The Master Key

by T. K. Toppin

  I had asked John for ten minutes alone with Margeaux before he joined us. He’d agreed with some reluctance. I knew he would’ve preferred me not to go in at all but to be considerate, he’d clamped his mouth shut. It would’ve led to a massive argument if either one of us had uttered another word. He knew full well he couldn’t always protect me or buffer my pain, even though he tried every chance he got. But a useless point was just that. So I noted he’d kept his mouth shut and nodded instead, knowing I saw right through him. Instead of giving him a knock across the head and a choice expletive, I’d had the good grace to give him a tender kiss in thanks.

  “Hey,” I said to Margeaux, shoving my hands in my pants pockets.

  Like John, I hadn’t bothered to knock on the door. It had its advantages; like catching the person off-guard and wide open for observation. No wonder John did it.

  Margeaux jerked her head up, her thin shoulders hunched in reflex. She made as if to stand. I mumbled something about her to remain sitting.

  “Hello…Josie.” Margeaux stared at me for a moment, clearly uncertain whether to be so familiar or not. “I must give you my thanks for saving me. I am truly indebted to you.” She let out a small sigh; it shook her body as if the mere effort of speaking was exhausting.

  I shrugged uncomfortably, more to ease the tension building at the base of my skull. With a frown, I wondered again at how differently people of this future spoke. With such proper formality and diction—a primness. I decided to focus on that instead of the unexplained urge to rush forward and babble like a mother deprived of her children. I didn’t know why I felt this way. I rolled my shoulders again.

  Be calm. The girl is a complete stranger. But Fern’s image kept merging in to replace Margeaux’s face.

  “It’s Simon you should thank.” Jeez, she looked so much like Fern! And the way Conrad had tilted his head. Were mannerisms genetic as well?

  Margeaux blinked those large, glassy eyes, as if recalling there’d indeed been another person present at her rescue. “Oh, yes. Will he be coming here soon? If not, please give him my thanks.”

  “Sure.” I moved closer, pretending to give the room a look. “Hope this place is okay for you. It was all so…last minute. We’ll arrange for something a little more homey soon.” Over John’s dead body, we would.

  “Oh, no. This is more than adequate. My room at the Buddhist colony, the Serenity Gardens, was much smaller. I am quite accustomed to simple living. In fact, we are encouraged to seek comfort within our own selves rather than in material comforts.”

  “Oh.” I leaned back against the kitchen counter and regarded my…niece. “How are you? You weren’t mistreated,” I winced and tried not to look at her hand, “too badly, I hope? By Michael Ho?”

  Margeaux glanced at her hand and shook her head. “He was quite well-mannered until…” She lifted her hand a fraction. “But that is unimportant, now. It was meant to be, and the pain will be my reminder that human beings are far from perfection.” She shrugged and smiled. “I am here now.”

  I suppressed the urge to gape at Margeaux’s response. Aside from a bothersome feeling of discomfort at the way she spoke, I suspected Margeaux didn’t leave the farm too often. She seemed absorbed in her religion, too sheltered. Boy, did the kid have a lot to learn! The discomfort was further increased when I compared myself to her. Considering the things I’d seen and done, been through, I felt like a haggard and grizzly old woman. A dusty old relic…

  The doors engaged and opened, and John entered. Only five minutes had passed. He seemed impatient and gave me a quick “What of it?” glance. I returned it with a withering scowl, which thankfully Margeaux didn’t notice. Her eyes were transfixed on John.

  He gave a polite nod and walked toward her, keeping his pace relaxed. When he stood three feet away, he extended a hand—something he never did. Margeaux stared at it a moment, her eyes widening, then snaked out her thin hand and shook it.

  “Margeaux Laperriere.” John pronounced her French name perfectly. “It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance in person.”

  “Oh, no, sir. The pleasure is mine. I have heard so much about you. I cannot believe I am actually here, meeting with the World President,” Margeaux all but gushed, gazing wide-eyed at John’s chosen pose of bemusement.

