“You’re sure it’s not something you made a long time ago and forgot about?” Scylla asked. “I mean, look how worn that thing is. It had to have been buried for a few years, at least. If not a few centuries,” she added under her breath.
Mama D replied, “Definitely not. Every time I upgrade my devices, I change my maker mark so I can keep track of when something was made. See these curlicues here?” She pointed to the monogram in the trapezoid’s corner. “I added those when I got this printer”—she pointed to a machine against the back wall—“about three months ago. So it would have to be newly made.” She pulled the glasses off her nose and tucked an errant hair into her bun. “Though it sure doesn’t look like it, does it? I suppose it could be a coincidence, but I don’t like it.”
She narrowed her eyes at the four of us. “Would you mind if I held on to this for a few days, so I could get a better look at it?”
We all looked at Scylla. She was the one who had found the object, so it was as close to being hers as anything else.
“That’s fine,” she said. “We need to make sure GSAF doesn’t find out that we took it, though. After today—that is, we technically aren’t supposed to take things off-site, like you said. It’s just that there’s been some kind of weird things turning up, and after Tamara saw that mark…” She omitted the part where we’d smuggled the object off-site before Tamara had seen the monogram, of course. But it wasn’t necessary to tell the whole truth there.
“Right. Then we’d better make sure no one tells Bryn.” Delia’s voice was severe. “She’s uptight around GSAF enough as it is, but with AresTec applying for a grant to expand into Tharsis Province, Bryn’d probably have an aneurysm if she heard about this.”
“If I heard about what?” Bryn asked from the top of the stairs. My stomach jumped up into my throat, but Delia didn’t miss a step. Before I could blink, the object was back in the scanner and the lid shut.
“That Tamara’s planning on dropping out of school to join the circus,” she said evenly.
“Yeah, sorry, Mom. I was going to tell you, but I was waiting until after my eighteenth birthday passed so you couldn’t tell me no.” She shot a very convincing glare at Mama D.
Bryn rolled her eyes. “Right. I’m not even going to ask. I’ve got chicken and rice going, for whoever wants it.”
My stomach growled. We didn’t get real meat very often at home—it was expensive and hard to come by on most of Mars. Most food we had, apart from the few crops that actually could grow here, came out of a can. I felt kind of bad; I didn’t know what Mom had been planning on cooking for dinner, but it definitely wasn’t chicken and rice.
“Actually, I probably ought to get going,” Scylla said, getting to her feet. “I have to take the train back over to Curiosity Bay, and I don’t want to wait until it’s too late.” She winked at me and Tamara and pulled a face when Mama D wasn’t looking. Based on her t-shirt that morning, I assumed she wasn’t as thrilled about the prospect of real chicken as me.
Henry stood up as well. “Yeah, I think I’d better go, too. I’m technically grounded this weekend, so I suppose I should get home before the ‘rents find me out and flip their shit.”
I stared incredulously at him. “Being grounded has never stopped you before.”
“Yeah, well, I’m trying to turn over a new leaf.”
He shuffled up the stairs after Scylla. I shook my head. Henry, turning over a new leaf? That would be the day. I wondered what he was really up to.
“Well, I hope you’re not planning on sneaking out, too, Isaak,” Mama D said, turning on me. “Bryn’ll have a fit if she cooked a meal for no one.”
“Oh, no. I’ll stay,” I assured her.
Tamara’s nose crinkled as she smiled at me across the workbench. As always, that had the effect of tying my stomach into a square knot.
In my pocket, my palmtop buzzed. A text from Henry. How much of a dumbass r u? Make ur move on Tamara, moron. This was quickly followed with, & sorry I was a dick last nite.
The corners of my mouth twitched. This, I supposed, was the closest Henry could come to an apology. It was pretty noble of him to give up a chicken dinner to help me out, I gave him that. But how exactly was I supposed to “make my move” on Tamara, especially with her moms hovering over us? Henry had some unrealistic expectations there.
Still, his words from before echoed in my mind. “If you don’t get your act together, someone else is going to make a move on her, and you don’t get to say I didn’t warn you.”
