Sleeper Cells
School was buzzing with the news: Coach Blevins’s house had been broken into, and the captain from the ELLIS Forces had a slight concussion. It was a scandal for the island. ELLIS forces were at the Blevins’s house, going through everything for clues. The only thing they’d found so far was a battered NYPD baseball cap that could’ve come from anywhere.
Anything else was just speculation because ELLIS Forces were refusing comment. The Kitsap Sun’s online Police Blotter had no more details to add, either.
Even Coach Blevins said nothing, though it was clearly hard for him.
Coach just kept repeating to everyone, “If you have information on the incident, please report it to the ELLIS Forces Hotline number.”
Jake rubbed his eyes, which felt like sand from so little sleep; he had tossed all night, worried that Captain Hill might be hurt badly. It was a relief to know it was a “slight” concussion. Jake ran a hand over the back of his head, as if he was the one with a concussion. Slowly, he forced his hand to reach down and pick up a pencil; he had to keep his hands busy, even if his mind was still reeling.
Blevins stopped in mid-sentence and said, “Jake. Stop tapping the pencil.”
Jake nodded curtly and dropped the pencil.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why, after all the excitement, why was Coach Blevins even trying to teach a class today? Blevins was a traveling teacher. He taught biology in a science lab on the first floor and civics in a second story history classroom with maps on the wall instead of skeletons in the corner. The rest of the day, he was in the athletic offices in the gym.
Coach pulled down a wall map, but it rattled in his hand, and the cord slipped out of his grip, letting the map pop back up with a bang. Grimly shaking his head, he pulled it firmly until it settled into position. The map showed Seattle and its surrounding areas, including Puget Sound and Bainbridge Island.
“Nidoto Nai Yoni,” Coach Blevins intoned. “Does anyone know what that means?”
Civics was always silent: 5th period was right after lunch, and food made humans sleepy.
This time, though, Bennie Chalmers spoke up. “That’s Japanese. Translated, it means, ‘Let it not happen again.’”
From somewhere at the back came a voice, “Of course, you know that.”
Bennie was the freshman class’s history nerd. The football coach described him as a fireplug, and he played on the offensive line. He shaved his head for football season, but he let it grow long and shaggy during the off-season. He wore an XXL football helmet, so everyone joked that he had a big head to cram facts into, and it was crammed with history trivia. He liked letting that trivia leak out.
Coach Blevins nodded his approval. “Who knows when and why it was spoken?”
“March 30, 1942,” Em said promptly.
Jake swiveled to stare at her. She seldom volunteered information about anything. Swim team required massive intake of food, which then made her sleepy after lunch. She usually pulled her hoodie over her head and slumped in her seat to snooze.
Coach said, “Go on.” He clearly was interested to see what Em would say, too.
“U.S. Army soldiers forced 257 men, women, and children from Bainbridge Island to board the ferry for Seattle.”
Bennie couldn’t be outdone by a casual historian. “They were taken to an internment camp, mostly to Manzanar, California. Although some later went to Minidoka, Idaho.”
Em and Bennie glared at each other. She was trespassing on his turf, and he wasn’t going to let her be the class expert.
“Yes,” Coach Blevins agreed. Wearing soft khakis, a school t-shirt, and a pair of sandals with socks, he always looked like a grandfather who’d seen better days. “In today’s terminology, the government worried that there might be sleeper cells of people spying for Japan. People who lived here in the U.S., but who still held loyalty to their country of origin.”
Em threw back the hood of her sweatshirt and sat up straighter. “But that’s just it. These were American citizens who just happened to have Japanese ancestors. How dare the government question their loyalty and send them to prison.”
“It’s not that easy,” Bennie said. “Pearl Harbor had just been bombed by the Japanese. Everyone was terrified that the war was coming to the mainland.”
“It is that easy!” Em cried. “Soldiers came and picked up American citizens, and the soldiers had their rifles fixed with bayonets. Bayonets! Little kids were terrified. Soldiers with knives on their guns were shouting at them.”
