by Suze Reese
CHAPTER SIX
The sound of a child’s cry burst through my thoughts and the quiet afternoon. A tiny girl with bright red hair came dashing from the yard next door into mine, bellowing. I wanted to mind my own business but couldn’t take my eyes off the crimson streak as it dashed past. The girl stopped suddenly in her tracks, then turned back and stood directly in front of me. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead let out an ear-piercing scream.
I studied the strange and fragile-looking child, not sure what to say. Tears streamed down her cheeks, flowing into her mouth. Eventually I decided I’d have to say something, and spoke in a loud voice over the girl’s wails. “What’s wrong?”
The girl clamped her mouth shut, sniffled, and held out her arm. “I got a bee sting.”
“Oh.” I looked from the girl’s arm—which had a tiny red welt—to the house the girl had come from, then back to the little white arm. I knew nothing about bee stings. Or children. “Where’s your mom?”
The girl rubbed one of her eyes with the fist of her uninjured arm. A sob bubbled from her mouth. “She’s at work.”
“Who takes care of you?”
“My brother…he…he told me to go away.” She let out yet another loud wail.
I groaned. The last thing I wanted to do was take care of a hysterical human child. The girl’s cry turned into quick, hiccupping sobs. I stood reluctantly and placed my hand on her back. “Let’s go find him.”
“No!” She screamed and resisted, pushing back against my hand. “He won’t help!”
I hesitated. I was breaking rules faster than a rogue on a crime spree. And yet I couldn’t just leave this child alone and hurt. “How old are you?”
“Eight?” The little girl answered as though it were a question.
I repeated the number to myself, and tried to remember what life was like at that age. I looked from the house to the whimpering child. I should just leave her and go inside. It’s probably what Keddil would tell me to do. Even Mom. But if there was one thing I did know about, it was how it felt to be alone and scared. I turned to go in the house. “Do you have a name?” I called over my shoulder.
“Becca.” The child followed me inside, still whimpering.
I searched my mind for a solution. Mom and I had literally been stripped of anything associated with Nreim, including cell regenerators. I had been issued a package of band-aids, but somehow I didn’t think that would do the trick. “So what does your mom do when you get stung?” I asked.
Becca’s lower lip stuck out. “I dunno.” She hiccupped. “This is my first one.”
“Great.” I looked at the archaic-looking box in the corner. Keddil had said the Internet was the alternative to Centerpole. He’d said I could learn pretty much anything I’d need to know about Earth life on that thing. But his instructions were about as detailed as they had been for cell phones. And I dreaded looking like an idiot again, even if it was just in front of a child. “Do you know how to do a Google?” I asked.
Becca sniffed and wiped at her nose. “Maybe. You mean do a search?”
“Yeah, that.” I nodded. “Type in bee sting treatment.”
Becca eyed me suspiciously. “Why can’t you?”
I folded my arms across my chest and narrowed my eyes. “Because I don’t think you can.”
Becca looked skeptical, but stepped forward, holding her arm. The child couldn’t spell sting, let alone treatment. And her typing was even slower than I thought my own would be. Eventually though, the screen filled with about a million written words on the subject of bee stings. I was tempted to ask Becca to read them to me, but I was already coming across as an imbecile. I was used to knowledge just arriving in my brain through my UNID. Reading the written word was painful. After several agonizing minutes I figured out that it took those million words to say two simple things: remove the stinger with tweezers and apply ice.
When I returned from a search for the supplies, Becca was curled up on the couch cradling her wounded arm. I gently pulled on her tiny hand, found the small stinger, and plucked it out. Becca winced, then her eyes fluttered open and she smiled appreciatively. She closed them again and snuggled in tight.
I set the icepack on her arm and decided it really couldn’t hurt to allow the child to rest for a few minutes. I’d just have to make sure she was gone before Mom got home. I turned on the television and pushed buttons on the remote control until I found an episode of I Love Lucy. This was the first time I had watched a television instead of viewing media in my head. It should have been exciting, but I couldn’t pay attention. I needed to formulate an argument persuasive enough to convince Mom to put me on a transport tomorrow instead of sending me back to that school.
***
Becca and I were on our fourth show, Beverly Hillbillies, when Mom turned the light on in the dark room, startling us. I looked anxiously from Mom to Becca and back again. But Mom was too excited to notice the little girl.
It was strange seeing Mom in her news reporter disguise—a short skirt and jacket made of thick claret-colored fabric. Her hair was wind-tossed, which made her look all the more exotic. “Come see!” She pivoted back around and dashed to the door she’d just come through, then paused with her hand on the knob. “Come on!”
