Trey huffed. “Are we going to spend the rest of our lives in this junky camper? We have the transmitters, and I’ll bet he knows how to maneuver a space ship. Maybe it’s not too late to save my mother.”
“Wait just a second. Your mother is up front driving the truck, and don’t you forget it.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything.” Trey spun and flung open the stall door. “Can you fly one of those saucers?”
The old man looked up in utter shock; the ropes lay at his ankles where he’d worked both legs free. “I-I-I,” he stammered. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”
“Just answer the question. Can you fly one of those things?”
“Uh, theoretically, yes.”
Trey’s father begged Livy for support. “Talk some sense into him, please.”
She ran her fingers through her short, blonde hair. “Sorry, Mister C, I think he’s right. We may never get another chance to surprise them.”
“Riding in this box is making me sick,” Trey’s father said, turning on his heels. He worked his way toward the bedroom, steadying himself against the walls. With one hand, he flipped the light switch three times to signal his wife to stop the truck.
Trey forced his eyes from his jilted father to address the old stranger. It was time to go all in. “What’s your name anyway?”
“Maxemuthe, but just call me Max.”
The camper slowed and jostled unevenly as it veered to the roadside. Trey knelt to the floor and pulled the bundle of loose ropes free of Max’s feet. “It’s Trey. My girlfriend, not my sister, is Livy.”
Mr. Collins pushed past Trey and burst through the camper door as soon as the vehicle came to a stop.
Trey looked up to Livy with an uneasy look. “He’ll come around.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Trey rose and pulled Max off the toilet seat by the black overcoat. “I’m leaving your hands tied for now, but come out here where we can talk.”
The old man seemed appreciative as he eased from the bathroom stall, taking in the drab interior of the camper. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
Livy scooted out from the bench seat and rose toward Trey. “Here, Max, take my seat.”
The man looked to the open door with a long contemplative gaze before finally letting out a sigh and settling at the table.
Trey eased down opposite Max, but Livy seemed more comfortable standing just behind Trey.
Mr. Collins reappeared outside the dark doorway, taking everyone by surprise. “Here,” he said, tossing Trey another cell phone. “Make sure it’s clean. I’ll stop at the first place we can park for the night.”
Trey nodded. “Sure thing.”
The door pushed closed, cutting off the fresh air from outside. Trey turned to the smelly homeless man. “When’s the last time you had a shower?”
Max chuckled to himself. “I used to play the part of a dirty drifter. I don’t know when it quit being an act and became a way of life.”
The camper lurched forward, signaling they were on their way. Trey wrinkled his nose. “When we get parked again, you’re getting cleaned up.”
Max shook his arms behind his back. “You gonna scrub me down?”
Trey didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response; instead, he slipped the plastic baggy from beneath his seat and flopped the black stone transmitter onto the table. “Tell us what you know about these.”
Max smiled. “I overheard you. Transmitters. Plural. Where’s the other?”
“In a safe place.” Trey brought the focus back to his question. “How close do they have to be to pair up . . . for communication?”
“Touching.”
“So, as long as they aren’t touching, nobody can spy on us, right?”
“That’s right, but I think you’ve got misconceptions about who’s on the other end.”
“So, fill me in.”
Max leaned back in his seat, pondering his words. “What you’ve gotten your hands on is the highest form of contraband I know. If those black-eyes, as you like to call them, if they have the other transmitters, I feel sorry for the poor bastard who was hiding them.”
Trey looked over his shoulder to Livy’s gaping blue eyes. He turned back to the bearded man. “So, who else would have them?”
“Smugglers. Dead ones, more than likely.”
Trey tensed. “I’m afraid to ask what they smuggled.”
“Not drugs, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Humans?” Trey questioned hesitantly.
“Humans? Hell no.” Max shook his head in disbelief. “Food mostly. Fruit of any kind is the most prized.” He looked toward the sky. “Up there, there’s plenty to eat, but it’s more boring than dry toast.”
