From "The Maresh Points"


The sky over the planet Enhuis, near Epsilon Eridani, is changing. The Maresh Points appear, challenging long-held tenets about the structure of the universe and promising a pathway to wealth and power to those who control these portals to the stars. As global tension mounts, the people of Enhuis discover that they are not alone. A world much like theirs exists a mere ten light-years away - Earth!

Chapter 21
Crystal drift on the whistling wind/ constant change is the space we’re in/ you may use a slide rule or a golden crown/ but nothing is worth it that you can pin down/ see how the starwheel turns.
Bruce Cockburn, “Starwheel,” 
from Joy will Find a Way, 1975, True North Productions
Date Stamp
June 30, 1971
Server Point of Origin
Los Angeles, California
United States of America
Earth
Adiim, you have tried to teach me to find the wonder and joy of any new situation. My first week at JPL was interesting at first, if only because of the novelty of being here on Earth, and the sheer terror that my identity might be discovered. I have endured an excruciatingly boring orientation without, much to my credit, falling asleep, even during the motion pictures documenting JPL’s illustrious history. The idiom “paperwork” has taken on new meaning as I complete form after form, and read interminable manuals describing personnel procedures, treatment of classified information, and operating procedures for my department. Not until my second week here did I actually come into contact with the primitive computing devices and software I will be using. My job will be to work with the physicists to cross check the software codes for the Mariner spacecraft navigational programs. I will have to sit on my hands and bite my tongue. Remind me to make notes to revise the training manual if we send any more crews to this planet.
A young woman interning in the engineering department, named Lisa Fisher, has sought my companionship during breaks and lunch hours. She seems to feel out of place. Perhaps being a woman in a man’s domain is not so different than being from another planet. I’m still uneasy about my social skills, and would prefer to take my breaks alone, but I know that would be unkind. I will do my best to tolerate Lisa and hope that I don’t arouse any suspicion about myself.
End Program
At the end of the day on Friday of her second week at JPL, SulaMhir hurried across the parking lot toward her car, a used Datsun. Feeling the bottom of her purse for keys, she looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was following. The purse was cumbersome and she was clumsy with the keys, probably another consequence of Earth’s slightly higher gravity. Under her feet, the asphalt was soft, its heat radiating through the soles of her shoes. Squinting, she looked up at the brassy sun and remembered that she should be wearing sunglasses. So many behaviors to coordinate. She was glad that it was Fifthday, or Friday as it was called here, and she looked forward to two days of solitude.
“Mona!”
SulaMhir kept walking, pretending she didn’t hear Lisa Fisher calling to her. Lisa’s platform shoes made a flapping noise against her heels as she clomped across the asphalt. She caught up with SulaMhir, who had no choice but to compose herself and put on an expression of polite interest, when she really felt on the verge of panic or frustration, she wasn’t sure which.
“Mona, I’m so glad I caught you. I was wondering if you had any plans for the weekend?”
SulaMhir opened her mouth to say that, yes, she had plans, though of course that was a fib, but Lisa interjected before SulaMhir could commit the small transgression.
“There’s a music festival in San Francisco, and I want to go. Only, I don’t have anyone to go with. I don’t want to go alone. Do you want to check it out? We could stay with my cousin, so it wouldn’t cost too much.”
When SulaMhir didn’t answer right away, Lisa’s brow furrowed and she rocked nervously on her heels in the ridiculously high platform shoes, looking childish and vulnerable. She pushed her glasses up on her nose for the fortieth time that day, and chewed her bottom lip. “I know it’s a six hour drive to San Fran. But I don’t mind driving at night. Please say yes! I have tickets! They weren’t easy to get.” Lisa’s large front teeth began to worry the lower tip again. “Monday is the holiday, you know. Since the 4th is on Sunday, we get Monday off.”
Gut instinct, fear of the unknown, common sense, protocol and the sheer volume of information she needed to process from her first week of real work at JPL should have forced an immediate and emphatic refusal from SulaMhir’s lips, so she was even more surprised than Lisa to hear a clear “Yes,” issue forth. In fact, it wasn’t until she registered the look of startled relief on Lisa’s face, the look that melted into one of pure joy, that she fully realized what she had done. SulaMhir shifted her weight from one foot to the other, wishing the asphalt would swallow her up, but it didn’t, and she forced a resolute smile to her lips.
Lisa spread her arms in a gesture of gratitude, and her white lab coat slid from her grasp. SulaMhir caught it before it hit the oily surface of the parking lot, and Lisa clasped it to her chest as though it were something precious. “I’ll pick you up at seven,” she said. “Here, write down your address.” She rifled through her macramé bag for a scrap of paper. “I’ll bring some extra pillows and snacks. And plenty of caffeine so we can stay awake. Pack light, okay? It gets cool and damp at night, so bring a jacket.”
