He flashed her an I-knew-that-all-the-time smile. “Thank goodness. I thought I had a spine.”
He’s laughing at me. I’m such an air-head.
“I suppose I should get out of your way.” He stepped aside to let her pass. “Let me see the picture when you’re done. I have a fondness for…jellyfish.”
Fighting the gravity of his presence, she went back to her seat. Sitting down, she separated the sheets, setting the spare ones aside. She dipped the brush and moistened the little squares of pigment. She had a killer plan this time. Paint the watercolor jelly fish first, then go back and ink in lines on it so it would look like she’d stayed inside them.
He wants to see my jellyfish. This is going to be the best darn jellyfish ever! A fire burned in her guts as she made the first stroke, and the second, and the third... Soon, the basic form appeared: the bubble body with the glassy organs inside, the trailing filaments, rippling in unseen currents. She cleaned her bush, about to go to the deep blue to add a suggestion of ocean.
That’s when the first splatters hit her paper, adding colors she had no use for. Hurriedly, she tied to blot them off but flecks of contamination remained, bringing down the quality of her work. She snarled across the table at Rick Butcher, the unrepentant offender.
He grinned at her. “Fun, huh?”
As far as she could tell, he was merely combining blotches of color randomly, with no pretense of pattern or purpose.
“Keep your pigment to yourself, you’re ruining my picture.”
He shrugged. “Sorry, my bad.”
Mrs. Dreyer walked up to the bench and peered over Max’s shoulder. “Oh, dear, that’s not at all up to your usual work.”
Max pointing across the table, protesting, “It’s not my fault. He—”
Rick interrupted. “Don’t blame others for your short comings. You’ve got to own up to your mistakes.”
Max stood, trembling with rage. “You…you…Butcher!”
Mrs. Dreyer spoke sharply. “That’s enough, Max. Take a deep breath and start again.” She walked on to the next table.
Rick grinned.
Class would be over soon. There was no time for a picture done from scratch. Rage boiled in her, but she remembered the table leaf destroyed at home that morning and felt a burst of fear over power she might accidently unleash.
She picked up the water cup. The muddy, color-stained water bubbled. The cup grew hot, but didn’t hurt her hand. Instead, there was a feeling of liberation. A dangerous feeling.
She tried to calm herself, closing her eyes, thinking of many shades of beige, tan, and brown, anything to disengage her emotions. She thought of how spectacular vanilla ice cream was. The wonder and the splendor of dandelion fluff in the wind.
She opened her eyes and saw Rick holding her picture, eyeing it critically. “So, what is this anyway? Your dog?”
Her control cracked. The plastic cup shattered in her hand. The shards steamed as they fell to the tabletop. No water remained. It felt like an intolerable pressure was about to split her open and let endless power spill out.
The necklace spoke. Max! No! Hold it in.
“Max?” Jeff’s warm voice washed across her anger. “It’s all right. A jerk will always be a jerk. Don’t let him bend you out of shape. I like the shape you’re in.”
His words slapped her like a spill of ice water. Her fury vaped, thinning to nothingness. Jeff, at her side, was the sun to her sunflower, pulling her full attention to him. The crystal blue force of his eyes sent her heart hammered. Her mouth dried.
I like the shape you’re in.
The bell rang. He said, “C’mon, I’ll walk you to your next class.”
She squeaked out a response. “Okay.” She barely glanced at “The Butcher” as she put away her art supplies and gathered her things. They went out into the hall and joined the flow of traffic. Max shifted quickly to avoid a collision as a dark-haired girl with violet eyes ran past, bursting into the art room.
Shrugging off the experience, Max continued on her way.
Twila was on the second floor, in math class. It was boring. This human society was still entrenched in four dimensional thinking. They theorized dozens of extra dimensions, but that had nothing to do with this class. Staying out of a coma was proving difficult. Twila fought the impulse to simply unplug her mind and come awake on a timer when class was done.
It wasn’t like she was going to be called upon by the teacher to prove a theorem. Twila had once made the mistake of contradicting the teacher’s work and proving it with a mathematical representation that maybe three humans in the world had a chance to understand. That had almost gotten her kicked out of the class. The teacher had nearly resigned when a supercomputer validated Twila’s work. The mechamorph had learned since then to let humans believe their own lies. They were happier that way. Less cranky.
Abruptly, with minutes left in the period, her senses snapped on high alert. Her systems detected a spike in tau and muon neutrinos. Cosmic radiation. A nearby source. She stood.
The teacher stopped speaking, staring at her.
“Restroom,” she said.
The teacher continued with her lesson.
Twila walked from the classroom. In the hallway, she exploded in motion. The halls were still empty. Her blurred streak of speed raised no questions. She braked to enter the stairwell, losing time. To make up that time, she ignored the downward steps and vaulted over the railing. Her body dropped to the first floor, her legs easily absorbing the shock of landing.
Coming up from a crouch, she sprang to the door, and recoiled. The door opened into her. A male teacher appeared, arms loaded with a box lid full of handouts for some class. He stopped. He stared at her. “Oughten you be in class, young lady?”
“You’re blocking the door,” she said.
