The Second Wave Read online

  “I didn’t,” Phil explained while his brother studied the screen. “But I’m fairly certain I know what caused it.”

  By way of a further explanation he used his pencil to point at the papers in his lap. “I wanted to secure our high score and accidentally printed out Tony’s status report. Look at that.”

  Tom joined his brother on the table. He grabbed for the papers and began skimming over the pages that contained seemingly endless rows of numbers and digits—a language the two of them were even more fluent in than their native tongue.

  “This is impossible,” he stated after he’d read the first three pages.

  “Indeed it is. So I also printed out all of the other reports,” Phil used his foot to indicate a knee high stack of paper on the floor, “to double check. This is pretty sound proof.”

  Thinking of the amount of documents they now had to carefully read through, Tom gave a world weary sigh. But moaning wasn’t going to help, he knew. If what the report stated was true and not a bug in the file, then they had to call the general and perhaps a whole lot of other people, too. If it was true, then further colonization of Alternearth was dangerous, impossible even.

  “I must admit, I am at a floss,” General Fatique admitted about five hours later. He had refused to enter the brothers’ room, so the three of them were in his office, where Tom and Phil had brought the more essential print-outs, which now covered the general’s desk as well as most of the floor.

  “What are you trying to tell me, doctors?”

  Phil shrugged, obviously impatient with Fatique’s inability to read binary. “Alternearth moves.”

  “Of course it does,” Fatique replied, impatient himself with the twins’ inability to come straight forward with information. “So does Earth.”

  Tom and Phil deLuca had been hired, among other things, to keep the planets’ orbits from interfering with the stabilisation of the wormhole. It was among their many duties to keep the computers calculating to counterbalance those movements and ensure a safe passageway through both realities. If they had slacked on their job, this was an amazingly ill chosen moment to tell him.

  “We didn’t slack, sir!” Phil huffed, arms crossed.

  “We’re not talking about the orbital movements of the planets.” Tom stepped in. “We’re talking about tiny, teeny-weeny, random movements away from Alternearth’s orbit.”

  Fatique blinked. “Is that even possible?”

  “No,” Tom said.

  “Completely not possible,” Phil agreed. “But it is undoubtedly what happened, and it’s what caused the fluctuations in the wormhole connection. The planet is shifting infinitesimally off its course. Enough to break the connection with Earth every now and then.”

  It had happened twice so far. Both times the wormhole had destabilized, and at least once everything on Alternearth had changed in the meantime. There was no telling what would await the scout team who were gearing up this instant to go through the newly established wormhole.

  * * * *

  Chapter 38: The Harbingers

  Life returned to normal in the village over the next days. The air brought a fresh warmth with it that revived the settlers’ spirits because it stirred memories of spring. The fact that the wormhole was open once more and exchange with Earth was possible again, was irrelevant to most people. They had come here for a new life and this was what they’d got. It was a hard life, filled with dangers, but it was theirs now. The only change the rekindled contact with Earth brought with it was that they had to build another village now after all. Simon Jones immediately got to work and modified the original plans to incorporate some necessary changes, so the new wave of settlers could ease into the daily life on Alternearth with less disturbances.

  At the hospital, Summer Paige worked the day shift. There had been a batch of admissions in the last night. One of the kids had had a birthday party, and among the presents was a beautiful, night blossoming plant, whose spores caused an intense but, despite the teenagers’ outraged protests, mostly harmless allergic reaction.

  She was just administering what she and her patients hoped to be the last shot of antihistamine.

  “Is the swelling ever going down?” Isabel Moralez, one of the party guests complained. She was the only one of the lot who was still able to speak more or less clearly. Summer smiled reassuringly, patted the girl on the head and carefully avoided answering.

  “Nurse Whitmore will be around in a few hours to check on you.” She spoke slowly and clearly through the surgical mask she was wearing. “Try to sleep.”

  “Is the swelling ever going down?” asked Emily Eleven, amused when her friend stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind her.

  “It is indeed,” said Summer. “But not anytime soon.”

  In the meantime the teenagers were contagious at least for another two days, and needed to stay in isolation.

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” She asked, but walked Emily down the corridor nonetheless.

  “Your boyfriend sends me. He was out on patrol with Sally, and he kindly asked me to relay the following message to the Queen of Hearts—I presume he meant you by that.”

  “He’d better. What’s the message?”

  “They’re coming.”

  “I’ll get my coat!”

  She also got her binoculars from her office, then followed Emily out into the snow.

  Others were on their way, too, all heading for the South gate of the fenced in village. A group had built a high seat next to the entrance three years ago, large enough to carry about ten to a dozen people. It was built for the sole purpose of watching the migrating harbingers: animals who had no resemblance whatsoever to any animal on Earth. Larger than a horse, smaller than a house, with four clawed hoofs, white skin, and big, intelligent eyes. They fed mostly on fish and carrion, but Captain Eleven and Timothy Niman had once seen one of them kill two of the hounds in self defence. Twice a year they passed by the village in some distance; once in the late summer, heading East, once in the winter, heading West into the great forest. Once their departure marked the end of summer, once the beginning of spring. Thus they were named harbingers.

