by Erin Grey
“Just Ju.” She scowled.
“But she prefers Fabiola.”
Ju stamped her foot and stormed out of the kitchen.
“Don’t leave your sauce standing—it’ll spoil,” he called after her.
Sandy chuckled at Ju’s temper tantrum, but Gwendolyn felt sorry for her.
“Why do you call her Fabiola when she clearly dislikes it so much?” I asked, settling at the large dining table.
“It means ‘little bean’,” answered Quirinus with the tiniest quirk of his lips. “And until she realizes she is one, I’ll keep reminding her.”
“Is she your—”
“No. She’s an orphan. But I take care of her, never mind what she claims.”
I glanced around the otherwise empty room. “Have you seen Brianus?”
“He hasn’t woken up yet.”
“Not at all?” I frowned. “It must be almost 20 hours since we arrived. Perhaps I should wake him.”
“If he needs to sleep, let him sleep,” said Quirinus matter-of-factly.
I bit my lip. “I’ll just check on him, then.”
Brianus lay on the cot, staring at the ceiling.
“Are you ok?” I asked quietly.
Slowly, he turned his head to look at me.
“Jane,” he croaked out.
“You can talk!”
He nodded. I moved closer to the bed.
“Could you talk before?”
He shook his head.
“Then why now?”
“The … drugs.” His mouth caught on the words, stumbling like a freshly birthed elephant on wobbly legs.
“They’ve worn off, then,” I said. “Well, thank goodness for that.”
His expression was grim.
“You hungry?” I asked.
He just stared at me. “Why are you here?”
“I wanted to check on you.”
“No. Why on Eorthe?”
“Only Zhian knows the answer to that. Come on,” I coaxed, pulling gently on his arm. “Let’s get you fed.”
Stiff as a centenarian, he followed me into the kitchen. Once again, Quirinus had prepared a gourmet meal. It wasn’t quite ready, but he slipped titbits to us as he bustled about. Brianus evaded my efforts at conversation, so we nibbled in silence while the voices processed the events of the afternoon. Eventually Ju stole back in, ignoring our presence and getting back to work.
“I’m inclined to dismiss the entire event as a momentary stress-induced hallucination,” said Jasper.
“I don’t feel stressed,” said Mitch.
>Cortisol: 10% decrease
>Adrenaline: Normalizing
>Oxytocin: 20% increase
>Endorphin: Spike detected
“If it was a hallucination, then how do you explain the ring-tattoo thingy?” asked Sandy. “It’s still there.”
I rubbed the slightly raised whorls on my finger. It ached like an old bruise.
“Although it would suck if we really are related,” Sandy sighed. “He’s so hot.”
“Dreamy,” agreed Gwendolyn.
“There must be a reason why Eorthe humans bear such a close genetic resemblance to Earth humans,” said Jasper. “But the odds of a direct relationship across such a distance—and of the parties in question meeting by accident—are too astronomical to consider.”
“Felt something,” said Mitch. “Something big.”
“Hungy,” said Emmy.
“I don’t feel so angry anymore,” said Sandy. “But I’m definitely irritated.”
When all was ready to his satisfaction, Quirinus knocked a tiny gong that sat on a shelf above his wood-fired stove.
“He wanted to be a chef, you know,” said Charis, sliding into the seat next to me. “Or a hair dresser. He gave me this splendid cut.” She patted her perfectly styled coiffure. “If it involves blades, he’s your man.”
“That doesn’t sound ominous at all,” I muttered, and Charis laughed as she turned away from me and began bothering Ju to sit next to her.
Quirinus seated himself across from us. “I do knives, she does patterns.”
“Meaning?” I probed.
“She sees connections, relationships—how things fit together. It’s why she’s so good at programming, research, rescue plans—anything that needs careful design or an eye for patterns.”
While she chatted to Ju, Charis slid a bowl across the table with one hand while punctuating her animated speech with the other. A messy table became a sophisticated still-life.
“We call her ‘the Coordinator,” said Quirinus.
I narrowed my eyes. “We or just you?”
