by Darrell Bain
“I'll think about it."
“Think about what the History Channel said about how small units operated, not big armies. Like the programs I saw about Mosby's Raiders and the Viet Cong."
“I'll think about it."
“Great. Thanks. I'll see you later."
It was hard to convince most of the adults, but Lyda had one thing in her favor; she knew what she wanted and no one else did. The last person she talked to was a man who was short, but distinguished looking, as if he carried something with him to trim his beard and cut his silver hair. He had been making sporadic attempts at organizing the group so the children would be taken care of. Very few of them were with their parents. Lyda remembered his name easily, Elijah Goldberg.
“What did you say your name was?"
“Lyda Brightner. I was in the desert camp in America back on earth."
“Back on earth? You think we're off earth?"
Lyda hesitated. “Until someone proves different, I think so. Don't you?"
“Hell, I guess so. Hardly anyone else here wants to admit it, though. They're so damn glad to be away from wherever they were before, that they really don't care where they are now, just so long as they get enough to eat and drink and aren't too cold or hot."
“Would you like to do some teaching, Mister Goldberg?"
He laughed, but not at her, which made Lyda Glad. “I heard you were going around trying to get some classes organized. That's more than most people are doing. Sure, why not? What do you want me to teach?"
“Are you a Jew?” Lyda asked, putting the question to him with the innocent directness of youth.
“Yes, though I'm not orthodox."
“Orthodox. That means, like ... the same?"
“Close. Traditional. There aren't too many orthodox Jews now. What brought this up?"
“I'd like to learn. I don't know anything about Jews, except they were killed off back in one of the big wars."
“Hmm. Sometimes I think most people would be better off not knowing. A little knowledge being dangerous and that sort of thing. Tell you what, how about a history of religion? I know quite a bit along those lines and it doesn't upset people so much if you don't get specific."
“Why would they be upset? You mean like suicide bombers and stuff?"
“Well ... it's a complicated subject. Still..."
“Then you will?"
“All right, all right. But a history of belief, not a particular religion. Okay?"
Lyda beamed. “That's great! Maybe you could help me get it all organized and be in charge of some of it."
“Hey, wait, I didn't ... damn it, all right. Let me think about it overnight, okay?"
“Fine. I'll try to get everybody together after we've slept and eaten. We're all pretty much on the same cycle. There's a word for it that sounds like an insect."
“Circadian rhythm?"
“That's it. If we have classes at the same time every day, our circadian rhythms will stay the same."
“You're a smart girl, Miss Brightner. Someone told me you were the leader of your group on earth. I'm beginning to see why already."
“It was something I had to do from necessity,” Lyda said. “Like now."
“You think having classes is necessary?"
“Yes, sir, I do. People have to have something to do or they'll start fighting. I don't want to see any more fighting, not ever."
“Don't count on it,” Elijah said sadly, like a person repeatedly burned by the same stove, or who had lost a close relative in a war.
* * * *
As if Elijah's prophetic name was a harbinger of his words, Lyda became involved in a fight before her school idea was properly off the ground. The morning meeting had gone well enough, with enough volunteers to form five classes to start with, and both a beginning and general purpose school for children under ten. Elijah proved to be a genius with organization, setting aside areas near specific boxes for “classrooms", along with approximate times and curriculum. He was even more of a genius in managing to deflect most credit for his efforts toward Lyda. He referred to her enough times as “Miss Brightner” so others began doing the same. Lyda suspected he had spent some time spreading stories about her achievements in the desert as well. Betty and Sue were fans, too. The two of them told all the other kids and some of the adults that she had been a “Big Boss".
Lyda didn't mind. She already knew that a strong figurehead was much more likely to get things accomplished than someone who had to wheedle and plead. She didn't try to correct all the exaggerations, even if she could have.
The fight happened during the afternoon while she was examining one of the boxes that protruded from the ground at irregular intervals and sizes like square brown huts without doors. She had gone some distance away from their column and had no idea anyone was on the other side of the box until she heard a shrill cry.
“I said no! Stop it!” The voice sounded much like her own, that of a young girl.
“Come on, we can do whatever we want now. Who's to stop us?” A male voice, but a young one, Lyda thought.
“I said I don't want to. Now stop!"
There were more muffled voices, then the sound of a slap.
“Ow. Goddamn you!” A thud followed the expletive.
A scared cry was cut off by another thud before it really had a chance to get started. Lyda decided to have a look. She walked around the corner of the box, then heard the sounds of a struggle from behind the second corner, clearer now.
The girl was pleading. “Don't, John, please don't. I'm..."
Lyda turned the other corner and saw a husky young teenager holding down a girl much smaller than himself while he tore at her blouse and pulled at her bra. One of her small breasts was already exposed by the cup of the bra riding up over it. Blood was trickling from her nose and tears from her eyes, but Lyda still recognized her as a girl named Karen. Lyda couldn't think of her last name, but that didn't matter.
“Stop that!” Lyda said sharply. “Can't you see that she doesn't want you?"
