Escape into the Unknown

Chapter 10

By NostalgieMalaak

Qadir knew he was dreaming, but for the moment he didn't care. His body and mind were allowing him this brief moment of respite and he would gladly take it.

He and Sa'iid sat together on the high white wall separating their home from the street, watching the cars and bicycles meander slowly through the quiet neighborhood. Bright yellow sunlight burned the walls until they glared an almost purple white. Sa'iid was carefully watching a swarm of ants as it pulsed and writhed on the sidewalk taking on migrating inkblot shapes.

"I should have brought up my water gun," he said with a grin.

Qadir frowned. "They didn't do anything to you. Why bother?"

"Because I can. It would be so easy! You could drop something on them from up here and…splat! They wouldn't even see it coming. No more ants."

"You wouldn't."

"I would too."

"No you wouldn't."

Sa'iid shrugged. "Guess not."

The two sat quietly again.

"Papa says the insurgents are moving closer to the capital. They could even come through here before long," Qadir said.

"Good. Teach those bastards in power that they can't tell us what to do," Sa'iid scoffed.

"But, Papa says the insurgents aren't any better than terrorists," Qadir argued.

"Do you always believe everything that Papa says? They're not attacking civilians, just government targets. What's wrong with that?"

"Innocent people get hurt all the time. And besides, not everyone who works for the government is bad. The university is run by the government, so in a way, Papa works for them."

"Only because the government took over the university. Have you ever thought what it would be like if Papa could teach as he wanted instead of having to obey every line in the syllabus they gave him? Besides, the government should belong to the people, not the other way around."

Qadir smiled. "Now you're just quoting Professor Kane."

"Well, he's right." Sa'iid swung his leg back and forth smacking his heels against the wall. "I wish I was old enough to join them."

Qadir marveled at his brother's earnest conviction. "You would go out and kill people?"

"I would do what I had to," he said with deadly seriousness, "And so would you."

As an older Qadir dreamed of himself and his brother he felt waves of perception crash over him again and again. Time held no meaning. The past and future coalesced and was dashed apart like sea foam against a cliff. As though the mostly innocent conversation had triggered some deep ability inside his mind Qadir could see, for one brief and terrible instant, a future in which all the Earth burned and the colonies looked on dispassionately. And then it was gone. Qadir flinched in his sleep as the dream continued.

Although he remembered this conversation from his boyhood, he had never as a child been alarmed by Sa'iid's normally dormant ruthlessness. His adult mind though shuddered at the ferocity hiding behind his brother's flippant exterior.

Because it was only a dream the conversation always changed at this point. Now an adult face that mirrored Qadir's, eyes the same exact shade of blue-green, peered at him under a fringe of wind-tousled hair. Qadir could imagine it so clearly because he saw that face every morning when he looked in the mirror. It was him, and yet not him. The Sa'iid he once knew was replaced with the Sa'iid that would have been, had he lived. This serious, deadly Sa'iid looked Qadir square in the eyes.

"You know what you have to do now. Don't tell her about Madiyya. The world and everything it touches is changing. There will come a time when Space and Earth need people who aren't afraid of doing what must be done. Madiyya is important to that."

His dream-self, still in the shape of the ten-year-old child he had been, looked away frightened. The burning Earth filled his mind.

In a remote and desolate voice Sa'iid spoke again. "There is a terrible purpose looming over our house. I wonder when it will be acted upon, and to whom that horrifying task will fall."

The colony glimmered like a jewel in the early evening light. Abdullah could see all the way to the main square and the crystal spires of the Winner buildings. He absently trailed his fingers through the smooth waters of the koi pond and breathed in the spicy scent of dinner cooking.

"Uncle Abdullah?"

Abdullah smiled but didn't turn towards the inner doorway.

"Uncle Abdullah, it's time for dinner."

"All right. I'll be down in a moment."

Zamir's second son retreated into the house. Abdullah noted the lack of emotion in the boy's voice and thought that it would be a long time until grief no longer preoccupied his every thought. How long had it been until Qadir had been able to speak after the deaths of his mother and siblings? A long time.

It seemed terribly unfair to him that three young people, Zamir's other two boys and youngest daughter, each one healthy and happy, should succumb to disease while he, an old man, remained untouched. And the worst was that it could have been avoided. Someone got careless, or was paid to look the other way. All it took was one new immigrant carrying TB II and three children in their family were dead. Hundreds of others died as well before the outbreak had been quarantined.

So much grief. This family seems destined for it.

