Newearth Justine Awakens—Chapter Twenty Part II

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Max Wheeler stepped off the intergalactic carrier amid a crowd of urbanites and, as an android accustomed to the isolation of a prison transport, he stared in wide-eyed wonder. Turning on his heel a complete three-sixty, he used every scanning device at his command, searching through the crowd.

“Max?” Someone tapped his shoulder.

Max didn’t jump. He stiffened like a rabbit caught in the glare of a hound. “Yes.” He scanned Cerulean’s face and an automated smile broke the line of his tight lips. “Cerulean.”

Cerulean grinned. “I’m glad you made it on time. What, with all the extra traffic—”

Max had not moved a millimeter.

Cerulean nudged him on the elbow and nodded toward the street crossing. “There’s a diner across the way. You want to get something?”

Max tilted his head. “I do not depend on human food. What would I get there?”

The grin was joined by a glimmer in the eye that Max didn’t understand.

“Coffee?”

A passerby jostled Max and scrunched around Cerulean in his hurry. Max accepted the inevitable. “If it would make you happy.”

Upon sliding onto a bench in the Breakfast Nook, Cerulean waved to the hostess. The large, bio-armored Ingot wearing a blue sprigged, calico apron grunted, slapped her datapad against her palm, and charged toward them.

Max watched her approach, scanning her features, clothing, and behavior in order to classify her into a recognizable category. None.

The Ingot’s gaze swept over Max and stopped. “What’d you want?”

Cerulean lifted two fingers. “Two coffees and a couple of sweet rolls.”

Ignoring Cerulean, the hostess offered another appraising glance at Max, huffed her martyred patience, and tromped off.

Max, sitting ramrod straight across from Cerulean, stared unblinking. “It was my understanding that you were Luxonian.”

Cerulean fiddled with the saltcellar. “Still am.”

“As a Luxonian, you do not need human nourishment.”

“Humans could take nutritional pills, but instead they still practice the culinary arts. Why?”

“Is this a test?”

Cerulean sighed.

Max shrugged. “It is a habit they cannot break. Like a drug.”

Cerulean chewed his lip. “Just a small point, Max. Use contractions. You’ll fit in better. It’s more natural. Right now, you sound like you just swallowed an antiquated database.” He leaned forward. “As for food, humans enjoy—”

The hostess slapped two hot coffees on the table and swished a metal plate with sticky buns in the middle. She tilted her head and appraised Max again, slowly. “Got back problems?”

Max glanced at Cerulean.

Cerulean spoke more quickly than he had earlier. “In the war. Never been the same—eh, Max?”

Max stared at Cerulean, unblinking.

The hostess relaxed. “Huh. So was I.” She leaned in conspiratorially, her softened gaze joined by the hint of a smile. “I got a brace that helps when the load is heavy. Want me to show it to you?”

Coffee sprayed across the table as Cerulean choked.

Max tilted his head toward the hostess, meeting her gaze. “How kind of you. But, no. Thank you.”

She recomposed her wide shoulders and tapped her datapad against her thigh. “Well, let me know. The name is Sal. I’m always here.” She lumbered off.

“I didn’t know it was possible.” Cerulean’s voice had grown thick and raspy as he wiped the table. “You’ve woken the passion of…an Ingot.”

Max could feel the satisfied grin slide across his face. “Contractions, eh?”

Cerulean rubbed his forehead with a groan and nudged the coffee and plate of sticky buns toward Max.

As if the bun might explode, Max hesitantly lifted it. He carried it to his mouth and took a tiny bite.

Cerulean sipped his coffee and watched Max, his eyes wide. “Don’t you ever eat diner fare?”

“Of course. Just rarely in public and never covered in—” Max tapped his sugar-coated fingers together. “—goo.” Licking his lips, he took another bite and sipped the coffee. “They go rather well together.”

Eyeing the hostess who kept swiveling her gaze in Max’s direction, Cerulean leaned forward. “Time to get to business.” He laced his fingers together. “You’ve heard of an android named Justine—Justine Santana?”

Max didn’t swallow the bite in his mouth. He simply stopped chewing.

Cerulean shook his head. “That’s not an answer.”

Max gulped the unchewed bit, pushed away from the table, and rose. “Where is she?”

Cerulean waved his hand, his gaze tracking the Ingot’s interested stare. “Sit down. It was a question. I need an answer before I can tell you anything.”

Max leaned across the table and lowered his face within a few centimeters of Cerulean’s. “If you know where she is, tell me now or I’ll—”

The hostess appeared at Max’s back and leaned over his shoulder, peering at Cerulean severely. “Problem here?”

Cerulean knew when he was beaten. He raised his hands and shifted off the bench. “Everything’s fine. Max and I are done— here.” He stepped up to the cashier.

Sal maneuvered aside while glancing at Max. “You’ll be sure to visit us again… soon?”

Max considered the Ingot standing before him, all seven biomechanical feet of her. “I will—I’ll—make every effort.”

Cerulean nudged Max forward. “Oh, don’t worry; he’ll be back. Max loves your sticky buns.” He motioned toward the door. “Come on. We’ve got visits to make.”

Max offered a parting smile to the blushing Ingot and traipsed after the odd Luxonian. “Where?”

Cerulean stepped out into the crisp winter sunshine and rubbed his hands together. “A prison and a morgue.”

“To attain knowledge, add things every day. To attain wisdom, remove things every day.”
~Lao Tse

A new chapter every Tuesday and Thursday.

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With or Without the Pits

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Eugene closed the oven door and faced his wife. “I hope I got all the pits out, or the boys will break their teeth on my cherry tarts.”

Samantha didn’t smile.

It was pouring rain and though the weather forecaster hadn’t suggested building an ark, her longed-for vacation at the lake seemed like a fading vision. A swampy muck of floodwaters hardly encouraged suntan-by-the-shore-eat-drink-and-dance-dreams.

With his hands on her shoulders, Eugene tried for a half-caress-half-shake. “I was only kidding. No deep metaphor of the state of the universe.”

Like a rusty robot, Samantha rotated to the French doors off the kitchen. The hanging plants sparkled with raindrops while a pair of red slippers she’d left by her favorite chair appeared as droopy as her spirits. “Summer will end, and I’ll be as exhausted as ever.”

Eugene didn’t know what to say. Cherry tarts seemed inconsequential. Like war humor—it just wouldn’t work as planned. Some things weren’t funny.

Devon, their six-foot-three and two hundred pound son, loomed into the room. His shadow entered first. He stopped, glanced from one parent to the next, and then shuffled his feet—indecision warring with better judgment. “Hey, just to let you know, I got the job. They want me to start next week. So—”

Though his heart soared with pride, Eugene’s stomach plummeted. Not for a minute could he glance at his wife and deal with her emotional mash-up. No, he’d go it alone. He threw his arms wide and embarrassed the hell out of his eldest with the tightest bear hug he’d given since Devon fell out of the treehouse at four and managed to walk away unscathed.

Doing a darn good impression of a startled linebacker with no ball in sight, Devon let himself be hugged. Then he hugged back.

Samantha stayed on the sidelines. Silent. Stoic. It took a full two and a half minutes before her composure crumbled, and she charged into the hug. Her muffled, “I can’t believe you’ll be leaving us…I’m so proud, but I can’t believe…” reverberated against the men’s You-Know-What-I-Mean eye lock.

Eugene pulled back and sniffed, fear reverberating through his body. “The tarts!” A quick U-turn.

Samantha tossed him the oven mitts.

Their youngest son, Kris sauntered in with the grace of a gangling teen that has outgrown every bit of his summer clothing. “Hey! You hear about Devon?” His gaze shifted from his mom to his brother. “I’ll get your room, right. It’s bigger than mine and besides, you can sleep on the couch if you ever come to visit.”

Samantha slapped her little boy’s arm and pooh-pooed the very idea. “Wait till he’s out of the house before any formal take over.” She leaned in and stage-whispered. “I have a whole house re-do that’ll cost a fortune, and I don’t want your dad to suffer cardiac arrest before I get a good contractor set up.”

Eugene waved a succulent, cherry popover before his wife’s face. “No goodies until you behave.”

Lightning flashed and thunder rolled over the celestial landscape.

Not to be held back by the threat of burned fingers or tongue, Kris attacked the hot cookie tray with the gusto of a starved rhinoceros.

Devon lowered his gaze.

Samantha accepted her husband’s offering and held it out to her eldest. “You first, Sweetie. The man of the hour.”

Eugene wrapped his arm around his wife and together they watched their sons partake of his latest culinary delight. He tipped his head, touching hers. “So the lake is out—but a cave tour would be pretty cool. Literally and figuratively.”

Samantha shrugged, her gaze wandering the room and out the door. Soothing drops fell in a steady rhythm while the fields and trees glowed, revitalized. “After we see Devon off…No hurry.”

While Eugene scrubbed the cookie trays, his wife chatted on the phone, spreading good news along the family gossip chain. A send-off party with matching luggage was in the works.

Once he slid the trays into place, Eugene eyed the last popover. He hadn’t even had one yet. He refilled his coffee cup, pulled out a chair, and plunked down for a well-earned respite. He took a bite. Wow! Better than he realized. He chewed and savored, and finally licked the last crumbs from his fingers. Not one pit.

With a sigh of contentment, he returned to the sink, washed his cup, and reset the coffee machine. He poured the spent grounds into the compost container and froze. There was Devon’s napkin with the red insignia of his new company—his mom had forgotten which job he had applied for. There, on the napkin, lay a cherry pit.

The silent accusation stared at him. He hadn’t gotten them all. Devon had never said a word. Eugene glanced at his wife. Did she know?

Samantha caught his gaze and frowned.

What should he do? Pretend it didn’t exist?

Samantha hung up and sauntered over. Wrapping her arm around her husband, she nuzzled his neck. “Say, how about we celebrate our successful launching of son number one into the world tonight?”

Eugene held up the cherry pit pinched in his fingers. “I missed one.” Blinking back ridiculous tears he fought the hammer blows pummeling his heart. “He could’ve broken his tooth and then—”

Samantha nudged her husband aside and practically sat in his lap, her arm still around his neck. “There are always cherry pits, honey. We’ll never get them all. Or stop rainy-day blues. Some things aren’t possible.”

Eugene nodded. She was right. But still, his heart ached. Damn cherry pit.

