by Alechia Dow
He pulls out an unopened jar of peanut butter and a can of French-cut green beans, and then opens the disgusting fridge and places two bottles of water on the counter. I pocket the water, and find some clean utensils. Together, we creep upstairs to find clothes and anything else that might be useful. Morris tells me he’ll wait outside in the hallway.
I suck peanut butter from a spoon while I open a closet. The clothes are jumbled in a haphazard pile but I find some clean jeans and a thick off-white cable-knit sweater. I shimmy into the jeans, loathing for the millionth time the dramatic curves of my thighs and hips. The jeans are too long on my short frame. And a bit snug, but they’ll loosen up eventually, I hope. Even though I haven’t had access to excess food or sweets in months, I’m still soft, and thick, and my chest has too much padding. I’m lucky the sweater is a size too big, otherwise my chest would’ve turned it into a crop top.
I’m trying to find a jacket when Morris knocks. “Do you want to sleep here until dawn?”
“Is it safe?” I eye my hair in the mirror. I had no choice but to go natural after the invasion, and I like it, but not right now, not without products. My thick, coiled curls are matted, so I twist and hide them under my purple beanie as I’ve been doing. I take my glasses off and wipe them on the hem of my sweater.
“No...but you’re tired.” There’s hesitation in his tone.
“We can walk until we find somewhere else to hide.” I rub my eyes with the backs of my hands before replacing my glasses. I spot the edge of a coat peeking out of a container under the bed.
I pull off the lid, and the scent of fabric softener wafts into the room, and for a moment, all I can do is breathe it in. When I tug the peacoat on, I sigh deeply. It’s warm, so warm. It’s tight in the arms and across my chest, but I can button it. Thank God. Now the only thing I need is a pair of boots. My blue sneakers are thin, not made for this weather, and already have a hole in the sole.
There are more than a few pairs of shoes at the bottom of the closet. I rifle through them until I’ve got three pairs of boots in front of me. All two sizes too small. Damn it. I open the door and stride across the hall to another room. Morris is a silent presence behind me.
“I’m trying to find boots.” The next closet is full of heels and other impractical footwear. “I have big feet.”
Morris looks down. “Big feet cross greater distances.” I imagine he says this in an attempt to sound reassuring. It strikes me how weird it is that an Ilori is trying to reassure me. But then, Morris isn’t a normal Ilori.
I smile at him before continuing my task. We go through every room, and by the end, I’ve found nothing else that fits. We sit on a bed while I eat the green beans and eye a book perched on the windowsill. A Wrinkle in Time. Part of me considers taking it. If my family somehow end up vaccinated, I can travel with Morris until we find somewhere safe and deserted. I’ll say goodbye and walk into the sunset with a bunch of books to fill my last days. The thought brings me some relief. And more sadness than I can bear.
“Humans lived well.” Morris takes in the furniture and closets, remnants of life before. He stretches before grabbing an empty backpack covered in a sheen of dust.
“Some of us did.” The green beans are sweeter than I remember, and I drink the juice from the can, savoring the flavor and taste. I stick the half-empty jar of peanut butter in my coat pocket along with the spoon. I pick up the book and flip through the pages to see if there are any notes or highlights, maybe a dedication, but I find only a scribbled note in black marker blotting out the text. If you can read this, head west to Kansas. We’ll find you on the way.
“Looks like the secret notes in books thing was true.” I lift the book to show Morris. “I wonder if they made it.”
Morris doesn’t answer. It wasn’t really a question.
I return the book where I found it. The owners aren’t coming back, and I doubt anyone else will stumble upon it either. But maybe if, somehow, despite the odds, someone does, this will give them hope.
Morris and I go back to the garage. I rummage through the drawers on the workbench in search of extra batteries for the flashlight. A picture falls out and I pick it up, holding the glossy paper between two fingers so as not to smudge it.
A picture of a family. Two kids—one older girl, one small boy. They stand in front of this house, smiling. I notice a bow on the front door, behind them. This house probably meant the world to them and held a million memories. They aren’t coming back, I tell myself again.
I turn to Morris as he shuts the car door, his face drawn and exhausted. “All of the books and music are in the bag now. But I’ll need to recharge soon.”
My jaw drops and I eye the now empty back seat that was once packed with our belongings. “How?”
“I am able to move things—inanimate objects mostly—with my mind, and I can also change the shape of them. However, it takes a lot of energy. More energy than I should be expending. If I overexert myself, I shut off. That’s less than ideal.”
“How do you recharge?” No one’s ever mentioned Ilori recharging. I may be the first human to ask this.
Morris looks at me as if he is making a difficult decision. “Our panels have two outputs, one for a special cable that we can connect to a charger. We are also able to charge wirelessly through our connection to one another—the Hive, as you call it—but that’s not always...feasible or ideal.”
“Wow,” is all I can think. “You didn’t bring one with you? This cable thing?”
“I have the cable. What I lack is the adequate output and energy source. I’m used to buildings equipped for our use.” He tries to smile. “Don’t worry, Ellie, I will make sure you are safe.”
