Fluency

3

Bergen cursed.

“Sorry, Doctor Holloway—but it looks like you’re out of a job,” Walsh said flatly.

Jane let out the breath she’d been holding. She told herself she should be relieved. “Don’t be too quick to make assumptions,” she found herself musing aloud. “This could be a social custom that we don’t understand. Visitors may be expected to follow the lights to a designated location. It could be a welcoming gesture.”

“Like walking the red carpet, or something,” Gibbs suggested.

“Think there’s any paparazzi?” Bergen said.

Walsh shook his head. “The docking lights, the airlock opening, the interior lights—are probably automated, triggered by proximity. I think we’re looking at the ‘vacant’ scenario here.”

A gut feeling insisted he was wrong. There was someone in there. Jane eased forward, reaching to pull herself through the opening.

Bergen was grimacing. “So, where does that put us on the flow chart of doom?”

Walsh grabbed Jane from behind before she could go further. “Wait. Compton—getting any response to the radio transmission?”

“Negative, Commander. No joy,” Compton said evenly from the cockpit.

Jane spoke up, “They’ve welcomed us. They know we’re here. I think, maybe, they expect us to—”

“Run like rats through a maze?” Bergen put in with an arched brow.

Jane swiveled to face him, scowling. “Don’t judge them, Dr. Bergen. We don’t know anything about them. You jeopardize the mission with comments like that. They could be monitoring us, even now.”

“You think they speak English, Doc?” Bergen said dryly.

Had they forgotten all the training? Jane put some snap in her voice, “We’ve been through this. It’s a mistake to assume anything. We have to remember their culture is completely foreign. They don’t think like we do. Perhaps they fear their appearance will frighten us. They may be shy—eager to observe our behavior before they show themselves. There could be hundreds of reasons that I’m not equipped to imagine.”

Walsh turned toward the base of the capsule. “I don’t think there’s any ‘they’ to be worried about, Holloway. It’ll be our job to figure out why that is.”

Jane grit her teeth.

Walsh pushed off for the cockpit. “We’ll give this some time.”

Bergen fiddled with an instrument. “It’s pressurized. We’re at about 12 psi now. I should go in there and take some air samples, at least.”

Walsh said, “No. Stay put for now.”

“But—” Jane started to argue, though she knew she was pushing it.

Walsh turned, an eloquent pirouette. “Under the protocol of this scenario, you’re working for me, Dr. Holloway. We’ll do this my way.” He proceeded to send another transmission to Houston, detailing what had occurred so far.

An elaborate “If this, then that” chart had been hammered out in Houston. Depending upon the circumstances they met at the Target, either she or Walsh were in command at any given time. Walsh wasn’t going to hand over the baton without proof that there was someone in there, which was fine. Jane had never wanted the command, but she did care about getting this right. First contact was a delicate thing, even back home, among humans. And this was far more precarious.

Walsh was following the protocols they’d hammered out in Houston. At some point, though, she’d developed doubts that human logic would mean anything out here.

Jane lingered with Bergen at the apex of the capsule. Bergen was peering into the ship, getting as close as he dared without incurring Walsh’s irritation. He was getting twitchy, checking his instruments and reorienting them on his suit. Through her helmet, she could hear the muffled scritch of the velcro peeling apart repeatedly.

“Which way is up?” she asked Bergen.

He thwacked her helmet with his gloved knuckles. “Turn on your comm, Doc.”

Damn. She’d hoped he could hear her speaking quietly. Must every word, every movement, be public? At least her thoughts were still her own. She turned the comm back on. “Which way is up?”

“Hm.” He gazed at her thoughtfully. “I was just wondering the same thing. In microgravity, it doesn’t matter. Yet, we still like to think of an up and a down orientation. They may as well.”

She nodded, as much as the stiff suit would allow. “Well, you’re the engineer. What do you think? Did they put the lights in the floor or the ceiling? There aren’t any other cues, are there?”

“Hard to say, since the lights are flush with the surface. It could really go either way.”

“Gibbs’ comment about the red carpet, though—and the way they turned on—made me think floor. You?”

“Mm. I’d like to get in there and take some measurements, but….” He glanced back toward Walsh with frustration.

Walsh studiously ignored their conversation.

“Does it resemble the craft at Area 51 in any way?”

“That’s minuscule by comparison. So far I don’t have anything to compare.”