SulaMhir forced herself to make the alien marks comprising the address of her boarding house and handed the paper back to Lisa, while, in the back of her mind, she imagined that she heard Trealhim’s voice, tinged with amusement, encouraging her to trust that she could never find herself in a situation or predicament so absurd that was outside the will of the One.
Trealhim, however, had never spent a week on an alien planet pretending to an intern in a laboratory populated mainly by pale, nearsighted men carrying slide rules in their pockets. Slide rules! SulaMhir could figure equations in her head faster than they could solve them. She’d spent most of the week gnawing her tongue to keep from revealing anachronistic information. They didn’t know how to behave around a female astrophysicist, anyway. And poor Lisa was the lone female among “the wolves,” as she called them, in the engineering area. SulaMhir couldn’t fault Lisa for clinging to her, but assuming the role of elder sister was more than SulaMhir was prepared to do. Spending the weekend with Lisa was probably not a good idea. Why had she said yes?
Driving in traffic from Pasadena to her apartment in a less fashionable section of Los Angeles consumed SulaMhir’s attention for the next hour. She’d begun to feel competent at driving, appreciating the physical coordination required and response of the vehicle. Driving a car was not so different from navigating a space ship. SulaMhir fought the urge to swerve as another car cut in front of her with inches to spare. She smiled, recalling navigating the asteroid belt. If the consequences of a miscalculation here on the freeway were, by comparison, not as staggering in their scale, they made up for this by being more immediate.
SulaMhir parked her car in her designated slot in the driveway of an ugly, square house constructed of concrete blocks painted a wan yellow hue. Crooked blue and white striped aluminum awnings and a trio of scraggly palm trees shaded the two story building from the California sun, which, at sunset, cast a comforting reddish light that reminded her of home. She slipped inside, closed the door to her room and tried to gather her wits.
SulaMhir turned the deadbolt on her door and closed the Venetian blinds before she dutifully checked for messages on the server built into her suitcase. Having agreed not to carry pocket servers unless absolutely necessary, especially, not in security-sensitive areas such as JPL and NASA, the crew had to learn patience in doing without the luxury of instant communication. To make matters even more complicated they had agreed upon an annoying but necessary topical drug regimen to block their implanted biotech location transmitters during the hours they were in public. SulaMhir was always relieved when she re-calibrated hers with her server after the drug wore off.
Finding encrypted messages from Captain Simyulim and Arthini, she downloaded them to her pocket server and erased the originals from her main server. “No one’s heard from MeRihim in more than twenty-four hours,” Simyulim reported. “We’re not picking up her signal. Contact me immediately if you hear from her.”
SulaMhir paced, considering this. The only way to interrupt the signal from the implant for more than twelve hours would be to keep applying the drug patch or remove the transmitter. She fingered the faint edge of her own patch, barely discernable beneath her left clavicle. MeRihim must be in trouble if she was trying to suppress her signal. There was no way SulaMhir could go to San Francisco with Lisa now. Her duty was to wait by her server for word from MeRihim. She felt an immediate sense of relief to be released from that obligation, but it was short-lived, replaced by a knot of unease in the pit of her stomach. Arthini’s message echoed Simyulim’s concern about MeRihim, although she listed the plays, movies, and religious meetings she planned to attend during the weekend, inviting SulaMhir to join her as she wished.
SulaMhir initialized the microphone signal on the tiny control panel of her server. “Encrypt message. Begin. Requesting advice on standby status for next forty-eight hours.”
She didn’t expect an immediate response. What to do now?” She checked her wristwatch. Lisa was probably on her way and there was no way to communicate with her. SulaMhir would just have to make some excuse when Lisa arrived.
The indicator flashed a new text message from Simyulim. “Switch from voice to two-way text mode.” SulaMhir extracted a stylus from the pocket server, wondering what had prompted the captain to switch protocols. She began to write. “Received. Order to wait for word from MeRihim?”
Simyulim replied. “Considering options. Request you send text message to MeRihim.” A pause and the text began to scroll again. “Send it as a personal message. As a friend.”
“Understood.” She wanted to ask him about his immediate circumstances. “And you?” Send you a message as friend?”
“Thanks for sentiment. Everything A-OK as they say here. Carry on with prior plans, if any. Keep pocket server on hand. Check in every ten hours. Captain out.”
SulaMhir took a moment to let reason overrule the irrational desire to hide in her room all weekend. Her captain had ordered her to continue her prior plans. If MeRihim chose to respond to her message, SulaMhir would be just as accessible by pocket server in San Francisco as she would be here in Los Angles. It was time to take courage and face the weekend. She could learn a lot about these Earth people by accompanying Lisa. There had to be more to the mission than gathering data at JPL.
