The Key of Astrea

by Nicholas Marson

  “The closed system?”

  “The same.” Victus followed trails of thoughts until he found what he wanted. “They plan to unlock the Terminal,” he whispered. A thrill of excitement ran through his mind. A closed system. A locked Terminal. He smiled. They must have a Riftkey.

  As he tore open mental doors and gleaned the contents within, a name surfaced from Hocco’s memories. Jack Spriggan. Ex-military pilot and former smuggler. He’d be willing to help, for the right price.

  Victus/Hocco turned to face the sergeant and her marines. Though he looked like the thin man, he still carried the authority of an admiral. “Return to the Tamarack and inform Captain Hoff that he is to remain near Lan Terminal.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alberta replied.

  She motioned to Victus’s body, which still sat motionless on the floor of the pod. “Sir?”

  Victus looked at his unconscious self. “Take my body to the sickbay. I plan on keeping this one for a while.”

  2

  Cursed

  It was Saturday, June 15, 2024, and it was a clear winter day in New Zealand. Jenny Tripper parked her aunt’s sedan at the Wellington Regional Hospital and turned the car off. She rubbed at her temples and tried not to think about why she was there. She didn’t want to remember that three months ago, her mom, Ruby, had been diagnosed with a rare form of leukemia. She was only thirty-nine, and the doctors had been helpless against the rapidly spreading disease.

  Worried that her tears had ruined her makeup, Jenny flipped the visor down and opened the mirror. She wanted to look happy and healthy for her mom, and part of that was to hide her sadness.

  Jenny’s eyes were dichromatic, one brown like chestnuts and the other green as an emerald. It was a favorite feature, unlike her black hair, and her brown skin.

  Jenny’s hair crunched against the headrest as she leaned back in the seat and opened the door. She oozed out of the driver’s side door. Her breath was visible in the chill air. She wrapped her black coat tightly over her long lace-and-tulle black dress and pulled the collar up to her cheeks.

  From the passenger-side of the sedan, her aunt, Beatrice Tripper, stepped out of the car. “I’d love it if you put on a happy face, Jenny.” She pursed her artificially bright-red lips. “People are actually dying in there.”

  Jenny ignored her aunt as she walked to the car’s back door to help the third member of their group out. She pulled at the door handle, but the door had frozen shut on the way over. Jenny gave it a hard tug, and it flung open in a shower of sheet ice.

  “I still don’t understand why a ghost needs you to open doors,” Bea said as she flipped her curly brown hair behind her shoulders and straightened her colorful dress around her thin frame.

  Jenny rolled her eyes. “So she can get out of the car.” She didn’t know why the ghost couldn’t pass through solid objects, but this was Jenny’s first and only specter. The ghost had been with Jenny since she was eleven. Jenny had even given her a name, Sally, after the dead heroine in The Nightmare Before Christmas. Being dead was where their similarities ended. Jenny’s ghost wasn’t a solid, stop-motion animated doll. She was ethereal, like a reflection in a car window. Though she was bound by hard objects like doors, and the ground, she could pass through living matter, like plants and animals. It didn’t make sense to Jenny, so she tried not to think too hard about it.

  As they reached the doors to the Blood and Cancer Centre, Jenny’s heart started pounding in her chest, and Sally’s form, which was normally steady, now flickered, like the flame of a candle.

  “It’s okay.” Bea reached out to touch Jenny’s shoulder.

  “I’m fine.” Jenny pulled away and stepped through the automatic doors.

  The smells of laundered sheets, industrial-strength cleaners, and rubber gloves inside the hospital building irritated Jenny’s already queasy stomach. She, Sally, and Bea took a lift to the third floor and checked in at the nurse’s station. From there, they continued down the brightly lit linoleum walkway to Room 317.

  Jenny paused at her mother’s door and peeked through the small window. Green text broadcasted life signs on a dark-gray monitor. A large plastic mug of water with a thick bendy straw stood next to an empty pill cup on the bedside table. Ruby rested on an inclined hospital bed; her pale scalp was all that remained of once luxurious black hair; her thin blue hospital gown rose up and down over deflated breasts. Ruby wore a virtual reality headset, and her thumb and fingers twitched over a controller.