  “I see the physicians have tended to you.” John glanced at her hand, his tone changed to one of authority, cool and direct.

  I watched the exchange with interest. While I would’ve preferred to talk with Margeaux alone, I was a little relieved he’d taken over. He always seemed to know what to say, how to say it, and the right time to say it. He even knew how to behave, pitch his voice and manner. Right now, he used his bold presence to intimidate the girl, staring down at the poor girl like some imposing god of destruction.

  “Oh, yes, sir. They have been most kind. I hardly feel any pain now.” Margeaux blushed. She kept her head lowered and averted her eyes in a demure manner.

  “I trust there will be no permanent damage. Should you need it, we can arrange for a follow-up corrective procedure. It would be most unbecoming for a young lady to be so marred.”

  Now it was my turn to press my lips into a thin line. What was he playing at? Trying to flatter the girl? Could she go any redder? It was bad enough Margeaux seemed infatuated with him already. John behaved like a cat playing dispassionately with a scared little creature. If he’d had a tail, it would be twitching with glee.

  Ignoring me on purpose, and I knew he was doing so; John walked past me and stared into the kitchen with mild interest. His mouth twitched, no doubt trying not to smile since he knew I stared at him. He was a terrible actor when he chose to be.

  “I will see to it that your nutritional needs are met as well. You are a vegan, correct? Buddhist.” John flicked a casual glance at the girl as she gave a vigorous nod. “The facilities here are meager. These rooms were designed for another sort of guest.” Despite his aloof air, he seemed unable to resist sliding a teasing sideways glance at me. I glowered back at him in silence.

  “Thank you, sir. You are most kind.”

  “Not at all.” He made a sharp turn and stared down at Margeaux, tall and imposing again.

  I recalled a time when he’d done that to me when we’d first met. It appeared to have the same effect on the girl, who seemed to cower within herself, her large eyes almost popping out of her head.

  “Margeaux.” I pushed off from the counter and stood between them. “Tell me, what Ho has told you about our…connection?”

  Margeaux tilted her head up to me. Refocusing with determination, a thin frown knotted her brow. “Mr. Ho has told me you are a pod-survivor. From quite some time ago.” A faint brush of awe mingled with distaste marred her features and tone.

  Taking note of the expression, a common reaction, I cleared my throat. “Yes. I am. Does that bother you?” No point being delicate about it. John brushed my arm with his fingers, his silent way of comforting me. “I am considered an abomination, of sorts.”

  “It does bother me a little and, it does not. But you are still human, I can see that.” Margeaux considered something with a serious expression. “It must have been quite a shock for you. To go to sleep in one century and arise in another.”

  “It was, yes.”

  “Mr. Ho has told me I am a direct descendant of yours from my father’s family. I never knew my mother. The monks told me she was a transient singer and that she died soon after I was born. She was addicted to Cloud. So was my father; that is how he died. Mr. Ho also tells me, aside from the fact that I look like you, I also resemble your first niece and nephew, Fern and Conrad. Isn’t genetics truly amazing? Generations can skip by before traits are repeated.”

  At the mention of my young niece and nephew’s names, I had to control my breathing. A sudden ache constricted my lungs. I scarcely heard anything else. I hadn’t realized it, but to hear it aloud, somehow, made Margeaux’s presence feel more real.

  “Yes, you do. You…l
ook so much like them. Especially Fern. Did he show you any pictures of them?” My voice went hoarse. I tried to clear my throat, but it was dry as a bone.

  “No, he did not. I would like very much to see them, if I may.”

  No, you can’t! A sharp, selfish thought stabbed me, like a flash of temper. “Uh…well, umm. Sure.”

  “It will take a little time to retrieve them.” John spoke up from behind and moved to stand beside me. He nudged me backward in a masterfully subtle way. “You must understand they are not for everyone’s eyes. Perhaps, when you’ve had a short rest, we can arrange it.”

  “I understand, sir. Mr. Ho is trying to blackmail your wife with what he discovered. But I am not tired.”

