by Jeff Altabef
He has spies, but they can’t be too close or they would know that Juliet is not with us. He would suspect the worst if he knew we were separated. Still, I don’t have much time until they report back to him that something is amiss, and then he’ll use the serpent or some other monster until it breaks me.
I need a plan. No matter what my father says, these humans aren’t primitive creatures that we can just toss away. The priests are right. They have souls. I can feel it. Yet, if they live and the Deltites take the planet, they will use humans to help them take over the rest of the universe. My entire civilization could be ruined, countless lives lost in a war we might not win.
The more my mind whirls around the situation, the more certain I become that I need to speak with this Prime Elector. I need to understand him and what he plans. I’m just not sure what I’ll say, or even what I want him to say.
I’m lost in my thoughts when Blake sits next to me. He nudges my arm and holds out a paper bag. “Air sickness? I hate planes. After the last trip, I swore I’d never go back on one, but here I am.”
I take the bag from him. “Thanks.”
Connor snickers. “He travels through space, you idiot. I doubt he’s airsick.”
Blake ignores him and keeps his eyes glued to mine. “I’m the one who should thank you. Without you we’d all be lost.”
I look away, roll up the sleeve of my shirt, and glance at my bicep.
Two fresh puncture wounds scar my skin.
Juliet
The sun burns my eyes. All I see is whiteness, and I have to blink back tears.
Aaric hands me a pair of wraparound sunglasses. When I put them on, the glare is gone and the world bursts in color. They work like polarized lenses on steroids.
Aaric wears an identical pair. “Your eyesight is getting better, more like ours. We see better at night. Without sunglasses the sun’s glare can burn our eyes. These are specially made to take advantage of your improved sight.”
“You didn’t wear sunglasses in London.”
He shrugs. “We were in England.”
“Point taken.” I shut my eyes and the dry heat welcomes me like a warm embrace from a dearly missed old friend. The dry, fresh air smells like the desert, like Sicheii, and like home.
When I open my eyes, Aaric leads me to a burnt orange Lamborghini parked at the curb.
“Nice car.” I whistle. “Not very inconspicuous.”
He opens the door with a click on the remote. “I am not hiding from anyone, and this car purrs like a dragon.” After we’re settled in, he turns to me. “Where to?”
I direct him to the neighborhood we call the Reservation. It’s not a real Rez, but a beaten down place where most of the residents are poor Native Americans.
He works the car like a racecar driver, smiling like a kid with a new toy as he accelerates, weaving around slower-moving traffic and working the shifter on the steering wheel.
The mad grin splashed on his face makes me smile. I’ve wondered how he has fun—if he has fun like a normal person—so it’s nice to see him enjoying himself. It makes me feel closer to him, like we’re not as different as I might have feared.
“When did you learn how to drive?” I ask. “You’ve only been on the planet for six months.”
“This is my third time. It is not hard.” He beams me an arrogant smirk like a spoiled child. “As the Prime Elector, others are supposed to drive me. Since we are on our own, I get the pleasure.”
The car bolts forward and the engine revs as he passes a bus.
My friend Ella drives fast. She’s always teetering on an edge, ready to crash at any moment. Driving with her is a nail-biting, we-might-die-at-any-moment, stomach-wrenching experience.
This is different. He seems to be in full control of the car. Even though we’re moving fast, I feel safe.
He shakes his head as we enter the Reservation and drive into the poor neighborhood. “This is such a waste. I do not understand why humans divide resources like this. It makes no sense.”
I frown as we pass dilapidated houses—boards replace windows in a few; some have abandoned cars in the driveway; one leans precariously to the side.
I agree with him. “We should be more balanced. There’s too much inequality in the world.”
He shoots me a weird expression, as if I’m speaking a different language and don’t understand him.
“What?”
“Resources should be divided. That is natural. It is the way you divide them that is foolish.”
I’m not sure I want a lecture about how dumb and primitive humans are, but I still need to know more about him and his people. So I suck it up and ask, “How do Deltites split up resources?”
“We do not base it upon the subjective pursuit of money. If you are not born to rich parents, you do not stand a chance on Earth. We divide our wealth by ability. We measure a person’s acuity and, based upon those scores, he or she logically gets more responsibility and more of our resources.”
He sounds so pompous and superior, my blood starts to burn. I’m human... well, I was human. Now I’m... I don’t really know. Still, humans are my home team and I feel like he plays on a rival squad and just crapped all over us. I want to disprove him, so I think hard on what he just told me. On the surface it sounds like a more just system, yet something about it bothers me.
My mind whirls, the light bulb goes off, and I figure out the answer to the problem. “You believe that ability is controlled through genetics, right?”
He nods.
“And you have these Arrangers who make sure those with the best genes marry those with equally good genes. So, as far as I can tell, you have an even worse system than we do. Status in your society is completely determined by a person’s parents. There’s no way for those with whatever you believe to be less desirable genes to move up.”
He frowns. “True... but they do not deserve to move up. They are inferior.”
“Pull over.” I point to Roundtree’s house, the last one on the dead end street—a small clay ranch-style home with a red tile roof. “What about heart and effort? Why don’t those things count in your society?”
