by Richard Gohl
Several doors were open with light coming out and Ryan’s eyes ached momentarily as he peered in. He had to squint as if looking upon ten angels; the room was bathed in bright daylight, and full of green plants.
“Don’t stare at those lights without protection—you’ll hurt your eyes. Come on, this way.” Ryan followed Ben further down the long narrow passage. They entered a dimly lit room—a kitchen where an older woman smiled and said, “Hello, dear boy,” almost as one word. She kissed and hugged him. She had shoulder-length sandy blonde hair and brown eyes, and radiated warmth. She kept rubbing the boy’s shoulder. Another new face. He stared, looking at her strange features, unable to speak.
“You must be exhausted after your ordeal.” Ginny also wore glasses—he couldn’t stop staring at them. Sometimes she jutted her head out as she looked straight at him through the glass discs, and then suddenly she’d put her chin down and peer at him over the top of the lenses.
“I’m okay.”
“Oh, you’re adorable.” She gave him another hug. Then, some more inspecting from above—and through her glasses. “You can stay here as long as you like. You might feel a bit lost for a bit. Just come and ask if you need anything. At any rate, I’ll be getting you to come and help me here in the kitchen soon enough. We’ve got other kids here too, Ry, and you’ll see them all tomorrow.” It was strange and not altogether unpleasant how intimate she was, touching him and looking so closely into his eyes. And no one had called him “Ry” before.
“Come sit down and have something to eat and drink,” said Ginny. “I haven’t eaten anything since I was a baby.”
“Well, you must be starving!” said Ginny. She and Ben smiled. “Can you eat anything at all?” asked Ben.
“Not really.”
Ginny touched Ryan’s face. “I thought I could see the change occurring… you look quite Napean, but then again you have such lovely green eyes.”
“Well, Dad said that I’m in transition...” His dad’s face came into his mind and he began to sniffle.
“I’m… I…”
“What is it, darling?” said Ginny, crouching to look at him.
“I have to refresh my blood once a month. Dad used to give me some of his.”
“Right,” said Ginny, her eyes were still on Ryan. “Ben, what do you think?”
“It’s fine. I’ll sort it out tomorrow.”
Ginny went to a fridge and took out some orange juice and said, “Here, try this—because without help from your dad, you are going to need something in your tummy.”
“But I can’t,” said Ryan in a somewhat feeble voice. “Just have a little try,” she insisted. “A tiny sip…”
Ryan took a mouthful and the cold sweet liquid trailed down his throat like a worm. He felt a sharp ache travel from his mouth up through the back of this head but it quickly subsided.
“Very well done, Ryan!” said Ginny.
“That’s the way!” said Ben. “How about a bite of fresh bread? You’ll feel a whole lot better…” Ben tore off a small strip of flat bread and handed it to Ryan. He took it, sniffed, nibbled, and bit, chewing slowly and deliberately. He swallowed. Then swallowed again. With panic in his eyes he looked up at Ginny, and then across at Ben. He was choking. The bread was stuck. Ryan put his hand up to the bottom of his neck and was dipping and nodding his head as he tried to move the bread down his throat.
“Just relax,” said Ginny. “Sit down and try to breathe. It will move—you’re just not used to it, that’s all.”
Ryan sat and, with tears welling up in his eyes, he gestured for the glass of juice. Ben passed it to him and he took a small mouthful, gulping it heavily down. For a moment it seemed to have worked, but then suddenly, wretching onto the floor, the orange juice came back out.
“It’s stuck!” said Ryan. His face was all contorted. “… Really hurts!”
“Oh, darling! Give it few seconds. The muscles need to remember how to swallow.” Ben wiped up the mess with a cloth.
“Come over here, Ryan,” said Ginny, standing at the sink. “One more try with the juice, and if this doesn’t work, we’ll stop.” Obediently Ryan took the juice—a bigger mouthful, gulped, jutted his chin out, and slowly moved his head upward. With a big nod, he smiled and yelled, “It’s gone!”
