by C. A. Pack
The storm drain didn’t smell great. It never did. But now that it had two Terrorians crammed inside of it, it smelled even worse. They proceeded until they reached the junction and sniffed.
“I think they went left,” Marbol said.
“Why would they do that? The left side leads to a dead end.”
“Yeah. But they don’t know that.”
“If we follow them, we’re going to get stuck in there with them,” Duddu said.
“How far does it go before it ends?”
“I don’t know. Maybe two hundred sticks.”
“Do you think the flamethrower will reach that far?”
“Probably not.”
“Then we have to go in there. But we have to be careful, because they could have turned around when they reached the end and may be coming right at us.”
Johanna checked on Ava, who had been guarding the portals since she got home from school. “Don’t you have homework to do?”
“Yeah. I did my math homework during lunch, but I still have to write a poem. I’m thinking about it while I guard the portals. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get inspired.”
Johanna laughed. “I hope you do. If you need me, I’ll be in my residence.”
“Okay.”
Johanna retreated to her apartment. Before the Roths moved into the library, she had often felt lonely. Now, she sometimes looked forward to being alone so she could process everything that had happened. The first image to pop into her head was Jackson’s tattoo. She remembered how the first one had gotten infected. She feared it might happen again. The idea that he’d done it without asking her first irritated her. And the fact that she felt irritated about it annoyed her even more. She had no more right to give Jackson grief about his tattoo than he would have telling her how to cut her hair.
Would I care if he were my brother? No. She would probably have a live-and-let-live attitude if he were her brother. Would I care if I didn’t like him? No. If she didn’t like him, what he did wouldn’t matter to her. Would I care if he were my husband? She felt herself blush, heat building in her face. Just thinking of herself married to Jackson made her nerves tingle. As much as she fought facing her feelings about him, she knew it was time to do so. They were almost always together. They saw each other every day and she had practically adopted his family as her own. They worked well together as co-curators of the library. And, they had fun together when their lives weren’t being threatened by enemies from other realms or dimensions. She sat back on the sofa and closed her eyes. She allowed Jackson to enter her daydream. He pushed her down on the couch and kissed her. She wrapped herself around him. They had kissed like this a few times and she had felt like she was part of him but then had pushed him away. Why? She allowed the scene to play out in her mind. Jackson took a small silver band off his pinky and slipped it on her finger. “I want you to know I’ll be there for you, always,” he said, “no matter what.” “Me, too,” she answered.
Johanna opened her eyes and sat up. The room had darkened as the hour grew late. Her fingers found the switch on the lamp next to the couch. She didn’t want to think she had been dreaming. She had just allowed herself to commit to Jackson, at least in her imagination. I love him. After thinking it, she said it out loud. “I love Jackson.” She realized she’d been pushing him away because she didn’t think she should allow herself to fall in love with him. However, her subconscious just permitted what her conscious mind would not allow her to admit—and it was time for her superego and her id to get their act together. I’m in love, she thought again and smiled. Then she imagined Jackson being decimated by a Terrorian weapon and felt tears sting her eyes. There was a lot to be said about keeping someone at arm’s length—you could protect yourself from being hurt if anything happened to them. But she was going to hurt whether she admitted she loved him or not, so she might as well admit it. She felt a wave of happiness surge through her body. It was time to let Jackson in.
Soon after Artemus Rexana departed Adventura, Prophet IAN c. called together a meeting of the realm’s ruler*bots. They looked like every other hu*bot, except their right arms were solid metal instead of covered in polymer. The most prestigious Adventurans had gold arms, followed by platinum, silver, and copper. Non-ruling hu*bots had titanium arms covered with multihued artificial skin.
The rulers stood in a circle around Prophet IAN c. “Fellows,” the curator began, “there have been changes in the outer worlds that may affect us. Allow me to explain.” He spent the next half hour recounting the Terrorians’ latest incursions into other realms.
“We will not side with the Terrorians again, will we?” asked Prophet DAVID l.
“No,” the curator replied. “We will not allow ourselves to repeat the past, knowing it does not work out in our favor. And while I do not consider the Terrorians our enemies, I certainly do not consider them friends. I would freely eliminate them if I felt they threatened our world.”
The others were fully in accord with the curator. “Say! Say!” they chanted in response.
One of the ruler*bots took a step forward. “Before the meeting, you mentioned the overseers are planning to tax us. Isn’t that punishment for our ancient alignment with the Terrorians?”
“They are sending their Chancellor of the Exchequer to discuss a tax with us. Since we engage in communal living, there is no need for a tax. Those who sustain war losses will merely be brought back to their state of being before the loss occurred.”
“Do you think this Chancellor of the Exchequer will allow that?”
“We’ll soon find out.”
When Jackson woke up, he decided it was time to have a serious chat with Johanna about their relationship. He found her packing book orders at the circulation desk.
“Johanna.”
She turned to him and smiled.
He rushed his words, knowing if he took his time, he might change his mind. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately,” he said, “and I’m finally beginning to see the light.”
“Um-hmm,” she answered.
