Innovation—The Art of Modern Homeschooling

First—What’s the big picture?

Second—The Details…Oh, those pesky details!

Third—Upheaval is a way of life—Accept it and keep going.

The Writings of A. K. Frailey

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/boys-kids-children-happy-sitting-286245/

Hope for the Human Race

Herman perched his glasses on his nose, stared at the bottle of bathroom cleaner with the foamy suds on the label, and swerved his gaze to his beloved dog—the one giving him the mopey What-did-I-Do-To-Deserve-This? look—and realized his mistake.

It wasn’t the first time.

The week before, he had brushed his teeth with Icy-Hot, and the week before that he had poured half a bottle of liquid detergent down the drain thinking he was unclogging the sink. The fact that the dishes had smelled “springtime fresh” hadn’t helped in the least. The sink remained clogged until the plumber sent his snake coil five miles through underground terrain.

Each morning, when the news informed him that a new plague or disasters unlimited loomed, he figured that this was as good a time as any to make out a will. Dying was all too easy. It was living that made each day a challenge.

And so, when he met Chuck, he tried not to act surprised. Chuck looked perfect. He acted perfect. Up until the moment he froze in place. That wasn’t so perfect. Not the way he did it. Stock still. His hand caught in mid-air, holding the test tube just so. His eyes staring, blank, but as wide and as blue as ever.

After the last major world alteration—pandemic, economic crisis, collective emotional meltdown—whatever you want to call it, The University had decided that “State of the Art Androids” would assist human teachers in their laboratory work. No matter if the world was going to hell-in-a-hand-basket, students still needed the opportunity to practice medical procedures, carry out chemical experiments, and do a thousand things that simply could not be managed from home.

Reasonable? Of course.

Considering his record of late, Herman wasn’t surprised when his Department Head informed him that a new assistant, Chuck, would aide him as he maneuvered the entire scientific student body through the semester. To stiffen his spine, Herman reminded himself that his dog had recovered nicely and water ran through his sink lickity-split these days, with a refreshing scent to boot.

He spent the entire weekend before Chuck’s arrival assuring himself that an assistant meant more free time to do his own research. A positive step in the right direction. An honor! And NO risk.

When autumn rolled around and the school doors finally creaked open, Chuck calculated formulas, measured chemicals, laid out lab materials, and never broke anything. Never got mixed up. Never forgot which student he was dealing with or which experiment they were doing. Though his pronunciation did need a little work. Good thing scientists rarely giggle.

But last Wednesday, Chuck had a few internal issues, not gastric of course, just something a little off. He bumped Herman twice as they crossed paths in the lab, and he actually scowled at Lacy, the brightest student in the whole school, who had the unfortunate luck to break her arm. Chuck didn’t slow down for bumbling humans and didn’t smile at imperfections.

Lacy’s attempt at humor as she held up her sling-shod arm collided with Chuck’s long cold stare.

Herman glanced at Lacy; tears filled her eyes.

He had suspected for months that her heart had been beating a little faster whenever Chuck was in the room…but this kind of workplace awkwardness he had never imagined. Made soaping the dog with the wrong kind of suds seem almost funny.

What to do? It wasn’t like he could call Herman out for his icy demeanor, his lack of empathy, his calculated perfection.

But on Friday, Chuck stalled. Positively and undeniably froze in place.

Herman called the proper authorities. Nodded sympathetically when the Head of the Department broke down sobbing. Chuck had been a prototype. “A first, damn it! But not the last!” The Head Man had lifted his chin and thrown a determined glare directly at Lacy. As if her human indelicacy had pushed Chuck’s tightly wound synaptic system over the proverbial bridge.

After two men with a squeaky dolly wheeled Chuck away, Herman shrugged and considered the lab. Test tubes, beakers, Bunsen burners, metal trays, and laptops—various tools of the trade—and one lonely shrub decorated the sterile white room.

A crash and Herman knew in his heart-of-hearts that there was one less test tube.

He blinked at Lacy’s horrified face. A tear slid down her face.

He padded softly to her side and wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

She leaned in and sighed. “I can’t help it. I make mistakes.”

For the first time in months, Herman felt hope for the human race.

Books by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction Novels

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

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

Historical Fiction Novel

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend Novels

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

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

OldEarth Neb Encounter (In production)

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

HeartBeats—Spiritual Being, Human Journey  https://amzn.to/2KvF3Ll

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd0z

Short Stories

It Might Have Been—And Other Short Stories https://amzn.to/2XXdDDz

Encounter Sci-Fi Short Stories https://amzn.to/3dq6q5l

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/sun-man-sunset-sky-landscapes-3477393/

Ordinary Week, Extraordinary World

Our sunflowers bloomed this week. As did the Rose of Sharon that has grown to a mammoth size and—with the help of the cherry tree—hides the electric pole from our gaze, putting beauty before utility. Literally.

