Authors: Adrian Howell
“Anyway, Alia’s fine,” I repeated. “Or she will be soon. You know how tough she is.”
Terry nodded. “Yeah, I know. Alia’s really grown.”
“No kidding,” I said, thinking of the awkward little conversation I just had with my sister.
Between the Angel takeover of the Wolves and Alia’s sudden mention of “girl stuff,” I had been far less psychologically prepared for the latter. I felt a little guilty about talking behind Alia’s back, but I couldn’t resist telling Terry how my sister wanted some private time with Candace. To my surprise, however, Terry wasn’t nearly as shocked as I had been.
“What did you expect?” was Terry’s attitude. “She’s almost twelve years old, right?”
“Theoretically,” I said evasively.
Alia was officially eleven and a half, but even Cindy had admitted that she was only “pretty sure” about Alia’s age.
“Twelve years old, Adrian!” said Terry. “And you’re wondering why she has questions about girl stuff?”
“But Ed Regis is right,” I said. “She
does
look like a nine-year-old. She doesn’t even have… you know…”
“Have what?” Terry asked bluntly. “Tits?”
“Well… yeah,” I said uncomfortably. Then I laughed, adding, “Even Decker called her a little girl – right before Alia slapped the gun out of her hand.”
“There you go,” said Terry, shrugging. “She’s not a kid anymore. She hasn’t been for a long time.”
“I suppose.”
Terry threw me a nasty grin and gestured to my clothes. “Anyway, you’re hardly one to talk about size, Adrian. That’s Daniel’s shirt you’re wearing, isn’t it?”
Before I could think of a retort, a frightening thought popped into my head. “Hey, what if Alia’s like the Historian, Terry?” I asked seriously. “You know, never-aging?”
Terry laughed loudly. “She’s just a late bloomer, Adrian! It’s not so rare with undersized girls, especially if they do sports.”
“Are you sure?” I asked uncertainly.
“Trust me. The Historian’s power is one of a kind. If Alia had it, the Historian would have known. Don’t worry. She’ll grow tits soon enough.”
I frowned. “That’s kind of what I’m afraid of too, actually. I never really pictured Alia as a teenager.”
“Well, ready or not, she’s going to be one soon,” said Terry. Then she laughed again, adding, “And I bet you haven’t even given her the birds-and-bees talk, have you?”
I gaped at her. “Are you nuts?! She’s my sister! Do you honestly think I’m going to talk to her about sex?!”
“Well, someone has to,” Terry said matter-of-factly. “She doesn’t have parents and she’s never even been to school. What happens when she gets her first period? What happens if someday she doesn’t know how to use a contraceptive? She can’t stay a clueless little girl forever.”
“Candace will take care of her.”
Terry snorted loudly. “You really are spineless, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “All my life.”
I reminded Terry to keep this conversation private. “Alia doesn’t think you’re girl enough to talk to about girl stuff.”
“She wouldn’t be the first,” said Terry. “But we’re not going to be in Wood-claw forever, and we’re definitely not taking Candace with us. You make sure that Alia gets all of her serious girl questions answered before we leave, understand?”
I snapped Terry a salute. “Yes, sir.”
It was easy to see why Alia would prefer Candace over Terry in the girl-stuff department, but for my part, Terry’s direct manner actually made this kind of conversation slightly less painful. At least Terry wasn’t one to giggle.
James finally got out of the bath. “Sorry I took so long, Adrian,” he said. “I didn’t know you were waiting.”
I was about to get up, but then I heard a faint mumbling in my head, which was my sister telepathically talking in her sleep. Unconsciously using powers during the night was not uncommon for child psionics, and until about two years ago, I often woke up hovering. Alia’s telepathic murmuring had become a little less frequent these last few months, but she still did it more nights than not.
I looked up at the clock. It had only been about half an hour. Alia must have been pretty sleepy to cut short her long-awaited bath.
Hearing her quiet voice in my head, I suddenly discovered that I was dead tired too. Waking up in the homeless man’s van felt like years ago, and the cargo plane ancient history. While sitting around in a public park all day long might sound like a picnic compared to being chased by Angels through a mountain range or being shot at by military gunships, nevertheless today had been a long and nerve-racking (and somewhat disturbing) day in its own right. I was glad it was finally over. I was nearly finished digesting Scott’s Welcome to Wood-claw meal so I had little reason to stay awake.
