Paranormals (Book 2): We Are Not Alone

by Andrews, Christopher

  Steve did, as did the others. Granted, they had just learned all of this intergalactic stuff, but at first look, Alan’s theory sounded reasonable enough. Why not? If the stars were alive, maybe they could also be intelligent in some way? Surely this humble group from out-of-the-way Planet Earth weren’t the first to consider this ...

  That was when Steve realized that Shining Star was remaining silent — no, as much as he hated to admit it, the better description would be suspiciously silent. He was just sitting there.

  Someone else noticed his silence, too.

  “What about it, Shining Star?” Powerhouse insisted. “You can’t tell me your people haven’t wondered what triggered the White Flash. Has anyone considered what Alan’s saying?”

  Speaking with obvious deliberation, Shining Star answered, “My people have been effectively cut off from the galactic stage since we went into hiding. We’ve had extremely limited contact with the—”

  “I’m not talking about all the other aliens out there,” Powerhouse snapped, “I’m talking about your people. Your dad went paranormal, you’ve gone paranormal, your sister, your brother, your cousin. Do you really expect us to believe that none of your people, none of your family, haven’t wondered what triggered the White Flash?” He leaned forward. “Unless you already know.”

  “Hey,” Steve said, “come on, man. How are they supposed to know what a bunch of stars did? Shining Star’s told us where it came from and what it is. I’m sure if they knew what caused it, he’d tell us. Right, Shining Star ...?”

  But Shining Star’s head had lowered again. Alien or not, his whole body language screamed Guilty!

  And then he confessed.

  “Some of my people believe that ... that it’s possible my grandfather may have contributed to the eruption of the conversion wave in some way. Or ... or that he may have somehow caused it.”

  A heavy silence fell over the room ... for all of two seconds.

  Powerhouse bolted to his feet, his chair tumbling away behind him. He drove his fists down onto the wooden table, cracking it in half, then threw his arms upward and apart, hurling the two halves of the table out of his way. Alan yelped, Ardette screamed, and Shockwave cut loose with a glorious string of invectives, but Steve and Takayasu were already vying for position, each thinking furiously what to do next.

  Strangely calm, Shining Star was still sitting when Powerhouse reached him. He seized the alien by the shoulders, cape and body suit bunching up in his grip as he jerked Shining Star from his chair. Powerhouse lifted him bodily from the floor, so that his shorter victim was nose-to-nose with him.

  Lincoln was trembling. Through a tightly clenched jaw, he growled, “You’re gonna give it all to us. Everything you know. All data, all studies, everything your grandfather used to do this to us. Do you understand me?”

  “Lincoln! Stop!” Steve yelled. He pulled on Powerhouse’s left forearm just as Takayasu yanked on his right, but of course, neither of them were accomplishing anything.

  Powerhouse ignored them. “Do you understand me or not, you son of a bitch?”

  Shining Star, who had remained impassive, finally stated in a cold voice, “We have no data, no studies. We have no idea what my grandfather did, if he—”

  “Bullshit!” Lincoln snapped, and over and above the obvious anger, Steve could hear a trace of hysteria. “No way he pulled something like this off without leaving notes or recordings or— or— or some kind of information about how he did this!” He gave Shining Star a hard shake.

  His voice colder still, Shining Star responded, “If ... if ... my grandfather did have such information, it was lost forty years and two worlds ago.”

  “Lincoln Roberts,” Takayasu snapped into Powerhouse’s ear, “I am ordering you to let this man go. Right now.”

  Lincoln guffawed. “He’s not a man,” he spat, continuing to glare into Shining Star. “You ... you people did this to us and now you want to live here?!”

  Speaking slowly and with crisp enunciation, Shining Star commanded, “Release me.”

  Powerhouse tightened his grip, bellowing into the alien’s face. “Fu—!”

  Shining Star raised his arms and, to the amazement of all, knocked Powerhouse’s hands away. Simultaneous to this — and now hovering off the floor — he glowed brighter than Steve had yet seen. In a brief flash of intense heat and concussive force, a blast of his energy sheath erupted from his chest and slammed into Lincoln’s. Powerhouse was stunned as the blast sent him flying across the room and most of the way through the far wall.

