Sons of Earth

by Geralyn Wichers

  "They track them," Lisa said softly, "If he stopped for too long in one spot..."

  Justine glanced over at Lisa. “I had my first rejection at Caspian today—one of the men I worked with.” Ernest glanced at Casey and opened his mouth, but Justine went on. “I hate this. And I have to… I have to work there like everything is fine, and help them manufacture men to be bought and sold. There has to be something to do.”

  “But there isn’t,” Lisa said. “There isn’t, all right Justine? We did everything we could for A134. We stole food for him, for goodness sake. We can’t save them all.”

  “I can’t accept that.”

  They were all staring at her like she’d grown a horn, all except for Casey, who held her gaze with sad eyes. Her anger faded when she saw him. She could read the weariness and helplessness there. She sat back down and leaned her head against him. The silence went on for a few long minutes.

  Finally Ernest folded the newspaper back up. "Let's begin with prayer."

  CHAPTER 4

  Khalia remembered the Christmas party as soon as Dominic walked up to her and handed her a wad of bills. “Party business?” she asked.

  “Wine,” he said. “I don’t drink it. Do you?”

  “Yes…?” When she could afford it.

  “Then you know what kind is good?” He turned his head to the side and peered at her from the corner of his eye. “The sort of thing that Jennifer and Elsa will drink with abandon until they begin removing clothing and vomit upon my furniture?”

  “Goodness, Dominic.” She peered right back at him. Was he joking? It was so hard to tell. She took the money from his hand and walked toward the lab door. He followed, watching her stuff it into her purse. “Yes, I’ll figure it out.”

  “If they make me do this next year, I will quit my job.”

  “Then why are you so determined to be a good host?” Khalia asked. She surveyed his tight-lipped expression and the murky depths of his dark-fringed eyes. Was the man actually insecure?

  Dominic shrugged, and walked away. “Paperwork for the exams are on your desk,” he said over his shoulder.

  Khalia shoved her purse into the drawer and picked up the folder. She leafed through it as she walked toward the closed door where the MFP2’s were being raised—her babies. They were doing so well, and Dominic’s notes confirmed it. From the door she could see their milky skin, lit by the blue glow of the biochambers. They had the appearance of healthy, nine-month-old infants. They were chubby, with button noses and rosebud lips.

  Khalia slipped on gloves and mask, and went over to stand by the cribs.

  “Is something wrong?” She smelled Dominic’s sandalwood scent and heard a soft footfall as he came to stand behind her, so close that she imagined she could feel the warmth of his body.

  “No, I just can’t look away, it seems.” She turned, and realized he was closer than she’d thought. For a second they were nose to nose before he stepped back. She sucked in a breath.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, expression flat. But his eyes flicked to her cheeks, her eyes, then over her. His eyes glinted disconcertingly.

  “Y-you didn’t… exactly.” Khalia spun around so she didn't have to face him. She could see his reflection in the biocrib as he bent down to look in.

  “How are the children?” he said, with a smile in his voice.

  Khalia laughed breathlessly. “Fine.”

  “It’s lunch."

  “Right. I’ll go for the wine over lunch.”

  “Take my car,” he said, “And just leave the wine in the trunk. Set the temperature so they don't freeze.”

  "So they...?"

  But he had turned on his heel and walked out. When Khalia exited she saw the keys on her desk.

  That evening, she arrived at Dominic’s apartment just as the streetlights came on. The square building with its huge glass windows, dark trim, and MP doormen was worlds away from her tiny bungalow, even though she lived less than four blocks away. This was much newer housing, built over the top of a former ghetto. The stately old buildings had been purged and redone into higher end housing, like the one she stood before.

  “Text me when you get here,” Dominic had said.

  She dropped her bags on the sidewalk and punched ‘here’ into the phone. Dominic appeared within two minutes, dressed in the decidedly un-festive attire of a slim grey henley and jeans.

  “What can I carry?” he said.

  “The tree?”

  His lip curled. “Ah, the tree. I will take the synthetic conifer.” He looked around like it should be standing in front of him.

