Special Passage (The Coursodon Dimension Book 4)

by M. L. Ryan

  When Alex disclosed the existence of Courso to me, he made the chair he was sitting on disappear. It was enlightening, but not so bizarre as to frighten. Maybe they tried something less mundane for Rachel.

  “Did you do the chair thing?”

  Sebastian scoffed. “Of course, my dear. It is the standard way to illustrate our abilities. Simple and to the point. Did you think I would resort to grandstanding when Rachel’s well-being is at stake?”

  “Actually,” Alex admitted, “he made me disappear as well, but that is still on the list of appropriate examples to show our powers to humans.”

  “There’s a list?” I said skeptically.

  He nodded. “Yes, the Courso have protocols for all sorts of interactions with humans. We’ve learned over the centuries that without standardized practices, people can easily get the wrong impression of us. Many of your supernatural legends developed because someone from our dimension chose badly.”

  I lifted one eyebrow, channeling my inner Sebastian. “Like one over-ambitious walk on water and a new religion could crop up?”

  “Something like that.” Alex smirked. “Seriously, I think Rachel just needs some time. She isn’t as shocked as she was yesterday, but she certainly hasn’t processed everything.”

  “I know, but I kind of wanted today to be different.”

  Alex draped an arm around my shoulder. “It likely will be eventually. You have to have patience. It takes some people longer than others.”

  I suspected his natural optimism prevented him from adding that sometimes “longer” meant “never.” Even if he didn’t say it aloud, I knew there was a possibility my friendship with Rachel might be permanently broken. On the bright side, she didn’t want to have anything to do with Sebastian either, which meant his romantic plans were put on hold. Not much positive to cling to, but I’d take what I could.

  “I have the utmost confidence that Rachel will quickly reevaluate any misgivings,” Sebastian pronounced.

  Usually, his tendency to trivialize complex situations annoyed the hell out of me, but in this case, I appreciated his unrelenting certainty. “Thanks, I hope you’re right.”

  “I know I am. How could she not forgive me for our lies of omission?”

  Apparently, his certitude applied only to Rachel’s feelings about him. “Do you only think about yourself?” I accused. “You two aren’t even a couple; I’ve known her for years. Years! What if she never gets over seeing me as a bird?”

  Sebastian took a step back. “Calm yourself, my dear. Once she forgives me, I will convince her that you are still the same person you have always been, despite your newfound talents.”

  “And what makes you think she will let you off the hook first?”

  He seemed both annoyed and bewildered, as though my question was the stupidest one he’d ever heard. “Because, I am after all, me.”

  All I could do was shake my head. There was no point in arguing with the cocky jackass. The worst part, his charms were more likely to sway her. I had no clue how Sebastian did it, but he had some inexplicable power over women. Even me. No matter how arrogant or obnoxious he was, I couldn’t stay mad at him for long. Alex swore Sebastian didn’t use magic to achieve these miraculous results; he simply had an innate gift to beguile. The only women I’d met who seemed impervious to his charms were Alex’s mother, Karttyx, and Deputy Bite Me.

  In an attempt to distract myself, I decided to devote the rest of the day to something less depressing than wallowing over the rift with Rachel. Unfortunately, Alex nixed my first choice—a long hike in the Santa Catalina Mountains—because he was otherwise occupied and refused to allow me to go alone, even with my doggie bodyguard because we’d be too far away if something bad happened. Kyzal’s ominous warnings are really cramping my style, I complained inwardly when forced to come up with another activity.

  Not that it was a decent substitute for communing with nature, but Ulut desperately needed grooming. His coat was thick and prone to matting without proper attention. Lacking opposable thumbs in his current form, the task fell to me, and I’d been lax in fulfilling my responsibilities. It took the better part of the afternoon to brush out all the tangles, and when finished, the pile of fur left on the floor could have hid a cocker spaniel.

  “We have to figure out how to change you back to you,” I said as I checked for ticks. Ulut pulled his ears back and lowered his head, and I realized he’d misunderstood. Quickly, I added, “I don’t mind doing this, not at all. It just must suck to have to depend on us for everything.” He wagged his tail in response, but I knew he desperately wanted to be in his normal form.

