by Eliza Green
Pierre stepped forward and placed Elise’s body on the table. Through the hessian fabric, he touched her broken neck that, posthumously, had only half healed. He produced a knife from underneath his robe and cut slits in the tightly bound fabric. He freed Elise’s feet and hands and set the knife down. Then Pierre picked up the bowl of water and washed her feet and hands.
The longer Stephen watched the intimate ceremony the more his discomfort grew. The tension and anger from the others remained high but out of respect, nobody moved.
Arianna stood next to Stephen. He groped for her hand and squeezed it once. Looking around the room, he hoped to find a particular Indigene. His heart beat a little faster when he found her. Serena was watching him.
Pierre used the ceremonial knife to cut a small piece from Elise’s elder robe. Using the candle, he set the fabric alight. The bright glow of the flame was reflected back in his eyes. It was normal to burn something personal belonging to the deceased. Although the body had no need for material possessions, it was believed the action connected the soul to the afterlife.
Pierre draped what remained of the robe over Elise’s body, then stepped away from the table. One by one, Indigenes approached the table and laid a hand on Elise, passing their silent thoughts to her. The last Indigene moved away and a shaking, sobbing, Pierre scooped Elise up in his arms.
Stephen went to help him. He tried to share the weight of Elise’s body.
‘Please, I can do this alone,’ said Pierre gripping her tighter.
Stephen relented and followed a staggering Pierre through the tunnel to one of the disused private dwellings. There, his elder laid her body on the floor of the dwelling and stepped out of the room. Others moved in to hermetically seal the entrance. Her final resting place.
Stephen reached out for Elise one last time.
Finally, the privacy and silence you’ve always craved.
37
Bill had planned to leave soon, to return to Earth and figure out what the hell happened here. But his plans changed when Stephen insisted all three of them stay a little longer—in particular Laura. While Stephen’s injuries had healed within a few hours, Laura took longer to recover. Bill agreed; he and Stephen needed to talk anyway.
A day and a half after the private ceremony for Elise, Bill met with Stephen, Pierre and the representatives. Laura and Jenny were also in attendance, but he noted Leon’s absence. When the meeting wrapped up with no conclusion, Bill waited around to speak with Stephen.
Stephen closed the meeting room door behind him. ‘I’d like to show you around. Would Laura and Jenny like to join us?’
‘No. They explored a little last night. I think their experience was less than welcoming.’ Bill kept one eye on the wary Indigenes who had gathered in the tunnels.
‘They don’t wish to harm you. They’re mostly curious. This is the closest they’ve ever been to your kind.’
‘Be sure to let me know if that curiosity becomes something less friendly. This place is impressive’—Bill examined the perfectly rounded tunnel they walked through—‘You carved this all out yourselves?’
‘Yes. It’s easy for us to see into the rock’s composition. I’m not an engineer, but there are Indigenes among us who are and who can work fast.’
The floor made him dizzy. He stopped walking. ‘Why do I feel like I’m on water?’
Stephen smiled. ‘Your inner ear is trying to compensate for your unsettled balance. We tilted the floor slightly—enough to upset equilibrium. We altered the design after the humans started to show an interest in us.’
A small group of Indigenes followed behind them. Younger ones led the group, while older Indigenes hung back. When he and Stephen entered one of the residential areas set out on three tiers, Stephen turned to the group. ‘He won’t harm you. Please do not be afraid.’ Bill hoped they believed him.
Stephen ran up a set of stone steps to the upper tier. The group waited and watched by the entrance. Unnerved, Bill followed him up and into a room. The room was empty except for a mattress on the floor.
Stephen closed the door.
‘Where are they holding Anton?’ asked Bill.
‘In a secure area. Gabriel and Margaux from District Eight are working with Pierre to figure out what to do next.’ Stephen looked away and sighed. ‘There’s something I must tell you.’
‘I know—the explosion wasn’t Anton’s fault. He was being controlled by someone.’
Stephen looked back. ‘Well, that’s part of it. Anton is a pawn in some sick game. I’m not sure why.’
‘I have a theory.’
Stephen grimaced. ‘I thought you might.’
‘Does Anton remember anything yet?’
‘Nothing at all. He slips in and out of this second personality. As time goes on, the real Anton becomes weaker. So, what’s your theory?’
‘Was the bomb powerful enough to kill?’
‘Not directly. Injuring us in that way is futile because of our ability to heal fast.’
Bill leaned back against the wall. ‘My wife Isla sent me a set of coded letters. In them she warned about the military’s plans to drive you out of hiding. Anton’s capture was no accident. I think it was orchestrated from beginning to end, as was my investigation into your movements.’
Stephen frowned at him. ‘But why me and Anton?’
‘Any of the second-generation Indigenes would have done—they weren’t fussy. My guess is they want to understand you better, to learn from your evolution so they can refine their creation.’
Stephen’s eyes bugged. ‘Are they done with us, or will they continue to harass us?’
