Unfurl (The Ripple Trilogy)

by Cidney Swanson

  “So, how am I?” I asked.

  “All within expected parameters,” replied the nurse, wrapping the cuff into a tight roll.

  “That’s good?” I asked, hoping for a more definitive response.

  “All as expected,” said the nurse, quickly exiting the room.

  I sighed and closed my eyes to re–collect my scattered thoughts.

  What did I know about Hans?

  He’d murdered my mom and my childhood friend. Now he spoke of regrets. Did he regret his murders? Was he telling the truth about himself? About his father?

  Sir Walter agreed that Helmann had loved Elisabeth, and he said her only living descendents came from children she’d had with someone besides Helmann. So that part was probably true: that Helmann wished she’d had his children. The journal translations indicated strong feelings for his wife. Especially all that scribbling in the margins about “Elisabeth is dead.”

  But Sir Walter said Helmann had plans beyond the so–called “elimination of suffering.” That he planned to reward followers with the gene I carried, one which would allow his followers to live lives of extraordinary lengths. I thought back to the video Sir Walter had sent us. Helmann had asked those assembled to imagine a future where their children lived free of war, disease and poverty with enough time in which to enjoy such lives.

  So what did I have to do with this vision? He already had the gene for rippling and extending lives. Heck, Hans carried that gene. Helga had carried it, as had Deuxième, her child. They didn’t need me for the gene.

  So why did they need me? Or more precisely, one of my eggs?

  Could it be as simple as Hans said? That Helmann was now old–and–wise enough to retire and pour himself into the raising of a child he’d thought he could never have: one with Elisabeth’s blood flowing in its veins?

  The door opened again. Room Service stepped inside, his Brooks still trailing sand.

  “Can I get you anything? Food? More hot chocolate?”

  I stared at his shoes. “Nice Brooks,” I said.

  Looking flustered, he glanced at his feet.

  “I guess you can’t discuss running with me either?” I asked, curious how he’d respond.

  “They’re worth every penny,” he said. A tiny grin lit his face but was quickly extinguished. “More hot chocolate?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  I shook my head and he left. Too late, I thought of something.

  “A Do Not Disturb sign would be nice,” I said to the empty room. It was like Hans didn’t want me to have peace and quiet in which to make an informed decision. I sighed. Of course he didn’t.

  I’d burned through another hour or more, yet I felt no closer to making a decision. Which was ridiculous. How could I possibly value one tiny egg over millions—no, billions—of lives? What if I could really stop Helmann from destroying the world with this one small gift?

  I groaned and flopped onto the couch. It was a horrible couch. Who would design something at once so ugly and uncomfortable? I felt exhausted. Maybe I did need food. My mouth opened into a huge and extended yawn. I definitely needed sleep.

  No, you don’t! I warned myself, sitting up. “You need to make a decision and get out of here!”

  What is the worst thing that could happen if you gave an egg to Helmann? I asked myself.

  “How the heck am I supposed to know?” The words flew out, half–growled.

  A quick knock sounded at the door and Hans appeared.

  “I haven’t decided, okay?” I barked out the question.

  I felt a wave of anger coming towards me from within his mind. His face, however, remained impassive. Had I imagined it?

  “Not to worry,” he said. “I’ve arranged for you to view some films I made hoping to persuade my father to change his plans,” he said. “I was unsuccessful with him, but I’d like for you to see my vision for the future.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Hans left. Mr. Expensive Running Shoes brought in a cart with a tablet computer, set it up quickly, and left, too. I was alone with Hans’ Vision For The Future.

  I watched several short films of humanitarian efforts being carried out worldwide. Water purification was brought to a village that had previously suffered from yearly outbreaks of cholera. Vaccinations were offered in rural area where AIDs had ravaged the population. I watched Hans delivering milking goats to a village with no green thing in sight. The goats munched happily on dead–looking weeds. Children laughed trying goat’s milk for the first time.

  The videos ended and the screen went blank. It sure looked like Hans wanted to help the poor and underprivileged.

