by Dima Zales
I recall how he pretended not to know why Pushers would be after her when she got kidnapped and Eugene came asking the Reader community for help, and how he then easily agreed to partake in the rescue mission. He wanted to see whether the Pusher he’d been stalking would take the Mira bait. He must’ve also been interested in seeing how Jacob would refuse to help, revealing a small clue as to his allegiance to the mystery Pusher.
These thoughts remind me of why I came over to talk to Caleb in the first place. I want to learn how to fight better. If I were a better fighter, I would have, for example, given in to my strong urge to punch him in his smug face. Today seems to be the day for violent urges.
“I’ve gotten into a couple of fights since we did that Joining,” I begin, changing the sensitive topic. “I noticed I can fight much better than before, but I still don’t really understand what I’m doing, or how.”
“Yeah. You aren’t that bad, all things considered.” Caleb actually looks serious. “I know from experience.”
This is as close to an olive branch as anyone has probably gotten from Caleb, so I say, “Thanks. How do I improve?”
“The best way, as with anything, is practice. Tons and tons of practice. I can help you with that, if you’re interested, for a small price.”
“Depends on what the price is,” I say, remembering our Joining with Haim, the Israeli fighter. That’s how I got my fighting skills, but it was a scary experience that I don’t care to repeat.
“It’s nothing, really. I just want to know what the fuck is going on here. Why did they have me bring you here? I thought it had something to do with Jacob, but now I suspect something else is going on.”
“You mean they didn’t even tell you? I thought you guys were working together.”
“Certain things are on a need-to-know basis,” he says. “But if you tell me, I’ll spar with you for a while. I can use the practice anyway.”
“Throw in some shooting lessons, and you’ve got a deal.”
“Fine. I’ve got some guns up in my room, and lots of bullets.”
“Okay then.” I look in the direction of the guesthouse. “You know Julia is here, right?”
“I do.” He narrows his eyes at me.
“Well, she isn’t here because she or her mom is about to take Jacob’s place. Or at least, not only because of that.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “There’s another reason.”
His eyes widen, and then he starts laughing. His laugh is odd-sounding, like Santa getting tickled.
I wait, arms crossed over my chest.
“This is rich,” he says between bouts of laughter. “You’re in deep shit, kid.”
“It’s not that funny.” Though truth be told, if I were in his place, I’d probably find this fairly amusing.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he says, catching his breath. “It’s funny if you know Julia.”
“What do you mean?” Maybe I’ve been looking at this from a very self-centered perspective.
“Let’s just say I’d rather be celibate, like these monks, than marry that one.” He points to the guesthouse. “Very high maintenance and way too much attitude.”
“They didn’t exactly ask me to marry Julia.” I look over my shoulder, as though paranoid about Julia overhearing me.
“Oh.” And the laughter is back. “They just want the stud service then?”
“Yes,” I say, realizing I’ll have to tread more carefully here, for the sake of my contingency plan. “They want us to have a kid.”
“That’s it? That doesn’t sound like a big dilemma to me.”
I resist the urge to say, “Then you go fuck her, or better yet, yourself,” and instead ask, “What do you mean?”
“They’d raise the kid here, so you wouldn’t have to worry about diapers and sleepless nights. All you’ll have to do is fuck Julia, who, all her bitchiness aside, is, let’s face it, a looker,” he says.
“I didn’t think of it like that,” I lie. My own grandma laid it out to me in almost the exact same way. “Maybe it’s not so bad.”
“You don’t have to tell Mira, you know.” This is more than just Caleb being friendly. He’s being loyal to my grandparents by pushing their agenda, even though they didn’t bother to tell him what it was—which is fine with me. Let him think I’m getting convinced.
“I’ll make my own decision,” I say. “Is that all you wanted to know?”
“One more quick question. What was Joining with them like?” Caleb cracks his knuckles.
“You mean you’ve never done it? You work for them.”
“No, they never deemed me worthy, with my measly Depth and lack of memories they would find useful.” Caleb looks toward the Temple. “Why would they resort to Joining when I tell them anything they need to know anyway?”
Maybe that’s why he was in Florida when I called to get his help to deal with the guy who I thought was a Pusher but turned out to be Jacob. Caleb could’ve been giving my grandparents a report on me about the things he’d learned during our Joining. Does that mean I’m still in Florida? That would be good to know.
“You’re not missing much,” I lie in response to Caleb’s statement. Then I tell him a variation of what happened during the Joining. Nothing about Mimir’s message, but I highlight my inability to glean information from the Enlightened minds.
“They’re tough bastards.” He smirks.
“So what do you get out of working for them?”
“Time,” he says. “They let me spend crazy amounts of time in their Mind Dimensions. That, and well, they’re the highest authority Readers have.”
I suspect it’s more the former than the latter, but I hold my tongue. “Speaking of payment,” I say instead. “Now that you know what’s going on and about the Joining, why don’t you teach me what you promised? A deal’s a deal.”
“I will, but first tell me why you had those thoughts. Why did you think you were a Pusher?” He gives me a hard look. “I mean, if you’re their son’s kid.”
