by Jaclyn Lewis
I wonder what he sees in me. What could he possibly think I have to offer? I’m incomplete and dependent. Why would he choose me? And for a split second I wonder what Trina is like and how I would measure up to her.
We talk about everything on the drive back to the specter—just Pax and me. Like we are the only ones here and the others are kind enough to leave us alone.
When we make it back, I’m still a little surprised when Kylee brings the specter out of cloaking—even though I knew it was there. Pax and I are the last two on board and he closes the door. No one is around now, and he pulls me in for a second kiss. It’s longer than the last one, but just like last time it’s over too soon.
“I just couldn’t wait to do that again.” He smiles and walks past me to the cockpit where he gives Kylee coordinates for the CGC base.
“So…what’s the plan for when we get there?” Kylee questions skeptically. “I mean…are we just going to walk in and say ‘hey guys! We are just here to find some proof of Camp’s evil plan to destroy us all.’?”
He’s amused. “Ha…no. We’re going into the city first. Not the base. And Kylee? After we get what we need—we’re going to Paris. You’ve waited long enough.”
Her heart must ache to know her own story even as she’s been so patient to listen to ours and watch it unfold. She understands that saving the Earth takes precedence, she’s still eager to find her own family.
“Listen,” Ember says with unmatched authority. “We need an exit strategy. Surely by now, CGC has been alerted that we are on Earth somewhere. Vegas is pretty close to their base…don’t think that we’re just going to sneak in there. So what’s the plan?”
“We should program the specter ahead of time—in case we get separated and if we do, this is where we’ll meet.” Kylee advises.
Silas offers, “So, if we have to stay overnight, can I suggest a hotel?”
“Ok…” Pax answers, waiting.
“Treasure Island. We have to go there.
“Why?” Ember questions.
“Pirates. That’s what. Who doesn’t love a good pirate show? Arg…”
Kylee shakes her head with a smile and prepares to take off. The flash is shorter than any of the ones I’ve experienced.
On arrival, I experience a brief moment of intense panic. We’re back on Erimos…how can this be? And so quickly? But then I see the color of the sand and the yellow sun above me and realize that Las Vegas must consist of desert too.
We exit carefully, looking around for anyone who might be looking for us. The city is a couple of miles north of us.
Hurriedly, Kylee cloaks the specter and we begin the long trek to the city. It is dry here like Erimos, and we finish all of our water before we make it to the first street with buildings.
This city is loud and full of bustling chaos--unlike Erimos’s highly organized ways. The flashing lights and music and chatter all combined actually make me dizzy.
We stop along the sidewalk to watch an artist draw caricatures of us. His hand moves quickly—spreading paint in places that make us wonder if the picture will bear any resemblance to ourselves or not. And then it happens—the lines come together in some painter’s magic. What was unrecognizable suddenly becomes art. Amazed, I pay for the painting and drop a few extra dollars in the artist’s tip jar.
Next we are introduced to the sound of street musicians. There is an impressive saxophone player who has left his music case open with a sign that says “Homeless: please help.”
I can sympathize with the man. After all, we are homeless ourselves or soon will be when the money runs out. Perhaps, if we could play music, we could survive too.
The entire city smells like food. I’m so hungry and we walk into a casino for lunch. My senses are filled with the dings of the casino machines and the smell of expensive perfume. We eat quickly, reminding ourselves that this is not a vacation, but an urgent mission we are on. Oh, but how wonderful it would be to have no worries. To vacation in a place like this and not have the world literally resting on your shoulders!
The CGC label can be found on many of the gadgets we see in the shop windows—things like ultra-sensitive security cameras and the thumb scanner that has replaced key cards in this city.
“We need to get out to the facility soon.” Pax says. “But first…we need a car.” A mischievous grin dances across his face.
The rest of us wait on a park bench and watch people as they walk by. More street singers, painters with hair that looks like it hasn’t been washed in weeks, women sporting less clothing on their bodies than a swimsuit. I wouldn’t have known Earth could be this wild if I hadn’t seen it for myself.
A loud roar like thunder captures our attention, and within a few seconds a bright red sports car approaches. It’s Pax, and he’s ready to race somewhere—if I had to guess I would say to the edge of death and back.
Chapter 22
*
Dr. Mitchell
He wants to drive. Of course he does—this car was made for the envy of red-blooded American men! Or in this case—a man—not American, grown in a lab on another planet—who has also never driven a car.
“Ok fine”. I concede.
Silas is ecstatic. “Pull over. Pull over. Let me do it here.” He says, pointing to a spot in the road.
A shoulder up ahead looks like as good a place as any to stop so I get out to switch seats with him. We are only about 5 miles from the base now.
“It’s a stick shift. Good luck.” I chuckle sarcastically and cross my arms.
“I hope he doesn’t kill us all.” Ember mutters under her breath.
The tension in my shoulders and arms lessens after a bit and I’m surprised by how quickly Silas learns to drive. After only a few minutes he’s shifting and using the blinker with perfect ease.
“I have memories of driving…remember?” He tells me.
