Galactic Storm

by Morgan Blayde

  Jo-jo, a big body-builder looking dude, chimed in. “You could put her loved ones in danger. Why do you think she wears a mask?”

  Monique arched her eyebrows and shrugged. “Sorry, wasn’t think’”

  “’Goldie’ will do fine.” Max yawned. “Sorry, I gotta fly. Maybe I’ll see you around here some other time.”

  “Be cool,” Vince said.

  Max drifted upward, she didn’t want to knock anyone over with a sudden backwash of energy. She reached fifteen feet when she heard Monique teasing Vince. “I think you got a thing for that girl.”

  “Bitch is totally hot, but acts like she don’t know it. Yeah, I’d let her take me out.”

  Gunner finally said something. “In your dreams. She’s probably got a boyfriend in her white bread world.”

  “Yeah,” Vince said, “but can he spin a ball on his finger like this?”

  Max accelerated twenty feet more, then burst away as a streak of black and gold. Wow, who’d have thought it? I’m hot! You think I should go with the mask regularly? It adds an air of mystery.

  The necklace said: That’s not necessary. I can just haze your features so you won’t be recognized.

  “That will totally rock.” She yawned again. “I only hope I don’t feel these bruises in the morning. Hey, I could show them to mom and tell her Tommy beat me up.”

  The necklace sighed. You’re supposed to be the hero, remember? Not the villain.

  “How can I forget? Evil alien assassins are coming to kill me, maybe my whole world. How am I supposed to get any sleep knowing that?”

  The necklace thought about it. Practice?

  Is that the only answer you have?

  FIVE

  Max yawned, wiping the grit of sleep from her eyes. She arched her back, cat-like, feeling vibrantly healthy. She brushed aside her bedding and rolled to the edge of the bed. Watching the lightshow on the wall, she smiled. Small prisms strung against the window caught the morning sun that poured through. The ornaments fractured sunlight, scattering rainbows with wild abandon.

  It was easy to believe a wild dream had passed. A talking space jewel, a tidal wave, visitors from beyond, and a little street ball: she laughed at what had to be the remnants of a badly scripted dream.

  Then her eyes caught the soft glow on top of the nightstand. The necklace. It stalled her exuberance, an anchor mooring her to a darkening universe with unseen chains. She gathered the necklace and cupped it in her palms, her fingers bathed golden in its light.

  Why did you come to me? What am I supposed to do with you? Find some good aliens to give you to? I ask Mom and Dad about this, but I can’t. You won’t let me, will you?

  The voice of the necklace echoed in her mind. The weight is yours to bear. No one else’s. The star serves one heart. Answers to one will. This is the way it has been since the First Light shattered the endless darkness.

  She set the necklace back on the nightstand. Sliding off the bed, Max crossed to her closet, and dug out faded jeans, a top, fresh undies, and ankle socks. She laid the clothes out and went to the vanity for her hairbrush. As she brushed her hair, she caught her reflection in the mirror. The plain face frowning back looked common, lacking distinction. Her eyes were brown, a darker shade than her long straight hair. She sighed.

  No wave, no curl. It just lies there like a dead thing on my head. She gathered her hair behind her and secured it in a ponytail with a scrunche. Of course, if I get some weird new type of radiation sickness from this necklace, that problem will be solved—my hair will just fall out. Not much of an improvement, but certainly a change.

  She put the brush down, returned to the edge of the bed, and picked up the necklace.

  Enough’s enough; I’m tellin’ mom.

  The Star brightened, dazzling her eyes. A tingle coursed through her. Her mind hazed over. Thoughts draining into nothingness. Absently, she slipped the necklace into her robe pocket, forgetting her resolve.

  Max rose and went to the door. She entered the hall, a dreamer emerging from a dream. A moment later, she was outside the bathroom door. It was occupied. Her buoyant battled with irritation. She banged on the door. “Hurry up in there. I’ve been waiting hours, already.”

  Tommy yelled at her through the closed door. “That’s not possible. I just got here. You weren’t even in the hall.”

  “Jailhouse lawyer! You keep me waiting and you’ll stunt my growth.”