“You want me to refill the tub?” asked James.
“No,” I yawned. “Thanks but I think I’ll save it for tomorrow.”
I got up and, bidding them goodnight, returned to my apartment across the corridor.
Locking the front door, I telekinetically switched off the living-room lights and tiptoed over to my bedroom door. Alia was still mumbling into my head, and I opened the door quietly so as not to wake her. But as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I discovered that her bed was empty. I first thought that perhaps she had crept into mine, but she wasn’t there either.
Turning on the lights, I laughed to myself as I figured it out: Alia really had fallen asleep in the tub!
Chapter 5: The Heart of a Knight
I woke up late for breakfast the next day. I must have slept eleven straight hours. Changing, I groggily stumbled into the dining room where Ed Regis had left me a plate of ham and eggs.
“You should have woken me,” I said to him. “I would have done this.”
“It’s no problem,” he replied, clearing the table. By the number of plates, I could tell that Terry and James had eaten here too.
As I sat down in front of my breakfast, I asked, “Where is everyone?”
“Terry and James are back in their apartment.”
“And Alia?”
“Picking up where she left off.”
I laughed. “Hope she stays awake this time.”
Last night had been a bit of a mess. Alia always left the bathroom door unlocked, but remembering Terry’s insistence that my sister was no longer a child, I respected her privacy and banged on the door until she woke. But the noise I made woke Ed Regis too, who first thought that we were under attack. It was some time before we could all settle down again.
Ed Regis poured me a glass of orange juice as he said, “I think she’s in one of her moods, Adrian. She wouldn’t talk during breakfast.”
“Did she eat?” I asked.
“A little.”
“She’ll be fine,” I said confidently. “When is Harding coming?”
As if on cue, the doorbell rang, and Ed Regis went to open the door to several voices including those of Mrs. Harding, Terry and James. I couldn’t see any of them from the dining room, but I could tell by the sounds that they were being led into the living room.
I heard Terry shout out, “Adrian, you awake yet?!”
“Yeah,” I called back. “Just give me a second.”
I quickly swallowed two mouthfuls of scrambled egg, washing them down with orange juice. Then, after splashing some water on my face at the kitchen sink, I joined everyone in the living room.
“Your database, Major, as requested,” Mrs. Harding was saying to Ed Regis as she handed him the little touch-screen device that contained all of the Wolves’ information on psionics. Scott must have passed it on to Mrs. Harding.
“Thank you,” said Ed Regis, taking the small black box. “I hope you found some use for it.”
“We have been passing along some of its contents to our allies.”
“We’ll use it here and return it to you before we leave,” promised Ed Regis.
Mrs. Harding nodded curtly. “Thank you.”
I couldn’t help being amused at the tension in Mrs. Harding’s tone whenever she talked to Ed Regis. I wondered if she had some personal grudge against the Wolves, something perhaps to rival my own. In stark contrast, Ed Regis seemed completely at ease, always polite and composed in his dealings with Mrs. Harding. It must have annoyed the hell out of her.
There were also two Wood-claw Knights who had accompanied Mrs. Harding to our debriefing. Mrs. Harding introduced one, a middle-aged double-destroyer named Ms. Isabel Ferris, as Wood-claw’s Head of Security. Her Knight call sign was Tigress, but I didn’t ask why. The other Knight, Mr. Beryl, was a gray-haired man nearly as old as Mrs. Harding herself. Mr. Beryl was Wood-claw’s official mind-writer. I don’t remember his first name or his call sign, but I’m pretty sure I merely forgot.
We shook hands, and I sat on a sofa next to Terry.
Once we were all settled, Mrs. Harding asked Ed Regis and me to recount our capture and subsequent escape from the military. Alia stayed hidden away in the bathtub, which was fine. This was our third time to tell this story and Alia didn’t need to keep reliving that night.
Mrs. Harding was particularly interested in the telephone conversation I had overheard prior to takeoff. She didn’t know what RG stood for either, but she promised to look into it. As to Ms. Decker’s claim that the government now worked for the Angels, Mrs. Harding wasn’t convinced that the situation was as dire as I feared.
