Portal Jumpers

by Chloe Garner

  “Have you known many Palta?” she asked.

  “None before tonight,” he said.

  “Well, I’ve never known a Dinalae before this trip, either,” she said. “Will you be my companion for the entire event?”

  “Of course,” he said, indignant.

  “Then I have lots of questions,” she said. This seemed to please him.

  “Then I will have done a very good job as ambassador.”

  He considered her for a moment, then made a friendly gesture.

  “Has anyone given you a name in Dinalae?” he asked.

  “No, is that how you get one?”

  “A Dinalae has to give it to you, traditionally,” he said as they rounded a corner and a large building came into sight. She gasped at the colors and the architecture. The Dinalae at her elbow seemed pleased.

  “Having this much land is unique in Dinal,” he said. “It is an honor to be invited to the home of…” The word he used looked like an alteration of a term she’d seen used to describe the gardens the day before. “Of course, any home would also be honored to play host to the son of…” there was another foreign motion that might have been a reference to the game she’d seen at the hotel.

  “Who is that?” she asked.

  “Eno-Lath Bron,” he said, making a sign of respect. “But you will need a name to introduce yourself.” He paused, taking a step back to look at her appraisingly. The Dinalae who was walking with Jesse stopped.

  “She needs a name,” Cassie’s escort said in Gana.

  “I see,” the other woman said.

  “What do you think of ‘little sister’?” the woman asked with the subtlest of winks. Cassie echoed the wink louder.

  “What’s your second idea?” Cassie asked back. Her own escort laughed. He gave her a word that seemed to combine the ideas of ‘dance’ and ‘wanderer’. She repeated it back to him and he affirmed it.

  “What does it mean?” Jesse asked.

  “Wandering dancer,” Cassie translated into Gana. All three of them nodded.

  “It’s good,” he said. “Show me again?”

  She did, curious. He repeated it, without the sense of rhythm or synchronicity that the Dinalae had, but well enough.

  “Don’t look so impressed,” he said. “Anyone can learn ‘hello’ and ‘bathroom’.”

  She continued on into the house with her escort, eyes dazzling at the amount of conversation going on inside the building, where private musicians were playing over the beats transmitted through the ground. The interior of the house was even more ornate than the gardens had been, in bright colors and intricate patterns that made references to the life in the gardens outside. She recognized a few of the animals she’d seen the previous day hidden in complex frescoes along the floors and high above her head, somehow radiating their own light from inside the stone. After a few minutes, she realized that part of what she found so odd about the place was that all of the light was designed to come from the sides; the ceiling was completely lacking for light. Instead, as she inspected the broad, arched space, they used the expanse for more artistry, this more subtle, working in gradual changes in hue and sweeping shapes, rather than distinct forms.

  She spent the next thirty minutes meeting the various guests that her escort, Young Smile, saw fit to introduce her to. Other Dinalae brought her food and drinks, though she had come to understand that the Dinalae didn’t normally drink outside of special occasions - they took all of their fluids from their food. Young Smile confided in her that the caterer was from off-planet, and Cassie found the food more experimental and playful, combined in different flavors and temperatures. Many of the Dinalae were preoccupied with it, and a great number of Cassie’s conversations centered around the exploratory food. Young Smile seemed aware that she didn’t share the sense of novelty, and he joked with her gently about it in private moments.

  “How do you mix your sense of formality with your sense of humor and play?” Cassie asked him.

  “There’s a lot of trust to it,” he said, throwing a nuanced greeting across the room and an invitation in another direction after a moment. “We have to believe that we like each other, that the play is in good fun, never malicious.”

  “Is it the truth?” Cassie asked. His response was warm and without specific words. Cassie smiled.

  “What was it like to grow up here?”

  He didn’t have opportunity to answer in that moment, as another Dinalae approached, greeting Cassie as Little Sister, and Young Smile was back into his role as social facilitator. Cassie caught Jesse’s eye from across the room where a cluster of Dinalae were around him speaking in Gana. For a moment she was transfixed at the way the room swayed and shifted around him as the Dinalae talked and laughed and he stood, the single fixed point, and then her attention shifted back to the conversation she was actually in, and time slipped past again.

  She looked around, realizing suddenly that they had to have been there for several hours, then turned to Young Smile.

  “When is the meal?” she asked.

  “Have you not had enough to eat?” he asked, putting his head up to find one of the circulating trays of food.

  “No, that’s not it,” she said. “I was… Usually there are meals at things like this.”

  “Oh,” he said, showing a newfound realization. “This is a traditional Dinalae banquet. We don’t usually sit to eat. Actually, there aren’t many things we sit for, at all.”

  “Don’t you get tired?” she asked.

  “Do you need a chair?” he asked, concerned.

  “No,” she said reflexively. She was fine on her feet all day long; that was how she was trained. But as she thought about it, her feet did hurt, as did her back, and she had been looking for reprieve for some time now without really realizing it.

  “No, I’m fine,” she reiterated. Was she that far off her training that two hours at a dinner party could put her down?

  Not a chance.

  The party lasted another hour or so, and then Jesse and his escort came seeking her out.

