The Second Wave Read online

  John watched it all with interest. His plan to leave whenever he felt like it vanished along with the wormhole. Traveling freely from here to there was out of the question, but he was sure he’d think of something when the time came. For now, he felt as safe as possible on this planet. If things went haywire, he could always make a run for the forest and keep himself alive out there for as long as it took; he had done it before.

  He kept to himself while they walked to the village, and he didn’t put his suitcase on the cart. There wasn’t much in it, just a change of clothes and some food. The little bling he owned he carried close to his body in a pouch on the inside of his boots.

  They walked along a trail in the grass next to a creek for the better part of half an hour ere the village came into view behind a small orchard of what looked like young apple trees. John was impressed when he stepped through the gate in the high fence that surrounded the colony. It looked very high standard for a village in the middle of nowhere. The buildings were simple, yet functionary, flat, one-storied structures. All of them were interconnected by dirt roads, except for a wide, open area in the middle of the colony, the agora, which was cobbled with rough, uneven stones. It was here the protectors led the group.

  They were greeted and welcomed by a man in his fifties, who introduced himself as the first designated mayor of the village, Heath Rochester.

  “If at any point you have a problem, or need help,” he told them, “please don’t hesitate to come to me. This situation is as new for me as it is for you, but I’ll do my best to do a good job for you. There will be an orientation meeting tomorrow, the schedule is in your houses, together with a map of the colony and personalized information for each of you.”

  In the fading light of the sun, John saw clean, single-storey houses to the immediate right and left, connected by dirt roads. At the other end there were three multi-storeyed buildings. John assumed, and rightfully so as he would later find out, that those were labs and a hospital.

  “Sir, what’s your name again?” protector Niman approached him after the mayor’s speech. He held a piece of paper in his hand, no doubt a list of names.

  So no high tech equipment, John made a mental note. This could work in his favor, if push came to shove.

  John introduced himself as Duncan Wagner; the protector found his name on the list in no time.

  “Right. Dr. Wagner, your house is number twenty-three, just over there.” He walked John across the agora and then turned right into a road marked ‘Eight’. Number twenty-three was the first house, with a view of the hospital and the village centre. The light was switched on already, a gesture John thought more strange than courteous.

  He thanked the protector, then stepped inside. It didn’t occur to him to be surprised that the door was unlocked and that he didn’t get a key for the house. John had spent his last years in places where people were either too poor to lock their doors, or too dangerous to bother.

  * * * *

  Carl Gibson returned from the men’s room to find Eugenia Gust screaming at the top of her lungs. He opened the door to her room just in time to see her all but fall out of the bed. She moved with an uncanny speed, yanking at her restraints. Already she had pulled out the IV needles successfully.

  He didn’t dare to approach her, so he stayed rooted to the spot in the doorframe. He groped for his radio.

  “Captain, this is Gibson,” he shouted over Eugenia’s groans. “We have a situation in the hospital.”

  “What is it, Carl?”

  “I have no idea. But bring Dr. Paige.”

  He held the radio towards Eugenia, so they could hear her screams.

  “We’ll be there as soon as we can, but we’ve just left the arrival site. Try to calm her down.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do my best.”

  He switched the radio off. Very carefully he made one step towards Eugenia. “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you calm down, hm? No one is going to hurt you.”

  She heard his words through the never ending fog of noise. She could even remember his name, if she concentrated. But the voices were too many, she didn’t know how to shut them out anymore. All Eugenia knew was that she needed to get out of here. She needed to go back to her temple, she was going to be safe there. Surely she was going to be safe there.

  She had to free herself. Leave this place. Run away. But first, she had to be able to concentrate again. So she tried to bring order into the cacophonous chaos of her mind. Sorted the noises into groups, and the groups into categories. That was when she found Dr. Paige again. The doctor was worried about her, she was hurrying to get to the hospital; her thoughts were running wild, she was no good to Eugenia. Eugenia needed someone with a clear mind, someone whose strength she could hold on to. It took her a while to find such a voice, but then she heard him. His thoughts were different from the others, structured, focussed. He was thinking of running away, too. No, she amended her first impression of him, he was already running. Eugenia closed her eyes and concentrated on that one voice.

  * * * *

  The house was simple. Timber, with a flat roof. When John stepped inside, he noticed it was not completely finished. The floor in the vestibule was nothing more than dried, solid earth, and the walls in the kitchen weren’t sealed, yet.

  There was a simple wood stove, a sink. A wooden crate for provisions, shelves on one wall, as well as a counter. No refrigerator or ice box, no microwave, not even a blender.

  To the people who came here for a new start it must seem like a huge step back from the comfort they had in the cities, but to John it was almost like being back in the outlawed zone. He’d like it here, he mused.

  The sound of footsteps startled him out of his thoughts. Out of habit he drew the dagger he’d stolen from George and swirled around. A man stood in the door to the kitchen, looking at him with curious eyes.

  “Who are you?” John snarled. “What are you doing in my house?”

  Peter cocked his head. “I could ask you the very same thing. Probably a mix up.”

