Symbiosis E-Book

R.S. Penney

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Thousands of years ago, the Overseers scattered humans across the galaxy. Now, one of them has found her way back home.

On a mission to recover an escaped alien life form, young Justice Keeper Anna Lenai pursues the felon into uncharted space, and accidentally finds the lost homeworld of her ancestors.

While Anna tries to adapt and survive in a strange, hostile environment, she accidentally uncovers a conspiracy that will shake their world to its foundations.

Leseprobe

SYMBIOSIS

JUSTICE KEEPERS SAGA BOOK I

R. S. PENNEY

Copyright (C) 2021 R.S. Penney

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter

Published 2021 by Next Chapter

Edited by Jourdan Vian

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

CONTENTS

Prologue

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Interlude

Part II

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Acknowledgments

Next in the Series

About the Author

PROLOGUE

(Western Kenya, April 6, 1954)

The sun was a crimson sphere on the Western horizon, painting the sky a mosaic of colours, amber fading to red, then purple and blue. Stalks of tall grass swayed in the wind that swept across the field.

A small ridge overlooked a dig site where men in straw hats laboured with shovels in the oppressive heat. They would not be pleased to be pushed so hard, but there was no getting around it. Either they returned home with something of value or Cambridge would not fund another excavation.

Kenneth Barnes stood on the ridge.

A tall man in beige pants and a white shirt that was plastered to his back with sweat, he scrubbed a hand through his slick dark hair. “Keep at it, Crawford!” he shouted. “I've got no time for dawdling.”

Kenneth felt his face heat up. He closed his eyes tight. “Idiots, the lot of them,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Utterly useless unless you have a mind to part with money.”

“You're too hard on them.”

He turned.

A young woman stood three feet away with her hands clasped together behind her back. Tall and slender, she wore a black skirt and a white shirt that was somehow free of sweat stains. Her face was a perfect oval, framed by long red hair that spilled over her shoulders to the small of her back. “Do be patient, Dr. Barnes,” she admonished. “I am quite certain this trip will prove fruitful.”

Kenneth felt his lips curl, then bowed his head to her. “You genuinely believe that, do you?” he asked, brow furrowing. “Then perhaps you can articulate the reason for your constant badgering.”

From the moment they had set foot on this dig site, Chelsea Lawrence had been a source of constant frustration. Appointed by the Parliamentary Expenditures Committee, her job was to ensure that the Crown's investment in this project did not go unrewarded. How a woman managed to achieve such a position was unclear to him, but there were days when he could feel her gaze on his back.

Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, Kenneth winced and turned his face away from her. “Not to worry, Miss Lawrence,” he went on. “I'm sure the knowledge we gain from this will be-”

“Knowledge is the province of scholars, Dr. Barnes.” She lifted her chin to stare at him with gray eyes that seemed to drain the heat from the air. “My interest lies in making sure the funds you've been granted are spent wisely.”

“You're questioning my methods?”

Folding her arms across her chest, Chelsea Lawrence pursed her lips as she studied him. “You're surprised?” she asked, eyebrows rising. “You may not have realized this, sir, but the Mau Mau are a serious threat.”

“I am well aware of-”

She stepped forward until her face filled his vision, held him pinned in place by the force of her gaze alone. “The soldiers we employ to protect this…dig site,” the derision she invested in those last words was obvious, “could be put to better use hunting down the Crown's enemies.”

Dealing with this woman was like trying to walk around with a splinter in your big toe. When he met the man who assigned Chelsea Lawrence to this project, he was going to punch the fool in his fat face.

“Dr. Barnes!”

He spun around to find a man staring up at him from the dig site, a tall man with a straw hat over his head. “You need to come down here, sir!” the fellow went on. “There's something you should see!”

The trek down to the dig site only worsened his annoyance. These idiots tended to call him when they found a stone that looked like an arrowhead; it was highly unlikely that they had produced anything useful.

He found Crawford standing with two other men next to a hole in the ground with piles of upturned earth nearby. The wiry fellow was nodding quickly as he spoke to one of the other workers.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Kenneth frowned and blinked a few times. “I take it you found something?” He felt his mouth tighten, shut his eyes and shook his head. “Another 'arrowhead,' Mr. Crawford?”

The man went red in the face, then lowered his eyes to the ground. “Well, sir…no.” He scraped a knuckle across his forehead. “You're going to have to see for yourself. This is…there are no words.”

Kenneth stepped forward.

In the hole, he found a triangular piece of metal that would stand as tall as a grown man when set upright with sinuous grooves running over its surface. The sight of it held him transfixed.

Clamping a hand over his gaping mouth, Kenneth squeezed his eyes shut. “This is not right,” he said, shaking his head. “Call Captain Langford down here. I want a report on anyone who set foot on this dig site.”

“Sir?”

The red light of the setting sun glimmered on the triangle's reflective surface. “This thing was man-made,” Kenneth went on, “which tells us someone put it here. So, unless you think the hunter-gatherer tribes of Eastern Africa had secret knowledge of metallurgy, someone has been tampering with our work.”

A thousand tiny stars twinkled in the night sky, and the quarter moon provided more than enough light for Kenneth to make out the pits and piles of dirt scattered throughout the dig site. Up on the ridge, tall grass swayed in the breeze. The men had gone to their tents hours ago.

Kenneth was still awake.

The triangle had been stood upon its base in the middle of the dig site, moonlight reflecting on its surface. He found himself fascinated by the sight of it. The discovery they had made yesterday had set everyone in the camp abuzz with theories on its origin. Miss Lawrence was beside herself.

Lifting a mug of coffee in one hand, Kenneth closed his eyes as steam wafted over his face. “At least the woman kept quiet.” He brought the mug to his lips and took a sip. “A day of silence is its own reward.”

Kenneth stepped forward.

Nibbling on his bottom lip, he lowered his eyes to the ground. “Now, how long do I have with you?” he asked, creases forming in his brow, “before someone carries you away to some dusty storeroom?”