  The children climbed up the high stand to watch from above, while the others who had assembled to view this amazing spectacle gathered on the ground, binoculars at the ready. It was better not to get close to the harbingers. As graceful and marvellous as they were, they were a lot more dangerous than the ferocious-looking, yet docile hounds in the subway tunnels.

  Summer made her way through the small crowd, her feet sinking up to the ankles into the snow. Someone brought hot tea, and Tyson was handing out cookies in the shape of harbingers. She declined the tea, gratefully accepted a cookie and made her way to the front, where Timothy Niman, her boyfriend of thirteen months, was waiting for her. He greeted her with a kiss, pressing his cold nose against her cheek.

  “They’ll be here any moment, love,” he said. “Keep an eye on the tree line behind the riverbank.”

  He was right; it didn’t take long until the first harbinger dashed out of the forest and leapt over the river. Its tall, slim body hovered in the air for a heartbeat, defying gravity, before it touched down on the other side of the water. The first one was closely followed by the rest of the group—first two, then three at a time; then a group of eight animals, all jumping simultaneously, like a perfectly attuned squad of athletes. When their hoofs touched the sand, their secret audience applauded softly.

  The whole scene lasted mere minutes, but it was going to be the talk of the settlement for the rest of the week; and, more importantly, it was the sign that winter was coming to an end soon.

  When it was over, when the cookies were eaten, and the tea was drunk, Summer leaned into Timothy’s embrace. They stayed rooted to the spot for a little while longer, while the crowd around them broke up. Just gazing out into the glistening white landscape. The sun was distant, but high in the sky. No wind was blowing.

  Of cours
e, Timothy Niman, who had no sense of romance or timing, spoiled it by confessing, “You should know that General Fatique has offered anyone on our team to be replaced, if we so wished.”

  Summer turned her head to look at him. “Replaced?” she asked, understandably baffled.

  Timothy shifted uneasily. “Yeah, you know our assignment here wasn’t permanent. Five years kind of wasn’t the idea.” And so, even though only a few hours had passed on Earth, the General made an offer to those who were supposed to be only temporarily stationed on Alternearth—the workmen and the protectors—to return to Earth as soon as they liked and be replaced by someone else.

  Summer gave a curt nod. Just her luck, she thought, just like usual. Not that she had had her doubts about jumping headfirst into a relationship with a man who was sixteen years her junior. She didn’t easily open up to people, and it seemed that every time she did, she ended up heartbroken and alone. After Helena, she hadn’t wanted to let anyone in. It had taken Timothy months to get her to go out with him, and after their first date, a long, heartrending summer to just let him kiss her. She gave him credit for his relentlessness, though.

  “I can’t believe you’re even considering this!”

  The open offence in his voice made her snap back into the present again. “What would I consider?” she asked, honestly confused.

  “You were considering that I was considering going back to Earth, weren’t you?!”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “No!”

  “No?”

  “Of course not! I worked so bleeding hard to get you, I’m not ever letting you go. You’re my Queen of Hearts.”

  She laughed. With relief and with amusement.

  “In fact,” he crowed, “I was going to ask for your hand in marriage today.”

  It took a few seconds for the proposal to really sink in, and when Summer was finally done with being speechless, she couldn’t tell him she thought it was probably not a good idea to get married, because Tyson came running towards them, shouting her name, gesticulating wildly. “Doctor Paige!” he called, out of breath, “It’s John. He sends me to fetch you. Come quickly!”

  Timothy didn’t even get to show her the promise ring he had made.

  * * * *

  Chapter 39: The Missing Story

  Summer, Timothy in tow, hurried through the snow after Tyson, who was making up the front of their little queue.

  Young Tyson, the wunderkind chef, had changed from a skinny twelve-year-old to a brawny teenager of seventeen years. He wore his hair fashionably short and kept the fringe out of his eyes with glittery barrettes. He still wore dresses, something his current girlfriend especially fancied about him.

  Tyson and John had struck up something like a friendship over the years. Whenever the boy wasn’t in the kitchen or with one of his girlfriends, he was found in the stables or at John’s cabin, playing cards or just discussing life and the universe until the wee hours.

  The front door to John’s house stood ajar. Tyson pushed it open without even stopping and rushed to the small bedroom, followed closely by Summer and Timothy.

  John sat on a small, wooden stool next to his bed, one foot tapping impatiently against the side of the nightstand. He rose when the puny crowd barged in. A frown appeared on his forehead as his gaze fell on protector Niman, but he didn’t send him away. It was not until John spoke that Summer’s eyes shifted to the bed, where Eugenia lay. Her face was paler than usual; small red blotches on the cheeks made a stark contrast to the almost alabaster looking skin. The eyes glassy and unfocussed, her breathing shallow and short-winded. Without further checking, Summer immediately saw that she was running a high fever.

  “It has been going up and down all night,” John explained.

  “But I saw her yesterday—she was fine then!” Tyson butted in.

  Summer patted her perpetual problem patient down, checking the temperature with one, the heartbeat with the other hand. “Did she do anything out of the ordinary yesterday?”

