“But what about your family?” I ask, wondering how she could be so matter-of-fact about the whole thing.
She lifts a shoulder. “Don’t have one,” she answers. “I’ve been on my own since I was fifteen.” Plucking a piece of lint off another of the shirts in my try-on pile, she mutters, “Could have used the abuse standard right about then.”
I look through the stack of clothes. She watches me flip through them before glancing at me.
“You probably shouldn’t buy too much today,” she says. “I came here wearing a six. I’m in a four now.” She twists and turns, showing off her slender body.
I roll my eyes. “You have a point,” I reply, thinking of the dictator-ish ScanX. But my mind is still stuck on her arrival on Concordia. “So, you took his elbow and you automatically transported with him?”
“Yep. If so much as a strand of your hair is touching a slivver when they transport—” She makes a popping sound with her mouth. “Automatic hitchhiker.”
“And what about the Tribunal?” I asked. “Didn’t he violate the theft standard?”
“Yeah. The guardians reamed him out and dropped him two levels for getting silted. Drunk. They said it ruined his judgment, but he’s a guardian, so he’s sort of got a certain amount of immunity. It all comes down to intent. If he’d intended to bring me here, you know, like if we were completely in love and he’d proposed and I’d said yes, that would be a big no-no. But breath chemistry doesn’t lie. He was bombed out of his tree and didn’t realize I had his elbow.”
I can’t help firing questions at her, hoping I’ll find some loophole in her answers. “You weren’t freaked out at all, ending up here and being told you couldn’t go home?”
She shrugs again. “This place takes a little getting used to, sure, but since I had nothing keeping me on Attero, I didn’t really mind. And once I was here, we did fall in love, so it all worked out for the best.”
“But just the fact that Concordia exists didn’t freak you out?”
She laughs. “Of course it did! I was on moodleveler for about a week, but I guess since I’ve always been crazy about science fiction, it wasn’t too much of a leap. I’ve always believed there was more life in the universe besides ours. I just didn’t necessarily think it was human. Or that there was more than one version of our universe.”
In the end, all her talk serves only to remind me that the outlook isn’t favorable. I guess it shows on my face because hers falls. She puts her hand on my arm, no longer smiling.
“If you need help assimilating, let me know. It’s…a strange process,” she admits. “Some of it was sort of hard for me.” Glancing up at me, her face freezes. “But everybody’s different,” she adds quickly.
I nod. “Thanks,” I say hollowly.
Silence stretches between us until it becomes sharp and awkward, like pins left in the clothes I am about to try on.
“Well,” she backs toward the door, “I’ll let you try these.”
I feel bad. She looks sort of disappointed, and I wonder if, despite all her talk, she’s glad to run into someone from the world she left behind.
“Thank you,” I say, this time with more feeling. “I’m Davinney.”
Her mouth turns up again. “Mina,” she replies. “Call me if you need other sizes.”
Ritter is staring out the front window when I finish in the dressing room. Taking Mina’s words to heart, I’ve only chosen three pairs of pants, four shirts, and a pair of pajamas. And even then I’ve only chosen ones that were just a little snug so I’ll still be able to wear them for a while even if I lose weight. And, thinking of Ritter, all of the shirts I’ve chosen have long sleeves that cling.
He turns at the sound of the dressing room door closing. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Will you be needing lingerie?” Mina asks as she carries my choices to the back of the store.
Ritter goes back to staring out the window while I choose some underwear and a couple bras. I’m quick about it and a little anxious as I realize I don’t know what any of it costs or how money actually works here. I make a mental note to ask Ritter later.
Mina gathers the last of my purchases and leads me back to the payment desk. Ritter, having joined us, places his arm on a swing out panel, resting it there until a pinging noise issues from the panel.
“Wait just a second,” she says, swiping the screen of her logger. “I just want to give Davinney my codes.” She looks up at me. “Your logger?”