Footsteps approached, and Samantha practically fell on the floor in her haste to get on her feet. She stroked her husband’s cheek and then patted Devon’s arm as she headed out of the room.

Devon leaned in the kitchen doorway. “Hey, dad, before I go…just wondering…”

Eugene climbed to his feet and met his son’s bashful gaze. “Yeah?”

“Could you give me the recipe for your cherry tarts?”

Eugene smiled. He didn’t have to ask if his son wanted them with or without the pits.

They both knew.

Novels by A. K. Frailey

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Newearth Justine Awakens—Chapter Twenty Part I

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An Inconvenient Truth

Marching across the Luxonian Supreme Council Tower courtyard, Cerulean kept his gaze focused straight ahead and his expression neutral. The fewer hurdles between him and his appointed meeting, the better.

But no…

“Hey, Cerulean! Is that you?” Roux, in his athletic form, which he wore like a favorite fashion, jogged across the colorful, fauna-strewn square. His dark skin, well-set black eyes, and muscular body set him apart from the other guardians who usually chose less outstanding physiologies. Roux skirted a sparkling fountain and grasped Cerulean’s arm in an old-chum- it’s-nice-to-see-you greeting.

Cerulean swallowed and fixed a pleasant expression on his face. Roux was a good friend; at least it felt that way it felt every time they met. But he knew too much about Judge Sterling’s deceptive nature and Roux’s ambition to ever be at ease.

“Hi, Roux. It’s been a while.”

“I’d say. Given up the native shore, eh?”

Tendrils of vines wafted in a gentle breeze, reminding Cerulean of an ocean current. “Not quite. I just hoped to move onto—” With a sigh, he dropped his gaze. “You know.”

Roux nodded. “Sure.” He shifted his stance and shrugged away an unpleasant memory. “So, what’s up? You here to see Sterling?”

Darting a glance at the tower, Cerulean hunched his shoulders. “There’s been some trouble on Newearth—”

Roux snorted. “When isn’t there trouble on that planet? By the Divide, they’re as bad as Bhuacs for getting into black holes.”

“Not always their fault.”

“No, but then again, they ask for it more often than not. Take their new android initiative. You really think humans should be trusted with—”

Cerulean stiffened. “Their what?”

“You know. Surely you’ve heard of it. One of their governors, Bite or Right or something, she announced that they have broken the barrier between human and android—”

“Hell!”

“It will be if she loses control of those things. I was on a transport with one named Max. Creative, eh? Anyway, he was built like a super-transport, had the mental capacity of a Cresta but not a particle of social graces. And not much of a moral code. Units were his guiding force. The more units, the stronger the force.”

Stunned, Cerulean returned his gaze to Roux. “Would you know how to get in touch with him?”

Roux scratched his jaw. “Now, why in the universe would I want to do that?”

“As a favor to me.”

A suffering sigh signaled Roux’s consent. “He works for RunaWreck. They own nearly all the services in and out of Bothmal. It’s a busy place, and Max is an able security officer. Try contacting their supervisor, Kingman. He’ll put you in touch. If you make it worth his while.”

“Any suggestions?”

Roux chuckled. “Pay Kingman a thousand units, and tell Max that you know an android named Justine. She’s a legend that just won’t die. He’s obsessed with her.”

“I know Justine. I was at her trial. She was shut down.”

Roux’s smile died. “Oh, well, even androids can be stuck on stupid.” Roux’s gaze shifted to the fountain. “And about Sterling and me, I never spied for him—it wasn’t what it sounded like.”

Cerulean’s gaze joined Roux’s at the fountain. “Good to hear.”

Roux swallowed a bitter grin. “It’s been good to see you. Don’t be a stranger, or I might be forced to return to Earth, and you remember how that turned out.”

Cerulean raised his hand and patted Roux’s rock-like arm— once, twice. “Newearth now.”

Roux paced away. “Humans are human. Some things never change.” He looked over his shoulder. “And good luck with Sterling. You could do worse.”

Cerulean blew air between his lips. He’d need to do better.

And in a hurry.

~~~

Sterling sat ensconced in a large, overstuffed chair, leaning back, snug, plying a small tool about a ball of fluffy yarn. He crossed a long, luminous fiber around the hooked needle, lifted another thread over the hook, twirled the thread around again, and repeated the process. His eyes squinted in child-like concentration.

Cerulean entered the office silently and observed the surprising dexterity of his superior’s thick human fingers with fascinated abandon. “You’ve taken up—” He had to search for the word. “—crocheting?”

With his head bowed in studious determination, Sterling’s rumbly voice rose to the occasion. “Therapy—to calm my nerves.”

“You don’t have nerves, sir.”

Sterling let the tapestry of riotous colors fall on his lap as he glared at Cerulean. “Now you tell me!” He shook his head. “I have to reside in this human form so often and manage every new Newearth crisis with such resplendent dignity—my nerves are completely shot.” He picked up the needle again.

Cerulean bit his lip against the tumult of incongruities that ricocheted around his mind. In the spirit of “If-you-can’t-beat- them, join-‘em,” Cerulean edged closer. “Could you show me?”

Sterling glanced up. “Your nerves giving you trouble?”

Cerulean stepped back. “No, sir. My nerves are fine.”

Slapping down his temporary insanity and rising to his feet, Sterling gestured with a stiff jaw. “I discovered a new drink. It’s called brandy, and it has a wonderfully surprising effect.” He strode toward a back wall and waved his hand, obviously confident that the wall would know exactly what to do. “Try some. It’s Governor Right’s favorite.”

Scratching his head at his superior’s current level of crazy, Cerulean stayed put. “I’m not very fond of alcohol. Or Governor Right, for that matter.”

Sterling chuckled as he lifted a golden bottle from a rack unveiled by the sliding wall. “She’s a remarkable woman. There’s only one other I’d say could stand in her light, an Ingot named Lang from Universal Reports. Know her?”

“Never had the pleasure.”

“It’s never a pleasure. An experience but never a pleasure.” Sterling swirled his drink and ambled toward Cerulean, gesturing again, this time with a glance. “Sit down. You always stand so erect, like a guard waiting for the next attack.”

“Probably because I am.”

“You’ll wear yourself out. Look at me…and my nerves.” Sterling plopped himself down into his well-padded chair, shoving his crocheting aside. “Remember the day I visited you and that little girl got injured in a car wreck?”

Cerulean’s jaw clenched. “She almost died.”

“But you saved her, didn’t you? And I was furious. Being in human form was so foreign. I hated it.” He took a tender, loving sip. “You know I sent Roux to keep an eye on you.”

“Spy on me.”

Sterling pointed to the open wall. “Really, you should have one. It might mellow your heightened sensitivities. Humans do have some wisdom, after all. Being a nervous wreck isn’t all that helpful.”

“Am I a nervous wreck?”

Sterling sucked in a long breath. “No. And that surprises me. You should be. How was I to know that you wouldn’t break under all that pressure and go native? We’ve lost others under less trying circumstances.”

“By all accounts, I have gone native. I’m always in my human form.”

Sterling nodded. “And by the Divide, I understand. There’s something rather stimulating about the human body. Of course, being able to regenerate at will adds a pleasant security.” He chuckled. “If humans could become Luxonian, we’d be overrun. Experiencing a bit both worlds is rather addictive.”

“Yet most Luxonians forego the pleasure.”

“Most Luxonians don’t like a challenge. Or self-control. You have abundant self-control, Cerulean.”

Cerulean folded his hands together. “You asked me here for a reason.”

“Certainly. And you’ve answered all my questions, for the most part.”

“This was a test? To see if my nerves were shot or if I had turned to drink?”

“To see you. You look good.” He paused and scrutinized Cerulean’s face. “Perhaps a little worn around the eyes, though. You’re not seething over that absurd leak about Roux, are you? Why anyone thought it was helpful to bring that to light now, I can’t imagine.”

“Someone thought they’d make our leadership more honest by showing us how often they lie.”

Wagging a finger, Sterling chuckled. “Uh, oh. Now there’s the first sign of weakness I’ve seen. Bitterness does not become you. But, I’ll put it aside.” Swallowing his last gulp of elixir, Sterling rose unsteadily. “Now, tell me, what can I do for you—Newearth—that is? This part of the universe won’t remain calm for long without our mutual support.”

Cerulean let his eyes roam the room before settling back on his superior. “There is the matter of Taug, the Cresta who’s targeted a crossbreed named Derik. He either wants him as a specimen or dead.”

“Yes, I’ve heard. Governor Right told me that she has the matter in hand. She was shocked to learn of Taug’s duplicity. Mitholie, one of Cresta’s finest, has assured us that Taug will be punished most severely.”

“And Derik?”

“Who?”

“The crossbreed.”

“Oh, sorry. No. Crossbreeding isn’t allowed by the Inter-Alien Alliance, so there are no crossbreeds. A mistake.”

The guard in Cerulean stiffened to formal attention. “Derik is not a mistake. And he’s not the only crossbreed.”

Sterling poured himself another drink. “You know, if I do become an alcoholic, the blame will fall at your feet.”

“About Derik?”

“Damn it, Cerulean! Derik can’t exist. If he does, we are bound by the terms of our treaty to charge the Cresta government and expel the entire race from Newearth. But they’re not about to go anywhere without a fight. And they won’t be fighting alone. Do you really want another intergalactic war on your hands?”

Cerulean strolled to the open wall and lifted a glass from a hidden shelf. He poured himself a healthy serving and tossed it back in one swallow. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he glared at Sterling. “We can’t hide from the truth. Crossbreeds exist. Killing an inconvenient truth isn’t an option; it’s suicide.”

Sterling strolled back to his chair and picked up his crocheting needle. “This wasn’t just for show, you know.”

“Can’t we amend the Inter-Alien Alliance agreement to allow for…certain irregularities? At least we can allow the crossbreeds that do exist to live and demand complete transparency. Cresta scientists will still experiment—evil exists—but at least we can call it what it is and embarrass those who do it with the reality of what they’ve done.”

A bellowing laugh burst from Sterling. “And what exactly would they be embarrassed about? They’ve succeeded in crossbreeding two very different races. Cresta citizens will burst their bio-suits with pride.”

Cerulean shook his head, staring at his empty glass. “Not when they realize that their brilliant scientists just created a race of beings stronger and smarter than themselves.”

“The saddest aspect of life right now is that science gathers knowledge faster than society gathers wisdom.” ~ Isaac Asimov

A new chapter every Tuesday and Thursday.

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Newearth Justine Awakens—Chapter Nineteen

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Enlighten Me

Bright, deceiving sunshine shone down on the after-holiday crowd as they endured their first day back to work. Some wore their new gifts of bright hats, thick coats, and padded footwear to protect themselves from the harsh, winter elements. Color and style did little to assist the beings as they plowed against a freezing wind. Survival loomed as the greatest good while ascetics followed a distant second. Holiday happiness had, by necessity, been replaced by grit and determination.

Governor Right stood before her ornate office cabinet and poured amber liquid into a shot glass. She tossed the drink down her throat. After an initial grimace, her face relaxed. With a sigh, she carried the bottle and the glass over to her desk and settled onto her padded chair. She poured herself another.

“This could go on all day.” Mitholie stood just inside the governor’s office doorway. The door slid shut behind him with a slight hiss.

Governor Right shot to her feet, her eyes narrowing. “Who let you in here? Who are you?”

“May I have a taste? It’s not often that I have an opportunity to enjoy Newearth cuisine.”

“Go to Bothmal! You’re one of Taug’s little minions, is that it? Listen, Cresta, I have—”

“Tut, tut. At least, I think that’s the way you humans express polite displeasure. I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re shockingly ignorant. I’m no one’s minion. I’m a leading scientist on Crestar. Some would say, the—”

A gasp knocked the governor back onto her chair. “Mitholie? By the Divide, what brings you here?” Her hand trembled as she pulled open a drawer and withdrew a second glass.

Mitholie’s bulbous eyes glittered. “I’m so glad you asked.”

Governor Right watched in fascinated disgust as Mitholie first sniffed her expensive brandy and then poured it into his breathing helm. Her mouth hung ajar like a broken hangar door.

Blinking his reaction under control, Mitholie grinned crookedly. “I had no idea you had such delicious liquids available. Taug’s been keeping more than a few secrets.”

Taug’s name jolted Governor Right, her gaze hardening. “Have you seen him lately? I’d love to arrest him on a variety of charges, but he’s difficult to pin down, and I don’t want to offend—”

Mitholie waved her concerns away. “Humans can’t help being offensive. It’s in your nature. But don’t worry, I’ve learned to control my sensibilities.”

The governor plowed ahead. “He does have one last piece of business to dispose of. Apparently, he’s been stupid enough to awaken an android war criminal and planned to use it as an executioner—when need be. Or should I say, if need be. I get the feeling that honest Taug hasn’t been exactly straightforward with us.”

“Your scintillating insight is as I expected.” Mitholie blew bubbles through his breather helm before continuing. “No Cresta is ever straightforward with anyone, least of all another Cresta.”

“So you knew about his plans to create more half-breeds?”

“I knew the temptation would be irresistible.”

Governor Right rose and strode to the furthest corner where the shadow had resided on its last visit. She searched the corners of the room. “Do you also know that other forces are at work here? Non-Cresta forces?”

Mitholie shuffled to a padded chair across from the governor’s desk and snuffed another long draught from his spiked breather helm. “You mean the Ingoti drug runners? They’re—”

“No. Not Ingoti. I mean another race. One I can’t name.”

“Can’t or won’t? Please, don’t be shy. We’re friends—enjoying liquids together.”

“Priceless!” Clenching her hands together, the governor began to pace. “I’m not sure how much to say. I’ve had the office scanned numerous times, but one never knows who might be listening.” She stepped closer, dropping her voice. “My guest has arrived at odd intervals and proven to be surprisingly resourceful. And dangerous.”

Mitholie regarded Jane Right with a cold stare. “To what purpose?”

The governor looked away, her gaze unfocused and her words hesitant. “I’m not certain. But I know that it has an interest in Ingoti investments.”

“Experimental drugs?”

“Could be.”

“Well, that’s always good for a few extra units. Not terribly dangerous, except to the test race. Human, this time, eh?”

The governor nodded.

Mitholie stroked his chin, his eyes half-lidded. “I don’t think that needs to disturb us. My mission is to keep the good name of Crestar intact. Taug had a simple job to do, but he failed.”

The governor resumed her stroll around the office. “So, you didn’t expect him to experiment on the side?”

“I dearly hoped he would. Every bit of scientific knowledge is worth a million units. You don’t have that saying?” A sad shake of the head appeared to denote further proof of pitiful, human ignorance. “In any case, I assumed he’d experiment first. But I expected him to be quicker and subtler. And now you tell me he has an android war machine at his disposal? Dark waters. This becomes cloudy, indeed.”

“If it makes you any happier, I have the half-breed in one of my private holding cells. I ordered Taug to destroy the android.”

“If he didn’t obey me, what makes you think he’ll obey you?”

With a nonchalant wave, Governor Right played her hand. “I own his laboratory.”

Mitholie squirmed in glee. “You couldn’t pinch a Cresta in a more tender spot! I take back what I said earlier; you are scintillating.” Mitholie heaved himself out of the chair and shuffled to the door. “I think we can do better, though. Have your mysterious friend kill the half-breed in the interest of race relations and put the android on trial for its life. Everyone loves a spectacle. Offer a dramatic show, and you’ll become the hero of the season.” Mitholie chuckled as he ambled through the door. “You could sell tickets.”

Watching the door slide shut, the governor slid her palm-sized Dustbuster back into her pocket.