  “We have invitations at the Synod festival,” Jesse said.

  “How exciting,” Young Smile answered. “You should be on your way, then.”

  “Can we use your gate?” Jesse asked.

  “Of course,” Young Smile said. “This way.”

  Cassie glowered.

  “It’s that way.”

  Young Smile laughed.

  “Wandering Dancer, you have an excellent eye for fibs,” he said in Dinalae.

  “Speaks volumes about my upbringing,” she answered in Gana. Young Smile appreciated that, and, laughing, led them in the direction Cassie had indicated. They came to a small room off of the main building where the walls and ceiling were clear.

  “Enjoy the festival,” Young Smile said as Jesse took Cassie’s hand. “If you are here long enough, we hope to see you again.”

  “Thank you,” Cassie said. Jesse said a brief goodbye to his escort and the world blinked.

  They arrived in a dark room where jolts of color popped all around them. It took a few minutes for Cassie’s eyes to fully adjust, though Jesse seemed to be able to see much earlier. He led her through the semi-darkness, past Dinalae dancing to a much more raucous rhythm than Cassie had yet heard. Young Dinalae glided past her - she didn’t have enough light to see how they were propelled - hawking food and trinkets - flashing flowers that you threw on the ground into an explosion of multi colors; face paint that glowed in the dark; arm wraps that appeared to have living glowworms of a sort rocketing up and down them - and Jesse stopped one of them to buy a stick-on jewel whose bright colors blurred into each other at intervals that seemed to coincide with the music. He attached it to her forehead with a motion quick enough to preclude her from stopping him. She frowned at him, but left it.

  “When in Rome,” he said.

  “I still think you’re making a spectacle of me,” she said.

  “No… no, you’ll know when I’m making
a spectacle of you,” he said, paying for a multi-colored tiara that he put on his own head. Cassie shook her head.

  “You’re something else.”

  “Indeed,” he answered. “We need to find the ballroom.”

  The music grew louder as they walked, traveling through a section of the enclosure where all of the lights were white or silver, and then another that was themed blue. The light-up gems Jesse had purchased reacted to the space, altering to match.

  “Where are we?” Cassie finally asked. “Are we underground?”

  “No, they enclose most of the town for the festival,” Jesse said. “No one really remembers where the tradition started, but the prevailing theory says that it’s about their origin myth and coming out of darkness.”

  “Are they afraid of the dark here?” Cassie asked. Jesse shook his head.

  “No big bad wolf, here,” he told her. “It’s mostly just a novelty.”

  “Do they have any predators at all?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he said. “Not in the cities, but there are still creatures on this planet who could kill them.”

  “Why don’t they exterminate them?” Cassie asked.

  “Why don’t you hunt lions to extinction?” Jesse countered.

  “Because they’re afraid of us,” Cassie said. “We spent decades hunting man-killers to breed fear of men into them.”

  He laughed.

  “Fine, if you want to be technical. Substitute jaguars in the Amazon.”

  She shrugged.

  “Too hard to find them all.”

  “Uh huh. That’s why.”

  They turned a corner to find a giant tent with long, wide strips of fabric almost entirely enclosing it. Bright white dots of light migrated through the cloth, leaving a fading trail of color behind them.

  “What are they?” Cassie asked, pointing as they got closer.

  “Too complicated,” Jesse said. “Not alive, not dead, not mechanical, not organic.”

  “That pretty much rules everything out,” Cassie said, leaning closer to take the heavy fabric in her hand. She could plainly see the bright spot in the cloth, but her fingers told her there was nothing different about it compared to the nearby fabric. She shook her head, wishing she could cut a sample and bring it back to Troy, but letting Jesse usher her through the curtaining and into the tent.

  The music here was overpowering.

  Cassie found herself moving with it as if pulled by strings, her breath evening and her heart rate picking up until they matched the beat. The room was packed and everywhere around her lights on heads, arms, and feet flashed, keeping time.

  “Go,” Jesse said. She looked at him with a sense of inevitability, then began the accelerating drift into the midst of the bodies of Dinalae and dancing foreign terrestrials. Lights flashed, music pulsed, and she slipped into a subconscious mode of operation that she’d only just barely touched before.

  She woke up in her bed at the hotel.

  She remembered dancing for hours, but at some point everything got blurry. Her back was angry and her feet were a sore idea out at the end of her legs.

  When she sat up, the room swirled and she found herself laying on her side, nearly fallen onto the floor. She lay still for a moment, gathering herself, and then sat up again, bracing herself against the wall.

  “Are you up yet?” Jesse called.

  “I think someone managed to give me something weird to drink last night,” she said, holding up her head on her palm. He stuck his head into the room.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m hung over,” she said.

  He opened the door and stood straight in the doorway.

  “You don’t strike me as the hung over type,” he said.

  “Did you just call me hard-drinking?” she asked, glowering. He grinned.

  “Am I wrong?”

  “Everyone gets old, sometime,” she said, sliding down in bed again. “What do they serve here for hangovers?”

  He thought for a moment, then frowned.

  “They don’t ferment their fruits,” he said. “Whole foods.”

  “What about at the party?” Cassie asked. “Young Smile said they had a chef from off-planet.”

