Portals (Into The Galaxy Book 1)

by Ann Christy

  Once we slow down and stop inhaling the food, Jack looks up and asks, “This food is Indian in nature, yet you’re from North America. Can you explain?”

  Rather than answer right away, I ask, “How do you understand the difference?”

  He points to his head with a green bean on a fork and says, “I’ve been getting information.”

  “Ah,” I say, thinking it would be very cool to have that sort of info always on tap. “Well, my mom is half-Indian. Her mom was from India and she learned to cook from her.”

  He nods, looking down at his plates and bowls. “This is a cultural difference between areas then, right?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Which culture do you like better?” he asks.

  Well, that’s a hard one. It’s not a question I’ve ever heard or considered before. I’m not sure how to answer him, so I tell him the truth. “I don’t really know any culture other than American, if you want to know the truth. I haven’t lived it, only looked at it. There’s a difference. I know bits of Indian culture, but I’ve never lived there. I like the celebration clothes, the food, the dancing…the pretty things…but I’ve never lived it. I understand it’s very difficult there for many people.”

  His head tilts as he listens to the voice in his head, then he says, “Ah, I see. It’s a matter of freedom.”

  I shrug, because there’s a lot more to it than that, but what he says is close enough.

  His eating slows down, which means I have to stop shoveling or be rude. Jack seems to be considering his food more carefully for a few minutes. Eventually, he stops eating entirely. He’s not meeting my eyes and his face doesn’t look right at all.

  Just as I’m about to ask him if he’s alright, his fork drops to his plate with a clatter and he goes stock still. He’s looking at his food, his skin going so pale it’s almost green. A slight sheen of sweat makes his forehead shine.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, setting down my fork to push his glass of water toward him.

  He glances up at me and his face is definitely going greenish. He grips his middle and says, “I don’t feel very well.”

  I have a sudden vision of babies and formula in my mind, which makes me wince. “Were you supposed to eat something different?”

  He sort of nods, sort of shakes his head. “There’s a protocol for a new body, but I was very hungry and didn’t want to be rude.”

  Considering what happens to some people the first time they eat a good, spicy Punjab dish, even when they’re from Earth, I have a bad feeling. Looking up at the ceiling, I say, “Hey, hub thing…person…whatever! Are you here?”

  The unmistakable voice of the hub answers immediately, “Yes, Lysa. I’m here.”

  Pointing to Jack, I ask, “Do you know what’s happening here?”

  “I do. I’m attempting to relay that information to Jack now.”

  Instead of answering, Jack lets out a groan and scoots his chair back just enough to double over. I stand so I can rub his back, feeling bad because this is pretty much entirely my fault. “He’s going to need some help.”

  “There is a bot coming. Please assist Jack to it, if you would. I’ll take care of him.”

  The ping sounds almost immediately, and when I open the door there’s a kind of chair made from a large bot. It has a sad face on its display. “I’ll bring him,” I say and hustle back to Jack, who has progressed from simply doubled over to doubled over and bouncing a little as he tries to squeeze himself tightly into a ball.

  “Can you stand?” I ask gently, holding his arm.

  He can, but he doesn’t even bother trying to straighten up as he hobbles over to the chair. He practically falls back into it, his face absolutely bathed in sweat.

  “I’m so sorry!” I say as he looks up at me.

  His fingers wiggle as if to brush any apology aside, “No problem.”

  Of course, it is a problem and the chair rushes away down the hall. I watch until the wall at the end of the hallway slides open and they disappear inside. It’s one of those high-tech doors, so I’m guessing that means it’s not for us non-transfers.

  With a sigh, I go back inside and say, “Hub person, I’m really sorry about this. I didn’t even think about him not eating. I probably should have asked before I ordered food for him.”

  There’s nothing judgmental in the hub’s voice that I can detect. “It’s quite alright, Lysa. Jack will be fine shortly. It’s a small matter and I can help him. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  Shaking my head and sitting back down to my half-finished meal, which I’m no longer so hungry for, I say, “No. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Lysa. Jack will return in the morning.”

  I look up at the interface to see a new appointment pop up for eight in the morning. Tomorrow is going to be awkward.

  Fifteen

  When the door pings in the morning, I’m ready and dressed. I’ve eaten breakfast and brushed my teeth. I even made sure to order a meal that wouldn’t fill up the room with the smell of food, just in case Jack isn’t feeling entirely well yet. I mean, his night couldn’t have been fun.

  Tugging down my shirt—this time a t-shirt with a unicorn shooting rainbows out of its horn and butt—I take a deep breath and open the door. And there he is.

  “Hey,” he says, smiling normally, like he didn’t almost bust a gut at the dinner table last night.

  I look him up and down before answering. He seems okay. “Hey to you too. Are you feeling better?”

  Running a hand through his ridiculously perfect hair, he looks away with an embarrassed smile that’s far too cute for our situation. “Yeah, I’m fine. Apparently, this body was intolerant to several food types. It’s fixed now, but I admit I’m less keen on the whole food exploration thing.”

