Sleepers

by Darcy Pattison

  Now Jake was filled with a sense of foreboding. Sitting up, he startled a ghost crab that scurried sideways and disappeared safely into a hole in the wet sand.

  Dad pulled off his sunglasses and stood with his head bowed as he listened to Mom’s side of the satellite phone conversation.

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “Right away, sir.”

  And Jake knew: the family vacation was over.

  Dad raised an eyebrow at Mom.

  A flash of fear passed over Mom’s face, and she nodded at the approaching helicopters. “Anti-Sharks. They’re coming for me.”

  Dad sprang into action, his years as a Navy officer taking over. He kissed her—fiercely—and then thrust her away.

  “Into the water,” he ordered. “I doubt they’ve seen us yet; they’re still out of range. We’ll distract them. You know what to do.”

  Without a wasted movement, Mom stuffed her flip-flops into her backpack, along with her t-shirt. She sealed the waterproof closure, slipped the backpack’s strings over her shoulders, trotted into the water and dove, disappearing under the waves.

  A sudden loneliness washed over Jake. He didn’t know when he’d see his mom again, and he wished she’d looked back to wave good-bye.

  Dad gripped Jake’s shoulder and turned him around. They trotted across the sand to the boardwalk and crossed the dune to their two-story beach house. “Hurry. No slip-ups.”

  Already, Jake felt the tension building in the pit of his stomach. “I know what to do,” he growled.

  Passing the grill that sat on a concrete pad near the bottom of the stairs, Dad clicked the electric lighter, and the flame sprang up. By the time they got things cleared up inside, Dad could be out here grilling their breakfast steaks.

  Because of possible storm surges this close to the ocean, the ground floor under the house was mostly parking spaces under the house and a storage room. Jake climbed the stairs to the main level. Inside the dim beach house, Jake spun around, searching for anything that would reveal that a woman had been here for the last four days. The rental was decorated in beach chic, with seashells and paintings of boats and fishermen. Mom had brought almost nothing with her, and she was meticulous, keeping everything that belonged to her in her string backpack or in a tiny bag that Dad would soon take care of. Jake shoved a glossy women’s magazine amidst the other magazines in a basket. Otherwise, it looked like she’d never been here.

  “I’ll change.” Jake sprinted to his room and pulled on long flannel pajama pants to hide his own Velcro-legs.

  Suitably dressed, Jake trampled down the stairs to the grill and ripped open the white butcher paper to reveal three small steaks. Three. That was easy to explain, though; human teen boys were infamous for their huge appetites.

  Dad raced downstairs and tossed the seasoning and cooking tools near the grill. He still held Mom’s small bag and looked around frantically. Finally, he ran to the trashcans near the road. He pulled out a trash bag, undid the twist ties, and stuffed Mom’s bag at the bottom of a pile of shrimp shells from their shrimp feast the day before. Nodding, he replaced the twist tie, slammed the trash can lid back into place, and trotted back to the grill.

  On the beach, the helicopter dropped lower, and the sound of its blades whomp-whomped louder and louder until the helicopter hovered directly above the spot where Jake dove into the ocean earlier. Five men slid down ropes to the sand, machine guns tucked under their arms and wearing helmets and Kevlar vests. Dropping to the ground, the men spread out and trotted toward the beach house.

  Dad calmly sprinkled lemon pepper and salt on the steaks and then turned to face the oncoming soldiers.

  The leader called, “Where is she?”

  Jake’s stomach clenched in fear, but Dad was calm.

  “What’s going on?” Dad replied in his best military voice. “I am Navy Commander Rose, and this is my son, Jake Rose. Is this a military operation? Am I needed back at the Obama Moon Base? You could’ve called, you know.”

  The soldier hesitated, and then motioned for the other to stop. Quietly, he said something into a headset.

  Jake admired Dad’s cool demeanor, appreciated that his direct approach had managed to stymy them. Any delay gave Mom more time to swim farther out into the ocean depths—and she had to escape! Jake wasn’t sure about military technology, but he worried that if she were in shallow water, they might be able to use heat-sensors to find her. To hide his agitation, he bent to check the gas flame of the grill and adjusted the dials to shoot the flames higher. He then straightened up to glare at the soldiers.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” the soldier said. “But we’ve had a suspicious report.” He tilted his head slightly, listening to the headset. Then he squared his shoulders. “Commander, sir. My orders are to search this beach house.”