Ritter holds up his own. “Use mine for now,” he says. Mina nods and each waves their logger in front of the other’s. Ritter glances at his screen. “Got them,” he says.
“Good to meet you, Davinney.”
I take the bag she holds out to me. It says Flash on it in large, slash-like letters.
Once we’re on the street, Ritter offers me his first smile since we arrived at the store.
“You made a friend,” he says, glancing at his logger again. “Want to meet some of mine?”
“Sure.”
How can I refuse? He’s putting a roof over my head, feeding me, and buying me clothes. I’ve got little to offer him in return, but I can offer him my willingness to assimilate…even if it is the last thing I want to do.
The service unwind (bar and grill) is a few blocks down in the same district. Ritter must have given this outing some real thought.
The place is called Lennin’s Unholy Unwind. Just inside the meld, we have to provide our breath chemistry. When I give Ritter an exasperated look, he says,
“If you have a propensity for addiction, you won’t be able to order anything with alcohol in it.” He clamps his mouth shut as someone approaches.
I wonder why he’s bothering to introduce me to anyone when I’m bound to mess something up and embarrass him. Even so, Ritter introduces me to his friends, Melayne Serda and her husband, Scuva, referring to me as a friend from out of town.
Melayne and Scuva go still and glance at Ritter. Melayne’s hand curls around Scuva’s tightly and the four of us stare awkwardly across the table at one another before Scuva breaks the spell, offering me a stiff smile that makes the back of my neck prickle.
Melayne follows his lead. Looking at my outfit, she asks, “You’re a caretaker? Are you a friend of Strega’s?” I blink at her accent, which sounds vaguely British but is mixed with something else I can’t identify.
Ritter looks caught but recovers smoothly. “We met Strega this morning for breakfast and there was a little accident with our drinks.”
She laughs sympathetically. “Your doing, I assume?”
Ritter dips his head and lifts his hands. “You know me,” he chuckles.
Melayne’s blue eyes twinkle as she peers over the edge of the table. “I see you’ve used Ritter’s clumsiness as an excuse to visit one of my favorite shops. Well done.” This, too, strikes me as British. I wonder whether she’s also from Attero. Then I inwardly roll my eyes at myself. There are probably an infinite number of open worlds full of people with accents of all kinds.
I smile and set the bag on the floor. I don’t tell her any differently.
Ritter and Scuva get into a conversation about an upcoming festival. I try to follow, but some of what they say is obviously Concordian jargon and I quickly lose the meaning. The strange, loaded looks continue, though, reminding me of the ones passed between Ritter and Strega in holding. I want to ask Ritter why they’re looking at me this way, but I can’t.
I’m relieved when Ritter shows me his logger and asks,
“Anything look interesting?”
It is my ScanX profile, adjusted for the menu in this service unwind. My stomach feels so jumpy, I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat, but I choose a steak with seasonal vegetables. Although I’m only sixteen years old, I’m given both alcoholic and non-alcoholic choices for beverages. When I start to ask Ritter what the drinking age is on Concordia, I bite off the question just in time. A local would know that. And anyway, I’ve just rememb
ered that he told me you are legally an adult at sixteen. I pretend my choked off words are because I’ve changed my mind and say, “No, wait, I’ll have the lemonade.”
Ritter pokes in his own choices and resumes his conversation with Scuva.
Melayne looks over at them and makes a snoring noise that reminds me of Jake Armadice, and I feel bile at the back of my throat. I rise too quickly, startling everyone. Scuva and Ritter rise also, an old-fashioned gesture which might have charmed me if I wasn’t so eager to escape.
“Sorry,” I call over my shoulder. “I just want to wash my hands before lunch.”
Thankfully, the cleanse is actually in the direction I’m facing. I hurry there.
I stare at myself in the mirror, breathing in fours, until the room feels less likely to fall in on me. I can see in my reflection that my eyes look less wild. I think of Mina and envy rises like more bile in my throat. God, I’d love to be her right now. To just settle into this place that seems to be my fate and embrace that doors are melds and everyone has tattoos called Idix (Idixes?) and that two tubes decide everything I will ever consume for the rest of my life.
