by Lea Daley
For the first time I noticed a fabulous smorgasbord on a long buffet. I followed everyone else there, drinking in the glorious sights and scents. I was piling my plate to record heights when Taylor staggered into the room. The second I saw the dazed, disbelieving look on her face, I lost my grip on that plate. Heard porcelain smash on polished tile, a brittle sound that reverberated in my core. Because somehow I knew. We made the announcement in unison: “Bahji’s missing!”
Then, as if Taylor had been clubbed from behind, she crumpled into a faint. Her head struck a low table. Bright blood blossomed against the sudden sickly gray of her face. After a second of paralysis, the crowd rushed to her aid. Hemingway would hate that this temporary weakness had slowed the hunt for her child. And at the moment, she’d have support from people who knew her intimately.
I grabbed a heat detector, still sitting out from our earlier quest. Before Honoré lowered Taylor to a couch, I was in the street, sprinting through the night as if my life depended on it, making automatic sweeps for the child’s warm presence. Going to Chastity’s place, as fast as my feet could carry me. Because that’s where Bahji would be headed. After all, I’d as good as sent her with my fucking fairy tale.
“Something you’ll do—or something you’ve already done…” I heard Taylor’s voice, over and over as I pounded down the path. But if I were lucky, I might intercept Bahji. My legs were longer and I ran with the twin goads of guilt and fear. Not for the first time I wondered why such an advanced society had no means of transportation other than heels and toes.
I was approaching light speed when I spotted Whitehall’s house, planning to burst inside with all the fury I felt. Scarcely breaking stride, I raised my bracelet. And crashed! Splintering that elbow, shredding a cheek on sharp stucco. I had time for only one thought as darkness descended: every home is open but yours?
Chapter Twenty-Four
When I came to, my vision was fogged and uncertain. Then Taylor’s face swam into soft focus. “Hi,” I said groggily, wondering how she’d found me. Last I knew, she was unconscious too.
Her features took on sharper definition, but oddly there was no sign of the small wound she sustained when she collapsed. On Earth, that would have taken days to disappear, and biotape would have marked the spot. “Things heal pretty fast here, huh?”
I struggled to sit, but was hampered by my own injuries. My left arm, bent at the elbow, hugging my ribs. Immobilized by some rigid, transparent medium banded with bright orange. The bone—or bones—clearly broken, perhaps badly. And now that I thought about it, my face hurt like bloody hell. When I raised my hand to check the damage, I suddenly realized why I felt so uneasy: Taylor had no scar!
A glance around told me everything I needed to know. I was in Whitehall’s living room, face-to-face with her faxim, feeling I might black out again. Instead, I forced myself to speak. “Where’s Chastity?”
“She’s out right now, Leslie-ahn. Let me get you something to drink. You’ve had a nasty shock.”
“Several of them.”
In a heartbeat, the faxim was back at my side. “Drink slowly,” she advised me in Taylor’s wry voice.
I took the bowl, making sure our hands didn’t touch. As I sipped cool water, I shoved aside my astonishment that an insubstantial faxim could manipulate material objects—the science could wait. Just then, I needed to gather my thoughts, analyze the situation. I’d been knocked out at least long enough for someone to assess my injuries and deliver first aid. What else had happened in that period? And why was I still here? Most importantly: “Where’s Bahji?”
“Don’t worry, she’s safe. In a place where her mother will be able to care for her.”
“No! Bahji’s disappeared! Her mom’s frantic!”
The faxim shook her head emphatically. “Leslie-ahn, that woman’s an imposter. I’m Bahji’s mother.”
I sank back on my good elbow, mind reeling. I knew nothing about the psychology of faxims—if there was such a thing. Could this…projection…have enough of Taylor’s memory to believe Bahji was her own child? Could an immaterial being have a history, consciousness, maternal instincts? The faxim leaned closer and I recoiled. Yet her next words moved me.
