by J G Smith
I huff and I puff, disbelieving her sudden change of heart. “You just want to spy for mom—to get in her good books—to be in control,” I say. “And, of course they don’t see it. You’re a woman. Everything you say and do is right.”
“You know I don’t believe in this whole matriarchal order thing,” she defends, looking directly into my eyes. Then, veering off as I turn back to my computer screen, asks, “Where did you sleep?”
“I didn’t,” I tell her while reading more.
“What?” she responds, bewildered. “Your next sleep phase is more than sixteen hours away.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I took a shot of adrenalin to stay awake.”
“To work on that?” She gets up from my bed and walks over to my desk.
I cover the screen, trying to hide the readings.
“I’m not stupid,” she says, bending over to bring her head in line with mine. “At first, I thought you were working on a written assignment, but the next one is only due in a few weeks and you never start early, do you?” I give her a dirty look as she continues, now looking toward the girl, “It’s something to do with her, isn’t it?”
I don’t answer. I could get myself into trouble.
“Don’t worry,” she says, reading my body language. “I won’t tell mom.” She comments on how she hasn’t tattled on me for a number of other off the grid missions, emphasising that she really isn’t spying.
I lower my guard and my hands, revealing the screen. I tell her about the neural mappers I glued to the girl’s scalp (the reason she slept through our lengthy discussion) to hasten the process of learning her peculiar language… and to pick up on any clues as to where she comes from.
“And she consented to you putting those rubber discs on her head?” Natalia asks, sceptically.
“Well,” I say, “not exactly. She was asleep when I put them there.”
Natalia’s face stretches horribly. “She isn’t going to be happy when she finds out.”
I stare blankly for a while and then shrug it off, continuing to read the girl’s brainwaves on my computer screen.
“Why do you trust her so much?” My sister asks. I pause. I don’t know what to say. “Is it because of that reading you saw? The one you’ve only seen in the mirror?” It isn’t much, I know, but she’s right. If she’s like me, then maybe I can find out what that signature means. She could understand me and I could find a place where I belong. It feels right.
My sister continues, “Just be careful. Just because you have something in common with someone else doesn’t mean that it’s right – it doesn’t mean things will be better, or different, or change.” It’s as if she’s reading my mind.
She then adds, “Now, I understand your arbitrary sense of curiosity and hopes of uncovering some mystery about some equation, but here’s my question: Why did she trust you? Why did she walk with you and come into our bunker and into your bed?”
She has a point, I think to myself. I’ll have to ask her when I have this language thing down.
“Is that supposed to happen?” my sister asks, pointing to the screen. The girl’s brain activity is spiking. It’s all over the show.
My sister and I turn to look at her. She wakes up in a pant, sits upright and calls out the name, “Robert!”
It was a nightmare.
“Hi, my name is Natalia,” my sister says, walking over to the girl’s side.
“Don’t scare her,” I say as I scramble through the recorded readings for a word or two I can render in her language. “She doesn’t understand Irrilium.”
My sister chants as my own personal cheerleader until, finally, “I’ve got it!” I exclaim.
“Hello,” I say, turning to the girl and speaking what I believe to be words from her peculiar language. “My name is Reuben Price.” I clench my fist as I do this, distracting myself from a minor headache. Her readings are just a fair deal more complicated than I am used too, probably because of the dragon inside of her. Maybe – but I don’t think so. There’s a lot I don’t understand while looking at her.
“Hello,” I try again, noticing her failure to reply. She’s zoned out… preoccupied. I’m certain that something dire is on her mind. I try again, waving my hand to wake her from her trance. Well, try.
“Reuben, is she okay?” my sister asks.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ARTIFICIAL
Even on Alpha Irrilium Prime, in the Gammarex verse, she continued to see through time. To be honest, I don’t know how much she saw, but she did what she could with what she had – what she thought was best. No, she didn’t tell me everything; and yes, I do understand why. I don’t like it, but I do understand.
She called out Robert’s name as she awoke from another dream; one with scientists, a baby and Robert’s parents. She could still see the laboratory, the extra-uterine foetal incubator and the seemingly endless array of beakers and test tubes at the back of her mind.
The monitor recording the vitals of the scientists’ experiment continued to beep in her subconscious, from when one of the scientists noted its readings on a clipboard. Its bolded header read:
The Peters Project
7 Octa 1996
Artificial Life
The scene continued to play out in her head, stealing her focus.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the readings have normalised,” he said, with a smug look on his face. The scientist at the monitor, that is. The other scientists paused at their respective stations and gave a round of applause. “We first synthesised DNA,” continued the scientist who called for their attention, “and now we have a full-fledged foetus. We have successfully created life.” His eyes glimmered with pride and his smile rose to applaud the accomplishment.
The room continued to roar with cheer before a short-haired lady, suited in black, entered the lab. “Mr and Mrs Peters are in the lobby,” she said, addressing the scientist that was previously at the centre of the room’s attention. “They’re here about that… thing.”
