by RS McCoy
This time, he smiled in earnest. She respected his boundaries, and that was most important. “Yeah, what’d you have in mind?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Hadn’t thought about it.” Charlene shrugged and started back along the aisle.
Abraham looked down at the sweat clung to his skin. He would just have to eat without a shirt today.
In the kitchen, Charlene bobbed from cabinets to cold storage as she put together a plate of fruit and goat cheese for their meal. Her hair was tied up so he could see the rarely-exposed flesh of her neck.
She’d probably planned it that way.
Abraham sat at the table as she put the plate before him. “Think that’ll be enough?”
“Sure,” he lied. No mind, he would have a bigger dinner later.
Alone with her, he didn’t know how to be. He didn’t know what to say, though that was hardly new. Now there was the added stress of avoiding the conversation about why he wouldn’t give in to her.
“There’s only a quarter of that last bottle left. When can you make another batch?” Charlene popped a raspberry in her mouth.
“I can work on it this afternoon. The next one should be ready.”
This time he would add a bit of acid he isolated from some fresh grapes. He’d read an article about the acid balance affecting the flavor of wine. He hoped it would help soften the harshness of his homemade vintage.
“Hey, you know, I was thinking. There is something you remember. I meant to tell you before. Anyways, that thing you say to the boys at night. About the sun. None of the kids said that before you got here. I think that’s something you remember from before.”
Abraham munched his lunch and thought. “I don’t really remember it though. I know the words, but not anything else. I don’t know who taught me or who I said it to. Only the words.”
“Hmph,” she said and kept eating.
“What did you do before this?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You weren’t always here. Luna’s only been populated for three years, right? What did you do before that?”
Charlene grew quiet, a rarity for her. She picked at her nails as she answered, “Pretty much the same thing. I took care of kids.”
Abraham realized she meant her own. Charlene had once had kids, though they weren’t here in Luna. No wonder she didn’t want to talk about it.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For what happened to your kids.” He meant it.
“They weren’t mine, not really. I was the manager of a child care facility outside Denver. There was an incident, three kids were killed.” She took a moment to collect her breath. “As manager, I was held responsible for their deaths.”
Abraham’s heart hurt for the kids. He couldn’t imagine the loss. And for Charlene, it had to have been terrible. He couldn’t imagine losing three of their kids in Luna. Each so young and bright.
“Was it your fault?” He hoped asking might give her a chance to explain or get it off her chest.
“Not directly. A haze storm blew in, fast enough the alarms didn’t go off. The kids were outside and got separated from their class.” A fat tear ran down her cheek. “They suffocated before we could find them.”
Abraham didn’t know what the haze was exactly, but he’d read a little about it, mostly described as a reason crops didn’t grow in certain areas.
“You were held responsible? It sounds like an accident.”
“I was the manager. I was supposed to keep them safe. They were only six.”
Their oldest, Alana, was six. It must have been hard for her to work with small children after that.
“Did you want to work with kids again?”
Charlene wiped at her face and looked him square in the eye. “Of course. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. No one would give me a job after the incident. No one trusted me with their kids. When they offered me this job, I snatched it. I don’t care if I have to live on the moon. I want to be around kids.” Her passion could have lit the room on fire.
“You’re great with them. I know you’re tired of hearing it, but those kids really love you. I can’t imagine anyone taking better care of them.”
Charlene reached under the table and slipped her hand inside his. She squeezed his fingers hard and smiled. “I’m not tired of hearing it.”
That smile was all he could think about for the rest of the day. He mindlessly cleared the soil box and planted the seeds. He watered the plants that needed it and misted the ones that didn’t. He turned over the compost and distributed it to the crops that were due.
All he could see was that smile. More and more, she smiled, and he couldn’t help but think he’d had something to do with it. He liked when she smiled.
He wanted to keep her smiling.
Out in the animal room, he collected the eggs, fed the chickens and goats, cleaned the pens, and milked the goat. In the aquiculture room, he water changed the tanks, emptying the water into a canister that would cleanse the particulates before returning the clean water to the fish.
For dinner, he caught a single fish, something special. Charlene loved fish, much better than the constant chicken and vegetables.
That’s where he was when it happened, walking back from the aquiculture room, through the animal room, and into the greenhouse. That’s when he heard the sound.
A loud thud.
It wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary. Something might have fallen or someone might have tripped on a doorway. But it wasn’t that kind of thud.
It was intentional.
There it was, the thud, again.
He looked about the greenhouse for the sound.
Then Abraham saw him.
A man. His face was encased in clear plastic connected by a series of bright green hoses. His skin was so black it was barely visible in the suit. There was only the bright white of his eyes and the pink of his lips. His body was covered in a bulky green suit with dark red soil caked up to his knees. His fist pounded against the transparent material that made up the greenhouse walls.
The man was outside.
THEO
SUBTERRANEAN CHICAGO, NORTH AMERICA
AUGUST 30, 2232
“What kind of robots?” Hadley asked, her eyes eager.
