Alternity (17 page)

“Hey, hey!” Dawn cries, his voice breaking through the cacophony. “Give her a second, okay? Back up! Jeez. Don’t you all remember the three-foot-bubble rule?”

The room falls silent and the Eclipsers (for that’s who I assume they are) retreat to their seats around the table, offering me precious breathing room and mumbled apologies. Dawn nods approvingly and steps forward to stand at my side. “That’s better,” he says, addressing the room’s occupants as if they’re all small children who need to be reprimanded. “I mean, really! I know you’re all excited to see her, but you’re as bad as the Dark Siders. Remember, the girl doesn’t even remember who
she
is, never mind the rest of you clowns.”

“Our sincerest apologies, Sister Mariah,” offers an apple-cheeked, middle-aged woman at the far end of the table, nodding her head in apology. Her hair is cropped flush to her skull and she wears large golden hoop earrings. “It’s just so good to see you. In the flesh. Among your people once again.”

“Indeed,” adds a twenty-something man with a trimmed black beard. His green eyes glow with enthusiasm as he looks up at me with what can only be described as unabashed adoration. “We weren’t sure we’d ever see you again.” He throws a self-satisfied smirk in Dawn’s direction. “Though
some
of us had more faith than others.”

Dawn holds up his hands in protest. “Fine, fine. Mock me if you must,” he says with an amused smile. “But even you have to admit—pulling a ‘Gazer back from Earth against her will? That’s usually a mission impossible.”

“Yes, well, that’ll teach you to underestimate the Eclipsers!” cheers a teenage male in the back. He sports large silver piercings in just about every visible orifice (and probably some I can’t see.) “We don’t let some silly alternate reality get in our way.” The others whoop in agreement and a spattering of high fives circle the table.

Their extreme enthusiasm sends a nagging sense of guilt straight to my insides. They’re all so happy to see me. So excited to think they’ve finally gotten their long-lost Mariah back. How am I ever going to convince them that I’m not really her? And what will they think when they finally realize that all their hard work pulling Mariah out of Earth was in vain? At the end of the day, they got the wrong girl. One who can’t help them—unless they have a video game they need testing. They need a brave, revolutionary leader to step up to the plate and save their world, but somehow got stuck with an incompetent club kid who can’t even remember to save the electricity bill by shutting off the lights when she leaves the room.

They’re going to be so disappointed when they finally face reality.

“Where’s Glenda?” I ask, scanning the room but not seeing the serene face of my personal trainer among the motley crew. “I thought she’d be here.” At least Glenda’s been to Earth. She’s met me as Skye. She’ll probably be the easiest person to convince of the truth.

The Eclipsers grow silent. A few of them slump into their chairs. I frown. Was it something I said? Then Dawn touches my arm. “You know the woman who freed you from Duske’s mansion?” he asks.

I stare at him, dumbfounded, the blood rushing from my face. “That was Glenda?”

Dawn nods.

I sink into a vacant chair as my mind replays the scene. Glenda, giving me my sword, urging me to jump. The guards dragging her away. She gambled her very life to get me out of that prison, and may have come up snake eyes.

“She was captured,” I say, voice hoarse. “Do you think they … I mean, do you think she’s …?” I trail off, not able to voice my fears.

“We’re trying to get some intelligence on her now,” explains a middle-aged Asian man at the left side of the table. “We think she might still be alive. After all, she’s got a lot of information on the Eclipsers. Things the government would do anything to learn. Killing her would be counterproductive.”

“At least without torturing her first,” mutters the black-bearded man.

“Torture?” I repeat weakly, my heart sinking.

“Do not fret, Mariah,” insists the apple-cheeked woman. “Glenda did not go blindly into this. She knew her mission was risky from the start, but she truly believed her life was worth sacrificing to save yours.”

Guilt mixed with anger slams at my gut. I rise from my chair and lean my hands on the table as I stare at the Eclipsers. “But that’s so stupid!” I cry, furious. “My life’s not worth crap to you guys.”

The room goes silent. The Eclipsers stare at me. Then the pierced teen pipes up. “Are you kidding? Your life is worth
everything
,” he insists. “You’re Mariah. You’re our only hope.” The others murmur their agreement.