“Boy,” corrected the scientist as the remainder of the room returned to their respective duties. “Say it with me. We have made ourselves a real live boy.” There was a bounce in his step and an eerie hum from his lips as he walked with the lady, presumably to Mr and Mrs Peters. It was clear that she didn’t share in his celebration. She seemed less than impressed, almost… disgusted. Yes, that’s the word.
“Of course,” she said, sarcastically. “Whatever the case, that Dr Albatross’ research sure is making us a lot of money.”
It was right around then that she heard the dragged-out greetings, outside of reliving her dream, and saw the eager hand gestures that had been trying to gain her attention. It was a welcome distraction from her dream’s unsettling replay. She looked up and saw the young boy from her dream in Skye’s tent. The same boy that eventually allowed her to follow him back to his house. The same boy that, begrudgingly, allowed her to sleep in his oversized bed.
“Hello,” he said with a smile, which she found curious; on account of his previously stubborn and callous conduct. His accent was distinctly French, which made sense, considering all the French he spoke to her the previous night—well, day. That was something else. She had walked through the transversal gap from night on Lithon to sunny day on Alpha Irrilium Prime.
“Bonjour!” cheered a girl to her right, seated on the bed. She had short brown hair, and an overall intimidating vibe, despite her small stature and broad smile. “Mon nom est Natalia,” she said, which was easy enough to understand.
The boy glared in response to this introduction and continued speaking in his broken English, “My nom is Reuben Price and—”
“Not Oliver,” she whispered, lowly, pressing her hands firmer into his bed as she did.
Another image flashed before her eyes, of her and Oliver in a bedroom (smaller than Reuben’s) early one morning. They weren’t the only ones there, but they were the only ones awake. She was in bed and he was standing in the doorway, wa
tching her. The strange thing is, it didn’t feel creepy. She smiled at him, in her vision, and he approached, climbing onto the bed – on top of the blanket. She recognised that they knew each other, very well, as they began speaking.
“Did you get any sleep?” asked Oliver, lying on his belly.
He didn’t need to ask that question and she didn’t need answer. He already knew. She knew he knew and anyone who saw her – who knew what was happening – would too. It was written all over her face.
“I’m just trying to imagine what will happen when I finally meet her,” she said, “the girl from my reflections.”
“Your Alversia?” asked Oliver, trying to clarify.
“Yeah,” she answered. “I mean, if the walls of reality kept us separate, there must be a reason. What’s really going to happen when we come together?”
There was a grim look on Oliver’s face. It wasn’t something he had previously considered and it wasn’t something either of them had an answer to.
That’s where her flashback ended.
If I remember that day correctly, she and Oliver spent those next few hours speaking, before the remainder of our group woke up. It was our last morning with her before she stepped into the chamber, intent on finding our Alversia. And it was supposed to start with her Alversia, not mine.
As her mind came back from her vision, back to Reuben, she noted that he and Oliver looked the same in most regards. This included their choice in t-shirt colour – purple. Their defining difference, though, must’ve been the fewer shades in Oliver’s hair. “This must be his Alversia,” she muttered, just loud enough for him to raise an eyebrow.
He seemed somewhat frazzled, having been interrupted. He got that way whenever a similar situation arose, much like Oliver. He took a moment to process the distraction and where he was on his train of thought.
As she actively focused on what he was trying to say, apologising for not paying attention, an ominous voice resounded – one that only she could hear. She was being haunted by the figure from before – the one from the tombs, continuing to tell her ‘to find the Alversia’ and that ‘Robert and the other Alversia need to die.’
She muttered Robert’s name again, with a broken voice and flushed cheeks. Reuben was trying to figure out what was going on with her, but didn’t yet have the words to ask. She had gone to find the boy, who had now introduced himself as Reuben, to see if she could find out anything about herself… and to see if she could stop her premonition from coming true. She was planning on telling him this. It was her goal. But now, on top of that, she was worried about Robert.
She didn’t want either of them to die. It was my words she was hanging onto, “We can find another way.” Even though she had heard herself say there wasn’t; even though her visions supported the figure’s dark claim. There had to be another way. She found herself reliving yet another scene from her dream.
When she came to, breaking from her trance, she found Reuben and Natalia arguing – in French. She turned to Reuben, knowing him a little better and asked about their contention.
They stopped. Natalia said something in French which Reuben ignored. They were both visibly irritated.
“She dit parce que I brought you here, to the caserne, and let you sleep in my bed, you have to réponds à des questions pour nous,” said Reuben in response to her inquiry, appearing to wince slightly. He was the only one who seemed to understand what she was saying, seeing as Natalia kept looking to him expectantly each time she spoke.
“That’s not how I remember it happening,” she dictated, brightening up ever so slightly and pushing the blanket off her body. She then moved with some degree of difficulty to the right edge of the bed – opposite Natalia and closer to Reuben. She noticed, but did not take much heed of the scrapes and bruises along her arms and legs.
“If I remember correctly,” she continued, “you ignored me most of the way. You didn’t even want to help me with those people at the rusty old gate. Only after we entered the city did you start acknowledging me.”