~~~

Derik sat bolt upright. The darkness blanketed everything. Even with his heightened Cresta sensitivities, he could not peer through the black gloom. Someone was in his cell with him. He could sense it.

Shivering, he wrapped himself in the thin blanket offered by Governor Right’s officers. He had chuckled at the irony of being locked up by secret police when he had been living in the open every day of his life. The chuckle had worn off hours ago.

“You’re finally awake. I was getting bored.”

Derik shot to his feet.

A muscular arm reached out and stopped him before he made it to the door. “Say one word, and you’ll suffer a fatal heart attack.”

With an audible swallow, Derik muttered. “My heart is strong.”

“Not when it’s crushed.”

“What do you want?”

“To understand you.”

Derik’s chuckle returned and quickly morphed into insane laughter. Clutching the wall, he leaned at a crazy angle. “Everyone wants to understand me—I can’t even understand my- self. What? You’re a friend of Taug’s?”

“I’ve never been so insulted!” The shadow retreated to a far corner and folded the arms of its robe. “Actually, you and I are not dissimilar. I too have suffered from, shall we say, identity confusion.”

Derik sighed. “My sympathies. But unless you are being hunted like—”

“My people have been hunted longer than you can imagine. Our perfection makes us a target for every conquering race. As your unique qualities make you a prized possession.”

“So you’re not Cresta or Ingoti…or even Uanyi.” Derik let loose with a low whistle. “You’re Bhuac?”

The intake of breath brought the first real smile to Derik’s face. “I wish I could see you, though I suppose it wouldn’t matter as you can take any form. I’d never see you again—would I?”

The shadow drifted nearer. “I didn’t expect this level of perception. No one else has ever guessed.”

“Must be the human-Cresta combination. A sensitive heart, an analytical mind—quick reflexes.” Derik’s hand snapped forward and caught the figure by the throat. “Why are you here? No one needs my sympathy.”

“I could become a Kalama tiger and devour you.”

“I’d break your neck before your first bite.” As Derik applied pressure, the figure shrank. He shoved it against the wall and snapped his fingers in the air. “Make some light would you?”

A blue glow flared and a dainty Bhuac figure appeared before Derik, resembling a fairy child enveloped in soft radiance. “My name is Faye.”

Derik fell back against the wall. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but life’s been a bit challenging of late, and I don’t feel like lying.”

Faye stepped forward. “I’m here to ask a favor.”

Derik flapped his arms as if to embrace his environment. “You do realize that I’m in prison—about to be murdered?”

“I won’t let that happen. But I need you to make me a promise.”

“Oh, sure. I’m in the mood for granting favors. How about I give you the sun and the moon? Anything else?”

Faye swayed over to the hard bed and perched on the edge. “My family was destroyed in the Telathot incursion. Before she was taken prisoner, I promised my mother I would save my people. I’ve lived a lie for generations of your kind and served through deceit and despair, using every race at my disposal to keep the Bhuaci safe from any further desolation.”

Derik slid down the wall and sat on the floor. “I’m impressed. In fact, I’m ashamed. I shouldn’t have—”

Faye rose and paced in front of Derik, like a general reviewing her troops. “As a half-breed, you have special advantages. And your friend, the android, also has certain gifts. I want you to promise to assist me in protecting my race.”

Rubbing his hands through his hair, Derik sighed. “If I wasn’t locked in a cage, I’d be willing, but as you can see, my options are limited. Justine is probably—” He doubled over, agonized shivers wracking his body. “What will they do to her?”

“I don’t know, but even if she is destroyed, there must be others like her. Do you know—?”

Derik covered his face with his fists. “I don’t care. I only care about her.” He lowered his hands and glared through haunted eyes. “Have you ever been in love?”

A twisted smile disfigured Faye’s petite face. “I have suffered so, without the benefits.”

Derik’s head fell back against the wall; his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I don’t get it. You’re shapeshifters. You should be able to conquer the universe. Take the form of demons and destroy all who oppose you.”

Faye swayed closer, her gaze boring into his. “To conquer as you suggest, we’d have to destroy ourselves first.”

“Innocence, a beggar’s inheritance, isn’t it?”

“I have often thought so…but in observing you and your friends, I have discovered new strength.”

Derik’s sneer was palpable through the blue glow. “Enlighten me.”

“Right makes might.”

A harsh buzzing warned of a visitor. The room fell into darkness and a soft whoosh blew across Derik’s face, alerting him to Faye’s transformation. What she had become, he would never know. Despite the heavy tread of boots, a harsh, white light that made him blink, and a harsher voice that grated on his ear, he stood transfixed by the soft touch of a wing in flight.

“I don’t believe in collective guilt, but I do believe in collective responsibility.”  ~Audrey Hepburn

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Possibilities

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Living in a fantasyland is fine. So long as I remember it’s not real. As a writer, I get to legitimize my role-playing, living the adventure of hero or villain as the case may be. But I’m not quite so dense as to believe that much of what I spend my cranium capacity on is little more than imagined reality.

Today, I’m sitting outside the local high school while my two middle daughters finish up their Drivers Ed classes. A gentle breeze blows and softens the intense heat of this summery day.

