Sirens

by Darcy Pattison

  “That’s it,” Ms. Fleming said. “Except, I loved Damien. And we were going to get married anyway. Before I could talk my brother into it, though, I got pregnant.”

  They stared at each other, and Em wondered if Ms. Fleming’s blue eyes were going to spill over with tears. And then, her own eyes filled. Em felt suddenly like she was poised at the top of a diving platform—the highest platform ever built. And someone was about to shove her off and the fall would forever change her life.

  Slowly, as if each word weighed a thousand pounds, Fleming said, “You’re my daughter. You’re a mermaid, and it’s time you claimed your heritage.”

  8

  Negotiations

  December 20

  The speedboat powered over the choppy waves of the harbor and headed out into the chilly North Sea. Jake and his mother stood beside the rail and stared at the grey waters. Colonel Lett was driving the boat while Colonel Barbena leaned on the opposite rail. The smell of seawater and fish was strong, comforting. Jake needed that just now because they were headed into danger.

  “Are you sure this is wise?” Jake asked again, worry cramping his stomach. He had hoped to go to St. Abbs with David and Jillian today, but Mom had insisted that Jake accompany her on another official visit.

  Mom shrugged. She always loved the wind at sea. But in this sharp wind, she wrinkled her nose, which made her Risonian nose ridges more prominent. “General Puentes asked for this meeting. We have to try to make peace with him.”

  “But he was Cyrus Hill’s commander. He’s in charge of the ELLIS Forces that tried to capture you all last year. ”

  ELLIS stood for Earth-LLGlobular Star Cluster Interstellar Security force, and it was created soon after Earth’s first contact with the planet Rison, which is located in that star cluster.

  “It’s worse than that,” Mom said quietly.

  “Yes, when I was up against Cyrus Hill, I researched them online. I found Hill’s and Puentes’s connection,” Jake said. “Coach Blevins and General Puentes are brothers-in-law, married to sisters. Both wives are dead now, but they’ve kept the connection strong.”

  Mom nodded. “General Puentes is Cyrus Hill’s uncle. Hill is taking care of Coach Blevins, who has a degenerative human disease called Parkinsons. Hill and Blevins are out of the picture for a while.”

  That surprised Jake. A month ago, he’d overheard Coach and Cy talking about a doctor’s visit. But he hadn’t known it would progress so quickly. He was sorry Coach was sick, but he was glad he wouldn’t meet either Coach or Cy again. “So—why meet with Puentes? He’s definitely an enemy, and not a politician. It could be a trap.”

  Mom leaned on the rail and shrugged. Glancing sideways, she said, “It’s the Tizzalurian way. If we were from the Bo-See Coalition in the South, well, we’d have invaded Earth already. It’s a good thing they didn’t have the technology to build interstellar space ships.”

  “The aliens come in peace,” murmured Jake ironically. But would General Puentes accept them in peace?

  Mom straightened up and stretched. She turned around and her face lit up. “Look!”

  It was late afternoon, and in the distance a bank of clouds threatened an evening shower. The sun was at the perfect angle, and a rainbow splayed across the sky. Jake had only seen partial rainbows, but this one was a perfect arc, a complete rainbow. It was still one of the wonders of Earth for him.

  “Peace,” Mom said firmly. “Whatever else, we need to find peace with all humans. We have to go to this meeting. I’m hopeful that General Puentes is also seeking peace.”

  Jake wanted to add, “And if he’s not?” But he stopped himself. They had their bodyguards, and he and Mom were both trained in hand-to-hand combat, if necessary.

  They spied a yacht in the distance, and rapidly approached it. Long, white and sleek—General Puentes’ yacht looked expensive. Jake wondered if it was his personal yacht, or one provided to him officially as the head of the ELLIS Forces. It looked shorter than a football field, so he guessed it was about 80 yards long—a beauty.

  Pulling alongside, their own speedboat seemed tiny.

  A sailor attached a portable ladder to the yacht’s side, and Mom climbed up followed by Jake, Colonel Lett and Colonel Barbena. But the sailor held up a hand to stop the bodyguards.

