The process of actually moving had taken perhaps a day and primarily consisted of me teleporting our household goods and belongings to the embassy. This also necessitated that I teleport much of the original furnishings (the bulk of which I considered outdated) into storage – including the Louis XIV-style furniture that had originally been in my bedroom. After that, it had taken perhaps another day to get settled in, but since then we’d all adjusted pretty well to our new home.
Looking around now, however, I spent a moment wondering if it had been a mistake to get rid of all the furniture that had been in my bedroom before. Without it, the place really did look and feel empty. Un-lived in, to be honest, and I found myself contemplating what I might use to fill the dead space. (Apparently it’s true what they say: nature abhors a vacuum.)
I was still picturing what I could do with my bedroom in terms of interior design when I felt someone mentally pinging me a minute later. Based on years of experience and familiarity, I automatically knew who it was: my grandfather.
Gramps was a telepath – at one time, the most powerful one on the planet. Although he had hung up his cape years ago, he still had formidable mental abilities. (He was also the primary person who had trained me in the use of my own telepathy.) Dropping my mental shields, I heard his voice ring out almost immediately in my brain.
Mentally, I let out a chuckle. My grandfather’s statement referred to the fact that – since my return from Caeles – we tried to eat dinner together as a family every night. (It stood to reason; after all, our family unit had been broken up for decades.) Although humorous, and obviously an exaggeration, his comment about “starving” clearly conveyed that they had delayed eating supper for my benefit.
The only thing I had whipped up was a nigh-fatal screw-up of an important mission, but I kept that little nugget to myself.
Chapter 7
After quickly washing up, I headed downstairs to a small breakfast nook where we generally took our meals. There was actually a posh formal dining room on the premises, complete with a fireplace and chandelier, but we all found it to be too ceremonial. It was the kind of place that made me feel like all the men should be sporting monocles, and all the women should be wearing cage crinolines.
Everyone was already there when I arrived, sitting at a square-shaped, counter-height table that seated eight, and which currently had a couple of pizza boxes in the center. As had become typical for them, my grandparents were seated next to each other at what we had informally dubbed the “head” of the table. To their right were my mother and Myshtal; I took a seat to the left of my grandparents, giving me an entire side of the table to myself. My grandfather took a moment to lead the family in saying grace, and then we dove in. Glancing around the table as we began to eat, I couldn’t help but notice a certain surreal quality to our mealtime.
First there were my grandparents, who – in addition to the contrast in complexion (with him being dark and her being fair) – also appeared to have a distinct age gap between them. Because Caelesians live much longer than Terrans, Indigo still looked as youthful as she had when they had first married. Gramps, on the other hand, had aged well but had still grown noticeably older during their decades apart. (Oddly enough, however, my grandmother was the older of the two.)
Next, seeing my mother and grandmother next to each other could cause the average person to do a double-take. My mother had inherited Caelesian genes in spades, which manifested themselves in an exotically beautiful appearance that included pointed, elfin ears and eyes that changed color with her emotions. In fact, she and Indigo were so similar in appearance that they were far more likely to be mistaken for sisters than mother and daughter.
Finally, there was Myshtal – the fiancée that had been forced upon me. With exquisite features framed by flame-red curls and a figure that swimsuit models dream of, calling her physically attractive would have been a severe understatement. She had an allure that went well beyond mere appearance and which exceeded the ability to be accurately described. Looking at her now, I couldn’t help but think that under other circumstances…
“How was your day, Sxibbo?” my grandmother asked, interrupting my thoughts before biting into a slice of pepperoni pizza. She addressed me by a Caelesian appellation that loosely translated as “beloved and adored male progeny.”
“It went well, Sxahnin,” I replied, using a Caelesian term of affection for an older female relative. “But I don’t want to bore you guys by talking shop.”
Indigo gave me a subtle nod, indicating that she understood: I’d been involved in something that I wasn’t exactly free to talk about. Mentally, however, she pinged me with a query asking if I was all right (as did Mom and Gramps). I telepathically assured them all that I was fine, and – thankfully – no one pressed me for details.
There was silence for a moment (at least audibly) as we continued to eat, but on a psychic level I was picking up lots of mental chatter. This wasn’t unusual, as there would typically be at least five conversations going on when we ate, with at least four of them being telepathic.
For starters, Gramps and Indigo were always connected; they were in constant mental communion (which was understandable since they had spent so many years apart). In addition, my mother and grandmother tended to keep an open line of communication as well. I knew that Indigo felt as though she’d never had a chance to truly nurture my mother, but it had taken them almost no time to develop a fierce and loving bond. Also, the three of them – my mother and her parents – spent a lot of time mentally yammering, clearly making up for lost time. Occasionally, I would get sucked into a conversation with the three of them, making it a full family affair.
