5.19
"Go," muttered Ted.
"Hold your horses," said Carl.
Ted, annoyed, pushed back his chair and crossed his legs. He cradled his chin in the palm of his hand and closed his eyes.
Carl leaned out and played some tiles.
At the sound of Carl fumbling through the bag of tiles, Ted opened his eyes and looked at the board. "You motherscrubber," he said, shaking his head in disbelief.
"What?" said Carl.
"You took my place!" Ted stood and loomed over the board. "And for what? 'Bob'? You can't use people's names."
"It means 'a short, jerky motion'," said Carl.
"You're a short, jerky moron!" said Ted. He stepped forward and hit the table with his knee, sending the board sliding to the edge of the table and scattering the tiles, many of which fell to the floor.
"Hey!" said Carl.
"It was an accident!" said Ted.
"Screw you!" said Carl as he made his way around the table. He charged Ted and punched him in the stomach. Ted fell backwards, landing on his ass with an 'oomph!'
Carl stood, glaring down at Ted, breathing heavily.
Ted, rubbing his stomach, looked up at Carl and began to laugh.
"What's so funny?" asked Carl.
Ted laughed until there were tears in his eyes.
Carl continued to glare.
Eventually Ted's laughter ran out and he sat up. "That felt good," he said.
"What?" said Carl.
"Feeling," said Ted.
“Feeling?” said Carl.
"Feeling… something… anything,” said Ted. He pulled himself onto his knees, then his feet. His eyes sparkled as he took a step toward Carl. “Let’s do that again,” he said.
Chapter Six
6.1
Gabrielle had to admit that, whoever he was, Zacharael's method made some sense. Without the notes from her midnight episodes of automatic writing, she would never recall her "dreams" in such detail. She'd awakened with bitter anger in her mouth, a head full of hazy images, and a vague sense of uncleanliness that did not wash away in the shower. It was only when she read her notebook that she fully understood where these feelings had come from. That was dolphin blood she felt on her skin. And it was Zacharael's question that had so affronted her. What was she going to do about all of this? Screw you, dream lover. I'm not gonna do shit.
Still, the sticky feeling of blood lingered. Gabrielle could feel her skin crawling under her shirt as she walked through the humid morning air to her eight o'clock class. She could hear the screams of dolphins echoing in her mind. She could see the ball of rock and ice hurtling through space, and the strange symbol in the snow. The dreams were invading her daytime now, and she was not at all happy about that.
A short, slight man in a black windbreaker stepped out from behind a tree just before her. Gabrielle started from her thoughts and came to a quick halt. It was her father, Jay Sinclair, whom the world knew as Canadian MP Guy Legrand. His Tom Cruise face was tanned and his dark hair tousled by the breeze.
"Gabby?" said Sinclair. His eyebrows were angled into a look of hopeful contrition.
"Don't call me that," spat Gabrielle, turning to walk the other direction
Sinclair hurried after her. "Gabby! Wait!" he shouted to her back. He reached out and touched her elbow. "Gabrielle," he said quietly.
Gabrielle stopped, sighed loudly, then continued on more slowly. Sinclair stepped up to walk beside her. Gabrielle stared into the distance, refusing to acknowledge her father.
"It's all moving quickly now," said Sinclair. "The Life forced the issue and The Families are stepping up to the challenge. The Directorate has agreed that it's now or never. We're calling it the 'One-Two Punch.' And the Quietus has been triggered."
Gabrielle glanced at her father with a snort of derision. "You guys and your code names and shit," she said, shaking her head. "A bunch of little boys..."
Sinclair grabbed his daughter's arm and brought them both to a halt. She was a bit taller than he, and her pale skin and red-blonde bob contrasted with his dark brown hair and tanned face. "These 'little boys' are going to save our lives," he said. His face was stern and tight.