  “You’re not allowed to come aboard,” he warned, a hand on his pistol at his side.

  Mom frowned, and Jake looked down uncertainly. In this situation, he felt naked without the Risonian military escort. He didn’t trust General Puentes’ motives or actions.

  Mom said, “Surely you understand that we need our entourage.”

  That was a delicate way of putting it, Jake thought, but it didn’t work.

  “The General was very specific. Only you and your son have permission to come aboard.”

  Mom’s nose scrunched in that funny Risonian way that signaled confusion. “We have permission to come aboard but not my bodyguards?”

  At the word, “bodyguards” the sailor became even more rigid. “No bodyguards.” His voice was cold and harsh.

  Mom nodded calmly. “Very well. Lead on.”

  The bodyguards started to protest, but Mom held up a hand and stopped them. “We’ll be back. Go eat ten sharks.”

  That was code. Humans knew nothing of what Risonians ate. They would wrongly assume that Mom had told the bodyguards to go eat a lunch of shark, or something equally foolish. Instead, it meant if Jake and Mom weren’t out in ten minutes, they should come after them. Colonel Lett and Colonel Barbena nodded grimly and dropped back to the speedboat deck.

  The sailor led the way toward the rear section of the deck, where a table and chairs were set up in the sunlight—what little there was left of it. Here in the North Sea, the winter sun set as early as 3:45 p.m. The spacious deck was protected from the winds, and was lit by strings of miniature Christmas lights that crisscrossed the ceiling in a set of artificial stars.

  The General didn’t rise when they came it, something that irked Jake. This wasn’t going to go well, he decided. Which meant that he wanted to stay close to the deck’s railings. From there, he could signal the bodyguards or escape if necessary.

  Mom appeared calm, but Jake knew the subtle signals that only another Risonian would notice: the narrowed eyes, flared nostrils, and the way she held her arms out a bit to keep her gills from sweating too much. She wasn’t pleased with this man’s disrespect.

  The deck chairs were cushioned in pale yellow. Without waiting to be asked, Mom sat in the most spacious chair, took off her windbreaker and set it beside her. Jake smiled to himself. She’d probably just taken the General’s favorite chair—and she knew it.

  Mom waited, calm and composed, a faint smile on her face. In other words, Jake thought, battle ready. All his senses were on high alert, too, and he found himself fidgeting with the zipper of his own windbreaker.

  The General went back to reading some papers. Even sitting, he towered over Mom, which meant he had to be over six feet tall. His white hair was close cropped in a military cut, except he had long sideburns. Even from across the deck, Jake smelled cigar smoke.

  It was a test of wills, Jake realized, to see who would speak first. You didn’t play that sort of game with Mom because she always won.

  A white-garbed servant came up and offered Jake a selection of drinks. The wind in his face coming out in the speedboat had made him thirsty. Jake accepted a cup of hot tea and took a big gulp. Mom frowned at him, and immediately, he realized his error. It was a classic ploy, trying to get them to drink something that was drugged. He plunked the teacup and saucer onto the table. Closing his eyes, he tried to feel if anything was different in his body. When it all seemed normal, he opened his eyes and shrugged at his mom. Maybe it really was just an innocent cup of tea.

  The servant glided silently to Mom and offered her a drink, too, but she refused to acknowledge him at all, and eventually, he left.

  Finally, General Puentes stood and came from ar
ound his table. Six foot three inches, Jake decided. He wore ELLIS Forces fatigues, a casual choice that made sense. Jake bet that in a dress-uniform, the General could charm the ladies. As it was, Jake quivered inside, worried that Puentes could too easily overpower his mom.

  “Let’s get down to business.” Puentes sat in a small yellow-cushioned chair and looked uncomfortable at its size.

  Mom answered formally, “I am Ambassador Dayexi Quad-de, Consort of Swann Quad-de, Prime Minister of Tizzalura. I am at your service.” It was only a fraction of her ceremonial titles, but enough for this situation.

  “Yes, I know who you are,” General Puentes said in a clipped voice. “And I have a request for you from the ELLIS Forces. Leave Earth. And never come back.”

  Jake sucked in a breath. This was harsher and more direct than he’d expected.