A week of appointments, goodbyes, hellos, arrangements for a future that nobody can count on, and the usual daily-dos, made this an ordinary week in an extraordinary world.

There are so many clashes of opinions on and offline that any discussion often leads to an uneasy truce to agree to disagree. No one thinks exactly like me? Shocking, I know. Others take a different slant on current events? Unsettling in a world where actions matter.

Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote magnificently about her childhood in her Little House books, and she also wrote a breathtakingly honest column about her life as a farmwife. Her wisdom is clearly won through hard years of challenges but also through the quiet voice of her mother, Caroline, who once commented—“Least said, soonest mended.”

That quote has been a touchstone of reality of late. Much like the garden soil, the swaying of the sunflowers as they turn toward the sun throughout the day, and the presence of a higher reality that pulls me from the frantic concerns of the modern world to a life of acceptance and love—no matter what.

I just finished reading Jimmy Stewart—A Biography by Marc Elliot. Stewart experienced up-close-and-personal, powerful realities—much like Laura Ingalls Wilder but from a Hollywood perspective.

In his case, the line from the movie, It’s a Wonderful Life encapsulated his existence, “No man is a failure who has friends.”

In both their lives, it wasn’t so much that they had friends—but they were friends—with all of humanity. They crossed boundaries as the world broke through ceilings of knowledge, skills, and human understanding.

Sunflowers do not bloom only for the appreciative eye. The sun does not warm only the ready seed. Gentle breezes blow on young and old, frail, and strong alike. Storms do much the same.

When the time is right and the day cools a bit, I’ll water the garden. I’m enjoying the breeze and the blossoms at this moment, knowing full well that they won’t last. But without judging the perfection of blooms, the timing of breezes, the power of storms, I’ll find peace in whatever is good and beautiful.

I suspect that Caroline, Laura, and Jimmy would agree.

Books by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction Novels

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

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

Historical Fiction Novel

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend Novels

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

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

OldEarth Neb Encounter (In production)

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

HeartBeats—Spiritual Being, Human Journey  https://amzn.to/2KvF3Ll

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd0z

Short Stories

It Might Have Been—And Other Short Stories https://amzn.to/2XXdDDz

Encounter Sci-Fi Short Stories https://amzn.to/3dq6q5l

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/sunflower-sunset-nature-summer-5370278/

Newearth Justine Awakens—Chapter Twenty Part II

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.

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

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/diner-nostalgia-retro-bright-4539948/

Newearth Justine Awakens—Chapter Nineteen

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

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

Photo: https://pixabay.com/illustrations/angel-forest-mysticism-mystical-1667772/

Possibilities

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

Science Fiction

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

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

Historical Fiction

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend

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

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

OldEarth Neb Encounter (In production)

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

HeartBeats—Spiritual Being, Human Journey  https://amzn.to/2KvF3Ll

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd0z

Short Stories

It Might Have Been—And Other Short Stories https://amzn.to/2XXdDDz

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/iced-coffee-cherry-cream-ice-cream-3429495/

Newearth Justine Awakens—Chapter Fifteen

No Matter How Hard I Try

Clare sidled up behind Derik as he took the last shuffling step to his apartment door. Dirty snow clung to his boots and dripped off his shoulders. He pressed his print-identifier key and pushed the door open with his boot while balancing two bags of groceries in his arms.

Clare frowned as she tapped him from behind. “Hey, where’ve you been? I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

Derik jerked, peered at Clare, and sniffed. “How was I supposed to know? Did you message me?”

“I tried but your datapad must be broken. Anyway, it was a sudden thought. We need to talk. Can I come in?”

Derik shrugged and stepped aside, letting Clare march ahead. He strode around the counter, placed the bags aside, checked his datapad, frowned, and then opened his freezer. He tossed items in haphazardly.

Clare stared wide-eyed. “You only buy frozen food?”

“I’m not much of a cook, but Taug showed me something—” Derik colored. “Never mind.”

“Taug? The Cresta who wants to kill you, Taug?”

Derik threw the last item on the frozen pile and balled up the shopping bags, flinging them into a hamper under the sink.

“Look, you don’t know anything about him. I do.” He strode to the couch, heaved himself down with a relieved sigh, and gestured to another chair. “Go ahead, sit. Tell me why you’re here.”

Clare eyed Derik darkly. “How very Cresta of you.”

“Huh?”

“The commanding tone, the sharp gesture. Who made you boss?”

Derik tapped his fingertips together. “You’re in my apartment. You said you were going to help me, but in the end, I had to help myself. I know who I am and why I was created. I even know who wants to kill me. I’ve got my life under control, so there’s no great need for your services anymore.” Derik assumed exaggerated, professional politeness. “But I still need to pay you, right? You haven’t done much, but I’ll count your generous intentions.” He sat up and started tapping on his datapad. “Working, see?” He shook his head at Clare’s obvious incompetence.