“Converts frequently exaggerate the strength of their faction,” explained Mrs. Harding. “It is a natural part of their fanatical faith in their master, and a king’s conversion would be absolute. Ms. Decker has probably convinced herself that the Angels have much more control over the government than they actually do. As Major Regis has pointed out, if the Wolves and the rest of the government were completely under Angel control, the Angels would not have to keep their king so well hidden.”
“But they have more control than we expected so soon,” I said.
“Most certainly, dear,” agreed Mrs. Harding, “but until we can find out the extent of the Angels’ influence, there are few conclusions we can draw nor any reason for immediate action.”
I saw Terry’s left eye twitch. Though Terry had given me no details last night, I could only imagine that she had already been through a fairly extensive talk with Mrs. Harding over dinner yesterday. I knew Mrs. Harding was anything but an alarmist, and her meticulously cautious personality was sometimes frustrating for me too.
Mrs. Harding had both Ed Regis and me tell our stories two times each, with several questions being thrown in by her Knights. Debriefing was always like this: lots of tedious repetition and confirmation in the hope that some tidbit of loose memory pops back into place. Unfortunately, nothing more came of it.
Ms. Ferris asked if she could interview Alia, but Mrs. Harding insisted that it wasn’t necessary, for which I was grateful. Alia had already told her part of the story to Ed Regis and me while we were waiting in the park yesterday. Decker had used the control bands to shock Alia into submission when she broke free of the soldier escorting her to the other helicopter. Aside from that, Alia’s story was no different from mine.
We wrapped up the debriefing a little before noon. Before leaving, Mrs. Harding assured us that we could stay for as long as we needed to and that Wood-claw would see to our living expenses. She also promised to provide some financial aid upon our departure, though it was unlikely that she would buy us a new motorhome. We thanked her many times over.
I figured it was only polite that I invite Mrs. Harding to stay for lunch.
“Perhaps not today, dear, but I would love to come to dinner sometime,” replied Mrs. Harding, smiling warmly.
As Mrs. Harding and her Knights left, Alia finally ended her bathe-a-thon and came into the living room, fingertips shriveled to the bone.
“Perfect timing, Alia!” laughed Terry. “Were you listening at the door?”
“I wasn’t hiding,” insisted Alia. “I just wanted some time for myself.”
“You okay now?” I asked. “Batteries charged?”
Alia nodded smilingly.
“Then help me make lunch.”
After we ate, Terry introduced us to Wood-claw’s training gym, which was the apartment across the hall from Scott’s place.
Entering the apartment, I found that what would have been the living room had been covered with gym mats to make a small dojo. The other, smaller rooms were stocked with boxing sandbags and weight sets as well as a number of training machines such as treadmills and exercise bikes. According to Terry, Scott was the one who had originally talked Mrs. Harding into funding the gym’s creation, and this was where he and Rachael ran their bi-weekly training program for Alia’s former students. Though it was empty at the moment, many Wood-claw residents regardless of psionic power or Knight status trained here in the evenings. The door was never locked, and the location was convenient for Alia and Ed Regis who were restricted to this floor.
The gym was too small to have a shooting range, so the Wood-claw Knights practiced at a private range somewhere else. James was vocally disappointed about this but Alia was predictably happy. I too hoped to spend a few consecutive days away from the sound of gunfire.
For much of that afternoon, our team took turns working out on the machines and sparring on the mat.
Even on the road, we had regularly trained and practiced combat, often using the roadside or empty parking lots as our dojo. We were used to training under the stars on warm, clear nights. But since going outside was forbidden at Wood-claw, this gym was the only place that we could get a proper workout. As Terry often said, your skills are only as good as you keep them, and you can’t make excuses for laziness if you’re dead. Besides, it being a weekday, everyone we knew was either at work or at school. Candace, who had a job at a fast-food restaurant, wouldn’t be back until late evening.
Without my telekinesis, I still couldn’t last much more than half a minute against Terry or Ed Regis, so I usually paired with James for our training bouts. Although James was bigger than me, I still had the upper hand, rarely if ever losing a match to him. This was something James had been working very hard this summer to change.
James once said to me, “I know I have a long way to go, but if Terry can fight like that with no powers and only one arm, I’m going to get that good too someday.”