Spring Showers Box-set

by Avell Kro

  and drew back his fist to strike C.

  C halted his attack, holding Darius’ fist in his hand. A glow emanated from C’s hand,

  illuminating Darius’ fist.

  “What the…” Darius cried out and withdrew, rubbing his injured fist with his good hand. “My

  hand, it was like it was on fire! Who are you?”

  In a calm tone, C said, “Leave now. We have no further use for you.”

  Darius glared at C, but Alayna could see the fear in Darius’ eyes. It was strangely therapeutic

  for her.

  “I’ll wait for you over there,” Darius said to her, as he motioned across the way to a park

  bench in the distance. He eyed C a final time and departed with a disapproving snort, mumbling

  something about that bitch being lucky.

  Alayna wanted to die. She watched Darius retreat and felt an utter dread. Being trapped back

  with him and Rosa was her worst nightmare.

  C stared in his direction as well, disgust plainly written all over his face. “We abhor violence and don’t tolerate it. That man… what he did to you…”

  “How did you know about that?” Alayna said quietly.

  “Your thoughts in the restaurant. I’m so sorry he treated you that way, what you had to

  endure.”

  She looked off to the side, a resigned smile on her face. “Thank you. But it looks like that’s

  going to be my life again.”

  “Alayna, do you know what I see when I look at you?” C asked, as he gently took her hand in

  his. “A girl with a natural beauty, a light that shines from within. And no matter how hard she tries

  to be invisible, the light shines on: an energy pure and exquisite and full of love.”

  She’d never heard anything so beautiful in her life.

  “Your life can be so much more than what you have here.” C’s calming gaze was upon her, and

  the smile on his face sparked a desperate hope within her.

  “What’s it like, on your planet?” Alayna took both of his hands in hers once more and closed

  her eyes.

  The images that filled her head were nothing short of breathtaking. The planet itself was

  green with life—plants, insects, animals, but yet in perfect balance with the beings of his race. She

  sensed it was more of a synergistic relationship, that the native life forms were benefitting from

  the amazing energy his people gave off.

  Then she realized, she wasn’t perceiving them as human anymore. She opened her eyes and

  gasped. The light, the energy of C bathed her in a comforting heat. He was raw and beautiful in his

  natural form, the most amazing sight she’d ever witnessed: a million points of spectacular light.

  You can see me?

  Yes, she thought. And a feeling of gratitude and love swept over her, something she’d never felt

  before. In al her life, she’d never felt so much love. It overwhelmed her, and she broke down,

  crying.

  The warmth surrounding her grew more intense. She felt her body lift off the ground, and in

  that weightlessness, her emotions found balance.

  Come with me. Become one of us. But know if you leave, it will be permanent.

  “I don’t have anything here.” She glanced at Darius on the park bench. “Nothing good, anyway.”

  Your human form will be gone, too.

  Alayna touched her frazzled hair and looked down at her body. All things considered, it was

  more of a burden. Something for animals like Darius to abuse.

  “You ready to go yet, girl?” Darius called out.

  I’m ready, she thought. She closed her eyes as the light overtook her. It felt like a release, more

  than anything, shedding off her last vestiges of humanity. But then it felt familiar, too, like she

  finally arrived after a lifetime of feeling like an outsider. Her senses became as one, and she

  understood everything C was trying to explain. She could feel everything, and yet, a peaceful

  feeling of love was the most dominant emotion. So pure. Not dependent on other people or her

  current situation. It was just there, like a default state of being.

  In a brilliant display of light, their bodies combined into a single beam and shot into space.

  For the first time in her life, Alayna was free. She was home.

  ORIGIN PHASE

  [Preview Version]

  Origin Phase CycleBook 1

  Copyright 2017

  R·T·W Lipkin

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means

  without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in

  book reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  cover art byRebecacovers|fiverr.com

  coin image courtesy Ed Beck |Romae Aeternae Numismatics

  Origin Phase is a work of fiction. References to historical events or real people or places are used

  fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination,

  and any resemblance to actual anything or anyone is entirely coincidental.

  Novels by R. T. W. Lipkin

  PREDICTION

  ORIGIN PHASE CYCLE:

  BOOK 1: ORIGIN PHASE

  BOOK 2: ROBOT ACADEMY

  BOOK 3: OASIS

  COMING JUNE 7, 2018

  NEVER ENOUGH TIME

  Visit my website at rtwlipkin.com

  To my extraordinary sister, Robin,

  my sine qua non

  Chapter1

  “TIME TO GET moving, get selling,” Hugh said. “You’ll be top salesman again this month if you keep at

  it.” Hugh slapped Eli on the back. Hugh was a big man, but Eli, at six-five, was even bigger.

  The sun looks wrong,Eli thought as he glanced past Hugh and out the window behind him. Eight

  ordinary, unnoticed minutes from now the sun could be gone. It could be gone right now.

