Attribution

by Christine Horner

  2021 :: Stockholm, Sweden — Nine-year-old Starzl refused. Arms folded over his chest, a scowl deeper than Richard Nixon’s, he didn’t take orders.

  Amused by the little genius’s toughboy act, Major Young smirked as he filled his plate from a catered buffet spread across two picnic tables. “You don’t want the bugs to eat before you, do you?”

  The GSC was hosting a family outing for the child geniuses and their families to blow off some steam at a campus park built just for them. Starzl’s parents had virtually dumped the boy to travel the world when the project began.

  Young had been drafted to be the boy’s chaperone for the day. He sat on a bench with his food, his back against the picnic table to face the grassy lawn. The kid still lacked style, he thought to himself. He’d be another Frohm, or worse, like China’s weasel of a General Chen if Young didn’t offer guidance.

  “Starzl, get out there. Kick a little ass for once instead of being all mouth.”

  The boy angrily shoved his hands in his pockets. Young turned his attention to Thomas, the poster boy of good parenting.

  Waiving his sandwich in the air, “Mmm! Liverwurst. My favorite!”

  Yuck, Thomas thought to himself from where he stood. Young made excessive lip-smacking noises, smiling and waving a few more times. Thomas ignored the overtures.

  “You’ve still got your arm!” Thomas praised Hemmy, throwing the ball back.

  “I didn’t give it away, Daddy,” Hemmy joked.

  Thomas had an idea. Purposely throwing the ball short and wide, it rolled close to Starzl’s feet. “Oops! I just did! Hey, buddy, got any game?”

  “Come on, little man. Show ‘em you got balls and game,” goaded Young.

  “I don’t play with dickless boys,” jeered Starzl. Hemmy had made him feel bad too many times to count because she was smarter than him. And playing ball with her dad like it’s something special. Knowing he had everyone’s attention now, his scowl grew into something else.

  Shrugging his shoulders, he innocently picked up the ball. At the last second, he turned his aim away from Thomas to lob it hard at the girl he envied, hitting her hard on the side of the head.

  The defenseless girl caught unawares fell crying.

  “Loser!”

  CHAPTER 41

  Truby shook Cadence and Zedd to wake them. “Let’s go.”

  It was early. The still blood-orange sun competing with a setting moon was just beginning to lift high enough to warm the vapid air around them as they slowly moved through the stirring camp. There were lines for portable showers and toilets for those who didn’t have their own, courtesy of the government. FEMA emergency water stations pulled moisture out of the air every twenty feet. The smell of freshly cooked bacon filled the air making Truby’s stomach growl. That and a warm shower would have been killer.

  A few National Guard, new faces, patrolled nearby. Zedd pulled down the bill of his Katrina ballcap, a gift from their neighbor as a gesture of goodwill for the trouble they’d had the night before. “Don’t worry; they were just doing their job,” they’d said.

  “So you think you can just pretty please hop a transport into Vegas?” The first words out of Zedd’s mouth since last night.

  “Doesn’t hurt to ask. Nothing else, we’ll gather valuable intel.”

  An old man in a silver jumpsuit with blinking Christmas lights and green hair waved at Truby.

  “Yeah, intelligence,” Cadence muttered. “Like when you didn’t try to stop them from taking Hector."

  Truby held back hurtling emotions and worse—accusations She couldn’t prove that Zedd had planted the drone on Hector. What interested her was why.

  It took only four more minutes to reach the military checkpoint that blocked I-15 south. The two Guards from last night must never sleep. There was a third with mahogany skin that glistened with sweat running down from crewcut temples, freckles dotting prominent cheek bones. Clearly, this was his first deployment.

  The new guard shifted nervously from foot to foot, gray eyes wide as they scanned the crowd organizing for a new day of protests. He cringed at the sight of the three of them briskly approaching, until his gaze fell upon Cadence. His chin rose slightly, the muscles in his jaw flexing, he forced himself to stand a little taller.

  “You’d better have a plan,” Zedd whispered loudly.

