Jane Doesn't Save the World

by Erin Grey

  “We’re coming in for landing,” he said. “You better strap yourself in.”

  I flipped down a wall-mounted seat and pulled the orange safety harness around me. It had more straps than a car seatbelt, but it didn’t feel substantial enough for plummeting through atmospheres.

  The descent was much smoother than the meteor-encased-in-flames-burning-a-crater-into-the-planet-crust I expected, and more like a lightly turbulent aeroplane landing. An unfamiliar language leaked out of the headset Zhian wore. Flight control, Jasper supposed.

  And then we were there. Planet Eorthe.

  2 Other titles they were missing included The Importance of Having Chocolate, The Seven Habits of Highly Hygienic People, and Spaceship Cooking for Two.

  3 A delightfully bloody condition where the cells that line the uterus do not stay put like good little cells but plan complicated escapes and attach themselves to the outside of the uterus, the walls of the pelvic cavity, and any organs they pass in their travails, then proceed to bleed and shed themselves on a monthly basis, building up neat little piles of endometrial tissue that cause pain, blockages, and a tendency to hate the universe. Every second person who’s heard of the disease takes great pleasure in telling you that the cure is pregnancy. That’s like saying you can cure AIDS by standing on your head.

  9

  Before

  10

  The bit with clear skies and purple trees

  Emerging from the cramped space that had been home for twelve days was as close as I could imagine to being born. I had the urge to scream and suck in fresh air and cry while someone gave me a decent bath and wrapped me in a clean blanket.

  Instead of disembarking on the landing strip, we pulled into a hangar. Through the viewing window I could see what must have been a control tower: an unusually tall structure that tapered towards the top, where a window-encircled box perched. A smaller building stood next to it which Jasper assumed to be the home of customs or passport control or whatever bureaucracy delimited travel in these parts. It was a rather pretty construction of dainty hexagons stacked into a dome-like shape. Each hexagon held a slit of glass, giving the impression of a surface made of lace.

  Of course, all of that was positively normal compared to the sky behind.

  “The sky isn’t blue,” said Gwendolyn.

  “No,” agreed Sandy. “It’s more of a pale purple. Weird.”

  “What if we can’t breathe the air?” Mitch panicked while Zhian prepared to open the doors.

  “We’ve been breathing the same air as Zhian for nearly two weeks,” snapped Sandy, worn thin by being trapped in a tiny capsule for so long. “Obviously we need the same atmosphere.”

  A few gulps of the outside air proved Sandy right.

  We had to walk a fair distance between the hangar and the lacy building, which gave Jasper the opportunity to analyse the alien surroundings.

  “The colour of the sky implies that the atmosphere here is different to Earth,” said Jasper. “Therefore, the light is scattered in a manner that favours violet wavelengths. And yet, we can breathe. Hmmm.”

  “It’s so pretty,” squealed Gwendolyn, and I had to suppress the urge to fling out my arms and spin around. “I love it!”

  “It is certainly refreshing after weeks of metal and flashing screens,” said Jasper.

  “Trees are all wrong,” said Mitch as I eyed the varying shades of purple foliage. “Should be green.”

  “It appears that the predominant pigment is anthocyanin instead of chlorophyll,” said Jasper.

  I quickly focused my attention on the building we were approaching. There were no other signs of civilization in view.

  Zhian picked up the pace, clearly eager to get to … well, I wasn’t sure where we were aiming to get to, but Zhian definitely wanted to get there.

  “What if Zhian’s not a friend?” worried Mitch. “What if he locks us up? Cuts us open to see in?”

  “You mean dissection,” said Jasper. “I doubt he would have treated Jane so well if that was his plan. It is more likely we will be stopped by a border official and refused entry.”

  Both fears were unfounded. Although Zhian shielded me from view with his body, the only official-looking person present didn’t even lift her eyes from beneath her butter-coloured fringe, fully occupied with the device in her hands. She looked completely human, except for the yellow-gold sheen of her skin and the deeper gold of her metallic irises.

