Jez Blackwood could walk marathons. This wasn’t a problem for a track runner like Mireia. It was a huge problem for Bernard, whose hobbies mainly required sitting, and a minimum of cardio. The girls agreed to walk the entire peninsula, on the condition that they started on King Street rather than Meeting, then returned to their starting point via King so Mireia could go shopping, because Jez’s original plan almost totally circumvented the business district. As they looked over a folded map, straining their eyes on the microscopic print and fighting to get a better look at it between them, they determined that Mireia’s route was roughly the same mileage, so Jez finally gave in.
The total loop promised to be around two hours, with the two of them dragging Bernard along. It would be closer to eight hours, by his estimate, if Mireia was going to have it her way. She was doggedly determined to buy at least five complete outfits over the course of the weekend, far greater than her original goal, and it took him until the fourth store before he realized she was doing it in part because it helped distract her from thinking about the Saurians.
What he wasn’t prepared for was when the girls started shopping for him, but he quickly realized he’d been a fool to think he was going to spend the day watching them try on blouses and sandals without getting him involved. It was no secret that they wanted him to give up the t-shirt-and-jeans look.
“But this would look great on you!” Jez argued in one store, smiling as she held up a granite-gray textured polo with black bar accents, “It’d look even better by the end of the summer, if you used our pool.”
Mireia snickered, “He’s got a license, now, so he’s got no excuses.”
“Definitely.”
Bernard rolled his eyes, “Thanks for the self-esteem boost. . . .”
Mireia set her hands on her hips, “Oh, stop. You look fine. You just dress like a slacker.”
“And you act like one, too,” Jez added, “If you just used it once in a while, you’d see: you’d be healthier and happier, and—”
“Maybe I don’t want to stand out.”
Mireia turned sharply on her heel, and strolled across the store, right for the men’s slacks.
Goddammit to hell, he thought bitterly, They’re fucking serious.
Jez elbowed him, “Come on, Bern. Just listen to us, just this once, would you?”
“I’m comfortable,” he grumbled, “and happy that way.”
“Pleeeeaaaassssse??”
He shot her a sidelong glare, his attention fixated on Mireia. “Did you forget what happened last month?”
Jez glared up at him, and hissed under her breath, “Oh, fuck that bitch, Bernie. She was full of shit, and you know it.”
“She told the truth I’ve been trying to tell you all along. Nothing less. She was just waiting until another boy came along, and that stupid waste of oxygen fit the bill. I’m not even offended, Jez, just pissed that she let it go on this long, if that’s how she felt about me.”
Jez elbowed him again and walked away to join Mireia, whispering something conspiratorially. Mireia grimaced, and instead of looking up at him, resumed her quest with fervor.
Confused, Bernard walked away. If they were so set on shopping for him, nothing he did would stop them.
~Care to share?~
The telepathic voice came unexpectedly. Toby had become distant after the coffee shop, almost as though he’d never been there, but now the child-like being was near, almost under his feet.
You can’t read my thoughts? he asked.
~Not quite, unless I am close, like I am right now. I only caught vague ideas.~
For more than two years, Bernard had dated the same girl, until about a month ago. Prom night had rolled around, just a few blocks away at the Gaillard, and at some point she had gone missing. Her mother had driven them there. When no one returned to pick him up, he eventually found out she’d left with another boy—an air-headed jock off the swim team. He was lucky to find a few people who had seen her leave, before the end of the night, or he would never have known.
It could only be assumed that she must have told her mother some lie to stop her from picking him up. His own infuriated mother later tried and failed several times over the next week to reach either of her parents, eager to know more about how her son got abandoned Downtown in the middle of the night.
Mireia had stayed to help him, losing her own ride and her boyfriend in the process. It turned out he’d never been comfortable with their lifelong friendship, and refused to change his plans so she could “help another guy.” At two in the morning, they’d finally found a bar that would let them use a phone to call her parents to come pick them up, and inform his frantic mother, staying the evening with her sister in West Ashley, that he was still alive and staying the night at the Durant’s place on John’s Island.
Moved by pity, the owner had let them stay and wait while he closed up shop, and gave them sodas and leftover pizza on the house.