  I leaned back upon the unyielding couch. The images played again and again through my head. Before I knew it, I was lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, still contemplating the differences between Hans’ vision for the future and that of his father.

  Just a quick nap, I told myself. Just a couple minutes with my eyes closed, so I can think straight. It felt so good to shut out the sterile, bright room.

  I fell at once into dreams in which I watched myself within Helga’s tooth–pulling room. I beheld Hans as he strolled in, casually glanced at me, pressed a cruel finger upon the bruise on my face. I remembered things I hadn’t wanted to recall while awake: how Hans had instructed his sister to kill me.

  Why hadn’t he recognized me?

  “You’re just one more brown–haired, brown–eyed inferior to him, dear,” said Helga in my dream. “You don’t honestly expect him to tell one of you from another, do you?” Her laughter rang icy and jarring in my ears.

  My eyes fluttered open and I felt my heart racing. Rubbing tired eyes with the backs of my cold hands, I rose. A small sink occupied one corner of my room and I crossed to it. I let the water run over my hands, soothing and warm. I splashed some on my face.

  My insides felt less wobbly than they had earlier. Was there a chance I could ripple now? I left the water running and trailed my fingers back and forth through the flow. Clear water, running freely, as it had done in Hans’ videos in the African villages.

  I calmed.

  I felt infinite, at peace, quieted by the clearness of the water spilling over my hands.

  But I couldn’t ripple.

  How had Hans even figured out I was a chameleon? How much did he know about me, about my friends? About Will? My heart cried out, angling toward whatever space Will occupied in the world.

  I remembered his lips on mine.

  But I had to focus on this room.

  I remembered his laughter as I swished my hand through the willows on an early run.

  I shook my head. I couldn’t think about Will right now. A decision had to be made. I wrenched myself back to the present.

  Maybe Hans was capable of noble action, but I knew him capable of murder. The memory of the night my mother had been killed flashed across my mind. Other memories followed from the dream I’d just left. And there were my recollections of passages from the black book: Hans, grinning as he inflicted cruelty, looking on as a child—his sibling—tested poisoned water.

  If Hans was such a great guy, why hadn’t he called up my parents and arranged for a nice chat over a cup of coffee?

  What had Hans done, really, to earn my trust? To make me believe what he said about stopping his father’s mad scheme, or even that stopping it was what he truly desired?

  Was there one solid reason I should trust this man?

  I stood for several moments, hands still in water, waiting to see if my decision would change. Then I turned off the faucet. I dried my hands carefully. I stepped back to wait upon the world’s worst and whitest couch.

  I had my answer.

  Chapter Ten

  * * *

  LESS LIKE A FRIEND

  · WILL ·

  “Not possible,” said Mick. She grabbed a piece of hair and started twisting it, something I hadn’t seen her do in, like, years. “I don’t b
elieve it.”

  I knew what she meant. I sure as heck didn’t want to believe Pfeffer had gone to work for Helmann. My first thought had been he was totally faking it. I mean, this was Pfeffer we were talking about. Pfeffer. How–can–I–convince–you–to–keep–things–secret–Pfeffer. And it wasn’t like he looked any different. I mean, if he’d gone over to the dark side, wouldn’t he—I don’t know—look like it? Look more evil somehow? I’m not talking twirl–y–mustaches and stuff, but there should be a change.

  Something to make him look less like a friend.

  “I should never have believed it, chère Mademoiselle, had I not with my own eyes beheld it.” Sir Walter sighed long and low.

  He was so unnerved, he wasn’t even playing with his goatee. So I had Mick to one side of me, pulling her hair like it was taffy, and Sir Walter’s goatee looking all neglected on the other side.

  “Tell us what you heard him thinking,” I said. “I mean, you’re sure he’s all best–buds with Helmann?”

  Sir Walter stood and looked out our window. “There can be little doubt. He has learned to conceal a part of his mind, which troubles me. I found it difficult to find his thoughts. But what little I caught was conclusive enough.” The Frenchman turned back towards us. “Pfeffer tests Helmann’s food.”

  Mick looked blankly from Sir Walter to me.

  “Tests for, like, poison?” I asked.