  Beyond the exit doors, we approached some spherical contraptions lined up in a row. Through the windows in the white metal front and sides, I could make out dark blue padded seats and a control panel.

  “I presume these are vehicles for transportation,” concluded Jasper.

  He was proved right when Zhian held out a plastic disc and previously invisible doors lifted up from the sides of the vehicle. We climbed inside, and he nonchalantly twiddled the variety of gears and levers to manoeuvre us out of the parking space and onto a narrow road.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Somewhere safe,” said Zhian. “Where we can figure out how to help you.”

  “Safe is just another word for boring,” sighed Sandy.

  “Request more information, Jane,” instructed Jasper.

  “Too tired,” said Mitch.

  Too sick of wearing the same T-shirt and jeans (alternating with one of Zhian’s over-sized shirts and going commando while my undies dried), too discouraged from almost two weeks without meds or creature comforts. I just wanted a way to get clean and some food that wasn’t mush.

  “Oh hell,” said Sandy. “I hope the mush was just space rations and not the standard cuisine around here.”

  “Hungry,” said Mitch.

  After a few kilometres of trees, I dozed off. The jolt of Zhian’s abrupt deceleration and halt shook me to consciousness. It took a moment for me to register that I really was awake and not still dreaming, because outside the light had dimmed and the sky faded from pale lilac to bright violet to deep indigo.

  “It appears that sunset has just passed,” Jasper observed.

  >BIOS Active_

  >Time of landing: Unknown

  >Algorithm for calculating Eorthe time: Unavailable

  >Calculating current time_

  >Unable to calculate current time. Please reset internal clock.

  “Perhaps there is the equivalent of a wristwatch you could borrow,” suggested Jasper.

  “Why don’t you file that thought under ‘more things that really aren’t as important as clean clothes and a decent drink,’” said Sandy.

  When I got out of the vehicle, the house took me by surprise. Loosely gothic in design, it sprawled across what felt like acres; I couldn’t view the whole building without turning my head. Four stories high with crenellations and gargoyles and turrets—I fully expected to see Bertha Rochester falling to her death any second.

  Zhian pushed open the front door, and the musty smell of old, neglected buildings wafted out. He strode in, dropping personal belongings unceremoniously on console tables and other horizontal surfaces. Then he called out something which was probably ‘Hello!’ or ‘I’m back’, judging by the tone.

  From the dingy recesses of the dark hallway came a young woman on tiptoe, as though she’d been afraid to disturb the silence while the house was empty and wasn’t sure if it was alright to make a noise yet. She halted abruptly when she saw me, appalled. Her hand flew to her chest, and she gaped. When she turned a questioning face towards Zhian, he let out a string of hushed Caruthian. I took the opportunity to admire her golden-brown pallor. The low light caught her angles and made them shimmer like burnished red copper.

  “This is Idesta,” Zhian said to me in English. “She’s no danger to you.”

  The look Idesta directed at me said otherwise, but I raised a hand in greeting. She flinched away, as though I’d threatened to hit her. Zhian quickly stepped towards her, presumably explaining I was not going to hurt her or pass on any flesh-eating dis
eases, because she relaxed her shoulders and dropped her defensive stance. Her eyes examined me from top to bottom.

  “Gee, lady, we’re not a horse you just bought,” grumbled Sandy.

  “It’ll be nice to have a girl-friend,” said Gwendolyn excitedly. “She looks about twenty, same as me.”

  “You’re twenty, but Jane’s thirty,” said Sandy. “Idesta can only see what’s on the outside.” She hesitated. “Like most people, I suppose.”

  Idesta gestured at me and spoke to Zhian in an agitated manner. He quickly switched his gaze to my face, and his brows creased. It was as though he was seeing me for the first time.

  “She is … concerned about your skin,” he said cautiously4.

  Ah. My skin. Not having any medical support for my anxiety disorder, I had gone to town with my next best option: skin picking. My face bore the brunt of it and, not having seen my reflection for some time, I could only imagine the horrific mess of open sores and scabs. The redness only grew with my embarrassment.