As prom night tragedies went, he couldn’t have asked for better than ending it with his best friend, many miles from civilization, camping out in the big treehouse his stepfather had built, overlooking the moonlit marsh. They fell asleep listening to a distant whip-poor-will finish its nightly serenade, somewhere deep within the dense woods it called home.
The following Monday, he found out almost immediately that his former date had told the school he’d broken up with her, and that her new boyfriend had “saved” her—a story soundly contradicted by everyone who had been there when he’d figured out she was gone. Bernard confronted her, and in front of more than fifty other teenagers, she told him he was “too weird,” and she felt awkward with him. Then she had the gall to suggest that he might think about going to college out of state, somewhere where he could date someone more his “own kind.” Besides: the new lover had “the nicest skin.”
Until that final remark, he might have brushed it all off as disdain for his nerdiness.
Then her new boyfriend inserted himself, armed with a number of slurs against Bernard’s race and character, drawing a mix of shock and laughter from the rest the high school—from a crowd that had doubled in size by the time Bernard lost his temper and punched the boy in the face.
To be fair: the other boy had made first contact.
That wasn’t enough to save Bernard from his own mother.
And it didn’t fix the way he felt. Nothing would. Not even the knowledge that after the number of times he’d been hit by other boys, he’d finally landed a strike hard enough to break someone’s nose—someone he deeply disliked.
Whether his Ex had used his own insecure narrative against him or had actually meant what she’d said didn’t matter. It had only been four weeks, and he still felt used and abused like some unwanted plaything.
So, he was dead serious when he’d told the girls he didn’t feel like “standing out” or “looking better.”
They were looking at men’s shoes, now.
He glanced out the window, considering the nearby stores. A Southern boutique. Another dress shop. Some tourist-trap gift shop. Another boutique. Nothing he could escape to.
Dammit.
Toby went quiet, sympathetic, but choosing to back away and watch from a distance.
While Bernard was busy ignoring the girls, they finished whatever it was they’d come for, and were finally ready to leave.
The moment they were outside, Mireia pushed a printed paper shopping bag into his hands.
“What the hell is this?”
“Just look,” she said with a suspiciously smug expression about her.
She didn’t. He looked down, pushing aside the tissue paper. She did.
She’d bought the outfit for him.
“For God’s sake, ‘Rei, did you really have to—”
“I did,” she insisted.
“Why?”
She looked up at the sky as they walked, took a deep breath, and said, “Because you’ve been on this self-deprecating kick since prom, and it’s depressing to witness. Just try the outfit, okay? If you hate it that much, I won’t do it again, but I really think it will help.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Jez added, “Thank you is also an appropriate response. That wasn’t cheap.”
“I know,” he said, “That’s why I think she’s lost her mind. Thanks, I think?”
Mireia sighed, “Close enough.”
At this point in his life, he wanted nothing more than to disappear—and never see another mirror ever again. Dressing up in some bourgie polo suit was the last thing he wanted.
After several minutes of walking in silence, Mireia said, “You know she just said that stuff so you wouldn’t chase after her. She was ready to break it up, and she did it with all the class and style of a middle school prep. She’s always lacked as much wit.”
Doesn’t that make me a fool for dating her?
“Honestly,” he said, “I’m kinda over her.” He wanted them to stop talking about it.
Mireia rolled her eyes, “I’d believe you, Bern, if I didn’t know you better.”
Jez nudged him, “You can’t keep letting that shit get under your skin.”
“But she was—“
“Wrong,” both girls insisted, overriding the word they both knew he was going to say.
“She was an idiot,” Jez said, “I made fun of her when she was your girlfriend, and I’m gonna tear her a new one, now that she’s not. She’s an airhead. She was always trying to get me and Miri to do her homework for her, always asking us questions about the books she didn’t read, and she was a bad influence on you. Not only that, but any, any girl who ever claims to be ‘embarrassed’ by you or your heritage needs to grow up and get real, and any girl who even considers using that as a reason to break up, and in front of the whole school, needs to be thrown under a fucking bus.”
He didn’t respond, and neither of them asked him to.
“Here.” She grabbed his arm and pointed down the street. “We’ll chuck her under that one, and then that horse and carriage can trample her. Maybe it’ll pee on her, too, and wash out the smell of that awful perfume.”