Natalia asked Reuben something, seeming confused. Reuben shrugged and replied with a brief, “Rien.”
There was an awkward silence before Reuben turned to her again and asked, “What’s your nom?”
“My name?” she asked, just to confirm.
“Oui, your name.”
She paused and gave it some thought, allowing the image of the Alversia circle to enter her mind. She was coming to terms with knowing, and only sort of remembering, what her name was. “Aht”—she said it, but I still can’t bring myself to do the same.
It still shepherds a host of memories I’m not yet ready to bear. To be honest, it’s been decades—no, centuries since I last used her name… since that day she walked away.
“Beau name,” said Reuben, causing her to finally ask what was up with his English and French hodgepodge. “Irrilium,” he corrected, but it flew right over her head. He tried explaining his learning process using the limited English he had acquired, but struggled – at first. She, seeing his difficulty, elaborated on her question, making it easier for him to respond. Each word she spoke seemed to add to his newfound vocabulary.
“It’s compliqué,” he began, with his right hand to his head. “I have this capacité that allows me to see how things work. With the help of émetteurs nerveux, I’m able to étudier the words of your language sans peine as you speak. You speak the words, I understand the words and then I’m able to use leur.” He looked at Natalia, who didn’t understand a single English word being spoken and said, “I’m the only one I know that has this capacité.”
Without realising it, and being in a slight haze, she said, “Rex called them peculiarities.” A few of her memories were slipping through, faintly.
“Rex?” questioned Reuben, having her turn to him in a stupor.
“Sorry?” she asked.
Natalia stood up at that moment, visibly agitated and said a few things that made Reuben check his watch – his otherworldly watch; without any numbers or arms, only moons—several moons.
“Déjeuner, umm, la bouffe, umm,” struggled Reuben, motioning with his hands the action of eating. There were a lot of words he didn’t yet know and the girl he sought to speak with recognised it.
“Breakfast?” she asked, with her right hand moving to her belly and with an elated smile enveloping her face. “I am starving.”
“Oui,” he said. “Breakfast will be prêt sous peu, and notre mère and notre père—”
Not understanding what Reuben was saying, past the offer of breakfast, she interrupted. “You said you only know words you hear me speak, right?” she queried, standing up from her seated position on the bed. She shut her eyes and held her breath as she did this, experiencing a varied degree of pain with each move she made. “So, if I use as many words as possible, you’ll be able to speak to me in English?” Then, thinking about what she had just asked, added, “Well, better than you are right now.”
Reuben nodded and confirmed her hypothesis, but awkwardly urged to have things move along quicker than they were already going – mostly prompted by Natalia’s tenseness. So, to accommodate this, Reuben pointed and made gestures to assist her in selecting the most relevant terms.
During this exchange of words, it was established that Natalia was Reuben’s sister, that Natalia would be getting spare clothes (and shoes) for her to wear and that questions would be asked at the breakfast table. Natalia’s priority seemed to be getting to their parents on time, yet making it clear that an interview of sorts would be taking place.
Natalia left the room and Reuben showed her to his bathroom, noticing a limp in her step. He showed her his steam shower, which meant no running water, and his built in drying system, which meant no towels. Things were more than a little different in this world.
Reuben then returned to his computer to give her some privacy. Though, as he walked, she caught him looking back and staring at her tattoo. It was still exposed as she was without
any shoes. She paused, with her right hand on his bathroom door, and remembered Robert, his tattoo and the symbols found on the tombs.
“Do you have one?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.
He caught a fright and shied away slightly. He was embarrassed, momentarily, but quickly overcame it. She threw an expectant look, awaiting an answer to her question. She saw him look at the door through which Natalia had left and then back at her. It was as if he intended his following words to remain between the two of them; a secret that not even his sister could hear. His left hand went over his right shoulder blade, mimicking the innocent pose typically struck by what he saw as the intriguing girl before him.
“Yes, I’ve had it for as long as I can remember,” he said, slowly pulling his t-shirt over his head. “N’importe quand I ask my parents about it, they hausser les épaules it off, as if it’s nothing. They décliner to tell me anything.”
Once his t-shirt was off, he turned to show her. It was the spotted and scratched-through infinity symbol she had seen on the GiniFowl Herald’s tomb – first in her dream and then in real life. She also remembered, vaguely, the statue of the priestly general with the same symbol seemingly burnt through his vested garment, or the portrayal thereof.
She wasn’t surprised or even caught off guard. She expected it. But she wasn’t sure how she was going to tell Reuben. It was strange – her feelings. Every fibre of her being told her she could trust him and she wasn’t wrong. Every piece of her said it’d be okay. Though she knew she had just met him, she felt as if she had known him a lot longer. It was as if they were already friends – close friends. And that made things a lot more complicated.
“Mine too,” she said, referring to the undetermined origin of the inverted flame tattoo on her ankle. “As well as a…” she muttered, ending up in a tongue-tie. What was Robert to her? she thought to herself. The only word that came to her mind was friend. Though, I feel she wanted it to be more than that – then already. She told Reuben about Robert, his tattoo and the symbols they found.
