It stared straight at her, and then stretched out one large wing and the other, as though showing itself off to its greatest extent. “Oh, you beauty!” she said, and reached for her bag, meaning to pull out her cell phone and take a few photos. In her rush, her hand got tangled in the long silver chain around her neck and it broke. Panicked, Marilee grabbed at the amulet, terrified of losing it through one of the many cracks in the blind’s wooden floor. She caught it, clutched it for a moment and, needing both hands to open her purse (it would be safe in there), put the amulet between her teeth.
“Stupid fat human bitch,” she heard somebody say. Somebody on the other side of the blind.
Puzzled, she looked through one of the holes.
The egret was gone. Instead, crouched gracefully on the branch where the egret had been, was the S.O.B.
Marilee stared. She started to ask, “What the hell are you doing up there?” but the amulet was in the way, so she took it out of her mouth.
The egret shimmered back into existence. Marilee put the amulet back into her mouth, this time under her tongue, and there was the S.O.B. again. Who stared at her and then, remarkably, giggled. “You look very silly from where I’m sitting,” he said. “Like a disembodied head just after it’s been chopped off.”
Marilee stared back, then turned, hurried out of the blind and made her way around it, stepping through thick brambles, weeds and plants. Her pants were being torn and her shoes ruined, and she was breaking one of the primary rules of the Refuge — the one that said stay on the paths and don’t disturb the flora or fauna — but Marilee didn’t care.
She finally managed to edge her way around the blind and to the other side. There was a strip of dry land between the blind and the pond; she had to look down to carefully pick her way to a point where she could lean against the wooden building and, hopefully, not slip into the pond. She looked up.
The S.O.B. was still there — and he wasn’t the only one. The pond was inhabited by a mass of people — well, at least, beings. Tiny men with tall, pointed heads and triple-jointed fingers sat crossed-legged on the lily pads; a creature with large staring eyes and a long nose poked its head out of the owl house; tiny not-insects buzzed around the surface of the water, waving little arms and legs; and there was something — she wasn’t sure what — hiding in the tall grass on the far side of the pond, showing its teeth.
And the pond itself was also transformed. The water shone with a translucence that seemed to light up the water and the surrounding area independently of the early evening sun. The leaves of the trees glistened with a brilliant green that reminded Marilee strangely of the house that she had found when she followed her schoolmate home that first time. Even the sky seemed brighter, more real than she remembered it ever being.
“Hell!” she exclaimed.
“So,” said the S.O.B., slightly surprised but with no apology in his voice. “You can see me as I truly am.”
“How do I know this is what you really look like?” said Marilee, irritated, and speaking with a little difficulty because of the amulet under her tongue. “This could be another disguise. You could actually have six heads and two tails and be as ugly as a waterbug.”
“In whatever form I take,” the egret said, obviously irked, “I am beautiful and desirable.”
“You’re also,” said Marilee, “a schmuck.”
There was sudden laughter to Marilee’s right. Startled, she turned her head.
In the midst of all the other creatures, a woman stood in — on? — the pond. She was tall — at least seven feet, Marilee guessed — and absurdly thin; her skin was a mottled brown. She wore a plain green shift which ended at her ankles and rustled weirdly when a breeze came by. Her face was long and lined.
The woman spoke directly to Marilee. “What a descriptive word,” she said. “I like it. And I apologize for the boy. He’s pretty, but not very insightful.”
The young man stared sullenly at her, looked as though he were going to say something, then thought better of it and turned on the branch so that he faced the other way.
“He’s also,” said the woman, “a coward. He is afraid what I will do to him if he speaks rudely to me. But he thinks you are powerless, so he mocks you freely.”
“Rude is right,” said Marilee. “He not only has a smart mouth, but he accepted a mint without even saying thank you.”
“Really?” The woman/tree straightened — if that was possible; she had seemed pretty straight before. “He ate your food?”