The triangle stood silent and ominous, silver moonlight reflecting on its top corner. An archaeologist's dream! That was, of course, if the bloody thing wasn't just some hoax perpetrated by disgruntled Kenyan natives. Or possibly the Mau Mau. They would do just about anything to make the Crown look incompetent.

He clasped his chin in one hand, then shut his eyes tight. “With my luck, you'll be appropriated by some hot-shot from MI-6.” The thought left him feeling disgruntled. “So they can hide you away before rumours spread.”

Some of the more colourful tales circulating through the camp involved little green men from Mars depositing this thing in the middle of the African grasslands. Nothing but the products of unrestrained imaginations, but Kenneth did nothing to discourage his men from sharing those theories. It wasn't his job to-

The triangle began to hum.

Half a moment later, the grooves along its surface began to glow with fierce white light. Little green men indeed! A gnawing sense of terror in his belly commanded him to run away, but he couldn't.

He approached.

Shielding his face with one hand, Kenneth peeked at the thing through the cracks between his fingers. “Hello?” he called out. “Can anyone hear me? Hello? My name is Dr. Kenneth Barnes of the-”

When he got within three feet of the triangle, a bubble formed around his body, a perfect sphere of rippling air that made it seem as though he were viewing the dig site through a curtain of falling water. The ridge was a shadowy blur off to his right, rippling and wavering. “Heaven help me,” Kenneth whispered.

He was pulled into oblivion.

(Present Day)

Another night down in the storage room. There were days when being a security guard just plain sucked. Whether it was hours of boredom or the exhaustion of working the night shift, sooner or later the job would kill you. Still, it was hard enough to get any job in this economy, and this one offered thirteen bucks an hour.

Doug took a bite of his hamburger. He closed his eyes, chewing mechanically as he savoured the taste. “Mmm…mmm…mmm…” he said, shaking his head. “Ain't nothing in the world like Greasy Joe's.”

The storage room where he had been assigned to complete his shift was located in the sub-basement: a huge room about the size of a high school gymnasium with concrete walls. Over a dozen wooden crates were spaced out on the floor. What exactly they held was not important to him.

The one thing that did bother him was the strange triangular object in the middle of the room. Nearly as tall as a man with grooves along its metal surface that reminded him of veins, the thing practically glimmered under the fluorescent lights.

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Doug winced and shook his head. “Rich folks and their toys,” he muttered, leaning against the wall. “Who in God's name would ever buy a hunk of crap like that?”

His bosses, of course.

Penworth Enterprises was one of the largest shipping companies in the country and had dominated the market since the late nineties. They carried stuff over the Atlantic and back again. Doug's job was to keep it safe.

Clenching his teeth, Doug turned his face up to the ceiling. He squinted at the harsh fluorescent lights. “Vinnie, I'm getting tired of this,” he muttered as if his boss could hear every word. “Just once I'd like to be somewhere other than the-”

A strange humming caught his attention.

The grooves along the triangle's surface were suddenly glowing with blazing white light. With every second, they got a little brighter until he thought it might explode. How in God's name…

The hamburger hit the floor.

Before he could speak, a bubble appeared from out of nowhere, a rippling pulsating bubble that had jerked to a halt just in front of the triangle. When he focused, he thought he could see someone standing inside.

The bubble popped.

A man stood just in front of the triangle. Tall and slim, he wore a long dark jacket. His fair-skinned face bore the faint creases of a man just into his middle years, and gray hair crowned the top of his head.

Lifting his chin, the man frowned as he studied Doug. “Kom Jen endi?” he said, creases forming in his brow. “Kom enday Wesley Pennfield ay kay tan enda? Nom ademi dasa.”

Doug drew his pistol.

Thrusting his arm out, he squinted as he took aim. “Now, that's enough of that,” he said, shaking his head. “Who are you?”

The man offered a sly smile, then shut his eyes and bowed his head to Doug. “Nom velens, men beli,” he said, stepping forward. “Nom dobera tosk vek deesa elinsinai en del vorad.”

The man raised a hand.

Something was fused to the skin of his palm: a strange circular device with blinking lights on its surface. A screen of energy appeared just in front of the man. To Doug's eyes it looked like the static you saw on dead TV stations.

The man thrust his hand out.

Just like that, the wall of static came racing forward. Doug had half a second to fire off a shot before it hit with all the force of a freight train. The next thing he knew, he was flying backward.

He collided with the concrete wall, then dropped hard to the floor. He fell over onto his side, curled up and aching from head to toe. “God help me…” Doug murmured. “My God, please help me.”

The bubble came to a halt, and she found herself in a brightly lit area, encapsulated by a sphere of rippling energy. Through the shimmering curtain, she could make out what appeared to be boxes.

Then the bubble popped.

Dressed in gray pants and a black shirt under a long brown trench coat, Anna Lenai looked around. Her fingers closed around the grip of a pistol in a holster on her right hip. With any luck, she wouldn't need it.

Her round face was framed by thin strands of strawberry-blonde hair with bangs falling over her forehead. “All molecules intact,” she said, eyebrows rising. “The Companion be praised for small wonders.”

Anna pursed her lips and glanced over her shoulder. She narrowed her eyes to thin slits. “The damn thing still works after ten thousand years,” she muttered. “You've got to hand it to those Overseers.”

The SlipGate stood silent and ominous behind her, light fading out of the grooves along its triangular surface. After being buried for so long, you would have thought the thing would have stopped functioning, but when her shuttle had detected its presence on the surface, she had known where Denario had fled.

She appeared to be in a large warehouse with wooden crates spaced out across the white floor tiles. Fluorescent lights in the ceiling flickered. So, these people had reached a state of post-industrial development. Good to know.

Closing her eyes, Anna let her head hang and forced out a breath. “Can you hear me, Dex?” she inquired. When no answer came, Anna tapped her earpiece to re-establish the connection. “Dex?”

