by Medley, Lisa
Noah stifled a laugh and felt his face color. “Um, no. No mates.”
“Why have you not taken a wife? You seem…capable.”
Capable? Noah wasn’t sure whether to be offended or flattered. He supposed capable described him as accurately as anything.
“My work takes me away from home way too much to have a wife. Wives generally want to have their mates around. Besides that, it’s not like there’s much opportunity to meet anyone.”
“Your parents did not make you a match?”
“Things don’t work like that outside the tribe, Ela. We make our own matches.”
“Yes, that is how it should be, and why I did not want to be Narsimha’s wife. I choose to make my own destiny.”
“I’ll bet that gave your father heartburn.”
“Heartburn?”
“Pain. Made him uncomfortable that you refused to follow the normal path.”
“Not as pained as he would have been if I’d been forced to marry Narsimha.”
“I’ll bet. You certainly do have your own mind.”
“Do we not all have our own minds?”
“Yes. I suppose we do.”
Lost in thought, he’d missed the gradual change in landscape. The rocky browns and grays of the desert had given way to the dotted greens of the reservation’s mountain foothill pine trees. Ela’s eyes missed nothing. Her body had eased into a more relaxed optimism as they left the more commercial areas and roadside attractions. The open desert was her home. Or had been.
But there would be no going back to the wild and endless frontier she remembered.
The road entered a canyon and the mountains narrowed in toward them as they passed a sign declaring their arrival at the Mescalero Reservation. They followed the winding road for a couple of miles before it opened up again into a small valley. Noah admired the strategically defendable placement of their reservation’s central business area. The homes weren’t even visible from town. He followed Little’s directions straight up the hillside to the town hall and new multi-million dollar visitor’s center.
Ela pressed a hand flat against the car window as they passed the town square, much improved thanks to the reservation’s casino revenues. Or so he’d read in the newspaper. This was his first time on the reservation. Ela’s mouth dropped open. Noah followed her line of vision to see the enormous wickiup permanently erected in the grassy park in the town center. She turned back to Noah, eyes wide.
“It’s like yours,” Noah said.
“Yes, but where are the others?” Ela asked.
“I don’t think the Mescalero live in too many wickiups anymore, Ela. That one is probably for the tourists. The residents have wood and brick homes. Permanent structures.”
Ela’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “But why? How do they find enough to eat without moving camp each season?”
“That would be your Walmart.”
“What sort of beast is a walmart? They travel in herds? There are many of them?”
“More than is natural. I’ll show you one someday.”
Noah continued up the steep incline to the visitor center, built into the rocky mountainside. He parked, unbuckled his seat belt and then Ela’s. He exited the car into the stifling July heat and walked around to open her door. Offering his hand, he helped her from the car and shut the door behind her, chirping the locks of the black Charger, his one indulgence after their settlement with Janson.
“Ready?” he asked.
Ela nodded and followed him. The blast of icy-cold air was welcome as they entered the visitor center lobby. Indian artifacts lay under glass in waist-high cases as far as he could see. Artwork, handiwork, photos, and taxidermy lined the walls. The place was an Apache museum. The high ceiling was a patchwork of skylights letting in the natural light. Noah spun around to take it all in. The entire front bay was glassed, providing a spectacular view of the town below.
Approaching the central information desk, Noah smiled at the dark-haired girl when she finally looked up from her phone. “Hi, welcome to the Mescalero Visitor’s Center. How can I help you?”
Noah glanced at her name tag. “Hi, Becca, we’re here to see Jonathan Little.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Your name?”
“Noah Wright.”
“One moment then.” Becca punched at her computer instead of dialing the phone and, seconds later, a man emerged from an elevator Noah hadn’t noticed.
“Mr. Wright?” Mr. Little covered the distance across the stained concrete floor in a few long strides, his leather cowboy boots echoing in the vast room. Little was maybe early fifties. His black hair was cropped short, not at all what Noah had expected. He wore a dark business suit with a bolo tie at his neck.