  Snorting a laugh, I wave him inside and get a nice look at his butt in the process. He really is perfect. My mother would be appalled at my thoughts. My answer to that is that I’m seventeen and what else does she imagine we think about? Really.

  Today he’s wearing a dark blue t-shirt with nothing on it. It stretches across his chest like it was made for him and enhances his biceps in ways that are not seemly. The jeans look the same as the ones he wore yesterday.

  Before my ogling can get awkward, he spies my set up in the formerly empty corner of my room and lets out a loud breath, “Wow!”

  I laugh and say, “Pretty colors can do many things.”

  He doesn’t take his eyes off the big easel in the corner as he walks toward it, his lips parted. I’m surprisingly tickled by the reaction. Usually, I’m a bit embarrassed when people see my art for the first time, never entirely sure if I should be proud or worried. While I love to paint, I’m under no delusions as to the level of my talent. I’m not very good at it yet, but I am getting better. In Jack’s case, I’m simply delighted that he might understand my joy at getting those colors yesterday.

  His fingers stop short of the paper when he reaches for it, but he leans close as if to figure out what I’ve done. I stand back and let him look. If he’s never seen art—well, Earth art—then I’d like to see his full reaction.

  After a minute or so, he turns his head to look at me, and asks, “This is how you see it?”

  That’s not an easy question to answer, thought it should probably be a yes or no. On the big piece of watercolor paper is my rendition of the hub as I saw it in the elevator. While I was overwhelmed and didn’t get a long look, the images were impressed upon my mind the way some scenes simply are. Shock can lend color to things.

  And that color is now on the paper. Instead of mere blackness and pinpoints of light for the stars, I’ve added the colors of space, the way it shimmers in roses and blues around distant stars and galaxies. I’ve put size to a nebula that exists only in my mind to light the scene. The ship I glimpsed so briefly is larger, and caught at the moment it sped through the portal. As I painted it, I felt calmer, better. I fe
lt like I was finally absorbing what I had so rashly fallen into. Or jumped into.

  “Sort of, with lots of artistic license added in,” I answer, shoving my hands into my pockets.

  He points to the ship and says, “That’s a Bluriani vessel. Did you see one?”

  “For a second or two, from a distance.”

  He inclines his head like he’s impressed. “You did a good job then. Yours is much prettier.”

  “Thank you.”

  The box of watercolors is closed on a little table next to the easel and he carefully lifts the lid with the tip of one finger. Inside there are already splotches of color I managed to flick about as I worked. The palette I used is a riot of colors, kept there so I can touch up the painting if I need to.

  “You made this with just these colors?”

  Stepping up to the box, I pick up two of the half-pans and lay them next to one of my color splotches. “Well, this box has a lot of colors in it. Very deluxe. But yes, I mixed these two to create that color. You can see it there.” With that, I point to the slight halo around a few of the stars.

  He peers closely at the spots, then shakes his head and smiles at me. “You are full of surprises.”

  “Who? Me, or humans in general?”

  “Both,” he says, then picks up the blocks of color and places them back into the box carefully. After he closes the lid, he looks at his fingertips. “I studied up on art last night after you showed me your colors. I didn’t quite get it, but I do now. And not everyone can do this. Is that correct?”

  My coffee is still cooling on the table, beckoning me with the promise of caffeine and sugar, so I move away from Jack to take a sip. “Well, I’m not convinced that not everyone can do it. I think everyone can do that, but in their own way. I think most people only think they can’t, so they never try.”

  Jack rubs his fingertips together as if he can feel some of the color there. “Do you think I could?”

  That’s a good question. He’s not human, but he also is human. Does our visual sense of art come with the body, brain, and eyes or is it something else, something we get from experience? “You could try and find out.”

  He grins at me and pretty much melts one of my badly-functioning ovaries at the challenge in his expression. “Maybe I will,” he says.

  Alien. Remember that, Lysa. He’s an alien. It would be like kissing a hermit crab or something.

  That little self-talk helps a little, because I manage to put the cup down without rattling it. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

  “Orientation, of course.”

  “Yeah,” I say, drawing out the word. “But yesterday didn’t go so well, so I’d rather know what I’m getting into with a little more detail. Also, is there any way to let my mom know I’m okay?”

  His expression grows more somber and serious at my second question, so I know the answer already. “I’m sorry, Lysa, but no. We have very strict rules and we have no choice but to abide by them. It’s very important for many reasons. Had your mother transferred, we might have been able to, but she’s still on Earth so we can’t contact her in any way.”

  This is disappointing, but not unexpected. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to keep trying to figure out how to do exactly that. I’ll simply keep those intentions to myself for now. I may have popped through a portal on a whim, but now I’ve got a mission…and that’s to get back to Earth and spread the news of its coming destruction. Maybe Earth won’t be able to figure out a way to stop whatever is going to happen, but without knowing it’s coming, they can’t even try.

  “And what part of orientation am I getting?” I ask, trying not to reveal what I’m thinking.

  Jack rubs his hands together like he’s excited and the smile returns to his face. “The good stuff. You’re a non-transfer, so you’re going to get the full rundown of what’s going on. How about that?”

