I’m in serious trouble, Twila realized. Can’t find peace…can’t shut down emotions. Don’t want to. She shuddered in silence, wanting to scream, to cry, or break something. She did nothing. As the ultimate life form—an inorganic mechamorph—logic allowed her no release. I could go to Max, tell her everything…but then Tommy would know I’m not of his world. He might see me as an enemy. He might hate me just because my people have targeted his sister. I don’t want to be hated.
They reached the Bright home only to find chaos held back by military order. Curious neighbors had increased. Twila counted at least three camera crews from local stations. The National Guard kept them all off the property, stone-faced against the barrage of question flung their way.
Twila looked behind her at Max. Her eyes were shut. Her brow furrowed with focused thought. She’s in contact with the Light Born overhead, Twila realized. What are they going to do? She faced front again.
The crowds streamed away from the National Guard’s line. Camera operators and television reporters withdrew as well. In moments, the way was clear for the station wagon to proceed.
“What happened,” Lieutenant Chan asked.
Having no answer, Twila remained silent. She listened carefully as Max provided an explanation.
“I had Commander Hardrune and Mr. Packard drop back. They’re putting on a show, standing a few feet above the street, juggling balls of lightning, trading them back and forth. Once we’re home, they’ll follow. And there will be some interesting footage on the evening news tonight.”
The station wagon pulled ahead. After visual checks of the occupants, it was waved through. Once in the garage, everyone piled out. A group of Light Born were experimenting with Tommy’s weights. Twila walked by them, pulled along by the humans flowing toward the living room. She found Tommy there, feet up on the coffee table next to the remnant of Chinese take-out. He pointed a remote control at the television. It flickered past one station after another.
“Nothing on?” Max asked.
“Just alien sightings popping up everywhere. You guys have been busy.”
“Tell me about it.” Max yawned abruptly. “I’ve had it. I’m going to crash. Don’t wake me up unless the world’s about to end. Wouldn’t want to miss that.”
“Go ahead, dear,” her mom said. “I’ll get everyone sorted out and settled.”
Torn—Twila stood behind the couch. She knew she should follow Max and finish this whole thing, but Tommy was here: vibrant, alive, lobbing sarcastic comments at the television commercials that infested the programming.
Jeffrey took a chair, exchanging nods with Tommy. Kim smiled and joined him on the couch. Twila grew angry. She’d wanted to sit there. And what was the girl’s smile all about? A new emotion peeked out of her inner box, and she suddenly understood the concept of jealousy much better. And violence as well. She suppressed the desire to toss Kim across the room, slamming the lid back in place on box.
You’ve a mission, reminded herself. Stay focused. Don’t draw attention to yourself.
Jhoori followed Mrs. Bright toward the kitchen, pressed into service. Twila guessed that refreshments would soon be served. Max’s mother was a vigilant hostess. The kind of mother-in-law any mechamorph girl would want.
Wait! What am I thinking?
With a mental sigh, Twila turned toward the hallway landing and slipped like a shadow out of the room. She climbed, sensitive to every creak and groan of the stairs. After what seemed a very long time, Twila reached the second story hallway. She crossed to Max’s door and knocked softly.
There was no answer.
She opened the door and stepped through.
The blinds were closed and the lights were off. Once the door was closed behind her, the room annexed by darkness, Twila adjusted her eyes to process infrared light she could see by. Everything became clear and monochromatic—a pale ash gray. The bed was rumpled but empty. Max wasn’t there! Twila didn’t know if she ought to be annoyed or glad.
Maybe the bathroom… She could be taking a shower before turning in. Should I wait here, or seek her out?
She didn’t have to decide. Max entered the room, framed by the light of the hallway behind her. Toothbrush in hand, her eyes widened in surprise. Max smiled warmly seeing the mechamorph. “Hey, girlfriend! What’s up?” Max sobered immediately, her brow furrowing in concern. She stepped forward. “You’re crying. What’s wrong?”
