Sondranos: The Narrative of Leon Bishop

by Patrick Stephens

  “My point is: if he says or does something stupid, it’s my fault,” Kayt concluded.

  “Your fault?”

  This is what she told us, and I can only now assume it was her Present Moment:

  A beat-up Sondranos-87 cruises down the road. Magnetic locks whine below the car, holding on as they direct the vehicle to the checkpoint – where the driver will then plug in the next course. Two passengers, Lancaster and Kayt stare out the front, watching the city grow as they crest the first hill on their journey.

  Lancaster sits back, one hand resting against the steering wheel while the other balances on the parking brake. He occasionally grazes the edge of a small sheet of white paper that tells him what checkpoints to use. He quietly pushes down another pre-programmed map route, which gives him a route that will add two hours to their journey – feigning traffic, Lancaster has long memorized the new directions. Kayt flips through Lancaster’s collection of music.

  “Do you have anything classic?” she asks, when she flipping past a quartet of discs labelled in green pen.

  “No. I have a sat-radio in the trunk though. My Dad was supposed to install it,” he answers. “May be able to pick up Transistor Radio.”

  “Never mind,” she shrugs, and sets the music discs down below her seat. Kayt ties her hair back and strips off her shoes. She sets her bare feet on the dashboard. The heavy Sondranos sun is starting to warm up the morning. Ahead of them, the city glistens and beckons them forward. Kayt imagines them reaching their destination. She clears her throat in a single, distinctly un-feminine cough. “Got to clear the throat for all the moaning later, right?”

  “That was sexy,” Lancaster says.

  “Sorry?” she responds.

  “I expected you to be a bit classier. Especially given the circumstances.”

  “It’s a joke – I’m nervous. I deserve the right to make inappropriate jokes with my best friend for a while.”

  Lancaster sighs; Kayt smiles.

  “This is amazing,” she starts, “All you are doing for me. Not too many people would drive across the city just to help me out.”

  “It’s nothing,” Lancaster says. “I’d do anything to help you.”

  “It’s not nothing,” Kayt scoffs. “You’re too nice to me. A girl could get used to it.”

  “I really wish you’d stop saying that.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ve said it yourself; guys who are too nice just don’t appeal to you.”

  Kayt studies his response. When he’d picked her up just a half hour earlier, he was happy, exuberant. Now, he reflects nothing but sadness and a hint of hostility. It clicks in her mind. “What’s your problem?”

  “Nothing, I’m just tired.”

  “It’s because of him, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t want to hear about your fiancé, or about how much you love him, okay? That stuff gets boring after the millionth conversation. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to hear it.”

  Kayt holds her tongue. She shifts again and watches him for a moment. She staggers her words, slow and careful. “I was referring to our discussion about my Dad’s whiskey party. You yawned during it, remember? You said you were tired when I called you on it. I wasn’t referring to my fiancé. You’re only doing this because you still expect to win me, aren’t you?”

  “No, don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Of course you are,” Kayt sighs and sets her head back on the rest. “I knew I shouldn’t have asked you. I thought you were over me. We’re just friends, Lancaster. You’re my best friend. Or, that’s what I want you to be. And that’s all I want from you – you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  “I know,” he interrupts her before she can continue. “We’ve had this conversation a dozen times.”

  “Including last night. You may have offered to drive, but you didn’t listen to me, did you?”

  “I did.”

  “You substituted your own reality, though. All that talk about you saying you were over me, that it was just a phase, and that I shouldn’t feel intimidated or like I should be expecting something – how much of that was a ploy?”

  “You really don’t have any faith in me do you?”

  “No, Lancaster. This isn’t the first time you’ve lied to me to get something.”

  “I didn’t need to lie, Kayt,” this is the hostility she had felt coming to light. “That was five years ago. And you slept with me because you wanted to. You even said I was too nice to date then, but you haven’t really given me a chance, have you?”

