Chapter 85

 

Jared

 

 

On Friday morning, Mimi, looking rather pale and shaky, made her way out of her house to the picnic table, where she sat down with a pack of cards and a cup of coffee and a cribbage board. Clyde, beaming, sat down across the table from her, and she began to shuffle as if nothing had happened to interrupt her routine.

Everyone came to greet her, the Bahtan girls as they got up, Ann as she went down the street to check on her house, Willis, with Weston and Patterson, as they went to check their sensors and discuss turning off the alarms for the day, Phyllis and Lillian when they came out on their porch and spotted her, Al when he followed Lillian.

He and Lillian were still at the table, catching Mimi up on the local news, when Cara looked out the window and called to Jared; it was the best news he'd heard for days. They went out to welcome Mimi back.

"And I missed the reception," she said, hugging them back, "with the candles and the cake and the dancing nut cups, Lillian tells me."

"I still have mine," Terry told her; he had stopped to say hello on his way up the street from the D'ubian house. "I'll bring it to you. It's a lot of fun; we got them fixed so they go really fast."

"Ann is talking about singing flowers at our wedding," said Lillian. "Dancing up and down the tables. That will be much better than nut cups." She laughed at Jared's expression and Al's shudder. "She's busy and happy," she pointed out. "It makes up for Charles No-Last-Name and that poor mouse."

Mimi kept hold of Jared's hand; as Cara and Al and Lillian began to compare musical flower garlands with exploding candles, she pulled him down to speak in his ear. "I want to thank you," she said, "you and Issio. I don't remember it all clearly, but I remember some of it. You both took a big risk for me. Do you know how dangerous it was?"

"I think it was more dangerous for you," said Jared, thinking of that grassy meadow, the serpentine thing twined around her, her exhaustion.

"I remember other things, too," said Mimi. "For which I want to apologize. If I had been able to control her, I would never –"

"We understand that," Jared assured her. He wondered just what she did recall; he hesitated to push her right now, as tired as she obviously was, but under the circumstances, any information was welcome and potentially useful. "Do you remember very much?" he asked. "Were you aware of her, who she is, what she was thinking?"

Mimi thought about it. "Only a little," she said. "She kept me – pushed down, so I wouldn't bother her. Like having some big heavy nasty thing sitting on you. I kept trying to fight, but she was strong, very strong. I know she let the other Its loose. I remember seeing her opening the cages. I remember her in the Bahtan yard, with the laser pistol, and I was trying so hard to get control before she did something – and I did make her stumble and knock against things, so that the fellow over there, the male Bahtan, noticed us. I guess I accomplished something."

It had taken him and Issio both to fight that creature; Jared looked at Mimi with real respect. "You did accomplish something," he said. "Between you and Numum, you probably saved our lives."

"I don't know how serious she was about killing you," said Mimi. "Is that his name, Numum?"

"With the polished horns," said Jared, grinning.

"How unconventional," she said, looking quite pleased. "That's our girls. All of us, misborn." Issio and Sofi and Gina crossed the lawn to welcome Mimi back, and Jared and Cara moved to make room for them.

"We're making bread again tonight," she announced to everyone in range. "Clyde can do the heavy kneading, but I can do the rest."

It was good to have her back; the neighborhood felt complete now.

 

Ann thought it would be really great to have the Azuri/zai projections going in her basement, if they didn't mind her upstairs planning the painting and the new floors. Weston and Jared and Patterson drove back to the Institute to see about borrowing the equipment, and found the police there talking with one of the mad scientists beside what was left of the old black car, which someone had attacked with a power drill and a sledge hammer, reducing it largely to its component parts. Someone had also cracked the window beside the door that led to the conference room, but the window had held, the security alarm had gone off, and there had been no further attempt to break in.

The police were no longer amused. Jared was pleased to hear that they were launching a serious search for Ione Patterson, who was the most logical suspect after her attack on the Institute yesterday morning.

Dr. Graystone, who had been alerted by Security, was pacing through the parking lot in summer shorts and sandals; he was relieved that the vital information for the Azuri/zai project had been already removed to safety, and he had no problem at all with their borrowing equipment to continue the work in another location. His main concern at the moment was with the mad scientists, who couldn't transport their work as easily and who were discussing how they could move in full-time to guard their projects. They were by no means convinced that Security was trustworthy.

Jared and Weston and Patterson loaded what they needed into the back of Jared's car and left the lab rats making plans to move mattresses into the upstairs hallway, with perhaps just a camp stove and a fuel cell set up in one of the empty classrooms; they would send Security for groceries, the red-headed one was saying. Security could surely be trusted with groceries.