  Mom answered in her most reasonable voice. “Where do you expect us to go?”

  “I don’t give a damn. Just leave Earth.”

  Mom grimaced, “That’s a problem.”

  “Your problem. Not ours.”

  “But it is your problem,” Mom said calmly. “You found us.”

  “No, you found us.”

  Mom took a deep breath and launched into her usual message: “Earth sent the Arecibo message to the far reaches of the galaxy. If we hadn’t intercepted and decoded that message, things would be different. When we imploded from our own stupidity, Earth would never know that we died. But you did make first contact. You do know of our dilemma. We freely admit that it’s a problem we created in a foolish attempt to control volcanoes and nature. But all Risonians will die unless we find a place for our people.”

  “So, an entire world will die,” General Puentes said harshly. “But Earth will survive. If we let you come here—” he paused to jab a finger at Mom “—you’ll destroy us, too.”

  Mom sat unmoving, obviously angry. “Then why did you invite my son and I here today? You said you wanted to negotiate.”

  “The negotiations start now.” General Puentes nodded to his men, and promptly another dozen appeared from the other side of the deck. The trap had sprung.

  Mom stood slowly and backed away from the General and toward Jake. If she’d been faster, they might have escaped easily. But her outrage made her slow in reacting, like she wanted to stay and argue long past the point where words would matter. In fact, Jake thought bitterly, words had never mattered. Puentes had decided everything before they arrived.

  Mom lunged left, and Puentes mirrored her movement.

  A half smile played across his lips, like a predator toying with its prey. But he had yet to meet a Tizzalurian backed into a corner and forced to fight. Fear crawled up Jake’s spine, but he ignored it.

  Bending over, Mom upended a small table, sending it crashing into the General’s knees. He stumbled, off balance, and fell to one knee. Meanwhile, Mom rushed toward Jake. They met halfway and turned back to back to meet the other soldiers who had charged by now.

  Mom’s blade was in her right hand, and her windbreaker in her other hand to flick at attackers or to deflect attacks. Jake’s matching blade dropped smoothly from the forearm brace, and he smiled grimly. He was sorry it had come to this, but not surprised.

  Protecting each other’s backs, they moved steadily toward the deck railings. Jake’s heart pounded, hopeful but unsure. They were outnumbered and in the enemy’s camp—not a strong position.

  Puentes called to his troops, “I want them alive.”

  The soldiers bent to put their machine guns onto the deck flooring. Instead, they pulled out knives and advanced.

  That was fine with Jake because it meant the soldiers wouldn’t put everything they had into an attack. Mom slowly started turning so that Jake was backing up toward the deck rail and didn’t have anyone to defend against. Anger blazed at her attempt to protect him, when they needed to work together.

  Suddenly, a short, quick man darted in from the left and slashed at Mom’s knife arm. Only Jake’s strict training kept him from crying out and going to help her. But she didn’t need his help. She countered with a slash of her own and ducked away. Her arm was barely scratched, just a few spots where blood drops pooled. From her expression, it had bothered Jake more than Mom.

  Just as the short man danced away, a man with tattoos on his knuckles charged from the right. This time, Jake was there and met him knife blade to knife blade, the weapons making a tremendous clang. Eye to eye for a moment, Jake’s street fighting lessons took over. In street fighting, anything was fair, as long as it gave you an advantage. Jake stomped down on the man’s foot, and when his opponent bent double, Jake jerked his knee up to connect with the man’s chin. Stumbling back, the attacker yowled loudly.

  Jake was already advancing, though, trying to take advantage of the moment. He thrust, forcing the man to back up again. But he knew his place and stopped the chase. Instead, he backed up until he and Mom had each other’s backs again.

  The Risonians were surrounded now by four or five soldiers, with more coming. The tattoo man dodged inside again, his face an angry snarl. Instead of stabbing, he kicked out, surprising Jake, and knocking his knife from his hand.

  Quickly, Jake reached to the small of his back for his smaller knife and managed to lift it in time to block the tattoo man’s thrust by slicing at the man’s fingers.