Quirinus chuckled but didn’t answer. A mixture of simmering anger and uneasiness washed over me, and Aidon sauntered into the kitchen. He seated himself at the head of the table, carefully avoiding my eyes. He quickly lost my attention, however, when Ric strolled in. Brianus slumped beside me, not looking up at the newcomer. His right arm twitched, and he grabbed it with his left hand.
“Ric!” I said. “I thought you were with one of the groups of rescues.”
“I did my part,” he said with a grin. “There are others taking care of them now. Aidon needed me here to help find you a way home.”
“Yay!” said Gwendolyn. “They really are going to get us home. I knew we could trust Aidon!” Her joy faltered. “Although I quite like it here. Do we really have to leave our new friends?”
“They’re not your friends,” said Sandy. “They’re just doing whatever will protect their own asses.”
Everyone dished food into their individual dishes and ate with their hands. Only the spicily fragrant broth was sipped directly from the bowl. There was much licking and sucking of fingers10. Not a drop of sauce was wasted: we mopped out our plates with chunks of soft, spongey bread.
It was a pleasant—if messy—way to eat.
Aidon pushed away his bowl and placed both hands palms-down on the table top. “Some of you have already met our visitors: Jane, Brianus.” He gestured to us, then waved his hand towards the others. “Quirinus, Charis, Ric, Ju—”
“No, no, no, that’s no way to introduce us,” interrupted Quirinus, licking his fingers before dipping them in the small basin of water beside his plate and drying them on a cloth. “They won’t be able to tell one from the other like that.”
Brianus cleared his throat abruptly, but when everyone looked at him expectantly, he stared at his hands.
Quirinus continued, “You’ve met Charis the Coordinator and Fabiola—”
“Ju!” shouted the offended little bean.
“Fabiola,” said Quirinus deliberately. “Our little bean and blade-runner.”
“Blade-runner?” I asked Charis.
“She’s his apprentice,” answered Charis. “She takes care of his blades, among other things.”
“That’s Ric, our Acquirer,” said Quirinus. “Whatever we need, he can get it. Or build it.”
“Often before we know we need it,” chimed in Aidon with a rueful smile. “And occasionally when we know we don’t.”
“Hey,” said Ric. “Everything I bring back has a purpose. I just don’t always know what it is yet.”
“He also has a way of convincing the unwilling to part with their wares,” whispered Charis.
“And we,” continued Quirinus as though he hadn’t been interrupted, “are the Thoughtful Rights Activist Group.”
Brianus’ arm twitched again, jolting the whole table.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He jumped up, his chair clattering to the floor. The terror in his eyes baffled me, but he was gone back to his room before I could question it. I rose slowly, careful to avoid tangling in the legs of the overturned chair, then righted it.
Quirinus voice stopped me from following Brianus. “We don’t know the nature of the drugs he was on. Let him rest.”
I frowned after Brianus, then settled back into my chair.
“So,” I asked. “What does the Thoughtful Rig
hts Activist Group do?”
“Not nearly as much as we’d like,” muttered Aidon.
“We do plenty,” said Quirinus. “We spread awareness to break the stigma against the differently-energied. And we free as many inmates of those awful bloodsucking clinics as we can.”
“It sounds like excellent work to me,” I said. “I’m certainly glad you freed me from one of those clinics.”
“How did the practice at the arena go?” Ju asked Aidon, clearly bored with the discussion.
He slanted a quizzical look in my direction. “Good,” he said. “We made progress.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I said.
“You felt something,” said Charis. “That’s a start.”
“Humph,” responded Ju.
“What stick got up her butt?” said Sandy.
“Maybe she doesn’t like being left out,” suggested Gwendolyn. “I never like it either.”
I jumped when something furry brushed against my foot. I quickly peeked under the table. A fluffy black creature about the size of a cat with round-tipped ears and a tufted tail twirled itself around my legs.
“I see you’ve met the Professor,” observed Quirinus.
“Oh, no, I haven’t yet.” I glanced around.
“He’s right there in front of you.” Ju smirked, pointing down.
I looked down at the miniature panther. “You named your pet ‘Professor’?”
“That’s not his name,” inserted Charis. “It’s his profession.”
Ric sniggered; at least, I think he was sniggering. His shoulders shook while his head made a sort of silent wheezing motion.