“They took her from me, you know. When I reported to the cryogenics lab back on Earth, I was two months pregnant by one of the men who raped me. I was dreadfully ambivalent about the baby. A rapist’s child…that’s hard to come to terms with. I had the idea that my subconscious would sort the pros and cons while I was in cryosleep. But when I was revived, I was told I’d lost the baby. That she hadn’t been able to withstand the long-term stress. Then I knew how much I wanted her.”
“And now?”
“I’ve thought about her every day for the past six years. Imagine how I felt when I learned that she’s been alive all along!”
“When you came out of cryosleep, who told you about the baby’s death?”
“The Elders let Chastity do it. She was amazing, Leslie! We’d broken up back on Earth, but she was the only person I’d know on Jashari. So she was sent to tell me. When I saw how much she cared, I realized I’d totally misjudged her.”
“Really?”
“Really. Since the Jasharians knew I’d lost the baby, they revived Chastity a year before me. By the time I was conscious, she was completely acclimated to life here. Strong and ready to support me. A good thing too. I don’t cry easily, but I’ve spent years mourning a child I’d never seen.”
“So there’s more to Chastity than meets the eye?”
“A lot more. She can seem cold and egocentric, but you should have seen her when she told me my baby was actually alive—if you can call a six-year-old a baby! She was so excited for me. And furious I’d been cheated out of all that time with my daughter.”
“Who’d do something like that?”
“The Returnees.” The faxim laughed bitterly. “I was naive enough to think of them as ‘our people.’ I even urged Chastity to spend time with them, but she told me they couldn’t be trusted. I’ve eaten a lot of crow since she found Bahji with the imposter—but it’s worth it!”
“Interesting. How’d they pull off the scam?”
“Apparently a group of Returnees secretly infiltrated the Medical Reception team. Seven years ago, they partially revived me, keeping me in stasis until my baby reached full-term. Then they took her away. By the time I was awakened for real, I’d recovered from childbirth. All these years, I’ve believed I miscarried in deep sleep.”
Why was I listening to this twisted tale of subterfuge? Because, I told myself, it might contain a clue to Bahji’s whereabouts. And because the story was oddly compelling. In a way, the faxim was Taylor—if the authentic Taylor had been told the same cruel lie.
“What happens next?”
“I’ll meet my daughter! Soon! Chastity’s taken Bahji somewhere no one can reach her. I understand she’s very bright, but a little wild from her peculiar upbringing. I’m sure we’ll be able to civilize her, though.”
“But why would the Returnees want to steal a child?”
The faxim’s face darkened. “They believe she’s connected to an ancient prophecy. The rebels needed Bahji to identify Li’shayla Mar-Né so they could take over Jashari.”
My god! Was there nowhere I could escape this garbage? I forced myself onto my feet and into a formality I didn’t feel. “I must go now. Please remember to tell Chastity I was looking for Bahji when I stopped by. I’m sure she’ll want to know.”
The faxim held out a hand, but I backed away, covering my discomfort with a deep bow. I managed to choke out the name she didn’t own. “Thanks, Taylor. Take care of yourself.”
As I turned to exit, my face throbbed with painful remembrance. “How do I get out?”
“The usual way. It’s getting in that’s tricky.” A wistful note clouded the faxim’s voice. “Please visit more often, Leslie-ahn. We don’t have much company. And I’d love to introduce you to my daughter.”
Unwil
ling to deceive even a pale imitation of Taylor, I simply bowed again and darted through the wall.
* * *
Night had fallen. Apparently I’d slept through a full cycle at Whitehall’s place. In darkness so complete I might have been blind, I retraced the path to Taylor’s home—the flesh and blood Taylor. Revulsion zinged down my spine as I replayed my encounter with the faxim, seeing what Hemingway might have become.
There was no need to hurry. Bahji had completed her mission when she identified me as Li’shayla Mar-Né. Then a trap, so neatly baited with Belladonna, had been sprung. Plainly she’d be used as a pawn in some effort to subvert the prophecy. Because Bahji was expendable now. Wherever she was, we wouldn’t find her tonight, might never find her. A dire price to pay for so brief a friendship with me.
