A Stranger Thing (The Ever-Expanding Universe)

by Leicht, Martin

  “See you down there,” he says, glancing down one last time. “Hopefully.” And with that, he lets go. The clunking sound of my father sliding down the metal chute echoes up.

  Without waiting to hear any kind of confirmation that he’s landed, Zee hops over the edge as well. “No time to make sure it’s safe,” she says, then releases her grip and follows her former husband, making considerably less noise as she slides. I start to climb in after her when Cole stops me.

  “Elvie, this is nuts,” he whispers. “How are you so certain the Devastators are still alive? They were trapped in that shuttle when the ship crashed.”

  “Yeah, at the back end of the ship,” I counter. “If those things are as badass as you claimed, do you really want to lay odds that they couldn’t survive?” Cole makes a face like he’s actually trying to calculate the odds. If he calculates even twice as quickly as he diagrammed sentences back in Mrs. Kwan’s English class, we could be here all day.

  “Into the laundry chute, pretty boy,” I say, climbing into the opening.

  I let go of my grip on the edge and start gliding down the chute. Well, not so much gliding as banging back and forth against the sides like a human (er, hybrid) pinball. The incline on the chute is so steep that it’s mostly a freefall, like the “Death by Water” slide at the waterpark down the shore that Ducky and I were gaga for when we were little. Only, instead of water waiting for me at the bottom, there might just be a jagged pile of burning metal shards, or something equally as pleasant.

  After only a few seconds I hear the telltale sound of Cole jumping in the chute behind me, and I make a mental note that if I’m not impaled by something on the way down, I better tuck and roll when I land so that I don’t get smushed under 95 kilograms of dumbass. Seriously, first he drags his feet, and then he gives me a head start of less than three seconds before he comes barreling down after me? Timing is not Cole’s strong suit.

  I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak, and it doesn’t appear to be jagged or on fire or anything like that. I exit with a fwoosh! and touch down first with my feet, the jolt riding up through my knees and into my hips before I curl up, pitch forward, and roll like a toddler in kiddie gymnastics out of the way as Cole lands with a heavy thump right behind me. My momentum nearly sends me crashing into the wall, but Zee is there to catch me.

  “Whoop!” Cole screams out. “That was awesome!”

  I’m a little dizzy from the ride down and especially my landing (which I’d reckon would earn me a 6.5 from the international judges). I shake my head, trying to clear away some of the fuzzies.

  “Cole, only you would think that was fun,” I mutter. I glance at Zee, expecting her to join in on the Cole-bashing, or at least look like she wants to. But she’s giving me that same tense grimace she had up on the lido deck.

  “What?” I ask. Cole has tensed up too, moving into a defensive crouch. Zee’s eyes move past me over my shoulder. I turn around, following her gaze. There is my father, leaning against a table, rubbing his knee.

  And staring down the barrel of a gun.

  I suck in my breath when I see who’s holding the gun on my father. I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit lately, but this might be the first thing that seems absolutely paranormal. A little ragged and a lot scruffier than the last time I saw him, it is none other than the man I very clearly remember shooting. Three times. And that was before Cole dropped him face-first off a ten-meter catwalk.

  “Jesus Christ,” I tell Dr. Marsden. “How many times do we have to kill you?”

  Chapter Nine

  Wherein old Enemies Become New Not-So-Much Enemies

  I have to say, Dr. Marsden looks genuinely surprised to see me. Almost as surprised as I am to see him—although, to be fair, I think I get the edge, seeing as I was pretty sure he was a pancake of guts at the bottom of a space wreck.

  “My goodness,” he says, taking a step away from Dad. “Elvie Nara. I can honestly say I never expected to find you here.” He keeps his gun waving somewhere between Dad and Cole, making it look like the weapon’s just lazily drifting around, although if he felt like it, he could easily shoot either one of them between the eyes without another thought.

  “The feeling is, obviously, mutual,” I reply. “You know, most dudes would take three point-blank shots to the chest and a long fall onto their face as their cue to shuffle off the mortal coil.”

  “What can I say? I’m resilient.” His eyes are wide, and I can tell he’s in a very deliberate physical position, anticipating any potentially threatening move on our part.