That brought a smile to his face and a small laugh. If nothing else, at least his cousin was there to make him smile. As they approached Marion Square, Mireia stopped again to look at flip-flops. They were close to a grill, so as soon as she was satisfied with her perusal, he insisted on grabbing lunch: hamburgers, salads, and calamari.
Mireia talked him into trying on the outfit after he’d finished eating. He had no intention of wearing it on Jez’s mad marathon around the peninsula, but she at least wanted to know what he thought of it, and couldn’t wait until they got back to the hotel.
It fit well, and she was right: it complemented his bulky, blocky figure, slenderizing a shape he had always considered formless. Deep down, he’d known he could trust her to buy the right thing, but it still surprised him. Even though he still couldn’t make eye contact with himself in the mirror, the outfit was nice. His mother would love it. He told Mireia she was right, and she accepted the comment as gratitude.
After lunch, they ambled through the crowded artisan markets along the cool, shaded path around the perimeter of Marion Square, and then headed down Calhoun to East Bay Street, which ran all the way to the Battery Wall at the end of the peninsula.
“Hey, Bern?” Jez said after a while.
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“Yeah?”
“Is . . . um,” she hesitated, then asked, “Is Toby still here?”
~I am.~ Toby said.
Jez took a deep breath, as his voice resonated for all three of them. “Okay. Well, I was just wondering . . . if you could tell us what this whole thing is about. You know, with Loren and stuff. Like, this is definitely going to be a lot of trouble, but what kind of trouble are we talking about?”
They had silently agreed not to mention the Saurians all morning. Bernard realized that their trek so far must have done the trick, for her to initiate the subject she’d been determined to forget.
~Lasoren’s job is to locate rogue immigrants. Those who have broken the code of conduct and need to be deported back to the ETHICS headquarters on Refvrenzo for processing. In this case, the Agency does not have direct evidence, but rather is acting on suspected correlation. Many Agents have been killed on this case, which is why you will need all of the help you will be given. If anything were to happen to you, that would make our situation many times worse. The hope of ETHICS is that we will be able to gather enough data to know where he is and what he is up to, so that a more advanced team can take action. So far, his suspected activities have been totally random.~
Bernard asked, “That other name you used. Was that a planet?”
~Refvrenzo? Yes. That is the planet where ETHICS and Ryozae—what Lasoren called Saurian—refugees are being hosted by the nation of Shonthera. Many Refvrish are deeply upset by the Shontherau people’s willingness to take them in, because technically the planet is under Ilaysian control. Shonthera is knowingly taking terrible risks that could also endanger other nations.~
“And these people . . . they’re not Saurians?”
~They are . . . something else. Lasoren has much to tell you. Saara, too, but the training is his job. She is here for the covert operation.~
“That was supposed to be covert??” In that outfit?
~If you had not known, would you have seen her as anything other than a tourist?~
“And this rogue,” Jez asked, “Is there any way you can show us what it looks like?”
Toby’s cheerful demeanor turned dour. ~I can. Wait until we get to the park ahead. It is a nice place to stop. You will need it.~
Mireia cringed, “I had my whole life ahead of me.”
~You still do. The Ryozaem deeply value education. You would typically be required to finish high school, but ETHICS does not feel they can wait. You are still required to complete your initial school, however, and you are encouraged to pursue at least a Bachelor’s degree. It is extremely rare for an Agent to go any further than that, but they will certainly not argue if you desire a Master’s or PhD. Your education is paid for, and your time will not be wasted.~
Her jaw dropped, and she covered her mouth sharply, “Really?”
~There are many such benefits to be had. ETHICS recognizes that their Agents sacrifice a great deal to be here— in fact, your sacrifice is even more greatly appreciated, since yours must be made in secrecy. Traditionally, their cultures do not operate under the same economic system you are familiar with. You might even find their ways as alien as they see yours. Lasoren should have your contracts in hand by tomorrow afternoon, and he will explain everything.~
At Queen Street and Vendue Range, they turned toward the Waterfront Park. The scenic detour from Jez’s original plan led them to a broad flagstone plaza lined with water jets, shooting majestically into the air and meeting on a platform in the center. Children romped in the water while their parents looked on. In a month, Bernard would likely be back with his sister, and he’d join her to escape the summer heat. For now, they headed out onto a long T-shaped pier, lined with shelters, picnic tables, stationary benches, and swing benches. They walked all the way down to the end, finding a quiet spot just off the “T” junction.
