The 46. Ascending Collection: Books 1 -3

By S. R. Cronin

Would you like to take an extraordinary journey? Come follow along as three family members discover superpowers so real, you’ll feel as if you are developing them, too.

One of One: Lola has ignored the disturbing phenomenon in her mind for decades, but when a freak accident forges a telepathic link with a desperate woman, she must overlook the differences between them and overcome her own fears. Otherwise, a fanatic killer will do anything to alter his nation's future.

Shape of Secrets: Zane can look like anyone, if he has the right clothes and a wig. He doesn’t expect to need this talent when he starts a job at Penthes Pharmaceuticals, but soon he’s drawn into a world of corporate secrets and dangerous knowledge. On a sales trip in the South Pacific, an unsolved murder intertwines with the issues from home as hidden truths threaten to destroy lives half a world away.

Twists of Time: Alex could once bend time. When his code-cracking skills draw him into a treasure hunt for relics containing directions to a big discovery, Alex races with the clock to beat another team of treasure seekers. Just when his hands are full, the administration at the high school where he teaches wants to resume its connection with organized hate groups. He can’t sit by while this happens. As both of situations grow more dire, Alex realizes he must tap into the abilities he left behind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S. R. Cronin
• Release date: Jun 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781941283936

S. R. Cronin

Hi. I’m Sherrie Cronin, the author of a collection of six speculative fiction novels known as 46. Ascending. I’m now in the process of publishing a historical fantasy series called The War Stories of the Seven Troublesome Sisters. A quick look at the synopses of my books makes it obvious I’m fascinated by people achieving the astonishing by developing abilities they barely knew they had.I’ve made a lot of stops along the way to writing these novels. I’ve lived in seven cities, visited forty-six countries, and worked as a waitress, technical writer, and geophysicist. Now I answer a hot-line. Along the way, I’ve lost several cats but acquired a husband who still loves me and three kids who’ve grown up just fine, both despite how odd I am.All my life I’ve wanted to either tell these kinds of stories or be Chief Science Officer on the Starship Enterprise. These days I live and write in the mountains of Western North Carolina, where I admit I occasionally check my phone for a message from Captain Picard, just in case.Learn about the new series at https://troublesome7sisters.xyz/.

Book preview

Map

Warp and Weft

1. A Start

2. A Promise

Face Painting for World Peace

3. Nervous

4. A Cool Breeze

5. Passing Strangers

6. Nigeria

7. A Gift of Friendship

8. Getting Over It

9. Someone Who Understands

x⁰

10. Deep Red

11. Questions and Answers

12. Clearer Vision

13. Ready

14. Through Another’s Eyes

15. Doubling the Power

16. Survival

x⁰ Equals One

17. How Many Humans?

18. Fully Informed Choice

19. Nigeria Again

20. Takeoff

21. Landing

22. Okay in the End

Tapestry

23. Loose Threads

24. Woven

Dedication

This story is dedicated to my father,

who loved and encouraged his two daughters

with all his heart.

Driving with him across Western Kansas

while talking about science fiction

is my best childhood memory

and was my first inspiration to write a novel.

One of One is also dedicated

to my Nigerian coworkers and friends,

with thanks for showing me every day

how the ways we are all alike

are so much bigger

than the ways we are different.

Map of Locations in this Story

Warp and Weft

1. A Start

February 1986

Who was making the noises? Soft random gurgles wafted through her mind as she fell asleep. Intriguing. She tried to duplicate the sound. No, it was higher in pitch. Another began, softer and lower. She tried mimicking it.

What the hell am I doing?

Lola pushed herself up against the pillows and looked down at her giant belly. As her mind cleared, she realized her stomach was producing the gurgling noises in a syncopated rhythm with her husband's soft snoring. She gave her mid-section a rub through the sheet. Just a few more days and you'll have lots of room again, she promised it.

Then she realized she'd asked the wrong question. It didn't matter who was making the noises. What mattered was who had been listening to them.

She eyed her belly. There had been something so innocent in her fascination with the simple sounds. Had she somehow picked-up on her baby's thoughts?

You're a scientist. You know damn well that's impossible.

Lola took a few slow breaths, promising she'd figure this out in the morning. After a while, the rhythm of the revolving blades on the ceiling fan combined with fatigue to ease her back into a restless sleep.

She woke up early, eager to get the day done. Her husband was already out the door, leaving a note saying he would check in by phone later, and to call him if anything, anything at all, started to happen. She smiled. It would have been nice to linger over his stark handwriting, savoring the sense of confidence it somehow conveyed. However, being late to work today was not an option.

She reached for the large wine-colored jumper, laid out as something special to wear for her presentation. She loved the intense red of it, and thought it brought out the reddish highlights in her brown hair, which was about the only part of her which still looked good right now. She had paired it with a conservative white blouse, but she sighed as she picked it up. No. It was too intense. She turned to the meager supply of big enough clothes left in her closet and settled on the navy pinstripe jumper. Again.

As she brushed on blush, she caught her eye in the mirror. "So, deep down you do believe in telepathy, huh?" she asked it. The iris widened at the question.

Yeah. Right. No time to argue metaphysics this morning. We have an offshore oil prospect to sell to upper management. We're going to show we're one fine geophysicist no matter how pregnant we are. I am. Why do I always talk to myself like there are more of me? … Get a grip, Lola. Go act like a scientist.

She pulled on the barely adequate maternity pantyhose with a brusque efficiency, stuck her swollen feet into her lowest navy heels and achieved something between an uncomfortable waddle and a confident stride as she headed out the door.

When she arrived at work, the office was lively with the expectation of upper management's arrival from Houston. Upper. Like they would drift in on clouds. Lola chuckled at the image. People often told her she didn't have a sense of humor, but they were the people who told jokes Lola didn't find funny. She had no trouble coming up with jokes of her own that made her laugh.

The aroma of fresh pastries in the conference room mixed with the smell of printing fluid from the drafted maps. It looked like her boss Chuck was on his third donut, his bulging waistline attesting to his habit of eating when nervous.

