Alienated (2 page)

Jax
glances over his shoulder at the pair behind him.

"Friends,
Michelle." He coughs, grins. "They want to see your work."

"The
benefit is not until Friday night. You know that."

"Yeah,
but I promised them a sneak preview. So hey, since it looks like you're on your
way out anyway, I'll just give these guys a quick tour, and I'll go ahead and
lock up after we're through. Deal?" 

He
steps into the studio and the two men, both wearing suits and carrying
briefcases, enter with him.

She
doesn't see them. Instead, she sees flames, a raging inferno, and every piece
of her work devoured—all but the angelic statue thrown headlong through the
window to the street below. She knows there is an insurance policy on this
studio in Jax's name.

Chase
feels Michelle's hold on his arm tighten. He watches her.

"I
want your friends to leave, Jax." Her voice is low. "I want them to
leave
now
."

He
hesitates a moment, a bitter look in his eyes now. Something unspoken seems to
pass between them in the silence.

"You're
shutting the door on the opportunity of a lifetime, girl. These friends of mine
know people, sponsors—"

"Now,
Jax." Her voice does not waver. Her grip remains firm on Chase's arm.
"They have no place here."

"Trust
me, Michelle. You've always trusted me." Jax takes another step forward
and chuckles. "You know I just want what's best for you."

"For
me, Jax? Or for yourself?" There is no spite in her tone, only sadness.
"You cannot hide your motives from me, Jax. Remember? I can see—"

His
curse is sharp, a slap in the face. Michelle flinches as though she's been hit.

"You're
crazy, Michelle. Out of your freakin' mind." Jax shakes his head and runs
both hands over his face, sighing with resignation. "Go on home,
boys," he mutters to the two men behind him. "Opportunity knocks on
deaf ears in this place."

The
businessmen glance from face to face in the studio, then turn to leave with
mute shrugs, their footfalls through the office and down the stairwell the only
interruptions in the silence.

Jax
clears his throat, scratches behind his ear.

"Guess
I should've seen this moment coming. A mercenary and a martyr can only go so
far together." He watches her for a response of some kind. Her sunglasses
stare at him without expression. "Yeah." He sighs again, backing
toward the office door. "So. This is it."

"It
does not have to be, Jax," Michelle says, her tone quiet and sincere.
"You were once . . ."
A shining star
. She falters. "You
can change. I know you can."

"Afraid
not. And neither can you, girl. We are what we are." He steps through the
doorway, but stops before going on. Fixing Chase with a sudden hard look, he
says, "You look out for her, kid. This girl's the Eighth Wonder of the
world. They just don't know it yet." The door swings shut behind him.

Michelle
steps forward. "Goodbye . . . Jax."

"He's
gone," Chase murmurs.

Her
hold on his arm relaxes. For a few moments she seems to stare at the floor, her
head leaning to the side. She sighs, long and deep, the song of the weary.

"Chase."

"Yes?"

"Would
you turn off the lights, please?"

He
looks across the studio to where the unfinished statue stands alone by the
window.

"Of
course." He moves to flick the switch.

She
watches him in her mind's eye, seeing him shine a brilliant white, chasing the
darkness away with every stride. Her angel. Her muse. The one she has been
waiting for.

And
she prays for the strength not to consume his Light all at once.

The
night he came I remember well.

The
sky black and cold, the air heavy and thick with the presence of an approaching
storm. Papa had finished tending the stock and was locking the farm for the
night. He stood inside the front doorway, his hand hovering over the
wall-mounted scanner. He looked over his shoulder at me with half a smile,
refusing to succumb to the exhaustion already slumping his knotted shoulders.

"Dinner
ready, Aurora Baby?"

"Yes,
Papa." I turned back to the kitchen. The security system bleeped as it
read his handprint.

"Securing
the perimeter," droned the electronic voice of the AI.

Papa
watched the grid on the screen as pinpoints of red blinked on in a rectangular
pattern. He seemed to be looking for something. The system let him know when
every fence and gate was locked tight and electrified. He waited until the
computer had finished its task before he came into the kitchen, dragging his
boots a little. With a sigh, he collapsed into his chair at the small dinner
table.

"Tired,
Papa?" It was something I asked him every night without realizing it.

"Yes."
His answer was always the same. He covered his face with his hands—big, strong
hands; old, weary hands—and collected himself. When his face eventually
emerged, he was smiling again. "Mmm . . ." He took a deep breath as I
set his plate before him with care. "Your cooking, Aurora. It's worth
living for."

"Thank
you, Papa." We were having beanloaf—a poor substitute for meat—and fresh
potatoes. He always complimented my culinary skills. I wonder if he knew how
good it made me feel.

