The Strange

by Masha du Toit

  Gritting her teeth against the pain, Isabeau looked back to where the curve of the corridor hid the hatch.

  It can’t have been anything.

  Isabeau swallowed. Her heart still hammered. Were those footsteps in the corridor behind her?

  Fear overcame her again, but this time she kept her pace to a fast walk, glancing back over her shoulder every few steps, hands stretched out to avoid any more painful collisions.

  All she had to do was reach the stairs. She’d go up to Long Storage, find their roost, climb up the ladder, lock the cubby door behind her and crawl into her safe, comfortable bed.

  Picturing the sequence of events helped her calm herself. Gradually, as no more sounds came from behind, her heart slowed and she regained control of her breath.

  Where was she? Nothing looked familiar. Surely, she’d not come down this corridor before? Door after door, all of them closed. A corridor branched off to one side, and Isabeau hesitated. It might be the right one, but how could she tell? At least it would take her away from the outer periphery of the Eye. Somehow, she felt safer deeper in.

  The floor here was covered in a rubber grid, wet in places. The air had a definite personality now, a thick, lively smell. Isabeau jumped and squeaked as a shadow scuttled across her feet.

  Rat. That was a rat. It had been rat-sized, anyhow, whatever it was.

  She kept walking.

  A gap in the wall breathed out a complex musk so strong the air seemed thick with it. A coll lit what lay beyond—a compost heap. Movement stilled at her approach and would resume as soon as she moved away. She made herself walk on, ignoring the panic fizzing in her veins.

  Another turn, another corridor, another row of doors.

  A sound made her look behind her and she walked full tilt into something hard. Boxes fell all around her, and somebody had her by the arm.

  “Hey!”

  Isabeau stared into sharp, black eyes in a wrinkled, nut-brown face. An old man, hardly taller than she was, dressed in faded overalls.

  “What’s this?” His grip relaxed a little as he looked her over. “You’re one of Diesel’s lot. Saw you earlier today.”

  “Oh.” Isabeau blinked at the old man. “You’re mijnheer Sparks.”

  Mnr Sparks released Isabeau’s arm and she rubbed it.

  “And what are you doing down here?” He frowned at her.

  “I— I got lost.” Isabeau swallowed. Her heart was slowing, but she still felt shaky from fright. “Can you show me the way to the stairs? I need to get to Long Storage.”

  “Hmm.” Sparks bent to pick up the boxes he’d dropped. He shot her another look. “Wait there.”

  Isabeau waited while he carried the boxes down the corridor and through an open door. A few moments later, he emerged. “Come on, then.”

  Sparks didn’t wait for her to catch up, and Isabeau had to hurry to keep him in sight. A few turns later, they emerged in a familiar corridor. Isabeau could see the entrance to the stairs and exhaled in relief. “Thanks!” She ran the last few steps. “I know the rest of the way. Thanks so much!”

  The old man ignored her, stomping up the stairs. “Long Storage roosts, right?”

  “That’s right.” Something hissed from above, a soft rattle, and tinny music tickled Isabeau’s ears. She craned to see the speaker bolted high up in the stairwell.

  So, things were dexter again. The sound was oddly reassuring.

  “Here.” They’d reached the entrance to Long Storage. “What roost number are you, you know?”

  “Um— J row?” Isabeau skipped to keep up with him. “We’re near those cubbies with all the plastic flowers stuck on the balcony.”

  Sparks grunted and set off down the walkway between the roosts.

  The level was quite dark now. The only sound was the thumping of some distant motor, and the soft strains of the dexter music, echoing out here in the wider spaces.

  When they reached her roost, Sparks stood watching as Isabeau climbed the ladder.

  “Thanks!” she whispered down at him.

  He gave the tiniest of nods and was still standing there when she drew the door softly shut behind her.

  Isabeau crouched by the door till Ndlela’s steady breathing told her that he was still asleep.

  She bolted the door, sighed with relief, and crawled into her bed.

  ¤¤¤

  “So, they’ve postponed the trial again.” Elke poured the last of the tea into Diesel’s cup. It made only half a cup, so she couldn’t let it slop over the rim in the traditional strangeside way.