Their lives continued. Zamir and Marie went about their daily business as well as possible. As much experience as the colonists had with death and life-threatening situations, there was no pain like the loss of a child. They persisted even though the great house was quiet and still and filled with memories that were more painful than joyous.

A sudden pain caught Abdullah off guard and he rubbed his chest over his heart. The action made him think of Qadir and he almost permitted himself to give in to the anxiety that plagued him day and night. He had to remain optimistic. No one knew for sure yet who had survived the takeover of MOI. The newscasters predicted that many had gone into hiding. Abdullah prayed Hala had not been part of the raiding party. Some day she would come to her senses. He didn't want her to look back on her life with remorse.

"Uncle Abdullah, do you need a hand?"

Abdullah jumped a little.

"You startled me," he chuckled.

"Sorry Uncle. Mama and Papa are waiting."

Abdullah stood and followed the boy to the elevator that took them down to the dining room.

Dinner was quiet. Everyone finished quickly and Abdullah offered to do the dishes. Marie didn't protest and soon drifted off to her bedroom like a lost soul. Zamir gave him a fleeting smile of thanks before going after his wife.

As Abdullah gathered the dishes in his hands he felt another pang go through his chest. His breath stuttered and for a moment he couldn't breathe. Panic wound around his chest like a band but in another moment the breath came whooshing back into his lungs. He stood holding the empty plates in the middle of the room for a long time. He breathed in and out and waited for the pain to seize him again. When it didn't he slowly walked to the kitchen and dumped the plates in the sink.

He considered turning on the tap and getting the soap out but he was feeling very tired. His limbs felt shaky and he had the overwhelming urge to simply lie down and sleep. He told himself that he would do the dishes later and made his way up to his bedroom where he collapsed on his bed. His eyes fell shut and he no longer had the strength to even change into something more comfortable.

Abdullah fell into an exhausted sleep that held no dreams. His breath tickled the air, in and out, in and out. And then the room was overwhelmed with silence.

Qadir cracked open an eye. The other was swollen and tender and refused to open. He ghosted his fingers over it but the pain kept him from actually touching to assess the damage. His ribs ached and the fingers on his left hand throbbed. He didn't think anything was broken but he couldn't be sure. The pain was intense.

Hopefully these new captors would treat him better than the group of fanatics who had raided the satellite. Their hateful words had thudded into him as painfully as their steel-toed boots. Using his right hand, his left cradled against his chest, he pushed himself into a sitting position against the cold wall of his dim cell. As his eyes adjusted he saw that it was an empty room with a two way mirror built into the wall by the door. Orange light came through the small window set high in the door but the light barely pierced the darkness it was so weak.

Qadir felt numb. His situation was something out of a bad vid show. This was not what happened to quiet scientists with two-year-old daughters. The thought of Madiyya set him reeling with terror until he reached out with his mind for her. It took a long time to find her and every second was excruciating. Empathy had no spatial limits but it often took time to filter through the wash of emotions to find one specific person.

As Madiyya's emotions came to him Qadir trembled with relief. She wasn't in pain. Merely confused and scared. He next searched out his family members as he often did. He didn't think they would be targeted but feeling them safe would give him comfort. There was Saniyya and her two children. Their predominant emotions were worry and concern. He wasn't sure but he thought they must have heard about the takeover of MOI and were thinking of him. That aspect of the situation hadn't occurred to him. What would happen if he didn't return? How would Saniyya cope with the loss of another brother? And Hala…

As if he had summoned her with the thought, the door to his cell opened and his youngest sister walked through the door. Her wild hair was tied into a messy ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was wearing jeans and a dark shirt and looked far too young for the expression of contempt stamped across her face.

Qadir's one good eye widened in recognition.

"Hala?" he croaked out.

Hala closed the door behind her and Qadir heard it lock. With a sharp sweep of her arm Hala hit a light switch beside the door and the florescent lights in the ceiling began to hum.

Hala looked at her older brother and her expression softened into pity.

"Qadir, Qadir. What have you gone and gotten yourself into?"

Qadir shook his head in confusion. "What-"

"No, don't say anything. You sound like you could use a cup of water. Would you like that?"

Qadir nodded warily. He didn't know how to behave with this new Hala. She was attempting to be sincere but his empathy told him otherwise. Hala went to the door and tapped the window. Someone on the other side nodded.

"I have to say, I never expected to see you this way Qadir. I thought you were too smart for that. Such a shame."

The siblings stared at each other, Qadir growing more and more uneasy, until a short knock on the door alerted them to the return of the guard. Hala took the paper cup of water as it was slipped through the door and knelt beside her brother. He took the cup from her and sipped it carefully, eyeing his sister.

