Alternity (8 page)

Tall buildings crowd the streets, disappearing into the darkness above while strategically placed stadium lighting offers the illusion of daylight on street level. Neon signs and billboards advertise fake tanning, cosmetic surgery, and the latest and greatest in hover cars while bustling people go about their days. Girls in short skirts and high boots. Guys in black trench coats. Fashionable, well-fed, happy-looking people of seemingly every race. No mutants in sight, either.

We pass corner boutiques spilling out onto sidewalks. Restaurants serving heaping plates of food to patrons. There’s even (get this!) a Starbucks on one corner! As we ride, I look more carefully at the electronic billboards covering almost every possible surface in a garish Tokyo-esque style. “Are you ready to look into the moon?” one asks. “Try it for a day—or a lifetime!” suggests another. And one tongue-in-cheek ad recommends: “One of these days, POW! Straight to the moon!”

“Is this where the Indys live?” I ask.

Duske nods. “We call it Luna Park. Pretty, isn’t it?”

It is. The stone walkways are elegant and well-designed. The buildings are sleek and some made entirely of glass. And the centerpiece of the city, a spiky postmodern fountain, glitters as water droplets capture the lights and fragment them into a shower of kaleidoscopic color.

But how can these people enjoy all of this, knowing what’s happening one strata down? My mind flashes back to the grubby mutant children of the Dark Side, destined to live in the gutters their entire lives. Do these people know how their neighbors are forced to live?

“Such a difference from down below,” I murmur.

“Yes. It’s unfortunate,” Duske agrees sorrowfully. “But we’re working on that. You’ll see.”

We leave the town, turning left and driving down a long road until we pull up to a mammoth Tudor-style mansion. It’s set high on a hill, is at least four stories tall and made of white stone—with a single candle illuminating every window. It’s elegant, but at the same time a bit foreboding, the sharp lightning slashing across the landscape, casting menacing shadows. The driver pulls up and around the circular driveway, stopping in front of the house.

“Here we are,” Duske announces. “Home sweet home.”

We exit the car and end up inside a majestic foyer that matches the majesty of the building’s exterior. The walls and floor are made entirely of marble. Cold. Glittering. A crystal chandelier hangs from a cathedral ceiling. In the center of the room a mammoth staircase—like something out of
Gone With the Wind
—sweeps upward.

I turn to Duske. “Can I have my asthma medication now?” I don’t mean to sound ungracious and hasty, but before I get completely carried away by the opulence of this stranger’s world, I want to make sure he can deliver on his promises. After all, I’m still not sure who to trust.

Duske nods and claps twice. An old, graying butler wearing a tuxedo enters the room, bowing his head as he approaches my host.

“Brother Thom, could you get Sister Skye her medication?” Duske asks. “And,” he says, after scratching his chin, “a dress suitable for dinner.”

The butler nods and disappears into the house.

“No offense to your current clothing,” Duske says, giving me a somewhat disdainful glance. “But the Park Terrace has been picky about dress codes lately. Forgive me.”

I nod absently, more concerned that he didn’t tell the butler what brand of medication I needed. But before I can speak, the butler returns. Almost as if he had exactly what his master would ask for just waiting in the next room. More than a little creepy.

But I can’t help a sigh of relief as he places the inhaler in my palm and I see the familiar Lunatropium label. Just having it in my possession makes it easier to breathe.

“Thank you,” I say. “I was really freaking out there for a bit.”

Duske nods knowingly. “My pleasure,” he says. “Though I suggest you save the medication for a moment you really need it,” he adds. “There’s not a full bottle’s worth left. Asthma medication can be so hard to acquire here in Terra.” He turns to Thom. “And the dress?”

Thom hands me a dress on a hanger, covered in plastic. I hold it up in front of me, to get a better look. It’s not just a dress, but a full-on floor-length gown. Halter-top, red, with a slit that cuts to midthigh. Even through the plastic I can see the fabric is seeded with multicolored gems. Very adult and very unlike anything I’ve ever worn before.

Thom bows stiffly. “One flight up,” he instructs. “Two doors to the left. A private bathroom where you can bathe and change.”

“Dinner’s in an hour,” Duske adds. “I trust that’s enough time to get ready?”

“Um, sure, okay,” I stammer, not wanting to appear ungrateful. But still, when do I ask him about going home?

