The Strange

by Masha du Toit

  “Noor and the others. What about looking for them?” Isabeau frowned and picked at a stain on her trousers. She’d have to get herself some clean clothes soon. “But it’s the same thing. I don’t even know where to start, and it will definitely be risky.”

  Danger didn’t respond to this.

  “But if it’s all about staying safe, what about Missy? Are we just going to carry on hiding with her sneaking about? She’s not going to be sitting still. She’s up to something, messing with that airlock. What if she’s doing something dangerous? And Dolly and Sparks just won’t listen.” Isabeau clenched her teeth, remembering how they’d ignored her attempt to warn them. “They think I’m just a little kid.”

  With an effort she pushed away the anger.

  “I can’t help any of that, but I can’t just leave it.” She looked appealingly at Danger, but once again, he just gazed blandly back at her, not even twitching a whisker.

  “I think— I think we should track Missy.” Isabeau tried to ignore the lack of conviction in her own voice. “Don’t you think so?”

  Danger placed his chin on his paws and whined softly.

  Isabeau sighed. It didn’t feel right to be making decisions on her own. If only she could ask Ndlela.

  She sat up.

  “Tell you what. We’ll get into the lazaretto again. Ndlela’s got to be better by now. He’ll know what to do.”

  The decision was a relief. Isabeau followed Danger through a hatch into the shell cavity. It was slow going, squeezing along past insulation, avoiding pipes and wires and clambering up access ladders, but Isabeau hardly noticed. Most of her attention was on planning what she’d say to Ndlela and trying to guess his reaction.

  Hopefully he’d be feeling better. Maybe Diesel, or even Mack Jack, would be awake. Maybe they’d be well enough to leave the lazaretto, all of them together. How long did this sickness last, anyway?

  Isabeau was so preoccupied that she nearly bumped into Danger when he slowed to a halt in front of her. He whined and sniffed the air, and she realised that he’d been doing that for some time now.

  Disinfectant. The reek of it surrounded her. How had she not noticed? She took stock of her surroundings. They were nearly at the loose panel that opened into the lazaretto. Just a bit further along the walkway, and up one ladder, and they’d be there.

  She quickly slipped the diadem on, silently scolding herself for not doing it before. Danger scanned the narrow space, and Isabeau closed her eyes, concentrating on his input.

  A shifting sound of metal on metal. A pause, and then cloth rustling, and...was that somebody breathing?

  Isabeau tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry.

  Yes. Definitely, somebody breathing. Loud and ragged, as if they were afraid. An answering fear shocked through Isabeau. She touched Danger’s shoulder, partly for reassurance, partly to stop him doing anything impulsive.

  Somebody was coming down the ladder. She could see them now. That straggle of sandy hair, that wiry body...Isabeau’s heart thumped, and thumped again.

  Missy Cloete.

  Halfway down the ladder Missy paused. Something hissed, and a moment later the scent of disinfectant grew even more intense.

  She’s covering her scent trail, just like Elke guessed.

  Isabeau felt sick. The only reason Missy hadn’t spotted them yet was because she was coming down the ladder backwards. Any moment now, she’d turn around. The narrow walkway offered no hiding places. Any move Isabeau made now would attract Missy’s attentions.

  Danger would defend her, but then Danger might get hurt. Missy might have a knife, or a gun, or—

  Missy reached bottom of the ladder.

  Was her breathing really that loud, or did it just sound that way through the diadem-link? It sounded somehow liquid, and every few breaths Missy sniffed, and wiped her face on her sleeve.

  Isabeau held her own breath.

  Missy turned, one hand out as if feeling her way in the dark.

  Of course. She didn’t have a gardag and a diadem enhancing her senses. She probably couldn’t see Isabeau at all, here in the dark of the shell cavity.

  Isabeau could see Missy quite clearly. The wild nest of her sandy hair, and the wincing way she moved. Her eyes were half-closed, as if against bright light.

  Missy wiped her face on her sleeve, sniffed again, and then, to Isabeau’s utter relief, felt her way along the walkway in the opposite direction, slowly, bent over, one hand feeling in front of her. Isabeau watched her go hardly daring to believe her luck. Why isn’t she using a coll for light? Well, maybe she didn’t have one.

