"What is it?" Jamie asked.
"I think...I believe...I have seen you before. In my dreams."
Jamie's own surprise ratcheted up and then down. Was it so shocking that Kim-Ly had some psychic ability before the Object's nanovirus?
"What kind of dreams?"
"You were a warrior with special powers, fighting a great battle. I felt we were friends. We had a common enemy."
"I think you may have had a vision of my world, Kim-Ly. Because I was a warrior. I guess I still am. And we were friends. We fought together against a common enemy."
"What was this enemy? It seemed human, and yet not."
"An alien civilization that calls itself the 'Elementals.' We got them to listen to reason on my world. Haven't had any luck with that here."
"They wish to kill us?"
"Yes. Though maybe 'wish' isn't the right word. They believe they need to."
Kim-Ly nodded solemnly. Jamie felt the warm, pleasant breeze of relief blow over her. So nice not to have to go through the tiresome explanatory-persuasion ritual twice in one day.
"What other powers do you have?" she asked.
"Um...I can fly. I'm pretty strong and invulnerable to most things. Telescopic vision. That's about it."
"How do we stop these aliens in this universe?"
Jamie smiled at her, wanting to shake her head in wonder. So matter-of-fact about something so unbelievable. But then maybe her psychic abilities made accepting unbelievable things easier?
"The first step is to find out where they are," said Jamie. "I was hoping you could help with that."
"I could try. That may be difficult."
"It might be easier if you were super."
"How would you do this?"
"My power came from a nanovirus that an alien object brought to my Earth," said Jamie. "That object was sent by aliens who were opposed to their people's policy of condemning a civilization in advance based purely on predictions. Anyway" – Jamie brushed aside further explanation for the moment – "the bottom line is that I probably can infect you with that virus."
"You said 'nano'-virus. It's artificial in nature? A nano-machine that behaves like a virus?"
"Something like that. It has lots of beneficial effects on our bodies beside the obvious superpowers, by the way."
"How would you transmit it? Through blood or other contact?"
"Blood might be possible, but since my skin is almost impossible to penetrate, even for me..." Jamie shrugged. "So far, my tears are the only 'body fluid' they've found the nanovirus in. So..."
"Yes," said Kim-Ly softly. "I will accept your offering, if you will honor me with it."
Ironically, the young woman's trust and acceptance brought tears to Jamie's eyes. She focused on the wave of grateful emotion – especially grateful to avoid summoning her usual horrific images – and rode it to an even better waterworks harvest. She held out two tear-soaked fingers.
"Either place them in your eyes..." Jamie paused. "Or your mouth would probably work, too."
Kim-Ly licked the two fingers and almost tenderly took them into her mouth. Jamie gave an involuntary shudder. She supposed she ought to be happy she didn't have to swap spit with people or worse.
"Um, okay..." Jamie withdrew her fingers from the girl's gentle sucking. "That should do it."
"Thank you." Kim-Ly breathed out. "Perhaps I should've asked how long this would take and what side-effects I should expect."
"You'll probably feel like you have a cold or a mild flu. You might want to take it easy the next day or two."
"I will."
"I'll check back with you in a day or two and see how you're feeling."
"Good." The girl reached out and lightly grasped Jamie's hand, her pale almond eyes shining. "I hope to see you again, soon, Jamie Shepherd."
"Um...me, too. Goodbye, Kim-Ly."
Chapter 19
DENNIS HAULED HIMSELF OUT of bed on the second morning, feeling strong, incredibly energetic and clear-minded, yet cautious. He got dressed and walked out to the front yard, where Jamie and his daughter were playing a telekinetic version of croquet: two square wire goals set twenty or so yards apart, and six croquet mallets each.
"Hey, sleepyhead," Jamie greeted him.
"Are you okay, Dad?" Kylee asked, looking him over. "You look good. Are you super, yet?"