I
carried my plate from the stove and sat down across from him. Papa said grace.
I remember he prayed that the coming storm would not damage any of the crops or
flood the irrigation channels he'd worked so hard to dig earlier in the season.
I prayed the roof would not spring another leak. We both prayed the central
computer and all of its components would remain protected from the expected
downpour. There was always a lot to pray for when a storm came our way looking
for trouble.

"NetCentre
says we'll get the worst of it," Papa said around a mouthful of mashed
potatoes. He was always matter-of-fact about such things. "But we'll do
all right. We always do, more or less."

He
asked me about school. I had just gotten my grades back from BioNet, and I'd
passed all of the science tests with superior scores.

"You'll
be moving up to the next level, then?"

I
nodded. I think he could tell I was uneasy.

"You'll
do fine. I know you will. In no time at all, you'll be a scientist at
NetCentre.
Doctor Aurora Springfield
—How does that sound?"

I
blushed.

Papa
chuckled. "You'll be telling me everything I'm doing with this place is
wrong—that I should be planting hybrids, or using that synthetic water
substitute they've got now."

I
shook my head. "You're not doing anything wrong here, Papa."

"Well,
thank you." He chuckled again. "But I doubt your teachers would
agree. Lord knows the Committee doesn't. I haven't used much of their precious
technology with this place. And you know what they think of the
old ways
.
If they wanted to, they could shut us down. They already think we're a menace
to the community." He winked at me.

He
made light of it, but I knew he was serious. He'd been on edge ever since the
Committee rejected our last corn harvest. They had suggested that he modernize.
He had taken their suggestion as a threat. Our new security system was as
modern
as he had become.

"Maybe
. . ." My shoulders shifted under my cotton blouse.

"Maybe
what, Sweetheart?" He put his big warm hand over mine on the table, and I
could feel the hard calluses. He smiled at me with that twinkle in his eye, the
one that told me I was the most important person in his universe.

"Maybe
I'll be able to change some things. If I'm accepted."

He
watched me for a long moment. Then he squeezed my hand gently. "Maybe you
will."

Something
knocked against the front door. I jumped with a start, spilling my soymilk.

"Just
the wind." Papa helped clean up the mess with his napkin.

"But
it—it sounded like—"

"Nobody's
out this way," he tried to reassure me. "The system would've let us
know. Nobody breaches the grid without it telling us."

Of
course he was right. The AI would have warned us of any movement close to our
perimeter, and an alarm would have sounded had anyone entered the farmyard.

"When
you're off advising the Committee in a few years, I'll have to fend for myself
around here. Might even have to get me one of those housekeepers, teach it to
make the beanloaf just the way you do." He winked again.

I
groaned inwardly. "Don't even say it, Papa. I'll be home every night to
cook for you. That won't change."

"I
appreciate the sentiment, but . . ." He grinned. "Won't be long
before you meet a fine young man and decide it's time to make your own life
together." He held up one hand. "I know, I know, it's still a long
ways off. I'm just bracing myself for the inevitable. Maybe getting one of
those housekeepers isn't such a bad idea. Might free up more of your time for
other pursuits."

I
shook my head. "I don't trust them. Those
aliens.
We don't know
enough about them."

He
chuckled. "We've been sharing this planet for decades—generations now.
They seem harmless enough to me."

I
frowned. "I've been hearing things—rumors, I guess. Word around NetCentre
is the Greys might have certain
abilities
we can't fully
comprehend."

"
Greys
,"
Papa muttered. "Is that what you kids are still calling them?"

I
shrugged, parted my lips to reply. But that's when a harsh whistle ripped
across the roof.

"Just
the wind," Papa repeated, tossing his soggy napkin into the sink and
taking a fresh one from the holder. "Remember that last storm we had? 
Sounded like a whole army was—"

The
knock sounded again. I looked at Papa.

It
wasn't the wind.

"You
stay in here, Aurora." He watched the front door, his voice low. I don't
remember him looking scared. He didn't even seem surprised. It was like he'd
expected
it. He took me by the shoulders and sat me down on the kitchen floor as if I
were a small child, my back against the cupboards, their knobs digging into me.
His eyes never left the front door. "You stay in here," he said
again. He reached for one of the long knives in the utensil rack and gripped it
in his strong hand. The blade gleamed in the kitchen light.

"Papa—"
My thin frame shuddered.

He
looked at me one last time. "Everything's fine." He gave me a brave
smile. Then he switched off the lights.

I
hugged my knees to my chin and sat painfully still, listening as hard as I
could. In the darkness, all I could do was listen. Papa's footsteps moved
deliberately toward the front door, his boots landing with heavy, steady
thumps. The knock came again.