  “Where do you come up with these ideas?” Opening the door, he started to breeze past her. “Go on. It’s all…yours? My Gawd, Sis! What did you do to your hair? Almost looks good on you.”

  “Don’t start on me, you basketball bully. I’m not even awake yet.” Max went in, took care of business, washed her hands and splashed cool water on her face to brace herself for the day. Straightening, she looked in the mirror over the sink and jumped in place. A stranger looked back at her. Her eyes were still brown, but flecked with antique gold. Her hair was brighter too, a richer shade of brown with honey highlights. Max stunned herself with the reflected force of her alterations.

  Tommy’s right. I’ve…changed. Better than crab-claws and a pronged tail, I suppose. She closed her eyes, leaning on the sink, clutching its edges with white-knuckle intensity. Someone tell me when this is going to end.

  No one did.

  I should throw the necklace away, but if the aliens show up, asking for the dang thing… A hysterical giggle escaped her. She clamped a hand over her mouth. Hey, this could be my big chance to become a super-model and have women everywhere hate me for my beauty.

  Max shuddered. Her stomach clenched as she choked down a sob.

  A knock. Tommy’s voice came through the door. “Hey! Mom says to hustle. Pancakes will get cold.”

  Max bared her teeth in a ferocious smile. They were whiter than she remembered. She backed up and opened her robe. As long as I’m throwing the dice… Please, God, let my boobs be bigger!

  More nothing.

  Crap on a stick. But her waist did look trimmer. I’ve got abs! Her legs were well muscled. She felt her arms and found chiseled muscles there as well. She shook her head in disbelief. Where is the old familiar me going to?

  A wave of stunned disassociation passed. Grimly, she forced herself back to sanity, closed her robe so she wouldn’t feel like a flasher, and then yelled through the door. “I’m coming!”

  She went into the hall and watched Tommy disappear down the staircase. If I take one small step at a time, I can get through today. Just gotta keep a narrow focus. If I pretend everything is normal, things might go that way. Maybe.

  She returned to her room, dressed hurriedly, and took the stairs to the first floor. Max entered the kitchen and took her usual seat at the table. Her mom moved behind her, depositing a plate of pancakes. A second plate was set before Tommy. He buttered his stack, swirled syrup over it, and dug in.

  “Pass the butter and syrup,” Max asked.

  “I’m busy.” Tommy stuffed his mouth like he’d not seen food in years. It was the final injustice of a cruel universe, the straw that shattered the humped beast of burden. A blast of rage swept thought aside. The table trembled. The glossy wood reflected the star-fire glow of her eyes. The middle leaf in the tabletop cracked. Splintered edges steepled.

  Over by the stove, Max’s mother jumped at the brittle cracking sound, turning around. “Oh, my. What was that?”

  Tommy stared at the table.

  Max said, “A backfire in the street?”

  Their mother’s eyes were wide, vague, as if an unseen wind were combing through her thoughts, soothing them, leaving serenity behind. She spoke mechanically. “Yes, that must be it, a backfire…in the street.”

  Max returned her gaze to her plate.

  Her mom became more animated. She smiled hugely, returning her attention to the stove. “Well, I hope you kids are hungry. I’ve got more pancakes coming.”

  With eyes wide and face slack, Tommy rose up in his chair. He pressed the broken table l
eaf back in place, then sat back down. Like handling nitro, he carefully, slowly slid the butter and syrup over to Max, making no sudden moves.

  Max sat still, a frisson of fear in her chest. My Gawd, I did that…somehow. What kind of monster am I becoming?

  The Voice came to her again, filling her head. Be calm, Max. Everything will be fine. Trust your heart.

  The light of Max’s gaze dimmed, no longer brightening the table in front of her. With forced normalcy, she prepped the stack before her, and forked a layered bite into her mouth. She ate quickly, mindful that she had to catch the school bus soon. She realized she didn’t need to keep her eyes down to avoid attention; her mom had looked right at her and not seen the differences.

  The Voice said, Attention can be dangerous. I will protect you.

