by Matt Snee
“Hello,” he said. “Hello Jenn.”
It felt like she was blushing. “Hi Jon Jason,” she uttered, breathless. All the years tumbled over each other, revealing—what? Jennifer did not know. Jon Jason's eyes were still impervious to understanding; if everything else had changed, that had not.
The next thing she knew, they were embracing; his smell overwhelmed her. There was the smell of an expensive cologne, mingled with his sweat, and the smell of freshly laundered clothes. There was another odor she could not place, something feminine, something not his. It wasn't perfume. It was something else, something flowery. She wondered what it was as his arms enveloped her and he pulled her close to him. Her head fit perfectly in the nook between his chest and neck, just like the last time she had seen him, all those years ago.
Despite the flood of thoughts and feelings, the hug was short and perfunctory, with only hints of something more. Jon Jason pulled away from her and took her hands in his, smiling widely. “I can't believe it's you.”
“I can't believe it either,” Jennifer laughed. At the same moment, Jennifer realized Captain was there. She turned to him and gestured. “This is my friend, Lewis.”
“Lewis.” Jon Jason smiled. He stepped toward Captain and stretched out his hand. Captain shook it, trying not to notice that Jon Jason was squeezing with all his might. The man's eyes were the strangest things; they were utterly black, like an animal's. Captain looked in them and expected to find some hint of Jennifer's past. Instead he saw nothing but darkness.
“Jenn!” pleaded female voice, and Jennifer turned, dumbfounded, to be embraced by Jon Jason's younger sister Sara Sloan Dunleavy.
“It's me…Sara!” Sara Sloan Dunleavy said. She had been only a little girl when Jennifer had last seen her.
“I can't believe it,” said Jennifer. “I forgot, I mean, I almost forgot about you!”
“Well, thanks for the compliment,” Sara Sloan laughed. “I almost forgot about you too, until Jon Jason told me yesterday you would be here soon!”
“You've grown up so much,” said Jennifer.
“You too, Jenn.”
“This is my friend, Lewis,” Jennifer said continuing the introductions.
“How nice,” said Sara Sloan. “Look!” She presented the young boy, who was dressed exquisitely in a blue suit. “My son! His name is Matthew Mark.”
“The heir, then?” Jennifer asked.
Sara Sloan smiled.
“For now,” Jon Jason interrupted, looking Jennifer up and down, obviously weighing her in some incomprehensible mathematics only ancient families understand.
Finally, Douglas Daniel's wife introduced herself. Lindsay Laura was only in her sixties, but she had given the family two magnificent children, and was highly praised because of it. “Hello, Jenn,” she said. “So nice to see you again!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Dunleavy!” said Jennifer.
It was all too much. Jennifer felt exhausted already, sunken into the past like a shell in the sand after the receding surf.
“Well,” said Douglas Daniel, “If you're hungry, dinner is almost ready!”
“Famished,” said Jennifer, looking at Captain, who was indeed hungry.
Jon Jason clapped his hands and the line of servants quickly hurried into the household. “Just follow me,” he told Captain and Jennifer. “We will resume in the parlor, where we will wait until dinner is ready, which shouldn't be long.”
Jennifer nodded.
“Okay,” said Captain, hoping to add something to the encounter.
* * *
They were escorted inside through a carpeted tunnel, painted with scenes from the Wild West. There were cowboys racing horses, and lassoing cattle and women, all before red skies and landscapes fraught with danger. Trains carried black-suited gentlemen and pastel ladies past cacti and mountains, rivers and moons, where coyotes howled and scorpions lurked. Prospectors struck gold, and posies shot it out with bandits. Ferocious Indians laid siege to stagecoaches, sprawling battle scenes. Captain had written some Western novels; the time period had always captured his imagination. It was such a birth to the modern age, such a shattering of everything.
This led to a second hallway that descended further, painted even more inexplicably. A winged snake against stars, meditating shamans evaporating upwards in spirals of mist, hordes of bow and axe-wielding female savages on top of thin horses getting skewered by circles of grim men who poked at them with flaming spears.