"Super-glad to be over that cold or nanovirus reaction." Dennis paced along the edge of the lawn, reluctant to explore his hypothetical new powers, assuming there were any. Experimenting in his bedroom had indicated exactly zero telekinetic ability. He felt oddly afraid that he might disappoint his super-family. "Don't let me interrupt."
He was happy to watch his two "supergirls" battle it out in what appeared to be a croquet version of soccer. He soon figured out that only mallets belonging to each side could be moved legally – no interference with the ball itself. It was a matter of finesse and accurate control, not brute telekinetic power. The mallets – six red for Kylee, six blue for his wife – danced around the lawn, tapping or cracking the ball toward the opposing wire goal. A pair of broken pink mallets attested to someone striking them a bit too hard.
Jamie let her croquets slump, turning to Dennis. "So how are you doing? Noticing anything new at all?"
"I feel pretty damn good."
Jamie and Kylee coasted over to him.
"I know how it feels," said Jamie. "I wasn't that eager to know what I could do, either. My dad had to talk me into trying something. He wanted to see how high I could jump."
"How high could you jump, Mom?" Kylee asked.
"Into the mesosphere."
Dennis grunted a laugh. "That's some vertical."
"You could try the same," said Jamie. "But don't try too hard. Just an easy jump."
"Gotcha."
Dennis took a deep breath and focused. Up, up, and away. But before he could gather his legs for a light leap, everything blurred. No yard, no house, no family. Nothing but a smear of colors and a fuzzy but strong sense of motion –
On the front yard, Jamie's grin dropped away and Kylee made a choking sound as Dennis disappeared. They both walked over to where he'd been standing in the grass a moment before. Jamie tilted her head and searched the skies, while Kylee turned in a slow circle, gazing around the property.
"Oh, crap," Jamie whispered.
TILDIE PULLED the ice bag from her head with a soft groan. She'd emptied the contents of her stomach and intestines four times last night, and then enjoyed one of the worst headaches of her life. Becoming a superheroine was proving to be a real bitch. If she'd known what that entailed, she might've left well-enough alone. There were worst things than being a university librarian...weren't there? And so far, she had zero evidence that she'd turned into anything but a crabby girl with a monumental headache and epic halitosis.
She shambled into the kitchen and poured some coffee into the coffee machine. The odor was magnificent. Now, something to eat. She was starving, and her usual chef salad – hold the meat – held no luster. How about a cheeseburger? A big, juicy cheeseburger with bacon? Bacon cheeseburger with onion fries. And a side of regular fries. Even in Portland such base desires could be slated.
She changed into shorts and a t-shirt, grabbed her wallet and keys, and was halfway out the door when she heard her coffee machine hissing. A glance across the kitchen confirmed the obvious: once again, the coffee filter was leaking, and a brown caffeine lake was spreading over the counter. She extended an arm and flipped off the leaking piece of shit.
The flash of light didn't startle her half as much as the boom that made pots leap from the shelves and drawers spring halfway open. As if a cannon had fired in her living room – an impression reinforced by the gaping hole in the kitchen wall where her coffee machine had been. Tildie approached the charred hole one cautious step at a time. Through the hole she could see her bedroom and then another, smaller hole through her headboard and the outer wall.
Tilde stared at the holes in th
e walls and at her right hand.
"Holy Buddha," she said.
THE DAY of reckoning had finally come for Terry Mayes. That was how Madeleine "Granny" Mayes thought of it. She'd been expecting this day for years but had thanked God for each year, each month, and each day her grandson had been given to realize his considerable intellectual gifts and to grow closer to being a full human being. She'd also prayed that when the inevitable end came, as the doctors promised it would, that her precious, brilliant little man wouldn't suffer.
That prayer, judging from Terry's terrible wheezing and grimacing and cries of excruciating pain over the last two days, was not one that God in His divine wisdom had seen fit to grant.
It was the worst moment of Grandma Mayes' life, even worse than the death of her son. No one should have to suffer like that. She tried to stay strong, and did manage to avoid tears in her grandson's presence, but now sitting with her other grandson in the acute care waiting room, she dabbed her eyes freely with her handkerchief. Thomas Mayes made a pretense of reading a magazine, but his grim expression – more angry and resentful than sad – spoke to Madeline of an inner war, and his dark eyes seemed focused on something far beyond the print on the pages.