  Kayt can feel the anger boiling in her gut. “Because when you act like this, when you actually think doing something to help me will completely change our history, I can’t help but question what your intentions were in the first place. I know who you really are, Lancaster, and the prick you’re acting like now isn’t him.”

  “What does ‘too nice’ even mean?”

  “You aren’t that guy,” she stumbles for a second. Something kicks beneath the floorboards of the car, and she loses track of what she’s thinking. Lancaster hits the steering wheel. Kayt questions why he hits it again, but then feels the deceleration kick in. The car slows to a stop, and the engine dies. Lancaster curses and starts fumbling with the checkpoint receiver on the dash – it’s gone black. He taps the power button. Nothing happens. He holds it, hoping it will reset, then clicks it over a dozen times rapidly. Nothing.

  “Look,” Lancaster says. He occupies his hands with the car. “I’m sorry – I still think we have a chance. You know I love you as my best friend, but I want more, Kayt.”

  “And I’ve told you before – I don’t want to be responsible for giving you what you’re looking for. That’s not something I can do.”

  Lancaster starts to speak, but his words fall short when they hear the explosions in the distance. A few minutes later, Sondranos city is gone, and Kayt and Lancaster are running towards his parent’s house, their conversation forgotten until they have a moment’s peace. The Belovore finds them just shy of the ending of the woods.

  Kayt finished telling us about the car ride and Annalise set her arm around the young girl’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault. Trust me. People think being a friend is a terrible thing when it comes to romance. Most don’t realize its friendship which drives the strongest kinds of romance - so they get angry or jealous.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Let him be mad. Let him be angry. But most of all: let him try. That way, if you still don’t love him, he can sit back and acknowledge that he tried and still wants to be your friend. If he sticks around after he’s had his little tantrums, you know he wants more from you than trying to get in your pants.”

  “That was an option?”

  Annalise looked at me, and I smiled. “It’s always an option to guys his age.”

  Kayt shook her head. She’d been happy to take the chance to forget about Sondranos, but now the reality of the situation seeped back in. Her face resumed its solemnity; she thanked us for listening, and increased her step until she got to Lancaster. She’d lost a lot, but wasn’t quite ready to voice what it was. We all had. But none of us wore it on our features the same way she had.

  Lancaster had been following Davion. When she caught up with them, Melanie took point so Kayt could walk next to her friend. We didn’t mention the inconsistency in her story – that she’d still chosen to get in the car with him. We locked eyes and knew she’d been more comfortable in the car with Lancaster than with us. Annalise smiled. It was cute. The smile, Kayt and Lancaster’s adolescence, the uncomfortable notion that we used to be that way.

  “Should we tell her?” I whispered.

  “No. Let them grow up, give them the advice that they want to hear, and when they’re old enough they’ll see what’s really worth worrying about,” Annalise said. “Let them have their trifles and time for as long as they can.”

  Annalise trailed away and sped to the front of the pack.

  Like most tree
farms, the line of the woods ended as abruptly as it started. None of us realized how close we were until Davion slowed and bowed, extending his hand outwards as if to escort us out as Annalise jumped past. Melanie stopped short of the line while Lancaster led Kayt out – both looked around nervously. In front of us, with the distance of a very large field between, was her neighbourhood.

  “What we need is in the house just over there,” Annalise called out. “Single story, blue.”

  Davion added: “It will be our salvation,” and crossed himself.

  Further, at the cusp of sight, nine or ten darts protruded out of the soil near the home closest to the edge of the suburb – ten down from Annalise’s. A sudden scream came from overhead and two more darts flew towards the others. Even from our distance, their actions were clear.

  They opened fire, flying fast at the ground. Kayt clung to Lancaster, and the rest of us watched.. The two darts simultaneously crashed and scraped against the ground, and a moment later we could see the faintest hint of red climbing out of each pod, heading towards the suburbs.