The last time I sat in this spot, I had plans well laid—practically none of which actually happened. I went from knowing my life trajectory to not being certain of anything. Even longstanding traditions—like going to Mass on Sunday—jumped the tracks and entered a new reality. One I never imagined.

Some people have told me that they just want things to go back to normal. While others have suggested the possibility of accepting a new normal. My guesstimate would be that we’ve always lived in a world of possibilities. The surprise is not that we live in fantasylands. The surprise is when we are shaken out of them.

Yesterday, the girls and I went to pick cherries from a neighbor’s tree. My friend had invited us several times, but I wanted to wait until she got all she wanted first and the luscious fruits were fully ripe. So, with a beautiful breeze blowing, the kids and I arranged to stop by with buckets in hand and harvest what we could. I knew what to expect—green leafy boughs bountifully speckled with ripe cherries.

But that’s not what we found. The tree was smaller, older, and there were few cherries among the sparse leaves. Where had the image in my mind come from? Experience, I told myself. History. Years of picking cherries off that same tree.

Only it wasn’t that same tree. It was older and worn and not so fruitful.

Long years ago, when my dad and mom divorced, I decided in a fit of self-preservation that I had no dad. I would expel his existence from my mind and cleanse my heart from the hurt of longing for a “real” father figure. But adulthood, a chance meeting (Actually after several grace-filled meetings), we developed a relationship. Though it wasn’t an ideal father-daughter-thing, it became a source of mutual kindness—love without counting or defining. As he nears his end—and at 91, I know he can’t go on forever—I look back on a friendship that could not have existed outside the grace of God.

Even my kids challenge my preconceptions. My older daughters tend to push the limits—managing things ahead of their age groups, amazing friends with their proficiency and abilities. So when my youngest came along, I naturally charged ahead, figuring that’s what she wanted. Guess not.

So as I think about it on this bright, blue-sky day, my ability to judge people and situations knows no bounds. I decide I know stuff not because I have amazing powers of forecasting, inside information, or unlimited spiritual insight, but because I simply want to get a handle on my life and decide between making a hot stew or cold egg salad sandwiches for dinner. Between calling a friend who hasn’t responded back in weeks and accepting the inevitable valley in our friendship. Between letting the poison of media-gossip roll off my shoulders or hugging it like a snake that strangles all hope of sincerity.

Accepting the mysteries of life and their involved vague possibilities mean that sometimes I get things wrong. I do have a dad, and I love the man more than words can say—partly because I have had to fight every demon in hell to hang onto our fragile relationship. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, what will happen with my friends, if the apples will ripen or rot, but I do believe that possibilities exist. That hope is not fantasy. That telling people what I “know” puffs my ignorance rather than fuels the informed.

Turns out that I won’t make a cherry pie, but we’ll have ice cream with a few cherries on top as a treat this week. A possible new friend asked if I wanted to meet for a cup of coffee. Recent media-gossip died a couldn’t-be-soon-enough death.

And I called my dad on Father’s Day.

Novels by A. K. Frailey

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Newearth Justine Awakens—Chapter Eighteen

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Two Hundred Years Ago

Bhuaci Planet Helm

Save Us If You Can

Faye loved to appear in various aesthetically pleasing forms, but once she learned about human fairy tales in her Spectrum of Cultures class, she adopted a fairy figure and insisted on the name Faye, meaning loyalty. Her mother, in her more mundane form of a gnomish, blue-green woman appeared almost human, though she literally did have eyes in the back of her head and an extra set of arms.

As far as either of them—or any Bhuaci for that matter—was concerned, Helm was the perfect planet and they, as harmless shape-shifters, were the perfect race. Unfortunately, they were not alone in thinking so.

The morning of the Telathot incursion began much like any other. Faye was heading out to class, but her mother called her back for an extra hug.

“Don’t know what’s gotten into me today. Your father thought I was coming down with something.”

“Well, you’re not exactly known for your impetuous nature, Mother.” Faye’s eyes twinkled at the understatement.

Her mother’s gaze delved into her daughter’s eyes and, with a clouded expression, she placed a small chip into her hand. “You know I’ve always had the gift of foresight. I can see things—just a bit. I’ve seen something.”

Faye’s crystal eyes grew wide. “What?”

“Utter destruction.”

Faye shook her head.

Her mother squeezed her slim fingers over the chip. “I may be wrong. I hope—but just in case, take this and if there is trouble, head to docking bay one-one-four. They’re—”

Sirens ripped through the early morning. Faye trembled, her eyes grew even wider.

Her mother shoved her toward the door. “One-one-four. Remember. Go, now!”

“But, Mother! Father and…everyone!”

“Come back when you can. Save us if you can. But at least one Bhuac must survive. And it must be you!”

~~~

Present Day

Newearth

Faye slipped out of the black cloak that covered her from head to toe, her body shifting from a large, monstrous being into her preferred, petite form, and stepped away from its smothering embrace. Her dance-like steps propelled her to the circular living room couch, which lay against a large window overlooking the bustling city.

Stretching her body full length, she lay sprawled across the comfortable cushions until she heard the soft padding of feet and a polite, “Ahem.”

She sat up and leaned back against the glass wall that revealed a half-mile drop to the pavement below.

A Bhuac male in a light green sweater and black slacks with a handsome, elven face, padded forward. “All well?”

Faye shook her head. “It’s never really well, Gabriel.” She peered at the holiday throng below. “You know that as well as I do.”

“And the governor?”

“She’s scared witless. That’s something.” She looked up at the figure in front of her. “I wish I didn’t have to be evil.”

Gabriel snapped to her side. “You’re not evil. You’re just doing as your mother asked. You’re surviving. You’re helping us all survive.” He stroked her platinum blond hair and rubbed her cheek with his hand. “Remember what they did. Remember what Crestas and Ingoti really are.”

Faye snorted her disdain. “My current allies.”

“Best place for your enemies is at your side—where you can keep your eye on them.”

Falling back onto her couch, Faye sighed. “Remind me, what am I getting out of all this?”

Gabriel stiffened, his handsome body rigid, in perfect control. “As long as they fight among themselves, they grow weak, while we grow strong.”

Wrapping her fingers around invisible bars, Faye stared into the air. “Ah, yes. Glorious, isn’t it? Caged by unnatural ambition.”

Gabriel scowled. “What’s gotten into you?”

Her hands dropped from the dramatic pantomime. “I’m not sure. Self-pity, maybe.” Faye scooted off the couch and wandered over to a table covered with ornamental figures in battle formation—not soldiers but fairy-tale dolls and animals of various descriptions—lined up against each other. She shoved a small, dark figure with large ears and round eyes closer to the front. “I like Bala. He’s an interesting human. The most interesting I’ve ever come across, in fact.”

“Bala? He has only a small part to play. All you must do is keep Governor Right dancing to your tune, which keeps Taug nicely in check and—”

Faye blew air in exasperation, like a child hundreds of years younger than herself. “There’s always an and. The Ingoti drug-runners are not toys. They kill. Often.”

Gabriel took the figure that Faye had moved forward and sent him in retreat to the back row. “All the more reason to keep them looking over their shoulder.”

Faye flicked the figure flat on his back and spoke without looking up. “They think I am one of the Creators.”

“Better and better.” Gabriel sauntered to the doorway. “As long as they remain frightened, they won’t attack anyone important without your permission.” He turned and stared at the petite face. “Our people have been safe since you grew into power. Not one Bhuac has died under mysterious circumstances on Newearth, and Helm has remained untouched for years. You’re doing your job.”

A feeble smile arched Faye’s lips. “You want my job?”

“Not on your life.” Gabriel padded out the door.

Faye scooped up the toy figure and dropped him on the front line. “Pity.”

Security is no replacement for liberty.   ~Martin Firrell  

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Newearth Justine Awakens—Chapter 17, Part II

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I Was Just Considering My Options

The sun had crested the horizon as Derik ran his fingers along the back of the park bench, knocking the melting snow to the ground. He shivered in the morning chill, especially without his heavy coat, but he didn’t care. He wrapped his stiff fingers around the dagger in his pocket, comforted by the smooth handle. It reminded him of the dissecting knives in the lab, and he found this oddly amusing. Starting off at a trot, he jogged across the street, his gaze down, but his mind focused. Someone jostled him roughly. Glancing up, his mouth dropped open. Justine grabbed his arm with more force than he thought necessary. “Justine?” He shook his arm free. “What’re you doing here? I left you a message—”

“Like an idiot. You think you can murder a Cresta and no one will find out? You’ll be hunted to—”

“Can’t you see? It’s the only way. I can’t marry you till I know that we’ll have a chance at living a normal life—even an abnormal life. Taug’s a lying—never mind. It’s over. I’m taking matters into my own hands.”

Justine ran her fingers through her wind-rippled hair with a long sigh. “My perfect plan—blown to smithereens.” Gripping his arm, she nudged him toward the street. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“To your place. You’re going to pack some necessaries while I shock you with my life story, and then we’re going to the nearest transport and head off-planet.”

Derik stood frozen.

Justine jerked his arm, knocking him off balance. “I’m not in a negotiating mood, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

As soon as Derik opened his apartment door, Justine barged ahead, her gaze sweeping the premises for any sign of intrusion. After a quick run-through, she returned to the living room and plopped down on the couch with a sigh. She patted the cushion next to her. “Sit.”

Derik frowned. “You’re beginning to sound a bit too much like Taug for my taste.”

Justine snorted. “You don’t know the half of it.”

His hands on his hips, his legs braced wide apart, Derik jutted his chin forward. “I’ve already had more than a few shocks today. Go ahead, see if you can surprise me.”

Justine stared at the ceiling. “You’re not making this easy.”

Derik clenched his hands together and wrung them like a towel. “I already had my day nicely planned. I was going to gut Taug like the animal he is, collect you, and we’d head to a Bhuaci settlement.” He thrust a hand deep into his pocket and retrieved a data-chip. “See, our transport’s all arranged. But now—”

Justine chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll disarrange all your plans in a moment. But keep the data-chip. You’ll need it.” She jumped to her feet. “Give thy soul air, thy faculties expanse; love, joy, even sorrow—yield thyself to all….”

Derik blinked.

“Forget it. A noble sentiment perhaps but too painful to endure.” She cupped Derik’s hand in hers and stroked it, her voice softening. “I’m not human, Derik. Not even close.”

The smile that spread across Derik’s face morphed into an inane grin. He started giggling and was soon doubled over in hysterical laughter. It took him several moments to gain control of his heaving shoulders. “Really? You honestly think I didn’t know? I figured something…though Clare was kind enough to color in the details for me.”

“Clare told you?” Justine’s confused scowl darkened as she turned away. “That wasn’t her place.”

“Place or not, I’ve known for a while. And what’s more, I haven’t cared for a moment.” He waved an imploring hand at her back. “You seriously believe that I, a mixed-breed, half- Cresta would care that you’re a half-breed, human-android?”

Turning, Justine folded her arms across her chest. “You have a delicate way of putting things, Derik.”

Derik plunged across the room and gripped Justine by the shoulders, his gaze delving into hers. “We’re made for each other.”

Justine closed her eyes and leaned in, her forehead resting on his shoulder. “I wish it were that easy.”

Derik rubbed her back, pressing her closer.

Justine pulled away, all business. “Killing Taug won’t help. You need an escape.”

“What’re you thinking?”

“Take that transport. I’ll deal with Taug.”

“Like hell! He’s my enemy, not yours. You don’t even know him.”

Justine’s arms dropped to her sides. “Now’s when I shock you—ready? I knew Taug before you were even born. He was at the Inter-Alien Alliance trial that found me guilty of war crimes. He observed my sentencing and was the one who awoke me seventy years later. Now, he asks only one little favor to keep me out of prison—kill you.”

Derik fell back against the sofa and slid to the ground.

Justine knelt beside him. “You can still escape. I’m not going to kill you. I never was—”

“You stepped in front of that autoskimmer on purpose. I remember…I wondered…I didn’t care.” Derik’s shoulders shook as he dropped his face into his hands. “If I were dead—” He looked into Justine’s eyes, tears running down his cheeks. “Kill me.”

Justine’s jaw tensed. “Shut up!” She jumped to her feet. “I have a plan. And it doesn’t involve killing anyone. You’re going to take that transport, and I’ll take care of Taug—”

A snort made them turn around. Taug shuffled through the doorway. Three Crestas stood guard behind him. “No need. Taug can take care of himself.”

