Jane Doesn't Save the World

by Erin Grey

  “You lost him, babe,” said Sandy. “See how his eyes glazed over in the manner of bored males worldwide?”

  “Now that we have empirical evidence,” interjected Jasper, “it would be appropriate to change ‘worldwide’ to ‘inter-galactically’, or a similarly fitting term.”

  I reigned in the linguistic fervour. Jasper could go on for hours if I let him.

  “You must be … rather smart,” I said.

  “Yes, well, um …” The perplexed look persisted.

  “Well, we’ve established that you enjoy a good, untrue story,” I said, but the end of the sentence got muddled in a yawn. The events of the past day descended like a black cloud of weariness, and Zhian was quick to notice my wilting form.

  “You’re tired,” he said.

  I conjured a wan smile. “I could use some sleep. It’s been a weird day.”

  Zhian didn’t smile back. “I should have thought of that sooner. This has all been too much for you.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. He’d been kind. I didn’t want him to feel bad. “But I won’t say no to a bed.”

  “Think it’s safe to sleep?” asked Sandy. “Zhian may be cute, but that doesn’t mean I trust him.”

  “He didn’t hurt us when we were unconscious,” Gwendolyn said.

  “So tired,” said Mitch.

  “The necessity outweighs the risk,” Jasper concluded.

  I had thought that there was more to the ship, possibly the bedrooms containing double beds I had read about in so many sci-fi novels. I had spied another door beside the bathroom and assumed it led to the rest of the ship. But Zhian’s response to my query crushed any hope of solitude.

  He reached towards a wall and pulled down a hatch. From it he drew out what at first looked like a net and shortly thereafter turned out to be a hammock, which he then attached to a hook on the opposite wall.

  “That’s where you sleep?” I asked, trying not to look disappointed.

  “Yes,” replied Zhian cheerfully. “But you need it more than me. Anyway, Psych reruns will be on in a minute.”

  I motioned towards the door I had rested my misplaced hopes on. “I thought that led to more of the ship.”

  “It does. The food preparation area and hull are accessed through there.” He hesitated, brow wrinkling. “You don’t want any, do you? Food, I mean?”

  I was going to say ‘no’, but BIOS abruptly informed me that I was well overdue for sufficient fuel to facilitate optimal functionality and systems repair, so instead I said, “I could eat a little.”

  “Of course; I should have thought of that.” Zhian jumped up, cheeks rusting over, and opened the mysterious door into the tiny kitchen area. I followed him, and there was barely enough space for both of us to stand inside. He pulled some unidentifiable packages from a cupboard and placed them in an even less identifiable machine. There was a ‘bing’ in the tradition of microwaves everywhere, and he handed me a plate of multi-coloured mush.

  It tasted like stick. Dry, brown stick. The texture didn’t help it go down. I found the best method of getting it in was to swallow quickly with as little tongue action as possible, thus avoiding much of the flavour, then following up with a sip of water. My stomach rolled uncomfortably, but I managed to keep the nausea at bay with some deep breathing.

  “What’s Eorthe like?” I asked after a few gulps of goo. “I mean, does it have a whole lot of different countries and languages like Earth?”

  “Almost as many, I think. But the physical differences between races are much greater than on Earth. It’s probably got something to do with the atmosphere and gravity on Eorthe. It allows for greater variety in gene expression. And although there are many languages, like Earth, we have a few common languages that most speak for purposes of commerce and politics.”

  “Ah, politics. You have that too, then?”

  “Yes. Wherever there is anything of value to fight over, there must be politics.”

  “I dislike politics,” said Jasper. “Such a dreadful waste of time.”

  “How did you manage a whole year away from home?” I asked Zhian. “Far from family and friends?”

  Zhian chewed thoughtfully. I knew he was stalling because nothing he’d taken from the food preparation area needed chewing. “There’s a lot of turmoil in my country. Suffering. My heart needed a break.”

  “He feels pain like me,” said Mitch. “Hurts in my chest.”

  “Like when we think about him,” Gwendolyn said.