Sometimes I’m still taken back by how much is ingrained in the snowflakes by their memories. Sometimes they can’t remember simple little things, and yet he knows how to drive. Silas surely has his own distinct personality, but there is still something in him that is uniquely Andre LeBlanc. I’ll never understand it.
“It’s like riding a bicycle!” He exclaims. We all laugh because, that’s right, they’ve never ridden bikes either.
Even from this far out, we can see how enormous the CGC base is, like its own city. We pass by at least two miles of hangars---road sandwiched in between. These are for the specters, no doubt.
When we pull up to the entrance of the gate, I don’t really have a plan. I had one…and then I saw the sign.
“Camp Global Commerce Base of Interstellar Operations.
Earth Specter Docking Station.”
I had thought interstellar travel was a closely held secret—at least it was when I left Earth. But, this means that word is out…people know about the program. But how much do they know?
I don’t have time to think. The soldier at the gate asks for ID.
“I’m Doctor Paxton Mitchell from Erimos Core. I’m here to see Titus Camp.”
The soldier stiffens—points his rifle, and activates the microphone on his lapel.
“Code 1 priority. The fugitives from Erimos. They are at the gate.” He practically screams it. We could spin out and hope to get away before a stray bullet got us. But the truth is—we need to see him face to face. We need answers—it may mean the end of us, but it will be the end either way.
* * *
I assume we’ll be taken to a holding facility. But instead the gate opens and we are told to follow a squad car that has pulled up in front of us. It says “CGC Security” on the side. We pull up to a hangar bay and the doors open.
We’re dumbfounded by what we see when they do open. A hangar the size of a square block covered in snow, with a makeshift mountain and a fire pit off to the side. A reflecting pool sits in the middle—arranged like a movie set.
Near the far wall, Titus is roasting marshmallows with a
woman that is probably a third of his own age. I would know him anywhere—I saw video messages from him all the time—sent to the staff on Erimos.
Guards file in along the perimeter of the wall. We wait—shivering just a bit in the snow.
“Grab them some jackets, will you, dear?” He motions to the young woman he was sitting with.
“Would you like a s’more?” He motions to Ember. She’s frozen—afraid to move toward him, but doesn’t blink.
“Ah yes---you’ve never had one. But “she” did, didn’t she? Because they were Elise’s favorite dessert in the world.”
Of course he would know that about Elise—she was his daughter..
“What happened to Howard Dawson? Did you do something to him?” I ask him. This isn’t our most pressing problem, but it is related, I’m sure, and I’m ready to get down to business.
“Howard is exactly where he wanted to be.” He answers. “But that really doesn’t concern you at all. What does concern you, however, is that you have upset the delicate balance of the snowflake experiment by telling these four—experiments—heaven knows what!”
I can feel the guards closing in and my adrenaline pumping like too much water through a narrow pipe.
Fight or flight? I can’t decide. All at once I feel guilty for bringing them here. There were too many unknowns, and we should have waited until we had a better plan. Plus, none of us is trained to handle this kind of situation
“What are your plans for the Asprosium missile?” I ask directly. The others seem surprised by my directness, but surely, Titus must know that’s why we’ve come.
“I’m going to tell you a story.” He begins while perfectly turning the roasting stick in a circle over the flame. “There once was a man traveling in the desert. He got down from his camel to give him a drink and asked the camel, ‘which way do you want to go? Uphill or downhill?”
Titus scrapes the golden marshmallow onto a plate and loads another onto the stick.
“The camel scoffed at him.” He continues—his eyes narrowing at me. “Does it matter? Is the flat way through the desert closed today?” I’ve heard evil laughs in movies, but what Titus is doing now sounds like the laugh of a madman completely out of touch with reality.
After gaining his composure he says, “You see, Doctor, there is only one way to proceed. And you don’t have a choice about the matter so I’ll make you a deal: You stop asking questions when you have no control over what happens, and I’ll not give you the silly illusion that what you think matter’s at all.”
“You’re their father.” I’m taking a desperate chance, but in the split second I’ve had to think, I know these things are true—that our lives mean nothing to him, and that he’s toying with us because he doesn’t plan to let us go. He won’t spare our lives if we have nothing to offer him.
“That’s impossible.” He retorts, searching Ember’s face for the recognition that he already knows is there. He scans them intently—Ember first, then Silas, and finally Genna.
Gliding toward her, he reaches out his hand. Anger flames inside me. I don’t want him touching her.
“If you hurt her, so help me, I will strangle you with my shoelaces if I have to.”
“Yes. Yes of course you will. And what fun that will be.” He replies.
The guards wrestle me to the ground and Camp continues toward Genna. She is a stone wall, her feet planted on the ground. Afraid.
He softens as his hand brushes the spot where her tattoo is covered.
“It’s true…” He concedes. “Perhaps. But there were only two. So one of you is not the same. Does it remind you of a children’s activity book? One of these is not the same—see if you can spot the differences.”
He laughs that horrible laugh as he scans each face again. They all look so much alike; even he can’t tell which two are most likely to be his own offspring.
“But how? I was told that you couldn’t be found. That you had been destroyed in an…accident of some sort. I just never dreamed…and yet you look just like her. Yes. I see it now, it’s all coming together. I know why there are three.”