Jane inspected the smooth material that lined the alien craft. It was a gloomy color, not quite beige, not quite green, and darker than she would expect for a vessel in deep space from a purely psychological point of view—it didn’t reflect light. But the passageway itself was spacious.

“It seems to be roughly human in dimension, doesn’t it? If we were to construct a vessel of this size, wouldn’t our hallways resemble this in size and shape?”

Bergen’s eyebrows shot up as he considered. “Not really. You’re comparing it to structures on Earth with gravity—where people are standing upright. I’d expect something a bit smaller for us, to conserve space and air. That looks to be about two and a half to three meters from floor to ceiling. I’d design something closer to two, or even less for a hallway.”

Jane stayed alert, hoping someone might still come forward. If the vessel were manned by a skeleton crew and the controls to open the hatch were far away, they could arrive any minute.

The bizarre sensation she’d felt before hadn’t lingered. What had that been? Some physical manifestation of fear? She considered that until she looked up and saw that Bergen was studying her intently.

“What are you thinking about, Doc?” he asked softly.

“I…well, I was thinking about when we opened the hatch. I—I felt so strange there for a few minutes. Did you—”

A hiss of static came over the comm and they turned toward the others. It was a broadcast from Houston, the voice of the NASA Administrator, Gordon Bonham. “Providence. Houston. Acknowledged. Received audio transmission. Awaiting video transmission at this time. Our recommendation: proceed with caution. Operation: Delta Tango Uniform. Houston out.”

Jane shook her head. The message was in code, telling them to explore the ship with weapons drawn—expecting hostiles. Walsh would follow this order to the letter, she was sure.

Jane and Bergen eyed each other, both openly skeptical, as they lined up. They all would go in except for Compton, who would stay behind to guard Providence.

Walsh made a show of handing Jane a weapon. She refused it, as he knew she would. She had always objected to any contingency that called for weapons use.

Jane blinked hard. The buzzing had returned, though it was softer this time—a little easier to ignore. Something about it niggled at her. She’d never felt anything like it before. Not when she was struggling to drag her colleagues to safety by canoe, deep in the Amazon River basin, flushed with fever and starving, forced to push on despite the death of their guide. Not when she’d encountered giant snakes or carnivorous insects that swarmed over a person’s body while they slept, nor when she’d stumbled upon hostile tribesmen who would just as soon deliver a poison dart as a greeting. Even in those horrifying, desperate, exhausted moments she’d never felt a fear like this, that tapped into her ability to reason.

Walsh and Gibbs were poised near the meter-wide portal between the two vessels.

“What color would you call that, Jane? Split pea? Bilge green? Puce? Ugly as hell,” Gibbs commented with a wink, gesturing toward the Target.

Jane nodded distractedly. She couldn’t answer Gibbs' call for levity. He was too excited to look disappointed.

Walsh pushed off and half a second later, Gibbs did as well. She pulled herself closer.

A strangled cry and a yelp resounded in her ears as Walsh and Gibbs crashed into a heap on the surface that housed the greenish lights.

The floor, evidently.

“Shit,” Bergen muttered, his blue eyes lighting up. “Artificial gravity. Wasn’t expecting that.”

“Really?” Jane asked. “I was sort of—”

Compton shoved his way in, pulling Ajaya to the opening as he repeated, “Walsh, Gibbs—report.”

Ajaya’s fine features were pressed into a mask of worry. “They’ve passed out. Clearly. They shouldn’t be out long. I dearly hope they haven’t broken bones.”

Bergen huffed through tight lips. “We have no idea how many G’s that is. Even if it’s only one-G—they’re wearing 230-pound suits. They’re going to have a hell of a time getting up. If that’s more than one-G, this could be a serious problem. We still don’t know if that’s breathable air in there.”

They peered into the Target, helmets gently tapping.

“They’re so close. Shouldn’t we try to pull them out?” Jane asked the others.

Ajaya frowned. “We could try—but I suspect we would pass out before we could get a hold on them. Let’s give it another moment.”

Walsh moved his arm.

“Walsh, report,” Compton barked.

“Ffffthff,” was all Walsh could manage. Then he groaned, “Dammit, Gibbs, get off me.”

Gibbs didn’t respond.

Ajaya leaned in. “Commander, are you hurt?”

“Just my pride. Bergen, were you keeping this as your special little secret for me, or what?” Walsh wheezed.

Bergen was miffed.

“He was just as surprised as you are, Dr. Walsh,” Jane put in.