Oh god, this has gone way too far. I squeeze my hands into fists and suck in a deep breath. It’s time for these people to hear the truth. Face reality. “Look,” I say flatly. “I don’t care what you think. I’m not Mariah. You have the wrong girl. And even if by some weird stretch of psycho imagination I was once Mariah in another life, I don’t remember anything about her. Or you. Or the revolution for that matter. I can’t help you. I wish I could, but I just can’t. I’m not the person you want me to be.”

There. I said it. At least I can relieve my guilty conscience and know I’ve done everything in my power to tell them the truth. Hopefully they’ll be able to accept this and no more insane sacrifices will be made on my behalf.

I look around the room, trying to glean whether they’re buying my words. The somber faces sap my resolve. I’ve disappointed them. Crushed their hopes and dreams of getting their Mariah back. I slump back into my chair, scrubbing my face with my hands, feeling guilty and angry and helpless all at the same time. “God, I wish I
could
help you guys somehow. I really do. I mean, you went through so much to get me here. But I’m useless. Utterly useless.”

The silence in the room is thick, thoughts heavy, eyes downcast. Then I feel hands on my shoulders. I look up and see Dawn standing over me, still by my side. His touch imparts to me a small strength.

“Don’t look so glum,” he says, addressing the room in a clear, confident voice. “Even without her memories, Mariah is still a powerful symbol of the revolution. She can still be much help in reinvigorating our people. We can present her to them tonight. Let them see that the news reports were false—that Mariah Quinn has returned to us and is still fighting by our side. Right now, that’s all we need.” He looks down at me. “Surely you can help us with that.”

“I … I guess so,” I say, trying not to sound too reluctant. It’s not that I don’t want to help—how could I not, after seeing the desperate, hungry faces of the children below? But what can I actually do? I mean, this isn’t some video game to test. They’re asking me to lead a revolution. I’m so underqualified for this heroine/save-the-world stuff it’s not even funny.

Still, they did so much to get me here. I feel I should do
something
before going back to Earth.
Something
to further their cause in some small way. To help those poor people find some sort of hope.

I realize they’re waiting for me to speak. “Look,” I say. “If you need help, well, I’ll try to do what I can. But after that, you need to let me go. I’ve got to get back to my own life on Earth. There’s a lot going on that I can’t afford to miss.” I decide not to go into detail about what that actually would be, on the distinct suspicion they may think it’s less important than the salvation of their world. “Can you promise me that? If I help you, will you promise to send me back afterward?”

The room erupts in murmurs as the Eclipsers debate among themselves. Finally, the apple-cheeked woman turns to me, nodding. “Very well,” she says. “We will respect your wishes. After all, we would never force someone to stay and fight with us if their heart lies elsewhere.”

“Thank you,” I say, surprised that they’ve agreed without an argument. I expected them to be more like Duske, I guess. Forcing me to stay against my will.

The woman continues. “I don’t know if Dawn’s told you, but there’s a large gathering of Dark Siders tonight. A celebration, if you will—though there is little before now to actually cheer about. Would you be willing to make an appearance? You could simply stand onstage, let the people see you in the flesh.” She rises from her seat. “They will likely be so heartened to realize that you have returned that they will scarcely notice you have nothing to say.” She turns to the other Eclipsers. “Perhaps Mariah’s presence this very night will be enough to invigorate the cause and motivate the people back into action. At the very least they will realize that she did not betray our cause, as the government caused many to believe.”

I glance at Dawn, but he says nothing.

The Eclipsers all nod, appearing pretty excited about the plan. I smile, happy that I’m going to be able to help. I may not be a grade-A revolutionary leader, but I certainly can stand in front of a crowd and wave or something. And maybe that really will push their fight forward. Then I’ll be able to go back to Earth knowing I’ve made a difference.

Satisfied, I glance again at Dawn. My face falls as I realize he’s not sharing everyone’s enthusiasm. In fact, his face remains tight, his expression frosty. My enthusiasm wanes as I realize I’ve disappointed him. But what can I do? He’s asking for way too much. I can’t live my life playing the part of his amnesiac girlfriend. In the end, it’ll be better if he’s able to just let go, to forget Mariah and all the pain she caused him and move on with his life. And me being around only serves to remind him of all he’s lost—my presence bursting open the scabs time and time again, and his wounds never healing.