Zeitman, you're not gonna pop that baby out in the middle of our big presentation, are you?

She opened her mouth but before she could answer, he went on.

Oh God. Not the blue pinstripe jumper again, too. Zeitman, we're gonna take up a collection and buy you some new clothes. Wait. You don't need new clothes. Or maybe you do. You gonna be pregnant forever?

She picked up her roll of maps, gave Chuck a half-smile reward for his attempts to make her laugh, and headed to her office.

If I'm turning into a telepath, I'm in deep trouble. Imagine listening non-stop to the nonsense in this guy's head.

******

Chuck watched Lola walk to her office with a sense of amazement. He admired the hell out of her, though he would never have said so. Other women he knew spent their ninth month of pregnancy on their couch, yet Lola had shown up to work every day. True, her normally unruly hair had gotten wilder and her wardrobe had diminished, but otherwise she looked professional, worked hard, and asked for nothing special. Hell, she'd even been willing to take her rotation offshore, before the safety guys informed him there was no way he was sending a pregnant employee out to a drilling platform.

Which was fine. He'd enjoyed watching Lola as she approached her due date because he liked meeting people who exceeded his expectations. He'd been the one who'd gone to bat for this female geek at the start, agreeing to add her to his team. He'd even recommended the company offer her the same salary as the guys, although he'd been warned against doing so because she'd get pregnant and he'd lose productivity.

No, Chuck thought, he didn't regret his decision a bit. Hell, she even smiled at his dumb jokes, which was more than she did for a lot of the other guys.

******

When Lola's turn came to present, she walked to the front of the room and smiled. The president of the company, an older man with a great deal of charisma, sat in the center seat. He was flanked by the two most important senior executive vice presidents, both seated close enough to lean in and whisper sage advice as required. Other assorted VPs, directors and managers had established themselves in approximate order of importance on either side of the trio, with the occasional overly aggressive or politically naive manager seated above or below his station. Lola's boss and his counterparts sat at one end. Chuck looked like he needed another donut. Chuck's boss cleared his throat.

Our fourth prospect today will be presented by Lola Zeitman. She got her master's degree eighteen months ago from UT, and has done a great job mapping in the West Cameron area. That is despite a little, uh, inconvenient medical situation which we hear can be remedied.

There was assorted laughter.

Please gentlemen, do not say anything to upset her. We do not want to deliver a baby here in this room today!

Slightly louder and more boisterous laughter followed.

No, no, no, the president surprised his entourage by throwing up his manicured hands in mock agitation. He was in a good mood today.

"Say anything you want, gentlemen. Talking is not the activity that sets off labor with a very pregnant woman. He chuckled knowingly. Trust me, I know what really sets labor off."

The laughter spread and took on a more knowing tone, first from those who understood, then from those who didn't. Lola, knowing exactly what activity he was referring to, was aware that any response from her would be unwelcome. She waited for the noise to die down before she spoke.

I'm here today to recommend we make a substantial bid on a block in southern West Cameron, she began, standing as tall as she could. The map behind me shows a faulted four-way structural trap with sizable potential.

Her delivery was professional, courteous, and calm. She knew few scientists could read a room as well as she did, knowing instinctively what information to push or when to step back. That sense of knowing what people were feeling was one of her best assets, and this was a time to rely on it.

She finished feeling proud of her presentation, although bothered by its boisterous preamble. She couldn't quite put her finger on why. No offense had been meant and she would never expect Chuck, or anyone above him, to interfere with any good cheer upper management exhibited. But somehow, it seemed smarmy, like she was the butt of a mildly dirty joke she had been forced to listen to without being permitted to respond. Wait. There was no like. That's exactly what had happened.

The geoscientists who had made their presentations were gathering in the break room, kidding around, giddy with the relief of being done.

Hey. Lola. Another young geophysicist greeted her as she joined them, welcoming her into the circle of laughter. What do you call it when a school bus in New Orleans filled with little black kids drives off a bridge into Lake Ponchartrain?

Lola was confused by the question. Was this a tragedy off the news? Surely not a joke. I don't know. What do you call it?

It's a start, the young man chortled. At Lola's blank face, he tried harder. Get it? Lola, it's a start.

Lola was so shocked she didn't know what to say. The first thing that came out of her mouth was So what do you call it if a bus full of white kids goes off a bridge into Lake Ponchartrain?

The whole break room looked at Lola. Unspoken office rules were if someone told a joke, you laughed. If it was a bad joke or it offended you, you only laughed politely and then you were free to complain to others about it later in private. Folks worked long hours together and public confrontations were unacceptable. Lola sensed she was inching across a line. She tried to soften it without backing off.

So what do you think a group of black people call it if a bus full of white kids goes off a bridge into Lake Ponchartrain? she rephrased her question.

He looked back at her as if she had just grown three turquoise heads. I guess they'd call it a start too, he said with a shrug as everyone in the room started talking about anything else.

Once no one was looking at her, Lola went back to her office. She was annoyed with herself for not having confronted the man more directly. What was wrong with her? She loathed this kind of racism toward any group, and she'd been surprised to hear it from one of her coworkers. On the other hand, she knew even her meek response would have ramifications.

She sat at her desk for a minute, reliving the odd experience of the previous night. She had to have imagined it. Good thing, too, as she'd just gotten a great example of the sort of shit she'd hear all day long if she could read minds. What a horrible way to live.

She looked at her watch. Close enough to quitting time. She picked up her purse, and left without saying a word to anyone.

Alex was waiting for her at their rental house, stretched out on the well-worn couch. His soft blue eyes checked her for damage, his long arms stretched out to hug her. He was a tall man, and already stocky at twenty-eight. Although he was always trying to lose weight, she liked him the way he was. He felt solid, like no matter how hard the winds of her own emotions blew she could hang on to him and it would all be okay. She let herself be engulfed by his arms, enjoying his freckled skin, and the soft sandy hair on his arms that matched his dark blond head.

