by SJ Davis
Josephine walked to the window, attracted by the laughter below. Bodhi’s brass goggles peeked out from one of her pockets and she shoved her right hand into the other. “So. I have a barcode. A chip. I’m on the grid?”
“Do your ears ring?” asked Stuart. “Ringing in your ears usually means the tag is pretty fresh, less than a couple of months.” He attached a feathered roach clip to the edge of a Styrofoam cup.
“My ears have been ringing ever since I met the Yeshua and Nico.”
“Do you mean,” Yeshua bent closely into her. “Do you mean, even when you were at home?”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” she answered. “Somehow you must have sent me, or will send me, back home with this inside my head. Omni might know everything.”
Stuart walked to Josephine and placed his hand on her arm. “Sweetheart,” his voice carried a slight upper class Virginia drawl. “Whatever you got going on, it sounds like you’ve been dealt a shitty hand.”
“What can we do now? How can I get home and get this thing out?” Josephine panicked. She placed her head against the windowsill and banged it several times. The wasps buzzed furiously outside the glass.
“There are only a few people who can remove these things safely, and dispose of them in a quiet manner.” Yeshua grabbed her arms and faints sounds of salsa drifted up from the floor below.
“Ask Charley. He’ll know. Hell, he might even be able to do it himself,” said Stuart. “Why’d you come here anyway? More ink?”
“No. We can’t find Nico. We haven’t seen him and thought he might have checked in with you,” said Yeshua.
“You haven’t seen him? ” asked Stuart. “Well, I haven’t seen him. And that’s not a good thing.”
“No, it’s not. And I haven’t reported it, because I didn’t want to draw attention to him. And all of us.” Minnow held a pencil eraser to her skin and rubbed it across her skin, leaving a small sticky-wet skin burn. “Damn. If he hasn’t been here, where is he?”
Yeshua gently shoved Minnow’s arm and grabbed the eraser from her grip. “Knock it off.” A crumpled orange candy wrapper fell from her other hand. “I don’t know why you do that to yourself,” he whispered. “You’ve been a real head case lately.”
Minnow shrugged and started chewing her cuticles instead. Josephine and Stuart ignored her as she walked to the balcony. Outside, tea lights flickered on a table.
“Well shit,” said Stuart. “Looks like things aren’t as controlled as you’d want.” He reached in his pocket, pulled out a barely wrapped piece of gum. He hopped up on the table to sit, pushing his papers and coffee to the side and crossed his legs.
Stuart chose one ashtray to empty. The Dunhill cigarette butts fell heavy into the trashcan but the ashes scattered over the floor.
“Is anyone after him?” asked Stuart. “Does Omni want him?”
“I don’t know. It depends if they know who we are, and what we are trying to do,” said Yeshua, pulling his car starter from his pocket.
“I’d go back to where you saw him last,” said Stuart, slapping a mosquito on his leg. “You might get your answer there.”
Omni
Same Day 1234
Yeshua’s auto sped from the exit ramp at 90 kilometers per hour towards the 14th Street Bridge. Colorful graffiti littered the soundproof walls on the roadside and fluorescent streetlights illuminated the inside of the car. One hour remained until Omni reset their feeds.
“Okay, I’d really like to know how you brought me here,” said Josephine, clenching the car door handle. “And when I can go back.” The highway was almost empty and only a few dark cars were left to pass.
Yeshua tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Look, we will get you back as soon as we can.” The car’s air conditioning pounded her bare arms.
“We have to get your chip out first. Then we’ll see what happens,” said Minnow, genuinely optimistic.
“What do you mean ‘then we’ll see what happens’?” asked Yeshua. “We aren’t on a wheel going round and round. There is a beginning and there is an end. It’s a line, and we go back and forth.”
“Maybe it is a line, and maybe it isn’t,” said Minnow. “But the more disruptions we have, like bringing someone forward, the more complicated and jagged the line becomes.”
“How deep is this chip?” asked Josephine, starting to fidget with her hair.
“Deep enough for you to stop messing with it,” answered Minnow. “And stop scratching. You’re giving me hives.”