  The goatee–tugging started as he nodded in response.

  “Wow. That sounds loyal,” I said. Quickly, I explained to my sister about Helmann’s private Ash Wednesday Mass.

  “It’s not Ash Wednesday,” said Mickie. “Not for several days yet.”

  I was impressed my sister was keeping track. Of course, she was right, it was Friday, not a Wednesday at all.

  “Helmann keeps to the Gregorian calendar,” said Sir Walter. “The calendar of the Catholic Church of our youth.”

  “Well, it’s still wrong,” said Mickie. “How can someone like him have the nerve to take communion? I can’t believe God doesn’t strike him dead for it. He’s got to be in a constant state of mortal sin.”

  “Many who deserve death receive mercy instead,” said Sir Walter softly.

  “I can’t believe we trusted him,” said Mick, shaking her head as she moved back to Pfeffer. “And he lied to us. For years.”

  “Mackenzie,” said Sir Walter, “Be not too swift to judge. It is possible Pfeffer dealt by you honestly. Helmann has many methods at his disposal to alter a man’s loyalties.”

  Hairs stood up on the back of my neck as he said this. And then a realization hit me like a punch to the gut. “Las Abs. Sam.” It felt like all the air in the room was gone.

  “Will, sit down,” my sister said gently.

  Didn’t have to tell me twice. The room tilted sharply as I sank onto the couch. Mick came over, squatting down in front of me. She placed firm hands on both of my shoulders.

  “I’m sure she’s fine, Will. Well, I mean, she’s in no additional danger because of Pfeffer.” She said his name like it tasted bad.

  “But he sent us there, Mick. Was that a trick? So we’d find her and … I don’t know … turn her over to him or something?” My mind was working crazy–fast thinking how Pfeffer had set us up with a place to live in the same town where Sam lived. “There’s got to be a reason he did that.”

  Sir Walter frowned. “This troubled me also, as we returned home just now. But I am inclined to be of your sister’s opinion. Sam is in no additional danger because of what Pfeffer might or might not have planned. Indeed, if he had intended to use you in this way, those plans have surely been overthrown now that you have left Las Abuelitas.”

  “I don’t like it,” I said. The air had returned to the room, but all I wanted to do was jump on a plane yesterday and get back to make sure Sam was okay. Had Pfeffer figured out we’d left town? Did that mean she was safer or in worse danger? What had he meant, sending us there? Or was it all—maybe, somehow—just a bizarre coincidence and he’d never known about Sam’s existence?

  Well, he must know by now, being BFF’s with Helmann. I noticed my hands had crept to my hair. Geez. Hair–pulling was contagious.

  “We’re not going back,” said my sister. “Will, listen to me. Sam has Chrétien to take care of her. And she’s better at rippling fast. You said so yourself. You can’t go to Las Abuelitas.”

  I could be on a plane and over to San Francisco in ten hours.

  I looked away from her, trying to find a part of me that agreed with what she was saying.

  I could grab a couple thousand euros from Sir Walter, get the next flight out.

  “Will.” Mick placed an arm around my shoulder and squeezed hard. “Listen. This isn’t about me for once.”

  I could be holding her in my arms by this time tomorrow.

  “Will! Are you listening to me? This is about keeping Sam safe.”

  I grunted, just enough to let Mick know I was listening.

  “I can’t go sneaking around Geneses invisibly,” she said. “I don’t have the ability you have. If you leave us now, Sir Walter has no back–up. We need you here. Stopping Helmann is the only real way to keep Sam safe.”

  I hated how well my sister knew me.

  “The lives of many are at stake, my young friend.” Sir Walter’s words cut through all my plans and left them in shreds on the floor.

  The room felt too small. I needed to get out and run.

  Or hit something.

  Or someone.

  “I’m going running,” I said. My voice sounded angry. I didn’t apologize.

  “Please,” said Sir Walter, grabbing my forearm, “Do not venture forth in solid form. You might be recognized.”

