State-of-the-art appliances lined the left wall beyond a curved freestanding counter, and to the right, an oak dining table stood before a wide rain-pecked window that looked out on a walled garden. Gleaming blue-and-white tile paved both areas, ending at the edge of a sunken sitting room carpeted in beige and furnished with sleek white sectional couches. A semicircle of floor-to-ceiling plate glass afforded a view of the rumpled landscape, and an entertainment center stood left of the window, stocked with books and compact discs. Soft, jazzy music tinkled from hidden speakers, but the place, though well serviced and obviously awaiting guests, appeared deserted.
Following directions on a screen among the appliances, they obtained two large glasses of water, followed by two of root beer, then toured the premises in search of beds and showers. Two opposing hallways led off from the common room, one accessing several bedrooms, the other a breezeway leading to a windowless side structure. The wide horizontally sectioned door at the front and the smaller people-sized door in the breezeway suggested a garage, but since both doors were locked, they couldn’t be sure.
“What would they need a garage for?” Callie asked. “Delivery trucks?”
“Maybe it houses a swimming pool.”
“All locked up? And without windows? No, I think it probably holds the workings for this place—supplies, generators, that kind of thing.”
“And the little robots that come out in the night and clean up?”
Callie glanced at him, surprised. He was not acting in the brooding manner that usually followed a mutant encounter. And was that the ghost of a
smile
on his face?
“Why not?” she said. “Somebody’s gotta do it.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Well, I’m heading in. It doesn’t look like this building’s gonna yield its secrets today, and
I
want to try out one of those fancy showers.”
She chose suite seven, right off the main room, and immediately discovered the door had no lock. At least not on the knob. Etched into the wall beside it, though, was the familiar triangle of golden circles surrounding a central dot. Maybe that secured the door.
Pressing her hand to it, she felt a thrum of electric current but nothing more. She tried pressing the dot, then the centers of each of the circles, first one at a time and then simultaneously. She even tried outlining each of the circles while positioning her thumb on the dot in the middle. Nothing. Finally deciding it was probably a recognition logo and feeling foolish for her antics, she gave up and left the door unlocked. Pierce wasn’t likely to barge in on her anyway.
The suites were each furnished with a king-sized bed, desk and chair, CD player, and a private bath. The latter was a marvel, awash in soft illumination without visible light fixtures. The basin faucet was motion activated, and the toilet, while familiarly shaped, held no water and no controls for flushing, yet disposed of the waste instantly, silently, odorlessly. Across from it a chute labeled Laundry instructed her to empty her pockets before depositing her clothes, assuring her the apparel would be returned when she emerged from the shower.
“You guys thought of everything,” she muttered, shaking her head.
She had one foot in the shower when a tone sounded and the chute door reopened, her jeans and shirt still lying on the tray at the bottom. A soft voice insisted, “Please empty all pockets before depositing garments.”
Frowning, Callie felt through her clothing until she found the crystal stylus she’d made weeks ago, long forgotten in her back pocket. Her garments now acceptable to the laundry chute, she stepped into the white-tiled shower and swore she’d gone to heaven. She stood under the beating spray long after she’d finished washing, letting it massage her aching back and shoulders. The hot water never diminished, and in the end she had to force herself to get out. Fans kicked on as she toweled herself dry, sucking out the steamy air in minutes. A white terry-cloth robe hung on the back of the door, sweet smelling and soft. She belted it on, reentered the bedroom, and collapsed onto the bed with a sigh.
This is
so
much better than the last place we stayed! Wonder what
dinner will be. Wonder if there’s room service
.
A ping drew her attention to the wall beside the closet where a shelf extruded to present her clothing, clean, mended, and neatly folded. Once redressed, she set about finger combing the rat’s nest that was her hair—as usual, an exercise in frustration.
“I take it back,” she muttered as she worked. “There is something they didn’t think of—a comb.”
She was working out the twentieth snarl when the design by the door began to flash. She frowned at it. The last time one of those things flashed at her, the road had disappeared from under her feet. Was the whole Safehaven going to vanish this time? She seemed to recall the manual saying they were allowed twenty-four hours here, but maybe she was mistaken.