  “Don’t!” said Mitch.

  I rubbed the top of my breastbone absent-mindedly. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “What’s going on there?”

  “War,” Zhian answered quietly.

  “Your country is at war?”

  “Not right now, but a hundred years ago, we were,” said Zhian, eyes on his plate. “And although the war ended, the hardship was only beginning.”

  “What was the war about?”

  Zhian went for the record in forehead creases. “It’s a humiliating part of Caruthia’s history. I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “A hundred years is a long time,” I said. “It’s only history.”

  A brief flash of amusement flickered across his face before he assumed an expression of stoic neutrality. “Only history,” he echoed. He adjusted his posture with a shuffle of his feet and began his tale.

  “Caruthia … was never a strong country. It’s not large, and its neighbours have the benefit of fertile land and fair weather. The largest bordering country—Fredzenberg—has been uncontested in military might and technological advances for centuries. Conditions in Caruthia are harsh: freezing winters, poor soil, few natural resources. For centuries, Caruthia attempted to infiltrate Fredzenberg to gain knowledge that could have greatly improved the standard of living.”

  Zhian’s voice turned hard and angry. “But time and again, we were beaten back like dogs. Fredzenberg had no interest in sharing its success with Caruthia, or giving Caruthia the means to rise above its role of scraping servant. Caruthia’s other neighbours didn’t fare any better.

  “But one day, a great leader stepped forward: Azhni of Synpa. He envisioned Caruthia as a great country in its own right—no longer crushed by its neighbours, but flourishing.

  “He built an army, allied with Jenju and Badzia, and invaded Fredzenberg. It’s still considered one of the greatest military campaigns of all time.” He snorted. “Depending what history book you read, of course.

  “However, Fredzenberg formed its own alliances. And they did not value honour or decency. Using treachery and underhandedness, they overcame Caruthia’s armies, forcing them back to their borders. Azhni was executed and Caruthia stripped of its military forces, left open to the caprice of any conquering nation. Harsh treaties and trade embargos were imposed, driving Caruthia into decades of poverty and economic hardship.”

  I shivered. “That’s awful. And now? Surely they’ve overcome many of those problems in the last hundred years?”

  “It is difficult to throw off the weight of the past. So much mismanagement and corruption has been perpetrated by the guardian nations. My people suffer.”

  The despair on his face made me want to hug him, but I held back. “I’m so sorry that’s the case. Things are bad in South Africa too. There’s too much bad history, bad blood. Corruption has crippled the economy; most live in poverty. And the rampant xenophobia threatens to bring civil war.”

  Zhian looked up from his study of the floor. “You want to return to that?”

  “I don’t have a choice,” I answered. “I’m my family’s ticket out of there.”

  Zhian frowned. “You’re a piece of paper in lieu of payment?”

  I grimaced. “It’s a figure of speech. It means they need me to get away. Like in the movies where people go …” —I hesitated— “… to the movies. You buy a ticket, and you show that to the usher so you can get inside? Without it, they won’t let you in.” I examined Zhian’s face for signs of comprehens
ion. “Without me, my family won’t have the money they need to get out of the country. They’ll be stripped of everything they own, maybe beaten and killed.” Images of bloodied bodies and burning homes blurred my vision, images I’d seen on the news. “It’s happened before in neighbouring countries.”

  “I understand,” said Zhian with a twisted grimace. “Still, I don’t feel happy about sending you back to that.”

  “My living situation is not your problem,” I said firmly. “Anyway, it sounds like Caruthia is just as bad, if not worse.”

  “I’m not taking you to Caruthia,” Zhian said softly.

  “Oh,” I said. “Well, that’s good.”

  “I would never put you in danger.” Zhian’s eyes fixed on mine, and his jaw clenched.

  “Intense much?” said Sandy.

  “I appreciate that,” I said. “I really do. But the sooner you get rid of me, the better for you.”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to help you,” said Zhian. “I’ll fix this, Jane.” He set aside his bowl. “You need to sleep, and MASH will start as soon as Psych is finished. Let me help you with that hammock.”

