by Lea Daley
“I do not know whether anyone on Jashari shares this desire…”
“There must be someone! If not one of your people, maybe one of the—what did you call us?—the Laysancurobs? I need to meet them, talk with them, Aimée—please!”
She bowed slightly. “I will ask, but I cannot guarantee the outcome.”
And she left me still gripped by memory, my left palm turning upward every twenty seconds.
* * *
I wake for the first time. Floating, drifting. Naked and cold—impossibly cold. Cold in every chromosome.
Stars shift and I know someone’s appeared behind me. When I try to whirl around, I’m in free-fall—an astronaut unaware. Reaching for support, I find only the void.
Deep, smoky laughter mocks me. At last I right myself and come to a halt, hanging in blackest space. Facing a woman whose golden hair is bound by a wreath of wildflowers. Her beauty surpasses imagining, yet her eyes are empty.
A small, bluish orb glows between the sweet outward swell of her breasts. She smiles and beckons, but I can’t make headway in the weightlessness of the dream. The woman laughs again. Lowers her head, as if bowing. Lifts a fine chain from her neck. Drawing one arm back, she tosses that little globe in my direction. It tumbles closer and closer till I snag it like a tennis serve gone long. It’s hot to the touch, seductive! Opening my fist, I stare at the thing—a perfect miniature of Planet Earth.
When I raise bewildered eyes, the woman is gone. Slipping the chain over my head, I feel the pendant come to rest near my heart. And its warmth winds all through me…
Long past a solitary breakfast, dark and disquieting flashbacks from that dream bedeviled me. Until I had an epiphany while smoothing the quilt on my bed: the woman was real! She’d been present, silently watching, when I first regained consciousness! And she’d returned later! More than once I’d awakened to a spicy scent, her personal signature—an aroma closer to carnations than anything. Last night, in a vision, she’d offered me the world. My world! Was it her world too?
“Aimée! Come here!”
The VTO walked through the wall, wincing. “It is not necessary to ‘holler,’ Leslie-ahn. I feel each request as it forms in your mind.”
“You’ll have to forgive me if I occasionally long for the spoken word. My life here is painfully quiet.”
She bowed, clearly abashed. “Many apologies, Leslie-ahn.”
I waved the courtesy aside. “I had a dream last night, Aimée—and you know all about my dreams, don’t you?”
“Yes, though I admit I do not like them very much. They are so fragmented and illogical.”
“They’re extremely logical—just with a spin on them. And I think I know what this one means.”
“Indeed?”
Was it my imagination, or did the VTO sound apprehensive? Because she knew what was coming. “Right after I was revived, there was a woman observing me, Aimée—a beautiful woman. You know who I mean? She has a husky voice? Carries herself like royalty? In the beginning I was too disoriented to ask questions, and I haven’t seen her since. But she was clearly keeping track of me back then—and she was in my dream.”
Aimée refused to meet my eyes, which only confirmed my suspicions.
“She’s like me, isn’t she? A Laysancurob?”
A shadow passed over Aimée’s face. “I know who you mean. And she was born on Earth.”
I danced around the room, delirious with excitement. “Hot damn! Hot damn! I have to meet her! How soon can you arrange that?”
“I am not sure. It would be wise to proceed cautiously…”
“No,” I said, emboldened by her evident discomfort. A sign, I thought, that my request couldn’t be denied. “I want to talk with her as soon as possible.”
“As you wish.”
The VTO departed before I could make further demands, leaving me to sort through my thoughts alone. My questions hadn’t changed: What was my position here? What were my rights? How long would I be confined to these two rooms? And—most pressingly—where were the other Returnees? There were new questions too. Why was Aimée so disturbed by my desire to see someone from home? Why was I so sure I had leverage in this matter?
But analysis was quickly overtaken by ecstatic anticipation. Soon—very soon—I’d meet a Laysancurob! We’d undoubtedly understand one another better than we’d ever comprehend the natives of Jashari. And far better than I understood Aimée. Perhaps we’d even become friends. Or more.