“Who the hell—oh, you're that teacher girl. Get out of here. This ain't none of your business."
“Let her go,” Lyda said.
Perhaps it was something in her unwavering stance and direct stare that made him get to his feet and loosen his hold on the young girl, who might have been a couple years on either side of fourteen. She scrambled out of reach on her hands and knees.
Lyda recognized the boy, a muscular blond youth with a few hairs on his chin. But upright, she quickly saw the disparity in their sizes. He took a step toward her, then another, fists clenched. He looked around and noticed Karen was out of his reach now, though she had stopped and was trying to get her blouse and bra back in order. Lyda glanced in her direction, a mistake. The boy ran the last few steps and grappled with her, trying to throw her to the ground.
Lyda never found out what he intended. She twisted, feeling strength surge into her body. She got one arm free and jabbed her elbow savagely at his side, making him grunt. He was strong, but Lyda found that her own strength matched his, a surprise to both. She got a leg behind him and pushed forward with all her strength, toppling him to the ground with her above him. He hit flat on his back. She came down on top of him with her knee bent. It caught him below the belt and just above the groin, whooshing the breath from him. Using her momentary advantage, she balled her fist and popped him in each eye as hard as she could, then rolled free. She felt the adrenalin coursing through her body, giving her even more energy. As the boy raised up, she kicked him under the chin and the fight suddenly went out of him. She left him laying there, dazed and wondering what had happened. The struggle had lasted less than a minute.
Lyda went over to the girl. “Are you okay?"
“Yes. Thanks, thank you. God, what was I thinking, coming out here with him? He's already tried it with one girl."
“He won't bother you again, Karen,” Lyda said confidently. “Come on, let's go back to the column and I'
ll help you wash the blood off your face."
“Am I bleeding?” Karen rubbed her hand across her face and saw that it came back red. “Damn him. This was my only blouse, too, and there's nothing here to fix it with."
“We'll think of something. Come on. I'm Lyda Brightner, in case you don't remember."
Lyda helped Karen get her face washed, then cut one of the vines and used it to loop through the holes in Karen's blouse. The vine held it together, if not very attractively. That made Lyda wonder if the flat tendril stuff could be cut into really thin strips and woven into a rough cloth. So far, the ones she had torn off in her first hours here and put in her backpack were holding their resiliency; the tears and cuts sealed over immediately and automatically. It was something to try when she got time, or better yet, get some others to work it out, those not interested in the classes being formed.
The entire time Lyda was helping Karen, she was remembering how strong she had been while struggling with the boy. His name escaped her but he was a young and husky male; she shouldn't have been able to overcome him so easily. Her muscular strength had fully matched his. What was happening to her?
“There, that's about the best I can do, Karen. Don't go off alone with anyone again unless you know you can trust them. No cops here, remember?"
“I will now. Uh, maybe you could get a self-defense class together, too? Show us girls how you did that?"
“I can try to arrange a class,” Lyda said, but didn't comment further. She didn't think she could show what she had done. Karen was older and bigger than her. She had been unable to fight the boy, yet Lyda had managed. She had changed, mind and body; Karen hadn't, or at least not as much as she had. Nevertheless, a self-defense class for women was a good idea. All she had to do was find someone to teach it. After her past experiences and the one just now, she thought she could benefit from knowing a few tricks herself; she couldn't always count on being lucky. She knew the boy could have taken her had he used his head and come at her slow, taking advantage of his height and reach. She patted Karen's shoulder.
“I have to go now. No telling what Sue and Betty have been up to while I've been busy. They're getting brave now."
“They're telling everyone you were a big boss at your last place."
“I was,” Karen said without elaborating. She figured the two girls she had assumed responsibility for had built her up to resemble a cross between a warrior princess and a ninja adept by now. Betty and Sue were so glad to feel protected and safe that they thought she could do anything—and wait until Karen began talking about today! That would really build her up. A vagrant thought intruded on that image, one from back in school, where an older girl with a reputation for toughness and an inclination to bully younger girls had been beaten up and sent home crying by someone who didn't like her attitude, nor her reputation. That was something she decided to draw a lesson from. Don't abuse your status, she told herself sternly.
* * * *
A man came into their camp the next day claiming to have circumnavigated the prison they were in while counting and measuring his footsteps. He announced it was at least fifteen or twenty miles around the perimeter. If they were on a spaceship, it was large enough to carry thousands upon thousands of people, Lyda thought. And if the living space had multiple levels, thousands upon thousands more. Maybe millions. It was scary, thinking of being on a spacecraft that large, but from the gravity surges while being transported to this place, she decided they probably were—which brought up a thought even more frightening: where were they being taken?
Lyda tried not to worry about it and continued to concentrate on keeping people busy. The morning classes had gone off in fitful jerks and starts, but when they were over, she noticed the people were more animated than before, talking and even laughing on occasion. Betty and Sue were waiting for her at the box where she had been sleeping—and Rayne was with them.
“Hi,” Lyda said. “Is everything all right?"
