The Homecoming

by Alan Russell

  Stella felt the pounding of her heart. When she spoke, though, she tried not to show her uncertainty.

  “If any special hardware really was inserted,” she said, “then it was the Travelers who were responsible, not you.”

  “The Travelers were responsible,” he said, “in that the Transhuman Project borrowed from their science. The spaceship you were on was also a by-product of their science, although to date it has never left Earth.”

  “I don’t know what your game is—”

  “No game,” he said. “You and your peers were carefully selected. All of you had certain inherent gifts. The mind uploading that you underwent—also known as whole-brain emulation—has given you a breadth and depth of knowledge unheard of.”

  “The Travelers—”

  He interrupted her: “Long ago, the Travelers helped our race, and then they moved on, leaving us the tools to help ourselves evolve. You can assist us in unlocking many of the secrets of the Travelers.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I think you do. And the more you consider what I’ve said, the more you’ll perceive that I’m telling you the truth. For now, all I ask is that you reflect on our conversation. That’s all. In a few days, you’ll hear from me again. I will have some proposals that should be of interest to you.”

  “Don’t bother to call,” she said.

  Stella clicked off and put her phone into her purse.

  “What was that all about?” asked Michael.

  “I’m not sure,” she said.

  “If some guy is threatening you, I want to know about it.”

  Stella reached out, touched Michael’s arm, and said, “I’m okay. But I’m sure glad I have an older brother.”

  He looked both proud and embarrassed. “Mom told me about what went on with Hornet today. That must have sucked.”

  “Yeah,” she said, “it kind of did.”

  “One day there will be a bullshit machine,” he said, “and anytime anyone tells a lie, the machine will say, ‘Bullshit.’”

  Stella laughed. She didn’t tell him that in the world she came from, there hadn’t been any lying.

  Unbidden, the thought came to her: unless it had all been a lie.

  They listened to music on the drive home. Michael played Mike Posner’s “I Took a Pill in Ibiza,” and Stella found herself singing the chorus along with Posner: “All I know are sad songs.”

  Then she suddenly went silent and thought: Are there any other kind?

  At that moment she felt a chill. She turned away from the radio and sought out its source. Guy Wilkerson was on the corner. He waved to her.

  Stella fought the instinct to wave back.

  From the entrance to Stella’s room, Cheever said, “Your mother told me she thought you were tired, and it looks like she’s right. You want me to come back another day?”

  Stella was under her bedcovers; the bed that had seemed far too small no longer felt that way.

  “I told her I wanted to close my eyes for a few minutes,” admitted Stella, “but not because I’m tired. I’ve been thinking. Come on in. There’s even an adult-size chair for you. I found it in the garage.”

  “Thanks,” Cheever said, taking a seat in the chair. “So what is it you were thinking about?”

  “I got a call on the way home,” she said. “The caller knew a lot of things about me and my situation. It seemed he knew some things that I didn’t even know. He tried to tell me I was never in space, and said I was part of a transhuman program, which he claimed was the next step in the evolution of Homo sapiens. He also said my brain, as well as those of the others in my class, had been enhanced so as to allow for mindspeak.”

  “Human evolution,” mused Cheever. “That’s the same thing Dr. Frankenstein was working on.”

  That got a little smile from Stella.

  The cop grew serious: “Did your caller specifically identify mindspeak by name?”

  “He did. And he also knew that was how we started communicating early in our voyage. I think he’s telling the truth about the hardware in our brains, except in his scenario, it wasn’t the Travelers who did that to us, but something he called the Transhuman Project.”

  “You once told me that you sometimes picked up words or memories or sensations. What was your read on the caller?”

  Stella shook her head. “I couldn’t pick up anything beyond his words. That was kind of surprising because lately there have been times when I’ve heard the complete thoughts of others in my head. Of course I would never tell Dr. Froke that. He would say I was schizophrenic.”

  “You once told me that I no longer needed to worry about my daughter,” said Cheever. “You said she was a beautiful spirit.” He tried to keep his voice from cracking. “Were you hearing my thoughts then?”

  “It was more like I was feeling your pain.”

  “How would you know my daughter is a beautiful spirit?”

  “In my journey with the Travelers, I became acquainted with death. It is not the closed door that most believe it to be.”

  “Why couldn’t you tell me much about LeRon Rivers or the other students?”

  “I could tell you countless things,” she said, “but just not the answers to the questions you asked me.”

  “Is it really that hard to describe what someone looks like?”

  The question seemed to amuse Stella. “Most of the places we went,” she said, “our bodies couldn’t go.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The universe is almost as large as imagination itself. When you travel such distances, bodies become an impossible hindrance. That’s why for most of the last seven years, I’ve been what you might call a spirit.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “The corporeal doesn’t work in the vastness of space. For most of our journey, I was out of body.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “My mind went where my body couldn’t.”

  “How does that work?”

  “The mind goes on a journey while the body is left behind. As I understand it, many other people have done this, even without the help of the Travelers.”