Aidon cleared his throat. “I think you’ll find ‘was’ is the word you’re looking for. Not ‘is’.”
I stared at the fur ball gently gnawing on my knuckles.
“He was experimenting with his conscious-transferral energy,” said Aidon. He paused. “Among other things. His venture went awry and … now he’s a nunda.”
“He doesn’t seem too upset about it,” giggled Charis. “He can’t help himself around a dangling thread. And he brings us presents: rodents, small reptiles, insects. He’s quite the hunter. Aren’t you, you gorgeous feline?”
The Professor pushed his head up against Charis’ palm as she petted him. Then he bit her.
“Mind your fingers, though,” said Charis, pulling her hand away carefully. “He’s a vicious little blighter.”
“It is all very well meeting the resident pets, but how goes the plan to return to Earth?” asked Jasper.
I glanced at Aidon from under my eyelashes. His eyes quickly shifted to his plate, as though he’d been watching me all along.
“Awkward,” rumbled Mitch.
“I don’t want to bother him,” said Gwendolyn. “He’s not happy right now.”
“Me either,” said Sandy. “He’s being weird.”
I took a sip of water, choked on it, and spent a few minutes coughing and having my back thumped. Once I was able to breathe again, I wiped the drips from my eyes and nose with the cloth Charis handed me. Then I turned to thank whoever had been attempting to clear my windpipe from behind. Naturally, it was Aidon.
“Th-thanks,” I croaked, hoping he attributed the red face to my choking fit.
Aidon nodded and began to move away, but I grabbed his wrist, careful to touch his shirt only. He paused, but didn’t look at me.
“Can we talk?” I asked.
He glanced back and opened his mouth, probably with the intent to say ‘no’, but Charis cleared her throat at him and glared reprovingly, so he closed it again. Then he tipped his head towards the door.
“This way,” was all he said. He was quick to pull his arm away, and I caught him wiping his hand on his pants.
“Jerk! Does he think you have cooties?” said Sandy.
“Oh! I don’t think so,” cried Gwendolyn. “I’m sure he’s only uncomfortable with the situation, just as we are.”
“It ought to be resolved immediately,” said Jasper.
Aidon led me to a small room much like the one I’d slept in: rough ochre-coloured walls, a stone floor, no windows or decorations. Instead of the bed I had in mine, his had a desk, chair, and long narrow couch. It felt stifling. Mitch didn’t like being underground. Everywhere the atmosphere was stuffy, holding my lungs in a suffocating grip. I searched for the vent in the wall and sat on the edge of the couch beneath it.
“You should start with what happened today at the arena,” said Sandy. “When he was feeling you up.”
“No, it is far more important to ascertain when you will return home,” insisted Jasper.
“I don’t know where to start,” I said aloud to Aidon. “This place is … I’m very confused. And I need to get home.”
“I’m working on it,” said Aidon. “Ric has been searching for information on the Dim Knit.”
“What’s the Dim—?”
>BIOS ACTIVE_
>Accessing file ‘Knit’_
>Reading file: The Knit or ‘Weave’—a global network connecting enabled devices, allowing the exchange of information; akin to the Internet of Earth.
>End of file
“Never mind,” I said. “I think I’ve figured it out.” I hesitated. “The Regulators can’t get on there, can they?”
Aidon shrugged. “They have as much access to technology and Unravelers as we do.”
“Unravelers?”
“People like Ric. They have the skills to unravel any part of the Knit, get to any information in any frame. But Ric is good; he knows how to hide his tracks.”
I considered this. “I suppose you’ve made it this far without getting caught.”
He laughed. “Oh, we’ve been caught alright. But we always get away.” He leaned against the desk and fiddled with a pen lying there. “That’s the trick. Live to play another day.”
He rolled the pen against the carved ridges along the edge of the desk in rhythmic fashion. My mind drifted away as I watched, lulled by the tempo and motion, while the voices chattered about the room, the food, Ric, Charis, Aidon, the plan. When I came to with a jolt—like that moment when you’ve been asleep and dreamed you’re falling and your body physically jumps awake out of fear of the impact—I blushed bright red, not knowing how long I’d been gone.