“You said you only wanted to know what happened here,” I say. “And I got a very strong impression this was something the grandparents didn’t want you to know.”
“I won’t kill you, if that’s what you’re worried—“
“Why don’t you ask Paul?” I figure I might need another favor from Caleb some day, and if he doesn’t figure it out by then, I can trade this info for it. Then again, if we’re about to fight, do I really want to antagonize him?
“Maybe I will,” he says and stands in a semi-familiar stance. “A deal’s a deal. I’ll hold my punches, but you don’t have to.” As he says this, he punches me in the shoulder, lightning-fast. He definitely isn’t using his full strength, but it still hurts when his fist connects with my body. “You were about to block that with your right elbow, but walking out of it would’ve been more effective,” he instructs.
He throws more punches and gives me feedback on my responses to them. He claims I’m getting the hang of it, and maybe I am, but if I ever needed to fight Caleb for real, I’d still be pretty hopeless. I rarely manage to block his punches and land few of my own.
“You ready for the shooting part?” he asks after I’m barely moving from fatigue. We’ve been practicing hand-to-hand combat for what feels like a number of hours. “I’ll give you some more combat tips after. It’s good to take a break now and then.”
Pushing aside my exhaustion, I follow him and help carry the guns and ammo from his room and out of the Temple, as Caleb insists on shooting in the forest.
“You see that frozen-in-time bird?” He points to a hawk in the far distance. “I want you to hit it.”
I point the gun, a revolver he handed to me, and take careful aim.
Then I take the shot. The bird remains untouched.
“Don’t feel bad for the bird,” he teases. “You won’t really kill it.”
“Being an asshole wasn’t part of the deal,” I tell him. Truth be told, I’ve always had a
n aversion to hunting. His reminder that no animals will be harmed actually does help.
“You have to pull the trigger on your exhale,” he says. “Place the front sight blade on the target, and then place the front blade in between the valley back sights.”
“Next you’ll be telling me to pull the trigger,” I say, but do as he instructed. The exhale thing must’ve helped, because the bird falls to the ground.
“Now try shooting that squirrel,” he says, and then spends a few minutes explaining how to spot my new target between all the branches.
Many bullets and forest creatures later, I tire of the lessons. My shooting has improved, but of course it would, after so many subjective hours of practice.
A different problem becomes apparent now: patience is not my virtue. There’s only so much shooting and fighting I can do before going crazy. My plan to kill time until Paul runs out of Depth has been revealed as the pleasant delusion it was. No matter how much of his Depth is depleted, Paul still has plenty left to outwait me in my worried-about-Mom state.
“All right,” I say after the last shot. “I’m ready to head back.”
“Why don’t you run and try shooting a few things along the way?” Caleb suggests.
I perform the final exercise as he said, shooting, among other things, a couple of barely noticeable beetles and a bat. I’m definitely getting better at this.
“Do you want to spar some more?” Caleb asks once we’ve returned to the dojo field by the guesthouse.
“Sure,” I say, deciding to give Paul one last chance to run out of Depth. Might as well take advantage of Caleb thinking he owes me.
We go at it until I actually lose track of time. Caleb’s feedback gets progressively less snarky and more genuine. I must be improving.
“Okay. I’ve had enough. Time to face the music,” I say when he throws me to the ground for the millionth time. “I think I’ll go tell them that I’ll do this thing with Julia.”
“Let me give you one piece of advice,” Caleb says, giving me his hand to help me to my feet—the first time that’s happened.
“Please do,” I say. “Unless it’s of the ‘how to’ variety.”
He laughs. “No, though I’m sure I could teach a mini person like you a thing or two in that department.” He chuckles. “I was going to say, you should let Julia hear about this shit from you. Better chance it all goes smoothly later.”
This is probably good advice, though it’ll be one super-uncomfortable conversation. “Thanks,” I say.
“Sure. If you need me, I’ll be reading in my room. Thanks to you, I’ve had enough exercise.”
As I watch Caleb walk away, I think about his advice some more. Talking to Julia—there is something to it. What if my contingency plan doesn’t work? It might be worth having a backup, and she might be of help in that regard. Also, my contingency relies on me looking as though I’m going through with this breeding thing, and if I’m being monitored, talking to Julia would show my good will.
On a whim, cognizant that I’m just delaying my weird confrontation with Julia, I approach one of the monks doing kung fu.
He seems to be the most capable of the bunch, his frozen movements reminiscent of a lion or a cobra about to strike. I put my hand on his wrist and enter the Coherence state.
* * *
Strike. Breathe. Strike. Breathe.
Our mind is blank, like a pond on a windless day. There are no ripples on the lake, no movement of any kind, only stillness and serenity.
I, Darren, find this very odd. I came here in an attempt to sample this monk’s fighting style, but that’s not what I’m getting. Like the Abbot’s, this mind is in an altered state, as though the monk is meditating, despite the fact that he’s moving around. What’s stranger is that when I try to feel light and rewind the monk’s memories, I get a similar result: some nirvana bullshit but no actual memories. That’s really odd.