“So they take food from here back to wherever it is they came from? And that’s a crime?”
“Anything that sets a fellow apart from the black-eyes is a crime. They like their engineered food just fine, and they don’t appreciate our taste for something a little more savory.”
Trey shamefully added another item to the void he’d failed to fill with Arken. Every self-centered discussion he’d had with his genetic father had revolved around one thing, himself. He leaned forward onto his elbows. “Where exactly is this place you’re from?”
Max raised a brow. “Untie me and I’ll be happy to tell you.”
“Ah, forget it then. I don’t care that much.”
Max withdrew his hands from behind his back and tossed the rope into Trey’s lap. He had already freed himself. “I could have sucker punched you and you’d have never seen it coming.” He rubbed the tender spot on the back of his head. “But keep in mind, I didn’t.”
Trey’s eyes flipped anxiously between Max and the door, waiting for the old man to make a break for it.
Max chuckled lightly. “Ease up, pal. I’m not going anywhere.” He waited for Trey to relax, then continued. “We have a common goal here.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Staying alive. And that means staying hidden.”
Trey stared at the bearded old man, not willing to jump aboard the trust train.
“Look,” said Max frankly, “I don’t expect us to be besties, but I’m not gonna put up with being hog tied and interrogated like a criminal either.”
Trey looked guiltily at the rope in his lap, then tossed it aside like a venomous snake.
Livy put a hand on Trey’s shoulder. “I agree.”
“All right, then,” Max said. “I’ll tell you where I was born, in very general terms, that is. Honestly, I couldn’t locate it in the night sky if my life depended on it.” He jabbed a finger at the very center of the tabletop. “So let’s say this is the center of our galaxy, right here.”
He spiraled his finger around the surface and ended near Trey’s side of the table. “Earth’s solar system is in the middle of this arm here.” He spiraled again from the center and this time ended in front of himself. “On an entirely different arm, on the opposite side of the galaxy, sits a big rock we call Kryo."
Kryo
T REY ROLLED THE black transmitter in his finger-tips as Livy sat next to him, refusing to sit across the table in the spot where Max’s odor still lingered.
The old man hummed a tune from the shower with his filthy clothes piled outside the stall. A clean pair of Trey’s blue-jeans and an old t-shirt lay folded on the counter-top nearby, waiting for their new owner.
Livy snatched the stone from Trey’s fingers. “We should quit thinking about it and see what’s on the other side of these transmitters while he’s still in the shower.”
Trey grabbed for the rock, but she was too quick for him. “I don’t know,” he said. “I like the idea of not having him gawking, but what if we’re spotted by whoever . . . or whatever is on the other end?”
She shrugged. “If he’s telling the truth, they can’t back-track us if we separate the stones again.”
“But what if he’s lying?”
“Well, if
he is, I guess we shouldn’t have let him sow up our shower.”
Trey grunted. “I’m serious.”
“Yeah, so am I. I don’t want to be blind-sided again, and right now we have the surprise advantage.”
He nodded toward her bunk. “Get the other stone.”
She rose and tugged on his arm. “Let’s go outside. I don’t want to be around when he comes out naked.”
Trey rose behind her in hearty agreement, and when they stood face-to-face, she offered him the stone with a conciliatory look in her eyes. He accepted it graciously and tucked it safely into his pocket. She bounded to her bunk and retrieved the other from beneath the mattress.
Trey shoved open the camper door and stepped into the damp, morning fog. He scanned the small RV park for his parents and found his mother at a nearby camper with a mug of steaming coffee clutched between both hands, chatting with an elderly couple.
Trey’s father sat beside the truck in a folding lawn chair, his eyes studying Trey astutely from beneath the floppy fishing cap.
As Livy moved off toward the distant picnic table, Trey waved causally to his father. “He’s still in the shower. We had to get some fresh air. Can you keep an eye on the door?”