Noah reached to shake Mr. Little’s outstretched hand, but the man couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Ela as they greeted one another. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wright. I don’t mean to stare at your friend. She is very…familiar.”
“Call me Noah.”
Mr. Little’s eyebrows scrunched together in thought as he studied Ela openly and rudely.
“Mr. Little, this is Ela. My…friend. The one I spoke to you about.”
Mr. Little shook off his momentary scrutiny of Ela and replaced it with fresh confusion. “Please, call me Jonathan. Did you say Ela? I thought you said she was a Jane Doe.”
“About that, Jonathan. Is there somewhere we could speak in private? The story is a bit more complicated.”
“Sure. I want to show you both something first. Follow me.” Jonathan took off at a trot into the bowels of the museum, stealing occasional glances back at Ela then shaking his head like he was trying to reconcile some impossibility. Noah couldn’t blame him. He didn’t even know any of the facts yet and the poor man was already confused. Join the club.
Ela kept halting behind him to touch this artifact and that until Noah finally had to take her hand and pull her after him. She’d have plenty of time while he was gone to sift through the museum. Assuming Jonathan Little didn’t have a security team escort them off the reservation after Noah told him their story. Or worse.
Jonathan came to a halt before a time-worn photograph carefully restored and blown up to life-size hanging along a wall labeled Apache Chiefs of the Southwest. Now it was Noah’s turn to gape. Before he could collect himself, Ela stepped forward and pressed her palm to the image’s cheek.
“Father?” Ela said, in Apache. She turned to Jonathan and continued speaking in Apache, growing excited.
“Use your transcom, Ela,” Noah said.
“No need,” Jonathan said, then pointed to the painting.
“Mr. Wright, do you know who this man was?”
“Chief Itza-Chu,” Noah said, reaching over to tap her transcom button. “Please, Ela. I need to know what you’re saying.”
“My father. Where is he? I demand you take me to him,” Ela said.
“Do you want to explain to me why you have an Apache girl with you who is the spitting image of one of our long-dead Mescalero chiefs? And why exactly she thinks he was her father?”
Noah drew in a tired breath. “Because he was.”
***
Noah sat in a high-back leather chair in Jonathan Little’s office wishing Ela would sit as well instead of pacing the room like a caged animal. Jonathan and Ela had already had several animated conversations in between his own ridiculous attempts at believable explanations. After laying out their story, complete with the wormhole and a dead alien, he wasn’t really even sure why they hadn’t been thrown out yet. Beyond all reason, Jonathan had listened patiently and answered Ela’s inquiries, whatever they were, as best he could.
Finally, Jonathan sat across from Noah and shook his head. “I never thought it would be me.”
“I’m sorry? What do you mean?” Noah asked.
Jonathan leaned back in his chair and threw his head back, gazing up at the ceiling. “I know you’re not Native Am
erican, Noah, but you probably grew up with stories and fairytales, passed down through your family? I mean, every culture has an oral tradition. Ours is perhaps held onto tighter than others. Our people lost so much, but the one thing that no man could take from us was our stories. You saw our reservation when you drove in. We are very much alive. And our traditions are strong. Paintings and pictures and material things can be destroyed, but as long as one person is alive with the memories, the stories can live on.” Jonathan looked over at Ela. “I believe you. I believe Ela is indeed the daughter of Itza-Chu. I believe it because our legends have already told us the story you just relayed. It’s not new to me. It’s an old story. A story of our people. Of the Mescalero people.”
Noah eased to the edge of his chair and leaned forward, his hands clasped together in front of him. “You…believe us?”
“I do.”
Noah rose and ran a hand through his hair, relieved but unsure how to react. “Huh. That was the one response I wasn’t really prepared for.”
He believed him? Just like that? Noah wasn’t sure which one of them was crazier. Him for gushing his story all over the tribal president or Jonathan for taking his word for it all.