Crying? Am I crying? Why would I do that? By her side, hidden by a shift of the hip, Twila’s hand and forearm melted, shedding the old shape. Her silvery-white fingers fused. Her hand flattened, widening into a double-edged axe.
Max took another step, reaching out. Her thumb brushed away a tear rolling down Twila’s check. Then, her hand settled on the girl’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Everything will be all right. I promise.”
Twila trembled, enveloped by a soft embrace. Max spoke softly into her ear. “Mom told me about your…situation. I know you’re coming from a bad scene, but you can let go of the pain here. You’re a part of our family now. You can be the sister I never had.”
Grimly, Twila focused her thoughts, beating back the many emotions that rose like a wave to swamp her will and dissolve her nerve.
The tears hardened on her face into runnels of steel. No choice…no choice. Billions will die unless I kill her—now! The pigment drained from her synthetic flesh. She spun free, letting her morphed hand arc in with blinding speed. Twila screamed in dire anguish, as if taking the death-strike, not delivering it.
SEVENTEEN
Max sensed a terrible wrongness. Melded alien voices jack-knifed through her head, warnings of danger.
Shoved, Max stumbled back.
Twila swung her hidden arm into view. Her hand had strangely altered, becoming a gleaming axe with a lethal edge. The weapon closing in with blinding speed.
But Max’s mind speeded up, processing the moment so quickly it became a series of still images in her head. By comparison, her body was slow and clumsy. Her stomach was heavy, as if transmuted to lead. Fear jazzed along her nerves as adrenaline hit her bloodstream.
Max knew she needed to run, but dropped, her knees losing strength. She rocked back into a dresser, her legs tangled under her. She lifted her eyes as Twila loomed over her, weapon poised to strike.
Twila had stopped herself, for the moment.
“Why?” Max asked. “Why are you doing this?”
“I’m sorry, I have no choice. Ashere is my queen. My family has always served her. I must obey her or your world will die.”
We’re coming, Max! It was Commander Hardrune’s thought, hard as steel in the link.
No, Max thought. Let me handle this my own way. Keep everyone out of here ‘til this is over.
Max lifted a hand toward Twila, trying to buy a few moments with the gesture. “You can’t do this. It will destroy you. I’ve seen your heart. I know there’s more to you than silly putty and programming. You’re alive. You can choose to be free. You can take love and give it. I know you want love. A real family. I’ve seen you with Tommy.”
“Tommy,” Twila said the name like it was some kind of charm.
Max lowered her hand, as if inviting death. She forced assurance into her tone, hoping she was right. “You’re my friend. I know you won’t hurt me.”
“You don’t know me!” Twila gasped, trembling with passion. I’m not human. I’m not Twila. My real name is…is…”
“I don’t care. You’re Twila to Tommy and me, and Mom. I know you don’t want to hurt her either.”
Twila’s black hair brightened to violet, returning to its original color? The ax-shaped hand softened, collapsing into a dripping glob at the end of her wrist. Max watched wide-eyed as it reformed into a two-edged sword, doubling Twila’s reach. The mechamorph pulled back the blade, preparing it for a lunge, to bury it in Max’s heart.
“What you are doesn’t matter,” Max said. “I believe in you, and the love you’ve found among us.”
/> Twila closed her eyes, shedding milky tears. Arching her spine, she screamed like a lost soul, torn by too many emotions. The blade angled down. The scream held the kind of pain that only comes from a shattered heart.
Max made no effort to draw away. She held her own heart in her eyes, waiting.
THUNK!
Max jumped at the sound. The sword buried its tip in the floor immediately before her.
She missed-—on purpose, Max told those in her link. I think this is all over.
Relief turned to horror as Twila sank to her knees like a puppet with cut strings. She sagged forward to lean against the blade she’d formed from her arm. The sword broke off at her wrist. Twila’s eyes snapped opened, revealing blazing pools of molten silver, mirrors filled with a terrible emptiness. Burning fumes curled out of her nostrils and ears. Her body twitched and shuddered. The sword melted top to bottom.
