How six saved the frogs, p.2
How Six Saved the Frogs, page 2
He’d once asked Ma if he could get away with just signing an X, but she’d only made him practise harder after that.
Mr Tol smiled indulgently at him when he packed the slat away, while Wouter’s mouth had gone dry.
He was still shaking when he helped Mr Tol into the ambulance. “Take good care of him,” he told the paramedic as they closed the door.
The paramedic threw him a smile. “Of course.”
Holding both packages to his chest, Wouter stood on the stairs and stared after the ambulance until he couldn’t see it any more.
Two
Discoveries and Consequences
Back in Ruben’s flat, he set the packages on the duffle bag near the door and went back to packing Ruben’s life into boxes. His heart grew heavier with every box he filled, every drawer he replaced, and every memory that surfaced. Yet, he didn’t stop until he’d reversed most of the mess the burglar had caused… and ran out of boxes.
He sank into Ruben’s comfy sofa, rubbing his hand across the worn leather. Like his, most of Ruben’s furniture had come from family members and second-hand shops. They’d sat here watching countless hours of Klunkett and Co together. Or during film nights with their brothers. He wanted to hold on to those happy moments with Ruben. With all his brothers.
A flicker of a memory made Wouter focus on the sturdy ornate television cabinet housing Ruben’s media devices and qrystal slivers. Wouter rose. The qrystals had been pulled out, strewn across the floor, but the cabinet itself didn’t seem to have been tampered with. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?
Kneeling in front of it, he reached around, worming his finger along the gap until he found the button, and pressed. The elaborate wood trim along the bottom pushed out, revealing a shallow drawer the width of the cabinet. This was where Ruben kept qrystal slivers and other knick-knacks that weren’t child- or teen-safe. And the burglar hadn’t known to search it, or it would have been pulled open like everything else.
At the back of the drawer on the right, Wouter found a small notebook hidden beneath qrystals. One of those pocket ones, with an elastic band to keep it closed. Something had been stuck between two glued pages. He pulled it out. A qrystal sliver. With the Alliance logo on it.
The only Alliance property Ruben had ever taken home with him was his duffle bag, or go-bag as he called it. He didn’t even take his work laptop home. So what was this qrystal sliver doing here? Could this have been what the burglar had been looking for?
He almost dropped it when his phonet vibrated against his leg and announced it was 17:45, “Dinner at Ma’s”. Chips. Was that really the time? He needed to go or he’d be late. But what was he going to do with the notebook and qrystal sliver? It wasn’t as if he could ask Ma to take a look at it. He didn’t want to worry her. No. He’d better leave it here and call the Alliance in the morning. He still had that card from the Alliance’s bereavement liaison.
But, as he closed the drawer, he changed his mind and shoved them into his pocket instead. It just didn’t feel right, leaving them in Ruben’s flat, even if the police had retrieved Ruben’s keycard from among the mess. He dumped the duffle and the packages at his flat and went out through the back door.
The sun was still bright as he took the cycle path along the pond that would lead him out of the city. Ma and Pa had bought a farm on a large plot of land long before they’d adopted him—or even Ruben—just outside the old city walls, and had spent years turning it into their own private paradise with luscious fruit trees and plenty of fields for kids to run around in. These days, his oldest brothers looked after it, leaving Ma to do whatever she pleased.
Wouter parked his bike in the garden, next to the garden bot’s charging station. Ma stood in the doorway, a cloud of loose white-grey curls framing a gentle, freckled face weathered by age and worry. She glared at him, but she wasn’t very good at it. “Two messages. Someone breaks into Ruben’s flat, and all I get is two messages?” Her voice achieved what her glare could not.
He wrapped her into his arms. “I’m sorry, Ma. It was all just too much.” He closed his eyes. It was good to be home. “How’s Mr Tol?”
“They’re keeping him overnight. Lies is demanding he retire.”
“Poor Mr Tol.”
Ma harrumphed. “Poor Lies. He’s the only human among post-drones because they can’t fire him, and he won’t quit. He’ll deliver letters one-handed if he must. Now, let me go, and come inside, jongen.”
