by Vicky Savage
“Changed? How? What’s changed?”
He lifts his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It has been determined that procedures were not properly followed during your stay in Domerica. You should have been informed of certain things earlier, and given the opportunity to choose whether or not to return to your life here.”
I gawk at him. “No shit? Who decided this?”
“Let’s just say the powers that be. Braxton Zarbain has been relieved of his directorship as a result of the incident, and I have been demoted to Junior Guidance Agent. I’ve been offered a chance to redeem myself, if you will consent to return with me.”
“But what about my life here? What about Dad and Drew? I can’t just disappear.”
“You’ll be given thirty days, with no consequences to your life on this earth. After that time, you must decide whether to stay in Domerica, return home, or…” he trails off.
“Or what?”
“I’ll let the Transcenders explain the third option to you.”
“My life here will just freeze in place again?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get to see Ryder?” My heart surges at the thought.
“Yes.”
“And my mom?”
“Yes. And, in fairness, Jade, I must tell you, she is not well.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask alarmed.
He rises from the couch. “There’s really no time to go into that now. I’ll explain everything on the way.”
He holds out a hand for me. “How about it, old girl? Are you game?”
I take his hand. “Let’s go!”
To be continued…
If you enjoyed TRANSCENDER: First-Timer, please consider posting a short review on Amazon.com http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005DR94EI Thanks!
STREAMING STARS
Transcender Trilogy Book 2
by
Vicky Savage
DEDICATION
To my family, Michael, Jessica, Colter, Katie, and Bella.
Much love.
ONE
Love makes people do stupid things. Climbing into Agent Ralston’s sleek, black limo, I can’t shake the feeling that this may be one of them.
Agent Constantine Ralston of the Inter-Universal Guidance Agency (IUGA for short) showed up unannounced at my door this morning and made me an offer he knew I couldn’t refuse. For the last twelve months I've been searching for someone. A man I've never met—in this world, at least—yet I'd know him instantly by sight. His memory is indelibly burned on the hard drive of my mind, inerasable, inescapable. Each look, each word, each moment we shared—collected, compiled, and captured on a looping screen-saver of dreams.
Mostly I see him that first day at the lake, before we'd ever kissed. Standing near the edge of the water, silver light glints off his ebony hair. Dark brows and thick lashes frame sky-blue eyes. Full lips curve appealingly as my gaze follows the beads of water trailing down the honey-copper skin of his bare chest and abdomen. I’m swept away by his beauty, nearly sick with desire, knees weak as a newborn fawn. It’s all there, the warmth of our intermingled breath, the salty-sweet taste of his mouth, the pure rightness of his embrace. Fresh and intense as it was that day.
What would I do to be with him again? Almost anything. And Ralston knows it. That's why he came calling this morning. That's why I'm climbing into this obnoxious car and leaving my home behind—maybe forever. Because he's taking me back. Back to Ryder Blackthorn. Back to my mother. Back to the life I thought I'd never know again.
“You’re looking well, Jaden,” Ralston says, clambering in behind me and settling into the seat opposite mine. “Fit as always.”
“Thanks. You look good, too.” Maybe a little stressed. “Nice suit. Very Armani-ish.”
The corners of his mouth respond faintly to the compliment. “It’s Zegna, actually. I do favor the Italian designers,” he says, brushing his fingertips across the fabric. “May I offer you some refreshment?” He pops open a wooden panel concealing a small refrigerator.
“Sure. What’ve you got?” My eyes are still adjusting to the dark interior of the car. It has the tang of a rich man’s study in here, like fine leather and wealth. I nestle deeper into the buttery-soft seat.
He peers into the compartment. “It seems there is only water. Still or sparkling?”
“Actually, I’m not really thirsty, Rals. Let’s just cut to the chase, okay? I have about a million questions I need answered before I go through with this.”
“Yes, I know. All in good time, my dear. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?” He places plump, green bottles of Perrier in our cup holders. “We have a bit of a ride.”
“Why? Where’re we going?” I squint out the tinted window.
“To a safe house of sorts. It belongs to an IUGA agent who is assigned to this sector.” He smoothes a hand across his thinning, sandy-brown hair, and checks his watch.
“You have agents in Connecticut?”
He looks at me over the top of his glasses. “We have agents everywhere.”
I’m still not totally clear on what his agency, IUGA, does, but their motto is Destiny is our Duty. From what he’s told me and what I’ve gathered, it means their job is to make sure events in the universe go down exactly the way they’re supposed to.
Ralston and I met last year when a freak electrical storm catapulted me into a parallel world—a post-comet-collision version of earth, where most of the surviving population resides inside three gigantic domes. He rescued me from a sticky situation and helped me assume the identity of my mirror in that new existence, while his agency worked on a way to get me home.