“Is there any way to replicate the output? Like, can you just use a regular output?”
Morris considers my question. “Yes, maybe. But I’m afraid I don’t know how. And the wrong energy could be lethal.”
“I thought you all were geniuses?” I make a small sound. “I’ll figure it out.”
There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. “We should go. It’s a long trip ahead of us.”
“I’m ready.”
Morris seems distant or nervous or...something. He drapes the backpack over his shoulders and winces.
“Is it heavy?”
“No, no. I just feel something I’ve never felt before.”
We walk out of the front door and into the darkness. “What’s that?”
“I believe I feel...uncertain.”
CHAPTER 10
“The Times They Are A-Changin’”
—Bob Dylan
M0Rr1S
The sooner they get to California, the safer they’ll be. But that means staying under the radar and his charge is already low.
He glances at her. He wants to tell her that he’s afraid. That he has to avoid his own people to keep her safe, and he’s worried he will fail. But he says nothing. He shifts the backpack. It’s heavy, but it’s not worth telling her that either. She’s shouldered enough.
They crossed out of the former residential area an hour ago, and now they’re making their way through some woods. This quadrant is colder than he expected, even though the sun is about to rise. There are patches of ice that blend into the ground, and the air is frigid. This is the first winter he has experienced outdoors, and it doesn’t bring him joy. The sun will likely not provide warmth, but at least it will provide light, which will make it easier for Ellie to see where she’s going. He had to tell her to leave that flashlight behind, because it would be too noticeable, and she’s been on edge ever since.
Every once in a while, he catches her glaring at her shoes, and he wishes more than anything that they’d found her a new pair.
Cast aside your fear and fight for your future. Fight for freedom. His mother told him that as he boarded the carriership for Earth. But fear is blurring hi
s vision now. Hours spent in silence. He has many thoughts to sift through, but the last thing he wants is for Ellie to feel he doesn’t care for her or that she taxes him. It is true, she walks slow, and she can’t see as well as he does, but these things don’t matter to him.
“Where were you born?” he asks.
Ellie is quiet for a moment. He can tell he has caught her off guard. “Brooklyn. It’s in New York City, but not. Kind of like a world of its own.”
“Ahh, yes, close to where we met. I’ve not had the pleasure of seeing it. New York City was the first and only place I’ve been. I was in a ship above Earth until a few...days ago.” M0Rr1S can’t think of another thing to say. He knows he can’t tell her what he was doing up there, or that while he was in isolation under constant observation from true Ilori, he was working on the vaccination. That he often felt immense guilt as the world below was stripped of humans and humanity and everything that made it Earth, to make way for Ilori colonization. And then, the words he did say slam to the forefront of his mind. “I did not mean pleasure. I did not mean to say that I—”
“Morris. I know.” Ellie stumbles over a tree branch, smearing her shoes with mud. She grimaces but continues on.
He reaches out to her. “May I?”
She nods once before letting him hold her hand, and his heart beats a bit faster. “What about you? Where were you born?”
“A lab, in the capitol city of my origin planet, 40378BX-I. I’m sorry there’s no English translation.” When she’s quiet, he answers the question she is either too shy or doesn’t care enough to ask. “Some Ilori are not born in the traditional sense. We are made in labs.”
Ellie uses her free hand to tug at the edges of her hat and bring it over the tips of her ears. “So, your parents...aren’t your parents?”
“Mine are, but not entirely.” M0Rr1S glances at their interlocked hands, considering how to tell his truth simply. “My parents already had a child and could not make another. I was a combination of genetic material—my mother’s and a random donor’s.”
“Is that why you can throw things super far?” She tilts her head.
“Yes. It is why my panel holds a charge longer, as well.” M0Rr1S doesn’t feel anything in particular, knowing that he isn’t made from his father, nor does he regret their decision to only use his mother’s material. He is pleased to not share any similarities with that man. “I am a custom labmade Ilori. They made my generation to comprise the Acquisitions Force for Earth. It is why the Ilori you meet here can eat, breathe and survive in this atmosphere.”
“Right...” She chews her lip, looking thoughtful. “You’re a labmade, which is why you look human. And there are other kinds of Ilori?”
“Only one other kind. In the ships above the atmosphere, there are true Ilori. But they will not come here yet, as the atmosphere is too harsh for their physical bodies.”
She is making a strange face as the trees give way to a clearing and the beginnings of dawn filter through the clouds above. “So labmade Ilori took over Earth. Why did you want it?”
M0Rr1S inhales the crisp air. “Not me. Them. The true Ilori. Labmade Ilori follow orders from our true Ilori masters. We are inferior to the true Ilori. We are expendable.”
Her voice cuts through him. “Soldiers following orders never excuses the war. You know that, right?”
“I do know.” He stops and meets her gaze. “I do. You may think us cowards, and you are right. To disobey the true Ilori is death, and they could just create more of us to follow. But sometimes, doing right means first doing wrong.”
Her eyebrows knit together and she waits for a clarification that won’t come. He can’t say more. When she finally speaks, it’s with resignation. “Why did your masters want us, then?”