“One more thing,” Duske adds, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a long silver chain with a sparkling charm attached. He drapes it over my head and it falls just between my breasts. “Beautiful,” he proclaims. “Just the piece to accentuate the dress.”

I grasp the charm between two trembling fingers. The necklace, I realize, is identical to the one the proprietor took from me. Identical to the hundreds of others hanging in the Moongazer Palace cabinet. What does it mean? Suddenly the sinister feeling returns with a vengeance and it’s all I can do not to reach for my inhaler again.

“Um, thanks,” I murmur, not knowing what else to say. I drop the charm and it settles, warm, against my skin.

“My pleasure,” Duske replies. “After all, it’s so rare we are fortunate enough to entertain guests from Earth. So few make the trip
this
way, or even learn of our existence in the first place.” He bows low. “I’ll see you back here in an hour,” he pronounces, then turns and heads into the house, leaving me behind, buzzing with a billion questions. Thom remains standing stiffly in the hall, with an expectant look on his face. I glance longingly at the front door, wondering if I should make a break for it. But where would I go? Duske’s the only person who seems to know what’s really going on in this crazy world. The only one I can convince to help me get home. Better to just get dressed and get this dinner over with, so I can make my request to return to Earth.

And so I head upstairs, trying not to drag the dress on the ground. I find the bathroom and draw in a breath as I step inside. The entire room is constructed of etched glass and marble. A hundred tiny teacup candles flicker from various nooks and crannies. Some are encapsulated in glass, others float in small vases of water. The Jacuzzi is big enough for three and filled to the brim with steaming bubbles. The vanity is covered with brightly colored soaps, glass bottles of flowery perfumes, and earthen jars of creams. There’s a video screen embedded in a wall, playing back some sort of soap opera. I watch as it goes into commercial.

“
Are you looking for a new adventure?
” the voiceover asks, showing film of a large full moon. “
A new world where all your dreams can come true?
” The video switches to a scene of a sunny beach with bathers frolicking and tanning and downing fruity cocktails. “
Imagine a world where you can lie out in the sun and won’t get sick.
” The picture switches to a swinging nightclub. “
Where you can dance the night away under the waxing moon.
” I stare, my eyes widening as I realize the club is Luna. Is that Craig in the DJ booth? “
Well, look no further than Earth—a new world that mirrors the Terra of old in all the best ways. Try it for a day—or take the journey of a lifetime.
” The scene closes with two people cuddling up to each other on the hood of a car under a star-filled sky. “
Are you ready to look into the moon?
” the voiceover asks alluringly.

The commercial ends and the TV goes back to its regularly scheduled soap opera. I shake my head. This Moongazing thing, whatever it is, is everywhere. And they make it look so great. Heck, the commercial made
me
excited about Earth and I’ve lived there my entire life. But what is Moongazing, exactly? Some kind of tourist initiative to send people to Earth on vacation? Seems innocent enough. But if that’s all it is, then what was all that stuff Dawn had been talking about: drugs, implanted memories, fake family and friends? How did that all fit in?

I shrug.
Duske will explain
, I decide.
I’ll get the full scoop at dinner
. I hang the dress on a hook and pull off my dirty, bloodied clothes. Then I test the water with my big toe. Perfect. Everything in this part of the world seems to be flawless—the polar opposite of the world beneath. I feel a sudden pang of guilt at the thought. Should I be enjoying this luxury while so many people are suffering below?

I shake my head. I can’t think like that right now. And refusing a hot bath will not feed a hungry child. And so, pushing back the guilt, I lower my body into the tub, trying to force my brain to stop whirring at least for a moment.

But still the questions poke and prod, refusing me rest. Where am I? How did I get here? Who are the Eclipsers and what do they want with me? Why does Dawn hate me so?

And most importantly …

Who is Mariah Quinn and why does she look exactly like me?

EIGHT

“This place is gorgeous. I’ve never seen anything like it,” I exclaim as the hostess escorts us to a plush booth at the back corner of Luna Park Terrace restaurant. And I mean it. The entire room is carved out of a sort of polished smoky blue glass—the tables, the floors, even the walls—allowing for a tremendous view of a nearby lava-filled crater. The lava bubbles and boils beside us, but we’re cool and comfortable. This place is beyond breathtaking. A study in fire and ice.