The way Ralston described it, in parallel worlds everyone has a “mirror”—someone who looks exactly like them, has the same temperament and the same name, but a completely different life. In Domerica, my mirror just happened to be a princess.
The problem was, Ralston didn’t exactly tell me the truth about how I landed in Domerica in the first place, and about the fact that I didn’t have to leave if I didn’t want to. When they discovered I’d been bounced back to Connecticut against my will, the entire agency got a giant slap on the hand, and I got the chance for a do-over.
Ralston leans forward in his seat, clasping his hands in front of him. “Jaden, on a personal note, I wish to thank you for accompanying me today. It was quite a blow to be demoted after my years of loyal service. But, in hindsight, I agree that our handling of your situation was not entirely appropriate.
The fact that you’re a Transcender should never have been concealed from you, and the Transcenders should have been allowed greater access to you. What I regret most is separating you and young Blackthorn. I knew better. The perpetual contract between the two of you should have taken precedence. Even though the legal department and my director advised me otherwise. For that, I sincerely apologize.”
Ralston lied to me about the fact that I’m a Transcender. Translated: freak of nature. Something unique in my genetic makeup allows me to shift in and out of parallel worlds. I’m told there aren’t many of us in existence. I’ve met only one other. I was completely unaware of my ability until last year, and don’t ask me how it works because I don’t really know… yet.
When Ralston appeared at my door this morning, the deal he offered was pretty simple. He takes me back to Domerica. I have thirty days to decide whether I want to stay there, return home, or join the other Transcenders, which, by the way, I never seriously considered. I don’t know much about them, but they sound like a cult, and I’m not into cults. In the meantime, my life in Connecticut just sort of freezes in place. If I do this, Ralston gets a shot at winning back his old position as Senior Agent.
I guess I kind of owe him something. Ralston comes across as a stodgy old, buttoned-up British-type, but I know another side of him. While I was in his care, he taught me to fence, ride horses, and comport myself as a member of the royal family. He was my mentor, protector, and friend … until he kicked my ass ou
t of Domerica.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “You probably already know I’m not doing this just for you. Mostly it’s for me. I have to see Ryder again. And my mom. Even if it’s only for a short time. You knew I’d say yes.”
My Connecticut mom died in a fiery car crash two years ago. It’s impossible to describe how devastating it was. It changed everything. I struggled just to make it through each day. So when I found my mother alive and well in Domerica, it was a gift of unimaginable joy. Our reunion will always be one of the most cherished events of my life.
Also, Domerica is a fairyland under glass. Sure it’s backward as far as technology and science are concerned, but its beauty is beyond compare. Lush verdant hills dip softly into warm green valleys; countless orchards of flowering trees give way to pastoral meadows strewn with lively wildflowers. Idyllic farms and quaint towns emanate the steady hum of contentment and prosperity. And an ethereal light created by the silvery dome shell suffuses everything with a radiant glow. So after falling in love with Ryder and the strange and beautiful dome world, I decided I wanted to adopt that life as my own—permanently. IUGA had other plans.
Ralston leans closer, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. “I have something for you. A peace offering if you will.” He lifts a small brown pouch from his jacket pocket and hands it to me.
I upend it, spilling the contents into my hand. Tears leap into my eyes. It’s a silver wolf-head pendant on a woven chain. “My necklace. How did you get this?”
“I took it from your personal effects before we sent you home. Strictly against the rules, you know, but I hoped we might meet again someday. If not, I would have found a way to return it to you.”
I slide over to the seat next to him and throw my arms around his neck. “Thank you so much. I thought I’d never see this again.” Ryder gave me this necklace. I promised him I’d wear it always, but when I got booted back to Connecticut, I was sure it was lost forever.”
Ralston pats my back paternally. “It’s all right, my dear. Consider it a small step toward making amends. Now we must talk. There is much ground to cover before your return to Domerica.” He quickly checks his watch again.
I scoot back over to my own seat and slip the necklace over my head. “How come you keep looking at your watch, Rals? Are we on some kind of time schedule?”
“You may remember, old girl, these inter-dimensional shifts must be precisely orchestrated, with down-to-the-second timing. You’ll be using your Transcender skills to return, but I must ensure that I am in place at exactly the right moment, or I’ll lose my slot.”
“Whoa, hold the phone. I don’t know how to use my Transcender skills. I thought we agreed on that point. I’ll never make it back by myself. I could wind up in some primeval forest as a breakfast burrito for a triceratops.”
“Triceratops are herbivores, Jade,” he says dryly. “But I assure you nothing like that will happen. You shall have competent assistance. All will go swimmingly.”
“Yeah well, I’ll reserve judgment on that issue. But how’s this supposed to work anyway? I mean, I can’t just show up in Domerica after a year of being gone. Like ‘Yo, waddup? Long time no see.’”
