The Vanished

by Nic Stone

  “And I was working on a cure for lupus,” an East Asian girl chimes in.

  “Why aren’t you looking for us?” comes the voice of a Black American girl whose face Shuri does recognize: Riri’s neighbor Cici.

  The ping chimes again. Louder this time. Shuri shuts her eyes.

  “You are far too distracted, Panther Cub.” M’Shindi is back over her, breath on her face—

  PING!

  Shuri jolts awake and looks around, trying to get her bearings. She’s seated in a tall, hard-backed chair at a lab table within a narrow room lined on both sides with jewel-toned clothing.

  There’s an open laptop in front of her.

  PING!

  She shakes her head to clear it, and a series of words come into focus on the computer screen.

  BUG ALERT!

  Location: Throne Room

  Incident: Keyword “conclave”

  *Conversation in progress*

  That certainly gets Shuri’s attention.

  She scrambles to get the app open so she can listen in—

  “… RUMORED TO HAVE TIES TO KLAW.”

  “AND YOU STILL THINK IT WISE TO ATTEND, T’CHALLA?”

  “IT IS VITAL THAT WE, AS ONE OF THE MOST TECHNOLOGICALLY ADVANCED NATIONS ON THE CONTINENT, ARE IN ATTENDANCE AT A MULTINATIONAL SUMMIT ON SECURITY-RELATED TECHNOLOGY. BESIDES, NO ONE KNOWS THAT I AM COMING, MOTHER. THE AMBASSADOR HAS ASSURED ME OF THAT.”

  “SECRECY IS NOT AN ASSURANCE OF SAFETY, MY DEAR. I WILL NOT CHALLENGE THE KING’S PRIORITIES OR DECISIONS, BUT IT WOULD BEHOOVE YOU TO CONSIDER WHETHER OR NOT THIS CONCLAVE IS THE PROPER PLACE TO ANNOUNCE YOUR INTENTIONS FOR THE NEAR FUTURE OF THIS NATION.”

  “WE MUSTN’T ALLOW FEAR TO DECIDE OUR PATHS, MOTHER. PERHAPS THIS IS AN OPPORTUNITY. ULYSSES KLAW MURDERED BABA AND HAS YET TO SUFFER ANY CONSEQUENCES. YOU FEAR MY PRESENCE AT THIS GATHERING LEADING HIM BACK TO US, BUT CONSIDER THE POSSIBILITY THAT IT COULD LEAD ME TO HIM—”

  “THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR VENGEANCE, MY SON.”

  “I DO NOT DISAGREE. BUT LET US SEE WHAT TRANSPIRES …”

  A message from Riri pops up:

  Went to the front office at my school today to ask about Cici, and the aide let it slip that she got withdrawn. Went by her house again, and no one answered.

  Shuri sighs.

  She has to get back on track. Train hard and “crush” (as she’s heard K’Marah say) her assessments so she’ll be permitted to attend the conclave with T’Challa, who is clearly insistent on attending no matter what. Knowing he’ll be a single degree of separation from Ulysses Klaw … what if Klaw himself turns up there? He, like T’Challa, could also be planning a surprise appearance. Shuri must be there. Not because the Dora Milaje—K’Marah included—are ill-equipped for their jobs. It’s just that the princess is first in line to the throne and she builds the tech. Which means she needs to become more equipped. Being directly privy to tech-related information and adding an extra pair of eyes watching T’Challa’s back feel like “must-dos.”

  But when she blinks, the faces of those girls from her dream flash behind her eyelids. As much as the princess would like to pretend they don’t exist, she can’t.

  With a shake of her head, Shuri opens her P.R.O.W.L. network settings and adds all the names she has memorized to her keyword list. There are seven in all. She tosses herself, K’Marah, and Riri in to round it out to ten.

  Then she nods, shuts the computer, and grabs her knapsack before lifting her wrist to place a Kimoyo call.

  “Hey, K’Marah,” she says when the other girl’s hologram appears above her arm. “So, about those drills …”

  Floating K’Marah just grins. “I knew you’d change your mind,” she says.

  The more time that passes without any alerts from the P.R.O.W.L. system, the more Shuri is able to drill down on what matters most (to her, at least): her studies and combat training.