~~~

Governor Right smirked at her datapad, elbows propped on her desk. “Screwed up didn’t you, little fellow? So, you weren’t as smart as your specimen. Funny, how that always happens. We think we have our options covered, then along comes a surprise element.” She tapped her datapad, and her secretary’s face appeared on the wall screen. “Cancel today’s appointments. A private matter, so you don’t need to tell anyone. Just say I’m indisposed. Let ‘em chew on that.”

She gathered a couple of small objects from her desk and placed them discreetly within easy reach on her person. She patted her hip with a flicker of a smile and headed out the door.

Ambling down the hallway, she nodded at a few faces, her glazed expression denoting her disinterest in conversation. As she reached the elevator, she waited for it to empty and then started forward. Turning around inside, pleased with her isolation, she was startled by a whoosh just before the automatic doors closed. Without turning her head, she knew exactly who occupied the small space with her. She trembled.

“No greetings?”

With a swallow, Governor Right tried to make her voice sound natural. “I avoid all unnecessary pleasantries. It takes too much time.”

“This won’t be pleasant, so you won’t lose a moment.”

Governor Right closed her eyes.

~~~

Vandi crowds bustled about in a holiday mood. The next day would begin the Inter-Alien combined Winter Festival and Religious Observation Season. The fact that it began nearly at the same time as the Oldearth Christmas Season irritated some, but since a lottery determined the date, few beings felt the need to argue the point. After all, every day was meaningful to someone. Christians considered it a sign from God. Others smirked at the very idea. The rest simply enjoyed the opportunity for paid leave and a few days of fun.

As Taug slogged through the wet snow behind Justine and Derik, he kept his weapon hidden from view. His three well- paid guards shuffled behind, their tentacles hidden under shapeless capes meant to appear inconspicuous. Only a few distracted stares came their way, which they ignored with icy politeness.

As they reached the middle of the main street, Justine scanned the environment. The streets were packed. Her heart froze. A group of children huddled outside a shop in serious consultation. Her gaze zoomed in. She instantly recognized the little boy’s face. Glancing at Derik, she wondered what he had looked like as a child. She blinked in the sudden realization that she had never been a little girl. The loss hit her like a Dustbuster blast to the chest.

Taug stepped between them. “This’ll do.” He gazed innocently at Derik. “I’m sorry. But I was always honest. You know why you were created, and you know why you must die. It’s as simple as that.”

A figure strode forward.

Taug’s eyes narrowed at the daring approach.

“Not so simple.” Wearing little more than a short-sleeve shirt, a pair of jeans, and slip-on shoes, oddly incongruous to the surrounding pedestrians bundled in heavy winter clothes, Bala stopped in front of Taug. He merely glanced at Justine and Derik. With a wave, he motioned Taug’s weapon aside. “Cerulean sent word that Derik was in trouble. Clare’s busy getting warrants and all that legal stuff. I’m here to see that no one gets hurt in the meantime.” He pointed to the shuffled Cresta footprints and nodded. “You made it pretty easy to follow you.”

Taug aimed his Dustbuster at Derik. “He’s is past all trouble. Even he agrees. Don’t you, Derik?”

Derik stepped away from Justine and thrust out his chest, making an easy target. “It’s better for one man to die than for the innocent to—”

Bala shot a glance at Justine. “Oh, brother! Any other ideas?”

Justine shook her head. “I had planned the perfect escape when Taug showed up.”

Pulling a dented Dustbuster from his back pocket, Bala shrugged. “Well, let’s see if we can work together. Back off, Taug, and tell your—”

Taug’s warning shot flew wide, blasting an innocent tree to bits. Bala rolled to the ground as shrieks filled the air.

Justine shoved Derik to the side and then lunged at Taug, but Derik gripped her foot from behind, and she slipped in the mushy snow.

Bala slapped his weapon free of snow, using words that would have shocked his mother.

Derik released Justine’s boot and scrambled to his feet, ready to tackle Taug.

Sirens screamed their pulsating warning as a sleek, well-armored vehicle skidded to a stop. The door flew open, and Governor Right stepped out, her arms raised dramatically. Her gaze raked through the frightened crowd.

Taug’s guards melted into the throng.

Bala lowered his weapon and stared, open-mouthed, as if the governor were a mirage.

The governor’s voice rang over the cacophony. “It’s all right, citizens. I’ll protect you. Please, go about your business. This incident is well in hand.” Her stiff smile matched her glassy stare.

When the crowd shook off its fright and began to circulate again, she dropped her gaze and glared at Taug. “Idiot.”

Taug shuffled forward. “Hardly. If you hadn’t interfered, at least some of us would have died, and Justine would have taken the blame.”

Her eyes roved over the small assembly. “Which one?”

Taug shrugged. “Which one which?”

Governor Right’s eyes flared. “The crossbreed, fool.”

Derik stepped forward, his expression haggard and lost to the world. “That would be me.”

With a snort, the governor marched forward and dug her fingers into his shoulder. “A prisoner is as good as dead in my book.” Governor Right shoved Derik toward the open car door.

She waved Bala’s approach away and glanced at Taug, sweeping her eyes toward Justine. “Do with it as you will. Take it apart if it pleases you. Just never let it rise again.”

~~~

Justine stretched her legs at an angle as she leaned back on a padded chair in front of a well-appointed desk. A pull-down electron microscope specially fitted to Cresta physiology hung directly overhead. She toyed with a bio-sample box as she watched Taug divest himself of his heavy coat. “Does it bother you that badly? The cold, I mean?”

Taug shivered. “Horrible! It never drops below freezing on my planet. The average temperature is biologically perfect and the range is slight, so we rarely worry about seasonal preparations. Just wet and dry as the rotation determines.”

“Lucky you.”

His eyes glowed softly, curiously. “You feel cold, then?”

“Not like most people. But I have sensors that tell me what I’m feeling. I react according to my host’s expectations. In winter, I wear sweaters and a coat to blend in.”

“Lucky you.” Taug plopped down on a couch across from the desk. He pushed a button and a wall section slid away, revealing a small fireplace. He tapped his datapad and colorful flames burst forth, undulating with glowing heat.

Justine grimaced. “A bit showy, don’t you think?”

“Nothing like your paintings and Oldearth decor.”

Justine pursed her lips. “You’ve been to my home?”

“When you weren’t there, naturally.”

With a dramatic yawn and a stretch, Justine rose and paced across the lab. She circled back and stopped, staring at the wall tank. “So, I want him alive and you want him dead. In either case, we need to get him back. Any way we could manage this without killing anyone or setting off an interplanetary war?”

Taug stroked his chin with the edge of his tentacle. “Yes, I was just considering my options. Mitholie will send someone to collect me soon.”

Justine spun around. “Collect you?”

“Derik and you are not the only ones being threatened with annihilation. I’m beginning to think—we all are.” Leaning back, he closed his red-rimmed eyes. The next moment, he opened them sleepily and swerved his gaze to Justine. “Governor Right knows things without my telling her, and she appeared a bit worried, did she not?”

“Your government—”

“Oh, dark waters, no! They’re doing their best to appear shocked by every new event. No, I think we have a player in this game we know little about.”

Justine stiffened. “My creator?”

Taug sucked in a breath and frowned. “I hope not.”

Justine strode across the room and bent over Taug, staring into his golden eyes. “Why?”

“Because then we’d all be as good as dead.”

“Things which matter most must never be at the mercy of things which matter least.”
~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

A new chapter every Tuesday and Thursday.

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The Wheel or the Ball

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“This town is teeming with eligible bachelors. If you’re looking for love in all the wrong places.”

Cindy nodded, though her gaze stayed fixed on the hamster cage. She hadn’t honestly been listening. Of far more universal importance was whether Fred was sleeping…or…Gasp! Quite dead. There was no way on earth that her little girl was going to buy the I-don’t-know-what-happened—he-just-died excuse. Though the truth remained, Cindy really didn’t know what happened. Heck. He was a rodent after all. Rodents don’t live forever. Just seems like it when you’re a parent.

Jan stomped over, bent low, and added her gaze to the scene. “What we are looking at?”

Fred emerged from his wood-shaving encrusted boudoir. His whiskers twitching and his beady black eyes sparkling with a mischievous “Thought I was a goner, did ya?” expression.