I’d never had faith in the power of prayer, but I did my best to broadcast encouraging thoughts to Bahji. If there was anything to this “fated meeting” claptrap, maybe she’d hear me. I told her to be brave. I told her we’d rescue her. And I told her I loved her. With every footfall, an image solidified in my mind. A faded poster Nana had given me after the World Unification Movement caught fire. It was a relic from a conflict in her era and the unlikely victors had lived its message: “The mountain is only so high…Our capacity is without limit. The stars move; our will is unshakable!” I tried to transmit that sentiment to Bahji, hoping it was as true here as in long ago Vietnam. I tried to believe it myself.
The forces of fate were closing around me, leaving only one option. To embrace the role of rescuer. I wanted nothing more than to see Taylor. I dreaded nothing more than seeing her. Dreaded telling her that I’d already failed. Now I was pinning every prospect for Bahji’s rescue on what Nana would have called a Hail Mary pass.
Chapter Twenty-Five
All too soon, I arrived at my destination, where I found Taylor alone with Shiante. Both women jumped at my sudden appearance, Shiante’s hands lifting from her friend’s thin shoulders. Which she’d surely been massaging—an achingly familiar tableau. I was sure the two had never been partners—and never would be. But they’d achieved a level of intimacy that lovers can fail to find. That ability to touch without self-consciousness, to comfort without demanding.
Suddenly, we were all speaking at once. They exclaimed over my injuries, as I asked what had taken place in my absence. Finally I gestured, you first. I learned their meeting had broken up right after I left, that everyone was putting out feelers about Bahji. So far, nobody had reported back. None of us dared suggest that no news was good news.
I assessed Taylor’s condition while she filled me in. There was some sort of bandage over her eyebrow, but she appeared calm. Still she’d aged in a single instant and her movements lacked vitality. I was glad she was sitting as I described my own adventure. Afraid to gloss over some critical detail out of ignorance, I made my recitation excruciatingly exact. All the while, a muscle worked in Taylor’s jaw and her deep-set eyes grew darker. Once or twice, she muttered an epithet under her breath.
“I just don’t get it, Taylor! Why have the faxim tell me that icky story? Chastity knows I have too much information to believe it.”
“She would find it…amusing.”
“Amusing? It was beyond sick! But, in a weird way, it was also heart-wrenching. I actually felt sorry for the faxim—even though I knew the story was a total fabrication!”
“Well, not entirely,” Shiante observed. “There was a clue embedded in that twisted little script.”
I cocked my head at her.
“Think! What message did Whitehall send us?”
I winnowed through memory until I unearthed the only grain of truth. “Fuck! Bahji’s been taken somewhere—somewhere out of reach!”
“Yes,” Taylor affirmed dully. “That’s what Chastity wanted me to know.” And since she’d already figured this out, letting the chaff blow away on bitter winds, she didn’t look any worse. But she damned sure didn’t look better.
I found myself kneeling, clasping her hands like a petitioner in a medieval woodcut. “I have an idea, Taylor, one you might not like. But it’s my only idea. Will you hear me out?”
Her nod was noncommittal, her eyes focused far away.
“Let Aimée search for Bahji. Please! I know Aimée can find her!”
At least I had their attention—both women were dumbstruck. Shiante finally gave voice to their incredulity. “Aimée’s a puppet of the High Council! Their stooge!”
Then Taylor chimed in. “We’ve done everything possible to keep her ignorant of your connection with us, Leslie. She’s no friend of yours.”
“You’re wrong,” I told them, remembering Aimée’s kiss. “Maybe that’s how it was supposed to be, but something’s changed. I don’t know why. I just know Aimée can do this—and that she will do it. For me.”
The two women turned toward one another. I could almost read the crackling exchange when their eyes met. Taylor spoke first, as if to herself. “It’s just barely possible…It could be part of the prophecy…”
Picking up that thread, Shiante said, “Maybe—like everything else Leslie touches—the outcome is just a little skewed…”
I could feel the balance tipping and I was desperate to close the deal. “Let me call her, Taylor! Trust me—trust Aimée!”