  Not that the renewed concentration does anything to quell her stress nightmares. She has a minimum of two per night, and they always involve failed evaluations, “missing” girls in varying states of either distress or fury, or a combination of both.

  There’s the one where everything she knows about her favorite sound-absorbing metal vanishes from her head the moment she sits down to take her History and Known Properties of Vibranium examination. Which is frustrating. Not only because she knows more about the stuff than 99.9999 percent of all other people on Earth, (she’s only ever met one person who knows more, and the last time she saw him, he was pacing and muttering something about a cube in a low-lit dungeon-esque laboratory in London), but also because she achieved a perfect score on that exact examination hours before having the nightmare.

  In another one, she can’t get her arms or legs to move during a hand-to-hand combat test, and all the missing girls appear around her, pointing and laughing before they close in and move her limbs about like she’s a mannequin while she tries (and fails) to scream. A variation of that one involves K’Marah taking her down in a sparring match and the girls all closing in on her before K’Marah kicks her in the ribs (which always wakes Shuri RIGHT up.) And there’s one the morning of a timed test involving a mannequin where seven seconds in, Shuri realizes she’s actually fighting Nakia and they’re in the throne room with an audience: Mother, T’Challa, Uncle S’Yan, and the entire council of tribal elders. A good ol’ Taifa Ngao with Shuri’s evaluation as the reason for gathering.

  On the bright side, the princess is typically able to shake off the shudder-inducing pseudo-circumstances once her eyes have opened, and though some of her scores don’t wind up as high as she’d like for them to be, they are all above passing. And with each Exceeds Expectations comes a slight uptick in confidence: Bad dreams aside, perhaps she does have what it takes to eventually don a Vibranium-infused suit of her own and take on the Black Panther mantle—if it ever comes to that.

  Shuri manages to get so focused, in fact, it completely escapes her notice that the more she improves, the more K’Marah seems to decline. It doesn’t occur to the princess at all that her best friend is no longer at the top of her Dora trainee class—or even in the middle—until one of the rare nights Okoye is assigned to be her glorified babysitter at the lab, and the gorgeous (and lethal) general interrupts her intensive study session.

  “Your Majesty?”

  Shuri startles, and her Djalia 101 textbook topples to the gleaming resin floor.

  “My apologies, Princess,” Okoye says, retrieving the tome. “For the jolt as well as this drudgery.” She hands the book back to Shuri, her face scrunched up as though the pages were covered in rhinoceros dung. “Definitely my least favorite subject during my own years of schooling. Yeesh.”

  Shuri wants to laugh, but can’t seem to get her chest to loosen. It’s certainly not every day that the head of the Dora Milaje and Wakandan defensive forces speaks to her as though she’s a friend.

  It … makes Shuri nervous. Especially when the general’s eyes scan the perimeter of the room before falling back on her. “Who, might I ask, has access to your laboratory’s surveillance footage?”

  “Umm … just me. There’s a dual-authentication mechanism involving both a password and a retinal scan.”

  “Good,” Okoye says with a single nod. “So I can trust that this conversation will stay between the two of us?”

  Shuri gulps. “Yes, General.”

  “Wonderful. I would never want it said that I showed partiality toward a single Dora Milaje candidate because that is something I would certainly not do. But I am … concerned about a trainee I know you share a deep connection with.”

  This certainly isn’t the direction Shuri expected the discussion to take. “Concerned?”

  “Yes. Her performance as of late has left much to be desired. Especially considering … well, how far ahead of the others she was. I just wondered, between the two of us of course, if there is anything you feel I should … take into consideration.”

  The princess is too baffled t
o respond. But Okoye doesn’t say anything more.

  As the silence stretches—with the general staring at Shuri like the secret to world peace will spill from her mouth the moment she opens it—Shuri realizes she’ll have to say something. What comes out when she finally does speak: “There is something wrong with K’Marah?”

  “That is the question I hoped you could answer for me,” Okoye replies. She sighs and shakes her head. “I am deeply fond of your dear friend, Shuri. She is full of promise. At her initial level of performance, she would have become one of the greatest Dora Milaje in the history of this great nation. And quickly. But as of late …” Her gaze drifts off.

