by Rayner Ye
“Not quite. Aedre has also suffered from catastrophic nerve damage throughout the body. Enough to suggest she was electrocuted.”
Somare frowned and looked at Gus, who shrugged.
“Is the patient conscious?” the woman asked.
“Oh, yes. Aedre can talk. She has not lost her ability to speak, though that could deteriorate at any point. She can breathe on her own accord too, but will require a diaphragm pacemaker should she have complications. All her other neural functions are in good working order, though she requires a catheter and colostomy bag.”
“Thank you, Dr Mata.”
Dr Mata sat and drank a gulp of water.
“Who brought Aedre to this hospital?”
“I did,” Somare said.
The woman frowned. “How did you transport Aedre to the hospital?”
“My son and I carried her from the river to my car, and then we drove her here.”
“Are you aware you shouldn’t have moved Aedre without a neck brace in place and a backboard for support?”
He shifted on his chair. “No.”
“How did you lift her?”
Heat flooded his head. “I carried her from under her arms, and my son carried her from under her legs.”
“You could have killed her by carrying her in such a way.”
He gulped.
“I believe she asked for you to collect her from the river.”
“Yes.” Gus nudged him and nodded for him to stand. Somare stood and shifted from foot to foot. “She was a worker at the government labour camp I manage in Northern Giok.”
“Had she finished her sentence?”
“No. But she is, I mean, was an outstanding union teacher.”
The people around the table whispered at this information.
The woman rubbed an eyelid. “A Sax Indite?”
“No. But Aedre was a good union guru—the physical and spiritual aspect. I thought she’d be an asset to our small village.”
“In what way?”
A young man wearing a gold and brown batik shirt stood. He had black cherry skin and a square jaw. “If you don’t mind, I want to ask the questions. I’m police detective Budi, and I’d like to ask questions related to the victim’s relationships.”
Somare’s body heat rose. He touched the base of his neck. “Victim?”
The woman let out a loud sigh and sat.
Detective Budi nodded. “And I’d like to talk to you about this in private.”
The woman stood again, frowning. “Doctor Mata said there were no visible injuries. The head injury was non-trauma induced. Aedre also told us she wasn’t attacked and didn’t have an accident, but woke from meditation unable to move.”
Detective Budi gazed at Doctor Mata. “Can’t brain injury sometimes be the result of poison or drug abuse?”
Doctor Mata steepled his fingertips on the tabletop. “There are an array of possible causes for non-traumatic brain injuries. These include tumours, infection, arteriovenous malformation, a ruptured blood vessel, loss of oxygen from drug abuse, strangulation, drowning, choking, anaphylactic shock—”
“Thank you, Doctor Mata,” Detective Budi said. “I don’t need a medical lecture. Can drug abuse cause brain injury?”
“Yes, drug or alcohol overdose can.”
“And a lack of oxygen?”
“Of course.”
“So, mining selenite at a depth of three hundred metres could be a likely cause of hypoxia?”
“Yes. Excess heat and pressure could be leading factors too.”
The spectators whispered together again, and Mata sat.
“So, Aedre could have been targeted, or accidentally put into a vulnerable position.” He looked at the woman in red. “If Abud hospital is planning to put Aedre in the care of this man,” he pointed at Somare, “you might want to rethink this until he’s cleared of negligence or attempt of manslaughter by an unlawful and dangerous act.”
Somare became lightheaded as breathing became more difficult. He gasped like a fish out of water, pressed his palms into the table, and sharpened his focus on the detective, replaying what he’d just said. He was innocent, and they had nothing on him. He couldn’t get arrested for negligence. He followed all the government guidelines.
He wouldn’t go to prison, and if Aedre couldn’t get the key, she’d have to tell him and Gus how to travel by river and rain so that they could visit the crow woman in Eeporyo.
Chapter 5*Noomy Foster
On her hands and knees, Noomy Foster picked weeds from around the saplings she’d planted last week. She placed them in a bag and stepped onto the steel grid path. The trees would grow stronger if weeds didn't choke them and one day flourish to produce fruits and nuts.