  Chapter Seven:

  Furtive Transportation

  The Belovores had set up a blockade at the southern tip of the neighbourhood. I squinted to see them– eleven standing together. Their chelimbs were extended, claws connected to one another as the Belovores formed a circle around one of the landed pods. Each Belovore focused on it with rock-steady intent. They spoke with their larger hands as well as their mouths. I would learn later that Belovore language is part guttural, part movement. When a word doesn’t suffice for them, an action will. Sondranos learned that the hard way.

  After we secured a plan, Annalise trundled through the tall grass first.

  “Do we really want to go there?” Melanie asked.

  Davion followed. “We have survived thus far. We can make it further. Our Lords will provide for our safety, provided we keep the faith they’ve instilled.”

  Kayt slid her hand into mine, gripped it, and we walked on.

  Her eyes locked on to me, but I knew she couldn’t have been any more distant. My hand was just another hand; however, I could feel Lancaster’s eyes burning through my back, as if I was next in line to be his competition. I guess he hadn’t been all there when Kayt started with the social faux-pas regarding my sexual orientation. Competition was still competition.

  Annalise’s house was far enough away that the Belovores didn’t notice us. Eighteen single story ranches stood between us and them – seven more if you counted the small inlet around house number four leading inwards. Sneaking in was like tiptoeing into a ghost town while all the ghosts conversed on the outskirts.

  Annalise’s backyard was empty but well-tended. We climbed over a fence to enter. A blueberry bush sat beneath a large net a few feet from where we’d climbed in. She reached through the webbing, picked a couple, and popped them in her mouth. She handed me one, and offered some to the rest, but I was the only one who took one. The taste was as powerful as the Blanc de Noirs, fresh and bittersweet.

  The fence met large wooden replacement boards on either end, and stood tall enough to cover our entrance from the Belovores – even the neighbours, I assumed. Lancaster was certain the Belovores had noticed and pushed Kayt in front of him to speed her up. Clearing the backyard, a small ravine separated Annalise’s house from the neighbours. When Annalise stuck out her hand and stopped the group, I inched forward to get sight on the Belovores from the open front. The yard continued to connect both hers and the neighbour’s driveway, with only a yards distance to the road. It was a patch of dark green sprinkled by small white seeds.

  A sudden glint of light stole my attention to the house across the street. The shutters on a window near the centre of the house snapped closed. Large bay windows to the left of the front door and a garage connected to a driveway which was skirted by a strip of grass – it was a mirror replica of Annalise’s home. In fact, as I scanned the street up to where the Belovores should have been – thankfully obscured by another house and a portion of fence – I noticed that all the houses were replicas. Even the colours were bland recreations of yellow, blue and brown. The neighbours to the right had a set of plastic ducks near their front door; the ones to their right had a flag bearing the Sondranos insignia – a dome inside a crater, with a star perched on top. I could only guess that Annalise had chosen the blueberry bush as her way of keeping her home different. Maybe her history in Beaumaris had insisted she plant it in the back, or maybe she’d rather the berries stay in her possession. I found myself craving more at the thought.

  Davion went further. He stepped up the short driveway as the rest waited at the garage. He stopped at the mailbox, and nudged his head from side to side. He re-joined me, whispering and confirming what I’d seen. “There’s no line of sight – the Belovore’s mustn’t be able to see us. The Lord is pleased.”

  At the time, I was still getting a handle on Davion’s religion – it felt weird, coming from Earth to have someone of a particular faith providing support for other faiths. Then again, he was getting what he needed; the drive behind his words was never intended to belittle what the others believed in, only strengthen it and provide a good case for his own. Melanie nodded, so it was welcoming enough for her to put aside her previous doubts and anger enough to accept. It was a good strategy.