  Truby’s plan was to shake a tree to see what fell out, an old investigative reporter technique when things were moving too slowly.

  “Good morning, officers! Last night, one of our friends accepted an invitation I’m not sure where, but we’re here to fetch him, bail him out, whatever you gentlemen call it. Do you think maybe you could give us a teensy-weensy ride into town?”

  Mortified, Zedd spat between clenched teeth, “Get a grip, lady!”

  Truby smiled through clenched teeth, “I learned it from Cadence.”

  “Ma’am, are you drunk?” asked the female Guard.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Nobody goes into town,” said the dog handler. “Those were my orders yesterday, and those are my orders today.”

  “Aha! There’s a town to go into!” cried Cadence.

  “Of course, there’s a—” scoffed Guard Freckles.

  “What’s left of it.” The sergeant dealt Freckles an I’ll-deal-with-you-later scowl. “You have two seconds to turn around and crawl back under the rock from where you came.”

  Truby shocked the three Guards by pushing past them, determined to walk down I-15.

  “Truby!” Zedd and Cadence reacted sharply.

  “One more step and somebody’s going to get hurt!” warned the dog handler.

  A crowd was beginning to form.

  “You’re going to shoot an American citizen in the back on American soil?” Truby held her ground. “I think you, or at least he’d feel pretty bad about that.”

  “Standing orders, ma’am,” said the female.

  After fumbling awkwardly with his laser assault rifle, Freckles finally got it up. “You’d better listen to him. Uh, he’ll do it!”

  Truby slowly turned toward them. Zedd gave a sharp nod with his head for her to come back.

  “What if I punch him in the nose instead?” Truby asked Freckles, nodding toward Zedd. She would enjoy it.

  Cadence and Zedd hung their heads now. What did she think she was doing?

  “Uh, well, if you punch him, I’ll have to arrest you,” Freckles quickly reasoned.

  “Is that so?” Truby thought about it a moment before taking a step backward across the imaginary line.

  She slowly turned to inspect newly posted warning signs that extended into the desert’s unmanned perimeter: WARNING: It is unlawful to enter this restricted area by order of N.S.A. 12.2. Trespassers will be subjected to bodily harm possibly resulting in death.

  “Look at all this desert. How ever will you guard miles and miles of perimeter?”

  “You go right ahead and find out, lady. I dare you,” smirked the dog handler.

  Zedd and Cadence verbally berated Truby as they walked back to their camp. Let them. She got what she was wanted. As they weaved through the small village, campers applauded, the ovation tapering off toward the back.

  “Amateur, lady.”

  “You almost got us killed! What about Hector?”

  Truby said nothing, instead traipsing onward. As she moved through the people, she felt confusion. She had experienced this phenomenon, a type of Déjà vu, on more than one occasion. When you live multiple lives, the lines begin to blur. Occasionally you wake up unsure which state or country you’re sleeping in. People resemble people you once knew.

  Truby surged ahead of Cadence and Zedd, “I’m so far ahead of you, you can’t keep up!”

  Running now, she tagged rocks and camping equipment with the toes of her shoes as if taking an obstacle course to task. When she came upon a teenage boy dribbling his soccer ball, he passed it to her. Truby pulled her foot back, swung, and missed. She picked it up, tossing
it back to its owner like a baseball.

  Zedd and Cadence caught up.

  “Why don’t you two organize a soccer game?”

  “In this heat?” asked Zedd incredulously.

  CHAPTER 42

  Outside camp, Truby watched the sinking sun in the western sky, the warmth of the day abating. It was just like old times. Over the years, news directors Truby had worked with had complained her news gathering technique was unconventional to say the least. But somehow, she had always managed to beat the competition to the story. It had taken Truby a full ten minutes of cajoling, finessing, and finally a full-on yelling match as to why a soccer game in the middle of the desert was a good idea. The “old times” trick was convincing Zedd without giving away her true motives.

  Zedd had always been the first one to complain about the slightest heat. Truby had ascribed it to his fair skin, but now, she was reexamining every assumption she’d ever made in the last three years. She’d made many. Zedd’s blue hair had pale blonde roots.