  Alex poked his head into the courtyard we had transformed into a grooming salon. “I’ve got something that will cheer you both up,” he announced.

  “Does it involve dark chocolate?” I asked as Ulut’s hind end began to sway along with his tail. Normally, dogs couldn’t eat chocolate, but apparently, a man-dog’s physiology wasn’t entirely canine. He loved the stuff almost as much as I did. Oddly, his gastrointestinal tract behaved badly whenever he consumed many traditional dog treats. The one time we gave him a Milk Bone, he had explosive diarrhea for days.

  “Better than chocolate,” he said, grinning. He stepped out into the patio and unfolded a thin, rectangular piece of plastic, about the size of a large beach towel. Once he laid it on the ground, its purpose was obvious.

  “Cortez finished Ulut’s keyboard,” I exclaimed, moving to my hands and knees to examine it more closely.

  Cortez was more than just Rachel’s ex, he was also our local Xyzok IT guy. Not only was he able to hack into any human computer system—even the NSA wasn’t safe, I’d been told—but he was also a wiz at constructing electronics. His gifts in this area were usually limited to devising some gadget to obtain information no one was supposed to have access to, but Alex tasked him to make a keyboard big enough that Ulut could use his paws to type out words. We’d originally tried using a regular computer keyboard and having Ulut peck at the keys with a pencil held between his teeth. Unfortunately, his inadequate oral dexterity made the process cumbersome and slow.

  What the new mat lacked in elegance, it made up for in practicality. Cortez came up with the concept while watching Tom Hanks play “Heart and Soul” while jumping from key to key on the giant FAO Schwarz toy store keyboard in the movie, Big. And that was just what Cortez had accomplished, except instead of piano keys, this had letters and a space bar.

  Ulut stepped onto the mat and tapped the keyst-h-a-n-k-s with his paws.

  “All we have to do is activate the Bluetooth capabilities and synch it with a monitor,” Alex explained, “and we will be able to easily follow whole sentences. He can talk to any of us, anytime, not just you when you are a bird. And it is battery powered, so we can take it anywhere we want.”

  It really was fantastic. Each key was just a bit bigger than Ulut’s paws, and the thin, flexible material sized perfectly for easy transport. As Ulut’s feet touched the mat, I marveled that given the almost complete paucity of technology in his dimension—including no typewriters—he seemed to be getting the hang of it.

  “Cortez is also finishing an app for our phones that will facilitate communication with Ulut even if we are not here,” he continued. “It’s far from perfect, but it should do the trick.”

  When your third-dimensional, man-stuck-as-a-dog could text, you knew there was a smart phone app for absolutely everything. Alex rolled up the mat, and we all moved to the office. Once the keyboard synched to a monitor, Ulut began communicating for real.

  Across the screen, the words “so grateful” appeared. Those eleven keystrokes signaled what I hoped would be the start to helping Ulut feel less doggie. He’d have to practice to increase his speed, but without fingers, his words-per-minute count was never going to be stellar.

  “Try, ‘a quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog’, Sebastian instructed as he breezed into the room.

  Ulut cocked his head to the sideand typed
,“?”

  I flashed a dirty look towards the Xyzok before responding. “Sebastian is trying to be amusing. It is an English-language phrase containing all the letters of the alphabet. People sometimes use it to practice their typing skills.”

  “In fact, my dear,” Sebastian continued, “there are pangrams in all languages. Like, portez ce vieux whisky au juge blond qui fume, Svo hölt, yxna kýr þegði jú um dóp í fé á bæ and qajunpaQHeylljmo’ batlh DuSuvqang charghwl’ It. I believe such seemingly innocuous phrases provide a glimpse into a culture.”

  I took four years of French in high school. Despite this, I was far from fluent as my brain didn’t seem to be wired for languages. With some effort, I figured out his first example meant, “Take this old whisky to the blond, smoking judge.” Based on his assertion, one would think there would be a reference to wine, but I didn’t want to quibble. I had to ask about the others.