  Annalise opened her arms towards the house. It was a gesture that said ‘welcome to my humble home’ without a placemat on the doorstep reading the same. We stood before the garage, which was modest in that I doubt it ever held anything but a single level car, or served any purpose but a carport. The door hung on rusty hinges painted yellow in the last touch-up. It groaned and creaked as Annalise pulled the handle. She had to push it all the way up and hold it before the door stuck open. Inside was the truck she’d mentioned. An old electric engine - still plugged into the wall. The frame was light blue with pockets of rust dressing up the skin. It could seat all six of us comfortably, provided the three smaller of us sat in the back. The interior was light grey with a small amount of hair on the upholstery.

  We shuffled in and looked inside. Lancaster was more concerned with the tools and trinkets lining the walls – a rake, a couple spades, and a digital toolbox in the corner which switched on when Lancaster neared it, listing the contents on a blue tinted holographic screen. Melanie admired the underside of the trunk. If I recalled correctly, that’s where the engine was for those brands. I started to pull the door down, and it screamed when I pulled it no less than an inch.

  A deathly silence overtook the garage, and everyone watched me. I held the door up, refusing to move. Annalise took the handle for me, and ushered me inside. She winked, and jerked the door down hard and fast.

  SKREEEEEE

  We all cringed and held our breath. Kayt looked near to a heart attack; Davion put his hands on his head; Melanie and Lancaster turned red in the cheeks – one was fright, the other was anger. Annalise let go of the handle and jumped out of the way of the crashing door. Only, instead of a slam of finality ensuring that the Belovore would find us, it caught in a silent retrieval system. It slid back into place without a whisper.

  “What makes you think this one will work?” I asked, pointing to the car.

  Annalise responded, hands on her hips: “The engine overheats. I disconnected the magnetic guidance system a week ago to work on it and never set it back on, so its ignition system wouldn’t have been fried when the strips stopped. I guess anyone with a car in the shop might be discovering the same right about now. If they’re alive and had a full charge before power cut out. It should be able to run for ten, fifteen hours if we can pop the circuit breaker in the trunk and trigger the ignition.”

  “These kinds of cars are illegal without a licence,” Lancaster said.

  “Is this what you went to prison for?” Kayt asked.

  “No. But it is how I got my dogs taken away.”

  “We should get moving. There is no telling how long the Belovores will maintain th
eir position,” said Davion.

  “Right. I’m not the best when it comes to Transit fuse-links. Hence why it hasn’t left the garage in over a month. I could try, but if any of you knows how to get those links up and running, tell me now and you can have your way with my car. I was being incarcerated at the time of the most recent developments, and this car just so happens to have a deadman’s switch if it doesn’t work,” Annalise said. Kayt nudged Lancaster, who shook his head.

  “Mel can take care of it,” Davion spoke above us all. I could hear the preacher in his voice straining to escape. Melanie stepped back, against the wall. She shook her head and scoffed the comment away.

  Davion didn’t take negativity for an answer. “Your father taught you how to work with cars. He taught you many things before he left, and insisted you could take care of the family.”

  “It was the only thing he ever did that was worth my time,” she mumbled.

  “It mirrors the current mode of transit,” he said. “We can do it with trial and error. But you have the better chance.”

  I winced. Annalise looked around the room, having regretted asking. Kayt and Lancaster clung to each other – rather, Lancaster held her, and she allowed herself to be held. His arms draped around her shoulders and brought up the front, barely touching her breasts. School-boy’s trick, I thought.

  Melanie mumbled. She cleared her throat at Davion’s urging and nodded. I didn’t sense anger in her voice, like I had since that morning. I sensed fear, maybe loss. The kind of tone you get when you don’t want someone to know that your confidence is built on an illusion of shattered nerves.

  “I suppose I can do it,” she said. She spied Davion. “My Dad taught me how.”

  “Good,” Annalise walked over to the side. A door connected to the interior of the house. She picked up a small jar and tilted it on its side. At first, the glass looked clear and empty. But a jangling when Annalise tipped it to the side told me the glass was merely a reflective surface – the kind sold in most Home Base shops on Earth for people wishing to hide their keys. Annalise palmed what came out and handed it to Melanie. It was the key to the car. She smiled. “All yours.”