He looks up at the first beams of light peeking through the clouds. “True Ilori live for centuries. They are endless. They have explored, conquered and exploited new worlds...but they have grown idle, surrounded by their technology and wealth. They decided to push their innovation. About 285 galactic rotations ago—that’s about one hundred human years—they began an expedition around the universe, looking for new experiences, new places. Vacation destinations. They found many, including Earth.” The cold seeps into his jacket, and he hopes they find shelter soon. “They began colonizing those worlds. Twenty years ago, they began creating us. The labmades sent to Earth were made to look and function like humans, to blend in. But we are stronger. We’re here to fix your climate change, take orders and set up your world for their use.”
She is quiet for a few minutes, considering his words. M0Rr1S brushes a wisp of black hair from his brow, waiting for her to keep their conversation alive. Silence with Ellie is better than silence alone, but speaking with her is better than speaking with anyone else.
When she does speak, her words are edged in anger. “A vacation destination? Humans died just so you could use our world for a vacation spot?”
“I told you, the death of humanity was never part of the objective. We had hoped to establish peaceful control. But peace became impossible when our ships were shot down without any attempt at communication. We were given a new directive—collect humans and kill any that do not conform or would strike us down. True Ilori command ordered us to kill humans for all sorts of infractions, not only to gain your obedience, but to establish your defeat and break your free will. And then...we were told of a new technology that could grow their empire, increasing their riches beyond measure. An out-of-body experience.”
She yanks her hand from his. “An out-of-body experience...the vaccine, that’s what it will do? You’re going to use our bodies?”
He answers, knowing it will only further infuriate her. “The true Ilori will come here, choose a human body to inhabit, and vacation like a native. Their original form will await them in special spas—upgraded centers—once Earth’s atmosphere is repaired. Labmades will facilitate their stays and accommodate their needs. And then we will market this destination throughout the galaxy to every world, every species looking for a new adventure.”
She closes her eyes, fists clenching by her sides. “All of this death...all of it because a bunch of rich, immortal aliens got bored and wanted somewhere new to go? I—I...can’t. I can’t believe it.” She scoffs, but it sounds like a sob. “So they can take our skin—our bodies—off and on at their pleasure, like we mean... Like we’re nothing? You said you never wanted to kill a whole planet, but instead, you’re enslaving one?”
M0Rr1S understands her hatred of the Ilori, both true and labmade; it’s not dissimilar to his own. “Their reasoning was that your world would have died anyway, from climate change. That, in essence, we were seizing an opportunity to save a world on the brink of destruction. Labmades tried to speak with human leadership—if we could fix the effects of global warming in exchange for the ability to share select human vessels—bodies—we could avoid war. Human leaders reacted violently without listening, a testament to the state of humans’ political turmoil.”
She narrows her eyes. “How did you know that? How did they know that Earth was in turmoil?”
The way she suddenly differentiates between true Ilori and labmades gives him hope that perhaps she realizes they’re not the same. That despite the labmades taking their world, they had no choice. That maybe his words, however mysterious, showed her that he has a plan. He inhales the chilly air.
“Command monitors worlds and information.” He shrugs. “The signs of your planet’s demise were easy to determine. We were told the projected life expectancy was maybe another hundred years before complete annihilation by both nature and, we suspected, nuclear war.”
“Yeah, well. That seems right.” She huffs, but finally resumes her course. There’s a sadness in her features now. He stays silent, knowing it is a lot of information to process at once. She rubs the palms of her hands together. “How old are you, Morris?”
“We do not celebrate or acknowledge the passing of time where I’m from, but I am considered young. I suppose I am the same age as you—seventeen years.”
“You suppose?”
“I’ve been told that when a human is born, it is new. It must learn this world, the languages, the cultures, to eat and function. When we are created, we are fully conscious. We think, we learn and we grow just like you—from infant to adult. We know our food preferences before we have ever eaten.” He remembers the way his mother would gaze at him with awe in her eyes when she was alone and unjudged. And the way his father would stare at him with disinterest.
“What are the real Ilori like? I mean the true ones or whatever you call them?”
The real Ilori... What a distinction, he thinks. “True Ilori are...where do I begin?” He kicks a pebble with the toe of one boot. “Physically, they have various body sizes and structures like humans, but they’re not a solid mass, like you and me. They are energy. Their skin is laced with a sheen of violet, called a ‘life energy shell.’ The darker the sheen, the older and more powerful they are.” He pictures them, although it has been days since he has seen one. “Like most aliens, their eyes are colored with hues outside the spectrum of Earth’s nature.
“They need green atmospheres and natural electricity...like Earth had, before humans depleted the resources and changed the climate. Their abilities are strongest when surrounded by organic life, like trees and forests, oceans. This sustains and feeds them. Without it, they are weak. And unlike labmades, they do not need panels.” He points to the panel alongside his jaw.
She nods, pursing her lips. “Are you the first labmade?”
“I was not the first. Every colony has labmades modeled after the dominant life force. I was made during the human production.” He pauses to catch his breath in this chilly air. “Some of us, like me, were created as children for prominent families who struggled with fertility.”