There, they leaned against the metal railing into the wind, gazing across the harbor. To the North, the aging skeletal Cooper River bridges crossed the channels where it met with the Wando River. The USS Yorktown aircraft carrier and naval museum was visible at Patriots Point, next to a large marina. On the Southeast horizon, past Shutes Folly island and the ruins of the fort known as Castle Pinkney, famous Fort Sumter was barely visible at the edge of the Harbor. Here and there, boats of every shape and size moved past them. Families walked the pier with their children. Various birds soared overhead or perched along the pier, some looking for human handouts, and others enjoying the sunshine at a distance.
“So this rogue,” Bernard said, turning against the wind so his voice wouldn’t be lost in it. The change in Toby’s upbeat tone had him worried.
And he’d been right.
The briefest glimpse entered his thoughts, framed in snow—real snow, and not related to Toby’s icy nature. A storm. An explosion. A flickering blaze. Fire. A bare hide, not scaly like a lizard, but in pebbled leather, well-weathered and wrinkled with scars. A narrow scaly face, and a long snout. A dinosaur, if he’d ever seen one, with rows of small, sharp teeth and a low, rolling growl that rose from deep within its chest. Strange, pupilless eyes were filled with colors, shifting like oil on water, shimmering here and there with tiny, dancing lights.
Then pain.
And the image was gone.
A sudden movement startled him, as Jez put her arms around his waist.
They were silent for several minutes, leaning heavily against the edge of the pier.
Mireia left first, as soon as a couple vacated the nearest swing. She flopped down on the slatted wooden bench and rocked slowly back and forth, staring at the rafters above her. Jez sniffed, drew a deep breath, and spoke in a small, shaky voice, “Come on. Let’s go sit down.”
Nodding, he forced himself to move, and headed for the swing with her. He sat down between them, with his cousin still clinging to him. A small sparrow landed in front of them, its tiny, clawed feet hopping along in search of food before flying off again. It was almost hard to believe a creature like they’d just seen could have been its ancestor. A couple of brownish-black cowbirds took its place.
A few pedestrians walked past them, and he decided he needed to at least look like he was trying to console a distraught young woman, and not simply allowing her to cling to him because he didn’t know what else to do. So he started rubbing her shoulder, in a methodical fashion that felt more absent than reassuring.
“Is this worse?” Jez finally asked, “Than . . . the other two? From . . . last night.”
He had to give that one thought. Was it worse than Nightmare and Dark? “No. Dark was scarier by far. Like a . . . big, fleshy shadow with creepy, humanoid eyes.”
~Incorrect.~ Toby said, ~Dark seems worse because it took so long to figure out what we were dealing with. Both had the ability to become invisible, and Dark entered places that should have been impossible; but they were also very young, and not widely experienced.
~Our rogue is as old as the Ryozae people. He is one of the originals—born a true Terran dinosaur. There are very few like him, in terms of age, and none like him in any other terms. He is very talented, and very intelligent; but the matter is not so simple as ‘being smarter.’ He is also said to be insane.
~Not to reflect poorly on the Ancient Ones—Lasoren’s parents are of the same generation. Of the few who remain, very few are socially active. Many are deeply withdrawn. Most are bored with their lives, and some have used periods of voluntary stasis as a way to escape the marching eons. No one bothers the Ancients, and they keep to themselves. This one is different. Violent. Known for random acts of chaos, from minor killings and demolitions to the takeover of large dynasties. Then he will vanish for hundreds, or even thousands of years by your count, and return to wreak havoc again. Always in the same places. Never . . . never anywhere like this. That is why he must be found. His mere presence here is the worst incident since Nightmare, and if it is true, and he is responsibility for the killings, then it could be many times worse.~
“What’s his name?” Mireia asked.
~Zirol.~
“What is he?” Jez asked, “I know what a dinosaur looks like, and that’s a monster.”
“Dark was a monster,” Bernard said, “Nightmare was more like a dragon. This one’s a Coelophysis.”
Both girls stared at him.