  Shuri hasn’t the vaguest idea of what to say. It was one thing to overhear the older girls bad-mouthing K’Marah after she “lost” to Shuri in their first sparring match at Upanga. This, though? Has the princess really been so tuned out, she failed to notice her best friend floundering—again? Last she checked, K’Marah still managed to defeat Shuri in every match …

  A telltale chime rings out from the desktop computer in the center lab station, and Shuri freezes, eyes widening.

  “Are you quite all right, Your Majesty?” Okoye looks in the direction of the little room, a cobra preparing to strike.

  “Oh yes, yes!” Shuri says, her enthusiasm so forced it makes her cringe. “That’s just … an alarm! Time is really flying, huh?” She gathers all the open books and scattered papers in front of her to return them to her knapsack. Then she stands. “We should head back to the palace now.”

  Because that chime? It means there’s a new message from Riri. Shuri retooled her network settings so that the only device in the entire kingdom that can receive messages from Riri is that particular desktop computer. Aka the princess is spared any and all overly concerned contact from the American girl unless she happens to be here in the lab. It’s also now the only device that can access the P.R.O.W.L. network.

  And she wants to get away from it as quickly as possible.

  “I’ll check on K’Marah,” Shuri says, breezing past the skeptical general to the laboratory exit. She’s halfway up the cave-like corridor before she hears Okoye fall into line slightly behind and to her right.

  For the entire seven-minute trip back to the palace in the hovercar Shuri’s mother insisted they take, neither the princess nor the general speaks.

  * * *

  True to her word, and in an effort to distract her from speculation about that message from Riri she can’t bring herself to check—she has to stay focused on what she can control—Shuri does check on K’Marah. Who, as it turns out, is distraught for a valid reason: She hasn’t been able to reach that French friend of hers in days.

  “I’m sure you think I’m ‘overreacting,’ ” the Dora-in-training says to Shuri through tears as they sit in Shuri’s quarters eating a delivered breakfast the following morning, “but the last time I spoke to her, she was telling me about some lead on her missing cousin she intended to pursue. I just can’t help but wonder if she discovered something she wasn’t supposed to and—”

  She doesn’t finish the thought. She doesn’t have to.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this, K’Marah?” Shuri says, surprising herself. In truth, she’s … stung.

  That sting becomes a burn when K’Marah snorts. “You’ve made it very clear that you think all this disappearing-girls stuff is a silly waste of time. I’d rather not be made to feel bad about being upset. Honestly not even sure why I’m telling you now.” She sniffles and wipes her face on a billowing sleeve of the (slightly ludicrous) chartreuse robe thing she’s wearing. Then she shifts to get up. “I should go.”

  “K’Marah, wait—”

  “It’s fine, Shuri,” the departing girl says without slowing down. “And don’t worry: I’ll pull it together and get refocused on training. I’m sure that’s the only reason you asked how I am, right?”

  And with that, she’s gone.

  Shuri stares at the closed door, her mind spinning like an Ororo-generated hurricane. She can’t figure out what to say—not that there’s anybody to say anything to—or what to think or how to feel.

  So she decides to act.

  “Nakia?” she calls out as she climbs off the bed and looks for her shoes, hoping the guard can hear her through the thick door.

  She can. Said door opens, and Nakia’s head and armor-padded shoulders (so overkill) materialize in the room. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

  Shuri spots her second shoe and grins in triumph. Then stands to pull both on. “Would you be so kind as to accompany me to my laboratory?”

  * * *

  The dodged message from Riri is brief: An eleven-year-old girl noted for her research on poisonous dart frog venom as a balm for chronic pain has disappeared from Ecuador.

  Shuri holds her breath as she boots up the P.R.O.W.L. network to check for notifications … then exhales in a whoosh of relief when she sees that there are none.

  Then, with K’Marah’s resentment-laced voice (“… you think all this disappearing-girls stuff is a silly waste of time …”) echoing in her head, Shuri adds the new name to the hit list—Pilar Bautista—and replies to Riri, letting the American girl know she’s done so and “will let you know if there are any pings …”

  But as she’s typing the rest of her intended message—“… but there haven’t been any on the other names, so don’t get your hopes up”—a high-pitched sound rings out.

  PING!

  ALERT: KEYWORD PILAR BAUTISTA

  LOCATION: PENDING …

  TIME: 10:53

  TRANSCRIPTION:

  “… BAUTISTA IS … [UNABLE TO TRANSCRIBE]. MAYBE IT’S ALL THE POISON SHE HANDLES.”

