"Is your wrist okay?" he asked, standing to come over and inspect it with his black nose. With the delicate touch of a fluttering hummingbird, he grazed my wrist, leaving little damp marks where his nose touched my flesh. It tickled, and I involuntarily giggled.
"I think I'll make it, Stinky," I replied.
Peter left to take a shower and change clothes. While he was busy, I took thick towels and vigorously rubbed down the lupines, using damp wash cloths to remove the dirt and debris from Elani. I wasn't coated in mud but was a wet mess, so I grabbed a shower after Peter finished. Feeling refreshed and smelling of Irish Spring soap, I suggested we go in search of laundry facilities, since the cabin lacked such an amenity. We hopped in the SUV and drove into Gatlinburg where there was a laundromat next to a grocery store. It was cool enough for Kipp and Elani to stay in the vehicle, so while our clothes and towels washed, Peter and I made a quick trip through the store. At the deli counter, I found some smoked gouda cheese and thought Kipp might be fascinated with a different taste, since he was a notorious cheese hog. Feeling decadent, I picked up a box of Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls as well as some strawberry Pop Tarts. Somehow, anything in a box just had to be good since convenience and portability were two of my favorite qualities in any food item. With laundry neatly folded in a basket and a couple of bags of groceries securely stowed, we drove back to the cabin. It was drawing close to twilight, and the glare of the oncoming headlights kept causing me to duck my head and peek out covertly, waiting until the coast was clear again. I guess it was good Peter was driving.
Once home, I decided it was my turn in the kitchen and displayed my skill at making grilled cheese sandwiches. Elani had never had such a treat, and I tried not to laugh as she began to chew the hot, chewy mess. She, trying to be delicate, was forced to open her mouth wide with each mouthful, since the cheese stuck everywhere in gooey abandon. Kipp sampled the gouda and his eyes rounded at the new taste of an old favorite... cheese. However, we all were exhausted since we'd made a time shift that day, and it was true for our kind that such was inherently tiring. So, after I took my turn cleaning the kitchen, Kipp and I trailed off to the rear bedroom. Since I'd already showered, nothing was left but to disrobe and collapse upon the worn mattress that was so soft I felt as if I might sink through the center onto the floor below. Kipp was softly snoring by the time I got into a comfortable position.
Chapter 7
"Petra, wake up!" The urgent voice of Peter disturbed the nice dream I was having about walking along the sandy stretch of Kill Devil Hills, Kipp racing ahead to tag a ball I'd thrown for him. The salt spray was so strong in the wind, that I could actually taste it lingering softly on my lips in my dream. Reluctantly, I opened one eye and stared at him, outlined in the semidarkness of the room. Elani stood at his side, her posture rigid and tense.
"You have a phone call," Peter added, thrusting out his cell phone.
Cell phones, although considered indispensible items for humans, were in relatively infrequent use among symbionts. Maybe it was a sign of the times that some of the youngsters, like Peter, would carry one. To be honest, telepaths really didn't have a need for cell phones which, when used to create distance between beings as well as avoid emotions by the use of texting, just didn't further us as a species. And the lupines couldn't manage them in any case. Propping myself up on an elbow, I paused to glance down and was relieved to see that I was wearing an intact t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. There was the happy realization that I'd not gone to bed commando that night.
No good phone calls come after midnight, and this was no exception. Philo's voice barreled out into the darkness. In his usual blunt fashion, he told me that Fitzhugh had another heart attack and was at Duke Hospital in intensive care. The first one had been mild; this one seemed to be of greater severity.
