Secret Worlds (560 page)

Thorn holds up one finger. “Bowl. Fireagar.”

“One bowl a day?” Thorn nods. “You have questions for me?” Dr. Varik asks as he sneaks in a quick blood sample and genetic swab from Thorn’s tongue. I see the blood sample is as greenish as mine.

Thorn’s liquid eyes shimmer. “Reds. I made them. Part plant. Part human. Like me?” Impressive that my brother can stay silent for so long and then easily find the words he needs. From his shirt he produces a Red and holds it out. We all do a double take. The critter was so quiet on the way over—not one peep—that I had no idea he was swaddling it. It’s true; the Reds are incredibly calm around Thorn. This one flaps its wings once and then, with a twiddling of its stamen-like tufts, it settles into itself.

Dr. Varik reaches out a gloved hand, palm up. “May I?”

Thorn moves his hand toward Dr. Varik’s. The Red flicks its head at Thorn. It seems to be asking Thorn if this man is safe. Having transferred an unseen, unheard okay from Thorn to the Red, the Red hops onto Dr. Varik’s hand, and then on his crossed knee. It nibbles the doctor’s pant’s leg. Deciding it not very tasty, it closes its snout and blinks up at Dr. Varik.

Just above the rim of Dr. Varik’s gloves, I see more blunted nubs on his wrist. The sight makes me wince. His movements seem slow and stiff, as if he’s aged in the span of a couple of weeks. I don’t know what to make of it, and a cold, hard shiver runs down my spine. I again glance furtively at my own arms. No nubs. I heave a sigh.

“The Red sure has a giant personality,” Armonk notes.

Dr. Varik makes a few funny faces at it to see if it’ll react. The Red just blinks back at him. “Uncanny blend of Thorn and the Fireseed,” he decides.

“Yup, it has the same serious, yet cute expression as Thorn,” I say.

“The eyes are a lot alike,” Dr. Varik agrees. “Irrefutable evidence of the Fireseed’s capacity for transgenic breeding.” He takes a tiny genetic sample and then observes it as it hops back onto Thorn. “Makes me nostalgic for my dolphin, Juko. I had to leave him up north.”

“Can. I. See. Juko?” Thorn pronounces each word as if it’s in its own sentence.

Before we know it, Dr. Varik has guided Thorn and the Red to a couch in front of a holo screen. Thorn yelps with delight as the doctor plays a video of the dolphin tapping a ball with its prosthetic flippers.

While Thorn watches the film over, Dr. Varik does final fittings to Armonk’s leg. He also advises me on what I’ll need to stay healthy when I travel. “Go outdoors daily. Drink in solar vitamins. You’ll need this extra supplement.” He hands me a liquid vial. “Steer clear of cake and fancy contest foods that could make you sick.” He pauses. “Anything you want to ask me?”

“Yes. It’s um, hard to talk about. It sounds nuts.”

“Try me,” he says. By the way Armonk starts stops fiddling with his already adjusted leg it’s clear he’s curious.

“Okay, I
hear
things,” I check the doctor’s reaction. He’s still waiting patiently. “I hear the Fireseed talking. That sounds really odd. But I do. My brother does too, I’m sure of it. I hear Thorn’s thoughts in my head and even the Reds. As if we’re all connected.”

Thorn glances over at us, and nods before he goes back to watching Juko breech the waves. Armonk, on the other hand, looks quite worried for me.

Dr. Varik’s grin is wise. “I’ve studied this phenomenon because I’ve witnessed it too.”

“You have?”

“Occasionally I’ll hear silent words when I’m in the lab, surrounded by my plants. Especially when they’ve been disturbed.”

“Disturbed?”

“Emotionally affected.”

“But plants can’t feel!” At my statement, Thorn busts out laughing. He’s looking at me, not at the dolphin. “What’s so funny?”

“Plants. Feel,” Thorn announces.

“I’ll second that,” Dr. Varik agrees. “Plants have something called stroma. A ventilation system; pores or ports or a network; however you choose to describe them. My theory is that in addition to the stroma providing ventilation, the plants’ electrical impulses travel through the stroma, and that is fueled by their reactions to their environment. A primitive nervous system.”

“Wow!” So cool that the Fireseed have a million tiny pores that feel things, think things.

“You could call it a stromanet,” Armonk says.

Dr. Varik nods. “Correct. Good name for it. So, Ruby and Thorn, you’re actually communicating with the plants, gaining sensitivity toward them.”

“Could the … the stromanet warn someone of danger?” I ask.

“I imagine it could.”