  Khalia jammed the key into the trunk lock and jimmied it back and forth until it released. Dominic pushed past her and slid the plastic-wrapped tree out.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “Uh… I got it.” Khalia juggled the box of ornaments and her bags and followed him through the revolving door. They just managed to jam into the elevator.

  “It is a small elevator,” Dominic said across the tree. He was so close she was sure he could smell the coffee on her breath. He smelled like mint.

  There was a ding, and the doors opened. Dominic pushed the tree out into the hall and led her down the warmly lit corridor to his apartment. Khalia wasn’t sure what she expected out of his apartment.

  There wasn’t a picture on the taupe walls, no rug to soften the cherry-wood floor. The kitchen, to her left, was a mass of stainless steel, almost like a lab. Not a dirty dish in sight. A chocolate-brown leather couch and love-seat were arranged in an L-shape in front of a gas fireplace that probably had never been used once. All other furniture was new, stylish, but purely functional.

  “Nice place,” she said as she shut the door behind herself and set her bags down. “Tree by the fireplace?”

  “Yeah,” Dominic said. He screwed up his face. “Maybe you want to put on the fireplace? If people like to have those ridiculous holiday log TV channels, perhaps a gas flame would be a… nice touch?”

  The words, coming from him, sounded like he was reading a script.

  But Khalia nodded. “Oh, yes. That would be perfect!” In fact, she could picture the tree, the twinkling lights lit, all decked out, the fire crackling merrily. It made her feel festive for the first time in a long time.

  Dominic dragged the tree over and left it lying in front of the hearth. “You don’t want me to help. I do not decorate.”

  “I see that.”

  He smiled, a genuine smile that brought out dimples on his cheeks, and Khalia was taken aback for a moment. “I-I mean…”

  “If you succeed in making the place look good, perhaps I’ll hire you to do the rest,” he said. His smile receded to the usual straight expression. “Now, I will prepare the kitchen. The caterers will be here in half an hour.”

  Khalia could hear water running and plates clanking behind her as she pulled the spiny branches out of the plastic bag. She struggled to distinguish which was the bottom, and finally found the piece with the longest branches and slipped it into the base. From there the tree went up with ease. It was one of the self-lit trees, with the lights already built in. Khalia plugged it in, and stepped back. All of the lights still worked, even after being shoved in the farthest recess of her closet for two years.

  Khalia had gone through her ornaments a couple nights previous and was dismayed at how shabby they all looked. Sentimental value was what she’d built her collection on, but now the teddy bear ornaments her parents had given her brought back more bitter memories than sweet, memories of being abandoned after being found to have consorted with an ‘enemy of the state’. She’d gone on an emergency trip to the nearest department store, only to be plunged into despair when she saw the prices of the gilded harps and jeweled butterflies. She’d set eyes on wide gold ribbon, ten dollars for two, and made her decision in an instant. Now, with the few plain glass ornaments sparkling under the branches, and the gold ribbon curled on top of the boughs, the shabby little tree really
looked like something.

  She stepped back and folded her arms.

  Dominic’s light footsteps came up behind her. “Hmm… That is quite festive.”

  “Do you like it?” Khalia asked. Her voice squeaked a little at the end, and she mentally kicked herself.

  “I do,” he said softly.

  Chills went down her spine. She looked down, looked for a place for her eyes to settle on, and saw the plastic needles all over the floor. She had forgotten how much the old tree shed. “Uh, do you have a broom or something? The tree shed all over the floor.”

  Dominic pointed to the first door down the hall. “Right in there. I’m going to change.”

  Khalia recalled the bag sitting by the door with her little black dress in it—the dress that was far too loose around the bust—and looked down at her jeans. “Yeah, I guess I should, too. I’ll clean this up first.”

  “If the caterers arrive, they’ll buzz at the door. Just let them in.” Dominic disappeared down the hall.

  He reappeared a few minutes later, just as the buzzer sounded. He pushed a button on a wall panel, and a voice saying “Feliciano’s Catering,” came through on the tinny speaker.

  “Come on up to 314,” Dominic said.