  “We really did surprise you, didn’t we?” I ask.

  “I wondered if the Almiri might send a detachment at some point,” he answers, moving an almost imperceptible half step back toward the door. “But after the first week came and went, I figured I was on my own down here.”

  “We’re not here on behalf of the Almiri.” Like that’s any of his beeswax.

  Dr. Marsden narrows his eyes at me, curious. “You’re not?” He takes a second look at our ragtag band of adventurers. Two teenagers, a skinny middle-age woman, and a slightly frumpy, well, Dad-like person who twisted his knee barreling down the laundry chute. Marsden turns to Dad, tilting his head to the side inquisitively. “So that would make you . . . ?”

  “My father,” I answer. “Harry Nara. Mind not pointing a gun at him, please?”

  Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, Dr. Marsden breaks into that brilliant smile of his. “Well, I’ll be,” he says, all warm and fuzzy and stuff. “Mr. Nara.” And to everyone’s surprise, Marsden immediately lowers his gun, tucking it away in his belt behind his back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I had the good fortune to have your daughter as a student and patient here at Hanover before we became, well, rather Earthbound. Dr. Marsden, but, please, call me Ken.” And if that seemed screwy, what Marsden does next is absolutely Phillips-head bonkers. He actually extends his hand to my father. Eagerly, even. Like this was a PTA meeting or something.

  Confused, Dad reaches out cautiously to accept the shake. “I admit I’m at a bit of a loss,” Dad says as Marsden pumps his hand energetically. “You are the gentleman my daughter shot a while back, are you not?”

  “Well, you know, misunderstandings,” Marsden answers with a shrug, as if I’d dented his fender in the school parking lot. “Water under the bridge. Or ice, as it were.” Marsden widens his grin to show his pearly white teeth, laughing at his own cheesetastic quip. It’s that warmth that made me kinda crush on the good doctor—you know, before I learned he was a homicidal maniac. So I can sort of forgive Dad when he returns the smile.

  Cole has a little more experience with Marsden—but unfortunately, he’s still Cole. Seeing that Marsden has pocketed his weapon, he springs forward.

  “You murdering Jin’Kai bastard!” Cole bellows as he lunges at the doctor.

  “Cole, no!” I scream, but it’s too late. In the blink of an eye Dr. Marsden has registered Cole’s attack, and the warmth and geniality vanish from his face. In one fluid show of exceptional strength he tightens his grip on Dad’s hand and spins him about in front of him, so that Dad becomes a human shield between him and Cole. With one arm wrapped around Dad’s waist, still holding tight on his hand, Marsden brings his other hand up and clamps down on Dad’s throat. Cole stops dead in his tracks, still several meters away from them.

  “Easy, boy,” Dr. Marsden growls menacingly. His face has gone completely dark, and his eyes, so kind and inviting just moments ago, have turned deadly. “We’re all going to be friends today, wouldn’t you agree?”

  The air is heavy with the tension, and somehow the room seems to grow fifteen degrees colder. Marsden’s grip on Dad’s throat is not so tight that my father can’t breathe, but the doc’s not about to let go anytime soon, either. And even if we could get near the guy, Marsden’s still the only one of us with a weapon. Every muscle in my body is rigid, watching my father’s panicked eyes.

  “Cole,” I whisper, tremb
ling. “Please.”

  Frozen in his attack stance, Cole doesn’t take his eyes off Marsden. But when he hears my voice, he wavers slightly.

  “Listen to your girlfriend, Almiri,” Marsden says, his tone taunting.

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I whisper back.

  “Wait, what?” Cole asks, suddenly confused.

  “Elvie,” my mother says behind me. “Not now.”

  Finally, after another tense few seconds, Cole relaxes and stands up straight, raising his hands in submission, retreating three steps back.

  Marsden smirks wickedly, but he releases his grip on Dad’s throat. “Sorry about that, Harry,” Marsden says, slapping Dad’s shoulder good-naturedly as Dad exhales a relieved breath. “Race war and all that. You understand.”