"What a wonderful choice you've given me, father," said Gabrielle. "Stay here and die in an environmental apocalypse or cram myself into a tin can with a bunch of cowboys and blast off into the deadly vacuum of space. I wish you had thought of this before I was conceived. You could have pulled out of dear Mummy and saved us both a great deal of anguish."
"Gabby," said Sinclair, his voice a sad whisper. "I wish..."
Gabrielle jerked her arm free. "That's all you have, isn't it? Wishes and fantasies."
"We have plans," said Sinclair.
"So do I," said Gabrielle. She gestured toward the sky with a quick jerk of her head. "I'm not going. I've been there. It doesn't feel like a fun place to die."
"You're not going to-"
Gabrielle shook her head to cut him off. "You just don't get it," she said.
Sinclair closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his standard technique for keeping his cool with his children. He opened his eyes. "Get what?" he asked.
"My work is here," said Gabrielle.
Sinclair laughed, a clipped, barking sound that burst out before he could control it. "Your work?" he said with a smirk. "What the hell does that mean? And what do you mean you've 'been there'?"
Gabrielle stared at her father for a long time, breathing slowly. She glanced over his shoulder, then back to his eyes. "I'm late for class," she said. She stepped around her father and headed across the square. Sinclair stood and watched her for a long time, but did not follow.
Gabrielle, her heart pounding, ascended the steps of the Banker Building as quickly as she could. She slipped through the door and exhaled her relief when it closed behind her. Her hands were shaking and there were tears welling in her eyes. Up until a moment ago, she had not realized that she even had a "work" to do. Now she knew that she did, and the realization touched her deeply. Gabrielle had something she had to do. Something... real. That was something that all of their money had never been able to buy her.
She headed down the hallway to the left. At the end, silhouetted against the daylight from the huge windows that overlooked the quad, stood a tall, thin, red-haired man. With an odd, fluid movement, the man pushed through the double doors to the stairwell and disappeared.
6.2
"So why didn't your sensors find them before?" asked Mary, gesturing toward the President's children, who lay as if in comas in the MRI. She felt strong and whole in the moment. Indignation and righteousness fueled her spirit and eased her body.
"The room is one big Faraday cage, Ma'am," said Colonel Westwood with a raised eyebrow. "Designed that way. Because of the scanner. It blinded us to what was inside." He glanced back toward the children. "It blocked their iDents."
"It blinded you to the fact that the President's children were right under your noses the whole time, Francis," said Mary, her face a stern mask. "Did you not know this could happen?"
The Colonel stared down at his shoes. "It hadn't... occurred to us, Ma'am," he said.
Mary smiled peevishly, like a schoolmarm. "It's a good thing you let us paranormal whack-jobs have a crack at it then," she said. "Perhaps you should add a new item to your search protocols: 'When searching for someone important, watch out for Faraday cages.'"
Westwood glared but did not respond.
"Can I trust you to inform the children’s parents right away?" asked Mary.
The Colonel nodded once, glad for the implicit dismissal. "Ma'am," he said, a word that signaled both contempt and embarrassment. Mary dismissed him with a wave of the hand and the Colonel turned crisply and stepped into the hallway. Mary crossed the room to the children.
There were armed guards stationed on either side of the MRI. Standing next to the kids were a resident and a nurse, fiddling with leads and listening through a stethoscope. So far, the childre
n had checked out fine. No physical harm. No obvious trauma or disease. They were just... asleep. The doctors could not explain it.
Mary could explain it. She knew exactly where they were, and glanced up toward the ceiling. The kids had somehow freed themselves from their bodies and journeyed to the Astral realm. Those eyes she'd imagined peering down from the sky? Those had been real. The kids had gone with Alice, all right, but they'd left their bodies behind. And they'd found the perfect place to hide them. Well, thought Mary with a chuckle, almost perfect.