How is my favorite geophysicist doing? His hug pushed away the strange feelings swimming inside as she let herself be held. Then she had an idea, one she could not begin to justify to herself, much less to him.

I'm ready to have this baby now, she said.

Hey, me too. My back's been killing me since your fifth month, remember?

Do you recall learning about how oxytocin sets off labor? You know, a woman releases it when she breastfeeds and when, well, you know …

Yes, I listened during Lamaze classes. At least during any part that used the word 'orgasm.'

So, she began. She let her hand continue the thought.

Hey, wait a minute. Easy girl. Not that I want to discourage this sort of behavior, but I'm not sure this is a good idea right now. I'm not even sure it's a possible idea. It's been at least three weeks … and geez dear, no offense, but you've gotten huge since then.

Alex stopped. It did not take a genius to see his comment was not being received in the concerned fashion he'd intended. She was tired. Uncomfortable. Overwrought from the presentation and on a hormonal trapeze. He was willing to bet the house she was about to cry.

So he did the only sensible thing he could think of, which of course led to the next thing and the next and of course it was possible. What was he thinking? It was always possible.

Four hours later, after a pleasant afterglow nap during which Lola seemed particularly pleased with herself, they left for the hospital.

Twenty hours later they were in the birthing room, and Zane Alphonse Zeitman was born. He was a pretty baby, and his mother and father eyed him with the wonder of first time parents. Lola held his face close to her breast for the first time. What the hell do I think I am doing? I have no idea.

Then Zane latched on with an instinct possessed by every newborn mammal on earth, and Lola muttered to herself, okay … that's it. We’re one fine mother-child team here, no matter how good a scientist we are. I am. Good grief. Get a grip Lola. Relax and act like a mama. And she did.

Giving birth is followed by mind-numbing exhaustion, so for the next few weeks Lola gave no thought to the odd experience with the noises in her belly. By the time she finally remembered it, she wasn't even sure it had happened.

Raising a child is hard work, and it gets harder when there are more children, no matter what anyone says. Over the next few years, there were more.

Holding down a job seldom creates a situation conducive to reflective thought. Ask anyone with a job about that. Being a caring spouse takes time, particularly when time is in short supply. Hell, sometimes just getting out of bed in the morning and managing a bit of occasional compassion along with basic hygiene and on-time bill paying can pretty much fill up one's head.

So, Lola stopped wondering about hearing anyone else's thoughts in her brain. For the next two decades, she was busy. Besides, there was never a reason for it to come up.

Not until twenty-three years later, when the memory would come storming back and demand to be recognized.

2. A Promise

February 1993

For all the hardship in his youth, Ikenna knew he was a fortunate man. Or at least he had been one until fourteen days ago.

In two weeks, you'll have a little brother, he had told his five-year old daughter. With her cheerful nature and her mother's large eyes and direct gaze, his little girl was a source of pride to him. She would do well in life, possibly run a small business or be a leader in the women's community. She would likely bring a high bride price as well.

Yes papa.

Remember what your name means, Somadina.

I know, papa. May I never be alone. Soon I won't be. I'll have a little brother, and I'll help mama take care of him.

Ikenna smiled at his daughter's sharp mind, as he often did. She understood so much for one so young. Although this second child, this soon-to-be-born son, meant the world to him, he loved Somadina, almost as much as he cherished his wife.

His feelings for Amaka were unusual in a society where marriages were often a practical arrangement. Taking a second wife had been expected when Amaka produced a girl child for him as his first born and then failed to get pregnant again for a while. But no, he'd ignored his own father's vehement wishes and professed his love for only Amaka, assuring all that a fine son would be produced in due time.

Once the second pregnancy began, Amaka glowed with a health that fortified his belief a son was on the way, as it should be to reward him for his love. It would be a strong, smart and capable son, to make up for the sad loss of Ikenna's only two brothers many years ago. Then Ikenna's father would no longer have to watch his lineage wither on the vine. He would no longer be frustrated with his only surviving son, this immature child who had been too slow to marry and who had then compounded the situation by falling so deeply in love with one woman that he would not even try to make sons with another.

Then, fourteen days ago, Amaka had asked something of him. The midwife in their village was not as good as in many others. It was a skill to bring life into this world, and the woman had little modern training. Amaka wished to go back to her own hometown, where her village had an up-to-date maternity center and the women who handled such things were Amaka's own relations and were well known for their abilities.

It was a reasonable request, and he should have said yes, but he didn't. He wanted to have his son born here, on his father's compound, so he could see his father's face when the old man was given the news. He had put his wife and unborn son at risk for a personal moment of satisfaction.

So, of course, Ikenna's son was having a problem being born. The midwife said that in his haste to come into the world and greet his father and grandfather, the son had entered the birth canal wrong. Beautiful Amaka had been in labor far too long.

Ikenna spat in disgust. It was hard for him to ignore the old Igbo discomfort with problems involved in giving birth. He reminded himself it was not Amaka's fault. He had failed her, and he no longer deserved his good fortune.

******

The screams were the worst part for five-year-old Somadina, because she knew it was her mother's voice, and she could feel the pain behind the cries and the fear of those who were trying to help.

As the women came and went from the tiny house, Somadina could sense their growing hopelessness in the way she could sense so many things the grown-ups thought she could not. As was her way, she kept what she knew to herself.

******

The women attending to Amaka were beside themselves. The midwife was inexperienced, having taken the business over from her own prematurely deceased mother. She had struggled with every difficult birth she'd attended to, and this baby was butt first, considered an abomination by the superstitious. Amaka had been pushing for hours without success and gentle attempts to move the baby had yielded nothing but more intense screams. The women knew neither mother nor child were likely to survive. What to do? What to do?

One of the younger assistants came back with more hot water. You know the Hausa woman nobody likes? she whispered. The midwife nodded. Everyone knew the Hausa woman, who almost never came out of her home. She left her house to call to me. She's heard the screaming and feels sorry for Amaka. Her sister is a midwife! She says they have a remedy for this and she wants to talk to you.