She wasn’t done with him yet. He knew that. But it was good to be home. His heart overflowed as he planted a kiss on top of her head.
Harry and Aram were setting the table, but turned to him the moment he entered the kitchen.
“Did they catch the burglar?” Aram, the latest addition to the family and youngest at fourteen, tried to play it cool, but the way he ran a light brown hand through his dark brown hair betrayed his anxiety. And there was no hiding the tremble in his voice.
Wouter didn’t miss the way Harry—three years older and Aram’s complete opposite, both in appearance and character—moved behind Aram in silent support. Despite being opposites, they were as close as he and Ruben had been.
“Not yet.” Wouter washed his hands. He was sure Ma wouldn’t want him to go into details. “Anything I can do, Ma?”
“You can grab the lasagna out of the oven while Harry finishes setting the table.” She walked around the table and sat next to Aram. “No. You just sit. Think about your breathing exercises.”
That was Ma. Wouter smiled. Being home, in this kitchen, always brought back memories of her sitting next to him like that. He put the oven mitts on and inhaled as he opened the oven. “Smells wonderful, Ma.” And she always made enough for unexpected guests. With the burglary, he’d half expected more brothers for dinner. Then again, maybe not with Aram already anxious.
As they settled and dug into the lasagna, there was no more talk about the burglary, only chatter about school, work, friends, and the newborn puppies two houses down. By the end, even Aram joined in their conversation about Harry’s upcoming championship korfball match.
He seemed proud to announce that, “Johan asked me and two others of my team as substitutes.”
Johan wasn’t just Harry’s coach, he was their eldest brother, and a keen korfball player himself. “That’s great. Can’t wait to see you both play.” Saturday match days were more like family gatherings, considering five of them played korfball. It was fun catching up with everyone’s news as they watched home matches and cheered for goals.
After dinner, the boys disappeared into the entertainment room. “To set up for film night.” No doubt Ma had asked them to before he arrived.
He wasn’t at all surprised when less than five minutes later, Johan and Jos came in through the back door. Two identical, lean forty-somethings with cropped greying hair and the sunburnt skin of people who spent most of their days outside.
“Did you call all of them?”
Ma glared at him as she refilled his glass from the water jug. “Don’t get sassy with me, jongen.”
“Sorry.” Wouter sighed. “It’s been a long day.”
“Ma thought the two of us would be enough for now.” Johan pulled out the chair next to Ma and gave her a hug as he sat.
“I get why you wanted to do this on your own.” Jos sat next to him. “But you could have called us. We would have helped.”
“I know. I do.” He accepted Jos’s one-armed hug and nodded at Johan. “Thank you.”
“Any time, baby brother. Now tell us what happened.”
Wouter rolled his eyes. As if Jos hadn’t heard about the break-in from his wife, despite it being her day off, the moment her colleagues had received the call. And then shared that news with Johan. He took them through everything that had happened from the moment he’d opened Ruben’s door. Everything, except how the police had brought up Ruben’s accident. He couldn’t do that to Ma when he was still struggling with it. “Who burgles a flat and leaves a high-end media setup like that?”
Of course, assuming the burglar had been after the notebook and the qrystal sliver, that made sense. He should have scanned the contents before he left. He’d have been late, but at least then he’d have known what it said. There was always a possibility it had nothing to do with the Alliance, and was nothing more than notes on his favourite porn… That was definitely not something he’d want Ma to see.
Now he’d have to wait until he was home, and either call the Alliance about it, or give it to Jos, to give to his wife.
“You did interrupt them,” Johan said.
“Maybe. Or maybe they were done. They pulled out all the drawers.” Bar the one only Wouter knew about. “I spent all afternoon replacing them and packing the books they scattered across the floor.”
“And nothing’s missing?” Johan asked.
Wouter shook his head. “Not that I can think of.”
Jos leaned back in his chair. “Right. I’m sorry you had to cope with that. Are you all right?”
Was he? “I don’t know. Calmer than I was after it happened.” Confused, too. There were so many memories in that flat. Good ones. Bittersweet ones. “I miss him.”