  Cheever thought about her claim. He had heard of individuals—shamans and the like—who claimed to have done what she said.

  “A lot of those making such claims,” said Cheever, “were out of their minds on drugs.”

  “I didn’t take drugs,” said Stella.

  “You didn’t take them knowingly. But what if your mysterious caller was right? What if the Travelers didn’t take you on a journey around the universe?”

  “How would such a ruse benefit anyone or anything?”

  Cheever shrugged. “That’s the great unanswered question, isn’t it? Perhaps, as he alluded, you’re the key to opening a treasure trove of technology left behind by the Travelers. Or it could be the caller is fronting for a group that wants to control you. There are a lot of vested interests that wouldn’t want your story to gain traction. But then again, I am just one of the six blind men.”

  “What six blind men?”

  Cheever cleared his throat and said:

  “It was six men of Indostan

  To learning such inclined

  Who went to see the Elephant

  (Though all of them were blind)

  That each by observation

  Might satisfy his mind.”

  Stella was smiling. “I never heard that poem,” she said, “but I remember that story. My father read it to me. It was about six blind men touching different parts of an elephant, and each being convinced that what they were describing was correct, and that what their neighbors were describing was wrong.”

  “That’s right,” said Cheever. “The man touching the leg thought the elephant was a pillar; the man touching a tusk thought it was a pipe.”

  “And one man had the trunk and said an elephant was like a tree branch!” said Stella.

  “And another had his ear and said it was a great fan,” said
Cheever. “I always remember that story when it comes to my own work. I have to tell myself that one piece of information, or one clue by itself, usually doesn’t tell the whole picture. As the poem concluded:

  ‘And so these men of Indostan

  Disputed loud and long,

  Each in his own opinion

  Exceeding stiff and strong,

  Though each was partly in the right

  And all were in the wrong!’”

  “All were in the wrong,” mused Stella.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  That night the full moon began to show itself at about the same time Luke arrived at Stella’s house. The two of them walked out to Luke’s car, and he opened the passenger door for Stella to get in. There were two surfboards on his roof rack: his sleek shortboard and Stella’s bulkier practice board. After she was seated, he sat down in the driver’s seat.

  “Are you sure about this?” asked Luke. “We can have them make an announcement at the show that there was a mistake and that you never signed up to perform.”

  “I imagine that would disappoint a lot of people, wouldn’t it?”

  “The truth is what the truth is.”

  “Since when has that made a difference?”

  Luke looked at Stella. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

  She was quiet for a moment before saying, “You’re right. Today has been kind of challenging.”

  “I figured as much,” he said. “That’s why I brought you something.”

  He handed Stella a small box. As she cupped the box in her hand, he said, “Today I was looking at that valentine card you made for me so long ago. Since I’m not very artistic, I decided to let nature do the talking for me. I went beachcombing this afternoon, hoping for the perfect find.”

  Stella lifted off the top of the box, revealing a small, egg-shaped white stone. She took the stone out of the box and held it up. It was silver white on its exterior, but within its hard surface was a translucence from which a glow seemed to emanate.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  “It’s a moonstone,” he said. “I went to Moonlight Beach looking for it. They always seem to have the best moonstones there.”

  “Thank you,” she said, cradling it.

  “In ancient times,” said Luke, afraid to meet her eyes, “moonstones were supposed to symbolize true love.”

  “In that case,” she said, “I’ll need to find the perfect moonstone for you.”

  “Tonight should be perfect for that with the full moon,” Luke said. “We could go to Moonlight Beach if you want. Moonlight brings out a special shimmer in the moonstones.”

  “Yes, I very much want to do that.”

  “If you like,” he said, “we could get an early start.”

  “You’re talking about my skipping the talent show?” she said.

  He nodded.

  “It sounds like you don’t want me to perform.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said. “I don’t trust Tiffany and the Y-Girls.”

  “Your concern will be my armor,” said Stella. “And I’m not going to let them interfere with either my performance or our moonstone hunting.”

  Luke nodded. “I had a feeling that would be your choice, so I made a special mix for our drive.”

  Before the music started, he warned her, “These are oldies. I heard someone in drama class say they were using Joan Osborne’s ‘One of Us’ in the production of Saint Joan, and I thought you might like it.”

  The song might have been old, but it was new to Stella. She tried not to tear up at the song’s refrain, but didn’t quite succeed.

  “Trying to make his way home,” she whispered. All this time, that’s what she’d been doing—trying to make her way home.

  Then the second song started up. “Lightning Crashes” by Live was also new to her, but Stella could understand why Luke had selected it.

  He turned his eyes momentarily from the road and smiled at her reassuringly. Stella didn’t know if Luke thought she was the angel in the song, or the newborn, or the dying woman. But the song and Luke certainly understood the forces pulling at her from the center of the earth.