Jez leaned away from him, glaring, “Well! I’m glad we have a nerd with us to tell us what’s what! That’s real helpful, Bernie! Thanks!”
He shrugged, “I’m just telling you what I saw. The size and structure were correct for the species.”
“They’re all monsters,” she snapped, “We’re going to be killed doing this.”
~Again, it would be more than disastrous if you did, because of your age and extended families. We are hiding from your families in plain sight, and the scrutiny would be intense, perhaps even publicly so, should you come to harm.~
Mireia asked tonelessly, “And if we don’t find him . . . are sure you can’t tell us more about this . . . I can’t believe I’m saying this—”
~ Galactic Patrol? It is safe to call them by name while I am around. I can detect Ilaysian presence, and will alert you if I should ever find them near.~
“Yes,” she breathed.
~The term you had in mind is a slight misnomer. Compared to the galaxy itself, Xal Enjhi is a very small nearby realm with only a handful of stars, although if they could master the entire gravity well you call The Milky Way, they would do so unflinchingly. I suppose I should be the one to tell you, so you understand fully and correctly. I do understand our greater adversary better than most people.
~As far as anyone knows—as far as our knowledge of the galaxy extends—they are most likely the oldest . . . extant species. Thank you, Bernard. That is a good word. They are . . . how best to explain them? In the worst case scenario of a total exposure event, they will come for you, first: Ryozae immigrants and agents of ETHICS. They have a wide array of biological techniques by which to enter your heads to find out everything they can about you. Then they will punish you, wherever and however it hurts the most until you submit to them wholly. They may start with your voice, or vision. Maybe you are claustrophobic, or you have a lot of pride or personal insecurities. Maybe you are lucky enough to be particularly stubborn, and all of their efforts fail. Then they destroy you, neuron by neuron, until your brain ceases to function and you die.
~When that is over, they will move on to everyone else. Enslavement or death. Those are the only options they will provide.~
The whole time Toby was speaking, Bernard could feel a prickling sensation sliding over his skin and down the back of his throat, slithering and probing through his head until Toby finally withdrew and it stopped. It took every ounce of willpower he had just to stay on the swing with the girls, and not throw himself off the opposite balcony into the harbor to rid himself of the awful feeling. When he glanced to either side of him, it didn’t seem as though Jez or Mireia were having the same experience, though both were visibly disturbed. Mireia had drawn her legs up onto the bench, her arms wrapped around her knees and her face buried, tears sliding down her slender cheeks. Jez had gone silent, staring into space with the vacant expression that typically warned of an impending explosion.
Toby continued.
~For now, you may count yourselves fortunate that Earth is too distant and too much beyond their control to be worth it, and they lack sufficient evidence of substantial Ryozae activity. We cannot allow what happened in 1949 to happen again. A Ryozae child was lost on Earth, and when his eventual recovery from a remote military base drew Ilaysian attention, everyone present was . . . purged is the best word. Their neural networks were shredded. The Patrol appears to have considered the matter resolved, and the humans decided there must have been a chemical accident. We will not be so lucky again.~
“So,” Bernard said, “Our mission is to keep them from coming back.”
~Our mission is to keep from drawing their attention. They, too, have monitored the planet, though their main focus is on the area of Refrenzo’s gravitational effect.~
Mireia glanced up at the enormous sky above them. The periodic sunshine they had enjoyed all morning was long gone, replaced by dense, rolling cloud cover as the wind picked up. They had all seen the Milky Way that lay beyond it, startling and depthless, and more magnificent in quiet places away from the city’s lights.
She whimpered under her breath, “Why don’t you just get the CIA to take care of this? We’re just kids.”
Bernard corrected her, “We are not kids. You’re old enough to enlist.”
“In this case, yes, we are,” she said, “Just because we’re old enough to pay taxes doesn’t make us remotely qualified for this. We shouldn’t be here,” she tilted her head to look up at him, “I’m sorry, Bern, but this,” she gestured at the sky, “is why your dad left. This is what he was running from. This is what he was protecting you and your mom from. And we’re walking right into it. We don’t belong here.” She lowered her arm. “Let the government handle it. They’re grown-up professionals. They’ll know what to do.”