Hala laughed but it had a nasty sound to it. "It's not poisoned dear brother. They need you alive, of course."

"What do you mean?"

Hala raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. "You mean you don't know? And here I thought you knew everything. You always seemed to anyway."

"Hala, please. Whatever happened between us…I'm sorry for it. But now's not the time! What is going on here? Why are you here?"

"We'll get to your second question in a moment." Hala sat on the floor beside him and crossed her legs as though getting comfortable for a pleasant conversation. "As for your first question, that should be obvious. Well, maybe not since you can't seem to figure it out. They want the formula for the neo-titanium alloy Qadir."

Qadir went very still.

"Ah, so now you understand."

"But why would a group of Newtype haters want that?" he asked, his voice hard.

Hala laughed again. "Newtype haters? Do you really think we're the ones behind all of this? Of course not. Our goals just happened to coincide with our…'benefactors'."

"Your goal to commit mass murder? Your goal to wipe us out?!"

"No, no. You have it all wrong. We never wanted anyone to get killed. In fact, we wanted all of you to rejoin normal society. To put your minds to the benefit of the colonies, that's all. We just don't want our children to be put at a disadvantage. That would mean that you wouldn't be allowed to be a Newtype anymore, but if that was the price to be able to be normal, wouldn't you take it?"

Qadir was appalled. "I am normal. Being a Newtype isn't wrong or strange. And even if I wanted to go along with your sick plan it wouldn't be possible. I can't just switch it on and off."

"No, you wouldn't. But a doctor could. Surgically."

"You're talking about…about-"

"Lobotomy, yes. Not as barbaric and invasive as it once was. Just enough removed to give you a chance at a normal life," Hala shook her head sadly, "But I knew that you would never go for such a thing. Ever since you met that bitch wife of yours you were corrupted. As was almost everyone else on MOI. Almost none of them thought their lives were more important than being a freak. It's a shame, really. All that potential wasted. But as to your second question, why I'm here, it's because it's not too late for your daughter."

Qadir went pale with fury. "You…you're insane. And if you lay one finger on my daughter I swear to God Hala…"

"What? What will you do, locked up in here? I'm not being unreasonable Qadir. If anyone finds out about her that will be it. She'll be dead. And all because you were too proud to save her. Who knows? Maybe she wants to be normal? Did you ever think of that? She'll be an outcast Qadir. The kids at school will rip her apart. She'll be friendless and alone. Is that what you want?"

"Hala. Oh Hala. I'm so sorry."

Hala blinked in bewilderment.

"Is that what it was like for you as a child? Is that how you felt?"

"Didn't you know?" she spat.

"I tried not to pry. I thought…I thought you were just unhappy-"

"Unhappy? Unhappy?!" Hala choked back a sob. "You were my big brother! You were supposed to protect me, and you didn't! You failed me. You failed me, and I hate you." She gave in to her tears then and allowed Qadir to pull her into an awkward one-armed hug.

"Hala, Hala," he whispered into her hair.

With a jerk Hala wrenched out of his embrace. She stood briskly and walked to the center of the room thumbing her tears away brutally.

"Enough! I see what you're doing. You're using your mind tricks to try and sway me, but it won't happen."

"Hala-"

"No! Stop! Thank God he isn't here to see you. Thank God he's dead and can't see what a disgrace his precious son is!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Father. He's dead."

Qadir froze. It isn't possible…

"Just tell me where she is and I'll go. Tell me Qadir!"

Qadir looked up at her with haunted eyes. How? It can't be…Father…Father…

"TELL ME!" Hala shrieked.

Qadir maneuvered his battered body away from her as though seeking protection from the wall. His head dropped into his arms and he closed his eyes. He was dimly aware of Hala leaving, the door slamming shut behind her. He remembered how numb he felt when he first woke and he prayed for it to return. He prayed to feel anything besides the awful grief. He was darkly happy when it was eclipsed by betrayal and despair.

Michelle Hannigan stooped to pick up her son's clothes from the floor and grimaced when she found a sock stuck to the carpet with what looked like a big wad of pink bubble gum.

"Give me patience," she muttered to the ceiling.

Tossing the other clothes into the hamper she began the delicate process of extricating the gum from the carpet. From the other room the vid screen continued to murmur news of the takeover of MOI. Michelle shook her head sadly. So much had gone to waste due to people's narrow-minded views. She herself was living proof of that.

