The Last Adventure of Constance Verity (12 page)

“I don't, but that doesn't mean I think she's lying. Not about this.”

“It's a spell. I've broken spells before.”

“The fault lies not in our spells, but in ourselves,” said Thelma. “If you genuinely wanted this broken, you could've pursued this idea before. So, answer this: why didn't you?”

“I've been busy,” said Connie.

“So busy you couldn't think about removing the thing that was keeping you so busy? Isn't that convenient? Or are you simply denying who you are, who you've always been?”

Connie thought about clicking Thelma quiet but didn't.

“How about this, then? How long ago did you get sick of being thrust into adventures?”

“I don't know. Couple of years ago,” said Connie.

“You're not a very good liar,” said Thelma.

“I'm a very good liar,” Connie replied.

And she was. She'd bluffed her way out of many a situation by being good at it.

She knew precisely when her attitude started changing. She'd been returning an idol to a sacred shrine for reasons she couldn't recall right now. As she was setting the sacred cup/dagger/sword/statue to its proper place, she thought how it was all the same stuff, over and over again. She'd returned or stolen so many cursed artifacts that it all blended together. Same shit, different day.

The only thing she remembered with any clarity was how exhausting it was becoming. She didn't walk out of that temple ready to quit, but it was the first time she considered it, however briefly.

“Eight years ago,” she said.

“And during those eight years, you never once considered breaking the spell? Even though you've broken spells before?” asked Thelma. “It's not because you didn't know it could be done. It's because you are an adventurer. Forged by magic, the will of the universe, and, most importantly, your very nature. You were made, and the person who made you . . . is you. And removing the spell won't change that.”

“You're just trying to get into my head,” said Connie. “You're just a ghost with an axe to grind.”

There was some truth to Thelma's words. Connie had spent most of her life a willing participant in adventure, and there was no denying that she'd done a fair amount of good over the years. Saved a lot of lives. Saved a lot of worlds. Saved the universe. She was proud of what she'd accomplished, but she could also use a break.

She'd never get that break as long as the spell was in place. It wasn't her nature to turn away from danger. As long as the opportunities to risk her neck for the greater good kept popping up, she'd never be able to walk away. She'd keep pushing her luck until one day she died that glorious death promised to her at the end of this curse.

If she couldn't change herself, she'd have to change the spell.

She sipped her tea. “I just need to break it.”

C
onspiracy theorists and UFO enthusiasts liked to camp out around Area 51, and if they were patient and determined enough, they might see something weird. Flying-saucer pilots didn't always remember to turn on their stealth systems, and every blurry photo fueled paranoia about terrible secrets hidden in the desert.

“How are we going to get past the guards?” asked Tia as they approached the gate. “Do we have cover stories? Should I act natural? Do I need to say anything? Should I be chewing gum? I always look more relaxed chewing gum.”

“Don't worry. I have a plan,” said Connie.

A guard stepped out of the box and approached the window.

“This is a restricted area, ma'am,” he said.

Connie flashed a badge. He opened the gate and waved her through.

“Omega level security clearance,” she said. “They gave it to me after I broke into the White House the second time.”

“They give security clearances for that?”

“They do after you prove the president has been replaced by a cyborg clone.”

“And you're just telling me this now?”

“The government asked me to keep a lid on it. National security. Peace of mind of the citizens. And I don't tell you about all the mundane stuff.”

“Only you would call fighting a cyborg
mundane
.”

“Who said anything about fighting? I just told him I was onto him and asked him politely to leave. He did.”

“You're right. That doesn't sound very exciting.”

“I averted World War Two once by simply saying
please
to the right ambassador. You'll be surprised at how far good manners will get you in this world.”

“There was a World War Two.”

“Sure. In this timeline.”

Area 51 wasn't much to look at. Only a few hangars and blocky white buildings. The guards, perhaps a dozen of them, sat around playing cards and slacking off. They were there as a token from the United States government, but security wasn't their job.

Connie pulled the car into a darkened hangar. A trio of thin, green aliens in gray uniforms stepped from the shadows and waved strange devices around them. Connie gave her card to a fourth green alien in a blue uniform. He glanced at it, gave it back to her.

“Blessed Snurkab, it is my honor to welcome you,” he said.

“It's Connie,” she replied. “Just Connie.”

“As you wish.” He handed back her card. “Won't be a moment.”

The aliens completed their decontamination, bathing the car in mysterious rays, before pushing a button. The floor under the car lowered as they descended underground. Tia had been in enough secret bases to not be terribly impressed by this one.