“Settle down, Minnow. You’ve got a some funky self-inflicted shit going on in your own world,” said Yeshua. His eyes glanced briefly to her and then out the back window.
“What are you looking at?” asked Minnow.
Behind their car, a helicopter lurched in and out of the rear view mirror. “Someone might be following us,” said Yeshua.
“Don’t be paranoid. It’s probably a traffic reporter,” said Minnow. “And we have about an hour left off the grid.”
“I don’t know. Maybe something happened and we’ve already been reset.” A black helicopter flew in the sky above the warehouses on the side of the highway. “It’s not rush hour.”
“Shit. I bet it’s her fricking chip,” said Minnow. She reached forward and pulled Josephine’s hair back. “She’s a total homing device. Omni probably set her barcode her as a person of interest so she’s on auto-reset.”
“Auto-reset?” asked Josephine.
“Yep. Basically, as soon as you disconnect, you’re reset immediately.”
“They can do that?” asked Josephine.
“They can if they want to.”
“I don’t know what to do,” said Josephine as she pulled away from Minnow. “What about a memory transfer?” she asked desperately. The wind from a crack in the window blew her hair into her face, strands of hairs stuck to her mouth.
“What? How do you know about those?” Yeshua glared at Minnow. “No way. Too dangerous.”
“But if you download other memories into my chip, it might throw Omni off.”
“Theoretically,” said Minnow. “But it’s risky. And the memory doesn’t go into your chip, it goes right into your brain.”
“And other people carry a lot of bad shit. Shit that you aren’t used to seeing. No way. Maybe we can keep you in a deregulated area.”
“Well, either way, I can’t go home with this chip in place and I can’t stay here either. I’m a liability wherever I go.”
“You aren’t a liability,” said Yeshua, he smiled at covered her hand. He glanced into the rearview mirror to catch Minnow rolling her eyes.
“I’m hungry,” Minnow said abruptly, her eyes stared at the back of Yeshua’s head, her jaw clenched shut.
“Okay,” said Yeshua quietly. “What about you, Josephine?”
“Not really,” she said.
Minnow’s clunky silver bracelets fell like chains as she raised her water bottle and sipped. “Figures.”
Yeshua crossed over two lanes quickly to the exit ramp. “Where are we going?” said Minnow, her middle finger scratched the seat, leaving tiny light lines in the upholstery.
“Crystal City,” he answered. The helicopter remained in the distance while a red-hot ruby of light emanated from its rear onto the highway. Swerving direction, the helicopter retreated.
“So, Miss Josephine. What do you do for fun when you’re at home? Anything like this?” asked Minnow, her tone blamed Josephine for the day’s events.
“I told you before, I’m a tutor children. I teach foreign language and literature," said Josephine. “I lead a very quiet life, until now.”
Yeshua’s looked at Josephine. He pounded the steering wheel with his fist.
“Keep your hands on the wheel, dude,” said Minnow.
“What languages do you speak?” he asked.
“French. Latin. But Latin isn’t truly spoken, of course.”
“Any others?”
“I know sign language.”
“No. And what about Nico?”
“Can you learn Algonquin?" Lakota rubbed the overgrown scruff on his chin. “It’s not a dead language yet, not in your time.”
Josephine smoothed the fabric of her jacket. “I can try, I’ll see if I can locate any linguistic texts.”
Yeshua stared at the oncoming traffic lights as they whizzed past. “I need to find that photo,” he mumbled to himself as he turned on the satellite radio. “Maybe Nico was right.”
“Turn the music down, I can’t hear you,” said Minnow. “What did you say?”
“Never mind. Nothing. I’m just thinking about an old photo.”
It was drizzling as they arrived at Charley’s. They pulled down the short uneven alleyway by the garage, grayer than its original white. “This garage is in serious need of paint,” said Yeshua. “Ready?”
Charley sat quietly in a chair, recovering. He had dark circles and chapped lips.
“Charley. My man. What’s up,” said Yeshua as they walked past the security door. The smell of over-chlorinated water burned their noses.
“I feel like there’s this tunnel. Going straight down. And I’m stuck at the bottom,” said Charley. “I can’t sleep. I don’t want to move.”