  “No surprises there,” said Diesel. “My mother made the right choice when she got Argent to represent her. He knows what he’s doing.”

  “That man.” Elke stirred her own tea. “He’s driving me up the wall. He wants another interview. Same questions, over and over...”

  “You can’t avoid it, Elke.” Mack Jack lay back in his chair, eyes closed. “You gotta play along. Else they use that against you.”

  They were in one of the teashops down in Long Storage. A can-workers’ hangout, a tiny place, built into the space between two gigantic cans.

  It was late, long after Elke usually ended her day, and she, Diesel and Mack Jack were the only customers left. Mack Jack was more than half asleep, slumped back in his chair. The only other person present was the shop’s owner, washing teacups, from the clinks and clatters coming through the curtain that screened the back of the shop.

  “All I’m telling you,” said Elke, “is that if I have to spend another minute in a room with that Argent I’ll—” She made a claw-fingered gesture with both hands.

  Mack Jack’s lips curved into a sleepy smile. “That’s his plan. Rile you so you react. Make you look bad.” He reached out and pawed vaguely in her direction. Elke let him enfold her hand in his.

  “You just have to relax,” he said. “Be the water. Flow.”

  “Anything more on that dead tech you found in the incinerator?” asked Diesel, taking the lid off the teapot.

  “Not really.” Elke watched as Diesel tilted the pot, scraping the dregs of tealeaves into her cup with a long-handled spoon. “Looks like it was an accident. How can you eat that stuff?”

  “Best part.” Diesel licked the tea leaves off the spoon, then gave a shudder. “You should try it.”

  “I have. Took the skin of my tongue. Me and Tomas went through Kiprosomov’s room today and interviewed a bunch more people. Nothing suspicious. Guy was a loner.”

  “Tomas,” said Diesel. “How’s he turning out so far?”

  “Pretty good, actually.” Elke curled her fingers through Mack Jack’s, turning their joined hands over. “He’s a bit too polite, but he’ll get over that.”

  “‘Yes, ma’am’.” Mack Jack opened his eyes a crack as he shook with silent laughter. “I like that in him. All those salutes.”

  “Well, he’s a step up from Wozniak, anyway,” said Elke. “Actually, I think he’s pretty bright. He was asking me stuff about the Eye that I never even wondered about before, so I took him down to see Sparks. It was like two magnets coming together, the two of them. I don’t think I’ve ever seen old Sparks open up to somebody so quickly.” She tugged her hand free from Mack Jack’s and took a sip from her cup. The tea was cold now, but not unpleasant. “So how well do you know Kiran, MJ?”

  Mack Jack opened his eyes all the way and yawned hugely. He heaved himself up in his chair. “Ghatak? She’s okay. Known her for years.”

  “What’s the deal with her and the Marine Guard?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why is she no longer with them?” Elke looked at Mack Jack. “They’re a pretty tight bunch. Don’t think I’ve heard of someone leaving them before. I had a look at her records this afternoon. She’s clean. No connections to anything dodgy that I could find. So, did they kick her out, or did she leave?”

  “No idea. I never asked her about it.” Mack Jack rubbed a hand over his face and yawned.

  Elke had to
smile. That was pretty typical of Mack Jack. He had an infinite capacity to accept people just as they were. She wasn’t always sure whether she found this restful or frustrating.

  “I better go,” he said now. “Early start again tomorrow.” The little table rocked as he got to his feet, and Diesel had to catch the teapot and burner to prevent them from tipping over as Mack Jack manoeuvred his bulky body past and to the door.

  “See you,” he said, smiling down at Elke. “Oh. Nearly forgot. You know that geistlin friend of yours, the kid?” He gestured vaguely. “You know. The skinny one who got mixed up with the fugados. You and Meisje rescued him.”

  “You mean Justice.”

  “Yeah. Him. Apparently, he’s really sick. Sounds pretty serious.”

  “He does have asthma.”

  “I think it’s something more than asthma. Quite a few people have been getting sick. Some kind of bug, going around.”

  “Okay. Thanks. I might go visit him.”

  “Do that. Night, then.” Mack Jack lifted his hand in greeting and left.

