With his wise counsel ringing in my ears, I took a quick shower, thinking the hot water running through my hair would help me to feel better. Actually, by the time I finished, I was motivated to get a bite to eat and watch a movie coming on TCM. After feeding Kipp his large bowl of chopped chicken and rice, I took a bag of popcorn to the living room and plopped in my favorite chair just as the credits for "The Champ" began. It was the original 1930's version with Wallace Berry and Jackie Cooper, who had the serious face of a grown man even when he was just a little boy.
Kipp, in his quest to educate himself and better his condition, had actually learned to understand the English language and could read the printed word. If he opposable thumbs, I'm quite sure he could have managed to write, too. His questions about the movie were endless, most of all his curiosity about alcoholism.
"I still don't get it, Petra. Why do people drink that stuff that makes them act goofy?" he finally asked.
I shrugged my shoulders. Experts had been working on that one for years and still managed to write books with multitudes of theories.
"Some people drink to numb themselves, Kipp," I finally replied. "Symbionts can do the same when emotions are too strong and painful."
"Like with baby George?" he asked, blinking his eyes at me.
I answered by nodding my head. The loss of my baby had been transformative although I was thankful that Kipp had nudged me out of my place of total denial. Since Kipp had joined my life, we routinely visited the little granite headstone that marked George's last place on earth, where he rested on a quiet, bleak hillside surrounded by other departed souls.
The movie left me pensive and sad, and that was one emotion I didn't wish to visit. Quite honestly, our last time shift exposed me to vulnerabilities that I preferred would have stayed hidden, and I visibly stiffened my back and shoulders as I led the way to the bedroom. I was tired and wished to fall into a dreamless sleep, if that was what fate had in store for me. As I climbed into bed, Kipp hopped up, and, after circling in the manner of dogs and wolves, he lay down with a big lupine sigh, his muzzle stretched across my chest.
"If you start to dream about it again," Kipp said, "I'll take care of it for you."
My best friend and bonded symbiont could and had entered the part of my mind where dreams were created. Kipp could manipulate the outcome just as easily as he could enter the mind of a human or another symbiont and insert notions. But, I thought, it was time for me to move beyond my grief and loss over having left Harrow behind... he in his time, while I returned to mine.
"No, thanks, Kipp," I finally managed to say. "I don't need to hide out anymore."
The sounds from outside entered the room through the windows that I'd left slightly ajar. Crickets and what sounded like a chorus of bull frogs were singing in rhythm. I looked over to the window where I'd left the shutter open; there was a group of fireflies, flashing their tail lights as they sought to attract others of their kind.
"I like them," Kipp said, smiling in his thoughts. "They seem happy and, well, business-like."
"Me, too," I replied, yawning.
I'm not sure when I fell asleep, but I know my last thought was of the fireflies.
Chapter 2
"Do you think he'll show up?" I asked.
Kipp and I had slept in and, after a light breakfast, journeyed to my back yard to do some serious work. There were several small trees with dead branches that needed removal as well as other pruning and general cleanup. I glanced at the azaleas he and I had planted, with a sentimental nod to the white one he'd put at the place where I'd buried my dear Tula's blanket. Kipp may have become my new partner, but Tula had been the first and would always be special. In Kipp's wonderful way, he understood that he didn't take her place but rather made one of his own.
I'd dragged a small stepladder to one tree that had been damaged by a spring storm; several limbs were twisted and dead, although the tree itself had survived. With a small handsaw, I braced myself and began work. As each branch fell, Kipp would grab it in his jaws and drag it to the front of the yard where it could be picked up later. At one point, my human neighbor stuck his head over a bushy hedge and shouted out a hello to me.
"That's some dog you've got there!" he said with a laugh. "How'd you train him to do that?"
As I created some lame excuse, I considered how amazed the man would be if he knew the reality of his neighbors. At some point, and I knew not when, Kipp and I would be reassigned and be compelled to move to another colony. There was only so long I could remain in a place without obvious aging and my existence playing human still be plausible. All symbionts knew this and understood, but it was still unwelcomed, at least for me. I liked my house and enjoyed living in the piedmont of North Carolina. The beach was in one direction, the mountains in the other; the climate was pleasant, and I especially enjoyed hiking in Duke Forest.