I reluctantly pulled myself up and followed, with Becca following close behind. I considered sending her out the back door, but was afraid she’d argue or get lost. I hoped I could slip her by without Mom noticing. By the time I got to the doorway, Mom was in the driveway caressing the hood of a shiny new vehicle the color of her clothing: a Saab convertible with cream leather upholstery.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Her voice was almost a purr.
Yes she was, stunning. Breathtaking. Made the Toyota I’d just been in look like a pile of rubbish. Vaguely aware of Becca standing behind me, I reached back, found her shoulders, pointed her in the direction of her house, and gave her a nudge. Then took a tentative step forward. “What…? Why…? Does Dad…?”
While trying to form a sensible question, I noticed Mom had turned her attention from the car and was shooting warning glances from me to Becca.
I took a protective step in front of the child. “This is our neighbor, Becca,” I said.
Mom flashed a brilliant but artificial smile. “Why don’t you scoot on home?”
Becca glanced at me, her mood turning from curious to intimidated—which was a natural reaction to my mother, even for adults—then darted to her house.
Mom gave me a disapproving look.
“She’s a child. She was injured,” I said, shrugging. None of the other things I wanted to say—faced with the evidence of my mother’s wonderful day—were part of the speech I’d spent the last two hours preparing. I shouldn’t have been angry that Mom was learning to drive. It was a perfectly logical activity. But the contrast of our two days was just what it took to push me over the edge.
Welcome to your new assignment Agent Johns. For your first day we’re going to buy you a shiny new vehicle and give personalized operating instructions. Will it be a nice vehicle? Oh yes, top of the line! Your daughter? Oh don’t worry about her. We’re going to drop her off somewhere near the local high school and see how she does. Don’t worry, she’ll have a cell phone so she should be fine.
Mom’s look remained unchanged while I fumed. “Do you know how far I have to walk to school?” It was a silly question, but the only one that came to mind.
“Two point three miles,” she answered matter-of-factly. “A little exercise is good for you.”
“But walking? Have you ever had to walk that far?” I felt dumb and angry at myself for making such a stupid argument. But mostly angry at Mom for making me so flustered.
Mom stepped close and linked her arm through mine.
In that instant I was engulfed in the familiar sensation of my mother’s fierce, unconditional love.
“Let’s take this conversation inside,” Mom whispered.
I sighed reluct
antly, my anger involuntarily gone, and pulled on Mom’s arm, taking her into the house. “You really drove that thing?”
“Sure did…” Mom leaned into me. “Sounds like you had a big day too.”
“Yes, you could say that.” I could sense Mom’s fatigue and directed her towards the couch. She plopped down and put her head back. With her legs and arms sprawled in four different directions, she had the appearance of action even while resting.
An odd stabbing in my stomach reminded me that the food I’d had for lunch was digested. Mom was probably in the same condition. It would be best if she had food in her stomach when I presented my very logical argument for going home on that shuttle tomorrow. I headed into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, surveying the vast supply of government-approved vegetables, nuts and seeds.
“Mira,” Mom called.
“Yes?”
“You know the agency has a lot of faith in you, don’t you? Keddil is confident you’ll do fine.”
I shook my head and pulled open a drawer without comment. From this distance I had started to fume all over again.
“And you did good today!” Mom called in a loud voice. “You’re kind of a hero at the agency.”
I rose from my stooped position, my curiosity peaked, with a stalk of celery under my arm and a head of cauliflower in my hand. They weren’t really watching me were they? If they were, they’d know about the cafeteria. And the vehicle ride. Maybe even staring at the male. No that couldn’t be, or she wouldn’t have said I did good. Unless she was toying with me—
“They have a new assignment for you,” Mom said.
I couldn’t move, my mind racing with possibilities.
“After what happened with Alison Stone today,” Mom continued.
I held my breath and walked to the kitchen doorway, my arms weighted with vegetables, where I could see my mother still sprawled on the couch, her eyes closed.
“Oh?” I prodded. My empty stomach did a flip. At least she was referring to something I’d told her. Which meant they weren’t watching me. But I felt more nervous than ever. A new assignment could be good. Or bad. It could be a lot of things. Mom didn’t seem in any hurry to talk.
Her eyes fluttered open, then closed again. “You’re to report to a man named Leo at the school office tomorrow after your last class. You’ll be working after school as a custodian.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I crashed the head of cauliflower onto the kitchen countertop. “No way!”