  Elke and Diesel watched him push his way through the bead curtain that screened the entrance to the little shop.

  “Kiran was asking about him, you know,” said Diesel.

  “Asking what?” Elke drank the last of her tea.

  “Whether you guys are together.” Diesel ate another mouthful of tea leaves. “‘Are they an item’ is what she said. Seemed very interested.”

  Elke felt her cheeks flush. “Oh. Really?” She fit her cup back into its saucer. “Do you know anything about her?”

  Diesel shrugged. “Just what you know already. She seems solid enough. Never worked with her, so I don’t know her that well. She made quite the impression on Noor, though.”

  “Noor was pretty friendly with Kiran, wasn’t she.” Elke smiled. “Funny to see. She’s usually so reserved. I think it’s because of Kiran’s history with the Marine Guard.”

  “You never told me Noor could speak Kazi.”

  “Kazi?” Elke frowned, puzzled.

  “Kazi’s one of the trade languages we use in the Strange,” Diesel explained.

  “Makes sense,” said Elke. “Noor used to work as a tour operator out in Kaapstadt. Got plenty of practice talking to Stranger tourists there.”

  “Her accent’s a bit rough, but she makes herself understood,” said Diesel. “But the only thing she wanted to talk about was the Marine Guard. Does she know about that bodily perfection thing of theirs? No chance she can join them, not with that ankle of hers.”

  “She must know.” Elke reached out a foot to caress Meisje, who was stretched out, fast asleep under the table. “I think she’s hoping she can get the ankle fixed. Saving up for surgery.”

  “Don’t think that will do the trick,” said Diesel. “The Guard are pretty hard-line about that kind of thing.”

  They sat for a moment in companionable silence.

  “So, when will you be leaving?” Diesel said at last.

  Elke shifted in her chair. “Don’t know yet.”

  “You don’t seem very keen.”

  “Ugh.” Elke rubbed a hand over her face. “No, no, it’s great. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Really.” Diesel’s tone was so dry Elke couldn’t help but laugh.

  “No, really. I am. It will be great to work with Ncita again.”

  Diesel looked unconvinced.

  “Can I ask you something?” Elke sat back in her chair. “About Kiran.”

  “You’re just trying to change the subject.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Okay,” said Diesel. “Kiran, then. What would you like to know?”

  “When Issy asked whether she was a Stranger, you didn’t seem to like her answer.”

  Diesel studied the bottom of her teacup, her expression neutral. “Oh?”

  “What’s the deal with that?”

  “The deal?” Diesel glanced up, and seeing Elke’s raised eyebrows, put her cup down with a sigh. “It’s like she said. She’s a baster. A mule. Diluted.” She shrugged stiffly. “It’s not like I have a problem with that, or anything.”

  “A mule?” Elke wanted to laugh, but the humour of it eluded her. “Can’t be that unusual. Strange and realside people having kids together.”

  “Not as many as you’d think.” Diesel wiped up the tea spills on the table with a serviette. “I don’t have a problem with it. I just don’t think it’s fair on the children.”

  “Why not?”

  Diesel shrugged. “They don’t really fit in anywhere, do they. Mixed children. They’re neither one, nor the other. Real nor Strange. Doesn’t seem fair to me, that’s all. I mean—” She widened her eyes. “I have my problems with my family, but I know what I am, when it comes down to it. But how does it work for the half-and-halfers? They don’t belong anywhere.”

  Elke frowned in surprise. “You’re not serious. They don’t belong? Kiran seems just as settled here as anyone else.” And, she wanted to add, what’s this, calling her a mule? She’d never heard Diesel talk like this before.

  “You think I’m prejudiced.” Diesel’s cheeks had taken on a pinker tone than usual, and she met Elke’s eyes with a challenging look. “You don’t understand. Most families cut mixed children from their lives. Don’t recognise them legally, or socially, or anything. And if they do, it plays all havoc with inheritance and the whole kinship thing. Who fits in where—” She crumpled the serviette into a small ball. “I just think it’s simpler if people keep to their own kind. I know that sounds—” She held up her hands, as if warding off an accusation. “But it’s just how things are. Listen.” She pushed her chair back. “It’s getting late. Early start tomorrow.”