**
MeRihim sipped ginger ale and looked out the window of the airplane. As intelligence officer, she’d been the last crewmember to leave the shuttle site, her responsibility to make sure the others safely reached their assigned locations before she battened down the area and embarked on her own adventure. It hadn’t been easy burrowing the shuttles into the side of the sandy ridge, but when she’d finished, she was satisfied that the area looked clean and undisturbed. She’d discarded her scooter at a bus station in a nearby town, bought a ticket to Ontario, California, and spent the night in a cheap hotel close to the airport. Carrying only a backpack with a change of clothes and basic toiletries, she’d boarded her flight that morning. Now she was on her way to Chicago, where she would change planes and fly to New York.
Below her, the arid high plains were giving way to the verdant farmlands of the Midwest. MeRihim turned away from the window and closed her eyes. She felt terrible. Nauseated and tired. And she knew that the immunity boosters did not cause her condition. It was a condition only time could cure.
MeRihim had to make a decision. As the flight attendant announced their final descent into the Chicago area, MeRihim obediently raised her seat to its upright position and put away her tray table. Reluctantly, she handed her cup to the smiling flight attendant, wishing she could keep the ice cubes to suck on. Her ears popped uncomfortably, and she swallowed to equalize the air pressure in her Eustachian tubes. Turning to the window again, she was amazed to see the skyline of Chicago, Lake Michigan shining in the noontime sun, the tall buildings pointing arrogantly toward the airspace. The urban maze stretched as far as her eye could see. A person could get swallowed up in such a city. Lost and forgotten.
MeRihim fingered the drug patch beneath her clavicle, wondering how hard it would be to remove her transmitter. No one would be looking for her in Chicago, as they would be in New York.
She waited until most of the passengers were off the plan before she ventured onto the concourse and checked the monitor for her connecting flight’s departure time and gate. She had one and one-half Earth hours to make a decision. Jostled by the harried travelers, she felt a wave of nausea overtake her. She ducked into the first women’s restroom she could find and opened a stall just in time to avoid the embarrassment of throwing up in public. She washed her face and returned to the concourse, this time hugging the wall to stay out of the crush of pedestrian traffic. A sign above her announced an intersection. If she turned left, she would go to Concourse B. If she turned right, she would go to Baggage Claim and Ground Transportation.
MeRihim turned right.
Chapter 22
A gentle dome of blue metal curving toward extinction/the Volkswagen casts no glare in the full scrutiny of midsummer’s sun/ becoming one with the backyard grass/ it once carried prophets of peace who/smoked dreams in its back seat/while they searched for the road to heaven/ or at least the route to change the world.
Kathy Hanson, excerpted from “Hippie Dreams,” 1995
By the time Lisa’s blue Volkswagen beetle reached the open freeway, SulaMhir was nibbling potato chips, sipping an unpleasant beverage called Tab Cola, and trying to push aside her anxiety about MeRihim. She began to relax and allow a sense of adventure to insinuate itself into her stubborn, practical defenses.
Lisa seemed more confident behind the wheel of the car than she did in the laboratory. The only residual nervous mannerism SulaMhir noted was her habit of adjusting the wire-rim glasses that constantly slid down her freckled nose. Beneath the yellow bandana tied around her head, her hair billowed in an orange cloud of curls, and her long, angular arms, also freckled, were in constant motion, whether crossing as she gripped the steering wheel to whip the car from lane to lane, or merely gesticulating in time to the music on the eight-track tape player.
“Our house is a very, very, very, very fine house!” she sang. “Don’t you just love those harmonies?” Lisa’s head bobbed to the beat and she reached for her own beverage, something in a yellow and green aluminum can, called Fresca.
SulaMhir nodded. She did, indeed, find the harmonies pleasant, and the guitar chords anchored by the rich bass laced by intricate percussion, very interesting.
“With two cats in the yard!” Lisa switched to a harmony ostensibly a third above the melody, but her pitch wasn’t quite there. “Life used to be so hard. Now everything is easy coz of you. And our house!” She was lost in a series of da da da’s or na na na’s SulaMhir couldn’t quite distinguish the syllables. “Don’t you ever wonder what it will really be like when you’re married?” Lisa sighed.
SulaMhir paused to interpret what Lisa was saying. She was fairly certain that Lisa was speaking in hypothetical second person. ‘What will it really be like when one is actually married,’ perhaps. She smiled through the sudden pang of homesickness, of missing her husband. The husband that she must pretend doesn’t exist.