  Holy shit! wobbled through Steve’s mind.

  Steve and Takayasu were also staggered by their proximity to the event, and Shockwave — who had been moving around behind Powerhouse in anticipation of his partner’s order to help get him off Shining Star — had to throw himself to the floor to avoid a collision with the paranormal-turned-projectile.

  Shining Star remained hovering, his expression angry and haughty. “This,” he said, addressing the room as a whole but favoring Steve, “is exactly why I was trying to avoid speaking of my grandfather’s involvement in the conversion wave — if he was involved at all. We have no conclusive evidence as to what actions my grandfather did or did not take after he disappeared from Taal-ceky.” He levitated another inch or two from the floor, and although the air in the training center was still, Shining Star’s cape rippled out behind him. “I sympathize with your plight, and you are correct that we have come here as vagrants.” Shining Star’s chest puffed out even further. “But I am Grand Lord Callin Lan, the Shining Star of the Taalu, and I will not be abused!”

  Powerhouse shoved the collapsed portions of the wall away from himself and stumbled to his feet. The front of his shirt had burned away, and the skin beneath was visibly singed.

  Jesus, Steve thought, if he could do that to Lincoln, that blast probably would’ve gone straight through any of the rest of us.

  “Stand down, Powerhouse,” Takayasu ordered, his hand slipping inside his coat. Following his lead, Shockwave also lifted his fists, both aimed at Powerhouse.

  “Yes, Powerhouse,” Shining Star agreed, his own hands now glowing brighter than the rest of his body, his tone of voice still a little haughty for Steve’s taste, “stand down.”

  Powerhouse finally regained his balance. His eyes bore into Shining Star. “Why?” he demanded. “Why did he do this? Why would he do this?”

  Shining Star maintained his own glare of indignation for a few seconds. Then, in a softer tone, he said simply, “I don’t know.”

  Powerhouse deflated again. “Didn’t he have any idea how this would affect ... everyone?”

  “I don’t know,” Shining Star repeated. “Maybe Alan is right. Maybe the living stars did this in response to the Cargaun. Or maybe it all would’ve happened anyway. I - don’t - know. No one does.”

  Powerhouse dropped his gaze, nodding. He lumbered over, collected his chair, and returned it to where they had all been gathered. He sat heavily, as though very, very tired. “Sorry about the table, Vortex.”

  Then, his head so low his chin nearly touched his chest, Powerhouse began to cry.

  PCA

  After that, the discourse fizzled. As amazing as it was to have an alien in their midst, Lincoln’s outburst and subsequent breakdown rained on everyone’s parade.

  Lieutenant Takayasu conceded to sitting on his knowledge of Callin’s presence until the following morning, to allow Callin to reconnect with his people. After that, Callin agreed to formally announce their presence and intentions.

  Perhaps even more importantly, they all agreed to keep the Taalu’s knowledge of the White Flash private amongst their group. What if other people, particularly other paranormals, reacted as Lincoln did? This topic would have to be addressed sooner or later, but for now, they were hoping to make it later. Even Lincoln agreed to this, if only with a quiet nod of his head as he sipped the camomile tea Ardette gave him.

  When Callin announced that he would be l
eaving for the night, Steve escorted him outside. “I’m sorry about the, uh ... the thing with Powerhouse,” Steve offered as they walked together.