  “I suppose,” Dad says, massaging his throat. But when the doc lets go of his hand, he takes several steps away from Marsden.

  “So, now what?” I ask. “You call your goon buddies down here and we all have a party?”

  Marsden arches an eyebrow. Man, he does have handsome eyebrows. Shake it off, Elvie. “Buddies?” he asks.

  “Quit the act,” I snap. “We heard the Devastators up on the lido deck before we decided to ride the laundry chute. We know that at least some of them survived the crash with you.”

  “The . . . ‘Devastators’?” Marsden asks, barely stifling a laugh.

  “That’s what the Almiri call them,” I say. I’d laugh myself if our lives weren’t on the line. “So they’re not great with names. Whatever, the ugly big dudes that you called to the ship after the Almiri attacked.”

  “Ah, yes, the ‘Devastators,’ ” Marsden replies. “Yes, they’re here. Some of them. But as I said before, I’m here on my own. And I’m not the one who called them, Elvie. I really assumed you would have deduced that much by now.”

  Huh?

  “This isn’t the place for conversation,” Marsden continues. “Their movements have been fairly restricted, but they’re starting to branch farther out as they require more parts. Come on, follow me.” And with that, the dude actually has the nerve to turn his back on us and head for the door, as if we were all good friends and not, you know, mortal enemies who’ve recently tried to kill each other. “Watch your step, it’s rough going through here.”

  Cole and I exchange a look, which pretty much conveys our simultaneous thought.

  W.

  T.

  F.

  “Elvie?” Zee whispers. She’s remained mostly quiet this whole time, and I realize that she knows the least about the Jin’Kai and Dr. Marsden out of any of us. If we’re confused, she must be completely dumbfounded. “Shall we go?” she asks.

  “Now would be better than later, ma’am,” says Dr. Marsden.

  “My name is Zada,” Zee says. “I’m Elvie’s—”

  “Let’s just back this convoy up a bit,” I interrupt, turning from Mom to Dr. Marsden. “Just so we’re all on the same page here, let’s be clear on a few things. You are an evil alien bastard whose compatriots were planning on swapping out my baby with one of your own little lab creations. For whatever reason, you decided not to. Great. But I’m not, like, handing you the Humanitarian of the Year award or anything, because please let us not forget that you blew up a ship, killing at least a dozen Almiri who had come to rescue us. Not to mention that you beat the living shit out of Cole and threw him off a catwalk. And you tried to kill me. Like, a lot.”

  Dr. Marsden just lets out a sigh, like I’m still not getting it, whatever “it” may be.

  “Elvie,” he says, shaking his head in an aw shucks kinda way. “I hate to disagree, but I very much never tried to kill you. And I’d love to explain everything to you, I really would, but for right now you’re just going to have to trust me.”

  “No, Elvie,” Cole says next to me. “Don’t.” Dr. Marsden shoots Cole a look but very quickly refocuses on me, holding out his hand expectantly. With a sharp jerk of his chin he motions for me to follow him.

  “There is nothing you could possibly do to make me trust you,” I tell him coldly.

  Marsden rolls his eyes, as if I’m being a great big pain in his alien butt. Then, as though making up his mind about something, he strides back into the room, heading directly toward me. As Marsden gets closer, Cole takes a half step sideways to put himself partially between us. Dr. Marsden reaches behind his back, and I suck in a deep breath, half expecting him to blast me right then and there . . .

  . . . And then he hands me his gun.

  “This way,” he says. “Please.” And he turns and walks straight out of the room.

  The four of us look at one another, baffled. I cradle the weird alien weapon in my hand, bobbing it up and down to get a feel for its weight. It’s heavier than an Alimiri weapon but still pretty light, made out of a brownish metal with a smell that’s thick and tangy.

  “Well,” I say finally. And before I can think better of it, I head out the door after Dr. Marsden.

  The others follow. Because, well, what the hell else are we going to do?

  To say that it’s not easy going outside the laundry room is an understatement. It seems that these lower passageways took the brunt of the shock when the ship crashed. The walls have crumpled inward, and the ceilings have caved as well. Debris has been spewed all over the ground. We’re walking “downhill” now, along the tilted floor, and it’s not as icy here as it was up on the lido deck, but that’s a small comfort when we’re forced to crouch down to avoid eating wiring.

