The Disappearances: Prologue

Part One of The Tellurians Series

Prologue

“I’m not sure why you want to hear my story,” I said to the young woman sitting on the sofa across from me.

The twenty-something Tellurian named Abby Singer sat primly on my sofa, her hands and notepad in her lap, and her spine straight. At the other end of my coffee table, a cell phone attached to a tripod stood facing me. I was very much aware that it was recording me.

Who taught her to sit like that? I wondered as I waited for her to speak.

Abby wasn’t an Original or a First or Second Generation. She couldn’t be. There was no way one of the Tellurian leaders would be here alone. And there was no way in hell they’d let one of their precious children be among the humans unsupervised. She had to be a Hybrid or a Halfling to be allowed to come to Round River, but her behavior contradicted such a bloodline.

In many cases, hybrids and Halflings are treated as severely as humans, meaning they work as hard to keep New Tellus running. Factory and farm work doesn’t allow one time to work on posture or learn proper etiquette.

It wasn’t that way in the beginning. Still, once the originals and first generations started reproducing faster than their people thought possible, the hybrids and their children, halflings, were made second-class citizens despite having helped conquer our world.

The woman before me was a contradiction I couldn’t puzzle out.

Unless…

Unless something drastic was about to happen among the Tellurians.

My brain swam with the possibilities, and the scenarios sent shockwaves of fear through me. Nothing related to the Tellurians was ever good for us. Us being Humans.

When Abby had knocked on my door fifteen minutes earlier and introduced herself, I knew she wasn’t human. She looked human, but I’d spent enough time around Tellurians to know one when I saw one. Her appearance on my porch shocked me so much that I stumbled backward a few steps. My movements caused her to reach for me as if to catch me instinctively.

I was an old woman, a fact that made most people watch my every move as if I was seconds away from falling and breaking a hip. If any other person had reached for me, I’d have accepted their help, but my past with her kind had me cringing away from her outstretched hand. I gripped the door handle harder instead to keep myself upright. My actions let her know I knew she was Tellurian, the knowledge of which I’d wish I’d been able to keep to myself until I heard her story.

“I’m sorry,” Abby had said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, but your people don’t usually knock on our doors, so pardon me for being a bit startled.”

“Again, I’m sorry,” she said. “I probably should’ve sent a letter before arriving at your doorstep.”

Her downcast eyes told me she was sincere. That scared me more than her appearance had.

No Tellurian would apologize to a human…ever.

“It’s all right,” I said to stop myself from screaming, ‘What are you doing here? What do you want with me?’

At my words, Abby raised her head and smiled at me.

It wasn’t a cruel or arrogant smile, but one that said her apology was sincere. The girl terrified me with her every word and gesture.

I gripped my door handle more and leaned forward to see the full extent of my porch, yard, and street. I scanned my yard multiple times, looking for her entourage. No one else was out there.

Abby was alone.

That wasn’t possible.

There had to be an army of them hiding in my neighborhood.

There just had to be.

The Tellurians never came to Round River alone. More precisely, they didn’t come to my house without at least a dozen guards.

They last came to “check on me” ten years ago.

As the years passed and I didn’t hear from them, I figured they’d finally decided I’d grown too old and feeble to cause trouble for them anymore. That showed how little knowledge they had of me and my people. After all these years, you’d think they’d learned not to underestimate us.

“Mrs. Green,” Abby said, trying to get my attention. Mrs. Green, is everything all right?”

“Huh? Oh. No. I mean, yes. Or, well, I don’t know. Where is your escort? Are my neighbors being held as captives by your people while you’re here? If they are, you can go. I didn’t ask you to come.”

“I know you didn’t. I came on my own, and I came alone. Your neighbors are fine as far as I know.”

“I don’t believe you. The last time a Tellurian showed up on my doorstep, there was a parade of them parked on my street,” I said, exaggerating. “They were armed and pointing their weapons at my friends and family.”