Will she come here?

I don't think so. But go to her quick and I will watch Amaka. The midwife ran.

******

Ikenna looked up from his grief. The stupid inexperienced midwife was standing in front of him and she looked happy. Ikenna jumped up. My son?!

Not yet, she said. But I have a solution. It is something the Hausa do, called a gishiri cut. If we do it the boy should be born, but there is risk to Amaka, and to her ability to bear more children later.

Ikenna said nothing.

We will certainly lose them both if we don't try this, she added. With your permission?

Ikenna sighed. Really, what choice did he have?

It was nearly half an hour later when Ikenna watched the midwife come toward him with fear in her eyes. She held a bundled crying child. This was most unusual.

Amaka? he asked.

She only stared at him, dazed, and Ikenna knew. He stood motionless for a few seconds. Though he was a modern man, it was hard for him to suppress the sense of shame the Igbo associated with death in childbirth. He swallowed with a dry mouth and focused on his affection for Amaka. That is what mattered. How would she want him to greet his child?

He turned to the baby and said the best he could. You must be a special son, to have cost me so much. Then he saw the look in the midwife's eyes and he knew the rest of the story.

As deep disappointment sank in, the pity in the woman's eyes began to offend him in a way he couldn't explain. His anger started as small ripples, but before he could stop them the little undulations had grown into waves of rage. He yelled to the midwife.

Get. Out. Of. Here.

The young woman stood horrified.

Do you understand me?

The midwife opened her mouth to speak but Ikenna cut her short.

No, you do not speak to me. Not now. Not at any time in the future. Do not ever even look at me. Do not even breathe in my presence.

The woman froze. Ikenna knew his fury was unreasonable but he was unable to stop it. If he were not careful, he would hurt the midwife and he knew that would accomplish nothing. He took a few ragged breaths and turned away so he could think. His breathing became more normal. His mouth once again had saliva.

He reminded himself that the midwife was only stupid. She couldn't be blamed for that. His problem was he now had this baby girl who had taken from him what he loved most. He could ask that this child go live with her mother's kin. It would be acceptable under the circumstances and was tempting. But, wait. There was little Somadina, pulling on his shirt.

Papa? Her wide eyes were full of questions.

Ikenna considered. She was the only piece of joy he had left in life. If the baby girl went, then Somadina would also be expected to live with her maternal aunts in another town, and he would seldom see her. If he insisted on keeping the girls close, Somadina would bring him comfort, and others could see to it the baby caused him a minimum of trouble.

That meant, of course, he needed a new wife. Make that two. And quickly. Any two fertile women would do.

He knew his father well enough to know that neither condolences nor congratulations would be forthcoming from the old man for today's events. If he set something matrimonial in motion now, he could share that news with his father the next time they spoke. It would make the encounter so much easier.

******

Somadina let go of her father's sleeve and waited. She knew her mother was gone, even if she had no idea where. She was saddened and scared by that knowledge, but at the moment she was focused on her father, who was right there but seemed to be gone as well. She could not think of words to describe his lack of presence, even to herself. But she knew she saw a door in her mind when she approached her papa, and the door was usually open wide. It meant he was happy to see her and play with her.

Every once in a while, she would see the door was only open a crack, and she would know he was busy or bothered, and she should leave him alone. She'd heard him say often how she was a wonderful child because she never asked for his attention when he had other matters to attend to. The comment baffled her. She wasn't doing anything unusual; she just checked his door before she spoke to him. Didn't everyone do that?

Now his door was shut tight like she had never seen it before, with locks and bolts and huge scary vines with giant thorns growing over it at a frightening speed. Baffled, she backed away.

******

Over the next few weeks Ikenna showed no interest in selecting a name for the new daughter and there was a good bit of consternation as the naming ceremony approached. One of his sisters suggested Nwanyibuife. Ikenna snorted a mirthless laugh, and agreed. For although the name translates literally as a female is worth something too, it was often used in an ironic sense by a disappointed father.

Causing even more consternation was Ikenna's lack of involvement in the well-being of the child. He showed no affection to the little girl. His youngest sister was making milk for both her own infant and her one-year-old, and she was willing to suckle Nwanyi while she was at it. Although Nwanyi received quick feedings from her tired and busy aunt, and was given cursory care by Ikenna's two new wives, she received remarkably little affection during her early life.

Except for her time with Somadina.

******

When Somadina listened to her little sister's cries, she cried too. She understood little Nwanyi was supposed to be a brother and was now in trouble because she had not been one. She understood the coming of the baby had made her mother sick and that was why her mother was gone. But Nwanyi was cute in a scrawny way and so helpless. Somadina wanted to hold and comfort her little sister, so she did what she could.

As for her father, she mostly avoided him after Nwanyi's birth. When he was not engulfed in his grief, Ikenna was preoccupied with his new wives, neither of whom seemed to have much use for Somadina. After the almost simultaneous arrival of not one but two baby half-brothers a little over a year after Nwanyi was born, Somadina barely saw her father at all.

Around that time, Somadina changed. She never again wanted to feel the pain, fear, and despair that had flooded her mind before and after her mother's death. Nwanyi's constant state of discomfort wore her down, and there were no adults to reassure her. As she withdrew, her ability to sense what others were thinking began to fade. Many noticed she had lost her eerie perceptiveness.

By her seventh birthday, she was an unusually independent little girl. She did her chores and excelled in the local grade school, but unlike the other children, she preferred to be alone.

As seven-year-old Somadina watched Nwanyi sleep, her sister often whimpered. One night Somadina brushed her sister's cheek to wake her from the bad dream, but Nwanyi just curled up tighter and whimpered more. Baffled, Somadina made a solemn promise to her two-year-old sister. When she, Somadina, was bigger, she would find ways to look out for Nwanyi and keep her safe. If Nwanyi ever needed her, she would even let all those feelings back in, just so she could be powerful enough to keep her vow.

