by Mari Mancusi
"Glenda?" I venture. "Is that you?"
The door swings open and a tall, broad-shouldered man steps through, surrounded by a group of six soldiers, all dressed in silver uniforms. I relax a bit. These must be Eclipsers. Sent to retrieve me and bring me back to Glenda. She'll explain everything. I hope.
"Hello, darling," the man coos in a sexy English accent. I give him a once-over, quickly cataloging him. Blond. Handsome. Strong Roman nose, piercing green eyes. Well built, too. As if he's clocked in quite a few hours at the local underground gym. He's dressed much differently than Dawn, wearing an old-fashioned black suit, much like the proprietor at Moongazer Palace, though his is tailored to fit and the fabric looks expensive.
"Thank goodness we found you," the man says, stepping across the room and taking my hand in his. He pulls me up off the couch and kisses the back of my hand.
I frown in confusion. Something's wrong. This isn't right. I don't know why, exactly. Just, these guys don't seem anything like how I'd imagine Eclipsers. Not that I had a clear picture, mind you, but still ...
"1 um-"
The blond man waves a hand. "No, no, dear," he interrupts. "No thanks necessary. It was my pleasure to rescue you. After all, you wouldn't be in this horrid mess if it weren't for me. I tried to take all the precautions, but they stole you away seconds before I could arrive. I do apologize for the inconvenience. For making you have to spend time in this"-he looks around the room, disdain written on his face-"squalor." He smiles. "Now, come along. We've got reservations at Luna Park Terrace and the maitre d' simply deplores tardiness."
He gestures to the open door, and his guards step aside to allow me exit. I rise from the couch, confused and indecisive. Should I go with them? Where will they take me? Are they Eclipsers, or some other group entirely? How am I supposed to know whom to trust?
"I don't ..." I hedge, trailing off, not even sure what questions I should be asking.
I catch the man's glance at my shattered inhaler, still lying where Dawn left it. He looks up at me. "Your asthma medicine," he says. "What happened?"
"Uh, it ... well, there was an accident." I feel like I'm telling a spousal abuse counselor that I fell down the stairs.
"I see," he says, raising an eyebrow, evidently not believing me any more than the social worker would. "Well, we'll get you set up with a new one." He pauses, then adds, "Skye."
My jaw drops open. "You know who I am?" I ask. "You don't think I'm ... Mariah?"
The man chuckles. "Mariah. What rubbish. Don't tell me you're starting to believe the Dark Siders' wild tales. You're Skye Brown, resident of the city of New York on the planet Earth. You're only a guest here in our humble land of Terra. But surely, my dear, you know that already"
Finally, someone who knows who I am. He recognizes the real me. And here I was starting to believe Dawn's crazy stories. What an idiot. A million questions bubble inside me, each warring to be first asked. "Why am I here? How did I get here? What's Terra, anyway? Why does everyone seem to think I'm Mariah? How do I get back home?" The questions come fast and furious, not waiting for answers.
The man chuckles again. All in good time, Skye, all in good time. But first, I think you need your medicine. You're looking quite pale. Come with me and we'll arrange for a new inhaler."
I'm torn. On one hand, finally I have someone who recognizes me as me. Who is promising a sensible explanation that doesn't involve revolutions and me being someone I've never heard of. On the other hand, shouldn't I wait for the Eclipsers? After all, Dawn said they could help.
Why trust Dawn? asks a voice in my head. He kidnapped you and tried to delude you into thinking you're someone else. He's threatened you with weapons, dragged you underground, and locked you in his house after almost killing you by destroying your medication. Not really a guy who inspires much confidence.
I make my decision: I'm going with the stranger who at least seems to know who I really am. Who accepts the fact that I'm from Earth, and isn't going to give me a lot of disturbing bullshit. I tell him I'm ready and follow him outside Dawn's cave and down the twisty passageways. We walk through the town square, which is now strangely empty. Where did the throng of people go? At the moment I almost expect tumbleweed to float across the vacant space.
