FutureDyke

by Lea Daley

  “Sounds like you were one.”

  “Only of the momentary variety. But seated beside me, Chas looked even lovelier—which she naturally considered a bonus. She sensed I was gay and flirted outrageously in front of billions of her titillated fans.”

  “Funny thing, though, Taylor…I recognized Whitehall as a dyke on first sighting, but she doesn’t really feel like one of us…”

  “I know exactly what you mean. Still, as idealistic as I tend to be about our tribe, there are some assholes out there—if you’ll pardon my French. And I’d been away from civilization for so long I’d lost my capacity to discriminate.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Because I’m not explaining myself very well. When you work in remote locations for years at a time, your options are extraordinarily limited. After a while, the only place you notice distinctions is in your research. Otherwise, you make do with whatever comes to hand—and you’re grateful for it.”

  “Keep talking. I’m still not with you.”

  “Here’s an example: When I tried to pick out clothes for the Terre-Stream interview, I jazzed out—”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Freaked? Went wilding? Couldn’t handle it? Because in the bush, you buy whatever’s available and count yourself lucky if it comes close to fitting. So the complications of modern shopping overwhelmed me. There were just too many options and no one thing seemed better than another. I panicked, made my sister choose something for me.”

  “And this is relevant how?”

  “I’m trying to say that my capacity for critical evaluation was severely compromised at the very time Chastity decided to pursue me. I simply couldn’t exercise due diligence.”

  “Well, she is very beautiful.”

  “Not in any way that matters—especially after knowing her up close and personal.”

  “So what happened?”

  “What usually happens? I came, I saw…”

  “Or was it, ‘I saw, I came?’”

  Taylor hooted. “True, though horrifically embarrassing after the fact…Chastity and I had a whirlwind courtship, complete with our century’s version of paparazzi. Before long, I realized I’d made a dreadful mistake. But by then, I’d accepted a university appointment and signed some franchise agreements. It took time to extract myself from those commitments. The relationship really hit the skids when I decided to bail on our endorsements.”

  “I just bet it did. Then what?”

  Taylor raised a finger and slashed it down her cheek so savagely I expected skin to part. Again. Oh, god! I scarcely knew this woman. If she’d chosen not to divulge her private pain, I’d have left without asking. But she was speaking again. “You don’t know my time, Leslie. It wasn’t so different you wouldn’t recognize it—just worse in every way. We homos were back to square one—a brief dalliance with gay rights early in the twenty-first century had come to naught.”

  “Yeah. That was over before I was born. Crushed by the World Unification Movement.”

  “Which was much more extreme in my era. As high-profile dykes, Chastity and I made a perfect target for roaming gangs of vigilantes.” Taylor took a deep, shuddering breath. “We were attacked one night on our way home from a restaurant. We’d been quarreling and weren’t watchful enough. So we got a face full of the stuff women have feared forever…Both of us slashed up, gang-raped, infected with UltrA.”

  “Ultray?”

  “Sorry—Ultra-AIDS…we called it UltrA…a spectacularly vicious variant of the disease you were vaccinated against, Leslie. Rumor had it that some govlab purposely mutated the virus…Naturally, every head of state denied responsibility…”

  When Hemingway’s voice trailed off, I prompted her. “You didn’t believe that?”

  “I didn’t not believe it…but the work was related to my field, and I knew scientists in the World Unification Movement who were capable enough—fanatical enough, unprincipled enough—to unleash that horror…” Taylor wrenched free of the tangent, returning to her story. “Anyway, I’d not only contracted the disease from one of those rapes, I was pregnant. With an infected fetus.”

  “My god! Bahji!”

  “Yes. Bahji. And abortion had been outlawed for over a century. That’s when I cashed in all my resources for a ticket to somewhere else in time.”

  “And Whitehall came with you?”

  “Not with me. In spite of me. In hope of a cure herself—not to mention, the ultimate in plastic surgery.”

  That made me sit up straight. “Your scar, Taylor! Why wasn’t it repaired before you were revived?”

  She moved closer. Took my hands between hers. Willed me to understand. “It was, Leslie.”