For a moment, the room was quiet. Jake felt the outrage and thought he followed what they were talking about. The people of Japanese descent were seen as aliens, foreigners who were so strange that no one could predict what they’d do or where their loyalties might lie. Still—they were American citizens. Didn’t that count for something?
Bennie spoke now, low and passionate. “Don’t talk to me about bayonets. My grandfather was in the Philippines when it fell to the Japanese army. He evacuated to the island of Corregidor, where a small force held out for a month. On 1/16th rations.” Bennie almost spit out the words. “Starving. Killing anything they could—snakes or rats—and eating it raw, just to stay alive. When they finally surrendered and went to the prison camp, the Japanese soldiers were brutal. If an American soldier made any kind of trouble, they’d make him stand in a field in front of everyone. And they’d use him for bayonet practice. Stabbing him. Over and over. Till he was dead.” Bitterness tinged his words, and Bennie kept shaking his head. “Don’t talk to me about bayonets.”
“That’s horrible.” Em’s eyes were wide, and she waved a hand as if she could make the mental images erase. “But don’t you see? They were soldiers. The people taken from Bainbridge were civilians. Citizens. American citizens.”
Everyone leaned forward, tense, looking from Bennie to Em, waiting for the next blow to fall. Jake admired Em’s passion for the people who were considered aliens. Rison would need people like her when they moved to Earth, people who would speak out and defend their right to even exist. He’d wanted to be open with her and tell her that he was half-Risonian. But besides his parents placing a taboo on that information, Jake also worried about what Em would think. Would his heritage send her running away from a friendship with him? Maybe she was more open than he’d assumed.
Suddenly, he realized that he was probably the only kid in the class who was grinning like a looney at Em, making a fool of himself. Quickly, he looked down at his sandals. But his shoes were brown, a warm sienna color, just like Em’s eyes. With a groan, he turned to stare at Coach.
The silence grew. Coach Blevins crossed his arms and just looked from Em to Bennie and back to Em.
Once, Em took a deep breath as if to speak, but then shook her head.
Bennie nodded, as if he’d made a point.
Into the tension, David Gordon spoke slow, measured words: “Are sleeper cells real?”
Jake twisted to stare back at David where his long legs were sprawled across two aisles. He’d noticed David in a couple of his classes; the mass of students was slowly resolving into individuals. David pitched for the baseball team and was captain of the sculling team. Apparently, he was also a peacemaker because his question had defused the tension. Visibly, the class relaxed, some slouching down again and closing their eyes.
“Are they real?” repeated Coach Blevins.
“Well, sure,” Jillian Lusk said. She was always taking photos with her cellphone and posting them all over. Jake had already developed a sort of sixth sense about her, and when she came into sight, he left if he could, or at least ducked behind someone. She didn’t know it, but a photo of him was worth a lot.
Coach said, “Elaborate for us.”
Jillian just nodded at Bennie to take the discussion where he wanted.
“During the Cold War,” Bennie said, “sleeper cells made sense. You could send people to live in the U.S., and no one really knew who they were. They were in place, though,
should Russia ever need them.”
Jake only vaguely knew about the Cold War; it was another Earth history thing to bone up on.
Em said lazily, compared to her earlier passion, “Does the U.S. have sleeper cells overseas?” She yawned widely.
“Do we?” Coach Blevins echoed.
“We must,” David said. “If they have them, we have them.”
Jake wondered if there were sleeper cells of Risonians on Earth. Were there Earthling sleeper cells on Rison? Did it go both ways? But a sleeper cell on Rison would be in danger of getting blown up with the planet. Would they risk that? There was enough talk on Rison about invading Earth that Earth probably had spies in place. The species appeared so similar, but it still was hard to blend in. Jake only managed it because he was half-human. But wouldn’t a group of humans stand out on Rison, just as Risonians stood out on Earth? Just like the Japanese-Americans stood out against the mostly white population during World War II?
Coach Blevins grinned now, enjoying his role as a provocateur. “Does the possibility of sleeper cells justify putting U.S. citizens into jail?”
“Naturalized citizens?” Em asked. “Or born-here citizens?”
