Shortcuts

by Grant Stone

  ‘No one’s here.’

  ‘That’s not surprising. I’m a day late.’

  ‘Yes, but if your guide was local, they would’ve known about the storm. They would have expected you to be late. So, why didn’t they wait?’

  ‘After we collided, and I discovered the body, and Bree, I just wanted to get the girl away from here, somewhere safe. Maybe when the guide saw the collision, he thought the same thing.’

  Stan’s eyes widen. ‘Hey! Do you think maybe Bree’s father was your guide? Maybe they were coming here to meet you?’

  Mika slumps. If that’s the case, not only has she destroyed Bree’s life, but she may have ruined Huia’s chances.

  ‘Hey, sorry. Look, let me check it out. Maybe there’s something inside the transport that will tell us.’ Stan gives Mika’s shoulder an awkward squeeze, and before she can protest, he’s outside Torua, waving at her from the traffic island.

  Numb, Mika watches Stan through the windscreen as he struggles against the wind. He leans inside the twisted transport and moments later the hatch clangs and he’s back inside, shaking the rain from his hair and coat, and re-joining her at the front.

  ‘Well, do you want the good news, or the bad news?’ Mika looks at him, dazed. ‘Right then, let’s start with the bad. I think our man there was waiting for you, but not for the reason you think.’ He lets his words register, then passes over a series of renditions. Faces of people about Mika’s age: mostly women, some men, all of them resembling Mika, and Huia, but none of them an exact match.

  ‘What are these pictures? Where did he get these? Why would he have them?’

  ‘You recognise them?’

  ‘They could be my family, but they’re not, not quite.’ Mika flicks through the faces, peering at each one in turn. It’s as if someone has made genetic models of what Mika might look like.

  ‘I think they wanted to be sure.’

  ‘Sure of what?’

  ‘That you were the right person. The person they needed taken care of.’ Mika’s jaw drops as understanding dawns.

  ‘You mean, an assassin?’

  ‘I’m only guessing, but I think they only wanted half the deal. Whatever it is you brought with you.’

  ‘I didn’t bring anything with me...’ Mika protests. But then she has another thought. ‘What about Bree?’ She sucks in the name, as if to hide the girl from danger.

  ‘A side business?’ Mika’s incomprehension must show in her face because Stan extrapolates: ‘Organ donation. Big business here in the United States. Especially over the past couple of decades, since B-Cell’s miracle cure for diabetes backfired.’ Stan’s face twists into a sneer. ‘Of course, it’s all fine and dandy if you’ve got money – you can replace limbs and eyes, get yourself the best prosthetics you can afford, the corporate giant does a nice line in top-end artificial limbs – but once you reach organ failure, that’s it. Unless you can source a living organ, you’re dead...’ He trails off, his voice softening. ‘Some parents, if they’re down on their luck, will sell their kids on. You know, you probably saved your own life as well as that little girl’s. You’ve both been pretty lucky. Maybe you have a guardian angel.’

  Mika thinks of Huia, sending her aroha across the ocean, and nods. Right now, she feels fairly floaty herself. All this, it’s unreal. Her guide sent to kill her? Bree an organ donor? How is it possible? But then, if she considers the evidence...

  ‘I checked Bree over after the accident,’ she replies. ‘She’s covered in needle pricks and bruises. Old bruises.’

  ‘Yeah? I guess that confirms it. Explains why the kid’s so quiet. Poor thing has been kept as a living spare part. Well, that settles it,’ Stan announces. ‘You’ve saved us, so now we’re going to help you. Shall I drive?’ Stan’s enthusiasm seems slightly misplaced – doesn’t he realise that Mika’s killed three people today? Okay, so she did it by accident, or in self-defence, since it turns out all of them had intended to kill her, but still, it’s small comfort.

  Suddenly, Mika feels heavy. The voyage, her mission, Bree, Stan, even the dog. It’s all too much. Mika just wants to curl into a ball and sob. Exhausted, she lets Stan take over.

  The thrum of Torua’s heart lulls her into a fitful sleep, full of intangible images and whispered warnings. Through it all, Mika hears Huia begging her to be strong.