  John lowered the knife but kept it in his hand. He didn’t like the way the stranger looked at him with something akin to recognition on his face.

  After a long moment, John was just about to ask him for his name again, Peter said tentatively, “Ian?”

  What were the odds of going to another planet in another reality with a stolen identity, and meet the one person who would recognize him from another lifetime?

  John had been Ian for a relatively short time when he was about twenty. Cardiff, his memory helpfully pointed out. But although he could still remember the club’s name where he used to work as a bouncer, The Cat’s Wardrobe, he couldn’t find any familiarity in the face of the man before him.

  “It is you, isn’t it?” Peter felt surer now.

  “Yes,” John drawled. He saw no point in denying anything. If this man knew him, than he was in enough trouble anyway. So much for staying for a while.

  “It’s me. Peter.”

  “Of course. I remember you.”

  Peter merely grinned lopsidedly. “No, you don’t.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  Peter shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s been a long time. We used to be…we were together. For a while.”

  And then John remembered. Peter. Waiter at The Cat’s Wardrobe. He exclusively worked night shifts, because he spent his days at university. They had both just moved to Cardiff. Peter needed a friend, and John needed a place to stay, so they shared a flat and their lives for a few weeks, maybe even months, the details were foggy now. Peter Sheldon.

  “It’s Wagner now,” Peter corrected, shyly holding up a hand with a wedding band. John found himself faced with two options: Leave immediately, or trust a long forgotten lover who used to be intolerably smitten by him.

  For reasons he didn’t fully comprehend, he decided on the latter. He hadn’t seen a friendly face in a long time; at least for tonight, he was tired of running.

  * * * *
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br />   Chapter 17: Hide and Seek

  Captain Eleven helped with seeing the settlers to their houses. Then she followed Dr. Paige to the hospital. Carl had radioed in a second time twenty minutes earlier to tell her that Eugenia had significantly calmed down and was now sleeping. She was not an imminent threat at the moment, so Eleven just sent Sally and Gavin to assist the doctor if anything should happen again.

  When she walked down the second floor hospital corridor, all was quiet. Summer Paige waited for her in front of Eugenia’s room, watching her patient through a glass panel in the wall.

  “How is she?” Eleven asked.

  Paige shrugged; not to show indifference, but to indicate that she didn’t know. “Whatever it was, she’s sleeping it off now. Carl said she was trying to free herself, and that she sounded like she was in pain, so I didn’t hook her back up to the IV. Maybe she had an allergic reaction to the nutrients. I took a blood sample to be on the safe side, but the results take some time.”

  Eleven’s eyes wandered over the limp figure of the woman. She couldn’t quite believe what she saw, although it was just one of those things Summer would do without telling her.

  “You untied her?” she asked sharply.

  Dr. Paige at least had the decorum to look adequately abashed. “She tugged on them so violently—she injured herself. In this case I put the health of my patient before your security concerns. She won’t harm anyone.”

  “You can’t be sure of that!”

  “I’m pretty sure. So far she’s cooperated beautifully—she eats, she drinks, she seems grateful for everything we’re doing for her.”

  “Could be an act,” Eleven pointed out.

  Paige shook her head, she didn’t think so. “Just look at her, Emily. So fragile.”

  “Don’t make the mistake and confuse her with Helena, Summer.”

  Paige turned her face away. “I won’t.”

  “Just keep that in mind. Auburn curls and a refusal to talk doesn’t make her your sister.”

  “It doesn’t make her our enemy, either,” Paige reprimanded her friend softly.

  Eleven nodded.

  “Don’t patronise me, Emily. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Do me a favor and be wary anyway. That’s all I’m asking.”

  Paige gave a sigh, so did Eleven. They were just not seeing eye to eye on that matter. There was absolutely no doubt in Eleven’s book that Eugenia Gust was a security concern, and that she held the potential to be their enemy—a spy, or a rogue operative at best, a vanguard for something more to come at worst. Eleven was not going to let whatever happened to the first settlers happen to the second wavers.

  Captain Eleven wasn’t right, but she wasn’t wrong either. Eugenia was far more powerful than she even knew herself. And in this moment she wasn’t sleeping, she was plotting her escape.

  * * * *

  “So you’re a spice salesman, and you were on a business trip in Austria,” Peter repeated, “when you got Duncan’s ticket by chance, and thought you’d try out a new planet.”

  He and John were sitting on the couch in the small living room of house number twenty-three, sipping water. It was dark outside, darker than most people were comfortable with, since there were no street lights and no flickering advertisements. It was also considerably colder outside than it had been a few hours ago, so John had kindled a fire in the hearth. It was now snug and warm in the little room.

  “That’s right,” John lied. “How about you?” he prompted.

  “Nothing quite as fancy, I’m afraid. My husband and I got an invitation to join because of our work. They needed scientists to study this place. Then, when Duncan died, I initially decided against coming here, but my sister talked me back into it. She’s one of the protectors here, Sally Sheldon.”

  John laughed. “She was nearly on duty when everyone’s identity got verified. Lucky for me one of the goats escaped and she had to leave her post before it was my turn.”