Jos put his hand over Wouter’s. Johan grabbed his other hand, and even Ma leaned over to cover his and Jos’s. No one said a word.
They all missed Ruben.
It was late when Wouter returned home. The film had been fun. He’d needed the distraction. Needed to be around his family. He’d even been tempted to stay the night, but tired as he was, cycling home had been a better option than staying in a room steeped in memories. He’d never get any sleep.
Besides, he wanted to scan a random page of the notebook, and figure out what he was dealing with. Of course, those plans flew right out of the door the moment he entered his flat and put his keys on the oak side table across from the entrance… right next to the packages Mr Tol had handed him. He grabbed them and sank to the floor. Neither his exhaustion, nor the whirlpool of thoughts and memories could temper his curiosity about what was inside. Especially the bubble wrap envelope.
Where the other package seemed in pristine order, this one had been torn at the edges, and the generic printed address sticker on the front was smudged. A blurry postmark that didn’t indicate where the package came from covered far more stamps than needed. There was nothing on the back. No scribble or drawing to mark it as coming from a friend or relative.
He fished his multi-3000 out of his pocket, flipped it open, and moved the knife easily through the paper. He took care to put it away before sliding whatever was in the envelope into his hand, and froze.
A card. And a Klunkett and Co memslat case. Not just any Klunkett and Co memslat case, either, but the original from 2156, featuring a cast and crew of transgender and non-binary individuals. Ruben had promised to help him find it. For his birthday. Which was months ago. Before…
Wouter swallowed and took deep, slow breaths, willing his hands to stop shaking. He’d been looking for this remake for such a long time, had all but given up on ever finding it. He hadn’t expected Ruben to get his hands on a copy, let alone in an original case.
He grabbed the card with trembling hands. The front showed a giant birthday cake with lit candles on it. The words above the cake formed their usual line-dancing routine, dipping right and left, making it hard for him to concentrate on even a single word. He opened the drawer of the side table and dug out his dark blue glasses, the ones he mostly used as sunglasses these days. But he promised Ma he would try reading before using his app.
So, he tried…and sighed. Even if he could guess what the text said, the words refused to stop moving. He pushed the glasses onto his head and pulled his phonet from his back pocket, activated the ten-inch holo-screen and let it read the card.
“Happy Belated Birthday.”
A sob escaped him, even as he smiled. That was so Ruben. His birthday had been in December. He turned the card and scanned the back. “Sorry it took me so long. Can’t wait to watch it with you when I get back.”
Closing his eyes, Wouter cradled the card and the case to his chest and took deep breaths until the urge to scream passed.
Ruben must have searched every secondhand shop on the planet to find it. The cover showed its age, and the colours had faded, but the actress portraying Finn Dekker —long-deceased, passed in her sleep at eighty-eight—looked every bit as beautiful and fierce as she had on the stills he’d found on his favourite Klunkett and Co fan site. They were going to go wild when he shared a picture.
Where in the world had Ruben found it?
Considering the number of stamps, Ruben had probably sent it while on assignment Earth-side. The Alliance wasn’t keen on passing on personal mail from other planets unless it was important. Something to do with logistics, Ruben had said.
He opened the case. These weren’t copies. Twelve original ID-card-sized memslats bearing the Klunkett and Co hologram logo sat in sleeves. One for each season. And stuck in the back of it, an envelope .
It was too much.
Holding the case to his chest, Wouter let the tears he’d been holding in since discovering Ruben’s flat ransacked flow, knowing he’d never be able to ask. He missed him so much.
He woke when his head dropped to his chest. Bleary-eyed, he tapped his dot. “What time is it?”
“Midnight.”
He hoisted himself to his feet, even if part of him didn’t want to move. But sleeping on the floor was never a good idea. Leaving the case on the side table, he took two sleep-drunk steps, turned around, and picked it up again. He couldn’t leave it. He had to know what Ruben had written.
