by Lea Daley
Aimée leaned forward and did the unexpected. She kissed me. Her mouth was warm and sweet, that first touch very light. She wrapped her arms around me then and began to nibble at my lower lip. When her tongue—alive and delicate—touched my own I thrust her away. Violently. “Don’t ever do that again!”
“But, Leslie-ahn…you loved it. You were melting. You have been waiting for this moment…”
“Unfair! You invaded my mind to manipulate my body! I won’t play this nasty little game with you, Aimée!”
She bowed stiffly. “Understood. Still, you cannot reject my humanity simply because I possess skills you lack.”
I looked at her Christmas gift—that portrait of the VTO as a goddess—still on the table near my tree, still awaiting an appropriate moment for presentation. Which this assuredly was not. “Couldn’t you settle for being a minor deity?”
Aimée was obliged to protest. “On Jashari, where all are one, that is truly a repugnant idea. In deference to your heart rate, Leslie, I will drop this subject, with only one further comment: Your definition of humanity is much too limited. You cannot exclude me from your family through sheer force of ignorance.”
Rising, I paced until my pulse slowed to normal. “Aimée, I don’t know how we got so far off track. I need to tell you some pretty weird stuff. Can you stay, or did we waste all your time quarreling?”
“I can stay as long as you like. I have been reassigned to serve you exclusively.”
Her smile was brilliant against that warm-toned skin. My knees went weak and desire blazed through me. I wanted Aimée to kiss me again, I wanted to kiss her back. And I was ashamed of my longing. Glancing toward my bedroom, I tried to suppress a vision of heated bodies in urgent motion. But Aimée got it. Of course, she got it.
“You may relax, Leslie-ahn. I will not touch you.”
“Thanks,” I choked out, wanting to mean it. “Look, I have to get out of here! Could we talk at the ocean?”
The VTO bowed low. “As you wish.”
* * *
She led me farther this time, to a secluded inlet sheltered by high dunes. I huddled on sugary sand until the scene in my apartment seemed distant and improbable. At last I said, “Aimée? Don’t you think it’s strange that two different…women…have kissed me in rapid succession? Both times for purposes of ‘demonstration?’”
“Two?”
So that’s how I began to explain everything she’d missed.
After a moment, the VTO held up a hand. “Leslie-ahn…please…will you allow me—freely—into your mind? It is much more efficient.”
Why hadn’t I thought of that? Leaning sideways, I rested my head against hers. Then I let the whole story of my undercover acquaintances rise up, struggling to keep it in sequence.
Aimée’s hand tightened on mine. “Leslie? Have you begun?”
My god! She couldn’t ‘hear’ me! I broke away and our eyes locked in shock. In the confusion that followed, we agreed I should concentrate on transmitting information about something other than the Hemingways. Anything but the Hemingways. I stared at my sandy toes. Which must have led me to the vivid pleasure of new shoes in early childhood—smooth, shiny, unmarred. “Red shoes run faster,” Nana always said, and I’d believed her.
Aimée pulled back instantly. “Red shoes run faster.”
Should I be dismayed? Aimée could read my mind! Should I be relieved? Aimée could read my mind! I pondered this paradox, as the VTO changed position.
Then she was kneeling in front of me, deeply troubled, gripping my hands, pressing her forehead against mine till it hurt. “Leslie-ahn! Try again!”
I did my best. A hundred images of Bahji kaleidoscoped through memory. How wary she looked at our first meeting. How she could leap into my arms as effortlessly as Belladonna. How earnest she was as she tried out pen and paper. How happy as she read my little fairytale. I thought about how much I cared for her—I, who’d always insisted that cats were preferable to kids.
But Aimée rose wordlessly, walked to the water’s edge. Where she seemed to study the horizon. After a long while, looking as dejected and lonely as any human ever had, she meandered down the beach. Farther and farther away.
Never had I felt more ambivalent. Part of me—a huge part—wanted to race across the sand to console the VTO, who was disoriented and uncertain. Perhaps for the first time since someone had flipped her switch. But I was also exultant—at least some things I felt or thought could belong to me alone! In the end, I simply sat and waited.
