Chapter
15: Towards a Red Planet
“Bring
me congee, woman!” Mr. Wong pounded the table for emphasis. The bacon on the
platter in the centre shimmered in the cheery light of the kitchen. The
household was up early on a weekend, again. John didn’t mind, personally, although
he would rather be in his room playing Gears
of War –or something, anything. He especially didn’t want to be around
people right now. Yet, somehow, he was. Jason was nodding off to his right.
Mrs.
Wong waved her ladle at her husband. “This upside the head is what I’ll bring
you, cave man.”
“Woman
must serve mighty hunter who brings home the bacon. And also porridge, because
he’s on a diet.”
Amy
was disappointed. “You’re going in to work today, Dad? What about the ring
fitting?”
Mr.
Wong’s voice lost its mock belligerence, turning soft and kind. “I have to,
Kitten. I’m going to be home all day with the plumber tomorrow.”
“Ooh!
Can you drive us to school, then?” Amy asked.
Jason
stirred himself enough to be snarky. “Earth to Amy. Stay home all day means…”
He cut off at a look from his father.
“The
plumber said he’d be here about noon Monday. In plumber talk, that means
between twelve and the 31st Century. So, yes, he can drive you to
school,” Mrs. Wong said, bending over to set a bowl of steaming congee at her
husband’s place, followed by a glass of disgusting Tropicana Light.
Amy
stuck out her tongue at her brother, who kicked at her beneath the table,
hitting John instead, who lashed out and managed to spill his orange juice on
Rafaella’s plate. “It’s always the innocent who suffer,” the pirate princess
said, as Mrs. Wong scooped her plate up from the spreading mess and dropped a
cloth on it from out of nowhere. John took the cloth, extra careful not to
knock anything more over, letting his shoulders slump at the unfairness of it.
Why did all of this stuff happen to him?
The
ring fitting was at the mall at opening, before they picked up the babies at
Mrs. Crudup’s. That still meant that this wet day opened up into hours after
brealfast. John escaped to his room as quickly as he could, where he could play
and concentrate on not thinking about what was going to happen in six days. Because
every time he thought about it, he came back to the one, basic point. It was all his fault.
There
was a knock on his door. “Can I come in?” It was Rafaella. He ignored her.
Hopefully she’d think that he had his headphones on. “I need to get away from
Amy for a moment.”
John
opened the door. Rafe was dressed in her jeans and denim over a black tee.
There were four buttons on her jacket now. The latest read, “If God Meant Us to
Sail, It Wouldn’t Have Given Us Diesel.” She slipped through the door and
closed it behind her.
“Thanks.
Thought I’d come over and join a different blamestorm.”
John
looked at her, the crazy optimistic part of his brain putting a ridiculous
interpretation on her words that he pushed down as hard as he could. Amy didn’t
care about him. Not that it mattered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh,
come on, John. You were limp as noodles at breakfast. Want to tell me what put
the ‘woe’ in ‘me’?”
“Why
would you care?” John said, a little bitterly. Rafe was cool. She never had his
kind of problems.
“Because
I have… you know, never mind. You’re a guy. For guys, we figure out their
problems. Then we fix’em, easy as pie. And then it’ll all be sunshine and light
around here, and I can get back to just hanging with sad-assed mopers at my
meetings.”
“Fix
them how?” Despite himself, John wanted to hear. Was Rafaella going to tell him
about what to do about Amy? For some reason, even though he totally didn’t care
about Amy, he wanted to hear that. Well, if he couldn’t play computer games,
anyway.
“Figure
out why they’re moping, find out what they’re willing to do about it, give them
a shove in the right direction.” She said it with such kindness that John
couldn’t help spilling. It took an awful long time to explain, far longer than
it had in his head. She listened without questioning, except for a few minor points.
Finally, when he was done, she said, “This completely blew by me. Me, of all people.
Missing some cute blonde Pinkie making eyes at somebody. One question: why is
this a problem?”
John
looked at her. Why couldn’t she figure it out? No, not figure it out. Make the
obvious mistake. “Because…because I just don’t want her walking in here next
Saturday and …messing up the place.”
“Ah.
You don’t want her knocking over any juice glasses or dropping the milk. It is
a pain, when that happens.”
“That’s
not funny.” John glared at Rafe for a long second. If she wasn’t going to be serious…
After
a moment, she continued. “Has it occurred to you that she might be using you?”
The
thought stabbed him. “Using me?”
“Sure.
Say, Sabine thinks that some girl has a crush on you and she’s a bitch. This
will get back to that girl, who’ll be crushed. Liam’s crowd would probably think
that was pretty hilarious.”