He parks the car, shuts off the engine, and beams a self-satisfied grin at me. “You are an interesting person. Misguided, of course, but interesting nonetheless.”
I moan and step out of the car. “You should really just admit it when you’re wrong.”
Yellow police tape stretches across Roundtree’s front door. His murder is still an unsolved crime, and he didn’t leave any children behind, so there’s probably no rush to sell the house.
I glance around the neighborhood to make sure no one is watching. “We should walk around back. The lock on the back door doesn’t work, so we’ll have no problem getting in.”
When we reach the door, it opens with a firm shove. Once we walk inside and see the wrecked living room, an ice-cold chill washes over me. The Seeker did this. He trashed Roundtree’s house, tortured him, and had him murdered—and he worked for Aaric.
I turn on him, full of righteous anger, and yell, “Did you have to kill Roundtree? He was just an old man.”
He shrugs. “Apparently, that was his decision. He could have told us what we wanted to know. He chose to die instead. Some might say foolish, but it was not illogical.”
“But there must have been another way.”
His face sharpens for a second and his eyes burn white-hot. “This is not my doing. The Alphians are responsible for this. They sent you to kill me. I needed to find you and assess the threat. If I did not find you first, I might have been forced to kill you before you had learned the truth, and I could not let that happen.”
“Or maybe I would have killed you.”
He chuckles. “Right.”
I clench my hands into fists, but he’s right. Would I have done any different? I killed that Seeker and Gagarin, and the Alphians did create us to murder him. That’s our mission. He didn’t start this mess. Roundtree might not have
understood his role, but he had been dangerous to Aaric.
I breathe deeply and release my frustrations in a gust of air. No good will come from parsing the past. We need to stay on task. I can sort these things out later.
Aaric picks up a smashed picture frame and glances at the photograph before he tosses it back on the floor. “So, what are we looking for?”
“I’m not sure, but we’ll know what it is when we see it. Just try not to smash more stuff!”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s just not right.” I start searching the floor, and he heads in the opposite direction. The metal bison we used to smash the wood paneling, to find the Book of Wisdom, lays on the floor, still bent from when I twisted it by using my advanced strength for the first time. I was being childish, showing off for Troy and Sicheii.
The memory sparks another one—a weird painting on a piece of buffalo hide. I kick over a pile of books and find what I’m looking for.
“Got it!”
Aaric moves beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine.
I hold the hide so he can see it—a primitive painting of a tall white man with rays beaming from its eyes. He’s cloaked in darkness, so the details are hard to make out.
“Sicheii gave this to Roundtree,” I say. “I’m pretty sure he had others with the same figure. I had no idea what it meant before, but now it’s pretty obvious.”
He takes the skin from me. “This must be one of the original Alphians who created the Chosen serums. If we can determine where he’s located in this picture, then we should be able to find the Heart Stone.” He looks up at me. “Are you sure there are more of these?”
“I think so.”
Now that I know what we’re looking for, I know whom to ask.
Maybe that’s why a feeling of dread seeps into my body.
It’s not that I don’t want to see my parents; it’s just that I was hoping this mess would be behind me when I did.
Connor
Time moves in spurts. The constant plodding of the second hand sweeping around the dial might prove me wrong, but that’s not what I’m talking about. That’s rubbish. Technicalities don’t mean anything. Reality is what counts.
The plane trip to Arizona might as well have lasted a year. I tried to read some poems, but every line of prose reminded me of Juliet and what a fool I am. When I closed my eyes, all I saw was that wanker of a Prime Elector wink at me with a smug expression on his perfect little face. Even if he weren’t the Prime Elector, I’d still want to choke the life out of him.
Finally, when we land, I’m the first off the plane and out of the small private airport, where we’re waiting in the god-awful heat and blinding sun for a car to take us to Juliet’s home town.
Troy saddles up to me and slaps me on the shoulder. “How are you doing?”
“I’ve been better. I can’t believe how badly I’ve screwed things up with Juliet.”
He grins. “Yep, you’re a real wanker.”
“You can’t start doing that.”
“What? Should I have said tosser or plonker?”
“Wanker is perfectly fine, but you have to stop talking English. Just stick to American. It doesn’t sound right when you do it.”
I’m grateful he’s even talking to me. I shouldn’t have left Juliet alone with the Prime Elector. She’s in danger. If the situation were reversed, I’d probably have punched his lights out by now.
He leans closer toward me. “Don’t worry about Juliet. She’s fine. We’ll find her, and you’ll have another chance to screw-up.”
“I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to her.”
“Juliet is special. There’s only one person I trust right now to make the correct choices.” He elbows me in the side. “And it isn’t you.”
He’s right. Juliet represents the best among us. I need to put aside my childish jealousy and trust her. She’s spent time with the Prime Elector. She knows more than I do. Besides, she’s way smarter than me, than any of us.
“I’m happy you stayed sober for the flight.” Troy looks at me knowingly. He must have sensed the war waging inside of me.
I rummage inside my rucksack, take out a bottle of Scotch, dump the contents onto the ground, and sigh. “I’ve given up drinking. If you see me reaching for any booze, punch me in the face.”
Troy grins. “Done.”