‘I honestly don’t know, Stephen. There’s one place they haven’t been, and that’s in this district. The bomb was personal—somebody with a vendetta against an Indigene with a particular human past. The World Government rarely strays outside its brief, and bombs are not their style. Don’t get me wrong—they’re no pushovers either. The board members are a mixture of liberals and conservatives. The liberals will vote for any change that will protect the human race, even if it means destroying the Indigenes. The conservatives keep the liberals in check, but even their ideals are shifting as Earth nears the end of its usefulness for humans.’
Stephen fell silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘Have you any idea who was trying to kill Pierre?’
Bill shook his head. ‘Not Pierre. Elise was the target all along, to hurt Pierre indirectly. And there’s only one person who’d have the nerve to go against the World Government mandate. Have you heard of a man called Charles Deighton?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Not surprised.’ Bill pushed off from the wall. ‘I need to get back to Earth. I have some digging to do on the World Government and their plans. And if I don’t get my answers, I may have to be more direct in my approach.’
‘And expose your involvement with us?’ Stephen shook his head. ‘I can’t let you do that. Who knows what trouble that could unleash here?’
‘We have to try. Time is running out. We need answers.’
Stephen looked deflated, like he was out of ideas. ‘What can I do from here? How can we help?’
‘You already have a lot going on,’ said Bill. ‘But remember, the explosion probably wasn’t an order from the World Government. Now that Anton is back and no longer their pawn, the threat should be at least minimised. Concentrate on getting the real Anton back. He may remember something that was said while he was held prisoner. Other than that, hold the line.’
He wished he had a better solution.
Stephen paused. ‘There’s something else I must tell you about the explosion.’
‘Okay...’
‘I’ve been having strange visions since my return from Earth. At first, I thought I was sharing in Anton’s experiences, telepathically. Then, as the visions changed, I was convinced I was being punished for abandoning him.’
‘There was nothing you could have done,’ said Bill.
‘
Yes, I know that now.’
‘Then what?’
Stephen blew out a breath. ‘I... well, the thing is, I saw the explosion in my vision—a detailed account of it—but I didn’t recognise what it was at the time.’
Bill’s pulse quickened. ‘You predicted the explosion?’
Stephen nodded looking uneasy. ‘I’m what the others are now calling a “reader”—a predictor of the future.’ He paced to the wall, paced back. ‘The changes began on the trip back to Exilon 5 but I didn’t know what they were. I experienced the explosion first hand, in my mind before it actually happened here. I thought it was connected to Anton but I was foreseeing events that had yet to happen.’
Bill smiled. ‘Shit, that’s incredible. We could use this. Can you see what’s going to happen now?’
‘No, I’ve already tried. It seems I can’t choose what to see. But now I know about it I’ll be more prepared.’
Bill paused. Before he left this place he needed to know something. ‘My wife. Who was her Indigene contact on Exilon 5?’
‘Our elders.’
‘Did they...?’
‘Yes, they met her,’ said Stephen.
‘Is she alive?’ Bill whispered.
Stephen shook his head. ‘She got caught up in some argument with other military. She was protecting our location. She was attempting to steer them away from one of our entry points in the flatlands when they attacked her. Pierre said he couldn’t get to her. She didn’t make it.’
‘Who killed—’ Bill broke off, swallowing back a hard lump.
‘She forewarned us about your government’s transfer plans and about the military’s plans to increase their activity on Exilon 5. She saved us on more than one occasion. Be proud of her. That’s what Pierre would want you to remember, nothing else.’
Bill fought back tears. His wife was really gone.
‘Are you okay?’ said Stephen.
He nodded. ‘I think in my heart I always knew she was gone. I just needed to hear it from someone I trust.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’m glad Pierre was looking out for her. I’m glad she had friends here.’ Bill straightened up. ‘We should go. Laura’s good mood won’t last down here in the darkness.’
‘She told me about her seasonal depression. I treated her for it last night. She shouldn’t suffer with any more mood swings. Darkness or light, she’ll cope fine in either.’
‘Well, that’s a relief.’ Bill smiled but the heaviness in his heart made it all too brief. ‘Don’t suppose you have anything in your cauldron for insomnia?’
‘No,’ said Stephen. ‘But there is something Pierre wanted to do for you before you left.’
‘What?’
‘To help you say goodbye to your wife.’
38
Stephen and Arianna led the procession through the tunnels of District Three. Bill followed closely carrying a small bowl of water. Several white native wildflowers—Isla’s favourite, apparently—floated on top. Jenny and Laura each carried a lit candle and walked a short distance behind him. No one spoke. They passed by Indigenes; they kept their gaze low and stepped back out of respect.
Through blurred vision, Bill tracked the low illumination strip near the floor of the tunnel. Every breath he took pained him, even with the gel mask in place. He embraced the unbearable ache in his heart, because this was something he had to do. He’d needed to let go of Isla for some time now.
They stopped outside a door. Stephen opened it and entered the low lit room. Arianna followed, then Bill. They stood either side of a small stone ceremonial table.
His breath caught when he saw the arrangement. The walls had been daubed with colourful pigment—images of humans and Indigenes, and the biodome animals. Isla’s name was scrawled in paint in several places, among the images. A necklace made out of the same white flowers he carried had been laid on the table. A picture of Isla, propped up against a rock, sat in the centre of the necklace.