  “What do we do now?” asked Peter.

  “About me?” John asked back. “Obviously, if you tell anyone about me, they’ll send me to prison.”

  “Obviously, they’ll find out anyway, because as soon as my sister sees Duncan’s name on the list of people who came here, she’ll know something hinky is going on.”

  “I’m not planning on staying long.”

  “But you’re staying tonight?”

  “If you let me.”

  Peter softly reached out his hand to pat John’s leg. “You’re free to stay for as long as you want. This house was too empty anyway.”

  John stared at the hand on his leg for a heartbeat. “Then I am in your debt, Peter Wagner.” With that he leaned over and kissed him. He didn’t think twice about it, the notion came naturally. Back in Cardiff, that was how they had sealed their promises to each other. Even if John had never kept a single one of them.

  Kissing him, he truly remembered Peter: the texture of his lips, the taste of his tongue, his unique smell. Another kiss and his fingers were already toying with the buttons of Peter’s shirt. He draped a leg across the other man’s lap; he was going to leave a trail of kisses on the exposed chest, but Peter gently pushed him away.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said, his flushed face betraying the calmly spoken words.

  John smiled, but didn’t stop his fingers from unbuttoning the shirt until Peter gently caught his hand. He shot him an earnest look that made John withdraw at last.

  “I told you, you could stay; you don’t have to pay for it like that.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be payment.”

  “Yes, it was. It’s what you do, Ian. You haven’t changed a bit since then.” Peter didn’t sound bitter, or disappointed. He just stated a fact. “But really, there’s no need for you to do that. I’m on your side; ex-lover's honor.” He gave a small smile. “I don’t care if you’re a spice salesman from Austria, or a bouncer in a club in Cardiff. Tabula rasa.”

  Peter stood, kissed him goodnight and left for the bedroom, leaving John feeling more bewildered than he had in years.

  * * * *

  The evening was cold, but the air was fresh and the sky starlit. It was impossible to tell just how different the stars were from Earth’s, because no one had figured out yet where exactly on Alternearth the colony was, partly because the constellations were just so different that they couldn’t be used as a reliable guide.

  Due to the time difference, most of the settlers were awake until late that night. And those who looked out their window, or even stepped outside for a look, could see that the moon was close to the planet. It looked like a giant paper lampion. Not that anyone had seen Earth’s moon lately to draw a comparison. The sky was usually hidden behind a thick blanket of fog the atmospheric storms were causing. But on Alternearth, atmospheric disturbances were but a memory; the sky was as clear and peaceful as ever.

  The storm hit around midnight.

  Thick, black clouds gathered above the village, eerily illuminated by a network of soundless lightning. The thunder clapped shortly after, loud enough to wake those who had gone to bed. Then the rain began to gush. An intense, heavy downpour. It turned the village’s dirt roads into creeks within minutes. High winds lashed the water against the houses and the stables. Panic broke out quickly.

  * * * *

  Chapter 18: A Thousand Oceans

  If he hadn’t been woken by urgent taps on his shoulder, John would have slept though the storm. But Peter shook him awake. “Ian, a storm is raging outside!”

  “Let it rage,” came the mumbled reply. “It’ll pass.”

  John turned away to go back to sleep. He enjoyed the softness of the sofa under his bones, he hadn’t had the luxury of anything like it ever since he’d left Byzantium in a hurry.

  But Peter was adamant. “I know it’ll pass. But the others don’t. There’s chaos outside. And I think someone just yelled that the cows have escaped.”

  John finally opened his eyes. He was
going to say that he didn’t care, but his stay here depended on how long he could stay on Peter’s good side, so he got up. Grabbing his coat, he followed the other man outside.

  Chaos indeed. People rushed to and fro, just like the escaped chickens that were flitting hither and thither between their legs. A window in the building across the road had been smashed in by a toppled tree; several people were now trying to fasten a large canvas over it, despite the strong wind, to protect the house from being flooded. The task was made all the more difficult by the darkness that was only sporadically brightened every time another lightning flashed.

  Peter dragged him out into the rain; they were drenched instantly. Hundreds of tiny, icy pricks against the skin that made John miss his full beard.

  “Where are we going?” he yelled at Peter over the storm.

  “The stables,” Peter yelled back. “They'll need help to catch the cattle. I hope you can ride a horse!”

  The stables were at the north side of the perimeter, outside the village’s fence. Two large cotes, one for the horses and goats, and one for the other cattle. A smaller pen with chicken houses was wedged between the two buildings; it was completely wrecked. There were hens everywhere, all but swimming through uncountable puddles, fearful sailors crossing a thousand tiny oceans.

  The earth was macerated. Mud splashed up to their ankles with every step. The doors of one cote were wide open, leveraged out of their hinges by the storm. A couple of people, among them John recognized protector Niman, were shooing a flock of petrified sheep back inside. The other building seemed intact. It was there that Peter was headed, past the others and the sheep.

  “The horses are in here,” he shouted. “Let’s hope they’re fit enough to go out in the storm.”

  As if to underline that last statement, another thunder crashed. One of the sheep fainted.