Starstruck

by S E Anderson

  “Nothing new.” She checked the empty notepad before her. “People have stopped trying. I guess they get tired of all the noes, eventually.”

  “I guess that means less work for us.”

  “Or nothing at all for me,” Sophie intoned. “I've become so good at Minesweeper you'd think the CIA would hire me. Oh, Grisham's nine thirty appointment is here, by the way. I sent her up to the office.”

  I froze. “What are you talking about?”

  This had never happened before. I knew the man's schedule inside and out. He didn’t have any appointments. Not today, not ever. And yet …

  “She showed me her credentials. They're all good,” Sophie assured me, though fear blossomed on her face. “She's some kind of investigative reporter.”

  I ran.

  I pounded the elevator button repeatedly, but it didn’t respond quickly enough. I bolted up the stairs instead, taking them two, three at a time, throwing the door open and dashing for Grisham's office.

  “This is abuse!” Grisham’s door was already ajar, and his voice echoed through the hallway. I tossed my purse on my desk without breaking my stride and rushed into the office.

  A woman wearing a scarlet red pantsuit faced him, her back to me, as I entered. A river of bright, blond curls rushed down her back. “Abuse is what you are doing to your workers,” she said, “not what I am doing here today. I want to talk to you about the secrets you’ve been keeping.” She was calm and composed, but there was an undercurrent of anger.

  Grisham sat bolt upright, glowering at the woman. As he rose, sitting taller in his chair, he looked as if he had grown twice in height. In all the time I had known him, Grisham had never lost his temper. This woman gave him every reason to be angry.

  “I'm sorry,” he said, his tone calm though he snarled, “but the only thing we're hiding is the secret to an effective workforce. That is not something I want to share with the press, thank you.”

  “I'm not talking about your efficiency,” she spat, pronouncing every syllable. “I'm talking about exploitation of a workforce.”

  “Really? Ask anybody here, and they'll attest that their work conditions are incredible.” He waved his arm in my direction. “Sally, do you enjoy working for Grisham Corp?”

  “Immensely, sir.”

  “Any signs of abuse of my workers?”

  “None.”

  The reporter turned and glowered at me. Her pale, heart-shaped face contorted in a mask of rage. The corners of her lips rose to reveal pearly white teeth. They looked sharp.

  Her blonde curls bounced as she whipped her head back around, striding to the desk and leaning in closer, splitting the distance between her and my boss in a way I had only ever seen Zander pull off.

  “I'm talking about the workers on the turbine floor. Or, should I say, the lack of.”

  “The lack of turbines?” Grisham scoffed. “Trust me, we have turbines. A whole lot of them.”

  “No, the lack of workers,” she said. “Engineers. Mechanics. Janitors, even. No one is on the roster, Mr. Grisham. I've had people monitoring this plant for a while now. Every single person that works here is in the administration department. You have no scientists, no labor force. Your plant is running on autopilot. At least, that's how it seems to everyone else. It looks to me as if you've got your workers trapped.”

  “My workers live on-site, young lady,” Grisham snapped. “And they have first-rate facilities. We don't want reporters—like you—snooping around. Our methods for success are bound to create waves. We don't want anyone to know how it operates because we are still in the process of working on its completion. We're already producing more than most of the plants on this planet—and with a method people would kill to learn.”

  “The global community would like to know more.”

  “And they will get their answers—once I perfect the process.”

  “Isn't it dangerous to work on a power source that isn't already perfected?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “We have to take risks to advance our planet. We have the full support of the community. Our permits are in order. Nothing can go wrong.”

  “Until it does,” the woman said. “The only information you have given us is that the plant is situated on a gas patch. It could easily ignite.”

  “You think we haven't considered that?” His anger flared, his face splotchy and red. “We've covered this extensively.”

  “You haven't given anyone anything except a report written by a scientist who is now living in the Bahamas,” she said. “I know you don't want to talk to me, but you will after I tell you this,” she said, breathing lightly. Her anger changed to a snicker of pride. She leaned in closer, the sneer on her face growing.