  “You have no need to apologize,” Shining Star said. “And neither does your friend. As I said, I knew the topic could be volatile, which is why I tried to avoid it.” He turned to fully face Steve. “We, honestly, do not know what exactly my grandfather Calacus’ involvement with the conversion wave might have been. Larr and Jere told me that his behavior after their escape from Taal was erratic, addled. You see, my grandparents lost a son a few years before that, and my grandmother was eleven months pregnant with my father and aunt when the invasion struck. Carrying twins was already a strain on her health, and the chaos of their escape took its toll. When my grandmother went into labor, there were complications that our limited medical staff were unable to handle, and she died. At first, my grandfather refused to accept it at all, verbally attacking the doctor who delivered the babies. Then he withdrew from everyone, which was not what my people needed during that time. Finally, he left Taal-ceky altogether, after recording final instructions that were distraught, and often nonsensical.” He grimaced. “I saw the recording a few years ago. It was ... disturbing.” Then his expression shifted more to distaste. “I understand he never visited his children, never laid eyes on my father or aunt, before he left.”

  After a moment of silence, Steve asked, “What did the recording say?”

  Sighing, Callin answered, “That’s difficult to answer. Some of it was logistical, like how he wanted the government run until my father came of age — that caused a lot of problems in itself. But he also referred to the Cargaun as ‘evil,’ which is not a term my people use as loosely as yours. He talked about the living stars, and his dreams, and restoring the rightful way of things. He also talked to my grandmother as if she were still alive, telling her that he would set things right.” He looked up into the night sky, toward the Seven Stars, and Steve looked with him. “A few days later, the conversion wave erupted. Most of my people still dismiss his final recording as nothing more than the ramblings of a brokenhearted maniac, but ...” He glanced down as he lifted his right hand, and as he closed it into a fist, it shone brightly with silver light. “Did my grandfather cause it? I don’t know. But the proof that something extraordinary and wondrous happened out there is undeniable. Isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is. Though I doubt that’s how Powerhouse would describe it.”

  Callin’s hand glowed brighter for a second before extinguishing. “I know firsthand how unsettling it can be to spend your life one way, and then suddenly be something else. But I suspect your friend has ... I think your idiom is, ‘he has issues,’ which I do not.”

  Steve nodded. “Yeah. He’s never been comfortable with being paranormal. Frankly, I’ve never understood it myself, because of all the ways he could’ve turned, he got pretty lucky. Solid powers, no changes to his body ...”

  Callin nodded, forgetting for the moment to exaggerate it the way humans do. “The conversion wave can have terrible effects on some. Body and mind.”

  Steve stopped. “You’ve seen more than me, I guess. Whole worlds more.”

  “Yes. Worlds we visited, hoping to make our home, but we couldn’t stomach the pandemonium. We’ve had too much of that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Callin considered before answering, “Whatever ‘contribution’ my grandfather might have made ... if Alan is correct, if the living stars did this to balance the Cargaun’s chaos, then they made a terrible miscalculation. On the worlds we have seen affected by the conversion wave, chaos reigns. A handful are changed, and it becomes a question of which group will destroy the other first — the minority or the majority. The converts lash out, the unconverted strike back. And even in the absence of full anarchy, it seems that all converts care about nothing but using their new abilities to pursue their selfish desires.”

  “Yeah, I know. So many paranormals go rogue ...”

  “But it’s different here.”

  “How so?”

  “Your world may have its problems, even outside your rogue converts, but as a people, you’ve handled it so much better than most. You attempt to incarcerate your rogues, rather than summary executions. The two I met tonight, Shockwave and Powerhouse — converts, standing in defense of the greater good. And you ... I admit, my friend, I don’t fully understand what you are, but I’m not sure it matters. The fact is, you are more than human, and you’ve chosen to don noble regalia and stand for what you believe is right. You don’t know how admirable that is.”

  Steve was glad to still be wearing his mask. But then, would Callin know what blushing meant on human cheeks?

  Callin continued, “I have read some of your literature, watched some of your entertainment. Your world has an affinity for heroes. Even if many of your people fail to act on this, your culture as a whole favors upstanding champions. You cheer those who place others before themselves.”

  Smiling, Steve admitted, “I suppose we do.”

  “This is one more reason why I hope my people can make this our home.”

  Silence fell between them, the human and the alien. But it was a comfortable silence, and in very short order, both were again looking up into the star-strewn sky.

  At length, Steve said, “I suppose you’d better get going.”

  “Yes. I’ll see you at dawn.”

  “I hope so.”

