recovered from his ordeal. “So that phrase you heard, it was the one from your dreams?”

  “Yeah. Back at the house you and your mom said something about Gold’s message being an initial step for safe entry into a cleaving, that she might be a telepath receiving information from within the shroud.”

  Grant nodded. “Part of a theory Mom and I have bandied about. Red’s ability could have something to do with traveling through the shroud and Magenta’s power some kind of defensive system to enable safe passage. Blue’s ideas about penetrating a realm beyond the beasts could refer to whatever’s on the other side too. Presumably, Cyan is someh
ow linked as well.”

  “Six pieces of a jigsaw puzzle,” Aiden mused. The thought bubbled with hidden significance. But a connection remained elusive.

  “Until today, it was just speculation,” Grant said, his voice building with excitement. “An unprovable theory. But you’ve changed that.”

  Aiden knew where his thoughts were headed. He short-circuited the idea before Grant could utter it.

  “Don’t even think about asking me to climb through one of those holes.”

  Grant was undeterred. “Mom’s theory about your birth being random, a side effect, could be wrong. For all we know, the rest of us were unconsciously compelled to create you because you’re the only one who can truly cross over to the other side. At the very least, the fact that you successfully inserted your arm suggests a more comprehensive test is warranted.”

  “Forget it. I’m not going all Aldous Huxley and exploring your brave new world.”

  “At least think about it. It’ll take a day or so for me to build up the strength to create another cleaving. You can stay with us until I’m ready.”

  Aiden admitted that Grant’s idea made sense. Whatever existed on the other side of one of those holes could answer fundamental questions about quiver. But he was more than a bit creeped out by what had happened when that thing brushed his hand. Did some other form of life exist over there, something with malignant intentions?

  If he remained in Portland, Grant and Cho would push him to enter a cleaving, maybe even attempt to trick him into doing it. He had to get away from them, that much was certain. But he wasn’t left with a lot of good options. Return home to Birdsboro? Do what Keats had initially proposed, go into hiding and stay off the grid?

  Neither was appealing. They would only postpone the inevitable. Sooner or later, Red would likely come after him again, possibly enhanced in some way from the stolen quiver and more powerful than ever. He couldn’t chance putting Darlene and Leah in danger. And his lack of funds made wandering aimlessly a nonstarter.