“But…
but, she can help me find my family. She already has.”
“So?
Maybe there’s something she wants there, too. A credit card, for example.” The
pirate girl shrugged, as though to say, there were worse things. “The key here
is to find out what it is, and give it to her. Because, you know, it’s not
about breaking some girl’s heart. It’s about spilling the orange juice.”
Now
John was frightened. This wasn’t going in the direction he wanted. “I’m not
sure that’s a good idea.”
“So
here’s what you do, then, John. You give up. You’ve got a family. Your new
family. That’s what they tell adopted kids. It’s good advice for amnesiac
super-clones, too. And that’s from a foster child who is carrying the baggage.
Later’s time enough for baggage.”
John
shook his head. He couldn’t do that, but he also couldn’t talk for the powerful
emotions suddenly rising. Rafe thought he had a new family?
“Second
option: you go to Sabine, and you find out what she wants. If it’s to find out
more about your family, you give her that, and then never see her again. If you
want Sabine, you go get her.” John shook his head again. He didn’t want Sabine.
Did he? “And if it’s to break some girl’s heart, and that matters to you, you
figure out who that girl is, and how to make her happy, and you do that thing.”
Now
Rafe was just being silly, like Cory and Jason. “I… I think I need to start my
homework now.”
Rafe
rolled her eyes again. “Fine, whatever. You know, I have to put up with a lot from
my captains, but if the girl’s heart gets broken, I’m going to kick your ass,
John.”
Which
was how John ended up doing homework on a rainy Sunday morning, instead of
playing computer games. Well, mostly homework instead of computer games. Which was at least more fun than the ring
fitting, which was torture quickly done. Amy coughing and sneezing, never
taking her new winter jacket off, in spite of her mother’s coaxing, and John
felt this crazy desire to put his arms over her shoulders. But if he did, that would mean . . . . Well, what would it mean? John was starting
to feel like a complete loser. Fortunately, the kids were more than distracting
that afternoon. Playing Candyland with the kids was almost funny, with Amy
supplying straight-faced commentary on Megan’s rules changes that had John
cracking up.
May
and Jamie showed up just after nine, slouching in the door in dramatic long
dusters, grey-green for May, a tartan for Jamie, open, with her pistol butts
sticking out, strapped on cross-belt. The Captain greeting them with a
tail-wagging dance, getting in the way as Rebecca tried to follow them in,
wearing a shiny, heavy, brown leather bomber jacket and driving gloves with
crocheted backs. Behind them, Tony, Tara, and Megan’s dad held up on the
doorstep as Megan tried to push through at knee level into the cold, snowy
outdoors. May put her bags on the floor swung a long kit bag off her shoulder
and handed to her mother, and kicked off her boots so that she could move
inside, shoulder to shoulder with Jamie and Rebecca as they did the same. An
arrow’s tail came out of the folds at the end of the bag as Mrs. Wong expertly
wound up the strap in one hand. “Thanks, Mom.”
“How
was the trip?” Mr. Wong said, his face impassive.
Mat
replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just like Book said. We had four days in
Babylon for two days here. Awesome.” The girls moved out of the entrance so
that Tara and Tony could get in. Behind them, Megan’s dad was lifting her in
the air.
Amy
appeared out of nowhere, holding Damien in her arms. Tara took her baby, her
tired face breaking into a wide smile. “Just long enough to get some sleep and
miss this little monster.” She handed Damien to her husband.
Mr.
Wong held out his phone. “And the truck parked out front?”
May
tossed her head, as though she’d forgotten that she didn’t have long hair any
more. “It’s a rental, Daddy. The SUV broke down on the drive in. The Wain towed
it into The City. Booker’s going to drive it back to Philadelphia next weekend,
Babylon time.” Jamie couldn’t hide her smile.
“And
how did it break down, May-May?”
May
chewed her lip. It was Jamie who spoke. “The gate’s in a free zone right
now. We ran into. They know better than
to mess with the Fairlane or the Wain, but we fell back to get out of the worst
of the dust. They must have figured an SUV was more their speed.”
“Their
mistake.” Jamie said, trying to be nonchalant, and not quite making it.
Now
Mrs. Wong frowned. “I told you to take the earrings.”
May
said, irritated. “They’re where they need to be. It wasn’t like that.”
“And
you know this how, May-May? Prisoners?”
May
shrugged. “We tried to collect one, all SOP. Tony and Tara chasing, Becky,
Jamie and me holding the bag. But they were just too awesome at the Run Away
Dance. Jamie and Emily should stay here tonight, by the way.”
Mrs.