He was right. I frowned to myself. It always felt like I was making excuses when it came to Tamara. “The time isn’t right, maybe another day.” It wasn’t like I didn’t want to, you know, “get with her,” romantically speaking. I’d liked her that way for over two annums—since around when I’d figured out that the way I liked people was different from the way others liked people.
But I’ll admit it: I was scared, too. Tamara had been my best friend since we were, like, eight, when her family moved to Tierra Nueva and my mom met Bryn at a GSAF fundraiser. As much as being around her made my heart race, I also didn’t want to ruin our friendship. What if she didn’t like me the same way?
But if I didn’t do anything, I’d never find out.
I tried to focus my attention on chopping the vegetables for the salad, but it was practically impossible. I mean, Tamara was standing so close to me that her shoulder kept bumping mine while she mixed the salad dressing. So close that I could smell her hair—a mix of berries and something really pleasant I couldn’t quite place, but that was distinct to Tamara’s scent—over the tart vinaigrette.
It would have been wonderful had I not been freaking out inside about what to say to her. I shook my head, trying to focus instead on Mama D’s voice as she chattered in the dining room.
“Come on, slowpoke,” Tamara teased, sweeping the tomato and avocado bits off my cutting board into the salad bowl. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
I laughed my agreement, though at the moment my stomach was so nauseous that I probably couldn’t eat if I tried. I wouldn’t be half as anxious if it hadn’t been for Henry’s not-so-subtle hints. It was nervewracking enough to be alone in Tamara’s presence while under the close surveillance of her mothers—whom under normal circumstances I loved, but come on, who wants to be watched when they are trying to make a move? Especially by the girl’s parents?—but now I had the added pressure of knowing that if I did chicken out tonight, I would never hear the end of it.
Yup, this evening was going to be fun.
To my surprise, though, once I’d taken my seat at their large dining table—Tamara’s family often had dinner parties, being with AresTec and having a musical prodigy and all—I found I was able to relax, really relax, for the first time all day. Mama D always had a way of lifting everyone’s mood, making worries seem like they were light years away.
“So this fella at the luncheon today,” she said, “he just would not take the hint. Bryn sidestepped him a couple of times, but he just kept going after her like a bulldog with a rawhide. Flirting, compliments, double entendre, the whole shebang. It was almost enough to make me jealous, ‘cept I know my gal better than that.”
Bryn’s cheeks reddened, and she swatted at Delia with her napkin. Delia grinned, swatting her right back.
“So then,” she went on, “she puts her left hand on her hip to show off her wedding ring. Like, she’s trying to be nonchalant about it, but…” She gestured, sticking her elbow up at an unnatural angle in imitation of Bryn. “It was so ridiculous! I thought I was going to keel over laughing. And he still didn’t get the message! So, finally, I came up to them to try to bail her out, and Bryn says real loudly, ‘Oh, Mr. Jørgensen, I’d like you to meet my WIFE.’ And he just looks from her to me and goes, ‘Ah. Shall we make it a threesome, then?’”
Mama D’s boisterous bellow of a laugh echoed off the high ceiling of the dining room. Bryn rolled her eyes. “Really, Delia, what k
ind of story was that for the dinner table?” Her voice was scolding, but her own laughter betrayed her.
Tamara caught my eye, our eyes locking for an intense second before hers crinkled with a grin and she dropped her gaze. After another second I lowered my eyes, too, and took another bite of chicken. I assume it was delicious, though I certainly couldn’t taste it.
“So, Isaak. How has it been at the dig site?”
Bryn’s question nearly made me choke on my rice. I shot Tamara a panicked look before clearing my throat, swallowing, and stammering, “Um... okay, y’know, good. Shells and fossilized teensy fish. Spider weeds. Dirt.” I laughed, trying to come off nonchalant. “Pretty boring, unless you like that kind of thing.” Well, I did like that kind of thing, but I wanted to get us off any line of discussion that might lead to the artifact currently residing in the basement.
“Tamara, sweetpea,” Mama D interjected, leaning over to refill my still-mostly-full water glass, “have you told Isaak about the museum opening yet? Star of the show here.”
