A Stranger Thing (The Ever-Expanding Universe) (28 page)

“Jesus!” I hiss. “Would you mind being, like, point-oh-two times less douchy? You’re going to wake up my—”

Olivia begins to wail.

“Well, great,” I growl. “What do you want now? You’ve already got all of Marsden’s files. Unless you came to help me change Livvie’s diaper—”

“We’re leaving,” the offending Almiri soldier interrupts.
“Now.”

Ducky is up on his feet in an instant, stepping between me and the soldier. “Where are you taking us?” he demands. Marnie, I notice, is up nearly as quickly, clutching Ducky’s hand. But there are more pressing things for me to process at the moment.

“We’re not taking
you
anywhere,” Alan answers, entering from the hallway. “I have strict instructions from Byron to take only this one”—he jerks his head at me—“her parents, and the baby.” He looks in my mother’s direction. “Appears the ‘Lord’ misses his darling daughter.”

“Wait, huh?” I say, trying to piece that together. “You mean . . .” My eyes land on my mother, and it is very obvious that there is
an enormous piece of our family history
that she’s failed to disclose.

“Now, dearheart . . . ,” she begins.

“Elvie?” Ducky says over his shoulder. “Everything okay?”

But I’m too busy rounding on my mother to answer him. “Lord Byron is your
dad
?” I squeak out. “How is it that neither he nor you thought it would be important to let me know—”

And my mother, my flesh and blood, has the gall to roll her eyes. “Let’s not get into it right now,” she replies. “It’s very complicated.”

Ducky slowly spins around, and his eyes have gone enormous. “Dude, Elvie,” he says in all seriousness. “Are you telling me James Dean is your grandfather?” He does a double-take, from me to my mom. And, obviously, takes the enormity of this moment with the gravitas it is due. “You are totally kicking my
ass
at Six Degrees right now.”

“We’re leaving,” Alan barks again. At the bunk where my father has been gasping for life for the past several hours, one of the other Almiri jerkwads is hoisting him not-so-gently to his feet. “Move it.
Now
.”

“But . . .” I glance at Ducky. They’re not making me leave him. Not really. “What’s going to happen to everyone else?”

“None of your concern,” Alan says curtly.

And just as I’m rising up, I feel a soft tug at my chest. At first I think it’s Olivia, whose wailing is threatening to make me go deaf again (the girl, I’m starting to discover, does
not
like Alan). But no. It’s my mother, attempting to surreptitiously tuck the book of maps into Olivia’s papoose. I look at her, a question on my face.

“It’s all right, Elvan,” she whispers to me as she pats the book down in its hiding place for good measure. “Everything will be fine.”

That’s the last thing she gets out before she is whisked off her feet and shoved out the door. Baby Olivia and I are not far behind.

I don’t even get a chance to say good-bye to Cole.

We pull up to the train depot, and Jørgen brusquely yanks Mom off the sled by the elbow.

“Hey, watch it, asshole!” I yell at him. He turns and glares at me with contempt, then reaches to grab me just as harshly, even though I’m cradling Olivia in my arms. I instinctively pull the baby out of his reach. “You really want me telling Byron why his daughter and granddaughter returned covered in bruises?” I ask.

Jørgen glowers at me, his arm still outstretched, frozen in place. I can tell he’d probably like to do a lot more than bruise me, but I’m too filled with frustrated rage at everything that’s happened to give a shit. I shoot out a leg and kick his hand away.

“Hybrid or not,” I snap at him, “I’m the Big Kahuna’s goddamn granddaughter, so you better just slow your incredibly lame roll, tough guy.” I guess you could say I’ve gotten over my shock and awe at the whole being-descended-from-James-Freaking-Dean
thing fairly easily. Possibly because it is among the less weird facts I’ve discovered about myself in the last week or so.

“From what I hear, he won’t be the Big Kahuna for long,” Jørgen snarls. “Now get moving.”

The guards shuttle me, Dad, Zee, and Marsden onto the train and plop us down into the first car, facing one another. Marsden’s face is blank, unreadable, and my mother just stares out the window at our last view of Antarctica. Olivia’s stopped wailing, soothed slightly by the sled ride from the prison base, I suppose, but she’s still squirmy, and I’m just waiting for her next meltdown. I rub my thumb through her fine, fuzzy hair, thinking about how I could really use a cheering-up from ever-optimistic Cole right about now. But Cole is back at the prison, and who knows what will happen to him. Who knows what
is
happening to him?