  “But…but…?”

  “I made the surgeons put it back.”

  “You made them replace a scar? Why?”

  “It belongs to me—it’s a pivotal part of my history. It helps me remember why I had to leave home. And reminds me of all that’s perverse about this place.”

  “And yet, there’s Bahji,” I murmured. Because suddenly I’d recalled her formal name: Behold! Love transforms!

  Taylor’s face softened. “Yes, there’s my precious Bahji. Cured of one infection, but at risk of contracting another. That’s the battle I fight each day—the struggle for Bahji’s preservation as a unique, never-to-be-repeated wonder.”

  “You are a dangerous radical!”

  “At your service—and so, I hope, are you.”

  “I don’t know what I am anymore! I’m so confused I can’t even decide what questions to ask—”

  “I told you, Leslie—we don’t have to do it all tonight. It was stupid to get into any of this on our first meeting. Maybe we should spend some time just getting to know one another.”

  “But I need more information…I just have to screw up my courage, organize my thoughts and continue to impose on your hospitality.”

  Taylor let loose the kind of laugh no one can fake.

  “What’s so damned funny?”

  “The idea that this could possibly be an imposition! We’ve waited such a long time for you! Fire away.”

  We. I suspected that “we” encompassed more than the Hemingway household. But I wasn’t ready to go there. Instead I tried to imagine this woman waking up on Jashari, a pregnant dyke. Tried to visualize the moment she insisted her wound be restored. “Taylor? They hate imperfection so much—why did they let you keep your scar?”

  “They had no choice, Leslie. I was a Returnee. An Incurable. Crazy by definition.”

  “But why couldn’t they refuse? Just say, ‘It’s against our philosophy, our medical code…something?”

  Taylor cocked an eyebrow at me. I read her expression: Are you the dumbest person ever revived on Jashari? What she actually said was, “Leslie, don’t you understand how much power Returnees have? How much power you have?”

  “Power? I’ve never felt so impotent! I can’t make sense of this culture. Can’t get any answers! Can’t figure out how to work here! Hell, I can’t even masturbate anymore!”

  Hemingway’s mouth twitched with amusement. “If I swear I’m not trying to seduce you, can I demonstrate something?”

  “I’ve got nothing left to lose. My mind’s long gone and my libido’s out to lunch. Have at it!”

  She leaned toward me and ran a light finger down my eyelids, closing them. Her lips brushed mine, soft as a spring breeze, while one hand found my breasts. After a heartbeat, my nipples went hard. Almost immediately, sweet, familiar moisture began to seep between my thighs.

  My eyes flew open and Taylor pulled back. “Could you have come, Leslie? If I’d continued?”

  “Christ, yes! For the first time since I’ve been here! Why did you stop?”

  “Because this is only our first date.”

  I swatted at Hemingway, who quit kidding around. “It was just a demonstration, remember? Something I want you to know about what’s happened here. Besides, you and I are not a fated meeting, my
friend—except indirectly, since I’m Bahji’s mother.”

  “I can’t fucking believe this!” Out of habit, I reached down to button my shirt. And blushed when my fingers hit bare flesh. How had I forgotten I was actually naked?

  Taylor opened her mouth, but whatever she was on the verge of saying was lost. Because Bahji had burst into the room, dark eyes huge in a stark white face. “Mom! Belladonna’s gone!”

  An odd thing happened just then: I channeled Mer, speaking in the uber-reasonable tone she used with kindergartners. “Sweetheart, Belladonna can’t be gone—she doesn’t have a bracelet. She’s probably hiding. Let’s look.”

  But even as I reassured Bahji, terror shot through me. This was a society without locks—hadn’t my bracelet admitted me everywhere? So anyone could have crept into Bahji’s room while we were eating dinner. Anyone could have stolen Belladonna. Who was a secret no longer.

  Though I didn’t understand what was at stake, the problem was clearly serious. Taylor and I exchanged bleak glances then surged into Bahji’s bedroom. Where there were a million hiding places for an animal that didn’t choose to be found. As I flailed away, scrabbling through vines, peering into treetops, I heard Bahji’s voice, verging on hysteria. “Mom, she always comes when I call her—you know she does!”

