Maybe if she had another drink? "I want another one of these," she demands, and soon another follows.
The second drink breaks down the barriers completely, and suddenly - EVERYTHING MAKES SENSE! Looking around, Marda is able to disassemble and reassemble virtually everything she looks at with her mind, is able to modify the parameters of construction and see what effects they would have, can look at individuals and see them as walking bundles of nerve fiber, or as a sheathe of muscle tissue!
(Of course, with her weird power she could frequently come close to doing this even before, but this is so much neater!)
Further, Marda UNDERSTANDS the Terminal now. It MAKES SENSE. It is really SO EASY! All you have to do is reject the paramaters and restrictions imposed by euclidian geometry and the whole thing makes ABSOLUTE SENSE! Marda can find her way around now. She can get from point A to point B.
She can get to the basement, where her new friends are calling her.
Marda spins twice and propels herself from the barstool. With a quick "Gotta go," she scampers out of the bar. Needless to say, she's headed for the basement...
"What the?" Sam says, seeing Marda rocket out of the building. "Freak'n kids!" Quickly, he gets up and follows suit, trying to catch the human torpedo. "Marda!" Where the hell is that brat?
"Over here, Tata," calls an all-too-gratingly familiar voice in the distance. "Hurry up, my friends are waiting."
"Friends?" repeats Sam, perplexed. "We just left your friends in the bar!"
Marda waits only long enough for Sam to catch up, and then is charging off once again through the crowds outside the hotel, heading heaven-knows-where.
"Mardamardamardamarda" whisper the voices of the "friends".
"Toolatetoolatetoolatetoolatetoolatetoofartoofartoofartoofarstopstopstopstopstopstop"
Pause.
"Thinkthinkthinkthinkthinklearnlearnlearnlearnrememberrememberrememberrememberremember."
Pause.
Then Marda's mind is suddenly full to overflowing with concepts, measurements, specifications. A blueprint flows into Marda's mind. The data comes so fast that even her fantastic brain cannot assimilate it all.
And with the plans comes a single word, repeated over and over and over and over.
"Buildbuildbuildbuildbuildbuildbuildbuildbuildbuildbuildbuildbuildbuildbuildbuildbuild...."
Without warning, Marda stops on a dime and pivots 180 degrees. Once Sam had ceased his own momentum, Marda turns to him and says, "Tata, I'm gonna need some stuff." She then immediately launches into a laundry list of items that Sam cannot understand as said list is in desperate need of translation from Rumanian as played from a 33 1/2 record at 45 speed. Marda's eyes seem fixed on a point in the distance, but the most shocking feature is the small smile escaping her lips. As opposed to most of her expressions of emotion, which have a certain innocence in their boundlessness, this one could only be described as an evil grin.
Sam scoops Marda up by the waist before any screaming, spitting, or pouting can occur. "God damn kids," he says, proceeding out of the intersection.
Gradually, Marda calms down and her eyes stop being glazed over. The "REALLY EVIL SMILE" (tm) fades, and Sam and Marda regard one another. They really didn't come all that far, but neither of them can see where the entrance to the bar is. They deem to be standing in the middle of a four-way intersection, too.
Sam circles the block, trying to get his bearings again. If any screaming occurs, he he resolves that will muzzle the beast with his other arm and continue the search back to the hotel. Marda correctly surmises that this is not a particularly good time to protest Sam's behavior and goes along quietly.
After circling the block ad infitum, Sam comes to an abrupt stop and more or less drops his bagggage, which is in this case, Marda. "Where were you thinking?" he says. "Where are these friends of your now?"
Marda looks around in each direction for a while and says, "I don't know. It was all so clear a minute ago." Then without warning, she nods, says, "Let's go this way," and marches off down one of the corridors. Considering what little she remembers of the past half-hour probably consists of the fact that the building was not designed according to conventional geometry, Marda decides that is going to determine the direction which her common sense tells her would take her to the bar, and walk in the opposite direction.
Before Marda can venture to far into the abyss, Sam grabs her hand.
He'll venture, with Marda in tow, to the nearest friendly face, or whoever
is available, and ask for directions back to the hotel.
