Galactic Storm Page 25

  The world whipped around her, only stopping as she engaged her impeller, countering her movements and fall itself. With a lot more control, she slowly descended, facing the dark glass of a building. She studied her reflected image as she fell. Strong. Indomitable. Lethal. Alien to all else around her. They’d know her at once for what she was.

  We’ll entrench, she was informed. We’ll wait. Mitron will come. The lid of her box cracked open. A slanted beam of joy fanned out at the prospect. Mitron!

  She landed on…sidewalk…and walked into the midst of the…humans. They stared at her, but no one ran screaming. No one threatened her with a weapon. There didn’t seem to be any in evidence. This society had made itself vulnerable to death and injury, putting its freedom on the line to both Chance and darkest Fate. How illogical.

  Her sub-program explained this: They are not yet a mature civilization. All worlds go through this stage of insanity on the way to wisdom. They must defeat the illusion of progress to achieve it finally by force of arms. That which is enlightened will always value itself enough to protect itself.

  Erehsa went alongside the black glass building, traversing its base. She followed the crowds past one structure after another. A certain small type of printed sign reoccurred. Her sub-program translated: For lease. There are spaces available for rent by those with value to exchange.

  Value?

  It’s different with each world. One people may exchange goods for goods, or buy goods with rare metals or jewels. Another may provide labor for shelter and food.

  She asked: And this world?

  The Guardian’s people value the printed illusion of wealth. They exchange strips of paper with no real value behind them.

  You were right; they are insane.

  Yes, but it is an insanity we can take advantage of. Go in here.

  She followed instructions.

  Hours later, she’d integrated herself with the human’s internet, and had used it as a reference to manufacture basic furniture for her use. Around the once empty space she’d seized control of, she displayed items of high value. She’d fabricated many useful devices of advanced alien design. Her own stored substance had been severely depleted, but there would be raw materials on this world she could scavenge to replace that resource. Humans would come to ask for…rent…her sub-program said. Authorities would come to enquire why an alien was here and what she wanted. She only needed to prove her value to acquire value.

  A woman came in through double glass doors. She wore a skirted suit of deep blue and a blouse of red. Her curly, bronze hair was artfully piled and she’d applied colored pigments to her face in heavy layers. Her lips were an unnatural red, and her eyelids were the blue of a clear sky.

  As she approached Erehsa, her steps were hesitant. “Excuse me, I think there’s been a mistake. This space doesn’t currently have a renter.”

  Erehsa looked around, then back to the human female. “Apparently it does.”

  The woman stopped a few yards away, her hands mangling the strap of her leather purse. Her smile looked strained. “What I mean is, I manage this property and no lease has been signed for its use. There would the matter of a deposit and a background check fee, and a service fee for—”

  Mitron’s sub-program said: This is a time for accurate data that will benefit us.

  Erehsa lifted her head proudly. She placed hands on her hips and raised the volume of her vocal processor. “I am Erehsa a great voice among the League worlds. And a power to be reckoned with. Come, let us reckon, or do you discriminate against aliens.”

  The woman shrugged. “Money is money, but the formalities need to be—”

  “Ignored,” Erehsa said. “I simply cannot be bothered with your world’s backward ways. Just tell me how much money you require to go away.”

  The woman paused. She smiled. “One million dollars should do nicely.”

  “Then I will own this structure?”

  “Then you will rent this space until next month’s rent.”

  The sub-program said: She is trying to cheat you. The amount she asks for exceeds the average for transactions of this type in this area.

  “Your offer implies I am stupid,” Erehsa said. You have given offense to a mechamorph.” She took a photonic screwdriver off her harness and pointed it like a weapon. “After I destroy you, the representative will probably produce better manners.”

  The woman shrieked, spun, and ran. Her illogical, spike-heeled shoes clicking rapidly on the floor tiles.

  The sub-program said: That went well.