Oblivious, Lisa continued to chatter. “I’m sure it won’t be as blissful as Crosby, Stills and Nash’s song. But I want to get married. Don’t you?”
SulaMhir just kept smiling. Lisa took her eyes off the road long enough to study SulaMhir’s face. “I’m sorry, Mona. That’s a pretty personal question.”
“That’s all right. I look forward to marriage, too.”
Lisa looked relieved. “I wish I could fix up my cousin with a nice girl.”
“Your cousin?”
“Yes, the cousin who’s putting up with us for the weekend. Rob’s his name. Rob Wallace. He’s a preacher.”
“Oh.” Knowing very little about preachers, SulaMhir had no idea how to respond.
“He used to be even more of a geek than me. But he got a call from God to go into the ministry and he went off to Seminary in Denver. The next time I saw him, he’d gotten rid of his glasses, grown out his hair, gained about forty pounds of muscle, and I got to tell you, he looks like Van Morrison, Tarzan and Jesus Christ rolled into one.”
“This transformation happened to him while he was in Seminary?”
“Yup.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I. You’d think being all studious and religious, he’d come back skinnier and geekier than when he left. But I think he just sort of, well, blossomed.”
“I suppose that makes sense. When one find’s one calling...”
“But it’s such a waste.”
“What is a waste?”
“He doesn’t seem interested in women at all.”
“What are his interests?”
“Reaching this rebellious generation for Christ.” She said this in such a way that SulaMhir couldn’t tell if Lisa approved of this incomprehensible cause or not. “He doesn’t even have a real church. He’s a street preacher. Some rich guy supports him with a grant of some sort. He lives in a big old house and takes in street kids, hippies and runaways, finds work for them, sends them to drug rehab . . .”
SulaMhir nodded as if she understood, as had become her habit since she landed on this planet. “So, we’re staying in the apartment with street kids, hippies and runaways?” Her voice sounded dubious to her own ears.
“Oh. I guess I didn’t stop to think about that. You aren’t scared are you?” Rob runs a tight ship. Any misbehavior and it’s out on your butt.” Hypothetical second person, again? A sweeping gesture, followed by a big adjustment of the glasses, another lane change and an anticlimactic sip of the Fresca seemed to settle it for Lisa.
SulaMhir wrapped her arms around herself and resigned to make the best of it. After all, she’d traveled ten light years, two solar systems, and one ambiguous celestial anomaly to spend the night in Rob Wallace’s religious sanctuary. If the One God of the Universe wanted something untoward to befall her, He would have to demonstrate an inordinate sense of irony to put her in danger now.
Lisa seemed to have the good sense not to intrude on SulaMhir’s thoughts as they neared the city of San Francisco with its lights, peeking in and out of thin veils of fog, sparkling on a hundred hills.
“Your cousin is expecting us?” SulaMhir asked when Lisa finally parked the car on a steep, narrow street and set the emergency brake.
“Yeah. He’s already at the fest. Probably won’t come home tonight.” She selected a key and squinted as she held it up to the feeble light shining into the car from the street lamp. “I’ve had a key since the last time I stayed here.”
SulaMhir had many questions about the festival, perhaps the biggest of which was what questions she should be asking. But she was becoming accustomed to the state of perpetual ignorance in which she now existed. She followed Lisa up the sidewalk to a gray-sided house with a preponderance of windows, turrets and borders of weathered filigree trim.
Lisa put the key in the lock but took a step back as the door opened.
“Missy Fisher!” A tiny woman with tilted black eyes and olive skin whisked Lisa’s bags from her grasp and reached for SulaMhir’s before she could object. “Mister Lob say to expect you soon!”
“But he didn’t tell me to expect you!” Lisa said.
“Oh, forgive please. You may call me Grandmother Chen. I come to help Mister Lob. He ask me stay because my husband dead and my son in prison and I have no where live.” Hands full of the girls' bags, she bowed, bobbing her head, her face beaming. “I am in Christ now. I am happy be here!”
SulaMhir let out her breath. The woman was so like SulaRiyah.
“No one here, now!" Grandmother Chen turned to give them room to enter. "Mister Lob took all them to fest. Making them work with him. God’s work. They work if they want eat!”
Lisa laughed. “That sounds like Rob.”
“I show you room.”
Lisa shrugged and looked at SulaMhir. “I give up. I never know what to expect.”
SulaMhir smiled at the irony of that.
Sleep was long in coming as SulaMhir stared out the window of the second floor bedroom. The stars flickering there were not so different from those of her home world, but the sky was stark and empty without the Cloak of Gennosh and the Maresh Points. And her arms were empty. Somewhere across that black expanse her husband and son waited.
