Jane Doesn't Save the World

by Erin Grey

  “He knows,” said Jasper. “He has every right to turn you in.”

  Mitch shifted uncomfortably, causing anxious ripples in my belly. “Don’t like it. S’not right. S’not safe.”

  “If you are imprisoned, we will never make it back to Earth on time,” said Jasper.

  My family …

  “I wish he was here,” said Gwendolyn. “He’d know what to do.”

  “Stop talking about him!” shouted Mitch.

  Ric disconnected my translator and immediately turned to Zhian, firing angry questions at him. I couldn’t follow a word of their rapid, increasingly tense conversation, but it was clear that Ric wasn’t happy.

  >BIOS ACTIVE_

  >Warning! Cortisol and adrenaline have exceeded safe levels. Anomalies may occur.

  “What are they saying?” fretted Gwendolyn. “Why are they upset? Did I do something wrong?”

  You’re wrong, whispered the Deep Dark. Mitch scrabbled to hold on to it.

  “Don’t feel right,” he moaned.

  My head ached. My heart pounded, each thud like a punch to the throat. I rubbed my temples and took deep, measured breaths, trying to slow everything down, loosen up.

  “This doesn’t look good,” said Sandy. “If he turns us in, we’re dead.”

  A crying sound rose from the back of my mind.

  “Where is that awful racket coming from?” asked Sandy.

  “Is there someone else in the house?” asked Gwendolyn.

  “No, the noise is in here with us,” said Sandy.

  “I believe it is—can it be the sound of a child?” said Jasper.

  “No children here,” said Mitch. “Never children here.”

  The wailing persisted, growing stronger. Then a tiny electric pop sounded, and the sentience of a small child burst into being.

  “Wanna go hooooome!” she wailed.

  “Where in the hell did you come from?” asked Sandy.

  “Wanna wanna wanna go hooooome!” was the unhelpful reply.

  “It does not appear to understand us,” said Jasper. “Perhaps we should attempt to calm it down?”

  “It looks sticky,” said Sandy.

  “Never children here,” insisted Mitch, confused. “Why here?”

  “There, there, child,” said Jasper, trying his inexpert hand at soothing. “No need for tears.”

  Unbelievably, the sobbing tapered off into a hiccup.

  “Wanna wanna chock-lit?” it asked.

  Gwendolyn melted. “Oh, it’s so cute! Let’s call it Chubby.”

  “That is not an appropriate name for a child,” said Jasper. “It shall be teased by other children. We must search for something more fitting.”

  “She is Emmy,” said Mitch.

  “What’s that?” asked Sandy.

  “Emmy,” he repeated. “She is Emmy.”

  The child gurgled and shifted her presence towards Mitch.

  “Emmy it is, then,” said Sandy.

  “Aw, look!” squealed Gwendolyn. “She’s smiling!”

  There had never been a child’s voice in my head. Something was very wrong.

  My internal crisis went unnoticed by the arguing Eorthans. Zhian had his hand on Ric’s shoulder, and he spoke in a low, emphatic voice. Finally, Ric pushed his hand away and reached for a tool about the size of a man’s hand and consisting of more pointy bits than I liked to see on an object being swiftly brought towards my head. I closed my eyes, which meant I jumped when the cold point of the device touched my scalp.

  I flinched again at the sting of insertion, but the pain faded quickly as the novelty of immediate and clear translation followed. It was like the difference between ice and water; one was clunky and inflexible while the other streamed smoothly. I was quite taken with the sounds I could emit using the transmitter.

  “What language is it translating me into?” I asked.

  “Caruthian,” answered Zhian.

  “How does it know English?”

  “It doesn’t.” Zhian cast a worried glance at Ric, but he was absorbed in working a machine on his desk and not paying attention to us. “It picks up the intended meaning from your speech centre and translates that. It bypasses your spoken words altogether.”

  Ric turned to Zhian and handed him a small chain with a hexagonal charm dangling off it. Zhian fastened it to my wrist.