Clare folded her arms across her chest as she stood in front of Derik, who though seated, could still glare intimidatingly. “You’re too kind. Listen, Derik, I may not have accomplished much, but I did listen to you, and I’ve always been willing to help.”

Derik nodded, his eyes returning to his datapad. “What account do I send it to?”

Clare stomped around the room, her hands clenched on her hips. “Would you stop? I’m not interested in getting paid at the moment. I don’t get compensated until the job is done, and I haven’t finished yet. You still don’t know the truth.”

Derik kept his finger poised over his datapad. “I know I’m thirty-percent Cresta and that Taug and I are friends. I’m helping him understand crossbreeds better, and he’s invited me to live at his lab, though I have other plans. So, I think I know the score pretty well, don’t you?”

“You don’t know everything.” Clare stopped pacing and leaned in. She stared Derik in the eye, one hand braced on the back of the couch. “Justine is an android. She’s a hired gun. I don’t know if she’s been hired to kill you or not, but it’s what she does for a living—if you can call being a robot, living.”

Dropping the datapad, Derik flew off the couch and smashed Clare against the wall, squeezing her neck.

She gasped, wrestled his bulging arms, and kneed him in the groin. They fell together across the coffee table and onto the floor.

Derik rolled on top of Clare and pinned her, choking the breath out of her.

Clare, wide-eyed, smashed Derik’s chest with her fists, attempting to shove him off, kicking and squirming, trying to roll to a more advantageous position, but Derik’s combined weight and strength were too much for her. In desperation, she bit his arm.

Derik slapped her across the face. “Stop it! Just stop.” His breath rose in great huffs as he blinked away tears. Sweat broke across his forehead. “I didn’t mean… I don’t want to hurt you!” His gaze lifted to the ceiling as his voice rose. “But you had no right to say that about her!”

Clare raised her hands protectively, turning her red-splotched face away. “Okay, you made your point. I was rude. Now think about what you’re doing. I’m a detective; you’re assaulting an officer. Twenty years…if you’re lucky.”

Derik rolled to the side, releasing Clare. “I could just as easily kill you, stuff your body in Taug’s incinerator, and no one would ever be the wiser.”

Clare scrambled to her feet, her eyes dark and narrow. “You are not the man I knew.”

Derik climbed onto his knees and rocked back and forth, hugging himself.

His raspy chuckle ascended into hysteria. “Of course I’m not. Neither of us knew who I was. And no one on Newearth knows what I’m becoming. Even Taug. I may surprise him yet.” Derik huffed to his feet and towered over Clare. “You don’t know Justine, either.”

Clare darted a look at the door and edged nearer. “I told you the truth, whether you want to believe me or not. She’s an android created with human DNA.”

Derik froze, his eyes strained and bloodshot. “Justine’s a crossbreed?”

“Something like that.”

“Then she’s perfect for me.” Derik dropped back onto the couch. “You’ve no idea how terrifying this whole thing’s been. Finding out that I’m not fully human, that I’m part Cresta, and just for added entertainment, someone wants to kill me. It’s enough to drive a man crazy.” Derik rubbed his face as if to wash away the horror. “But Justine is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m not totally blind. I wondered… But I didn’t care! It’s like you said, she’s not attracted to my biology but my humanity.”

Clare stood before the door. “I remember. But I also remember telling you that she’s not the only one who cares for you. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Too late.”

“I know. But I’m not your enemy. At least, I wasn’t.” Clare rubbed her sore neck. “Now, I’m not so sure.”

Derik’s eyes flashed as he heaved off the couch again. “What does that mean?”

“If you can fly across a room and nearly strangle someone who’s only trying to help—the Cresta in you might go deeper than thirty-seven percent.”

Derik stepped closer, his eyes bloodshot and swollen. “If you ever insult Justine again or try to hurt her in any way, you’ll find that both the human and the Cresta in me can be very dangerous, indeed. Your work here is over.”