Farther along, the walls here were decorated with portraits, obviously the Dunleavy family throughout time. They were all very dignified and stoic.
Despite being warm in the mansion, it was easy to breathe. They reached an interior courtyard; the centerpiece of which was a tall bubbling fountain composed of abstract shapes that could have possibly been human.
Captain turned to Jennifer. Her face was pale. He realized that she had been there before, that memories whisper-screamed into her from the sights and smells. He tried to make eye contact. She would not reply.
* * *
They were ushered into a large, high-ceilinged parlor filled with plump furniture and glowing golden lamps. More Western paintings hung from the walls, and iron statues stood in heroic stances.
There were other people awaiting them here. Upon Jennifer's entrance they burst into applause. Jennifer blushed and curtseyed. Captain didn't know what to do other than stay by Jennifer's side as the guests swelled around her.
He couldn't shake the feeling that despite all this pageantry, they were in incredible danger – and only for the simple reason that families like these, with all their wealth, were perilous. The thought of Plerrxx crossed his mind; he felt suddenly helpless. He considered the Mmrowwr one of the best friends. Imagining him imprisoned and due for execution made Captain shake with anxiety.
He trusted Jennifer, despite all this hoop la. Hopefully, there would be a moment to protest on Plerrxx's behalf. Surely, even the Concatenation, which Captain admitted he knew nothing about, couldn't say no to people such as these.
* * *
A peculiar old couple were the first to approach Captain and Jennifer, grinning madly, with silver teeth and yellow skin. The woman was short and pudgy. She had curled hair stuffed under a box hat, and earrings the size of thumbs. The man was tall and skinny, dressed in a blue suit, and hunched, with long wide lips you could fit a small comb into.
Jennifer was filled with nausea at the sight of them. She knew them. They had been around at functions when she was a little girl. They were Earl and Norma Kennabee, of Io. He, an industrialist, and his social-climbing wife were in charge of the mining concerns of the Jupiter colony. They were vain, greedy people that Jennifer remembered instantly. They had aged terribly. She almost bit her lip as the couple gravitated toward them like slabs of flesh, robed in conservative haute couture.
“Jenn!” They said in unison.
“Hi,” Jennifer said reluctantly.
“I can't believe it,” Earl Kennabee said. “After all these years you have finally come back to us!”
Norma Kennabee wrapped her arms around Jennifer. “Oh you poor girl you, stranded among the asteroids for all that time!”
Jennifer shrugged the woman off. “How do you know about that?” she asked.
“Oh—you know!” Norma Kennabee smiled in confidence. “You hear things on Jupiter. Since Jon Jason announced your return you've been the most exciting thing around.”
“My only question is…” Earl spoke up over Norma. “Why didn't you ever contact anyone to rescue you?”
“Surely you had a communications device?” his wife added.
“I destroyed it in a fit of rage,” Jennifer confessed, surprising herself with her frankness.
Earl and Norma glanced at each other, and then back to Jennifer, and finally toward Captain.
“And who is this?”
“This,” Jennifer explained, “is Lewis. He was—ah, a student of my father's.”
“Pleased to
meet you,” Earl said, vigorously shaking Captain's hand.
“It's so nice to meet a student of Marty's.” Norma said.
“It's just so terrible what happened,” Earl continued. “Your father was an impertinent French fool sometimes, but my affection for him was complete, despite his wild ideas on the origins of life.”
“He didn't believe in God,” Norma confided to Captain.
“Oh,” Captain said.
“He didn't believe in your God,” Jennifer snapped.
Earl and Norma glanced at each other again, then both pulled their lips back into pitying frowns and laughed. “Just like her father!” Norma chuckled.
Something behind Captain and Jennifer caught Earl's attention. He pointed. “Look,” he said. “Josie Barnett.”
They all turned to see a voluptuous lady dressed in a strapless white dress coming through the door into the parlor. She was beautiful, glowing, with wondrously tanned skin with long, curly brown hair that rested gingerly upon her shoulders. She was tall and elegant. Her eyes stood out; they shined bright, and were framed beneath slender eyebrows and curled lashes. Her smile was striking, it lit up the whole room.