He paced the office, recalibrating. This changed everything. He focused on the artwork in Jonathan’s office. One piece in particular caught his attention. The painting was of the desert landscape, but the face of a man gazed down from the stars. The face staring back at him was familiar. Too familiar.
“Is this…” Noah asked.
“Ah, the great Tarak Jishna. The name means—“
“Star triumphant,” Noah finished.
It was Jonathan’s turn to be surprised. “Yes.”
Holy Hell. Cole was immortalized in their culture. No way he was ever finding out from Noah. The guy’s ego was already galactic.
“There’s one more thing. In fact, I need you to take a ride with me out to the desert. Don’t worry. It’s not far. There’s something I want you to see.” Jonathan said.
“Okay,” Noah said, hesitant. “You know, I have to get back to the SpaceXport first thing in the morning.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not planning to leave you in the desert, Noah. Trust me. After the story you just told me, you’re going to want to see this.”
Noah activated his transcom. “Ela, we need to go for another car ride.”
“Oh no,” Jonathan said. “This ride will be on horseback.”
***
An hour later, Noah rode silently behind Ela as they followed Jonathan along an invisible path to an unknown destination, which did nothing to quell the uneasiness in his gut. He didn’t exactly fear Jonathan Little or his intentions, instead, he worried about what they were about to discover. The farther they rode back toward the SpaceXport property, the more familiar the landscape began to look until two very distinctive mesas came into view just as the sun began to lower between them.
The wormhole had been there, swirling in the sky between the mesas the night they’d crashed into the desert from space. No wormhole swirled this night, but as they neared a large but crude domed structure, Noah’s uneasiness grew.
“It’s a sweat lodge. Ceremonial mostly. But it has some features only the leaders know about. That’s what I want to show you.”
As they came to a stop and started to disembark, Ela spurred her horse and raced toward the far mesa at breakneck speed, grasping the black mare’s mane with both hands, urging her faster. Noah knew what she was looking for and his heart broke all the more knowing she wouldn’t find it.
“Ela!” Noah yelled after her. “Ela, no. Come back.” Too late he tapped the transcom. She was already too far to hear him even if she would have understood his request.
“Where is she going?” Jonathan asked.
“She thinks her father and her tribe will be on the other side of that mesa. That’s where they were encamped when we crashed,” Noah said in answer.
“I see. Let her look. Better to know the truth for herself. She’ll be back. Come with me.” Jonathan walked to the hide-covered doorway and held it open for Noah to enter the darkened hut. An opening in the top of the center of the hut let in a bit of light, but not enough to see well as the sun set.
Jonathan produced a small flashlight from his pocket and shone it once around the hut. “Just making sure there aren’t any porcupines…or rattlesnakes. I really hate snakes.”
Satisfied, Jonathan scuffed the floor in the center of the hut with the toe of his boot until he found what he was looking for. He reached down and peeled an animal hide up from the false dirt floor to reveal a dusty metal door with a recessed handle.
“Okay,” Noah said, “Fire pit?”
“Not exactly,” Jonathan said.
Jonathan grasped the handle and pulled open the small door, shining the flashlight on the inside flap, to reveal a metallic sticker with writing. Noah stepped closer and closed his hand over Jonathan’s, aiming the flashlight directly onto the sign.
SpaceXPort, USA
Janson Shuttle One
Noah staggered back as realization settled in. “It’s our ship?”
“It is. Chief Itza-Chu and his men buried it here in the desert, two hundred and fifty years ago. We’ve been keeping your secrets ever since, waiting, hoping, praying that his daughter would one day find her way home from the stars. God knows plenty of others have found their way here.”
“What do you mean? Others?”
