The Faarian Chronicles: Exile (17 page)

“Don’t argue. It’s not up for discussion. And don’t wander
off on your own again. You’ve got a lot to learn about how things work here
before you’ll be ready to be out on patrol by yourself.”

“But, Lyta and Otrere left me….”

“And did they tell you
not
to call for help when you
found that nest? Or to go ahead and pick up a haratchi chick?” She didn’t wait
for me to answer. “I don’t care why you went off by yourself, Veridian. I’m
telling you not to do it again, understood?”

“Fine!” I replied, unable to think of anything else to say.
Geez, why was she talking to me like this? I wasn’t five, for cripes sake! And,
you’d think she would try to be nice to me for a while at least.

 I grabbed Meowman and my sewing supplies, jerked the
boots off the floor, and stomped into my bedroom, slamming the door so that the
new padlock banged against the frame. Dad had better email back soon.

Chapter 20: Military Hippie Market Day

The next morning I dressed, stuffing my wrist wraps in my
pocket just in case, and went down to the clinic before breakfast to get my
finger checked. I read and deleted a note from my mother about the boots on the
way. “Unacceptable,” it read. “Did you even open the cleaning kit?”

“No,” I grumbled. I’d given them a couple of good whacks
while holding them outside my window, much to the dismay of one of the men from
the kitchen who’d been in the herb patch below. I hadn't looked before at what
was down there. I waved an embarrassed apology at him and hurriedly ducked back
inside while he yelled and shook his fist up at me, knocking debris out of his
long hair.

After that, I took some pain pills and fell into a dead
sleep, still clothed on top of the covers.

Aunt Penthe said my wound was healing well, but I should
give it at least one more day, and got me and Thal assigned to market duty.
Following a bowl of oatmeal mixed with what appeared to be leftover stew from
dinner (which I scarfed down because I was starving) Thal stood up from the
table and motioned to me to follow him.

The train station pavilion was still deserted when we got
there, and the sight of all that open expanse of smooth flooring had given me
an idea to put my goal in motion to stay in shape for gymnastics. I’d been
feeling strangely adrift without my usual schedule of workouts, and my Pilates
routine before breakfast hadn’t been enough.

I dumped the Kevlar mesh backpack that held my scy,
platform, and water bottle from the day before into a corner and put on my
wraps. The last thing I wanted was to break a wrist, and I had no intention of
using my bite hand at all.

The floor was unforgiving under my tennis shoes as I took a
few running steps into an aerial, then flipped into some whips. Nothing too
fancy. I wasn’t used to practicing with shoes on. But, the space was fabulous.
It kept going and going and I felt like I was flying again.

I
loved
this feeling, heart pounding, adrenaline
rushing – like I could do anything! I quickly forgot everything: my frustration
with my mother, my anger with the twins, even the ache in my hand as I flipped
across the floor and back. Tiny soda bubbles of happiness fizzed through my
veins, and I found myself laughing with relief. Now if only I had some mats.

“Wow,” Thal said, stunned and blinking when I came to a stop
to stretch. “What was that?”

“You’ve never seen gymnastics before?”

“Uh-uh,” he shook his head. “Can everyone on Earth do that?”

“No, not many. It’s a sport. People who are really good
compete in it, like at the Olympics.”

“What are the Olympics?”

“You’ve never heard of the Olympics either?” I shook my head
ruefully this time. No. I guess he wouldn’t have. “It’s where people from all
over the world compete against each other in a whole bunch of different
sports.”

“Oh, you mean like Palladium?”

Now it was my turn to ask, “What’s Palladium?”

“It’s kind of a race where each team tries to get their
‘message’ to the General on their team first. Teams from all over compete. It’s
great, you’ll see.”

“Huh.” I couldn’t really picture it, and honestly, it
sounded kind of lame. “So, you’re sure you’ve never even heard of gymnastics
here?” I asked, but I didn’t hold out much hope. Whenever Sensei or the Robot
said the word gymnastics, it was always in English.

“I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “I guess there’s some
new Earth fad in Glass City that the boys are into, but I think it’s some kind
of dance. So, did you compete in this gym-nas-ticks?” he enunciated each
syllable.

“Yes, but it was easier when I was younger, before I got so
tall.”

He looked confused. “You’re not all that tall. So it’s a
sport for short people?”

I laughed a little at that description. “I guess… yeah. It
is. Some of the events women compete in are a little easier if you’re shorter.
And tall people tend to get injured more easily. Like my favorite used to be
the uneven bars, but…” I saw I was going to have to explain uneven bars. He
actually seemed interested as I explained each of the events.

