Galactic Storm Page 4

  “We heard the queen had passed on. I’d have thought the Princess would still be on her home world, in mourning—preparing to take office.”

  “Her coronation had to wait,” Mitron explained. “Ashere’s more concerned with our people’s standing in the League without the prestige of the Star.”

  “Then the Star didn’t pass to her.”

  “The Star came here, choosing one of this world, an organic for some reason.”

  “Then there’s nothing we can do.”

  “There’s one thing,” Mitron said. “We can find the new Guardian—and kill her.”

  Twila’s eyes widened in disbelief. She felt a power surge through her emotional core. Too many responses were trying to come on-line. Passing as human, she’d given her emotions wider play than she would have off world, and they resisted her control. With ruthless strength, she regained control.

  “Is that really necessary? This is a good world. Its people are often stupid, but kind at heart. What gives us the right to steal their destiny from them by killing their Guardian?”

  “It is the natural order of things. The strong feed on the weak, and the weak feed on the weaker. Despite the League’s high-sounding ideals, the only security our world truly has lies in being atop the food chain—the first among worlds.”

  “Why does it have to be that way?”

  “Close down your heart completely, little sister. Do not cater to your emotions and you will see that I am right.”

  Close down my heart, completely? I don’t know if I can do that anymore. I’m not sure I want to.

  She settled for clearing the tension from her face. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Use your access to review the other researchers and assistants studying this culture. Give priority to locating a female with newly awakened abilities not common to this world.”

  “The Guardian.”

  “You must find her for me.” Mitron loomed over her, his fingers dug into her shoulders. A human would have bruised. “Pay attention to the unfolding calamities I’ve arranged to draw out our prey.”

  “Thousands could die before turning her up,” Twila said.

  But you know that already; it’s only a minor consideration in your calculations.

  “Don’t you use any of your heart at all, brother?”

  He shrugged, releasing her, breathing the barest hint of a sigh. “We cannot build a galactic dynasty without smashing a few worlds. If I fail Ashere, she will simply get someone else to do this—and I will be dead.”

  Mitron. Dead. The inner box holding her emotion shuddered, the lid threatening to buckle. “I will do as you say.”

  “Good girl. One more thing; alert your people to be ready for emergency evacuation in case we have to burn this planet down to its bedrock. If any of the researchers give you trouble, let me know. They will be…handled. This is the will of our Princess.” He came close to smiling, one corner of a lip twitching. “I wish we had time for personal matters. Perhaps later.”

  “Sure,” Twila said. “I understand.”

  He raised his eyes and stared into a distance only he could see.

  Beaming a signal to Ashere’s yacht, Twila decided.

  Her guess was confirmed as a half-shell of refracted red light ghosted around him. He faded, leaving her as alone as ever.

  She opened a subprogram in her computer that would stealthily compile all relevant data into a concise report. The holographic keyboard was a shadow-smudge in the air. Red, amber, and green light squares appeared where her index finger tapped out a sequence. Finishing, Twila left the system to its work. She tapped out a new pattern of light-squares and the comm’s emergency beacon was primed for instant use. If discovered by the human authorities, a warning would be automatically transmitted to other posts, and their self-destruct systems would activate along with hers. Twila smiled crookedly. She wished the Earth authorities luck in recovering any off-world technology from the resulting sub-space implosion. She wouldn’t want that job.

  She walked to the center of the safe room. Becoming metallic pudding again, she funneled herself back across the extra-spatial keyhole, into her apartment. The blue shift corrected itself. Regular color values returned. She took a moment to reclaim bipedal shape. Her brother’s words still echoing in her head, a repeating loop of memory: Close down your heart completely, little sister.

  “Maybe I should,” her words echoed off the unadorned walls. “If I don’t tear out my heart now, it will surely break later.” Struggling with the decision, she walked to the diamond-paned windows. She opened one of them and stared out at the street as evening deepened to night. The elm leaves whispered in the steady delta winds sweeping inland. Twila lifted her face and let the wind caress, teasing her hair. With pleasure, she glanced at stars that were diamond dust on a field of midnight blue, her oculars automatically cancelling out the haze of city light pollution. One of the light-points was home, but burned way too far for comfort.