Tamara ducked her head in embarrassment, her cheeks getting the faintest rosy tinge to them. “Mama, I’m not the star of anything.” She glanced at me quickly, then dropped her gaze to her lap.
“She did tell me a little,” I jumped in, eager for the change in subject. “Something about playing and singing at the opening?”
“Oh, more than that,” Bryn said. “She wrote all the music for the performance.”
I blinked and turned to Tamara. Her face was red as a tomato now. “Seriously? I didn’t know that! Tamara, that’s stellar!”
“It’s no big deal. They’re not very good.”
I nudged her with my elbow. “Come on. You can’t fool me. I’ve heard you sing at church, remember.”
Delia stood up, a devious glint in her eye. “I know, love. Why don’t you play one of them for Isaak now?”
Tamara’s head shot up, gaping at her mother in horror. “Oh, no, Mama—they’re not ready—”
“Bollocks.”
“I’d like to hear it, Tamara,” I said earnestly. “I mean, I know I’ll hear it next month, but… I’d like to hear it now, too.” I could feel my own cheeks turning red, now.
She looked at me and smiled. “Okay, fine. Let’s go.” She stood and held her hand out to me. I grinned and took it, hoping she wouldn’t notice my sweaty palms.
“The dinner was great, Bryn,” I called over my shoulder. Mama D caught my eye as I rounded the corner, and I nearly stopped short. Did she—did she wink at me?
Oh, no torquing way. Not them, too.
Tamara let go of my hand when we got to the music room. My skin tingled where her fingers had been. In the center of the room was a big grand piano. She sat on the bench, and patted the spot beside her. “It’s not, um, you know, done yet,” she said. “I still have some work to do on the bridge.”
“I’m sure it’s stellar,” I said.
She placed her fingers on the keys, then hesitated. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. And then she began to play.
The melody was lilting and slow. For a minute, there was nothing but the piano chords, casting their spell as they echoed around the room. Tamara’s long, brown hair fell in cascades over her shoulders as her hands danced effortlessly over the keys. I almost didn’t notice when she began to sing, her voice blending seamlessly with that of the piano. The words were whimsical, a tale of a drowned blackbird and an Irish princess. I didn’t really understand it much, but the melody made my arms prickle with gooseflesh.
Too soon, the song ended, the last notes hovering in the air around us like mist over the bay. She lifted her fingers from the keys and sighed. “So?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowing with worry. “What do you think?”
I swallowed. “Tamara,” I finally managed, “that was incredible.”
Her face got red again. “Really? You don’t think it was too choppy in the middle or anything?”
“Of course not! How did you come up with all that stuff about the bird?”
She laughed. “It’s from an old book of Gaelic poetry Mama’s nan gave her. ‘An Lon Dubh Baite.’ It’s not actually a real bird, though. The blackbird represents the lady’s lover who died.”
I colored. “Ah. I thought she seemed kind of upset over a bird. No wonder I’m flunking Earth Lit. Allegory goes right over my head.”
Tamara laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Seriously, though, Tam,” I said. “That was really beautiful. Everyone at the museum is going to be blown away.”
Tamara beamed for a moment, her face relaxing. Then she frowned and blew out a frustrated sigh. “I’m just not sure about the bridge still. Do you think it should be in this octave”—her fingers played out a short melody—“or this one?”
“Um,” I began with a sheepish shrug. “They both sound good? Sorry, you know I’m not very musical.”
Tamara giggled and shook her head. “But that’s why I want your opinion. You’re not going to get all technical on me like one of my teachers at Herschel would—it’ll give me a fresh perspective if I use your ears to decide.”
“Well, er—” I reached out my hand to the keys she had played before. “This one?” I tried to repeat what she’d done, but it came out like pots banging together or something. I cringed with embarrassment.
Tamara reached out her hand, but instead of stopping me like I thought she would, she placed it over mine. “Relax your fingers,” she instructed, pressing gently on my digits. “Now, the fingering goes like this.” Like a master puppeteer, she moved each of my fingers slowly over the keys to produce the melody.