Then I see the eyes peeking from every window. From around every corner. The people are all hiding. Are they afraid of this man and his guards? And if so, have I just made a horrible mistake? I suppress a shiver, trying to convince myself it's just from drafty caves.
Seeing no other option, I follow my entourage to a shiny black limo parked just outside the Dark Side's gates. My host presses a button on a remote and the car doors rise open like those of the DeLorean in Back to the Future. Still not quite sure I'm doing the right thing, I crawl inside. The interior is luxurious, made of some rich, soft, leather like material. The blond man takes a seat across from me and his guards file in, two up front and four at our sides. The driver fires up the engine and the doors swing silently shut. Like Dawn's bike, the limo rises a few inches off the ground and takes off down the tunnel.
"So, what's your name?" I ask my host. "I mean, since you seem to know mine."
He smiles. "They call me Brother Duske. I'm a senator. A member of the Circle of Eight."
I stare at him, cold seeping through my insides, even though the car is well heated. This is Duske? The man I was warned about by Dawn and Glenda? The one I was told to avoid at all costs? And here I am, in a hover car with him and his soldiers, flying through the tunnels at top speed. Oh, Skye, what have you gotten yourself into?
"Judging from your face I gather you've heard terrible rumors about me from the Eclipsers," Duske says, raising an eyebrow "How embarrassing."
I blush. "It's just that ... well.. ."
Well, what, Skye? You think he's evil because some random strangers told you he was? The same people who also told you that you are a revolutionary leader for their downtrodden world? Maybe not the most reliable source, just FYI. In fact, maybe they wanted you to avoid senator Duske because he would tell you the real truth-that you're not this rebel leader they want you to be. Ever think of that?
"Sorry. It's just ... well, I'm feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland today. You know ... I knew who I was this morning, but I've changed several times since then?"
Duske laughs appreciatively. "I promise, Skye," he says. All will be made clear to you very, very soon."
We zoom down the underground highway and I lose track of the twists and turns. Finally, we stop in front of a long glass tube shooting up into the darkness. The driver presses a button on the car console and the tube door slides open. He backs the car into the tube and then presses another button. I realize that we must be in some kind of glass elevator. Very Willy Wonka. The door slides closed and I feel us shoot upward.
A few moments later, the elevator shudders to a stop and the doors slide open. The driver steps on the gas and we float out into the open road. I gasp as I take in the stunning landscape we enter. It's entirely the opposite of the bleak reality we just left.
We're in the center of a city, a hustling, bustling area that looks remarkably like Times Square if Times Square were set deep underground. High above the city, stadium-strength lighting offers the illusion of daytime drowning out the cave darkness of below. Neon signs and billboards advertise fake tanning, cosmetic surgery, and the latest and greatest in hover cars. Tall buildings crowd the streets, shooting up into the high ceiling of the cave. Corner boutiques spill out onto sidewalk sales. Waiters serve heaping plates of food to cafe patrons. There's even (get this!) a Starbucks on one corner! I look more carefully at the electronic billboards covering almost every possible surface in a garish Tokyo-esque style. "Are you ready to look into the moon?" one asks. "Try it for a day-or a lifetime!" suggests another. And one tongue in cheek recommends: "One of these days, POW! Straight to the moon!"
Whatever this Moongazing is, there's certainly a big promotional push for it. Could it really h
ave been responsible for Mariah's ultimate demise?
Everywhere I look there are bustling people going about their days. Girls in short skirts and high boots. Guys in black trench coats. Fashionable, well fed, happy-looking everyday people of seemingly every race. No mutants in sight, either. In fact, most of them are Barbie and Ken dolls incarnate.
"Is this ... is this where the Indys live?" I ask.
Duske nods. "We call it Luna Park. Pretty, isn't it?"
It is. If one discounts the neon billboards above. The stone walkways are elegant and well designed. The buildings are sleek and some made entirely of glass. And the centerpiece of the city, a spiky post-modern fountain, glitters as water droplets capture the lights and fragment them into a shower of kaleidoscopic color.
"Such a difference from down below," I remark, my mind flashing back to the dirty mutant children of the Dark Side, playing in the glass-strewn streets with deflated balls. Are they doomed to live in the gutters their whole lives, or is there a way for them to escape their destinies and become one of these shiny, happy people in the end?