  “I think I’ll wait a while to shut down the emotions I’ve been exploring. There’s time. The world won’t end tonight. Tomorrow maybe, or the day after, but not tonight.”

  Walking softly to the bedroom she mentally reviewed her schedule for the next day. She took up a position between open closet doors. They were mirrored, reflecting naked, white polymer flesh. Her hair fell, long and violet, the same color as her eyes. This was her favorite look back home. With a sigh of regret, she let it go, assuming her Earth identity.

  Her morph went smoothly. Her hair darkened to black, shortening to collar-length. Her flesh acquired a pale peach pigmentation. A practiced, shy smile bent her lips just so. Her usual camouflage expression. The synthetic skin of her torso rippled, swirling with bright colors. The surface swelled, disengaging from sub-layers, shaping itself into suitable clothing. Final adjustments caused her to lose height, limbs narrowing, compressing without surrendering mass. Oh, the amazement, if only her friends at the local high school knew what walked among them.

  FOUR

  Max…Max!

  The bed held her in a loving embrace, an old friend. The oh-so-soft pillow cradled her head gently, wooing her toward the realm of pleasant dreams. If only she could stay here forever. If only the nagging Voice would shut the bleep up!

  Get up, Max. We have to get you ready for the challenges ahead.

  “Gwummmph!”

  Max, this thing you call sleep is so wasteful. You are losing a third of your life this way? It’s terrible.

  She dragged the pillow over her head. It didn’t help. The Voice inside her mind was a big dawg that worried her like a bone.

  “Ahhh—umff!” she retorted.

  Maxine!

  She jerked into complete awareness, sitting up in bed. “I’m up, Mom. I’m up!” Her barely-cracked-open eyes scanned her room. She was alone. It was dark. No morning filled the windows. She flopped toward her nightstand, peering at her alarm clock. It’s oh-zero-freakin’ early and I’m wide awake. Crap!

  It’s time for your training, Maxine.

  “Don’t call me that. Only my parents call me that. No one else is allowed.” Max bared her teeth at the Voice and went deeper into snappish mode. “You and I are going to have words. A girl need her beauty sleep. And her personal space. You know what that is, right?”

  They’ll be coming for you: warriors who have honed their instincts and skills on battlefields across the galaxy. You must learn to handle the power I can give you, or you’ll be a danger to yourself and others.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Who’d want to hurt a wonderful kid like me?”

  The mechamorph princess isn’t sane. She’ll think nothing of crushing your entire world to get to you. You can’t let her have me. You must be ready to fight.

  “I’m a girl. I don’t do fighting. That’s what big brothers are for.”

  He’s merely human. He’ll died quickly when they find him. You hold the star. Only you can save your family. Your world.

  “That
really stinks.” She didn’t want to leave her beloved bed, but Max had a vision of her brother wielding a lightsaber against giant killer robots. As expected, they stomped him into a thin red smear. “Fine! Fine! I’m up. I’m moving.”

  She grabbed the necklace and put it on. Shedding night clothes, she staggered like a dancing bear to her closet and opened it. “What is one supposed to wear for training to save the world anyway?”

  This.

  A golden light filled her room. The power flowed away from her, paused as time seemed to stop, then roll in reverse. Layers of light wrapped her body, lifting her into the air. Her hair untangled, flapping upward in currents of energy. Pressure came, the light weight of silken clothing, and she was dressed. The light-storm faded. She hovered midair, looking down on herself.

  A kind of skintight sheathing—like a spray-on paint job—coated her body in a haze of glittery gold. The light of the gem had become substance. And she felt more than a little naked. While technically clothed, her bodysuit left almost nothing to the imagination. Though the ankle boots and fingerless gloves were cute.