After a few unsuccessful attempts, I finally managed to reproduce the tune, albeit clumsily. I grinned at her, and she beamed back. She was so close—this felt so natural. My nerves began to disappear. Maybe I could finally—
“Anyone want cookies?” Bryn called from the kitchen.
It’s not like I meant to knock the vase over. It’s just that one second I was sitting there—Tamara beside me, so close, her face just centimeters from mine—and the next minute Bryn was yelling about cookies, and I was leaping to my feet in a burst of adrenaline-fueled panic. I didn’t even see the end table with the vase of lilies on it—actual lilies, not even fake ones!—until it was careening to the floor.
At least it didn’t break. It was made out of brass or something, so all it did was make an ear-splitting crash as water and flower petals went all over the torquing place.
“Isaak, are you okay?” cried Tamara.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I’ll clean it up…”
Bryn hurried into the room, a handful of dish towels in hand. “Here, Isaak, let me get that.”
“No, no, let me.” I took a couple of towels and clumsily began to mop up the spilled water. “God, I’m such an idiot.”
“It was an accident,” Tamara said. “It’s no big deal!”
I couldn’t look at her. “I’ll go get some more towels,” I said.
Once in the kitchen, I slumped back against the countertop and hung my head in my hands. I couldn’t believe how clumsy I’d been. Tamara must have thought I was a total spaz. How could I even face her now, let alone try to “make a move”? That settled it. I would go back in there, clean up, apologize to Tamara and Bryn, and go home.
I reached for the towel drawer and cursed as my palmtop buzzed in my pocket.
U’d better not chicken out, bro. Or we’ll have to serve YOU for dinner next time. Henry’s text was followed by a grinning devil emoji.
“You bastard,” I muttered under my breath. Now I couldn’t run away. He knew. He torquing knew. I took a deep breath, begging my stomach to stop feeling so shaky. It was time to man up.
I came back into the great room with an armful of towels, telling Bryn once again how sorry I was before I got on my knees to clean up my mess.
“Don’t worry about it, Isaak,” Bryn told me with a warm smile. “No harm done.”
I looked aroun
d. “Where’d Tamara go?”
Bryn pointed over her shoulder as she took the vase out of the room to refill it. The large French doors that led to the deck were open, the gauzy drapes blowing in the night breeze.
I groaned. Great. She was probably all torqued off at me for wrecking her music room. Not that I could blame her.
“Hey, Tamara,” I said as I stepped out into the dimness. Tamara was leaning against the railing, looking out at the bay. I closed the doors firmly behind me. “Look, I’m really sorry.”
Her shoulders shook, and for a moment I thought she was crying. Then she turned to me, and I saw her face was filled with mirth. “No, I’m sorry,” she said between fits of laughter. “That was just too much. We never seem to have any luck, do we?”
“We really don’t.” I joined her beside the railing. The breeze from the bay was sharp on my face. Hopefully it would make my cheeks cool down. Hopefully.
She nudged her shoulder against mine and smiled before turning her gaze back to the bobbing sailboats across the water. “How did we get into this whole stupid mess?”
It took me a minute to realize that she was talking about us as in the four of us, not us as in me and her. Together. As a couple. I sighed. “It was my fault.”
“No. It wasn’t. Even if you hadn’t found the arch, how long would it have been before that Emil guy recognized you at the train station? It’s his fault, Isaak. Not yours.”
My heart swelled. For a moment, I almost said it. It was at the tip of my tongue. “Tamara, I lo—”
“Can you believe that thing Scylla found, though?” Tamara blurted. “I mean, it looked just like the coin. That can’t be a coincidence. Maybe I’ve been hanging around Henry too much, but I swear, there is something going on out there. And I think GSAF knows it, and they’re covering it up.”
I sighed. What was that she said about the luck, again?
“Y’know,” I muttered at last, looking up at the sky. Both Phobos and Deimos were out tonight, shining brightly in the vast darkness. What was out there? What really? The answer? “I hate to admit it, but I’m beginning to wonder. But how does your mom’s mark fit into it? Could—could it really be smugglers, like Erick thinks?”
Fourth World Page 9