  “For what?” Commander Rose sounded outraged. “My son and I are on vacation from the Moon Base, and we were just about to have steak and eggs for breakfast. What sort of reports? What are you looking for?”

  Defiantly, the soldier said, “Sharks.”

  Jake remembered the sleek skin of his swimming companion that morning. Why had Earth nicknamed Risonians as Sharks? They weren’t anything alike. He couldn’t help it; he laughed. “Sharks live in the ocean, not in a beach house.”

  “Risonians, sir.” The soldier’s voice turned hard. He didn’t like being laughed at.

  Dad’s voice was equally hard, and his eyes flashed. “And just who are you, anyway? Special ops? Or just a vigilante group, anti-Sharks taking illegal guerrilla actions?”

  “Captain Cyrus Hill,” he said, “from the ELLIS Forces. Sorry, sir. Orders.” Like all the soldiers with their gear on, Hill looked bulky, awkward and hot. Under his helmet, his ruddy face glistened with sweat even this early in the morning. His nose spread prominently across his face, broad with large nostrils. To Jake, he looked about the same age as the younger officers on the Moon Base, maybe mid to late twenties.

  Hill lifted his machine gun slightly and motioned to the others to move forward.

  Jake’s tension built as two circled the house, shaking the dune grasses to make sure no one was hiding nearby. One flipped off the top of the trashcan, and Jake watched with his peripheral vision, not daring to look directly, lest he give away his anxiety. The man’s nose wrinkled at the rotten seafood smell, and he replaced the lid.

  “You’re not well trained,” Jake wanted to sneer. Using a bad smell to hide something should’ve been an obvious ploy. A savvy soldier would have been more suspicious, instead of put off.

  Two men in camouflage, but without discernable insignia, pushed past Dad and Jake and charged up the stairs. Jake took a half step to stop them, but Dad gave a tiny headshake. Jake stopped, but felt his worry expand with each step they took upward.

  A third soldier deliberately bumped into Jake and shoved him up against the stair’s railings. “And just who are you, anyway? Shark-lovers?”

  Almost trembling with pent-up rage and fear, Jake reared back and shoved his fist at—Dad’s hand caught his arm before he could connect with the man’s stubbly chin.

  Dad said firmly, “No.”

  Dad spun and kneed the man’s crotch and shoved his shoulders. The man landed heavily in the sand, stunned for a moment. Quickly he recovered and surged up toward Dad, ready to fight.

  “Grant,” warned Captain Hill. “Back off.”

  Grant hesitated.

  “That’s an order,” Hill said harshly.

  Grant sullenly picked up his gun and went to kick at dune grasses.

  Jake grabbed the steak tongs and clicked them together to keep himself from exploding. He fumed: he could’ve taken on the man. Why does Dad treat me like a kid?

  Dad spun to the Captain and glared, fists clenched. “You’re way off here. We’re on vacation from the Moon Base. We’re just cooking steak and eggs for breakfast.”

  Hill shrugged. “Orders.”

  “Whose orders?” Dad demanded.

 
; The soldier said easily, “If you must know, General Puentes. He doesn’t care if people know. He’s a patriot and everyone knows that, too. We’re ELLIS forces.”

  He emphasized the “ELLIS” in a way that made Jake shiver. ELLIS was an international organization created in 2000 as a result of an answer to the infamous Aricebo message. On November 15, 1974, from Aricebo, Puerto Rico, Earth had broadcasted a binary message toward the edge of the Milky Way Galaxy. They expected the message to take 30,000 years to reach someone and 30,000 years for a message to return. Instead, on April 1, 1999, a mere 25 years later, an answer came—and it wasn’t an April Fool’s joke. It was a repeat of Earth’s binary message along with extra information that specified a location near the center of the Milky Way.