After the promise ceremony, as she thought of it, Somadina felt better, even if the sleeping Nwanyi had no idea how serious Somadina had been.

Face Painting for World Peace

3. Nervous

January 2009

Who wouldn't be nervous? Lola eyed herself in the full-length mirror, hoping her floral print skirt and matching jacket weren't too colorful. She felt like a child headed off to her first day of school. It had been more than twenty-four years since she'd started a new job.

How do I look? she asked 13-year-old Teddie, her resident fashion expert and only child still living at home.

Hmmmm … not bad, mom. It is a little '90s. Try to calm the hair down. Here. Use my straightener.

I can't believe these things are safe, Lola said as she pulled Teddie's gizmo around her thick copper brown waves.

It was a shame most of her better clothes were from the '90s, when office fashion was more formal and Lola had flirted with life in middle management before returning to rank-and-file work. She knew that decision had doomed her to eventual lay off in a world where non-managers became overpaid compared to the youngsters with whom they could be replaced.

So today, she would start work as the sole geophysicist for a small start-up company in Houston whose best opportunity involved drilling rights on a land deal in the Niger Delta. Offshore Nigeria.

So how is my favorite geophysicist? At the end of day one, Alex met her with a hug as she entered the kitchen. The smells of sautéed onions and garlic added to the friendly hello. As a teacher, Alex got home before her, and it was the family's good fortune that he liked to cook. He hadn't said much about what she'd gone through the last few months—the surprise layoff last fall, her reluctant job search at forty-nine years old, the contacts at the old company too nervous to return her calls lest she be contagious. But she knew he knew, and both his culinary efforts and greeting tonight said it all.

Well, these guys have a drilling obligation and need me to work up a location by the end of March.

Sounds like fun.

The more interesting news is this company employs two Nigerian geologists. Right here in Houston. They have other Nigerians, too, and a little office in Lagos because they believe in being involved in the country where they do business. I think they are trying to be the good guys compared to big multinationals that come in and take all they can.

It's got to be nice to be working for the good guys? Relatively speaking, anyway?

Yeah, she said. It is. The folks I met today were great.

No one tried to get you to put forty million dollars into our bank account, did they?

Lola rolled her eyes. You know, I bet the average Nigerian is embarrassed by that scam. Don't you dare make that joke near my office. As she said it, Lola realized she was beginning to like her Nigerian co-workers already.

******

Ikenna was undecided, and it was an uncomfortable feeling. For the past fifteen years his life had been predictable and pleasant. There were times, of course, when he thought of his beautiful young love Amaka with sadness, but his two new wives had been fertile and friendly and gave him no cause for grief. He could not say he shared much of his heart or mind with either, but socially and physically they met his needs. Their friendship with each other was an added bonus, and the nine children produced between them were more than he deserved. He thanked God every day for the mercy of a second chance.

Now that he was older and more sensible, he regretted his emotional withdrawal in that dark time after Amaka's death. Heaven knows he'd tried over the years to regain the affection of his oldest daughter Somadina. But Somadina seemed to still blame him for his lack of fondness towards Nwanyi and his neglect of both girls as he wallowed in his grief. She'd never warmed to his new wives or to her half-siblings, or for that matter to anyone in the years after her mother died. In fact, she'd become something of a rarity for an Igbo girl—a person who preferred solitude.

It was why the acceptance of a marriage offer for her had been an easy decision. Because Somadina expressed no desire to be married, Ikenna had waited patiently until she was eighteen. When Azuka and his parents asked for her hand, Ikenna knew Azuka to be a reasonable young man, of a good traditional family, with skills he was learning from his own father on how to repair small devices and machinery. Those skills could one day help provide for Somadina and her children in a changing world.

The boy was only Somadina's age, young for marriage, but he seemed to like Somadina, and she at least did not object to him. She had no attraction to another that would interfere. At eighteen it had been time, so Ikenna agreed. Once her first child, a grandson, had arrived to the joy of all, he felt he'd done right by her and some of his guilt was eased. But not all.

That was what made this second decision so difficult. He'd never managed to feel much warmth for his second daughter Nwanyi, but he'd tried after the arrival of more children helped heal the throbbing gash in his heart. God himself must know Nwanyi hadn't been easy to love. She hadn't inherited her mother's warm nature or her beauty, growing instead into a short, scrawny girl without Somadina's intelligence or confidence. Nwanyi hung back nervously, all too obviously craving approval. It had been hard to find something he liked about the child.

Nonetheless, the guilt for his poor behavior persisted. He knew he would never be whole in Somadina's penetrating eyes until Nwanyi found some happiness. So, he sought another reasonable young man from a respected family to marry Nwanyi. It was understood this would require a significant reduction in the normal bride-price, a sacrifice he was willing to make under the circumstances. Once Nwanyi was a happy wife and mother, then all would be forgiven and Ikenna's self-respect would be fully restored.

Then, two weeks ago, an unexpected generous offer had come from a Yoruba man named Djimon. He was a serious man, a bit thinner and shorter than most, but well muscled, and his stature paired nicely with Nwanyi's own. His age, perhaps mid-thirties, had benefits and disadvantages. He was obviously well off, which was a plus, and well educated with an advanced degree in some fancy field Ikenna knew little about. However, there was prestige in the fact that he taught university classes in the subject.

Nwanyi would be a second wife. That could be good or bad. It would put less pressure on Nwanyi to perform household chores and produce multiple children, which might be better for Nwanyi's reticent nature. She would move to Lagos, to her husband's home in Western Nigeria, which would not sit well with Somadina, but would probably be a relief to everyone else, including, he had to admit, to himself.

Nwanyi, safely married, well cared for, and out of sight. With a huge bride price, as Djimon had insisted, given entirely to the father. Why was he hesitating?

For starters, the process was too rushed for Igbo tradition. Ikenna was not a stupid man and he knew when a situation might be too good to be true. Things about this unusual arrangement bothered him. What was the hurry? Why not take the time for a proper courtship?