  “She asks if you are injured or sick,” Zhian continued translating, although Idesta’s words went on a good deal longer than his.

  “No, please tell her I am not sick, only that I … um … got a bit scratched up on the way over. And I don’t … shine like the rest of you.”

  The young lady listened to Zhian’s explanation and then tossed up her chin suspiciously. Her short reddish-brown curls caught my attention as they bounced in time with her movement. She held out her hand to me.

  “Go with her,” said Zhian. “She has something that can help you.”

  I panicked at the thought of separating from my caregiver of the past two weeks. “But I can’t understand her … she can’t understand me!”

  “You’ll be fine.” Zhian dismissed me with the back of his hand. “I’ll see if I have a translator lying around somewhere. She’ll take care of you.”

  “But what about—”

  Idesta didn’t let me finish, dragging me up the stairs while Zhian absconded through a door off the hallway.

  I was led a short way down the poorly-lit passage at the top of the stairs. Thickly textured, unframed landscapes covered the pale walls, placed at odd angles that followed no pattern or rhythm.

  “Those pictures are not straight,” said Jasper. “They need to be rectified.”

  “Oh, but I don’t think we’re allowed to touch anything,” said Gwendolyn. “We’re visitors. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

  My fingers itched.

  “They ought to be straight,” said Jasper.

  Idesta reached the end of the passage and hauled me into a small bedroom. It looked to be a spare room; the furniture was sparse and the bed not made. Thrusting me into a nearby chair—a large, round, ornately-carved bathtub of a thing—Idesta indicated that I should stay put. When I stood up, she pushed me back down into the chair and commanded me as emphatically as her hands and tone of voice could manage.

  I waited for her to leave the room before giving my surroundings a good going-over.

  >BIOS Active_

  >Scanning_

  >Cataloguing items_

  >Cataloguing complete

  >Items found: bed, closet, tall mirror (free-standing), window (exterior, shuttered), armchair (style_1), armchair (style_2)

  All the furniture sported elaborate etchings—no two designs the same—cut into wood of every shade. Brightly-coloured woven rugs covered the stone floor. They did not match the paintings on the wall. I spun around slowly, taking in all the objects together. None of the colours matched.

  “Doesn’t feel right,” said Mitch. “Uncomfortable.”

  My abdomen tightened as anxious, unsettled energy boiled up.

  “Well, someone has too much money and not enough conviction,” said Sandy.

  “What do you mean?” asked Gwendolyn.

  “Look at this place,” said Sandy. “Paintings on all the walls, high-quality furniture—this would cost a fortune on Earth. But whoever bought it doesn’t know what they want. Are they going for ornate? Rustic? Cool tones? Warm tones? This room is all over the place. So was the rest of the house we’ve seen so far. Lots of money to blow, no sense of purpose.”

  “I thought Zhian said Caruthia was poor,” said Gwendolyn, perplexed.

  “Yes, but he also said he wasn’t taking Jane to Caruthia,” said Sandy. “We’re in another country, maybe one that’s not so hard-up. And Zhian is clearly not doing too badly for himself.”

  I pushed open an inside door to find a simple bathroom with fittings similar in design to the ones on Zhian’s craft, but sturdier in terms of workmanship. BIOS couldn’t identify the material used; it wasn’t metal and plastic like on the spaceship, but it wasn’t porcelain or anything I recognized either.

  I didn’t dawdle in my exploration, not wanting to be found away from my assigned chair, but I had only just re-seated myself when the General returned. I didn’t know if Zhian had even told her my name.

  “You Idesta,” I said, pointing to her, then placing a palm on my chest. “I’m Jane.”

  She tilted her head quizzically, laying out some small jars and cloths on the chair opposite to mine.

  I tried pointing to the door that led out of the room. “Zhian,” I said, then pointed to myself again. “Jane.”

  That did the trick. She smiled sweetly and said, ‘Jane’. Then she raised an elegant hand to her breast. “Idesta.” She said the name with great pride, and I muffled a giggle.

  “Idesta,” I repeated carefully. “Pretty name.”