“Where’s your hall pass?” He asked.
“And Oughten is not a real word. What do you teach?”
“English,” he huffed.
“I’m not surprised.”
“Now see here, young lady…”
The bell rang.
“Aren’t you trying to go somewhere?” she asked.
With a final glare at her, he hurried up the steps, clearing her path. But it was too late. The neutrino emission had ended. Still, she had a good lock on where the radiation had come from—baring and distance. With the hall filling with students, she couldn’t move at full speed; she limited herself to a human ran, dodging other students, many of whom shot her dirty looks for disturbing their vectors.
Twila reached the art class and fought the traffic to enter. The teacher was exiting the back doorway. The room was nearly empty. She walked up to a table where a boy lingered, staring at a half decent watercolor jellyfish. He held up the paper so she could see it better.
“A dog, right?”
“No.” She looked down at half melted pieces of plastic. Her mind mentally rotated the pieces, putting them together like a puzzle until a cup formed. The plastic gave off a residue of low-grade, harmless radiation. “Who was sitting here?”
The boy looked at her. “Oh, that was Lashonda Monet. Mean bitch, built like a gorilla, but not as pretty.”
Twila ran the name against those she’d heard since attending this school. “I don’t believe I know her.”
“Transfer student from Finland,” the boy said.
“Oh.” Twila turned and headed away.
Behind her, she heard a rustle of paper. The boy muttered, “Looks like a dog to me.”
By the end of school, Max was walking on clouds, except she was actually sitting. Jeff let her have the window seat on the bus. He talked with on a number of subjects that didn’t really register with her. She simply smiled and lost herself in his voice.
The other girls noticed the new couple of course. One or two were white lipped with anger. Others showed disappointment that the boy was off the market. Max smiled at them. Bite me.
Jeff got off first. He lived only a few
blocks away. Max’s turn came and she stepped down to the sidewalk, a half block from her house. She strolled home and went in.
“That you, Max?” her mom called.
“Hi Mom. What’s that? Something smells good.”
Max followed her nose to the kitchen. Her mom had balls of peanut butter cookie dough on a pan. A drinking glass in her hand had a fancy starburst pattern on the bottom. She used the bottom of the glass to depress the balls into flat, stylish cookies. The pan went into the oven. There was already a plate with cooling cookies on it. “Last batch.” Her mom set the glass down on the counter. “So, how was school?”
Max smiled. “Fabulous.”
“Really?”
“I can’t wait for tomorrow.”
“Now I’m concerned. Are you running a fever?”
“Yes. I’m burning in the fires of passion.”
Her mother nodded knowingly. “Ah, a boy.”
“Not just any boy. Jeffrey Matthews. The boy.”
Her mom laughed. “Every boy is the boy until one of them finally takes.”
Max went to the fridge and snagged a can of soda. She closed the door and turned back to her mom. “How did you know that dad would be the one?”
Her mom’s eyes stared into infinity as her thoughts broke the barrier of time. It was our first kiss. The night winds rustled the trees. The stars above sang in a voice I’d never heard until then. Time went sideways and I thought my heart would explode. And he stopped.”
“He stopped?”
“He didn’t push for more than I was ready to give. That showed I was more important to him than his own hormone driven impulses. That made me give him more of a chance than many others. Even to this day, I am finding new reasons to love him. And did I mention he gives me diamonds?”
Max thought of the giant space jewel that had come to her from God knows where. She remembered that Tommy wanted her to come clean with her parents about it. She opened her mouth to speak.
Her mom’s cellphone went off. Her mother answered and a protracted conversation ensued. Max headed to her room. Her eyes were starting to close on her. The lack of sleep was overcoming her euphoria with Jeff. She put the necklace on the nightstand, and collapsed on her bed. A little nap before dinner won’t hurt.
More training tonight, the necklace said.
Of course there is.
Darkness took her away and she dreamed of a boy with ice blue eyes.
Max came awake in a violent rush, flouncing on her bed, her head rolling sideways. “What the smurf!”
“Nope just me.” Tommy continued to bounce on the edge of her bed. “Waky-waky.”
“S-stop that. I will seriously hurt you.”
He stopped, his face growing serious, a strange expression for him. “Max, what are you hiding from me?”
“Huh?”
“I heard mom talking about it.”
“About what?”
“Baby sis has a boyfriend.”
“It’s not officially official.”
“So, how far have you gone?”
“What business is it of yours?”
“I’m your big brother. It’s my job to look out for you. And torment you as needed.”
“You do that last part rather well.”
“What can I say? It’s a gift.”
“Take your giftedness somewhere else.”
“Sure. It’s dinner time. Come along.” He stood and sauntered to the door.
Max glared. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“Just did.” And then he was gone. And then he was back, popping back through the door from the hall. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the necklace. Tell Mom and Dad over dinner, or I will.”
“I won’t let you,” Max said.
“What? Going to put a gun to my head.”
“I don’t need a gun. Remember the table leaf this morning?”
That wiped his smile away. “You’re bluffing. You don’t have enough of a cruel streak to be evil. You’re not like me.”