These days, some of the bride price usually went to the bride, to give her a little independence, perhaps a means for education. Ikenna was well aware he had done poorly by not giving Nwanyi any formal schooling, leaving it to Somadina to educate her younger sister. Nwanyi could use a portion of the bride price to remedy this as an adult, but Djimon insisted in his household such would not be necessary.

Perhaps that was a cultural difference. Ikenna knew too little of this household. A typical Igbo father and mother would investigate the background of a suitor if it was not already known, and would turn down an offer in which the family exhibited qualities that caused them concern. But Ikenna had no real means with which to investigate this older stranger from a distance, and he had to admit the man's choice of Nwanyi was odd.

Ikenna decided, for the time being at least, to not decide. Rather, he would arrange a second meeting with Djimon to discuss his concerns. It was only right, for both Nwanyi and to honor Amaka's memory.

******

The first couple of weeks in the new office made Lola realize she knew almost nothing about Nigeria. In fact, she knew almost nothing about Africa.

The internet revealed there had been no such place as Nigeria until the British army arrived in 1861 to put a stop to the slave trade they had once started. Eventually, they took all the tribes within a region, including some that hated each other and some that didn't know and couldn't speak to each other and said, You're one country, and we're in charge of you.

Well, that sucked.

Lola looked across the hall at her coworkers. The two young Nigerian men, both experienced geologists, had easy smiles and helpful natures. If they were pissed about how their country got formed, they hid it well.

Lola. Staff meeting at one. The message was delivered in a walk-by from Bob, the older American engineer who was loosely in charge of the technical staff. Right. She closed the internet thinking, I’ve got a lot to learn.

******

Djimon seemed surprised by the request, but he agreed to come back to the Ebonyi region and meet at one of Ikenna's wives' houses for tea. He drove in on a Saturday morning during the clearing of the land for the year's yam crops. After exchanging pleasantries for a full cup and a half, Ikenna took a small breath and did his best to share with Djimon, father to father, his concerns.

The Yoruba man could not have been more understanding. Yes, of course, he had three children with his first wife and one was a daughter. What had he been thinking, expecting a good father like Ikenna to agree to a marriage so quickly and with such little information? He should have expected more questioning.

Djimon explained to Ikenna that his own mother was a Fulani woman from the north of Nigeria who moved southwest to marry a Yoruba man. Djimon believed himself to be gifted in every arena, and he credited his ample genetic advantages to the mixing of the blood from two such separate regions.

His own first wife was a local girl selected by his parents, and he'd respected them by accepting the wife. Now that he was older and had more resources, he wished to secure a bride from another corner of this fine nation, in hopes of producing sons, and yes, even daughters, as physically and mentally gifted as himself. The specific charms of the girl mattered not, as long as she came from a line of fertile, strong, smart people, which Djimon could tell was the case. He had been admiring all of the fine young children playing in front of the house since his arrival.

Ikenna nodded at that. Yes, indeed, there was a fine, strong group of youngsters in his yard. The wife who was bringing in more tea smiled in flattered agreement as well.

So she is perfect, Djimon said. She is young and healthy, not spoken for, and most importantly she brings excellent lineage. He paused, hoping for Ikenna's concurrence. When Ikenna stayed silent, he continued.

As I explained earlier, unlike in your culture, the idea of bringing her into my home to live for a while as a guest just isn't accepted, sensible though your custom is. He paused again.

I've become rather taken with the idea of marrying her, and if it would help to reassure you, I'm willing to increase the bride price. Say by twenty percent? I'll pay the full amount to you before the marriage.

Still silence. Unbelievable. An Igbo man who was hard to buy. Djimon hesitated, trying to figure out what possible remaining objection Ikenna could have.

Will you be good to her? the father finally asked.

Oh. Why yes. Of course. Very good to her. I promise.

With that, Ikenna was satisfied.

When Djimon left a bit later, after the necessary matrimonial arrangements were made, Ikenna turned to find the wife and share his relief that this marriage would take place after all. She was nowhere to be found. She had run over to her co-wife's house, bursting with news at the amazing, even-better bride price their brilliant husband had negotiated. The two women jumped and hugged with joy.

******

Somadina had heard through the other women, of course, but she had the manners to keep the information to herself as she served juice to her father the next day. She inquired after his health, his wives' health, and his children's health. He answered her. Then, as if an afterthought, he added, I have been thinking lately about Nwanyi's future. By unspoken agreement they never mentioned Nwanyi to each other, so Somadina was sure her father was going to give her the news.

She will be sixteen years old in less than a month, Somadina said.

Plenty old enough for marriage.

No, barely old enough, Somadina corrected. But a suitable suitor is not always easily found.

True. Sometimes a father must be more creative on behalf of his children.

True. Somadina offered it back, letting her father know she knew, and she would not fight him on this.

The stranger about which you have no doubt heard talk has given me his word he will treat your sister well. This yielded only a stony silence. Your sister is closer to you than anyone, closer than to her aunts or to my wives. I was hoping you would talk to her. Prepare her a little for what will happen. You know.

Yes, Somadina thought. I know. She assured her father she would be there in every way for Nwanyi. As always. Have you told her about the marriage yet?

No. Ikenna sighed. That is next.

Somadina worked hard during the day, caring for her small son and husband with diligence, if not with enthusiasm. She almost always fell asleep early, happy to stretch out on the giant double bed she shared with her husband and son. However, during the night Somadina's mind worked overtime while she slept, and she often had trouble staying asleep until morning.

That particular night, Somadina slept poorly. As was her way when she was worried, she became more restless as the sky took on the faint grey of first light. Dozing and waking, she kept thinking of the various horrible ways a marriage could go wrong for a shy woman who was far from her family and whose husband had been chosen too fast.

******

Lola kept readjusting her position in the comfortable king-sized bed she shared with Alex. She often had problems falling asleep, and she'd had more restless nights than usual over the past few months, mostly worrying about money. They'd been paying on their two older children's educations when she'd found herself unemployed and she needed to keep this new job, no matter what happened with the economy.

