I shake my head at the offering being laid at my feet. In all fairness to Sonnet, I want to know it all, but I’m unsure if I’ll regret taking the plunge into any one of those areas. Once seen, it cannot be unseen. My nightmares have always been filled with other people’s horrors, the brutalities perpetrated on them—pain I experienced when I became them as I read them. Sonnet’s experiences would be just more burden to endure in a dream state.
The condensed information about her experiences that I already have makes me wary. While Sonnet was being “healed” with the help of Kitoko and Kinshasa, Rafa felt the need to elaborate further on some of what they experienced. Just hearing about it was tough enough. Having to experience it through the eyes of Sonnet could leave terrible psychic scars within me. And going through what she has endured these last few days with Kinshasa and Kitoko? Do I really need that kind of understanding? Maybe it’s time I supplanted my ego and simply took Sonnet at her word and left things at face value. She is changed. Trust in the changed Sonnet—or don’t.
I choose to trust in her. “No. I don’t think I want to read you, Sonnet. I think explaining things to me, bringing it down to my level will suffice.”
She drops her eyes and says with a detectable tinge of disappointment in her voice, “As you wish.”
In that instant, my mind is changed. I do not want to disappoint my niece. So when I reach out and take her left palm in my right hand, she is startled. Her eyes widen and lock on mine and then...
I am looking at myself. My Sonnet left hand is in the right hand of my Forbes self. I am in Sonnet watching my Forbes body go passive as my Forbes body reads the Sonnet body. The sudden shift and the newness of it surprise me. It has never been like this for me when I read someone. I’ve always been transported to some past moment in time, not simply reversed viewpoints in the present tense.
Once I get over the shock of trading viewpoints, I realize I feel no emotion from Sonnet. I sense myself from her position, but I have no sense of her. A read has never been like this. There has always been more immersion into the person I’m reading. I become them. This is not a read. I reject the action.
I am back facing Sonnet. My hand is no longer in contact with her palm. We are merely sitting apart with powdery air between us. The butterflies and moths are gone. The air between us feels thick, more rank than before, still, and solitary.
“What just happened?” I question. “You blocked me?”
She is motionless, neither responding nor initiating, but her eyes follow mine.
I lean forward, bringing my face closer to hers. “You offered me a read. Why did you block me?” I ask again, slower this time, with more deliberation.
“You did not see what you wanted? You stopped so suddenly. Why?” she innocently inquires.
I lean closer. “I saw myself through your eyes. There was nothing else. There was no read.”
She places her hands behind her on the floor and leans away from me. “You are limited by the new me. I’m sorry for that. I had thought your abilities greater. I’m mistaken. Shall we try again?” But her question seems insincere or, at the least, a way to merely placate the weak me.
I lean my shoulders are against the wall and study her. She is beautiful bordering on magnificent. The air of authority and competence she projects is humbling. I’ve never seen her like this. Gone is any trace of innocence. In its stead, all I see is a vast intelligence behind her eyes.
I retreat in defeat. I realize that no longer am I the great protector of my young inexperienced niece. Instead, I know I am now in the presence of a creature of vast power and knowledge who does not want me inside of her. So be it. I bow to my superior.
“No,” I tell her. “I think I’ve seen enough. I can’t speak for Zed or Twizzle or Rafa, but if you feel the need to have me by your side, I’ll be there.”
Sonnet’s Legacy Chapter 16
One Week Later
Zed’s Voice
Uncle Forbes was a changed man this last week. Gone was the usual joking around that made working with him fun. He was best described as a man with matters of grave importance on his mind at all times. No matter how much I tried to get a rise out of him in jest, he just ignored it and carried on as if the concept of teasing and joking no longer existed. Disturbing. Twizzle was too engaged with Bull to pay much attention to it and Sonnet was in Sonnet la-la land with all her conferences with the Bangala Elongó and Kitoko and Kinshasa.