When Aimée finally turned back, I ran to meet her, feeling taller somehow, stronger, on an equal footing now. We wandered along the shoreline together, two friends hoping the ocean could heal us. And as we walked, I told her—with all the terrible inadequacy of the spoken word—everything I knew.
Before we parted in my courtyard, Aimée promised to return if I needed her. “This has been a most peculiar day, Leslie. I must go away and think about it.”
Go away where? I wanted to ask. Who will you see? What will you do? Can you really be trusted? What will my disclosure mean for my friends? For me?
But Aimée was already gone. I slipped inside, hoping to find Bahji there. Prying through my drawers. Bouncing on my bed. Checking out my tiny Christmas tree.
Chapter Twenty-Three
My sleeping quarters were empty, but the living room wasn’t. Chastity Whitehall was there, curled on my couch. With Belladonna—fickle Belladonna!—purring on her lap.
I stood gawking in my own home, angry once again at being outmatched. Of course, Chastity had stolen Belladonna. Taylor had as good as said so. An embarrassing span of time passed before I managed to growl, “Why the fuck are you here?”
She stretched languorously and shifted Belladonna to one shoulder. “I thought I’d stop by to see how you’re doing.”
“Only my friends drop in unannounced.”
Chastity made a show of cuddling the cat. Against Belladonna’s black fur, her hair looked like spun gold, but that smile was predatory. “Oh, Leslie, we’re going to be great friends. You’re going to share your deepest secrets with me.”
“How delusional are you?” Despite my bravado, my stomach was churning with acid knowledge: Chastity had access, influence and advantages the rest of us could only envy. Not to mention, an appalling lack of inhibition. Which conferred a certain power.
“Your face is so transparent, Leslie.” Whitehall nuzzled Belladonna. “You know what I want.”
Plainly something about Bahji and Taylor. Whatever it was, I couldn’t endanger the Hemingways, wouldn’t sell them out. Unfortunately, I hadn’t a clue how to protect them. Or even how to run a bluff. When I said, “They’re Incurables—you wouldn’t dare harm them,” Chastity laughed. A sound sharp as shattered glass.
“Have you forgotten? I’m a Returnee too. I have no fear of them. Try again.”
“You don’t know what Taylor’s capable of.” Of course, neither did I. But faking it felt like my only option.
“I know more about Taylor Hemingway than you’ll ever guess. We were lovers—and, in a sense, I still live with her.”
“That pathetic facsimile? That’s not Taylor! And you wouldn’t be here if you knew half as much as you’re pretending to.”
Chastity rose, radiating fury like heat from a crucible. “What a miserable excuse you are for Li’shayla Mar-Né—”
Li’shayla Mar-Né! The phrase thundered through me as she continued to rave. Li’shayla Mar-Né! Dreaded Conqueror. Sacred Champion. Irresistible Force. Li’shayla Mar-Né!
“—which makes you an even bigger fool than I thought, Leslie Burke! If you fulfill any prophecies, it won’t be by intent!”
I thought I scented a small triumph—why else would Whitehall be so enraged? Time for a show of strength. “Put the cat down and get out of my house!”
“You want her? Catch!”
With a vicious twist, she snapped Belladonna’s neck. A tortured yowl ceased almost before it began. Then Whit
ehall grabbed that limp tail and hurled Bahji’s pet, nothing now but a black blur in space.
I flung myself into the arc of the fall—knowing it was futile, desperate to cushion the impact anyway. But I never laid a hand on the animal. Insubstantial as air, she drifted through my outstretched arms, dissolving into nothingness. A figment of fantasy. One more flawless facsimile against which I’d been played. By the time I pushed myself upright, Chastity had disappeared too. Was I only imagining demented laughter in my courtyard?
Though I was shaken, anger set me in motion. In seconds I was through the gates, running. The few natives I passed shrank away without even pretending to bow—word had already begun to circulate. But I wouldn’t be followed—that wasn’t necessary. Because there was only one place I’d go, and time was of the essence. I ran faster.
When I arrived at Taylor’s home, I didn’t hesitate before entering. That I was welcome there, needed, was certain. I breached the wall, stepping into the living room, then stopped short. Mortified. Because I’d interrupted a gathering, a dozen or so people seated in a circle. And when I took stock of the participants, my mouth fell open.
