Rumi's Field (None So Blind Book 2)

by Timothy Scott Bennett

  The President's jet would be here before too long. Stan wanted to be long gone before she got back. It was a matter of timing. Though Stan had a great poker face, he didn't think that he could win a face-to-face game with Linda Travis. She was just too damned sharp. He sent his reply to Keeley, shut down his laptop, stuffed it into his briefcase, and rose from his desk. His helicopter would be waiting for him. Stan had a little trip he needed to take.

  20.5

  Ness whistled an old tune from who knows where as she busied about in her kitchen. The girls were up in their rooms, happy to be back home, probably playing with their new cat, and Ness wanted to make them a surprise. She didn't know how they did it, but the Middle Children had refilled her pantry with items she hadn't seen in months or years. The girls were about to get their first bowls of boxed macaroni and cheese dinner in a very long time. An off-brand. Not the good stuff. But still...

  Something about that made tears rise to Ness's eyes and she daubed at them with her sleeve. This was a hard old world they lived in, which nobody can deny. Those poor girls had been through some crazy bad stuff, and though they were doing their best to hold it together, Ness could tell that what they most wanted was to just sit in their folks' laps and have a good cry. They'd cried a bit with Ness when they first got back to home, but Ness was not their mom and dad, and she could tell that there was more to come.

  They'd put Iain back in his room. His body just lay there, lungs breathing, heart pumping, all that. They had him hooked back up to his monitors and IV, and the hybrid nurses were keeping him fed and bathed and such. They'd placed Dennis lovingly at Iain's feet, and prayed that, wherever the two of them were, they were together. There were living bodies waiting for them, boy and dog, should they ever manage to find their way back. But damn it was a hard sight, to look in on the boy. He'd been right on the edge of adulthood. Just starting to come into himself. And now he was gone. Off to help his mother and this is what he gets for it. Ness had heard about how all the rich people had up and run away. And she'd heard a bit about how many of them had been killed off. And all she could think was, "Good. Serves them right. And good riddance to the rest of you." It was those monsters that had kidnapped Iain's mother in the first place. The blame was on them. Ness had curses for them all.

  Ness knew that holding onto curses wouldn't do her much good in the long run. Just make her bitter and sad. So she said her curses out loud as she worked in the kitchen. To get them out of her head and heart, and send them on to whomever they belonged. "Damn you all to hell," she spat as she stirred the pasta into the boiling water. She looked up to the sky and repeated it, to make sure there was no mistake about who she was damning. She didn't have all that good an understanding of what, exactly, had happened. She'd only gotten bits of pieces of the whole story. But she was no dummy. The rich folk had taken off to start a new life somewhere in outer space. The aliens helped them. In Ness's opinion, the humans left on Earth would be better off if they never saw either group again.

  But those hybrids were still here, weren't they? The Middle Children, they wanted to be called. Born of some crazy alien-human secret program or something. Did they really want those guys hanging around now? Ness couldn't make up her mind. Though she didn't really trust them yet - maybe she didn't want to trust them - she had to admit that they'd been a great help. Built that hidey-hole. Watched over her and the kids and Keeley in the hospital. Helped look for Iain. Isaac was a sweet man, really, even though his limbic system was about as haywire as it could get. And the kids liked him because he was keen to learn how to play games, but was really bad at them. At the kids' request he had joined them at the Presidential Home, to act as an assistant to Ness in the kitchen, and provide other services to the family as needed. Ness was glad of that. She felt kind of old today. Old and tired. And it was so damned hot. She could use the help.

  Ness drained the pasta and cut open the packet of peculiar orange powder and dumped it into the pot with some butter and a little milk. The President and her husband would be home soon. No doubt all hell would break loose again upon their return. Bad guys to punish and a pandemic to stop and kids to take care of and all that. Ness would probably be busy too, as the Presidential Home came fully back online. But for now, it was quiet. The AC was working. They had mac and cheese. Maybe she'd grab Isaac and they'd play a game. Find a bit of normal for a change. Those girls could use a bit of normal. For a while, at least, Ness would have to be the one to provide it.

  20.6

  Alice walked the streets of Augusta. She'd just left the nullspace apartment, which the Middle Children had decided to leave in place for the time being, and thought she might head to the MaineCentral, not only to check in on Ms. Keeley, but to confer with Dr. Pintick about the human pandemic. The afternoon sun warmed the back of her head as she made her way southward through the downtown area. She didn't mind the high temperature. Most of the Middle Children had been bred for heat tolerance.

  To her mind, the Middle Children represented the Life's most active response to the Earth changes now underway. They had long ago recognized the possibility that humans would not survive the consequences of their collective actions. And, in their own way, the Life, or at least the subspecies Alice derived from known as the Inter-Life, had grown to love those over whom they had been tasked to watch. Over the years, some of the humans had seen random bits of evidence for the Middle Children program and speculated that the Life were breeding hybrids in order to save themselves. Given the humans' high capacity for self-deception and projection, this made perfect sense. Never would it occur to them that the hybrids had been created in order to save some portion of the human animal.