"I don't understand Ione," said Patterson, sitting in the back seat cradling three screens in his lap. "She's always been difficult, but this is – I just don't understand!"

"It isn't her," said Jared. "You've seen the Its."

"Yes," said Patterson, "but she's been acting crazy for weeks now." Thinking of a man packing his office with furniture sawed in half, Jared maintained a diplomatic silence. "You know about her hitting me with Yvonne Marie's bag of kibbles," said Patterson. "And the car, what she did to my car!"

"I guess some people don't deal with stress," said Weston.

"And this thing with the psychiatrist," said Patterson. "She's been completely irrational, and her brother and all – I just don't understand."

"Well, with a little luck," said Jared, "they'll find her pretty soon and take her where she can get some help."

"I bet you can get full custody of Yvonne Marie," said Weston, with only a small twitch to the corners of his mouth. "I bet you won't have any trouble with that at all now."

"That's true," said Patterson. "I ought to call Trudy, see what she thinks."

Thinking of that put him in a very good mood. He and Weston spent the afternoon stringing cables and helping Willis get Jared's old generator, the one that had developed glitches winter before last, into workable order again to run the operation. By late afternoon it looked as if they could start work again by the next day, using the settings from Weston's noters; no one much wanted to retrieve the data cubes. They seemed safe in the D'ubian warehouse, and no one wanted to interfere with the arrangement.

Patterson settled down with his phone on the Hardesty porch for a long chat with his legal adviser. Sandy called to ask if there was any news; she thought she might be able to get away as early as Sunday, if they needed her. The real estate agent called Cara to tell her the work at her house had been completed and the place looked great; he had already scheduled a showing Sunday afternoon, a nice middle-aged couple just moving to town and looking for something in that price range. By the way, was she interested in including that big Bahtan saegan wood desk with other basic appliances in the sale, since it looked like they'd need to take the wall down to get it out of the house anyway? She assured him that if the buyers wanted it, they could have it, and that gigantic buffet in the dining room, too. Wayne dropped Numum off at the Bahtan house, and Jared watched, charmed, as the Bahtan male strolled freely up their front walk, swinging a lunch pail and whistling, to be met at the door by three Bahtan females shoving and elbowing to be the first to kiss him hello. That was not a sight you often saw, he reflected.

As the sun sank below the treetops, Willis and Weston and Patterson made a check of their sensors and their alarm system, and then Weston and Patterson, with Dr. Ned, went down into Ann's basement and Willis joined Cara and Jared, sitting with Gina and Sofi at the picnic table. "It all looks quiet," he said, "and that makes me nervous. You know she's out there somewhere. They know it. That thing in our basement. It's singing all the time. That thing the girls have, too; Mutai told me it's been restless. And very loud."

"I suppose they sense one another," said Jared.

"They communicate somehow," agreed Cara, passing the Wark the Quarg sketches to Sofi, who, one hand on Shamri, was going over the pages with great attention. Shamri had been very active today, she reported; looking at Gina's story and Ann's drawings calmed her. Jared wasn't quite sure how that worked, unless Shamri felt and responded to her mother's relaxation.

Music helped too, which Jared did understand; Sofi looked up and nodded at the D'ubians as they came out into the street with their instruments. Terry with his guitar ran down the street after them, and Duroh turned to meet him and dragged him off into the Hardesty garden for an urgent conference.

Once he was out of sight among the corn stalks, Dural nodded at his group and led the way up to the picnic table. "Terry's father," he said. "We speak with him when he comes here."

"I haven't seen him for a couple of days," said Cara, and Willis snorted.

"No loss there," he said. "Why do you want him? Like he's good for anything."

The four D'ubians looked at one another. "We have need," said Dural, "of adult person with rights for decisions for Terry. A legal person."

"Then you sure don't want that idiot alien," said Willis. "He can't do anything. Actually I'm Terry's legal guardian. Gina's, too. Mom," with a faint twist of his mouth, "signed off on them when I took over at that damned farm."

The D'ubians looked at one another, and Duran and Durakal and Durata seemed to be urging Dural on; he took a deep breath and faced Willis. "We speak with you, then," he said. "About Terry. About school this fall."

"Okay," said Willis, and Dural fumbled in his robes and brought out a reader, searched a little longer and looked back at the other three. Duran lifted his arms and peered into his sleeves, shaking his head, and Durakal patted at the pockets on his chest and his legs, and Durata lifted the hem of her robe, revealing a tiny foot clad in a brown shoe, a tiny leg enveloped in a brown-striped sock and, finally, a pocket on the underside of her robe, which she unsealed. Feeling into it, she gave a cry of pleasure and brought out a paper document; she took it in both hands and presented it to Dural, who beamed.