“Would it have killed you to throw something in here to test for it?” Walsh groused.

“What should I have thrown?” Bergen countered. “This million dollar instrument or that—”

Jane placed her gloved hand on the side of his face shield and he went quiet, visibly stewing.

“Oh, man—that was a rush!” Gibbs sprung up suddenly, his startled, dark-skinned face looming close to the opening before he fell back toward the floor and jounced around, out of control—at one point landing squarely on Walsh’s abdomen.

Walsh let out an “Oof,” and scrambled back. “Son-of-a—someone’s playing around with the settings on this gravity-thing and it’s not funny!”

Bergen pulled closer, clearly intrigued. “What’s going on in there?”

“A bouncy-house comes to mind,” Gibbs said, grinning. He righted himself and took unsteady, springy steps toward the hatch, his smiling face bobbing up and down in front of the opening. He gestured at Compton, “Ha! Come on in, Pops. Tell us how this compares to the moon.”

Compton, always good-natured, snorted. He’d never been on a Lunar mission, but had been selected to the astronaut program late in that era.

“You ok, Ronald?” Ajaya asked.

“Oh, fine, fine.” Gibbs chuckled softly and glanced back at Walsh, who was getting to his feet. “Walsh broke my fall. It felt like a lot more than one-G when we fell in. Now it feels like a lot less. It just changed on a dime.” Gibbs would know about the transition to gravity. He’d been back and forth to the International Space Station three times in his career.

“Huh,” Bergen uttered, his eyes roving back and forth, analyzing what that might mean about the technology, Jane supposed.

“They must be observing us.” Jane whispered. She turned to Bergen. “They don’t know what to expect from us any more than we know what to expect from them. They adjusted the gravity when they saw it distressed us—it was a friendly gesture.”

Bergen looked unnerved. “Either that, or they’re enjoying toying with us.”

Gibbs’ smile faded. “I like Jane’s idea better.”

“Me too,” said Ajaya. She hovered on the lip of the hatch, ready to slide in to check on her charges. “Commander, do we move forward now, or regroup?”

Walsh’s expression was grim. He turned away from the capsule. He raised his weapon. “Forward.”

One by one they slipped inside, springing uncertainly, cautiously, like kids on their first trampoline, down the hall. Jane reveled in the feeling of gravity tugging on her again, even though the effect was small. She could feel the long muscles in her legs stretching in a way only gravity could replicate and wished she could get out of the suit so she could fully enjoy it.

She was a little unsteady, a little dizzy, had some trouble heading in a straight line, but that was expected after such a long exposure to microgravity. It wasn’t as bad as it could be. She’d been told some astronauts had trouble walking, turning, focusing their gaze.

Gibbs paused in front of her, made an about-face, and sketched a salute at Compton. “Keep the motor runnin’, the home fires burnin’, and all that jazz, Pops.”

Compton raised his left hand solemnly. His right hand held his weapon.

They reached the end of that section of corridor and it changed direction by 45 degrees, laterally. As Walsh reached that point, the lights came on in this new section, individually, one by one, revealing a passageway dotted with doors. Jane counted five doors over the next 30 yards. Each door was taller and wider than human scale and segmented into thick, horizontal bars.

“Anybody else feel like Hansel and Gretel?” Gibbs joked.

Bergen rolled his eyes. “Birds ate the trail they left.”

“Didn’t a witch try to eat Hansel and Gretel?” Ajaya asked. She seemed to realize her gaffe and sent Jane a pleading look. “I wasn’t raised on those fairy tales, you know.”

Walsh ignored the fairy-tale talk and motioned to Jane, pointing at the wall. “Dr. Holloway, you’re up.”

Next to the first door he’d come to, there were two complex geometric symbols at eye level. She moved forward to examine them closely and record an image with her digital camera. They were heavily stylized, embossed into the smooth surface of the wall. Something told her they were more than just labels.

“These were not among the symbols I was shown from the crashed ship in New Mexico. But, based on their location, I think I can deduce—” She pressed the top symbol with a light touch and the door slid virtually soundlessly into the ceiling.

Walsh moved past her in full military mode, weapon drawn. As he crossed the threshold, the room lit up. It was cavernous, subdivided from floor to ceiling by stacks of what appeared to be large plastic crates in meandering rows. It was a storage room of some kind.

Gibbs whistled softly, the sound resonating eerily over the comm. “Damn. Gives new meaning to the word payload, that’s for sure.”

