Sleepers

by Darcy Pattison

  Jake felt awkward, unsure of what he could do to help. Finally, he just told her his news. “Um. My mom is here today.”

  Em tried to sit upright and scan the audience. “Where?”

  “Up there with Dad.” He waved toward the top row. He sighed in relief: from here, they were hard to see. They’d be safe today watching the meet.

  Em rolled her head, stretching out her neck muscles, and then swung her arms in wide arcs. “I’ll try to give her a good show.”

  “I’ll talk to you later, then. Just rest in between!”

  He trotted back up the bleachers to Mom and Dad, worry dogging his steps.

  The morning rolled by slowly, event after event. Em’s first event, backstroke, was scheduled for 10:15, but as usual, the meet was already behind by then. Every time he looked down, Em was asleep on the bench. Apparently Coach had also decided that she needed rest. About 10 am, though, he woke her. She seemed to have more energy, and he saw her eat a power bar and drink orange juice. She even smiled and joked with a couple other swimmers before she slipped into the water about 11 a.m. for the 100-meter backstroke, or four lengths of the pool.

  Dad was still in teacher mode, excited to explain everything to Mom: “Watch this stroke, how the legs do a strong flutter kick. Velcro legs wouldn’t work for this one.”

  Mom wouldn’t let him win the point, though. “Even with a flutter kick, most ten-year old Risonians would out swim even the best Earth swimmers here.”

  Jake was glad this was the girl’s state meet, not the boys. He’d be too jealous to watch a boy’s meet. I could take on anyone for any stroke, he thought. It’d be too easy. Since it was the girls’ meet, he just relaxed and leaned forward to watch.

  At the starting gun, Em shot forward, taking the early lead. She wore Bainbridge High’s robin’s-egg-blue cap, so she was easy to track in the third lane. Even though she was a freshman, she was expected to do well.

  When they flipped, Em still held the lead, but a red capped swimmer had done a better underwater flip-turn and now led. Em needed to concentrate on doing a cleaner turn. Red and blue caps came out of the second turns, neck and neck. But this time, Jake thought Em was aware of the red-cap because her strokes came faster. She churned water. At the flags above the lane, she took two more powerful strokes, rolled to her belly, flipped, and dolphin kicked out of the turn. She was behind, maybe a third of a body length. One of Em’s strengths was her uncanny ability to sense where her opponents were; Jake expected her to break open.

  Em poured on the speed, churning water faster than ever, arms wind-milling backwards smoothly, like a well-oiled machine until—

  —about halfway across, she suddenly slowed.

  Em kept going, but her stroke speed was noticeably slower. She struggled to kick. Red cap tagged the wall. In the far lane, a green cap tagged. Em settled for third place.

  Jake ached for her. Em had worked so hard for this meet and now, because she was sick, she had ended up with only bronze when she should’ve had gold.

  Em waved the coach over, and he hauled her out of the water.

  That’s what worried Jake the most. She didn’t have the strength to pull herself out of the water. And once she was on the side of the pool, she curled into a fetal position. Even from the top of the bleachers, Jake saw that Em was shivering.

  He jumped up and called over his shoulder to his parents, “I’ll be back.”

  Jogging down the steps, Jake watched Mrs. Tullis and Marisa rush to Em’s side. They pulled her upright, supporting her under her arms. Marisa wrapped a huge beach towel around Em’s shoulders, and they staggered into the dressing room.

  Alarmed, Jake dodged through the onlookers and would’ve pushed into the girl’s dressing room if necessary to find out what was happening. Instead, Mr. Tullis paced in front of the door, waiting himself.

  Jake demanded, “Is Em OK?” He was breathing hard with worry.

  “No,” Mr. Tullis said. “We’re taking her to the ER.”

  Just Friends

  The hospital door swung open, and Dr. Bari stepped in. Following him was a nurse in plain blue scrubs who carried a tablet computer; she wore dark curls in a long ponytail. Jake sat in a chair holding Em’s hand; her eyes were closed, and she was half asleep.

  Dr. Bari stepped immediately to the sink to wash and dry his hands while the nurse opened the tablet and activated a wireless keyboard. Dr. Bari turned to Mrs. Tullis and Marisa and explained the test results while the nurse took notes.

