by Unknown
He wasn’t sure what time it was when Justice showed up again, knocking at his locked door. “What do you say we take a walk and get some exercise?” Justice stepped out into the hall and gave Drake a look that made him understand this was not a suggestion.
“whatever you say.” Drake popped up from the bed. He’d never been very big on exercise, but stretching his legs beat the hell out of rotting in his crappy little room.
“Excellent.” Justice led him down the corridor and into the central area. The vast room was still mostly deserted except for the guards at the kiosk, who were talking and laughing about something. “We’re cleared for green section today,” Justice told the men.
Along the way Drake paid attention to where the surveillance cameras were. He’d counted at least five. Once inside, though, Drake almost felt relieved. He hadn’t had any idea what to expect from “green section,” but the first room they came to was a big one with couches and a couple of TVs, one of which was turned on. It wasn’t like a real living room, but was still lots nicer than anything Drake had seen here so far. His eyes tracked like radar to the TV set. A couple of people were watching American Hero, and it was the end of the show where the contestants had the cards in front of them and someone got voted off.
Justice quickly guided him away from the TV and into another hallway. Only then did Drake notice the walls were like classroom green, only brighter and friendlier.
“Maybe we’ll stop back here on the way back,” Justice said, grabbing Drake more gingerly than usual by the shoulder and ushering him out. “Right now, I’ve got something else in mind.”
They continued down a long hallway. Most of the doors here were closed, although one that was open led to a room with Ping-Pong tables and an old quarter-gobbling arcade game, as well as candy and drink machines. Two young women were going at each other in Ping-Pong.
“Keep moving, Drake,” Justice said. “We’re almost there.”
The next door opened into a cafeteria, which was even bigger than the one at his school. It was mostly empty, although a few tables had two or three people sitting at them.
“This is where your meals come from, just in case you wondered.”
Drake’s enthusiasm level dipped a bit. He wasn’t wild about the bland food he’d gotten, but maybe they had something good he hadn’t seen yet.
Justice pointed to a woman standing behind a glassed-in corner counter. “Interest you in some ice cream, son?”
Drake hustled over as fast as his heavy, out-of-shape legs would carry him. There were over a dozen flavors, some of which were dangerously low in their containers. He walked around behind the counter and looked up at the middle-aged woman. “Can I get a free taste or two?”
She shook her head, then smiled. If she was surprised to see a kid in the cafeteria, she didn’t show it. “Sure, son. Just show me what you want to try.”
Drake quickly pointed out a couple of chocolates, French vanilla, and some rainbow sherbet. “Let’s start with those.” When the woman bent over, he noticed the badge attached to her pocket. Justice was directly on the other side, but wasn’t looking his way. Before he could do anything she turned around with a spoonful of ice cream.
“Here you go.”
Drake took the sherbet into his mouth but couldn’t focus on how it tasted. “Mmmm,” he said. “Vanilla next, please.”
The vanilla was in the front row of the ice cream display and the woman had to bend over for it. The chain holding the badge must have broken at some point and was now held on with tape. Drake leaned into the woman, as if trying to get a better look at the ice cream, and tugged the badge free. He held his breath and tucked it into the front of his pants.
“Our French vanilla is a big favorite.” She offered him a heaping spoonful.
Drake exhaled heavily and downed the ice cream. It was actually great, for vanilla. More important, neither the woman nor Justice had noticed him sneak the badge. “Oh, yeah, that’s what I want.”
The woman handed Drake a couple of small paper napkins and sent him on his way. He felt the cool plastic of the card against his belly and hoped it didn’t show under his clothing. Drake sat down across the table from Justice and gobbled his ice cream down so fast he got the cold thing in his forehead.
“Ate it too fast, didn’t you?” Justice didn’t say it in a smug way. “I’m sorry you found out about your family the way you did. The doctor is just trying to help you get your memory back. This place can be comfortable for you, Drake, if you just settle in and help us to help you.”