“Wow,” said Ben. “That really took some guts, my friend! You wait ‘til that energy passes through your body. You’ll feel like a new man!”
Ginny took him into her arms and said, looking at her husband, “Poor little mite. It’s more than anyone should have to go through. In a minute we’ll show you your room. How are you feeling?”
“How many other children are here?”
“Aside from you, seven. We’re full now,” she said, smiling. “You can meet the others when you feel like it.”
His room was very small. It had a screen, an old dictum touch computer, and books made out of paper!
He pulled one out: a famous old book about a man who crashed into one of the moons of Saturn and survived to tell the tale. The pictures were wonderfully evocative, showing the hero, “Steve 23,” crafting some wire from the wreckage of his spaceship into some kind of a weapon to catch submarinal life forms. Steve 23 was making a fishing rod on Europa. Imagine catching another living creature, killing it, and then eating it! Amazing! thought Ryan.
Ryan tried the old dictum computer—in a drawer under the table, he found a rack of memory balls. He slotted one into the hole. It rolled inside the computer and started spinning around the internal wheel like a roulette ball. The computer required no external power source or battery. The ball not only generated the power but stored fifty years of educational news information. Ryan typed in “real baby stolen.”
A message appeared: Did you mean “Napean baby abductions?” Ryan touched the message. Thirty-one answers appeared. The stories were from some twenty years ago—the 2240’s decade. The news stories related to the kidnapping of a hundred babies, all at different times. Some of the articles provided information about Napeans, their attitudes and beliefs, the mentality that leads to abduction, and the various methods by which real people had attempted to get them back—without success.
He turned it off and went to sleep. He dreamt of his dad. In his dream he searched, chased, and saw his dad at the end of a crowded street. Dad calmly turned and walked away. Ryan followed, running, but Dad just got further and further away.
Next morning, Ryan tried to reach his dad. He closed his eyes listening for that sound, focusing on switching his mind to where he could see and hear his father’s thoughts. Try as he might, all the spaces there were empty. He thought again about the lion with his quarry in the tree.
Shane had been trying to contact Ryan all night. He sent his usual image and then in his mind he saw Ryan again at home with Robbie.
“He’s there.”
He knew that if Ryan was secure and peaceful enough to project this image then he must be okay.
I want you here too, son, but stay where you’re safe. I’m being watched. They won’t let you come back yet.
Passing by Ryan’s room, Ginny heard voices and popped her head in to find out the name of the outstanding boy who had already gone in to make friends with Ryan. The door wasn’t latched, and she pushed it open just enough for her head to poke through. Ginny saw Ryan lying there with his eyes half-closed, talking to himself. She watched him, realizing that he wasn’t asleep. Ginny had seen many kids asleep in her time, sleepwalkers and sleep-talkers; they looked nothing like this. He was dressed, and though speaking too quietly for her to make out much more than the occasional word, he seemed to be having a conversation.
“Ryan?” said Ginny.
His head, which had been straining up off the pillow, fell back, and his eyes flickered open. “Hi, Ginny.”
“Do you have an imaginary friend? You were having quite a conversation…”
“Oh no, that was Dad—we can talk…”
“What do you mean, darling?”
“That’s it!”
“You weren’t having a little dream?” asked Ginny. “I wasn’t asleep.”
“What did Dad say, darling?” “He said I can’t come home yet…”
“Oh, sweetheart…”
“He wants me to, but they won’t let me.”
“Where is your dad?”
“He’s home. Dad taught me to think properly so I could do it. Dad can’t do it without his network but he taught me to send pictures just by thinking in the right place.”
Ginny’s mouth was open and it was some time before she closed it. She pondered some of the implications, eventually saying, “How fascinating.”
Ryan sensed a change in her demeanor. “Aren’t I allowed to do it?”
“We’ve never had anyone do that before, Ry…” she said.
