The Jovian Legacy (5 page)

Time
for a Coke,
he thought,
trying to calm down.

His
computer was buzzing. “What now?” he exclaimed,
infuriated.

There
were his parents again, waiting to talk to him. “Hello, Jack,”
his father beamed.

Immediately
thrilled, Jack spoke into the mike. “Mum, Dad, hello. Have
you been watching what’s been going on here? I was at your
fifteenth wedding anniversary!”

“Yes
Dear,” his mother smiled. Oh those sweet words, how he missed
them. “We’ve been involved at this end. It is a
top-secret exercise that is being monitored by Jovian’s
greatest scientists.”

Jack
had so much to say. “Mum, Dad, there’s some people here
from Jovian. They keep appearing in a black Volvo with dark windows,
and are meddling with my computer. And they’ve already got me
to type in a date and situation of my own choosing, where I was born
into a black family!”

His
parents glanced at each other. “Please don’t attempt
anything that isn’t requested by our scientists Son, or you
could find yourself in danger,” his father warned.

“I
know! No, I won’t be doing anything like that again, but who
are they? And why are they here? I feel a bit scared of them,”
Jack confessed.

“If
you don’t do what they’re trying to get you to do,
there’s nothing to worry about. They’re agents for a
group of Jovian reprobates who are trying to attempt their own
research program, but are tapping into ours. To them it means a
stake in rights over all galactic communication with Earth. It’s
a very sought-after formula. There are a lot of intelligent people
here, and unfortunately a minority of them have unsavoury intentions.
Their influence could corrupt the powers that be. I suppose you
could call them the Mafia of Jovian, without any of the killing,”
his father explained.

“Well,
that’s reassuring, I think,” Jack said, more anxious now
than he already was. “So should I just ignore them?”

“Yes.
Our scientists are working on the situation from here to block them,”
Jack’s mother answered.

“How
did they get agents here?” Jack asked.

“We’re
not exactly sure. What they’re doing is illegal and they will
be seen to by the Supreme Institution of Corrections upon their
return,” his father assured him.

“Well,
I sure as hell hope they return soon. This whole thing is scary
enough without them bloody hanging around.”

“Please
try and handle it Son,” his father said. “We’ll
make sure they don’t hurt you. We wish you were here with us.”

Jack
changed the subject. “I’ve met this girl called Megan,
and I’ve since found out some things that kinda make me feel
funny about our relationship. She’s from down the line and was
adopted into an older family - the McGlews. She sorta looks like you
Mum, and when I was at your wedding anniversary I saw a photo that
Aunt Pippa gave you. It was of Katy who you said had died of
leukaemia when she was eleven. She looked like a young version of
Megan.”

His
parents glanced at each other again, his mother looking uneasy.
“Please don’t continue with this relationship. I can’t
give details right now. It’s something that has to be
explained to you when you’re here with us,” his father
stated.

Jack
felt a stab of fear. He glared back at his parents.

“I
have to go,” he said, and quickly switched off his computer.
The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Megan. He knew he had to get
to the bottom of it.

T
his
was turning into a nightmare,
Jack
thought, pondering over what he was going to do.

The
next day he told Megan he wanted to ask her about her life as a young
girl. He also asked for her date of birth. It didn’t seem too
out of character, and she wasn’t suspicious of his fishing for
information.

Jack
readied his plan of attack, but knew he had to wait until it was
requested. It came in six days’ time.

There
was another message:
“We
wish to continue our research. Are you in readiness to proceed?”

“Yes,”
he quickly typed.

“Please
apply virtual reality device and type in a date and duration of
time.”

Jack
typed in 4
^th
December 1984, two hours.

He
finds himself being babysat at his aunt’s house. Jack deems he
is between the ages of two and three. His surroundings produce a
sense of anxiety all babies feel when in unfamiliar territory. He
wasn’t in his Aunt Pippa’s care very often as she lived
in the South Island. How he came to be here he doesn’t know.
And at the minute, his Aunt Pippa is not with him. Jack sees the
legs of a man walking towards him, swinging him up. He is an older
man, perhaps in his forties, he judges.