The girls looked to Rayne. “Oh, yes, we're all fine. It's just that Betty and Sue were wondering if it would be okay to sleep over with me. I've decided to take care of a couple more girls their age and they all get along together."
Lyda didn't hesitate. “Sure, so long as it's safe, and it should be. They're both smart enough to stay with people now. Huh, girls?"
They both nodded. Betty said, “Yes, Miss Brightner."
Lyda smiled. The honorific was catching on fast. “Okay. Have fun and I'll see you tomorrow."
“You heard her. Scoot, girls; I want to talk to Miss Brightner for a moment, then I'll be right along."
As soon as the girls were out of hearing, Rayne put her hands on her hips and tightened her lips. “Now, would you mind telling me just who and what you are ... Miss Brightner?"
Lyda considered. There was more to Rayne than she had thought at first, and she didn't look as if she would be put off with a bland answer.
“Well?"
Lyda decided that rather than try and evade, the truth would be better. “I'm sorry, Rayne. It's not that I mind people knowing about me, but I don't really like to talk about some of it. However ... I was captured in East Texas, where my dad was killed and probably Mom, too. Then I was transported to the desert, in Arizona or New Mexico, I think. I was captured and ... raped the first day. Then I was going to be sold to a pedophile. I managed to escape, and while I was just trying to survive and keep that from happening again, I got to be sort of a leader. There were some good people who helped me, but I was in charge. Then we were attacked by a gang led by the same man who raped me that first day. I had already anticipated something like that and we defeated his gang completely and captured him and the woman who was his chief helper."
“Oh, you poor baby."
“Then I executed both of them."
Rayne's lips parted in surprise, like she had turned on the evening news and gotten a porn star instead of an anchor. “You killed them yourself?” she finally said.
“I did. After my council voted on it. Then I formed a volunteer task force and sent it to break up the gang buying children for food and water. That gang went to pieces when they heard we were coming for them. My military chief put some good people in charge of the remnants. After that, I had other plans, but the aliens came again."
“My God, I don't believe it. How old are you?"
“It doesn't matter. I'm old enough to know right from wrong and to know we can't just lay around and eat and drink and ... have sex. We have to keep busy and try to improve things where we can."
Rayne held her chin with her forefinger and thumb, rubbing her finger across her bottom lip. After a moment, she said, “All right, I'll support you. I'm getting to know most of the people here pretty well. Call on me if you need help with anyone in particular. And ... Miss Brightner, I should tell you that I was a high school counselor before the monsters came. If you need to talk about any of the things that happened to you, like the, uh, rape, or like that boy you tangled with yesterday, please come see me. Don't let yourself feel guilty or let a bad experience gnaw at you and turn you against the male sex. The vast majority are not like that, I promise. Just talking to someone else can help tremendously. Okay?"
“Thank you,” Lyda said gravely. “I appreciate the offer. I might take you up on it."
“Any time. Although you may have already taken care of any residual guilt feelings with your, uh, unique response to the rape."
Lyda granted her a smile. Even she had to admit it was pretty rare for a girl who had been sexually assaulted to act as both judge and executioner of the man who raped her. “Thanks again. I don't feel any guilt over it, but I may want to ask you some other questions later that Mom can't answer now.” She had to make a conscious effort to keep her voice from breaking when she mentioned Mom. Just before the invasion, they had agreed to have a nice long talk about the changes in her body she was beginning to see and feel even then, along with her future as a woman. Lyda had been looking forward to it.
* * *
CHAPTER NINE
Lyda curled up next to the box where she had elected to sleep, somewhat removed from the main group, but she was still awake. She was remembering her conversation with Rayne Austin. She still didn't feel much guilt over killing Bill and his female helper; they had both deserved what they got, probably many times over. But there was an association with the whole sequence of events that she was concerned about. Even before the invasion, when her breasts had just begun growing and she still hadn't reached menarche, she had been mildly interested in boys, a few who didn't act like idiots, anyway. She had reached the point of interest in sex, and was curious about how she would be involved in it within a few years—although from some of the pictures and movies she had gotten a look at, a lot of it had seemed rather weird and unappealing. Now—she didn't know if she would ever want to have sex, despite the way her body was developing so rapidly. She knew that wasn't natural. She also didn't think she was a potential lesbian; that kind of sex was as odd to her as some of the other things she had laughed at and vowed never to do.
Some of the older girls told her and her friends that they would feel differently in a few years, and from the way she had seen adults acting since the invasion, she supposed she might. But now? It didn't seem possible, even in the future. She turned the subject over in her mind again and again and finally berated herself into changing her line of thought. If Rayne was experienced in counseling, she would talk to her; not about the past, but the future. With Mom gone, she was probably the next best choice. That settled, she began planning on what else she could do in the days ahead that would make all their lives easier.
* * * *
Part of her plans had to be put on hold because of an immediate conflict. She had decided that, just like in the desert camp, a morning meeting with everyone attending would be a good thing. It would help bring them together, she thought. The previous afternoon shortly after their talk, she had asked Rayne to spread the word, and from the looks of the crowd gathered in front of their column, she had been successful.