“Well, if you consider a mint food,” Marilee said. “Yes, he did.”
The woman looked at the S.O.B. “How interesting. Did you take a mint from this woman?”
“She offered it to me,” he said, shrugging. “What did it matter? She’s a fat, ugly human; she’s not important.”
“Oh, but she is,” said the woman. “To me, and although you don’t know it yet, to you. And you shouldn’t comment on anyone’s appearance until you understand real beauty.”
She turned back to Marilee. “I’m sorry about this,” she said. “I wouldn’t have wanted to foist him on you, but it appears that you are stuck with him. He has eaten your food. He must now stay with you in your world.”
“What?” Both Marilee and the S.O.B. spoke in unison. The S.O.B. turned around to face Marilee and the woman; his jaw hung open and he wore an expression of complete befuddlement. It didn’t suit him. Marilee grinned, despite her shock.
The woman’s laughed outright. “You stupid, self-righteous idiot,” she said. “Did you think that we do not follow our own rules? Did you forget that poor deluded girl, S.O.B.bing with love for you, who followed you into our land and took an apple from your hand, sure that you were showing your favor?”
The boy shrugged. “And didn’t I?”
“For a very short time, yes. And then you abandoned her, and she had nobody to protect her from the spite and spells of those she had inadvertently offended. Until I found and adopted her, and taught her until you could be persuaded to set her free.” The woman turned back to Marilee. “I gave her an amulet as protection. When she returned to the human world, she had a daughter, who in turn had a daughter.”
Marilee stared. She thought about her mother, complaining that the amulet hadn’t done her any good. Because grandma died before she could teach you how to use it, she thought.
“And now, foolish boy, you have eaten from her granddaughter’s hand. You are trapped in her world under her protection — unless she chooses to abandon you. I would be very, very nice to her, if only out of a sense of self-preservation. You don’t know how to exist in her world, and you will find it as difficult, if not more so, than her grandmother found ours.”
She turned back to Marilee. “Be charitable to him,” the woman said. “He’s selfish, cruel and thoughtless, but so are most children. And you may find him useful.”
“Wait,” Marilee said. She stepped forward, put one foot in the pond, and then pulled it out, dripping wet. “Shit. Wait, I can’t just take a strange kid into my house. What do I do with him? And…”
She suddenly realized something, a flash of insight that made her catch her breath for a moment. “And…I don’t want to leave. I think I belong here.”
There was a lot more Marilee could say. That she was fascinated by the weird creatures around her. That she wanted nothing more than to explore this new world that she hadn’t known about — and that her grandmother, perhaps, did. That this was what she had been looking for all these years, ever since she was a child. That she had finally followed the right person and she didn’t want to leave what she had found and go back to her ordinary life.
The woman shook her head. There was the low sound of leaves rustling. “Of course, you belong here,” she said. “You are, after all, the granddaughter of my adopted child. And you can stay now, if you wish. It is your right. But the boy must stay in your world for a time. And who would look after him?”
She reached out a long arm and one sli
m, cool finger touched Marilee’s cheek. “Remain in your world a little longer, my beautiful daughter,” she said. “Three years, no more. Teach him. And then return to us.”
Marilee took a deep breath. Why not, she thought. The kid could sleep in the spare bedroom; she could pass him off as a distant cousin who had decided to outstay his visa. It would only be for a while. And then she could come home.
She nodded.
From his tree, the S.O.B. sniffled. “Please,” he said. “Don’t.”
The woman ignored him. “I will be here when the time is up,” she said to Marilee. “Perhaps by then he’ll have learned how not to be a… a schmuck.”
She bowed her head slightly. “Goodbye,”
It sounded more like a dismissal than a simple farewell. Marilee took one last look around at the shimmering pond and its true inhabitants. Then she took the amulet from her mouth, opened her pocketbook, and placed it carefully within a small pocket inside the purse. She zipped it shut, and looked up.