  Idesta nodded and turned back to her thingamajigs. First, she took a damp cloth and brusquely wiped my face. Then she opened a little jar of foul-smelling gunk and dabbed it onto each sore. It stung but then turned cool and soothed away the pain.

  When she was finished, she held up her finger in a stern ‘don’t move’ signal and turned to a chest at the base of the bed. She pulled out various linens and began to make it up, mumbling to herself. I would have risked her wrath to offer help, but I was much too absorbed in her swift, capable movements, her copper skin glinting as she smoothed and tucked. The long, draped garment she wore danced around her ankles, but the soft peach colour clashed with the hard, metallic sheen of her arms.

  She patted the final pillow in place and nodded to herself. Then she reached into the chest again and pulled out a thin blanket. She handed it to me and pointed to the bathroom.

  “I think she wants you to use it as a towel,” said Sandy.

  “But what about clothes?” asked Gwendolyn. “I simply can’t keep wearing these.”

  I pulled at my grubby T-shirt and wrinkled my nose, trying to communicate my disgust.

  Idesta clicked her tongue at me and herded me into the bathroom, closing the door on her way out. Just as I discovered a hook on which to hang the towel blanket, Idesta called through the door and then came in. She handed me two small jars like the one containing the dung-scented face cream. Pointing to one, she touched her hair. Then she pointed to the other and motioned to her body.

  “Real shampoo?” squeaked Gwendolyn. “And body wash?”

  “She can boss me around as much as she likes if those jars deliver,” said Sandy.

  Jasper frowned. “I am not certain it is safe to use these alien products. Have you never seen a slug doused with beer or salt?”

  “We’ll do a patch test first,” said Sandy dismissively.

  “Oh, Idesta’s leaving again,” observed Gwendolyn. “I hope she’s on her way to find something for us to wear. Her clothes are quite pretty. I like that pinafore-type dress—it’s so flowy!”

  “Not really my style,” said Sandy. “But the fitted top and leggings she’s got underneath aren’t bad.”

  “Anything’s better than this old T-shirt and jeans,” said Gwendolyn.

  The shower was heavenly, and Idesta’s potions slid over my skin like the world’s most luxurious beauty products. But that may have been the deprivation of the last 2 weeks talking.

&
nbsp; After I’d scrubbed myself red and rinsed repeatedly, I wrapped myself in the soft towel. It instantly heated and absorbed every drop of water. Waiting for me outside the bathroom was a pile of clothing. Boy, had I come a long way: shampoo, body wash, and clothes were the highlight of my existence at this point.

  The underwear was … not like anything I’d worn before. It was in the style of a leotard and made of a material not unlike spandex, but it thickened in all the regions you’d expect to need support. The placement of the supportive areas told me that the garment must be custom-made, but clearly not for me. It was a darn sight better than the long-abused underwear I had, though, so I made do.

  The top and leggings were less rigid in design and moulded comfortably to my frame. The overdress was a little more complicated to put on, but fortunately Idesta chose this time to reappear and help me fasten the chiton-like garment at the shoulders and waist. Then she re-applied the cream to my face and gave me a comb for my hair.

  It was the moment I had dreaded: time to look in the mirror.

  “Wow,” said Sandy. “I mean, seriously, WOW.”

  “You look pretty.” Gwendolyn sounded far too surprised for me to take her statement as a compliment.

  The person in front of me was not the same person I had seen last in the wall mirror of the rented apartment. I searched for a trace of recognition, but I may as well have been watching a video of a stranger.

  My hair was a rat’s nest as expected, but my skin was much smoother and clearer than I would have thought probable. The cream had been fast-acting. And I didn’t look too bad in Eorthe fashion either.

  “You have GOT to get some of that cream to take home!” squealed Gwendolyn.

  “Lord knows you need it,” said Sandy.

  “You appear to have lost weight,” said Jasper. “Perhaps the ship’s rations had a positive effect on your metabolism. If the calorific content is designed for the sedentary routine on the space craft, you would only have consumed what was necessary with no excess to be stored as fat. I am puzzled, however, over how you came to reduce in size.”