Moongazer

by Mari Mancusi

  Uh, what? I squint at him, swallowing my fry, my mouth suddenly dry as cotton. "What? Who?"

  "Brother Dawn should never have left you unattended like he did. They must have injected you with some kind of nanotracker to have found you so quickly. Most unfortunate. But do not fret, Sister. We will free you soon."

  I stare at him, my mind racing. This does not make any sense. Unless the butler is secretly playing for the other team. "Wait. Are you ... an Eclipser?" I whisper back.

  Thom releases a frustrated sigh. "You have not regained your memories, I see," he says, sounding vastly disappointed.

  Great. Here we go again. "You think I'm Mariah," I conclude.

  "You are Mariah," the butler corrects. "Whether you know it or not."

  "But Duske said-"

  "Don't you get it? Duske is trying to trick you. He's taking advantage of your amnesia to further his vile agenda."

  I close my eyes, wishing I could just somehow zap myself home. Now I'm back at square one. How the hell can I know who to trust-the guy who calls me by my real name and has offered me over a million Earth dollars to speak at his seminar? Or the determined, passionate rebels who swear that I'm someone I'm not and insist that Duske's up to no good?

  "You're going to have to try to trust us for a bit," Thom says. "Your life will depend on it." He turns and heads to the exit. At the door he turns back to me. "It might be better if you cut up your burger before taking a bite," he suggest cryptically. He leaves before I can ask why, the door sliding closed and locking behind him.

  Alone again, I stare down at the plate of food, wondering what he meant. The way he said it, it has to be a hint or code of some sort. Curious, I grab the butter knife on my plate and slice into the patty. The knife strikes something hard and I pull apart the burger, discovering a tiny, plastic, thimblelike device.

  As I slip it on my thumb the thimble constricts, wrapping tightly around the digit like a second skin. It's then I notice it has its own fingerprint. I look over at the sensor on the wall, the one I need a magic thumb to operate. Could this thimble be what I think?

  Hunger forgotten, I walk to the door and press the thumb against the sensor, praying it won't set off an alarm or something. This wouldn't be easy to explain if someone comes to investigate.

  Nothing happens.

  I try again, rubbing the thimble over the sensor. Still nothing. Just as I'm about to give up, the door suddenly beeps and the LCD indicator by the sensor goes from red to green. My eyes widen.

  I'm free.

  The door slides open, revealing my exit. I slip outside, peering up and down the corridor to make sure the coast is clear. There's no one in sight.

  I tiptoe down the hall, not sure exactly where I'm going or what I'll do when I get there. Maybe I can find the Moongazing rooms and figure out how to make them work so I can go home. Leave this nightmare world forever. Of course, Duske might try to come after me. He obviously knows where to find me on Earth, and he'd probably be very angry I slipped away before speaking at his seminar. But maybe there'd be a way to hide. Head out to California or someplace even more obscure. Change my name, become someone else. Find a village in Nepal, a shack on a Costa Rican beach. Somewhere, anywhere that he couldn't track me down and drag me back to Terra.

  I freeze as I suddenly hear Duske's voice. I flatten my body against the wall and peer into the room next to me. It's some sort of library, stacked floor to ceiling with dusty tomes. Duske's sitting at a large desk, speaking into something that appears to be some kind of videophone. Luckily, he doesn't seem to be aware of my presence.

  I prepare to slink away in the other direction, but his words make me pause.

  "Yes, she's here," he is saying. "Oh, indeed, it worked brilliantly, Brother. Kudos to you and your crew. The new memories have bonded completely with her psyche. She's utterly convinced she's from Earth.... Yes!

  Even after those pathetic rebels tried their damnedest to tell her otherwise.... I know! I would have loved to see the look on their faces when their precious Mariah insisted she's some random girl from Earth." He chuckles, a low guttural sound that makes me suddenly feel sick.

  My heart slams against my chest as my whole world skids off its axis. My stomach twists and for a moment I'm sure I'll throw up. I can't believe this. The one person who said he believed me-who swore up and down that he knew me as Skye-has just admitted to his crony that he, like everyone else, thinks I'm her. Mariah.

  Oh my God.