“Why?” I ask him, panting from the scuffle with the guards. “Why are there three of them.”
“You’ll know in time, Doctor.”
“What are you going to do with us?” Silas demands.
Titus looks down at his feet—then up at the artificial sun. He’s thinking—working out all the possible outcomes in his mind. It hadn’t occurred to me until now that Silas must have inherited this trait from him, the acute ability to rationalize everything and immediately determine the likelihood of future events. This leads me to determine that of all of them, Silas is the one I’m most sure about being Titus’ own child. He was the one who started us all on this journey after all with the recognition of the camera in the memories. But between Ember and Genna, I just don’t know. Perhaps they all are. At least for now, it seems this is a secret that Titus will keep from us.
Camp finally speaks up, “For the first time in a long time—I just don’t know what I’m going to do. This has changed everything.” He pauses. “But don’t think for a second that I’m planning a family reunion any time soon.”
Chapter 23
*
Genesis
Doctor Camp—my father, looks older in person than he does in pictures. Perhaps extended moments of cruelty have left their mark. Honestly, I’m a little surprised to still be breathing, let alone walking over to the main building for lunch.
It’s all so peculiar. What’s he going to do with us anyway? Perhaps we can change his mind…give him a purpose and a reason not to destroy Earth? Can we help him to see reason?
Once inside, he leads us up to a private suite with a beautiful dining table. It’s large and ornate. Glistening heavy oak. It reminds me of something you might find in a king’s palace—one of those tables that was danced upon by bar maids after a garrison of troops had devoured trays of roasted pheasant. Carefully, we each take a seat.
“When I was a child, my father bought this table from a traveling salesman.” He tells us while pouring a glass of red wine for each of us—making his way around the table slowly.
“He claimed it had belonged to Napoleon Bonaparte. I can still hear that salesman’s slithery voice--‘It’s a steal really. Napoleon ate supper on this very table. Made battle plans—here see the ink mark on this corner? That’s from his pen.’ Well, my father spent that week’s earnings on that table. The next day we had this beautiful table and no supper to eat on it.”
He goes on, “That day I decided we were swindled for the last time. That’s why I keep this table. It should remind you of that too, now.”
There’s danger in his voice. A seriousness that takes me back and makes my palms sweat.
“I’ve ordered a DNA test which will confirm, no doubt that you are my children. At the very least two of you are—meaning one of you is likely an imposter. But, I can see my own Annalise in your eyes when I look at all of you. Peculiar.” He stares deeply into all of our eyes and something seems uneasy about him. Like he can’t solve a puzzle. “But what I don’t know is why you’re here. Surely, you could have summoned me to Erimos to reveal this information.”
The weight of his inquiry hangs over us like a cloud. I can hear the grandfather clock in the corner ticking loudly at every moment of indecision we are battling. I look to Pax.
He takes a chance that Camp won’t know his poker face. “We were afraid. When we uncovered the facts, we thought that maybe they would be reset—maybe there were others who didn’t want anyone to know. So I brought them here. Also, I found out about the Asprosium bomb and we were afraid you would use it on Erimos.”
He’s very convincing. And there is enough truth in his lie that maybe Titus will be thrown off track. Will Titus believe him? This man Titus—master manipulator—can Pax really get one over on him?
Titus studies him intently. Then changes the subject. As expected, he’s holding his car
ds close to the chest.
“Well, then. Let’s eat, shall we? You seem most inquisitive—all three of you. Tell, me…have you had any dreams?”
I’m the first to speak up. “Yes. But we were told everyone has them. Is that true?”
“Yes. It is. But nothing—extra? No added information in your dreams?”
“No, sir.” I commit to sounding as innocent as possible.
“Good.” He winks at me as he sits at the head of the table—being waited on and attended to constantly throughout the meal. We are all treated like honored guests by the staff and it makes me uneasy.
Lunch is exceptional. I can’t help but wonder a little if my food is poisoned. But if I drop dead from poison, it is probably preferable to any other form of death at the hands of this man.
As I listen to his words, I feel sorry for him—even as his every movement carries with it some measure of psychotic impulse. Contained in every glance I see his desire to both embrace me and torture me till my last breath carries itself out on the wind. I wonder how many have died at his hand—and how many more he wishes to destroy.
“I must tell Howard.” He exclaims as though he’s just remembered something. “Yes, I must tell him now. I’ll be back. Enjoy your lunch and if you would like seconds, don’t hesitate to ask.” He waves toward one of the servers and exits the room.
“What are we going to do?” Ember whispers—with all the force that the question would have exploded inside her if she’d had to wait any longer.
“We’re going to wait for Titus to come back.” Pax says and motions with his eyes in such a way to let us all know that the room is probably bugged.
Of course, a man as paranoid as Titus would have taken those precautions.
“Kylee, have you ever been to the Eiffel Tower?” Pax asks.
She looks at him confused. He knows she hasn’t been there.
The expectation is to speak in some kind of code now so I use rhymes—something Ember will surely understand and should awaken the memories of Kylee as well.