Then something strange and utterly unexpected happened: a nurse appeared wearing a weird, wondering smile, and said Terry Mayes was awake and complaining about being hungry! The nurse was going to contact one of the attending doctors.
But that was just the beginning of the good news. When they entered the acute care room, Terry was sitting up in his bed scratching at one of the IV lines. Which was of course impossible. Terry had not been able to sit up on his own for several years. And his left hand, which was scratching at the base of one IV, had been out of commission for nearly two years.
"Baby!" Grandma Mayes leaned down for a gentle hug while Terry's brother stood stoically by. "Now don't be scratching out your IV lines, honey. The doctor should be showing up real soon."
"That's good," said Terry. "I don't believe I need them any longer. The emergency, whatever it was, appears to have passed."
Madeleine Mayes stared at him. It wasn't like her grandson to sound so...reasonable. She looked into his eyes, which rarely allowed direct contact with anyone – he always appeared to be staring to one side of people – but now he was meeting her gaze dead on, without any sign of discomfort. And more – someone seemed to be at home in those eyes. Someone she wasn't sure she recognized.
"Hey, brother," Thomas greeted him. "How you doing?"
"Hmmm..." Terry took stock. "Surprisingly good, actually. I'm not sure I can remember ever feeling this good."
"That's...great, baby." Grandma Mayes smiled through her puzzlement. "God's been looking out for you the last two days."
"It felt more like the other guy was looking out for me."
"Other guy?"
Thomas snickered. "He means the devil, Granny. You know, 'cause he's been in horrible pain for the last couple of days, in case you didn't notice."
"Don't wise-mouth me, Thomas Hamilton Mayes."
She glared at her large grandson for a stern moment before returning her attention with a slight frown to the miracle child on the bed before her. As far she could remember, Terry Mayes had not made a joke or sarcastic remark in his entire life. In fact, he'd once confessed that humor made no sense to him.
"All I can say," Granny Mayes mused, "is God works in mysterious ways."
DENNIS FOUND himself in what he first thought was the prairie just west of his place: tall, summer-bleached grass, a few gnarly trees slouching nearby. But as he looked around and more into the distance, where the faint outlines of mountains vaguely suggested the Black Hills, the environment diverged from his original impression. Even the smell was off: a hint of musty straw, something moist in the air, a rusty, mildly fetid odor as if something had died nearby.
"So teleportation is one of my superpowers," he said, trying to gain some comfort or reality from the sound of his own voice. Teleportation, according to Jamie, could be very useful. It could also, he recalled from her brief descriptions, be damn dangerous.
Then Dennis spotted the herd of buffalo raising a cloud of dust a half-mile or so away, visible between a sparse stand of towering trees. Buffalo, he thought, not bison.
"Oh, great," he said. He'd always wanted to visit Africa, but he'd planned on tours in buses or inside a big Land Cruiser in the company of skilled and well-armed guides – not standing unarmed in the middle of what appeared to be the African Veldt in shorts and a t-shirt and no suntan lotion.
A shadow passed overhead. Dennis looked up, shading his eyes. Vultures were circling overhead, as if sensing in him the possibility of a near-future meal. He brushed sweat from his brow. Man, the documentaries didn't begin to capture how hot it was here. The air seemed molten with sunlight.
The hyena appeared to materialize out of the grass a few meters away. Its black eyes and relaxed body posture struck Dennis as curious more than predatory. It sniffed the air, while Dennis inhaled its thickly barn-animal smell. Hair prickled on his forearms and the back of his neck. The hyena cocked its head and made a snuffling, mewing sound.
Another hyena appeared at its side. He hadn't seen it approach. Dennis had the wildly improbable notion that they were capable of teleportation, too. They shuffled forward. He stumbled backward.