  “The second is Icelandic,” he replied. “It means, ‘A cow in heat with such a limp would admittedly keep silent about drugs in a sheep farm.’” We flew through Reykjavik while searching for Sebastian’s body, but I hadn’t spent enough time there to have an opinion about how gimpy bovines in estrus were a window into the Icelandic psyche.

  “Okay, so what’s the last one?” The third was very guttural and sharp and was like nothing I’d ever heard before. It was sort of like German spoken by someone with anger management issues.

  “I am not familiar with that language either,” Alex confessed.

  “It means, ‘Because of your apparent audacity, the depressed conqueror is willing to fight you.’ It is in Klingon,” Sebastian said, smirking.

  “You speak Klingon,” I stated flatly. “Of course you do.”

  “Don’t be so surprised, my dear. I am fascinated by humans’ obsession with a concocted language spoken by a fictional, extraterrestrial, warrior species.”

  Alex laughed. “That explains all the Star Trek, The Next Generation episodes recorded on the DVR.”

  “If it’s made up, how do you know the phrase means what you say it does?” I queried.

  Sebastian snorted with derision. “Books are written in Klingon. Plus, there is an online translator. Look it up if you don’t believe me.”

  This was unbelievable, even for Sebastian. “You actually spent time learning Klingon?”

  “It is really quite remarkable. The grammar, the syntax, the phonology, it all holds up quite well. Someone invested a tremendous amount of effort building the language. There is even a Klingon Language Institute in Pennsylvania. As far as I can tell, there are only a handful of speakers able to fully converse in Klingon. We have our own chat room,” he confessed with a sly grin.

  Before I had a chance to respond, Ulut nudged my hand with his nose and pointed his head toward the monitor. Upon it were the words,“jyst gozpern qilk bwa xif crumadveh.”

  “Quite right, Ulut,” Sebastian commended.

  I glanced down and frowned. “Did Sebastian teach you Klingon, too?”

  “I don’t think so,” Alex countered as a flicker of amusement swept across his features. “It’s Courso. Roughly translated, it means, “Only a fool makes a cake out of spiders. Ulut, did you just make that up?”

  He yipped and began tapping the keyboard. “Yes, and it is a pangram.”

  Covering my face with my hands, I muttered, “I had no idea you were all such nerds.”

  Ulut yipped again, pecking out another message: “ku ga prisx wiv cyl maf hyjiq zeb n dyg ot”.

  I quickly surveyed the letters. Another pangram.

  Sebastian squinted and studied the screen. “That is not a language with which I am familiar.”

  “Nor I,” Alex said.

  “Dekankaran.”

  “Dare we ask for a translation?” Sebastian’s expression, punctuated by his preferred, single raised eyebrow, changed from confusion to skepticism.

  “Nerds are like assholes,” Ulut wrote. “Everybody wants one”

  “Everyone’s a comedian,” Sebastian opined.

  I added my own critique. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  Ulut’s lip quivered. It might have been a growl, but I was pretty sure he was smirking.

  7

  I knew Rachel told me not to call her, so I did the next best thing—I texted. It might have been a tad passive-aggressive, but I really wanted to let her know I was thinking about her. I hoped “miss you” didn’t violate her set boundaries because those simple words made me feel less shitty about the situation. Beyond that, I kept my distance.

  In the meantime, Alex, Sebastian, and I worked to uncover the identity of the mysterious, suited investigators who swarmed over the site of Keem’s hideout. Hard facts were practically non-existent, but we found rumor and speculation aplenty. My favorite claimed Dekankaran shape-shifting spies in cahoots with Keem assumed Alex’s parents’ identities, intent upon taking over Alenquai. Their “proof” was that the king and queen had appeared uncharacteristically low-key since the thwarting of Keem’s plans for global domination of Courso. What were they supposed to do following their kingdom’s close call with destruction by a nut case from the third dimension, throw a party? The same group also claimed if one compared holographic representations of the royal couple before and after the crisis, subtle changes in their complexions and facial structures were irrefutable. Of course, there was no documentation of these purported discrepancies. Even if their observations were correct—which I doubted, as they looked the same to me and I saw them in person—the effects of stress could explain all the so-called differences.