  The song ended as they entered the high school parking lot. More than half the spaces were already taken. By all indications, the talent show was going to be playing to a full house.

  “What are you singing tonight?” Luke asked.

  “I’m not yet sure,” she said.

  “Will it be a cappella?”

  “Not quite,” said Stella.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Cheever poured Rachel a glass of wine. Because Homicide Team IV was up on the rotation, he wasn’t drinking. That was also the reason the two of them were at Cheever’s Leucadia home and not her Point Loma house. Given that most homicides occurred in the middle of the night, and also in the middle of REM sleep, it was easier for Cheever to act on autopilot from his own home while waking up.

  They sat in Cheever’s small backyard. He had bought a fixer bungalow in the coastal town back when fixer bungalows were to be had in the six, not seven, figures. His home had always been a work in progress. The first time Rachel had come over, she had charitably commented, “It has good bones,” with “lots of potential.” What it had was location. The bungalow was only a few blocks from Ponto Beach.

  As Cheever handed Rachel her glass, he asked, “Sure you don’t want a piece of cheesecake while I’m up?”

  “I’ll take in the calories I really can’t afford in liquid increments,” she said.

  Cheever made a disparaging sound. “You look great,” he said.

  “Please don’t get an eye exam anytime soon,” she said.

  The glow from the moon made the diamond studs in Rachel’s ears sparkle. He reached gently for one of her lobes and said, “Moonlight becomes you.”

  “Sweet talk becomes you,” she said, taking his hand in hers. When they’d first started dating, everyone had thought they were an odd couple. Psychiatrists usually marry other doctors. Ask cops if they marry from any typical profession, and you’ll likely hear the answer, “Starter wife, current wife, or future wife?”

  Odd couple or not, Cheever and Rachel were profoundly happy with each other. She was the only person outside the force he’d ever felt free to discuss his cases with.

  “Are you going to make me beg?” she said. “Before attending to my wine, you were in the middle of telling me Stella’s reveal.”

  “How could it be a reveal if I couldn’t understand half the things she was telling me?”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “I’d need the kind of brain augmentation Stella believes she had in order to understand what she was trying to tell me. The logistics of death flights was only the start. Stella said she really isn’t special, but believes her imagination and cognition have become accelerated because the circuits in her brain were essentially reprogrammed.”

  “Go on.”

  “That’s easier said than done; the circuits in my brain weren’t reprogrammed. In fact, my circuits barely work. Stella tried to take on the blame for my not understanding all she was telling me by saying our communicating would be much easier with mindspeak. Apparently you can pass not only thoughts, but insights, from one person to another person. She also tried to make me feel better by telling me that nowadays English is essentially her third language.”

  “Third?”

  “She thinks of mindspeak as her first language, followed by mathematics, but not the math we know. As Stella explains it, mathematics is this never-ending symphony. I didn’t tell her I got a D in algebra when I was a kid. It was obvious, though, I was missing most of the notes of her symphony. You know how cutting-edge technology makes our generation feel antiquated? If I’m to believe what Stella says, the digital revolution hasn’t even started yet.”

  “Did she explain the frog?”

  “She only said that there is a thin line between existence and nonexistence, and that those boundaries ar
e constantly in flux. What could I say to that?”

  “I don’t know. What did you say?”

  “I’m a cop. In my line of work, I’ve always counted on Occam’s razor. It’s been my experience that the simplest explanation is invariably the correct explanation. I work with the template of the Seven Deadly Sins, and I look at a crime scene and say, ‘Who did this, and why did they do it?’

  “But every time I try to apply Occam’s razor to Stella, a new wrinkle appears. This afternoon she was bothered by a call she got from an unknown caller who claimed to be privy to what had gone on in her life during the last seven years. This caller challenged Stella’s story of going off into space with the Travelers. He said she was part of a special program designed for the evolution of our species.”

  “That sounds like classic paranoia,” said Rachel, “with the government or some secret society being involved in a covert program for nefarious purposes.”

  “But it wasn’t Stella making this claim. She said the caller was putting forth an alternate reality. At this time it’s not a story she’s embracing, but she seems to believe the caller might have been interspersing some truths in the midst of his lies.”

  “So where has Occam’s razor gotten you?” asked Rachel. “What’s the simplest explanation?”

  “Stella was abducted,” Cheever said, “by an unknown party for unknown purposes.”

  “And is that also what your gut says?”

  “My gut isn’t talking except to give me indigestion.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Luke and Stella were handed programs as they entered the auditorium. There were a dozen acts scheduled, with Stella listed as the last performer. According to the program, she was supposed to be playing music from Star Trek.

  “Real funny,” said Luke.

  Instead of commenting, Stella said, “Why don’t we sit down and watch the other acts?”

  Luke nodded, and offered her his arm. She took it, and the two of them started down the left aisle looking for seats. Around the auditorium there was a stir at Stella’s appearance, and dozens of hushed conversations began taking place. The stage curtains opened enough for a few heads to pop out.