Oh, that sun-streaked hair! Those velvet-brown eyes! That confident gait! My hand came to rest where heat from her necklace had blazed in my dream. She was the stuff of fantasies—and what harm was there in a rich fantasy life? I closed my eyes and cupped my breasts, each thumb grazing lightly over a nipple. But no delicate tingle stole through me, no answering fire flashed between my thighs. I must really be tired! I thought. This has always been so easy for me…
I summoned that heavenly face, called up devilish laughter, while both hands roved over every sensitive spot on my willing body. Still nothing. I might as well have fondled my elbow. Then revelation rocked me: something was seriously wrong! Because in all the months since my revival, I hadn’t had a single sexual encounter. Hadn’t even filled any of my many empty hours with delicious self-gratification. In fact, except for fleeting reactions to a certain VTO—which surely didn’t count—I hadn’t had one erotic impulse on Jashari!
Suddenly, without knowing why, I was terrified.
Chapter Seven
Cross-legged on the floor, I was sifting through my past. A half-dozen holograms shimmered and solidified in laser beams. I was so absorbed in assessing them that an eruption of rhythmic pounding failed to capture my attention. The sound was utterly familiar, entirely unexpected. At last I registered it, recognized it: someone was knocking! As if on a door! Inhaling sharply, I called out the customary response of my era. “Come in.”
A microsecond before she stepped through the wall, I knew it could only be the woman from that dream. And she was every bit as lovely as I remembered. I leaped up, toppling a tripod. For a moment I could only stare. Then, “Thank you for knocking! I’d almost forgotten…maybe I never knew…how much that matters.”
Nodding absently, she made a frank survey of my hair, my face, my clothes. When she finally spoke, the sultry undercurrents of her voice were shot through with irony. “You certainly look better.”
“It’s amazing what a little R and R can do.” I offered a chair.
My visitor dropped down, then winced as her remarkable rear hit the cane seat. “Just like home—awkward, yet uncomfortable.”
“You prefer that invisible stuff?”
“It’s an acquired taste, but I have acquired it.”
Disappointment deflated me. I wanted a kindred spirit, and wasn’t sure I’d found one. Silence hung between us until I said, “I’m Leslie Burke, as you undoubtedly know. We met—more or less—in the hospital.”
“Of course. I’m Chastity Whitehall.”
“Wow! You must have taken a beating about that back on Earth! What were your parents thinking?”
“They were historians, specialists in Colonial America, and they loved those virtuous old names. Funny, isn’t it? It’s almost as if they knew…”
“Almost as if they knew what?”
Chastity rose and turned away, seeming to analyze the pale minimalism of my Uta Barth posters, pixel by pixel. The set of her shoulders indicated that my question would go unanswered and I felt I’d been kicked in the stomach. Somehow we’d gotten off to a bad start. Which was the last thing I wanted.
“Chastity? How can we get to know each other if we don’t talk?”
“I know you far better than you realize.”
Ignoring a disconcerting hint of flirtation in her voice, I cut to the chase. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve been studying you for months.”
“Studying me? How?”
“Leslie…” A honeyed voice, a soft hand o
n my arm. “You’re not going to like the answers to your questions…are you really ready to ask them?”
My stomach lurched, but I met those wide eyes with an unflinching gaze. “What do you mean, you’ve been ‘studying’ me?”
“I’ve been reviewing…tapes one might say…of you.”
My mouth went dry and my eyes darted from corner to corner. “Is there a camera in my apartment?”
“Nothing so vulgar, Leslie. Records of your thoughts and dreams.”
Heat flared upward, raging through me. “How dare you! You must know how that feels!” Because the same thing had probably happened to her. Chastity reached out again, but I recoiled from her touch.
“It’s essential, Leslie. Believe me. You’ll come to understand.”
“There’s not a chance in hell!”
A quick eye roll to suggest I was willful as a toddler. “Trust me.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Done with all niceties, Whitehall said, “There’s a reason they call us Laysancurobs, Leslie Burke!” Then she strode briskly through the wall. Out of patience, out of sight.