  "She even logged in willingly!" I hear him continue. "Thought she was going home! ... I know, I know. It's priceless.... Oh yes, of course I recorded it. I plan to play it at the seminar. Wait till the Indys see a video of the great Mariah Quinn entering a Moongazer booth. They'll be begging us for the opportunity to hand over all their possessions for a chance to play. Your plan was brilliant. Utterly brilliant. I couldn't be more pleased."

  He pauses as the other voice on the video screen speaks. I strain to hear. "So, what are you going to do with her after the seminar?" it asks. "Send her back? Let her burn out on her own?"

  "No way," Duske says. "It's too dangerous. As we've learned from this experiment, as long as the people believe Mariah Quinn is alive, they'll continue with their silly little revolution. Natural burnout will take too long, and I don't want to have to deal with the possibility of those pesky Eclipsers pulling her out over and over again, convinced they'll eventually get her to join them. It's expensive and irritating."

  "So, what are you going to do?"

  "Early retirement," Duske says. He makes a throat slitting gesture, and I suddenly realize this particular package probably doesn't come with a pension plan.

  I cringe. I've got to get the hell out of here.

  I sprint back down the hall, fast as my legs can carry me, no idea where I'm going. I bank a left, then a right. I scurry down stairs and around corners. But no matter where I turn, I can't seem to locate an exit. The place is a maze and I have no idea how to get out.

  "Psst "

  I whirl around at the whisper, praying it's friend and not foe. A lone figure, encased entirely in black and wearing a black mask and hood, stands in the middle of the hallway. I can tell from her curvy silhouette she's a woman, but all that's exposed are radiant green eyes. She puts a finger to her lips, stilling the questions on my tongue. Then she motions for me to follow.

  Should I? What if it's just another trap? But what choice do I have? To stay here is to die. At least if I leave now I'll be able to come up with a plan B. Find Moongazer Station and get back to Earth.

  Duske's words flash through my mind.

  She's utterly convinced she's from Earth.

  Could it be true? Could my whole life be some kind of lie? Implanted memories, he said. Is that even possible? Could everything I know and love be just an illusion? Impossible. And yet ...

  I nod to the figure, realizing I have little choice but to trust her. Maybe she can lead me to Glenda and the rest of the Eclipsers. Maybe they can give me a better idea of what's going on.

  The woman bows her head, then turns and starts slinking down the hallway, her steps light and silent like a cat stalking its prey. She pauses at every turn, peering around each corner before motioning me to move forward. She has a Japanese-style sword-a katana of some sort--slung from a utility belt low on her waist. I hope we don't need to use it.

  We scramble up a flight of stairs, then another and another. Are we running to the roof? Finally the figure stops climbing, pulls off a glove, and studies her hand. I realize she's got some kind of map scribbled onto her palm. Thank God for that.

  She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a plastic thimble identical to the one Thom hid in my soy burger, and slips it onto her thumb. She presses it against the sensor and, after a moment's pause, the LCD flashes green and the door slides open. She motions for me to follow her inside.

  It's a bedroom similar to the one Id been kept prisoner in, and there the figure reaches under the bed and pulls out a lengt
h of rope and a few metal clips. She heads over to glass sliding doors leading out to a balcony. I watch, unsure, as she detaches a small black box from her utility belt and presses it against the door. She pushes a button and without warning the glass explodes. I duck, hands over my face, to avoid being cut. When I look up, the glass barrier is gone and there's clear passage leading out to the balcony.

  "That will have tripped the alarm," the woman informs me, speaking for the first time in a low voice. "We have to hurry."

  She steps over the jagged glass and out onto the balcony. There, she tosses one end of her rope over the side and clips the other to the banister. I watch, worried about what she's got planned. We must be four stories up.

  She hands me what looks like a rock-climbing harness, and instructs me to slip it around my waist. Then she clicks me into the rope. "Climb over the balcony," she instructs. "And on my word, jump."

  I have little alternative. I do as she says, my toes curling against the safety of the balcony as I brace and try to psych myself up for the impending rappel.