  Eli sat in his chair at his cubicle, the one nearest the window, the one nearest the wrong-seeming

  sun, the one farthest away from the wrong-seeming boss. A person you could never accept as a

  boss but who was in fact the boss.

  Eli looked out at the sun, which was wronger than ever, less hopeful, less like the sun you’d want to

  see if you were lost on Earth, a stranded visitor from a distant planet in another galaxy, like that

  guy on the poster he’d seen on the bus on his way in to work.

  But . . . time to sell. Time to forget that something—that everything’s—wrong.

  “Hello! Eli Ryerson, here, from Sunbright Lifestyles. I have a special gift just for you! Just for

  answering a few simple questions that could change your life and your future! Now—”

  Bang. Most people hang up. That’s why no one wants this job.

  Eli exhaled twice and felt each bone settling into its groove.

  Start over, Eli told himself. Every minute that you start over brings new possibilities. Inevitably,

  someone will be lonely enough to listen, to want to answer the questions, to need to stay on the

  line and get sucked into it.

  Perseverance. That’s how you got to be the top seller of timeshares at Sunbright Lifestyles.

  Whether the sun looks right or wrong. Whether you’re in the right place or the right time.

  Didn’t matter.

  “. . . that could change your life and your future! Now, I want to ask you: Wouldn’t you love a

  beautiful place to go? Idyllic? A place at the beach? Sunny? Bright? Breezy? Where you could taste

  the salt air and watch the waves come in and just relax?

  “A plac
e that was yours for a week or two or a month out of the year? A place you didn’t have to

  take care of but that would just be waiting for you? Always ready for you? A place you could rely

  on!”

  You could tel immediately if you were going to make a sale. Even though this prospect was talking

  about her life, was picking up little threads that you dropped and using them to weave a limp cloth

  with a meandering, senseless pattern, and was staying on the line, she was never going to buy

  anything.

  If you’d been selling the key that opened the door to enlightenment and charging only a penny for it, she’d never buy it. She was lonely enough to listen but definitely not lonely enough to fill up her

  life with another obligation, a completely unnecessary obligation.

  Wasting time.

  Smile, make an excuse, hang up. The prospects can absolutely hear the smile.

  Eli looked out the window. Chills mixed with a boiling-over fear. Because the sun wasn’t right, the

  office wasn’t right, and nobody looked like they were supposed to look.

  How can you become the month’s top-selling salesperson if you let things get to you, stop calling

  prospects? How can you become the month’s top-selling salesperson if your gut is telling you that

  nothing’s right, that you’re in the wrong place, that you’re missing something?

  But like the alien in the poster on the bus, your home is too distant to even consider returning to.

  The man from the far-off galaxy—now, that seemed right. That seemed understandable. But that

  was an entertainment, an imagined scene. That an imagined scene looked right and that

  everything else seemed . . .

  If you get up from your desk, walk past all the wrong-seeming people in this not-right office and go

  out the door, you can’t hope to become the month’s top-selling salesman. You can’t hope to make

  enough money to pay your rent or feed yourself.

  If you walk down twenty-three flights of steps instead of taking the elevator, you’re not using your

  time wel . The elevator’s faster and you should be at your desk, sel ing instead.

  Twelve flights down the dull blue stairwell, Eli stopped for a moment. The chill rose up. The heat

  boiled over, more insistent. The coexistence of searing heat and intense chill was as wrong as

  anything else.

  Rubbing his neck, rubbing his face, shaking his head. Did the staircase look wrong, too? Not as

  wrong as the office, as the sun. But not right. The center of his body as wrong as anything else.

  Was anything right?

  Running down the last eleven flights, skipping steps, closing his senses to the sounds of his shoes

  on the stairs, his breath pulsing, the empty echoes of the stairwell. Pushing open the fire bar, the

  ice and boil ever rising, taking over.

  Chapter 2

  SHE’S A TYPICAL client. Very edgy. You might even say paranoid. Wanting to do it but also wishing

  she’d never worked up the nerve. Looking around, eyes never staying in one spot for more than a

  moment.

  Did I just see her flinch?

  I can already tell that she’ll ask too many questions. She’s gripping the brochure, the one with all

  the rules laid out very very plainly.

  Because Sean doesn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.

  Yet every damned person who comes in here has the completely wrong idea and we have to set

  them straight.

  Why I had to come in early today is the question that’s beating me over the center of my chest

  with a force that I’m sure a physicist could explain. And why the hell isn’t Sean here yet? It’s his

  company, after all.

  The client’s a medium-height, medium-build, medium woman with medium-brown hair. I’ve

  gotten tea for her. And one for myself.

  She’s holding on to her purse like she thinks she’s about to be mugged. Another flinch, and if her

  eyes haven’t taken in every square millimeter of the office yet, it’s not because she hasn’t been

  making a good enough effort.

  “Have some tea.”