The woman was gone. All the other creatures had disappeared as well. And the pond was — just a pond. But the S.O.B. still sat in the tree, clutching his branch with both hands, complete bewilderment in his eyes.
“You! Hey, you in the tree!”
A tall man in a brown jacket and hat was staring at the boy. “You want to get out of that tree now, before I call the cops?”
Marilee grinned. She made her way back around the corner of the blind so that the ranger could see her. “Sorry!” she yelled. “My cousin is a little slow. Kevin! Get out of that tree now before the nice man throws you into jail!”
The S.O.B. — Kevin — stared.
“Kevin, get down now,” she ordered loudly. “Jail is a very, very nasty place, with iron bars and very bad men. You really, really don’t want to go there. I’m sure this nice man — who can very clearly see you sitting in that tree — will let us go home if you get down. Right now,” and she turned and smiled sweetly at the ranger.
Kevin swallowed audibly and started to make his way down. “I really apologize,” Marilee told the ranger, who had walked up to her. “He’s usually a good boy, but sometimes he gets into trouble. This won’t happen again.”
The ranger nodded, appeased. “Sorry if I scared him,” he said. “But your cousin could really do damage to some fragile plant life if he wanders off the path like that.”
Kevin had reached the ground, where he stood numbly. He had scraped the side of his face and torn one sleeve on his way down; that, and the confused look on his face, did a lot to tone down his attractiveness. And perhaps, Marilee thought, the fact that he was now human.
“I don’t understand,” Kevin said.
She reached out and took his hand. He was still an S.O.B., but the woman had laid an obligation on her. And had given her a promise. “Come on, Kevin,” she said. “Let’s go home and we’ll have a nice, long talk. You’ve got a lot to learn.”
Barbara Krasnoff has published stories in Crossed Genres, Electric Velocipede, Space & Time Magazine, Apex Magazine, Doorways, Escape Velocity, Sybil’s Garage, Behind the Wainscot, Lady Chuchill’s Rosebud Wristlet, Amazing, Weird Tales, and Descant. She’s also contributed to the anthologies Subversion: Science Fiction & Fantasy tales of challenging the norm, Broken Time Blues: Fantastic Tales in the Roaring 20s, Clockwork Phoenix 2, Such A Pretty Face: Tales of Power & Abundance, and Memories and Visions: Women’s Fantasy & Science Fiction. Barbara is reviews editor for Computerworld.com and lives in Brooklyn, NY with her partner Jim Freund. She’s a member of the NYC writers group Tabula Rasa; her Web site is BrooklynWriter.com.
Blueprints
by Anna Caro
* * *
8 September
I wish I could at least dream of Terra Nova. I did all the time in the early days, the years when I still held hope of escape, and the weeks soon after the devastating truth of failure hit me. I wish I could see, even in my dreams, its crystal turquoise seas, pink sandy beaches, mountains swirled with orange clouds of dust kicked up by wind. I wish I could see the settlements they are building still, the little wooden villages on the coastline, and the shining glass cities on the rivers.
Except, if I’m honest, it’s not really about that. I was born and raised in the dustbowl of North Queensland, and though my adult years may have been relatively privileged, I am not unequipped to handle physical hardship. I know how to make the dwindling allowances for food stretch further, how to repair clothes and show the kids how to do it themselves, how to teach by recitation and discussion, as the technology we used to rely on gets ever scarcer.
What I want is a future. I want to be part of what’s happening, where humanity’s heading. I want to help build the new world… Oh the irony, that’s what everyone said when I won that scholarship, headed to university, the first one in my family. And now I’m stuck behind on the dying one.
But my lot’s been dealt to me — or I’ve chosen it, I’m still not sure — and I need to focus on what I have now. That’s what this journal is for. Not for dreams.