  The next to enter Erehsa’s entrenchment were humans in dark blue uniforms. They carried belts loaded with weapons of warfare. They came in with hands touching…guns…but didn’t draw them. One was older than the other and in poorer shape. He spoke for them both. “We’ve received a report of an armed squatter on this property. Have you got some reason to be here?”

  She processed his words and attempted to answer on her own. She needed to increase her fluency of the human language. “No one is squatting. We are all three standing. And I always have a reason for everything. I am not human; I am a mechamorph princess of the League worlds. You may have heard of us: our warships hang above your small and helpless world.”

  “Uh-huh.” The older warrior looked to his subordinate. “Above our paygrade. Call in SWAT and have someone call the Mayor’s office.”

  The younger human took a comm device off his belt and spoke into it at length—often with frustration in his tone.

  The older man walked around and eyed the various displays. He stopped at a funeral mask with jewel eyes. “Is this real?”

  “White gold, yes. The stones are what your people call sapphires. I have treasures and tools of advanced alien science like the impeller I am wearing.” She pointed at a back-plate and harness assembly designed to strap onto a human. “That is also an impeller. Its power core is good for a human lifetime. I am only asking two-thousands of your dollars for it.”

  The younger man came up to the older warrior. “SWAT’s on the way. The police commissioner, too. We’re supposed to keep a lid on for now.”

  “Yes,” Erehsa said. “Let us keep our lids on tight so that stray emotion do not escape and interfere.”

  The older warrior wore a metal tag on his uniform. His name, the sub-program stated: Fields. He said, “You seem to have great resources. Why couldn’t you work things out with the property manager?”

  “She wanted a million dollars a month for rent, clearly an attempt at theft.”

  “Does seem a little steep,” the younger warrior said.

  “If she had asked for a reasonable amount, I would have given it,” Erehsa said.

  Fields pointed at the impeller. “What exactly does that do?”

  She turned and showed him her armored back with the concentric rings where humans had their shoulder blades. “You see the rings I wear?” She turned to face them again. “They are a more advanced impeller. This is what they do.” She sent a little current into the rings. Her armored body slowly rose in the air and hovered. “Powered flight for the individual.”

  “Can one of these impeller things be mounted under a car? I’ve always wanted a George Jetson flying car.”

  “It can be done,” she said.

  “Two-thousand dollars you say? Powered for life.” Fields rubbed his chin, staring into the distance as he thought. “I’ll take one. Can I write you a check?”

  The sub-program said: A paper he signs that a financial service will exchange for worthless paper currency.

  We’re finally getting somewhere. She smiled at Fields. “I will give each of you an impeller if you will settle this problem for me with the property manager so that I am left here in peace to almost give away valuable technology to the people of Earth.”

  Fields took his comm device off his belt. “Leave it to me.”

  The next men to barge in wore dark suits and sunglasses. They held up IDs with the initials of various government agencies. T
hey were quite interested in her displays.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The sun hung low on the horizon, reddening the sky behind the downtown towers of Sacramento. Max’s black plastic sunglasses hid the faint gold glow her eyes carried most of the time these days. She and Jeff drifted through a building’s shadow, still waiting for the first star of the evening to appear so they could make a wish on the same future together.

  They strolled down K Street past the cathedral, following the light rail tracks toward the K Street Mall. Max wore her tawny-gold hair loose, spilling down the back of her iris-blue blouse and purple floral-print jeans. Her navy blue windbreaker—arms tied around her waist—flapped in the breeze like a superhero cape worn in the wrong place. Her navy sneakers were light on her feet, nearly lifting her into the sky with each step.

  She smiled. Maybe it’s just the company I’m keeping.

  Off-duty, hoping for incognito, too, she wore her now famous gold crystal necklace, but it was invisible, extended into her private pocket dimension—like Twila was.