  “It’s an identification device,” he explained. “Ric has created a cover identity to protect you in case you are discovered here.”

  “He knows, doesn’t he?” I said quietly.

  “We can trust him,” said Zhian with a brusque wave of his hand. He addressed Ric. “About that modifier—”

  “It’s a work in progress,” snapped Ric. “I said at the start it was going to be trial and error, if it can even be done.”

  “I can pay.”

  “I know, but if it’s not possible, it’s not possible. No amount of money will help.”

  Zhian looked about as happy as a cat whose freshly-caught bird had been taken away. I decided to kill the tension by pulling the focus onto me.

  “Zhian, why don’t you ask him about getting me back to Earth?”

  The tension was not killed. It remained as stubbornly thick as my thighs. In fact, my question added weight faster than all those chocolate lamingtons5 Mitch made me binge-eat.

  Zhian glared at me.

  “So it is what I think,” Ric said to Zhian, fists clenched at his sides.

  “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” Zhian barked. “We’ll leave you to your work. And” —he wrapped his hand around Ric’s wrist— “I’ll transfer a little more into your account out of appreciation for your discretion.”

  Ric nodded, lips firmly shut. Zhian thrust my borrowed scarf and hat into my hands, grabbed my elbow, and pulled me out of Ric’s house and into the plush street. I fumbled to put on the disguise while Zhian jerked me along in a manner designed to show me exactly how he felt about my interference.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurted. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t supposed to say anything to him. I thought he knew. I thought he was the kind of person who could help.”

  He threw me an anguished glance but didn’t say anything, just kept dragging me in the direction of his vehicle. Once we were inside, he started throwing the gears around like they were to blame for his mood.

  “You should ask him what his problem is,” said Sandy. “He was fine with Ric seeing your hair and eyes, making it obvious you’re not from here, but he’s not fine with talking about going home? Something’s off.”

  “It would not be polite to pry,” said Jasper. “He is our only hope of returning home, therefore, we must not question his methods.”

  “Wanna wanna go home,” whined Emmy.

  “Here, Emmy,” said Mitch. “Hug.”

  “Wanna chock-lit?” hazarded Emmy.

  I ventured into the void of awkwardness. “I really didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” I said to Zhian. “You’ve taken care of me so far, and I’m truly grateful. I thought Ric knew I was from Earth—he saw my skin and eyes, you said we could trust him—”

  “I told you that contact with Earth humans was prohibited. You didn’t think that speaking of deliberately travelling to Earth with the intention of making contact would put both of us in danger?”

  “Yeah, but he paid Ric to keep your visit quiet,” Sandy pointed out. “And what about that modifier thingy? He’s obviously into something dodgy.”

  “Speculation is unwise at this point,” said Jasper. “One must watch and wait before drawing wild conclusions.”

  “You know what your problem is, Jasper?” Sandy asked. “Your gut doesn’t work. And even if it did, you wouldn’t know how to listen to it.”

  I had never liked confrontation. It made me freeze up and not be able to think clearly. I stayed silent and listened to the buzz of agitation building in my head.

  “The penalty is among the highest,” said Zhian. “It can be death if the contact was intentio
nal or malicious against Eorthe in any way.”

  He threw a swift glance at me and puffed out the breath he’d been holding. “Until I can ensure your safety, we must exercise extreme caution at all times.”

  “Unless you can get me home first.”

  He was silent.

  “You are looking for a way to get me home, aren’t you?”

  More silence.

  The indescribable sound of growing panic echoed between us.

  “Aren’t you?” Panic made me shouty.

  “It’s not so easy—”

  “I don’t care if it requires a blood sacrifice! I want to go home! Did you think I’d forget I’m on an alien planet and my family are in danger if you just waited long enough?”

  Jasper pulled back on my spiralling emotion and substituted logical arguments.

  “I’m not from here, Zhian,” I snapped. “You’ve pointed out repeatedly that I put you and everyone who comes in contact with me in serious danger. Our priority needs to be getting me off this planet.”

  Zhian’s face stiffened. Lockdown had been initiated. “I’m doing everything I can,” he ground out.