I recognized them immediately, though we’d never met. And for the first time I truly understood why I’d caused such a disturbance wherever I went. This was a grab bag of humanity. Humanity as I knew it. With none of the cookie-cutter perfection of Jashari. Tall and short, thin and plump, dark and light. The young and the old. The pretty and plain. I was in the company of my peers at last—Les Incurables.
A hush fell over the room. A profound hush, as if all sound had been sucked from the universe. Then, as one, they rose to bow. It was a salute of sorts. I felt myself flush to the roots of my hair. There must be some way to refute the conviction that I was destined to transform Jashari.
It was Bahji who broke the tension. Hurtling across the room, yelling my name, she launched herself. I caught her on the fly. Buried my hot face in her hair, greeted her gratefully. Gradually, conversation started up again. Still, I could feel people checking me out, trying to be polite, but curious, so very curious.
When Taylor introduced her guests, each name was paired with a number. The number was a year—the year. The only one that mattered. The notation on the calling card that established an exclusive pedigree. The date each had been iced down on Planet Earth. A tall, bearded man was Honoré 2793. The petite blond cheerleader-type was Alinda 4468. An ageless black woman in a gorgeous dashiki was Shiante 3215. Bahji’s mother, I learned, was Taylor 2121. By extension, I was Leslie 2072.
But one Returnee stood apart from the rest and I never caught his name. He was tall, beautifully muscled, graceful as a dancer—Baryshnikov in the first flower of his manhood. And like a dancer, he oozed stage presence. His hair was thick, a sheaf of streaky blond stuff that he shook off his forehead every few minutes. Each time it framed his face in new and seductive ways, an effect I was sure he’d cultivated. Something indefinable—maybe his pallor?—suggested he’d been ill recently. I noticed that his storm-cloud eyes tracked me constantly.
After we’d completed the formalities, Taylor murmured, “Leslie? You look shell-shocked. Can I get you a drink?”
“I just need to sit. I’ve wanted this so badly but now all I can do is gape and stammer. And I feel stupid for interrupting your…party?”
“It’s a meeting. We’re deciding what to do about Belladonna. Your presence couldn’t be more appropriate.”
“Taylor! I can’t believe I haven’t told you! I was just so startled when I found everyone here!” I began to describe my encounter with Whitehall. Midway through the story, Bahji slipped from my lap. Although I registered her departure, I was more aware that everyone else had drawn close to listen. Despite their blessed individuality, every face bore the same grave expression. I brought my narrative to a close: “So Chastity’s hiding Belladonna somewhere. But you guessed that, didn’t you, Taylor?”
“I’d have been thunderstruck if it was anyone else.”
Honoré said, “Given Whitehall’s relationship with the High Council, everybody who’s anybody knows everything that matters now.”
I was—as always—confused. “Why would the Elders listen to her? She’s just another Returnee.”
Alinda snorted. “Hardly. She’s the High Council’s ‘Special Advisor on Les Incurables.’”
“How come she’s playing for the wrong team?”
Taylor—who knew Whitehall best—answered. “Nothing in Chastity’s charmed life prepared her for being an outcast, Leslie. She’s always been beautiful, charismatic, in control. She needs status like you need air, and she has highly refined political instincts. To her it just made sense to join forces with the top dogs. And she had an easy entree into the upper echelons of Jashrine society—”
“Why?”
“The cloning thing,” Shiante explained. “The Elders mistook her for someone who shared their belief in the virtues of ‘oneness.’ They thought they could use her good example to ‘civilize’ the rest of us. Naturally Whitehall thinks we’re the fools—we should go along to get along.”
“I’ll grant that she’s beautiful, you guys. And I get that she’s a schemer par excellence. But charismatic? That’s a stretch! At least, I have yet to see her warm-and-fuzzy side.”
“Small wonder,” said a man named Rennik 5064. “If you’re really Li’shayla Mar-Né, you’re her natural enemy. Anything that changes the power balance threatens her exalted position. Seeing you with Belladonna would have struck terror in whatever passes for Whitehall’s heart.”
“For heaven’s sake! How can a child’s pet affect the stability of a planet?”
