The Second Wave (11 page)

“It’s me. Peter.”

“Of course. I remember you.”

Peter merely grinned lopsidedly. “No, you
don’t.”

“No. I don’t.”

Peter shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s been a long
time. We used to be…we were together. For a while.”

And then John remembered. Peter. Waiter at
The Cat’s Wardrobe
. He exclusively worked night shifts,
because he spent his days at university. They had both just moved
to Cardiff. Peter needed a friend, and John needed a place to stay,
so they shared a flat and their lives for a few weeks, maybe even
months, the details were foggy now. Peter Sheldon.

“It’s Wagner now,” Peter corrected, shyly
holding up a hand with a wedding band. John found himself faced
with two options: Leave immediately, or trust a long forgotten
lover who used to be intolerably smitten by him.

For reasons he didn’t fully comprehend, he
decided on the latter. He hadn’t seen a friendly face in a long
time; at least for tonight, he was tired of running.

* * * *

Captain Eleven helped with seeing the
settlers to their houses. Then she followed Dr. Paige to the
hospital. Carl had radioed in a second time twenty minutes earlier
to tell her that Eugenia had significantly calmed down and was now
sleeping. She was not an imminent threat at the moment, so Eleven
just sent Sally and Gavin to assist the doctor if anything should
happen again.

When she walked down the second floor
hospital corridor, all was quiet. Summer Paige waited for her in
front of Eugenia’s room, watching her patient through a glass panel
in the wall.

“How is she?” Eleven asked.

Paige shrugged; not to show indifference, but
to indicate that she didn’t know. “Whatever it was, she’s sleeping
it off now. Carl said she was trying to free herself, and that she
sounded like she was in pain, so I didn’t hook her back up to the
IV. Maybe she had an allergic reaction to the nutrients. I took a
blood sample to be on the safe side, but the results take some
time.”

Eleven’s eyes wandered over the limp figure
of the woman. She couldn’t quite believe what she saw, although it
was just one of those things Summer would do without telling
her.

“You untied her?” she asked sharply.

Dr. Paige at least had the decorum to look
adequately abashed. “She tugged on them so violently—she injured
herself. In this case I put the health of my patient before your
security concerns. She won’t harm anyone.”

“You can’t be sure of that!”

“I’m pretty sure. So far she’s cooperated
beautifully—she eats, she drinks, she seems grateful for everything
we’re doing for her.”

“Could be an act,” Eleven pointed out.

Paige shook her head, she didn’t think so.
“Just look at her, Emily. So fragile.”

“Don’t make the mistake and confuse her with
Helena, Summer.”

Paige turned her face away. “I won’t.”

“Just keep that in mind. Auburn curls and a
refusal to talk doesn’t make her your sister.”

“It doesn’t make her our enemy, either,”
Paige reprimanded her friend softly.

Eleven nodded.

“Don’t patronise me, Emily. I know what I’m
doing.”

“Do me a favor and be wary anyway. That’s all
I’m asking.”

Paige gave a sigh, so did Eleven. They were
just not seeing eye to eye on that matter. There was absolutely no
doubt in Eleven’s book that Eugenia Gust was a security concern,
and that she held the potential to be their enemy—a spy, or a rogue
operative at best, a vanguard for something more to come at worst.
Eleven was not going to let whatever happened to the first settlers
happen to the second wavers.

Captain Eleven wasn’t right, but she wasn’t
wrong either. Eugenia was far more powerful than she even knew
herself. And in this moment she wasn’t sleeping, she was plotting
her escape.

* * * *

“So you’re a spice salesman, and you were on
a business trip in Austria,” Peter repeated, “when you got Duncan’s
ticket by chance, and thought you’d try out a new planet.”

He and John were sitting on the couch in the
small living room of house number twenty-three, sipping water. It
was dark outside, darker than most people were comfortable with,
since there were no street lights and no flickering advertisements.
It was also considerably colder outside than it had been a few
hours ago, so John had kindled a fire in the hearth. It was now
snug and warm in the little room.

“That’s right,” John lied. “How about you?”
he prompted.