  “There’s no way I’m wearing this out in public. It’s indecent. Mom will ground me, like forever. I am not the superhero type.”

  The sheathing will withstand an incredible amount of wear and tear while protecting you from advanced weaponry. Ordinary clothing won’t last a second in an exchange of particle beams or force shears.

  “But it’s embarrassing!”

  Use your thoughts. The material has a pseudo-life and will respond to your needs.

  Max pictured herself in the gold sheathing, but with black shorts and a mid-riff black tee over it. The material warmed and thickened, adding layers to complete the look. “Hey, it worked.” But the gold to black ratio seemed off. She visualized the gloves and boots turning black as well. They obeyed, darkening.

  Are you done now?

  “Yeah, sure. We can go. No, wait! I need a mask.”

  Why?

  “If I run into anyone I know, I don’t want them to know it’s me. I’d never live it down.”

  Fine!

  The necklace flashed light across her face. A band of fabric crossed her eyes, tying itself in back of her head. The loose ends dangled down, spilling in front, just passing her shoulder.

  “So, are we flying out the window?” Max asked.

  No need. We’ll vibrate through the roof.

  “I can do that?”

  We can do that, but not for long. Loosening our molecular binding for extended periods can be dangerous, even to us, but one day it might be the edge you need in a fight to save your life. Now, think of moving upward. I can make your thoughts reality, but you need to hone them like a weapon. You must focus and unleash your imagination. Above all, tell me clearly what you need me to do.

  “Okay, I’ll try.” She visualized her body rising through the ceiling, and lifted her arms the way superheroes do in movies, striking a dramatic pose.

  And suddenly she was above her house, streaking into the sky, leaving a fading trail of golden light behind. A little frisson of fear went through her. Butterflies were fluttering in her stomach. At the same time, her heart pounded with exhilaration.

  “Wow, this is so cool.”

  The town spread out below: darkened houses, high-rises, roads lit by streetlights, a highway with cars streaking both directions. There was a radio tower with blinking lights on it so aircraft wouldn’t hit in the dark.

  She stopped her upward motion with a thought, spinning to look everywhere. She spotted her high school, and the elementary school she’d once attended. There was a Danny’s Diner and an all-night laundry mat. She spotted a convenience store. And the crown jewel of the city: the local mall, looking lonely with the surrounding concrete parking lot so barren of cars.

  “So, what now?” Max asked.

  The playground in that park.

  “Ah!” She spotted it: a river walk, a grassy field, a jungle gym, swings, tennis and basketball courts… She fell like a star toward the recreational area, the wind whipping her hair like a war banner. She landed near a geodesic dome made of triangular bars. Free of laughing rug-rats, it was available, as opposed to the basketball court where some black teenagers were playing a little night ball.

  Max descended to the top of the latticework dome, landing with scarcely a bump. Her hand moved by itself, turning palm up. A ball of golden light formed like a Will-o’-the-wisp. It shimmered, bleeding a fairy dust trail as it hopped off her hand, into a bobbing hover.

  I will control the ball, Max. Your job will be to follow it closely without taking damage.

  “Damage from what?”

  Yourself and the world around you. You must get used to moving decisively, with speed and power, but not carelessly. Obsess on your opponents, and they can use your environment against you. Stay aware of your environment at all times, and it becomes a weapon you, too, can use.

  “So, basically tag.”

  There was a silent moment when the alien presence stirred through her thoughts, taking her meaning. She felt a tingle in her head, kinda like a spider sense, but not really useful.

  Yes, tag—you’re it. The ball zipped away.

  Max threw herself in hot pursuit. They dropped toward the ground, and went lateral, the ball zigzagging a course between the chains of swings, past a slide, then around one tree, then another. She chased the ball through branches, past see-saws, and a good ten minutes later, ran afoul of a geodesic dome made of pipes. Max she wiped out, not flexible for a quick in and out. She wound up being wound up on a bar, gasping for breath.

  That. Hurt. She decided.

  Her necklace said, Pain is nature’s way of saying pay attention.