Clare nodded as she yanked open the door and straddled the threshold. “I work for humanity. If you become a threat, we’ll meet again.”

~~~

Cerulean stood against the wall as human workmen dressed in gray, durable clothes carried new furniture into Bala’s refurbished living room.

A mover grunted his question. “Where’d ya want it?”

Bala pointed to Kendra who immediately passed baby Martha to him and scrambled over the rolled-up carpet, directing the workers.

Cerulean leaned in, jiggled Martha’s finger, and grinned idiotically.

The baby wailed.

Bala passed Martha off to his son, who had just ambled innocently into the fray. “Emergency mission, Seth.”

Seth swooped the baby into the air, playing ‘space mission.’

“Keep the landings gentle, son,” Bala advised with a deceptive grin. “Or you’ll see her breakfast again in a distinctly unpleasant form.”

Cerulean grimaced as his eyes followed the two children from the room. “I wish you hadn’t put that image in my head. It’ll be with me all day.”

Bala shrugged. “Sorry. Life with kids. They do the darndest things.”

Cerulean nodded. “True. Amazing how well they recovered from their shock.”

Stroking his marred face, Bala concurred. “Yeah. Resilient. They take after their dad.”

Cerulean’s eyes twinkled as Bala affably gestured two heavy-laden movers toward his wife. “The boss is over there.” Leading Bala to a quiet corner, Cerulean lowered his voice. “Listen, I have a certain amount of influence in the Inter-Alien Alliance Committee. I can make a formal complaint for you. This was clearly an Ingoti incursion on a human domain.”

Bala jumped forward and assisted one of the movers who nearly dragged one end of a large couch. “Steady there. I paid a top price at a half-off sale for these.” After the workmen unceremoniously plopped the couch against the back wall, Bala turned to Cerulean. “Nah. Don’t worry about it. After all, I did solve the Hoggsworth case, sort of. I tracked down the killer’s killer and, for what it’s worth, he’s on his way to Bothmal as we speak.” Bala scratched his chin. “At least, I hope he is.” He patted Cerulean’s arm and squinted. “You lost weight?”

Cerulean opened his mouth, but a baby squalled at the same moment.

Bala waved the answer off. “Silly me. Luxonians don’t lose weight. Light beings and all.” He surveyed Kendra’s frantic efforts to keep the movers’ work undeterred by the three-year-old, who apparently thought that furniture was to be sat on even when it was still in motion. “Listen, I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I just want to put this behind us.” Bala strode over to the child-laden couch and centered it.

A shadow filled the open doorway as an Interventionist stepped over the threshold. The three movers dropped what they were doing, pushed past the Interventionist, and retreated to their vehicle.

Cerulean sighed as he leaned against the wall. “Looks like you’ve got company.”

Bala turned. His mouth dropped open.

Pushing himself forward, Cerulean took charge. “Something I can help you with?”

“Only if you are Bala Impala and want a warrant for your arrest.” The Interventionist held a datapad at arm’s length.

Bala’s eyes grew wide as he tripped over the couch.

Cerulean snatched the datapad and scrolled through. “What’s this about?”

The Interventionist stiffened. “I was just told to bring Mr. Impala in on charges of domestic abuse.” He pointed to Bala. “You Mr. Impala?”

Bala swallowed and nodded. His gaze flicked over to his frozen wife and family. Kendra held a chair in one arm and the baby in the other. No one moved.

The Interventionist deadpanned his recital. “I hereby inform you that you have been charged with wife-beating, child abuse, and home-wrecking. Your human rights are guaranteed by the Inter-Alien Alliance, but anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. Will you come with me peaceably?”

Bala tapped his ears as if they were water-clogged. “I didn’t quite catch that. What—?”

Cerulean lifted his hand. His voice grew incredulous as his gaze scrolled over the datapad. “Someone is accusing Mr. Impala of abusing his family and destroying his own house?”

Bala muttered. “Why would—?”

The Interventionist threw up one protesting hand as he plucked back the datapad. “Don’t ask me. Why does anyone commit crimes?” He slapped the datapad against his palm. “Look, there’re witnesses. Pretty reliable sources, too. You’re going to have to sit in the tank till we get this sorted out. Now, just come along—”

“Bala!” Kendra plowed across the living room like Moses parting the Red Sea and threw her arms around her husband. “No! Not this!”

Bala’s head jerked back on impact. Hugging her and rubbing her back in large circles, he spoke over her shoulder. “You were right, honey. I can’t be tied to safety.” Responding to the Interventionist glare, he pulled away and muttered, “No matter how hard I try.” He faced the Interventionist and raised his limp hands. “I’ll behave myself.” With a nod to Cerulean, he shrugged. “Oh, about that offer—”

The Interventionist clasped manacles around Bala’s wrists and led him to the door. Bala looked back, tears welling in his eyes. “Keep the kids back. I don’t want them to see—”

Cerulean nodded as he put an arm around Kendra’s shivering form. His eyes followed Bala out the door.

~~~

Wearing a thick sweater and weathered jeans with snow-encrusted hiking boots, Cerulean trudged up his porch steps. Snowdrifts appeared flat and gray in the elongated shadows. He turned at the sounds of running steps and a voice calling his name.

Able, wrapped in a heavy coat, huffed into view. “Hey, Cerulean. I was praying I’d find you. I’m on my way to Vandi. There’s been an accident.”

Cerulean retraced his steps and stopped in front of Able, a weary frown shadowing his expression. “What happened?”

