Galactic Storm

by Morgan Blayde

  “That’s not really necessary. Besides, I doubt anyone’s home.” Twila sounded very certain.

  Mrs. Bright smiled. “We’ll see.”

  Twila led Mrs. Bright through the iron gates, past the swaying willows, along the garage to an outside flight of stairs. “Up here,” Twila said.

  “Oh, your family doesn’t live in the main house?”

  “No.” Twila answered without inflection. She climbed the stairs, morphing a finger into a key. On the balcony outside the kitchen door, she positioned her body to hide her method of entry. Twila waited for Mrs. Bright to climb the stairs and led her inside. The kitchen looked normal since it was furnished with appliances. Twila pointed to the table and chairs which had come with the rental. “Wait here. I’ll see if anyone’s around.”

  She walked into the living room, calling out. “Mom, Dad? Anyone home?” Her voice echoed strongly, betraying the hollowness beyond. She called back to Mrs. Bright. “No one’s here. I’ll just pack a few things in a bag and we can go.”

  “You should at least leave a note, saying where you’ll be.”

  “Uh, sure. I’ll do that. Wait there.” Twila hurried away. She crossed the living room to the bedroom. Alone, she extended her hand. Her palm developed a knot that swelled in size as she concentrated. After a moment, she stopped the outpouring of compressed matter, restructuring its appearance so her hand reappeared, apparently be holding a backpack. This should do. Now to get out of here before…

  A red sphere appeared in the air. It burst into a half-shell of light, depositing Mitron. “What’s taking so long?” he asked. “You should have killed the Guardian by now.”

  “It’s not that easy,” Twila rationalized. “She’s been continually surrounded by Light Born, family, and Earth military personnel.”

  She watched Mitron’s eyes narrow with suspicion. It was not a look she remembered being turned on her before.

  “Is that the truth?” he asked. “Have you even tried?” His hand shot out and caught her throat. The hold wasn’t painful or damaging, but it achieved its purpose, focusing her attention sharply. “Are you going to?”

  A sudden fierce anger thrust through her. Her box of emotions popped its lid. She slapped Mitron’s hand away from her throat, severing his wrist. The hand hit the floor with a splat. Her brother stared as the amputation lost form, becoming silver sludge. The glob wiggled across the floor, and fused to his foot, reabsorbed an ability the military trained for. A new hand sprouted from his extended wrist.

  “What if I don’t want to kill her?” Twila asked. “What if I refuse?”

  Mitron let his arm fall to his side. She had expected him to unleash his anger in response to hers. The desperate pleading in his voice caught her by surprise. “Twila, you must do this thing. You can’t save the girl anyway. Queen Ashere has given you one planetary rotation to kill the Guardian. If you don’t, Ashere will—along with the rest of the planet. Can you really let this world die? Will you sacrifice billions for one girl’s life?”

  Twila was shocked to her hematite core. “Can Ashere really be so driven by power, she’d murder an innocent world? I can barely grasp the concept of such insanity.”

  Mitron let his hands rest softly on Twila’s shoulders. To the mechamorph girl, the weight was that of a world, nearly unendurable. Mitron’s voice softened. “She will do whatever she desires. You know her. Finish the mission, Twila. It’s the only thing you can do—the only way to save yourself as well.”

  “I have to go,” Twila said.

  “I’m counting on you, little sister.” The red swirl of light returned as a sub-space conduit opened. His last words hung in the air, and in Twila’s thoughts, long after he was gone: “Don’t let me down.”

  “Twila?” Mrs. Bright’s voice reached the mechamorph.

  She turned toward the living room. Ashere stood there, red and translucent. A projection.

  Twila took a step and swept her hand through the image. The holographic transmission wavered slightly and lifted a claw-like hand. Jagged bolts of energy wound around Twila, flinging her back into a wall that crumpled under the impact.

  Her mind was dazed, whirling with disorder. She heard Ashere’s words as if across a vast distance. “Obey me, or I will let you live with the knowledge that you caused me to destroy your brother for your failure.”

  “No!” Twila cried. “Don’t hurt him.”