Next to me, Dad is not in good shape. His lips are still tinged blue, and his skin is pale and clammy, the remnants of the warm gel mixing with his perspiration and glistening sickly. Even inside his new thermal he’s shivering.

“Don’t you have any blankets or meds or
anything
?” I yell at Alan, who’s standing in the doorway of our train car. He doesn’t respond, though, just works his following-orders stony-silence thing. Probably steamed up that he keeps finding himself playing my chaperone to and from the South Pole.

I turn my attention back to Dad, while Olivia tosses restlessly inside her papoose. “Are you okay, Dad?” I ask softly, knowing it’s possibly the dumbest question I’ve ever asked anyone in my entire life.

“I’m fine,” my father replies, offering me a weak smile. But he’s still trembling.

I take his hand in mine, meaning to be comforting, but he winces at my touch.

“Dad?”

“It’s nothing,” he says. “Just tender.”

“Let me see.”

“It’s nothing, dearheart.”

There’s a gentle shudder as the train starts up, beginning its acceleration toward optimal docking speed for our transfer to the elevator. For a long while the quiet thrumming of the mag rail, and my dad’s stammered breathing as he slips into a restless sleep, are the only noises that fill the car. Then little Livvie starts up with the pre-wails, kicking against my stomach.

“Liv, shush,” I whisper, eyes darting to my dad as his eyelids flutter open-closed. The last thing he needs right now is an infant screeching in his ear. I try to channel all the inner calm I do not feel. “Be quiet, okay? Quiet, honey.”

“Elvan, here, I’ll take Olivia,” Zee offers. She reaches out her arms. “It’s about time I bonded with my grandbaby.”

Grateful, I lift Livvie out of the papoose and hand her over to my mother, who takes her gently and speaks to her in hushed tones.

“
Shhh
, baby,
shhh
,” my mother coos. “It’s okay, dearheart. Yes, that’s it.
Shhhhh
 . . .”

“I always thought that was Dad’s thing,” I say. My mother looks at me curiously. “ ‘Dearheart,’ ” I clarify.

My mother shifts Olivia up on her shoulder as the baby’s muscles relax into an almost sleep. “That was my pet name for
your father,” she says quietly, smiling at Dad’s figure beside me. “It’s what my mother used to call me. Later I learned she got it from
my
dad.”

And here I thought the only thing I inherited from my mother was a penchant for sass.

I turn my attention back to Dad, who—even half-asleep—is still cradling his hand with a pained look on his face. Slowly, carefully, I peel off his glove.

I suck in my breath hard. Underneath the glove Dad’s fingers have shrunk back down to normal size, but the skin is loose around the muscle, and the fingers are a deep black-purple. I look up at Dr. Marsden, sitting handcuffed next to my mother.

“It’s nothing,” he says, as if Dad had merely slammed his knuckles in a door. “Just bruising. He won’t lose the fingers.”

“You’re sure?” I ask. “He’s not superhuman like the rest of—”

“I’m sure,” Marsden replies. “I wouldn’t say so otherwise.”

“Changing the subject,” Dad says, suddenly awake, his voice creaking with effort. I turn my gaze back to him, surprised he’s conscious. He pulls his ungloved hand from my grip and cradles it gingerly in his lap. He clears his throat with the effort of gearing up to speak again. “Do we think we’re heading back to the States?”

“Wherever we’re going,” Marsden replies, “it’s not a mystery what will happen once we’re there. I’ll be interrogated, tortured for information. Then maybe killed, if the Almiri are feeling particularly brazen. And you three”—he gestures with his head at me, my mother, and Olivia—“well, we know what’s in store for you.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Neutralization of the threat,” he clarifies.

“If they wanted to harm them, they’d have done so by now,” Dad says.

“It depends on what you consider ‘harm,’ ” Marsden responds. He looks up at Alan, not two meters away and still pretending not to pay any attention to us. “Isn’t that right, Almiri?”

“You mean they’re going to sterilize us,” I say, suddenly noticing that I have been unconsciously rubbing the back of my right hand, just the way Bernard used to.

“What
should
have been done,” Jørgen says derisively, “were it not for the sentimentality of a misguided fool.”