Lisa began to snore softly. SulaMhir lay down and closed her eyes, absently rubbing the Mark of the Keep implanted in her wrist.
**
Scraping and shuffling noises woke her to a gray light. “Time to get up! Mrs. Chen wants to send us off with a good breakfast!” Lisa was up, running at full-tilt, throwing on clothes and rummaging through her bags. “I forgot sunscreen. Did you bring any? You have to wear sunscreen even if it’s cloudy. Trust me. I’ve been burned before.”
“Sunscreen?” SulaMhir was still too sleepy to translate. “I’ll look in my bag,” she hedged. “What is the weather?”
“It’s either cloudy or foggy. I can’t tell which. But it will probably clear off by noon and it could get hot. Heat and sunshine and crowds and loud music. That’s my forecast. Sound like fun to you?”
Later, slathered in the sun block that SulaMhir had brought from her home world, dressed in bellbottom jeans, halter tops and sandals, the girls boarded a bus headed to Golden Gate Park. Mrs. Chen’s rice and fish breakfast had been one of the healthier meals she’d eaten since leaving the shuttle, if not one of the more palatable. But SulaMhir had tolerated it much better than Lisa, who had practically gagged on the fish.
Lisa sipped a diet cola and leaned against the vinyl seat back as the bus lurched forward spewing a cloud of diesel fumes through the open windows. “I could have done with about four hours more sleep,” she moaned. “And plain toast for breakfast.”
SulaMhir managed to laugh. “I must be crazy. What was I thinking? To leave the lovely smog of Los Angeles and the solitude of a boarding house for this?”
The bus was nearly empty of passengers. Four teen-aged boys were bunched into the long bench at the rear, gawking at Lisa and SulaMhir whenever they thought the young women weren’t looking. Judging by their overstated hippie costumes, they intended to go to the festival, too. Sitting as far away from the boys as possible, a wary, middle-aged Oriental couple sat with their eyes averted. The bus driver, a heavy African-American female whose natural hairstyle took up two thirds of the cab, stared at SulaMhir from the rear-view mirror.
SulaMhir fidgeted in her seat. She gazed out the window at the passing shops, gas stations, apartments and parks. “What’s that man doing?” She pointed to yet another Oriental man in a park, extending his arms and legs in slow, deliberate movements.
Lisa followed her gaze. “That’s Tai Chi. Some Eastern thing. Exercise and meditation all rolled into one, I think.”
SulaMhir nodded. Again, the pang of homesickness. Her father and her husband had encouraged her to try the disciplines, but she’d never done so.
Are you okay?” Lisa asked.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Here. Have a Tab. You need some caffeine!”
SulaMhir shook her head. “I don’t think it goes well with fish!” She would die for a kima right now, the way Gurphur made it, with fresh cream and a hint of honey.
Long before they reached Golden Gate Park, SulaMhir heard, or rather, felt, the pulsing beat of rock music. The bass throbbed in her sternum. As they disembarked, only to be swallowed by the crowd, her ears rang with shrill trebles and swelling mid-range tones. SulaMhir looked up at the sky. The clouds were parting and the sun began a bold assault. Lisa’s forecast was one hundred percent accurate. “How are we going to find your cousin?” She asked.
“I’m not even going to try to find him. ¡Que será!” Lisa adjusted her glasses, put her head down, and shouldered her way into the throng. “The Main Stage is somewhere near the Presidio, I think.”she said.
SulaMhir hoisted her backpack and followed. She didn’t bother to ask how far it was to the Main Stage. They kept to Lincoln Boulevard as it angled northeast, parallel with Baker’s Beach. The music grew louder, and the crowd more congested. SulaMhir wished they would turn in the other direction, toward the beach. Surely they could hear the music from there and the view would be nicer.
“I’d like to get close enough to see the bands on stage,” Lisa told her, as if reading her thoughts.
SulaMhir sniffed. Something in the air smelled like churl, only stronger. Marijuana, she guessed. For the remainder of the day, she tagged along with Lisa in a mild state of shock. Nothing on her home world remotely resembled this event. She almost wished she had taken up smoking churl, as her father did occasionally. She would be grateful for something to dull her senses. The excess of loud music, hot sun, wild colors, and close bodies with all their odors made her woozy by the end of the day.
“Could we head toward the beach to see the sunset?” SulaMhir asked, but Lisa didn’t seem to hear. Her head was down, swinging in time to the music, her long red hair whipping in the air around her.
“I’ll take you, pretty mamma,” said a shirtless young man standing next to her. His short curly hair was tied with a red handkerchief and his blue jeans hung loosely from his hips, revealing his naval and a hard, concave abdomen.