Bennie said, “Does it matter which? Are naturalized citizens second-class citizens?”
The complexities of the discussion—indeed of the whole political and cultural situation in 1942—made Jake’s head swim. But what he did understand was this: “different” meant enemy. If that was how Earth treated people they perceived as “aliens,” even from the same species, it would be hundreds of years or more before Risonians could ever be accepted—if it ever happened. But then, again, struggling to be fair, he wondered what Risonians would feel if they’d been asked to allow Earthlings to live on their planet. Nothing was black and white.
“For Monday,” Coach Blevins said, “write a two-page opinion essay on whether or not it was right for the government to put Japanese-American citizens in jail. Be sure to defend your opinion with facts. And don’t wait till Sunday night to start.”
Earth school—so much homework! On Rison he’d had schooling, too, of course. But it was more hands-on, mostly one-on-one tutoring, mixed in with some large-group lectures on Earth culture. Sure, that’s because he was the son of a politician. He didn’t care; the tutors had been great. Here, he was stuck in class with so many others—up to 25 at a time—that he felt lost. The teachers didn’t know or seem to care if he understood the material. It was up to him. Before this, teachers had taken responsibility to make sure he understood things. Now it seemed like kids were one big super-student to the teacher with no individuality at all.
At least it was easy to hide his ignorance, because no one ever called on him.
Maybe Easter would know how to do research and write an essay that would satisfy an Earth civics teacher.
The bell rang for the end of class, and as they streamed out of doors, Coach Blevins called, “Remember: if you hear anything—anything at all—about who may have broken into my house, call the ELLIS Security Hotline.”
And Jake wondered: when the Japanese-Americans were jailed, was it in the name of “homeland security”? Did homeland security mean that someone had to give up his or her rights as a U.S. citizen? When ELLIS Forces finally found Jake, what would they do in the name of interstellar security?
Made You Laugh
After school, Jake caught Em in the hallway. Or, at least, he tried to.
Em stood in front of her locker and shuffled things around. This was the second week of school, but already stray pieces of paper floated out.
Jake wondered how she could ever find anything in there.
She had a backpack slung over one shoulder, and a gym bag dangled from a longer strap below that. With her left arm, she hugged two textbooks with papers falling out against her pink fleece jacket while she juggled keys and her phone in the other hand.
“Need help?” Jake took her textbooks and reached for her gym bag, but she shook her head.
“Thanks, I can do it.”
“Yes, but I can help.” Gently, he tugged on the bag.
The strap broke and slithered off Em’s shoulder. Jake was left with the bag dangling from the broken strap that he held. Apparently, the zipper was broken, too, because clothes and shoes spilled out.
“Oh!” she wailed.
Quickly, Jake picked up a piece of clothing and held it up. It was white with elastic and two big circles. No, they were perfect half-globes. As if someone had taken planets, cut them in half, and scooped out the insides. Around them, kids laughed and pointed.
“Hey, does it fit?” someone called, and everyone laughed harder.
Em jerked the globe-thing from Jake’s hand, her face bright red.
“What?” Jake said.
Em rolled her eyes and stuffed everything back into her gym bag. On top, she dumped her textbooks, so the heavy weight would hold everything inside. She hugged the bag to her chest with one hand while she slammed her locker shut with the other. Paper hung half-in, half-out at the locker’s bottom, but she ignored it and stalked away.
Jake fell into step with her.
She walked briskly, looking straight ahead and refusing to look at him.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.
“Um. Nothing but hold up my bra for everyone to see.” She rolled her eyes and tossed her dark hair in a motion that Jake understood was annoyance.
“Oh.” What’s a bra? Jake wondered. Why is it bad to hold it up? Easter is going to have to explain this one. “Sorry?”
She stopped and turned to him. “Look. Why’re you following me?”
“That day in the coffee shop? I took one look and fell in love.” He gave her a lopsided smile to let her know it was a joke. But inside, his heart was pumping crazily.
“You must think opposites attract.” Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it from her pocket, tapped something, and then looked up.
Jake waited patiently until he was sure he had her attention. “Are we opposites?”