The
man has noticed Jack’s distressed expression. “Thare,
thare, wee man,” he soothes. “I’m aff tae tak’
care o’ ye th’day while yer mummy’s busy. Ye kin
ca’ me Uncle Dennis if ye lik’. Wur aff tae hae some fin,
aff tae wrap ye up a’ nice
‘
n’
warm
‘
n’
tak’ ye fur a walk.” Jack is intrigued by this man’s
broad Scottish accent. He sits in his stroller while Dennis pushes
him down the clay driveway, erratically dodging obstacles. The older
man then lifts Jack out of his stroller and carries him across a
paddock to where several pigs are waiting for their dinner. The pigs
snort as Dennis empties the bucket of scraps into their food trough.
Jack watches in his little blue gumboots, fascinated. The pigs seem
tame, and after finishing their meal one rolls over, snorting happily
while Dennis gives the sow a scratch on her belly.

This
is not why I keyed in Megan’s birth date.

Dennis
carries Jack through to another paddock where sheep huddle together
in pens, having been mustered the day before in readiness for
shearing. Dennis scans the flock, checking for any lame sheep. He
tells Jack to see if he can catch one.

How
immature,
Jack thinks, but he
tells himself he needs to remember he is only two-and-a-half, and has
to act like it. So off he trots in his gumboots, and trips in a
puddle of mud.

“Bugger!”
Jack shouts, then snaps his head around. Dennis is astonished.

Shit!
H
e
tries to mask the circumstances. His wailing spooks the sheep,
causing them to charge wildly around the pen. Jack only has enough
time to fold his arms up over his head before being trampled.
Although most leap over him, Jack feels a trip of a hoof on his back.

His
back hurts and he cries for real.
Dennis
grabs him, lifting him high above the heads of the freaked-out sheep.

“Cripes,”
said Dennis “That’s nae a gey crakin’ thing tae
happen tae a young laddie. Urr ye a’ richt?”
Jack
manages to nod his head, sniffling. “Let’s tak’ ye
back tae th’ hoose
‘
n’
bathe they wounds. I’m sorry aboot that, young laddie. Yer
mum’s aff tae a be a mite cross wi’ me noo, seeings she’s
entrusted me tae care efter ye
‘
n’
all. Ah micht hae a wee treat in th’ cupboard fur ye.”

Great.
I’m here on a mission to find out if the girl I’m in love
with is a cousin or, perish the thought, a sister, and I end up with
hoofmarks on my back from a bunch of idiotic sheep and a bloody treat
in the cupboard!
He wishes
he knew the time, estimating that he’s been fluffing around in
the sheep pen for about half an hour.

Dennis
runs the bath, the strong scent of pine oil wafting from the
bathroom.

Must
be Rawleighs people,
he
thinks
,
remembering
how much his mother loved using Rawleighs.

Jack
welcomes the bath, pleased he’s able to splash around like a
lunatic and get away with it. Dennis keeps vigil. This unnerves
Jack, wishing this man would bugger off.

The
phone rings. Dennis looks in its direction, undecided.

“I’ll
be okay, Uncle Dennis,” Jack says in his sweetest little-boy
voice.

“Weel,
okay then,” Dennis replies, his expression softening, delighted
that his new charge had just called him Uncle. “Ye stay sittin’
up
‘
n’
plooter yer ducks while ah git th’ phane then.”

Jack
watches Dennis leave the bathroom.

“Yes!”
he says, doing the arm gesture. “Plooter yer ducks...”
Jack mimics, and sniggers.

Sliding
underwater, Jack holds his breath. He can usually hold his breath
for two minutes, but wonders if he can achieve it as a two-year-old.
Running his hands up and down his small torso, Jack feels it strange
and soft. He had been counting for a while now, passing sixty.

Seventy-eight,
seventy-nine, eighty,
Jack
counts in his head.