  “Tell me what?” His face paled as he shrank into his seat.

  She drummed his desk with her fingernails. “I recognize this wood.”

  She spoke slowly, every syllable rolling off her tongue like a terrifying symphony. All at once, the color drained from Grisham's face, leaving him paler than the walls of his office. His hands shook.

  “Please,” he said in a whisper so light, so low that it was barely audible. He grasped the armrests of his scooter and, with a deep breath, puffed his chest and let out a long, angry bellow. “Get out of my office—now. You have no idea what you're talking about or who you're dealing with. Leave this plant and never come back.”

  The woman grinned, grabbing her documents from the desk. “Think about what I said, Mr. Grisham. I'll be in touch.”

  With that, she spun on her heels, gave me a quick grin, and marched out of the room on her five-inch stilettos.

  “Is there anything I can get you, sir?” I trembled.

  “How did she get in here? I must be out of my mind keeping you after you let that happen. She’s dangerous. I need a word with security—now!”

  He rode his scooter toward the door, paused, and retreated.

  “She's still here,” he spat, incredulous. “Fix this.”

  I ran out of the office, closing the double doors behind me.

  My heart raced. Every word the woman had said rang in my ears. Everything she had yelled at my boss, I had considered asking him myself. I wouldn't have used that tone, though.

  Breathe in, breathe out. That was brutal. Just awful. The shaking in my knees still hadn't subsided. But now it was my turn to face the woman in red.

  I had stood up to worse already, though. I’d had a gun held to my head, been abducted, and escaped. I had stood in front of an alien prime minister and yelled at him to leave my planet. I squared my shoulders and strode to my desk.

  The woman terrified me more than the other three things combined.

  “So, can I get an appointment?” she waited for me with a snarky grin, her sharp, red nails drumming my desk.

  “Mr. Grisham will be free next Thursday at two o’clock in the afternoon,” I offered, flipping through the datebook, acting as if she were taking up a coveted last spot, when in fact, she was the first appointment I would schedule. “How's that?”

  “Fine.” The stranger wasn't shaken in the least. There was ferocity in her eyes. A fire. As if she were ready to ignite at any second. But even so, her voice carried none of the cold anger she had shown in the office. She sounded sweet, though a little patronizing. “Does he get like that often?”

  “Never,” I answered. And it was true. I had never seen him like that.

  “He must really have something about those workers then,” she said, waving her hands by her face as if she were a fortune-teller.

  “Yeah, they were here before I was hired.”

  “Really?” she asked, intrigued, leaning in. I felt like she was trying to x-ray me. I had said too much.

  “Look, ma'am. Come back next Thursday, and Mr. Grisham will give you his full attention.”

  “I’m sure he will.”

  She spun around, waltzing out of the door with her files tucked under her arm and her blond curls bouncing.

  I
shuddered.

  Five o'clock could not have come sooner. Grisham stayed in his office all day, his doors sealed. He communicated with me through vague texts, asking me to cancel everything he had planned for the day—which wasn't much to begin with. When the clock struck five, I picked up my stuff, issued a quick “goodbye” through the door, and took the elevator down to the accounting department. Zander was supposed to be waiting for me, but he wasn't in his cubicle.

  He was standing at the window in the break room staring at the parking lot. I tapped him on the shoulder. The light touch didn’t have him spinning on his heels and reaching for knives. Instead, he turned calmly, a sign of his progress on becoming Terran.

  “You all right?”

  “Fine. I thought I saw … it doesn’t matter.” He sighed. “What about you? You look a little off.”

  “It’s been a long day.” I shrugged. “Let’s get going.”

  We walked to the car in silence. He sat on the passenger side, taking off his tie instantly. He hated ties.

  “What kind of music are you in the mood for?” I asked, reaching for the radio.

  “Something uplifting?” he suggested. “I think we both need something like that right now.”