  My rescuer pauses for a moment, as if listening for something, then pulls the sword belt off her waist and wraps it around mine. "I thought you might like it back," she explains after I give her a confused look. Her voice reveals a smile I can't see under her mask. "I've been keeping it safe for you while you've been gone.

  I look down at the sword, pull it halfway out of its scabbard. The blade flashes under the artificial light, almost giving off an otherworldly glow. Did this belong to Mariah? I caress the hilt and something inside me flashes with uneasy recognition. Have I worn these blades before? Somewhere? Sometime? In some other life? I remember the photo in Dawn's living room, and I shiver.

  "Uh, thanks," I say, not quite sure what else to do.

  The figure's eyes crinkle from under her hood, and I can't tell if she's smiling or holding back tears. "I love you, Mariah, my sister," she says. "Whatever happens, always remember that."

  I open my mouth to speak, but the words die in my throat as a sudden pounding comes at the bedroom door. They've found us.

  "I jammed the door signal," the woman tells me. "But it won't take them long to break through. You have to jump now."

  I glance over the railing at the ground far beneath my feet. Unsure, afraid. "What about you?" I ask.

  "Don't worry about me. Just jump, Mariah. I'll keep you safe. But you must go."

  Desperation in her voice compels me to obey. I take a deep breath, send up a small prayer, close my eyes, then step off the balcony. A moment later, I open my eyes to find myself rappelling down the side of the mansion, my feet hitting the outer wall for a moment then shooting out again as my rescuer lets out the rope. I grip the cord tightly, my fingers burning, threatening to lose their grip.

  Without warning, the rope suddenly goes slack. I tumble out of control, the ground flying up at my face at high speed. I reach out-a desperate, stupid attempt to cushion my fall-and land on my hand. My wrist gives way with a sickening crunch.

  For a moment, I feel nothing. Then a sharp pain shoots through me and I'm forced to bite down on my lower lip to keep from screaming in agony. I grab at my wrist, pressing it against my stomach. It throbs in protest.

  I look up to the balcony far above me, wondering what happened to the rope. The men must have broken through the door. They've likely got my rescuer and are in the process of dragging her away.

  Her head appears for a brief moment. "Run, Mariah!" she screams down at me.

  I don't wait for a second invitation.

  8

  I sprint across the lawn as fast as my legs can carry me, cradling my swollen wrist against my body, pain shooting through me at every step. I don't know where to go, what to do; I just know I have to keep moving. Because whoever got my rescuer is sure to come after me next.

  I run down the streets, trying to remember the route to Luna Park. If I can only get there, find Moongazer Station, I could try to journey back to Earth on my own. But is that even the best plan? After all, Duske knows how to find me there. He knows where I live. Where I work. What's to stop him from coming to my world and killing me?

  If Earth even is my world.

  Find Dawn.

  An inner voice, powerful and demanding, thrusts the solution to the forefront of my brain. I try to shake it away; after all, Dawn doesn't even like me. He thinks I'm his ex-girlfriend who betrayed him. But the thought persists. At the very least he can lead me to the Eclipsers. To Glenda. Maybe she'll be able to tell me what the hell is going on and how I can get home.

  I sprint around a corner and realize I've somehow found the outskirts of Luna Park. I pass the Park Terrace restaurant were Duske and I ate, the corner Starbucks, the bulletin boards advertising Moongazing. As I run, the neighborhood deteriorates. Finally, I come to Moongazer Station, in all its gaudy glory. I stop, panting hard. My wrist has now swollen to the size of a softball.

  I give a longing glance at Moongazer Station, at a possible trip back to Earth, but then firm my resolve and instead locate the manhole cover Dawn showed me my first day on Terra: the "rabbit hole" leading to the Dark Side. I scramble to my knees and attempt to pry off the cover one-handed. It's not an easy task, but finally I manage to wrench it free, revealing the rickety metal ladder disappearing into the darkness. I crawl down the hole, pulling the cover over my head and beginning a one-handed descent. Rung after rung; I wince at every step, straining to see.

  Finally, after what seems an eternity, I reach the bottom, jump down onto the metal floor. I blink a few times, my eyes adjusting to the darkness and dim track lighting, then suck in a deep breath. I'm safe. Well, sort of. Okay, probably not that safe at all. But the immediate threat is gone. I can stop running. Catch my breath. Figure out what to do next.