Suddenly,
a muffled yell. “Jack!” Then two strong hands grab his
body and yank him from the warmth. Jack’s head jerks back and
he accidently farts.

Bloody
hell!

Dennis
trembles, spluttering, “Urr ye al richt? Urr ye al richt?”

Yeah,
I’m all bleedin’ reet,
Jack
wants to shout, but grins instead.

“Cripes,”
I’m ne’er aff tae mak’ it as a bebysitter, am ah?
It’s hard wirk,
‘
n’
ah tak’ mah hat aff tae
mothers. There’s juist bin anither addition tae yer family,
Jack. Ye’v git a bonny wee sister.”
Jack feels the blood drain from his face. It is the news he is
dreading. He’d typed in Megan’s birthday - 4
^th
December 1984.

Dennis
pats him dry. “Mah guid wife’ll be hame soon tae tak’
ower, then she’ll tak’ ye in tae see ye new wee sister.
Her name is Julia.”

Julia?
Things didn’t add up.

What
if she is my sister, the one who died from cot death? But why would
Mum travel all the way to the South Island to have the baby? And why
did they rename her Danielle?

Within
a few minutes a girl walks into the room. Jack cannot believe his
eyes. He hears Dennis talking to a lady at the door, thanking her
for looking after Katy. Jack knows who she is - the girl in the
photo.

My
God!
he thinks.
This girl must be five or six now, and in a few years’ time,
she won’t even be alive.
Jack
feels sick to his stomach, moved to tears. Here he is in front of a
girl that has the most beautiful green eyes and honey blonde hair.
Her smile is just like Megan’s. He knows she’s not Megan
though because Megan was born today.

Yet
she looks so much like her!

Katy
appears shy, but shows concern when she sees Jack’s tears.
“What’s the matter?” she asks sweetly.

Jack’s
heart lurches again, and wants to wrap his arms around this
beautiful, innocent girl who doesn’t know her fate in six
years’ time.

“I
miss my mummy,” he manages to say instead.

“I
miss my mummy too!” Katy says, screwing up her face and
starting to cry. Dennis strides back into the room. “What’s
a’ this aboot then? Katy, that’s nae a guid example o’
making yer cousin feel at hame,” he scolds kind-heartedly.

“I
want my mum to come home,” she sniffles.

“She’ll
be hame in a few days,” he assures her. “She’s
helping Aunt Nancy at th’ hospital. Ye’v git a new
lassie cousin - Julia.”

“Don’t
wanna go back to Mrs Maxwell’s house,” Katy retorts.

“Ye’ll
be at schuil th’morra, young lassie, ye’r a schuil lassie
noo, remember?
‘N
’
it’s ainlie fur a couple o’ hours efter schuil. Ye kin
plooter Mrs Maxwell’s wee bairn. Aunt Barbara wull be at hame
th’ day efter tae pick ye up efter schuil. Then she’ll
be taking ye
‘
n’
Jack in tae see Jack’s new wee sister. Ye kin see yer mother
tae. Jack haes git tae go back hame soon sae ye better mak’
th’ maist o’ his company. Why don’t ye go
‘
n’
shaw him yer birthday presents?” Dennis suggests, patting her
back.

While
Dennis speaks to Katy, Jack observes his facial expressions.
Although he isn’t sure, it seems like his uncle is not
divulging the full picture.

Nah,
Jack reckons, thinking he
must be turning into the biggest cynic.
Yet
,
he thinks,
things just don
’t
add
up.

The
clock on the wall ticked over to 5.45 p.m.

Oh
help!
Jack realises he only
has fifteen minutes to figure everything out, and also to enjoy the
company of his cousin whom he thinks he probably won’t ever see
again. He helps her lift her presents down. From her recently
celebrated fifth birthday she shows Jack her new doll’s house,
its furniture in miniature form. Katy tells him she still has more
furniture in the shoebox, and asks if he would like to help her set
it out in the doll’s house.