SUSY Asylum

by Michael Pierce

  “Oliver!” Mr. Gordon said loud enough to break my focus. “Come back to us.”

  Again I was looking into the faces of nearly everyone in the class, led by the disapproving gaze of Mr. Gordon.

  “Lunch can be your nap hour if you choose, but not during my class time.”

  There was a moment of silence, some mild snickering, and Mr. Gordon continued his lecture.

  I stopped by his desk on my way out and before I could say anything, he spoke up.

  “What were you thinking?” he asked like a concerned parent, soft but forceful. “Crossing planes while sitting in my class? You were fading in the back of the classroom. Did you realize that? Luckily, no one noticed.”

  “Everyone here is so unaware, they’d barely notice an alien sitting next to them,” I said, and received a few glances from passing students on their way out the door. “Okay, sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was just looking for the door, and when I wasn’t finding it, I just kept looking deeper. I didn’t realize I was actually fading, I thought I was just looking.”

  “It’s a fine line—one you should be very careful with.” Mr. Gordon removed a water bottle from his desk drawer and took a sip. “If you transition into the wrong place you could be ripped from this plane and prevented from transitioning back.”

  “That would suck.”

  Mr. Gordon didn’t laugh.

  I hung around until the last student was gone and closed the door. “What are we going to do about Desiree?” I asked.

  “I’ll take care of it. You should get to class. You have a sixth period, remember?”

  “Screw sixth period! My best friend is missing and I need to help find her. I came to you with this, don’t you dare cut me out of the loop.”

  “Oliver, it is much safer for you to stay here,” Mr. Gordon insisted.

  “It’s much safer going with you than going alone, which I can do, you know. You can’t stop me. Go without me and I’ll follow you. I know how to get into the city from here.”

  “I can erase your memory so you don’t even remember the name Provex City, let alone follow me.”

  “You do what you gotta do, but I’m coming. You started showing me this stuff for a reason. Do you really want to start all over?”

  “At times, yes,” Mr. Gordon said in a flash. “Maybe that would prevent things from getting messier. I wouldn’t have to keep worrying about losing people in different planes.”

  “Then do it,” I challenged. “Because I’m not going to class and I’m not going to voluntarily wait here while my friend needs my help.”

  Mr. Gordon stared into my unflinching eyes and took another swig from his water bottle. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes from over his horn-rimmed glasses. I waited impatiently as he silently decided my fate—and then, shaking his head, he grabbed his car keys from the top desk drawer.

  “All right,” Mr. Gordon whispered. “There isn’t much time.”

  I followed Mr. Gordon to the teacher parking lot. He sped through the full lot, bounced the sedan onto the main road, and reached his house without having to stop once. In fact, the streets seemed deserted like all obstacles had been removed from our path.

  “Soda for the road?” Mr. Gordon offered once we were inside, and I happily accepted.

  I waited in the kitchen while Mr. Gordon took care of a few things. Drinking, pacing, and adjusting items on the counters did not make time move any faster or lessen my impatience. That was until I looked out the window over the sink into Mr. Gordon’s backyard.

  I distinctly remembered a small yard surrounded by a brick wall with the second story of another house peeking over the top. But there was no brick wall—no house behind his. A large L-shaped pool took up only a small portion of the backyard, which extended into a grove of orange trees. I knew I lived in Orange County, but I couldn’t remember seeing an orange grove except in pictures dated twenty plus years ago.

  Mr. Gordon breezed into the kitchen and signaled it was time to go.

  “Your backyard seems different,” I said, pointing at the window as I followed him down the hallway.

  “Yeah,” was all he said and walked through the first door we came to—walked through without opening it. That was an obvious clue we weren’t home anymore, but I had no idea when we actually transitioned into the higher plane.

  A gun-metal hover car waited for us in the garage, floating six inches off the ground, but still, like it was sitting on the ground somehow. The inside was all black leather and it quietly fired up just as Mr. Gordon took the driver’s seat. All the electronic controls shone blue, including frequently changing numbers and small images around the edges of the windshield.

  Mr. Gordon pressed a red button on the base of the steering wheel and we began backing out of the garage, through the garage doorway, and down the driveway. After pressing the red button, Mr. Gordon did not touch the steering wheel again. We backed up, stopped, turned, and accelerated down the street without Mr. Gordon doing a thing.

  The computerized numbers on the edges and middle of the windshield continued to change, blink, and switch positions. A bright orange line extended from the front of our car down the street, and when the line turned, so did the car.

  Mr. Gordon mentally flipped through radio stations and stopped on an acoustic, whisper rock song that I had never heard before—which was to be expected. But the singer sounded remarkably like Elliott Smith. It was peaceful traveling music.

  We wound through a few side streets without passing another car, until we turned onto the on-ramp to the freeway. The car rocketed forward, throwing me back in my seat. Mr. Gordon closed his eyes as the car did all the work. The orange line extending from the front of the car met up with an intricate web of orange lines like some fancy holographic computer grid extending completely across the freeway. Every car had one; and they moved with the cars as they switched lanes, passed other cars, and exited at the off-ramps. I didn’t remember seeing any of these lines during the times Desiree and I walked along the side of the freeway.