  “OKAY …”

  “I’M JUST SAYING, YOUR EXCELLENCY, WITH GIRLS LIKE HER AROUND, IT MIGHT BE WISE TO CONSIDER AN ALTERNATE MEANS OF KEEPING THE RECRUITS … [UNABLE TO TRANSCRIBE].”

  “GIRLS LIKE HER … WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?”

  “SHE APPEARS IMMUNE TO AUDITORY [UNABLE TO TRANSCRIBE]. AND IS GETTING SUSPICIOUS. SHE WAS OVERHEARD TALKING TO ANOTHER SPANISH-SPEAKING RECRUIT ABOUT ‘SOMETHING’ NOT BEING [UNABLE TO TRANSCRIBE]—”

  LOCATION ACQUIRED: SOUTH TIGRAY, ETHIOPIA; 13.519, 39.423

  *SIGNAL LOST*

  END TRANSCRIPTION.

  Shuri stares at those final two words on-screen, unable to breathe, let alone move or speak. Her eyes drift up a few lines to the pair of numbers, and her whole body locks up.

  It’s official: The princess has coordinates.

  Except now, Shuri’s not entirely sure of what to do. The coordinates place the ping just outside the Ethiopian city of Mekele at the western edge of the Danakil Depression. Which, as Shuri just learned forty-five seconds ago—is one of the lowest and driest places on Earth. It’s also the hottest.

  Other things she’s learned? There are two active volcanoes, several salt plains—which many of the locals mine by hand with little more than a small ax—and multiple sulfur lakes with yellow-and-green mineral deposits that make the area look like an alien planet.

  In fact, the more Shuri reads about this place, the more baffled she becomes. If Pilar Bautista was in fact kidnapped in Ecuador, why on earth would her captors take her to a bizarre desert landscape in Ethiopia?

  She spends the next several hours scouring the interwebs for more information. Like the other “cases” (if one could even call them that), Pilar’s disappearance is noted only in research chat groups and has yet to be reported to any authorities. What the princess is able to come up with: a photo of the girl wearing a medal that hangs to her navel at some international science fair that was held in Rio de Janeiro; an interview with an older man whose rheumatoid arthritis was relieved by the dart balm she created and was in the processes of patenting; and an obituary for the girl’s mother. In the article attached to the medal photo, the girl says her mother’s lupus-related aches and pains were the catalyst for her research.

  The more Shuri reads, the more she realizes how ali
ke she and this Ecuadorean girl are. Which, counter to what she thought would happen, read: giving her warm fuzzies that would spur her on to taking some valiant and potentially foolhardy action—only serves to make her more afraid. If the girl is being held somewhere within a pseudo-extraterrestrial landscape in middle-of-nowhere Ethiopia, fine … it’s close by.

  But also not fine at all. What is she supposed to do, hop into her Predator transport vessel and zip over to the coordinates? She has no idea what she’d be walking—or really flying—into.

  “Your Majesty?” Nakia appears in the doorway to the lab station. “My apologies for the interruption, but it is near time for your scheduled assessment with Kocha M’Shindi.”

  That sure gets Shuri’s attention. “My what, now?”

  “Your assessment,” Nakia repeats. “With the Kocha.” She lifts her arm and taps a bead on her Kimoyo bracelet, and a purple-tinted schedule appears in midair. One line in the Activity column stands out in bold:

  Quarter I Evaluation: Dambe and Nuba Fighting

  Moderator—Kocha M’Shindi

  “Holy sh—”

  “SHURI!”

  “I was going to say shamans!” Shuri shouts, shutting down the P.R.O.W.L. network and shoving back from the desk to scramble to her feet. Of all the tests to forget! She scowls at the computer, furious. When had she blanked on this assessment? When Okoye asked her about K’Marah? When the message from Riri came in? She certainly hadn’t been thinking about it this morning when K’Marah was in her quarters … Bast, this is bad!

  “Are you all right, Your Majesty?” Nakia says, concern forming a canyon between her eyebrows.

  “Fine, fine,” Shuri says. She is maybe the furthest she’s ever been from fine, but no need to tell Nakia that. There certainly isn’t anything the Dora could do about Shuri’s woes. Just as there is nothing Shuri can do about Pilar Bautista. Or any of the other girls for that matter.