Wong smiled. “You know you girls are always welcome.” She gestured towards the
kitchen. “Now, come. I’ve made chai. And milk tea, if anyone wants it. Jason?
John? Could you please carry the girls’ bags up to May’s room?”
Rebecca
said, “It’s time for Megan to be home in bed, and I’m driving them home. I’ll
come around tomorrow after school, if that’s okay, ma’am.”
“Of
course it is, Becky. Tony? Tara?” Damien started crying. “I’m thinking that’s
my answer.”
“It’s
worse than that, Mindy.” Tara said, her voice slowing down like someone who was
much too tired to be around people. “Victory’s called a national security
reservation. We’re going to Washington with her tomorrow morning for a
presentation at NASA, then Mars. And then back to Washington for another
presentation at 4:00.”
Mrs.
Wong shook her head. “This boss of yours sounds a little crazy.”
Tony
spoke instead. “Intense. Not crazy, intense. Okay, a little crazy. Anyway, it’s
just tomorrow. Hopefully our meetings will save America and we’ll be back at
our civvie jobs Tuesday. And we will be
back in time to pick up Damien at daycare.”
Mrs.
Wong laid her hand on Tara’s arm. “You call us if there’s a hitch, though.”
“Thank
you, Mindy, but we’ve asked enough of you this weekend.” Tara and Mrs. Wong
hugged, and the McNeelys let themselves out the door.
Jason
poked his head over the railings from the top of the stair. “It must be so
awesome to drive the Wain on vacation.”
“Yeah,
supercars deal with eighty miles of interdimensional dirt road way better than
real cars,” May answered.”
“They
do?” Jason even sounded wide-eyed.
“No.
No, they do not,” May said. “I was being sarcastic.”
“But
they make it a great deal safer,” Mr. Wong said. “You need a stronger escort
for your next trip.”
“Daddy.
We had the Goddamn Hobgoblin with us. Short of hiring the entire Justice
Squadron, how much better escorted could we be?”
“May-May,
I’ve told you before how much that Miller crap irritates people like Tony and
the Black Mask. And, yes, you can be better escorted. For example, you could
learn to live with a little dust. Or drive ahead of the Fairlane, next time.” From
the top of the bannister, Mr. Wong sounded thoughtful rather than angry as he
said it. Then he looked up at John and Jason, still hanging over the railing,
at which point he did look a little angry. “Get shaking, boys!”
The
next day at school, Sabine was a no show. John wasn’t that surprised. He’d
never been sure when she’d show up before. In the end, he went to Liam at
lunch.
Liam
looked angry. He’d been cut from the football team over fighting, and most of
his posse was suspended, also over fighting. He looked like he was ready to
fight right now, and John was wary. He didn’t feel threatened, because,
frankly, the way he felt now, he had no problem using his telekinesis to beat Liam
up. He just didn’t want to if it weren’t necessary. “Liam.”
“Hey.
If it’s not Bananaramaroy. Whatcha doing away from your pack?” John bunched his
fists, then carefully unclenched them. Think about what Cory would do, John
thought, but Liam had noticed. “You want to take a swing at me, Klutz Boy?”
Okay.
Cory would use that, like he made such a big deal of Rashindar being so
powerful. “No. You’re bigger and tougher than I am.”
“You’d
be surprised. Maybe soon you will be.” Liam grinned. It wasn’t a friendly grin.
“Remind
me to call in sick for school that day, man.” John did his best to grin, but
like Cory, not Liam.
“You
want something.” Liam said, sounding pleased.
“Yeah.
I need to talk to Sabine.”
“About
time you got some White friends outside your stupid programme.”
John
did his best to control his expression. “Just what I was thinking.”
“Okay.
She’s skipping today, but I’ll let her know. Shake the Ching-Chang-Chongs, and
she’ll be in touch.”
Last
class of the day was Technical Studies. Instead of lab coats, Mr. Brown had them put on
coveralls over their tights, because apparently the detergents to clean them
cost nearly seventy bucks a wash. Which didn’t seem like that much money for
grown-ups, but loading and unloading the quick change rings was such a pain
that he didn’t argue. Then he led them back out into the corridor, to one of
the restricted hatches. He entered his passcode. John noticed that Jason and
Rafe were trying to peak, but didn’t think that either got a look.
They
entered. John’s burning curiosity was not resolved. It was just another
corridor, this one leading to another stairway with a tight spiral of metal
rungs. Jason started sliding down the shiny metal bannister, then somehow lost
his orientation and fell a full storey –hardly enough to actually hurt a guy
who could get clipped by a semi and end up with a broken ankle, but he still
glared up at his sister, who stuck her tongue out at her brother over the
railing. John, for just a second, actually felt happy.