  Callin smiled. “You will. I promise. No more lies between us.”

  And with that, wrapped in his glowing, silver shroud, Callin Lan flew off into the night.

  COOPER

  Early the next morning, Arturo Froment limped into work at the Great American Bank. He had only missed two days after that crazy old white guy attacked him in his apartment, scaring the hell out of his mamá and killing his bro, Ramon. While he was grateful to have gotten out of that situation alive, he’d still been pretty banged up himself — cracked ribs, cracked bones in his foot, and a fat lower lip that had just last night shrunk down to its proper size. But he was really hoping for a decent raise after his next review, so Arturo forced his way past his paranoid mamá and returned to his job.

  The morning started off typical enough. He counted his cash till and waited for the doors to open to the public. A few coworkers asked what happened to him; he was tempted to talk about his fight with a big, bad-ass rogue, but since he hadn’t exactly come out on top, he held his tongue for now and shrugged them off. Maybe he could think up a few juicy embellishments over his lunch break and share the story then.

  Arturo was wrapping up some minor paperwork from the previous customer when he saw a white man’s hands come to rest on the counter on the other side of the security glass. He raised one finger and mumbled, “Be right with you.”

  “Hey, punk.”

  Arturo froze ...

  ... and very nearly lost control of his bladder. He slowly lifted his gaze, knowing damn well who he would see but praying to God that maybe it was just some sort of post-traumatic stress thing playing tricks on him.

  It wasn’t.

  Perry Cooper, in an Army jacket and baseball cap pulled down to the level of his still-red, missing ear, loomed over Arturo.

  Okay, “loomed” wasn’t literally true, since Arturo was nearly the same height as the old guy and was sitting on a high work stool. But the instant he laid eyes on Cooper, he envisioned the man standing on top of him down by the pool, crushing the life out of him from inside that magic bubble of his.

  Arturo’s ribs hurt.

  “I’ll keep this simple for you,” Cooper said in a low voice, “since it looks like you got a lot on your mind: You know who I am, you know what I can, you know you’re not safe from me behind this glass wall of yours. Right?” When Arturo didn’t instantly respond, he repeated, “Right?”

  Arturo nodded, really big and really fast.

  “Stop that. You look like a retard.”

  Arturo stopped.

 
Speaking very casually, Cooper ordered, “Open your drawer, put all the twenties and fifties you can fit in one of those envelopes right there, and slide the envelope over to me. Just the one envelope, nothing too obvious. Then I’m walking out of here.” Cooper leaned forward until his nose almost touched the security glass. “If an alarm goes off, if that security guard comes near me, if the cops or PCA show up before I’m long gone, I promise you this: They won’t take me down before I take you down. You got all that, punk?”

  Arturo nodded again, mindful to keep it subtler this time. God, he needed to piss so bad!

  Cooper, in turn, nodded toward the manilla envelopes. “Get to it.”

  Praying that no one in the back chose that moment to take a closer look at the security camera over his station, Arturo began filling the envelope. His hands were trembling so badly, he was terrified he would drop it or the money or both, causing a scene that would bring the old man crashing through the counter and glass to kill him. A couple of rogues tore this place up the year before, so this branch had some pretty slick security now — not that it would do him any good.

  After an agonizing minute, Arturo got the manilla envelope stuffed with enough cash that Cooper said, “Okay, that’s enough. Nothing obvious, remember?”

  Swallowing hard, Arturo closed the envelope; he was too rattled to get the little tab through the hole, so he just pushed it through the exchange tray at the bottom of the glass. For a heart-stopping moment, the envelope wouldn’t fit, but he gave it an extra hard shove through the dip and into Cooper’s waiting hands.

  “Okay,” Cooper said. “I’m leaving. Don’t do anything stupid until I’m gone.”

  Arturo nodded again, then surprised the hell out of both of them by saying, “I didn’t tag your car.”

  Cooper stared at him for a long moment. Arturo again almost pissed his pants before registering that this look wasn’t all that threatening. The guy just looked ... tired.