“And you said that plants communicate their stress, right?” Armonk asks. “Can Fireseed set themselves on fire when they’re upset?”

“Yes,” Dr. Varik answers. “The ones my father planted in the desert many years ago burned themselves up when he left. I think they felt abandoned.”

“I knew it! The judges didn’t believe me,” Armonk complains. “I didn’t make their finalist cut. I won’t get to see Vegas-by-the-Sea.”

“That’s too bad. I suppose the concept was simply beyond their scope. Perhaps another time.” Dr. Varik says.

“You still have a valuable role,” I remind Armonk. “You’ll be at The Greening to keep Thorn safe from Jan and Vesper. To protect the whole school!” I know it’s not enough of a consolation, but Armonk’s such a sport that he simply nods and shrugs.

Then he throws an arm around Thorn. “Stick with me, bud.” This prompts the Red to a flurry of enthusiastic sounding squeaks.

As we leave, I hug Dr. Varik and he wishes us well. I notice his gait is stiff and slow, which again makes me sad for him. He’s not that old. I wish I knew what was wrong with him.

But there are other pressing worries. Heading back to school, I’m already fretting about leaving Armonk and my brother when I go to Vegas-by-the-Sea. If there is a stromanet, I worry that I won’t hear it signal danger from so very far away.

Axiom’s gliders arrive to ferry us to the coast. We load the cargo hold with Bea’s fashion line, the angled sections of Radius’ flyer, a case of my lizards and salves, Blane’s holo tablet and a holy mess of brimming suitcases. The last time I traveled I had only my latchbag.

This time I feel like one of the fairy queens that Bea draws. I’ve packed a filmy red cocktail dress that she designed for me, a pair of fancy heels Nevada lent me, and flirty decorations for my flyaway hair; and I’m only going away for a weekend.

I’m teary at the sight of Thorn and Armonk waiting by the landing strip to see me off. “Take care of Thorn, will you?” I plead with Armonk for the tenth time. We hug and he gives me his word. His presence feels like a rock—strong, unshakable and reassuringly familiar.

I lean over Thorn, and mash my head in his sweaty mop of hair. These days he smells less of boy and more of sweetish Fireseed musk. “Don’t get in trouble, okay? Don’t wander off, stay close to Armonk. Do everything he tells you to do.” Thorn looks down at the ground and nods. He’s still uncomfortable with gazing in someone’s eyes. Probably always will be.

Blane comes out dressed in snug white pants and a plaid shirt that shows off his powerful shoulders. He’s packed his burnsuit, only wearing the mask part. My heart thuds at the sight of him. He cleans up well. When Armonk steps aside to let him by, there’s an obvious flicker of pain in his eyes. Does he know that Blane and I have kissed? I should’ve told him, but there was never a kind way to broach the subject. I push down a huge wave of guilt. Who knows if Blane and I will end up a good fit? All I know is that I’m itching to find out.

Blane and I sit facing forward, Bea and Radius facing us. As the gliders take off, my heart does too. I’m filled with a lightness and joy I haven’t felt since I was little.

“We’re double dating!” Bea gushes.

“Huh?”

“Silly Ruby, you’ve never heard that phrase? It’ll be so fun to hang out, the four of us.”

I glance over at Blane. He’s blushing down to the scalp underneath his cropped hair.

Radius and Bea are already making themselves comfortable in each other’s arms. Bea’s blond hair is spilling all over Radius’ shoulder as she nestles in. He places soft kisses on her forehead. Blane and I smile awkwardly. We rushed into each other’s arms way too fast, and now we need to get to know each other better.

“So tell me what your project is,” I jab him playfully.

He smiles at me, and then down at my dress as if he’s still a bit shy for longer eye contact. It’s so unlike Blane it cracks me up. “My lips are sealed,” he claims. “You’ll have to wait until the contest presentation.”

“It has to be good to win a spot,” Radius says. “Give us one hint.”

“Like father like son,” Blane says mysteriously.

I nudge him again. “What’s that mean?”

“Remember what Vesper and Jan told you about my parents in the project room?”

“That your father was a brain surgeon and your mother was some kind of scientist?”

“You got it.”

“No way! Vesper was joking around.”

“Was she?” Blane arches his brows. For a moment, the big, hulking man next to me is elevated to a higher level. He’s just teasing, though, the thing he accuses me of doing.

“Your old man was no brain surgeon,” Radius scoffs.

“Was so, and my mother was a geneticist.”

“Hot damn!” Bea remarks.