  Chapter Five

  It’s a long drive across the country from New York to Nevada. For most of the first day, they jostle for space in amongst a convoy of transports escaping the storms. Stan drives, every half hour or so erupting in a fit of expletives as blocked roads and traffic jams force him to make detour after detour. Mika keeps reminding him that he shouldn’t curse in front of Bree, but after the third or fourth time, she gives up. Given what they suspect of Bree’s history, perhaps a few swear words aren’t the end of the world. Mika imagines the girl has seen and heard far worse.

  By the second day, the amount of fallen trees and strewn debris lessens and the only delays are regular comfort stops for the dog, and a layover for pizza. Finally, late afternoon on the third day, Stan drives Torua into an Arizona reservation.

  A gaggle of children crowd around the exotic transport, impeding their progress. Stan is forced to stop in the dusty courtyard only a few yards inside the entrance.

  He laughs. ‘This is the end of the road.’

  They clamber down, Bree with the puppy – who she’s named Paddy – tucked under her arm. The children swarm her, all wanting to pet the puppy. For a second, Bree hesitates, her face full of anguish. She crushes Paddy to her, who yelps, then she takes a step towards Mika. Mika gives her shoulder a squeeze.

  ‘It’s okay. They’re friends,’ she reassures her. She nudges Stan for confirmation.

  ‘Oh yes, you and Paddy are quite safe here,’ Stan says, giving Bree’s hair a ruffle. He turns to one of the older children, a girl. ‘Arlene, why don’t you take Bree down to the river? She’s been stuck in the transport for three days. Show her the rope swing. Or if she’s feeling brave she might try a tube ride. I’m sure she’d like that. Maybe later on, you could bring back to us? We’ll be with the professors.’

  The girl grins. ‘Okay.’ Mika watches as Bree is guided away by the children.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Stan says, his prosthetic eye winking out of turn. ‘Arlene’s a good kid. She knows what it’s like to be lonely. She’ll look after Bree. Come on, there are some people I want you to meet.’

  Mika follows Stan into the community. Clustered together at this end of the reservation, the houses are mainly traditional adobe style, and are a hodgepodge of sizes, some with wooden or corrugated iron roofs. Brightly coloured washing hangs from lines swung between the poles of the buildings. The place is busy, and many of the people know Stan.

  ‘Hey Stan!’

  ‘Craig!’ Stan greets a man who’s missing his lower legs. Craig rolls forward on a make-shift trolley made from an old push-chair, propelling himself with gloved hands.

  ‘We weren’t expecting you back for another month.’

  ‘East coast storm caused some disruption,’ Stan says, shrugging. ‘So there was a sudden change of plans.’

  ‘I can see that!’ Craig ribs, staring pointedly at Mika.

  Grinning, Stan pushes the trolley, sending Craig off in the other direction. ‘Yeah, yeah. It’s not what you think. Gotta see some people. Talk later, okay?’

  They continue on in a haze of afternoon heat, a shock after the air-conditioned comfort of Torua. Mika notices that, like Craig, many of the people here are missing limbs, fingers, eyes. Some have prosthetics, but they’re not the sophisticated appliances she’s seen advertised on billboards and digital displays all across the country. These are older models, less advanced, and judging by the way the woman in front of them is weaving and tottering on hers, far less effective. Wobbling, the woman steps aside, allowing Mika and Stan to pass. In spite of her suffering, she smiles at Mika. Mika smiles back. She may be a stranger, but already
the reception here has been warm and unguarded. And unlike at the warehouse, something about this community reminds her of home.

  ‘I have some business with the elders,’ Stan says, ‘But first I want you to meet some friends of mine. The Adèmes are among our kikmongwi, the wise people, here.’

  ‘Like tohunga?’

  ‘Tohunga? Sorry, I don’t know this word.’

  Mika tries to explain. ‘In my culture, the tohunga is mainly a spiritual leader, but also a herbalist, astronomer, strategist, story-teller, and mediator. The tohunga is a wise person who carries the knowledge of the people.’

  Stan considers her definition and nods. ‘Yes, I think that’s a pretty good approximation.’ He stops outside an adobe. It is small and unassuming, the sort of place a hermit might choose. ‘This is us here.’

  Stan guides Mika into the house. Inside, the dwelling is cool and clean, the pink clay decorated with a number of lively blankets like the ones at Stan’s warehouse home, diamonds and triangles highlighted in stunning reds, ochre, and black.

  ‘Lisa? Lionel?’

