Authors: Richard Gohl
A New Home
REAL PEOPLE LIVED communally in hydroponic food production houses. Husband-and-wife households were uncommon. Couples could live together in a hydro house to bring up a child, but this was unusual, seen as soft or overly sentimental. Children were looked after by whoever was available. They worked as soon as they were physically strong enough, usually around the age of nine or ten, and attended school several days a week.
Although real people were not particularly religious, they held superstitious beliefs to prevent misfortune and explain accidents. Collapsing walls and ceilings, chronic throat and lung conditions, viruses, all exacerbated by frequent dust inhalation, were common cause of death. In lieu of medical opinion, people developed their own observations of cause and effect—which often involved the influences of supernatural forces.
The sun had gone down behind the hills to the west and darkness fell quickly. Ryan, accompanied by Napean guards, hurried through Blackwood Gate and out along the walkway. Sand piled up across sections of the path and the walkway roof was weathered and falling to pieces. The heat had given way to the chill of the night as the four figures quietly entered the transdome.
Two armed men sat at the entrance and stood up to question the guards as they entered. “Why couldn’t they do their jobs properly? Why couldn’t they patrol their gate and keep out filthy drug-addicted Napean predators and stalkers…” And so on.
Periodically, the real people implemented their city-watch program and had individuals maintaining a vigil over the entrance points to the real world. It only worked if all seven underground townships were participating. These men had been organized in response to a spate of recent killings—perpetrated, it was assumed, by Napean hunters. The Napean guards barely acknowledged the two men, pushing past them and leading Ryan around to a sign that said “Second Street.”
The southern transdomes were rougher than their northern counterparts but scenic concerns were lost on Ryan. He was still in shock from his ordeal. After walking down a spiraling road for about ten minutes the Napean guards brought Ryan to a small sandstone door. There were no windows. No roof. There was a number, 421, on the door. A guard pressed the tiny button near the number and a huge real person came out! He was very tall and had hair nearly covering his whole face; Ryan had never seen a beard before. The man extended his hand toward Ryan. He had lengthy, wavy brown hair and large deep-set blue eyes. He wore a beige-cultured collared long-sleeve shirt and a pair of loose-fitting denim trousers.
“Hello there. I’m Ben,” he said, introducing himself to Ryan. Evidently he knew the guards. “Thank you, officers.”
One of the officers asked, “Any problems?”
Ben replied, “I’ll call you later. Had some enquiries from the girls group I was telling you about.”
“Really?” replied the officer.
“Later…” said Ben. The guards left, walking back the way they’d come. Ben turned to Ryan and said earnestly, “So you’ve had quite a journey. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.” Ryan was surprised at how calm his voice sounded.
“Brave fellow. Well, we’re here to help you with whatever you need, okay? There are other young people here too…” On hearing this, Ryan’s mouth opened in amazement.
“You okay?” asked Ben again.
“I’ve never met another boy…”
“Well, there you go. You may not want to see too many people to begin with. And that’s fine. Take it at your own pace. Come in and meet my wife Ginny.”
They walked through the small stone door and Ben latched it behind them. This entrance was made all the more strange as the size of the interior became apparent. The central hallway extended for as far as his eye could see in the dim light. From the central corridor other corridors lead off but mostly, there were many other similar doors—many closed, but some opening into dark rooms. The ceilings were very low.
Several doors were open with light coming out and Ryan’s eyes ached momentarily as he peered in. He had to squint as if looking upon ten angels; the room was bathed in bright daylight, and full of green plants.
“Don’t stare at those lights without protection—you’ll hurt your eyes. Come on, this way.” Ryan followed Ben further down the long narrow passage. They entered a dimly lit room—a kitchen where an older woman smiled and said, “Hello, dear boy,” almost as one word. She kissed and hugged him. She had shoulder-length sandy blonde hair and brown eyes, and radiated warmth. She kept rubbing the boy’s shoulder. Another new face. He stared, looking at her strange features, unable to speak.