She waited. After a few minutes the symbol went dark, and the whole thing faded into the wall.
“I wonder what that was about.” She scanned the room, floors, ceiling, mirror. Was it some kind of test? Or warning? Or . . .
Well,
who cares so long as we’re not being evicted!
When she returned to the main room, Pierce was already there. With his face clean and his wet hair combed back from his forehead, his black eye looked worse than ever. At least the swelling had gone down, though his lips were still red and chapped. He was fiddling with the kitchen appliances—various panel lights glowed red and green—and the aroma of melted cheese and chili filled the room. As Callie slid onto a stool, he glanced over his shoulder.
“If I’ve got this figured right,” he said, “it should be about ready. I hope you like enchiladas.”
“Love ’em.”
“And what to drink?” He turned back to a panel and read off a list that could’ve come from any restaurant menu.
“I’ll have iced tea,” she interrupted.
He punched a button. Moments later a small door opened in the wall to reveal a tall glass. “Here you go, ma’am.” He handed her the tea.
Callie marveled again at the change in him. It was as if the brooding, cynical man she’d known had washed away with the dirt while he showered. In fact, she felt a little changed herself. Surrounded by this clean, friendly, almost normal environment, the horror of the last five weeks took on the unreality of a fast-fading nightmare.
The buzzer rang, and a panel opened to reveal two plates of sizzling, sauce-drenched cheese enchiladas.
“These are huge! And they smell grea—ow!” Pierce jerked his hand away and searched for a hot pad. She found forks while he put the food on the table.
They ate hungrily, intently, exclaiming at the food’s excellence. Callie couldn’t remember when she’d been so ravenous, or when enchiladas had tasted so good. Afterward they stayed at the table, watching the lightning show above the cliff. Callie wondered how the others were faring. Was it raining on them? Had they met up with Trogs? How far up the canyon had they gotten?
Despite the humiliation of being rejected and abandoned, part of her was glad it had happened. It was nice not to feel scared or hungry or desperate, and she wouldn’t trade places with them for anything— unless they found deliverance from this strange world.
She sipped her tea, ice cubes tinkling.
Beside her, Pierce shifted in his seat. “This reminds me of home.”
Callie lowered her glass and waited for him to continue, watching him carefully. His brown hair had dried into soft waves that curled over the top of his collar. His beard looked fuller than she remembered, curly with strands of red and gold in it. From this side, all she could see of his eyes was the injured one, a riot of yellow, green, and blue now joining the black and purple.
He kept his gaze on the cliffs. “Our ranch is in the southeastern Rockies. There’s an escarpment like that just beyond our backyard. I used to climb it all the time. Loved the view.”
She shuddered.
He noticed. “How long have you been acrophobic?”
“Since I was seven.” She rattled the ice in her glass. “It started after my father left. I thought I was cured, but lately it’s come back.”
“You mean like today?”
“Back on Earth, actually. Little things at first—trouble with elevators and overpasses. And then, a few weeks before I was brought here, I had an attack while hiking one of the peaks near Tucson. My friends had to carry me down.” She played with the drips of condensation on her glass. “I was an idiot to think I could ever climb that awful canyon.”
Pierce said nothing.
“In any case, I’m glad it’s over. I needed to turn back. I want to talk to those people at the temple. I have a feeling the answer’s there.”
He shot her a dubious look.
“Remember that transmission I got from my friend?”
“Your friend was brought in when you were.” He stroked the soft, clean whiskers on his chin. “And the service period for the Temple of Mander is three years.”
“Not always. Wendell said it’s different for different people.”
“But your friend didn’t tell you to join the temple, did she? She just said to go back to Manderia.”
“And that the canyon was a trick.”
“Maybe
she
was a trick.”
Callie scowled at him. “So what are you saying? You don’t want to go back after all?”
He snorted. “It’s not as if there’s anything better.”
“Well, if you don’t believe the answer’s there, why did you give up on Garth’s plan?”