Cindy sighed. Extravagantly. The munchkin drama wasn’t quite over. This tamed vermin would haunt her nights running the wobbly wheel of life a little longer. Oh well. He was rather cute for a critter with no tail and an independent personality.

She glanced at her desk. The jury duty summons sat next to her computer, which edged a stack of notebooks arranged for her convenience. She ignored them in order of importance. At the bottom, her house repair list. On top sat a list of dinner options. Grilled tuna and cheese sounded amazingly good right now.

“So, are we going out or what?”

“I’ve done my shopping, and church isn’t till Sunday. I’m not sure what going out would accomplish at this point.”

Eye roll. Jan had mastered it to a scintillating art form. “Just get out of the house, see something different. Maybe meet some new people. You know. Live-a-little.” Jan’s bug-eyed expression conveyed the theory that living involved effort beyond breathing and sustaining life functions.

Cindy begged to differ. “I’m still working on my lesson plans for next week, and the hens have taken up squatting rights in the garage. It’s time I gave them due notice.”

Thigh slap accompanied by yet another eye roll. Jan had it down. “Woman! You are so boring. All you ever do is work.”

Perhaps a change of location would ricochet the conversation into the outer atmosphere. Cindy swiped her muffin recipe book under her arm and charged into the kitchen. It was only two in the afternoon, and Patrick and Kelly loved muffins. Why not make them happy? Why not tilt the whole universe toward muffin-induced-joy?

The fact that the baking tins slammed on the counter like bullets discharged from a WWII blunderbuss did nothing to deter Jan’s train of thought. “We never have any fun!”

Apparently whining didn’t stop when one reached middle age.

Jan plopped down on the kitchen stool and proper her head on her hands. A picture of disconsolate teetering on the edge of depression. “I’m divorced, and you’re a widow. Men are a pain in the…well…you know, but we can’t live without them. Well, we can, but we’d rather not. Still, even though I’ve given up any hope of ever finding a decent guy, it’s still fun to look around and see what’s out there. Just for old time sake.” The fact that her voice had risen three octaves was duly noted.

Cindy sucked in a fresh breath of oxygen.

The ingredients practically assembled themselves. Wheat flour, oats, sugar, eggs, oil, baking soda… Cindy tapped her foot. Oh, yeah, the recipe! She flipped open the tattered book to her last concoction—Queens Muffins, which the kids had devoured last week in unscrupulous haste. On the next page sat a close up picture of molasses-raisin muffins. Oh boy!

A heart-stopping moment. Did she have molasses?

“Are you even listening?”

Yes! Molasses to the rescue, right next to the Karo syrup. Cindy eyed the half-full black bottle with a practiced eye. It would do. A little brown sugar could make up for any deficiencies. She rolled up her sleeves and dove into baking mode.

“News around town is that John and Megan have split. You know anything about that?”

Cindy’s eye twitched. Three friends had politely informed her of the shocking news. How shocking could it be in a world with a divorce rate running faster than the national debt clock? She tossed a prayer to Heaven. God, help John and Megan. Even more importantly—help their kids.

She preheated the oven, sprayed the muffin tins with olive oil, and poured her friend a glass of iced tea. “You sneer at every man you meet, tell your mom that you’re entering a convent at the next summer solstice, and cater to your kids like they own the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven.”

Jan actually frowned. Umbrage incarnate. “Do you have a point you’re trying to make?”

After a you-know-darn-right-well wave, Cindy scooped up gooey spoon-fulls and filled two muffin tins. “Dear-heart, you have a nasty habit of dipping into poisoned wells, and then you wonder why you feel sick.” She popped the trays into the oven.

Time to clean up.

Violins ready? Jan clasped her hands in pitiful desperation. “I just can’t give up on love.”

Cindy wondered if Elon Musk would allow her on board a spaceship heading—anywhere. “For God’s sake. Give love a chance—by all means. But love is a universe apart from happiness and romance.” She wiped her hands on a dishrag. Vigorously.

“Love is scrubbing the bathtub and getting off the grimy rings, making fried egg sandwiches for kids who seriously believe that they’re starving when they have no clue, filling in paperwork with black ink and writing legibly, doing your civic duty even when it means you can’t bring electronics into the courthouse, stopping at red lights, and not racing around tractors on a hill.”

Cindy tossed a drying towel to her friend.

Jan caught it handily.

Patrick jogged into the room. He jogged everywhere. If he wasn’t jogging he was eating or asleep. “Hey, Mom, I’m starving.” A statement of fact. Nothing more.

A frantic screech. Kelly skedaddled into the kitchen, arms circling, ready for takeoff. “Fred’s gone!”

Starvation would have to wait. Duty called. With an authoritative slouch, Patrick nudged his sister in the arm. “Naw. I just put him in his ball to roll around the house, so he won’t spend the whole night on that rickety wheel.”

Jan snorted. “With so much exercise, that rodent will outlive us all.”

Kelly sniffed. “What’s cooking?”

Cindy took a sip of tea and wondered which Fred liked better—the wheel or the ball.

Novels by A. K. Frailey

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Newearth Justine Awakens—Chapter Seventeen, Part I

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Miscalculation

Justine turned the lock and stepped away from the door. Pressing the wall panel, the lights turned on all over the small bungalow. Theodora trotted up and swirled about her legs with a demanding meow. Justine nudged the cat to the side with a wet boot. “In a minute, cat.”

The feline nudged back and meowed louder.

“You better watch yourself. I’ve had an offer to introduce another of your kind into this abode. Will it be a rival…or replacement?” With a deep sigh, Justine dropped down onto a bench and tugged off her boots. Slush dripped on the hardwood floor. Without a backward glance, she tiptoed over the melting pool and headed to the kitchen.

A single chime forced Justine to change course and plod to her computer screen. After tapping the keypad, she straightened her shoulders.

The cat sashayed behind.

Taug’s bland face appeared larger than life in her living room. “Glad to see you, Justine.”

“It’s rather late for a social call, don’t you think?”

Taug’s face remained impassive. “I need you here—in person.”

Justine shook her head, rubbing one damp foot against her leg. “Now?”

“Immediately. It’s urgent.”

“And if I decide to wait till morning?”

“You won’t live to see the sunrise.”

~~~

Justine strode into Taug’s brilliantly lit lab, her shoulders back and her attitude marching before her. “This had better be good.”

Taug limped across the room, meeting Justine halfway. “It’s not. Trust me.”

Justine’s attention zeroed in on Taug’s shredded boots with a snide smirk. “What? A dog attack you? An Ingot—?”

Taug flicked a tentacle toward the wall screen where a Universal Reports clip played on a continuous loop.

“The Newearth Inter-Alien Alliance Committee has been warned of a secret weapon placed somewhere in the Central Basin, ready to be discharged at a moment’s notice. Both the Supreme Council and the Crestar authorities insist that they know nothing about it, while the Ingoti and the Uanyi ambassadors have yet to respond. Newearth citizens in the area are advised to stay close to home and only venture out if absolutely necessary until this threat has passed. If you learn—”

Justine stiffened, her hands clenched. She turned to Taug. “Why?”

“I have to be sure that you’ll do exactly as I say.”

Justine marched to the wall-pad and slammed her fist on the console. The screen blinked to black. “What do you want?”

“Kill Derik. Publicly. It has to be witnessed by every race, and it has to look like you saved Newearth from utter destruction.”

Justine pounded over to Taug and pushed her face within centimeters of his. “Why?”

Taug pulled back and sauntered over to the pool wall. “Because it’ll be true. Due to some unforeseen circumstances—” His tentacle splayed across the glassy surface. “—the Inter-Alien Commission has become aware of certain Cresta activities that strain our relationship. If they learn of Derik’s existence, of his origin, it would set into effect a rather grave chain of events.”

“Why should I care? I can always leave—”

Taug turned and faced Justine, his bulbous eyes gleaming. “Two reasons. First, you would be hunted to your destruction and second, Derik would be forced to accept your guilt—before he dies.” Taug retreated to a dissecting tube and swirled a tentacle in the murky water. “There are other reasons, of course, but I think those will do.”

Justine folded her arms high across her heaving chest. Her voice rose like a hissing whisper. “You never planned to save him. He was always a tool, a specimen to dissect and study.”

Taug glanced at Justine. “At your trial, you refused to state your beliefs, even about yourself. I reserve the same right. For much the same reason.”

“And that would be?”

“Because no one would believe me.” Taug sighed as he twitched a knife off the metal table and twirled it. “Time waits for no man…or Crestonian.”

Justine’s gaze fixed on the knife. “I’ll bring him. Kill him yourself—if you can.”

“Not good enough. I awoke you for a simple purpose, to do this one, small service. Either you do it, or you face extinction.”

Justine stalked to the door. “When I called you an insect, I had no idea how insulting to the creepy, crawly world I was being. I repent my miscalculation.”

~~~

Darkness shrouded the quiet cabin while a waxing moon peeked between through bare branches. A single owl hooted in the distance.

Cerulean lay on a rumpled bed, his eyes closed, one arm thrown over his face in an attitude of peaceful repose. His bare upper chest peeked out from the silky white sheets that covered the rest of his body.

A pounding on the door forced him to drop his arm from his face and issue a groan from the depth of his being. “Who the heck—?”

The cabin began to shake. Thrusting the sheets aside, Cerulean shot forward and grabbed yesterday’s pants and sweater. “Hold on! I’m coming. Sheesh, you’d think the—” He staggered into his pants.

Justine was caught in the act of attempting to put the door back in its natural position, though the jagged hinges screamed a different truth.

Using his sweater as a pointer, Cerulean demanded, “What’d you do to my door?”

Justine tapped it into place. “I’ll replace the hinges later. Right now, we need to talk.”

Cerulean flicked the sweater over his head and pulled it into position. Padding barefoot over the cold floor, he gestured abruptly toward the kitchen. “Coffee, first.”

As she perched on a tall stool, Justine gazed around the herb-strewn room. Bunches hung ornamentally from the rafters while others lay like fallen soldiers in neat rows next to carefully labeled jars. “You make your own teas?”

“I’m learning.” He flicked the coffee machine on and grabbed two mugs. “The Amens community grows everything from anise to wintergreen, and they know a thing or two about soups too. One of these days, I may open a little shop like the one Alcina used to have.”