  Khalia set the broom into the cupboard and took a covert glance at him. He was dressed in his usual somber tones, a muted charcoal grey sweater that fit slim to his lithe frame, and black pants. Somehow the dark hues brought out the dark sheen of his hair and eyes, and highlighted the lines of his face.

  “Have you ever considered donating your DNA to the MFP projects?” Khalia blurted.

  He turned with a startled expression. “No.”

  “I, uh…” Her face flushed hot. “Sorry, you just… look like the type they’d take from, that’s all.”

  His lips twitched and he walked toward the door. As he turned the handle he said: “Perhaps I should consider it. It may be the only way my genetic line extends to posterity.”

  Feliciano, a diminutive Italian with a booming voice and bright brown eyes, pushed his way through the door carrying a large box. Behind him came a younger man, his mirror image, pushing a cart. “Good evening Mr. Vermeer.” He glanced at Khalia and nodded his head in her direction. “Mrs. Vermeer.”

  Khalia opened her mouth to protest.

  “My colleague, Dr. Khalia Kassis,” Dominic said, tipping his head in her direction, “The one who gave me your contact information.” He took the box from Feliciano and set it on the counter. Savory aromas wafted up from it, making Khalia’s stomach burble.

  “I should go change,” she said.

  “Use my room.” Dominic lifted his chin to the bedroom at the end of the hall, and turned to help the caterers.

  Dominic’s room consisted of charcoal walls, a queen-sized bed on a platform base, a dresser with a mirror, a paper-thin TV on the wall, and a door that opened into a spotless, white bathroom. No art, nothing lying around. It could have been a hotel room, except for the shoes. His shoes were lined up along one wall—two shiny black pairs, a pair of cross-trainers, and a pair of winter boots. And, there were two books on the nightstand: Frankenstein, and something with a German title.

  Khalia squinted at the book and dropped her bag on the bed. So, the man could speak German. Good for him.

  With the help of a pushup bra - not the red one - the dress didn’t look half bad. Khalia rearranged the neckline over her chest until the sequins were centered and stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair, thanks to copious amounts of hairspray, was still hanging flat and straight from the morning. She tossed it over her shoulder. It would do fine. Black ballet flats with matching sequins completed the outfit.

  Just as she pushed open the bedroom door, she heard Jennifer’s high, shrill voice. “Oh Dom, it’s beautiful!”

  Dominic glanced at her over Jennifer’s head as she reentered the main area, and then to her satisfaction, turned his head all the way and looked her over. He smiled.

  Jennifer turned. “Khalia! You look nice. Dom said you did the tree?”

  “I did,” Khalia said softly. She glanced up again and met Dominic’s eyes again.

  The buzzer sounded. Dominic excused himself and brushed past Jennifer. As he passed Khalia, he touched her bare shoulder. Shivers went through her.

  Barjinder, Meena and Elsa arrived in quick succession. Adam came through the door wearing a Santa hat and shouting ‘ho ho ho.’ Apparently in the three hours since they’d gotten off work, he’d been “predrinking.”

  And with that, Dominic gestured for Feliciano to start passing out appetizers.

  It was one AM before the final guest—Jennifer of course—waved and wobbled her way out the door and down to the cab, which Dominic had ordered for her. Khalia shut the door behind her and sagged against it.

  Feliciano and his son had already cleaned up the dishes and left with their supplies, though the garlic aroma still hung over the kitchen. Dominic was going around the room, picking up wine glasses and dirty napkins, yawning so wide that his jaws cracked.

  “Well,” Khalia said in a small voice. “No one took their clothes off or puked on your furniture, Dominic.”

  He plunked four red-stained glasses onto the counter. One had a prominent red lipstick mark on it. Meena’s firetruck shade. “Well, that’s a relief.” Tired as he looked, there was a glint of humor in his eyes.

  Khalia stumbled over to the couch, sat down, and stared at the tree until the little white lights blurred into streaks. Dominic came and sat beside her with a glass of water in his hand. For a few minutes, they said nothing.

  “Are you doing anything for Christmas?” Khalia asked, finally.