  “Don’t make it necessary,” Ashere faded out.

  Alone again, Twila righted herself and carried her pseudo-bag out into the barren living room. Mrs. Bright was waiting there for her, head swiveling in a bewildered inspection.

  “I’m ready,” Twila announced brightly. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait a minute,” Mrs. Bright said. “There’s no food in the kitchen, no furniture out here… Twila, are you really living here?”

  Twila reviewed a number of cover stories, knowing she’d aroused the woman’s suspicions. She knew from a cultural analysis of soap operas that the more tragic and improbable a tale, the more likely it was to be believed.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bright. You’ve been good to me.” Twila distilled a little pure water from excess elements and routed it to her eyes so that they brimmed with tears. She’d observed that anything said by a crying woman was usually believed instantly. “I guess I owe you the truth.”

  She delayed for a dramatic pause, then plunged headlong into her story. “I’ve been living here, with my Mom. We haven’t had much of anything because we’ve been living on the run—from an abusive stalker—for a year now. Mom did the best she could, but she was holding down two jobs, and fighting cancer. She lost that fight a month ago. I’ve been staying here by myself since then, eating out of dumpsters in the area.

  “I’m still underage. If anyone finds out I’m on my own, I’ll be sent back to my dad. He got legal custody in the divorce—with his high-priced lawyers and the judge in his pocket. No one believed me when I told them about t-the bad things my father used to do to me.” Twila allowed a couple of tears to steak her face as she bravely choked down a sob, trembling visibly.

  I wonder if I’ve over-sold the drama.

  “Oh, you poor dear.” Mrs. Bright ran forward and gathered the girl in her arms. She stroked her hair and murmured soothing nonsense sounds.

  Deception comes easy to mechamorphs, so why don’t I feel good about this skill?

  Eventually, Twila pulled away. “We should go. The others will be wondering what’s happened to us.”

  Mrs. Bright nodded, wiping tears from her own eyes. With an arm over Twila’s shoulders, she led the girl toward the door. “You won’t be coming back here. You’re staying with us. Don’t worry. Somehow, everything will work out.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  INTERLUDE ONE

  Ulrell shot across the fluidic universe. Swirling reddish murk flooded scoop-like orifices, moving through special organs that absorbed life-giving hydrogen. She navigated the cosmic ocean, keeping track of orange blots of drifting, incandescent plasma. Her velocity turned the aquatic star clouds into imprisoning bars as she raced headlong against despair.

  She reached the shattered shell of a world that once housed billions of tiny lives. They had not wanted to give up their imagined deities in favor of her. Their ships had swarmed as she took her time, pounding the rock orb to rubble. The survivors had fled in the end, broken in heart and spirit. They had spread the word: “Death comes, death comes!” But forewarned was not forewarned, not against her.

  After ages beyond understanding, the universe was kept by her alone. In her wake, lay devastation on a cosmic scale, with nothing ahead but sterile depths. The last of her kind, of any kind, she had to admit it had not been wise to destroy all that irritated her, leaving her at the cold mercy of her own regret.

  It’s not fair! A Goddess should not have to suffer from her mistakes.

  FIFTEEN

  Max led the way into the Mall. Voiceless, emasculated music fell from hidd
en speakers, while security cops prowled—flashlights and walkie-talkies close at hand. Throngs of teenagers passed, chatting carefree, oblivious to the threat faced by their world. They crowded the benches and rode up and down the escalators while sucking down sodas, nibbling cheese fries, and assorted other foodstuff of doubtful nutritional value. It was all beautifully normal, a pleasing jolt of reality.

  “Look, Momma!” Max dragged her mom to a recently opened storefront. “Daddy’s newest store.” It was a jewelry store with GRAND OPENING banners adorning the upper windows. The main sign over the door said, Bright’s Diamond Center.

  Max asked, “You think he’s here, at this outlet?”

  Mrs. Bright smiled. “Stranger things have happened. We can pop in and see.”

  Max pushed through the store’s double glass doors and drifted along the display cases inside. Her gaze lingered over rings, earrings, and necklaces that glittered atop fields of midnight velvet. She grew still; admiring a ring with a diamond row sandwiched between lines of rubies and emeralds.