“Jim, one of our new members, got hurt, bad. He came to us last fall, insisting that he didn’t feel human anymore. He wanted to get back to nature and rediscover his true identity.”

Cerulean rubbed his forehead. “And did he?”

Able shrugged. “Hard to tell. Seems like a nice guy and all, but he’s different all right. We had some roofing fly off in yesterday’s storm, and against everyone’s advice, he scaled the ladder to fix it. He was just about done when he slipped and fell.”

Cerulean closed his eyes. “Lucky he’s alive.”

Able shook his head, his brows lowered. “Lucky isn’t the word. He fell twenty feet and landed badly. He should be dead or paralyzed.”

“A miracle?”

“Even I don’t believe that. When I saw him scrambling to his feet, I went over and gripped him by the arm.” Able leaned in and whispered, “His skin is cold and hard, like some kind of flexible-metal. He doesn’t wear a bio-suit or anything. He’s not human. At least not fully.”

“Oh, Lord.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth.”

“So what are you going to do? Take him in?”

Able sucked in a deep breath and raised his gaze skyward.

Small flakes of snow swirled around them. “I offered to take him to the hospital, but he got upset. You should’ve seen the terror in his eyes. He’s not well, his skin color was off before he even slipped, and he says he blacks out sometimes. Probably why he fell.”

Cerulean watched the flakes disappearing into the white ground, joined in anonymity, and sighed. “If he’s sick and needs treatment—”

Able rubbed his hands together. “Look, I’m not turning the guy over to authorities. He’s a serious mystery and might even be considered illegal.” He looked Cerulean in the eye. “There are worse things than death, you know.” Able stomped his frozen feet. “Anyway, I’m going to Vandi to pick up some supplies, but I just wanted you to know. I figure if something goes wrong, you’d—”

Cerulean nodded.

Cerulean sniffed and rubbed his frozen nose. “What could possibly go wrong?”

With a twitch of a smile, Able shuffled toward the trail.

“Yeah. Great minds think alike. Thanks, Cerulean.”