“Jimmy, you’re out of line,” someone said,
SulaMhir turned to find the source of the authoritative voice. A tall, bearded man with shoulder-length brown hair put a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder.
Lisa stopped her swinging her head, looked up and cried, “Robert Bruce Wallace!”
The man grinned at Lisa and scooped her into his arms.
“It’s a miracle. How did you find us in this crowd?” Lisa mumbled into Robert Wallace’s chest.
“It’s your radiant beauty, little cousin. You stand out.”
“It’s your red hair.” Jimmy said. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
Lisa extricated herself from Rob’s embrace and pulled SulaMhir closer. “This is Mona Bjornsdottir. She’s an intern at JPL.”
Rob extended his hand. “Happy to meet you, Mona. Where are you from?”
“Reykjavik. I just finished my doctorate in physics at the University and was invited to intern at as part of an exchange program.” SulaMhir wondered if the natural lilt in her voice and her fair, exotic features were enough to stand up to Rob Wallace’s intense scrutiny.
He smiled. “Is there some Inuit in your bloodline?” His finger traced her high cheekbones and canted eyes.
SulaMhir blushed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any offense.”
“None taken.”
“Jimmy and I were about to round up our posse and head home for the night,” Rob said.
“You’re kidding!” Lisa grabbed his arms.
“I am not. I’ve been up for 48 hours. Even I have my limits. Besides,” he shrugged, “the good bands have already played.”
“That’s a matter of taste,” Lisa retorted. “I’d like to stay. What do you say, Mona?”
SulaMhir was hot and tired and hungry. Afraid that exhaustion would slow her cognitive responses and cause her say or do something alien, she was tempted to suggest that they should leave with Rob. Then struck by the extreme unlikelihood that anyone here would notice odd behavior, she laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?” Lisa asked.
“Oh, I’m just getting ...” She searched for a word.
“Punchy?” Rob offered.
“If you say so,” she said. “But I will stay a while longer if you want to, Lisa.”
Rob gave her a nod and ushered Jimmy through a gap in the throng. “I wish I could promise to wait up for you, Lisa,” he called back over his shoulder. “But I’m about to pass out as it is. Tomorrow’s Sunday. I kind of have to get some sleep. Are you taking the BART?”
“Of course. There’s probably not another parking place between here and your house anyway, so what would be the point of driving?”
Rob’s eyes narrowed. “Be careful. Don’t stay too late.” Then he and Jimmy were lost in the crowd.
“Let’s get something to eat, Mona.” Lisa said. “I want one of those giant smoked turkey legs.”
Reaching for Lisa’s elbow so she wouldn’t lose her, SulaMhir craned her neck to get one last look at Rob but he had been assimilated by the writhing mass of bodies. She leaned into the crowd and let Lisa pull her along, sucking in her breath to make herself as small as possible, acutely aware that, as the day wore on, she was exceeding her capacity to tolerate so much anonymous touching. The physical intrusion was wearing on her nerves.
“Are you hungry?” Lisa asked.
“I don’t know. I’m feeling a little out of my element.”
“What do you mean?”
“The first eight hours were fun, but after awhile I became aware that his is not a good place for an introverted scientist.” A man toppled into SulaMhir just then, drenching her with beer. SulaMhir gasped at the cold shock, and Lisa shrieked on her behalf.
“Hey, watch it, Dude!”
The man glared drunkenly at them and stumbled away. Lisa swiped at SulaMhir’s shirt with her hands. “Mona, maybe you should have gone home with Rob.”
“I came with you. Where I come from, one doesn’t abandon such a commitment.”
“That’s noble, but weird. Let’s eat and then try to get up front at the Main Stage. I can’t believe Rob left before the Dead concert. He loves Jerry Garcia. We’ll head home after that, okay?”
They stood in line at a food booth and Lisa purchased a turkey drumstick as big as her arm. “Are you sure you don’t want some?”
SulaMhir looked away from the greasy, soot-covered meat. “I’m just very thirsty.”
“We should have brought our own water. There’s a lemonade stand over there if we can get to it.” Lisa devoured the turkey meat as they walked.
As they approached a ramshackle row of portable toilets, Lisa declared, “This is what I really need!” Handing the drumstick to SulaMhir, she disappeared into one of the toilets. SulaMhir heard her wail, “God, it’s awful in here!”
SulaMhir looked around. Oh, for a drink of water. A few feet away, a young man held up a pitcher and called out, “Kool-Aid! Ice-cold, strawberry Kool-Aid! And it’s not my mother’s recipe!”
She hurried up to him. “I’ll buy some. How much?”
“Just a buck, pretty woman.”
SulaMhir drained the tall plastic cup in two gulps, ignoring the sticky sweetness. It was cold and wet and refreshing. “I’ll have another, please.”