But tonight's restlessness was about more than money. Safety? The cat was quiet and so was the house. Alex was next to her and Teddie was asleep upstairs. She tried to hear any subtle noise sending her signals, but there was nothing.

Sometimes she worried about her mom, before she remembered. Right. No mom to worry about any more. So who? Well, there had been an odd conversation with her sister today.

She and Summer had been close growing up, in spite of their five-year age difference. Big sister Lola served as advisor to more mischief prone Summer. Lola smiled, remembering how at eight years old she had promised her little sister she would always protect her.

Then their lives had gone differently. Lola, in Houston, had gone straight from grad student to married woman and professional while Summer spent years more enjoying life, dating and partying. A decade ago she'd married a wealthy older man, moved to Denver, and embraced a life of entertaining and keeping herself attractive. Beneath the growing lifestyle rift, though, they still loved each other.

When they'd spoken today, Summer's normal effervescence had been too bubbly as she avoided questions. The more Lola thought about it, the more she knew something was wrong. Images of Summer's fluffy blond hair and Gregg's well-trimmed mustache floated through her mind as she tried to drift off to sleep. It was their images, right? Gregg was a friendly man, but he looked harsher than she'd ever seen him. Summer had always been a confident beauty; why did she look so hesitant? It was like Lola was seeing them but seeing another couple as well. How was that even possible?

******

It had not been easy to find the perfect Igbo woman for his needs. Djimon required a girl with no close ties to parents, one whose family would find it expedient to send a daughter elsewhere and ultimately lose track of her. In other parts of the world an unwanted pregnancy would suffice, but among the children-loving Southeastern Nigerians there was no such thing. So Djimon had sought an Igbo daughter who was not wanted to begin with.

Word travels. He had found Nwanyi and she was perfect.

Money and flattery had won over the old man, though it had taken more of both than expected. Now, he had to get through the engagement ceremony where he would be on display to the whole village. It was bad enough he was an unknown stranger with no family attending. Suspicious behavior on his part could still void the arrangement.

His greatest danger was someone noticing his lack of interest in the girl. No, more accurately, his repulsion to her. For the biggest lie he told Ikenna was that he believed the mixing of genes produced advantages. Djimon opposed such unions on many levels, and was hoping he could count on the repulsion he felt towards the unrefined-looking southern Nigerian woman's features to keep him from losing control and planting his seed within this new bride.

On the selected night, he arrived at her father's house in his best clothing, and knelt before her father. He and Ikenna had agreed to honor each other's customs, while improvising to accommodate the particulars of the situation and to move things along.

Ikenna sat with his two wives, his two oldest sons, his two sisters who had helped raise Nwanyi, and Nwanyi's older sister. All were smiling, except for the older sister who eyed him with suspicion. Okay. That was the one with whom he needed to take special care. Everyone else was all for this marriage and would see what they wanted to see.

At the father's gesture to rise, he stood, opened his handwritten letter of proposal and read aloud his desire to marry Nwanyi. He thought he gave it a good read, but big sister's eyes stayed puzzled.

Nwanyi was brought from the kitchen to be presented to him. He'd asked she be veiled, as was the custom of his people, and that no alcoholic wine be drunk, though he knew many a Nigerian Muslim would forego the prohibition against alcohol for such an occasion. He thought the veil and the lack of inhibition-reducing liquor would work in his favor. In the spirit of give and take, he'd agreed to present the father with the traditional kola nuts, which he did now with a flourish.

When Nwanyi nodded her consent with her face still covered, Djimon had no idea whether it was with eagerness or reluctance, nor did he much care. Ikenna voiced consent on behalf of the rest of the family and Djimon produced an envelope with cash which was basically a gift from the groom to compensate Ikenna for the great expenses he must have incurred to raise such a magnificent daughter.

Food appeared and tables began to fill and overflow as neighbors arrived and additional kin showed up. The strong smell of pepper soup mixed with the aroma of fried plantain and cooked goat. Djimon helped himself to the jollof rice, savoring the thick tomato taste while he watched a particularly large man fashion a helping of white pounded yam into an eating utensil which he used to scoop up the hearty greens-laden fish soup.

Wine was poured, albeit somewhat discretely, in spite of Djimon's request. It annoyed him; he did not like having his wishes disregarded. He forced himself to bury his irritation deep, reminding himself this was all a charade anyway. What was one more piece of play-acting in the grand scheme? Nwanyi's more astute relatives noticed his disapproval and his tactful decision to ignore the wine, and it bought Djimon a small measure of respect in their eyes.

As the evening progressed, Djimon was greeted by the guests. He assured all that he could not wait to return for the wedding itself in a month. The hospitality here was tremendous. Oh yes, it was all terribly rushed, but what was a busy businessman like himself to do? And really, why delay when it would be so auspicious to start the marriage on the feast day of St. Valentine, celebrated in much of the world as a day of love. Wasn't that worth rushing the wedding for?

Yes, it was true and so sad his own mother was ill and his first wife attending to her, so they wouldn't be able to make the wedding. Yes, it was true his friends and family were mostly busy or gone, so he had told Ikenna not to plan on many of his people being there. Then again, that was all the more reason to embrace Nwanyi's lovely family, right?

Of course his own kin would host a wonderful welcoming feast for Nwanyi in Lagos once she arrived. What? Umm, yes, of course Nwanyi's kin here would be welcome to attend the feast if they were willing to travel all the way to Lagos. He'd send an invitation, as soon as it was all arranged. Of course.

A fair bit of time passed before he saw that his wife-to-be had removed her veil, to eat of course — how could he object to that — and she was eyeing him with nervous anticipation. He nodded with satisfaction. It could be much worse, he thought. I can work with nervousness.

******

On January 21 Barack Obama was sworn in as president of the United States. Lola's Texan acquaintances were unenthused at best, while her Nigerian coworkers celebrated the event. Lola found the contrast interesting, and hoped this multi-racial intellectual with African roots would be what America, and the world, needed.