He nodded silently, thinking it over. Then answer came to him out of nowhere, like a memory, “ETHICS doesn’t want to risk dealing with Earth’s unstable bureaucracies. Our alliances can shift too easily to establish reliable international relations, and our history of keeping promises is very poor. An agreement reached under one president can be too easily broken under the next one. Our leadership is too self-interested. Refvrenzo is different because its nations keep to themselves. Shonthera is especially wealthy and stable, and their relationship with ETHICS is reliable.”
~I’m impressed your remembered that.~
Jez finally spoke again, “You remembered that? From where?”
Bernard shrugged, “I don’t know. I just did.”
She stood from the swing. “I can’t do this. I need to walk.”
Mireia wiped her eyes and rose to her feet. “Okay, Jez. Let’s go walk.”
Bernard pulled himself off the swing and quietly followed them.
Back at the plaza, they had three options for exploring the park, all headed in the direction they’d had in mind: follow a path along the harbor, lined with stately palmettoes, or pursue one of a pair of brick and stone-tiled walks through a tree-shaded grove rich with flowers. They chose the trees. Every now and then, they saw couples on benches, and families with children and dogs. The park was, without a doubt, one of the best decisions Mayor Joe Riley had ever made.
As the trees gave way to another large plaza, they stopped to watch children play in streams of water from the enormous Pineapple Fountain, their parents sitting on the benches around it or standing nearby, happily unaware of anything going on in the galaxy.
I used to be that innocent.
In the life he’d always known, he’d been a pretty innocent kid.
But that life had never happened. His innocence had been taken from him.
Jez finally said softly, “Those kids are like us. Same age we were when all of this began.”
Mireia added in a similar undertone, “If we don’t do this, they won’t stand a chance.”
Bernard told them quietly, “When we first moved here . . . I started having this dream. I’d be lost in a big white labyrinth. Constantly trying to run from something. I remember, if I touched the floor, it burned me, so I couldn’t take off my shoes, and I couldn’t sit or lay down, and I could never backtrack because the walls kept changing, and then sometimes they’d just suck me right in. I’d suffocate in darkness, until I felt like I was about to die, and then there’d be this blinding light, and I’d be back in the maze. And there was that thing . . . there was this monster in the maze . . . I always thought it was kinda like Icarus and the Minotaur. Just a dream about a maze because of the move and all the changes. But . . . but it . . . wasn’t,” he almost choked as the truth occurred to him.
“What was it?” Jez asked.
“It was Dark. . . . That Dark. One time when I had that dream, I broke both arms. I don’t remember how, but I still remember the endless pain.”
Mireia was watching him, now, “You do remember, don’t you. You said that a little too fast. . . . And . . . this dream sounds a little familiar.”
“No it doesn’t,” Jez said, “He did break both arms, but it was a car wreck. Spring 1989, he was in the hospital for three months. Don’t tell me that was fake.”
Toby volunteered, ~In 1989, the team tracked Bernard to a satellite station over Refvrenzo. It was the second worst incident, and the longest one. I met him soon after, while he was in recovery. At the time, he said that Nightmare had broken his arms. The idea, we believe, was to keep him from ever falling asleep. Remember: they were not human in any way. Human needs—and human emotions—were subjects of curiosity to them. They ran numerous tests to see how those needs could be pushed or changed. We believe it is possible they thought his pain and fear were fun to watch. Zirol has displayed similar tendencies, except that he has been doing it for so long that he can be much more calculated and cruel.~
Bernard stared past the girls at the fountain, wishing he’d never mentioned it, “Good to know these fucked up dreams are going to be a part of my life from now on. Our dog, Chester, used to wake me from that dream. I miss that big doofus.”
Mireia cringed, “Actually . . . Bern . . . the dog’s name was Jester.”
“It was?” he had to think about it for a minute, “Oh. I guess it was. For that big, dopey grin. Funny, because even after this supposedly all ended, we called him Chester, and he just rolled with it. Wish Mom would let me have another dog. It was a nice thing to wake up to, after a bad night.”
Jez patted his arm, “Good to know all three of us have had these dreams. I can’t wait to see what’s next.”
“Wait—what? You—?”
She was walking away, headed for the next grove.
Mireia sighed, “Come on, Bernie. I know you’re looking forward to that candy store.”