  ‘Stan! What a surprise. We didn’t expect to see you back so soon.’

  It’s the second time Mika’s heard that said. Clearly, Stan returns to the reservation regularly. Something must be important to bring him all the way from New York, and it’s not as if he can fly. With so little fossil fuel remaining, air travel is reserved for the spectacularly rich. Mika has seen Stan’s place. There’s no way he could be mistaken for someone spectacularly rich. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. They’d agreed it was safer Mika not know about Stan’s activities, and it won’t be long until they part company.

  ‘And who’s this with you?’

  ‘This is Mika.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you Mika.’ Creases at her eyes. Dark olive skin. A broad genuine smile. Mika estimates that Lisa is in her late fifties, her salt and pepper ponytail hinting of long dark tresses in her youth.

  ‘So pretty.’

  Mika blushes. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Lionel! Bring some drinks. We have guests.’

  Moments later, Lionel Adème, a diminutive bird-like man, enters carrying a tray with a water jug, glasses, and some serviettes.

  ‘Stan! Nice to see you.’ He places the tray on a low table, and gives Stan a clap on the back, a gesture Mika finds odd in such a tiny man.

  ‘This is Mika, Lionel.’

  Ignoring the serviettes, Lionel wipes his hands on his trousers. He offers a hand to Mika. ‘How do you do?’

  ‘Mika Tāura, from Aotearoa,’ Stan says gravely, lingering on the words.

  Why the emphasis on her being foreign? So, she’s from New Zealand. It’s not against the law to travel. Just a bit impractical. But Lisa Adème sits bodily on the sofa, her face suddenly pale.

  ‘Oh.’

  Lionel rushes to his wife’s side. ‘Lisa! Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine, Lionel. It’s nothing serious. Don’t fuss...’ Lisa pats her husband’s knee. ‘It’s just a shock to meet a person carrying that name. It’s been years. Decades...’ She lifts her eyes to Mika. ‘Is your father Atticus?’ she says.

  This time, it’s Mika whose knees buckle beneath her.

  An hour later, both Mika and Lisa have recovered somewhat from the shock. With a fresh pot of tea and a plate of cookies on the table, and Bree – her hair still wet from the river – playing with Paddy nearby on the floor, they settle down to talk.

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear about the loss of your father,’ Lisa says, shaking her head sadly. ‘We worked with him on the diabetes project, Lionel and I. We were part of the native epidemiology team. Indigenous people have always been more susceptible to diabetes. Back then, about half of all the people on the reservation were affected, and each year our children were diagnosed younger and younger. I seem to remember your father telling me it’s the same for the Māori. It was one of the reasons he pursued a career in science. Anyway, when B-Cell offered subsidised gene therapy for the new insulin – your father’s work – people jumped at it, and for the first few years it was wonderful. The up-regulation delayed the onset of the disease, and there were fewer deaths. But then the gene mutated. Your father was devastated. He nearly killed himself trying to find out what had happened, looking for ways to reverse the change. But B-Cell weren’t interested, moving up production in their spare parts division instead. And that’s when your father left. He was a brilliant man, an inspired scientist. We should have supported him when he made his stand against Selwyn Bruce. We wanted to, but B-Cell ... well, the company has huge resources. Some of the other researchers who came out against their strategy...’ she trails off, dabbing at her eyes with a serviette. Composing herself.

  Lionel speaks, filling the silence. ‘No one knew what happened to them, but there were rumours. We had children – all grown now – but back then we were afraid. So Lisa and I came back here to the reservation. We’ve been off the grid ever since.’

  Lisa reaches over and puts a hand on Mika’s forearm. ‘Your father was our friend, and he was right to stand up against Selwyn and B-Cell. Perhaps if we’d listened to Atticus when he came to us, things might have turned out differently. We should have helped him. I’m so sorry we didn’t.’

  Lionel nods in agreement.

  Mika can’t believe it: these people knew her father, and about B-Cell. Perhaps Selwyn Bruce is the person she’s supposed to meet? The one who claims to have worked with her father. It seems likely. If she can find him, perhaps he’ll be able to help her. Perhaps there’s hope for Huia, after all.

  Suddenly, a woman pushes into the building – a handsome woman with almond eyes and slender limbs. Her face is streaked with tears.

  She stares at the group. At Stan. At Mika. And especially at Bree.