Static.

“Great.”

The Nassai within her stirred, no doubt apprehensive at being stranded on a strange planet with no notion of what to expect from the locals. Scans from orbit had confirmed that they were human. A colony world this far out? Why had there been no record? But that told her nothing about their temperament.

With her Nassai's assistance, Anna was able to project a mental map of the room, a 360-degree image of her surroundings. Spatial acuity was one of the many benefits of symbiosis. She could see every crate, every piece of junk and every last light in the ceiling without turning her head.

No movement.

After making her way around a few boxes, she found a hallway that led out of the room with the body of a man strewn across the mouth of the corridor. He was rolled up on his side, groaning in pain.

Anna rushed over to him.

The man wore a pair of black pants and a white shirt with an odd flapping garment around his neck. A guard? Most definitely Denario's latest victim. The poor fellow let out another groan.

Shutting her eyes tight, Anna drew in a rasping breath. “You're gonna pay for this, Denario,” she said, kneeling next to the fallen man. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

The man stared up at her with his mouth agape, his dark eyes wide with fright. He blinked a few times. How bad are his injuries? The fellow tried to speak, but all she heard was some guttural gibberish.

A shout made her jump.

When she looked up, a trio of guards was marching through the corridor. Dressed identically to the man on the floor, they wore sour expressions on their faces. The one in the middle let out a growl.

He stopped in front of Anna.

Drawing a pistol from the holster on his belt, he thrust an arm out to point the gun at her. Words came out of his mouth, followed by a jerk of his head, and she had the very distinct impression that this wasn't going to go well.

Craning her neck, Anna stared up at him. She blinked a few times, considering her words. “I'm not your enemy,” she began in a soft rasp. “I'm here to help. This man needs medical attention.”

The guard snarled.

Anna got to her feet.

In that moment, the other two marched past her to inspect the storeroom. With her heightened sense of spatial awareness, she was able to keep track of them both. No good being taken from behind.

Baring his teeth, the first guard scrunched up his face. He let out a low hiss before proceeding to bark at her. Whatever it was this man said, she was pretty damn sure that he was running out of patience.

“Can't you see that I'm cooperating?” Anna said. “I don't want to hurt you, but you're making me antsy.”

The man shoved his gun in her face.

I don't have time for this.

Anna fell backward.

Slapping her hands down on the floor tiles, she brought her legs up to catch the gun between her feet. She tore it out of the man's hand and sent the weapon tumbling through the air.

Anna snapped herself upright.

She jumped and kicked out, driving a foot into the man's chest. The impact sent him stumbling backward, landing hard on his ass and sliding across the floor tiles. He let out a painful groan.

With heightened spatial awareness, her frenzied mind projected the image of one of the guards coming up behind her. A big man with a barrel chest, he spread his arms wide as if to catch her in a bear hug.

He charged at her.

Anna reached back over her shoulder, catching his wrist in one hand. She bent over and flipped him over her shoulder, dislocating his arm in the process. The man landed on his backside with a shriek.

She spun around just in time to see the third guard trying to draw his pistol from its holster. Sweat glistened on his face as he stared at her with his mouth agape, fear visible in his eyes.

He managed to pull the weapon free.

Anna kicked the gun out of his hand. She spun like a whirlwind, driving her elbow into his nose.

The man's head jerked backward, blood dripping from his nose. He stumbled about, then fell over sideways. Now there were four security officers on the ground. A fat lot of good she'd done here.

Anna felt her mouth tighten as she stared down at him, her blue eyes flicking back and forth. She winced and shook her head. “I didn't want to do this,” she began, “I'm on your side here.”

She spun on her heel.

Charging up the corridor, she kept watch of the fallen men with the assistance of her Nassai. The one she had taken down first was getting to his feet, hunching over as he searched for his gun.

No threat there.

She rounded a corner.

Good fortune had been with her today; she had been able to elude the three guards without having to resort to some of her flashier abilities. Justice Keepers such as herself had a vast arsenal of talents beyond simple hand-to-hand combat, but each use taxed the Nassai and the host. Overuse could be fatal. Much better to disarm an enemy with your hands than to risk passing out.

With a little luck, she would be able to find Denario before he got too far. This city would be a maze to both of them, and it was a good bet that the people here would not be prepared for the technology he had at his disposal. Her greatest concern, however, was for the prisoner he carried with him.

She had to recover it.

After a long trek up to the first floor – one in which she had been careful to avoid the attention of any security guards – Anna found herself in a lobby with a set of double doors that looked out on a city street. Through the glass, she could see what appeared to be automobiles on the road.

Tall buildings in the distance rose up toward the night sky, some with tiny lights in their windows. What level of threat should she expect from these people? The thought of going up against the locals left her queasy.

Anna jerked to a halt.

Pursing her lips, she stared through the window, then narrowed her eyes. “A whole lot of civilians,” she said, shaking her head. “And a bloody good chance that someone is going to get hurt.”

She pushed through the door.

Once outside, Anna found herself on a columned walkway with marble pillars that supported an overhanging roof and steps that led down to the sidewalk. Automobiles that were parked along the sidewalk blocked her view of the road.

She drew her pistol.

Anna stepped forward with the gun raised in both hands, pausing at the top of the steps. Now, where is he? she thought, looking around. He only had a few minutes' lead on me. He can't be-

She spotted a man a short ways up the sidewalk, crouched behind one of the parked automobiles and scanning the road as though looking for a chance to run across. The gray hair on the back of his head was unkempt.

“Denario!”

He turned.

Clenching her teeth, Anna felt her face redden. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Stay where you are, Denario!” she screamed. “You move so much as one inch and I swear by all that's holy, I'll end you!”

He rose and spun around to face her. The force-field generator fused into the palm of his hand was still blinking away. “This won't work, Agent Lenai,” he shouted. “I have no intention of coming with you.”