The man grinned. “Good choice.” He refilled the cup and said, “Happy trippin’!”
SulaMhir shrugged and answered, “Happy trippin’ to you, too!” She thought it a strange salutation.
Lisa came out of the toilet, wiping her hands on a disposable towelette. “At least I thought of bringing the wet wipes.” She grabbed her turkey leg. “Whatcha drinkin?”
“Strawberry Kool-Aid.”
Lisa frowned. “Where’d you get it?”
“From that man over ... well, he was over there.”
“You didn’t buy it at one of the booths?”
“No, why?”
“How much did you drink?”
“This is my second glass. I was so thirsty.”
“Oh, shit. Pardon my French. I should have told you not to eat or drink anything unless you buy it at a food stand. You’re going to be trippin’ your ass off in about half an hour. We’d better head for the BART while you can still function.”
“Trippin’?” What is trippin’?”
“Some people think they’re offering a public service by lacing the Kool-Aid with mescaline or LSD. Psychedelic drugs. Now we have to go home. Rob will know what to do!”
“I’m sorry, Lisa! I’m so stupid!”
“You didn’t know, Mona. It’s my fault.”
“Now I’ve spoiled your concert.”
“Don’t worry about it. I can come back to the festival tomorrow while you sleep it off.”
“Are these drugs dangerous?”
“If you trip regularly you could go nuts. Or lose too many brain cells. You’ll be all right. You just need someone to hold your hand.”
SulaMhir couldn't tell if Lisa was being sarcastic or just brutally honest. “How will I know when it starts? Will I hallucinate?”
“It’s different for everyone. Just try to relax and remember that it isn’t real. I’ll make sure we get home. Then I’ll have Rob take care of you. He’s been through this before. Not that he takes drugs. But he's helped babysit every kind of bad trip you can imagine.”
“But he needs to rest.”
Lisa took a long look at SulaMhir. “Somehow, I don’t think he’ll mind sitting up with you tonight.”
SulaMhir slid into the seat on the bus, feeling peaceful and relaxed in the blue and lavender twilight. For a moment she imagined that she was at home. Through the bus window, she watched a parade of pink clouds skimming the rooftops. The clouds dissipated with a small audible explosion, and their fragments sprouted wings and flew away. SulaMhir looked at Lisa whose round eyes and adorable overbite made her smile. Lisa’s red hair turned into ribbons and her brown eyes reflected SulaMhir’s image like a kaleidoscope.
“Has it started?” Lisa asked.
SulaMhir nodded. “It’s like I’m dreaming, only I’m awake.”
After a time, they got off the bus and walked up the steep hill to Rob’s house. The sidewalk undulated unpredictably. SulaMhir held on to Lisa’s arm. Lisa didn’t bother with the key when she reached the door; she just pounded it and called for Rob.
The door opened and the sound of voices swirled out like the smoke from a pipe. Each voice was a different color. SulaMhir tried to follow them with her gaze until they faded in the sky. A few stars were out. “I want to find Epsilon Eridani,” she said wistfully.
The girl who opened the door said, “There’s no one here named Epsilon Eridani. Are you looking for Rob Wallace?”
“I hope he hasn’t already gone to bed,” Lisa said.
“We were just getting ready to eat. Come on in.”
Lisa shot a dubious glance at SulaMhir. “Maybe I’ll take Mona to her room. She’s not feeling well.”
It seemed like it took hours to climb the stairs, and SulaMhir was dizzy when they reached the landing. “I really need the bathroom, Lisa. But I’m afraid.” SulaMhir wasn’t sure she could face the toilet. The thought of the swirling water going to the sewer made her skin crawl.
“I’ll stay with you.”
A few minutes later, SulaMhir washed her hands and took the cool cloth Lisa gave her to wash her face. She saw a face in the mirror, a woman whose beauty brought tears to SulaMhir’s eyes. The woman’s big turquoise eyes slanted upward under elegant brows, and her high cheekbones anchored amber skin glowing from a day in the sun. Around her face spiraled a mass of red-gold curls. “Who is that, Lisa?”
Lisa looked confused. “That’s you Mona. Don’t be afraid. Come on now; let’s go to our room. You need to change your shirt. You reek of beer. Are you hungry? I’ll have someone bring you some supper.”
“I’m famished. I could eat a ... ” SulaMhir shrank from the doorway of the tiny room. The stars were shining through the window, and space was so big and home was so far away.
“It’s all right, Mona. You stayed here last night, remember? Here’s the bed. Just sit down.”
SulaMhir obeyed, grateful that the bed felt solid and permanent. A sudden rush of euphoria swept over her. She felt her breath leave her for a moment and her cheeks flamed with color.