  Lovely! Max drained half a glass of milk.

  Her father walked in, a distressed look on his face. He eased into a chair, acting suddenly fragile. Resolutely, he choked down a sob.

  “What’s wrong?” Tommy asked.

  “Reports on the radio this morning… Apparently, this has been a night of unprecedented terror. A highway overpass was blasted out of existence. A nightclub was leveled. And just this morning, before it officially opened, some weird type of super weapon ravaged Dizzyland. Toonerville is in rubble. Milo’s House is a smoking crater. And the Happy Trolley’s a sad little choo-choo blown to itsy-bitsy bits!” He paused for a gulp of orange juice. “A mysterious shape in the sky strafed the park with some weird energy weapon. First Street, USA has been sliced up and melted. Half of Phantasm Castle’s collapsed. The ‘Morrow Land rocket is slag.”

  “Terrible,” Max said.

  “It gets worse.” Her dad’s voice broke.

  Max and Tommy stared, feeling his despair. After a long pause, he continued. “The Oakland Stadium’s been desecrated. Taggers graphited the restroom walls. They painted UFOs and big-headed aliens everywhere.” He sighed from the horrified depths of his soul.

  Mrs. Bright set a plate of pancakes before him. “It will be all right, dear. They can repaint the walls.”

  “That’s not the point.” Max’s dad stared at the table. “Is that leaf broken?”

  Hurriedly, Max finished her milk and slipped out of her seat. “Bye, everyone. Gotta run.”

  A subdued chorus of “Byes” chased her out of the room. She rushed upstairs, grabbed her backpack for school, and a pair of dark sunglasses, self-conscious of her gold flecked eyes.

  Stomping down to the first floor landing, she paused. Tommy caught her with a hand to her arm. “You want to tell me what’s going on with you? That whole scene was way past weird.”

  “Not now. I’ll be late.”

  He let her go. “All right, but soon. Tell mom and dad about all this by the end of the day, or I will.”

  She pulled away and hurried to the door, half-afraid the Voice was going to change her brother’s mind for him whether he liked it or not.

  She opened the door, went out, and ran toward the corner stop. The bus was already pulling away. Disappointment surged through her as she skidded to a stop. Oh, no.

  “No!!!!!!!” She went airborne in a haze of golden energy, her regular clothing shifting into a private pocket of altered space created by the necklace. She wore the clinging film of gold with the contrasting black pieces she’d designed for herself. Everything around her blurred as she streaked into the air, rising above street, the trees, and the houses.

  “For Gosh sake! Let me know before you do something like that. I almost bit my tongue.”

  Sorry. I merely responded to your distress with a solution.

  “My body, my risk. Let’s go with my solutions, shall we?”

  If you insist. Shall I put you down?

  Max soared in the morning sky, the city spread below her. She had no trouble spotting her school. “As long as we’re already halfway there, we might as well finish the trip.” Max took control of the flight by visualizing her path. She waited until she was almost directly above the school before she angled in a steep drop toward it.

  She landed at the edge of the back parking lot, at the back of the campus, where dumpsters waited to conceal her from prying eyes. She’d taken pains to make sure no one saw her coming in; that could have been disastrous. Between two dumpsters, she concentrated on her other set of clothes. The golden light shimmered around her and faded, leaving her wearing the original clothes she’d left her house in.

  She ran from the shelter of the dumpsters. Across an open space, onto the concrete apron outside the school kitchen. There was also a back door into the school. She went through that door. Her feet thudded on the slate-blue tiles of the hallway floor. Max continued to hurry, zigzagging back hallways to front hallways, skirting various classrooms.

  She reached the front of the school and entered her homeroom, the art department: a huge space with shelved art supplies, a kiln, and long tables and benches so each student could work on projects without rubbing elbows with other students.

  Max knew her teacher liked to hang here both before and after classes, so the door would be open. And she like company, so her first period students could come early, and not have to wait for the first bell. That had just become very convenient to Max. She ducked into the room back doorway and went forward, finding Mrs. Dreyer painting Egyptian kohl lines around the eyes of white ceramic cats that were going to be sold by the Art Club. Two other students were there, helping her to paint.