  She didn't know if it would come to that. Partly because the human colony project held some measure of hope and partly because humans were so surprisingly resilient. The human experiment might continue elsewhere in the physical universe, should the colonists manage to survive the challenges facing them. But it might also continue here on Earth, even should the climate restabilize at a far hotter global mean temperature. The planet was large and varied, and there were humans all over it. It was surely possible that some would survive.

  Which is why the Middle Children had disengaged from the Life and declared themselves a distinct and free people. Though they might inherit the Earth entirely, should the humans die out, they knew that they might end up sharing the planet with a remnant population. Were that the case, they wanted to create that sharing on their own terms. They did not like being pawns of the Life. They were tired of their off-planet or underground existences, or of having to hide amongst the humans on Earth. Nor did they wish to become second-rate citizens in the eyes of their human parents, who had a disturbing habit of judging harshly those who are different from themselves. Having been given life, the Middle Children were ready to take their lives and craft the future they wished to have. Which is why Alice, the first known hybrid to live openly amongst them, and with the American President, no less, had been chosen as their representative.

  Alice walked past the fast food restaurant that had been so prominently featured in the news the past few days. This was the site where the first case of the Quietus - were one to discount the scam involving the President - had collapsed on the sidewalk. The door was locked and the windows had been covered with thick plywood. Alice passed through the plywood and glass and examined the darkened interior. It appeared that the owners had left in a hurry. Probably out of fear. Possibly due to retaliation from other frightened humans. They were a reactive, confused species, these humans. Most of them, anyways. She was concerned that living openly with them might be more difficult than any of them had supposed. Alice slipped out of the restaurant and continued down the street. There were few places that were open for business now. The humans were all but gone from Augusta already.

  Much of this would await the future. The President Linda needed to return first. There were urgencies to tend to. Meetings to have. Decisions to be made. And then, an a
nnouncement. Eventually the Augusta city would be formally turned over to the Middle Children. That and enough of the surrounding countryside to meet their needs. Trade agreements would need to be put into place. Diplomatic relationships forged. The Middle Children might wish to create some sort of governing body to interface with the humans. But it would be a facade. Connected mind to mind, the Middle Children needed no such institutions.

  Alice looked skyward. Her eyes, sensitive to more of the electromagnetic spectrum than human eyes were, could see the Grid clearly, gleaming at the edge of space. She was not at all sure she understood why it was still there. It had performed one of its functions admirably. Perhaps it had others of which she knew nothing. Her father's mind was closed to her. But sometimes she picked up bits of information that left her wondering whether the Inter-Life had some other concern. Perhaps the Grid was also intended to keep something out. She did not know what that something might be.

  She would let her father worry upon that. Her work on Earth was enough to fill her attention. The second report from jumptime had come back negative. That meant that they would now have to send a pair of Middle Children through a finely-tuned scan of the entirety of physical time. The energy and attention that would require would be prodigious, and all of the Middle Children would have to bear some part of the cost. The project would take almost three Earth years. And there would be no guarantees, even then. Alice allowed her heart to pinch inward a bit, a feeling she had come to associate with the human word "sadness." Her friend Iain was lost. Alice had sent the initial impulse that had sent him into the Astral in search of his mother.

  She was responsible. She would do what she could to make amends.

  Ahead of her was the river. The Kennebec. Across the river was the hospital. Alice strode forward to complete her tasks.

  20.7

  Gabrielle watched as the President walked back up the aisle and took her window seat next to her husband. Inexplicably, she thought of a watch she'd received as a Christmas gift some years ago, a vintage Casio with one of the first LED readouts ever produced. Her father had given it to her, having searched online for it for months. Her father, who was dead now. The President had just told her how they'd found him, right next to that container Zacharael had put her in. Gabrielle had actually seen him. Seen his crumpled body. She just hadn't realized who it was.

  She was having difficulty holding onto thoughts. Her head was buzzing. And her heart seemed to have almost stopped beating. Her father had plummeted to Earth, and to his death, cast from the colony wok like a bag of trash. Judged and found wanting. Unworthy of passing through. Her father was dead. Gone in a way that felt much more real to her than just his going off to the stars.

  Their jet was back over land again and Gabrielle glanced out the window at the terrain far below. It looked hot. Brown. Dead. Hazy. Even smoky. It was the world from which her father had been attempting to escape. The world from which he'd tried so hard to save her. The world she was now stuck on. The Beloved was dying, and Gabrielle was alone. Her father was dead. Her mother, who'd never really felt like family anyways, might be found amongst the dead too. And the whole of her people, The Families, were either gone or dead as well, including, no doubt, a great many Sinclairs, her direct kin, whom she'd never even met. Leaving her alone. Alone.