“Oh. I wasn’t really allowed to do it at home, either. Well, Dad let me, but it was illegal. He said I wasn’t allowed to listen for any other voices. But Dad said maybe I can go back, but just not yet.” The boy scanned the adult face for a reaction; he was remarkably confident, considering his lack of human contact.
“I’m sure that’s true, sweetheart,” said Ginny
Ben was pruning orange vines when Ginny came to the door and called him across. “It’s a bit awkward, sweets; I’m stuck here! What’s the problem? Can you come in?” Ginny clambered across large tubs and through foliage until she was a few meters away from her husband. “Ryan’s telepathic!” she hissed quietly.
“I went into his room and he was lying there, on his bed, communicating with his father.”
“Mmm? You don’t think it’s wishful thinking on his behalf?”
“No, I asked him and he said his father taught him how to do it. He went into a lot of detail about how his dad did it…”
One of the older boys, Stan, poked his head up through the leaves some distance off and called out: “Do I take off all the new root sprouts? There’s a lot of ‘em… oh, hi Ginny… or do I leave a few?”
Ben replied, “Trim them all off, carefully—don’t rip the bark.”
“Whoops,” whispered Ginny.
“Yeah, forgot he was there,” whispered Ben. “Wow, so you think it’s a genuine ability?” He scratched his head. “I mean, I knew they could do it electronically, y’know, with their computers, but unaided?”
“Well, that’s just it. He said his father can’t do it unaided. Evidently he can.”
“Whatchya whispering about?” yelled Stan.
“Never you mind, big ears,” said Ben.
Later that night at a local watering hole, Stan was chatting with his mates about the new kid at the hostel and within an hour, fifteen people had heard the same story.
The next morning Ryan was up early, and he went for a walk down the long central corridor of the house. He noticed many of the rooms were like his, and that there were at least ten rooms in which plants were being grown. He saw a room full of trees or bushes laden with oranges. Beautiful green leaves strained up toward sun bright bulbs hanging from wooden beams. Two people were in the room doing something to the plants. They wore large dark goggles as protection from the light. Another room had a spinach crop. The cold dark green hands with their white veins stretched upward seeking warmth. Ryan tried to step into the room but could barely get in the door it was so full of plants.
Young real people walked quickly from room to room, and heads turned every time they passed him, yet he could feel nothing from them nor could he see what was in their minds. He was too busy watching them—all different sizes, with differently cultured hair, and most incredible of all were their faces. Each face with a different mood, a life of its own. Ryan tried not to stare but had never seen such beautiful eyes—eyes with real colors. No makeup, no tattoos, no piercings. Some of them said “hi.” Others didn’t. One girl smiled and Ryan decided to see if he could find where she had gone.
He walked down to the social room and activities stopped momentarily as Ryan stood in the doorway. Ben appeared behind him and said, “Come in and meet some of the folks.”
Ben introduced him to the two boys and two girls sitting at a table playing a card game. Ryan had never met a group of people before, let alone been formally introduced. In the excitement of it, the names were garbled in Ryan’s ears. The boys nodded, and the girls said “hey” in unison. Ryan was mesmerized by them. Each of them had different cultured skin, eyes, and hair. Their noses and mouths had individual shapes. Ryan didn’t know that staring was rude.
“Chores all done?” Ben did a lot of nodding as if keen to encourage a response. This made his beard bounce on his chest just slightly.
“Yes, Ben,” they droned.
“How far off’s the corn, do we think?” Ben looked from one face to the next. “ ‘Nother week, I reckon.” said the older-looking boy.
“Look after this bloke,” said Ben. “Obviously he’s new, as we can all remember being…?”
“Yep,” said a boy. Ben left.
Then Ryan felt a pang of anxiety as he felt their animosity: What am I doing here? I don’t fit it in. These kids are nothing like me.
“Wanna play?” It was the older girl.
“I don’t… can’t… I haven’t played before…”
“‘Seasy,” said the younger boy.