“Here, Lisa, put on one of my t-shirts. I sent Grandmother Chen to find Rob, and he’ll be here any minute.”
The tiny knit shirt left SulaMhir’s midriff bare, but it was clean and smelled of perfume rather than old beer. She hugged her waist.
“Mona?” A man’s voice covered her like a caress. SulaMhir looked sideways under her lashes toward the sound until she found Rob Wallace’s face. He sat beside her on the bed, and his weight made her fall into a small gravity well that ended at his hip. Another sweeping, golden sensation of pleasure gripped her and an involuntary moan escaped her lips.
“Mona, can you look at me?”
SulaMhir searched for his eyes. They were dark brown, like kima roots roasted just the way she liked them. They were not as dark as the eyes of a Scolan, but they were darker than those of any man of Mamrhe and they seemed to be alight with some secret joy or mystery. Rob’s brown hair, waving down around his face and to his shoulders, reflected the same gold highlights as his eyes. When his hand covered hers, she realized that she was touching his coarse beard.
“Trealhim’s beard is soft,” she said.
Rob lowered her hand and held it in his own. “Who is Trealhim?”
“My Trealhim. My elami.” She pulled the delicate chain of her Applepledge necklace from inside her shirt and laid the ruby in Rob’s palm.
“Do you want me to call Trealhim?”
SulaMhir gasped. “He’s, he’s.” She pointed at the stars outside the window. “He’s too far away.”
“Then I will take care of you for him. Will you trust me?”
She couldn’t answer, another wave of intense pleasure washed through her.
“You’re having body rushes. It’s the mescaline. It’s okay. Tell me about Trealhim.” Rob propped some pillows against the wall and helped SulaMhir lean against their support.
“I’ll cry. I miss him so.”
“You can cry.”
“I hate to cry.” But her face was wet and Rob was drawing off the tears with his fingers.
“How long has it been since you were with him?”
She closed her eyes. “Two months to the Maresh Point, two and one half months through your solar system and one and one half months here.”
“It would help if you would speak English.”
SulaMhir’s eyes flew open. Had she spoken in Mamm? She began to rub her wrist. She’d forgotten to wear the prosthetic sleeve to hide her Mark of the Keep. Rob picked up her arm and together they gazed at the glowing Cross and Star emblem. She whispered, “Two months to the Maresh Point, two and one half months through your solar system and one and one half months here on Earth. Six months.” A ghost of the Cross and Star sprang from her wrist and floated over Rob’s head, but the emblem remained on her wrist somehow and Rob was still staring at it. When he looked up at her, his eyes were wide, and she saw her face in them.
“Tell me about this.”
“My Mark of the Keep.”
“English, please.”
“It identifies me as a citizen of Mamrhe, and as Lieutenant Commander Minnosh ‘bhis SulaMhir of the Allied Space Ministry, Navigator of the ship Messenger, wife of Minnosh ‘prim Trealhim, who is Mamhre's Governor and Keeper. And I am Sacrament Bearer for my people.” By the time she had finished these words, her voice was a tiny stream fed by tears trickling out into the air. The stream flowed in front of her eyes toward Rob Wallace’s face, which was wet, too.
“Are you crying, Rob Wallace?”
“Yes, I am.”
SulaMhir grasped his wrists and held on until the surge of a new rush passed. “Why are you crying?”
“Because I believe you.”
“But, I am hallucinating and your tears are stars on your face. And my Mark of the Keep is floating around your head like a crown. How can you believe me?”
“Because you know you are hallucinating, and you know what is real.”
“And I have said things that should not be spoken. My words are worlds unto themselves now. I cannot take them back.” A body rush took her breath away. “It feels like ...” But she could not finish the sentence.
“Like you’re with Trealhim?”
“Like afterwards. When we’re holding each other and I’m still ... like this ... like this drug.”
Rob Wallace laughed softly. “Trealhim is a lucky man. Tell me again, where he is.”
“There,” she said, pointing to the stars. “Epsilon Eridani.”
He held her wrist. “Epsilon Eridani is ... light-years away.”
The stars flew into the room. SulaMhir took Rob’s hand and traced the orbits of the planets that she saw in the space between them. “Look! I see Enhuis. And the Maresh Points. That’s how we came. Through the Maresh Point.” When the next body rush took her, she gripped his hand.
“They’re getting stronger?”
SulaMhir nodded. “It’s like this in the Maresh Point.”
“Tell me,” he said.
And she pulled the equations from the air, sent them dancing around Rob Wallace’s dark head and told him all there was to tell.

Posted: Wed - January 28, 2004 at 09:49 AM      

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