  I gave it my best shot for thirty or forty minutes. Because searching was preferable to admitting defeat. But the rainforest was far larger than I’d grasped, seemingly unbounded. If Belladonna was hiding, not missing, she could stay lost indefinitely. When I finally made my way back to the waterfall, Bahji was already there, slumped in despair. I sat beside her and pulled that bony little body close. We waited in silence till Taylor joined us.

  She’d gone even paler than Bahji and her scar blazed, jagged as lightning. “Leslie, it’s late—you must be exhausted. Can you find your way home?”

  Even I, who’d met her so recently, knew she was faking nonchalance. “Taylor Hemingway! If you think I’m leaving just when things are getting interesting, you’re nuts!”

  “Sorry if we bored you.”

  That kiss flashed through my mind. “Not at all. And I couldn’t possibly leave now.”

  “You don’t know what you’re taking on. This is…culturally impermissible…and potentially dangerous. Something is very, very wrong…”

  “So I should let you handle it solo? Not worry my pretty little head about it? Sorry, babe—that’s not my style.”

  Arguing would take time. Taylor decided to cut her losses. “All right, Leslie. You’re the nexus of this thing anyway. Maybe it’s right for you to be here.”

  She turned her attention to Bahji. “When we go out, you must stay with me—no matter how much you want to join the festival.”

  The girl nodded, head bobbling loosely on her thin neck. I grabbed Taylor’s arm and swung her toward me. “We can’t take Bahji! You said this might be dangerous!”

  “Shall I leave her here? In a place that’s already been violated? Besides, Belladonna would respond to Bahji before anyone else.” Taylor knelt down. “We’ll get her back, baby. I promise you. But it might not be tonight.”

  And she probably won’t be alive. The thought sprang full-blown to my brain. I bit my tongue to hold back the words.

  We trudged upstairs. Taylor left us in the living room and went to fetch some gear. When she returned, she handed over a gadget that looked a lot like the antique flashlight Nana kept for emergencies. “It’s heat-seeking, Leslie. Just press the green key and scan with it. Search the area immediately around our house. If you think you’ve found something, stop and press the red button. That’ll signal me.”

  “Got it.”

  Then the three of us linked hands and stepped through the wall into the unknown.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The night swallowed Taylor and Bahji, leaving me alone, uncertain. As I leaned against a wall waiting for my eyes to adjust, a pale glow in the distance attracted my attention. It was much too early for the coming dawn, unlike anything I’d seen before. Then a faint swell of sound rose from the same quadrant, and my skin crawled. I wouldn’t venture that way, no matter what—not even if Belladonna herself appeared to lead me there. Because that light, that exultant chorus, could only be the culmination of ViLalah Jihar.

  The heat detector was weightless in my hand. When I switched it on, I gasped aloud. Like the flashlight it resembled, its rays formed a cone-shaped beam. But rather than casting a wavery luminescence over the landscape, this device produced a total absence of darkness. Which was a very different matter. At the same time, I guessed that an outside observer would see no incriminating brightness.

  To confirm the theory, I scanned the environment. Not a trace of Taylor or Bahji, yet they too were using detectors. Pushing myself into action, I searched the nearby terrain, then worked outward. Had I walked for thirty minutes? Ninety? I didn’t know.

  Suddenly, the instrument came alive in my hand. Some source of warmth lay ahead, and the closer I got the more intense the vibration. I began to run. Whatever I’d found was obscured by a rise of dunes. Just then, I remembered Taylor’s order to signal if I was successful. Stopping dead in my tracks, I pressed the alert function.

  I heard Bahji first, of course—light of foot, but incapable of stealth. When the eager pair joined me, Taylor put one hand on my arm. “Where?” she mouthed. I swiveled her detector toward my discovery. Which made Hemingway double over with noiseless laughter…laughter that quickly segued into ragged sobs. When she regained control, she shook her head. “Go check it out.”