I sat up, anxious, distressed; automatically, I held out my arms and Kipp nestled into me, his pointed nose pressing against the juncture where neck meets shoulder. Of course, we would start for home immediately and postpone the next time shift. It only took us about ten minutes to get dressed, packed and be on the road, Peter driving with his usual ruthless intensity, returning the way we'd come. There was nothing to be said, and I forced myself to relax and put the worst case scenario from my mind. Before we left Gatlinburg, I asked Peter to stop at a convenience store, startling the sleepy clerk whose head was nodding on the counter, so I could buy large travel cups of black coffee. Peter nodded his thanks and off we went, swallowed by the cold darkness. Kipp remained unusually guarded, shielding his thoughts from me. I realized he was worried and not willing to share those anxious musings so as to not increase my distress. Elani felt like a raw nerve, although I didn't probe her thoughts; however, her stress filled the tight confines of the SUV like an overinflated balloon about to burst. At some point, I let down my window a tad, enjoying the bracing feel of the cold air that grew more frigid as we ascended into the mountain range that stretched from Tennessee to North Carolina. Kipp stuck his nose against the back of my neck and sighed deeply, the hot breath from his lungs feeling like a blast furnace on my chilled flesh.
I don't think Peter and I spoke ten words for that entire drive home, except for my occasional entreaty to let me drive so that he could rest. Resolutely, he shook his head no and kept up the pace. I watched as the speedometer needle hovered at eighty and beyond as we raced home. What if Fitzhugh didn't make it, I wondered? Kipp must have been tuned in to me because his next question was one for philosophers and not for mere travelers such as I.
"If someone dies, what happens if you go back in time and prevent the event from happening?" Kipp asked.
Turning my head, I looked at Peter, who dared to glance away from the road to meet my gaze. There I was, supposed to be a mentor, wondering how to correctly answer such a deeply philosophical and ethical question. Thanks, Kipp, I said silently to myself.
"You're welcome," he murmured, rather sarcastically it seemed.
"We are taught it's wrong to tamper with the progression of history. So, going back in time to prevent an accident, for example, from happening in which a life is lost would be dangerous."
"Why?" Elani asked. She shoved her head up between the seats and was jammed in tight next to Kipp. I could imagine his discomfiture at her physical proximity as her soft, gray blonde coat brushed against his ruddy shoulder.
"When a timeline is disturbed, there is a risk that the next generation will be changed," I answered. "If a child is kept from dying in a car crash," I continued, thinking of my baby George, "then that person can grow to maturity, have offspring, and influence future generations that would not have been born." I shook my head and gazed out my window at the dark, shapeless countryside where farms nestled, their lights piercing the night as the early risers met their day. "It is just something we can't do, no matter how tempting."
"So, if you had the ability to prevent what happened to Fitzhugh from taking place, you wouldn't?" Peter asked.
I felt myself swallow hard and shook my head again. It was a slippery slope for my kind, the constant lure to tamper with history as well as the future. The ones who'd tried it had become outcasts, usually abandoned by a more principled symbiont partner who would not agree to such an abomination of our cultural dictates.
Peter spied another convenience store, and after a quick pit stop and another large cup of coffee, he swung behind the wheel again. "It keeps me from thinking too much," he said as a manner of explanation of his dogged insistence that he drive. I was relieved it was not due to any perceived need to protect me or care for me.
"And why would you care if he was being nice to you, just because?" Kipp asked, his thoughts resonating in my mind alone. "I've heard Philo say it, as well as Fitzhugh... you don't have to be independent and act as if you need no one," Kipp continued. "And you know you need me, so to pretend otherwise is ridiculous."
I chose to ignore Kipp and returned my attention to the road. The yellow and white lines becam
e hypnotic, and I found myself killing time by counting road signs and occasionally looking above through the large, curving windshield to see if I could identify any constellations. As we finally approached Durham, I sighed in relief. There had been no more phone calls so I could only hope old Fitzhugh was holding his own. While Fitzhugh was well past a century of age, he had the appearance of a human man in his late seventies or early eighties. Tall and a little stooped, he carried his years well and had been notoriously healthy up until the first heart attack.
The intersection of humans and symbionts for health care purposes was avoided when possible, but sometimes admissions to hospitals were required. We may look human but our genetic makeup is different and that means our physiology is unique to our species. One of our Technicorps symbiont doctors was on staff at Duke, and he always served as the attending or a consultant and surreptitiously guided all that occurred.