After unpicking the sticker holding the edges together, Wouter folded the envelope open, revealing a small disc that looked like iron, but felt like bio plastic. There were markings on it that seemed familiar. The logo on the back was the same one from the qrystal sliver, and Ruben’s work gear. The Alliance. Why would Ruben send him one of his travel discs? Maybe whatever Ruben had written on the inside of the envelope would explain it.
He put the Klunkett and Co case down and activated his phonet’s reader. He didn’t even try to read it himself, this time.
“Strength lies within …”
As his phonet read out the first words of his favourite Klunkett and Co quote, Wouter realised his mistake. This was not a letter from Ruben. This was the travel disc’s password. In his panic, he slapped his phonet against his knee and dropped it. “Chips! Turn off sound!”
After throwing the travel disc onto the side table, Wouter bent to find his phonet, knocking his head against the solid oak.
“… else’s expectations …”
He sank to his knees, rubbing his head. “Turn. Off. The. Sound,” he repeated as he felt around for it.
There was no reaction. Verdoezie. The reader had been wonky since the last update. He should have invested in a pure crystal version, but these card-sized ones were easier to carry in his pocket. No phonet to be found, of course, only Ruben’s duffle. With a frustrated groan, he grabbed the strap and tugged, but the bag seemed stuck behind the side table’s legs, and the whole thing came crashing down, trapping Wouter beneath it.
“… those who confuse …”
“No. No. No.” He was such a doos.
He bucked against the weight of the table, but it was too late. The case, his keys, the unopened package, and the travel disc hit his chest as his phonet uttered the last word of the quote. The air thickened in wisps of muted pastels swirling around him, making it hard to breathe.
Would it be too much to ask to end up somewhere with coverage? He’d hate for Ma to worry. But wherever this travel disc took him, he could at least arrive somewhat dignified, and not trapped beneath a side table.
He worked his hands free, pushed the side table off him, and scrambled to his knees. A queasy sensation of turning, of vertigo, nearly knocked him to the floor again. Wouter took deep breaths to steady his stomach, then hooked the glasses over the collar of his shirt and grabbed the disc. He left the Klunkett and Co case on the floor. No way was he going to risk losing it .
Pulling the duffle close, he wrapped its strap around his wrist. Ruben’s gear wouldn’t fit him, but it wasn’t as if Wouter had time to grab a change of clothes. Besides, Ruben had packed plenty of useful stuff. The ping of a message sounded behind him.
As the colourful swirls blended together, turning dark at the edges, Wouter finally found his phonet. He closed his hand over it in relief… and embraced the darkness.
Three
Is This What Aliens Look Like?
Wouter’s ears popped painfully as he came to, surrounded by a cacophony of clucking. Chickens? What were chickens doing in his flat? No. Memories of Ruben telling him about disc travel after his first off-world mission flooded his mind. Ruben had sent him a travel disc. He was not in his flat. Somewhere with chickens, though, and a sound system, because someone was playing a vintage ballad Ma loved. Safe to assume he was at least still on Earth.
His whole body ached, and the sensation of vertigo lingered, as if he were going to topple over, even if he seemed to be lying down already. The air was hot and humid, with a heavy, earthy, and musty scent that made him gag. Maybe it was chicken poop. That wasn’t such a strange leap to make, right? Not with all the clucking. So much for arriving with dignity.
He made to turn, but the ground was slippery and sticky beneath his hands. He wasn’t bleeding, was he? Raising a gooey, tired arm, he opened his eyes. A sharp glint of sunlight brought on spasms in the back of his neck, just below his skull. A headache. Great. He moved his hand to block the bright light, but that made it impossible to see what coated his palm. So, he closed his eyes again and smelled his hand… and gagged again. It wasn’t blood, thank Earth, but the off-putting and musty chicken poop smell.
He tried to breathe through it, but the stench invaded his nose, even his throat, and he barely turned his head in time to throw up. As he emptied his stomach, the clucking became louder, echoing all around him. Lowering his hand to the ground, he tried to catch his breath, but that heavy, off-putting scent invading his senses was so much worse than his vomit. At first, he gagged every couple of breaths, but it became easier to ignore the smell and the verdoezde clucking when he tried slow, shallow ones.