Walsh took long, bounding strides down an aisle. The rest of them filed in. Walsh peered at a symbol stamped into the side of a crate and beckoned to Jane. She snapped a picture of it.

Bergen waved a small, noisy instrument around a crate. “It’s not radioactive.”

“The exterior of the container is not radioactive,” Walsh corrected.

Bergen rolled his eyes.

Gibbs ambled down an aisle nearby, studiously examining the symbols on the crates. “Jane? Am I seeing this right? Are the symbols on all of these containers the same?”

Jane hopped over to Gibbs in a few short bursts. She gamboled with him down the aisle for a bit, examining the symbols. “Yes,” she confirmed. “Every symbol on these containers is the same. I have no idea what it means, of course,” she added, in case they were expecting some kind of miraculous insight from her. “Yet.”

They turned back to join to the others. Walsh had gone deeper into the room. Bergen and Ajaya lingered near the room’s entrance.

“Will you look at that,” Bergen muttered. She turned more fully toward him in time to see him digging his fingers into a recess on the crate nearest the door and lifting up. The top of the container came off.

“Dr. Bergen!” Ajaya exclaimed.

Gibbs made a wry face. “Berg, dude—Walsh isn’t gonna like that you did that.”

Bergen ignored that and shined his flashlight inside the container. Then he waved the geiger counter around inside it.

“Walsh isn’t going to like what?” Walsh’s voice boomed over the comm. Jane turned to see Walsh moving quickly back toward them down the aisle.

Jane had to agree. These things didn’t belong to them. They hadn’t been invited to examine them. And yet, she shared Bergen’s curiosity and went forward to inspect the contents herself.

Bergen lifted a corner of the crate experimentally. Dull, sandy-colored crystals shifted to one side.

Jane wrinkled her nose in bewilderment. Cat litter came to mind.

“Some kind of mineral ore? A mining operation?” Bergen murmured. He was already scooping up a sample in a small vial and bagging it.

Walsh stormed up. “Bergen, goddamnit!”

Bergen didn’t even look up. “Relax. The seal on this one was already broken. We haven’t been exposed to anything. We’re all wearing suits. It’s not radioactive.”

“We have protocols for a reason. Disregard them again and you’ll spend the rest of the mission guarding the capsule.”

Bergen’s lips pressed together and he glared at Walsh. “Noted.”

They filed out silently at Walsh’s gesture.

Jane moved back into the hall and turned to examine the symbols outside the door again. She pressed the top one, to see if a second touch would close the door. Nothing happened. She pressed the bottom symbol. The door shut with a whisper and barely perceptible thud.

She left her fingers resting next to the symbols for a moment, mentally making a connection between the images and the concepts of ‘open’ and ‘close,’ as well as probing within for hidden links to other languages, a practiced mental exercise.

Abruptly, she could see meaning within the pattern. Comprehension breathed life within her mind—open and close, unlocked from somewhere inside.

She stumbled back. Her boot caught. She fell on her rump at Gibbs’ feet.

“Jane?”

Gibbs lifted her by the arm. She swayed in his grasp, gaping at the symbols that now meant far more.

She could see into them, like a hologram.

Open…vastness, yawning…fresh and exposed, loose, lifting up and out, unfurling…expanding, stars and light…communing…forever without end….

Her breath caught in her throat.

Her eyes drifted down. A new experience.

Close…barrier, block…tightly cover, conceal, seal and lock…stifle…dark…inaccessible…halting…murderous, fence, trap, end…. End?

She shuddered and tore her eyes away.

“Jane, what is it?” Bergen’s helmet skittered over hers, pressing her back into Gibbs.

She closed her eyes. Her whole body trembled. Couldn’t they see it too?

The hum was back and it was stronger. There was an unmistakable sensation of vibration and movement. Were there actual bees inside her head?

Her own thoughts were mired while something else—something that was not her—zipped with glee, probing, searching…. Her brain pulsed in response.

Her limbs were heavy. She wanted to lie down.

She felt drunk.

She recalled the first time she’d ever been tipsy with sudden clarity. The bees latched onto that, pushed her toward the memory.

Control spun away. She went along as an observer.

She’d been nine. They were living in Belize at that time. No tourists came in rumbling, rusty, buses that day to hike the trails. It was a rare free day.

Jane batted away a slow-flying insect and looked up from the tattered, yellowed paperback that a tall German woman had carelessly left behind the day before. It was a book by a guy named Sagan, about a girl who was smart and curious, just like her.

