Invisible things, p.10
Invisible Things, page 10
“There have to be working theories, correct?”
“Nothing that isn’t just guessing. You know, it sounds crazy, but, actually, nobody talks about it that much. Not even among the Delany folks. Not after the first year. We stopped, just like everybody else. It was just too much to deal with.” Nalini could see the Admiral assessing her sanity in real time, preparing her words carefully before responding.
“I don’t understand how you could talk about anything else.”
“Monumental Muting.” The liquor was kicking in, and Nalini was already tired. She should have eaten something before partying. This was all new for Admiral Ethel, but it really wasn’t for her. And even though Nalini understood that the first days on New Roanoke were the most confusing ones, she had no desire to relive those feelings with the Admiral.
“Monumental Muting: the societal habit of avoiding topics so monumentally intractable that discussing them has no positive outcomes and countless negative ones. If there’re no definitive answers, and every time you talk about it you risk offending or alienating others, why bother? Monumental Muting—that’s what I call it in my field research. I have footnotes—I have a lot of footnotes. That’s just one of the many original terms I’ve coined to describe this experience. I’ve been very busy.”
“I bet you have,” Admiral Ethel murmured, exhaustion in her tone.
Despite RIO’s aesthetic deficiencies, under the dust its interior was pristine, and everything in working order. The walls of the booth they now sat at were largely graffiti-free. The shelves were fully stocked with liquor, and not just the cheap stuff. All the appliances were plugged in. It was the Party of the People’s clubhouse; all those pamphlet sales had gone to a good cause. A dive bar.
“Lot to process, Admiral. I get it.”
“It’s Ethel.”
Nalini watched the woman take her own swig before she spoke again.
“I can’t believe I’m on a goddamn space colony of unknown and possible extraterrestrial origin and I just got kidnapped.”
“You mean the guys who brought us here? They’re just the Party of the People volunteers. They’re toothless—I mean, that’s part of their problem. They’re the Washington Generals to the Founders Party’s Harlem Globetrotters.” The image of the old Founders types in basketball circus gear was enough to make Nalini literally shake her head to get it out. “But we can leave whenever. Wait for them to come back, leave—whatever works for you. Pretty sure I know how to get to the bus stop from here. But don’t worry about the PoP—my former lab partner is the nominal head, the public face, I guess—”
“Dwayne Causwell. I know who he is. I know who you are—I know about everyone from the Delany.”
“Well, look at you! Yeah, Dwayne. So he runs the PoP. They’ll come get us soon. I mean, yeah, it’s probably worth waiting. I’m too tired for the bus, anyways.” Nalini gave an exaggerated and booming sigh that indicated to herself that she was already a little drunk. Or at least on the verge of it, if she didn’t slow down immediately.
Admiral Ethel paused as she gave her own, lighter sigh. “I have so many questions. I wish you were willing to answer more of them.”
“Okay, fine. Boring answer: Underneath the impossibility of its existence, New Roanoke is just like a lot of places back home. Creepily, nauseatingly the same—take it from an applied sociologist. The rich hate the poor because they’re scared the poor will take their money and make them poor, too. The poor either hate the rich for hoarding everything or love them because they think they’ll be rich someday, too. That’s the basic outline. Hilarity ensues.”
“Hilarity,” Ethel repeated, holding the tumbler with the ice to her head.
“Welcome to the fifty-first state. I kid, but can you believe all this, am I right? You get what I mean.” And with that, former Chief Mission Science Officer Bob Seaford started the film projector, a pre-digital antique the likes of which Chase had only seen in old movies. When he caught Chase staring at it, Bob added, “Just FYI, they’re a little behind tech-wise, but I look at it like this: That just means opportunity. For innovation. This little outreach film here is one of the upgrades I’ve introduced in my current role as the newest Vice Deputy Party Chairman.”