  John leveled his eyes at her, resorting to his bowed-head stance. His expression said he was considering something about Margeaux. Maybe the same thing I saw: that her manner was quite determined. She may be young, but she knew how to draw out what she wanted with surprising force, using childish impertinence to mask it.

  And her responses, despite her supposed trauma, seemed clear and direct—rehearsed. A warning flashed in my head. But, I reasoned internally, maybe she was just trying to be brave.

  “It will still take some time to retrieve them from their secure location.” John’s tone was flat so there could be no mistaking the finality of it.

  Margeaux gave a polite nod, paused, and turned to me. “Perhaps you could tell me a little about my ancestors?” Those glassy eyes batted once as they stared up at me expectantly.

  “Uh…sure. Of course.” I had to pace to reassemble my train of thought. “Where do I start?”

  “The beginning.” Margeaux beamed with a wide smile and wiggled her backside on the bed to get comfy.

  I rolled my shoulders and started to speak. As I recounted my life, Margeaux sat listening with rapt attention, never once interrupting, and absorbed every word coming out of my mouth.

  * * *

  John stood back and let Josie speak. She was tense at first but seemed to relax as she told her tale as briefly as she could. He realized this was what she needed to do: to say it out, join the dots with lines to complete the circle.

  And Margeaux, so closely resembling Josie, was enraptured by it. Maybe she also needed confirmation. To have grown up not knowing her parents, be raised by monks, must’ve been hard. She would’ve created her own circle within her small and sheltered world. And now, to discover that the last dot in the circle didn’t end with her, or begin, depending on how you looked at it, but was in fact much, much larger and more detailed. Yes, Margeaux also needed this.

  He watched them both. Watched how they interacted, hesitated, familiarized themselves with one another. An open stare when the other wasn’t looking or aware—a stare that would vacuum in every single detail in an instant. The polite smile that hid nervousness, giving them a chance to compose their thoughts. They danced around like mating birds, offering a chance to get close, then retreating quickly and slamming up the walls, re-grouping.

  It was also like watching a war. The formalities needed dealing with first, the exchange of offerings, the consideration of these offerings, and then the waiting as both parties opened their doors to see what came next. And if it didn’t satisfy, war was declared.

  They spent the next two hours with Margeaux. Josie covered her entire life history without giving away too many details. She talked of her brother, her parents, uncles and aunts, and cousins. Margeaux asked short questions, but otherwise remained silent.

  Eventually, Josie ended up sitting on the bed with the girl and seemed relaxed, even smiling. Sometimes laughing at funny moments in her recollecting.

  John ambled to different parts of the room, never far, and kept his eyes on the pair. He consulted his personal unit, frowned, then resumed his wandering, directing a portion of his thoughts elsewhere.

  Simon was four hours away from the Scrap Yard. Moorjani’s tracking of Ho had turned up nothing. But an unidentified shuttle had just made an unscheduled launch from the north of Fiji. Immediately following it were two more unscheduled launches, one in Alaska and the other from Korea. All three were neutral territories.

  While unscheduled launches were unavoidable in these neutral zones, where the Lancaster government had no business meddling in the first place, their final destination drew more than a raised eyebrow. The Venus House—the wildest entertainment and pleasure center this side of the galaxy. The Scrap Yard was just one stop away from it.

  Most shuttles preferred to dock at the Scrap Yard first for re-fueling and maintenance checks. The facilities there were far superior to the nearby Agro Colony. With state-of-the-art service bots in attendance and a superstore that offered electronic gadgetry and devices at wholesale prices, few could resist its lure.

  And John would bet his last dollar the three unscheduleds were heading straight there. And the chances that Ho was on board one of them, even greater.

  * * *

  I caught a look from John; it said, “hurry up.” I’d lost track of time. Having talked so much thirst tickled my throat, maybe it was a good idea if we took a short break.

  Margeaux, however, seemed ready to spend the rest of the day with us. She’d relaxed enough in our company, but she still stared at John with reverence. At least she no longer hesitated when she used my name.

  Did I feel any different as well? I wasn’t sure. I’d thought I’d know in a flash—expected it—if there was a real connection between us. Instead, what I felt was that she was just like me, in a sense.