Kipp's head went up and a moment later I recognized the thoughts of Philo. He must have just driven up and would be stalking around to the rear of my property at any moment. It was nice to recognize the familiar mind of Juno, an elderly lupine who served with him on the Technicorps governing board. Philo rounded the corner, dressed in his weekend garb of worn out jeans with one knee torn out and a NC State t-shirt that had seen better days. Knowing him as I did, I realized he preferred this to the suit he wore in his relatively new position as head of the Twelve.
"Can I help?" he asked. At my nod, he picked up some large clippers and began hacking at some of the lower limbs.
Juno lacked Kipp's youth and energy and didn't make an offer to assist; instead, she carefully folded her rear legs and, after rocking a little, finally eased down into the thick grass. Nagging arthritis was obvious in her stiff-legged gait and rigid neck movements.
We worked in relative silence for a while, only occasionally interrupting the quiet with a comment or observation about the yard, nature, or some stray story. As was appropriate behavior in contemporary symbiont society, neither Juno nor Philo intruded telepathically into our thoughts, even though they had the skills to do so. Kipp and I were a bit of an anomaly in that I allowed him complete access to my mind at all times, mimicking what was natural for us as a species before we over-civilized ourselves.
"Are you gonna feed me or what?" Philo finally asked, stopping to wipe his face with a bandana that he produced from his pants pocket.
Kipp hovered over Juno, wishing he had hands that he could use to help her stand, but she managed quite nicely without his chivalrous assist and slowly made her way to the back door of my house. I followed and Philo made up the caboose of our symbiont train. The kitchen was a bit of a disaster; dishes from the night before were stacked in the sink. A basket of clean clothes from the dryer sat upon my kitchen table, which was an old dinette set found at an antique store. Shrugging, I removed the basket and gestured for Philo to sit.
"Kind of a mess around here," he said, making note of the obvious. He didn't have to be a telepath to read the thoughts I was having; my facial expression did the work that defied all use of verbal language.
"I'm having trouble getting back into the flow of things after my last time shift," I finally remarked, feeling too old to be evasive and too tired to play games.
Philo waited for me, patient and expectant. He was my most abrasive friend, the one who could totally let me have it when I needed it most. We were as quarreling siblings, ones that would fight over a dropped cookie but then take on the world with our backs pressed together in solidarity. He was married, as I had been, and there was not a spark of romantic interest between us. He was like my big, nagging brother, and I loved him dearly.
"I've waited for you to talk about it," he began, his dark eyes meeting mine. "I think you need to, Petra. Sitting on this is affecting your attitude," he said.
I looked first at Kipp, who returned my stare with his brilliant eyes; the dark fur surrounding them made me think of exotic, exaggerated eyeliner–sort of a Sophia Loren type of seductively sla
nted gaze but in a masculine, lupine face. Then I shifted to Juno who lay in a patch of sunlight that flowed through the back window to puddle like liquid gold on the kitchen floor. She thumped her tail in support and love. Yes, I thought, if I couldn't let go here, then it just wouldn't happen. And I wasn't so dense that I didn't realize that Philo was correct and my baggage would influence all I needed to do from here on out. I allowed myself to drift down into the opposing chair; tilting my head slightly, I met Philo's dark eyes.
"Go ahead," I said, offering an invitation.
His eyes opened wider. Although we symbionts shared thoughts in our telepathic way, there was typically no invasive inquiry or exploration. We'd evolved to think such a vulgar and unnecessary behavior. Only Kipp and I had the sort of openness that left no questions as to the heart and soul of the other. Philo bowed his head, and it was just a second later that I felt his tentative entry into my thoughts and memories. There was surprise as he struck the place where I kept my pain over Harrow, and I heard him sigh softly.
"Oh, Petra," he said, his voice low and quiet in my kitchen which was warmed by the nagging sun. Reaching out, his hand sought mine across the table.