  I was more annoyed than puzzled. The response from the detector was undeniable, stronger and stronger. When I finally scaled the top of the rise, I found my target. Not Belladonna, but a massive black monolith, pointing skyward. Even so far away, I felt the absorbed heat from two suns radiating off it. The thing was tall and narrow, so rugged it appeared to be a natural formation. I couldn’t begin to guess why it was here on this artificial planet.

  Dejected, I reversed course and made my way down the slope. When I aimed the detector toward the Hemingways, I finally understood Taylor’s negative reaction to my find. Because two humans huddled together created a far weaker vibration than that rock. A lone cat would scarcely register on the device—as an experienced operator must know. I slid down the last dune and stood before my friends. “Now what?”

  “We go home. Searching out here was a long shot. Someone’s taken Belladonna and we won’t find her—they’ll find us. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “Who’d have done this? Who’d even know about her? And why would anyone care?”

  She shrugged, plainly unwilling to speculate in her daughter’s presence. I pulled Hemingway upright, hoisted the child on my back and the three of us followed the beam of a heat detector to their house.

  By the time we arrived, sleep had plastered Bahji to my shoulder. We settled her in her hammock and returned to the living room. Taylor looked strained and gaunt, but I sensed a deepening resolve in her. She’d accepted the unthinkable. Now her highly trained mind was analyzing options. Though she probably wanted to work the problem in solitude, I wasn’t leaving just yet. She owed me some answers.

  I dropped into a chair uninvited. Taylor sank down nearby and cast a grim look at me. “Don’t hold back, Leslie.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Someone saw you with Belladonna. Followed you here. Invaded our home. Stole her.”

  “Who? Best guess.”

  “Not a native—it’s an unthinkable violation of Jashrine etiquette. It had to be a Returnee.”

  “Not just any Returnee, right? You know who it is.”

  “The possibilities form a very small field, but I’d be guessing if I named names.”

  “Okay, Taylor. Moving on: you said I was the ‘nexus of this thing.’ What did you mean? And what’s all this shit about fated meetings?” Before she could reply, I added, “Fair warning—I specialize in skeptical.”

  Heming
way ran an agitated hand through her hair. She’d long since lost the band that bound it. Now it formed a lively presence around her angular face. “I meant what I said, Leslie—you are central to certain events. And we have been expecting you. But this isn’t mystical gobbledygook. Our expectations are based on solid mathematical calculations.”

  “In words of one syllable?”

  “You want infinite complexity reduced to absurd simplicity.”

  “Try! I deserve to know what’s going on!”

  “Yeah, you do. It’s just not that easy to explain. Let me get something to drink. This will take a while.”

  By the time Taylor returned with a teapot and bowls, I was calmer…or maybe I was just too spent to sustain my irritation. I sipped slowly as she began to speak.

  “There’s something akin to a prophecy about us Returnees, Leslie. Or rather, one of us. It is and isn’t about you specifically. The prediction is based on probability theory and scientific projection.”

  I tried to look like I was following her. “Go on.”

  “Jasharians know—have almost always known—that someone, sometime, will radically alter this planet’s carefully contrived equilibrium. That much is certain, though I can’t explain it better. No offense, but you lack sufficient theoretical background. So for the sake of this discussion, please just accept it.”

  “That’s a pretty big leap of faith.”

  Taylor waved away my interruption. “The prediction’s several thousand years old now, which means the likelihood of its realization increases with each passing day. Jasharians suspect, believe—fear—that you are the predestined change agent.”

  My mind was reeling. Like anyone who’s lived a fair number of years, I’d come to terms with my limitations. I was bright, but not a genius. Talented, but not a prodigy. Capable of action when properly motivated, but far from heroic. How the fuck had I gotten caught up in something this bizarre? “So why did they revive me, Taylor? Why not let me sleep forever?”

  “Didn’t you study classical literature in school? All efforts to escape fate only hasten tragedy. If you are the anticipated person—and every sign points to it—you’re a juggernaut, an inexorable force. You’ll wreak havoc on Jashari, whether you mean to or not. No matter how hard you try to avoid it, every move will lead you deeper into revolution.”