I’d like to know what all of these secrets are between them, why Melayne and Scuva looked so strange when Ritter introduced me. Like they knew me.
I am well aware that every minute I spend in this room looks odd. How long does it really take to wash hands? I wish, suddenly, that I’d thought to bring my bag with me. Then I could put a new outfit on and justify every minute spent staving off another panic attack.
I needn’t have worried. Melayne is occupied with her logger when I return, much like people on my Earth are obsessed with their cell phones. If she’s registered the length of my absence, she doesn’t show it. As I sit down, she puts her logger on top of Scuva’s along the inner edge of the table and smiles at me.
“So, Davinney, we were just talking about how long it’s been since we’ve seen Ritter, much less had him over for dinner. Would you be up to another dose of us tomorrow night?”
I blink. I don’t know which answer Ritter would prefer. I just want to go back to his keeping where I can be alone or at least safe from the emotional landmines I keep stepping on. I’m saved from having to answer as a man dressed in ordinary street clothes and a waist apron brings our food. As he sets my plate in front of me, Ritter looks my way.
“That’d be fun, right?”
“Sure,” I agree, spreading the paper napkin across my lap.
As we eat, Melayne tells me about a trip they took to a place called Ancia, which I gather from her description is something tropical and beachy. When she shows me a few pictures on her logger, I think it looks like a marketing photo for Bora Bora, with their thatched-roof, overwater bungalows.
Somehow, I manage to relax. We’re eating and having easy conversations that I can follow about things that are universal: vacations and family. When Scuva asks what our plans are for the rest of the day, Ritter says we’ll probably finish poking around here in the district before refreshing ourselves at his keeping. He says we’ll probably spend the night in.
And that’s exactly what we do. I choose a fresh outfit to put on and put the rest of the clothes away, which reminds me I wanted to ask him about how money works here and how much I owe him for the clothes.
When I find him, he’s standing in front of the mirror in the cleanse, just staring. He doesn’t notice me, so I back slowly away, the questions dying in my throat. It will be a long time before I’ll forget the haunted look in the mirror reflection of his eyes.
Melayne and Scuva’s keeping is down a pretty, tree-lined street almost an hour away by slide. They live in another area. Ritter tells me there are three zones on Concordia, which would be like continents to Attero. The zones are split into partitions (countries), the partitions into areas (states), and the areas into quadrants (cities). We take two of the supersonics and one of the regulars to get there, which means they live nearly 325 miles from Ritter. It amazes me to think that if we had supersonics at home, I could be in San Diego in roughly the same amount of time without taking a plane.
The architecture in their quadrant is different than in Ritter’s. The keepings look a lot like you’d see back east in a coastal town. Theirs is a light blue bungalow with white trim. The glass meld looks out of place, though it is framed by wood.
Melayne and Scuva are gracious hosts, going out of their way to make us feel welcome. On the slides, Ritter explained the odd preparations needed to host a dinner party, which started with him sending Melayne a map of our breath chemistry so that their ScanX could create a series of recipes they could choose from, which could be tricky considering that everyone’s different allergies or intolerances combine, narrowing the field of choices that are safe for everyone to consume. Then, since Melayne loves to do her own cooking, she had to put in an order for anything she didn’t already have on hand. I sat slack-jawed on the slide trying to imagine there being no such thing as grocery stores. Raw food items are delivered the same way that our meals have been…through the compartment in the ScanX. The only difference between Melayne’s servette and Ritter’s is that her ScanX is a model that comes with twice the cold storage and she has a larger oven and cooktop.
The Serdas have a small dog, Zutti. She is a mixed breed with soft, silky fur that Melayne says doesn’t shed. Zutti lunges into my lap as I sit down on the sofa, and I ignore Scuva’s apologies about how she’s not quite learned to keep off of guests yet, burying my face in her fur to stop the rise of tears. I try not to remember Shamu’s tongue chasing my Starbucks, her happy tail thumping against the wall.