  “She’s anemic,” Dr. Bari announced. “We’ll have to figure out what is causing it, but for short-term, we can do a transfusion.”

  Mrs. Tullis nodded. “Will this help her feel stronger?”

  “She’ll be better within 24 hours,” Dr. Bari said.

  He sounded confident, but as Jake watched, his stomach knotted with worry. Dr. Bari leaned over Em and studied her face. But he didn’t touch her. Dr. Bari just nodded to Mrs. Tullis, stepped back to the sink, and washed his hands again—even though he’d touched nothing—and left. All that washing of hands—something was wrong.

  Jake decided to follow Dr. Bari. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he told Em. “Just want to get some coffee.”

  “Triple-shot venti,” Em murmured and tried to smile.

  “You want something?” Jake asked with concern.

  Em gave a small head shake and closed her eyes.

  “I’ll be right back,” Jake murmured.

  He followed Dr. Bari through the hallways to a small chapel in a corner of the third floor. Dr. Bari pushed open the swinging doors and strode inside. Before the doors swung shut, Jake saw him looking around. Quietly, Jake cracked open the door and slipped inside. When his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw Dr. Bari sitting beside Bobbie Fleming on a front pew. Jake sat on the last row of pews and scooted all the way over to the wall to stay as unobtrusive as possible. The room was so small that he’d be able to hear any conversation except whispers.

  Fleming stood suddenly, and said in a low intense voice, said, “You’ve got to do something or she’ll get sicker. And if that happens, I’ll never forgive you.” She strode angrily down the aisle toward the door.

  Jake bent his head as if in prayer. Fleming passed his row without a glance.

  She was followed a moment later by Dr. Bari. Stealing a sidelong glance, Jake was surprised that Dr. Bari’s face was a thunderstorm.

  What was going on? Clearly this had to do with Em, but why was Fleming interested? At the harbor, she’d acted as if she didn’t like Em. She had only reluctantly given Em a ride home. And why was Dr. Bari involved? Jake needed to know more—much more. Maybe later when he had a computer he could research Fleming like he had Yarborough/Blevins. He wondered what he’d find. But for now, he needed to get back to Em.

  When Jake returned to Em’s room—holding a cup of awful-tasting coffee from the vending machine—a nurse in purple scrubs was hanging a bag of dark blood over Em. As soon as the transfusion was set up, Em dozed off.

  Dad and Mom strolled in a few minutes later.

  After introductions, Dad asked Mrs. Tullis, “Would you and Marisa like to go get something to eat? We’ll stay here till you get back.”

  With a grateful nod, Mrs. Tullis accepted, “We won’t be gone even 30 minutes.”

  “Take your time,” Dad said.

  After they left, Mom leaned against the windowsill, as far from Em as she could get, and asked, “You like this girl?”

  “I am an Earthling now. Right? I have to live here, so of course, I’m going to have Earthling friends.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you get to marry an Earthling.” Mom’s face settled into a frown. “Just remember that. Friends, okay. But don’t let it go deeper than that. When Rison evacuates, we’ll need everyone to intermarry so we have enough of a gene pool to keep the population healthy.”

  Dad cleared his throat. “We’ve talked about this. We don’t know if Jake can even have children. Often times hybrids—
”

  Jake finished it, “—hybrids are sterile. I know.”

  Pacing, Mom repeated, “I forbid you to fall in love with Em.”

  Jake stood and leaned over Em’s pillow to push a strand of hair off her face, which was almost as white as her pillow. He hoped the transfusion would be enough; she was so very pale.

  To Mom, he said, “She’s just a friend.”

  “Friend?” Mom said.

  Jake stared at Em. Even asleep and even sick, she charmed him as surely as a mermaid had ever charmed a sailor. Yet, to calm his mother, he said, “She’s one of the first girls I met here. It was just easy to pick her up.”

  Mom nodded. “Okay. Just don’t fall for her.”

  “I’d never fall for her.” He said it almost scornfully, trying to convince his mother to stay out of his business. If he didn’t, then he’d get questioned about Em every time they talked.

  Em’s eyes popped open.

  Oh. Jake swallowed hard. How much had Em heard?

  “Em! You’re awake. How are you feeling?” he asked guiltily.