A grin bloomed on his weathered face as he craned his neck to study her. Denario Tarse narrowed his eyes. “Harm me,” he went on, “and the creature I carry dies as well. Your gunfire could break open the stasis pod.”

“I might just risk it.”

Anna fired.

A screen of white static appeared in front of the man, intercepting her bullet at the very last second. The slug bounced off and fell to the sidewalk. “Foolish girl!” Denario growled, thrusting a hand out.

The force-field sped forward, up the steps. Anna spun around and put her back to a pillar just in time to feel the energy wave strike the other side. Chunks of granite fell to the ground.

Anna felt her face crumple into an anguished wince. She tossed her head about in frustration. “Bleakness take you, Denario!” she said. “Your tricks aren't going to serve you this time!”

She lifted her gun. “E-M-P!”

The pistol's sleek black surface reflected the street lights. LEDs on the side of the barrel suddenly lit up, turning white. If her luck held, the charged rounds would short out his generator.

Anna spun around the pillar, raising the gun.

This time, when she fired, white tracers zipped through the air, causing Denario's force-field to wink out as they passed through it. The man stumbled backward, pressing his body to the side of a parked automobile.

Denario clenched his teeth, his face turning red. He shut his eyes tight and shook his head. “Idiot girl!” he screamed at her. “Do you really think I wasn't prepared for your interference?”

He pulled his jacket aside, revealing a thick armoured vest with three smoking slugs mashed against its fabric. “I have many tricks,” he said, revealing a small gray sphere in his left hand.

Anna felt her eyes widen.

The sphere suddenly floated up into the air, orienting itself to point a lens at her, a lens that began to glow with fierce orange light. Anna threw herself behind the pillar and dropped to a crouch.

A beam of orange light burned through the granite just above her head, striking the building's front wall and shattering a window that looked in on the lobby. Shards of glass fell to the ground. When the light winked out, the acrid stench of scorched air hit her like a blow to the face.

A Death-Sphere! The man had brought a bloody Death-Sphere! Anna had to think fast. If she ducked out from behind the pillar, the damnable sphere would target her and fire before she could blink. She needed time.

Anna closed her eyes.

Calling upon her Nassai for assistance, Anna threw up a warp bubble, a sphere of rippling air that formed around her body. Time moved faster for her than for anyone else; minutes here passed as mere seconds out there.

Unfortunately, her mobility was limited. Once it was in place, the bubble could not be moved, and though its surface was permeable to anything but Anna herself, she would be unable to escape.

Anna spun around the pillar.

Through the warp bubble's rippling surface, she could make out Denario's sphere as an amorphous gray blob. It was trying to reorient itself, trying to focus that lens upon her once again.

Her temples began to throb.

Crouching down, Anna raised her gun in both hands. She squinted as she took aim, then fired. Glowing white bullets appeared beyond the bubble's surface, spiralling as they floated gracefully through the air. Each one was on course for the Death-Sphere. The pain in her head made it clear that Anna could hold this Bending no longer.

She let the bubble pop.

The floating sphere was suddenly knocked off course, blue sparks flashing over its body as the EMP rounds shorted its circuitry. The thing dropped to the ground, landing on the steps, then exploded.

Raising a hand to shield her eyes, Anna grunted. She turned her face away from the blast, ignoring the heat. “Damn you, Denario!” she whispered. “When they finally decide to space you, I'll push the button myself.”

She got to her feet.

A huge black scorch mark now decorated the concrete steps. She spotted parked cars along the sidewalk but no sign of the fugitive. No doubt he had made his escape while she had been busy with his little toy. And he carried a captive Nassai with him. Her symbiont grew restless at the thought of harm coming to one of its brethren.

Something caught her eye.

A streak of light blazed across the night sky, bright like a falling meteor – a streak of light that exploded somewhere high above the city. The flash was intense but faded away in an instant. Her shuttle? Perhaps Dex had been shot down. Anna felt a sharp ache in the pit of her stomach.

Now, she was alone.

PARTI

1

The sun was a blazing disk nearly halfway to its zenith, sending out waves of light that glinted off of every window. Huge buildings rose up to tickle the clear blue sky, tall spires of tinted glass and concrete.

Ottawa was a bustling city at any time of day, but 10 a.m. – that joyful hour when people had finally settled into their workday routine – was a little calmer than rush hour but still annoyingly busy. With all the traffic on the packed city streets, no one noticed as an old Honda Fit pulled into a parking lot and rumbled to a stop.

Pressing his back into the driver's seat, Jack Hunter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Oh, happy day…” He reached up with both hands to massage his temples. “I just love operating on five hours' sleep.”

A quick once-over in the rear-view mirror confirmed his unkempt appearance. His thin angular face was marked by high cheekbones and bright blue eyes, his dark hair cut short with messy bangs crossing over his forehead. “Well, if they wanted me to look nice, they probably shouldn't have called me right after a late shift.”

He got out of his car.

Jack wore a pair of blue jeans and a gray t-shirt with a V-neck, its fabric clinging to his back from sweat. Oh, I love the late shift… He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. There's nothing like going against your very genetic makeup to make you feel more like a man.

The parking lot was a flat sheet of black asphalt baking under the fierce sunlight of a warm spring day. His view of the river – and the Parliament Buildings along its bank – was obscured by tall concrete spires in every direction, and the noise was enough to make him groan. For the fifteenth time since crawling out of bed, Jack noted that human beings had a way of building stress factories for themselves.

He spotted a beat-up old hot-dog cart on the street corner. The thing was dented in several places, the yellow tarp that formed a makeshift rooftop ripped and torn, but Jack knew the proprietor.

Approaching with hands clasped behind his back, Jack closed his eyes and bowed his head to the man. “Hey, Tony,” he said with a shrug, “you think you can scrounge up one of those Italian sausages?”

The man behind the cart flashed a grin.