I was rather pleased that I didn't cry and managed a crooked, tremulous smile in response. Juno thumped her tail again and somehow that made me feel stronger. Aged lupine that she was, she'd been through her own episodes of love lost.
"Kipp knows, of course, and I somehow spilled the beans to Fitzhugh in an unguarded moment," I shared, twisting my mouth at the memory. My eyes rolled up as I recalled that moment. "He was actually quite sweet and supportive."
Fitzhugh, the keeper of our history as a species, had once funneled all his disapproval and agitation at me. In honesty, I must confess when I was younger, I was a reckless traveler, too cocky for my own good. Perhaps my own self-satisfaction at having matured came much too early, considering the emotional connections made during my last time shift. But oddly, Fitzhugh had become an ally of mine, working behind the scenes to support me and Kipp. And much to my dismay, when I was not travelling with Kipp, working with Fitzhugh had become my routine assignment. Living in the dark basement of Technicorps translating old manuscripts was not my dream job, but if I wanted to pay the water bill, I'd do what I was told. In the end, old Fitzhugh had grown on me.
"Grilled cheese," Philo suggested abruptly, "would be nice if you don't mind the bother."
He'd managed to shift gears; understanding my heart and mind, he knew I wouldn't want to continue to discuss the past. With a laugh of relief, I stood and began working on sandwiches for us all. Kipp and Juno, especially, enjoyed a gooey cheese sandwich toasted to perfection. As I cooked, Philo briefed me on some of the gossip at Technicorps.
"Suzanne fell for a guy who'd recently relocated here from a colony in Wales," Philo said as he picked up a potato chip to examine before popping it into his mouth. "I thought they were going to get married, but then he started seeing someone else. Poor Suzanne's heart is broken, and she lacks that wonderful creative energy she normally puts into her work." He glanced at me. "Do you think I should force the issue and make her take some time off?"
"You aren't doing that for me, so no," I replied, trying to stare a hole through him.
Kipp rolled over on his back, satiated after his third grilled cheese. With a yawn that exposed all of his teeth, he closed his eyes. I knew he didn't want to get pulled into my whine-fest over Philo's plan for us to become mentor-teachers.
"Well, we all know how tough you are, Petra," Philo remarked, lifting one dark eyebrow. Leaning forward, he pushed his plate out of the way and leaned his elbows on the table top that was marred by a past hot pot burn. The table predictably shifted due to uneven legs; leaning down, I replaced a folded up playing card under one foot and happily the table regained its balance. "We, and I mean all symbionts, need your help. We're in danger of losing the very skill sets that make us who we are." His voice was earnest. "Look at me... I can't travel and have never bonded as have you and Kipp. When we find someone who genetically can match up with another willing party, we must try. And the only reason I'm pushing you and Kipp is due to the age of this particular pair. You were older when you and Tula made your first time shift."
"Okay, Philo, I get it," I finally said, holding up my hands in mock surrender. "I understand the issues and will do my best." What other answer could I give? It did fall, in all cultures, for those of experience to bring along the young as meaningful members of the species.
* * *
"What on earth is taking you so long with that document?"
Fitzhugh's voice rang out unexpectedly loud in the echoing silence of the library. He, like all of us, had a home and eventually would leave at night, but I always had the impression he did so grudgingly. The dark green walls were an anomaly in a building that was exceedingly sterile with grayish walls and chrome furniture. Thankfully, Fitzhugh's antique desk from England brought its warm, organic presence to the room. The stacks were full of old manuscripts, some in various degrees of decline, hence the project to scan them, decipher the contents and share knowledge gained with others of our kind. Despite the ventilation in the room, which was adequate, there was a musty smell of decay thrown off by the myriad of papers contained in fragile binders. The welcomed fragrance of bergamot wafted beneath my nose as Fitzhugh carefully set an antique tea service on the table where I worked. Smiling, I happily turned off the bright light I was using. My eyes felt slightly hot and gritty after spending hours staring at a document written in an obscure French dialect.
"Where's Peter?" I asked, wondering where Fitzhugh's assistant–and my future apprentice–was hiding. It was well known the young symbiont did not care for the tedium of library and research work.