She already regretted giving the Colonel such grief. He didn't deserve it, and it would not help the situation, for her to make enemies. Wondering at that, Mary closed her eyes for a moment to study her own field, something she had only recently learned she could do. What she saw there was neither pretty nor surprising: it was her own guilt over having failed to protect the kids, and the residual guilt from her long-past failure to save her little brother from their abusive father. Those old feelings had had her lash out like she did. Both of those failures clung to her like spider webs, laden still with bits of shame and regret, despite her efforts to clear them. None of that could be pinned on the Colonel. He had not earned her blame. The fact of the matter was, this hiding place had almost thwarted her as well. Had it not been for Agent Gilder, she would likely have turned back. She made a mental note to go apologize to the Colonel as soon as was possible.
Mary reached out and pushed a lock of hair from Iain's face. He'd grown so gangly in the last year, and his face, so calm now, had matured. And the girls... there was something about their sleeping forms that made them all look older and wiser than their tender years should allow. Mary scoffed, allowing a slight smile to soften her face. What was she thinking? These were not normal children. They were older and wiser. They'd been places few children go, and seen things most people have never seen. That had changed them. It was a mistake to think of them as just children. And now they were off again, their spirits traveling in a realm most modern adults still had trouble believing even existed.
A distant alarm bell rang and Mary shuddered, a mixture of excitement and dread. She'd traveled in those realms herself, once upon a time. She knew the magic and wonder those kids could encounter. And the dangers. She trusted that Alice and her kin would do everything they could to assure the kids' safety. But she'd looked into their fields, Mary had. She'd seen those terrible images. She'd felt the dead menace of that black tendril. And past experience had taught her that such images were not to be underestimated. She stepped closer to the children and bowed her head, praying that Alice, Spud, and whoever else was behind this were on guard against such things. And praying that they were a match for whatever forces lay behind that blackness.
The resident cleared her throat and Mary looked up. "We're all finished here," she said.
Mary nodded. "So we can move them now?" she asked.
"As soon as Dr. Gholson gives the go-ahead," the resident said, walking toward the door.
Mary turned back to watch the children. She was glad. The room, the Faraday cage, would not only thwart military sensing technology, it would probably prevent the kids from reconstituting in their bodies. They could be out there right now, trying to return, and not be able to. Dr. Gholson had better give his approval, she thought. She'd attempted to explain the urgency of the situation to him when he'd first arrived. He couldn't seem to grasp “all this paranormal mumbo jumbo.”
Mary muttered a short curse. She would be so glad when such blind nonsense had passed from the Earth.
6.3
Keeley grabbed her keys, patted Chapin on the head, and started toward the door. Her heart was beating wildly, and had been since the moment she'd seen herself in the bathroom mirror. Stretching across her face, from cheek to cheek and over her nose, was the faint pink outline of a rash. Shit.
Keeley yanked the door shut and started down the hall, her mind racing. There was a new plague in the land. Both protocol and common sense dictated that she should call both the military command center and the hospital and then remain locked in her room until trained medical personnel could quarantine her and transfer her to the infectious disease ward.
But the thought of calling for help made her feel weak and ashamed. Images of Keeley's mother came to mind, her smirking disbelief, her refusal to listen, her insistence that Keeley go to school no matter what. Keeley shoved the images aside and kept walking. This was no big deal, really. She wasn't sick. She was just being a baby. It was just a food reaction. She was just being silly. And she would not bother anybody with her silliness. Keeley would walk, just as she always did. Mary hadn't returned in the night, but had left a message that she was at the hospital. Keeley would pop in to see her. She'd have the docs check her out while she was there. No big deal. Really.
She took the back stairs down to ground level and ducked through the kitchen to the back yard with a quick, gotta-run greeting to Ness that gave the old woman no opportunity to look closely at Keeley's face. Already the day was hot. She hurried across the lawn and ducked into the woods, hoping to avoid both the military and the Secret Service. In her time in Augusta, Keeley had created a mostly-off-road jogging trail that took her through backyards, across streams, along driveways, and up the power line cut that took her over the ridge and toward her office in the State House. She hated running with agents in tow and more than once had snuck out this way. While she didn't feel up to jogging this morning, she also didn't want to be with people right now. She was perfectly capable of getting to the hospital on her own.