She was bored. The daily rain shower would begin soon and she’d be cooped up in the casita for the rest of the afternoon, reading or playing chess.

Where had her parents gone? They were probably giggling under some tree somewhere. She sighed heavily. She didn’t like it when they left her alone, but they’d come if she yelled and then she’d get a lecture about crying wolf.

She sat down on the dusty, worn boards in the doorway, fingering the wide cracks, smoothed over by time. She thought she heard a quiet ‘kyow,’ the tell-tale sound of a quetzal in the neighborhood, and picked up her binoculars, scanning the canopy for signs of the bird, its red breast, and long, flicking green tail, then the undergrowth for signs of her wayward parents. She saw movement, but that was the cow.

They said they were trying to make her a baby brother or sister to keep her company, but they’d been saying that for a long time and it hadn’t happened yet. She didn’t see what the big deal was. Why did they need to be alone to do that? It’s not like she hadn’t watched them before when they thought she was sleeping. She’d teased them that they made some pretty funny sounds, compared to the monkeys she’d observed.

She eyed the bottle of clear guaro they kept up on the high shelf. Grown-up drinks, grown-up sex, grown-up stuff was just silly stuff they didn’t want to share. She pulled a chair over to the single wall-mounted cabinet and captured the nearly full bottle. She’d show them. She sloshed it into her small, plastic cup and gave it a taste.

Ugh. Terrible stuff. But it was warm going down and that was nice. Interesting sensation, actually. She coughed a little and took a more cautious sip and then another. It was a little sweet. It was sharp. Not so different from spicy food and she liked that fine.

She decided she was mature enough to get it down and turned on the radio. Mom liked to dance to mariachi music when she drank this stuff. By the time her parents got back, arms around each other, smiling, she was smiling too and humming along.

Humming. Droning. Vibrating.

It wants something.

Voices battered against her ears, yanking her back to see Ajaya, Bergen, Walsh and Gibbs crowded around her.

She asked them, “Do you see the symbols too? Do you hear the bees? Can you feel them moving? What do they want?”

“She’s delusional,” Ajaya murmured. “The stress—”

“She saved the lives of two men in the goddamn Amazon when she had malaria—this isn’t stress,” Bergen bellowed.

“We all know her record, Berg,” Walsh said, gruff as usual.

“She hasn’t been sleeping well for a long time.” That was Gibbs.

“None of us have—shut up!” Bergen lashed out.

“It’s not me. It’s something in the ship. I’m fighting….”

“Fighting what, Jane?”

She let out a strangled laugh. “Bees? I don’t know. I’m….”

No. She would not say that.

What if she gave them what they wanted? Could she appease them? She gazed into the consternated faces of her colleagues, unsure.

This is completely insane. Am I dreaming?

There were no options. She closed her eyes and she was back there again, inhabiting her own child-mind with adult eyes.

Her parents’ faces fell, simultaneously.

Her mother gathered her up. “Janey—what’s going on?”

She snorted with laughter that turned into whooping belly laughs. She bounced around within Mama’s grasp and captured her hands. She felt dizzy like she’d been spinning too long and happy, happy, happy. Couldn’t they tell? “I’m dancing. Let’s dance.”

“Kevin, turn off the radio.”

Uh-oh. Serious voices. She went still, staring. “Why are you mad at Daddy?”

“I’m not. Jane, did you drink this?” Mama was pointing at her cup and the bottle of guaro nearby. Daddy seemed sick. He picked up the bottle and sat down heavily in a chair.

“Ha-ha—you’re just mad ’cause I tried your grown-up stuff! I like it. It’s good. Next time we go to town, I want to buy some juice. I bet it’d be good to mix it up together!”

Her mother looked stricken. “Jane, this isn’t good for children. You’re going to feel sick soon.”

But she didn’t. She just kept feeling good until she felt warm and sleepy, curled up on Daddy’s lap. They kept telling her it was bad, but she didn’t believe them. She dozed off and woke later when she heard them talking, but she stayed quiet, listening drowsily.

“Dump it out, Hailey,” Daddy said softly.

“Kev, it’s ok,” Mama soothed.

“She likes it,” he choked out.

“She’s nine. She likes every new experience. She’ll forget about it.”

“What if she doesn’t? What if—?” He squeezed her tighter.