  8

  The bit where the novelty wears off

  I’ve read stories about women being accidentally abducted by handsome men who then charm the pants off them (usually literally), and they all live happily ever after, and I think, ‘sounds like fun’.

  But as it turns out, abduction is no fun at all, no matter how good-looking the guy responsible. Because when you get abducted, you don’t get a chance to pack your toiletries. Or a change of undies.

  A lack of deodorant in a confined space is no joke. Neither is trying to manage thick shoulder-length hair with no shampoo, conditioner, or even a hairbrush. And don’t get me started on what a lack of proper face wash does to your skin.

  But none of those are as bad as hitting your period without painkillers or … well, let’s just call them necessities, shall we?

  Blood and gore are all very exciting when you’re watching an epic battle between the forces of good and evil. But nobody finds them nearly as interesting when they’re dripping down someone’s leg while the person growls at you for being irredeemably (and in cold blood) devoid of chocolate.

  I don’t know what they teach men on planet Eorthe, but it obviously doesn’t include How to Handle PMS (and Other Military Strategies)2. I can’t even begin to describe the heart-chilling awkwardness around finding something suitable to prevent me leaving a trail of apparent carnage wherever I went.

  “You need what?” asked a blank-faced Zhian.

  I looked at the metal ceiling, the blinking lights on the walls, the voice talent competition on the right-most screen—anywhere but in Zhian’s eyes. “Something to wear … to stop the … it’s that time of the month, okay?”

  “What time of the month?”

  “The time when girls … women … look, don’t you have sisters?”

  “No.”

  “What about a girlfriend?”

  Zhian’s face turned from confused to irritated. “What does that have to do with what month it is?”

  “It’s a saying,” I snapped.

  “This is a nightmare,” said Sandy. “Maybe Eorthe women don’t even get periods.”

  “Every month, at about the same time, women get …” I flapped my hand around in uterus-oriented circles. “They bleed.”

  “Bleed?” exclaimed Zhian, leaping to his feet. “You’re injured?”

  I put up my palms to stop him examining me for wounds. “No, it’s not like that. The bleeding is normal.”

  “How can bleeding be normal?” Zhian cast suspicious looks at the protective hand I’d laid across my abdomen, which cramped violently in response. My face must have screwed up in pain, because in the next moment, Zhian was at my side with a hand on my back and another on my arm.

  “You just lost all your colour.” Zhian’s hand tightened on my upper arm, and he nudged me towards a fold-down chair. “You should sit. You’re not well.”

  “Damn right I’m not well,” I yelled. “I have my period, and I have endometriosis3, so on top of the normal crap a woman has to take, I have to have all the fun extra pain that goes with freaking internal growths and cysts. And I can’t sit down—” I yanked my arm from Zhian’s insistent grasp “—because I’ll leave bloodstains all over the only pair of jeans I have and all over your chair.” I burst into tears. “You don’t even have any chocolate,” I sobbed.

  “Shh, it’s okay.” Zhian rubbed my back and frantically searched the room for inspiration.

  “It’s not okay!” I shrieked. “I need a pad! Something to absorb the blood!”

  “Right, okay.” Zhian was as red as rusted iron at the coast. “Give me a minute.”

  His solution was surprisingly efficient, involving bandages and paperclips in a particularly ingenious application. But when he put both hands on my stomach and closed his eyes, I batted him away in horror.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” I screeched.

  Zhian stumbled, catching hold of a hook in the wall to prevent himself from careening into the control panels. “I wanted to help. With the pain.”

  “Rubbing doesn’t work,” I responded miserably. “What I need is some really strong drugs.”

  Even after Zhian concocted a powerful brew of painkillers and sedatives and let me watch chick flicks from my hammock, I couldn’t help thinking that I wasn’t even supposed to be alive right now and this whole situation was unfair in the extreme.

  “I’m really sorry,” said Zhian.

  “For what?” I asked.

  “That you have to go through this … this …” he gestured wildly towards my lower half.

