Human Sister

(on their telebands), and Gatekeeper that I perceived some immediate grave danger. Within seconds, Gatekeeper would alert Michael, who would deposit a catalyst along the invisible seams of the door in my bedroom wall. The door would open. Michael would quickly gather up everything indicative of his existence—his computer chips, nutriosynthesizer, bedpan—and with this cache in hand, he would crawl into the wall, and the door would close into its self-healing seams, ensuring his safe immurement until the threat was resolved.
    My teleband would also activate a transmitter that had been implanted in the fleshy part of the backside of my knee before I was first permitted to venture into the vineyard beyond the security wall surrounding my grandparents’ home. The transmitter would emit tracing signals until I was rescued—or until it was discovered by my captors.
    I reached up and pushed the red “call” button on the ceiling above my seat. The man didn’t move to stop me or to turn it off. Instead, he said, “You seem anxious. Are you hiding something?”
    “Who are you?” I asked, trying not to appear frightened. “What do you want?”
    “My name is Randy Smith. I’m an agent with the FBI.”
    “May I help you?” asked a flight attendant, who came from the back of the plane.
    “This man is holding me against my will.”
    The man smiled, calmly took a badge out of his suit coat pocket, and handed it to the flight attendant. “Randall Smith, Special Agent. A colleague and I would like to question this young lady about an important matter.”
    “Don’t believe him! I think he’s trying to kidnap me!”
    “Please check with your security people,” the man said. “There should be another agent at the gate.”
    “Oh… well… I guess—” the attendant stammered. “Please. Both of you remain seated while I check this out.”
    “Take your time,” the man said in the same friendly, assuring voice he’d used at the beginning of our conversation.
    The flight attendant walked away, turning several times to glance back at us as she made her way to the front of the plane. The man beside me sat calmly, his hands folded in his lap. The flight attendant spoke with another flight attendant, pointed toward us, then disappeared behind a partition.
    “We’ll wait here until everyone figures out what’s what,” the man said. “Then we’ll go to a more comfortable place inside and talk.”
    I stared out the window, my mind spinning with questions: Where was Grandpa? Elio? Were they safe? Were they coming for me? What was happening? Then I heard sirens and, within seconds, saw flashing lights of several airport and private security cars racing toward the plane. Guards jumped out of the cars and crouched down, guns drawn. One man reading a scanner pointed up toward me. I put my face against the window, hoping to be seen.
    “I see your grandfather can still raise quite a ruckus when he puts his mind to it,” the man beside me said. “It’ll be interesting to trace how you alerted him.” He reclined back into his seat, and I began to fear that he was who he claimed to be—which meant, I knew, that he was someone from whom not even Grandpa could rescue me.
    I again pressed my face to the window and tried to control my anxiety by focusing on what was happening outside. Through the far right edge of the little window, I noticed a barrel-chested man in a dark gray suit descend narrow stairs leading from the jetway to the tarmac. Grandpa was right behind him, followed by Elio. The man in the suit headed toward the security car. He walked robustly, giving the impression of strength and conviction of purpose. He waved his arms and shouted something I couldn’t hear at the guard who held the scanner.
    Soon, the man, the guard, Grandpa, and Elio were huddled together. They talked animatedly for a short time before Elio lunged at the man in the suit. Grandpa grabbed Elio and pushed him toward the back door of the security car. Grandpa opened the car door and motioned for Elio to get in. Elio shook his head and stiffened his shoulders but finally complied.
    Grandpa walked back and resumed speaking with the two men. The security cars began leaving. Grandpa returned to the car in which Elio waited, opened the door, and pointed toward me. Elio stood up out of the car and, evidently catching sight of me, began waving. He was wearing the Italian-made jacket with a lapis lazuli pattern that friends in Amsterdam had