Jeb raked a hand through his hair, and his ribs shrieked at the sudden movement. He ignored it, thinking coordinates.
46.18N by 122.18 W
He depressed his thumb and hung his head.
Jeb was unfamiliar with the region, but they were no longer in the Kent Quadrant. Their current location was too rural to find another marker like they’d had in the previous location.
Jasper was too green to know anything about all of it. She was a superb linguist, as evidenced in their engagement. She also had sector histories down… but coordinates were his area, and even he felt out of his element.
“So?” Jasper asked, looking around. “How long?”
“You mean before I can shake off that bludgeoning I just lived through?”
He let her have a taste of his irritation. After all, his bravery was not in question, and he didn't like Jasper implying it was. If he had not broken her fall, she would have punctured a lung—or worse.
Jasper kicked a twig on the forest floor. Though it was late summer, as it was in Papilio, the coming of fall bit the air.
“What do you gauge the elevation?” he asked, letting her off the hook.
Beth took in a lungful of air and closed her eyes, tasting the subtle difference of air pressure.
“One thousand.”
The pain bore down on him as Jeb mimicked her inhalation. “Eight hundred forty-six.”
“Don't sound so smug, Merrick.”
He walked into her personal space, his body working to knit the damage, but it was too soon.
When they didn't return, more Reflectives would be sent.
Rachett would be notified.
They would look like imbeciles.
He could hear it already: “You missed a timed jump for a zombie?”
Jeb opened his mouth to tell Jasper what she'd cost them. But instinct—or self-preservation; he would never know what—kept his mouth shut.
Instead, he barked out, “Find the nearest quadrant.”
After all, she'd gotten them out of one mess and into another that was barely better.
What do the Three's call it?
Ah yes… out of the frying pan and into the fire.
CHAPTER NINE
Beth went through the motions with her thumb, pulsing to find the nearest quadrant.
She was ashamed.
She'd put Merrick through the paces of her novice landing, injured him, then basically called him a coward.
What is wrong with me? Why did she allow Merrick to get under her skin? And why, for the love of Principle, did she let him boss her around?
Well, that one was easy. He was her lead. She was the hot-shot jumper who could move through mist.
The answer floated to the surface of her pulse screen.
Quadrant—Marblemount, Washington
Merrick's face was chiseled stone in the shadows made by the canopy of woods.
“Marblemount,” Beth said.
“Fine.” Merrick scanned their surroundings. “Let's hike it.”
“What?” Beth asked, exasperated.
She was hungry, thirsty and homesick.
Merrick put his hands on his hips. “You don't see anywhere to jump out here, do you?”
She knew there wasn't.
They'd completed their mission by giving the fraudulent fingerprints to the splinter faction that would stop the Zondorae scientists from committing a purely preemptive mass infanticide.
It would not be enough—for their future intel said it was partially successful—but their action had allowed for a future that was not so bleak. Killing that many of the world's children would leave the Threes without the hope of the future The Cause had seen for them.
Merrick strode away without waiting for a response. His back was straight, not a trace of injury, though Beth knew he needed more sustenance than they had available.
Beth hoped the hike would make up for their lack of warm clothing. She'd leapt right into a deeply wooded, vaguely mountainous region that was a breath away from autumn.
Hypothermia was not out of the question. They would not die, but the compromise would leave them vulnerable to discovery.
“Direction?” Merrick asked, never breaking stride as he traversed the terrain easily. A Reflective's night vision was superior among inhabitants of all sectors, save One.
“East,” she said quietly, knowing Merrick would hear her.
He grunted in response, and Beth wondered how long she would be in the doghouse.
She trudged after him with a heavy heart.
*
Beth's legs were killing her by the time they breached the edge of civilization, where homesteads hugged the forest. As she and Merrick walked out into the open, frogs, crickets, and early birdsong met them. A thin fog had seeped in, undecided if it would be wet and become mist or just hamper their vision enough to be annoying.
“Can you jump this?”
Merrick's gaze hit her like a slap. The neutrality of the mist seemed to cause him to float, his gold hair glowing softly in a wavy cap moistened by the humidity, his stark eyes a clear dark gray. Storming.
“No,” Beth answered. “I'd just bounce back. The fog… it's like a circle of jumps.”
“Like in between?” he asked.
Beth shuddered, thinking about jumps that had landed her in a place not unlike this fog-thickened weather.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
Jeb turned, surveying large yards containing mainly farm equipment and gardens thick with unharvested corn. Orange pumpkins burst here and there from the confines of vines gone blond with the change of season.
“Let's keep going.”
“I… Merrick.”
He turned, impatience on every line of his body.
Beth was so hungry she could hardly think.
Of course, he must be far worse.
Instead of telling him the obvious, she asked, “Do you have the Three currency?”
He jerked his chin back. “Of course.”
“Where?”
Merrick unbuttoned the pocket that ran the length of his shin. He worked the denim with stiff fingers gone cold without gloves.