“You agreed awfully fast.”
He shrugs and points at Blake. “What’s he doing?”
Blake is staring down at the ground, swiveling his head in all directions, and twisting in a circle. His face is tense.
“What’s your problem?” I ask. “You’re spinning like a bloody top.”
He doesn’t look up, and talks into his chest as he continues his frantic search. “I’m looking for scorpions. They could be anywhere. The smaller ones can be deadly.”
Akari chuckles.
Unfazed, Blake continues. “And we’ve got to look out for rattlesnakes. But that’s not all. Black widow spiders and brown recluse spiders can kill you too. Oh god, Arizona is really a terrible place.”
Troy winks at me before he turns to face Blake. “He’s right. Scorpions end up everywhere—inside cars and houses. Once, I even found one in the toilet.”
Blake’s head snaps up like a yoyo. His face has completely drained of color. “Really. I’m not going to the bathroom.”
I laugh, and then we’re all laughing at Blake’s expense. Even Barrett. It feels good.
“You’re ridiculous,” I say.
The SUV shows up and Barrett is the first to the door.
Blake hesitates, probably looking for scorpions or spiders inside the auto.
Akari shoves him in the back and he reluctantly disappears inside.
I grab Troy’s arm. “What do you make of Barrett? Is he on our side?”
Troy squints. “Coyote is a trickster. I can’t tell whether he sent him to confuse us or whether the Wind Spirit is using him to help us.”
“When you figure it out, let me know. Just hurry up already. If he betrays us, we’ll all be gutted.”
Juliet
While Aaric drives to my house, I study the buffalo hide in my lap. I rub my fingers over the cracked dry leather and see the bald parts of the picture where paint had already flaked off. Did the ancient Native Americans leave enough clues behind for us to follow? How many paintings will we need to put the entire picture in focus? I wish Sicheii were here. He’d know for sure.
We pull up to the little guardhouse that blocks entrance to my community, and I smile at Bob, who sits in his air-conditioned glass stall.
He slides the window and beams at me. “Juliet Stone, I’m happy you’re home. We were all worried about you. What happened?”
Bob was probably born nosey. Maybe it’s his job to know what’s going on in the neighborhood, but I suspect he just likes to gossip. Besides, he seems lonely. His wife died last year from cancer and his only daughter went to college in California. He’s stuck all day in isolation, and I imagine that doesn’t change when he goes home. His aura gives off a rather dull gray color, like a cloud heavy with rain.
I shrug and shade the truth. “I just needed a little time to get away.”
He nods knowingly as if he understands exactly what I’ve been going through. I stifle a laugh as he pushes the button and the bar lifts. He wouldn’t believe the truth, even if I swore my life on it.
Aaric pulls up my driveway and we get out of the flashy car. My eyes naturally dart to my neighbor’s house, Mrs. Jones. I know it’s ridiculous under the circumstances, but I expect to find her spying on us from behind a curtain with a drink in her shaky hand, a cigarette stuck in her lips. A part of me still worries she’ll spread rumors about the “wild” Native Americans who live next to her.
We moved here a little over a year ago from a more modest place in a less affluent neighborhood. I still think of that house, the smaller one, as my home. Still, I’ve spent enough time here and made e
nough memories that this one is special too.
I sweep the interior of my house with my mind, looking for auras, and find only my father’s upstairs, which is exactly what I hoped. I want to talk to him alone. Mom should still be working at her law firm.
I trudge past the immaculate lawn to the front door with heavy, uncertain steps.
Aaric grins. “You are not worried about introducing me to your parents, are you? I am sure I will make a good impression. They will love me.”
“Really?” I smirk at him. “What should I say? Meet my new friend. He’s from an alien race and wants to rule the world for our benefit. Gee, isn’t he swell?”
“Good point. Maybe you should leave out the alien part?”
“You think?” I unlock the door and push it open. “You stay down here. I need to speak to my father alone for a few minutes.”
He shrugs, and I slip my sunglasses in my string bag and drag myself upstairs. The remnants of the cheeseburger I ate for lunch churn in my stomach and my body feels sluggish. I haven’t had much experience speaking with my father like this—alone and about something important. I’d only met him a few weeks ago. We’ve talked on the phone a couple of times over the past two weeks. He’s a surprisingly good listener. I wonder if that has anything to do with his time in jail.
I find him sitting on my bed; his strong arms tense as he stares at a photo of Mom and me on the day of my birth. He has clear blue eyes, short blond hair, and a two-inch scar that runs down the right side of his face.
Lingering in the doorway, I watch him study the picture for a few seconds before clearing my throat.
His eyes go wide and a smile blooms across his face. “Juliet! Summer’s going to be so happy to have you back. At least now she’ll stop threatening to kill me for letting you go.”
I plop down next to him on the bed. “We need to talk.”
He looks at the picture one last time and lowers it. “I should have been there when you were born.”
“That’s not your fault. That was Grandfather’s doing.”
“Why are you home so soon? Are you finished?”
I shake my head and worry lines quickly replace his smile. I should ask him straight away about the art. Who knows how much time we have left? Still, I see the scar and can’t help but ask him about the night he got it.