  Jenny took a breath and turned the doorknob. Her aunt and Sally followed Jenny inside. Bea took her place at the end of the bed. Sally sat down in a chair in the corner of the room. Jenny brushed Ruby’s hand and attempted to imbue her voice with a cheerfulness she did not feel. “What are you watching?”

  Ruby smiled at the sound of Jenny’s voice and removed the headset with shaky hands. Her tired eyes were framed by dark rings and sunken cheeks. “It’s Billo,” her voice croaked. She pushed herself upright and winced in pain. “She’s on a trek through the rainforest to base jump into a giant cave.”

  It was called vexing, for “virtual exploring,” and Billo Misra was her mom’s favorite guide. The young Indian woman had risen to worldwide stardom. Her charisma made people feel like they were an essential part of every adventure. Ruby had talked about her first experience, diving in the Bahamas, for weeks. After that, it was hiking to the top of the Giza pyramids, then visiting the Grand Canyon National Park.

  At least she got to travel the world in her final days on this Earth, Jenny thought.

  “Are you ready to come home?” Bea asked.

  “More than ready.” Ruby nodded and gazed warmly at her daughter. She patted the bed with her gaunt hand, “Sit by me, Djangini.”

  Jenny cozied up next to Ruby. Only her mother still called Jenny by her Romani birth name. Jenny had wanted to fit in at school, but it was difficult. She had been teased and bullied for being a Gypsy her entire life. She knew that the word “Gypsy” was originally given to her people in ancient Europe because they were foreign and exotic, and anything foreign and exotic was known to be from Egypt. “Egyptian” was shortened to “Gipcyan,” and then “Gypsy.” Jenny didn’t mind the word, as some Roma did, but she didn’t like being teased about it. So, after moving to Wellington, she changed her name from Djangini to Jenny, cut her hair short, and started wearing black clothes to hide her origin.

  “How are you feeling?” Bea asked from the foot of the bed.

  “It hurts.” Ruby smiled at her sister. “But we knew this would happen.”

  “I’d love it if it had been different this one time.” Bea shook her head.

  Jenny’s lips became a thin line, and her nostrils flared. Ruby and Bea believed that their family had been cursed. Male infants never survived birth, and all females in their bloodline died before the age of forty. “How can you be so laissez-faire about this?”

  “Are you okay, Djangini?”

  Jenny’s temper flared. “No, Mom, I’m not okay. I hate this. I hate school. And you’re dying. So, no, I’m not okay.”

  Ruby pulled a bronze amulet from her hospital gown and said a silent prayer. Like Aunt Bea and many Roma, Ruby put her faith into talismans and religious symbols. She kissed the amulet and tucked it back into her gown.

  “Why do you believe in this stuff?” Jenny asked. “It hasn’t kept the curse away.”

  “Because there is more in this world than what we can see.”

  “No, there’s not.”

  Ruby sighed and shook her head. “I wish you would believe.”

  “Why?”

  “That way, when I tell you that I’ll always be with you, even after I’m gone, you’ll believe me.”

  Jenny’s eyes watered and a lump formed in her throat. She weaved her arms through the tubes and wires and hugged her mom’s shrunken body. “I believe in you.”

  “I’ll always love you, Djangini, no matter what.”

  “I love you too.” As Jenny gave he
rself over to the tidal wave of emotions, a vibration ripped through her skull. She winced in pain as the pressure grew behind her eyes. Sally, who stood at the foot of the bed next to Bea, looked more solid than ever. Jenny pulled away and massaged her temples.

  “Are you okay?” Ruby asked.

  “It’s just a headache.” In fact, these migraines were such a persistent problem that Jenny invented a form of meditation to fight them. She turned her focus inward and imagined the pain as angry blue flames. Jenny gathered the tendrils into a ball and pushed it out of her. A warm buzzing sensation filled her head and spread through her body. After a minute, the tremors abated, and Sally returned to a fuzzy outline. Jenny looked at her mom and laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You’re the one dying of cancer, and you look so worried about me.”

  “You’re not crazy, Djangini,” Bea said.