Staring at the footprints leading from his porch into a black night, Cerulean shivered.

~~~

Alone in the room, Taug stood before the image of his superior on the holo-screen. With head bowed and tentacles wrapped behind his back, he slouched like a hatchling being chastened by his elder.

The laboratory resided in solemn dimness, while the crescent windows near the top revealed the merest glimmer of dawn.

Mitholie shook a tentacle at Taug via the screen, his head and shoulders resting on the edge of a murky pool. “It’s not just your father’s mistake that’s a risk now. Other complications have come to light. Do you realize what this scandal could entail? Crestas would be ordered to leave the planet. There’d be interplanetary warfare—”

Taug looked up.

“Yes, I said warfare! We wouldn’t leave Newearth peaceably, of course. We’d be forced to take over the whole planet, which would set off a nasty chain reaction. Ingots and Uanyi, even Bhuacs would be furious. You know how many innocent lives would be lost and how expensive the whole process of re-stabilization would be? It would run into the quadrillions.”

Mitholie splashed his tentacle into the pool, sprinkling water across the screen. “Dark waters! I won’t have it. I gave you a direct order, and I have been more than patient while you played with your specimen. But it’s time that this matter was settled!”

Taug nodded. “I understand. Derik—I mean, my specimen— slipped away, but I have—”

Mitholie interrupted. “No more excuses! Your father’s mistake must be disposed of quickly before it’s discovered. Or I’ll be forced to send someone to dispose of my mistake. Do you understand?”

Taug’s head lowered, pressing against his chest.

“Good! I have a meeting with the Inter-Alien Alliance Committee soon. I’d hate to inform them that they have a traitor in their midst.” Mitholie plunged and millions of bubbles surfaced.

The holo-screen blinked into blackness, leaving Taug in the dark.

“Start by doing what’s necessary; then do what’s possible, and suddenly you’re doing the impossible.”– Francis of Assisi

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

Photo: https://pixabay.com/photos/man-bridge-lonely-walk-wintry-1156619/

Funny How Life Goes

Who knew that staring at the neighbor’s backyard, watching for signs of life could be considered nosey?

I wondered if the whole concept of “Mind your own business” was carried just a tad bit too far. After all, I hadn’t seen hide or hair of the old man for weeks. He could’ve been dead for all I knew.

Or worse.

He could’ve turned into something… Okay, that image stemmed from last night’s horror flick that my teen son had insisted wasn’t scary. It all depends on if scary meant I freaked out on the couch or simply spent the entire day picturing my eighty-something neighbor as an alien experiment.

“Can I help you?”

Oh, great. The son. He caught me red-handed…actually wide-eyed. I turned from the fence amazed that he had snuck up so close. Gravel roads usually gave people away. And where were my lousy dogs? I gazed around. Sure enough. Napping in the sun…probably didn’t even lift their heads as this veritable stranger strolled up the driveway.

I faced the fifty-something gentleman and smiled brightly, frantically thinking up a good lie. Unfortunately, my mouth tends to leave the station before my brain is finished giving instructions.

“I just wanted to see if Mr. Jacob is still alive.”

A low whistle.

Well, I hit the prize impression with that one. “I mean…I haven’t seen him for a while, and he’s been on my mind.”

“He’s fine.” The man’s eyes stared at me as if an interrogation room was being contemplated. Dang, but he’d have the whole alien experiment thing outta me before I could get properly tied to the chair.

So what now? The guy is standing between me and my back door. I could skirt around him, pretending that I’m just ambling toward my garden to pick— Heck it’s full of seedlings too young to touch and with my daughter’s ruthless war on weeds, there wasn’t even a stupid dandelion to hide behind.

He clasped his hands and continued to stare as if he wanted to talk. Probably not about aliens.

The only decent thing to do was stand there and take it. Yes. I’ve been nosy. I’d imagined gosh-awful possibilities all day until I just had to sneak over and see if poor Mr. Jacob could still walk…or crawl…around his place. And no, I wouldn’t appreciate it if someone else was watching me with an overloaded imagination ignited by horror movie scenes.

Thoroughly ashamed was I.

He cleared his throat. Always a good sign. It meant he’d like to tell me off but was holding himself back.

“Dad’s been off his feed for weeks. My sister is spent taking care of her daughter who broke her leg and has three little ones to corral. I’ve got to go out of town for the weekend, and I was just wondering if you’d keep an eye on him for a couple of days.”

My brain couldn’t back up fast enough. For a moment, I actually believe I lost the power of speech. Which is darn unusual for me. “Uh…well…sure…I’d…be happy…to.”

“Pa thinks he can manage everything himself. But you know, he watched some scary movie last night and thought you were coming to get him for some kind of alien abduction thing.” The guy actually laughed.

At me!

I could’ve wept in relief.

“Oh, how silly!” I grinned good-naturedly. After all, I am a decent human being. From planet Earth no less. Heck, I now imagined baking this man the nicest pie in creation—after I fed his dad a delicious non-alien dinner.

Funny how life goes. When I sopped by over that first evening, Mr. Jacob backed up against the wall, apparently expecting my pie cutter to slice through more than crust, but when I unveiled the cherry pie, all was well.

Now I go to the fence nearly every day and stare until Mr. Jacob or his son comes out to chat. Occasionally I call ahead. But usually, they seem to just feel my presence. We meet up and talk. I might bring a pie. The son might bring a couple of beers. Mr. Jacob brings his smile.

And so far…no aliens.

Novels by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction

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

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

Historical Fiction

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend

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

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

OldEarth Neb Encounter (In production)

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

HeartBeats—Spiritual Being, Human Journey  https://amzn.to/2KvF3Ll

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd0z

Short Stories

It Might Have Been—And Other Short Stories https://amzn.to/2XXdDDz

Let’s Keep Talking

I don’t write to tell the world something. I write to figure out what the world is trying to tell me.

I’m nearly finished writing the last book of the OldEarth Encounter Trilogy, ending with OldEarth Neb Encounter, about a son who recounts the story of his grandfather, fully aware that—for good or evil—inheritance isn’t everything. Terrible history may haunt us, but it does not have to inhabit us.