A wiry-looking guy with copper skin and a crop of silver hair on his head, Tony let out a chuckle. “At ten in the morning?” he said, eyebrows rising. “Kid, you're gonna give yourself a heart attack if you keep this up.”

Pressing a fist to his mouth, Jack winced and let out a sputtering cough. “You're the one who sells them,” he informed the other man. “I'm just the loyal customer who puts your kids through college.”

“Isn't that the truth?” Tony looked down to watch the grill. Smoke wafted up to caress his face, but somehow the man ignored it. “Did you hear the latest story on the news?”

“You mean the one about the cops trying to Sherlock what happened down at the Penworth building?” A wolfish grin bloomed on Jack's face. Squeezing his eyes shut, he barked a laugh. “Yeah, I saw it. Including the part where they interview some guy who claims he saw a big orange laser.”

“People will believe anything.”

Tony grabbed a well-cooked sausage with the tongs, then dropped it into a bun. He thrust a hand out, offering it to Jack. “Happy breakfast, my friend,” he went on. “I think you're gonna need it.”

Chewing on his lip, Jack shut his eyes and tried to ignore the surge of heat in his face. “Don't remind me,” he said, shaking his head. “I'd prefer to avoid the thought of rejection for as long as possible.”

For the last three months, he had been meeting with an Admissions Official for the University of Ottawa, and each visit to Miss Grimes's office began with a stop at Tony's hot-dog cart. For the last three months, he had been searching for some loophole that would allow him to enter the university's Computer Science program despite his abysmal performance in high school. As time went on, it became less and less likely that his efforts were going to pan out.

Academics had always been a source of boredom and frustration for Jack; none of his classes throughout high school had been very challenging. So, at the age of fourteen, he had simply stopped paying attention. A bone-headed maneuver – he realized that now – but try talking sense to a fourteen-year-old. Lord knows, his father had tried.

A year working at menial jobs that came without a bachelor's degree had done wonders for his outlook on life. “Thanks for breakfast, Tony,” Jack mumbled. “They say a little protein goes a long way.”

He reached into his blue jeans' pocket, pulling out a ten-dollar bill with two fingers and stuffing the money into Tony's tip jar when the man wasn't looking. Jack had a pretty good memory and he recalled the other man mentioning a teenage daughter. She deserved to go to college as much as he did.

Maybe more so.

“Maybe you should dress up a little,” Tony said with a wry grin, a touch of colour flaring in his cheeks. “Make a good impression.”

“Zoot-suit,” Jack teased. “White jacket with sideburns five inches long.”

The cramped little office that Miss Grimes used to meet with prospective students was sparsely decorated. A wooden desk with chips in its finish sat in the exact centre of the white-tiled floor, bathed in the segmented light that came in through the blinds on the window along the back wall.

Miss Grimes looked up when Jack came in. Her face was a perfect oval of creamy skin, framed by auburn curls that spilled over her shoulders. “Ah, good, you've made it,” she muttered. “Have a seat.”

Jack strode into the room.

He sat down across from her in an old metal chair, with his hands folded in his lap, trying hard to keep his face smooth. “Tell me you have good news,” he said at last. “I've been living in Suspenseville all morning.”

Hunching over, Miss Grimes planted her elbows on the desk, then rested her chin on laced fingers. “I'm sorry, Jack,” she replied, “I've gone over the admissions guidelines and there's nothing that applies to your case.”

Her reply hit him like a punch to the abdomen, driving the wind from his lungs. So. There went his chances of getting away from this menial existence. “You know, for future reference,” he said, “this is really the kind of conversation that we can have by telephone. Hell, text messages would be okay.”

The woman wore a serious expression as she studied him, her eyes trying to bore a hole in his skull. “This is no time for jokes,” she said. “I admit that your test scores are nothing short of excellent, but that doesn't change the fact that your grades are poor.”

He blushed.

“I would love to help you, Jack,” she went on in tones that were more than a little patronizing. Though, Jack had to admit that he was hardly an unbiased judge of character at the moment. “But when an admissions officer looks at transcripts like yours, the very first thing he sees is laziness.”

The standard replies about not judging a kid by mistakes that he made when he was fourteen came to mind, but when Jack considered them, they rang hollow in his ears. “But there has to be a method for appeals,” he offered. “Some way to reverse a mistake that I made when I was too young to know better.”

“Why should a school take you? Honestly now.”

Tilting his head to one side, Jack flashed a wry grin. “Well, you could start with my Zoosk profile,” he said, eyebrows rising. “My page gets over twenty visitors per day, and I have some great head shots.”

“Another joke.”

“Well, to be perfectly honest with you, most of them are just the same shot of me against different Photoshopped backgrounds.” He barked a laugh that sounded bitter in his ears. “But 'Jack goes to Mount Rushmore' got fourteen likes on Facebook.”

“Enough!”

Miss Grimes leaned back in her chair, folding arms over her chest. She held his gaze. “I've had enough,” she said. “If you refuse to take this seriously, I cannot help you.”

He stared into his lap for a long moment, wetting his lips and trying to hold back the tears in his eyes. “I'm sorry.” He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “I'll be on my way.”

“Jack.”

When he looked up, Miss Grimes wore a sympathetic expression. “You could try taking some community college courses. It will be difficult since high school students are given priority over those with community college backgrounds, but you could try.”

“It's good advice, ma'am,” Jack replied. “I'll take it under consideration.” And with that, there was nothing left to say, so he left the office with a heavy heart and a sense of guilt that gnawed at his insides. He shouldn't have been so flippant with the woman; she was only trying to help.

No, Jack Hunter had gotten himself into this mess – him and nobody else – and it was his burden to bear now. His and no one else's. How exactly was he supposed to tell his sister about this latest setback?

The hallway on the seventh floor stretched on to a stairwell in the corner, its white-tiled floor dingy and scuffed in many places. Fluorescent lights flickered in the ceiling, giving off a soft hum.