  “Oh, that. Sucks to be a girl, I guess.” I snuggled closer into the cozy blanket he’d assigned me.

  Zhian stared at it with a thoughtful expression. “You said heat helps?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you allow me to try something?”

  I sat up straighter. “What kind of something?”

  He produced a silver sheet about the size of a chess board and placed it on my tummy. Then he spread both hands over it and pressed gently. I froze, his proximity spiking Mitch’s anxiety and Sandy’s irritation like heat on mercury. Warmth prickled across my skin and seeped into my muscles, soothing the dull ache left by the painkillers.

  After a minute or so, Zhian lifted his hands and sent me a shy half-smile. “Does that help?”

  “It does,” I answered quickly, placing a hand where his had been to anchor the sensation. “It really does.”

  He watched my hands instead of my eyes. “It should stay warm for a few hours. Let me know if it gets cold and I’ll reactivate it.”

  “Should I keep pressing on it?”

  “No need. Just hold it in place.”

  “Thanks,” I said, but Gwendolyn felt it wasn’t enough. “You’re being so nice to me. I’m sorry about all this. I don’t like getting in the way, being a burden.”

  Zhian frowned. “You’re not a burden, and you’re not in the way.”

  “He hasn’t figured out that logic doesn’t work on anyone here except Jasper,” said Sandy.

  “I understand logic,” said Gwendolyn.

  “Really? You’re on a sinking ship. You have a choice between grabbing a puppy or a chest of food to take with you in the lifeboat. What do you do?”

  “Oh, I don’t like sinking ships,” said Gwendolyn. “But I do like puppies!”

  “Case in point,” said Sandy.

  “I’m glad you feel that way,” I said to Zhian.

  “It’s nothing.” He waved a hand in a very human gesture of dismissal. I wondered if it was the TV he’d been watching that had influenced his behaviour or if all Eorthans were like that. “Do you want to watch 16 Candles next?”

  We were well out of Earth’s broadcasting range, so we’d been reduced to watching Zhian’s recordings: mainly 1980s sitcoms and films. Not that I could complain; I w
as a fan of the era after all.

  I snuggled down into the hammock—as much as snuggling into a hammock is possible—and let Molly Ringwald distract me from the ridiculousness of my situation.

  * * *

  By the time the Uterine gods were finally appeased and Zhian had stopped tiptoeing around me in fear of his male parts, withdrawal had well and truly set in. While the painkillers had eased Mitch’s anxiety enough for me to sleep, they weren’t enough to quell the rising panic over getting home in time and whether or not my family was coping and how I was going to remove the rough little white hair growing out of my chin and what would happen when we landed and what if I got caught on Eorthe and whether the stray dog I saw on the street a week ago ever found food. As soon as I stopped taking the drugs for pain, the night sweats began, not great to begin with, but horrid in an enclosed space with a non-water shower. Instead of supplying a refreshing flow for washing, the shower sprayed a disinfectant mist that you wiped off with a small cloth. It was a miracle the spaceship didn’t smell a lot worse. Or maybe my nose had just gotten used to it.

  Being trapped in a tiny space for days and days with no hint of fresh air or sunlight only aggravated the anxiety and depression. Guilt and despair oozed from the deep dark place Mitch guarded, seesawing with the compulsion to obey Jasper’s urgings to ‘follow the plan’.

  Gwendolyn felt hopeful that we might find something on Eorthe that would magically fix everything. Sandy snorted dejectedly at the thought and imagined alien versions of motorbikes and cider (she’s never liked beer).

  Time dragged, an ancient tortoise crossing a muddy field. A sickly ancient tortoise. It became harder and harder to stay out of my own head and connected to the world outside. The voices got louder, more divided and irritated with each other, quicker to dissension.

  And then Eorthe appeared through the main window. An exquisite indigo planet, so similar to Earth, except for the thick white mass of clouds that belted its centre like a hula hoop. Zhian pointed out the two moons, and I was vaguely titillated to find them a pearlescent mauve rather than grey.