Mama’s voice went very soft, barely above a whisper, but urgent, “She’s not going to be like your mom, Kev. We won’t let it happen.”

“No. Pour it out. Not…no.”

There was a sound of liquid splashing in the dust, just outside the door. Then Mama spoke again, “You know, I’ve been thinking. We should move on, find a place where there’s a school, kids her age to play with. Those Swedes last week were talking about snorkeling in the coral reefs in Australia. We have some money saved. We were both lifeguards—we could do that. It’s a tropical paradise, they said. Cost of living’s not bad, they said.”

“Jane wouldn’t learn another language there.”

“Not from the locals. Tourists love to talk to her, though.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Yeah. They do.”

She felt warm and safe in his embrace. She didn’t want it to ever end.

She’d never remembered this part of it before, and none of it with such detail. It was a gift. But she wanted to squeeze him back, tell him things she hadn’t known how to say as a child, warn him that Australia was not the right choice.

She wanted to change it. She ached to save him.

Her parents had gotten quiet, then, and she dozed off.

The memory faded away.

But she was still there.

What had that accomplished? There was no tranquility in this silence. Only pain and heartbreaking loneliness.

Into the roaring stillness of the tiny one-room shack, Jane cried, “Is this what you want? Are you trying to hurt me?”

“No,” a low-pitched voice buzzed softly.

It didn’t come from the room around her. It came from inside her head.

She jumped with dismay. Her mother and father were gone. She could never have them back again like that. The thought made her chest ache.

She stood in the middle of the room, in the orange EMU, the umbilicus trailing out the solitary door into the rain forest. She could hear the raucous chatter of howler monkeys reaching a climax outside. Something they didn’t like was encroaching on their territory.

Jane felt the same way.

She cast around. It was the same faded turquoise walls made of thick planks, the same rough wooden table, the same mismatched, rickety chairs, sagging, straw bed and trundle. Even Rainbow Bright smiled back at her from the small plastic cup.

Tears stung her eyes. She refused to shed them, blinking them back. “Show yourself.”

“I regret that I cannot, Dr. Jane Holloway.”

She quailed. It knows my name?

The voice was rich and resonant—it conveyed the impression of male gender, though she knew it could be a mistake to make such assumptions. It created a vibrating sensation in her head when it spoke and that seemed odd.

Because she liked it, too.

“Why?” There was anguish in her voice. Damn it. She steeled herself and drew an angry breath. Stay dispassionate, Jane.

“It is a simple matter. My form would be incongruous in your perceived environment.”

What? What’s that supposed to mean?

She stood straight as an arrow and demanded, “What do you want from me?”

“We both want something. You want something from me.”

“I—We—”

The sonorous voice interrupted, filling her head, all other thought drowned. “It will be an even exchange, Dr. Jane Holloway. You have nothing to fear. You may explore as you desire. The gaseous composition and gravitational forces have been adjusted, are now adequate for your species. These things do not affect me. There is plentiful foodstuff, as you have already discovered. There are horizontal platforms, like these, where you may take rest. Your journey has been long, arduous, primitive. It is over now. You are home.”

“But, where’s the crew? A ship of this size must have a crew!”

“They have…departed, long ago. There is only myself. And now, you.”

She sensed it was slipping away. The hum was receding. She concentrated, willing it to stay. “What’s happening? Why are you being so cryptic?”

“I will let you rest now. You are fatigued.”

Desperation propelled her a step forward. “Wait a minute!”

“Yes? You require something more, Dr. Jane Holloway?”

She blinked and softened her tone, “What are you? Where are you? Who are you?”

“This conversation will be more optimally resumed when the required mental link has been more properly established. With time, and repetition, it will become easier and no longer cause you discomfort or distress. This is prudent, Dr. Jane Holloway. I only desired to relieve your anxiety, to inform you that you are safe. That is sufficient. I leave you now.”

“No. Please! Don’t go. I—I still have questions….”

She fell silent.

It…he?…was gone. The humming was gone. She was alone again.

She walked over to the cabinet and opened it. It was as she remembered, though she could reach it without the chair now. There was a bag of ground coffee, masa, rice, beans, lard, a small paper sack filled with root vegetables and several yellow-brown plantains. She backed up slowly and laid down on the bed, fingers spreading over the soft, worn quilt her mother had brought from Minnesota.

Was she small again? The suit was gone. She was drifting, dreaming.

She sat up abruptly, aghast at her manners.

She hadn’t even asked his name.