The Prize of Dysprosium

Chapter XVII: Sabaism (n. The Worship of Stars)

I don't know exactly what happens after that. I know I punch something and begin coughing, and I know I slam the door to the computer room behind me without even clicking out of the database which is tremendously stupid, just as the school bell rings. I weave around pre-teens as they mill around in the hallway, desperate to get out of here. Many of these kids are doomed, many of them will have tests which will show dangerous markers or worthless skills and end up just like me. And they're still happy and laughing and complaining about class and homework and I can't take it. I think I push one of them out of my way and only give a faint "sorry" as I run outside into the fresh air. I want to scream at somebody, but my legs find their own way around cobble stone streets, past silly people deemed benign by a stupid test. I fall over a curb somewhere and somebody asks me if I'm alright, but I ignore them. Somehow, I make it to the market square by total luck, but it's obvious this is the place Hera talked about. There are flea markets with tents and parasols for the setting sun lined up all through the pedestrian street, food trucks and stands selling pretty homemade dolls and other knick-knacks nobody really cares about. My breath is ragged to my own ears and I get a few funny looks, probably because I look like a psychopath on medication in the middle of a panic attack – I sure feel like it. I have no idea how to breathe properly and there's this tightening in my chest, much like when I was on my drug withdrawal, which makes me certain I'm going to die.

And then I notice a red building with the number eleven in brass on the front. It takes me forever to locate P. Saito which has to be Paula the medic friend between the door phone names, and when I finally do I press it long and hard and multiple times. A slightly annoyed female voice with a heavy accent, apparent even through the scratchy connection, answers.

"Who is this?" it says.

"I need to talk to Anton," I all but yell into the door. There is a moment's pause.
"There's no Anton here," it says. "You have the wrong apartment."

"Please," I say. "Tell him it's Noah."

There is another, way too long silence which drags on for forever, but then the door buzzes and I crash into it and stumble into the foyer, leaving the sunny market square behind. I scramble upward and fall several times on the steps until I reach the floor where a petite Japanese woman with raven-black hair the length of her jaw and heavy dark eye-makeup. She looks about ready to head out with her hat and her purse and shoes. Behind her, I can see Anton peeking out behind his glasses, his auburn hair as floppy and messy as always. He's wearing a long-sleeved shirt which is hanging on him and baggy jeans two sizes too big.

"Yes, it's him," Anton says and Paula takes a second look at me. Then snorts, packs a gun into her purse and steps aside for me to enter. I rush inside and fling myself at Anton who stumbles back a step as his arms go around me.

"Don't ruin anything," Paula says and then I hear the door close behind her with a loud slam.

"Noah," Anton says and pulls my arms away from him so he can hold me out to look at me. I feel big fat hot tears roll down my cheeks, drowning my taste buds in salt and water. I shake my head and begin gasping for air, which only makes Anton's eyes grow even more worried. "What happened?"

"Your mother," I gasp, "Where is she?"

"My mum?" he asks perplexed and takes my hand which I only now realize is bleeding from whatever I hit in the school. "She's in a meeting with somebody who wants her to publicly talk about her time in the White House, Noah what's going on?"

"I can't breathe," I quack and grab at my jacket to tear it off and fling it into a vase with flowers which wobbles and falls on the floor, smashing to a thousand pieces. Then I kick the table it was standing on out of good measure.