Today we processed two new enrollments. One was brought in by his parents. That’s unusual these days. Sure, fifteen years ago — before I even took this job — when Acacia Green boasted state of the art learning facilities, a home where those unable to make the journey would be cared for in a welcoming, social environment and learn the skills necessary to become future custodians of the old Earth. But now parents usually make at least a cursory effort to leave them with grandparents or family friends, even though they’ll end up with us eventually.
Jeffrey is eleven years old, epileptic, and like about three quarters of the kids and all but one of the staff, fat.
“We held off as long as we could,” his mother said. “We tried everything.” I believe her. “But — we have two other children. No choice.”
I wanted to tell her there’s always a choice, but if someone gave me the chance to get on a shuttle tomorrow, I would snap it up with both hands. Okay, these aren’t my kids, but I’m still responsible. So who am I to judge?
Jeffrey was stoic. His mother swore that she’d pay fees for as long as was necessary. Maybe she will, maybe she won’t. ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’ is kinda bullshit when there’s that much guilt involved. Easier to forget about it.
The other kid was the opposite. Patrols brought her in, no sign of her parents, but she doesn’t seem to be speaking. Not sure if it’s just fear or if she can’t, but either way that’s not usually enough to exclude you from transport, and Med can find nothing else, so it will just be her weight. We’re calling her Alyssa, at least for now. We reckon she’s about five years old, but it’s hard to tell.
We assigned them mentors; to Jeffrey, Sami, who will soon turn fourteen, a bright kid who came to us only a year or so ago after the death of his grandmother. And Mary, seven years old, shy but adaptable, took Alyssa’s hand in hers and guided her to their dorm. They’ll be okay for now.
10 September
Drama yesterday — the McEwen building on the far side of the campus caught fire. It’s not really our territory — we have a fence round the four buildings of this former university we actively use to mark it out as ours, and to keep the littlies in. But still too close to home. What we have left of a fire brigade — mostly men in their fifties and older, the types who will stick to their land even though nothing’s grown there in years — got it under control; the building was damaged but we don’t think anyone was in it. There have been noises about suing us for the cost of call out, but I’m not too worried. I think people feel bad enough about our existence.
Our new kids seem to be settling in okay. But because things can’t go too well, there’s been a bit of trouble with our older girls. I wish I knew what started it, but thinking back to when I was that age, it honestly could have been anything. It progressed through an allegedly stolen hair straightener, Cherry yelling “At least my parents are dead — yours just didn’t love you enough,” which is never the sort of th
ing that goes down well round here, to them forming two separate camps, with some unapproved room reallocations just to make the point a little more clearly.
So, as if we didn’t have enough else to do, we split them between us and called each of them to our offices for a discussion. We are no closer to determining the cause of the conflict — though we uncovered a thousand or more random grudges — and no closer to a resolution, but we have secured promises that it will not cause any more disruption.
Cherry seems to be under the impression that she’s going to be spirited away to Terra Nova any day now. Poor kid. Even if she did lose the weight — and let’s face it, if there was any chance of that she’d be at one of the Health Camps, not No Hopers’ High — there’s still her history of cancer. There’s no way in hell she’s going with just one lung. When she first came here she had an imaginary fairy godmother type creature she’d invented when her father was killed. I reckon the doctor who will give her certification is just its more adult incarnation.
Niamh is angry. There’s this whole welling frustration, and I don’t blame her. She’s prone to nervous tics, scrunching her hands together, tapping her feet. She broke down part way through, says she doesn’t understand why things are like they are. That she always used to have so much willpower, but when it comes to dieting she just couldn’t make it work. Or, rather, she followed the charts perfectly, but she didn’t lose enough and she just can’t understand why. I almost wept with her, but I didn’t have an answer.
Then I had a scheduled meeting with Alyssa — we meet with the newbies daily while they get settled in. She walked in hand in hand with Mary. I usually see them on their own, to check there’s no bullying or anything going on, but I haven’t yet worked out how to communicate with Alyssa, so I figured it would help more than it hurt.
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