  A few steps later Missy was out of sight.

  Isabeau waited several minutes, until she was sure that the woman was well on her way, then she slid the diadem off with a sigh.

  “Well,” she whispered to Danger. “That’s all right, then. Listen, Danger, you going to have to wait for me here.” She glanced back in the direction Missy had gone. “If she comes back, just— I don’t know. Try to stay out of sight if you can. Okay?”

  Danger bumped her hand with his nose and wagged his tail.

  In a moment Isabeau was up the ladder, trying not to breath the reek of disinfectant that coated its rungs. She paused for a few heartbeats at the loose panel.

  What had Missy been doing here anyway?

  Isabeau’s heart sped up. What had Missy been doing in the lazaretto? Fear squeezed her chest until she couldn’t breathe at all. She crawled through the gap, all caution forgotten as she scuttled between beds and partitions.

  What if—what if! Why else would Missy be in the lazaretto? First Noor disappeared, and then—

  She found the curtain that shielded Ndlela’s bed and ducked under it.

  Her heart nearly stopped when she saw the empty bed. She stood there, horrified, unable to think what to do next.

  “Ndlela” she whispered in despair, not expecting an answer.

  The curtain next to her twitched. “Issy?”

  Isabeau let her breath out in a rush, and closed her eyes for a moment, nearly dizzy with relief.

  “Issy? Is that you?”

  Isabeau pushed through the curtain.

  She found Ndlela sitting on Tomas’s bed. Both of them had bandages over their eyes, but while Tomas was lying down, Ndlela perched on the edge of the bed with a lot more energy than when she’d last seen him.

  “Issy?” he said, turning his blindfolded head back and forth. “Is that you?”

  “Hey!” She took his hand. “It’s me.” She wiped her face with her free hand. Where had these tears come from?

  “Hey.” Ndlela’s hand travelled up her arm, felt over her face. “You’re crying. What’s wrong?”

  Tomas struggled weakly and managed to pull himself up into a sitting position. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s Isabeau,” said Ndlela. “She’s come to visit us. Is something wrong, Issy? Are you okay?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” Isabeau sniffed again and smiled. “Hello, Tomas. Nothing’s wrong. I just thought— Ndlela, I just saw Missy Cloete coming out of here. Out of the lazaretto! I thought—”

  “Missy Cloete was in here?”

  “Who? Where?” Tomas sounded groggy. He struggled to sit up straighter, his hands sinking into his pillows.

  “You sure, Issy?” said Ndlela. “Isn’t she in prison?”

  “I saw her,” said Isabeau. “Diesel— Hold on. Let me just check.”

  She went to the cubicle next door to peek in at Diesel, who was sleeping peacefully. Isabeau felt relieved, but impatient too. Why couldn’t Diesel be awake?

  Back at Ndlela’s bedside, she explained.

  “I overheard Elke talking to Kiran. You remember, Elke said there was a lot of disinfectant around that old man’s body? The one they found in the incinerator?”

  “Kiprosomov,” whispered Tomas. “And don’t talk so loudly. Somebody’s going to hear.”

  “I don’t know his name,” Isabeau whispered impatiently. “The o
ld guy who died. I heard Elke tell that Missy was in the Eye, spritsing disinfectant to cover her scent so Meisje can’t smell her out.”

  “Wait,” said Ndlela. “Missy Cloete killed that old man? She’s here in the Eye— Are you sure?”

  “That’s what Elke said. She must have escaped from prison.” Isabeau edged onto the bed next to Ndlela, pushing Tomas’s legs aside to make space for herself.

  Ndlela and Tomas’s silence seemed to signal their doubt.

  “It’s all true,” Isabeau whispered vehemently. “And I saw her. Missy. I just saw her myself.”

  “Noor and them aren’t back yet.” Tomas’s voice was carefully neutral, but Isabeau could tell he was worried.

  “Not yet,” she said, and then in a rush, “I think that was Missy too.”

  “What do you mean?” said Tomas.