“Outreach to whom?” Talbot’s notepad was still poised in hand; the man leaned back in his chair, legs folded. Chase noticed Lloyd’s socks, which looked like they were there to be noticed: poinsettia red that glowed so bright they looked plugged in. Oh, wow, that’s what fancy socks are for, Chase marveled. They’re for looking strong when you sit cross-legged in a business meeting, like Lloyd Talbot.
“Excellent question. I’ll tell you whom: whomever the cave spits out. We want to get new arrivals started on the right foot.” Bob kicked his own right foot a bit forward for emphasis. Chase was starting to remember the guy now, from the Delany personnel files. He’d been the only one to tell jokes in his recorded psych eval. And Chase had been the only one in the briefing room to laugh at them. Chase didn’t get too far into the Delany profile files, because they were boring, but he saw enough to get an impression of that digital Bob, and this Bob standing before them was totally that guy. Most people Chase met in person after encountering them primarily online were entirely different in the flesh. Something in the way they moved or talked or even how tall they were—it never matched up to Chase’s mental image. But Bob was just like that Bob. A guy who would remember your name. A guy people shared crazy stories about. Like there was an actual center in the universe, and this guy was damn sure he was standing on it.
On the screen, there was the cave system they’d flown through when they entered New Roanoke hours before. But this time, Chase saw the area from the view of someone standing on the river’s bank. Beyond, a gaping hollow in a granite hill. The river itself was way bigger than it looked from the air, and running faster. What Chase had first taken to be a large stream was actually damn near the size of the Mississippi. From the cave’s utter blackness emerged a full-sized, fully loaded container ship, just floating through. Coming from nowhere, because there was nothing on the other side of that cave but the open vacuum of deep space, and not even Admiral Ethel knew how the air in the dome wasn’t just sucked out into space. The image of the freighter edged slowly across the screen, the opening credits appearing over its top. Welcome to New Roanoke! Chase could see markings on the rusted metal cargo, in a language he was pretty sure was Chinese. Lloyd Talbot was scribbling on his pad like crazy, so Chase figured it meant something to him. After scenic pics of all the “fifty-first state” had to offer, the voiceover kicked in, talking about the entire history of New Roanoke.
“That’s me talking,” Bob said. “That’s my announcer voice. I’ve always wanted to dabble in voice acting.”
For a “state” the size of one county, New Roanoke had it all: diseased invaders and their land grab, an eighteenth-century war over whether it thought it was a British colony or a whole new deal, race-based slavery and an abolitionist movement to get rid of slavery, a war when they couldn’t work it out, and all the stuff that followed. Women getting the right to vote, a civil-rights movement, the whole shebang. Staying up-to-date on the real America via all the new abductees. A slow but steady supply of fresh immigrants, plucked from their lives on Earth and deposited on a barge with the rest of the goods.
When the tourism vid’s credits ran, Bob’s name was all over the screen. The man himself started talking before his men could get the lights on.
“Trust me, guys, I know what you’re wondering. You’re asking, How is all this possible? Lloyd, am I right? Right?”
No one said anything until Lloyd realized Bob was waiting for an answer. “You are most certainly right.”
“Specifically, you’re wondering, Who created and maintains this place? Of course you are. And you’ve probably heard the official Founders Party position? God? And, I don’t know, maybe that’s right, or not: Again, I don’t know. But I do know this: It ain’t people. Okay? Let that soak in. It’ll take a minute. Trust me.
“But, whatever it is, to create all this? It’s basically a god, in comparison to us. So, unless you’re really into theology, I wouldn’t waste my time with that part. Not worth it. There’s no evidence to find. No little green men in town. So you just got to roll with it, enjoy it for what it is and don’t drive yourself crazy.”
Chase wanted to ask if that meant there were tall gray aliens, but Harry, breathing heavily, stared over at him like he sensed the question and wanted to shut it down before it came out of Chase’s mouth.
With some flourish, Lloyd Talbot unfolded his legs and leaned forward. “So you’re saying you’ve seen nothing extraordinary since you’ve been here?”
“I’ve seen absolutely nothing. And I say that with pride.”