  Mrs. Dreyer looked up and smiled. “Max, this is early for you. Grab a seat and a cat. Give us a hand.”

  “Sure.” Max settled across the table from her teacher and got to work.

  Twila was still several blocks from school, strolling on the sidewalk, when she saw a golden streak in the sky. Her camera lens eyes zoomed in on the figure, gathering details. Female, near my own apparent age. Her face is blurred in a gold haze, but she’s a blonde, which doesn’t really help that much. However, the Guardian’s flight path had her heading for the high school. Twila quickened her steps. The odds were high that the Guardian also went to Twila’s school. How fortunate.

  She felt a rush of warmth through her core as she imagined her brother praising her for this discovery.

  She was running now, but the streak of gold was faster. It reached the school first. Half a block behind, Twila saw the Guardian drop behind the school. Heading for the ground.

  I’ve got to get there in time to see her drop her Guardian persona, and reveal her true identity.

  She reached the front entrance and went into the lobby. Other students were present. She photo-memorized which ones, knowing most likely none of these were her target. She could rule them out, metaphorically speaking. To the side were the school offices, revving themselves up for the day. The world-wide martial law edict didn’t seem to be much more than a theoretical distraction, at least not here.

  She went to the main hallway that branched to side hallways, accessing the many classes. The double doors were closed. She opened one and stuck her head in. A teacher was there, one of the gym coaches.

  He made a shooing gesture toward her. “School hasn’t started yet. Stay out of the hall until the bell rings.”

  She made up an excuse. “But I left my insulin in my locker and I…”

  “Not interested. We have a school nurse. If it’s an emergency, go see her.”

  Thwarted, unwilling to compromise her undercover persona, Twila pulled back and let the door close. She hurried back outside and hugged the wall, passing the windows of the classrooms, one after another, searching for other students in the building. They went onto a second list, a list of possibilities for Guardian. To her dismay, she gathered a dozen names before the school bell rang and she had to stop.

  This could have gone better.

  She entered the school and got on with her cover identity, smiling shyly, nodding to acquaintances. She had no real friends, never letting the natives get too close, remaining an outsider among them. It’s all for the
mission. Her core felt cold and dense, as if the weight of a dead universe had settled upon it. Strange sensation. I wonder what that’s about.

  SIX

  Max had already laid out her watercolors and brushes, setting them by a cup of water. An open book of aquatic lifeforms lay off to the side for reference. She left the bench and went to the back of the room where various types of paper were shelved. She selected three large sheets and began to walk while turning, only to come to a jolting stop, nearly nose to nose with Jeffrey Matthews, blond, athletic, and totally meant to be crushed upon! His eyes of frosty blue pierced her heart, numbing her brain and tongue. She stood there like an idiot. Her stomach felt like a lead balloon with butterflies fluttering inside.

  Talk! She ordered herself. Say something flirty, something cool.

  “Uh, hi Jeff. So, rampaging aliens, can you believe it?”

  “They’ll never let them in the NBA.”

  “Huh?”

  He stared into her confused face a moment then pulled out his cell phone. His fingers moved swiftly. He held up the phone to show her a YouTube video. “You didn’t see this?”

  “What?” She stared at the little glowing screen. He handed her the phone and started a vid playing. She watched a scene someone had recorded: a masked girl in gold and black flying through the air, dunking a basketball.

  That’s me! She remembered the kids she’d played with last night. One of them must have whipped out a phone and recorded this while I wasn’t watching.

  Jeff said, “She’s cute and all, but there’s no flying allowed on the court.”

  Cute? He thinks I’m cute! She handed back the phone. Their fingers touched. A tingle shot up her hand, but her elation tuned to dust like a sunbathing vampire. No, he thinks the “alien girl” is cute. And I can’t tell him that’s me.

  He put the phone away and glanced at the papers she held. “So, what are you drawing?”

  “Jellyfish.”

  “I’m what?”

  She felt her face warm with a blush. “Uh, sorry, not you. I’m painting a jellyfish.”