  She was supposed to be feeling something, wasn't she? Maybe she was, and it was just obliterated by the buzzing. Maybe she just didn't feel anything. Maybe the buzzing was the feeling. Maybe something else. Something had shifted. That could not be denied. Her parents hadn't been a part of her life for some time now. She'd shut them out. Run away. Denied her family and her heritage and her rightful place in the Giant Leap. But still there was a hole in her life at the news of her father's death. She'd loved him once. Perhaps she still did. And a part of her had been happy, to know that he'd followed his heart and his dream, and would be living the life he chose out in the stars. Even if it wasn't what she had wanted. Even if it meant they had to be apart.

  But that dream had been taken from him at the last minute. A cruel trick, it felt like. The aliens and their Grid. It had made her father so angry when the Grid had first gone up. To be betrayed like that. And, in the end, the aliens got the last laugh. Maybe Gabrielle was angry now as well. Maybe that's what the buzzing was.

  Gabrielle glanced over at the others. Annabelle and Doobie were asleep. Marionette was reading. The eye-patched young woman looked up as Gabrielle stared at her, as though she could feel Gabrielle's gaze. She smiled. Gabrielle smiled back. Something in her wanted a friend all of a sudden. Now that she was alone on the planet, perhaps it was time for her to find some people to call her own. Marionette gestured toward the back of the plane with a nod of her head and a questioning expression, inviting Gabrielle to maybe go back there and talk? Gabrielle glanced to where she was pointing, then looked at Marionette and nodded. Marionette stood and headed back, careful to be quiet so as not to wake the others. Gabrielle rose to join her.

  All at once there were tears on her face.

  20.8

  Had that been another hop? Or just a dream? Cole wasn't sure if there was even a difference. Whatever it was, it was fading quickly. He'd been himself in this dream. Standing outside. Looking up at the sky. The air was filled with rumbling thunder, louder than any he'd ever heard. And above the tree line, a strange glow, as if an airliner had crashed nearby. Had he just witnessed the air disaster that had killed his first wife, Ruth? Or was it something else entirely? The thunder in the air was far more powerful than a crash could explain. And then everything had gone black. Cole opened his eyes, squeezed Linda's hand, and rose to grab their backpacks. The jet was on the ground in Augusta and was slowly taxiing to the gate, where two men waited with a stairway.

  The AC had been turned off. Already he could feel the sweltering heat outside. It had topped one hundred ten degrees earlier in the day, one of the pilots had told them over the intercom, with an accent Cole could not place. Over a hundred ten degrees. In March. Great. He lived in New England to get away from such heat. So much for that plan.

  He couldn't wait to see the girls. They'd told Stan to have Ness and Mary keep them at home, rather than meet them at the airport. But it sure would have been nice to be able to grab them and hold them and pick them up at the bottom of the stairs. Cole sighed. Any thought of the girls brought the inevitable after-thought of Iain. He did not want to think about his son right now.

  The others were waking up and grabbing their gear. Cole looked from one to the next, smiling and nodding. Annabelle arched an eyebrow and Cole had no idea how he might interpret that. Anything from a concerned "how are you doing?" to a more pointed "are you going to stop your wife from destroying humanity?" Right. Like he knew what to do any better than the rest of them.

  He glanced down at Linda and smiled gently. She seemed surprisingly awake and alive, given what they'd just been through. But Cole knew that most of that was probably just her habitual, practiced Presidential poise, the product of endless meetings, dinners, and trips around the world. He could tell she was exhausted. She'd hardly spoken during the flight. She had nothing left. "You ready, babe?" he asked. Linda raised her eyebrows and sighed. Cole offered her his hand and she stood to join him.

  The Choice, as Cole thought of it, weighed heavily on them both. They planned to just go home, hang with the girls, and get a full night's sleep. But Cole knew that the Choice would haunt them in their dreams. The Fellowship of the Vial had done what they could. If Annabelle had been right, and if stopping Linda from destroying the human race had meant not allowing her to prevent The Families from leaving, then they'd succeeded in that, though their success had come simply from being too late. But if the Church's prophecy had to do with the contents of that damned vial, then success had not yet been won. And Cole was no closer to knowing the right answer to that puzzle than he'd ever been.

  Linda would say that it's not a matter of knowing, not a thing for the brain to figure out. She
was probably right. Which meant that all he could do was wait until the right moment arose, and then act from his heart, or his gut. He'd run both scenarios through his mind a thousand times and tried to feel his way into his right course of action. That had yielded no clear answer. He had to wait for the moment. He hated waiting. And he hated the idea that, come tomorrow morning, his wife might make a decision that he would have to oppose. This whole thing was tearing her apart. He could see that. What would it do to her, to find, at the most crucial moment, that her husband was not her ally?

  Cole sighed as they made their way slowly toward the closed door. The crew was waiting to open it until the stairway was in place. With the plane stopped, the AC was back on. They didn't want the President to stand in the heat any longer than was necessary. Maybe this Church prophecy crap was all just a scam. The clever delusions of a bunch of whacked-out UFO buffs who needed desperately to make sense of their world by concocting prophecies of epic events and grand players, and telling stories of life and death and good and evil and magical powers and salvation.