“Charley,” said Minnow, sitting next to him. “You’ll be fine. Trust me.” She placed her arm around his neck. “Are you drinking enough water?”
“Nice to see you, Charley,” said Josephine.
“Nice to see me?” he smiled. “Nice to see me what? Not seizing? Not vomiting? Not about to die?” He sputtered a mix of a cough and laugh. He sat up straighter and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. His jeans were yellowed, as if they had been worn for weeks and he smelled like sweat. “And yes, Minnow, I am keeping perfectly hydrated. When did you become such a nurse?”
“Never. But I do want to know what happened to you.” Minnow’s eyes watered and her she scratched her nose. “God. Smells like a chemical swamp in here, Charley.”
“Yeah, well I needed to clean things up a bit. Things were messy.”
“Charley,” said Yeshua. “Who drugged you?”
“I took some bad shit, all by myself. Nothing more.”
“I don’t believe you Charley. Was it Omni? Who?” pressed Minnow.
“It was nobody.” Charley stood up slowly. He looked like he shrunk. “Or maybe it was just an unhappy customer.”
“Seriously? Unhappy about what?” asked Yeshua.
“There’s only a few things people get unhappy about in this store. Money. Information. Truth.”
Charley sunk back into his chair. His dark velvet shirt seemed too formal for the day as he reached in his pocket for cigarettes. “Anyway, what can I do for you,” he breathed in deeply. Or are you really just checking on me?” He exhaled slowly and rubbed the palms of his hands on his thighs. “Speak up,” he said as he blew three smoke rings.
Minnow and Yeshua stood in silence. Josephine fumbled with her hair. “Do you have anything to eat?” asked Yeshua, finally.
“Yep, lobster and fries,” said Charley. “Leftovers from Legal Seafood.” Charley went to the back of the store and set down uneaten fragments of unrecognizable crustacean. “Last night’s delivery.” Josephine picked up a piece, chewed politely, and then abandoned it altogether in a napkin.
Minnow picked her teeth with a black polished fingernail as she sat cross-legged on a floor pillow. “Here’s our news. Josephine’s on the grid and Nico’s missing.”
Charley blinked, he squinted towards Josephine, and the light from the window hung around him like a veil. “Huh?”
“It’s true. We found out she’s on the grid. She’s chipped and bar-coded. Might’ve happened in the clinic,” said Yeshua. “Maybe the clinic isn’t underground.”
“Bullshit. That hospital is off the feed. Omni’s procedures aren’t in their bag of tricks. They don’t implant,” said Charley. He limped over to the windows and pulled down the blinds.
“Tran was there. Maybe he did it. He was making strange, veiled remarks.”
“What?” asked Minnow. “You never told me. What did he say?”
“He gave me a fortune cookie. About his horse always being behind mine.”
“Get down. Sit on the floor,” he ordered, waving them behind the back counter. “Now, what the fuck is going on?”
Omni, 2124
Rushing into class, Yeshua and Nico weren’t wearing green for St. Patrick’s Day. At the door, Ms. R stood at the door greeting everyone.
“Where’s your green?” she asked. Running into his other third grade classmates, Yeshua escaped Ms. R’s playful attempt to pinch him. He held up his hand decorated with green circles colored in with marker.
“Hurry in!” She called out to those lingering in the hallway.
Twenty-four students crowded into her classroom for a Native American Language and Culture after school program.
“I say. You say,” she told the class, pointing a stick to a color chart in English and Algonquin.
“Green,” she said, “Sai sikimokinaattsi.”
“Green,” the class answered, “Sai sikimokinaattsi.”
Ms. R called on Yeshua to take a turn reading the chart. He stumbled over the words.
“Close your eyes and listen to the rhythm of each word.” Ms. R said to Yeshua, closing her own eyes also. “We’ll do it together. Nico, pay attention please.”
Around the room hung signs in Blackfeet. Clock. Iih-tai-ksi-tsi-kom-iop. Phone. Iik-tai-po-ypo.
Quickly, the class moved on to days of the week. Friday was the Blackfeet’s traditional sacred day turned to mean “Fish Day” due to the Catholic influence.