Frustrated, he turns to his companion. "Could you please ask somebody where the hotel is?" he asks, dejected. He gives Marda some room to maneuver in around one the passersby, but not too much room, lest she decide to rabbit away again.
Marda looks for the first available "victim" and upon identifying an elderly lady, skips to said person and in her most ingratiating tone (one would almost believe that she wasn't aggravation incarnate) asks, "Excuse me, Ma'am, can you tell me the way to get to the Jean-Christophe Airporter Hotel?"
The woman that Marda approaches can be described pretty accurately as "the universal grandmother". Old, but with an erect posture, her silver-grey hair is neatly bunned, and she wears a tasteful, floral print dress. Laugh lines crease her face and mouth, and she peers at the world in a manner not unlike that of a bird through a pair of bifocals perched upon her nose. Even in the bustle of the Terminal she smells vaguely of baked goods.
"Oh dear," she says, upon hearing Marda's request. As adults are wont to do when confronted by children, she squats down to bring herself in line with Marda's height. This produces a veritable cacophany of creaks and pops, but she doesn't seem to mind in the slightest, and accomplishes the maneuver with spry energy. Closer up, Marda notes that her teeth appear to be perfect.
"Are you lost child? What are you doing here in the Terminal all alone? Goodness, how frightening! You must be a very brave child to behave so responsibly in such a difficult situation!"
The old woman glances around once, as if making sure the coast is clear, then says quietly, "Such bravery deserves a reward! Here, take this," she makes a quick pass with her hands, and suddenly she is holding... a cookie! Moist and golden brown, brimming with chocolate chips and nuts, and steaming warm... fresh out of the oven! (Given Marda's background it is likely that she has never actually seen such a thing before, but she's read about them in books!) Another pass and a glass of milk appears - not a paper cup or a plastic mug, but milk in a real glass!
Once Marda has taken the cookie and the glass, the old woman straightens, once again with much creaking and popping. "Come along child," she says, in a voice which now sounds like that of a friendly school marm, "I'll take you to the hotel."
The old woman radiates what might be called a "granny aura". One can mistrust her, be intellectually suspicious of her, or question her motives, but one can't actually bring one's self to dislike her. Speaking to her in a harsh tone of voice or saying anything nasty makes one feel guilty in the way that small kids caught with their hands in cookie jars feel guilty, and even the thought of hurting her makes one feel nauseous and dirty.
Marda takes two immediate actions: 1) wolfs down the food like a child possessed; 2) calls out ), "Tftm-tftm, thms nmcf lmdy gmnfg tmfk s bmfk."
Sam approaches the horrific scene of corruption with the haste of a street vigilante browsing the tome of the "Meagan's Law Sexual Offenders CD-ROM."
"Don't eat that!" he snaps, reflexively smacking the poisoned cookie out of Marda's hand. Then, perhaps taken aback by the old woman's "grandmotherly aura," he becomes reproachful.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I, ugh, always tell her not to take food from strangers -- even though you're alright. A matter of principle, you see." He drifts off that fruitless line of apology, and gets to the real matter at hand. "Can you just tell us directions to the Hotel?"
The beatific smile never leaves the old woman's face as she takes in Sam's outburst. The overall impression Sam gets is of an infinitely patient granny listening serenely to the tirade of a four-year-old. When he has finished, she stands with great dignity. When she speaks it is with a great deal of gravity, despite the smile - one can almost see the years of wisdom and experience hanging on her words like moss on a hoary old oak.
"That," she says primly, "is very wise young man. Al Amarja is certainly a dangerous place, and one cannot be too trusting." She looks down at Marda and waggles a finger at her, still smiling. "You would do well to listen to your guardian, young lady. He seems most wise."
She winks, and another cookie materializes in her hand, as if by magic. It's steaming hot, and the chocolate chips are still gooey. She hands it to Marda, then turns back to Sam.