In addition to the conversations noted, there was usually some oral discussion going on as well, to make sure Myshtal didn’t feel left out or isolated. In fact, when I was growing up, Mom and Gramps generally made it a point to keep the bulk of our communications verbal (unless there was an emergency or a need to share information quickly). That might sound odd for a family of telepaths, but the truth of the matter was that, historically, Mom had rarely used her powers. (There was also the fact that I had seemingly been born without any special abilities, which had made verbal communication mandatory at one point in time.)
“This is delicious!” Myshtal exclaimed, obviously relishing her first taste of pizza. “This is one of Earth’s delicacies, I presume?”
“Hardly,” I chuckled, along with the rest of my family. “It’s just pizza.”
In response, Myshtal wrinkled her brow, and I felt confusion coming from her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes slightly downcast. “Did I misspeak?”
“Not at all,” my grandmother assured her. “It’s just that this isn’t really a delicacy. It’s something on par with yraszin.”
“Oh,” Myshtal muttered softly. Then she began snickering as well, realizing the term Indigo had used was the Caelesian version of “junk food.”
I felt relief flooding through her, and I realized that she was more concerned about her language skills than anything else. Apparently, she didn’t mind being confused on the concept (that is, confusing junk food with a delicacy); she was more bothered by the notion that she had picked the wrong word altogether – for instance, if she had said “shoe” instead of “delicacy.” In short, she was fretting over the thought that she might not have mastered the English language.
She needn’t have worr
ied. She spoke with an adorable accent, but her English was perfect. She had practiced with me and my grandmother on the trip back from Caeles, but it had become immediately obvious that she had been tutored quite extensively on the subject. My guess was that plans had been made for her to visit Earth long before I came into the picture.
“Anyway,” my mom said, taking charge of the conversation, “if you want to sample delicacies, there should be plenty of them tomorrow night.”
Myshtal beamed upon hearing this. “Excellent. It will be my first formal Earth event, so I’m very excited.”
“We all are,” my grandmother added.
Not all of us, I thought. All of a sudden everyone turned to look at me, and for a moment I wondered if I’d telepathically broadcast my thoughts or expressed them vocally. I realized a moment later that I hadn’t done either, but had still done something that made my feelings on the matter known: I had audibly groaned.
My grandmother raised an eyebrow. “You have something you wish to say, Sxibbo?”
I was on the verge of answering in the negative, then simply decided to be forthright.
Letting out a deep breath, I said, “I don’t know. I just feel like this thing’s gotten out of control.”
“Hear, hear,” said Gramps, surprising me with a show of support.
“John,” my grandmother admonished. “Don’t encourage him.”
“I’m not encouraging him,” my grandfather countered. “I side with the boy on this.”
“What?” Indigo muttered, obviously caught a little off guard.
“Look, Indigo,” Gramps said, “hiding my joy when you finally got back a couple of weeks ago was damn near impossible. I reached out to let a handful of old friends know you’d returned, then you and I agreed we’d have a small get-together with a few of them – just for old times’ sake. A couple of other people got wind of it and wanted to join in, then some more, and before we knew it, our little get-together had transformed into a big party.”
My grandfather glanced in my direction and I gave a slight nod to indicate that he had accurately summed things up. The only issue I might take with his narrative was that the term “big party” was inadequate to describe the upcoming affair. To me, that was like calling a hurricane a stiff breeze.
In short, as word circulated that my grandparents would be hosting an impromptu reception for some old acquaintances, the number of people wanting to drop in had broadened considerably. I had initially thought the attendees would include only their old ex-cape buddies, but I had seriously underestimated the level of society at which Indigo and Gramps had circulated in their prime. They had counted as personal friends everyone from celebrities to industrial billionaires to heads of state – many of whom would equate the lack of an invitation to being publicly snubbed. Thus, the guest list had grown.
However, it wasn’t just past newsmakers who wanted to attend. Current media darlings – actors, singers, tech moguls, and so on (most of whom had probably never heard of my grandparents) – also wanted in. In essence, anybody who was anybody (or who thought of themselves that way) had been angling for an invite.
Moreover, it turned out that people were fascinated by Indigo’s story: a long-lost superhero returning to Earth after a lengthy sojourn in outer space. (It didn’t hurt that she was a beautiful, alien princess to boot.)
Long story short, what had started out as an intimate function with a few friends from my grandparents’ heyday had morphed into a gala event, despite its impromptu nature. (Basically, this thing was being held just a few weeks after we got back to Earth, so it was being put together in record time.) Everyone’s initial thought had been to have it at the embassy, but the ever-growing guest list had promptly squashed those plans. Now it was being held at a palatial estate owned by my father, Alpha Prime, who was generally considered Earth’s greatest superhero.
“So in my opinion, Jim’s right,” my grandfather continued, bringing me back to the conversation at hand. “This thing’s become so bloated and unwieldy that I’d almost prefer to skip it.”