“Duh. You don’t like to swim, remember? The only way to my heart is through the pool.”
Jake was ready for that. He’d spent a couple hours looking up swimming pool jokes on the Internet. “Why do girls have trouble swimming?”
She shrugged.
“Because they don’t have boy-ancy.”
Em groaned. “That’s bad.”
Jake was quick with another joke. “Where do Zombies like to swim?”
Em raised an eyebrow and shook her head.
“The Dead Sea.”
She did laugh at that, a low, musical laugh. It thrilled him, like her constant humming and singing did; it set his heart to pounding even harder.
“Where’d you find those jokes?” she asked. “They are awful.”
“Internet,” he said. “Want to hear some more?”
“Sure,” Em sighed. She turned to walk toward the doors again, and he fell in with her, and this time, they kept talking all the way until Em’s turnoff toward home. He told bad swimming jokes, and she chattered about the swim team, of course, but it didn’t matter what she talked about. He had made her laugh. If he did it once, he could do it again.
Phoning Home
That evening, after finishing his homework and watching the movie, “E.T. Extra Terrestrial,” with Sir, Jake tried to call Swann Quad-de on Rison. The movie and watching Em fiddle with her phone all day made him want to hear his stepfather’s voice. Wanted to hear him say, “We’re Quad-des. We’ll make it.”
He didn’t do it often. Besides being expensive—Mom would pay it but would squawk at him later—it was tricky because it required the use of a U.S. Army ansible that had a strong enough signal to reach Rison.
Following the procedures for the Risonian diplomatic corp that Mom had given him, Jake logged into the computer accounts for ansible access, but he kept getting a 404 Error, which mean the webpage didn’t exist.
Jake had been dreading this moment for a long time
. Earth had cut off access to Rison, even for the diplomatic corp. The Embassy had their own ansible, so they could reach Rison outside of Earth’s channels. But few outside the Embassy’s immediate office would have access. Some businesses traded with Rison—technology companies and specialty companies such as online classes for English. Quickly, he checked the site he’d used most often, RisonEnglish.edu, and wasn’t surprised when he got a 404 Error for it, too.
Finally, Jake used the encrypted security phone access channels and called Mom. She confirmed it: Rison was cut off from commercial channels of communicating with Earth.
“Why?” Jake asked.
Mom sighed. “Negotiations are tricky right now. And there’s a huge solar flare from Earth’s sun that’s blocking messages, too. I think it’s a combination of both of those. It’ll be back up soon. I hope.”
Jake grunted. That sounded reasonable; he just hoped Mom wasn’t keeping anything back.
“Do you want to send a message to Swann?” Mom asked. “I can pass it along.”
“No,” he said. How could he tell Mom that he wanted advice about a girl?
“Sorry,” Mom said. “I know he’d love to hear your voice.”
Jake hung up reluctantly and thought about the loneliness that tinged Mom’s voice. It was little comfort. Jake desperately wanted a father-son chat about so many things, not the least of which was Em. Milk, rocking chairs and E.T. with Sir didn’t work. Dad was off on some lousy assignment, out of contact, and Jake had no idea when he’d return. Swann would’ve listened. At least, Jake told himself that. Swann was always busy with his political duties—being away for three years made it easy to forget, but he’d always tried to make time for Jake. Didn’t he?
Frustrated, desperate to fill his own ache of loneliness, Jake slipped on headphones and cranked up the volume, listening to his favorite Risonian opera about the mythical founder of the Killia, the capital of Jake’s home country of Tizzalura. Dad had told him the story of how Rome was established by twins, Romulus and Remus, who had been raised by wolves. Killia had been one of the first Risonians to leave the ocean, and he had fought wild beasts to establish a city on the high volcanic plateau. The songs were full of animals roaring, clanging battles, and a love that stretched from the highest volcanic mountains to the deepest oceans. Full of life, Risonian life. It was his music. He was a Risonian, and he would listen to opera all night long if he wanted, he thought defiantly.
Sleepers (The Blue Planets World series Book 1) Page 6