  “How is it you don’t have to do anything?” I asked Mr. Gordon, who looked way too relaxed to be in the driver’s seat.

  “You’re seeing the automotive network,” he said without opening his eyes. “When your car is logged in to the network, it’s self-driving, using GPS satellites and an array of sensors to safely and efficiently get you to your desired destination. No human error.”

  “Do you have to be logged in?”

  “No, but it’s encouraged. If the network’s down, then the whole system doesn’t have to shut down. They already have a primitive version of this technology back home. It’s currently being tested. But they’re probably fifty years away from this kind of precision.”

  The freeway was a mass of tightly packed soaring vehicles, moving in perfect harmony toward the approaching metal mountain range of Provex City. No brake lights flashed. Cars only switched lanes when needing to exit or to change speed—each lane seemed to have its own unique speed, not by a huge difference, but a noticeable one.

  “I’ve been in taxis in the city before. I can’t believe I never noticed this before. I didn’t notice the grid lines or the fact that the drivers weren’t really driving,” I said, leaning as far forward in my seat as I could possibly go to look skyward in the curved windshield. The monorail was invisible from this vantage point.

  “It’s amazing what you fail to notice when you are focused on other things,” Mr. Gordon replied, finally opening his eyes.

  He handed me a lime-green bracelet with an intricate circular maze design on one side similar to Darius’s. I was instructed to put it on my right wrist.

  “Your ID bracelet,” he said.

  “What about you?” I asked.

  He showed me his left wrist, which was already adorned with a DNA Brand like all the adults had in the city. “I’m all taken care of. Now we won’t cause alarm.”

  “And what accounts are these connected to?”

  Mr. Gordon rais
ed his eyebrows. “Very good. Remember, we can do more than even the people on this plane. We—and the Lorne family—come from a plane much higher than this. Although the city is quite a sight to behold and there is great technology here, this plane is still considered primitive. Tattoos, account numbers, and electronic money are no great challenges. Where we come from, money doesn’t matter. In fact, there is no money—only creation. In a plane like this or back home where everything is driven by money, it poses quite an advantage when someone can simply create as much of it as he or she wishes.”

  “Wouldn’t that cause a huge increase in inflation or something?”

  “It would, and it does. And if enough people were able to do it then the current economic system would collapse. But there aren’t many people doing it. So here we are with a few people who are able to do whatever they want.”

  “Like it even matters to the Lorne’s because they don’t seem to have to pay for anything anyways,” I huffed.

  “They have a lot of immunities. They’ve spent many lifetimes stacking the deck in their favor.”

  “Are we going to get help from Nicholae?”

  “No,” Mr. Gordon said sharply. “He’s still higher up building the rebellion.”

  “He’s building a rebellion?”

  “Kafka needs to be stopped once and for all. Your father’s mission is to do just that.”

  “And when I’m ready, I can fight at his side?”

  “When you’re ready,” Mr. Gordon reiterated, and his emphasis on the phrase stabbed me in the heart like an adrenaline needle.

  As we drew closer, the city reared up on its hind legs to exude its dominance. We were nothing in its shadow. The small buildings gave way to seemingly endless skyscrapers and we suddenly became insects fluttering between titans.

  The traffic significantly slowed on the downtown streets, still moving smoothly, but at an inching speed when compared to the speed of which we had been traveling. I recognized Alexandria Boulevard as one of the main streets Desiree and I had walked down on our first visit together.

  After a few more streets and a few more turns, we entered a multilevel parking structure. Mr. Gordon stopped at the automated gate, his window dematerialized, and he stuck his hand into the hole in a metal post between lanes. As soon as his hand entered the hole, it was enveloped in royal-blue light, and the gate arm ascended to let us through.

  The car immediately located and pulled into the closest parking spot. I trailed Mr. Gordon back out to the main street.

  “Hello, Daniel,” I heard a voice say. I scanned our vicinity to find who had greeted us, but saw no one.

  “Hello, Nil. Nice to hear from you,” Mr. Gordon responded.

  When I saw him answer without changing his focus from what lie ahead as we walked, I had a good feeling Mr. Gordon was being visited by his mirror. It was the first time I had heard someone’s besides my own. It, too, sounded remarkably like Mr. Gordon. If I hadn’t been looking directly at him, I would have sworn he was having a conversation with himself.

  “And you.”

  “We are in search of Oliver’s friend, Desiree. Have you seen her by chance?”

  “Can’t say that I have,” Nil answered. “It’s a great big world. It’s like trying to find a particular grain of sand on a beach.”

  “I’m more optimistic than that. She is sure to be close. Now, if you have nothing further to add, then you may leave.”

  “Oh, I’ll be around…waiting…” the mirror said ominously.

  I tried my best not to run into passing people as I tried to keep up with Mr. Gordon’s urgent pace. He seemed unconcerned if I kept up with him or not, but he was not going to lose me in the crowd.

  “Those things have names?” I asked when I got back to his side.

  “Yes,” Mr. Gordon said curtly and turned into a building that had a plaque above the door that read: Department of Greater Meric Affairs.