  She just stared at him with cold, accusing eyes.

  Triple-Shot Venti

  The bells on the coffee shop door jangled. Jake led the way to the counter and ordered for Mom. “She wants to try a triple-shot venti. Dad and I will take the same.”

  The store manager’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve never tried one? Ready to stay awake for a while?”

  Mom shrugged. “Jake tells me you make great Earth muffins, too.”

  Ken put three muffins on plates and handed them a tray with the coffee and pastries. It was Tuesday, the week of Thanksgiving, and Mom would go back to New York that afternoon because she’d been absent from the Risonian Embassy for far too long. When she got back, she’d contact Swann Quad-de on Rison, and they’d talk about Dolk’s TAG-GIMS.

  For Jake, his mother’s visit was way too short. Mom had watched Em swim but had barely talked with her because Em had been so sick. How much of their conservation had Em heard the day before? She was too sick for Jake to try to explain what he had said—why he had said it, to keep his mother off his back. But it chaffed not to clear up everything with her. Not to apologize. For he had betrayed her by allowing his mother to goad him into lying, to say that he’d never fall for Em. In fact, he’d fallen for Em the first time he saw her in this coffee shop. And fallen hard.

  Defiantly, he picked up one of the painted coffee cups and told Ken, “Add this in, too.”

  At the table, he pushed it across to Mom. “You know, Em works here. She paints these coffee cups and sells them for extra cash. I want you to have this to remind you of your trip here.”

  Mom turned the cup around, studying the painted Seattle skyline.

  “Great, isn’t it?” Jake said.

  Mom sipped her triple-shot and said diplomatically, “Seattle has been interesting.”

  Jake wasn’t going to let her ignore Em. He’d tried to shrug Em off once, and he’d never do that again. “See how Em uses a really fine paintbrush to get details?”

  “Details. Yes. There are lots of details to consider when you think about Seattle.”

  “Em got all the landmarks onto the cup. See? That’s the Space Needle.”

  “Space. Earthlings have always liked the idea of space. But the reality is far different from their ideas.”

  In disgust, Jake snapped, “Mom, do you have to be a diplomat all the time?”

  Mom leaned forward, her voice low and intense. “Of course I have to be a diplomat all the time. For my entire life, all I’ve known is a planet that’s dying. I’ve given up everything to work for the survival of our people.” She reached over and squeezed Dad’s hand. “Everything.” She repeated fiercely, “Everything.”

  Dad turned her hand around and held it gently. Softly, he whispered, “Dayexi.”

  She looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. “What?” she asked angrily.

  “Not everything.” Dad held her gaze with his own. “We have Jake. And now, we have the possibility of more.”

  Mom’s lips compressed into a frown.

  “Yes,” Dad said. “Give him hope.”

  Breathing rapidly, Mom closed her eyes. “Em is nice,” she whispered.

  Jake’s own eyes filled with tears. More than Dad even, Jake knew at what cost Dayexi was here on Earth. His entire life, he’d watched Swann and Dayexi fight for the Risonian people, both on Rison and on Earth. Their sacrifices of time and effort, the arguments with the southern Bo-See delegations, the desperate sleepless nights, the angry tirades at each other over strategy, the ever-present tension of an overwhelming tragedy about to literally explode in their faces. The only surprise was that neither had broken. Truly, Mom was the Face of Rison.

  For Mom to step back now—to give him hope—perhaps, it was the biggest miracle of all.

  He repeated, “Em is nice.”

  But Mom was Mom, and she couldn’t let the moment drag on. She opened her eyes, straightened in her chair, withdrew her hand from Dad’s and picked up her Earth muffin to nibble. “Strange combination, this bread,” she said, deliberately turning the conversation neutral. “Sweet, vegetables, nuts—everything rolled into one. Not to my taste.”

  Dad looked like he wanted to say more, but in the end, he took his cue from Mom and asked, “How’s the coffee? Need some cream? Sugar?”

  “Thanks,” Mom said. “But coffee should be straight up, not doctored. I like the flavor of coffee by itself, not blended into some mix of milk and sugar.”

  “Caffeine is helpful, whether it’s doctored or not,” Jake said. “Helps me stay alert. How’s caffeine affect you, Mom?”