Byron, I realize, is that fool. My grandfather. It seems that in sending me to Antarctica to freeze my buns off, Byron really
was
trying to protect me—and his great-granddaughter.

“Byron will help us,” I say quietly, mostly to myself.

The look on Marsden’s face is that of a kindly uncle whose niece is blathering on about Santa Claus. “I think we’re past that, Elvie,” he tells me. “I admire your persistence in the face of adversity, but your failing is that you always put your faith in the wrong people.”

The hum of the train reaches that familiar pitch, and Alan and the other Almiri gather us up to move to the docking car at the center of the train. As we enter, we discover that someone else has joined us too.

“Bok Choy!”
Sure enough, standing between two Almiri guards, and wearing a small gray jumpsuit, is my new little buddy. Bok Choy is jumping up and down, grinning at me. I swear he looks like he grew another two inches since I saw him
last. He’s thrilled to see me, obviously, although whatever he’s attempting to communicate in his strange, guttural language merely sounds to me like “Alka-Seltzer!”

I will take it.

“Hey, buddy,” I say, offering him a small wave. He wrestles free from the guards and runs to me, wrapping me up in a big hug that’s a little too tight, thanks to his burgeoning Jin’Kai strength.

“Alka-Seltzer frommle-garb!”

“Oof! Easy, buddy. You’re made of tougher stuff than me,” I say. But I hug him back just the same. After all, it’s not his fault he’s a genetically engineered attempt at a Jin’Kai supersoldier. I squeeze his muscly arm. “Alka-Seltzer’s glad to see you, too.”

At the wall Jørgen snorts.

I round on him. “So what’s your reward for turning on the captain?” I ask. “A get-out-of-jail-free card?”

He looks down at me, face dripping with condescension. “When it comes to dealing with freaks like you, I would have gone against that priss’s ‘orders’ for nothing. Getting out of that dump was just a bonus.”

“How am
I
the freak?” I ask very earnestly. “You’re the one with no balls.” And before he can even give me a puzzled look, I have turned Bok Choy out of the way and brought my knee up to smash Jørgen in the groin with all my might.

These Almiri might be superstrong, superfast, supersmart, and super et cetera, but if you whack them in the twig and berries, even they will double over in pain and let out a string of hilarious expletives.

It’s the consistencies of life that are truly reassuring.

“Now we don’t have to worry about
you
reproducing anytime soon either,” I tell him as Bok Choy laughs and claps his hands in approval.
“Bok Choy Alka-Seltzer Plop Fizz!”
he shrieks gleefully, or something close to it.

As one of the other Almiri pushes me back to the wall, Jørgen whips his head up, face flushed bright red like he wants to throw me right out of the train then and there. But he exchanges a glance with Alan, who shakes him off, as if to say “not here.”

Jørgen slowly straightens up and takes a few breaths. “We’ll see how much fight you have left when they’re done with you,” he says.

“That’s enough, Jørgen,” Alan tells him. “Everyone quit talking.”

“My hero,” I swoon.

The elevator swoops down into view, and pretty soon it and the train are zipping along side by side. The elevator closes in toward us, and then with a magnetic
thunk
the two are docked. The sound of heavy metal clamps locking into place lets us know it’s safe to transfer, and the doors slide open with a
swoosh
. We step across into the elevator, me doing my best to shoulder the brunt of Dad’s weight, and the guards sit us down on a long vinyl bench—all except Bok Choy, who’s busy doing somersaults on the ground in front of us.

I lean across Dad to talk to my mother, who’s still cradling Olivia. “I can take her back now,” I say.

“That’s okay,” Zee replies. She smiles down at my precious girl, who has actually done a pretty good job of settling herself. “I think I could get used to this.”

I smile, glad to see my mom finally letting her guard down a little bit. No matter what happens to us all, at the very least I have a mother. And that means Olivia gets to grow up knowing her grandmother. I think that, given the hardships she’s probably going to face, that’s going to be a good thing.

Dr. Marsden is calmly watching my mother bob Olivia up and down. He even smiles and sticks his finger out at the drooling little baby, who grabs it and gurgles happily.

“Strong grip,” Marsden says.

“Like her mom,” Zee says, smiling at me.

It’s a weird scene.

“Sir?” one of the soldiers says, suddenly standing up rigidly straight.

“What is it, private?” Alan asks.

The soldier points out the window port, and I follow the Almiris’ gaze outside.