Daylight had broken, and the eastern horizon was draped in coral colored clouds that were thin and narrow, backlit by a bright orange sun; the clouds looked like wisps of fragile, voile fabric pasted on an artificial sky, like something an ambitious child might have created as an art project for an overly zealous teacher. Our solitary journey home was finally interrupted as we hit the early morning traffic, with lines of stop and go cars whose occupants chafed in agitation at the slowdown brought on by a minor fender bender. Many of the people were no doubt on their way to punch a clock at Duke Hospital. I could easily imagine the raised eyebrow of a nursing supervisor as the employee gave the all too frequent reason for excessive tardiness.
We finally arrived, and Peter pulled up at the front entrance. I looked over my shoulder at Kipp, my eyes meeting his in the dim interior of the SUV. We were not parted, ever, and the idea I'd have to leave him behind was toxic to me. But there was simply no feasible way to get him in the hospital, and I didn't have time or presence of mind to try and create some clever game by which he could pass muster.
"Go," he said, nodding at the door with his pointed muzzle. "I'll be with you," he said, blinking his eyes once. Yes, he could easily follow me telepathically and see the world through my eyes.
"I'll let you know what's going on," I said to him, knowing he could relay all to Peter and Elani more accurately than if they tried to follow my thoughts amidst the cacophony of churning human minds roiling with emotions contained in that one large building.
I exited the vehicle and within a few seconds felt the blast of warm air as the automatic doors to the hospital entrance silently opened and closed. Without appearing as if I needed help since I didn't want to be told it was too early to go to the intensive care unit, I determinedly marched past the reception desk, purposely not making eye contact with the harried clerk who was fielding questions about the location of one day surgery and registrations for colonoscopies. I'd made this trip before and knew my way around. When the elevators opened, I searched for the waiting room that stabled the exhausted and stressed families who were perpetually waiting for news of some kind. Philo was there, and I could already tweak loose the familiar patterns of his thoughts and feel happiness when he recognized my mind greeting his. A few seconds later, he met me in the hallway, pulling me against his chest so hard that I was left slightly breathless.
"The cardiologist just came out and said that Fitzhugh is stable, but he's going to need prolonged rest after this one," Philo said. Linking his hand with mine, our fingers interlaced, he led me to his corner of the waiting room where he'd left a book sitting in his chair, marking his place. I took a deep breath and looked around the room. Across from me sat a young woman whose face wore a tear-stained expression of distress. For an instant, I allowed myself access to her thoughts and immediately pulled free as if I'd stepped in quicksand.
"You have to keep your wall up," Philo said. "It's almost intolerable sitting here amidst all this pain and worry."
Oddly, I felt Kipp on the scene, via remote, and he nodded his head mentally as if he agreed with Philo. With the knowledge my boundaries might have been weakened due to my own anxiety, Kipp took up position in my head and effectively prevented any more forays into the thoughts of the surrounding humans.
"Thanks, Kipp," I muttered quietly.
"I knew Fitzhugh was under some personal stress, and I should have helped him more," Philo said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Gently, I placed my hand on his back, feeling the tension between his shoulder blades. "You know that Juno was living with a symbiont couple who were recently relocated to a colony in Sweden. Juno, at Fitzhugh's invitation, went to live with him. However, his landlord went ballistic, said he'd violated his lease and was going to evict him." Philo turned to me and raised an eyebrow. "The landlord had some college kids that could pay more money and probably was looking for a reason to kick Fitzhugh out." He sighed. "It could have been argued in court, but Fitzhugh didn't have the heart or fight in him to challenge the landlord."
"Where's Juno?" I asked.
"At home with Claire," he answered.
"Fitzhugh is going to have to deal with finding a new home for him and Juno as well as moving all his things. When I went over to get Juno to take her to my house, I noticed he really has almost no belongings. I think his entire investment is in the Technicorps library, and he's not bothered to acquire a lot of stuff."