Something like a vice with teeth clamped down on his ass. He whirled around, glimpsing spotted fur and a broad head attached to his rump. The other hyenas closed in.
Go! he willed. Right about fucking now!
The Veldt blurred. The pain in his butt didn't. Twisting his head, he was staring into the now-unseeing eyes of his attacker. Unseeing because only its head and the stump of its neck remained, gushing blood and dangling gore. The head dropped off, thunking on the invisible floor of the elevator-sized space he'd apparently generated around himself.
He tried to concentrate through the pain and disorientation. The scenery was swirling around him in an incomprehensible mélange of color and textures. He had no idea where he was going or how fast. He had to simplify the scenery –
Before the thought had formed, he was rising. In an eye-blink, he was surrounded by clouds and blue skies. The world was passing swiftly down below, as if a Harlem Globetrotter was spinning it on his fingertip. Nausea pulsed through him, and he averted his eyes to the more stable scenery of the upper atmosphere. The smell of blood from the hyena's oozing head wasn't helping. He had to slow things down –
The world stopped spinning before his thought had finished. He seemed to be in a stable orbit just faster than the Earth's rotation. Huh. He allowed himself a slightly relieved breath. He was making progress. He wasn't incorporeal within his teleportation chamber or whatever it was. His body was as physical as it was in normal life. He still needed to breathe, and unfortunately he could feel pain and carry his injuries with him. He assumed – hoped – the alien nanovirus would take care of the hyena bite. But the key thing now was getting home.
Dennis maneuvered over the continental U.S., focusing on the north-eastern section of his state. Not quite so easy to pinpoint without the usual state lines drawn in on a map, but he was feeling confident about that part. Now... He breathed out.
Slowly...slowly...downward...
CAL EMERGED from the back of his apartment, feeling as if he'd awakened from a long hibernation. Two of the feral cats that hung around the alleyway dumpster yowled in anticipation of the leftovers he often brought them, but this time he was more like something the cat had dragged in.
He leaned against the dumpster, squinting up at the absurdly bright midday sky. It had been a long two days. Much worse than Jamie had indicated. Had she been downplaying it? He doubted that. But the important thing – he was alive. And felt pretty damn good. No superpowers had announced themselves, but it was early yet and he hadn't gone looking for them. Jamie had made it clear that he might be a bit stronger and healthier, as he had on her world, but nothing spectacular.<
br />
"I thought you were on vacation?"
Cal jumped a little. But it was only Murray Templeton, a retired accountant and full-time fisherman. Trout, bass, and muskies in the summer; walleye, pike, and bass in the winter.
"That's what your sign said." Murray pointed to the building. "'On vacation, closed for the week.'" Accusation accumulated in his voice as he spoke. "Been hoping to pick up a Strike Pro."
"Strike Pro Buster, Deep Crank?"
"Yep. Ordered one online, but now they say it's out of stock. I don't have time for that bullshit. The fish are hitting now."
"I hear you. Lucky for you I got a couple in stock. Let's go inside."
Murray's worried face relaxed into a smile. "Appreciate it, Cal. And I only ordered online because you were off the reservation."
"I understand. Not a problem."
Cal led him back into the store via his apartment. Not generally a good idea to let customers view his inner sanctum, but Murray wasn't just any customer. He and a few like him were his bread and butter. If only he had a few more like him –
He patted Murray's shoulder as the older man moved ahead of him through the door into the store. A strange buzzing crackled through his body, as if he'd touched a live electric wire. He looked down, but his right hand wasn't touching anything and appeared unblemished. He shook off the feeling and followed Murray into the store. But when he started to close the apartment door a hairy, liver-spotted hand blocked it.
"Hey," said Murray, entering past him. Again.
The three men jerked to a stop a few feet into the shop, spinning to face each other and then each staggering back a few steps.
"What...?"
Both Murrays spoke near-simultaneously.
"Who are you –"
Again, they spoke nearly at once.
"Hold on," said Cal. "Take it easy, Murray...and, uh, Murray."
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