Mr. Collins rose from the rickety aluminum chair. “I’ll go inside and wait for him.”
Trey had hoped his father’s eyes would be occupied by the door, but being inside sounded even better. He jogged away and caught up to Livy as she settled onto the opposite side of a picnic table.
He turned over his shoulder to see his dad disappear inside the trailer before easing down next to her. He hiked out a leg and dug the transmitter from his pocket.
“Here,” he said, offering it over. “Have the honors.”
She smiled. “I appreciate that, Trey, I really do.” She pushed his hand away. “But you go.”
His offer was sincere, but he didn’t pause to debate her change of heart. “Okay, if you say so.” He opened his other hand and laid the smooth black stone on his flattened palm.
Livy placed her transmitter against the other, and before the creeps on the other side could intervene, Trey snapped his grip tightly around both stones.
The familiar lightning ride hurtled Trey through space in a cosmic flash that lasted only an instant, while oddly seeming to span half an eternity.
Darkness consumed Trey’s vision as he fought to focus ahead, waiting for light than didn’t come.
Slowly, he forced his projection to rise, instinctively trusting that light always came from above.
Before long, a dim gray landscape took shape in the still blackness. Far ahead, a wide column of rust colored smoke billowed at the ground, only to widen and fade into a hazy smog that hung over the dark sky as far as he could see in all directions.
Through the thick, soupy atmosphere, a blurry silver sun hung in the horizon, offering what small amount of light it could to the coal-dark ground below.
Trey eased forward. The dark, rocky surface scrolled past beneath his invisible feet.
Just ahead, a huge block of concrete lay askew, its smooth outer surface broken at a ragged edge, exposing a rough interior of porous stone and mangled steel reinforcement.
Trey backed away as signs of destruction emerged in the scattered rubble surrounding him. More smoke rose in the distance, black rolling plumes that had previously blended into the dark backdrop.
Amid the dismal scene, distant checkerboards of yellow lights suggested buildings still stood unscathed. He drifted toward them, but within a short distance, the images around him began to fade as he pushed the transmitter’s boundary limits.
He turned back to similar destruction behind him. An enormous crescent moon dominated the dark sky in a hazy, blood-red hue.
Nearby, two partially intact walls stood above the rubble, converging to form a shadowy corner. Below them, a black rectangular hole hinted at a room beneath the dust and broken stone. As he drifted toward the hole, household furnishings took shape below.
Hesitantly, he lowered through the opening.
Drawers from a metal dresser had been ransacked, left scattered at odd angles on the tile floor with clothes strewn from them.
A bed lay on its side, exposing plastic crates that had rested beneath it, their lids busted open. Inside the first, aluminum Pepsi cans had been punctured by a sharp object, their foamy soda frozen in a mass of glittery frost.
Another container held paperback books, rummaged through in a disarray of bent covers and twisted pages.
A swath of vintage Polaroid snapshots were sprayed throughout the room, flashing glimpses of life on Earth: the Eiffel tower, Madison Square Garden.
He followed the trail of images to a dark corner. His heart flopped, jolted by the sight of rugged boots and two legs extended from the shadows.
A dead-man sat on the floor with his back to the wall, a pile of photographs concentrated at his side. Trey moved closer . . . a colorless face . . . frost-covered hair.
“Who’s there,” the man said through labored breath, still alive, for the moment.
Trey didn’t answer, frozen like everything else.
“I know you’re there,” the man whispered.
Trey projected a voice he hoped would sound older. “Yes, I’m here. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
“There is no help for me.”
“What happened here?”
The stiff man struggled to form a slit in his eyelids. “I wish I knew. They searched . . . for something.”
Trey felt certain he knew what that something was, and guilt overtook him for the poor man’s sake.
The man’s eyes found the strength to open. “Who are you? I can’t see you.”
Trey allowed only a shadow to take form for his body. “You don’t know me.”
The tired eyes closed. “Leave me. Warn the others.”