“We’re good together. We’re friends. We’re co-curators. I know you always have my back when there’s a problem, and I want you to know I’ll always have yours.”
“I do know that,” she said. “Hiring you was one of the best moves ever.”
Her answer unnerved him a little, but he pushed on. “I can see now how being together so much can drive us apart in some ways. So I want you to know, I’m backing off. You can date whomever you want. I’ll go out with some of the girls I’ve met in high school or will meet in college. And that will give us the ability to work together without our emotions getting in the way. I’ve got to say, sometimes you really get into my head, and I feel awful about something I’ve done—when I shouldn’t have to—like getting this tattoo. I think it’s because we’re in this weird pseudo-relationship. But how much of a relationship can we have with my family living here and us being thrown together all the time?”
She felt like the bottom dropped out of her stomach. “It sounds like we’re already married,” she said, her voice flat.
“Right. But without the perks. Romance should be a little mysterious. A little sexy. And very pleasing,” he continued. “I’m finally realizing what we have together is not romance. It’s friendship, for sure. And, at times, it’s exciting. But there’s no mystery. And I’m craving that. So I just want to say I’m going to start dating, and I want you to feel comfortable about doing the same.”
“Okay.” She continued packing books without looking at him.
He didn’t notice the blood draining from her face. “Right,” he said again, before walking away thinking, She doesn’t even care.
Perog 2 and Mope 98 inched their way through the cramped storm drain until they reached a large obstruction—metal louvers spanning the height and width of the opening—that completely blocked their path.
“What is it?” Mope 98 asked.
“I don’t know.”
“K
nock it out of the way.”
Perog 2 slammed his right side against it. It didn’t budge.
“Maybe if we pull it,” Mope 98 suggested.
Both Terrorians snaked their tentacles into the louvers and took hold, pulling. The top opened toward them, but the bottom swung away. The large, round louver rotated on a central pivot.
“Grab the center,” Perog 2 instructed, “and pull on my command.” He took a deep breath. “Now!”
The two Terrorians pulled with all their might, but the pivot refused to budge.
“I told you we should have gone the other way,” Mope 98 said.
“Fine. Follow me.”
Mope 98 turned around but stopped in his tracks when he heard muffled voice. “Someone’s coming,” he whispered.
“Maybe they’ll go down the other tunnel,” Perog 2 said.
“Maybe.”
Rather than follow Perog 2, Mope 98 wrapped his tentacles around the louvers in a last-ditch effort and began tugging with all his might.
—LOI—
14
Marbol cocked his head to one side. “Did you hear that?”
“What?” Pye whispered. “I didn’t hear anything.” The squeak of a metal hinge startled them. “Oh. That.”
“They can’t be that far away,” Marbol reasoned. “The dead end is right around the bend.” He snuck up to the bend in the storm drain and held his breath as he listened. He could definitely hear heavy breathing. He hoisted the flamethrower over his shoulder and jumped out into the middle of the storm drain after he turned the bend, switching the flamethrower on full.
“They’re here!” Mope 98 whispered. “They’re going to kill us.”
“They’re just kiddlets,” Perog 2 answered.
Suddenly, there was a loud whoosh directly in front of them. Perog 2 opened his eyes as wide as possible to see what caused it. He wished he hadn’t. A giant fireball hurtled toward him and he knew he was going to fry. He shielded his face with the tentacle that contained the biometric armband. There was a small case attached to it with a dose of poison. Perog 2 sucked out the poison and hoped it would act quickly. It did not stop him from screaming in pain.
Mope 98 had the same armband and poison device but could not maneuver it to his mouth because Perog 2 was pressed too tightly against him. He could feel the intense heat and smell burning flesh.
Perog 2 stopped screaming as the poison did its job. Mope 98 prayed Perog 2 would protect him and that the kiddlets would run out of firepower before they could kill him, too.
Chris Roth had stayed after school watching his girlfriend, Brittany’s, cheerleading practice. Afterward, he greeted her with a kiss. “You must be hungry. I thought we could go back to my house for a nice, quiet dinner.”
“What’s your mom making?”
“Nothing. She’s not at home. No one is. I thought we’d pick something up along the way.”
A honking horn diverted her attention. “My mom’s here. I told her I’d go shopping with her. I don’t suppose we could do it tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Chris answered. “Tomorrow would be great.”
She winked at him. “I’ll see you then.”
Chris thought about his date all the way home. I’ll get something good from Piccolo Italia. He wondered if his mother had a bottle of wine in the house? Probably not. Cassie’s older brother works in a liquor store. I’ll ask him.
Candles. He’d seen a movie where there were dozens of flickering candles in a seduction scene. Girls like that stuff. I’ll stop at the florist and get a single red rose, too. That should seal the deal.
Jackson slid into his seat at the dinner table.
“Where’s Johanna?” Ava asked.
“She’s guarding the portals.”
“Oh.”
Mrs. Roth sat down. “What’s wrong, Ava?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to read her my poem.”
Mrs. Roth spread her dinner napkin across her knees. “I’m sure we’d all like to hear it.”