It has taken me years to get that message.

I’m also posting the chapters of Last of Her Kind on Medium’s Illumination publication. When I originally wrote the first version of the story, I was a young mother trying to figure out my place in motherhood and wifedom.

When I wrote the second version, my husband had died, and I was a single mom raising a large brood of kids, awesomely aware of my limitations. The wider universe comforted me. Though lonely, I was never really alone. A message I needed to incorporate into every cell of my being.

Just when I thought I had my feet under me, and the world lined up according to a well-considered plan, along comes a pandemic and the whole planet is tossed into turmoil. Last of Her Kind looks different from this perspective.

But the message is the same. Just louder.

I think about what Harriet Beecher Stowe learned from Uncle Tom’s Cabin. What the world discovered from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. What Jem shared with humanity in To Kill A Mockingbird.

Life informs or deforms. Art—like faith—transforms.

To write is to see what the soul believes but the finger can’t quite touch.

Each reader brings his or her world to the page. I write the word “table” and it isn’t my kitchen heirloom that gets transported into a reader’s mind. It’s their kitchen table. In every word, we see what we know. Our version of humans and aliens. Life and death. Good and evil.

Yet perhaps…we also glimpse something new. Something more. We let God out of our brain box, and we consider a wider, vitally alive Universe. Possibilities as yet undreamed of.

A fascinating conversation the world and I are having. As long as words appear on pages—let’s keep talking.

Novels by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction

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

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

Historical Fiction

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend

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

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

OldEarth Neb Encounter (In production)

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

HeartBeats—Spiritual Being, Human Journey  https://amzn.to/2KvF3Ll

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd0z

Short Stories

It Might Have Been—And Other Short Stories https://amzn.to/2XXdDDz

 

Newearth Justine Awakens—Chapter Eleven

Disaster Original

The snow-covered houses along the dark, quiet street appeared to slumber like their inhabitants, resting up for the next day’s adventures. Sleeping birds rested their tiny heads under spread wings to keep out the winter chill. Even the trees stood like silent, still guards, perhaps meditating on their long years of service while their sap slowed in a well-earned hibernation.

Kendra jerked up like a marionette immersed in blackness. Her heart thudded against her chest. She cocked her head and listened. One of the boys was snoring. Other than that, she couldn’t hear anything unusual. She blinked in puzzlement, then sighed and leaned back against large, welcoming pillows.

A chair scraped across the floor.

Kendra sat up again and kicked Bala’s foot under the covers. “Wake up!”

Bala stirred, licked his lips, and moaned.

Kendra offered a full arm wallop on his blanketed body before she slid out from under her warm covers. She reached for the lamp. Click. Click. Click-click-click. Damn!

The faint hissing of a breather helm slithered through the house.

“Bala, if you want to live through the night, I suggest you get up. Now!” Kendra pounded Bala on the chest.

Bala leapt out of bed in one fluid motion and promptly fell to the floor with his foot tangled in the sheets. “Oweee, oooh, ahhh.” He regained his balance and fluttered to his dresser where he pulled forth a dented, second-hand Dustbuster and a flashlight. As he aimed both the gun and the light at the door, it flew open.

Two enormous Uanyi entered the bedroom. Shocked hesitation cost all. In a flash, one intruder lunged forward, knocking Bala’s weapon to the side and crushing him in a decidedly unfriendly hug, while the other Uanyi thrust Kendra into a corner.

Enraged, Bala fought back, kicking and punching, in a vain attempt to reach Kendra.

Changing tactics, the Uanyi flung Bala like a toy onto the bed, where he slapped, punched, and shook the man until Bala’s teeth-rattled, and he finally stopped struggling.

Kendra screamed. The children wailed from different rooms in the house.

At the sound of heavy, clomping steps, the two Uanyi jumped away from Bala’s groaning form and stood at attention.

An enormous Ingot strode into the darkened room. “Enough. Next time, maybe. Just finish the job.”

The two Uanyi then proceeded to do a fair imitation of trolls having temper tantrums, breaking everything in the room, including the windows and walls. The Ingot merely folded his bulky arms and watched, his eyes gleaming.

Kendra struggled to the door, begging to be allowed to go to her kids, but the Ingot sent her sprawling back to the corner with a swift kick. The other intruders grunted in exertion as they continued their thorough devastation.

Unseen intruders smashed their way through the other rooms, forcing panicked groans from Bala; “Oh, God, oh God,” his whole body curled up in pain.

After an eternity, the intruders couldn’t find anything else to break. The Ingot raised his arm and waved carelessly. “Done. Let’s go.” He led the others out of the bedroom and headed toward the front door, which hung by one twisted hinge. Clomping noisily down the steps, they mounted waiting scooters.

The houses, birds, and trees frightened into eerie silence acted as if they had heard nothing.

Bala slowly uncurled and slid to the floor, weak with shock-shivering pain.

Kendra scrambled from the room and was met by an onslaught of sobbing children. She knelt and hugged them, crying, calling them each by name. “Rachel, sweetie, you hurt?” Kendra took a screaming baby out of the girl’s arms. “Barni? David?” She rubbed the little boys’ tear-stained faces. “How about you, Seth?” Seth clutched a whimpering three-year-old and mutely shook his dark, curly head.

Her eyes widened in fresh terror. “Veronica?”

Bala thrashed his way into the hallway and limped to the last bedroom, calling, “Veronica!”

Streaky tears streamed down Kendra’s face as she and the children slowly hauled themselves en mass towards the last bedroom. “Oh, God, no…please, not one of my babies….”

Bala sat huddled on the floor with a small child cradled in his lap, his arms encircling her hunched form. She buried her face in his chest, as he lay collapsed against the cracked wall. “She was in the closet, hiding under luggage. She’s… okay.”

Kendra fell to her knees, all the children crumpling with her. “Lord, save me now, save me.”

Swallowing against the pain, Bala rocked his shivering child. “He—just—did.”

With a trembling finger, her face contorting in agony, Kendra wiped tears from her baby’s face. “Not from this hate.”