"Yes. It's unfortunate," Duske agrees, his face earnest. "But we're working on that. You'll see."
We leave the town, turning left and driving down a long road until we pull up to a mammoth Tudor-style mansion. It's set high on a hill, is at least four stories tall and made of white stone-a single candle illuminating every window. It's elegant, but at the same time a bit foreboding. The driver pulls up and around the circular driveway, stopping in front of the house.
A few moments later I'm inside a majestic foyer. The walls and floor are made entirely of marble. Cold. Glittering. Unreadable. A crystal chandelier hangs from a vaulted cathedral-like ceiling. In the center of the room is a mammoth staircase-like something out of Gone With the Wind-sweeping upward.
But I'm not here to be impressed by architecture. I turn to Duske. "Can I have my asthma meds now?" I don't mean to sound ungracious and hasty, but before I get completely blown away by the opulence, I want to make sure he can deliver on his promises. After all, I'm still not sure who to trust in this foreign world.
Duske nods and claps his hands twice. An old, gray butler wearing a tuxedo enters the room, bowing his head as he approaches my host.
"Brother Thom, could you get Sister Skye her medication?" Duske asks. And," he says, after scratching his chin, "a dress suitable for dinner."
The butler nods and disappears into the house.
"No offense to your current clothing," Duske says, giving me a somewhat disdainful glance. "But the Park Terrace has been picky about dress codes lately. Forgive me."
I'm about to remind Duske he didn't tell Thom what kind of medication I needed, but the butler's already returned. Almost as if he had exactly what his master would ask for just waiting in the next room. Of course that's impossible, but ... He presents me with the inhaler and then a hanger covered in plastic. Inside, almost glowing with its own brilliance, is what may be the most beautiful dress I've ever seen.
"I suggest you save your medication for when you really need it," Duske says. "There's not a full bottle worth left. Asthma medication can be so hard to acquire here."
I take the inhaler and tuck it protectively in my pocket. Then I accept the dress, holding it up in front of me to get a better look. It's breathtaking. A halter-top, floor-length gown with a slit that cuts to mid thigh. It's red, with sparkling multicolored gems seeded into the fabric.
Thom bows stiffly. "One flight up," he instructs. "Two doors to the left. A private bathroom where you can bathe and change."
"Dinner's in an hour," Duske adds. "I trust that's enough time to get ready?"
I nod, unable to speak, not taking my eyes off the gown. Sure, I've never been into high fashion and material possessions, but this is just so extraordinary. A piece of fabric art.
"One more thing," Duske says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a long silver chain with a sparkling moon charm attached. He drapes it over my head and it falls just between my breasts. "Beautiful," he proclaims. "Just the piece to accentuate that dress."
I finger the charm, too taken aback to speak. It's identical to the one I got from my mother on graduation day. The one the proprietor took from me. Identical to the hundreds of others hanging in the Moongazer Station cabinet. What does it mean?
"Um, thanks," I murmur, not knowing what else to say.
"It is my pleasure," Duske replies. After all, it's so rare we in Terra are able to entertain guests from Earth. So few make the trip this way, or even learn about us."
I'm about to ask questions when he excuses himself, citing important business. I head upstairs, trying not to drag the dress on the ground. I find the bathroom and draw in a breath as I step inside. The entire room is constructed of etched glass and marble. A hundred tiny teacup candles flicker from various nooks and crannies. Some are encapsulated in glass, others float in small vases of water. The Jacuzzi tub is big enough for three and filled to the brim with steaming bubbles. The vanity is covered with brightly colored soaps, glass bottles of flowery perfumes, and earthen jars of creams. There's a video-screen embedded in a wall, playing back some sort of soap opera. I watch as it goes into commercial.