Sam intercepts the cookie, before it is devoured, saying, "We'd better save this one for later. That's a few too many sweets for the young lady," refering to Marda, of course. Once the cookie cools and the chocolate chips coalesce, Sam discretely puts the cookie into his pocket for later inspection. Sam is very curious about this "cookie" that appeared out of nowhere. Perhaps it is poison, and can be used as a new ingredient for his terroristic activities. Perhaps it has a slight coating of magical faerie dust. Who knows, but whatever the case, he's interested in this cookie and how it appeared. It smells like an awfully good cookie, BTW - the kind that Sam always imagined June Cleaver baked on "Leave it to Beaver" or Aunt May made on "The Andy Griffith Show".
"Directions, young man? Goodness gracious, you must certainly be a burger! Directions in the Terminal? It simply isn't done! I could certainly take you there, however, if you will just follow...."
Her monologue is interrupted at this point, by a soft chime over the Terminal PA system. "Mrs. Brinker to the white courtesy telephone. Mrs. Helen Brinker to the white courtesy telephone please."
"Oh dear," says the old lady, "I'm afraid that's for me. If you
don't mind waiting while I take this call, I should be able to take you
to the hotel afterwards. Its probably just my silly-billy son, Klaus.
The boy is ALWAYS getting lost." Marda's glass of milk is suddenly
refilled, and the old woman begins walking towards the nearby white courtesy
telephone.
He looks at Marda. "I'll bet you a cookie we'll never see her again." His frustration is hardly hidden. "THIS ASS-BACKWARDS TERMINAL IS BEGINNING TO PISS ME OFF!" he shouts, daring somebody to notice.
After venting at least a portion of his dismay, he mellows out and walks to some convenient nook to stand, expecting to be waiting awhile. "So what gives with you, Marda?" he begins. "You ain't got no parents. You ain't got no 'friends' -- who you were apparently looking for when you ran the hell out here. All you got is a god damn thick accent; and all you're giving me is a god damn screaming headache."
Marda looks at Sam, but not AT Sam in one of those Attention-Deficit-Disorder sort of manners. "I don't know. They were like a dream, only I know it wasn't because we're here and..." With a quick snap of the channel, she pulls back into wherever she had left Sam in the conversation - somewhere between damn and damn, but well before damn.
"Mama and Tata didn't want me around. They said that I wasn't..." Just as Sam heard the two coughs and braced for the loud wail which would inevitably follow, Marda shifted again. "Hey, we'd better follow that nice lady or we'll be lost again..."
As with much of the Terminal the place Sam and Marda are at rather defies description. The archicecture can best be described as "Post Modernist Ryl-Yeh" (that city where Cthulhu is supposed to be napping). Everything is done in polished bone and chrome that makes the place appear something like a cross between a hospital and a 50's drive-in, and there are no corners anywhere - everything has rounded edges which give some items of furniture a half-melted look. It also makes it almost impossible to judge distances with any degree of accuracy. Lighting is indirect and soft, again giving the impression that they are in a vast dentist's waiting room in hell somewhere. Muzak pumped in from hidden speakers is, by turns, soothing classical or thrash metal, and seems to mimic the listeners mood with uncanny accuracy.
Sam and Marda are currently standing in the midst of a four-way intersection. As is almost always the case in the Terminal, there are throngs of people about - more than would possibly make sense even for the busiest airport terminal in existance (remember that really awful Star Trek episode where Kirk gets captured so he can give a virus to the daughter of the planetary leader on the planet where nobody dies and they haven't invented condoms? That's about the level of traffic in the corridors of the Terminal). People range from ultrawealthy to poor peasant types who look like they have never been on an airplane intheir lives.
After a few moments over at the nearby white courtesy telephone Mrs. Brinker returns, humming to herself.
"I was right," she says airily. "It was Klaus. My GOODNESS I just do not know what to do with that boy. He'd forget his head if it wasn't attached."
"Now then," she continues primly, "come along and we'll get you to your hotel. And goodness, child, wipe your face. There's chocolate and milk all over your mouth." She hands Marda a napkin that was nowhere in sight a moment ago, and sets off purposefully through the crowd.
Sam notices at about this point that he is nibbling on the cookie that he put in his pocket a few minutes before. Mmmmmmmm... delicious! Just like mom would have made if she hadn't been drunk all the time.
Marda takes the napkin and wipes her face, exhibiting a deep blush. She then follows Sam and Mrs. Brinker through the twisting, crowded hallways.