On her knees, Max threw herself forward, desperate to catch Twila. Max splashed through the decomposing sword, torso, and limbs. A cold metallic gel slid down Max’s body to the bedroom carpet. She caught Twila’s head and shoulders, holding her fiercely. Max brushed strands of violet hair back from Twila’s face.
For just a moment, awareness returned to the mechamorph’s pale face. “Tell Tommy, tell him I luv… I luvvvvvv…”
“Twila! Don’t go. Hold on!”
Twila’s eyes dimmed to a dull gray. Her lips grew still, then shapeless, sagging. The head dripped through Max’s fingers like industrial sludge. Shocked to her core, Max barely noticed the door bursting open. Her thoughts were tangled in Twila’s pain. Max’s heart pounded, squeezed in grief’s iron fist. Tears spilled down her face as people gathered around her.
That which was Twila spread out, rippling, bobbing, and slopping across the feet of the Light Born. Commander Hardrune stopped beside Max, staring at the sludge underfoot. His voice was a thunder crack in the midst of the excited babble as he made the identification. “Mechamorph!”
“No.” Max said. “Her name was Twila. She was my friend. I won’t remember her any other way. She had a heart. She loved…”
Max’s throat closed up on her.
“Poor thing,” Hardrune stared down at Twila. “She broke the box that kept her heart safely packed away. That’s dangerous for beings determined to live without them.”
Max said, “Hearts aren’t so safe for the rest of us either.” She turned and splashed toward the door, fleeing her pain, pushing past her mother and brother.
They tried to stop and comfort her, but her heart was breaking and she didn’t want their comfort. She activated a mental trigger, exchanging her room for her personal private dimension. The air became green syrup as her family and friends faded away.
Somehow, Twila remained with her.
If I’d taken out Ashere in the beginning, she chided herself, or if I’d seen what was right under my nose… I’ve been so caught up with the consequences of all this on my life, I never saw the cost others paid to be my friend. It’s my fault Twila’s dead. She’d be alive now if I’d cared a little more, tried a little harder.
The pain she felt began to ferment into rage. Her hands curled into fists. She felt a decided violent impulse to hit something. Hard and never stop. A touch of fear brushed her mind.
Should I indulge such feelings? What if I lose control? What if I become a firestorm that devastates all I want to save? Maybe I should just stay here forever.
The Voice spoke: Max, that’s not the answer. You can trust your heart, child. Your friend’s sacrifice will be for nothing if you leave your world to the untender mercies of Ashere.
Max felt a presence behind her. She whirled around. It was the strange woman in the emerald-eyed mask.
What do you mean not my fault?
Twila didn’t enter your life by accident. She sought you out. She was forced to attack by Ashere who is the only one needing to be blamed.
You’re right! Ashere’s going to pay for this.
You’re not ready for her yet.
What do I have to do? Rip out my heart and set aside all mercy? I think I can do that now.
You mustn’t. That was the way of the last Guardian. It didn’t work well. The Star requires an open, sensitive heart to function best. You must kill Ashere with compassion and a ruthless swiftness that flows from kindness. You must destroy her without becoming the monster that she is. Trust your heart. There is one power greater than the Star itself, the power of love.
You’re tryin’ to say love is all I need?
Not quite. Some battle experience wouldn’t hurt. It’s time for more training.
What are you talking about? There’s no time… Ashere—
She will wait. Remember—there’s no time here. When I’m done with you, you will return to the moment you left, stronger, wiser, conditioned, and skillful in the arts of war.
All right then, let’s get busy.
The emerald-eyed woman gestured, and a bolt of golden energy bounced off Max’s chest, slamming her back through the green haze. She landed on her tailbone, skidded a few feet, and collapsed in a twitchy heap. A tide of pain drenched her. She drew a ragged breath, groaning, and forced her head up. Max shook off the effects and scowled in anger.
Hey! She protested. I wasn’t ready.
You should have been. Let this be your first lesson. When you have power and influence, you are a target. You cannot afford to let your guard down—ever.