  So wonderfully gaudy.

  Commander Hardrune stared over Max’s shoulder at the display. “These are objects of value on your world?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes!” Max answered.

  “Adding beauty to wealth is your father’s vocation?”

  “Uh-huh,” Max answered.

  “He’s a fine artist and craftsman.” Mrs. Bright joined them. “He designed most of the pieces you see here.”

  “I recognized most of these materials,” Commander Hardrune said but this odd reddish metal…”

  “That’s red gold from the Black Hills,” Max said, “a natural mix of gold and copper. The white bands are white gold, gold and platinum.”

  A young man in a dark suit faced them over the display case. “Can I help you?”

  Mrs. Bright stepped up between her daughter and the massive alien. She took the question. “Is Bill in?”

  “Uh, you mean the owner, Mr. Bright?”

  “That’s the guy. Tell him his wife and daughter are here.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Just a minute, I think he’s still in back.” The clerk hurried off. He returned a moment later with Max’s dad in close pursuit. Bill Bright circled the case, hugged his wife and kissed her soundly.

  “Couldn’t wait to see me?” he asked. “I’d have been home in another hour or so.”

  “We happened to be in the area and thought we’d stop in,” Max’s mom explained.

  “And how’s my favorite daughter?” He turned a broad smile on Max, but she didn’t miss the anxious search of his glance.

  “I’m fine, really.”

  He suddenly turned and reached to gather her in, but paused in surprise. Max was confused by his reaction. “That stone… Where’d you get that necklace?”

  “I didn’t get it. It got me,” she confessed. “I know it’s big, but it’s just topaz. At least that was Tommy’s guess.”

  “Appraisals should be left to professionals. May I?” His hands hovered over the stone.

  Max nodded. He picked up the stone, pulling it toward him as far as the chain allowed. He rotated the stone in the light, then examined it with a jeweler’s loupe pulled from a front vest pocket. The loupe went into his eye. He turned the stone again, and grunted as if someone slugged him in the gut. He released the necklace, and put the loupe away. “That is not glass, not topaz, or any other form of precious stone I’m familiar with. If I had to make an educated guess…”

  “Yeah?” Max said.

  “I’d say it’s a crystallized metal…like hematite…”

  “That’s iron?” Mrs. Bright asked.

  “Yes, but this stone is a rarer element. I can tell by its weight. If I had to guess without further tests, I’d say this is crystallized gold.”

  “That is so,” Commander Hardrune joined the conversation. “Though no one knows the origin of the Star, its presence stretches back across the entire history of the League, from a time of galactic chaos. The stone’s power brought order, peace, and prosperity to the known universe. Possessing the Star is a sacred trust, so its Guardians are a law unto themselves.”

  Mr. Bright looked up at the massive alien, taking him in all at once. “Excuse me,” he asked, “do I know you?”

  “He’s a friend of Max’s,” her mom explained.”

  Mr. Bright turned his head to his wife, arching an eyebrow. “That’s supposed to put my mind at ease?”

  “Come along, dear. You and I are going to find a quiet corner and have a little chat. It’s time you were brought up to speed so I don’t have to freak out alone in my private moments.” Mrs. Bright smiled at Max. “Dear, you go—what’s the phrase that’s in now—crawl? You go crawl the Mall with your friends, and drool over the window displays. Your dad and I’ll meet you by the central fountain in about forty minutes.

  “Okay, Mom, Dad. See ya later.”

  Twila started to follow but Mrs. Bright stopped her. “Why don’t you hang out here with me awhile? I want my husband to meet you, and we need to do something about your wardrobe.”

  Twila held her ground, gazing regretfully after Max as she drifted away.

  Max saw it over her shoulder, then turned her head to watch where she was going. She grinned. Better you get stuck with mom than me. “Hey, Cap’n Big Guy,” Max caught the warrior’s gaze. “You or the boys got any Earth-type money on ya?”

  “The one you call Lieutenant Chan left us a while back so he could speak to the Mall Management about a line of credit. He said something about Government Purchase orders?”