  We also came up empty regarding Kyzal’s warning that I might be in danger. Sure, there were a number of Courso looking for ways to access Dekankara, mainly academics hoping to study another civilization. The discovery of something new and unknown seemed to bring out the mercenary no matter which dimension they came from, and a few scam artists and modern-day carpetbaggers looking to ransack the third dimension added to the mix. Regardless of the motivation, there was no indication that any of the portals to the third dimension were intact, precluding anyone making good on their plans for Dekankara.

  This also presented a problem in our quest to un-dog Ulut. We were convinced he would be able to shift form back in his own dimension, but without an obvious way to get him there, we’d have to discover how to do it in the two dimensions to which we had access. Unfortunately, we were running out of ideas.

  We had tried recreating the conditions by which I’d forced his transformation back at the Summer Palace. At the time, I was practicing the mental touching involved in the concept of transcendental arousal by tickling Ulut’s ears. Since then, I’d gotten better at the technique, although nowhere close to Alex’s proficiency. We’d made several trips to Courso for the reenactments, because, except for Sebastian, TA was only achievable there. While I could never quite recreate whatever I did before—beginner’s luck, I supposed—I certainly benefitted from the travel. If the Alex-induced orgasms at home rated a firm nine-point five, his TA-enhanced ministrations in Courso set the sexual gratification scale way past eleven.

  One morning, about two weeks post-best friend fallout, I was enjoying my morning coffee on the back patio of the big house. Sebastian insisted on buying an obscenely expensive Clover commercial coffee brewing system that he claimed was to java what Lasik eye surgery was to sight. I razzed him mercilessly about throwing away twelve grand for a coffee maker that only made one cup at a time, until I had my first taste. Even though I’ve always been picky about my coffee, I still felt like a snob using only freshly ground, locally roasted beans, prepared using a French press. However, the elixir of the gods that flowed out of Sebastian’s new machine made every previous cup seem like effluvial swill in comparison. I berated myself for being so easily sucked in by such extravagance, but not enough to return to my old method of brewing. Once you go Clover, you never change over.

  My usual contingent of wild creatures kept me company while I savored the intoxi
cating brew: a few javelinas, a Gila monster, four roadrunners, a family of jackrabbits, two chuckwalla, a mule deer buck, and, of course, Maris and Ferris. The only missing regular was the coyote. She used to be one of the first to arrive, but since she gave birth to her pups, she was often a no-show. Probably, like many new mothers, she had a hard time controlling the kids and decided it was easier just to stay home.

  The rabbits were the first to notice something was amiss. They scattered back into the low brush along the perimeter of the yard. I stood, shielding my eyes from the sun, but couldn’t make out what had startled them. With a shrug, I chalked up their hasty departure to the natural twitchiness of the species and decided to indulge in a second mug of nirvana.

  In the film Out of Africa, Meryl Streep’s character mused, “God made the world round so we would never be able to see too far down the road,” right before she found out her husband gave her syphilis. As it turned out, Rachel’s disgust with all things Hailey ended up being the proverbial calm before the storm. I wasn’t diagnosed with an STD, but in retrospect, that would have been easier to deal with than the five people who emerged from the desert.

  They were dressed alike, in beige, long-sleeved tunics and matching loose-fitting trousers, and advanced as one in a straight line. Nothing about them seemed particularly dangerous; no one ran forward shouting or wielding weapons. In fact, their expressions conveyed no malice at all. More like awe. Regardless of their beatific smiles, my life with the Xyzok taught me uninvited visitors were seldom a good thing, particularly when they didn’t even use the front door.

  As they forged ahead, the rest of my animal posse took off, except for the hawks. They stayed put on a large, horizontal branch of a mesquite tree. I didn’t wait to find out who the strangers were or what they wanted. Instead, I did what any intelligent person does when faced with this kind of situation.

  I screamed my ass off.

  Thankfully, Alex, Sebastian, and a snarling Ulut responded almost instantaneously. They positioned themselves between the advancing horde and me, and Alex ordered them to stop, which they did, but their furrowed brows indicated the directive left them puzzled. He repeated the command in Courso, which caused them to nod and lift their hands in what was the universal, and, apparently, inter-dimensional sign for, “Hey, we mean no harm.”