"Who's
there?" Papa's voice was sharp. He didn't sound frightened at all.
"Answer me!"

The
knock answered. There was a long pause. Papa didn't make a sound. In the
silence, all I could hear was the unsteady rhythm of my heart as it climbed
into my throat.

"Papa
. . ." I whispered.

The
security system bleeped as he unlocked the door.

Why
did he unlock the door?
Don't open it!

The
door crashed. Thunder shook the sky above. Papa screamed. I screamed.

I
covered my mouth with both hands. My voice died in my throat with a squeal. I
strained to hear, but the only sound was the heavy splatter of rain coming
through the open doorway.

"Papa?"
I whispered. I tried to swallow.

Why
had he screamed? Had the thunder startled him? But that was a foolish thought.
Thunder and lightning didn't scare adults.

"Papa?"

Cold,
wet air invaded the kitchen. Goosebumps prickled up my arms. I stifled a shiver
as I rocked forward onto my hands and knees. I hesitated, my limbs stiff. I
grit my teeth together and crawled out of the kitchen, the floor cool and
clammy like my skin. My knees slipped.

My
pulse pounded in my ears as I came around the corner of the hallway. I
hesitated only a moment with a sick dread squeezing my bowels.

Then
I looked.

A
bolt of lightning sent a white flash searing through the front doorway for just
an instant. In the glare, I saw Papa lying on the floor, on his back. The
kitchen knife was in him, standing up, imbedded haft-deep in the middle of his
belly.

Then
everything went black.

I
remember hearing a strange whimper escape me, like that of a small injured
animal. My knees trembled. I stared into the darkness and hoped—

Thunder
boomed above. The rain drove harder, pouring inside, splashing across the
floor.

I
had to shut that door. We needed to be safe again.

Mechanically,
I rose to my feet and felt my way along the wall in the dark. I didn't want to
turn on the light—not until the door was shut and locked. Not until we were
safe.

I
prayed my toes would not bump into Papa's body. "Oh God—God, please . .
." my voice choked, sounding like it came from someone else. I reached the
door and held my hand up for the scanner.

"Identity
confirmed," droned the AI.

I
shut the door, and the steel bolts slid into place. Then I switched on the
light. But I did not turn around. I could not face what waited for me. He was
there, I knew, lying on the floor behind me, and I knew I couldn't change
things, no matter how long I stood staring at the wood-like grain in the front
door. That one glimpse in the lightning had been too much.

It
could have been ten minutes that I stood there, frozen in time. The AI finally
jarred me from my silent reverie.

"Intruder
alert," it droned. The red pinpoints on the screen flashed.

My
abdomen tightened. I stared at the display.

"Intruder
alert," repeated the AI.

The
knock returned, and I cried out, jerking back from the door. I covered my mouth
with my hands and swayed on my feet. A sick chill jittered down the back of my
neck.

Someone
was out there. Whoever had stabbed Papa—

Another
knock.

"Go
away!" I screamed, fists clenched.

Another.

My
hand shot to the security panel, swiping the screen. A grayscale image filled
its frame from an exterior viewpoint fixed just above the door. A dark figure
stood on the front porch in a hooded cloak, soaked to the skin. I could not see
the person's face.

My
lungs shuddered against an internal chill. I reached for the panel again and
pressed the intercom.

"Who
are you?" I demanded.

The
figure's head lifted, and the hood slid back. A smooth, grey face emerged.
Glistening black spheres eyed the camera cautiously.

"I
am . . . Markus," his alien voice came through the speaker. He held out
empty hands, long fingers with too many knuckles. "I am a
messenger—"  

"What
are you doing here?"

"The
Committee has sent me—"

"In
the middle of the night?"

"There
was no time. Your wheat, you see—it is contaminated."

"That's
a lie."

He
shook his head, gazing up at the camera. "People are ill in the village.
They are dying."

"You
killed my father?" I clenched my teeth. "Just because the Committee
doesn't like our wheat?"

"I
did not."

I
looked back at Papa. My gaze darted up from his boots, along his trousers,
across his denim work shirt . . . There wasn't much blood—just a thick trickle
from the handle of the knife. The stain was small. I thought it would have been
bigger.

"You
killed
him," I grated out.

"It
was the wind."

"
What
?"
My eyes darted to the screen.

"A
gust of wind threw open the door once it unlocked. Your father was holding the
knife. The door struck him." He stared without expression.

"That
isn't possible!" Papa couldn't have been so
clumsy
.

"It
was human error, Aurora."

I
clenched my teeth and shivered. "I don't believe you." The stranger's
eyes—black, unblinking orbs—seemed to watch me through the screen. How had he
known my name?