When I found that I needed to stay behind and delay my exit from the DRC for a week to help with village mechanical problems—and continue setting things up so I could communicate with the Bangala Elongó in the future—I took it as a blessing. The Bangala Elongó at least appreciate my sense of humor. We have fun together, laughing and joking with each other. So when I finished successfully troubleshooting one of their trucks and was left with a warm sunny afternoon of nothing to do, it seemed like a good idea to revisit the Gi tunnel and caverns, just to see how far along the Gi death had progressed. I expected the odor of decay might be brutal within the cavern, if there was even any cavern left to explore. For all I knew, the whole thing could have collapsed and been rendered inaccessible. Luckily, I have access to a dual cartridge chemical-and-gas face respirator for working with toxic chemicals.
I pack my respirator, some water, two triple-light LED flashlights, a machete, a small shovel, and I strap on a sidearm. In addition, I carry one of the automatic rifles that Twizzle’s security people left behind for the Bangala Elongó. Alone, I trudge to the great tree at the mouth of the tunnel and find the tunnel opening still functions for me—opening when I place my hand on the spot next to it and then closing after I pass through it. Once inside, I start forward and quickly find I need the respirator to fend off the fumes of putrefaction. After I place it over my head and tighten the straps around my face, the rank air becomes tolerable.
Shortly, I pass through the tunnel, cross the now dead sea of light that glows no more and enter the creature that used to be Gi. I do not feel its presence as I have in the past, which is exactly what I expected. It is dead and now its body is slowly decaying. I traverse down known corridors of the dead Gi and find rot and advanced decomposition everywhere. It isn’t until I come to a portion of Gi that we rarely enter that I begin to feel the presence of someone else within Gi. This is both alarming and curious.
Taking step after step on the now soft and rancid Gi floor, the feeling becomes stronger and stronger as I advance. The decomposition diminishes to the point that I end up in a section of a pulsating, very alive Gi where the walls emanate enough light so I no longer need the LED flashlight.
The “alive” portion of Gi is puzzling. What will I find the further I go? The Gi heart still beating? The core of Gi still alive, but slowly diminishing? The brains of Gi? My imagination is in full gear when I come upon a glowing orb like the ones we used to “go avatar,” only this orb is shaped like a compressed egg lying horizontally. Nearing the orb, I find it is translucent, which allows me to see a shape inside of it that appears to be someone in recline.
“I’ll be damned!” I say out loud. The person inside is nearly as tall as me, that much is clear. The first thought that comes to my mind is that one of the Bangala Elongó is inside of the orb. The person is too tall to be either Kitoko or Kinshasa, which makes me wonder who else inside the village is privy to Gi.
I kneel down next to it and touch the skin of the orb, feeling its fizzy quality. As I draw my hand along its skin, it begins to slowly change from translucent to transparent, little by little, blotchy area by random blotchy area, so that I get glimpses of skin indicating that the person is Caucasian and not African. As it progresses I see that the person is female and wearing a dress. And then my heart jumps when I see a patch of red hair where the person’s head is.
When the translucency changes to complete transparency, I behold Sonnet in deep sleep—like a sleeping beauty waiting for her prince charming. Thin, pulsing tentacles snaked into her mouth
and nose are slowly withdrawing and disappearing beneath her. When they are completely withdrawn, her chest heaves and her mouth bursts open to suck in air. The orb’s skin dissolves to sand and falls over her, leaving a layer of fine grit over her entire body. She coughs once and then rolls over onto her side coughing and spitting up mucus and grit. Her head faces the ground next to my boots.
I am paralyzed with surprise until she grabs one of my boots and presses down on it to push up from the ground. I drop my rifle, kneel down, rip my respirator off, wrap my hands under her arms and pull her into a sitting position with me kneeling next to her. Her skin is ghost white and she seems terribly fragile and thin. She is alarmingly cool to the touch, but when I pull her to me in a hug, she draws warmth from my body and, after a full minute, I feel her temperature returning to normal. Finally, she pulls apart from me and smiles weakly.