  Jeff walked beside her, thumbs hooked in his front jeans pockets. His eyes scanned the window displays they passed. His cool blue gaze and slightly mused blond hair were complemented by a royal purple shirt and brown cargo pants. Her eyes kept going to him. The eye-candy was better than anything the stores were pushing.

  Jeff stopped by a pawn shop. His gaze slid past the window bars to see a blue and white electric guitar leaning against a small amp. Max crowded into him, locking her arm with his. She cocked her head at the display. “Do you play?”

  Jeff smiled at her and a warm flush went through her. Her stomach fluttered. Her heart beat faster. He said, “No. My big brother does. I’ve thought I might try it out…someday.”

  “I didn’t know you had a big brother.” Max wondered how much more there was still to spill. One thing Jeff didn’t do enough was to talk about himself. He was a legendary listener; always turning conversations around to other people. It seemed to make people want his company even more.

  That had become annoying, especially at school where he was known to be one of Max’s Light Born champions. She didn’t mind that much when the crowds wanted her attention, but when the hot girls began to drape themselves over Jeff—it was all she could do not to boot them into orbit.

  Which would be very, very wrong, Twila said.

  Max growled very lightly in her throat at the commentary. It’s not like I’d actually do it. Probably.

  “Something wrong, Max?” Jeff asked.

  “Is it wrong to want you all to myself all the time?”

  “No. Moments alone like this are precious. We get them so seldom. We no longer have to wonder about college, and what to do with the rest of our lives. Once we’re out of school, we just have to be what the Star has made us. That’s become a full time gig, as my brother would say.”

  They started walking again.

  Max knew what he meant. When they weren’t in school, they were being intermediaries between the Earth governments and the League representatives that were building a nice little city on the moon—which was becoming the new capital of the League of Worlds. And when that didn’t tie them up, there were all the requests from the hospitals that Max come and do a healing tour. Then there was the never-ending stalking of the paparazzi. Max’s mom had become her fulltime press secretary. She called it the career she’d always wanted, basking in the reflected glory of the wonderful daughter she’d given the world.

  Only Dad’s worse.

  What’s he done now? Twila asked.

  Max was grateful that Twila diverted herself within the Star for large swaths of time, giving Max as much mental privacy as possible. She tried not to resent the intrusions in her alone time with Jeff, but she was human enough to have to work at graciousness.

  She answered Twila’s question by bringing up the details with Jeff so all could participate. “I could have put a choke-hold on Dad yesterday. He picks me up from school—which is nice but highly suspicious—and instead of driving me home, to our new gated community, he brings me to one of his stores where a film crew is waiting to make a commercial for Bright’s Jewelers. I’m supposed to stand among the display cases, smile in my gold-light armor, and hold up my necklace, while implying that the right stone can make every girl feel special.”

  Jeff laughed. “Well, haven’t jewelers always said that? And isn’t a diamond a girl’s best friend?”

  “No.” Max tightened her grip on Jeff’s arm. “You’re my best friend.”

  The mental channel between them flared open. Jeff’s love sizzled between them like hard electric current. And you are mine.

  I thought I was your best friend. Twila mentally sniffed, seeping sadness.

  Sisters are sisters, but boys are boys, Max said. Besides, you’re a close runner up, and we’re still friends forever, literally. Don’t be sad.

  Hi, Twila, Jeff said.

  Hi, Jeff. Max, I’m not sad because I’m jealous. I’m glad you’ve got Jeff. I just wish I had somebody the same way.

  That sombered Max up. She knew her brother Tommy and Twila had been in the early stages of a mutual crush when fate ripped them apart, and Twila’s physical form was destroyed, stranding her in Max’s pocket dimension.

  Any mechamorph could spin off the building material to make a new body for Twila. The problem was a new core to hold Twila’s mind. They were in short supply. At least, that’s what the mechamorph home world claimed.

  Max had asked for such a core. Months after Ashere’s death, the matter was still being considered. There were ethical considerations: even newly made cores had an embryonic awareness, a primal intelligence. Twila herself had resisted profiting at another’s expense, saying she wasn’t criminal enough to steal someone else’s future.