Worlds turn, and spin away. The desert below is aglow with unearthly light as we speed westward, over yurt communities and dead cities, pockets of cave gardens surrounded by more yurts. Radius discovers an embedded drinks bar in the side panel of the glider. Clinking our unbelievably tasty iced lemon sodas, we make a toast. “Here’s hoping one of us wins the Axiom Contest. Hear, hear!”

“Huzzah, Fireseeders!” I exclaim, in an echo of Axiom’s trademark cheer.

Nearing Vegas-by-the-Sea, we see a large, close grouping of cone-shaped towers and whirligig warehouses, spinning like carnival rides. We see neighborhoods of solid blue agar buildings and in the city center, rising sandstone statues of what must be famous people—a long-legged lady lifting her face to the sun, a man with a wide brimmed hat, and a clown with puffy cartoon lips.

Swooping lower, the gliders whoosh into an underground landing pad. It turns out to be the basement of a hotel. We are whisked into its glitzy lobby with fake palm trees, grand pastel-colored sofas and well-dressed clientele lounging on those sofas and settees. I’ve never seen such women with chunky jewels and spiky heels. Doormen wearing Axiom pastel jackets with shell buttons cart our cumbersome baggage.

Bea and I share a room, and across the hall are Blane and Radius. “I wonder how closely we’ll be chaperoned?” Bea says with a smirk.

“Hopefully not so much,” I answer, with my own smirk. “At least Nevada’s not here, breathing down our necks.”

We buzz around, marveling at the marble bathroom, the floor-to-ceiling picture windows and the plush quilts with wave patterns on the wide beds.

We’re told to get dressed and meet the group in the lobby. I put on the fancy dress and some red lipstick. Bea helps me adjust my special hair decorations.

She leans over my shoulder. “You look incredible. Blane’s in for a surprise.” Normally I prefer looking plain, but tonight, I’m glad I’m sparkling.

George Axiom wasn’t exaggerating when he bragged about the ornate feast. Crab House Delights is a candlelit cavern whose central attraction is a broad table brimming with culinary delights: steamy rolls, crunchy crab cakes, rice mixed with peas and faux-shrimp, sea apples dripping in honey, sautéed Fireagar, vats of icy mead and teas, and desserts sprinkled with chocolate and berries, the likes of which I’ve never seen.

The place is packed with kids, all dressed in their finery. Bea and I link arms and stroll in, followed by Blane and Radius, who are already chattering about the food. Bea’s adorable in a hand latticed yellow dress that shows off her curves. Her purse is strewn with handcrafted textile flowers. We snake around to find a free table, no easy task, as others are searching for a spot too.

“You can tell who’s from Baronland South,” Radius snipes. “They’re wearing northern pants and suits.” Indeed, a group of kids already eating at a large, round table are wearing the ponderous navy blues and grays that look so alien down here in the desert.

“Their clothes look expensive,” Bea says. “Wish I had access to that kind of fabric.”

“Let’s steer clear of them,” Blane decides. “Hey, over here.” He spots an open table and throws his jacket over a chair to save it. We follow suit and then head over to the food.

I haven’t had enough time to soak in my solar vitamins so I figure I’d better try to eat a decent meal. I choose some sea apples, one of the crab cakes and a mug of icy mead. Blane shovels on a portion of just about everything.

By the time we return to the table, three kids are sitting at the chairs we didn’t reserve. The girl has stringy red hair, one of her guy friends has glasses, and the other boy has shoulder length brown hair and a tan jacket with coral buttons. They eye us warily.

I grant them a smile, no need to start out with a feud. “Where are you all from?” I ask the one girl.

“Vegas Central High. You?”

“From The Greening.”

Her eyes widen. “Whoa, I’ve heard it’s really desolate out in Skull’s Wrath.”

“More space to invent big contest pieces,” Blane retorts.

“I guess so.” She returns to the rice dish she calls seafood paella.

“Just look at those rich kids from Baronland South,” scoffs her friend in glasses. They stare at the table of rowdy kids that we were just talking about.

“As if they need the prize!” the longhaired guy huffs.

Radius snickers. “Our feelings exactly.”

“But you guys have it good here in Vegas,” Bea notes.

“We don’t get feasts like this every day.” The spectacled guy wolfs down his fish.

“Who’s paying?” Blane asks. “Does Axiom cover this?”

The longhaired guy shrugs. “I think it’s a consortium, underwriters or whatever.”

“Like who?” I ask.

“Rich business tycoons,” replies the red haired girl between mouthfuls of cake.

“Are there a lot of rich business folk in Vegas-by-the-Sea?” asks Blane.