I thought briefly of my own house which was slightly overrun with objects that belonged to the past existences of countless, unnamed humans. Maybe as I got older, like Fitzhugh, I would have a simpler existence.
"No, you'll always have a bunch of junk around," Kipp chimed in from his listening post in the SUV. "Just like that little china creamer with the broken handle that you glued back on. It's a damaged piece that no one else wanted until you came along."
I huffed silently, annoyed at Kipp for making the wrong assessment, something totally unlike him. It wasn't that I needed to rescue the damaged goods in the world; rather, I just happened to look at things and imagine them before age and wear took the luster and left an article languishing in a dusty corner, overlooked by people who were deceived by another pretty, perfect face. Did that sum up my psyche and make me seem artificially complex, or was I just a hopeless romantic?
Philo, during my mental tug of war with Kipp, disappeared and returned with coffee. Visiting hours were about to begin, and I gulped my coffee–which tasted as if it had been sitting all night—unwilling to leave the half consumed cup to cool while I visited my old friend. Yes, it seemed odd even to me to admit he was a friend. A nurse stuck her head out and nodded; Philo nudged my arm, and I joined the others who politely waited their turn. The nurse showed me to Fitzhugh's room; I wiped sweaty palms on my jeans before entering.
He was fortunate to have a room with a decent view and even luckier to be positioned where the window allowed the morning sun to splash across the equipment cluttered area, illuminating his bed and him as if he were some type of angelic being. For a moment, the rays of the sun were tangled in his wispy hair, giving even more of an illusion of a heavenly aura about him.
"Snap out of it," Kipp growled, kicking me mentally in the butt.
Fitzhugh's eyes opened as I entered the room, and I really couldn't have imagined a broader smile on his wrinkled face if I'd tried. No, there was no mistaking that he was happy to see me. The bland room, with walls the color of old, dried putty, smelled faintly of some type of disinfectant solution.
"So, you bothered to come back, did you?" he began, after controlling the smile and replacing it with a frown. "I guess you were worried I might die, and you'd be stuck with having to take over the library," he added, drawing his brows together in a frown.
"Oh, shut up your grumbling," I said, leaning over to kiss his cheek; his dry skin felt a little like thin parchment beneath my lips. The look of pleased surprise on his face at the caress was enough to cheer me. Feeling a little embarrassed at my impulsive show of affection, I made busy straightening his cover and settling his pillow under his head.
He merely laughed in reply and looked away. There was a prolonged period of silence between us as I pondered on what to say next, if anything.
"Philo says there is some problem with your landlord," I finally said after careful consideration.
"Yes," Fitzhugh replied. "I must look for new, uh, digs, when I get out of this place," he said with a frown and a gesture of his arms to indicate the hospital room that he despised. I knew he just wanted to be back in his library. "Philo has said I can't live in my office," he added, huffing slightly through pursed lips.
"Why don't you come and stay with Kipp and me?" I asked before I realized that the words had tumbled out of my mouth. In the back of my head, a huge, emphatic question mark formed itself, courtesy of Kipp.
Fitzhugh's dark eyes, which had looked weary and lacking their usual sharp, inquisitive expression, snapped to attention as he turned his head to look at me. Using both hands, he pushed himself up in the bed and settled his shoulders against the bunched up wad of pillows I'd erected for comfort.
"Are you serious?" he asked before I could retract my hasty offer.
But as I thought about the matter, why not, I wondered? I loved Juno, and she would be a quiet, unobtrusive shadowy figure, adding her stability and comfort to my home. Fitzhugh, although not unobtrusive, would probably spend most of his time at the library anyway and just use my house for a sleep over.
"Lily, too?" he said, his voice quieter than before, as if he was afraid to push the limits of my generosity.
I widened my eyes and stared at him, unblinking. Lily the Terrible would be delighted to be home again, since she'd be close to her beloved Kipp. The words dried up in my mouth like dust as I nodded my head.
The Great Locomotive Chase, 1862 Page 7