  Then, sobbing, she turns on her heel and runs.

  Mika looks at the others, puzzled. ‘I hope I haven’t done anything to offend.’

  ‘No, not at all. It’s not your fault. Irina’s been...’ She glances at Stan. ‘...unhappy for some time now. Not so long ago, she lost her baby girl to the disease. A wonderful vibrant little girl. We did everything we could...’ Lisa dabs at her eyes with a serviette.

  ‘Irina’s your daughter?’

  But now Mika sees the ripple in Stan’s jaw. Even his cybernetic eye seems to dull in pain.

  ‘No. She’s my wife,’ he whispers.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The sound of rushing water and wind bounces off the stone walls of the gorge.

  Full of excitement, Bree hurries Mika along the path. ‘Come on, Mika! It’s just round this bend. We’re nearly there.’

  ‘I’m coming.’ But Bree can hardly keep still, running up the path to the corner and back again. ‘You go on and meet Arlene,’ Mika says, seeing the girl’s impatience. ‘I’ll catch you up.’ Smiling, Bree skips ahead, Paddy at her heels, his tail wagging.

  Around the bend, the gorge opens into a clearing where the community has its swimming hole, a bulge in the river like the eye of a needle. On one side, a false beach has been created by the shifting river bed. Already, several families are gathered there, including Lisa Adème, who’s sitting with a group of women. Nearby a bunch of tyre tubes are stacked neatly in a pile. Lisa looks up and gives Mika a friendly wave. Mika waves back.

  ‘Geromino!’ shouts a child as he swings into the water. The rope swing dangles over the centre of the pool from a tree clinging to the rock face, clearly a favourite pastime of the reservation children. The rope is worn and frayed, but the children shout and jostle for a turn, each one swinging out and tumbling into the water, where they splash like otters, water streaming off their bodies. Too impatient to wait for Mika, Bree too is in the water. Mika pauses a moment to watch her. Her blonde hair – wet – has darkened to black, and her skin is racing to catch up as it sucks greedily at the sun, camouflaging her among the others.

  As if she belongs here.

  Mika should leave now. Bree would hardly miss her.


  Not today.

  She’d promised to spend the day with Bree.

  Looking for a place to set down her towel, Mika notes the large flat stone near the water, where six prostheses, tiny legs mostly, old models, some of them very battered, wait while their owners take a dip. Children damaged by diabetes. Mika’s heart lurches. Her father had foreseen this.

  Spotting Mika, Bree breaks away from Arlene.

  ‘Mika, look at the rope swing,’ she says, raining droplets as she emerges from the water. Twisting, she points a finger at the rope. ‘See it?’

  ‘No, what rope swing? Where?’ Mika teases, looking everywhere but at the swing.

  Bree giggles. ‘That rope swing there. Right there. I did it twice, yesterday,’ she says proudly.

  ‘Twice!’ Mika says. ‘Well, then I’ll just have to make sure I have three swings today, won’t I?’

  Bree’s eyes widen. ‘You’ll come in the water? Really?’

  ‘Of course.’ Mika feels a twinge of sadness at the joy Bree finds in tiny things. Has she never had an adult play with her before? Time to fix that. But, looking around, Mika realises there’s nowhere for her get changed. She should’ve put her togs on earlier, back at Torua. Mika isn’t ashamed of her body, but she doesn’t want to embarrass anyone either.

  ‘Here, let me help,’ says Lisa, padding barefoot across the sand to Mika’s rescue. She chuckles. ‘We’ve been meaning to put up a changing shed, but no one wants to spoil the view, so instead we adults make screens with our towels. I’ll hold yours up for you, and if Bree holds hers up too, no one will see a thing.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  But Mika is only half dressed when Bree pokes her nose over the top of the towel, peeking to see if Mika is ready yet.

  ‘Hey,’ she says, pointing with her head at the swirls on Mika’s body. ‘Your skin looks like a treasure map.’

  Lisa takes a peek. ‘Oh, my word,’ she says, breathless. ‘Bree, I think you’re absolutely right.’

  Sitting on the roof of Torua, Mika watches the sun rise over the village. They’ve been here a week now. Mika never planned on staying this long, but the professors are convinced that with some time, she might not need to go at all. So, each morning she’s watched the day break and decided to stay just one more day.