Justine’s gaze turned inward, scanning unseen files. “Alcina?”

“You wouldn’t know her.” He splashed steaming coffee into the cups with reckless abandon. “She was one of the early settlers, before your time—here—I mean.” He blew rising curls of steam off his mug and took a sip. Nodding to her untouched cup, he sauntered to the table and slouched onto the bench. “I assume you didn’t get me out of bed at the ungodly hour of—” he flicked a glance at an old-fashioned clock on the wall. “It’s only three-fifteen?”

Justine slid off her perch and strode to the table, the steaming cup in her unscathed hand. “While you were slumbering in ignorant bliss, I was constructing a plan to save Derik and scanning through multitudinous files.”

Cerulean’s eyes twinkled and his lips twitched. “Multitudinous? I’m impressed.” He shoved a chair out with his foot. “I don’t usually do anything multitudinous until I’ve had at least two cups of coffee.”

“You don’t need coffee. You’re just lazy.” She sat in the offered chair, her back straight and uncompromising, though she tapped her knee with a nervous finger. “I know the mystery.” Cerulean sat up, his gaze glued to hers.

“Governor Jane Right is older than the hills. In fact, she shouldn’t even be alive. And she wouldn’t be—if she were human.”

Cerulean leaned back with a low whistle. “What is she?”

“Either a Cresta experiment gone right, an alien we don’t know about, or—” Her gaze wandered toward the black window. “—she’s an android, like me.”

Clasping his fingers together, Cerulean appraised Justine. “And who are you?”

Justine dropped her gaze. “You mean, what am I?”

“No. Who are you?”

Looking up, Justine blinked back unaccustomed tears. “A mystery. No one knows.” She shrugged. “There are others like me. I worked with one on a transport; the captain needed protection in a dangerous world.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “A Mr. Max Wheeler—as naïve as a newborn babe.”

Cerulean shook his head. “Naïve is not the word that comes to mind when I think of an—”

“Android? No. Well, that just shows how much you know.” She rose and meandered to the window, her reflection in the black frame appearing like a ghost. “We were created by a race you know little about. Even the Luxonians don’t have much interaction with them. They are secretive by nature, but they’re also immensely advanced. Few races dare to challenge their closed-door policy.” She reached up and traced her face on the glass.

“Many generations ago, the Cresta leadership approached them, offering their abundant scientific skills in exchange for information. Soon after, a mighty plague swept through Cre- star, decimating over a third of their population. No one knew for certain who sent the plague, but no one had a third of a population to spare in discovering the truth.” She turned and faced Cerulean. “So, you see, there is much you don’t know.”

Cerulean rose and stepped to Justine’s side. He traced her chin with a soft touch. “I know a woman who lay helpless on a steel table and did not regret her decision to save two human lives.”

Justine held his gaze a moment before breaking away. “In that case, it may interest you to know that Governor Right has also been involved in several cases where questions about unlawful experimentation have been brought before the Inter-Alien Commission and were summarily dismissed. Apparently, the Ingoti ambassador has some interest as well, for he appeared at each hearing to see the evidence first hand.”

Cerulean refilled his coffee mug. “So, what do you think?”

“Crestas simply like to experiment. It’s in their blood or ooze, whatever you want to call the sap that flows through their veins. Ingots have a long history of drug running. It wouldn’t surprise me if they have a profit margin to protect.”

“And the illustrious governor?”

“Who doesn’t like to rewrite history for personal glorification?”

Cerulean leaned against the counter. “You’ve done well. This answers a lot of questions. I can see how Mrs. Hoggsworth’s questions and Bala’s investigation upset the delicate balance that has kept Newearth in blissful ignorance.”

“Except for the unfortunate casualties.”

Cerulean’s gaze strayed to the herbs. “Yes. Except for them.” He frowned and thrust a finger forward. “And Derik? Where does this leave him?”

Justine drained the last of her coffee and placed the cup gently in the porcelain sink. “Oh, did I fail to mention that I have been ordered to kill him in a public spectacle, or I’ll be hunted to my destruction?”

~~~

Derik tapped at his computer console, the blue light reflect- ing off his face. A half-eaten sandwich and a small, green drink lay at his right. He frowned at the archived reports scrolling down the screen in front of him. Holographic images created years earlier popped from the surface, including one with the subtext: “Tarragon, scientist of unparalleled ability, honored for his exceptional service to Crestar.”

Derik studied the hologram. The slump-shouldered, bulbous-eyed Cresta had a wise but somber look about him. As if he knew better than to trust accolades and honors. Taug resembled his dad a bit, especially around the eyes.

Continuing his search, Tarragon’s name appeared again, highlighted this time under a bold heading: “Traitor in our midst!” Followed by reports of Tarragon’s disappearance, and just a short time later, the appearance of his body—“Discovered by his son, Taug.” This time the hologram showed a broken Tarragon, his face distorted with anguish.

Derik’s hands shook as he considered the holographic image before him. He blinked back tears. His hand, poised above the off button, froze when he caught sight of a short, highlighted statement a few lines below: “Taug appointed to Second Degree, in grateful recognition for his valuable service to Crestar.”

Stunned, Derik stared at the rotating image of a young Taug, a tentacle raised in a wave, wearing a bemused smile.

Skidding his chair backward, Derik jumped forward and leaped for the door, leaving his heavy, winter coat draped over the back of the couch.

~~~

Once inside Taug’s dark, silent laboratory, Derik inched his way across to the desk by the west wall. Heavy fog shrouded the nearly full moon. Glowing red monitors and reflected light from other Vandi offices made it possible to sidle across the room without crashing into anything.

Sliding into Taug’s unadorned office chair, Derik tapped the computer console embedded in the desk. It blinked to life, a blank space awaiting the necessary print to unlock its secrets. “Dang!” Muffling his irritation with his hand, he considered his options.

“Perhaps I can help.” Taug padded into view from the dark recess of the room. “You should have called. I wasn’t sleeping.”

Derik jumped to his feet, sending the chair slamming against the wall. “I—” Derik maneuvered around the desk and faced Taug, his bright eyes gleaming at the Cresta. “I’ve got to know. Did you—kill your dad? For the good of…so you could get…a raise?”

Taug shuffled around Derik, pulled the chair from the wall, and fell into it wearily. With a tap, a thin beam of light brightened the west end of the room. “It’s been a long night, and it’ll be a long day tomorrow.” He rubbed his dry, cracked lips with a tentacle. “I guess there is no harm in your knowing— now.” He gestured to one of the chairs at the far end of the room. “Make yourself comfortable. This could take a while.”

Derik shivered as he paced like a caged animal. “Just talk! Explain things to me—so that I don’t hate you.” Glancing at Taug, Derik’s face distorted as if pleading for his life.

Taug leaned back and wrapped two of his tentacles like a cradle behind his head. “My father, Tarragon, was a brilliant scientist, as I told you. But he had one weakness. He believed that he was right, even when it was not safe to do so. Stubbornness, plain and simple. He created three crossbreeds in all. Two met their demise early on, but you were his pride and joy. I think he really cared about you—as if he had spawned you himself.”

Derik halted, darting a look of horror at Taug, but the Cresta’s gaze was considering images of long ago and far away.

“When his activities were discovered, the whole family was disgraced. I had worked terribly hard to earn a position of relative safety within the scientific community. Suddenly, all my efforts were compromised. I became a pariah overnight. You can imagine my shame.”

Derik hugged his arms around his waist, his voice rising like a howl. “So you turned traitor? Against your own father?”

Taug glowered icily at Derik. “It was him or me—”

With a snarl, Derik fled the room.

“It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.” ~William Blake

A new chapter every Tuesday and Thursday.

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Newearth Justine Awakens—Chapter Sixteen

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A Moral Choice

Clare drifted away from the barred cell where Bala sat in slumped resignation. She stopped by a large, steel door and pressed a button.

A voice responded, “Yeah?”

Clare tried to speak but no words came. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m ready.”

The door slid open. Clare crossed over the threshold with one backward glance.

Bala sat staring at the floor, his head propped in his hands.

Clare closed her eyes at the reverberating clang as the door slammed shut. A hand gripped her shoulder. Clare spun around.

Cerulean opened his arms, and she stepped into his embrace. Hugging her, he nuzzled her head with his chin. “Even world-weary detectives need a hug now and again.”

Clare rubbed her reddened eyes against his chest, mumbling.

Cerulean frowned. He pulled her back and looked into her eyes. “I’m not familiar with that particular dialect. Here—” He put his arm around her, led her down the corridor, and pointed to a bench. “Tell me what you found out.”

Clare dropped onto the offered seat as Vandi Interventionists bustled about with official business. She spread her arms and then dropped them. “What’s to tell? I’m a complete failure, and I ought to quit before anyone else gets hurt. Lord, I hate my job.”

Cerulean scratched his head. “Self-pity isn’t going to help anyone.” He straightened. “What we need is more information. I tried to bring you the best resource on the planet, but you—”

Clare’s head snapped up. “Justine? That unfeeling piece of bio-mechanical—”

“Whoa! Stop right there, Clare. You’ve taken your animosity about as far as I can stand it. Honestly, I’ve never seen this side of you. Your parents would be horrified. They were two of the most accepting—”

Clare jumped to her feet, her gaze darting around the room and swinging back to Cerulean. Her tone lowered to a hiss. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. They hated robots. They always said that combining human DNA with AI was asking for trouble. It’s immoral—”

Cerulean’s jaw jutted forward as he leaned in close. “You think Justine is immoral—as if she had a choice? Put down your rage for just one second and think, would you? Justine is the product of a laboratory conception. I doubt her biological parents ever knew or cared about what happened to their donations. No one cared about Justine, not as a person. They only cared about her as a source of profit, a point of reference in an argument, or as an excuse to play god. You’re angry at the wrong person, Clare.”

Clare fell back onto the bench and rubbed her face with her hands. Her voice became leaden. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Cerulean shook his head as an Interventionist stepped up and handed him a datapad. He pressed his palm onto it and handed it to Clare who did the same. Cerulean nodded to the guard and steered Clare toward the exit. “There’s more to this than your parents’ aversion to artificial intelligence.”

Clare shrugged as she trudged along at Cerulean’s side. “She reminds me of that voice I used to hear. Her smug perfection, her assumed superiority, it all feels familiar somehow, like she and he…it…are connected.”