Devastated, I paced the room. How had I gone so wrong? How could I call Chastity back, make amends, start fresh? On first acquaintance, I couldn’t claim to like the woman, but who better to explain life on Jashari than another Earthling?
Was it true, what she said? That I wasn’t prepared to face reality? Maybe. Probably. Collapsing on the couch, I wept until I was thoroughly embarrassed by my juvenile behavior. Then I pushed myself upright and returned to the holograms. Only to find my eyes were too misty to focus. Scouring tears away with my palms, I concluded that was one downside to imaginary clothing—no absorbent sleeves when you need them!
* * *
In the middle of that night, I woke from another disturbing dream. Something about invasive aliens. Who were dissecting me, despite my frantic resistance. But Aimée was sitting on my bed. Cradling my head in her lap. Smoothing my hair. Whispering reassurances. “You have all the time in the world for questions, Leslie-ahn. Sleep now.” I rolled to one side, wrapped both arms around her and held on for dear life.
When the first light of morning appeared in the “window,” I was still reclining on the VTO. Who apparently hadn’t moved a muscle for hours. I leaped away, embarrassed by such unintended intimacy. “I’m sorry, Aimée! You must be crippled by now!”
She grinned, stretching her arms toward the ceiling. “Remember…I come fully equipped to serve you.”
Highly unlikely! I thought, laughing at my own idiocy. But suddenly I remembered that narrow waist under my old T-shirt, those yielding thighs, her improbable warmth. Clearing my throat, I slid sideways, putting more distance between us. Then I yelped.
“What happened?” Aimée asked, though surely she knew.
I patted jumbled linens until my fingers closed around a tiny box. “First and only time Mer ever hurt me,” I murmured, displaying the MoVaDod earpiece. Which I’d kept under my pillow since discovering it in that storage crate.
I saw the VTO reach a silent decision. “Leslie-ahn, would you like to hear Meredith’s recordings?”
“Like to hear them? Like to hear them? Of course I’d like to hear them!” Because finally I wanted Mer’s music more than I feared the pain listening would inflict. “Is that possible?”
“It can be arranged. Whenever you wish.”
“Now! I need to hear them now! Where do we have to go? What do we have to do?”
“We can do it right here, Leslie-ahn. This is the first time you have seemed open to the experience. Make yourself comfortable.”
I propped my pillows against the headboard and squirmed into them. Then I fumbled for the earpiece.
“You will not need that.”
When Aimée moved closer, adrenaline flooded every vein, every smallest capillary. “Can you hold my hand while we do this?”
The VTO’s fingers found mine and I gripped them. Hard. “Shut your eyes, Leslie-ahn.”
“Shut my eyes?”
Aimée sighed dramatically. “Could you humor me, please? Just once?” Then she stretched out a gentle fingertip to close my eyelids. For a moment, there was a silence so profound I thought all Jashari had slowed to a halt. And then there was Meredith.
Her thrilling voice welled up, filling the room, surging through my very soul. She was singing the slow, insinuating ballad we’d claimed as “our song,” the one we danced to on the night we met. The original recording made a star of the performer, but Mer sang it better.
I clung to Aimée’s hand, hardly daring to breathe, afraid to miss a single note. And then I saw Meredith. Saw her clearly. Saw the longing on her face as she sang that song for me. Only for me.
My eyes flew open, the music faded, Mer evaporated. The VTO shook her head wryly. “You do not take direction well, Leslie-ahn.”
“Aimée! She was here…She was really here! How did you do that?”
“Trade secret.”
“Please, can you do it again?”
“From the top?”
“Oh, yes!”
“This time, play by the rules.”
“I promise—I’ll do whatever you say.”
And Meredith was there again, loving me with her music. Too soon the song came to an end. But then she began to speak.
“Leslie, there are so many things I want to say, yet there’s nothing that will make any difference. There’s not even much that’s new. You know I’ll always love you—I’ve loved you since the first time I heard your wonderful laugh. And no separation can alter that. We were the luckiest of women…until we weren’t.