  “She must have something to do with them being gone.” Isabeau stuck out her jaw. Tomas’s doubting tone got under her skin. “I mean, what are the chances? Missy was trying to kill Elke.” She turned to Ndlela. “You know. Don’t you remember? They stuck her in prison, but she got out, she came here. And then, Elke disappears!”

  Ndlela had his hands up. “Shh! Somebody will hear you.”

  “Okay, okay,” Isabeau made herself whisper again. “That’s not all, either.”

  Quickly, and as quietly as she could, Isabeau told them about the airlock room and its tampered lock. “What is she doing in there?” she demanded. “Danger smelt disinfectant there too, so it’s not just my imagination. It must be her.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Tomas. “That does sound dodgy. Damn. I wish Diesel was awake. She’d know what to do, but she’s still way too sick. They’ve got her drugged with something nearly all the time now.”

  The three of them sat in the dark, listening to the night-sounds of the lazaretto. Muted voices. Water being poured, the clink of a glass, and the soft scuff of a nurse’s footsteps.

  “What I want to know,” Isabeau said at last, “is what was Missy doing in here? What if she was looking for you guys, or for Diesel? Couldn’t you—” She looked hopefully at her brother. He seemed so much better. “Why don’t you come with me? You don’t seem so sick anymore?”

  But Ndlela was shaking his head. “I can’t leave here yet. Alexander says I have to keep this bandage on. If I get light in my eyes it might damage them permanently.”

  “But you could keep the bandage on, couldn’t you? You could come out with me, and at least you’d be safer than staying here until Missy comes back.”

  “What about Diesel? And Tomas?”

  “Well— Diesel can’t come. I can see that. Not with her being on a drip and everything. But you can, can’t you, Tomas? Then we can keep an eye on Missy together. Make sure she doesn’t come back here to hurt Diesel. Plus, I’ve got Danger with me. I bet he wants you to come out.”

  “You’re not serious,” said Tomas. “Are you serious?”

  “I don’t know.” Ndlela touched his blindfold. “I’ll be totally blind.”

  Isabeau sat up, electrified. “I know! Sorry! Sorry. I’ll keep my voice down.” She took a breath, excited. “What about if you wore the diadem?”

  “The dia—” Ndlela’s mouth fell open. “Oh!”

  “It would work, wouldn’t it?” Isabeau could hardly sit still. “The blindfold won’t matter. Danger can see for you. You can take it in turns. It would work I know it would. Come on, you guys. Please, please come. It’s just a little way to the panel, and then we’ll be out of here. Come on. It will be easy.”

  “No way,” said Tomas. “You can’t seriously be thinking about this, Ndlela. Isabeau, it’s too dangerous.”

  “It’s just as dangerous to stay here, lying and waiting for Missy Cloete,” Isabeau shot back.

  “Thing is,” Ndlela said to Tomas. “If we don’t go with her, she’ll do some other crazy thing. And,” he added reluctantly, “if she’s right about Missy being loose in the Eye, it’s really not a joke. That woman’s seriously dangerous.”

  Tomas opened his mouth as if to argue.

  “You can walk, can’t you?” Isabeau said quickly. “You’re not too sick?”

  “Well—”

  “Ndlela’s coming with me, anyway.” Isabeau tried to sound as if the decision had already been made. “I guess you could stay, Tomas, if you’re feeling too sick still. You don’t need to—”

  Ndlela was already down off the bed and back in his own cubicle. His whisper came through the curtain. “Let me just find my clothes—”

  “Oh, no.” Tomas pulled the sheets aside, and began to swing his legs off the bed. “I’m not letting you guys go off by yourselves.”

  “So, you’re coming?” Isabeau could hardly believe her luck.

  “Can you find my boots?” Tomas said. “I’m sure they’re here somewhere.”

  Oorschot

  Noor’s feet ached. Her ankle throbbed from the unaccustomed activity of walking without the brace. Leaning against the wall was not an option. It was rough and sticky with unknown substances. The air reeked of harsh chemical cleansers that made her eyes sting and her nose run.

  When the guards separated her from her friends, Noor had imagined all kinds of horrors that might be in store for her. She’d steeled herself to be brave, and face whatever came, but having a runny nose with her hands cuffed behind her back so that she couldn’t wipe it, was almost more than she could bear.