“Well, all of our old friends will be there, so you’re going,” Indigo stated with finality. She then turned to me. “You, too, Sxibbo. There are some people coming I want you to meet.”
“I appreciate that, Sxahnin,” I replied, “and I was fine when it was supposed to be a small function. I was even okay when it became too big to hold here at the embassy. But now, it’s not just a huge bash – it’s exploded into an over-the-top, red carpet event.”
“The boy hates the spotlight,” Gramps explained in a conspiratorial tone, mostly for Myshtal’s benefit.
“It’s not so much that,” I clarified, “although I do like my privacy. In all honesty, I was simply looking forward to me and my friends listening to you guys and some of your old colleagues talk about the adventures you had. Now it just feels like another pompous, overblown banquet full of pretentious stuffed shirts.”
“Except – since we’re throwing the party – we’re the stuffed shirts,” Mom noted.
“Something like that,” I said.
Myshtal shook her head in confusion. “I’m sorry – ‘stuffed shirt’?”
“A turzzkon,” my grandmother explained. At the same time, she shared with everyone a mental image of a puffed up, self-conceited Caelesian royal. The figure was so blatantly haughty and vainglorious that we all had to laugh.
“Ahhh!” Myshtal exclaimed in understanding, still smiling. “It’s clear now. But don’t worry; I won’t let Jim become a turzzkon. I’ll make sure he has too much fun to stuff his shirt.”
“Oh?” I said, chuckling at her phrasing. “And how will you do that?”
“Like this,” she replied, then stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes.
I was so surprised by the gesture (which I didn’t even know she was aware of), that I just stared at her for a second – and then I burst out laughing, along with everyone else.
Chapter 8
We spent the remainder of dinner idly chatting about the upcoming gala. Afterwards, we all retreated to the parlor to play board games, which had been one of my grandmother’s favorite pastimes during her first visit to Earth. It was a form of entertainment that didn’t really have an equivalent on Caeles, so she had missed it terribly. Given her predilection for it, we generally played a couple of times per week.
On this particular occasion, we settled on a game that required each player to build their own medieval kingdom. The game was won by achieving a certain amount of wealth, along with a stable (but sizeable) population and trade routes for specific goods. In most instances, it was easiest to achieve victory by forming alliances with other players, and – on the whole – it was a fun and challenging game. Playing with Indigo, however, took things to an entirely different level.
It turned out that my grandmother was incredibly competitive when it came to games like this and tended to adopt a win-at-all-cost mentality. Thus, with respect to the particular game in question, she would breach peace treaties, betray allies, and more if she thought it would give her an advantage. And heaven forbid that she should ever be losing! At that point, all bets were off, as she would adopt a scorched Earth policy: burning crops and fields, raiding villages, poisoning wells…
“If I can’t win, no one will,” was her philosophy.
It was an entirely different side of my grandmother – one that I hadn’t even known existed – but to be honest, having a villain in the game (for lack of a better term) tended to make things more exciting. Tonight was no exception as Indigo quickly launched a victory-or-death style of play that kept us all on our toes. On this particular occasion, however, an alliance with me led to my mother winning the game not just once, but twice. Flush with victory after her two consecutive wins, Mom let out an excited whoop and began high-fiving everyone. She then turned to Indigo (who always sat next to her at the gaming table where we played) and blew a raspberry at her.
“That’s it,” Indigo declared, feigning dis
gust as she smacked her hand on the table. “We’re playing again.”
“No, we’re not,” Gramps said with conviction as he came to his feet. “You’ll play all night if we let you, Indigo, but I’m an old man and I need my beauty sleep.”
“You’re not that old,” my grandmother replied with a mischievous look in her eye.
“Oh, jeez,” I muttered as I detected a noticeable uptick in the mental chatter between my grandparents. “Please leave – both of you. We’ll put the game away. Just…go.”
Laughing, my grandparents bid us goodnight and left.
Myshtal turned to my mother. “If you wish to leave as well, please do. I’ll help Jim put everything away.”
My mother didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she gave me an inquisitive look.
“It’s fine,” I assured her. “Plus, you have a deadline to meet.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” Mom said.
My statement was a reference to the fact that my mother was a midlist author of superhero romance novels. She had a deadline that was approaching, and with everything going on lately – from my grandmother’s return to the upcoming gala – it would be a minor miracle if she wasn’t behind.
“Frankly speaking, I can use all the time I can get,” Mom continued. “So, if you’re sure…”
She trailed off, giving me one last chance to change my mind.
“It’s no big deal, Mom,” I stressed. “It’s just game pieces and a game board, not rocket science. But if it makes you feel better…”
Rather than finish my statement, I let my actions speak for me. Shifting into super speed, I put away all the pieces of the game and then placed it back in the cabinet where it was normally kept before dashing back to my place at the table – all in less than a second. Thankfully, the room wasn’t exceptionally large, so there was barely any wind following in the wake of my burst of speed.
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