  “Thank you,” I said, reigning in my rage as best I could. “I appreciate that.”

  * * *

  Back at the house, Sandy felt a powerful desire to slam the vehicle door. But I refrained, because I was raised to be polite, and even being madder than a spitting cobra cornered by a mongoose wasn’t going to make me forget my manners.

  I didn’t slam the front door or my room door either. I threw open the bedroom windows and brooded instead.

  I probably wouldn’t have gone down for dinner, but Idesta popped into my room, which meant that I wasn’t duller than hanging around the house by herself all day. I wasn’t in the mood to chat, but she wasn’t in the mood to let me sulk in peace.

  “Zhian says the translator’s fitted now,” she said.

  “Yeah.” I turned to face her and tried a weak smile.

  “Good. I mean, it’s not like I really needed to understand anything you said, but whatever.” She flopped onto the edge of the bed. “So now what?”

  “Oh,” said Gwendolyn, shocked at Idesta’s rudeness. “She seemed so nice when we couldn’t understand what she was saying.”

  “Told you I didn’t trust her,” said Sandy. “That plastic smile was a dead giveaway.”

  “I don’t know,” I said to Idesta, huffing and staring out of the window.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked. “You had plenty to say before you got the translator. Have a fight with your boyfriend?”

  “Zhian is not my boyfriend,” I said.

  “Sure,” said Idesta. “But he upset you, didn’t he?”

  I folded my arms. “He doesn’t want to help me get home,” I said.

  “Really?” The violent tone made me turn towards her. She draped herself across the bed and assumed a nonchalant air, but I could sense her tension. “How do you know?” She picked at the coverlet.

  I hesitated.

  “He did not directly state that he would not assist you to return,” said Jasper.

  “He wouldn’t discuss it with me,” I told Idesta.

  “Oh, that’s just Zhian.” She waved her hand dismissively. “He doesn’t know how to communicate. Most Synpese don’t.”

  “Synpese?”

  “People from Synpa. Zhian’s from there.”

  “Oh. Isn’t that racist?”

  She shrugged. “It’s what I’ve observed. Haven’t been proved wrong yet.”

  “I think that’s called confirmation bias …”

  “Why don’t you ask him about it?” she interrupted, clearly bored with my tangent. “Be specific. And use small words.”

  “Okay, Bossy Curls over here does NOT like Synpese, got it,” said Sandy. “Wouldn’t like to be on the wrong side of her borders.”

  “I thought Zhian said he was from Caruthia,” said Gwendolyn.

  “Zhian spoke of Synpa as part of Caruthia,” said Jasper.

  “Wait, isn’t Synpa where that famous war hero was from?” I asked Idesta. “The one who tried to liberate Caruthia by invading the surrounding countries?”

  “Ugh, who cares about history?” Idesta smacked the bed. “I’m trying to help you fix this thing with Zhian so you can get home! Did you hear anything I said?” She looked at my skull accusingly. “Did Ric install your translator correctly?”

  “It’s fine,” I answered. “And yes, I heard what you said. I’ll try to talk to him.” I breathed out, feeling myself deflate.

  “Perhaps a show of interest would diffuse the tension,” suggested Jasper.

  “Anyway, where are you from?” I asked. “Zhian is Caruthian … what about you?”

  I looked at her face, really looked at her. Her skin was the deep red ochre of hematite and her hair as darkly bloody. Her straight round-tipped nose gave her face an Ethiopian appearance.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “The important thing is I’m never going back.”

  The way her face tightened told me not to pry further. I wasn’t going to make friends with Idesta anytime soon. And sitting around sulking wasn’t going to help my case either.

  “I think I should go and look for Zhian.” I said, standing up and heading to the door. “I’m running out of time to get home.”

  “Why are you in such a hurry?” asked Idesta.

  I hesitated at the door.

  “Don’t tell her; it’s none of her business,” said Sandy.

  “Maybe she can help,” said Gwendolyn.

  “Help?” said Emmy.