Cerulean marched to the door, swung it wide, and gestured for her to hurry along. “Well, they’re not. Justine is a victim as much as Derik, except she’s learning to deal with her problems. Derik is just beginning to discover his.” He waited, holding the door open.

Clare stepped out into the frosty night air. “Derik’s gone over to his Cresta side. I don’t even know him anymore. He nearly throttled me when I told him that Justine is a robot.”

Cerulean stepped along beside her, looked up into the black, star-burnished sky, and sighed. “Frankly, if you don’t quit calling her that, I may throttle you yet.”

Clare looked askance at Cerulean. “Really?”

Cerulean dropped his gaze. “Yes.” He gripped her arm and stared her in the eye. “Look, you’ve got to get it through your head that even our enemies are—”

“If you say ‘our friends,’ I’ll throw up all over your polished boots.”

Cerulean snorted. “I’m not that naïve. What I was going to say—before you so rudely interrupted—was that even enemies are worthy of hope. No one sees the future. You can’t trust everyone, but you can’t decide you know other people’s ultimate fate either.”

“If it came between a human and a Cresta, I’ll choose a human every time.”

“Really? How about if it were an innocent Cresta and a guilty human? Think about it. You decided that Justine was guilty, so you never even gave her a chance to defend herself.”

Clare leaned into Cerulean, shivering, hugging his arm. “I looked through everything we have on her. She killed a lot of beings on more than one occasion. She was a very effective hired gun, and she always walked away unscathed—until she was caught.”

Cerulean stopped, pulled his arm free, placed both hands on her shoulders, and held her steady. He lowered his head so their eyes were level and their gazes interlocked. “Do you know why she was caught?”

Clare shrugged and looked to the side. “Some stupid mistake—”

Cerulean turned her so she could not escape his gaze. “She saved two men’s lives. Against orders and against decades of training, she did the unthinkable; she made a moral choice. At that moment, she chose to stop being a killer.”

With a moaning breath, Clare’s head fell against Cerulean’s chest, and she sobbed.

~~~

The bright, winter sun sparkled on the ivy-covered bungalow, and Clare whistled. A low, thatched roof drooped over twisted grapevines, which in turn wound around the windows. Front beds planted thick with red-berried evergreens offered a colorful contrast, while a snowy path veered toward the back. She sucked in her breath and meandered toward the front entrance of Justine’s house.

A wooden door etched with acorns and oak leaves opened wide. Justine stood on the snowy welcome mat, one hand holding the ornate, iron knob, the other resting on the frame as the cold wind whistled past. She pursed her lips like an irritated teacher just waiting for the next infraction.

Clare halted in her frozen tracks. “Cerulean said you’d be home.”

Justine’s eyebrows rose, apparently surprised that the delinquent before her could speak coherently. “He told me you were coming. I almost left.”

“But you didn’t.”

Justine shrugged. She swept her hand through the doorway. “Cerulean has a way with words.”

Clare sighed through a puff of air. “He sure does.” She stepped in with Justine watching her every move.

The inside of the bungalow shrieked of obsessive-compulsive disorder. Dust had not a particle of business here.

Clare dared not lower her gaze to her snow-caked boots.

Justine looked for her. Her eyebrows appeared frozen in the up position.

With a grimace, Clare unlaced her boots and peeled them off. After stepping into the living room, she let her eyes roll over the intimate space. Clare sucked in her breath. “You rob a museum?”

A crooked smile tugged at the corner of Justine’s mouth. “I’d tell you, but I don’t want to make you angry…again.”

Clare felt magnetically pulled toward a painting of a mother and child, blues and reds vying for the eye’s attention. They both wore golden crowns. Her eyes widened. “Did you—?”

Justine shrugged. “I only copied it. The original was lost long ago, but there were over a million electronic copies left on an Oldearth database called Facebook.”

Clare hugged herself. “I’d love to get a look at that.”

Justine padded over to an easel with a half-finished painting of a little boy with piercing blue eyes. She picked up a wet brush and dabbed it in the paint. “I’d pass it along, but it’s restricted, addictive as opium they say.”

Clare’s eyes bugged, attempting to take in everything at once.

Justine smirked as she waved the paint-laden brush indulgently. “Well, possibly….”

Sidling up to the work in progress, Clare appraised the picture. She wagged her finger. “Cerulean—?”

“No one you know. Just a child I once helped—in a time of need.”

Clare lifted her hands in an attitude of surrender. “Okay, sorry isn’t good enough. I wasn’t exactly reasonable. Can’t say exactly what got into me.”

Justine stroked her chin. Apparently deciding that there was hope for delinquents, after all, she laid her paintbrush aside. She strode across the room to a circular table. A screen rose from the center. She tapped rapidly on a soft pad. “Cerulean told me about your dreams—night visitor—whatever. Must be disorientating. I can’t say I understand, but as they say: ‘to err is human’—forget it.” Her eyes scanned multitudinous files flying across the screen.

Clare strolled to her side and watched Justine’s hand move so rapidly that it seemed to blur. “I thought you considered yourself human.”

“Only on odd days when the moon is full.” Justine straightened and looked Clare in the eye. “What do you need to know?”

Clare leaned over the desk and peered at the file. She pointed to a single line. “I have that one. Bala showed it to me. He said you have other files that he couldn’t get access to. I need to get to those.”

Justine rubbed her chin. “Why?”

Folding her arms, Clare leaned against a chair. “Listen, there’s a secret here that Mrs. Hoggsworth stumbled onto and Bala inadvertently tripped over. She’s dead, and he’s in prison. They both discovered something.”

Justine offered a sad shake of the head at Clare’s apparent return to stupidity. “There’s no evidence to support that. Maybe someone simply hated Mrs. Hoggsworth enough to want her dead.”

“And Bala?”

Justine maintained a steady gaze. “How do you know he’s not guilty?”

Clare bolted forward. “What? You seriously think that Bala would beat his wife, abuse his kids, and trash his own house?”

Justine turned back to the datapad. Her hand blurred again. Up popped 5,764 files on wife battery and child abuse. “Those are the ones from this year alone. Don’t tell me that they’re all innocent.”

Clare pressed her hands to her head as if trying to keep it from exploding. “Holy Saints in—”

A white cat meandered between Clare’s feet and meowed.

Clare stared down, her eyes widening. Without a blink, she glanced up at Justine.

Justine scooped the cat into her arms. “Come here, Theodora. You might get stepped on.”

Clare waved Justine off and stretched out her arms, wiggling her fingers towards the cat imploringly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I love cats. My own is about this size, but she’s black. Just had kittens. Maybe you’d like one.”

Justine passed the cat into Clare’s arms and observed Clare rub her face in the cat’s fur. She grimaced. “That unhygienic.”

“Ah, but they love it.” Clare’s tone dissolved into a purr.

Justine’s eyebrows returned to the up position.

As Clare continued to nuzzle the cat, her voice became soft and coaxing. “You’ve got files no one else has, and Bala’s an innocent man. His family is miserable without him.”

Justine exhaled a long breath. “Oh, all right. I guess even a robot can have a heart.”

~~~

Justine wrapped her fingers around the prison bars and observed Bala with a long, cold stare.

Bala sat upright on his cot and glared back. “So, you’ve come to observe the monkey in the zoo?”

Justine shrugged. “You could say the same about me. Except I don’t need a cage to be locked in.”

With a sigh, Bala slumped against the wall. “Everyone has troubles.”

“Not you. Your prison days are over. Cerulean has cleared your name. You’ll be free to go once we get the final reports in and signed off.”

Bala strode to the bars in the cell door, his eyes narrowing. “Really? How?”

“It was easy. The case crumpled against all the evidence Cerulean brought to bear. He provided ample proof that Ingots had broken into your house and there was not a shred of evidence that you ever harmed your family. Quite the contrary. You’re a model husband and father by all accounts. I congratulate you; your reputation shall shine down through the ages.”

Bala gripped the bars. “Having fun, are we?”

Dropping her gaze, Justine shook her head. “I’d never tease a prisoner.”

Bala flapped his arms as he shuffled back to his cot. “So, how did I end up here? And how do I keep from being sent back the minute somebody starts tossing accusations my way?”

Justine turned at the sound of footsteps. She stepped aside as a guard sauntered down the corridor. After he passed, she returned to Bala. “In your investigation, you reviewed Mrs. Hoggworth’s research of Oldearth records. Most of them have become corrupted or lost, but she somehow learned of my existence and that I have records going back to—”

The guard returned with a prisoner in cuffs. Bala’s and Justine’s eyes followed their passage down the corridor in silence. Bala shook his head. “I could bet a steak sandwich that this all ties in with our illustrious Governor Right.”

Justine paused, her eyes glazed as if searching interior files. “I don’t understand the allusion to food.”

Bala hung his head. “Never mind.”

In response to a buzzing sound, Justine pulled out a datapad and tapped its surface. “Cerulean’s here.” She peered into Bala’s wide eyes. “In any case, I’ll have to do a comparative study of my original records with what’s now reported on the official Newearth data files.”

Rubbing his hands together, Bala perked up. “Sounds good, I’d love to see the results.” His eyes roamed toward the door. “It’s getting late. Any chance that I’ll get out of here before Kendra puts the kids to bed?”

Cerulean stepped to the door, offering a nod to Justine before focusing on Bala. “How’ve you been doing, ol’ man?”

Bala lifted his arms, indicating the small space. “Look around and take a wild guess.”

Cerulean grinned as a guard strode up behind him. “Well, your time is up… in here, I mean. I just sent Kendra word. You’re free to go—”

“Excuse me.” The guard shouldered his way past Cerulean. “You’ll have to sign a release before you walk. I go off in fifteen, so if we could hurry this up….” He pressed his hand against the electronic key. At the sound of the latch unlocking, he swung the door wide.

Bala nodded stiffly. “Certainly, anything to accommodate.” He stepped in line behind the guard, next to Cerulean. They marched down the corridor, shoulder to shoulder.

Justine followed behind, her gaze turned inward, scanning unseen files.

Unfortunately the innocent are always involved in any conflict. Always, everywhere, there is some voice crying from a tower.  ~Graham Greene 

A new chapter every Tuesday and Thursday.

Science Fiction Novels

Last of Her Kind  http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

Last of Her Kind & Newearth Justine Awakens Book Trailer I

Last of Her Kind & Newearth Justine Awakens Book Trailer II

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