Part 80 (1/2)

Where am I?

eat alice.

Vinnie. Vinnie's voice, but not in the flatness of the heads-up display anymore. Vinnie's voice alive with emotion and nuance and the vastness of her self.

You ate me, she said, and understood abruptly that the numbness she felt was not shock. It was the boundaries of her body erased and redrawn.

Agreement. Relief.

I'm... in you, Vinnie?

Not a ”no.” More like, this thing is not the same, does not compare, to this other thing. Black Alice felt the warmth of s.p.a.ce so near a generous star slipping by her. She felt the swift currents of its gravity, and the gravity of its satellites, and bent them, and tasted them, and surfed them faster and faster away.

I am you.

Ecstatic comprehension, which Black Alice echoed with pa.s.sionate relief. Not dead. Not dead after all. Just, transformed. Accepted. Embraced by her s.h.i.+p, whom she embraced in return.

Vinnie. Where are we going?

out, Vinnie answered. And in her, Black Alice read the whole great naked wonder of s.p.a.ce, approaching faster and faster as Vinnie accelerated, reaching for the first great skip that would hurl them into the interstellar darkness of the Big Empty. They were going somewhere.

Out, Black Alice agreed and told herself not to grieve. Not to go mad. This sure beat swampy h.e.l.l out of being a brain in a jar.

And it occurred to her, as Vinnie jumped, the brainless bodies of her crew already digesting inside her, that it wouldn't be long before the loss of the Lavinia Whateley was a tale told to frighten s.p.a.cers, too.

Annie Webber Because I'm an idiot-and because my friend Allan is the coffee shop owner and my girlfriend Reesa works there-the Monday after Thanksgiving was my first day at a new job.

Total madhouse. Me and Pat foamed milk and drew shots like a flight line team while Reesa ran the register. It only worked because I'd barista'd at Starbucks and most of the customers were regulars, so they either had their order ready or Reesa already knew it and called it out before they paid. Never underestimate a good cas.h.i.+er.

Allan's has a thing, a frequent customer plan. So Reesa knows the regulars by name.

”Hey, Annie,” Reesa said. ”Medium cappuccino?”

Annie was pet.i.te, ash-blond hair escaping a seriously awful baby blue knit cap. She handed Reesa four dollars, then dropped the change into the tip jar.

Cappuccino is nice to make, but it's amazing how badly some people butcher it. I ground beans and drew the espresso. Then I foamed cold milk, feeling the pitcher for heat. When the volume tripled, the temperature was right. The sound of the steam changed pitch. I poured milk over the shot, ladled on foam, and sleeved the cup. ”Cinnamon?”

”I'll get my own.” She held out her hand. I put the cappuccino in it and set the shaker on the counter.

”You're new here?”

”First day.”

”You're good.” She sipped the drink. ”Annie Webber.”

”Zach Jones.”

I'd have shaken her hand but there was a coffee in it, and another customer was coming.

That night, Reesa's cat Maggie tried to dig me out of bed by pulling at the comforter. I pushed her off, which woke Reesa. ”Wha?”

Which is all the erudition you can expect at two in the morning. ”d.a.m.n cat,” I explained.

Reesa pushed her face against my neck. ”I only keep her because of the toxoplasmosis.”

Running joke. Toxoplasma is a parasite that makes rats love cat urine.

The parasite continues its life cycle in the cat after the cat eats the rat.

According to some show we saw, it affects people too. And the same show had this amazing stop-motion photography of dying bugs, moist fungus fingers uncurling from their bodies. The fungus makes the infected ants do things so it can infect more ants.

The fungus was awful, and gorgeous. One shot showed a moth, dead-I hope dead-on a leaf, netted with silver lace like a bridal veil.

The next morning Reesa said, ”Hi, Annie,” but a different voice answered, ”Hi, Reesa.”

I looked up from the steamer nozzle. A big guy, wearing a padded down coat. ”Free coffee today?”

Reesa checked the system. ”You guys have ten.”

He dropped coins in the tip jar. ”Medium cappuccino?”

Pat moved to draw it. I gave her a look. ”They're all Annie Webber,” she said. ”By courtesy. Sharing the account.”

”Oh.”

By the sound, I was scalding the milk. By the time I'd salvaged it, Annie Webber was gone. Reesa waved a pinkish hexagon like a foreign coin. ”Zach, what's this?”

I didn't even recognize the metal, let alone the writing.

On day three, the original Annie Webber returned. Day four was number two. On Friday both came, not together. Then half an hour after the second, I served a third. Cappuccino, let me put on my own cinnamon. ”Do you guys all drink the same thing?” I asked.

”You guys?” This Annie was a woman, with hazel eyes and crooked nose.

”The Annie Webbers.”

She licked foam off her lip. ”Nature's perfect food.”

I caught Pat's elbow. ”How many Annie Webbers are there? How long before I meet them all?”

She counted in her head. ”Five come in regular. The blond and her partners.”

”Partners? Like she's poly?”

She shrugged. ”I never asked. Maybe they're a cult.”