She loved gardening at night when starlight twinkled through the canopy. It helped her face her grief. When she worked in the agricultural domes or her own garden dome, she allowed pain to flow through her in waves of weakness and nausea. Gardening opened her mind to her emotions. When she gave her mind space to wander, long-buried sadness bubbled from within her heart.
In the past, she tried to avoid grief by studying or working on a project. But she’d learned the hard way that blocking it caused numbness and head fog. The memory of her daughters reminded her of love. Even though her story had two faces, she had to accept the dark side to remember the light. The dark side was accepting the fact Glass City had murdered Ingafar, made Yasmin a sex slave, and made Albina and Naomi concubines.
Her love for them would never perish, and her memories kept them close. Those recollections of her daughters growing up. Their high-pitched squeals of delight as they played their imaginative games. Their toddler and teenage tantrums, which seemed so stressful at the time, but now filled her heart with gratefulness.
A bird sang a gurgling tune, and Noomy Foster rubbed her aching muscles. She stretched her arms overhead and bent back, looking up at the twinkling stars beyond the glass dome.
The rushing waterfall in the centre of the greenhouse washed away her thoughts, bringing her to the present. Her stomach rumbled, and she made her way to the canteen. Two guards blocked her path.
“Noomy Foster?” One guard asked.
“Yes.”
“The director of Glass City wants to see you.”
Her insides quivered. She clutched her moonstone pendant and nodded. She hadn’t known Glass City had a director. What could be wrong? Was it because Roobish had vanished?
The guards accessed restricted doorways in reinforced steel walls and led her through underground tunnels she’d never known existed. Eventually, they walked onto a platform. A maglev train waited inside a glass suction tube.
Who’d known there were maglev suction tubes on Cronos? How big was Glass City to require high-speed underground transportation? In all her thirty-nine years living here, she’d learned and taught everything about Plan8 when preparing her daughters for their concubine exams, yet she’d been ignorant about the place she called home.
The doors of the tube and three carriages gaped open. She crawled inside the empty carriage and lay on her back in the tubular bed. The guard belted her in, then shut the door. She watched through the Biluglass as the guard secured himself within the carriage in front. The second guard must have gone in behind.
The tube sealed shut, and the carriage hummed into life as it lifted off the magnetic rail and floated in the middle of the container. A red countdown appeared on the Biluglass ceiling, and she clutched the handles laying along each side.
Her stomach lurched into her throat as force propelled them forward. If this suction tube was anything like those in the oceans of New Bilu or the sky of Markaz and Nerthus, they could be travelling up to four thousand mph.
After a minute, her mind adjusted to the speed, though her body remained in fight or flight mode. Another minute and the train decelerated to a stop. Sitting erect on a metal bench, a young woman with cropped bleached hair waited on the platform. She wore a tight black catsuit
and red stilettos. Noomy Foster would never understand how women could put themselves through the pain of such footwear.
The guards got out and helped her to her feet. The woman approached them. Her large, blue eyes bored into Noomy Foster’s, and her arms remained by her sides. “My name is Delisa. I’m the director of Glass City. Will you follow me?”
Heart still thudding from the high-speed journey, she followed Delisa, backed by the guards, through several doorways and tunnels, then finally into a transparent elevator, which travelled up through lunar rock and into a glass dome.
As they entered Delisa’s home, the view beyond the dome pulled Noomy Foster’s attention away from the interior. A lunar valley far below, covered in craters and hills, stretched to the starry horizon.
Her heart rate picked up as she tipped her head back and rotated on the spot—three hundred and sixty degrees of lunar valley.
Delisa cleared her throat, bringing her back to the moment. “My home rests on top of Cronos’s highest mountain, Mount Crone, at six thousand metres.”
“Wow.”
“Please.” Delisa gestured for Noomy Foster to walk with her through the living room to the Biluglass shell.
They passed cosy seats and white sheepskin rugs to reach the wall. The floor was transparent, too. They seemed to walk on air, over the mountain’s edge.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Yes. Quite scary, though, like I might fall.”