“You must be exhausted after your ordeal.” Ginny also wore glasses—he couldn’t stop staring at them. Sometimes she jutted her head out as she looked straight at him through the glass discs, and then suddenly she’d put her chin down and peer at him over the top of the lenses.
“I’m okay.”
“Oh, you’re adorable.” She gave him another hug. Then, some more inspecting from above—and through her glasses. “You can stay here as long as you like. You might feel a bit lost for a bit. Just come and ask if you need anything. At any rate, I’ll be getting you to come and help me here in the kitchen soon enough. We’ve got other kids here too, Ry, and you’ll see them all tomorrow.” It was strange and not altogether unpleasant how intimate she was, touching him and looking so closely into his eyes. And no one had called him “Ry” before.
“Come sit down and have something to eat and drink,” said Ginny. “I haven’t eaten anything since I was a baby.”
“Well, you must be starving!” said Ginny. She and Ben smiled. “Can you eat anything at all?” asked Ben.
“Not really.”
Ginny touched Ryan’s face. “I thought I could see the change occurring… you look quite Napean, but then again you have such lovely green eyes.”
“Well, Dad said that I’m in transition...” His dad’s face came into his mind and he began to sniffle.
“I’m… I…”
“What is it, darling?” said Ginny, crouching to look at him.
“I have to refresh my blood once a month. Dad used to give me some of his.”
“Right,” said Ginny, her eyes were still on Ryan. “Ben, what do you think?”
“It’s fine. I’ll sort it out tomorrow.”
Ginny went to a fridge and took out some orange juice and said, “Here, try this—because without help from your dad, you are going to need something in your tummy.”
“But I can’t,” said Ryan in a somewhat feeble voice. “Just have a little try,” she insisted. “A tiny sip…”
Ryan took a mouthful and the cold sweet liquid trailed down his throat like a worm. He felt a sharp ache travel from his mouth up through the back of this head but it quickly subsided.
“Very well done, Ryan!” said Ginny.
“That’s the way!” said Ben. “How about a bite of fresh bread? You’ll feel a whole lot better…” Ben tore off a small strip of flat bread and handed it to Ryan. He took it, sniffed, nibbled, and bit, chewing slowly and deliberately. He swallowed. Then swallowed again. With panic in his eyes he looked up at Ginny, and then across at Ben. He was choking. The bread was stuck. Ryan put his hand up to the bottom of his neck and was dipping and nodding his head as he tried to move the bread down his throat.
“Just relax,” said Ginny. “Sit down and try to breathe. It will move—you’re just not used to it, that’s all.”
Ryan sat and, with tears welling up in his eyes, he gestured for the glass of juice. Ben passed it to him and he took a small mouthful, gulping it heavily down. For a moment it seemed to have worked, but then suddenly, wretching onto the floor, the orange juice came back out.
“It’s stuck!” said Ryan. His face was all contorted. “… Really hurts!”
“Oh, darling! Give it few seconds. The muscles need to remember how to swallow.” Ben wiped up the mess with a cloth.
“Come over here, Ryan,” said Ginny, standing at the sink. “One more try with the juice, and if this doesn’t work, we’ll stop.” Obediently Ryan took the juice—a bigger mouthful, gulped, jutted his chin out, and slowly moved his head upward. With a big nod, he smiled and yelled, “It’s gone!”
“Wow,” said Ben. “That really took some guts, my friend! You wait ‘til that energy passes through your body. You’ll feel like a new man!”
Ginny took him into her arms and said, looking at her husband, “Poor little mite. It’s more than anyone should have to go through. In a minute we’ll show you your room. How are you feeling?”
“How many other children are here?”
“Aside from you, seven. We’re full now,” she said, smiling. “You can meet the others when you feel like it.”
His room was very small. It had a screen, an old dictum touch computer, and books made out of paper!