“You know as well as everyone else. I was scared witless.” He snatched up the glass and drained it, then stood and took his dishes to the receptacle in the kitchen. A few minutes later she heard the breezeway door open and close as he went outside.
The music from the CD player drifted around her. She sat toying with her glass and ice cubes, beset with bitter memories of her own. If she were honest, she’d have to admit fear had turned her back as well— not some growing conviction the answer lay in Manderia. She’d been there. She
knew
it offered nothing. But once again, she’d let fear close the door on opportunity. Shame and bitter frustration welled up in her, spilling out in tears that streaked her cheeks and made her glad she was alone.
Over the cliffs, multiple forks zigzagged against the blackness, lighting up the clouds and silhouetting the cliff line. Raindrops spattered the glass, and a distant howl ululated on the wind, quickly drowned out by a growl of thunder. Another splat of rain preceded a second howl and Callie sat up straight, pulse accelerating. Pierce was outside. Alone.
The howl sounded a third time, definitely closer now.
She stood up so fast the chair fell against the bar. Ignoring it, she made for the breezeway.
Pierce stood by the outer wall nearest the cliff, hands resting on the waist-high barrier, staring toward the cliffs. Wind tossed his hair and parted his beard, flattening his clothes against his chest. She stopped beside him as the howls chorused again, sending chills up her back.
They’re down in the riverbed. Coming this way
.
She laid a hand on his arm. “Pierce?”
He did not move. His eyes saw nothing. She repeated his name twice before he took note of her.
“Let’s go inside.”
He complied without a word.
Back in the main room he went immediately to the big window and stared at the night while she rummaged through the cabinets for a game or movie, something to distract them. Finally she pulled out a box of Chinese checkers and, when she’d set all the marbles into place, invited him to play. He came and sat on the couch.
After only two rounds she knew her plan wasn’t going to work and slouched back on the L-shaped sofa, regarding him thoughtfully. He held a red marble, turning it round and round between his fingers.
“Those mutants out there,” she said. “They knew your name.”
“Yeah.”
“Were they the ones who caught you?”
“Maybe.” He spoke softly, turning the marble faster. “I don’t remember much of it. We were looking for blood crystal, found a good solid vein and set up camp. We had no idea they were around. They attacked at sundown. Tom and I were the best shots, and we had the weapons, so we covered the rear while the others ran. They got us. Got Shara, too.”
His voice caught when he said the name. Callie leaned toward him, her attention riveted, but she kept silent for fear of shying him off.
Presently he resumed. “They staked us out that night—Tom and me. Used hot irons, whips, knives—I remember that. I remember trying not to scream. . . .” He trailed off again, his gaze fixed on the wall above her head, his fingers frantically turning the marble. When he spoke next, his voice was faint and distant. “They must’ve killed Shara and Tom, and eaten them. That’s what they usually do. I don’t remember. The last thing I can recall was this Trog who came up and cut off my thumb.”
Callie stared at him, horrified.
He stopped turning the marble and placed it on the tray in front of him. “Maybe I fainted and dreamed that, though, because I still have my thumb.” He fell silent again, massaging the digit in question.
When he did not go on, she risked asking, “Why did they let you go?”
“I don’t think they did. I think I escaped. I remember running through the desert in the darkness and hiding in a cave. And beg-ging”— his voice choked—“begging the aliens to save me. When I think back, they must have. Mutants were all around me. I was injured. I must’ve stunk to high heaven. But I got away. I guess Garth and Whit found me wandering in a daze. They said the Trogs had me for three weeks, but I don’t remember.”
The CD player had gone off, and they sat without speaking, listening to the thunder and the rain and the wind. A loud chorus of howls temporarily overlaid the other sounds, then faded. With a low cry, Pierce exploded off the couch and returned to the window, standing with his back to her, arms folded across his chest. His reflection stared back at him, pale and haunted, a skull-like mask.
Blue-white light lit the room, followed by a swift loud crack that made her jump and left her ears ringing. Pierce seemed unaware of it.