  “So, you said you heard the others up on the lido deck?” Marsden says, leading the way. “I take it you came in through the opening up there?”

  “Through the crater left by the explosion,” Cole replies, the chill in his voice matching our surroundings.

  Marsden ignores his tone. “They must be looking to scavenge some finer components. Most likely they’ve exhausted the feasible parts on the lower levels.”

  “Scavenging parts for what?” Zee asks, snaking over a large collapsed coolant compressor that’s fallen through the ceiling.

  “As far as I’ve been able to piece together,” Marsden tells us, “they’ve been trying to build a skiff to get them out of here.” He pauses to maneuver around the next part of the fun house—the hallway ahead looks like somebody picked it up and squeezed it, then left it for dead. Marsden drops to his hands and knees to get through. “Watch your hands, there are some aluminum shards.”

  “A skiff?” Dad prompts as he crawls behind Marsden. Dad’s huffing and puffing quite a bit, and I think his knee is probably bothering him more than he wants to let on. Chances are, he re-sprained it on the way down the chute, although he’s trying to keep up gamely.

  Marsden’s voice echoes through the pinched hall. “After the crash,” he tells us, “it soon became clear that there was no power on the ship. The generators are completely pulverized. There’s no way to send any sort of signal, so they began to gather components to build a makeshift craft to get them out of here.”

  “Why not just walk?” I ask. “They’re big baddies, right?” From what Ducky has told me and the way Cole describes them, these guys are about as nasty as they come.

  “The Kynigos are not accustomed to the cold,” Marsden says. “They have very durable exoskeletons for high temperatures but no internal mechanisms to generate sufficient body heat to survive the climate here. Too long exposed to the elements and they’d be dead.”

  “The keeny ghost?” I ask.

  “You can keep calling them Devastators if you wish,” comes Marsden’s dry reply. “And again, I’m not entirely certain about the skiff. I’ve only been able to glimpse bits and pieces of it. But based on their comings and goings since we crashed, I think it’s a fair assumption.”

  “And you’ve been, what?” I ask. “Hanging out, catching up on your reading?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve been keeping a low profile.”

  Man, if the Rasputin of baby docs wants nothing to do with these guy
s, you know they’re bad news. “Do they have any idea you’re still alive?” I ask.

  But Cole has other concerns. “What good is a toboggan made out of broken spare parts going to do them, if there’s no way to power it?”

  “There’s no power on this ship,” Dad chimes in. “But with the right component parts from a vessel like this it wouldn’t be much trouble to jerry-rig a light fusion engine.”

  “I can see where your daughter gets her ingenuity, Harry,” Marsden tells him.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Dad says, and I can tell he’s tickled pink.

  “Please,” Marsden corrects him as we finally exit the squeeze box. There’s a general sigh of relief as, one by one, we all rise to our feet again. “Call me Ken. And the lovely lady”—he offers one of his warm smiles to Zee—“I take it this is your mother, Elvie?” I nod. He may be a murderous SOB, but he’s a perceptive SOB. “Another crossbreed,” he says, inspecting my mother up and down in a way I’m not altogether comfortable with. “Amazing. But”—he turns back to me—“I thought you said your mother had died.”

  “A lot can change in a week,” I tell him. “So you knew I was a hybrid all along.”

  “Yes, and now so do you, it seems. The evolution of the species the Almiri were so desperate to extinguish. You have become of keen interest to us, Elvie.”

  “Just what is it about the hybrids that makes them so interesting to the Jin’Kai?” Dad asks, the last of the group to rise to his full height. I give him a hand as he winces at the pain in his knee.

  “I didn’t say the Jin’Kai,” Marsden says. “I said ‘us.’ ”

  Once my dad is firmly on his feet, I look around and realize that we’ve come to the medical suites—or what’s left of them, anyway. The floor and walls are damp and frosty.

  “Has this area flooded?” I ask nervously, wondering if Dr. Marsden isn’t just leading us to a watery grave.