  John shook his head. “The fever started sometime during the night with no premonition.”

  He woke up to the sound of her voice, babbling nonsense, sobbing quietly. Arms stretched out into the air as if she was feeling for something that wasn’t there. Seeing her like that terrified him, he didn’t mind admitting to that.

  “Let’s pack her up,” Summer decided. “Get her to the hospital.”

  “No.” John’s fingers quickly and adamantly wrapped themselves around Timothy’s wrist when he made a step forward to pick Eugenia up. She was not leaving this room or this bed.

  “I can provide better for her at the hospital,” Summer insisted.

  But John stayed resolute. He was not letting her out of his sight; it was the one thing Eugenia had made him promise in between two fever attacks this morning.

  “Fine.” Summer held up her hands in surrender. “At least get her to sweat it out, then. I’ll come back later with my kit.”

  Despite the words, her lips were tightly pressed together, her voice dangerously melodic. She knew it was no use arguing with him, but she also knew he would take good care of Eugenia, perhaps even better care than her nurses would provide, as much as it pained her to acknowledge. It was still hard to let go of Eugenia, after everything she had done for the girl. All the nights she sat at her bed, pointlessly chatting away, hoping to say something that would trigger a response. After all this, Eugenia loathed the hospital, and held no feelings for the woman who had so wholeheartedly nursed her back to health.

  When John was alone with her again, he stood up and walked the two steps over to the bed. The frame creaked feebly in protest when he lay down next to her. Her fingers immediately began searching for him under the blanket. Some focus crept back into her pupils.

  “She left me,” she repeated for the umpteenth time, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m all alone now.”

  He pressed a kiss to her hot, sweaty forehead. The words made no sense to him, he had no idea who she was talking about; every time he asked he got the same, useless answer. This time he didn’t say anything at all.

  They lay like that for some time; silent, listening to the sounds outside and the crackling of the fire in the hearth, whose flames painted elegant shadows on the walls.

  “There is still one story left you haven’t told me,” Eugenia whispered when she was able to form coherent thoughts again.

  “Twice you have asked me about this story,” John replied, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Twice I have answered that I will not tell you. It is a sad tale. One I do not want to burden your mind with.”

  “It’s not sad. You only think it is, because you don’t see what lies behind the words. Please. Tell me it.”

  * * * *

  Embolimon: The Tale of the Black Snake and the White Flower

  Before Time there was Chaos, and out of the Chaos stepped Zamná who was all light and who ruled all.

  Zamná came out of the water that destroyed all sins. He stepped onto the shore and he walked twice seven days until he came to a great plain. There he sat down on a stone. He told his people, who were called Itzá, to build a temple in this very spot and a city around the temple.

  And so they did and the holy city Itzmál was born. When it was finished, Zamná returned to the sky and into the sun where he was born. There was great mourning, although the people knew that his spirit was still surrounding them. The Itzá took his bodily remains, buried them and built another temple on top of it.

  People came from all across the world to set foot in the holy city of Itzmál. It was the Golden Age of Light. All was beautiful, but that was before the downfall.

  The downfall was written in the books of darkness, but no mortal can decipher the words the Gods have written:

  The Golden Serpent of Light fell from the sky; it pulled out its wings, turned black and crawled on the ground. It was called Canék then, and it became the prince of the Itzá, who was feared by all.

 
; Such was the time in which the Princess Sac-Nicté of Mayab was born into, who was more delicate than dew and more beautiful than a dove. They called her White Flower.

  When Prince Canék was seven years old, he killed a butterfly; when he was twice seven years, he tore a stag. When he counted three times seven years, he became king of the Itzá; it was the day he first laid eyes on Sac-Nicté. Her sight made him weep one day and one night.

  The Princess of the Mayab, Sac-Nicté, was loved by her people and by strangers alike. When she counted five years of age, she offered a bowl of water to a thirsty traveller; when she was twice five years old, she fed a hungry dove with corn. When she was three times five years old, she laid eyes on Prince Canék and the woman inside her blossomed, and all that was written was revealed to her in a dream that night.

  They met on the square before the great temple of the Mayapán. Although there were many people about, nobody saw what was going on. For to the Gods is revealed what mankind doesn’t understand; they made it so that an invisible arrow pierced the prince and the princess through the heart, so they knew they were meant to be together. This Sac-Nicté understood; she promised herself she would shine her light only on Prince Canék, to rekindle the flame that had gone out in his heart.

  But Sac-Nicté was promised to another. Prince Canék was invited to their wedding. Three times a messenger came to Canék’s palace in Itzmál, to ask him to join the wedding. Three times the prince accepted this invitation. But his eyes were coals and his heart was burning with desire. He promised he would let no one else pick the flower he desired for himself.

  So he gathered his men, and on the day of the wedding, when Sac-Nicté was lead to the temple and was about to be given away to another under the eyes of the people of all great cities of the Mayab, Prince Canék came down upon her like a raging tempest. He swept her up in his arms and carried her away.

  Not a drop of blood was shed that day, but it was the darkest hour for all those left behind. It was an act of war. It was the beginning of the end.