  There didn’t seem to be an answer for the current situation. That left Twila sad, max frustrated, and Jeff stoically impassive. Worse was Tommy. These days, Max’s brother dragged around like a melancholy zombie with no brains to eat.

  Outrage flamed as Twila caught the mental image. My pooky-bear is not a melancholy zombie!

  Jeff cracked up, grabbing a powerline pole. His laugh died as fast as it came. “Sorry, it’s just—that sounds like a cool name for a Goth band.”

  Through her sorrow, Max managed a twitch of the lip.

  Twila said, “Okay, so it is a little bite funny.”

  Jeff groaned at the pun. Then looked up at the pole he clung to. He pushed off it, reached up, and touched a stapled flyer that hung there. “Hey, that’s my brother’s band.”

  Max crowded in to see. The poster looked homemade, a photo-shopped assembly of photo heads attached to movie monster, cartoonish bodies. The artwork was black ink on pink paper. The band’s name was Opium Brigade. Jeff pointed at a lizard creature. “That’s my brother, Greg-zilla, the lead guitarist. The Goth chick doing vocals is his girlfriend Tina. She likes to be called Dark Cherry, don’t ask me why.”

  “Awesome,” Max said. “They’re at the Daisy Chain, a night club in Old Sac. Let’s go catch a show.”

  “Are you sure?” Jeff asked. “The band is loud, and actually pretty awful.”

  Max said, “But your brother can use the moral support, right?”

  There’s nothing I can do for my brother, but maybe a good deed will come my way if I help someone else’s. It could happen.

  Jeff shrugged. “Yeah, he’s always bugging me about coming down.”

  Max widened her smile. “Okay. Let’s go do this.”

  As her last customer left, someone who called himself a military contractor, Erehsa closed the doors and locked them. The day’s labor wasn’t draining, but her mind craved diversion, sights, and sounds. So much was new and untasted.

  The government now rented the office spaces surrounding hers. They had men in her store at all times, observing things. She suspected they were also turning away “unapproved” buyers, creating a monopoly on her goods. She didn’t care as long as they paid s
o she had the resources she needed. Having them value her meant the Earth had a reason to shelter and protect her. They were already providing security for her space.

  And if she needed to defend herself in combat against her own kind, she had a feeling they’d turn a blind eye to that as well. At least, her sub-program thought so. She was grateful for Mitron’s foresight. Because of him, she wasn’t hiding in a dark pit somewhere. She actually had a life and a powerbase to build upon.

  At one point that day, the government men had simply handed her a black plastic card with a magnetic data strip, explaining that she’d handle product development, and they’d run the business for her. The card represent more money than someone named “God” had. They’d explained; she was to show the card to merchants for her purchase and not to care about how much she spent.

  They assured her that this joint enterprise would never lack for funds. A government man had smiled and joked: “We just print more paper when we need it. That’s the good thing about owning all the printing presses. Money never runs out.”

  Not sustainable of course, the sub-program said, but when this society collapses, those who have to rebuild it will need us even more.

  She walked into a closet. She’d told the government men that she slept there and would be there through the night. They were happy about that too, thinking she was some kind of machine that would just pull the plug on itself after hours.

  Really, they don’t know aliens at all.

  Within the closet, within her highly experimental core, a new circuit path formed. A connection closed. A half-shell swirl of red light whirled around her. She slid across sub-space and emerged a few blocks away in an alley she had noted earlier, walking about. She had several location picked out since her transfer system lacked pre-existing co-ordinates.

  She walked out of the alley and joined the crowd filing along the sidewalk. She went with them, stalling out at a wooden pole where a crowd of teenagers gathered. One of the girls pointed at a piece of paper stapled to the pole. Erehsa wondered how much the paper was worth, and if the girls would battle one another to possess the legal tender.