“I think you know exactly what I mean. That alien you killed? It wasn’t the last. My bet? Whatever happened when you landed here and found Ela opened up that portal for whomever or whatever happened to get pulled through it. We haven’t been able to contain them all. A few wandered off closer to Roswell. Even you know those stories. With so many eyes watching the skies these days, it’s hard to keep things under wraps. Our legends prophesized, Ela’s return could one day portend a cataclysmic event. We don’t know exactly what that means but figure it must have to do with opening or permanently closing the portal. We’re voting for closing it. I’m not sure how many more ‘visitors’ we can fend off.”
Noah leaned further into the doorway of the ship when he detected the slightest hum and a light. “What’s that glow inside the hull?”
“That’s what I wanted you to see. We didn’t just bury the ship here. Unfortunately, we came across the alien remains a few years back as well. Lost two good men to that thing in the process.”
“Its venom was still potent? After all these years?”
“Yes. We gathered it up with plastic shovels after it ate through Robbie’s hands, stuffed it into a plastic tub, and dropped it into your ship’s hull. Didn’t figure anyone would happen across it on accident that way.”
“And it’s glowing and humming?”
“I come out to check on things from time to time. A few months ago, when I opened the door, I noticed the glow and then the noise.”
Noah shook his head. “What if it’s some sort of beacon?”
“I thought of that myself.” Jonathan closed the hatch. “I just have no idea how to destroy it. And that, my new friend, is our story.”
Chapter Four
Ela’s horse climbed the mesa, and she pulled its mane back to bring the great beast to a stop. Her eyes scanned the twilight-covered desert floor below, rewarding her with dust and tumbleweed as far as she could see. No tribe. No horses. No wickiups. Everything she’d known was gone.
Despair formed a hard lump in her throat and tears threatened to spill. She smothered both like an unwanted campfire. They could have moved. The Apache were nomadic. After she left, they could have simply moved on to a more friendly and hospitable location as they did every few months. She could ride farther. Look harder.
In her heart, though, she knew it wasn’t a journey she could make by horse or magical “car” wagon like the one that brought her here. The only way she was going to find them again was to travel through the same hole in the sky she’d been dragged through. And th
e only way to make that happen was to be on Noah’s ship when it went to the stars. Once she was there, she’d demand he take her home. He’d have to. Pleading with him hadn’t helped to achieve that goal so far. She was done asking. Now it was time for action.
She urged her horse around and faced the sweat lodge below. Now that she knew where the horses were, she’d play along until she found her opportunity then make sure she was on that ship when it left. Maybe she could even convince him to return her to the camp from which they’d come. That would make things easier.
Determined, she made her way back down the mesa toward the lodge.
***
Noah tapped his transcom. “Thank God! Don’t ever run off like that again. Seriously. You about gave me a heart attack.”
He studied her face, surprised when she didn’t reflect the disappointment he was sure she must be feeling. She wasn’t, however, completely unchanged. Something was different about her demeanor that he just couldn’t quite put his finger on, and he wasn’t entirely sure he liked it.
God, he wished he knew what she was thinking.
Then again, he was way more likely to successfully launch and navigate a spaceship than ever understand the inner workings of women.
“Let’s get back. I want to get you both settled in for the night. We’ll talk more tomorrow. Give you a chance to explore,” Jonathan said, repeating his comments in Apache before climbing aboard his horse.
Ela nodded her acquiescence and followed along obediently behind Jonathan, only adding to Noah’s anxiety. Where was the fight he’d seen in her earlier? Was he misreading her sudden resignation to her situation? He couldn’t believe she’d just give up and assimilate that easily. His mind churned with all the possibilities and consequences of what had happened and what was yet to come. Something told him tonight’s revelations were only the beginning.
Having Jonathan Little and the Mescalero tribe in on their secret helped to relieve the burden of knowledge somewhat, but it also complicated their situation. He had a pretty good idea how Cole and Tessa would react. They wanted nothing to do with the wormhole or Janson’s time travel research. The last thing they all needed was for that particular team to reopen the portal. Closing it was the only way to ensure no more aliens made it through. Could Ela’s very existence here in this time somehow determine the fate of the wormhole? He’d do whatever it took to close that portal for good.