  Rison had been sending probes widely and intercepted the message. Rison orbited the Turco, a tiny star in the midst of a previously unknown globular star cluster about 25,000 light-years from Earth. Astronomers knew there were many such globular star clusters in the Milky Way. Because Earth was part of the Milky Way, though, it was rather like a human who wanted to see his own back; it was impossible to see without special tools. Astronomers named Turco’s globular star cluster the Liller-2, or LL-2 for short. The name had been incorporated into the organization’s name: ELLIS stood for Earth-LL Interstellar Security. ELLIS Forces were given the task of controlling all contact with the aliens. Within ELLIS, Jake knew that some factions hated the Risonians, but he hadn’t witnessed it before.

  The two soldiers in camouflage clattered down the stairs. Jake gripped the tongs so hard that the edges bit into his palm.

  The lead soldier shook his head at the Captain.

  Captain Hill grimaced. “You checked the bathrooms? Any sign of longer hair, like a woman’s hair, in the sink or tub?”

  Jake’s knees went weak. Had Mom wiped down all the surfaces before she came out to the beach?

  The soldier sighed heavily. “We checked. Nothing.”

  Jake straightened his spine and stood even taller, a touch of pride in their perfect execution of the escape plan. He and Mom were Quad-des. These Earthlings wouldn’t find her.

  Captain Hill turned to Dad, “Sorry to bother you, sir. If you do happen to ever see a She-Shark, tell her we’re on her tail. We’ll find her.”

  Relief loosening his tongue, Jake taunted, “Are you sure that’s wise? Sharks have sharp teeth. They bite.”

  Captain Hill’s face darkened. “Freaks! Exactly why we have to find her. And bite back.” He raised his gun threateningly.

  Jake sucked in a breath at the viciousness of the response. On the Moon Base, because his father was an officer, Jake seldom heard gossip, especially not about the Risonians who were working with the Navy. Everyone spouted the official government position that peaceful relations were imperative. Jake had watched videos of protests arguing against letting the Risonians come to Earth, but nothing could have prepared him for this extreme Anti-Sharks sentiment. He wanted desperately to consider the humans as equals, but they made it hard. He thought of his mom, so passionate for the cause of the Risonians, who desperately needed a haven on Earth. Proving to Earth that they came in peace seemed hopeless.

  The Captain continued, “After that video posted this week—well.” He shrugged. “We’ll find her.”

  Dad said coolly, “What video?”

  Captain Hill laughed harshly. “Haven’t seen it yet? Look up the ‘Face of Rison.’” He said it with almost a sneer.

  He turned away and waved his free hand in a circular motion; the soldiers turned and jogged toward the helicopter. Over his shoulder, Grant made a last jab: “Don’t worry, Shark-lover! We’ll be watching you, too.”

  He raced across the sand toward the waiting helicopter.

  Jake sagged against the stair rail and stared after the retreating soldiers. The helicopter took off in a whirr, and thankfully, it followed the beach again, not going out over the Gulf. Maybe they didn’t have heat-sensors on board, or maybe they didn’t really know that Mom had been there. Either way, she was safe. For now.

  Abruptly, Dad sat on the bench of the picnic table and let his face sink into his palms.

  Jake put a hand on his shoulder. “Dad?”

  Dad’s lean form seemed to shrink a couple more inches, and when he finally raised his head, his face was wet with tears. “We just wanted to have a few days as a family. We thought the Labor Day weekend would be safe.” He shook his head. “Foolish.”

  “It’s okay, Dad.” Jake said. Only it wasn’t. Mom wasn’t here to break the eggs into a bowl and whip them till frothy with only a fork. Determined to be strong, he stomped upstairs to the kitchen, bringing back the skillet, butter, eggs, small bowl, and a fork. He set the skillet on the fire and dropped in a pat of butter. He broke four eggs into the bowl and used the fork to beat and beat and beat them, even though he was sure that he could never match Mom’s technique.

  When he saw Jake thumping away at the eggs, Dad smiled grimly and whispered. “She’s safe.”

  Jake poured the eggs into the sizzling skillet. Barely able to speak, he croaked back, “For now.”

  “For now,” repeated Dad solemnly. He stood and moved to the grill. “We’ll eat, pack up and leave.”

  Jake knew the contingency plan. Mom would swim a couple miles to a Florida state park where they’d rented a cabin for the week under a different name and paid for it in cash, so that there was no way to trace them. She had a stash of clothes hidden there and a rented car that would only be traced to an elderly lady who didn’t exist. Mom would be at the airport in a couple hours and back at the Rison Embassy in New York City by nightfall. Risonian Ambassador Dayexi Quad-de would be back at work in the morning.