Abby knew all about that day and knew I was embellishing the situation, but she didn’t correct me.

“I’m alone,” the young woman said with an embarrassed grin.

She had also understood my unspoken question.

“I don’t believe you,” I said, shaking my head. “An Original would never let one of their young into Round River alone.”

“Not normally, no. And, yes, I’m technically a child of an Original,” Abby said, not sounding proud of her lineage. “One of my mothers is from Tellus, but the mother who gave birth to me is a Hybrid, and the sperm used to create me was from a human male. Therefore, I’m seen as more human than Tellurian...a halfling is what we’re called, as I’m sure you know. Luckily, having an Original for a second mother helps with my status among my people, but only in certain situations.”

I nodded as I ran over her words to ensure I understood her parentage correctly.

“Still, your status would’ve prevented you from being here at all, let alone unguarded,” I said, unable to believe no one had come with her.

“Things have changed,” Abby said. “Well, for some of us, and certain situations like this one, they have. Don’t get me wrong, I was as surprised as you when I requested this assignment, and my department head told me I’d be coming alone. I’m not worried or scared, however. I know your people wouldn’t attack me for no reason, and I’ve come unarmed.”

I felt deep in my bones that Abby was lying, but I decided not to call her out on it. If she wasn’t here to hurt me, she had nothing to fear from my people or me.

“Why are you here?” I asked

“I want to interview you,” Abby said.

“Me? Why?” I asked, completely taken aback by her words.

She said, “You survived the transfer, or disappearance, as your people call it, and you fought against my people in the war over the planet, did you not?”

“I was. I wasn’t the only one—most of those left behind fought against your kind. So what?”

“I know they did, but you were one of the leaders who started the uprising against my people, weren’t you?” Abby asked.

“I was,” I said, not looking away from her as I spoke. I was too old to worry about what the Tellurians would do to me. “There aren’t many of us alive now who remember that time. Our numbers were low after the war and since….”

I didn’t have to tell Abby anything more. I’m sure her parents told her all about the nasty humans who wanted their world back. The Tellurians stopped them and forced many into hiding. They rounded up the rest and walled them off from the world where Tellurian guards could keep an eye on them, and they couldn’t cause any more trouble.

What the Tellurians hadn’t told her was that those of us behind the wall were left to starve or die from illnesses we would have been able to prevent if they hadn’t arrived or had at least let us scavenge beyond our prison ever so often.

Beyond our walls, there was an empty world we weren’t allowed to access. Sure, all the pre-disappearance food had spoiled by now, but the wild animals had to have flourished, meaning there was meat, just not where we could get it. Medicine had expired as well, but there was so much still out there we could use or that could teach us how to make what we needed, but those items and that knowledge were beyond our reach.

I kept those thoughts to myself, however. Not out of pity for the ignorant child before me but because I felt that saying anything was pointless. If she cared about our plight, there wasn’t anything she could or would do about it.

“We didn’t kill all of your people,” Abby said, sounding slightly defensive. “Our history books say we didn’t kill but a handful of people from Round River. Nearly all those you lost during the war were women who joined us and chose to make the change. Even now, your women choose us.”

I chuckled.

Abby gave me a quizzical look.

“Your people didn’t, and still don’t, give humans much of a choice but to make the change.”

“You haven’t.”

“Nope. I don’t plan on it. I didn’t back then, and I won’t now. Not that I can. I don’t blame those women who did. However, I can’t. If things had been different, I might’ve made the same choices they did. I wasn’t young when it happened. I was married, and I had a son. If I hadn’t had those things, I might’ve chosen a different path even before the battle.”

“Still, forty years is a long time to be alone.”

“I wasn’t alone.”

“You never had another child.”

“That doesn’t mean I was alone.”

Abby opened her notebook, scanned a page, and said, “That’s right. You remarried.”

“I did. Part of our agreement for us to cease attacking your compound in Iowa was that the Tellurians had to return those of our people who survived the transfer. More importantly, we wanted all the men who’d survived.”