Leaning against the wall, Jack folded his arms. He tilted his head back, squinting at the ceiling. “You've done it now, boyo,” he muttered to himself. “Despite all odds, you've found yet another way to piss off your betters.”

Heaven help him.

2

McDougall's Pub was a quaint little restaurant down in Centre Town, a hot spot for people who wanted to enjoy a quiet meal and a beer after work. Faux lanterns were hung up on the wood-panelled walls, casting soft orange light upon the wooden tables that were spread out across the blue carpet.

There were booths along each wall, most of them filled with young couples sharing a romantic evening, and the noise of soft conversation permeated the room, settling into a hum in the back of Jack's mind.

The young hostess stood at her place just inside the front door. Skinny as a post, she wore a pair of black pants and a matching shirt that clung to her body.

Her sun-darkened face was framed by long dark hair that dropped to the small of her back, little flecks of body glitter sparkling on her cheeks. “Hello, Jack,” Genevieve Stevenson said coyly. “Working late again?”

Folding his arms across his chest, Jack lifted his chin. He squinted at her, steadying his nerves. “Genevieve,” he said, nodding once. “And how is my favourite grade-twelve student this evening?”

“Eighteen in two weeks,” she said. “In other words…soon to be legal.”

Jack snapped his fingers. “I'll have to write Parliament about that.”

He left before she could come up with a reply, clocking in on the small touch-screen terminal on the back wall. After that, it was a quick jaunt to the middle of the room where he found several tables in a state of disarray. Nothing like a little manual labour to take your mind off things you'd rather not think about. School and grades and seventeen-year-olds who didn't know when to quit.

“Do you work here?”

He spun around.

Mopping a hand over his face, Jack scrubbed fingers through his hair. “Yes, ma'am, I do,” he said, blinking a few times. “Is there anything I can help you with? Do you have a table?”

The old woman who stood before him wore a winter coat despite the warm spring weather. Her leathery face was marked by a mole on her cheek, and the curly hair on her head had turned white. “My hamburger is all wrong,” she explained. “I specifically told the waitress no pickles. Are you all deaf?”

Red-cheeked with chagrin, Jack smiled and bowed his head to her. “We'll get you another one right away,” he said. “My apologies, ma'am. Allow me to offer you a free dessert.”

“I don't want dessert.”

The old woman folded her arms over her chest. She lifted her chin and stared up at him for a long moment. “I want you to get my order right the first time. My husband and I have been waiting twenty minutes!”

“Right away, ma'am.”

He made his way back to the kitchen, trying to stuff the bile back down into the pit of his stomach. These were the joys of the service industry! Without some kind of higher education, he could look forward to a long life of taking abuse from senior citizens who had forgotten that to err is human.

The kitchen was a white-tiled room where fluorescent lights in the ceiling gave off enough illumination for the half dozen or so cooks to scurry about like a swarm of bees gathering pollen. A deep-fryer on the back wall was operated by a man in a white uniform with a hairnet on his head.

The head chef stood at her worktable, chopping carrots. A gorgeous woman in her late twenties, she wore the same uniform as every other cook, but somehow made it seem a little more…spiffy.

Her round face was marked by rosy cheeks, and sweat glistened on her forehead. A hairnet held blonde hair in place. “Hey, Tracy,” Jack called out. “We need another burger for that couple at table six.”

“Seriously?”

“Sadly, yes.”

A smile bloomed on Tracy's face, the rosy hue in her cheeks somehow deepening by several shades. “All right, Jack,” she said softly, “but only because you ignore my cousin's attempts to throw herself at you.”

“She can throw all she wants,” Jack muttered. “I've never been good at catching. I'm more the guy who shouts, 'I've got it! I've got it!' then runs into the wall.”

“The wall?”

“Mine is not a happy story.”

His night went on like that for several hours: menial tasks coupled with a whole lot of self-recrimination. For whatever reason, he just couldn't get the events of that morning out of his head. Jack Hunter, the loser. Jack Hunter, the man who had managed to screw up his life before his age even started with a two.

When he wasn't waiting tables, he was putting supplies away, making sure that the condiments were stocked and cleaning up after people who really should have been old enough to know better. It was a lovely existence. At one point, he crossed paths with old Lou, the restaurant's owner. A grunt and a stiff nod were all he received after wishing the man a good night.

The supply room wasn't much bigger than a closet, its walls lined with old brown bricks, and steel shelves made it hard to move around. He spotted a box of napkins up on the highest shelf. Good thing I'm tall.

Craning his neck, Jack squinted at the top shelf. “All the way up there, eh?” he said, nodding to himself. “Well, good thing natural selection decided to bless me with a tall and lanky physique.”

“Hey, Hunter.”

He whirled around to find another man standing in the doorway that led back to the kitchen. Marc Norris was a large fellow with a scruffy beard on his sun-darkened face. “Your sister's here.”

Jack buried his face in the palm of his hand. He let out a groan that reminded him of a dying weasel. “Just what I need,” he muttered. “A little mothering by proxy. Let me guess, she has food.”

“Go easy on her, man,” Marc shot back. “Wish my sister cared like that.”

“Yeah…I know.” Jack pushed past the man, making his way into the kitchen. The steel door in the back wall led out to the small parking lot that the staff used. When they could use it. Half the time, customers sneaked in there, and it wasn't like you could tell them not to.

Once he was outside, Jack took a moment to savour the sweet caress of cool wind on his face. The night was crisp and clear with a thousand tiny stars decorating the sky, barely visible thanks to the glow of city lights.

The small parking lot was packed, each space taken up by someone's car – many of them too big to maneuver in such close quarters – and Jack wondered why anybody even bothered to drive to work. He spotted his sister maybe twenty feet away from the back porch, waiting for him.