  “I don’t trust her,” said Sandy.

  “Tired of carrying it all,” said Mitch.

  “A simple explanation would be sufficient,” said Jasper. “Details are unnecessary.”

  “My family needs me,” I told Idesta. “I’m the only one who can help them.”

  “Ooh, look at important Jane,” scoffed Idesta. “Out to save the world.” Then, under her breath with a bitter air, “Just like Zhian.”

  “Rude,” said Sandy. “We can’t help it if none of them can come up with a decent plan.”

  “Maybe it shouldn’t all be on us,” said Gwendolyn softly. “Maybe someone can help.”

  “It’s heavy,” said Mitch.

  “I’s little,” said Emmy.

  “We have a duty,” said Jasper firmly. “We must fulfil it.”

  “And we can’t trust anyone else to do it,” said Sandy.

  “I have to try,” I said out loud.

  Idesta shrugged her shoulders, her lips twisted as if she had a sour taste in her mouth, and I headed down the stairs in search of Zhian.

  Maybe the meds had well and truly worn off now; maybe Emmy was a symptom of something new falling apart inside; maybe I was stupid to think I could save my family; maybe I was selfish to wonder if there was another way.

  Selfish, said the Deep Dark, injecting shame and terror into my veins.

  I grasped at the balustrade with a shaky hand, but about halfway down the staircase, I missed a step and tumbled the rest of the way. The crack echoed in my ears long after I lay splayed on the floor, body screaming in pain and shock.

  5 A delicious chocolate covered sponge cake in the shape of a cube, coated with desiccated coconut. Indispensable when studying for exams.

  12

  Sandy

  The little girl stares at the Rambo knife that is the centre of the group’s attention. She is six years old and knows it’s not right to have one. It’s too easy to cut yourself.

  “You can’t tell my parents,” says Eddie. “You can’t tell any of the parents.”

  The kids giggle, because even they know illicit fun is a bond of friendship.

  But the little girl always tells her parents everything. Because good girls tell the truth. If you tell the truth and always do the right thing, everything will work out. That’s what people expect from good girls.

  The other children take turns playing wit
h the knife, acting out fight scenes from movies the little girl’s parents don’t let her watch. Unable to join in the thrill of having a dangerous secret, she wanders away from Eddie’s room and into the kitchen downstairs. Eddie’s mom is making herself a cup of tea.

  “Hello, Jane,” she says. “Why aren’t you with the others?”

  The little girl’s lip trembles because of the terrible knowledge eating away at her.

  “What’s wrong?” asks the concerned mother who has always been kind to the little girl. “You can tell me.”

  “Eddie’s got a knife,” she blurts. “A big, dangerous one.”

  Eddie’s mother straightens up. “Don’t be silly. Eddie knows he’s not allowed things like that.”

  “He does!” the little girl insists, body shaking. “I saw it. It’s in his room.”

  The mother leaves the kitchen, and the little girl watches the steam float out of the electric kettle as it boils. She hears the click when it’s ready. Moments later, the mother returns.

  “Eddie says it’s not true, and I believe him,” says the mother with pursed lips and lines in her forehead. “The other kids didn’t see anything, either. No one likes children who tell tales and make trouble. Now go back and play nicely with the others.”

  The little girl doesn’t want to, but she has to listen to the adult.

  “You told,” complain the other children when she slips back into the room.

  “Spoilsport!”

  “Tattle-tale!”

  “Goody-two-shoes!”

  The little girl can’t run away—there’s nowhere to go. So she sits in the corner and tries not to cry.

  “We don’t need them anyway,” says a voice. “I don’t care about rules or adults or silly children who think they’re cool. We’re better off on our own. You can’t trust anyone.”

  “Sandy,” whispers the little girl.

  13

  The bit where the universe hates me

  The voices buzzed in time with the ringing in my ears. Emmy wailed while Mitch sobbed quietly. My whole body throbbed unbearably, and I took deep breaths to push through the pain. I used my arms to pull myself forward, trying to ease the discomfort. But it was useless; the waves of agony continued.