They usually took only what was needed for their particular mission: currency from the appropriate sector and era-appropriate clothing and weapons.
Even if they carried nothing else, they brought weapons. However, their mission had not been considered dangerous enough to require stabilizers.
Beth had transported the weaponry, and Merrick had been responsible for the currency and light jackets they wore. Merrick called them “zip-ups,” but she knew they were called hoodies in this region. Hers was barely adequate, even with her body warm and loose from the trek.
Merrick's hoodie hugged his lean, muscular form as though it had been made for him. Beth's was ridiculously large.
No one had bothered to get a jacket that fit her, and she'd had to make due with a small male's.
All those little slights added up—all those jackets that didn't fit, all those things made life so much harder for her. Many would have loved to see Beth fail because the Reflectives didn't see her as a compatriot, but someone they needed to excise, like a disease.
“Hey.”
Beth started.
“It's right here.” Jeb held up the envelope Christopher had given him.
She breathed easier. They had needed to get out of there so quickly that Beth hadn't kept track of the currency.
“Satisfied?” Merrick asked, as bright as a new Sector Three penny.
In contrast, Beth felt worn out.
“Look sharp. We'll be entering another quadrant, and it might not be exactly like Kent.”
Beth said nothing as she followed Merrick. When they got to a narrow bridge that crossed a large river, her nose picked up a delicious aroma.
“The morning meal,” Merrick said appreciatively.
Beth tucked her hair behind her ears, hating the curtain it made around her. She reminded her
self of the need to blend in. The females of this region did not braid their hair in the way she did. She and Merrick already stood out a little because they could never quite eradicate their differences.
Most of the Threes couldn't tell, but she had run across a few who had sighted them immediately
Those Threes were known as Sensitives. They were not abundant but were plentiful enough that blending in was a Reflective's first priority. Of course, there was nothing they could have done during their most recent debacle.
Beth thought of the zombie, Clyde, and his smart associates who policed his world. That had been unfortunate. Thank Principle Three was riddled with paranormals. Beth and Jeb’s disappearance would be noted, but not as noteworthy as it would have been on somewhere like Sector Seven, where humanoids could shift into different animal forms, vampires roamed unregulated, and a sub-species of human beings ruled through blood alone. Sector Seven was home to the Blood Singers, or Singers as the Reflectives had nicknamed them long ago.
And there was the matter of the fey, who were as ancient as the Papiliones. That issue remained unaddressed. They were a secret people, and their very nature made them less of an issue. But if the fey chose to “out” themselves, then the Reflective would need to manage their reveal.
Like many cultures that grew too powerful or advanced too quickly, no failsafe to provide a check and balance had been built into their culture structure.
The Reflective would intervene before they ran amuck.
Beth and Merrick followed their noses toward the food. Beth daydreamed of her butterflies, and Merrick kept his thoughts to himself.
Beth didn't even care what he was thinking; she was sleepwalking and starving.
Anything would do.
*
The bell tinkled as they entered, and Merrick excused himself to use the restroom. Dead on her feet from no rest and the all-night hike, Beth was desperate to splash a little water on her face. But she knew Merrick would be separating the money.
They couldn't just run into an eatery and suppose Threes wouldn't notice a bundle in excess of ten thousand in Three currency.
Beth stepped forward, and a young female smiled, giving Beth a slow perusal.
“Table for two,” Beth said in a commanding way, breaking the young woman's curiosity with a neat hammer-to-glass method.
The girl looked startled.
“Right, this way.”
She turned and led Beth to a table near the window.
“This okay?” The girl named… Bethany asked.
Suddenly sad, Beth's eyes went to the hostess. The girl knew who her real parents were and where she came from. She even had an entire name.
Beth studied her and was startled to realize they were roughly the same age, even though it was clear that their lives were not parallel.
“Hello?” she asked Beth.
She scanned the inside of the food establishment. Merrick would want something with his back to the wall, where he could keep his eyes locked on the exits.
There were three, Beth noted.
“I need something over there…” She pointed to a semi-circle booth.
The hostess rolled her eyes.
Beth noticed her blond roots and rainbow-dyed hair.
Is this beauty in Sector Three? Beth didn't know. It was ugly to her. Of course, she wasn't considered beautiful in Papilio, where pale hair and eyes were coveted. This one had covered her naturally pale hair with unnatural, multicolored hues—a confounding practice.
Beth sat in the center of a semi-circle booth.
Merrick came out of the restroom like an elegant panther from the rumored jungles of this sector's extreme southern greater quadrant.
His nostrils flared and his head turned in Beth's direction.
Beth's face flamed. He could probably smell her because she was as rank as Hades.
What I'd give for a cleansing. Ugh.
He slid smoothly beside her. “What?” he asked, not really looking at her but searching for potential danger inside the eatery.
There was only one other patron at that hour. Merrick visibly relaxed. “Good choice for position, Jasper.”
Beth felt stupid pride well inside her, and she stomped it out before it had a chance to grow.
“Thanks,” she replied with feigned indifference.