The trail brought her eventually back to Capitol Street. As soon as she stepped out onto the shoulder, Keeley realized that she was hungry. She immediately thought of the Burger Hut up on Child Street and headed quickly in that direction. Her ponytail bounced against the back of her neck as she walked. She could feel the dampness from her exertions. But she didn't slow down.
Keeley hated fast food. Always had. She'd been mostly vegan during her hippie days with Pooch and, though she could hardly be picky in this time of severely diminished food choices, she still maintained what standards she could. But there was something about one of those breakfast sandwich things with the egg and cheese and sausage that sounded like exactly what she needed this morning. Maybe even two of them. They'd hit the spot. The fact that she was hungry was a good sign, as far as Keeley was concerned.
She picked up her pace in the morning heat, knowing that patrolling soldiers could spot her at any time. Greensward Commons was just a couple of blocks away. She'd shadow the buildings and stay off the roads as much as was possible. That would be cooler. She pictured a large glass of ice-cold orange juice to go with her food. Or whatever fake orange drink they were selling as juice. Didn’t matter. She was ravenous.
Sausage biscuits, here I come.
6.4
The Fisherman waved his hand and the vast audience hall was once again empty of people. Gone as well were the podium and the glass of water. All that remained was Linda and William, standing face-to-face on a high balcony overlooking a huge, empty room carved from the solid rock of Phobos. "I found their weight oppressive," explained the Fisherman with a slight shrug. "And we no longer need them."
He turned and walked toward a tall doorway at the back of the balcony. Linda followed. "I'm surprised by how quickly you got to the heart of things, Madam," said William, glancing back at her and offering a quick smile.
"I'm in a hurry to get home, Teach," said Linda. Her joke came with an edge of frustration.
"Understood," said the Fisherman, as he turned left and headed down a long, curving hallway.
Linda came to a stop. Something didn't make sense to her. The hall, perhaps fifteen feet wide and at least that tall, seemed to be as brightly lit as the meeting room had been. "I don't see a light source here, William," she said, puzzled.
"It's a matter of perception, Madam," explained the Fisherman, stopping and turning. "There is no light here. Not in the physical realm. We've never been
able to determine if there are any light sources here. But we can shift our modes of perceiving," he said. "As I have been doing for the both of us."
"And you're controlling the gravity as well, I assume," said Linda. "Because we're walking like there's gravity here, but I'm guessing that there isn't really."
William flashed his eyebrows. "You are correct," he said. "Our powers of both perception and creation are greatly enhanced in this level of consciousness. I'm adjusting your default vibratory state to the near-physical wherever appropriate, so as to keep distractions to a minimum. But you are free to experiment with your perceptions if you wish." William smiled. "Within limits," he added. He turned and started back down the curving corridor.
Linda followed, thinking about how dark it must really be inside Phobos. At once the hallway was as black as any cave she'd ever been down. She could feel the long eons of time through which this ruined ship has orbited Mars, dark and dead. The place felt positively spooky, as if haunted by its builders. She shifted her perception again, imagining how the hallway had looked before. The light came back. Or the seeing.
"So why do we no longer need them?" she asked, referring back to what William had said in the great hall, hoping to dispel the gloomy mood the blackness had conferred on her. "The people?"
"Because you are done with them," said William. "You said so." They came to a small alcove carved into the rock wall on their right, one of those arched recesses like Linda had seen in cathedrals and museums, but large enough to fit three or four people. The Fisherman stepped in and turned back toward the hallway, acting as if he'd just entered an elevator. He flashed his eyebrows and winked. Linda stepped in and stood beside him.
"So what's this?" she asked.
"The lift," said William.
Linda bobbed her head cheerfully, as though speaking to a crazy person. "I see. And how do we work it?" she asked, gesturing to indicate that she saw no buttons.
Rumi's Field (None So Blind Book 2) Page 18