  “The rest of the world would say otherwise.”

  “Your mom and I don’t have your gift, but we can feel her presence.”

  Jenny saw and heard things that other people couldn’t, like auras and shadowy objects. Bea and Ruby accepted their own extrasensory perceptions, not that they compared to hers. Jenny just wanted to be normal.

  Ruby gasped. “I think I see her. There’s a faint outline next to your aunt. If I just concentrate…” She pointed at the foot of the bed. “She has long, dark hair, and she’s wearing medieval clothing.”

  Jenny’s mouth went slack. No one had ever seen Sally before. She looked at her ghost, then her mom. “How?”

  Suddenly, Ruby’s eyes rolled back in her head. Her arms went rigid against her chest, and the tendons in her hands looked like spiderwebs. She arched her back, then hunched forward as if her abs and back muscles were playing tug-of-war with her torso.

  Jenny stood frozen. A piece of her soul seemed to die as the machine monitoring her mother’s vitals beeped violently. The nurse ran into the room and checked Ruby’s airway, breathing, and circulation. He moved on to make sure the lines from the saline were clear. “She’s okay, it’s just a seizure.”

  “What do we do?” Bea asked.

  “There’s nothing to do, except to keep her comfortable and safe. It will stop on its own.”

  The bed rattled in an unsettling manner as Ruby continued to seize for two more agonizing minutes. After it was done, she fell asleep.

  “Your mom will need some rest before she can leave,” the nurse said as he pulled them out of the room. “And we have some paperwork for you to fill out.”

  Jenny half-listened as Bea discussed palliative care with the doctor. She looked back at her mom’s room. This is finally going to end, Jenny thought. No more waiting. I’m finally going to have my life back. She instantly regretted the selfish thought.

  Bea’s house was a straight drive south from the hospital along Adelaide Road. The narrow street sloped gently down toward the ocean, giving Jenny a view of the charming, well-kept houses of South Wellington.

  “Do you have any plans for your birthday next week?” Ruby asked.

  “No.” There was no one she wanted to celebrate with, except for her mom. “It’s enough that I get to spend it with you.”

  They drove past two large parks and turned onto The Parade. Residential blocks transitioned into downtown, where two-story, mixed-use buildings lined the street. Jenny pulled the car into a narrow alley and parked behind a green building at 137 The Parade, Island Bay. Jenny helped her mom out of the sedan and in through the back entrance. Painted on the front window of the building was a sign that read:

  The Fortuna Niche, Madame Tripper, Clairvoyant

  Predict the Future, Find Lost Treasures, Conjure True Love

  It was lunchtime, so Jenny prepared cucumber sandwiches while Bea readied some tea. Ruby and Bea recounted stories as they ate. Afterward, Jenny helped her mom upstairs. In Romani tradition, Ruby’s bed was surrounded by candles to light her way to the afterlife. As Ruby settled into bed, Onyx, Bea’s black cat, jumped into her lap. Ruby scratched between its ears and it purred.

  Bea came into the room holding a large quilt. “Jenny and I made this for you.” Jenny and Bea had spent three weeks crafting each square of the quilt with meaningful shapes and pictures.

  “Thank you, it’s beautiful.” Ruby took the quilt and admired each square as tears welled in her eyes.

  “Well, I’ve got some work to do,” Bea said, “so I’ll let you two have some alone time.”

  “Thank you, Bea,” Ruby said as her sister left the room.

  Jenny retrieved an old photo album from the bookcase. This was one of her favorite activities with her mom, and it was the only way she learned of her family. She loved asking her mom to describe the people in the pictures. Jenny liked to imagine that she knew them. She sat next to her mom and put the album in her lap.

  “Before I forget.” Ruby reached up to her neck and pulled a chain over her bald scalp. “I want you to have this.”

  “Your amulet?” Jenny traced the triangle inside the circle. A long leather cord had been tied through the opening so that it could be worn as a necklace. The rough craftsmanship made the amulet seem ancient.

  “It belongs to our family. Passed down for generations. It’s part of who we are and represents our culture better than anything else I have. I have a feeling that it will help you one day.”