“Well, it looks like you don’t mind,” Scuva chuckles. “Can I get you a drink, Ritter? Davinney?”
He brings Ritter a bottle of something alcoholic and brings me the water I mumble about, still stroking Zutti, who is deliriously content.
When the guys get involved in a conversation about what I think is a sport called Offset, I wander back to the servette to see if Melayne needs help. She takes one look at me and grins.
“Are you finding yourself in the cold during the Offset, too?”
Figuring it is the safest move, I smile and shrug, which she takes to be a yes. “Can I help?” I ask, and after I wash up, she sets me to scrubbing carrots.
“Did you have a nice time in the district?” she asks.
“I did,” I reply, stopping myself before I say it reminds me of Bricktown. I think again of Mina and feel another twinge of envy. If only I were excited about the prospect of staying here forever.
Though she can’t possibly know what I’m thinking, Melayne does a good job distracting me by asking if I like to cook. I find myself telling her about making breakfast in bed for my mother, remembering at the last second not to say it was for Mother’s Day, which I’m not sure Concordia celebrates. This reminds me that virtually anything I might say could give me away.
“Well, done,” Melayne smiles as I hand over the scrubbed, julienned carrots a few minutes later. “I appreciate a person who knows their way around a knife.”
She has me mince garlic and chop spinach before shooing me out of the servette to “find out if the boys need anything”.
They don’t.
Ritter and Scuva are still talking about Offset but smile in my direction as I sit down on the sofa, Zutti instantly abandoning Ritter’s lap for mine.
“Oh,” he jokes, “I see how it is, Zutti. Just keeping you warm for Davinney. See if you’ll get me to scratch your ears again.”
The worst thing, I think, as they go back to their good-natured arguments about the best players and strategies, is being in limbo. I would almost rather the whole thing be decided already. Stay or go? I try not to listen to the little voice that says stay. That’s what Ritter tells me is the likely outcome. But in the meantime, I have to wander through this strange life, which is so much like what I’m used to until something small slaps me in the face with how it actually isn’t.
The latest slap comes whe
n we gather at the dinner table and Melayne holds out what looks like a short, squat pepper mill. I take it from her by slipping my hand under the bottom.
Big mistake.
Searing pain rips across my palm. I swear loudly, my eyes tearing. The thing, whatever it is, crashes to the floor. Everyone leaps from their chairs to chase after it. I leap up for an entirely different reason — to duck into the cleanse to run my burning palm under cold water.
Life is a minefield. There’s nothing I can do to keep Ritter’s secret. Their voices are sharp now. Or, at least, Scuva’s is.
“What the hell, Ritter?” he demands. “Who is she? What is she doing here?” He sounds so accusing, so wary, as if I am someone to fear. To hate.
I sob and turn the water up, trying to drown out whatever comes next.
Zutti slinks into the bathroom and ducks into the space between my feet and the cabinet, cowering. Their voices hush to the point where I can’t hear the words anymore. I wipe my eyes with my free hand, glad I don’t have to listen to Ritter’s explanation.
A shadow rises on the wall, startling me.
Melayne is watching me carefully, her eyes large and luminous but no less friendly than before.
“I’m sorry,” I say, staring down at my palm, at the red center of it where it is blistering angrily. “If I broke…it,” I say, for lack of a word, “I’ll buy you another.” Sure. With money I don’t have.
She shakes her head. “The searer is fine. Are you okay?”
“No,” I say softly.
Without another word, she moves to my left side and turns off the water. She punches something into the MedQuick and guides me to put my hand underneath the device. A red light that reminds me of a grocery store barcode scanner dances over my palm and a few seconds later, the device bleeps and spits out three tubes.
Assimilation (Concordia Series Book 1) Page 7