Shiante raised a hand to halt that flow of words. “It’s tricky, Leslie. Everyone involved could be compromised, so everyone will have to agree. This would be a breach of security you can’t begin to comprehend. We’ll have to sell your idea to a pretty tough audience.”
I was crestfallen—we might have limited time to help Bahji. “How? How do we get the consent of the others?”
“We vote. The decision has to be unanimous.”
“But first,” Shiante temporized, “you’d better ask Aimée. In case you’re mistaken.”
“I’m not. Shall I summon her so you can see for yourselves? She already knows everything I do. What’s there to lose?”
Shiante muttered, “More than you guess.”
But Taylor, the one with the most at risk, leaned toward me. “Call her, Leslie! Call her now!”
For better or worse, the separate halves of my life on Jashari were about to merge. Sitting in a little pocket of silence, I closed my eyes. Then I threw back my head and sent out a wordless plea.
Aimée materialized outside Taylor’s house, waiting for admittance. “She’s here,” I said, hoping her sensitivity would help win the others over. Glancing their way, I saw they were clutching one another’s hands, Shiante’s knuckles more white than brown.
“What’s wrong, you guys?”
“This is a total violation of protocol, Leslie. We’re trying to trust you. But if you aren’t Li’shayla Mar-Né, we’re in some deep shit!”
I longed to reject the title, to lay claim to a wholly unexceptional nature. But maybe I’d stumbled onto this stage at a crucial juncture when someone—anyone—was needed to play the part of a champion. Maybe it was possible to slip into that role accidentally yet accept it with grace. Because by shouldering the burden, I might save a child’s life. I summoned Aimée inside.
She had the courtesy to assume a submissive posture, giving Taylor and Shiante a chance to compose themselves. When they stepped forward and bowed, Aimée bowed more deeply. Then she said, “It is an honor to meet you, Taylor-ahn. Word of your great achievements has traveled quickly.”
“And my greater despair?”
“Yes. The lively Bahji, taken from your home. We are dismayed. Nothing like this has ever happened on Jashari. To steal a child—unthinkable! My heart suffers with yours.”
I read cynicism in Shiante’s posture. “Does your ‘heart’ suffer enough to help us recover her?”
Aimée pivoted to me. “In the presence of these witnesses tell me what you wish, Leslie-ahn. I will help if I am able.”
I was faking it, running on instinct. “I want you to find Bahji. I want you to tell us where she is, why she was kidnappe
d, what her abductors will do next. You may have to imitate Chastity to get the information—”
Shiante broke in impatiently. “How could she possibly pass for Chastity? They couldn’t be more different! We can’t afford to blow this, Leslie—we won’t have a second chance to take the Elders by surprise.”
“Of course she can pass for Whitehall—she’s a VTO, right?”
Shiante and Taylor stood silent, plainly perplexed.
“Emphasis on variable?” I said. Still no take. So I turned to Aimée. “Show them.”
She bowed to me, then spread her palms wide. “Aji!” she said. Behold!
I was ready for it, and still my stomach spasmed. Out of a shimmer of air and a fragment of time, Aimée wove a new persona. Gaining six inches. Adding twenty pounds. Lengthening and lightening her hair. Within seconds, she was as indistinguishable from Chastity as any clone created from Whitehall’s own genes.
She cast a superior glance around the living room. “Really, Taylor! How unimaginative! Didn’t you learn anything during our time together? This place is pure Peoria!”
When Shiante’s knees gave out, she finessed her fall, tumbling onto the couch. Taylor, too proud to collapse again, succeeded in remaining upright. But she was gripping the back of a chair when she found her voice. “Okay, okay! Enough! I’m convinced.”
“Aimée, will you please change back to…yourself.”
As the air wavered around the VTO, I watched the scientist in Taylor emerge. Could almost see a labpad in her hands, swift fingers logging data. Maybe it was my imagination, but Aimée’s transformations seemed faster each time. Almost immediately she stood before us, delicate and self-contained.
“Incredible!” Taylor breathed. “Simply incredible! The technology’s much more advanced than our reports have indicated.”