  I shrugged my arm free. I wanted to find Pfeffer and let him know what I thought of how he’d lied to us for all those years. I wanted to run ‘til I collapsed from exhaustion. I wanted to stop seeing Sam’s smile in my head. I wanted to kiss her brown shoulders.

  My sister spoke softly. “For her sake, Will. Please.”

  “Fine,” I grunted.

  I rippled and took off into the dark and cold of a February night in Rome.

  Excerpted from the personal diary of Girard L’Inferne.

  Circa 2003

  As they reach young adulthood, I am pleased with the progress of my Corps of Angels. They will run into a burning building with only a wet handkerchief about their faces if they believe there to be a person inside who will otherwise perish. I have also observed them plunging into icy waters, into fetid waters, and into shark–infested waters to effect a rescue of another human being.

  In other words, they are willing to subject themselves to dangers I am certain none of my original children would have faced in order to save anyone but themselves.

  We continue to train them as subjects of the art of hypnosis, but honestly, they exceed my best hopes quite on their own. Our casualties are remarkably low, considering the peril into which they weekly, and gladly, throw themselves.

  When the New Order has been established upon Earth, I shall certainly require training in this manner for all holding positions as civil servants—firemen, EMT’s, police, and so forth. It dovetails naturally with my plans that assignments for employment will be given shortly after post–birth evaluations. What shall we not accomplish, when all who serve the good of the world are trained from birth in their area of specialization?

  Surely, if I were but an ordinary man, I would not sleep for joyful anticipation of what is to come!

  Chapter Eleven

  * * *

  HARVESTED

  · SAM ·

  The next knock, when it came, made my heart beat a little faster, but I found my resolve as strong as ever. It was the nurse.

  “I want to talk to Hans,” I said.

  A look of mild displeasure crossed the nurse’s face. “I shall make certain that Dr. Lieberman is informed of your request.”

  “You do that,” I muttered as he swept out of the
room, blood–pressure cuff trailing.

  I paced while I waited for Hans to show up. I needed a good run. My mind felt remarkably clear, and I tried rippling a couple more times, but I couldn’t.

  My thoughts crept back around to Hans and what I would say to him.

  How would he react to my decision? A chill of fear ran up my spine. I thought of his videotaped laughter with village children enjoying their first clean water, and I felt certain I’d be home in a few hours after a curt nod and brief handshake. Then I thought of his detachment as Helga had attempted to torture information from me, and I felt certain I’d never see home again.

  A prayer, a part of the mass, echoed in my mind. I heard it spoken in the deep and earnest voice of a young man. Definitely not Hans’ voice.

  “Christian?” I called aloud.

  No response. He wasn’t near enough to hear me that way. What I needed was to call with my mind. I imagined throwing my thoughts far out. Christian?

  The door opened abruptly and I jumped up, back in the here–and–now, certain I’d only imagined hearing my friend’s voice.

  “Well my dear,” began Hans, “I understand you wished to speak with me?”

  I squared my shoulders, released my hands from the tightly–balled fists they had formed. “I won’t give you my eggs.” My voice held steady, for which I felt grateful.

  Hans’ head tilted slightly to one side, his eyes remaining fixed upon mine. I thought I read a flicker of anger in those cold eyes. Without once looking away from me, Hans opened the door and uttered a quick phrase in German that I didn’t understand. At the words, a stranger entered the room, pushing a wheelchair before him.

  I stepped back, alarmed.

  Quicker than ought to have been possible, Hans grabbed both my arms, and the second man, who looked enough like Hans to be a brother, jabbed a puff–sprayer up my nose.

  I couldn’t help but inhale whatever it was.

  Sputtering, I cried out. “I demand that you take me home now!” As I spoke, I shot out my right knee with the hope of rendering Hans incapable of speech for several minutes. But my knee lifted with only a fraction of the speed and power I’d intended. I opened my mouth to shout, but had trouble making sounds come out. My tongue weighed a hundred pounds. Earth’s gravity increased tenfold and I collapsed into the wheelchair behind me. With great difficulty I kept my eyelids open enough to watch while restraints were placed upon my wrists and ankles. I felt the room spin. Or was it the backward motion of the chair?