Delisa laughed, perfect teeth gleaming in a face yet to succumb to ageing. “Not many come to visit me in my little heaven on Mount Crone. It’s nice to have a guest. Would you like a drink?”
The guards had already left. “Please.”
“Are you comfortable sitting over the mountain edge?” Delisa asked.
She attempted to keep her voice light. “Yes.”
Delisa tapped the floor with the heel of her stiletto. “Cosy seat.”
A transparent armchair, more akin to a plastic bag filled with water, arose from the floor. Noomy Foster bounced into it as Delisa tip-tapped in her ridiculous shoes, over to the drinks bar by an opaque wall. There, she prepared two cocktails. She returned to Noomy Foster and offered her the glass of light brown liquid, topped with sugared cherries and cream.
Noomy Foster accepted her drink with a watery smile and rotated away from the edge. Her seat reformed around her body.
Delisa sat opposite and sipped from a stainless steel straw. She fixed her eyes on Noomy Foster again.
Shifting in her seat, Noomy Foster sipped too. Flavours of caramel and alcoholic cream caressed her tongue and warmed her throat. However, the extended silence caused her to glance around uneasily. Finally, she found some strength. “Why did you invite me here?”
“Where’s Noomy Roobish?”
“Sorry?”
Delisa’s contented expression transformed into one of scorn. Her frown deepened, so it extended up the entire length of her forehead. This woman wasn’t as young as she’d initially looked. She must’ve paid a lot for plastic surgery.
Delisa stamped on the floor. “Coffee table.” A transparent table arose, and she placed her empty glass on top. She crossed her arms and legs and sat back. “You know who Roobish is.”
“Yes. I saw her a couple of months ago in the bathhouse.”
“Are you sure it was that long ago?” Delisa narrowed her stare and leaned forward, searching Noomy Foster’s face.
“Yes. I’m sure. Why?” Her heart thudded loudly in her ears. Hopefully, Delisa wouldn’t hear it. She sipped more cocktail to moisten her parched throat.
“She’s vanished. The last time the CCTV caught sight of her was before she entered the quartz sweat vault. I called you here because you entered that very same vault thirty minutes after Noomy Roobish. You must’ve seen her.”
Noomy Foster scratched her chin and looked around at the stars. “No. She wasn’t there the last time I went to the sauna. I didn’t see her at all in the bathhouse that evening.” Hopefully, Delisa wouldn’t use a lie detector on her.
Delisa’s frown lines disappeared. She shook her empty glass. “I can’t be bothered to get another drink, but I could do with one.” She pressed the arm of her chair. “Inga!”
Noomy Foster’s redheaded daughter walked into the room from the opaque wall behind the bar. Her gaze stared forward like a robot, and her expression remained tranquil.
Noomy Foster’s stomach clenched, and she stood. “Inga?”
Her daughter stopped and arched an eyebrow, then looked at Delisa. “How may I help you, Madame?”
“Two cocktails, Inga. Two caramel teasers.”
Inga walked away, and Noomy Foster remained standing. “You have my daughter?”
“She was your daughter. Not anymore. She broke the rules and had her memory wiped, like others who break the rules in Glass City.” Delisa leaned back farther and uncrossed her arms.
Heat flushed through Noomy Foster’s body, and she ran to the girl and hugged her.
Inga remained stiff.
Noomy Foster spun around to glare at Delisa and rolled up her sleeves. “I want her back. You restore her memory and give her back to me.”
“Excuse me? Is that how you talk to the director?” Delisa stood and walked over to Inga. She swept Inga’s long ginger hair over her shoulder, tiptoed, and kissed her on the cheek.
“You leave her alone!” Noomy Foster fell to her knees and sobbed. “Please!”
“Want Inga with her old memory? Tell me the truth about Noomy Roobish. Tell me everything you’ve ever talked about and everything you’ve seen and heard about her.”