“You haven’t?” Duske asks. “What a shame. But you have so many other lovely things where you come from. I hardly think you should complain.”

“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “I’m not complaining. I’m just impressed.”

Before Duske can respond, a wrinkly man dressed in a tux and with a name tag that simply reads WAITER approaches our table. He bows at the waist.

“How do you do this fine evening, Brother Duske?” he asks with an impeccable English accent. “It is an honor to have you patronize our humble establishment.”

“It is an honor to be here, Brother Claude,” Duske answers with the same modicum of respect.

The waiter turns to me. “And you, Sister. It is an honor to—”

“A bottle of your finest vodka,” Duske interrupts.

The waiter nods, seeming a bit taken aback by the interruption. “Of course,” he says, bowing low again. “So sorry, Brother Duske.” He hesitates for a moment, as if daring to speak again. “And would you like your usual entrees?” he asks at last.

Duske glares at him. “I would like my usual,” he says. “But this young lady has never dined in your establishment. So I am sure she would like to hear the specials.”

“Right. Right,” the waiter stammers. I raise an eyebrow. Does he also think I’m Mariah? A nervousness gnaws at my stomach.

The waiter reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, patting his brow. “Today we have a lovely butternut squash ravioli, dusted with sage and swaddled in a soy cream sauce. We also have a black bean and tortilla pie, glazed with a faux honey chipotle.”

“I’ll take the ravioli,” I say, relieved the options aren’t cow brains or monkey livers. You never know, right? I glance over at Duske, who nods his approval. The waiter bows once again before retreating to presumably fill our orders. Duske watches him go. “Don’t mind him,” he says. “Brother Claude spent too much time on the surface during the early years. It’s a shame to see a mind go to mush like that.” He shakes his head. “In any case, what was I saying? Oh yes, how lovely it must be to live on Earth.”

I shrug awkwardly, not sure how to respond.

“We on Terra are quite envious of all the opportunities your world affords. There are people here who would give their right arms to live on Earth.” He strokes his chin with his forefinger and thumb. “Come to think of it,” he adds, “I believe some have.”

I start to laugh until I catch his expression. Is he serious?

“But how rude of me. I promised you answers,” he says, waving a dismissive hand. “Perhaps I can start with a little history lesson of our humble world of Terra?”

I lean forward eagerly. “I’d like that.”

My host clears his throat dramatically before beginning. “Once upon a time,” he pronounces with a playful grin. “Isn’t that how you Earth people like to begin your stories?” As I give my assent, he continues. “Once upon a time there was a great land that afforded great opportunities to the people who lived on its surface,” he said. “It should have lasted forever. Unfortunately, the people did not take proper care of this great land. Nor did they take care of one another. Instead, they fought over petty lands until the world was split in two. There was a great war and a great bomb that poisoned the land and sent everyone underground. At first it was total anarchy. Governments ripped apart, people scrambling just to survive.”

I make a face, horrified at his story. It was hard to believe, even with our own close calls on Earth, that something like this could actually happen. That two warring countries could really go that far—pressing the big red buttons and sparking a raging apocalypse.

“How long ago was this?” I ask curiously.

“Nearly a hundred years ago,” Duske replies solemnly. “And still the world above is completely uninhabitable. Fortunately now we have our elaborate cities below the surface and there’s no one alive who even remembers living under the open sky.”

“That’s so sad,” I muse, trying to imagine a life like this—lived completely underground. No wonder everyone wants to do this Moongazing thing to Earth. The finest shops and restaurants in the world couldn’t replace a day at the beach or a walk in the park.

“Indeed. But the alternative was far worse. The total annihilation of the human race.”

“Good point,” I agree grimly. “So, how did you all end up here underground?”

“It’s all thanks to the Circle of Eight,” Duske explains, “the forefathers of our current Senate Circle, of which I am fortunate enough to have been born a member. The original group—a secret society back then—was founded a hundred years before the Great War. At the time, our country’s government was corrupt and chaotic. A democracy only in name, it was really a totalitarian regime, controlled and manipulated by the rich, powerful, and greedy. This government felt it was perfectly within its rights to invade other countries and force their sham of democracy on them in order to steal their resources. The Circle of Eight knew the end result of this behavior could only lead to apocalypse once the smaller countries upgraded their nuclear technology and decided to fight back.”