On January 26 newspapers reported that U.S. companies cut over sixty-two thousand jobs in one day. Iceland's prime minister resigned as his government fell apart due to his country's bankruptcy. Lola marveled that an entire country could go bankrupt.

The same day, Lola celebrated her forty-ninth birthday. She and Alex toasted to her being employed again. Teddie, always her sensitive cheerleader, gave her a small magnet and Lola smiled as she read it.

Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end.

4. A Cool Breeze

February 2009

Q: What's the easiest thing to communicate telepathically?

A: Popular music. People will hear a song in their head, then someone else will whistle or hum it. This unsettling experience is often a person's most concrete encounter with telepathy. (From FAQ's about telepathy at www.tothepowerofzero.org.)

Over the next few weeks, Lola finished her interpretation of the small structure located on her company's lease. As happened often, the company had subleased drilling rights, and the term of the lease was near expiration. Either a well had to be drilled soon or the lease would go untested.

Lola thought her day-to-day work would have made a decent video game if someone added music, glossy effects and a car chase. She enjoyed twisting and turning her 3D visualizations on her computer screen, humming as she looked for shifts in the rock layers known as faults. A hit from the eighties wafted through her head, and she sang a few bars as she worked.

Time After Time. Bob, the older engineer in the group, whistled along as he walked by her door. Geez Lola, he said, I've had that song in my head all morning. Why are you singing it?

No idea. Maybe we listen to the same radio station on the way to work?

I only listen to my iPod.

Lola shrugged and turned back to her screen. Maybe during lunch she'd try to call her sister again. She couldn't seem to get Summer out of her head for some reason, and the two of them had played phone tag for days.

******

On February 14, Nwanyi relaxed in her ritual pre-wedding bath and enjoyed the sensation of her older sister and two aunts scrubbing her back and her legs.

She could not remember a single time in her life when she had been the center of attention like this. Most of the time, she suspected people wished she would go away. Somadina told her if she believed that, then it would become the truth, but that was easy for someone like Somadina to say. Yet today, just today, it was all about her. Nwanyi had never been happier in her life.

You are glowing a bit, little one, an aunt said with approval. Nwanyi beamed.

The wedding day began at Ikenna's house, with the ceremonially bathed Nwanyi draped in a beautiful gold brocade, which would match the brocade worn by her new husband to the ceremony. Nwanyi had wanted the two of them to wear lavender, her favorite color, but for some reason Djimon objected, and gold had been selected instead.

Nwanyi was decked with ornate necklaces, bracelets and anklets, and an elaborate gold headdress with a semi-transparent veil. As was the custom with her kin, once the guests arrived Nwanyi began the playful tradition of selling eggs to them. The custom came from a bride's intent to show her new husband she would be an asset, but in today's world it was only for fun. The guests gleefully bought the eggs, to Nwanyi's delight.

The next tradition involved Nwanyi offering palm wine to her husband, but in this case Ikenna had agreed to mango juice instead. Nwanyi, with a large, ornate goblet of juice in hand, began her hunt for Djimon. She knew this part of the ceremony involved the guests playfully distracting both her and Djimon to prolong her efforts to offer him the drink. The guests enjoyed their role, but as the game wore on, Nwanyi got more nervous.

The joy of being the center of attention began to wane as she realized she was about to leave the only home she had ever known, in the company of a man to whom she had never spoken. By the time Nwanyi found Djimon, she was shaking. From across the room a worried Somadina looked up.

Nwanyi approached the man she was about to marry. He looked at the goblet with feigned surprise. As she pushed it towards him, he reached to take it from her, then withdrew his hand in pretend nervousness, with a touch of fake jitters that almost mocked her. The crowd chuckled good-naturedly, but Nwanyi's hands, shaking with real nervousness, could not respond so fast. The ceremonial juice went crashing to the floor.

Given the traditional importance of the goblet, the crowd might have gasped, but the momentum for laughter was already there. So the uncomfortable guests laughed, and a mortified Nwanyi burst into tears. For the first time Djimon looked into his bride-to-be's eyes, and saw her deep embarrassment and sensed the self-loathing behind it. He thought, she could not be more perfect.

After the incident, it took both aunts, Somadina, and another cousin to calm Nwanyi down enough to get her to the church.

That goblet nonsense is silly fluff that doesn't matter a bit, the kinder of the two aunts assured her.

They laughed because they did not know what else to do, Somadina said. Forget it. You are the beautiful bride today. Let's go. But Nwanyi did not feel beautiful anymore, and the attention of the crowd no longer felt warm or made her happy.

The teary-eyed bride and the silent groom met in the local church that celebrated both Christ and Chukwu and was friendly to Allah as well. It was agreed that Nwanyi would present her husband with a Bible, and he would present her with a Qur'an, and a local official would pronounce them wed in the eyes of all Gods and all people, which he did. They became husband and wife without having a single conversation.

The church ceremony was followed by more food, more drink, live music, and dancing. Djimon apologized that none of his kin had been able to attend after all, being aging and ill, or scattered and busy. Nwanyi's people found the absence odd, but Ikenna had many friends, and his wives came from big nearby families happy to contribute to the celebration.

As the feast wore on, Ikenna watched his stately daughter Somadina carry her one-year-old son Kwemto on her hip as she visited with relatives. He watched with even more interest as eager husband Azuka brought his wife food and drink, but no alcohol. Azuka had always been more smitten with Somadina than she with him, but Ikenna suspected Azuka's generous behavior today might be because Somadina was pregnant again. Could he, Ikenna, be that lucky? This would be more than a second grandchild. Given Nwanyi's impending departure, a pregnancy for Somadina would be a happy distraction making life easier for all.

Although the dancing would continue on into the night, at some point the bride and groom were supposed to exit the celebration to do what brides and grooms are expected to do the world over.

However, as Djimon had no suitable home to take his bride to that night, and as accommodations for travelers in Ikenna's small town were meager, it had been agreed that Djimon would continue to lodge with a local family who housed strangers, and Nwanyi would be permitted to spend