  Max untangled herself from the bars and fell outside, onto grass. At someone’s feet. At a lot of sneakered feet. She looked up to see five black teens her own age. They wore shorts, sleeveless tees, and one carried a basketball between arm and hip. They all seemed wiry and athletic.

  She smiled. “High guys. Wussup?”

  They looked her over. All of them were grinning. The one with the ball said, “I wuz goin’ to ask you that.”

  Another said, “Yeah, what’s with the mask?”

  “On the way to a comic book convention?”

  Max picked herself up and floated a few feet off the ground. “I’m, uh, kinda in training to be the savior of the human race.”

  “Like Gandhi or som’tin’?” Ball Guy asked.

  She tried to explain. “Well, see, my magical necklace was rocketed to earth from a dying space queen and there are these alien assassins coming for it, and I can’t let them have it cause—”

  Ball Guy nodded. “’Cause you never give up your bling, unless someone’s got the drop on you.”

  One of them wore a baggy red shirt over black shorts. On closer inspection, this turned out to be a girl with a nearly shaved scalp. She said, “This kind of training really helpin’ you, Magical Girl?”

  Max shrugged. The glowing ball returned, hanging in the air near her shoulder.

  Ball Guy said, “I’m Vince.” He pointed out the others, ending with the girl. “That’s Gunner, Eddie, Jo-Jo, and Monique.”

  Eddie pointed at Max’s feet. “She’s floating.”

  They all looked at my mini-boots—and the three-inch gap between them and the ground.”

  Vince kept his grin when the others lost theirs. He said, “Suddenly, Magical Girl, I believe you. Tell you what, why don’t you come play with us. Nothin’ like b-ball to hone your reflexes, and pick up mad skills.”

  Max nodded. “Cool.”

  The necklace spoke in her head: Seriously, Max?

  She thought back at it. We on this planet have our own ways of doing this stuff. Trust me.

  The necklace fell silent. Max followed her new friends over to a basketball court. It wasn’t regulation, being a half-court square of concrete with a single hoop coming off of a square backboard supported by a bent silver pole. There was a paint
ed circle and free-throw line with parallel lines where players could wait until after a foul shot to chase down a loose ball. This was the kinda place a small group of people could use, but intercepting a ball from the other team, you had to pass the free-throw line before you were allowed to take your own shot. Max wasn’t completely clueless here. She had years of experience playing this way with her brother on a portable hoop he kept in the garage for street ball. Growing up, they’d often play to ten points, and he’d only spot her eight points as a handicap. As she got older and more coordinated, the handicap dropped to six.

  I can totally do this, she thought.

  Three minutes into the game, she knew better. Gandhi would not have approved of their shark-like attitude. He was into passive-aggressive resistance. This was aggressive-aggressive warfare. She wound up getting elbowed, run over, and faked out in a most humiliating manner.

  She only managed to use her powers to slam-dunk once. Usually, when she went up, the ball was passed under her feet. When she passed the ball with a burst of power, it took a while for her two teammates to be able to catch it and keep it in bounds. At least they didn’t bang up face. Ten minutes in, she fell on her back, exhausted, ribs bruised, a big size-eleven footprint on her stomach that she didn’t even remember getting.

  “Stick a fork in me,” she cried, “I’m done!”

  Captain of the other team, Monique stared down at her in pity. “You didn’t do so bad, for a white girl. When you’re done savin’ the planet, come back and we’ll train some more.”

  Max groaned at the thought. She could swear she heard muffled snickers at her expensive.

  The necklace said. You were right. That is a very demanding game. I thought you’d get more than one ball in the metal circle.

  It’s a hoop, all right. Can we go home now?

  Certainly.

  Max sat up. Monique held out a hand. Max gripped it, letting herself get dragged to her feet.

  “Hey, Goldie. You got a name?” Monique asked.

  Vince turned on her, giving her a playful swat on her arm. “You can’t go asking a superhero to give up her secret identity. It just isn’t done.”