"Philo has given him reading to do and sent him and Elani to a room on the third floor. I pulled stories of time shifts for their perusal. Some were successful and by the book, you might say. Others were unmitigated disasters." Fitzhugh smiled at me.
"Are any of mine in the latter group?" I asked, watching as he poured the tea with a steady hand. Knowing my preferences by now, he added a generous dollop of local honey to the steaming brew.
"That is a secret I won't reveal," he replied, raising his thick eyebrows.
Fitzhugh and I had somehow, inexplicably, come to this place of comfort with one another. He was rigid, uncompromising, while I'd been known to cut more than one corner. But I'd found he had several surprisingly soft spots in his character. One of those came careening through the library as if conjured by my thoughts, crashing into a table leg before stopping to shake her head vigorously and zoom off in another direction. Lily, the little cat Kipp and I had found abandoned, was now Fitzhugh's treasured companion. He doted on the cat with an energy that almost seemed silly. And then there was his story of when he'd travelled–yes, old Fitzhugh had once taken on the perils of time shifts–and fallen in love with a human woman. All in all, I'd become very fond of him, despite the fact I'd once regarded him as meeting all the established criteria of an old coot.
"Well, he has a way to go to prepare a pot of Earl Grey to rival yours," I said, tipping the edge of the fragile tea cup in salute towards the old historian.
He nodded in appreciation, his dark eyes almost lost in the folds of his eyelids. His hair, worn long, was almost completely white with only a few stubborn strands of silver threading through it. Fitzhugh still maintained a straight posture which only slumped on the occasion of extreme fatigue.
"Kipp and I are driving into Durham to pick up a pair of running shoes, and I thought we'd grab lunch. Wanna go?" I blurted out the invitation before I could stop myself.
His eyes opened wide as he stared at me; the expression on his face was comical. It must have been many years since he'd been asked out on a date.
"Why, yes," he finally replied, a smile creeping across his creased face. It was rare he was invited to join other symbionts' reindeer games due to his taciturn–and often unpleasant—manner.
I mentally summoned Kipp to wrap up his endeavors in the classroom where he was working with the young lupines. Not only did he teach ethics, but also he taught them how to read and comprehend English. At home, Kipp was currently plowing through Shelby Foote's enormously detailed Civil War trilogy. I was impressed that only occasionally would he have to ask me the meaning of a word or to explain the context of use.
With Fitzhugh in tow, I met Kipp, his plumed tail waving in the breeze, in the parking lot. Off to the west, the sky was darkening slightly, and predictions had been made for late summer storms that evening. A mild wind was beginning to kick up, dispersing the heat of the day. But it was not even noon, and I thought we'd be okay for an outside dining experience. With Kipp at my side, I was consigned to friendly establishments with tables in a courtyard or nestled up to the sidewalk.
My car was tiny, old and rarely used, since I preferred to walk to work. Kipp hopped in the back, insisting I roll down the window so he could hang his head, dog-like, out the aperture and angle it into the breeze. I slammed the door after Fitzhugh folded himself into the copilot seat, and we took off, my being careful to not accelerate in my usual reckless manner. At least I didn't drive like Philo, who was legendary for a style of driving that left his passengers with whiplash and bad memories.
We spoke little on the trip; occasionally, I would catch Kipp meeting my eyes in the rear view mirror as he would toss a humorous thought my way. Kipp's ability to communicate telepathically with me unbeknownst to other symbionts had come in quite handy on more than one occasion. Kipp's other unusual talents–like thought blocking and the ability to insert thoughts into the mind of another symbiont or human–were only known to a select few in the collective. To date, the only ones in our group who knew his secrets were Philo, Juno, Fitzhugh and me. We'd thought his ability to enter and manipulate dreams was unique to him, but I'd found I shared this skill and suspected others could, too, if they only made the attempt. At some point when we felt confident enough to share with other symbionts, that information would be made public. But, as we well know, despite our collective wish as a species to do good, there are those among us who are corrupt and filled with avarice and greed. Notions that could change the trajectory of our species needed to be handled with care.
The Great Locomotive Chase, 1862 Page 2