“So… you do this why?”

I had to think about that for a second. I’d been doing it so
long, I didn’t think about why. “I guess to prove I can,” I finally said.

“So all those flips you did earlier, you can actually do
those on a narrow platform?”

“Not all of them on beam, but some, yeah. Watch.” I picked
out a straight line joining two slabs of marble flooring and showed him pieces
of my last beam routine. “It’s better when it’s raised four feet off the ground
and you can grip the sides of the beam,” I said when finished. “You can do
different stuff. The dismount’s cooler too.”

He shook his head. “You know, Lyta can do a standing back
flip. She thinks she’s so hot.” He rolled his eyes.

I picked a spot and threw the back flip with a full twist
that was my signature move on beam.

“Wild,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re so going to have
to show that to Lyta.”

I laughed. A slight humming sound registered from the stairs
and someone cleared their throat. I looked up and was surprised to see Russ’s
cousin John and his dad from my - flight - at the top of the stairs. It seemed
odd to think of that fiasco like an airline flight, but I guess that’s what it
was. Or maybe more of a cargo run with tag-alongs.

They came down the stairs and it struck me how tall they
both were; taller than any man I’d met here at the Kindred. Taller than me,
though at 5’9” I wasn’t all that tall here, as Thal had pointed out. I wondered
how much they’d seen of my showing off. Oh well, not like I wasn’t used to
having an audience.

John wore the same smirky half-smile as before and something
else now. Appreciation, maybe? I felt my face stretch into a smile and gave him
the same quick peace sign wave he’d given me. His smirk turned into a full
grin. My memory had not been faulty. If anything, he was hotter than I’d
remembered. Be cool, Sunny, be cool.

“Hello Mr. McCall, John,” Thal called out to them. “You’re
welcome to set up anywhere you'd like. You’re the first ones here this
morning.”

It occurred to me what a normal Earth name he had. John
McCall. And Thal knew him, so they must come here often for market. His short,
spiky hair reminded me of fir needles all over his head. I wondered if it felt
as sharp as it looked. Besides that reporter, I hadn’t seen anyone else here
with short hair like that, only John and his father. They picked a prime spot
in the middle of the room and started setting up some sort of display from
several hardcover boxes they carried.

My face felt suddenly hot as I realized I was still staring
and I looked away, trying to find something else, anything else, to look at. I
wished I knew what I was supposed to be doing here so I could go do it. I
looked over at Thal, hoping for a job.

“Come on, let’s go check in with whoever’s on security
detail today,” he said with laughing eyes, not bothering to introduce me. I was
going to hear about this later. “Usually they come down here first, so they
must be checking people in already.” I followed him upstairs and, as much as I
tried, I couldn’t resist taking a quick peek over my shoulder at John and
caught him doing the same. I jerked my head back to face forward just in time
to avoid running into Thal. I groaned under my breath and heard a low-pitched
laugh from across the room.

Thal led me to the outer security door, equipped with
bio-scanners and freight elevators for all the vendors arriving to set up. We
both groaned when we saw Myrihn there, checking people in.

"Bad luck," Thal whispered. "The warriors are
on a rotating schedule for market day."

“About time you two showed up,” Myrihn grumbled when she saw
us. She ushered a woman with several large carts full of produce through the
scanners. “Although, what good you’ll do me, I have no idea.” She shook her
head, obviously not pleased to have us for assistants. “Just go help people set
up and try not to get in anyone’s way, alright?” she said, dismissing us.

We got back to the train station in time for a wave of
sellers and buyers to arrive all at once to set up and start haggling. It was
bedlam, flea-market style. Thal explained that our job was to help Myrihn and try
to keep some semblance of organized peace as vendors claimed and fought over
the prime spots. And to report any major problems upstairs to Alten, my
mother’s second in command. The cool marble pavilion was a refreshing place to
hold a market with the blistering heat of the suns outside.

Some booths held familiar Saturday market staples: plant
starts, pistachios, fruits and vegetables, etc. Bright banners and signs were
strung around, flapping and blowing in the wind from the trains. Here and
there, a card proclaimed “New Variety!” or other improved qualities to entice
the steady stream of shoppers.

There was a display of honey, beeswax candles, and beauty
products from a local beekeeper. The sticky excretions of bugs that liked to
sting people, with a horrible aftertaste. Yeah, sign me up.