  Like so many other clients, she’s distracted yet focused, determined yet skittish, decisive and

  simultaneously wavering. Uncertainly certain.

  “Thank you?” She looks down at her tea.

  “You’re welcome?” It’s easy enough to return a question with a question, something Harv is always

  criticizing me about. As though he’s above criticism.

  “And?”

  But—it’s because no one wants to break the law.

  By that, what I mean is that everyone wants to break the law. Isn’t that what laws are for?—to

  entice people to break them? To make the resistible irresistible. To give you a thrill in your

  otherwise not-too-exciting existence.

  To give you one more thing to worry about and lose sleep over so that the other things that deeply

  bother you will be pushed aside and squelched under this new, nervous-making, illegal, and

  electrically exciting thing that you’re contemplating—that you’re doing.

  It’s like any hobby—something to take your attention away from the terrible truths of life, which truths even I have no desire to get into.

  I mean, what she’s about to do may be illegal, but I work here.

  This woman has moved past the contemplation stage and is actually doing something. Once

  someone gets this far, they rarely back out. Not never, but rarely. It takes quite a bit of effort just to

  find us, and once you’ve passed that part, the rest is downhill.

  Really, where is Sean? It’s nearly ten already and he’s never late. Never. He’s so reliable.

  “Can you bring something back for me?”

  “No.” I refuse to give her any additional information. She has the pamphlet in her grip, the stiff,

  shiny paper pushed into creases against her purse. Jeezus. Who carries a purse anymore?

  The pamphlet answers every single question she could possibly come up with, including the

  inevitable Can I take this pamphlet with me when I leave?

  No. It stays here.

  I hate it when the clients crease up the pamphlets, the pamphlets they haven’t even looked at much

  less studied. And it’s so great-looking. I’m pretty sure #2 did all the design work. She’s creative like

  that.

  “But . . . how will I know it’s been delivered?”

  “Look, miss—”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “Okay, Elizabeth. Look here. You’ll know your package has been delivered because that’s what we

  do. We deliver packages.”

  “You mean I have to take your word for it?”

  Damn, I wish I were back at the shop. I need to break something right this instant.

  “We’ve never failed to deliver a package.” I praise myself for saying that with such restraint and

  grace. I sit up taller and exude some confidence.

  Although of course my answer’s not exactly true. But it’s pretty close to true, a lot truer than the

  name Elizabeth. Not a lot of lawbreakers give out their real names.

  She looks around some more. She hasn’t touched her aromatic tea. I stare right at her and take a

  swig of mine.

  The door at the other side of the office opens. Relief. I’m not alone with Elizabeth anymore. Client

  relations are not my thing. I’m a courier, not a salesperson.

  “Hey, Sean. You’re looking suave this morning,” I say. “This is Elizabeth. She wants to know how she can be sure her package has been delivered.” I stand up as Sean comes over to my desk—

>   actually his desk.

  “Hi, Elizabeth. A pleasure to meet you.” Sean doesn’t just look suave, he is suave. Very reliable-

  looking, with his upright quasimilitary posture, that tall body with the proportions of a Greek

  statue, those dark gray eyes.

  The clients trust him for no reason other than how he looks. They distrust me for the same reason.

  Something about my eyes. At least that’s what someone told me once—they were too dark. There

  could be a little sign on my desk with the caption UNTRUSTWORTHY SELENA. If I had a desk, which I

  don’t.

  “Why are you here so early?” Sean says. Isn’t it enough that Elizabeth’s been giving me the fifth

  degree, now Sean has to start in as well?

  He comes over to the desk and folds his Greek-statue body into the chair I’ve just vacated while I

  hover a few feet away, leaning against one of the many structural columns in our elegant office

  space.

  We’re the only tenant in this building, which building I’m pretty sure Sean owns. He lives on the

  top floor, where I’ve never been.

  “It’s almost ten. Is that early these days?” I feel unusually virtuous, having gotten here in the

  morning. I fold my arms across my chest while I’m leaning. Just the sort of pose that an early-to-

  work virtuous employee would strike.

  “It is if it’s eight forty-five.”

  “It is? I thought it was odd you weren’t here. You’re never late.” I should really get rid of that

  throwback clock I’ve got. I can’t read it half the time. Eight, nine, ten—little slashes that all look the

  same.

  “Are you going to deliver my package or not?” The sound of Elizabeth’s voice is jarring. I’d half,

  possibly three-quarters, forgotten about her.

  She’s stood up now and she’s gotten some actual guts into her latest question. Her waveryness has

  transformed into forthright, direct action. The kind of action that got her here in the first place,

  before the inevitable paranoia intruded.

  “Of course we are, Elizabeth,” says Sean in his best anodyne tones. “Have a seat and we’ll get all

  the particulars. Just take a moment. You”—he points at me—“stand down.”

  “I told her we’d deliver it,” I say.