“Who's that?” Captain asked, his mouth hanging open.
“Why that's Josie Barnett,” Earl said. “Don't you recognize her?”
Captain did. It was Josie Barnett, a famous Hollywood actress from Earth. She was a huge star. In fact, she was bigger than huge—followed by paparazzi everywhere she went. The newspapers kept track of her every move. She was more famous than any other actress in the world. “Really?” Captain asked.
“Oh, she dines with us all the time,” Norma said. “She's a friend of ours.”
Josie Barnett was accompanied by a tall figure cloaked in black and crimson. It wore a golden mask and armor. It moved like a mannequin and floated more than it walked. But its eyes—they were the most haunting. human, yet ghastly.
“What is that?” Captain asked Jennifer.
“That is a Shadow Puppet,” Jennifer said. “A doll, remotely controlled by one of the Shadows, the secret rulers of Earth I've mentioned.”
“The Shadows,” Captain repeated, anger welling up in his fists.
“We have to go,” Jennifer said to the Kennabees, dragging Captain away.
* * *
Once they were alone together, Jennifer put her hand on Captain's arm and spoke softly, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“I don't know,” she answered.
“There's a history here I don't understand.”
“I know. It's crazy. Very crazy. Don't worry. We'll get through this.”
“What about Plerrxx?”
“I don't know. I haven't a moment to do anything about it yet. But soon, I promise. We'll get him out of there. Just remember, our first priority is the Shard. We have to get it.”
“I know that. But I'm going to save Plerrxx no matter what. Remember, he saved us on Mars.”
“I remember,” she told him. “I will never forget.”
4. Dinner
Death is but a hop away from life. Surely the gods jest when they ask us to repent! Their crowns are made of mist. We rabbits rule the Earth! We dare all upon its surface. In our burrows the fires of the permanent rhythm strike endlessly. Come! Come, rabbits.
–Lewis Darby, “The Path to Her Infinity”
Everyone had arrived. A trio of maids appeared to guide them into a large dining room. It was an entertainment space as gaudy as the rest of the mansion. There was a dining table and chairs, before a large portal that finally revealed the green sea. On the other side of the room was a lower theater/stage; it took up half the space, and looked like it could contain quite a performance.
The ceiling was high domed, and painted with an extensive scene of an Earth sunrise. Along the other walls of the room stood fine wood paneling; an indulgence this far from earth. The whole mansion betrayed a fascination with luxury, ornamented as it was with Earthly bobbles that were impossible to duplicate. They must have been imported from Earth at great expense. The Dunleavys' wealth was incalculable.
The evening officially began.
Jennifer was seated next to Jon Jason, obviously a prize of placement. Captain sat next to her. To Captain's right sat and old woman.
“This is Auntie Bess,” Jennifer told Captain, introducing him to the old lady. Auntie Bess was in her mid-eighties, with burning orange hair, and skin hanging like loose drapes around her face. She was bespectacled, with dark-tinted glasses whose thick lenses magnified her aloof eyes.
“Hello young man,” Auntie Bess said. Her voice was gritty but musical.
“I'm Lewis,” Captain said.
“Lewis?” Auntie Bess repeated. “I used to know a Lewis…” She trailed off.
“Auntie Bess is Jon Jason's grand aunt,” Jennifer said.
“That's right,” said Jon Jason, slipping into the conversation. Everyone else quieted as he spoke. “Auntie, Lewis was student of Marty Pichon's.”
“Oh…” said Auntie Bess, her voice plucking down an entire octave in one word. “It's so sad what happened to that little girl.”
“Who?” Captain asked. Auntie Bess did not respond, her eyes drifting into space.
“Auntie isn't quite the woman she used to be,” Jon Jason added.
“I understand,” nodded Captain.