  I took out my iPod and put it on a dancing mix, handing him the small device in case he wanted to change the music. Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” came on, and I smiled—perfect.

  Zander chanted the lyrics with less enthusiasm, though louder, than usual, as if one somehow made up for the other.

  I pulled out of the parking lot, noticing a blur moving through the forest. Weird. I urged the car to drive faster.

  The blur burst out of the trees, all scarlet pantsuit and blonde curls. The reporter from this morning sprinted, arms pumping as she chased after my car. Branches and leaves flew off her body as she gathered speed.

  “What the frak?” I swore, watching her in the rearview mirror.

  Zander looked at me then followed my gaze in the mirror. He did a double take, losing track of the lyrics, then stared into his own mirror. He shot upright. “Holy shit!”

  I pressed my foot on the gas, but the woman still chased us, somehow running faster now. She was a machine, a bullet. We were going sixty miles per hour now, and she wasn’t breaking a sweat. She still clutched her files close to her chest.

  “Stop the car!” Zander shouted.

  “What?” I said, “No way! She’s insane! She barged into Grisham’s office this morning!”

  “I know!” He was smiling. Laughing, even. “I can’t believe it! Stop the car!”

  “Hell, no. She’s dangerous!” I shouted and spun the wheel, taking off on a dirt road, trying to shake her off our tail. She was undeterred. Her grin grew tenfold, and she increased in speed, almost right upon us.

  “Sally, stop the car!” Zander laughed maniacally.

  “Are you crazy?”

  Before he could reply, she was there. In my car. Sitting in my backseat, her grin stretching from ear to ear. I slammed my feet on the brakes, lurching everyone forward, but she kept her balance and stared, at Zander.

  “Sally,” he said, awed, staring back at the woman and keeping the eye contact, “I want you to meet my sister.”

  “Hello again,” She gave me a snide grin and extended a hand. “I'm Blayde. Pleasure. Good to see you again, brother of mine.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Sister I Never Had Nor Wanted

  I tried not to let my embarrassment show as I drove us home, but, boy, was I fuming. My face was hot and probably quite red by now, but I avoided looking in the mirror because that would mean seeing her.

  The second we pulled out from the back road, the woman had ripped off the blonde locks, and her black hair flecked with strands of red and purples and pinks and blues tumbled out. She crammed the wig into one of the files she was carrying, none of which held any of the incriminating documents she had been going on about.

  The wig was only the first part of her costume to come off. She stripped off her shirt, too. As Zander blathered on in the front seat, she changed her costume effortlessly, replacing the blouse with a dark, form-fitting tunic. She stripped her pants and covered her muscular legs with what looked like leggings made of liquid silver, folding the clothes in silence and placing them in their specific folders. I caught myself watching all this through the rearview mirror. Dammit, I hadn't realized I had given in. I just couldn't help it; she looked much more unearthly than her brother ever had. Her skin was a mixture of rich caramel tones, the likes of which Earth had never seen; her face thin and angular, chin pointed; her features soft and delicate, yet sharp enough to slice through you like butter. And though she looked like a young, twenty-something-year-old woman from Earth, it was painfully obvious that she wasn't a local.

  She was stunning. She was haunting. She was terrifying.

  I felt a primal urge to run and hide. This woman was a predator, and I could easily become her prey.

  So why did I want her to like me?

  Zander chatted with her comfortably, so happy to have her back that he couldn’t contain himself. His words spilled out with such enthusiasm that he didn't seem to realize I was still there. Talk about word vomit.

  “And to think it only took you two months of Earth time to catch up with me,” Zander said. “I thought I was going to be here for years. Luckily, it's a planet I like, I mean, Earth people are cool, and I don’t have to deal with the whole issue of me not looking like the locals, so I fit in well. It's been nice. I got myself a job, have a nice place to stay, and I’ve even made a few friends.”