“We do that!” Nico stood and pointed to the poster for Friday. “We eat fish every Friday.”
“Nico, sit down.”
Ms. R began to write the Algonquin words on the smart board. Nico broke his stylus in frustration and kicked it to the edge of the room.
“Nico, concentrate,” she said. “I will help.” Nico ripped open a plastic bag filled with crackers. Crumbs exploded on the floor as the class giggled. His dark eyes glared at his classmates.
“You can eat after class, Nico. Now, give me your hands. We’ll do it together in sign language.” She covered his balled fists with her hands and pried apart his fingers. She formed his fingers into the letters of the alphabet, one at a time. “Learn this language with your body and your mind. Then it will be yours.”
London
August 1865
Bringing in her morning tea, the crookedly hunkered shoulders and knocked knees of the new houseboy made Francesca smile. She smoothed her hair and pushed it to the side. She leaned closer to the mirror.
Outside the front window, a bronze street lamp sat upon a massive iron Corinthian column but provided no ambient light to her room. Francesca slid her bare feet into a pair of leather slippers, and reached for two copper cables connecting to a large galvanic cell next to her bed stand. The battery cell was made of two metal rods connected by a glass tube filled with sodium chloride. “Be careful of the spark,” Francesca said to the boy as the room filled with a corrosive metallic odor, “it’s just the electric polar reversal.” She spoke loudly as he covered his ears, his eyes widening at the hissing puffs of smoke. “Nothing to fear! All’s well!” Her boudoir lit up brightly as her brass lamps become powered. Francesca’s hair blew wildly and erratically all around her head, charged with static electricity.
“Are you q-q-quite w-well, Madam?” inquired the quiet houseboy, nervously twisting his fingers and his eyes darting about her room. He wore a dusty navy frock coat with short tapered trousers; around his neck he wore an ascot of burgundy silk, currently untied and water spotted. As dignified as his wardrobe appeared, the nervous boy bit his lip and stumbled through his words.
Francesca frowned, oblivious that her hand held her hair back from her scar as she drew closer. “Of c
ourse, I am. I am quite superb. Thank you for the tea,” she smiled. “That will be all.” As the new boy set the tray by her battery charger, there was a loud smash and clatter of breaking china. The boy stood in a puddle of spilled amber colored tea.
“Dear boy,” said Francesca, “don’t be so nervous.” She smiled, “Do I frighten you?”
The boy pulled the tea towel from his arm to mop up the wet mess, shaking his head. “No Madam. N-n-not a-t t-all.”
“Do you have a stammer?” said Francesca, her eyes smiled at him as she gently bent to look in his eyes. The young boy nodded quickly, bending further to pick up the soaking towel. “Come, I have something you might like.”
She turned and opened a drawer to her vanity, pulling out a pair of oversized goggles wrapped inside a silk pillowcase. From the right side strap of the goggles, another lens extended from a hinged metal arm, tucked back. She pulled on the side lens and blew the dust from the front lenses. “Would you like to try these on?” The smell of lemongrass from her drawer wafted around them.
The young man slowly walked towards the goggles, his eyes locked on the shiny brass around the lenses. He held his hand towards them and nodded. Francesca sat and placed her arms around his small uneven shoulders.
Unannounced and unexpected, Anson appeared in her doorway. “I have read that Frenchwomen are more physically affectionate than British women, but I haven’t found it to be true.”
Francesca placed a handkerchief over the goggles and slid them back into the drawer unnoticed.
“Professor Anson,” said Francesca, unsurprised by his sudden appearance. “Come back at lunch and I’ll show them to you,” she whispered to the boy, “but, off with you now.”
Francesca remained seated and lacking in emotion. She reached further into her drawer and pulled out a cluttered state of vials, cogs, and coils with one hand. With the other, she fingered the goggles, making sure of their security.
“Are you still tinkering about with engineering and mechanics, Francesca?” He walked to her vanity and looked at her miniature tools. “You should have been a man.” Anson strutted further into the room until he stood above her. “But that wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun, would it?” He stroked her hair and rested his hand on her shoulder.