  Truby bit off the tip of her water droplet. Its membrane was contaminant resistant, but unless coming directly from a sanitary dispensary, most preferred to toss the biodegradable remains back to nature. She was thirsty. Water dribbled down her chin, onto the large boulder she stood upon, and over its edge like a miniature waterfall slaking its thirst as she sorted through all she knew.

  “Las Vegas was destroyed.”

  “No matter what happens, keep cool.”

  Silhouettes in the distance, the shapes of Cadence and Zedd along with Rose and Pete recruited players to form teams for their newly designated soccer field. It was almost time. This was going to be interesting.

  ___

  The sun low, Truby squinted as she squared off against Zedd for the kickoff on rough ground. All positions had been more than filled on both teams with twice the substitutes once news of the game got out. Even a couple of National Guard soldiers standing on the sidelines itched to get in on the match. A few players came in costumes or with brooms. Everyone was just looking for a little escapism. Truby was looking for more.

  “Play by the rules or don’t play at all,” Pete demanded, his unlit Cuban between his teeth. He pulled the cigar out of his mouth, a whistle going in as he backed away from center field.

  “I am so going to kick your ass.”

  The whistle blew, short and shrill.

  “Over my dead body,” countered Truby as she rammed a shoulder hard into Zed.

  “Maybe,” he fought back.

  Truby didn’t actually know the rules of the game, only the objective. Her objective was very clear. Catch Zedd off-guard by immediately taking control of the ball. Except she quickly got into trouble with Pete as she broke one rule after another, including catching the ball mid-air Zedd meant for her head.

  After two trips up and down the field calling out rules to Truby and any other player who violated them, he gave up standing midfield. He must have been protected by an invisible forcefield, for all the players seemed to have no trouble clearing a wide swath around him as the game continued.

  A Guardsman Truby was familiar with kicked the soccer ball back in when it went offside.

  “If you’re going to play, wait your turn and rotate in!” called Pete.

  Ten minutes into the match, neither team had scored. As soon as one team came close to scoring a goal, the ball was stolen by the opposing team’s defense.

  Truby passed the ball to a sixty-year-old woman with a broom in a tank top, knee socks, and a headband.

  When the woman used her broom to sweep the ball out of bounds, the Guard couldn’t stand it any longer. He grabbed her under her hairy armpits, lifting her up and off the field. “I’m in!”

  “That’s illegal!”

  Truby kicked the ball back onto the field.

  “You can’t— Truby, play your position, not everybody else’s!” tried Pete again, exasperated.

  Truby feigned innocence. Zedd swooped in to steal the ball, dribbling it up the field to score.

  “Halftime break!” Pete was doubled over.

  “No break!” shouted Truby. Sweat dripping down her face, she set up for another kickoff.

  “Whatever,” Zedd agreed. He wiped and held his crimson face on his t-shirt with built-in cooling fibers. He really needed that break.

  They had agreed to a thirty-minute match. Truby may not be as agile as Zedd, but she had endurance. Zedd’s face beet red, she was going to push him to his breaking point.

  Cadence rotated in on Zedd’s team. “No ball hogging!”

  The Guardsman scored for Truby’s team; then Cadence kicked one into the net for Zedd’s team.

  Zedd eyed a relentless Truby. Did she take steroids or hormones or something?

  “We are taking a two-minute break, or I’m calling a forfeit,” Pete lit his cigar. He wondered why they were playing soccer to begin with. Knowing Truby well enough, she had her reasons.

  “Then we win!” Zedd happily spun around, hands in the air.

  “You can’t forfeit the game!” cried Truby. “I call a penalty!”

  “Only I call penalties,” Pete said smugly. “Two-minute break!”

  The players gulped down water droplets, skins and all. A few players gave up, allowing those chosen last to rotate in, including a gleeful Rose.

  The sun had dipped below the horizon, a pink glow all that remained. Truby knew this was her last chance before it would be too hard to see the ball. Ball hogging, Truby stepped up center field for the kickoff against Cadence.