“Well, nano ones. They’re mostly microscopic, smaller than cells, but some applications are macro. It really depends on the needs—”
Mable barreled into the little stone room. “Ready?” she barked.
“For what?” Theo asked in shock at her sudden entry.
“To leave. Get your things.” She grabbed her bag from the bed and pulled out a large flat book, an antique one with actual paper pages. As she flipped through, he noticed more drawings like the ones that hung in her room at CPI.
She used a colored pencil to jot something on a corner of a page then rip it out. Hadley and Theo watched her with interest.
Mable knelt next to Hadley and handed her the tiny piece of paper, folded in half. “I’m at a facility called CPI. The director is Dr. Silas Arrenstein—”
“Mable,” Theo called, reminding her of their position.
She shot him a look that could have boiled the flesh right off him.
“Dr. Silas Arrenstein. CPI. Got it?”
Hadley swallowed hard and nodded. “Why?”
“If you need to find me, he’s the one who can do it. Don’t come for me unless it’s your last option. Stay underground. Stay with Rowen.” Mable kissed the girl’s forehead. “Stay safe.”
Then she tucked her book into her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Theo had little choice but to grab his bag and go after her, though standing so fast made his head spin. “I’m sorry to leave like this. Thanks for everything,” he told Hadley. She only stood in the middle of the room clutching the bit of paper.
He wanted to say more, to do more for her, but he would lose Mable in the city if he lingered.
The cave tunnel sloped down for several minutes before opening into the large market space. Scanning the considerable crowd, he noticed Mable’s half-shaved head in the distance. Theo jogged to catch up, but as soon as he reached her, he regretted it. He had to press his hand to his temple. It barely quieted the pounding.
“Hey, what’s the rush?” She ignored him and continued moving. “Hey!” Theo said as loud as he could. He grabbed her arm to try to slow her down, to give him some reprieve but when she turned to look at him, he saw the tears in her eyes.
He hadn’t expected that. In all the times he’d seen her, she was always a brick wall of strength, never flinching.
And here, in an underground cave, she glared at him through red rimmed eyes. He dropped his hand and did his best to keep pace beside her. His head hammered, but he worked to keep his feet moving.
They hurried through the expansive market. Theo felt his stomach rumble at the smells, so foreign at first, but now savory after hours without eating. The crowds thinned as the cavern turned into massive tunnel and eventually the small, dark tunnel they’d come from—or at least so he thought. It was hard to tell one from the rest.
The tunnel grew darker and cooler as they moved. The floor climbed further upward toward the surface. The chill helped his head to calm a bit, though the pounding still sounded with each step in the black. When he thought they’d gone too far, he asked, “Where’s that Ryk guy?”
“It doesn’t matter,” was all she said.
“Are we lost? Shouldn’t we have passed him by now?”
“No.”
“Can we slow down?”
Mable stopped, or at least the sound of her feet did. He heard a sigh before she answered, “Yeah, sorry. Your head must be killing you.” Cool fingertips found his shoulder and felt up his neck to his engorged cheek. The other hand tapped around the back of his head to find the inch long gash.
“Do you want to sit down?” Her voice was quiet, calm, nice even.
“I would love to sit down,” he admitted.
“You know you’re bleeding?” Mable helped him collapse and sit against the stone tunnel wall.
“Uh, no.” He reached his hand up, and sure enough, his fingers were warm and sticky with the blood seeping from his head.
“They’ll get you fixed up at the cleaning station. Can you make it to the shuttle?”
Theo nodded and realized she couldn’t see him. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he told her, though he wasn’t entirely sure. “Can we go slower?”
“Yeah, of course.” He heard her sit beside him a foot or two away. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
Theo reached out for her hand, and on the third or fourth try, managed to find it. He smiled in the dark when she squeezed him back.
For a while they sat in the inky black silence of the tunnel. The pounding slowed and quieted until it was little more than a distant thud. “I’m okay if you want to keep going,” he finally said.
“Yeah, we should.” She didn’t move.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah” Her voice was barely audible.
“Dr. Arrenstein said we could stay a few days. We don’t have—”
“It won’t help.” Mable pushed to her feet and stood beside him. “Here, give me your hands.”
Theo felt into the nothingness before him and found her hands outstretched and waiting to help him up. For once, he accepted. Both his hands still held in hers, he asked, “Why won’t it help? They’re your friends. I think you should stay.”
He didn’t mention his own intrigue in Hadley.
“No. The longer you stay, the harder it is. Come on.” Mable let go of one hand but kept her grip on the other. Together, they started down the tunnel.
“I take it you’ve done this before?”
Theo heard her hand skimming the stone wall. “Once or twice.”
“You don’t want to talk about it?”
“Nope.”
He squeezed her hand in his. “I’m glad you brought me here.”
Mable chuckled softly, her voice a melody in the hollow void.
“No, really. It wasn’t what I expected.”
Mable laughed again. “It never is.”