"This is from the Conservatory of Performing Arts," he announced, and placed it in Willis' hand. "They desire Terry in their school. They offer a full scholarship."

"Oh, my god," said Cara, staring. "The Conservatory?"

"Sweet-talking demons," breathed Sofi. "You must be the very best, to be accepted to the Conservatory."

"I never heard of anyone from here who was good enough to go," said Gina, awed. "It must be the best place there is for musicians."

"The best training he could find on Haivran," said Jared, wondering how the D'ubians had managed this. A hopeful student could neither beg nor buy his way into the Conservatory; only the most promising musicians had a chance to enter.

Willis looked blankly at the paper in his hand. "Ah," he said.

"We take recordings to the Conservatory," explained Dural, "early this summer. We have also some –" he hesitated, looking at the people around the table. "We have professional recordings," he admitted. "We know we are wrong to do this. He is very young, and we have no permission. But we needed his compositions, also his playing. And we do not have anyone to ask. His father, we think, is far away, also not very interested. So we record."

"Sure," said Willis, looking at the paper in his hand.

"We take his share of credits, put them in bank for him. He does not care about them," said Dural, with a smile. "He only wishes to make music. So we save them. If you are legal person for him, you must be on the account also. We arrange this."

"Oh," said Willis.

"So. We take these recordings to the Conservatory," said Dural. "They hear what he can do. They are excited. He is very good. We all know this." All four brown hoods nodded in unison. "So they offer this scholarship. The credits in bank can pay for clothes, also for small needs he has."

"Noters," said Duran, nodding. "Shortening of hair." He demonstrated with fingers for clippers.

"Cutting," said Jared. "Hair cuts." All four brown hoods nodded with enthusiasm.

"We have concerns," said Durakal, "because he is young. Before we come to you with this, we talk with Conservatory people. They have many students, young as eight, old as twenty-five. They have other Earthians, also other species. Young. Social development," he said, evidently a new phrase for them, a concept learned in their foster parenting role. "They have full –" He sought the word, pinwheeling his hand in the air.

"Studies?" suggested Duran.

"Classes?" offered Dural.

"Curriculum," said Jared, and all four of them nodded again.

"History, languages," said Durakal. "Mathematics; he studies music, which is related. He composes much. Very good work."

"We think," said Duran, "he goes beyond where we are. We think he needs instruction from better people."

"Huh," said Willis, who had not quite managed to close his mouth yet.

Dural put the reader into Willis' free hand. "This tells very much about the Conservatory," he said. "To answer questions. Also we answer, and if we do not know, we find out. We think this is right for Terry. We very much hope you think so also."

"Ah," said Willis, staring at the reader.

"We do not talk with Terry about this," said Durata, "until you say. You say first."

"Uh huh," said Willis.

"You think, you ask," said Dural, "and then you say. Classes begin a week after public school. There is still time."

"Yeah," said Willis, and Dural motioned to the other three; they trooped off down the street toward the Hardesty house, to connect with Duroh and the sixth member of their music circle. After a few moments Willis looked again at the paper, and then he set down the reader, very carefully, and opened the paper and read it, and read it again, and finally Gina reached over and took it away from him and read it herself, with Sofi and Cara and Jared looking over her shoulder. It said exactly what Dural had said. The Conservatory for the Performing Arts in Bridgeton was extremely pleased to offer Terrill McIntosh a full scholarship as a day student in their music school.

No one could think of anything to say. After a while, Willis took the paper back, folding it very carefully and setting it down on the picnic table beside the reader. "I can't even believe this," he said. "I mean – Terry!"

"He's really good," said Gina.

"Yes, but he's, well, he's our baby brother," said Willis. "You don't expect your baby brother – I have to agree to this," he said, looking at Jared as he might have looked to an older brother or, perhaps, an uncle for an opinion, approval. "I can't get in his way. If he's really this good, this is what he needs, isn't it."

"I think so," said Jared "I think you're right, if this is what he wants; you need to ask him about it."

"Of course he wants this," said Gina. "All he wants to do is make music."

"I wonder," said Willis, "if the Conservatory knows what Terry can get into."

"Haven't you noticed," said Cara, "that he never gets into anything when the D'ubians are up and he's playing music with them?"

"This is true," said Sofi, looking surprised. "This is quite true."

The D'ubians and Terry trooped past, heading to their house; Durata darted away from the troop to run up to the picnic table and whisper, "We go to our warehouse, get recordings; we bring them, let you listen to Terry!" She ran back down the street and fell in step as Dural began to play his pipe and Terry backed him up on the guitar. Durakal took the lead, opening the door of the battered black car for the rest of the band.