“I’m trying,” Drake said defensively. “How would you feel if your entire family was dead and somehow you were the only one left alive? And people stuck you in a place and asked you questions you didn’t know the answers to?”
Justice nodded silently and sat for a moment in thought. To Drake it almost seemed like Justice felt sorry for him. “I think I’d be pretty unhappy, but I also think I’d try to adapt to my new circumstances.” He held out an open hand. “Give me the card, Drake.”
The ice cream went sour in his mouth. Drake pulled the card out and dropped it into Justice’s large palm. “It was just a game.”
“Right. But we don’t want to get Alice”—he nodded toward the ice cream woman—“in trouble, do we?” He tucked the card into his pocket. “And this wouldn’t get you out anyway.”
“Like I said, it was just a game.”
“We’ll have to find you some different games, then. Make the best of your time here, Drake. Nobody wants you to be miserable.” Justice stood, straight and tall and solid as a brick wall. “Let’s get you back to your room.”
Drake got up and began trudging from the cafeteria, dragging his feet as he went. So they’d caught him. So what? No way was he giving up. Sooner or later they had to make a mistake, and that was when he’d make a break for it.
Pendergast’s office had no waiting room. Niobe stood next to a watercolor landscape of grama and piñon, shifting her feet often. Her tail made it impossible to rest her back against the wall, so she had to lean one shoulder against the hard concrete. It put an ache in her hips.
Muffled voices leaked into the corridor. She knew the doctor’s voice, and Justice’s, but the third was unfamiliar.
I was thinking. Maybe your dad would like to come to California with us. Perhaps Christian would be more eager to spend time with her children—their children—if he had the chance to vacation away from BICC for a while.
Yeah! thought Yectli. Yves liked the idea, too. But Yvette thought, Don’t trust him, Mom.
Why? He’s your dad and he loves you.
But he’s not—ouch.
Yvette, what’s wrong, honey? Niobe knew the answer but she asked anyway, hoping to be wrong.
Owey! Momma, it hurts.
Niobe found herself silently pleading with the virus. No. No, no, no. Just a few more days. Please. I promised them Disneyland. All three.
The door opened. Justice exited Pendergast’s office, pulling the new arrival—the boy—after him. The kid’s head hung low, and his face was flushed. Niobe wanted to give him a wink and a smile as they passed, but Justice pulled the kid in the opposite direction when he saw Niobe. The kid didn’t even look up.
She entered the office. Pendergast himself sat behind his desk, scribbling notes into a file.
The doctor looked up, saw her, and reared back in surprise. “Genetrix.” He shut the file folder, with his pen still inside. “This is a surprise.”
Niobe jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “New kid?”
“Hmmm? Oh. Yes.”
“Looks pretty unhappy.”
Pendergast fished his pen out of the file, saying distractedly, “He’s still adjusting to his new environment.” He looked pensive for a moment, then added nonchalantly, “Have your children said anything about him?”
Niobe had deflected several days of leading questions about Yvette. Clearly Pendergast suspected the girl was some kind of mentalist. But if her daughte
r wanted privacy, she’d have it. As much as could be had at BICC, anyway.
“No. Just wondering about him.”
He recapped the pen and opened a filing cabinet. “I have another appointment. Do you need something?”
“Nope. Just letting you know I’ll be on vacation for a few days.” She grinned. “Taking the kids to Disneyland.”
“Ah. I see,” he said quietly. He slid the file into a drawer filled with many others. “You’ll be leaving soon, I take it?” Niobe heard the cabinet lock click when he pushed the drawer shut.
“The sooner the better. Want to take them before . . .” She didn’t want to say it aloud; bad enough they already knew she was thinking it.
“Of course.” Pendergast nodded. He looked pensive again. “Tell you what. If you’ll do something for me first, I’ll personally see that your leave paperwork is expedited.”
“Great. Name it.”
“Drake. The new arrival. Introduce yourself; try to make him feel welcome. Let him know he has friends here.”
“Sure. I can do that. Why is he here, anyway?”
