wait. We will wait for them to bring Earth Key to us, and they will break hard on our walls, and we will take Earth Key. I will take it, and bring it together with my Sky Key for the last leg of the game. But I need you, and want you. We are the Harappan, and we are going to protect our own. We are going to save our line. We.”
She sits down. Everyone is still. The only sounds come from the very small children still playing in the next room. Shari watches as Little Alice pushes through the legs and arms of her cousins and says, “Did you say my name, Mama?”
Shari’s eyes well with tears. “Yes, meri jaan. Come sit with us.”
Little Alice, precocious and far more confident in her movements and speaking than an average two-year-old, prances across the hall to her mother and father. She is oblivious to all the eyes upon her. As she climbs onto Jamal’s lap, Jov says, “I will consider your words before deciding on a course of action, Shari. But I would like to talk more with you, along with Helena, Paru, Pravheet, and Jamal. I want some more assurance that what you say about Sky Key is true.”
Shari bows her head. “Yes, Jovinderpihainu.”
And as each individual in the room thinks about what Shari has just said, Shari’s maid steps into the hall, practically folded in half out of deference, and says with her voice shaking, “Madam Chopra, please forgive me but I have an extremely urgent message.”
Shari holds out her hand. “Come, Sara. Stand and don’t be afraid. What is it?”
Sara straightens and shuffles forward, the balls of her feet scuffing the floor, and hands Shari a piece of white paper.
Shari takes it and reads.
“It is a message from the Koori,” Shari says. “She found me. She found us.”
Shari pauses.
“What does it say?” Paru asks.
Shari shows it to Jamal, who stands and carries Little Alice in his arms back to the playroom, whispering silly things in her ear as they go, Little Alice giggling and nuzzling her father’s neck. The wall of teenagers parts for them, and they disappear into the next room. The teenagers come back together and stare at Shari.
When her husband and daughter are out of earshot, she says, “The note reads, ‘Stay sharp. Your Little Alice is in danger. Grave danger. The others will come for her. I don’t know why, but I have seen it. The Old People have shown me in my dreams. I will try to stop them. The keplers have given me a way to do this. Keep her safe. Keep yourself safe, until the end. May we be the last standing, and fight it out then. Two of the good ones. Yours, Big A.’”
Jov claps, and it is like a giant clapping away a covering of clouds.
No more confirmation is needed.
The 893rd meeting of the Harappan line is over.
They must move.
They must Play.
They are going to fight.
Together.
An’s interrogator—still slumped across An’s chest—is shut up and BLINK shut up BLINK shut up and quiet and dead. An needs to get out of shiverblinkblinkblink out of his restraints and blinkblink and move.
He closes his eyes blink closes his eyes and sees her. Remembers the smell of her shiver her hair and the taste of her breath, BLINK full and aromatic, like some kind of ceremonial blinkblinkblink some kind of ceremonial tea.
CHIYOKOCHIYOKOCHIYOKOCHIYOKOTAKEDA
CHIYOKOTAKEDA
CHIYOKO TAKEDA CHIYOKO TAKEDA CHIYOKO TAKEDA CHIYOKO TAKEDA CHIYOKO TAKEDA CHIYOKO TAKEDA
The tics subside just enough to shivershiver just enough to …
An wedges his left hand between his hip and blinkblink and the edge of the metal gurney. He twists so that the base of his thumb is pressed against the cold metal. Then An pushes all of his weight down, onto his thumb, until he hears blinkCHIYOKOblink until he hears the pop. His thumb dislocates, flops loose and rubbery against his palm. It is blink excruciating, but An doesn’t care. He pulls, squeezes his hand through the restraint and pushes his shoulder into Charlie. The interrogator slides to the floor with a thump. An unbuckles the strap on his right. When his other hand is free, he grips his dislocated thumb and shoves it back into place. It is sore, swollen, and bruised.
But it works.
A loud alarm wails outside the door. He works the restraint off his forehead and sits up. Pain surges through his head, front to back, like a sponge soaking up water. It throbs and fills his ears and pushes at his eyeballs.
The gunshot wound. Charlie said he was concussed.
An must ignore it.
An takes stock of himself. He is wearing a V-neck T-shirt and drawstring scrubs, scratchy fabric, dressed like a prisoner or a mental patient. He unfastens his blinkCHIYOKOTAKEDAblink unfastens the restraints from his ankles with both hands, climbs off the gurney, lands next to Charlie, kneels. He pats down blink the interrogator for anything useful. He finds a rolled-up sleeve that feels like it contains blinkblink contains syringes. This could be more of the wonder drug, the one that cleared his mind. It made An tell the truth too. So much truth. He hopes that the remnants of the drug still in his system keep his tics to a minimum.
So he can blinkblink so he can escape.
He rips off Charlie’s suitcoat and shrugs it on. He pats the man down a final time, finds a gun holstered under Charlie’s armpit. Glock 17. Stupid cocky military blink military types. Bringing a gun into a room with a blinkblinkSHIVER a Player of Endgame. Might as well shoot himself.
An unholsters it. Releases the safety. Closes his eyes tight. Fights back the pain blink and the pain SHIVER and the pain blink and the image of …
CHIYOKOCHIYOKOCHIYOKOTAKEDA
Flat and dead Chiyoko Takeda.
Her name is his now.
In him.
His.
An hears a creak. SHIVER. Not the ship shifting on the waves. Blink. He looks up.
The wheel on the steel door is turning.
“Chiyoko,” he says.
He breaths in and out, in and out.
“Chiyoko.”