  Around the same time his mother would arrive in New York, Jake would be in Seattle—no, not Seattle proper, but on Bainbridge Island, which sits in the middle of Puget Sound. That was Dad’s family home where his parents, Sir and Easter Rose, still lived. Jake’s Earthling grandparents, the strangers he’d never met. Dad’s recent promotion to Commander came with a top-secret assignment, which meant Jake couldn’t live with Dad any longer. Instead, Jake would live with his grandparents and go to an Earthling high school. They had shipped ahead most of his clothes and things, and a room was waiting for him. After the ELLIS Forces, he realized that he’d have to be very careful at his new home and school. No one could know who he was. Wasn’t that what he wanted, to be on an equal footing with his fellow students? But now, it was imperative that he hide his heritage. No slip ups.

  Looking up, Jake saw that the day had barely begun; the sun was still a ball hanging on the horizon, sending drifts of red across the early morning clouds.

  So this was Earth. His new home.

  Triple-Shot Ventis

  Coffee fascinated Jake. Dad never drank coffee, and during Jake’s time on the Obama Moon Base, Dad had never allowed him to try it. But Dad had been busy, distracted by the myriad of details he had to take care of to leave Jake in his parent’s care. And then, he left. Jake was alone on Bainbridge Island. He drank coffee and drank coffee and drank—and barely slept.

  On Saturday morning—it was 10 a.m., a cool, late summer morning, just three days after school had started on a Wednesday—Jake walked into Blackbird Bakery, his third coffee shop of the day.

  A girl turned from the cash register. Dark, straight hair framed her face, and her bangs swung slightly, just brushing equally dark eyebrows. Amidst that frame of glossy hair, her face glowed with life. Seeing him, her eyes went wide for an instant, and fleeting emotions rippled across her face, and were gone. Businesslike, she asked, “What can I get started for you?”

  Distracted by the case of pastries, he mumbled, “Triple-shot venti.”

  “Good choice,” she said, and her face changed from surprise to approval.

  Jake looked up from the pastries to watch her closer and wondered if her face was always so open and her emotions so easy to read.

  The girl turned to the espresso machi
ne, moving with a catlike grace, with no wasted movements, and humming as she worked. Soon steam hissed into a metal pitcher of milk, and her hum turned into a trill, soft and sweet. The sound stopped when she slipped her phone from her back pocket, read a text, and thumbed a quick reply. When she turned back to the espresso machine, the humming started again. Jake realized that her music wasn’t quite a melody; it was just a musical background for her motions. It caught at Jake, and he couldn’t turn away. She shoved the phone back into her pocket and sent him a curious glance.

  This was Jake’s fourth triple-shot venti since 8 a.m., when he’d set out to try every place in town that served coffee.

  After the bleak Moon Base, Bainbridge Island was a lush paradise. Connected to the mainland by one bridge to the north and a busy ferry system to the east, it was a protected place, Dad had said. A safe place.

  For Jake, the past week had been a blur of meeting his grandparents, Sir and Easter, enrolling in the local high school, eating strange Earth foods, and slipping exhausted into bed at the end of each day, only to squirm, wide-eyed, unable to sleep because his body rhythms hadn’t adjusted yet to Earth’s Pacific time zone. Night after night, he slipped out of bed to sit by his window and stare at the stars and wonder about his home star, Turco, or to stand on the porch and listen to the call of waves lapping at the shore, or to fire up his laptop and watch Mom’s YouTube video. Wildly popular, the number of views rose and rose, even as the comments ran hot and cold. Worry over his Mom and Rison’s fate tugged at Jake, but all he could do was drink more coffee.

  Dad left, away on his secret assignment for the Navy. Alone, Jake strolled around the island, cataloging the lush variations in colors from yellow-green to pure green to blue-green. School had started three days ago, but the nameless crowds had left him feeling even more isolated. Coffee kept the loneliness at bay.

  “You want an Earth muffin to go with that?” The girl poured the three shots of coffee into a white porcelain mug and filled it with hot milk.