‘The Evolvers wanted to do something for her. I hope you don’t mind,’ said Arianna. She guided his shaking hand to the table. ‘Place the bowl underneath her picture.’
Bill set the bowl down with a clatter, then stood back from the stone table. Isla’s smiling face looked up at him. He swiped his thumb across his eyes clear the blurred vision. In the picture she wore her military uniform and her hair was cropped short. She was smiling and standing next to Pierre, her arm draped over his shoulder. She had genuine warmth in her eyes. Laura and Jenny placed their lit candles on either side of Isla’s picture.
‘Isla felt comfortable here. In our culture, we burn a personal item belonging to the Indigene. It connects their soul with the afterlife,’ Stephen explained. ‘Perhaps you’d like to do that with her photograph. I expect you would like privacy for that.’
Bill couldn’t tear his eyes away from Isla’s picture.
‘Pierre said she cut her hair to blend in better with the other Indigenes,’ Stephen added.
Bill nodded. It was something she would have done.
‘Take as much time as you need.’ Stephen and the others left the room. Laura gave Bill’s shoulder a quick squeeze before she left.
The door sucked shut and deadened the sound in the room. All he heard was the sound of his own breathing. He studied Isla’s photo once more. The way she stood tall indicated her respect for Pierre; Pierre’s relaxed stance said the feeling was mutual. He smiled and thumbed away the tears.
‘You always were a decent judge of character, love.’
The scent from the wildflowers hit him. It reminded him of the bowl of pot pourri that used to sit by the door in their private apartment. Isla had been keeping mementos of her time here at home.
He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a letter. He unfolded it and smoothed it out on the table top. It had been in a separate envelope to the other letters. It hadn’t been written in code. He’d read it several times already, but this would be the last time.
My dearest Bill,
The moment has come to write to you. There are so many changes happening on Earth. I’m spending so much time on Exilon 5 these days and you’re busy with your job that we keep missing each other. I’ve re-discovered the art of writing letters. Forgive me for my shaky handwriting—it’s been a while since I’ve held a pen. Trust me when I say I practised for hours.
I can see you as you read this, surrounded by all the things I bought for the apartment. Remember our most recent shopping trip? You checked your DPad the whole time, then pretended you cared about what I’d chosen. I loved you for coming. I know how little that domestic stuff interests you.
The people on Exilon 5 are so happy. I think you’d like it here. That could be us one day, carrying a picnic basket to the park on a Sunday. Maybe you’ve bought things at Cantaloupe. Or maybe I’ve taught myself how to cook. Don’t make that face, Bill Taggart! I’m not that bad a cook. Don’t worry—I’d make sure to test the food first. Wouldn’t want to kill you. Or we could take a cookery class together. I’ll enquire at the Digital Library and have them send the link directly to your DPad so you can’t squirm your way out of it.
Anyway, I think we’d be happy here together. So maybe when you divorce yourself from that demanding job of yours we can talk about it more.
Maybe.
Forever yours,
Isla.
Remembering the past; imagining the future—Isla had penned the life she wanted but they would never have.
Bill dropped to his knees. The tears flowed. His chest hurt from the pain of losing her.
When he thought the tears would never stop, they subsided. A sense of calm enveloped him. He got to his feet and brought her photo to his lips, kissing her one last time. He placed the photo and the letter in a shallow dish at the front of the table. He held the candle to the corner of the photograph. Both photo and letter burned bright in the dish before turning to ash.
‘Goodbye, my love. You’ll always be a part of me.’
39
; Bill, Laura and Jenny each removed their masks after they cleared the tunnel. Stephen popped an air filtration device into his nose and throat. They had reached the surface of Exilon 5 where the air tasted sweet and refreshing. It was eleven at night. Bill clicked on the flashlight and dimmed its bright glow using his palm.
‘Sorry, it was the closest I could get you. The city is two miles from here.’ ‘Use this’—he handed Bill a whistle—‘and the animals should keep their distance.’
Laura and Jenny each took turns to hug Stephen. Jenny lingered a moment longer to whisper something to Stephen that Bill couldn’t hear. The Indigene’s mouth twitched into a smile.
Bill removed the communication stone from his bag. ‘How about we keep in touch more.’
Stephen glanced at the stone. ‘I’m afraid we haven’t been able to increase its effectiveness over distance.’
‘So, how do we keep in touch?’
‘I don’t know.’ Stephen tapped the side of his head. ‘I guess I’ll have to get this “reader” thing working. Maybe I’ll see you before you get here.’
Laura tugged on Bill’s arm. ‘Come on. We should get moving if we want to make the next ship’s schedule. I can’t risk any more time off work.’
‘And I’ll need time to sign my spacecraft out of temporary storage at the docking station,’ Jenny added.
Bill nodded. Pausing, he said, ‘Stephen, if you can’t get through to Anton, what will happen to him?’
‘I don’t know. Things will be difficult without Elise. We’ll need to keep an eye on him, make sure he isn’t a danger to himself. Gabriel and Margaux, the elders from District Eight, have agreed to help out. Pierre is in no fit state to lead right now.’