“Mira…” Mom opened her eyes, reaching out to me.
I turned and fled from the instant forgiveness my mother’s embrace would require—into the bathroom, the only room in the house with a lock. I plopped onto the floor and sat with my back against the far wall, putting as much distance as I could between myself and the door.
Mom tried to open a stream, but I blocked it. I needed some time to be mad. I had no idea what this talk about me doing good was all about. That was just pure madness. But I did know that a new assignment—and a repulsive one at that—killed any chance of me returning home. And even worse, the minute I got close to her again, and got a fill of all her trite motherly concern, I’d completely forgive her and agree to do anything she asked.
The expected knock came a second later. “Mira…come out of there.”
I ignored her.
Mom pounded on the door and called my name, both with her voice and through streaming. “Mira…Please…”
I put my hands over my ears.
“Okay, I give up,” Mom finally said. “Don’t open the door. I’m just going to talk and hope you’ll listen.” There was a pause—Mom waiting. I didn’t move. “Everyone at the agency is excited about what you did today.”
I pulled my hands away from my head, leaned back against the wall, and spread my legs out, waiting anxiously but silently for more. After several moments of silence, Mom continued. “Have you ever noticed that I don’t seem as big a fan of the Stones as your father?
I had. In fact I’d noticed the same thing about Keddil during my training. But I didn’t reply.
After a long pause, Mom continued. “Twenty years ago, when the Stones applied to come to Earth, they failed their personality profiles, and in a big way. It’s impossible to cheat on those things. It’s a direct scan of the brain. We frequently see applicants that hope to live easy off of unsuspecting humans, using mind control and what not. But this was more typical of dictators, who hope to take over their own country or something.” Mom paused, I guess hoping I would be shocked enough to open the door, or at least say something.
I tapped my foot against the base of the commode, thinking. Just yesterday I might have been horrified to discover that everything I’d learned back at home wasn’t the truth. But today—after eating real food, and meeting the creepy Dr. Alison—the news was disturbing, but not all that surprising.
“Of course the governing council didn’t want to hear any of it,” Mom continued. “Even then the Stones were the most sought-after speakers on the planet. All Neoearth policies were based on their research. Any talk of deviant personalities in those two would have had global repercussions. The council insisted we just keep quiet and send them. The one and only compromise was to send Rameer as a sentinel agent.” Mom paused again, giving me time to process the information. Or maybe just gathering her thoughts.
“The agency was confident Rameer would quickly find evidence to redeem us and our findings,” she continued. “But in twenty years of investigations, the Stones haven’t done a single thing that could be used to show substantiation of deviant personalities. Except to give Rameer a bad feeling.”
Bad feeling. Like the one I’d had today from Dr. Alison. I shifted on the cold floor, crossing my legs.
“The whole thing has been a huge blow to the agency’s standing with the council. Our research and testing in all aspects of Neoearth investigations has become suspect. In fact, Rameer didn’t quite retire. The governing council released him when the Stones decided to teach at the high school instead of at the university.” Mom paused, giving me a chance to speak. But I remained quiet. “It wasn’t exactly the career move of choice for criminals plotting to take over the world,” she eventually said.
I chuckled, despite myself. My mind was racing. This changed everything. The reason I was here, the rules I was supposed to follow. It still didn’t explain why I’d been selected in the first place. Or make it any easier to be here. In fact, today would have been even more terrifying if I’d known all this.
Mom remained quiet, letting me absorb what she’d just told me.
Eventually, I decided it was time to open a stream.
Keddil was probably right, for once.
Which left the biggest question of all.
I sat up taller, slipping my legs underneath me, my stomach churning nervously.
been before sitting in Dr. Alison’s class. Still, how was I supposed to find evidence strong enough to convince people on Nreim of something so outrageous if a trained agent hadn’t done it in twenty years?
I thought of questions—one after another, until curiosity began to chink away at my armor of anger.
It took Mom ages to answer. Possibly because she didn’t know. Though she sounded sincere, and even choked up, when she answered.
Her sincerity only made me more angry. And confused.
Tears of frustration began to well up. I blinked them back.
After another long pause before Mom answered.
I repeated the phrase sarcastically to myself before responding.
I remained quiet for several moments, listening to Mom’s breathing on the other side of the door. I finally streamed.
I wiped away a tear.
“Mira,” Mom said out loud in a gentle voice. “You know my first job is being your mother. I’m always just a thought away. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
I didn’t—couldn’t—respond through the lump in my throat.