Ralston rolls his eyes. “Honestly Jaden, can you possibly imagine I would have undertaken such an important assignment without a solid plan?”
I shrug. “I guess not. Sorry Rals. I trust you.” Well, sort of. “So what’s the plan?”
Carefully removing his charcoal coat, he folds it neatly and places it on the seat next to him. “I called in a favor from Melor Thaddeus. You remember the elder of the Cleadian colony? He and his wife agreed to assist us with our small ruse. Since they’re aware you’re a Transcender, it wasn’t difficult to explain your disappearance and reappearance to them.”
White-robed, white-haired, and very reclusive, the Cleadians live in their own protective structure outside of Domerica. I met some of them once while shopping in my father’s village. They rely on the Domericans for some goods and services, but generally don’t mingle with outsiders. To the world at large, they’re descendants of survivors from Nova Scotia who migrated to the area long ago. In reality, they’re aliens from the planet Cleadies, whose ancestors were trapped on the planet back when the comet hit. They possess some remarkable powers, like reading a person’s essence with just the touch of a hand. Melor discovered I’m a Transcender, and a princess-pretender, by simply shaking my hand.
“Jaden, you must listen carefully.” Ralston eyes lock onto mine. “I’m about to relate our agreed-upon story. We must be in complete accord on the details.”
I tilt forward, focusing intently. “Okay, shoot.”
“Because you disappeared during the disastrous fire last year, everyone assumed you perished in the flames. But that was not the case. The following day you were found wandering in the woods by a group of scavenging Outlanders. Your clothing and hair were singed, and you had an obvious head injury.”
My fingertips absently trace the scar on my forehead where I was actually reinjured during the fire.
“You were in shock, and mostly incoherent. The Outlanders took you back to their outpost. Eventually you regained your physical health, but had no recollection of your name, your family, or the location of your home.” He twists the top off his water and takes a few quick swallows.
I know a bit about the Outlanders. They’re scattered groups of mostly misfits and some outlaws who live in homemade structures outside the domes. “I’m with you so far,” I say. “But where do the Cleadians come in?”
“Be patient, I’m getting to that.” He screws the cap back on and wedges the bottle into its holder. “This next part is true, by the way. A number of weeks ago, an Outlander settlement suffered a severe outbreak of influenza. Most victims recovered on their own without medical attention, but a few remained gravely ill. Aware of the remarkable healing powers of the Cleadians, a group of Outlander women brought three young people to Melor, pleading for his assistance. Melor graciously agreed to help, and soon the lot of them were back on their feet, feeling fine.”
I nod. “And …?”
“Well that’s where you come in. You see, you were one of those young people.”
“Oh!”
“Melor’s account will be that upon first seeing you, he believed you bore a striking resemblance to Princess Jaden, whom he had met once briefly. When he heard the tale of how you came to be with the Outlanders, and of your nearly total loss of memory, he strongly suspected that you were, in fact, the missing Princess. He did not express his suspicions to the Outlanders for fear they would attempt to ransom you or take advantage of the situation in some other way. Rather, he convinced them to allow you to stay on at the compound so he could assist you in discovering your true identity.”
I’m swept up in the story now. “All right, I get it. So Melor succeeded in restoring my memory and …”
“… confirmed that you are indeed Princess Jaden, whom everyone presumed to be dead these many months.” Ralston finishes my sentence. “He immediately contacted me for verification, as he knew I was once your professor. And I, in turn, contacted your father. The two of us have arranged to travel together to collect you from the Cleadians later tonight. Afterward, we’ll go directly to the Enclave, and then deliver you to your mother at Warrington Palace the following day.”
My parents are separated in that existence. So, while my mother’s Queen of Domerica and lives in the palace, my father is the Governor of the Enclave, a small walled city within the dome, but not subject to its laws or authority. That was a stipulation of their separation agreement.
Reviewing Ralston’s apocryphal tale in my head, I search for holes or inconsistencies. Nothing glaring jumps out at me. “You know, that’s pretty good, Rals,” I say. “It’s simple, part of it really happened, and the rest is impossible to disprove. It just might work.”
“It is a fairly air-tight chronicle, if I do say so myself.” He sits back and visibly relaxes. “The Clea
dians are masters at keeping secrets, I trust them completely. And, as you’ve pointed out, it is utterly impractical for anyone to determine the veracity of the Outlander portion of the story, since they’re notoriously nomadic and avoid dome-dwellers like the plague.”
“The amnesia part’s a little hokey,” I say. “Something right out of a soap opera. But hey, if we told the truth, they’d never believe us.”
He chuckles. “I’m afraid that is so. Truth is undoubtedly stranger than fiction at times. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle relied heavily upon that adage when bringing Sherlock Holmes back to life. The public was so delighted with Holmes’s resurrection, they didn’t delve too deeply into the details. Let us hope the same holds true for the princess.”