  If only she could sit down, just for a second, just to take the weight off her feet, and have a chance to wipe her nose!

  She tilted her head back and tried to take a calming breath through her mouth.

  No chance of sitting down. The overseers were quick with their shock-prods. Several of her fellow captives had been punished for the crime of slumping, moving out of turn, or not moving fast enough.

  It was amazing how her world had shrunk, how quickly all she cared about was watching the overseers to make sure that she obeyed them with alacrity. This wasn’t how she’d thought she’d be. It wasn’t how prisoners behaved in any of Isabeau’s books. Those people would be finding sharp objects to cut their bonds or outfoxing their captors with witty banter.

  All she wanted was to wipe her nose.

  Actually, what she wanted was to switch herself off. Not to sleep. She didn’t think she could sleep again. Not after what she’d seen. She knew with dreadful certainty that the scenes of the past half an hour were indelibly inscribed in her memory, and that she would relive them whenever she closed her eyes.

  If I’m lucky, that is.

  If I even have a memory left, after...

  But she wouldn’t think of that. She refused to think of that.

  They’d been marched into a room—not a prison cell, or a butcher’s slaughterhouse, nothing dramatic like that, just a room with chalky walls and a scuffed floor.

  Jinan Meer had held Noor’s hand, and the older woman’s grip, so tight it was painful, had been comforting, until the guards had made them let go and cuffed their hands. Jinan had protested, but the guard hadn’t even looked at her. Just shoved her aside, consulting his list, peering at each captive’s chin in turn as he sorted them into two groups.

  Noor had watched this with unease. All the younger people were on one side of the room. All the older people, including Jinan and Samuel, on the other.

  At least what happened next had been quick.

  Jinan had still been arguing, in her precise, reasonable tone, when an overseer pressed a metal object to her head and pulled a trigger. There had been a dull thud, and the other overseer, standing ready, had caught Jinan’s slumping body.

  Efficiently.

  Calmly.

  Next.

  Samuel had closed his eyes and bent his head as the overseer pressed the thing to his head, too.

  Bang.

  He too, had slumped into the waiting arms.

  Not believing, not able to believe, Noor had convinced herself that Jinan and Samuel had just been stunned.

>   She’d somehow blanked out the next few minutes. The guards must have done the same to all the rest of that older group, but Noor had no memory of that. All she could remember was the casual way the bodies—Jinan’s and Samuel’s bodies—had been stacked on a cart and shoved to one side.

  The last glimpse she had of Jinan was of her face, partly visible under Samuel’s shoulder. Her eyes had been open, but they’d had the sightless stare of death.

  The guards had herded the rest of the captives out of that room into another one, and then into a corridor, where they were made to wait, then moved again, waited again...

  Noor realised that her eyes were closed and that she was swaying on her feet. She jerked herself upright. If only she could find a way to switch off her mind, to stop it from noticing things and drawing conclusions.

  By now, she knew only too well what was in store for her and the others in her group. All of them were young, and all, she guessed, had some kind of defect that prevented them from being useful slaves.

  Like her, with her ankle.

  Freezer units lined the wall, each one full of neatly wrapped objects, efficiently stacked and labelled. While Noor could not read the strangeside script, that didn’t matter. Each unit was labelled with neat iconic pictograms.

  Eyes.

  Teeth.

  Arms and hands.

  Brains, with spinal cord attached.

  Strangers were famous for their surgical skills, implants and genetic manipulation. Those required spare parts. And those parts had to come from somewhere, or from someone.

  A door opened. Some people came filing through, all dressed in dark overalls. Noor couldn’t stop her mind from supplying the helpful fact that such overalls were perfect for messy work, and so were their boots and gloves.

  She swallowed against the rising nausea.

  I’ll look them in the eye. I’ll force them to acknowledge that I am a person, and not a—a sheep, or a piece of machinery.

  The first to approach was a man, athletic, with grey hair neatly combed. He worked his way down the row of captives, peering into their eyes, measuring their limbs or the distance from ear to brow with a pair of callipers.

  He came to Noor, and despite her best intentions, she found that she could not look him in the eye. She heard the soft, approving “Hm!” as he touched a finger to her chin, tipping her head up.