“Yeah,” Ava said, “but I want to read it to Johanna first.”
Jackson grabbed a dinner roll. “Johanna and I are no longer…dating.” He said it casually but felt funny saying it, like it was wrong.
Ava gasped. “What happened?”
“It was by mutual agreement. We’ve been spending a lot of time together, which is fine. And we enjoy working together and all. But there’s no magic. We’re still really good friends. Just nothing more.”
“That’s a shame,” his mother said, laying her knife down. “I had the feeling you two were made for each other.”
“Yeah. Well, now we’re unmade.”
Chris snickered. “Like a rumpled bed.”
“Except our bed never got to the rumpled stage,” Jackson muttered.
Mrs. Roth put her fork down. “I want you boys to stop talking like that in front of your younger sister.”
Jackson popped a French fry in his mouth. “It’s not like Ava doesn’t know anything about the birds and the bees.”
“Why are you dragging me into this?” Ava complained.
“Why not?” Chris answered.
“Jackson Ryan Roth, I have half a mind to send you to bed with no dinner. And you too, Christopher Daniel.”
“Really, Mom,” Jackson said, “aren’t you being a little melodramatic?”
Mrs. Roth stood up and threw her napkin down on the table. “Ava, why don’t you run upstairs and read Johanna your poem. As for these two, don’t listen to a word they say.”
“Good idea,” Ava said, escaping the tension in the room.
Niamh Roth turned to her sons. “I thought I raised you better than this.” She walked out the door.
“Awkward,” Jackson muttered.
“Hilarious,” his brother answered.
Ava found Johanna at the top of the cupola stairs. “Hey, Johanna. Can I read you my poem?”
“Sure. Let’s hear it.”
The fourteen-year-old stood straight and read from the paper in her hand.
“Abandoned…
“I sit alone in silence.
“No birds sing.
“No dogs bark.
“There is no sound of the rustling of leaves.
“I look around.
“No flowers bloom.
“No children play.
“There is no one around to give a friendly greeting.
“Is this the result of man’s knowledge and accomplishments?
“Why?
“Am I to wither away like the former life known to me?
“Through others’ hatred, ignorance, and greed, I have been…
“Abandoned.”
Johanna stared at Ava. “That’s pretty deep, Ava. And a little morbid.”
“I know.” The younger girl sighed, “But sometimes when I’m here by myself guarding the portals, I think about what might happen if the octopus succeeds.”
“We’re going to do our best to protect you from that.”
“How can you, now that you and Jackson aren’t a couple anymore?”
Johanna couldn’t hide the grief on her face or the tear that escaped quickly and involuntarily. “I guess Jackson told you…”
Ava dropped to the floor and sat crossed-legged. “He announced it at dinner. He said it was by mutual consent.” Ava looked at the tear Johanna had failed to wipe away. “It wasn’t, was it? It was my brother’s idea. Chris said it’s because you’re not sleeping together.”
Johanna’s face turned a deep shade of red. “Nice dinner table conversation.”
“Mom was mad about it. She got up and walked out after yelling at the boys.”
“It’s not like we’re not friends anymore,” Johanna said. “And I consider you the little sister I never had.”
“Me, too. Not that you’re my little sister, but like you’re my older one.”
Johanna crouched down next to her and gave her a hug. “I’m pretty sure if they don’t pack you off to the school psychiatrist
for fear that you’re suicidal, you’ll get an A on that poem. But you can’t tell them what prompted you to write it.”
“I know. I’ll just tell them I watched a doomsday movie and it made me think of it.”
“That’ll work.” Johanna stood and lifted the decimator. She aimed it at the portal. “I’ll be here, guarding the fort.”
The time machine flashed into view with Nero 51 and Odyon inside. Startled, Johanna pulled the trigger without thinking. It caused a flash.
The time machine disappeared, but exactly what happened to it was anybody’s guess.
Marbol kept the flamethrower turned on high until it ran out of fuel. When the fire died out, he turned and ran, gagging on the smell. He didn’t see Pye until he got out of the storm drain. The other boy stood at the edge of the pond vomiting in the water.
Marbol dropped the flamethrower. “What’s the matter, Pye? Can’t take—” He felt his stomach heave, and a moment later, his stomach contents defied gravity as well.
“Did you ever smell anything that gross?” Pye asked. “My clothes smell like that, and my hair, and I’m going to smell that stink forever.”
Marbol wiped off his mouth on the hem of his shirt. “It had to be done.”
“Whose gonna remove what’s left?”
“Why do we have to remove anything?”
“Because it’s going to block the storm drain. And if it blocks the drain, it’s going to back up into the pond when it rains. And the pond is going to overflow. And the homes on the low side are going to get flooded. And those people won’t have anyplace to live. Do you want them to come live with you?”
Marbol leaned over and propped both his hands on his knees. Another wave of nausea rippled through his stomach. “No. We killed them. We did our job. Some of the others should have to clean them out of the storm drain.”
Pye stood a little straighter. “That’s a good plan.”