  “It’s possible,” he said. “But I have no idea how well the Dinalae would tolerate it.”

  “They should be lightweights compared to me,” she said with humor. He shrugged.

  “Not like they’re relying on a liver that’s getting iffy,” he said. “No, wait.” He paused, tracing patterns in the air before his eyes. “No, you’re right. They’d be featherweights.”

  She settled lower in the bed.

  “So what did I eat? Is this food poisoning?”

  He frowned and took another step into the room.

  “How do you feel?”

  “My whole body hurts and I think I might throw up,” she said.

  “Do your fingers tingle?” he asked. She checked.

  “No.”

  “Oh, good.”

  She waited.

  “Why?”

  “Not important,” he told her. “Do you want some water?”

  She checked.

  “No.”

  “Oh. You should go take a shower. I’ll order breakfast.”

  “I’m going to throw up if I get up,” she said. He narrowed his eyes at her.

  “I think you’ll make it.”

  She rolled onto her side, the nausea peaking and subsiding again.

  “Wake me up in an hour.”

  She heard him mutter something, and then the door closed. Her mouth tasted funny and there was a long, thin pain in her side, but she shifted and managed to get back to sleep again without too much trouble.

  When she woke up again, she felt strange.

  She had no sense of how much time had passed, seconds or days. She was even achier than before, though her head was a bit clearer and her stomach felt settled enough. She tried to roll over and discovered that she’d tangled herself up in the sheets. Her arms were pinned at her sides and her legs were so snug against the bed that bending her knees was hard. She grunted to herself and tried to get her elbows free to slide up in the bed and start to untangle herself.

  Maybe she was still hung over.

  Sitting up didn’t seem to be working.

  She licked her lips, trying again to get her bearings, and she heard the door open.

  “We’re losing daylight, here,” Jesse said. “You going to sleep all day?”

  She heard something halt in his voice, and then footsteps as he walked toward the bed. She struggled to roll over. Her tongue rubbed across her teeth with an unusual degree of sensitivity, and the sound of her own breath was unexpectedly present, cold and crisp in her head.

  “Jesse, what’s going on?” she asked as he came into view. His face was… an expression she’d never seen before. Was that rage? shock? fear? She didn’t have a clue. She struggled again. Her shoulders didn’t seem to be working. Was she straightjacketed? The sound of her own voice sunk in. It was different.

  “Jesse,” she said, testing it out. She had a lisp. She’d never been this hung over before. She’d never been this drunk before.

  “Cassie?” he asked. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’ve been hit by a truck and I’ve got parts missing,” she said, finally sitting up slightly.

  Her arms appeared to be missing.

  Her shirt sleeve was empty.

  “Jesse?”

  “Um.”

  She wiggled again. Her hips didn’t appear to be doing what they were supposed to either.

  “Um,” Jesse said again.

  No, her teeth really were sharp.

  And there appeared to be too many of them.

  “Jesse,” she said. He twisted his mouth to the side.

  “Um.”

  “Jesse, I’m Adena Lampak, aren’t I?”

  Cassie looked up at Jesse.

  “Cut me.”

  They’d stared at each other
for what felt like an hour.

  Cassie finally couldn’t stand it, and she had started wriggling, trying to get her body clear of the mess of sheets. Jesse seemed to be in shock.

  “Talk to me,” she muttered.

  “Mab,” he finally said.

  She’d lost her progress, sliding back down in the bed. The shirt had been fighting her, anyway. She was going to have to find a different strategy for getting out of the cloth that was getting increasingly uncomfortable around her.

  “Help me,” she’d finally demanded, stirring him out of his inaction. He’d stripped the sheets back in an effortless sweep.

  “You need to get up,” he’d said.

  “Love to,” she told him.

  “Adena Lampak aren’t built for laying on firm, flat surfaces like that,” he told her.

  “I remember,” she said, only then making the connection to the abdominal pain on that side.

  “What do you need me to do?” Jesse had asked. As if she knew. She writhed, the shirt and tattered remnants of her pants twisting around her.

  “Get me out of these,” she said.

  “Um,” he had said, pausing, then getting to work untangling her.

  Somewhere along the line, she had ended up on the floor, sliding like a fish landing in the bottom of a boat. Cassie was beyond frustrated. It was very much like she’d imagined wearing a straightjacket would feel; she could feel the muscles that would have operated individually if they hadn’t been attached to her.

  It was like her whole body was a tongue, when she needed it to be arms and legs.

  “Cut me,” she said. Jesse planted his hands on his hips. Cassie was jealous.

  “I can’t do that,” he said.

  “Do it.”

  “You’re too old,” he said.

  “I don’t take it very well when people tell me that,” she said. “Do it.”

  “They do it to infants for a reason,” Jesse said. “I don’t know if your body can handle it. You could bleed out.”

  “I’m not going to bleed out,” Cassie said. “And I’m not going to lay here on the floor like… this… until you figure it out. Do it.”

  “I don’t have a knife,” he stalled, running his fingers through his hair. Cassie wondered what had happened to her hair, since she was pretty sure she didn’t have it anymore.