  I said nothing and tried to concentrate on the road. Just as I had gotten used to my life the way it was, the universe threw yet another alien at me. It was getting tedious.

  And then Blayde blew up.

  “Two thousand four hundred and seventy-three nights, Zander,” she said, her voice cold as ice. “And you’re telling me you spent two months mingling with natives, making friends, and living it up in some cozy veeishing home? You have got to be kidding me.”

  “Ten years?” he asked.

  “I jumped from that desert to Elyssus a decade ago, only I find you missing, so I think, oh well, he'll have ended up somewhere. I combed every inch of that planet. Then I go back, and you're not at the outpost either. Hydra, Julka, Veen, I searched every corner of those planets and didn't find a hair off your janeering head. I do all this and what do I find? You, just sitting there, waiting, playing house with an Earthling who doesn't know a rocket from a toothpick. You tell her our life story, and now she's your personal chauffeur. Probably more, knowing you, bro. Just your type: young, pretty, and empty-headed.”

  “Hey,” I sputtered. “I'm not driving just so you can insult me. Feel free to walk if you've got more to say.”

  “Oh, the Earthling speaks,” Blayde hissed.

  “Ignore her. She's angry at me. She doesn't mean it.” Zander put a hand on my shoulder. “Nice one, Blayde, space travel's first rule is to insult the locals of foreign planets as soon as you get there.”

  “And we're humans, not Earthlings,” I said. “I'm not going to have my entire race insulted, either.”

  “I wasn't insulting humans,” Blayde sneered. “It's an insult putting them and Earthlings in the same category.”

  I slammed my foot on the brake, pitching us all forward.

  “Blayde, apologize to Sally right now, or so help me—”

  “Fine.” The woman rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean any of it. You'd be touchy if you'd been split up for ten years.”

  “Accepted,” I scoffed, putting the car back in drive.

  “I thought you were right behind me,” Zander continued. “I figured waiting would be easier than running around. Look, I was scared and—”

  “You’re an accountant,” Blayde scoffed, “at a power plant. I don't know if I should be proud of my little bro, or disgusted. I'm surprised you managed to get anything done without me. So how did you get the Ear
thling on your side?”

  “Earthling has a name, you know,” I said. “It's Sally, in case you've forgotten.”

  “I know.” Blayde was obviously more intent on her brother than she was on me.

  To make matters worse, we were stuck in rush hour traffic. This day obviously wasn't going to get any better any time soon.

  “You don't look as if you've spent ten years traveling around the universe,” I said. “What are you, twenty?”

  The woman gave Zander a questioning look. An angry, questioning look. Seemed very much like a glare from all the way up here.

  “How much does the Earthling know, Zan?” Blayde asked coolly, pausing, testing the water. “I mean, how much did you tell her about you? About us?”

  “She knows we're not from here,” he said sourly. “And she knows we've been here before, oh, and about jumping. Useless trying to hide that.”

  “Why?” Blayde snarled. “How many times has your life been in jeopardy? How many times have these humans tried to kill you? Did she try? Was it before or after you told her what you are?”

  “Hey! He jumped in front of my car. It wasn't as if either of us had much time—”

  “So, she did try to kill you.” Her gaze fell on me now, and it felt like pinpricks of ice flying straight at me. “He just happened to jump in front of your car, did he?” The eyes rolled again. “Or maybe, and more likely, you saw him appear out of nowhere, and like all Earthlings you were gripped with terror and tried to run him over. Savages, brutes, the lot of them.”

  “Oy,” Zander growled. “I happen to like the people here. They've been nothing but nice. Sally took me in. She helped me make some friends and has been exemplary in helping me with other things.”

  “What? Like sex?”

  “No,” he replied, trying to hide his discomfort. “We dealt with a slight alien incursion. She did great; she made a great you.”

  That was the worst thing he could have said. Blayde's face in the rearview mirror was red and hot, burning like the sun, a ball of quiet rage.

  Oh please, please, please, let the traffic move forward.