  Clearly, this is a big deal for him, so I try to look as excited as he does and say, “Yay!”

  He gives me a look.

  “Too much?” I ask.

  “Yeah, that was a little fake.”

  “Okay, but I really am excited. I’m just nervous too.”

  Jack steps closer and takes my hand, giving it a pat and then pulling it close to his chest like he’s hugging it or something. It’s very odd, but also sort of nice. “Don’t be nervous. You’ll see that there’s nothing to worry about and that everything is happening for the good. I promise.”

  I nod, but he’s still holding my hand up at his chest and it’s getting weird, so I glance at it and he lets me go with a laugh. “Oh, sorry. I’m still getting used to things. I like the way things feel. It’s all very interesting.” He runs his fingers along the table surface to emphasize his delight at touching.

  Oh, if he only knew exactly how delightful it could be. Well, I don’t exactly know what that sort of touching would be like, but I have a really good idea. I can feel myself turning bright red, so I open the door to my room and wave him out. “Let’s get started then.”

  His brow creases when he looks at my no-doubt crimson cheeks, but he doesn’t comment. When we get into the hallway and he starts walking, I can’t resist asking the question any longer. I’ve been trying to be polite about it, but really, I have to know.

  “Listen, if this is a rude question, just tell me and accept my apology ahead of time, but I’ve got to ask it anyway. If you don’t know art, don’t know the sense of touch, don’t know eating…then what the heck did you look like before you were human?”

  Jack doesn’t even break stride. He just grins at me and says, “Oh, I know all of those things. I just don’t know them the way humans experience them. It’s different. Totally different.”

  I roll my eyes and say, “You know, my pet peeve is when people give answers that aren’t answers at all.”

  He laughs at my tone and says, “I told you. I’m one of those giant squid people!”

  Now, he’s just teasing me. Then again, it probably was a rude question. I should have picked something less likely to be used as a tease when I first asked that question about being eaten by aliens. Squid was too easy apparently.

  Rather than press him further—because maybe he was something super gross and doesn’t want to freak me out—I say, “Fine.”

  He stops at another expanse of wall and a silver square lights up with another warning that we’re still in Earth atmosphere. Since this hallway, along with every other location I’ve been, has been perfectly comfortable for me, I wonder if this is some sort of Earth wing or something.

  “Here we are,” he says, holding out his arm for me to enter ahead of him. I guess he looked up Earth manners while he’s been studying us humans. The move is done perfectly, like he was born to it.

  “Well, we have been studying, haven’t we?” I quip as I enter.

  “You’ve been studying too?” he asks, a confused expression on his face.

  “What?” It takes me a second, then I get it. “Oh, no. That’s just a figure of speech. I meant you’ve been studying manners.”

  At first glance, the room looks like one of those side rooms you find in galleries or museums, the kind where they show you a film of something important in history or explain relics. There are a few curved benches in front of an equally curved screen on the wall. I wonder what I’d have to do to get a TV this big in my room.

  He gives a little shake of his head like he’ll never understand me, or maybe that he gives up trying. Probably he means a little of both. Motioning toward the center of the front bench, he says, “Would you like to sit?”

  I do, and ask, “Are we going to watch a movie? You’ve actually made an explanation into a movie?” This reminds me of sex education in school, or maybe when they showed us that gory movie in driver’s education. I sure hope not. Those movies are never very good.

  Jack sits next to me and cocks his head for a second, listening to the hub, I guess. He smiles and say
s, “No, nothing like that. Though I am looking forward to experiencing a movie.”

  That makes me think of my vampire show, the one I never miss that makes me squeal with corny delight. I absolutely won’t steer him in that direction. What would he think of me if he knew that’s the kind of program I enjoyed? If he asks, I’ll point him toward something cultured, maybe one of those historicals on PBS.

  “Yeah, well, not all of them are good. We do make some stinkers.”

  Jack crosses his feet at the ankles and leans back on the wide bench, braced by his arms. It makes the muscles on his arms stand out and I look away before I embarrass myself. I sure hope whatever the hub says is so interesting that I can forget about the guy sitting next to me.

  Sixteen

  The hub’s voice intrudes before things can get more awkward. “Good morning, Lysa. I hope you’re feeling well today and are ready to continue your orientation.”

  While I’m sure the station doesn’t mean to, its tone is so formal that I feel like I’m being addressed by a teacher. Even without meaning to, my posture straightens, and my hands fold in my lap.

  “Good morning. Yes, I’m well and very ready to move on. And…uh…I’ll be calmer today too.”

  Next to me, Jack snickers and looks down at his remarkably mall-like pair of skater shoes. Yeah, he’s getting used to be a teenager. No doubt about it. I pinch him, but not too hard, and he jumps a little on his seat. When he looks at me in shock, I mouth, “Behave!”

  “Do you have any questions before we begin?” the hub asks.

  What a loaded question that is. How could I not have questions? Remembering yesterday and me calling it ‘hub thingie,’ I know what my first questions should be.

  “Uh, I do. What do I call you? Yesterday you said the station was hub, but you’re Hub. Is that really your name?”

  “Yes, I’m Hub, while this station is the hub.”