Merrick's lips turned up.
Beth rubbed her palms against the stiff denim she wore.
Thank Principle a Reflective can’t scent emotion. However, Beth wasn't entirely sure what abilities Merrick possessed. All Reflectives could heal quickly—and Merrick could regenerate during a jump.
Merrick was also excellent with a type of thrall, a common vampire trick, though it did not work on younglings. Reflectives did not possess any paranormal talent within their own ranks, but some had interesting anomalous talents.
With the exception of jumping at anything that reflected, Beth had come up short. Even her super speed, strength, and other heightened senses were nothing exceptional in the ranks of her kind. As a matter of fact, her strength and speed were constrained by her gender.
The paranormal talents of this sector were due to the brilliant but misguided discoveries of a geneticist named Kyle Hart. He had mapped this Earth's human DNA code, using an exhaustive process that had excavated the previously undiscovered paranormal markers. Exploitative Threes then discovered a chemical way to unlock that code, but only within the adolescent population.
At that time, the Reflective had been placed on pointe. Sector Three Earth had gone from a sleeping to waking giant in the span of two cycles. Now Beth and Merrick were wandering a planet where everyone between the ages of fifteen and thirty could host any paranormal talent they could think of and a few they couldn't.
Preparation was key.
Meeting the AftD had been a real eye-opener. “That zombie was so gross,” Beth said.
Merrick smiled. “Do you wish we had not helped?”
“Watch your syntax.”
Merrick frowned, clearing his throat. “Would ya have just dumped him?”
Beth grinned at his efforts. “Not bad. But did you get a load of Bobbi Gale?”
Merrick snorted. “She was as local as they come.”
“She nailed us.”
Merrick nodded. “Yeah, she did.”
He scooted away from her and leaned forward, making her immediately self-conscious. Do I reek that bad? Something must have showed on her face because Merrick said, “I'm watching the other exit.”
Right. Okay… Beth was acting like a regular female instead of a Reflective.
She needed to nip that in the bud, as they said here.
“That was a kick-ass jump, Jasper… even if you screwed the end.”
Beth frowned.
“Listen, I jumped with you. Yʼknow how hard that is.”
“Of course I know.”
A waitress with red hair came to their table. The color was not natural but was easier on the eyes than the rainbow hair on Bethany, who kept casting furtive glances in Beth and Merrick’s direction.
“What'll it be?” The waitress’s nametag said Doreen.
“Yeah, I'd like the special.”
Beth's eyebrows rose.
“How do ya want your eggs cooked?”
Merrick hesitated. Finally he replied, “All the way.”
Doreen kept chewing a wad of neon-green food inside her mouth.
Nasty. Beth stifled mild revulsion.
“Listen, pal, don't get cute. It's five in the morning. Over-easy, medium, or hard.”
Merrick blinked.
“We'll have them medium.”
Doreen gave up on Merrick and turned to Beth, the reasonable half of the pair.
Beth smirked.
“Bread?”
“Wheat,” Beth replied quickly.
“Juice?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Citrus,” Beth replied, delighted to use her language skills.
“I give up,” Doreen said, her paper and writing utensil protruding from ample hips.
Uh-oh.
“Grapefruit, apple, or orange?”
“Orange,” Merrick piped in.
“Great, a comedian.” She looked from Beth to Merrick. “Anything else.”
Merrick grinned.
Oh Principle.
“Yes, I'd like to try these hotcakes.” He pointed to a beautiful graphic of five circular discs that resembled a pastry popular on Papilio.
“Uh-huh,” Doreen acknowledged. Then the glob in her mouth came out and grew like a green tumor.
It suddenly sucked back into her mouth, and Merrick jumped when it popped in an explosive snap.
His hand flinched around his weapon.
“Cat got your tongue?” Doreen asked.
Beth was unfamiliar with the idiom.
She could tell that Merrick thought that required a simple response. “No, there are no felines present.” He peered at her name tag. “Dor-reen.”
She stared a hole through him.
“Right, yeah—thanks for your order.” She sauntered off, shaking her head.
“What was all that about?” Merrick asked.
Beth shook her head. “I'm not sure. I thought I was fairly well-versed in this sector.”
“Syntax,” he mocked, his eyebrow quirked.
Beth glowered at him, wanting to give him the stiff middle finger.
“I mean, they only live around eighty cycles, but maybe… there is a big gap between the younglings and old ones in terminology.”
Merrick waved his hand. “I don't care. I want food.”
Agreed. “I'm famished.”
She licked her dry lips, wishing for a toothbrush, water, food, a cleansing… and not in that order.
“I could eat a horse.”
Merrick chuckled, scrubbing his face.
Beth could see, and feel, his fatigue. It matched her own.
“What is their obsession with animals here?”
She gave a weary laugh that was more like a cackle, so when Doreen showed up with water, Beth asked for a pitcher in between hiccups.
“Slow. Drink it slow.”
Beth's eyes shifted to Merrick.
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