At
the bottom of the stairs, besides an indignant Jason, was a garage, completely
normal except for the intense déjà vu that John experienced on walking in. Mrs.
Crudup’s Fairlane was in the middle on one of those lifts that you saw in old
movies. Mr. Brown began his lecture: “Some issues of vehicle safety have
recently come up for some seniors in our community. I’m sure that we’re all grateful
to Mrs. Crudup and Ms. Hirsch for letting us use this car as an instructional
machine. It’s even fireproof, fortunately, since Mr. Guzman and Mr. Tatum are
running out of allowance.”
“Cool.
We get to drive the Fairlane!” Jason said.
“No,
Mr. Wong, you do not. The state says that Driver’s Ed is next year, and that is
when you will do it.” Mr. Brown reached up into the old Cadillac on the driver’s
side, and pressed something. Turrets instantly broke out of the top of the car
and the trunk, ominous looking barrels thrusting out. “Right now all this
vehicle has is a sonic stunner and a drop-plate thrower. We’re going to install
some more serious equipment.” He paused, then continued. “But first, we’ll go
over powertrain and electrics and do some simulations. Because it’s so much
safer having fifteen year-olds as gunners than as drivers.” Mr. Brown used his
“Oh, that’s some mighty good eye-rolling” voice as he said it.
The
Fairlane, it turned out, was a rolling dreadnought, heavily armoured, with a
full suite of sensors, all running off the engine, because apparently the
Cadillac 331 V8 worked in more dimensions than a pulson generator or a Mr.
Fusion. (which, John was a amazed to learn, was a Real Thing some places.) The
Neilsen’s SUV was presumably not so much the rolling battleship, but even so,
you had to wonder about those free zone bandits. John paid attention. He
desperately wanted to see Babylon, and apparently it took some preparation.
After
school, John begged off a ride, telling Jamie that he wanted to walk home. It
was only about twenty minutes, and he was halfway there down the quiet off-main
streets and back ways, still lined with dirty snow. He was thinking, very hard,
about how you would define the cross and dot products so that Pokemon could
defined by attributes as vectors in a real space, which meant that he didn’t
have to think about much of anything else except how beautiful and even quiet
this part of Philadelphia was in the late afternoon. Occasionally, he would
smell smoke from fires burning in houses, and imagine what it must be like in
those comfy houses this late afternoon.
He
had almost lost track of where he was when a motorcycle pulled up beside him. The battering roar of the vee-twin engine
hammered his ears, and the smell of gas exhaust and hot oil were so overwhelming,
that even though he must have just passed a particularly smoky chimney, he
couldn’t smell anything. Sabine killed the engine, took her helmet off and
shook her hair out. “I heard you were looking for me, John. Want a lift to your
place?” She smirked. Could Rafe be right?
“Nah.”
John said evenly. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About my ‘rents
being probably Mars astronauts or some such.”
“Yeah,”
Sabine nodded.
“I
know some Mars astronauts.”
“Of
course you do, Richie Rich.”
“No.
Really. And I called them this morning.”
Sabine
narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t breath a word of this, did you?”
“No.
They just moved, and their stuff hasn’t caught up with them. I asked them if I
could check out their Martian stuff at their last place.”
“Like,
what? They left a Mars Rover at their old apartment or whatever?”
“Nah.
Replica Martian stuff. Like they’re selling at Neiman Marcus, but a little more
for reals.”
“Ooh.
A Martian table. That’s totally worth my time.”
John
tried not to show impatience. For a bad girl, Sabine sure didn’t think these
things through. “It’s their old apartment. They just moved. There’s gotta be
paper left around. EFT slips, whatever.”
“And
these would tell you?”
“I
don’t know. You’re the one who’s got friends who do this stuff. But for
starters, I bet I can figure out whether it’s astronauts or the Mars Mission
that’s paying my bills. And I want to know that.”
Sabine
pushed her spare helmet at John. “Okay, then. Hop on and I’ll take you there.
Where’s there?”
“The
McNeely estate,” John said, the Richie Rich crack coming back to him. This was
almost embarrassing. He wasn’t rich.
He just had rich friends!
Sabine
whistled. “Of course it is. Why call me then? You could walk there!”
Because
somehow John had got himself to a place where the only way he could get Sabine
out of his life was to give her what she
wanted. And he was really hoping that that would be a fake credit card, which,
given that it would be the Hobgoblin’s card, would serve her right.
And
yet, how had he got himself into this? Why was he doing this? And why was it
that at this very moment, what he wanted most in all the world was to be home
with a mug of hot chai?
No comments:
Post a Comment