He pulled one out: a famous old book about a man who crashed into one of the moons of Saturn and survived to tell the tale. The pictures were wonderfully evocative, showing the hero, “Steve 23,” crafting some wire from the wreckage of his spaceship into some kind of a weapon to catch submarinal life forms. Steve 23 was making a fishing rod on Europa.
Imagine catching another living creature, killing it, and then eating it! Amazing!
thought Ryan.
Ryan tried the old dictum computer—in a drawer under the table, he found a rack of memory balls. He slotted one into the hole. It rolled inside the computer and started spinning around the internal wheel like a roulette ball. The computer required no external power source or battery. The ball not only generated the power but stored fifty years of educational news information. Ryan typed in “real baby stolen.”
A message appeared: Did you mean “
Napean baby abductions
?” Ryan touched the message. Thirty-one answers appeared. The stories were from some twenty years ago—the 2240’s decade. The news stories related to the kidnapping of a hundred babies, all at different times. Some of the articles provided information about Napeans, their attitudes and beliefs, the mentality that leads to abduction, and the various methods by which real people had attempted to get them back—without success.
He turned it off and went to sleep. He dreamt of his dad. In his dream he searched, chased, and saw his dad at the end of a crowded street. Dad calmly turned and walked away. Ryan followed, running, but Dad just got further and further away.
Next morning, Ryan tried to reach his dad. He closed his eyes listening for that sound, focusing on switching his mind to where he could see and hear his father’s thoughts. Try as he might, all the spaces there were empty. He thought again about the lion with his quarry in the tree.
Shane had been trying to contact Ryan all night. He sent his usual image and then in his mind he saw Ryan again at home with Robbie.
“He’s there.”
He knew that if Ryan was secure and peaceful enough to project this image then he must be okay.
I want you here too, son, but stay where you’re safe. I’m being watched. They won’t let you come back yet.
Passing by Ryan’s room, Ginny heard voices and popped her head in to find out the name of the outstanding boy who had already gone in to make friends with Ryan. The door wasn’t latched, and she pushed it open just enough for her head to poke through. Ginny saw Ryan lying there with his eyes half-closed, talking to himself. She watched him, realizing that he wasn’t asleep. Ginny had seen many kids asleep in her time, sleepwalkers and sleep-talkers; they looked nothing like this. He was dressed, and though speaking too quietly for her to make out much more than the occasional word, he seemed to be having a conversation.
“Ryan?” said Ginny.
His head, which had been straining up off the pillow, fell back, and his eyes flickered open. “Hi, Ginny.”
“Do you have an imaginary friend? You were having quite a conversation…”
“Oh no, that was Dad—we can talk…”
“What do you mean, darling?”
“We can sort of talk without speaking,” said Ryan. “Telepathy?”
“That’s it!”
“You weren’t having a little dream?” asked Ginny. “I wasn’t asleep.”
“What did Dad say, darling?” “He said I can’t come home yet…”
“Oh, sweetheart…”
“He wants me to, but they won’t let me.”
“Where is your dad?”
“He’s home. Dad taught me to think properly so I could do it. Dad can’t do it without his network but he taught me to send pictures just by thinking in the right place.”
Ginny’s mouth was open and it was some time before she closed it. She pondered some of the implications, eventually saying, “How fascinating.”
Ryan sensed a change in her demeanor. “Aren’t I allowed to do it?”
“We’ve never had anyone do that before, Ry…” she said.
“Oh. I wasn’t really allowed to do it at home, either. Well, Dad let me, but it was illegal. He said I wasn’t allowed to listen for any other voices. But Dad said maybe I can go back, but just not yet.” The boy scanned the adult face for a reaction; he was remarkably confident, considering his lack of human contact.
“I’m sure that’s true, sweetheart,” said Ginny
Ben was pruning orange vines when Ginny came to the door and called him across. “It’s a bit awkward, sweets; I’m stuck here! What’s the problem? Can you come in?” Ginny clambered across large tubs and through foliage until she was a few meters away from her husband. “Ryan’s telepathic!” she hissed quietly.