“I will,” said Trey, knowing he couldn’t.
The man’s hand balled to a fist. “Vinum torbi unu.”
Developments
TREY DROPPED THE transmitters into the grass at his feet, letting out a deep, exasperated sigh.
Livy snagged up one of the stones, more concerned than Trey about them touching. She cautiously eyed him, assessing his hesitation to speak of what he’d seen.
He shook his head, grappling for words.
“Kryo sucks,” was the best he could manage.
She stared, longing for something more substantial.
“I don’t think there’s a risk of being followed,” said Trey. “Maybe you should see for yourself.”
She bent over to pick up the other transmitter, and when she rose, Trey put his hand on her knee. “Don’t go down in the hole. I’ll tell you about it later.”
Her eyes widened. “Okay.”
Trey checked over his shoulder while she readied the stones on her palms. His mother was no longer with the couple at the next trailer, but she was nowhere in sight. The camper was quiet, and he could only assume Max was out of the shower.
He turned back to Livy, her fist outstretched oddly as she sat frozen like a statue.
The camper door clattered open, and Trey whirled.
Max stepped outside, his yellow hair falling over his shoulders in wet waves. The old man wore Trey’s denim jeans, cinched at his thin waist by his own tattered belt.
The jeans looked like a mess on the skinny hobo, but they were the old man’s now. Trey had no intention of ever letting them touch his own body ever again.
Trey’s mother appeared from behind the pickup. His father stood in the open doorway of the camper. All eyes were on Trey. He smiled, a desperate attempt to divert attention from Livy’s hand in the cookie jar.
He elbowed her discreetly, unsure how well his hint would travel to the other side of the galaxy.
As the herd of adults converged at the picnic table, he let go of his concerns; he had done nothing wrong.
Max was the first to show comprehension, raising a brow as he gazed at Livy’s motionless po
sture.
Mr. Collins hiked a foot onto the bench. “This seems like a good time--” His words snagged in his throat. He tilted his head, staring at Livy from the side.
“She’ll be back in a minute,” said Trey, casually.
Mrs. Collins circled the table and leaned face-to-face with Livy.
Trey pulled his mother to the side. “Move, Mom. You’ll scare the life out of her when she gets back.”
As if on cue, Livy jerked into motion, dropping the stones the same way Trey had. Her face reddened as she gazed at the crowd of onlookers.
“Sorry,” said Trey. “I tried to warn you.”
Trey’s father frantically searched the overcast sky, making his concerns crystal clear.
Trey picked up one of the transmitters. “They aren’t following us.”
“Are you sure?”
Trey glanced at Livy for hints of whether something had changed. It hadn’t. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
Livy looked up to Max with sympathy in her big blue eyes. “It’s so dark there. And all the destruction.”
His face went long. “Dark, yes. I’m not sure I follow you on the destruction.”
“Smoke,” said Trey. “Rubble. Collapsed buildings.”
Max slowly shook his head, remaining silent.
Trey offered the stone. “See for yourself.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Livy spun toward Trey. “What’s in the hole?”
Trey gazed reluctantly at all the eyes on him. “A man. He was alive . . . barely.”
Trey’s mother rested a hand on his shoulder. “You always face so much.”
Trey shook his head in denial. Others had endured far heavier trials.
He looked to Max. “He said something. Do you know what vinum torbi unu means?”
Max’s fleshly scrubbed face turned whiter than humanly possible. “Yes . . . I’m afraid I do.”
Trey stared, waiting for the drifter to answer.
Max patted for his missing jacket pocket. “I have something to show you, but it’s still inside my coat.”
He backed away. “Excuse me while I go find it. I’m sure everything will make more sense when you see it.”
As he shuffled off to the camper, Trey handed Livy the stone and plucked the other from the grass. He looked over his shoulder to see that Max was out of sight. “The black-eyes are turning everything upside down to find us. I’m thinking we need to tell Max what we know about our . . . history.”
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