The Expanse - J.M. Dillard [50]
“I’ll need to see this man,” Archer said, “scan him ... confirm that he’s Xindi.”
The foreman’s smile widened. He moved to a desk, pulled open a filthy drawer, and removed a darkly stained piece of cloth. He held it up so the other two men could see. “That won’t be necessary.”
He handed the cloth to Archer—who unwrapped it, and recoiled slightly at the sight of a swollen humanoid finger, severed below the second knuckle. A jagged ivory metatarsal protruded from bloodied purplish flaps of skin.
Archer glared at the foreman in pure disgust. “Why would you do this?”
“An unfortunate accident,” the weasel said glibly. His tone turned dismissive. “I’ll expect to see you back tomorrow. Good day.”
With a wiry arm, he lifted a metal pipe from his desk and rapped against the wall.
A moment later, one of the vertiginously tall “assistants” opened the door; Archer and Reed followed him out into the blue glow.
* * *
It was a bright blue day at the Key West Café—one of those gloriously pleasant days in March, a month before the humidity took hold and the sun grew so hot that every afternoon brought a tropical shower.
Lizzie was sitting outside—she always liked to sit outside at the Cafe, even when it was too warm—reading a book, the way she did when she had to eat alone. She was wearing that blue sundress, the one with the little shoulder straps, and her blond hair fell straight onto her shoulders. How old was she? Eight ... Yeah, eight, the year when she was on the grilled-cheese sandwich kick. It was all she would eat at the Café, Swiss please, not cheddar, with extra pickles on the side. Mom had said if Lizzie didn’t start eating something else, she was going to start sprouting holes.
Trip was standing across the street, next to the lime grove owned by old man Farley, flanked by two huge, fuschia-colored hibiscus. He was wearing his favorite shirt, a geometric display of rust, gold, and olive. And he was worried—shouting at Lizzie, but for some reason, he couldn’t project his voice, couldn’t yell loud enough to be heard.
So she just went right on reading her book, blissfully unawares; she frowned, wrinkling her freckled nose in that little-girl way she had, and turned the page as she took another bite of her cheese sandwich. Slowly, pensively, she chewed.
“Elizabeth!” Trip screamed, waving his arms. “Lizzie!”
He looked, and the Café was suddenly filled with adults. Only Lizzie sat alone, still reading and chewing her sandwich, still oblivious.
Trip was gesticulating wildly now, his adolescent voice cracking. “Lizzie! You’ve got to get out of there!”
And there was Lizzie suddenly in her twenties, still sitting at the same table in the same crowd, eating the same sandwich, reading the same book, still dressed in the blue sundress, her blonde, sun-streaked hair still long and straight.
“Elizabeth!” Trip yelled, his voice and body now adult, his shirt the same mélange of rust, gold, and green. Panic overtook him; despite the sun’s warmth, a cold sweat trickled down his spine, soaking the lightweight shirt. “Please!! Get out of there! YOU’VE GOTTA GET OUT OF THERE!”
The grown-up Lizzie was abruptly alone, abandoned, but still accompanied by her lunch and book.
Miracle of miracles, she looked up directly at Trip and smiled dazzlingly.
Trip screamed, his throat raw from the effort, but no sound came from his mouth.
“LISTEN TO ME!! YOU’VE GOT TO GET AWAY!!”
Lizzie smiled and began to wave.
Behind her, the entire sky had become a swath of flame ... moving directly toward her.
Trip sobbed with horror, trying to scream, trying to be heard, but Lizzie merely continued smiling and waving, happy to see her brother, unmindful of the coming danger.
The incinerating beam swept closer, closer, until it was on top of her. ...
Trip woke gasping with terror, then pressed his palms to his eyes; when he at last drew his hands away, they were damp, shaking.
It’s all right, his mind chattered inanely. Just a dream. Just a dream ... It’s probably just because you know the Captain and Reed are on the trail of the Xindi. ...
But