“Amen,” Vice Deputy Chairman Brett Cole seconded, then immediately covered his mouth with his hand, as if silencing himself.
“Mr. Seaford, I want you to be absolutely clear with me. I want a complete understanding—that’s my goal, because we need that. Are you telling me you’ve seen no evidence of what might be responsible for all this?”
Bob’s hands were before him and waving for Lloyd to stop, like a traffic cop’s. “Slow down! I showed you mine; time for you to show me yours, right? So—what are you guys doing? What’s your plan?”
Next to Chase, Harry opened his mouth but was stopped by the sound of Lloyd Talbot clearing his throat. Pushing himself up, then walking to the front of the table, Lloyd moved with the confidence of a man who considered boardrooms his natural habitat. “Okay. I can respect your caution. I can tell you that, in the hull of the Ursula 50, we have the printers and material to make five more shuttles. Immediately. And that, in the onboard computer, we have the plans to build the factories that can reproduce many, many more. A production plan devised down to the number of toilets needed in the warehouse. I come prepared to offer the leadership of this society an option that would allow them to get every human being off this moon in under five years.” Lloyd stopped, stepped back, folded his arms, and, with no expression resting on his face, waited for Bob’s reaction. They all waited. But the room was quiet. “Any questions?” Lloyd finally asked, but still nothing. Up until the moment Bob and Brett looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen.” Bob waved off his own mirth as he composed himself. “You don’t get it yet. I understand—you just got here. The thing is, we’re doing really great, as is. We’re doing amazing, actually. What’s not to love in New Roanoke? The housing’s luxurious, the schools are fantastic, there’s low crime. None of that global-warming BS. No pandemics, no war, no nukes other than the one on your ship. This is the place where the American dream’s still alive.”
“But, Bob, you can go back home now. This is why we’re here. This is an exploratory operation, but we’re also here to bring you and your crew home.”
“I hear you, I hear you. But wait until you see our restaurant row—you’re gonna flip.” Bob was already shutting down the projector, clearing his things off the conference table.
“Mr. Seaford,” Lloyd Talbot started. “Bob. Are you seriously prepared to throw your life on Earth away to be stuck here? And do you think everybody else trapped here feels the same way?”
“You’re looking at it all wrong, buddy.” Bob’s words disagreed, but he was never disagreeable. It was just a difference of opinion between pals. “New Roanoke isn’t a prison—it’s a new frontier. We shouldn’t be talking about leaving, we should be talking trade routes! Or tourism! Or, even better, figuring out the tech that makes all this possible, right? Forget who did it, the more important question is, how do we harness it? Can you even imagine how much that would be worth?”
“The man does make an excellent point.” Harry’s voice was now fuller, but still weaker than Chase was used to hearing. “I can think of a legion of investors who’d be willing to venture on that.”
Lloyd looked at Harry, then looked at Chase to see if the old man was joking. Chase had no idea, no idea at all. So Lloyd gave a sigh. “I respect your impulse, and your instincts, but the issue of commerce can wait until—”
“Word to the wise—folks here are very strong on tradition,” Bob said in full voice before dropping into a softer, jovially conspiratorial tone. “But they’re even stronger on making money. You want to butter them up, this is the best way forward. I will gladly serve as a liaison.”
“I’ll need to see more of the architecture,” Harry offered, as if remembering why he was there. “The military—”
With a snap, then a finger pointed, Bob lit up as he turned in Harry’s direction. “Wait till you see them: They march a lot. Pretty damn solid for a place with no enemies on the planet.”
“To your point,” Lloyd continued, “there actually has been some discussion on our end, just theoretically, that it might be feasible to run a series of satellite way stations for communications and supplies. Extending the Mars route, possibly within—”
Mid-sentence, Lloyd Talbot’s head snapped sharply to the right.
It was jarring and instant; it looked like the guy’d been slapped. Chase even thought he heard the crisp clapping sound of a slap.
“What?” Lloyd stumbled on his feet for a moment and looked at Harry like he’d done something.