I’m in a state of disbelief. “What the hell, Sonnet? It’s you?! Or are you one of your avatars?” I’m completely confused. “I don’t get it. I saw you get on the helicopter with Uncle Forbes and Twizzle. You turned and waved goodbye to me!”
Seeing her here in the cave instead of where I think she should be, I start to make wild assumptions. “Why did you come back? When did you come back? How did you come back? I don’t get it. You told everyone we and you had to leave Africa and now here you are. Did you change your mind? Did something else happen I don’t know about? Did you come alone? I...”
Only the placement of her index finger on my lips ceases my flow of questions.
She wrinkles her nose and says in a hoarse voice, “It stinks, Zed. Get me out of here.”
I look down at her slim arms and then over to her exposed spindly legs. “Can you walk? You look so thin.”
She leans on me and tries to stand, but collapses into a heap. “Too long without movement. You’ll have to carry me. Let me ride piggyback on you. I’ll drape my arms over your shoulders. You grab my legs. Think you can handle me?”
I divest myself of the shovel, extra flashlight, and second water bottle on my belt to make room for her around my body. I maneuver her around the back of me while she wraps her legs around my hips, her arms around my chest, and lays her head against my shoulders. Unsteadily at first, I take the first few steps to get comfortable with her weight.
“No problem?” she asks, still hoarse.
“None.” I dip down, pick up my flashlight and then remember the respirator. “Wait,” I tell her, “you’ll be wanting this.” I drop myself down next to the respirator and pull her from my back. Just before I arrange it over her face and tighten the straps, she asks, “What about you? Don’t you need this?”
“No. You take it. I’m already used to the smell,” I lie. “The last thing I want is you to barf on me while I’m carrying you. Trust me, I can take it better than you can.” That ends her protests. Once she’s on my back and secured in place with the face mask on her head, I grab the LED flashlight and start out of the chamber. The lighting in the Gi walls begins to dim the farther we get from where I found her. By the time we hit the entry to Gi’s body at the edge of the lake that no longer glows, I’m feeling lightheaded from the fumes of death and decay that I’ve been breathing, but I do not let Sonnet know. Fortunately, she is silent so I don’t have the additional stress of talking.
When we break out of the tunnel and come to rest at the base of the huge mango tree, I’m exhausted, nauseous from the gases of decay, and in a sweat. I gently unroll Sonnet off my back and down onto the grass with her back against the tree and then plop myself down next to her.
She removes the respirator and notes, “You look terrible, Zed. Even with this respirator on, the odor inside there was dreadful. I can’t imagine what it was like for you without it. I’m sorry I was so much trouble.” She gently runs her fingers through my hair that is sticky with sweat.
“Give me a few moments, Sonnet. I can still taste the inside of Gi.” I spit, “Yech!” and then remove my water bottle from my belt, uncap it and start to take a swig when it dawns on me that maybe Sonnet needs this more than me. With apologetic eyes, I turn to her and offer the bottle. She takes it, lifts it to her lips and then drinks and drinks and drinks. She finally lowers it and stares out into the bush, seemingly forgetting my presence.
I pull it from her fingers and find a merciful few swallows left for me. I empty the bottle, recap it and wipe my mouth. Sonnet is quiet and stares placidly out into the landscape. Deciding this must be acclimation time for her, I bide my time and hold my questions. While we sit there together enjoying the moment out of that place of death, I contemplate the situation and realize this is not the Sonnet who boarded the helicopter. That worries me. Which one is the real Sonnet?
“I am,” she says as if she read my mind. “I’m the real Sonnet. The Sonnet you saw off to Chile started out as an avatar, but became larvae.”
So now mind-reading is a new skill of hers that I will have to get used to? “You were in avatar mode the whole time? For months and months? How is that possible?”