“The important thing,” said Pendergast, “is that he feels comfortable and relaxed.”
Don’t trust him, Yvette repeated.
The evasion wasn’t lost on Niobe. But poor Drake did look like he needed a pal. And if cheering him up would get the kids to Disneyland that much sooner, that was win-win.
There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Drake said, trying to get his brain working.
After being unbolted, the door opened a bit and a young woman poked her head in. “Can I come inside for a minute?” Something about her tone of voice was different than what he was used to around here. Then it clicked that she was being polite.
“Sure.” Drake swung his legs over the bedside and onto the floor, then stood up.
“Hi, my name is Niobe.”
“Holy crap.” Drake couldn’t keep himself from staring once all of her was inside. For the most part she was a normal woman, pretty young still, but there was something attached to her. It was like a big tube coming out from her lower back, almost like a third leg, but with no bones. Her clothes were the kind fat girls wore, all floppy and worn. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ve never met anybody like you before.”
“You mean a joker?” If she was bothered by her appendage or Drake’s reaction to it, Niobe didn’t let on. “It’s okay. You must be pretty special yourself for them to ship you here.”
“Not really, just another little fat boy from West Texas.” Drake was suspicious, but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Well, maybe a little bit special. You want to sit down?”
The corner of her mouth turned up in a smirk, and the thing stuck to her back wiggled over her shoulder, like it was waving at him. “Easier for me to stand. Have they turned on your TV yet?” She nodded to the set on the wall.
“Only the DVD player, and most of the movies are pretty lame.” They’d given him The Rescuers, SpongeBob SquarePants, and Dumbo. He hadn’t made it all the way through Dumbo, it was just too depressing. Drake slumped a little.
“That figures.” She pulled something from a large paper bag she was carrying. Drake had been so distracted by her tail, or whatever it was, that he hadn’t even noticed it. “Don’t tell anyone I gave you this. And keep it hidden.”
Drake immediately recognized the Game Boy and grabbed it from her with a grin. “Geez, thanks.”
“I thought you might like that. I’ve only got one cartridge, arcade classics, but I’ll try to get you a couple more and some extra batteries.” Niobe handed over the rest to Drake. “Like I said, though, keep it hidden or they’ll take it away and we’ll both be in trouble.”
Drake began to really relax. “You’re not one of them. I mean, you don’t work here.”
She shook her head. “Not exactly. They’re conducting, sort of, tests on me. You know how that goes.”
There was no reason to believe she was lying, although Drake thought she was holding something back. That was okay, so was he. “Yeah. I really appreciate this, Niobe. Trust me, I won’t get caught.”
“Good. Because if you do, they probably won’t let me visit again. One more thing. I heard you liked the ice cream, so . . .” She fished a moist carton out of the bag, and a plastic spoon. “Mint chocolate chip. Tastes incredible, believe me.”
“Oh, snap.” Drake’s appetite, which had been next to nothing, came back to life and he had the carton open in a flash. The ice cream was as good as she said. Maybe better. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
Niobe shrugged. “I have a soft spot for kids.” Her expression went distant for a second, like she was listening to something only she could hear. Then she continued. “Er, handsome young men like yourself. Anyway, I know this isn’t the friendliest place in the world. You’re probably not happy with how they’re treating you, and I’ll bet you miss your family and friends, too. Am I wrong?”
He didn’t want to think about his family and friends right now. “No. It’s just that you’re the only nice one so far.” Drake took another extra-large mouthful of ice cream. His mouth was happier than any part of him had been in a long time. “I’m not complaining, though.”
Niobe smiled. It was a grown-up kind of smile, like she knew so much more than he did, but Drake didn’t care right now. “I’ve got to get back to my rounds,” she said. “Have fun with your Game Boy.”
“Oh, I will,” Drake said. Niobe opened the door and pulled her tail-thing through to the outside of the room. “My name’s Drake.”
Niobe nodded. “Hang in there, Drake. See you soon.” Then the door closed and she was gone.