“Nothing quite as fancy, I’m afraid. My
husband and I got an invitation to join because of our work. They
needed scientists to study this place. Then, when Duncan died, I
initially decided against coming here, but my sister talked me back
into it. She’s one of the protectors here, Sally Sheldon.”

John laughed. “She was nearly on duty when
everyone’s identity got verified. Lucky for me one of the goats
escaped and she had to leave her post before it was my turn.”

“What do we do now?” asked Peter.

“About me?” John asked back. “Obviously, if
you tell anyone about me, they’ll send me to prison.”

“Obviously, they’ll find out anyway, because
as soon as my sister sees Duncan’s name on the list of people who
came here, she’ll know something hinky is going on.”

“I’m not planning on staying long.”

“But you’re staying tonight?”

“If you let me.”

Peter softly reached out his hand to pat
John’s leg. “You’re free to stay for as long as you want. This
house was too empty anyway.”

John stared at the hand on his leg for a
heartbeat. “Then I am in your debt, Peter Wagner.” With that he
leaned over and kissed him. He didn’t think twice about it, the
notion came naturally. Back in Cardiff, that was how they had
sealed their promises to each other. Even if John had never kept a
single one of them.

Kissing him, he truly remembered Peter: the
texture of his lips, the taste of his tongue, his unique smell.
Another kiss and his fingers were already toying with the buttons
of Peter’s shirt. He draped a leg across the other man’s lap; he
was going to leave a trail of kisses on the exposed chest, but
Peter gently pushed him away.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, his
flushed face betraying the calmly spoken words.

John smiled, but didn’t stop his fingers from
unbuttoning the shirt until Peter gently caught his hand. He shot
him an earnest look that made John withdraw at last.

“I told you, you could stay; you don’t have
to pay for it like that.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be payment.”

“Yes, it was. It’s what you do, Ian. You
haven’t changed a bit since then.” Peter didn’t sound bitter, or
disappointed. He just stated a fact. “But really, there’s no need
for you to do that. I’m on your side; ex-lover's honor.” He gave a
small smile. “I don’t care if you’re a spice salesman from Austria,
or a bouncer in a club in Cardiff. Tabula rasa.”

Peter stood, kissed him goodnight and left
for the bedroom, leaving John feeling more bewildered than he had
in years.

* * * *

The evening was cold, but the air was fresh
and the sky starlit. It was impossible to tell just how different
the stars were from Earth’s, because no one had figured out yet
where exactly on Alternearth the colony was, partly because the
constellations were just so different that they couldn’t be used as
a reliable guide.

Due to the time difference, most of the
settlers were awake until late that night. And those who looked out
their window, or even stepped outside for a look, could see that
the moon was close to the planet. It looked like a giant paper
lampion. Not that anyone had seen Earth’s moon lately to draw a
comparison. The sky was usually hidden behind a thick blanket of
fog the atmospheric storms were causing. But on Alternearth,
atmospheric disturbances were but a memory; the sky was as clear
and peaceful as ever.

The storm hit around midnight.

Thick, black clouds gathered above the
village, eerily illuminated by a network of soundless lightning.
The thunder clapped shortly after, loud enough to wake those who
had gone to bed. Then the rain began to gush. An intense, heavy
downpour. It turned the village’s dirt roads into creeks within
minutes. High winds lashed the water against the houses and the
stables. Panic broke out quickly.

* * * *

If he hadn’t been woken by urgent taps on his
shoulder, John would have slept though the storm. But Peter shook
him awake. “Ian, a storm is raging outside!”

“Let it rage,” came the mumbled reply. “It’ll
pass.”

John turned away to go back to sleep. He
enjoyed the softness of the sofa under his bones, he hadn’t had the
luxury of anything like it ever since he’d left Byzantium in a
hurry.

But Peter was adamant. “I know it’ll pass.
But the others don’t. There’s chaos outside. And I think someone
just yelled that the cows have escaped.”

John finally opened his eyes. He was going to
say that he didn’t care, but his stay here depended on how long he
could stay on Peter’s good side, so he got up. Grabbing his coat,
he followed the other man outside.