  “Do they choose their own name?”

  The expansive foyer was lined with a long string of desks, like a line of bank teller windows, with government employees seated behind nearly each one. Out in the middle of the customer area were rows of chairs, back-to-back, which were mostly empty.

  “Wait here,” Mr. Gordon instructed, pointing to the mass of chairs. “I’ll return shortly.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m coming with you.”

  “I’m not going to leave you here; I’m just going to get some information from the Department of Records. What was Darius’s last name?”

  “Fitz.” I obediently dropped into the closest chair, but refused to sit back and relax.

  “Stay right here,” Mr. Gordon said again and disappeared into a nearby elevator. He returned no more than five minutes later, talking to himself again, until I noticed his earpiece. As he approached, he removed the earpiece and slipped it into his jeans pocket. “Your friend will meet us at Café Ynez. Are you familiar with it?”

  “I think so…I think it’s the café we met at before. Were you talking to Darius?”

  “Yes. Nice kid. He said Desiree was with him.”

  “Was?”

  “She’s not now, but he may have some information to lead us in the right direction.”

  I sprang from my seat and we were off to the second leg of our journey.

  “They just gave you Darius’s phone number?” I asked once we were back on the sidewalk, retracing our steps to Mr. Gordon’s car.

  “I can be very persuasive.”

  “By using your Jedi mind tricks on them?” I laughed. “‘These are not the droids you’re looking for.’” I waved my hand in one fluid motion.

  Mr. Gordon’s solemn demeanor finally softened and he cracked a smile.

  18

  Logan

  It took us nearly a half hour to reach Café Ynez and find a place to park. Darius sat alone at an outside table beneath an orange overhang that seemed to be a new addition to the patio. I jumped the short fence, and Mr. Gordon walked around and met us at the table a minute later with three coffees.

  “I didn’t put anything in them,” he said, extending a hand to Darius. “Daniel Gordon.”

  After the introduction, we all sat down and Darius said, “This looks great, thank you.” He removed the lid from his coffee and took a cautionary sip. “You’re not her father, are you?”

  “No, she’s one of my students.”

  “Wow, teachers must be really close with their students where you come from. I mean, our teachers are great and all, but we certainly don’t get this level of attention.”

  “These are special circumstances, Mr. Fitz. We’re afraid she may be in trouble and we want to do what we can to help her.”

  “She didn’t go home?” Darius asked, shifting his weight in his seat.

  “No, she’s been gone for two days now, as far as we know.”

  “The last time I saw her was Monday afternoon. We parted ways at the end of school and she said she’d see me tomorrow,” I said. I took a sugar packet from the center of the table and sprinkled it into my coffee.

  “She called me up yesterday morning, saying she was in the city with the day off from school. I was already in class, so I met up with her for lunch. I only missed one class in the afternoon.”

  “What did you guys do?” Mr. Gordon asked.

  “You know, just hung out. I met her here and then we walked around the city and went to The Oasis and enjoyed the afternoon.”

  “The Oasis?” I asked.

  “It’s the wildlife sanctuary in the center of the city, where the monorail hub is. That way it was also easy for her when she was ready to leave.”

  “And you saw her off when she got on the monorail at the end of the afternoon, or evening, or whenever it was when she supposedly went home?” Mr. Gordon asked.

  “Not exactly,” Darius said softly.

  Mr. Gordon and I waited for him to continue.

  “She said she didn’t need an escort to her train. She was insistent on going a
lone. She gave me a hug goodbye and that was it.” Darius shrugged ambivalently. “I waited on the ground for a few minutes to make sure she didn’t need anything and come back down, but she didn’t. That was the last I saw of her.”

  Mr. Gordon sat back in his mesh-metal chair and sipped his coffee.

  “Did she give any indication that she wasn’t going home or planning to go home?” Mr. Gordon asked.

  “Why did she come here in the first place?” I asked.

  “Why did either of you come here the first time?” Darius shot back at me.

  “Desiree was curious. I didn’t want to let her go alone,” I said meekly, glancing over at Mr. Gordon.

  “Well, I guess she’s still curious—I don’t know if it’s still about the city, but she’s curious about something here.” Darius turned back to Mr. Gordon. “No, she didn’t mention anything about not going home. While she was here she mentioned your friend who died. She mentioned him several times, in fact.”

  “TJ?”

  “Yeah—that’s it—she kept talking about him and how guilty she felt for his death.”

  Mr. Gordon just listened intently, not privileged to my ongoing revelations about Desiree and TJ. He was beginning to connect the dots to her erratic behavior.

  “She didn’t like to talk about him before, and now it was like the floodgates had opened,” I said.

  “She seemed quite upset,” Darius said and then paused, looking around at the other people prattling on the patio. “She also mentioned a tablet you found.”

  “Oh yeah—I didn’t bring it with me though. Can I see yours?”

  Darius removed his tablet from under his shiny, crinkly jacket and placed it on the table in front of me. “Does it look similar?”

  I picked it up and flipped it around in my hands. “It looks almost identical. How do you turn it on?”

  The screen flashed to life instantly, scrolling through a few credit screens before settling on the three-dimensional desktop.