Drake polished off the remainder of the ice cream and tossed the carton on the floor. He popped the Gameboy cartridge into the slot and powered the machine on. Moments later a menu of several games, most of them older than he was, showed up on the screen. Drake almost went for Missile Command, but decided Defender was more his speed. He paused a moment before starting the game. Niobe might be the person, the friend he needed, to get out of here. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he had to hope for something or give up entirely. He’d think about it later. Right now there were aliens to kill.
Early-morning sunlight poured down through the skylights. Far above, Niobe knew, the sky would be a brilliant azure. Just wait ’til you see it with your own eyes, kiddos. There’s nothing like it.
Niobe found Pendergast coming out of the cafeteria. He held a cup of coffee in one hand and a foil-wrapped bundle in the other. She could smell the green chile and chorizo from his breakfast burrito, and the chicory in his coffee.
“All done,” she said.
He breezed past her. “What’s done?”
“I introduced myself to Drake, like you asked.” She walked backward, keeping abreast of him. “I think he was glad for the company. Seems like a nice kid. I’d be happy to visit him again.”
“Good.” Pendergast said nothing more.
“Meanwhile,” Niobe said, hoping to jar his memory, “the kids and I will be taking our leave this morning.”
Pendergast shook his head. “No. I’m afraid not.”
“What do you mean, ‘No’?”
“No, you’re not taking your children anywhere.”
She stepped in front of him, arm raised, blocking his path. Coffee sloshed over the brim of his cup. “I’m not asking your permission. I’m telling you as a courtesy.”
He sighed. “Niobe. Taking your children out of this facility—the only place where they can receive the specialized medical attention they need—is a reckless and irresponsible act. And so I’ve decided, for the sake of your children, to revoke your leave privileges.”
Anger made Niobe’s tail quiver against her back. “You forget. I have a key card for the elevator.”
“Which you’ll find quite useless. It hasn’t worked for many weeks, in point of fact.”
Her knees felt weak. Watery. “But . . . I promised them Disneyland . .
.” She slumped against the wall. “Please don’t do this.”
“It’s for the good of your children,” Pendergast said. He stepped around her and was gone.
Don’t trust him, said Yvette. Either of them.
Double Helix
BETTER TO DWELL IN THE WILDERNESS
THAN WITH A CONTENTIOUS WOMAN
Melinda M. Snodgrass
THE CONCRETE WALLS OF the locker room at Invesco Field at Mile High seem to exhale the scent of old sweat, gym socks, and cheap aftershave. This, I think as I lift the champagne bottle out of the ice and survey the label, is the downside of being so famous and popular that you have to play in stadiums rather than theaters. Thank God my performances are played in more intimate venues. I would so hate to make a 747 disappear.
Even here, far beneath the stadium, I can faintly hear the beat of the bass and the roar of the crowd as Joker Plague performs their final number. I find myself thinking about a Roman holiday when I was in high school and how we had toured the cells beneath the Colosseum. Places for enslaved gladiators and wild beasts brought across oceans solely for sport and blood. Not so very different from modern football.
An unexpected yawn cracks the hinges of my jaw. My shoulders feel like they’re slumping beneath invisible weights. I toss back my head and press my shoulder blades together. Lilith’s breasts thrust aggressively against the silk of my halter top, and I bite back a hiss. My nipples are sore from Lohengrin’s teeth.
There is the thunder of footfalls approaching the locker room. The door bursts open and Joker Plague has arrived. Michael, aka Drummer Boy, leads them into the room. Sweat is running down his chest and four of his six hands are still tapping at the tympanic plates on his torso. Trailing after him are the other four members of Joker Plague. The Voice’s presence can only be guessed at by a towel floating in the air. Occasionally it moves as if wiping a face. Bottom and Shivers are just standard jokers—one with the head of an ass, and the other looking like a Disney vision of a demon complete with blood red skin. The worst for me is S’Live, a floating balloon of a face, and a multitude of tongues like flicking snakes thrusting from between the lips of the unnaturally wide mouth.