The masked figure gestured again.
Max’s eyes opened wide. She scrambled to get clear.
A second bolt of gold flashed past her as she flopped over on her face. She raised a hand, willing a wall of energy to form. The wall caught the next couple of blasts, shunting the power safely aside.
Max laughed. “Hah! How do you like me now?”
You celebrate victory too early.
The specter raised both hands, palms outward. The next bolt was of a much greater magnitude. It paused in brief contact to the shield before punching through.
Max was squeezed in a red vise of agony, lifted off the ground. She streaked away, a leaf in a windstorm, only to slam down again a hundred yards away. She bounced a few times and rolled to a stop, too stunned for thought. With a long, drawn out hiss of pain, she eventually picked herself up. Her legs trembled, nearly buckling as she watched her mentor approach.
Let this be your second tactical lesson, the wraith said. Never underestimate an opponent. She brought both palms up again, facing outward.
Max knew what was coming. She hastily reformed her shield, making it thicker, compelling it to hold with the full force of her will. Miraculously, it did. The next blast clung like a lover, but could not crack the shield. Max smiled grimly, pleased with herself.
Marginally better, the emerald-eyed woman acknowledged, but not good enough. Your enemies will be unrelenting. You can’t afford mistakes or half-measures.
Half?
The energy scoring her shield split into two streams, one flowing left, the other right, circling her barrier. The golden force encircled her, slamming into her from behind. Her face ground into her own shield. The pressure was intolerable. Max screamed.
Words pierced her mind from some distant unfathomable point. Lesson three; there is always a way, as long as you keep fighting and never surrender. Find it!
Not really understanding the impulse that drove her, Max released her shield, giving herself to the power that assailed her. It lifted her effortlessly. She rode its current. Max held her fists out before her, a battering ram. She passed through the spectral woman, her attack failing, and crashed to earth once more. She lay there, unable to rise.
The masked phantasm approached and knelt. Her touch brought an end to pain. New strength flowed into Max, chasing away exhaustion. Well-done, child. You used my own attack against me. Against a material threat, your tactic would have worked. You have learned the most important lesson of all, to fight with inspiration until you can fight no more.
Max
scrutinized the alien mask. She remembered the first time she saw it, in a dream. She had suggested that the wearer remove her mask. She was told she might not like what lay beneath. The masked woman had asked her if she was ready to confront the deepest terrors of her own heart, if she were willing to lose humanity to save it.
I think I understand what you meant, Max said.
Then you know the face I hide.
Max nodded grimly.
Then I no longer need the concealment.
The specter removed the white-gold mask. The face beneath was Max’s, though the strength in it, the confidence, was daunting. The mask fell to the ground, discarded, and the specter smiled.
Back to work, Max. There’s much more still to learn and I only have forever to teach it to you.
* * *
Tsuu sat on the bunk in his cabin. The room was possessed by a dark spirit, but not lightless. He faced his shadow on the wall. “You should go back into your box,” he advised.
Like that’s going to happen, Anger answered. There are only two ways to get rid of me: yield to my purpose, or forgive Ashere for murdering your father. There’s little time left. If we’re going to act, it needs to be now.
“Will this really give me peace?” Tsuu asked.
His shadow nodded affirmatively. Would I lie to you?
Tsuu rose to his feet and turned toward the door. He crossed the room, passed the door, and entered the passageway.
The deck slide carried him toward the bridge. His thoughts were crystalline, focused, as he checked his internal chronometer. The final few minutes were dwindling down. Soon, the moment would be at hand. He said nothing to the crewmembers he passed, letting words of sympathy slide off him like rain. Words got in the way. He no longer needed them.
He stepped off the conveyor strip at the main lift, and punched in his destination. Acceleration compressed him slightly. It felt good—like his core might not explode within his chest. Moments later, he reached the bridge. He left the tube and scanned the room. This was not his usual shift, but he knew those occupying the bridge stations. The Officer-Of-The-Deck glanced at him, frowning.
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