"I was beginning to worry that we'd have to make a radio out of coconuts, and call the Harlem Globetrotters for help," Sam says. He follows Mrs. Binker's lead, meticulously noting the route she's taking. "How do you know you're way around so well?" he asks. "What do you do, live inside the airport!?"
Mrs. Brinker laughs. It is the pleasant, full-bodied laugh of one who has led a life of fulfilment and contentment, and now looks at the world through mature, satisfied eyes. "Why no dear, of course not! I simply have a good sense of direction is all." She nods primly to herself and continues on her way through the throng, unperturbed.
After about two minutes of walking she stops and raises one hand to wave. "There's Klaus!" she exclaims. "Klaus! Klaus! Over here son!"
Klaus, when he arrives, is a man of about 30, with blonde hair falling in an unkempt stringy mass around his shoulders like greasy twine. His eyes - icy blue as the nordic wastes - stare sullenly from an elongated and bony face (one which could use a good shave, incidentally). He is 6'2" tall, and is built like a rock star who has done WAY too many methamphetimines - his body is thin and has a wasted look to it, and his clothing hangs off him loosely. His posture is poor, his shoulders hunched forwards, and his neck seems to have retracted into his body at some point. He hunches forward and greets his mother with a nod and a grunt. There is an air of undefined hostility surrounding him. He carries a single gym bag marked with the Nike swatch.
Mrs. Brinker throws her arms around him and gives him a big, motherly hug, which he reacts to by standing absolutely still, as if by not moving he can deny any involvement in the affair. When she releases him, he does bend over and, in an action of viscerally stunning tenderness coming from such a sullen and unwholesome individual, give Mrs. Brinker a kiss on the forehead. In that one motion a whole drama of human interaction is played out, and the love of a son for his mother can be seen so clearly that even Sam feels his heart inspired to poetry.
"Hi mom," he says in a thick german accent.
Needless to say, the moment passes quickly, and Klaus is once again a sullen, ugly brute, staring at the world with a bad-tempered expression on his face.
"Klaus, this charming little girl and her father seem to have gotten lost in the airport, just like you. I thought we could see them to their hotel before we leave, all right?" Mrs. Brinker's voice is so full of matronly certainty that nobody hearing it even gives a thought to the idea that Klaus might object.
Klaus turns his baleful glare on Marda first, then locks eyes with Sam for a moment. Then he shrugs and turns away. "OK mom," he says, and begins hunching through the crowd.
When Klaus looks at Sam (and Sam looks at Klaus) there is, in that brief eye contact, a wealth of information communicated.
Klause... HATES... Sam. Not anything personal, or for any reason or even because Klaus is just a crabby person. No, its more of a "my genes and your genes simply cannot coexist in the universe so given the opportunity I will do whatever is necessary to rid the universe of you by whatever means happen to be expedient at the moment from elaborate plots to bring about your humiliation and execution to a simple crowbar to the temple depending on how things happen to work out nothing personal really no offense intended but I just can't stand the sight of you the sound of your breathing or even the intellectual knowledge that you happen to be using perfecly good atoms that could be put to better use elsewhere in the space-time continuum so there you go you must die hope you don't mind I'll try to make it as convenient as possible or at least relatively painless unless it turns out to be more convenient for you to be dosed with radiation and die vomiting blood screaming cursed to the uncaring gods that is anyway it's just one of those little biological quirks programmed into all of us so I hope this won't affect our relationship in the future at least up until the time I spatter your organs over some wall or other" sort of hatred.
And strangely enough, Sam feels the same way about Klaus.
When Klaus makes brief eye contact with Marda, she senses beneath his sullen and unpleasant exterior a more complex individual beneath. While the term "merry" could NEVER be used to describe Klaus, there is within him the heart of a prankster. Jokes are a great source of enjoyment and satisfaction for him. He enjoys making others laugh.
In addition, Klaus is a crusader - the sort who is willing and more
than willing to go to the aid of those in need - particularly if they are
little people oppressed by the powerful. He is a "people's crusader",
willing to rage against the machine in order to protect those who cannot
protect themselves.
To Be Continued...