  If only my rescuer had made it out, too. But, in a way, it seemed almost as if she expected to be caught. The way she looked at me. The fact she'd given me the sword. It was as if she knew it was a kamikaze mission.

  And yet, she willingly sacrificed herself to get me out. Sacrificed her own life to save mine. Why? Because she thinks I'm Mariah?

  I search my brain for some kind of memory, some dim recollection of another life. One where I'm a big-time rebel leader working hard to save her people from an oppressive government regime. It's no use. No matter how hard I try, I still feel like me-Skye Brown, video game designer from Manhattan. There's nothing inside me that remotely resembles any Mariah.

  The Eclipsers are going to be so disappointed.

  I trudge down the underground road, heading in the direction of the Dark Side city where I assume I'll be able to find Dawn. I'm exhausted, and searing pain burns my arm at every step. My kingdom for one of those hover bikes. The road is empty, silent save for the background whirring of the ventilation fans. I walk on.

  Finally, after what seems like three forevers, I notice a twinkling light ahead. Relief floods me as I recognize the gates to the Dark Side. I made it. I approach the gate, pressing my thumb against the sensor, praying it will work.

  The doors creak open, welcoming me like giant metal arms. I'm too exhausted to ponder the implications of the gate recognizing my thumbprint. I have to find Dawn.

  I wander down the twisty antlike passageways until I step out into the town square. The place is bustling, as it was the first time, but a hush falls over the people as they recognize me. A moment later, I find myself engulfed by the crowd.

  "Mariah! Are you okay?" asks a thin, middle-aged woman with missing front teeth and a second pair of lips.

  "What did they do to you?" demands a salt-and pepper-bearded man with three breasts.

  "What happened to your wrist?" a young boy with one leg asks, pointing to my swollen arm.

  I weakly hold up my good hand. "Please," I croak. "I need Dawn. Is he here?"

  The crowd parts and Dawn approaches. His arms are crossed over his chest and his eyes pierce me. He stares me down, his full mouth set in a frown. He doesn't look happy to see me. At
least, not as relieved as I am to see him.

  "Dawn!" I cry, grateful to lay eyes on a familiar face. "Thank God I found you."

  He stops in front of me, staring down with obvious disapproval. Then he pushes me away from the others. "So, you've decided to slum it again. Or have you been sent to spy on us for your new friend?"

  "What? No! I-" My face falls as I realize he thinks I've sided with Duske again. Not that I blame him. In a way I did. At first, anyway. But, to my defense, I didn't know.

  "Don't you think you've done enough, Mariah?" Dawn demands. "Can't you leave us well enough alone?"

  "Please," I beg weakly. "They're ... they're trying to kill me."

  "I'd kill you myself if I didn't think death was too kind a punishment for a traitor like you. You-" He stops short, his eyes falling on the sword strapped to my waist. "How did you get that?" he demands.

  I glance down at the weapon. "The woman who rescued me. She helped me escape Duske's house. She saved my life."

  "Where is she now?"

  I was afraid he'd ask that. "I don't know. They caught her. .." I trail off, hanging my head. "I'm afraid she sacrificed herself for me."

  "She's an idiot. You're not worth it."

  Anger burns in my gut at his repeated condemnation. "Look," I say, incensed. I came all this way to find him. A million painful steps. How dare he treat me this way? "You can't blame me for crimes I don't even remember committing!"

  He shakes his head wearily but doesn't answer.

  "Dawn, she's hurt!" cries the bearded man. "You must heal her."

  "Yes, Dawn. Mariah's hurt!"

  The crowd takes up the cry for healing. Dawn releases a long sigh, then gently picks up my wrist in his large hands, lifting it to get a better view. I can't avoid a cry of agony as burning pain shoots up my arm. He runs a light cool finger across my wrist, closing his eyes.

  "It's broken," he remarks without emotion. "Pretty badly, too, by the feel of it."

  "It really hurts," I admit, a tear escaping the corner of my eye and dripping down my cheek. I hate crying, but the pain, along with the emotional stress and uncertainty, is too much.