Frustrated, I exit his head.
* * *
My self-esteem has taken a serious dive today. First, I lose all those fights with Caleb. Then I miss all those targets. And now I just screwed up a Reading. Still, I suspect all this stuff is small potatoes compared to Julia’s reaction when I tell her why she’s here.
Chapter 8
Determined, I walk into the mansion-like guesthouse and approach Julia. She’s wearing a sleeveless dress. Without giving myself a chance to flake out, I touch her exposed elbow.
An animated version of Julia appears next to me, her blue eyes filled with shock. “Darren? What are you doing here?”
I look at her uncomfortably, unsure what to say.
“Is something wrong?” she asks, her surprise turning into worry. “You look pale.”
“I... sort of have something strange to tell you.”
“Okay.” She blinks. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
“You’re not here for the reason you were told,” I say, looking at her.
“I’m not here for any reason at all.” She frowns. “They’re giving the reins to my mom.”
“Right. That succession thing? It’s a ruse to get you to come here,” I say, watching her closely. “The real reason is different.”
“Okay, and are you planning on telling me this reason you’re building up so much?” she asks almost teasingly. She has no idea what’s coming.
“It kind of involves me,” I say. “Or, rather, us...”
She stares at me for a moment as I search for the most delicate way to proceed. Then her eyes widen.
“You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding.” Her joviality forgotten, her perfectly manicured hands tense. “These old farts want us to marry each other? Or are they liberal enough nowadays to just breed us like fucking livestock?”
“The latter,” I say, glad she guessed it for herself, sparing me the need to explain.
“How could you, Darren?” she says with disappointment. “I thought Eugene was your friend.”
“What? He is. I said no.” Realizing that might have sounded insulting, I explain, “I’m not here to talk you into it. I’m here to see if you can help us get out of it.”
She looks a tiny bit calmer and takes a breath, letting it out with an audible sigh.
“Fuck,” she finally says.
“They didn’t call it that,” I say, attempting to lighten the mood.
“It’s not funny,” she says, but the corners of her eyes crinkle. “What are we going to do?”
“When I said no, they basically decided to bore me to the point of agreeing to do it.”
“What do you mean?”
I explain to her how I have no idea where my body is, and how because of that, I can’t phase out of the Quiet.
“What I don’t know,” I say, “is how they’re planning to convince you to do it.”
Her lips tighten. “Sadly, they have many ways. For starters, they can threaten to ostracize me if I don’t cooperate. Perhaps that’s why they brought my mom here. They might tell me the only way she’ll get what she wants is if I play ball. But what makes you think they would have to convince me at all?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if you were willing, all they’d have to do is tie me up—”
“Oh, come on. You can’t be serious.” I shudder from the images in my mind. “If it goes that way, then they can wait as long as they want. I will fucking travel the world on foot before I stoop to raping for them.”
“They might not have presented you with their most persuasive arguments yet,” she says. “These old people are ruthless.”
“I was thinking it’d be easier to ‘go along with it,’” I say, making air quotes. “We can just pretend to do it. We could sleep in the same room but do nothing. I’ll sleep on the floor or something.”
“Gentlemanly, but extremely naïve.” She gives the door a worried look. “The Enlightened know what they’re doing. If they don’t watch us do it in person, they’ll install a camera in our room for sure. And I doubt they
’d let us out of here until I passed a pregnancy test.”
“Shit.” I begin to pace around her. “I didn’t realize they’d be so thorough.”
“Yeah, that they are,” she says, watching me.
I stop after a minute. “So what do we do?”
Instead of responding, Julia steps closer to me, making me uncomfortably aware of her rather ample breasts. In a daze, I wonder whether she decided to see if she might want to go along with what the Enlightened want by first giving me a kiss or something, like a little test to see how bad the situation is. But instead, she whispers in my ear, “We try to escape. Though I’m not sure how yet.”
Now I understand. If she thinks these people are paranoid enough to put cameras in the hypothetical bedroom where we’d do it, she also sees them as capable of eavesdropping on us right now. Even if they have cameras in this room in the real world, they wouldn’t work in the Quiet, but it’s all too plausible that my grandma is putting her ear to the wall, waiting for us to reveal our plans.
“I have an idea,” I whisper. “But if it fails, I don’t have a backup plan.”
“If your idea fails, we’ll still have time,” she responds quietly. “I had a birth control implant put into my arm two years ago. So, for another year, I can’t get knocked up.”
“But that would mean we’d—” I cut myself off, shaking my head before I can complete that thought. “No, no way. And besides, I need to get out of here fast.” At her questioning look, I say, “It’s a long story.”
“We can say yes and play it by ear after,” she whispers.
It doesn’t sound like too good of a plan to me. I also really don’t like the idea of them not yet having used their ‘most persuasive arguments’ on me. I don’t even want to know what that would entail.
“So the plan is we both say yes to this?” I ask. “That’s a prerequisite for my idea too.”