SILAS
CPI-AO-301, NEW YORK
AUGUST 30, 2232
The coordinates for the Shuttle Dock CHI-31 flashed on his tablet display. Theo had done well as a little bird, keeping him up to date on their whereabouts. In an hour, they would be back at CPI, a full day sooner than he’d thought.
With nothing to do but worry over their early return, Silas left his office and headed for the galley. Knox had a plate of caprese salad as well as little croissants with chocolate filling, smoked salmon with a champagne sauce, and stuffed mussels. “Looks great.” He patted Knox’s shoulders and made a plate.
At the usual table, Osip, Dasia, and Georgie stared in revered silence.
“Thanks, Sy. Those fishies’ll whip the bacon. How come you don’t stomp the apples no more?”
Silas sighed. He hadn’t been as involved with the newest recruits as he should have been. All his attention had been on Maggie. Maybe it was time to change that.
So Silas sat between Knox and Georgie, and started in on the smoked salmon. Earthy, acidic, rich. Knox was a master. “You’re right. It whips the bacon.”
Osip was the first to speak up, though that was no surprise. He’d been here the longest of all the new recruits. “Whoa, you speak Knox?”
The others laughed, Knox included, and Silas joined them. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed this until he was here again.
During his years at CPI, it had become increasingly clear to him that the personal element was the most important. Recruiting not only the right kids, but the right mix of kids, pairing them on meaningful teams, and giving them outlets such as the galley where they can bond and relax as a group.
That was the side of this job that Nick would never understand.
But Silas did understand. He’d merely let it slide lately. As he sat with the new recruits he barely knew, he vowed to make that change.
“How are the teams getting along?” he asked to the group.
Osip revealed his big cocky smile. “Well, D here’s got the best partner, so you know things are fabulous.”
Silas chuckled. “Oh, so you’ve found a host then?”
Osip floundered under the question. “Uh, well, thing is—”
Georgie and Dasia both burst out laughing. He’d never seen either of them look better. He laughed alongside them, pleased they were settling in.
It was like déjà vu, something he’d experienced before, but new this time. He’d sat at this same table with Knox and the latest batch of recruits, only it had been Abby, Alex, and Vince.
He shook away the memory.
“Everything okay with Jane?” he asked of Georgie.
“Yeah, she doesn’t say much. At least not to me. We’re making some progress.”
Silas nodded. “She’ll come round. Just keep trying.” Nick may love the Scholars, but Silas knew them to be a stubborn and self-righteous bunch. They were often the slowest to adjust to life at CPI. They had the hardest grip on the old class system.
Georgie nodded as if it didn’t bother him, and for all Silas knew, it probably didn’t. After a rough life on the streets, a petulant partner was the least of his problems. It made Silas like him more.
“Did Osip show you guys how to play Durak?” Silas looked about the group and, based on their expressions, he had not. Silas laughed.
Osip’s features lit up. “Oh yes! Let me get the cards. I’m going to destroy you guys. It’ll be epic.” He pushed out of his chair and jogged out the galley doors.
“No shark biscuits for me.” Knox used his tiny fork to pry the meat from yet another mussel, adding the shell to his pile.
Silas tried not to let the oth
ers see how it bothered him. He would never feel right about what happened to Knox. It was why he’d made a place for Knox here. The guy had nowhere else to go. None of them did.
While they rearranged the plates to make space for the game, Silas darted into the kitchen proper to fetch a bottle of brandy. This one, a 2038 bottle of Dewar’s, was a scotch, but that hardly mattered. Along with a bucket of ice and a rocks glass, he returned to the table where Osip already dealt the antique, faded cards.
Dasia and Georgie watched him as he poured the honey-colored scotch into his glass. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I’m old enough,” Georgie offered.
“Oh, I don’t care if you drink. In fact, if you’d like a drink, please have one. But this—” He turned the label toward them. “—is part of my personal collection of fine liquor. You won’t like it and you won’t appreciate it. So I won’t share it. There’s some shitty vodka in the freezer if you want.”
“Are you supposed to let us drink? I mean, isn’t this a top secret government facility and all?” Dasia asked.
Silas shrugged and answered honestly. “I don’t really care. I think if you end up here, you’ve had something happen in your life, something that burned you or scarred you so deep you’ll never fully recover. I think you’ve aged a decade for every year you’ve been alive, and for that, my friends, you’ve earned a drink.” He held up his glass in his solitary toast and took a sip.
Delicious.
“Who wants one?” Georgie asked as he pushed out of his chair.
They all did. Knox pulled the bottle from the freezer, some onion vodka from the southwest sector, while Georgie collected the glasses. Each shared Silas’s ice and made horrid faces as they tasted the harshness of the world’s worst vodka.
“I don’t know how to play,” Dasia offered.
“That’s fine, I’ll teach you. The idea is to get rid of all the cards. If you don’t, you’re the durak. And you have to take a drink.” Osip dealt the cards with a boastful, bowed-out chest. He looked ridiculous.
“Huh?” Georgie said, though he still grabbed the stack set before him.
“The durak. The fool.”