“Gi kept me nourished,” she replies, matter of fact. “Kept my bodily functions steady. Brought my metabolism down to coma level. Kept me well for as long as necessary until you discovered me.”
Of course! I realize the tentacles in her mouth and nose were feeding her. “But why?”
“The journey to make contact with the Mikeno Gi was too dangerous. Avatar was the only solution. Gi was in crisis mode after contact with Kinshasa. It was Gi’s decision.”
“But what about your avatar?”
“Larvae. Once she settles in Chile, she’ll go pupa and then metamorphose.”
“Into what?”
Sonnet turns to me with a contemplative serious look on her face and says slowly with deliberation, “Into something very powerful.”
Sonnet’s Legacy Chapter 17
Two Weeks Later
Zed’s Voice
Sonnet and I decided to stay in the compound for a few weeks of rest, relaxation, and recovery for her. She is slowly getting her muscle strength and agility back by managing her diet and doing self-imposed physical therapy. She created a daily regimen for herself that starts when she wakes and finishes by dinnertime. She tells me that when she’s able to play soccer with the boys of the village, she’ll consider herself rehabilitated. Right now all she does is watch from the sidelines.
We haven’t told Twizzle or Uncle Forbes about her still being in Africa and that the Sonnet they are dealing with is a disconnected former avatar. You would think there would be some back and forth between the two Sonnets, but since Sonnet was taken from the inside of Gi, she is completely cut off from her other self so we rely on my calls to Twizzle to stay apprised of what is happening in Chile. We were hoping that the other Sonnet would reveal herself to them, but my communication with them indicates the other Sonnet has not done so.
Sonnet and I are planning to let Twizzle and Uncle Forbes know about the two Sonnets via a call to Chile a few days from now, but we have yet to come up with words to mitigate the surprise they’ll experience. Once we drop the bomb, we’ll have to work out the confusing details of getting the real Sonnet a visa to fly to Chile to come face to face with her doppelganger. I’m guessing it will take bribes and mysterious “lost documents” within the Democratic Republic of the Congo labyrinth of bureaucracy to achieve what we need.
On the DRC home front, somehow Kitoko and Kinshasa were not surprised to see the real Sonnet still in Africa. They acted like it was natural and they, of course, knew. But Sonnet confided to me that Kitoko is much too busy with her new leadership role with the Bangala Elongó to spend time thinking about what Sonnet does or doesn’t do. We are exiting her world and she is adjusting to the new life without us and Gi.
Kinshasa has been spending time with Sonnet now that Kitoko is so busy and because of that I am spending time with Kinshasa’s baby, a baby who bears magic in the tips of her fingers. Sometimes when I sit in the shade with her cradled in my arms, she w
ill raise her little hands to my face and trace my lips with her index finger. That’s when the magic occurs. Her touch brings me moments of the future—her future and her daughter’s future and her daughter’s daughter’s future, and so on. It’s great fun for me sitting in the cover of the porch overhang with her in my arms, her touch filling my head with wonderful visions that some might call hallucinogenic daydreams. Daydreams of the future of all mankind.
End of Book 3
Continue reading for an excerpt from
The Girl with all the Pain
A continuation of the
Aliens, Tequila & Us Saga
By
Michael Herman
Preview Girl with all the Pain Prologue
Azapa Valley, near the Museoâ Arqueologico San Miguel de Azapa, Chile
“Where did you dispose of the body?”
The old man’s cancerous voice was as rough as his broken face. Smoke from a bent cigarette in his yellowed fingers curled past watery eyes. The black hat tilted askew on his salt-and-pepper stubby hair made him look deceivingly feebleminded. But barbarous narrow eyes under refugee eyebrows dispelled that impression immediately.
On the wall behind him, a younger uniformed version of him – when he was part of an elite military squad under General Pinochet – stared out into the dim room as a reminder of his glory days; days of rounding up the General’s opponents after the bloody coup; days when torture and murder were common methods of operation for the military.
Aliens, Tequila & Us: The complete series Page 35