They were interrupted by waiters—one for each of the guests—who set down plates of squashed tomatoes and crisp breads. These were complimented with bowls of steamed syrup soaked cauliflower, and some sort of venison. The waiters bent their necks and asked what everyone wanted to drink. Wine? Beer? Juice? Water? All fresh. Everything imported directly from Earth.
Captain asked for water. Jennifer asked for wine. Jon Jason bragged. “I have the finest wines in the Solar System.”
“Okay,” she said, feeling silly, wondering what she was getting into.
* * *
When the waiters came back with the drinks they were joined by a seven-piece acoustic band with guitar, flute, violins, a cello, and two hand drummers. They started to play, filling the room with a melody that was both alien and familiar. Captain's emotions were amplified by the music, and his sense of realness faltered.
The conversations stopped, everyone pausing to listen to the band play. Four female dancers appeared, spinning in long Mexican-like skirts. Their hair flowed down to their waists and spun with them as they danced. Their feet clacked upon the floor in time with the music. Their boots kicked high.
Captain was speechless. He would never have expected such a theatrical, human, and effortlessly perfect performance of this nature out here in space. His experience so far had been nothing like this. He had almost forgotten that things as carefree as this could exist.
Yet there was something remarkably serious about the way the group played and danced. Despite the performance, there was an austerity in the air that settled upon Captain's limbs and raised the hair on the back of his neck. He wasn't sure if he had ever witnessed anything so peculiar.
* * *
Jennifer was filled with spikes of nerves and dread. She thought the Dunleavys stopped this tradition—or at least had in Douglas Daniel's day. What happened? How had things changed so? She felt faint, as a cool sweat dripped down her neck. She looked over to Captain, who smiled strangely. What will he think of this? she wondered.
The waiter brought out the calf. It was especially young, small, and brown with white spots. It looked scared and shivered visibly. The cello moaned emphatically. On cue, Jon Jason and Douglas Daniel stood—as Jennifer had expected. The young boy, Matthew Mark, stood as well and followed the two men toward the dancers and the animal.
* * *
Captain turned to Jennifer. His face was colorless and starkly frightened. Worry plunged into his muscles. She frowned and reached out and took his hand in hers, filling him with calm. Jennifer's skin was soft and cool as their fingers interlocked. Meanwhile, the guitar plu
cked nervous arpeggios like a knot tightening.
Captain looked back at the performance and saw that the boy had one hand on top of the calf's head, the other outstretched with a shining knife the size of his forearm. Jon Jason stood behind the boy, both hands on the boy's shoulders, smiling proudly. The music arched itself through a crescendo and then—
In a single movement the boy sliced the calf's neck open. Blood poured down as if from a bucket. It seemed like the blood would never stop flowing. Finally, mercifully, the calf slipped and collapsed into the pool of its own blood, quivered briefly, and lay still. The table erupted into hearty applause that was inaudible beneath the avalanche of drums and slashing flute and violin riffs.
Jennifer let go of Captain's hand. Then she herself clapped.
Captain did not clap. He sat there, confused, angry, helpless—in a strange, dangerous place surrounded by strange, dangerous people. He didn't know how to react other than with shock. Where Jennifer's hand had once pressed against his own, now only a cold absence was left. He looked toward her, but she did not meet his gaze.
* * *
The dancers carried the slaughtered cow out of the hall and did not return. Douglas Daniel, Jon Jason and the boy returned to their seats. There was a slight spatter of blood on the boy's suit.
The musicians lowered their volume to that of a pleasant background noise, allowing for conversation at the table to begin again.
The waiters brought out soup and salad, a typical opening delicacy in a traditionally Western feast. The soup was quail based, with basil and dill weed, filled with carrots and celery.
Captain—nervous as he was—had an appetite he could hardly believe. He started to sip the hot soup and poke at the salad, eating but not satiating. He was glad to have something other to do than talk. He turned to Auntie Bess, who smiled back, gently scooping her soup to her lips, her hand and arm shaking a little bit because of her age. She swallowed and spoke, “I was a huge admirer of Jennifer's father,” she said. “I love history.”