  Rose tapped Truby’s arm, “May I?”

  Ordinarily, she would have said no, but nothing about this little girl had been ordinary so far.

  “You’re mine, little girl,” said Cadence as she hunkered down to wait for the whistle to blow.

  Pete took an extra-long draw on his cigar, smacking his lips, savoring the moment before he slowly exhaled like a chimney fire.

  “Come on!” the players demanded.

  Pete moistened his lips, inserting the whistle into his mouth. He inhaled deeply, but before he could exhale, Cadence went for the ball. Pete ran for his life. This was for blood.

  With very little effort, Rose’s dainty foot tucked in to swipe the ball. She danced elegantly around Cadence, neatly dribbling it in to score a goal for Truby’s team. Not a single player had assisted. In fact, no player from either team had ever gotten close to her.

  Truby was amazed. It was tied.

  Exhausted and almost purple-faced, Zedd met Truby center field. “Done yet?”

  “I can go all night,” Truby smiled.

  “I doubt it. It’s not your game. What is your game, Truby?”

  Narrowed eyes asked him the same question. The whistle blew. Truby moved like lightning, taking control of the ball before Zedd even knew what was happening. The rest of the players too exhausted, she worked the ball down the field with only Rose to protect her.

  “Pass it, Truby! Pass it!” Rose called out.

  Ignoring her teammate, she neared the goalie, his outstretched arms meant to intimidate her. The dog handler smiled as Truby stared into his eyes just before they were to collide. A trick she’d learned as a ballplayer in high school, Truby slowed her world down by turning inward to focus on the only thing that mattered, the ball. Pulling a strong leg back, a well-planted side kick and the ball skipped multiple times over the tops of greenery offside toward a warning sign between the empty field and New Las Vegas. The object bounced up to hit the arbitrary perimeter two feet above the irregular ground where it stayed as if floating in the air, only half visible.

  All eyes glued to the scene, it took on a life of its own. The ball began to smolder, then smoke before bursting into flames and disintegrating like a meteor hitting the Earth’s atmosphere.

  Someone exclaimed, “Holy crap!”

  “Couldn’t be a team player, could you?” Zedd shook his head in disgust leaving the field.

  His shirt draped over the whitest shoulders Truby had ev
er seen, she wondered what he meant by that, exactly.

  CHAPTER 43

  The smoldering embers of Zedd’s verbal left hook obscured the clarity of her mission. Eyes open or closed, all Truby could see was the wrecking ball that was her life even before it was her life.

  “Never could be a team player...”

  His words burned like acid in her face as Truby poured water over her clammy head to keep from vomiting. Alone on the field, she couldn’t take her eyes away from where the ball had disintegrated near the warning sign. Feeling dizzy, she sat voluntarily rather than risk taking an involuntary vertical dive. She put her head between her knees.

  Wasn’t everything she’d ever done motivated by making things right and good in the world?

  2021 :: Stockholm, Sweden — Hemmy jumped up and down gleefully like the first time she hit a home run.

  “Daddy, I did it! See? It works!”

  “Don’t you mean ‘we?’” demurred Claire.

  “You know what I mean. But I did do most of the work,” Hemmy pouted.

  “Stupendous!” Thomas couldn’t have been prouder.

  In the middle of the Global Security Council’s glass-domed R&D lab stood a miniature version of the global water superstructure. Its waters freely flowing meant it was a success. At least on a much smaller scale.

  Hemmy’s lab partner, Payton Finley, shook hands with the young genius’s supervising scientists before shaking hands with Thomas and Claire. She gave Hemmy a silly rubber-armed handshake before wrapping her arms around Hemmy in a giggly bear hug.

  Young Starzl stood all alone. Puffing up his chest, he stepped between Hemmy and her parents. “I’m the one who thought of the water storage idea, but it’s a secret.”

  “I’m sure your parents are very proud of you,” encouraged Thomas. He intensely disliked the child, especially since he’d been cruel to Hemmy. But the boy was young and hopefully still impressionable. Kill ’em with kindness, he reasoned.