“Leslie,” Honoré interjected sharply, “you can’t afford girlish naiveté. It leaves you frighteningly ill-prepared for the inevitable battle of wits with the Council.”
Shiante noted my blank surprise. “Leslie, it’s true Taylor produced Belladonna to amuse Bahji. But the cat is the product of an extraordinary scientific mind. A mind capable of other equally impressive feats—re-creating a rainforest, for example.”
“Oh, god! Chastity would have seen the rainforest too! Belladonna was there when we sat down to dinner, and then she went missing!”
“Exactly. Think about that from the Council’s perspective. If Taylor can create everything from ferns to felines, she can just as easily create other life-forms…potentially deadly life-forms.”
“Deadly life-forms? Taylor?”
“Flesh-eating microbes, perhaps. Or Amazon warriors bent on destroying Jashrine culture. Any evil the Council can imagine—whatever Whitehall can dream up to scare them—Taylor could produce. Belladonna’s living proof of that.”
My eyes lit up. “Then isn’t Taylor more likely to be Li’shayla Mar-Né? Maybe you’re wrong about me!”
Hemingway shook her head. “Doubtful, my friend. I’ve been awake for almost seven years and nothing interesting happened till they defrosted you. I think you’re the real deal. Something you’ll do—or something you’ve already done—will topple the status quo on Jashari. I’d stake my considerable fortune on it.”
A chill shivered through me. It was just conceivable that I could exert enough control over future actions to avert catastrophe. But to alter the past? Impossible. If I was Li’shayla Mar-Né, anything I’d done thus far—from harboring Belladonna to confiding in Aimée—might endanger these people. My people. “Why me? Why are you all so sure it’s me?”
An uncomfortable silence fell. Finally someone spilled. “Bahji convinced us.”
The speaker was a doe-eyed creature who looked like she’d bolt if the wind changed direction. I turned toward her. “Bahji?”
“The prophecy says that a child of Earth will recognize the…Infidel…as a like mind. That the two are te’lal dzarling.”
Shiante picked up the thread. “Bahji’s the only child born to a Returnee in this generation. That’s why she’s had such freedom. It’s suited the Elders’ purposes, as well as our own. They wanted her to
meet you. And then, of course, there’s your hair…”
Feeling dumber than ever, I said, “My hair?”
“There’s a high probability that Li’shayla Mar-Né will be a redhead.”
“What nonsense! Taylor, you’re a scientist! Do you believe this?”
“The science is solid, Leslie. Red hair’s genetically linked to certain personality traits considered…disruptive…on Jashari. Also, the prophecy says Li’shayla Mar-Né will be a woman untouched by man. For millennia, it was assumed that meant a virgin…” Hemingway had the grace to look apologetic when she added, “…Alternate interpretations were only considered when every other sign pointed to you.”
I buried my face in my hands and groaned. While I’d never made a secret of my sexual orientation, back home it wasn’t a topic of planetary-wide conjecture. “One more time: Why did they wake me? If I’m so damned dangerous, why take the risk?”
“I told you,” Taylor answered. “It’s the money. Didn’t you notice when I introduced everyone? You were in deep sleep the longest. They’ve put off waking you because of the risk you represent. But during that time, you’ve also become unimaginably wealthy.”
“They couldn’t access their share of my money until I was revived!” An aha! moment long overdue.
Taylor nodded. “That’s the agreement, which, of course they would honor. Jasharians are a very honorable people. They revived me, they allowed Bahji to be born specifically so she could confirm your identity. Now, if the Elders can figure out how to defuse or contain you, they’ll not only have a major infusion of cash, they’ll be done with the prophecy for good.”
Overwhelmed by the rubbish about fated meetings—and the implied threat to my safety—I retreated. “I know this isn’t the time for a tutorial in economics. But very soon someone better explain how money works on Jashari. What’s the good of being rich here? What is there to buy? Most importantly, what leverage does my money confer?”
“You’re right, Leslie, we can’t do that now. We have to decide how we’re going to manage this situation with Belladonna. But soon I’ll try to fill you in—you will have to understand the Jashrine economy.” Taylor cast an eye around the room, seeking her daughter. “Why don’t you all grab some food while I put Bahji to bed? Then we’ll get down to business.”