Chaos indeed. People rushed to and fro, just
like the escaped chickens that were flitting hither and thither
between their legs. A window in the building across the road had
been smashed in by a toppled tree; several people were now trying
to fasten a large canvas over it, despite the strong wind, to
protect the house from being flooded. The task was made all the
more difficult by the darkness that was only sporadically
brightened every time another lightning flashed.

Peter dragged him out into the rain; they
were drenched instantly. Hundreds of tiny, icy pricks against the
skin that made John miss his full beard.

“Where are we going?” he yelled at Peter over
the storm.

“The stables,” Peter yelled back. “They'll
need help to catch the cattle. I hope you can ride a horse!”

The stables were at the north side of the
perimeter, outside the village’s fence. Two large cotes, one for
the horses and goats, and one for the other cattle. A smaller pen
with chicken houses was wedged between the two buildings; it was
completely wrecked. There were hens everywhere, all but swimming
through uncountable puddles, fearful sailors crossing a thousand
tiny oceans.

The earth was macerated. Mud splashed up to
their ankles with every step. The doors of one cote were wide open,
leveraged out of their hinges by the storm. A couple of people,
among them John recognized protector Niman, were shooing a flock of
petrified sheep back inside. The other building seemed intact. It
was there that Peter was headed, past the others and the sheep.

“The horses are in here,” he shouted. “Let’s
hope they’re fit enough to go out in the storm.”

As if to underline that last statement,
another thunder crashed. One of the sheep fainted.

The horses were nervous, John saw as he and
Peter entered the stable, but not hysterical like the goats. There
were roughly a dozen, each in their individual box. Peter led him
to a rack with bridles; he took two, handing John one. Pointing at
a box in the back, he said, “Take her out. She’s deaf, she won’t
give you any trouble. The saddles are in the back.” He was already
opening the hatch to another stall, bridle slung over his
shoulder.

“How do you know she’s deaf?” John asked.

“I can tell by the way she moves.”

The manchado in the last box was visibly
calmer than the rest. It neighed softly, seeing the distress of its
fellows, but since it couldn’t hear the thunder, it wasn’t scared
of it.

John carefully unlatched the hatch and
slipped inside the stall. The mare let him bridle and saddle her
without complaint, then followed him out obediently. John liked
horses; they were strong, honest creatures. He trusted them
instinctively, something the animal sensed now.

Peter was already outside, ready to dash off.
“I ride east, you west!“ he bellowed over a crack of thunder.
“We’ll meet northward and herd them back here!”

John nodded when the shadow of a movement
caught his eye. Movement that wasn’t coming from the other people
or an animal. Someone ducked inside the stable, keeping out of
view.

Curious as to who would use the downpour to
hide in a barn instead of their house, he followed the figure back
inside. The silhouette of a person just took cover in the back of
the building.

John rode nearer, took a look around and saw
a tuft of wet hair sticking out behind a saddle rack. He slowly
eased the mare back to see what was going on. There was no hurry,
the person was effectively cornered. John simply rode up, expecting
one of the kids he’d seen earlier, but was surprised to see a
soaked young woman in a hospital nightgown, who glowered back at
him with no sign of fear, or even surprise in her eyes.

Before he could say anything, she demanded,
“Hide me! Or I let everything drown!”

“Try the hayloft,” he replied without
thinking. “The ladder’s over there.”

He took a hat and a rope from a rack. The
latter he slung round his torso on his way out.

As Peter had asked him to, John rode westward
into the forest, which surrounded the colony on two sides. The
trees stood wide apart, making it easy to manoeuvre through them,
even for panic stricken cows, who weren’t exactly adroit at the
best of times.

The moon shone through the rain clouds and
the tree tops, and the lightning bolts provided some illumination,
albeit randomly, but it was hard to see anything through the
shadows and the rain. He strained his ears and fancied he heard
something moo frantically in the distance; it could be a cow, or a
trick of his ears. It was the best shot he had, though, so he took
off in that direction.