  I had also come to the Citadel alone and scared, uncertain. I definitely knew what that was like and felt sorry for her. Though she wore a brave face and relied heavily on her religion and beliefs to see her through this particular nightmare, she was also just a very young girl. A mere child. Curious, awkward, and open.

  I saw something else too: that peculiar childlike tendency to want and want it now. A tiny glint in the eye before it was covered up with remembered politeness. The slight flush in the face before a temper tantrum, quickly shrugged off with an intake of breath, a toss of the head.

  I noticed she liked neatness and order. She fixed her shirt, brushing at imaginary lint, straightening it and smoothing it in a slow, deliberate way. She fussed with her hair as well, to make sure it was neat and in place. Then she turned her attention to smooth the bed sheets after I got up to yet again pace and stalk the room.

  I caught John studying her, absorbing her, like how he’d once observed me. He’d no doubt store, process, analyze, and then categorize each minute detail about her and bring it out for later use—with sub-headings and footnotes attached.

  My tale was almost finished, and I was exhausted. I got as far as waking up in New Zealand with the Aguilars. John, seeing his chance, gave me a meaningful look when I stopped to think how best to carry on without going into too much detail about how Madge had died. Out of pure selfishness, and also out of security reasons, I refused to speak of it in too much detail. Not only was it still painful to talk about, but also a part of me wished Madge’s memory to be mine alone.

  “You must forgive my wife,” John said. “There are some things she cannot divulge. Tell me, Margeaux. Do you recall where it was you were taken to with Ho?”

  “Oh,” Margeaux frowned. “No, sir.” She seemed distracted and annoyed to have been deprived of my story. “I do not. Only that it was a house, a modern one with lots of real wood. I was only ever allowed in three rooms—the communications room, a bedroom, and bathroom. I arrived blindfolded, but I remember walking along a path from the vehicle I arrived in. It was a short walk, then up a short flight of stairs and straight into a large room. I could hear the slight echo of my footsteps on the wooden floors, so I knew it was quite large and open. And then I was led straight into my room.”

  John inclined his head with an expression close to mild respect. “You are very observant and attuned to your surroundings.”

  “Meditation helps, sir.”

 
“What do you remember of James?”

  “He was the man who took me to the other house. He was nice to me. In the shuttle ride over, he asked me if I needed anything for the pain.” Margeaux raised her hand and stared at it.

  “How long was the shuttle ride?”

  Margeaux blinked, thinking. “I am not sure. I had to use the bathroom twice, I had a beverage, and I meditated for about thirty minutes, which is my usual time. I think it took close to three hours.”

  John didn’t reply, just stood watching her. His face was closed.

  “You’re very good,” I broke the sudden awkward silence. “I usually fall fast asleep if I meditate.”

  “Thank you. That is because you have too many thoughts, so the mind cannot clear fast enough before sleep takes over from tiredness.”

  I almost made a face at the remark. Instead, something foolish popped out of my mouth to cover my discomfort. “Do you do that chanting thing as well? While you meditate.”

  Margeaux stared at me as if I’d just uttered a blasphemous statement. Even John cut his eyes at me in exasperation.

  Ignoring me, Margeaux continued. “Does everyone in your family have green eyes?”

  “What? No, uh…” I blinked rapidly for a moment. My thoughts derailed. I tried to refocus on the question. “My, uh, my brother had. So did my mother but hers was lighter. My father’s were blue.”

  “What about your brother’s children?”

  “Uh, Conrad had hazel, very light hazel. Fern’s were just like yours, a little green.”

  “Your eyes are so beautiful.” Margeaux smiled, making her look much younger.

  “Thanks.” Flustered, I blinked, then stood staring at her, my mind blank.

  It was time to go, John seemed impatient, but he sensed my sudden uncertainty. Coming forward, he put a hand to my arm and tipped his head down to Margeaux. He made some excuse that I barely heard, and we left, leaving the girl still on the edge of the bed, as we’d found her.