  Elke sat, watching as Diesel went up to the counter, fishing a chit out of her pocket to pay for their tea.

  It was easy to forget just how different she and Diesel were, Realworlder and Stranger, but every now and then they ran into something like this. Sandbanks lurking under the surface of their friendship, proof of just how differently they saw the world.

  The way Diesel had spoken about Kiran left a bad taste in Elke’s mouth, but who was she to judge? She knew next to nothing about Strangeworld culture.

  “Come, girl,” she said to Meisje as she got to her feet. “Let’s go.”

  The Gute Fee

  “Come on, Ndlela. Finish up!”

  Isabeau bounced with frustration as Ndlela, ignoring her, poured a little more syrup on his porridge.

  “Calm down, Issy,” said Noor, stacking her and Isabeau’s plates. “We can’t go until Elke gets here anyway.”

  “But there she is! She just came in the door.” Isabeau pointed. “Look. See?”

  Elke and Meisje were making their way through the crowded cafeteria towards them.

  “They’ll probably want to eat first anyhow,” said Ndlela.

  “No, don’t worry.” Elke was close enough to hear them over the hubbub of the early morning crowd. “Me and Meisje have eaten already. You guys sleep okay? Ready to go?”

  “We will be, as soon as Ndlela finishes hogging,” said Isabeau, just as Ndlela put down his spoon and pushed away his bowl.

  “All finished,” he said. “Are we going to the archives now?”

  “No!” Isabeau was on her feet already. “We’re going down to Works level to speak to those people. The fugados. Where’s Kiran?”

  “Won’t work,’’ said Elke. “Kiran says they won’t speak at all if a crowd of us goes down there to hassle them, and I agree. She’s going to speak to them by herself.”

  “But—” Isabeau caught Noor’s warning look and lowered her voice. “But why shouldn’t they speak to us? If we explain—”

  “Elke’s right,” said Noor. “Does Kiran have a photo to show them?”

  “Yes, she does,” said Elke. “I saw her just now. I gave her a copy of your mom’s photo, and I went over all the details with her. She knows exactly what to ask. Are you guys ready to go to the archives?”
<
br />   “Sure.” Isabeau looked far from enthusiastic. “I guess.”

  As they were leaving the cafeteria, a movement above them caught Isabeau’s eye. “Oh!” She craned to look. “Smarachts. Look! There’s a whole flock of them up there.”

  It was true. The cafeteria’s ceiling was criss-crossed by pipes and beams, and among these tiny birds flitted like glittering confetti.

  “They’re getting everywhere,” said Elke. “People train them to sit on their shoulders, or in their hair, like jewellery. Some of them must have got away, and it turns out they breed like crazy.”

  “They’re really pretty,” said Isabeau wistfully.

  “You know you can’t have one, Issy,” said Ndlela. “It’s not allowed to take strangeside animals into the Real.”

  “I know. I just think they’re pretty.” Something else caught her attention. “Who’s that?”

  “And why’s he wearing a biosuit?” said Ndlela.

  Elke didn’t have to look to know who they’d seen. Only one person went about the Eye wearing a biosuit. “That’s Sneeze.”

  “He’s really called Sneeze?” Isabeau stopped to get a proper look. “What’s he wearing the biosuit for?”

  It was hard to see much of the man through the misty folds of the biosuit. His hair was a mass of grey dreadlocks, bundled up under the hood in a way that made his head seem too large for his stocky body, and he shuffled along like an old man.

  “Nobody really knows much about him,” Elke said. “He’s terrified of Realside germs.”

  “He’s a Stranger?”

  “Stranger tourist. Apparently, he’s been coming to the Eye for years.”

  “Come on, Isabeau,” Noor said. “And don’t stare. It’s rude.”

  They left the cafeteria and made their way to Long Storage.

  “So, listen,” said Elke. “I’m in a bit of a rush. Can’t take time off work today, so I’ll have to leave you at the archives. I’ll pick you up again for lunch.”

  “Will it take long?” said Ndlela. “Looking through the records.”