It had taken nearly two years to find employment after Hawking Laboratories gave her the boot. She had no doubt that her association with the Newtype Division hindered her. At times she had felt as though she had an adult version of her son's newest concern: cooties. At least no one had discovered that she herself was a Newtype. Eventually a local biologist, turned florist, took pity on her. So now she used her degrees in genetics and astro-evolution to make pretty floral arrangements with the limited plants able to be grown on the colony. Some days she found it theraputic. Most days she found it barely tolerable. But it wasn't just her she was providing for anymore.

Out of the misery of her failed career and outcast-like status had come the single greatest joy of her life: Matthew. Michelle had always planned to have children but she never imagined that she would be doing it alone. She told herself that she wasn't getting any younger and if Mr. Right hadn't come along by then, chances were he wasn't going to.

The in-vitro process had been simple. And when she chose which donor she used she made sure the father was a first generation colonist. Michelle chose to take the risk even with her age and the problems with carrying the child herself. At that point in her life she felt as though she had nothing left to lose. Matthew had been born almost nine months later without complications. Healthy, vibrant, and…normal.

Michelle finally gave up on the gum. She needed to re-carpet the floors soon anyway. Throwing the laundry into the machine she went to the kitchen to fix herself some lunch. Matthew would be done with kindergarten in an hour and she had promised him she would take him to the circus. It would be the first time either of them had seen such a thing. As she chewed on her chicken sandwich she wondered if the performers had to be retrained to do their tricks on the lower gravity of the colony. The thought of some young clown accidently flipping himself right up to the high wire from the ground made her grin.

Michelle's daydream was interrupted when the communicator beeped. She frowned. It was her day off and Matthew felt fine. Who could be calling? She flipped on the screen and pushed the go-ahead button.

She was shocked to see the face of her old boss. His craggy face was hard set and she could see the tension in the lines of his shoulders.

"Michelle," he greeted gruffly.

Michelle nodded and tried not to look confused.

"We have a situation here. We need you to come down right away."

"What is it? I have to pick up my son in an hour and-"

"Just get here."

The screen went dark and Michelle rolled her eyes. He hadn't changed a bit. She turned on the screen again and called her son's school saying that she might be late in picking him up. The friendly receptionist told her not to worry and that they would just put him with the other day care kids.

She drove quickly but carefully to the laboratory and tried not to think hopeful thoughts.

There is no way they would start the division up again. Is there? No. There's really no point with Newtypes becoming a thing of the past. The past. Those good old days before Earth thinking caught up with the colonies and pulled us back into the middle of political warfare.

She parked in the spot that had been hers for so many years and nervously straightened her chestnut hair in the rearview mirror. She had forgotten to put on makeup that morning and all her nice clothes were currently flipping around in the spin cycle.

Hopefully the situation won't call for anything more formal than jeans and a stain-free blouse.

Her boss greeted her in the sterile-looking reception area and gestured her to follow with a curt twitch of his fingers. Perplexed at the secrecy of it all she followed obediently. He led her to a small room at the end of the hall that had been used as a break room of sorts and as she followed him in she saw it was still being used as such. She also noticed a small child, no more than two, sleeping on the couch.

Her skin was a clear mocha color and her soft brown hair curled around her face delicately.

"She was dropped off here early this morning. The man who left her said her name is Madiyya."

"Madiyya? Where did she come from? And what is she doing here?"

Her boss grunted and looked at her accusingly. "She's from MOI. And she's here because now she's your responsibility."

"Wha-?" Michelle's mouth opened in shock.

"Do you want her or not? If not I'll just have to turn her over to the authorities. She's a Newtype."

"But how…Why me?"

He gave her another irritated glare. "I don't know."

"What about her parents?"

"Dead, most likely. Almost no one got off that satellite alive."

Michelle felt anger rise up in her and met his glare dead on. "And how exactly am I going to explain her? I can't just show up tomorrow with a two-year-old. People are going to be suspicious. I can't afford them looking too carefully at me. I'm still a functioning Newtype."

"What do you want me to tell you? I didn't ask her to be dumped at my feet," he sighed, "Look, kids get adopted every day. There's a church that runs an orphanage and helps with adoptions. Maxwell Parish, or something. They don't look too carefully at where the kids are coming from as long as they go to a decent home. You should try them."

With that he waved and shrugged, clearly saying 'it's not my problem anymore' and left the room.

Michelle turned back to the sleeping girl and carefully felt her emotions. There was something so very familiar about the girl but she couldn't think what. With a look heavenward Michelle sighed.

"Well, I always thought Matthew needed a sibling." She scooped the small child up in her arms and looked into her sleeping face.

"Don't worry, little girl. I'll take care of you. You're safe now."

tbc