Lauren Hunter was a slender woman wearing black pants and a short-sleeved shirt. Her long dark hair was tied back to reveal a pale face with sharp blue eyes. “I come bearing gifts,” she said, lifting a plastic bag. “Chicken soup. And I expect you to eat it.”

“Or what?”

“I'll kick you.”

Jack rolled his eyes.

“I have something to tell you,” he began with a touch of hesitation in his voice. He had been meaning to put this off as long as possible – anxiety was like a drill punching a hole in his chest – but now that the opportunity had presented itself, he had to get it over with. “The university turned me down.”

“Oh…That's not so bad.”

Jack turned away from her.

Marching up the steps with his arms folded, he stopped on the wooden deck. “Not so bad?” he said, glancing back over his shoulder. “I seem to remember a whole army of guidance counsellors saying the opposite.”

Lauren stood in the parking lot with hands clasped behind her back, her eyes fixed on the pavement. “You yourself said guidance counsellors don't know anything,” she told him. “I know Dad will have a fit, but you'll work things out.”

“If you say so.”

“Stop being so hard on yourself, Jack,” she snapped. “There are many schools and there are many ways to survive in this world without going to any of them. Our parents might have had all these lofty ambitions, but things aren't the same for us and that's okay. You know we'll always take care of each other.”

He did know that much. Many times over the last year, he had considered moving in with Lauren and her boyfriend Steve. The idea of living with a couple made him a tad uneasy, but his sister seemed in favour of it. It was Steve he wasn't so sure about. Still, it was good to know he had someone. “Thanks, sis,” he said softly. “For the soup and the words of encouragement.”

“Make sure you eat.”

The evening wore down along with Jack's energy levels, customers gradually clearing out and leaving the pub in a state of dim silence with the scent of various dishes still lingering in the air. Somehow, he found time to wolf down the sandwich and guzzle the cup of soup before midnight.

His last few tables wanted nothing more than a pitcher of domestic beer and the odd appetizer, so he left them with their bills and set about cleaning up. With that done, he sat down to rest for a while. That was how he found himself talking to Genevieve.

Jack sat in a booth with his elbow plunked down on the table, his chin resting on the palm of his hand. “Not a bad day,” he said, eyebrows rising. “Tips alone will cover groceries for a week.”

Across from him, Genevieve leaned back against the leather seat cushion, a smile on her pretty face. “Or you could do something romantic,” she teased. “You ever hear of the Star Registry? Last week, Lou bought a star for his wife.”

“You know, one of these days someone's gonna purchase a star that happens to be home to some other species.” His mouth stretched in a yawn that he stifled with his fist. Letting his arm drop, Jack smacked his lips a few times. “I wonder what's gonna happen when they find out about it.”

“Are you always so glum?”

A wave of heat surged through Jack's face. He squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his head to her. “I like to think I'm realistic,” he murmured. “But I guess I could buy a star. Galactic Domination has always been a goal of mine.”

In a way, he felt sorry for Genevieve. He wasn't that much older than her – less than two years, to be honest; hardly a massive age difference – but deep down, he just couldn't bring himself to open up to her. Oh, she was gorgeous, but Jack knew that if they were to ever try a serious relationship, it would fall apart. “Look, kid,” he said at last, “I promise it's not you.”

Genevieve lifted her chin, her eyes as sharp as daggers as she watched him. “Then who is it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Don't tell me you're going to fall back on the 'it's not you, it's me,' routine.”

“Can't beat a classic.”

“Har har.”

“I'm not headed for a bright future, kid,” Jack said. “Trust me, you do not want to board this train.”

Genevieve lowered her eyes to stare down into her lap, her cheeks flushed to a soft pink. “You know,” she began, shaking her head, “maybe you're right. Excuse me, Jack. I just remembered I have something to do.”

She left without another word.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he buried his face in his hands and rubbed his brow with his fingertips. “Good one, Jack,” he muttered to himself. “You're becoming such an expert in the fine art of diplomacy.”

3

Anna threw her head back with eyes squeezed shut. She let them flutter open. “Oh my…,” she said through a gasp. “Well, that should just about take care of it. Thank you for the conversation.”

The woman who sat across from her was positively lovely with a pretty face framed by long dark hair. “Are you alright?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you might be sick.”

Covering her mouth with the tips of her fingers, Anna felt her face grow warm. She shut her eyes. “Yes, I'm fine,” she said, nodding to the other woman. “Just a little fatigue. Nothing serious.”

The woman stood.

Slipping the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she watched Anna with a concerned expression. “Well, if you're sure,” she said, turning away. “But if you need medical attention, I can call an ambulance.”

“Thank you, but no.”

The small coffee shop she had chosen for this exchange was sparsely populated. A dozen round tables were spaced out across a black-tiled floor, most unoccupied. Behind the counter, a young man in a black uniform stood with his face concealed by something called a…Damn it! What's that word? A magazine!

The face of a woman with a sultry expression dominated the cover, her long dark hair falling over her shoulders in waves. Objectification of women. If her knowledge of history was accurate – Anna cursed her decision to frequently doze off in Mr. Dae's class – her own people had faced similar problems once.

Through the window on her right, she could see people making their way up and down the sidewalk and beyond them a line of…Cars! A line of cars making its way along the road. You can do this, Lenai.

Her faint reflection in a mug of coffee wavered as she blew on it, ripples spreading across the surface. At least these people had discovered coffee. Their planet seemed very similar to her own.

The Nassai within her stirred.

Anna bit her lip as she stared into the mug, a lock of reddish blonde hair falling over one eye. I know you're tired, she thought at the symbiont. I'm tired too, but we've got to keep at this a while longer.

No reply.

Clamping a hand over her mouth, Anna shut her eyes tight. She took a deep breath through her nose. Can't you at least acknowledge me? she screamed in her own mind. I'm all you've got down here.

No reply.

The Nassai preferred to avoid direct interaction. Through their blending of minds, she was able to learn a complex language in days, but that was not something that Nassai did often. They preferred to allow their hosts to learn on their own. Only sheer necessity had changed that.