~~~

At the first light of dawn, Clare dashed across the muddy, scarred lawn, jumped the porch steps two at a time, and banged ferociously on the front door. She hopped from foot to foot as she waited, peering through a cracked window into the living room. “Oh, God! Oh, God! Please—” Shuffled footsteps pinned her to the floor. She braced herself, ready to rush in.

The broken door complained feebly and was shoved aside.

Bala stood there, his black and blue face testifying to his current state of health. One eye had swollen shut. He gripped the doorframe for support.

Clare jumped forward and squeezed him in a hug. “Oh, God! Bala, it’s worse than—”

Kendra’s groan called from a back room. “No visitors, please. The place is a mess.”

Bala managed a strangled, “Just Clare, honey. Go back to sleep.” He stepped aside, releasing his neck from her suffocating embrace and gestured toward the living room. He shifted the door back into place, limped to his broken couch, and braced himself. With one hand, he flourished a mocking bow. “New decorating scheme. Disaster original.”

Clare fought back tears. “How can you joke at a time like this?”

“It’s either laugh or cry and my eyes hurt, so I figure—”

Clare paced the room, her hands clenched into fists. “I’ll get her; I promise. I’d like to wring her thick, flabby neck with my own hands!”

Bala slumped onto the broken couch. It tipped at a precarious angle. Ignoring the danger, he rested his head on his hand, leaned back, and raised a swollen eyebrow at Clare. “Who, exactly, are you planning on strangling on my behalf?”

Clare stomped around the room, groaning at smashed family pictures, tendrils of shredded plants, ripped curtains, and all the mind-numbing destruction. “I can think of two.”

Bala rubbed his chin, and it started to bleed. “Aww, darn. I thought I stoppered all the leaks.” He tried to heave himself off the couch but fell back with a pained squeak.

Clare ran to his side. “Stay put. What do you need?”

Bala pointed a nervous finger down the hall. “In the bathroom, the cabinet was left intact. Missed it in the dark, I suppose. Sloppy of them.”

Clare scurried down the hall and bumped into Kendra with a shriek. “Kendra! Oh, Lord!”

Kendra waved Clare down the hall. “Bandages to the right. I’m just going to order something to eat. Can’t fix meals in this—looks like a couple hurricanes came through.”

Clare’s eyes widened in alarm as if Kendra’s sending a message would drain her last vestiges of strength. “No, let me! I’ll call. I’ll take care of everything. Just go sit with Bala. His chin is bleeding.” Proof enough that the universe tottered on the edge of an abyss.

Kendra shrugged one shoulder and nodded her acceptance. “Sure. Fix everything.” She rotated a limp hand in the air. “Play Fairy Godmother—long as you want.” She stumbled down the hall.

Clare dashed into the bathroom. A moment later, she scampered back into the living room, brandishing a bandage. “Here, I’ll just wrap your—” She stared.

Bala lay crumpled into Kendra’s embrace. She rocked him like a baby.

Clare’s eye filled with tears, and her lips quivered.

Kendra stared up through dry, vacant eyes. “Don’t start.” She peered down at Bala’s blood-caked chin. “Let him sleep. He’s been watching over us since this whole—insanity—happened. The Interventionists came, did their thing. Amazing the house is still standing.”

Clare slid to the edge of the couch, bracing one hand on the wall to keep it from falling over. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Bala didn’t want to wake you in the middle of the night. Told ‘em to wait till morning.”

Clare shook her head. “Idiot. I’m supposed to be called first. I could have helped. Plus, I need fresh evidence. He knows that.”

Kendra shrugged. “He wasn’t thinking too clearly. Having your head bashed in and your family terrorized does funny things to a man.” Kendra smoothed Bala’s disheveled hair. “Look, you said you want to help, well, then go ahead. Order something. We need to eat, no matter how sick we feel. And then you go ahead and get these—” Kendra’s voice dropped to a shaky whimper.

Clare fell to her knees and knelt at Kendra’s side. “Don’t let them get to you—not on the inside. Please. Hang on to the Kendra I know and love, the one who hasn’t a mean bone in her body.”

Kendra stroked her husband’s head. “My kids wouldn’t agree.” Kendra leveled her gaze at Clare’s teary eyes. “But I won’t let this happen again. We’re gonna protect ourselves. No one had the right to terrorize us. God! We’re human beings!”

Clare rose, sniffed back impending tears, and started tapping on her datapad. “As soon as I get some food on your table, I’m going to call everyone I know to see that your family is protected.”

A child called from the back room. “Maaaa-ma!”

Kendra sighed and laid Bala’s limp form gently on the couch. She smoothed his hair away from his eyes as she called back. “Coming, honey.” She straightened and gestured vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. “Sounds good. But please don’t lay anything on the table just yet—it’s scattered all over the floor.” Rubbing the small of her back, Kendra limped out of the room.

Clare faced Bala and knelt by his slumbering side. Her voice lowered to a husky whisper. “We’ll get them, Bala. Promise.”

I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear. ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

A new chapter every Tuesday and Thursday.

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