Noomy Foster gasped for breath between sobs. Delisa would never believe her if she told her what had happened. No one would. They’d declare her insane and do what they did to depressed noomies—administer the lethal injection. Or, would they put her to sleep and wipe her memory, as they’d done to Inga? Which was worse? Dying, or living in an empty shell?
“Okay. I’ll tell you. But you won’t believe me.”
“Finally.” Delisa took the two glasses from Inga, strutted back, placed the glasses on the coffee table, then flopped into her seat.
Noomy Foster returned to her chair and drained her cocktail. She told Delisa everything—from Roobish’s visions of Yasmin, and the mysterious Aedre who turned out to be Roobish’s past-self, to Roobish’s memory returning just before she disappeared into thin air.
“Roobish said that Aedre would free the Yiksaan slaves?”
Noomy Foster nodded.
“Remarkable. And she said that Yasmin would be saved in the process?”
“Yes.”
“She must’ve been very careless in her rescue attempt.” Delisa picked a thumbnail and looked up. “Most of the slaves were burned or suffocated from smoke inhalation. I saw it on the news.”
Dizziness overtook Noomy Foster, and her chest heaved. “Yasmin died?”
“Quite likely.”
She kneaded her chest with the heel of her hand as if to stop the pain. Perhaps Yasmin was alive. She nibbled her lip. “Aedre did it? The magic was real?”
“Yes. I’ve always believed what Noomy Roobish said. She told the truth about every daughter of every noomy. I installed microphones behind those crystals eighteen years ago.”
“You already know everything I told you?”
Delisa nodded.
“Why ask me to tell you?”
“Just testing your loyalty.” She stood and walked to the edge of the shell, staring down at the lunar valley. “If I’d known Roobish would succeed in passing messages to Aedre through a psychic in Eeporyo, I’d have locked her up and kept her as a pet. Aedre caused havoc. The Yiksaan Mafia was our biggest client. Now their Godfather’s been sent to jail, and Glass City’s in trouble.”
“Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Because I want you to work for me.”
“How?”
“As a spy. Keep your ears and eyes open for any strange happenings. Any s
hape-shifting entities. If Aedre is still alive and knows about Glass City, she’ll be coming here next.”
“You’ll give me back my Inga?”
“Yes.”
“With her memory?”
“Yes.”
A tear rolled down her cheek. “I’ll do it.”
Chapter 6*Roobish
Under a purple and red sky, the black monkeys continued to throw fruit at Roobish. She ducked and covered the top of her head with one arm, hugging the tree trunk with the other in the hope she wouldn’t slip. After some time, the monkeys became bored and went about their usual business of preening, chewing, swinging and shrieking. If she made a sudden movement, they stared and resumed their bullying. So she kept as still and quiet as possible.
It seemed strange that Mahaar and Kala were so sure Kaal was dead. Mahaar said he hadn’t found any blood because everything on the ground was black. But the Satsang’s eyesight was adapted to their red dwarf star. They had a different perception of the infrared end of the electromagnetic spectrum, so Mahaar’s vision would surely pick up the colour of blood.
The marks he’d spotted in the mud could have been crocodiles dragging their tails into the water, or pulling other prey into the river. Kaal might still be alive. He could have climbed a tree, then glided farther away, as Kala had.
Her belly fluttered, and she clutched the tree trunk tighter as she prayed. “Please, Mother Artheus, let this nightmare turn out fine. Protect Kala. If Kaal is alive and hurt, protect and heal him too. If he isn’t hurt, bring him back to Mahaar safely. Bring Kala and Kaal back safely to the tree with their father. Father Sky of Artheus, please hear my prayers and support Mother Artheus in this endeavour. I offer you my blessing of love, respect, and worship. Help my friends in this time of need.”
The monkey king screeched from above and jumped onto her bough with a sharpened stake in his hand.
Roobish stiffened and squeezed her eyes shut.
A swishing noise whooshed past through the air, and she opened her eyes. An arrow thudded into the monkey’s chest, and mouth agape, he crashed to the ground. Mahaar stood next to the dead body, pulled the arrow from his heart, and slotted it back into the quiver.