  She smiled at Dad and put a hand over his hand. “Not much. I’m so different from you and your Dad.”

  Dad grunted. “I’ll be up all night anyway, getting back to work, and catching up.”

  “Wish I could see your office,” she said wistfully. She pushed a stray curl behind her ear.

  Dad nodded and blinked. “Someday things will get easier.”

  “When?” Mom’s voice was more plaintive than Jake had ever heard. “The press is against us. The U.S. Congress is against us, as are the governments of almost every other nation. The U.N. is against us. And every day we delay—”

  She broke off because, well—they all knew the situation.

  Despair washed over Jake. He would never see Rison again. For all he knew, he’d never see his mother again, not with that bull’s eye painted on the Face of Rison. He was tired of waiting for things to happen; he was tired of hiding here on Bainbridge Island. He couldn’t do this much longer.

  Revenge

  Reluctantly, Dayexi left Blake and Jake at the coffee shop. Her bodyguard, the Risonian Colonel Lett, had pulled up a few moments ago to pick her up. He opened the back door for her and then jumped into the driver’s seat of the SUV. He held himself tall and straight, a military man to his core. Like the Earth military, the Risonian military enforced a strict set of personal and professional habits: short hair, crisp uniforms, and well-oiled weaponry. Lett’s dark hair was close cropped, his blue eyes alert for any danger. Trained in hand-to-hand combat—he was always a champion on the fight floor—he’d been Dayexi’s bodyguard for a decade. As they drove away, Dayexi turned and waved at Blake and Jake until they turned the corner. Blinking back tears, she turned forward and closed her eyes, trying to find a place of peace within. But calm eluded her.

  Colonel Lett drove the SUV onto the Bainbridge ferry to Seattle and parked. Without speaking, Dayexi and Lett climbed out of the car and climbed the steps to the top floor of the ferry, where they sat on benches and stared at Mt. Rainier. From the peak, smoke billowed upward, still streaming almost straight up. Trembling in the cold wind, she remembered the first time she’d seen a similar signature smoke trail from a volcano. The Ja-ram Volcano, on the western edge of Tizzalura, had been treated with Brown Matter, and it did this for three years before settling down again. She wondered if Ja-Ram had expl
oded yet in the new set of eruptions reported from Rison; there were too many explosions to keep straight any more.

  “Too cold?” Colonel Lett asked in concern.

  She nodded and let herself be led inside to sit at a padded booth; large picture windows still provided a view of the smoking volcano, but it was comforting to be out of the wind. Lett brought her a cup of coffee, and she pressed her face against the cold window, blinking back tears at leaving Jake behind yet again.

  By the time the ferry docked on the other side of Puget Sound, they were back in their SUV. Lett drove off the ferry and followed the signs for the airport. Traffic was light. They’d only gone a few blocks, though, when Colonel Lett glanced at the rear-view mirror and said sharply, “Someone is following us.”

  Dayexi turned in time to see an old SUV zoom toward them. It slammed into the corner of their bumper, expertly spinning them 360 degrees. Dayexi’s head jerked back against the headrest. The whiplash sent crippling pain up and down her spine, so that all she could do was hold herself rigidly still.

  Her door jerked open. Hands unbuckled her seat belt and hauled her out.

  Blinking, her vision blurred from pain, but she recognized the man from photos: Captain Cyrus Hill. In the front seat, Colonel Lett had struck the steering wheel, and he was slumped over it, moaning.

  Since Lett was injured, Captain Hill ignored him; instead, he pulled Dayexi toward his vehicle, her heels dragging on the pavement.

  By now, though, the Colonel had recovered enough to push his way out of the SUV, make a stumbling charge, and tackle Captain Hill. Dayexi fell roughly while the men rolled on the shoulder of the road for a moment. She wanted to stand and help, but dizziness washed over her. When she lifted her head, Captain Hill sat astride the Colonel, pummeling his face.

  But this was a seasoned soldier, one of Tizzalura’s best. He heaved upward and flipped Captain Hill over his head. The rogue ELLIS Forces officer landed with a thud on his back, but instantly rolled, a good strategy since the Colonel was already up and aiming a kick at Captain Hill’s head.