“I guess the hardest thing about caring really is letting go. It’s maddening that I’ll never know what happens to you, or whether we made the right decision. But I want you to have this outside chance—even though it means going on alone. We’ve always been proud of our strength, always believed we could survive anything that came our way. And I’m determined to prove us right.” She smiled wickedly. “I know how much you like being right!”
Then she was serious again. “There’s no point in wasting our remaining time. I intend to have as rich and full a future as possible after losing the love of my life—and I damned well expect you to do the same. Still, no day will pass without a million memories of you. I’ll never meet your equal, Leslie—this world will be a shabbier place for lack of your expansive heart. But surely somewhere—somewhen—you’re raising your unique brand of red-headed hell. God help them, whoever they are!
“These songs will say what I feel better than I ever could. I’m sorry I never made a compilation like this when we were together—you just finally gave me sufficient motivation…I’ll miss you like crazy, sweetheart. Be well.”
Meredith brushed away a tear, picked up her guitar and sang a baker’s dozen of my favorite songs, her music charging the air till my skin tingled. Then she blew me a kiss and disappeared.
When I opened my eyes again, I was surprised to find Aimée’s hand pressed tight against my shattered heart. I lowered it with great care, as if it too might break. Then I asked the only question that mattered. “Was that real, Aimée? Did it truly happen?”
“Reality is a relative concept, Leslie-ahn.”
“Goddamn it! Don’t go philosophical on me right now!”
“That is not philosophical—it is a fact.”
I gritted my teeth. “Did. It. Happen?”
“Judging by various biological indicators—you seem to believe it did.”
“I want to go beyond what I believe! I want the truth of this. You have to tell me, Aimée!”
“There is no singular truth, Leslie-ahn. I can respond on many levels, and each answer will be accurate while simultaneously contradicting all or parts of others.”
I counted slowly. Way past ten. “Aimée. What I just saw and heard—are those actually things Meredith recorded?”
“Most probably.”
I shrieked and hurled the first object my f
lailing hand could find. Aimée raised one elegant eyebrow as a decorative cushion sailed harmlessly through the air.
“Bloody hell! Now I’m the uncontrollable savage, right?”
“If the shoe fits.”
“Better update your clichés—no one said that ‘in my day.’ Now, tell me what I want to know.”
“Leslie, many of the things you want to know are mutually exclusive.”
I bowed. “O Sage, give it your best shot.”
Aimée was still for a three-count, clearly seeking a way to communicate weighty matters to a hopeless primitive. Finally, she picked up the MoVaDod. “Your era’s technology was very unsuited for travel through time and space. We have no mechanical way to determine what Meredith originally recorded.”
“But—”
“Listen. Jashrine technology goes far beyond merely retrieving selected data. We can re-create the whole—or a semblance thereof—with perfect fidelity.”
“What are you telling me, Aimée?”
“Leslie-ahn, was there a single false note in what you heard?”
“This is a lousy time for puns.”
“Excuse me—that was poorly phrased. Now, answer the question.”
“No,” I choked out. “It felt real in every detail. Now tell me how.”
“I am trying, but it is not easy. You do not know Arthur C. Clarke, correct?”
“Who?”
“A wise man from your planet who famously observed that advanced technologies look much like magic. You must either consider this a bit of Jashrine sorcery or you must learn our science. Chastity reminded you—clumsily—that we are able to record your feelings, thoughts and dreams. We have equally sophisticated ways of reassembling and interpreting them.”
“I feel like a fucking amoeba! Why not just put me under a giant microscope and be done with it?”
“Why, Leslie-ahn! How clever of you! That is exactly what we have done.”
I sighed heavily. “Aimée, we are going to persevere until my protozoan-sized brain comprehends this. Continue—even if it kills me.”
The VTO looked so alarmed I had to rescue her. “That was just a figure of speech, for heaven’s sake! How can you understand so much and so little at the same time?”