“So, you could’ve had more children if you’d wanted?”

“Maybe. I wasn’t young, but I hadn’t gone through menopause. But I knew I didn’t want to have any more children after Tanner, and that was nearly twenty years before your people came. We discussed it when I met my second husband and quickly agreed that we would not.”

“Because you didn’t want your children growing up with ours?”

“As if that was ever going to happen,” I said, motioning down the street where you could barely see the wall surrounding our town.

Abby followed my direction and frowned.

“Anyway, that wasn’t why. We didn’t want children. I loved my son. Tanner was my world when my world was mine, but I hadn’t planned to have him and hadn’t wanted any more after him. That didn’t change when the world ended, and it didn’t change when I fell in love again. My husband also had children in the old world and didn’t want anymore either.”

“That amazes me.”

“I’m sure it does. Your race is all about procreation, and I understand why. I don’t like your methods, but I can empathize.”

“That didn’t stop you from trying to kill us.”

“No, it didn’t. Your people killed eight billion humans. I don’t know how they expected us to react any differently.”

The young woman nodded as if to concede the point.

That is how Abby and I ended up sitting across from each other in my living room. She had a notebook in one hand and her phone set up, ready for me to begin.

“Is the fact that I didn’t have any more children why you want to interview me?” I asked her when a full minute of silence fell between us.

“Yes and no. I’m attempting to compile the stories of everyone alive then—my kind and yours. Your story is just as important to our history as anyone else’s,” Abby said, smiling indulgently at me.

“I don’t think your kind wants to teach our side of things.”

“Not all of them do, no. However, some feel that what happened was a mistake we can learn from. To do so, we have to know the details.”

“I’m an old woman, and my memory isn’t great. Your people should’ve come to me sooner. It’s not like I was hard to find. My kind has been living here since the battle. We’re forbidden to leave, you know?”

“I do. I’m sure that’s been hard for you.”

“Not really,” I lied. “Humans surround me. If I want, I can pretend what happened didn’t until one of you shows up on my doorstep.”

“My people have done their best to leave you be.”

“They have. That’s been both a blessing and a curse. Still, if you wanted to know what happened, your kind would’ve come before now.”

“I…”

“Save it. I’m not stupid. You’re asking now because I’m old and will be dead soon. Eighty-five might’ve been nothing in the old world, but this one, it is a miracle.”

“Not for my people.”

“I’m not one of you, and I never will be. And your people don’t bother with us unless they have to. If we die of preventable or treatable diseases, so much the better.”

“We…”

“It won’t matter what I say,” I said, interrupting her. If your people tell you differently, you’ll believe them. Never mind that they send us a fraction of the antibiotics or ingredients we need to make our own. Never mind the fact that most babies only receive a fraction of the necessary vaccines because your kind doesn’t catch measles or polio. You don’t need them, so you don’t make them and don’t allow us to.”

“I…”

I raised my hand to silence her. She wanted to hear my story, and I was telling it. She could talk to someone else to argue over the finer details.

“I’ll tell my story. If you alter or embellish my story, no one will know. Or, well, my people will know, but that won’t matter, will it?”

“I have no intention of changing…”

“You will. Or, to be more accurate, your people will. They won’t be able to help themselves. Hell, I might add to it to make it more interesting. There aren’t many people around who could argue with me.”

“How will I get the truth if you do that?”

“Honey, you’ll never know the truth. The victors write history. Your people won. My half of the story won’t make it into your history books, but I’ll tell it anyway.”

“If you don’t think my people will share your truth with our people, why tell it?”

“I don’t have anything better to do. So, get comfortable. My story of those early days isn’t very action-packed. But if you want to hear what happened to me, so be it. I’ll tell it,” I said before drinking water.

Abby mimicked me.

“I was in my mid-forties when everyone on the planet disappeared in a literal blink of an eye.”