Pulling her brown coat over her shoulders, Anna got to her feet. She paced across the room to the door, pushed it open and stepped through. I guess I'll just have to keep myself company.

Once outside, she found herself on a street with tall buildings on either side, glass spires that stabbed the overcast sky. A yellow car sped toward her, carrying a young man who stuck his head out the back window.

His thin face was marked by a neatly trimmed beard, and spiky black hair crowned the top of his head. “Hey, gorgeous!” he shouted as he passed. “Five Twenty-One Lisgar Street! I'll be expecting you at seven!”

Anna flinched.

Such behaviour was considered taboo among her people. That wasn't to say there weren't any brash young men with difficulties respecting boundaries, but most would be compelled to keep their mouths shut by the stares and frowns they received from their peers. The driver of that car ought to have scolded him.

She looked down at herself.

Anna still wore the gray pants and black blouse that she had been wearing during her pursuit of Denario. “Except now they're starting to smell,” she muttered in her own language. “I need to blend.”

Not far ahead, the door to a shop swung outward, allowing a woman in a black skirt and white blouse to step out onto the street. Her face seemed frozen in a tense expression, golden hair falling to her shoulders.

A child came out behind her.

No older than four or five, the boy wore a pair of overalls and a red shirt, a tiny cap on his head. “I want McDonald's!” he shouted, stumbling up to his mother. “Mom, I want McDonald's for lunch!”

He looked over his shoulder.

In a heartbeat, he was waddling up to Anna, craning his neck to stare up at her with enormous blue eyes. “Who are you?” the boy inquired. “You got crazy hair! Why do you got crazy hair?”

She dropped to one knee.

Chuckling softly, Anna smiled and nodded to the boy.“You shouldn't run away from your mother,” she told him. “If you get lost, you won't be able to have any McDonald's.”

“Why are you talking to my son?”

The woman strode forward with arms folded, her chin thrust out as she stared down her nose. “What's wrong with you?” she said, seizing the child by his shoulders.

Anna said nothing.

Such hostility. Did the woman actually believe that she would harm a child? What kind of people were these? Doing her best to remain inconspicuous, she started down the sidewalk again.

A queasy feeling settled into her stomach when she added the factors together. In two days on this planet, she had encountered all sorts of people, and every single one of them had displayed mistrust. Those first few interactions – when she had not yet grasped the rudiments of their language – had been particularly difficult. Thank the Companion for her Nassai.

A few minutes later, she came upon one of the currency-dispensing machines these people used, built into the concrete wall of a skyscraper. The bright blue screen displayed words in a language she could not yet understand. She could speak but she couldn't make sense of any of the letters. She looked around to make sure she had enough privacy; after a few months of this, she'd be as distrustful as anyone else in this city.

I cannot believe I've been reduced to this, she thought to herself. A Justice Keeper made into a petty thief.

She retrieved her multi-tool – a small metal disk that fit in the palm of her hand. After pushing a few buttons with her fingers, she watched lights blink on its surface. The tiny screen lit up with the words “scan mode.”

A blue ray of laser scanned over the intake slot that she had seen people use to slip plastic cards into the machine. A moment later, her multi-tool went silent as it processed the slot's dimensions.

Tiny nanobots emerged from a groove along the tool's outer edge, trillions of them building on top of one another, forming a gray rectangle in the shape of one of the cards she had seen people use.

Anna fed it into the slot.

The screen on the disk blinked a few times. Her multi-tool was sending electrical signals, learning the currency dispenser's circuit architecture. In just a few moments, it brought up a series of menus.

Turning her face up to the sky, Anna blinked when the sunlight hit her eyes. You're really going to make me do this? she thought at the Companion. No last-minute twist of fate to spare me the blow to my integrity?

No reply there either.

Running the macro she had programmed, her multi-tool sent electrical signals into the currency dispenser. A moment later, a slot at the bottom of the machine popped open, offering three glossy green bills.

Anna took them.

That's three, she noted. Three times I've stolen from these people. The brief lull in pedestrian traffic allowed her to slip away unnoticed. If anyone had spotted her from a distance, they would see nothing more than an ordinary woman retrieving currency from her bank account.

The sun was halfway to its zenith, hidden behind a glass spire that seemed to be a shadow to her eyes. Not a cloud in the clear blue sky. On the road, a young man upon a bicycle – amazing that these people had invented a device almost identical to those of her own world – eyed her as he passed.

Anna continued on.

It wasn't long before she found a man sitting with his back pressed to a concrete wall. Lanky and slim, he wore a pair of old brown pants with a matching jacket. His face was covered by a scraggly gray beard and unkempt silver hair sprouted from the top of his head like a lion's mane.

He craned his neck to stare up at her with haunted eyes. “Excuse me, miss,” he said before pressing a fist to his mouth to stifle a wheezing cough. “Do you think that you can spare me a few dollars?”

Poverty.

Throughout her life, Anna had known that word only as an abstract concept, a note in the back of a history textbook. No wonder these people had such difficulty with trust and openness. She knelt before the man.

Anna shut her eyes tight, tears running over her burning cheeks. “I'm so sorry for your pain,” she said, pressing a twenty-dollar bill into his hand. “Please take this and buy yourself something to eat.”

He watched her with his mouth agape, then shut his eyes and turned his face away from her. “You're awfully kind, ma'am.” The man shivered as though her touch brought pain. “I thank you for it.”

“It's my duty.”

The look of confusion on his face made her want to explain further, but that would expose her as an outsider. Justice Keepers opposed suffering wherever they found it. No one should endure what this man had endured.

Bright sunlight came in through a window in the front door, leaving a rectangle of light on the steps that led down into the thrift shop. The floor-space was dominated by round racks of clothing up near the counter and tall metal shelves near the back of the room. A few bins in the corner held children's toys.