Aidon quirked a corner of his lips. “You do that often.”
“I know.” I rubbed at my temple. “I can’t help it. Once the voices—” I slammed my lips shut.
“He won’t understand,” said Sandy. “He’ll just think you’re nuts like everyone else does.”
“Oh, say something else!” fretted Gwendolyn. “Quickly! Before he figures it out.”
“It’s silly.” I waved the topic aside with a limp hand and picked up the thread of the earlier, halted conversation. “You said Ric is working on it. Does he know yet how Zhian got me to his ship in the first place?”
Aidon tapped the pen. “He has theories. Nothing he can prove right now. Zhian didn’t involve him in the operation and kept the whole thing very quiet. It must have cost him a fortune.” He searched my face. “Why would he do all that for you?”
>Accessing file ‘Zhian’_
“He’s a jerk,” said Sandy.
“He believed he was helping a sick person,” said Jasper.
>File corrupted. Would you like to delete this file?
“He loves you,” said Gwendolyn.
“I have no idea,” I said. “He probably wanted to experiment on me with his crazy drugs or healing powers or something. Why he picked me—”
“He wanted to save you,” said Gwendolyn.
“He’s sick in the head,” said Sandy. “A stalker. Any Earth woman would have fit the bill.”
I shook off the arguments I couldn’t face yet. “I guess we’re too far from his place to sneak in and steal the info we need.”
“It is far. But we’ll go there as a last resort if we must. First, we need to figure out what we’re looking for. Simply walking a
round his house may tell us nothing. We have to understand what type of information we need—a blueprint? A book on space travel? A history of ancient interaction between Earth and Eorthe? I can’t risk wandering about his property for hours. It has to be in, out, gone in a secondus.”
I scratched at the rough texture of the couch upholstery. There was a tiny dark mark on it, and I couldn’t decide if it was a stain or a flaw in the weave. “I know I’ve said this over and over, but I need to get home soon. Now.”
He cocked his head. “Why, exactly?”
“I told you. My family needs me.”
“Yes, but why is it so urgent you get there now? Is someone dying? Can you save them?”
“Not dying, not precisely. But they will be if I don’t … if they don’t get money soon.”
“Money will save them?”
I lifted my chin, trying to convince myself as much as him. “It will help them escape. Go to another country where they stand a chance.”
He reached into his pocket, pulling out the familiar rock11 and toying with it. “Things in your country are so bad?”
I folded my arms. “Do you need to know every little detail?”
He tossed the rock in the air and snatched it back. “I’m risking my team to help you. I want to know why I should.”
“You want the whole story?” I snapped. “Fine, I’ll tell it from the very beginning.” All of a sudden I felt tired and sank back into the couch.
“My ancestors were British colonists. More than 300 years ago. They stole land and did other terrible things. So did white people with Dutch heritage. Although their descendants are by far in the minority, there are many who believe they are the reason for the country’s continuing poverty. The government wants to confiscate all property—land, houses, businesses—and redistribute it.”
Aidon’s face remained neutral. I met his eye, familiar anger warming me and loosening my tongue. “The only ones who will ever benefit from that property are the families and friends of government officials,” I spat. “The people—the ones who are suffering directly—will get nothing. It’s Zimbabwe all over again. A failed economy and starvation. Except this time, there’ll be nowhere left to flee.”
I took a breath, trying to calm Sandy’s anger. “My family didn’t have much. A small house and a corner grocery shop. We always employed locals, did what we could to improve things in our community. My parents fought against apartheid. Took in refugees from Angola and Zimbabwe when xenophobic violence broke out in the townships.” I fisted my hand, scared I would tear the upholstery apart if I continued pulling at it as viciously as I had been. “But once the new legislation was proposed, all anyone could see was the colour of our skin. They’ve taken the shop already. The house will be next.” My vision blurred; my voice rasped, stuck in my closing throat. “My mother is ill. Cancer. It’s in the early stages, treatable, but … they won’t let her into the government clinics. All the private doctors who would help her have left the country.” It was almost impossible to talk now, but I choked out the words. “I have to get them out. I just need money. And I can get it. I was about to get it when …”