“Don’t push me into a corner. You won’t like me when I’m pushed into a corner.”
“You’ll get big, green, and mean, and go on a gamma-powered rampage?”
Max stood and slipped the necklace on, tucking it under her shirt where it made a conspicuous bulge. A golden light shimmered to life around her. She floated several feet into the air, staring at Tommy. “I have a right to my secrets. You’ve got yours. And if it comes down to it, I have a way to make sure you’ll behave.”
He looked suddenly aghast. “You found the bodies under the rosebushes? Please don’t turn me into the cops.”
“Very funny, but no, I’ll just wipe your memory. You’ll never know what you now know.”
His expression hardened. “I don’t believe you can do that.”
Max rolled her eyes. “Look at me. I’m standing in the middle of the air. You don’t know what I can or can’t do.”
“Okay, Max, valid point. But you don’t need this. If you can already defy gravity, who knows what else can happen. You shouldn’t try to handle this alone.”
“I’m not. I’ve got my big brother to look out for me. Isn’t it better that you know and are in my corner than no one at all?”
He stood there. Staring. Thinking.
Their mom’s shout sounded from the first floor landing. “What’s taking you guys so long? Dinner’s getting cold.”
Max settled to her feet, the glow fading out. “You got my back or not?”
“Fine, but you do something dangerously stupid and I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”
SEVEN
Mitron approached the throne, his footsteps echoing in the audience hall. The new—but uncrowned—queen was alone, having dismissed all distractions while the League ships had her under their guns. Not that they’d fire first.
He stopped at a respectful distance, bowed, and straightened. “News, my queen.”
Ashere held a steel goblet jeweled with hematite chips. Within pooled syntha-oil mixed with many metallic elements—like zinc, iron, beryllium, and uranium—that she needed in her diet. She took a sip, smiled at the flavor, and flicked two fingers at him. “Speak.”
“I’ve heard from my sister. We’re close to locating the Star and the new Guardian.”
Ashere set the goblet down on the arm of her throne. “Go on.”
“Like my sister, the Guardian is a young woman, what they call a teen on this planet. Both attend a cultural indoctrination hub known as a school. We have the city location if not the exact dwelling place. Come terrestrial morning we can attack the school and—”
“No. I don’t want to wait. Attack the city. Now. We will draw her out, or destroy her in the city where she hides. Use as many photon missiles as you need.”
“The League ships will interfere,” Mitron said, “more specifically, the Light Born.”
“I have considered this. It seems to me that the energy in their cells is being expended and not renewed. Their power should not be as formidable as in the past. They will be vulnerable. This might be a good opportunity to rid ourselves of them as well.”
“The League will still interfere. You will be up here, alone, under their guns, your ship outnumbered.”
Ashere finished her drink. “Why, Mitron, you sound like you truly care.”
“You are my queen. My family has served yours for planetary ages. It is my honor, my duty. Of course I care.” The box within him that held his emotions cracked open just a bit. He felt the edge of scintillating passion trying to force its way out.
Care; such a weak word, a pale ghost of what I truly feel.
Not that he could ever admit such aberration. Servants do not harbor possessive sentiments toward the ones who own them. It wasn’t proper. He forced the lid shut, and mentally chained the box as well.
Ashere said, “Use stealth to take over one of the smaller League ships. Kill the crew and turn pirate. I will be as shocked as anyone else at this development and will
offer the League my assistance in bringing you to justice. Since I am royalty, and not to be risked, they will turn me down. You will have to fight off the Light Born while destroying the Guardian's city. Can you do this for me?”
“I will, my queen. I will even send a computer generated image of a Lorsingh pirate captain, claiming credit, warning the League not to interfere.”
“A fine deception.” Ashere applauded lightly. “Just don’t get caught, and don’t allow your true mechamorph nature to be discovered.”
Mitron bowed again. “I will not fail you, but I request a favor.”
Ashere raised a single eyebrow, copying a gesture she’d seen used by purely humanoid species. “Yes?”
“I need to send a message to my little sister. She is in the same city. I need her evacuated from the kill-zone before I go in.”
Ashere pursed her thin lips, scrunching her eyebrows together.
Mitron didn’t quite understand what emotion she was pretending.
“I’m so sorry, Mitron, but I cannot allow that. Your sister will just have to take her chances. If it is later learned that you had her alerted to danger before the attack, suspicion, if not actual blame will fall upon me.”
“But my queen—”
“Who do you value more? Your sister, or me, Mitron?”
He paused only a tenth of a second. “You, my queen.”
“Fine. Show me.” She waved him away.
He backed several steps, then turned and rapidly swept toward the far door of the audience hall. Before he reached the door, he heard the sound of a steel goblet being crushed in a careless hand.
His box was shut, chained; he attached no significance to her action, nor to the cruel laughter that followed him out.
He hastened to the ship’s armory. No one questioned his presence, not even when he requisitioned enough missiles to blow the planet’s crust wide open, cloud the skies for generations, and bring on a nuclear winter.
The department head adjusted his inventory via a data feed. He looked up from a digital pad, face white and expressionless. “How would you like to take delivery?”
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