“You okay?” Springing up from his chair, Chase went to Lloyd with his arms out to catch him, because that’s what the color of Lloyd’s face implied: fainting.
“I’m fine. Just a muscle spasm, I think. Hit me out of nowhere.”
“That’s nothing, it happens here. Pay it no mind,” Brett interjected. “Do you need some painkillers? We’ve got aspirin, acetaminophen, ibuprofen—”
“Really, I’ll be okay,” Lloyd insisted. But the look on his face sent a whole other message. “As I was saying: Normalizing relations between our governments is possible. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First we have to get a better notion of what exactly is going on here, at least to establish safety. Then, sure, it’s possible to set up a string of way stations to evacuate—” Lloyd’s head shuddered. Chase saw it move. Like a vibration. Like a hummingbird. Like faster than any person could imitate. Lloyd paused again, holding his temples, grimacing.
“Dude, maybe you should take a break,” Chase told him, but the man waved him off like he was being modest. He loosened his tie. Unbuttoned his shirt. Then Lloyd reached for the pitcher on the table. Chase grabbed it first, though, and poured Lloyd a glass of water, handed it over.
“Not you, too, Lloyd? Keep it together, man.” Harry seemed confused that someone else was allowed to be sick. They all watched silently as Lloyd swallowed the full glass in one go. One big, desperate gulp.
“Bit of the jet lag?” Bob asked, so low Chase didn’t know if anyone else could hear him.
Harry snorted. “Cryogenic sleep. It’s not natural.”
“Exactly. Just a long trip. That’s all.” Lloyd, flinching, stopped him. “As I was saying, creating a commercial partnership would be no small feat, but—who knows—eventually? If you think it would smooth the evacuation, then, sure, eventually, it is possible. On behalf of the United Nations, let me just officially state that I would like to offer escape for all who—”
That was the moment when UN Special Envoy Lloyd Talbot’s head exploded.
When Nalini and the Admiral were finally picked up from Club RIO, enough time had passed that it was dark outside and they’d sobered up. There was a knock on the door, and then the sound of keys opening it, and all of a sudden there was a cowboy hat covered in purple sequins. Under that hat, a little lady old enough to be Admiral Ethel’s mother.
“Dwayne sent me,” she said. “You can call me ‘Doris,’ ” she added, making air quotes with her hands. “We’re going to the secret hideout.” Her tone made it clear that this was a big deal; then she motioned impatiently for them to follow her outside.
“Used to be able to see the damn things,” they heard Doris muttering as they followed her. She headed down the alley toward a white school bus, AME Bethel Church of the New Zion in chipped paint on its side. “If people tried together, they could—or at least make it clearer. But who’d want to try? Even before it got this bad?” It was as if Doris didn’t just know what they’d been talking about before she arrived, but couldn’t imagine they’d be talking about anything else.
When the Admiral asked, “Could you elaborate?,” Doris seemed to jump slightly in surprise, as if she didn’t realize she had been talking aloud. She didn’t say anything more until she was seated behind the bus’s wheel, when she delivered, in an announcement voice: “Just a bit of legend. Bit of rumor. Way, way before my time—what do I know? Nothing, that’s what I know. So let me shut up.” The last statement Doris apparently meant literally, because, once she started the engine, she ignored all questioning, instead focusing on lighting the first of many in an uninterrupted chain of cigarettes as she drove them out of the city and beyond.
“Where are we now?” Admiral Ethel said in a hushed tone, leaning forward from her seat in the row behind Nalini.
“Just the suburbs.” Nalini turned her body back to tell her. When Admiral Ethel raised her hand to motion for more, Nalini continued in her more formal, academic tone. “In most ways, New Roanoke functions like any American city, with a largely bifurcated political culture. But during my study of its social construction of reality, it became clear that—like many supposedly bifurcated societies—it’s really made up of a ten-twenty-forty-twenty-ten sociopolitical structure. Right now, I’m trying to give each subgroup a full chapter in my manuscript.”