  Jenny hugged her mom. “Thank you.”

  They sat in silence for a while as Jenny leafed through the photo album. It made a ripping sound as each of the cellophane pages came unstuck. “So, how are you doing with your aunt?”

  “She wants me to become a fortune-teller, like her.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Ruby said. “She took us in when we needed her. Please do whatever you can to help.”

  “Fine.” Jenny shrugged. “Only for you.” But after you’re gone, Jenny thought, I’m out of here.

  Ruby sighed and collapsed onto the pillows. “You remind me so much of your father.”

  Jenny perked up. Ruby never talked about her dad. “How so?”

  Ruby brushed her cheek. “How are things at school?”

  Jenny’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, I guess.”

  “There must be something you like.”

  “I like to fence.”

  “Of all the things you could have picked up.” Ruby shook her head. “Your father loved to fence too.”

  Jenny snapped the album shut. “What else did he love? Do you have a picture of him?”

  “Jenny, I’m sorry. You know I can’t talk about him. I really want to, but I promised him. You wouldn’t understand, but it really is for the better.”

  Jenny pouted.

  “If you knew, what would you do? Would you track him down and tell him you’re his daughter and hope that he adopts you into his family?”

  “No.” Jenny’s eyes dropped to the album. Part of her understood why she couldn’t know who he was, but she also resented her mother for making her miss out on having a father. “I don’t know.” They were silent for a long time. Jenny felt numb; even blinking seemed too loud as she stared down at the photo album. What would she do if she knew who her father was? She always imagined that he’d be happy to meet her. But what if he wasn’t? She couldn’t handle that, not right now.

  Jenny hit the snooze button on her smartphone’s alarm with practiced ease. Was that the second or third time? Jenny thought as she snuggled back into the covers. And why is my bed the most comfortable at the moment between asleep and awake? Before Jenny drifted off to sleep again, her bedroom door swung open.

  Bea stood in the doorway. “Jenny, why are you still in bed?” She crossed the room and flung the curtains open.

  Jenny shaded her eyes against the sudden brightness. “I don’t have school today.” She pulled a pillow over her head.

  “You still have to work. Get up. Now.”

  “Ugh, fine.” Jenny threw her covers off and stretched her arms with much exaggeration. She rubbed her eyes, relis
hing the squishy sensation. She picked up her smartphone. It was 8:15 a.m., June 19, 2024, Wednesday. Four days had passed since she had picked her mom up from the hospital, and Jenny had been given the week off from school to be with her.

  “How’d you sleep?”

  “Miserable, as usual.” Jenny knew she was being melodramatic, but it was true. Several pill bottles sat on her desk. As her doctor had said, “They fix chemical imbalances.” When she had migraines, exposure to lights and sounds made her feel like her eyes were going to pop out of her head. Glancing down, she saw the scars on her arms and pulled the long sleeves of her black shirt down to cover them up.

  “Play music,” Jenny said to her computer. A program examined her mood from the tone of her voice and played an appropriate playlist based on her listening history. Bauhaus’s “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” played from a pair of speakers on her desk.

  “I know this song.” Bea smiled. “I used to have all of Bauhaus’s albums on vinyl.”

  Jenny raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  “In fact, I think I still have them in a crate in my closet.”

  “So?” Jenny asked.

  “So,” Bea said, “I could pull out my record player sometime and we could listen to them.”

  Jenny looked down and remained silent. I can’t let myself get close to her, Jenny thought. It will just make it harder on her after Mom dies, and I run away.

  “I’d love it if you’d get ready for work and joined me downstairs.” Bea turned and left the room.

  Jenny dragged herself out of bed a minute later. Even though she had the day off from school, Jenny still planned on attending fencing practice at ten-thirty a.m. She wasn’t about to miss out on the one activity that made her happy. After getting dressed, Jenny pulled out her duffel bag and added her fencing jacket, trousers, gloves, and breast shield. The plastic chest cover was molded and sized like a bra. It was bulky and awkward, but it was better than getting jabbed in her tender areas. Sally watched her approvingly. The ghost always seemed more vivid, and maybe even enthusiastic, when Jenny prepared for practice.