"Are you looking for a new adventure?" the voiceover asks, showing film of a large full moon. A new world where all your dreams can come true?" The video switches to a scene of a sunny beach with bathers frolicking and tanning and downing fruity cocktails. "Imagine a world where you can lie out in the sun and won't get sick." The picture switches to a swinging nightclub. "Where you can dance the night away under the waxing moon." I stare, my eyes widening as I realize the club is Luna. Is that Craig in the DJ booth? "Well, look no further than Earth-a new world that mirrors the Terra of old in all the best ways. Try it for a day-or take the journey of a lifetime." The scene closes with two people cuddling up to one another on the hood of a car under a star-filled sky. "Are you ready to look into the moon?" the voiceover asks alluringly.
The commercial ends and we go back to our regularly scheduled soap opera. I shake my head. This Moongazing thing, whatever it is, is everywhere. And they make it look so great. No wonder people want to take the trip. Heck, the commercial made me ex-
is this place? How did I get here? Who are the Eclipsers? What do they want with me?
And most importantly ...
Who the hell is Mariah Quinn and why does she look exactly like me?
cited about Earth and I've lived there all my life. I wonder how many Terrans have journeyed there and are currently living among us. More importantly, I wonder how easy it will be for Duske to send me home.
I hold the dress up in front of me and stare into the mirror. If only Craig could see me in this! He'd go crazy. Or what about Dawn? Would he like his Mariah dressed in something so elegant?
I shake my head. What am I doing thinking of Dawn? I'm finally free of that psycho. The last thing I need to be wondering is what he'd think of me in a dress. Knowing him, he'd probably moan that I was betraying the cause or something. No wonder Mariah took off on him in the end.
I hang the dress on a hook and pull off my dirty, bloody clothes, thankful to finally be out of them. I test the water with a big toe. Perfect. Of course. Everything in this part of the world seems to be flawless-the polar opposite of the world beneath. I feel an odd pang of guilt. Should I be enjoying this luxury while so many below are going without?
I shake my head. All will be answered in good time, and my refusing a warm bath will not feed a hungry child. I lower my body into the tub and force my brain to stop whirring.
This is better, I tell myself as I relax in the bubble bath's embrace. I'm in a safe place, here by my own free will. My host knows exactly who I am and he's not playing games with my head. He rescued me from my kidnapper and gave me my lifesaving medication. And now at dinner I'll get to ask him all my questions: What is this place? How did I get here? Who are the Eclipsers? What do they want with me?
And most importantly.
..
Who the Hell is Mariah Quinn and why does she look exactly like me?
5
"This place is gorgeous. I've never seen anything like it," I exclaim about an hour later, seated in a plush booth at the back corner of Luna Park Terrace restaurant. The entire room is carved out of a sort of polished smoky blue glass-the tables, the floors, even the walls-allowing for a tremendous view of a nearby lava-filled crater. The lava bubbles and boils beside us, but we're cool and comfortable. This place is beyond breathtaking; it's a study in fire and ice.
"Haven't you?" Duske asks. "What a shame. But you have so many other lovely things where you come from. I hardly think you should complain."
"Oh," I say, taken aback. "I'm not complaining. I'm just impressed."
Before Duske can respond, a wrinkly man dressed in a tux and with a name tag that simply reads WAITER approaches our table. He bows at the waist.
"How do you do this fine evening, Brother Duske?" he asks with an impeccable English accent. "It is an honor to have you patronize our humble restaurant."
"It is an honor to be here, Brother Claude," Duske says with the same respect.
The waiter turns to me. "And you, Sister. It is an honor to-"
"A bottle of your finest vodka," Duske interrupts.
The waiter nods, seeming a bit taken aback by the interruption. "Of course," he says, bowing low again. "So sorry, Brother Duske." He stands, hesitates for a moment, as if daring to speak again. "And would you like your usual entrees?" he asks at last.
Duske glares at him. "I would like my usual," he says. "But this young lady has never dined in your establishment. So I am sure she would like to hear the specials."
"Right. Right. Of course," the waiter says. I raise an eyebrow Does he also think I'm Mariah? This is just too weird.
The waiter reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, patting his brow. "Today we have a lovely butternut squash ravioli, dusted with sage and swaddled in a lovely soy cream sauce. We also have a black bean and tortilla pie, glazed with a faux honey chipotle."