And besides, at the end of the day, no matter how sweet he is, how devoted he seems, he doesn’t even want me. He doesn’t want Skye Brown, the person I am. He’s simply searching for Mariah’s soul when he looks deep into my eyes. That’s not fair to me. I deserve someone who will love me for who I am, not who he wishes I were.

“Then it’s settled,” the woman says. “And now, I guess, since you don’t remember us, Mariah, some introductions are in order.” She pats herself on the chest. “I’m Ruth,” she says. “I’m the geographer. You need to get somewhere in Terra, you need a rabbit hole, call me and I’ll get you where you need to go.”

“And I’m Kayce,” the bearded man beside her pipes in. “Techno-geek of the group. You need a gadget, I’m your man.”

“You can call me Hiro,” says the young Asian man at the back of the room. “I’m the weapons specialist. You want to relearn how to swing that sword on your belt, you come to me.”

The others introduce themselves and their roles. Each has a different area of expertise or skill set. Together they seem to form a pretty dynamic group. I can see why they’ve had some successes, even though they are completely outnumbered by their oppressors.

“So, what was Mariah, then?” I ask. I’m still not able to use the first person when talking about my alter ego, even though they would probably prefer it.

“The inspiration,” says Ruth with a small smile. “And the planner. You chose our fights and decided which objectives we would pursue when, and which were best left for another day.”

“One of those objectives was Moongazing,” I conclude.

Kayce nods. “You were never a fan of any government programs, but after Senator Duske introduced Moongazing, you decided to make it your ultimate crusade. You insisted that if Earth was such a great place, then everyone had the right to go, not only the rich.”

I realize this is a chance to get some answers. “So those people—the rich—who Moongaze to Earth—do they all lose their memories?” I almost add
like I did
, but chicken out at the last minute.

“Depends,” Hiro says. “If you’re just going as a tourist, trying it out, you retain all of who you are. Of course, it’s strictly forbidden to run around Earth telling everyone you’re from another plane of existence. You’ve probably heard of people who have tried that—they get locked up pretty quick!” He chuckles wryly. “The idea is to blend. So when you finally commit and buy a permanent relocation package, you’re allowed to choose from a variety of new professions. Actress, socialite, artist, stockbroker, what have you. The ‘Gazer agents then set you up with a new life, based on your specifications.”

“But do you remember your old life?” I ask again, not satisfied with his roundabout answer.

Kayce shrugs. “Supposedly. But who knows? No one making the permanent migration ever comes back. We only get scattered reports from the tourists. And since they always enter and leave from the same point—some nightclub, I guess—most never have time to venture outside the neighborhood they’re dropped in. So, chances are they’ll never run into the ‘Gazing lifers, who are likely spread out all over Earth.”

“This is all theoretical,” Ruth pipes in. “We’re not sure of all the details. That’s why you started ‘Gazing to begin with—to figure out how it all works. After all, you said you didn’t want to advocate something you’d never tried yourself.”

“This club,” I say slowly, “it’s not called Luna by any chance, is it?” It’s a needle in a haystack with all the thousands of Manhattan clubs, but somehow I know I’m right.

Hiro snaps his fingers. “That’s it,” he says. “Why? Have you been there?”

I sit back in my metal chair, stunned. This is why Luna, which had once been a hole in the wall, had recently become the most popular club in town. I had blamed the Guest of a Guest writeup, but maybe that wasn’t it at all. Maybe it had become a launching point for denizens of an alternate universe. After all, it
was
the place where I’d recognized the man from my nightmare. And I had blacked out there and woken up on Terra.

“Are the ‘Gazers pretty well off when they jump to Earth?” I ask, remembering how the crowd had changed at the club from raver kids to high society practically overnight.

“Oh yes,” Hiro says. “You get money. Especially if you’re migrating permanently. You see, the government lets you try it out a few times, a few days here or there to see if you like the place. But when you finally commit, you’re required to hand over all your Terran possessions to the government.”

“And in exchange for giving up all your Terran possessions, you receive a bank account number to be used on Earth,” Kayce jumps in. “That’s your startup capital. After all, Terrans are essentially homeless, illegal aliens when they first arrive. But the government supposedly takes pretty good care of you, and you’re certainly not forced out starving on the streets.”