“… With children.” All eyes went to Ryan. “I haven’t played with children before. You children are the first children I have ever met.”
“Holy… fuckin’…” said the eldest boy under his breath. “We’re not children…” said the senior girl.
“What are you?”
“We’re adults.” They all smiled at this. Ryan knew it was a joke but didn’t get it. “Ben said you were teenagers.” Ryan looked at them all in turn.
“Well, we do everything the adults do… cook, clean, work, fix stuff… we should be adults,” said the older boy.
“What work do you do?” asked Ryan.
Again the older boy answered. “Crops. School. I’m also studying engineering. I want to be able to build my own house as soon as I move out of here.”
“Can we play now?” said the younger boy. “I gotta go anyway,” said the older boy. “Me too,” said the older girl.
“Ohhh, whatever…” The younger boy began packing up the cards, put them into a brown case, and said, “See ya. I’m in the rainbow room with Paul. We’ve got Death Warrior and Alien Menace—and stacks of others… come and have a game later if you want.”
“Thanks!” said Ryan. He knew what a game was. The elder of the two girls stayed behind. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Kristina.”
“How come you’re in here?” asked Ryan. “Ginny and Ben adopted me,” she said. “Why?”
“My parents were killed.”
“Oh. How?”
“Are you always this obnoxious?” Ryan didn’t know what obnoxious meant, nor was he all that familiar with criticism. He thought that maybe it was a compliment, so he continued.
“My parents couldn’t have a baby so they adopted me.”
“That’s great, but usually people settle in a bit first before they start interrogating others.”
“Sorry,” said Ryan.
“’S okay. You’re just a little strange.”
“Sorry.”
“Stop saying, ‘sorry.’ Nothing wrong with being different. Not that you’d understand that.”
“Why?”
“Well, isn’t everyone exactly the same where you’re from?”
“I never went out. I saw people all the time, though… on the network and TV, and we had heaps of cameras in our house which showed people down on the street. Dad is a guard so he had to keep an eye on the city…”
“So your dad’s a Napean?” she asked.
And then Ryan heard the girl’s voice, and her mouth wasn’t moving. She was thinking,
Are you like me? You’re not like me
at all. You’re weird.
“I am like you,” said Ryan.
Kristina’s face grew serious and her eyes moved all over Ryan’s blank face. “Why did you say that? I didn’t ask you that. How can you be like me? Aren’t you a Napean?”
“I think so, ” he said.
“You kinda look like one…” Ryan hadn’t stopped staring at her face for five minutes. He had no idea a face could look so beautiful. She had long brown hair, thick dark eyebrows, fulsome lips naturally inclined to smile, and large eyes the color of ground coffee.
“Krist-ina.” said Ryan slowly. “What?” asked the girl abruptly.
“I was just practicing your name,” said Ryan. “Oh. Mmm. So, do you eat?” she asked. “Nope, but…”
“That’s really weird. Not even bread or… how ‘bout water? You must hydrate somehow…?”
“I drank milk when I was a baby.”
“Milk from your mum?”
“No. She didn’t have any. It was from a soy plant.”
“So you guys crop up there as well!”
“No, not crops,” said Ryan. “It was soy milk from the real people. My real parents couldn’t look after me here, so I got taken up there.”
“Right. So… then… what happened to your mum?”
“She died when I was a baby.”
“Ohhhh, that’s sad. Sorry, Ryan.”
“That’s okay. I don’t remember her. Dad looked after me but he wasn’t supposed to have me, so I got sent back here.”
“The world’s so screwed.” She rested her chin on her hand and she shook it in disgust. “Something terrible happened to your mum and dad?” asked Ryan.
“Yeah. They were gassed in 2262.”
“Ohhh nooo!”
“Yeah, by your crowd!”
“My crowd?” asked Ryan. “Yeah. The Napeans.”
“What’s ‘gasta’?” asked Ryan.