  Immediately, the tattooed man dropped his knife—and shook blood from his knuckles, but he didn’t back off. He grabbed Jake’s hands and twisted, forcing Jake’s own knife toward his torso.

  Squirming, Jake tried to twist or throw the man off balance or—but the man pushed Jake’s knife downward until it was at Jake’s shirt. Suddenly, the man jerked, and Jake’s knife curved inward to slice a line across his belly.

  Jake sucked in air, trying not to cry out with the pain. It was deep, he realized.

  By now, though, they’d reached the deck railing and Jake did the only logical thing. He clambered over the railing and then held off the men as Mom scrambled over.

  Puentes rushed them now, yelling, “No! Don’t let them get away.”

  But Mom and Jake thrust away from the yacht and let themselves fall feet first into the water. It was like falling a couple of stories, and the shock of sinking might have surprised Jake if he hadn’t been in the habit of rock jumping for fun. His water breathing kicked in automatically, and he looked around for Mom. She was beside him, kicking upward, and they broke the surface together. A lifeline was thrown to them from their speedboat, and within moments, Colonel Lett and Colonel Barbena had them hauled into the boat, the motor roaring to life as soon as they were heaved over the side, and they leapt away toward shore.

  Jake feared a barrage of machine gun fire, but the yacht was silent. A haze of cold, stinging rain started, and Jake stood at the rear of the boat gazing at the disappearing yacht. Shaking his head, Jake wondered why he wasn’t angry. Instead, sadness filled him. Earth held both rainbows and the ELLIS forces. How could it be so beautiful one moment and so ugly the next?

  Mom demanded a phone and started calling people: Dad to tell officials that whatever they heard from military sources, they were fine; the NY Embassy to tell them the same thing; and then Commander Gordon of the Risonian military to demand an intensive investigation of General Puentes.

  Jake wanted to tell Mom about his stomach injury, but she was so busy that he decided to go below, get the first aid kit and take it to his bunk. The bodyguards were busy with navigation and driving the boat; Mom was busy with intense discussions.

  Rather than bother anyone, Jake bandaged himself. It wasn’t as deep as he’d thought at first; no vital organs were hit, just a deep cut, deep enough to scar. But he was fine. Nothing to worry Mom about.

  He closed his eyes, suddenly weary. Puentes and the ELLIS Forces were never going to stop fighting them. In spite of support from the political leaders of Earth, the military leaders could still stop the immigration of Risonians. Jake planted his face in his palm in despair.
>
  9

  The Debate

  December 20

  Mom dropped her computer tablet onto the table and sighed. “We have another ten thousand YouTube views on the Face of Rison channel, but will it help?”

  “You shouldn’t check the stats every day,” Jake said shortly. He sat rigid, arms casually held against the bandages on his stomach, trying to hold in the pain without letting Mom know about the injury.

  “I know,” she said harshly. “Just like I shouldn’t read the reports from Rison on a daily basis. The number of new eruptions, the growth of the black hole in the center of our planet, the deaths—” She stopped short and passed a hand over her face. She stirred the Scottish oatmeal around in her bowl and finally took a tiny bite, frowned, and pushed the bowl away. She shoved her chair back and stood. “We leave as soon as we can get to the airport. Let’s get packed.”

  “No.”

  Mom spun toward him. “What?”

  “I’m not a diplomat. I’ve tried. David and Jillian made the trip with me, and they deserve a look around, too.”

  “You want to do some sight-seeing? While things fall apart?” She stood with her fists on her hips, glaring.

  Jake calmly buttered an English muffin and spread orange marmalade on it. He took a big bite and chewed. Finally, when he judged that Mom’s glare was about to burn a hole in him, he said, “I have to look for Em.”

  Mom pulled out one of the chairs drawn up to the breakfast table and sat heavily. “Her again.”

  “Em is here somewhere. And it’s got something to do with the Phoke.”

  “Fairy tales!”

  “Lady Zuzanna Coombe, the Lord Provost’s mother said, ‘Go to St. Abbs.’”

  Mom tilted her head now and said thoughtfully. “Well, maybe I don’t have to be in New York. Many politicians are still here in Scotland. And London would be a good base to find others to talk with.”