  Dominic pursed his lips and shook his head. “No, this is it.” He took a sip of water.

  “You won’t be visiting family?”

  “I don’t have any.”

  He didn’t sound torn up about it at all, simply matter-of-fact. Khalia turned to look at him. “You don’t?”

  “No, my parents are gone. I was raised by my uncle until I went into the Academy. He passed away three years ago.” He turned and met her gaze with a serious face. “What about you?”

  “I have parents, but I won’t… I won’t be seeing them. They don’t really associate with me anymore.”

  “Hmm.” He broke eye contact and took another sip.

  “You heard about…” Why was it so hard to say? It was common knowledge. “About Jeremy?”

  “Yes and no." Dominic looked up and gazed at her intently. "I got the gossipy rendition from Jennifer, but it doesn't seem fair to take her word for it."

  Her throat squeezed. She broke eye contact and folded her hands on her knees. "He was an engineer at Caspian. He tried to lead a strike among the workers, and the police shot him when he resisted arrest."

  "I'm sorry," he said slowly.

  Her voice came out low and rough, "Don't be. The son of a bitch deserved it."

  He was silent for nearly a minute. Then he said, "Your parents don’t associate with you because of that? That’s cold.”

  Khalia sighed and looked down at her bare feet. “Indeed. Well, I knew he wasn’t a good idea.”

  “Yes, and your parents should be able to forgive that,” he said.

  There was an edge to his voice that surprised her. The lump in her throat threatened to strangle her. She looked up into his dark-eyed gaze, and felt tears well up.

  “A child has more value than that. Your parents can’t just discard you.” He blew out a breath. “I’m sorry.”

  Khalia blinked against the tears and looked down again. She was going to cry, in front of Dominic. She was just tired, just…

  “Hey.” Dom’s gentle fingers brushed the skin under her eyes, wiping away the tiny tears. She gasped. He grasped her chin and turned her face to his, and pressed his mouth to hers. For an instant she was so surprised that she did nothing, and let his lips rove over hers. But as he drew back, her mind was made up. She slipped her hand behind his head and pulled his mo
uth back down to hers.

  About the time that Dominic’s fingers found the pull of her zipper and slipped her dress off her shoulders, Khalia heard muted warning bells. But just because it was a bad idea didn’t mean she didn’t want it. Bad ideas were sort of her thing, after all.

  __

  Dominic was gone when Khalia awoke, tangled in the covers of his bed, disoriented and needing her pills something awful. She vaguely remembered, somewhere in a warm, dark cocoon, his lips brushing the tender, tingling skin below her ear and whispering, “I have to go in to work in the morning, I’m sorry.”

  She had muttered assent and pressed against him.

  “Make yourself at home and slip the key under the door, okay?”

  Khalia struggled out of bed and picked up the first garment she found: Dominic’s grey, waffle-knit henley. With her arms wrapped around herself, she peered out the window. Saturday morning had dawned cold and grey. Outside, huge cottony flakes of snow were falling onto the street. The skytrain shot past on its monorail, just visible between the apartment buildings across the street. Below, a black car, not Dominic’s, pulled away from the building, the snow bright against its dark hood.

  “What time is it?” Khalia said to the empty room. She wandered down the hall into the entry, and found her purse, with the phone and the pill-bottle inside. She fished out two tablets with one hand and with the other, pressed the button on the phone to bring the time up. 10:02 am. Dominic had been gone for hours. She’d never heard him go.

  There were two missed calls, both from Adam. No doubt, to say he was sick and needed her to go in to work. Adam probably tried to call her before he called Dominic. He knew she needed the overtime, and never had Saturday plans beyond laundry.

  She guessed she still only had laundry to go home to.

  Khalia poured water from the faucet into one of the clean wine glasses, swallowed the pills, and sat up on the counter, drinking the rest of the water and waiting for the warm buzz of the medication wash over her. If her body hadn’t been screaming for it, she would have gone without its familiar numbness. She could still feel the residual warmth of Dominic's body, the paths his fingers had left on her skin, and soon even that would be gone.