The jewelry stand was familiar too, but it was mostly men
who flocked to it, trying on some kind of gold, head jewelry with various stone
pendants that rested between their eyebrows. And then there was the table in the
farthest corner full of bottles proclaiming haratchi deterrent, poisonous
spider repellant, and beetle bait. That corner seemed to be your one-stop-shop
for organic pesticides.

“Used to be, being Nico Katje’s friend would get me the best
spot every time,” an old woman selling pesticides grumbled from behind her
table as I walked past. I considered being a good little worker and stopping to
see if there was anything I could do, but no. I kept my head down and kept
walking.

“You there. Girl!” I looked around warily. There wasn’t
anyone else she could be talking to. Dang. I turned toward her.

“Yeah, you.” She snapped her bony fingers at me. “Come
here.” I took the few steps to stand in front of her table.

“Well, you’re quite the sickly thing, aren’t you? No wonder
I haven’t seen you around before. I thought the Katjes were doing better
feeding their brood nowadays.” She looked me up and down and
humphed
.
“Well, no matter. I need you to find me a better spot than this.” I looked
around the packed bazaar. There were only two spots left available, and they
were right next to her on either side.

“Uh, all the spots are taken.”

“Any idiot can see that! Move someone. Them. There in the
center.” She pointed at the McCall display of some sort of fencing. “Why do
they always get the best spot? What are you Katjes now, a bunch of mol lovers?”
I was confused until I looked down at the nearest bottle labeled Organic Rodent
Liqui-Death. The label showed a drawing of a half-eaten turnip next to a rodent
on its back with all four legs up in the air, its tongue hanging out and X’s
for eyes.

“Doesn’t it say right there, no discrimination?” She
gestured to the screen behind her, which helpfully displayed the market rules
sign she was talking about. “This is age-ism!”

“Um, I wish I could help you, but I don’t think I can move
anyone for you.”

“Well there’s your problem, girl. Don’t think. Do it!”

“Uh, hold on a sec.” I ran to get Thal and explained the
situation.

“Menace,” he grumbled, then pasted on a smile and walked
over to the woman’s table.

“Ma’am, as you know, the spots are first come, first
served,” he stated without preamble. “Next time you’re welcome to arrive
earlier to claim the spot you want.”

The old woman looked at me. “You brought this little boy
over here to deal with me? Ha! Some Katje female you are. Where’s Nico? She’ll
fix this.” She sniffed.

“Nico is retired, as you well know.” Thal dropped his
saccharine smile. “But I’d be happy to call Alten down here for you right now.”
He took his link off his belt and pressed his thumb to the thought pad, giving
the old woman a steely glare.

“No, no. I don’t need to talk to
Alten,
” she sneered.
She sat back down with a
humph
and crossed her arms. “Bunch of no-good
mol lovers,” she muttered and glared back and forth between me, Thal, and the
McCall table in the center of the room. I didn’t think she was talking about
rodents anymore. More like she was calling the McCalls rodents, which was plain
rude.

“And,” Thal continued, picking up an open bottle of
poisonous spider repellant from the table. “You know you can’t have this open
in here.” He replaced the cap. “Some people are allergic. You’ll make them
sick. Keep it closed or we’ll have to ask you to leave.” Thal replaced the
bottle pointedly and we left.

“Some people maybe I don’t mind making sick,” the old woman
grumbled behind us under her breath. I doubt she knew I could hear her. “Maybe
then those lousy mols would stay where they belong. Think they can take over
this place too, like everywhere else.
Humph!
” I threw a glare over my
shoulder at the mean old biddy.

“Wow, Thal, that was great! I didn't know what to say to
her,” I said.

“Well, this is not the first time she’s tried that and I’ve
watched Alten deal with her enough times,” he replied, but I could tell he was
pleased. “Don’t worry about her. She’s old and bitter and stuck in the past.
We’ll just have to keep an eye on her and make sure she keeps those spider
repellant bottles closed. If she gives us any more trouble, we’ll call Alten to
deal with her.”

“Was she calling the McCalls moles? Is that an insult here
or something?” I explained about the small, burrowing rodents on Earth. He
laughed.

“No. It’s short for Molinidae, their race. Molin is on the
other side of the mountains to the west.”

Oh. I thought I remembered someone saying something about
the people over the mountains, that they stayed with the aliens that brought
humans here, before the Annunaki went extinct. I guessed they must be a race of
tall, short-haired people?