  “Hey, way-cool!” Max breezing out of the store. “’Cause you alien dudes are in a serious need of a look.”

  “A look at what,” the high-gee alien’s voice emerged thin, piping.

  Max tapped her link to him, gathering a feel from the diminutive alien. Jhoori, that’s his name. She sensed his contempt for gravity, as she knew it—weak, puny stuff. On his world, city spires pricked the limits of atmosphere, rising high from artificial islands, floating in banded seas of frozen cloud. She saw the slashing spirals of cloud ships, hunting through hurricanes winds, seeking the Maalu—ruby ray-winged jellyfish trailing electric filaments. Alive, joyous, she felt remembered joy in challenging the monstrous storm.

  Images recede and Max gathered her thoughts. “By look, I mean clothes that won’t draw so much attention.”

  “Way cool!” Corrupted by Max’s influence, Commander Hardrune proudly displayed his growing mastery of Terran English. “Lead us to glory,” he bellowed.

  “Uh, sure,” Max said. “This way. I think I see a big and tall shop just ahead.”

  They threaded the crowd, drawing curious stares. Mr. Chan rejoined them, grinning, waving, leading a woman with a camera along. “Hey guys,” he said. “It’s all set. This is Mindy, the Mall’s manager. The bill for whatever you guys need will be forwarded to her office and Uncle Sam will eventually pick up the tab—once the paperwork is all done.”

  “Cool!” Commander Hardrune extended an up-thrust thumb. He was mastering non-verbal communications as well.

  “Mindy had one condition though,” Chan said. “She wants to take some promotional pictures. Maybe use some of your friends for an ad later; you know: come to Grand Plaza, where the aliens shop—that sort of thing.”

  “Then I guess we’re all set,” Max said.

  Mindy went into immediate action. Her camera came up obscuring her face as she began shooting a roll of film. Shark-like, she circled the group capturing images. Jhoori inflated his chest and smiled broadly as Mindy got to him.

  Meanwhile, Commander Hardrune signaled Max to come closer. He bent down for a semi-private word with her. “If it’s needed, we do have money, of a fashion.” He reached into a pouch hanging on his belt. “On League worlds, all payments are made by computer, a matter of data transfer. But on fringe and non-League worlds, we use these.” He drew out a handful of precious gems.

  They were like nothing Max had ever seen: mostly mi
dnight purple, almost black, each stone’s heart broken by a lilac starburst that shifted as the jewel moved. There were also smaller indigo stones, tangerine beads, and something like turquoise, stratified with tarnished copper stripes. “Oh,” Max said. “They’re beautiful.”

  He extended one of the starburst gems. “Would you like one?”

  “Yes!” Max’s voice was an explosive spike. She quickly toned it down. “Uh, that is sure. Thanks.” She snatched the offered jewel and stashed it quickly away. “Give those to my dad, later,” she said. “He’ll give you local currency in exchange, maybe ten whole dollars.” She widened her eyes as if this were a good thing.

  Commander Hardrune nodded, putting the gems back in their pouch. “I will do as you suggest, Guardian.”

  Max led them into the Big and Tall Shop. “Let’s dial ourselves in here for a while,” she said. They entered and swept along the shelves and racks, prodding the merchandise, discussing color, pattern, and the synergistic elements of wicked-coolness.

  They did their best to ignore Mindy who flittered madly about, in a storm of clicks and whirrs, taking photographs.

  Max dressed the short but wide Light Born in black shorts that became full-length pants on him, and in a teal-blue polo shirt. She piled him up with sweaters, and coats for other Light Born still at her house. She found a pair of khaki cargo pants and a black tee for Commander Hardrune and finished him off with a mud brown Australian oilskin coat. It had a half cape in back and a split-tail cut—meant for a man of action. You just had to grunt manfully in a coat like that.

  At the register, they stopped to make sure there was a record of the merchandise they were walking out with. There was a display of tinted sunglasses. Max watched the captain’s face suffuse with joy. He reached out reverently, a pilgrim in the presence of the Holy Grail.

  “Your people have these, too?” he said. “Your world is obviously more advanced than I had assumed.”