A strange being with many arms gurgled at Connie as she exited the car and handed it her keys. She handed the extraterrestrial twenty bucks. “Keep it close.”

It nodded enthusiastically, splashing some purple saliva on the windows before driving away.

The lot was filled with a variety of spacecraft and a couple of time machines. Aliens wandered around, doing whatever aliens did there. Several pointed at Connie. One furry, ape-like being bowed to her as they walked past it.

At the next checkpoint, they came across a metallic statue of a twelve-year-old girl that Tia recognized immediately.

Connie answered the question before it had to be asked. “Remember that time my family moved to Nowhere, Montana, to try and get me away from this stuff? It didn't work. The house we moved into had a miniature wormhole in the basement. I stumbled through it and ended up in outer space for a year.”

“But you were only gone a month.”

“Month to you and everyone here. The wormhole warped time as well as space.”

“So, you're telling me you're a year older than me?”

“Not physically. The wormhole took care of that, too. But while I was out there, I ended up being the only one who could pilot this ancient warship that—” Connie stopped. “Doesn't matter. I did some stuff. Saved a dozen alien civilizations. Not a big deal.”

“And they built a statue to you in gratitude?” said Tia.

“A ship came here to set up an intergalactic pit stop. The crew discovered this was where I was from. Set up a little museum, a little tourist attraction for those passing through. It has the largest collection of Constance Verity memorabilia in this sector of the galaxy.”

“Isn't Area 51 older than you?”

“Wormhole,” said Connie by way of explanation.

A tall spider lady with six legs and an angular, fanged face approached. Her name was a series of scent emissions followed by a sound too high-pitched for humans to hear. She went by Charlotte, a name an exhausted human official had assigned her while slowly being driven mad by the number of aliens that had unpronounceable names.

“This is indeed an honor. If we had known the Legendary Snurkab was paying us a visit, we would've prepared a proper welcome.” Her melodious voice drifted over Tia with a pleasant, mildly hypnotic effect. On her homeworld, it was used to lure prey. Here, it was for customer relations.

“
Legendary
is going a bit far,” said Connie.

“Shall I sing the ‘Song of Glorious Remembrance'?”

“Oh, please do,” said Tia.

“Please. Don't,” said Connie. “You don't want to hear it, anyway. It's four hours long, and that's the radio play version.”

“If your companion would like it, we can see that she is given a copy from the gift shop.”

“Do that,” said Connie. “Give her the whole deluxe knickknack souvenir package. Fair warning. The snow globes are manufactured on the outer fringe, and they leak.”

Charlotte clicked at a short, green lizardoid, who nodded before scurrying off.

“As a matter of fact, I don't really need you for this part,” said Connie. “If you want to check out the museum, be my guest.”

“Really? Are you sure?” asked Tia. “What if there's trouble?”

“Trouble? Here? It won't be anything I can't handle on my own. Go on. Have fun. I think there are some exhibits on you.”

Charlotte gave Tia a VIP pass, and she ran off with a hasty good-bye. Connie was led to the record offices in the back of the park. She sat at a computer and scrolled through Muroid holograms, holding Thelma before the screen. There were many more than she expected, because a Muroid clan had landed on Earth with the original Roswell arrival, and they bred rapidly. There were a lot of faces to go through, and Connie discovered the flaw in her plan.

“Does this one look familiar?” she asked.

“They all look familiar,” said Thelma.

“This one has a dominant central ridge,” said Connie. “He looks completely different.”

Thelma paused as she squinted—or so Connie assumed about a ghost in a pen—at the image.

“I didn't notice the ridge. Sorry.”

“What did you notice?”

“Yellow. Spiky. Short.”

“That's every Muroid. You didn't observe the vestigial-gill placement? The nasal width? The brow height?”

“Yellow. Spiky. Short,” repeated Thelma.

“This is pointless,” said Connie. “You could be looking right at who we're after and not know it.”

“Excuse me for not being an expert on Muroid identification.”

“It's not that hard.”

“It's not that hard for you,” said Thelma. “I didn't spend years hobnobbing with aliens.”

Connie had a diverse skill set that enabled her to see the differences in the alien faces that would've been invisible to the untrained eye. If she'd seen the original culprit, she would've been able to identify him without any trouble, but she hadn't seen him. Or her. Thelma hadn't even noticed the eye shape enough to distinguish the Muroid's sex. That information alone would've been enough for Connie to chart their target's sexual metamorphosis cycle, giving them something to work with. Right now, it was like showing up on Earth with orders to locate the suspicious mammalian humanoid.

“Maybe he isn't among these images?” said Thelma. “If he's
an alien, maybe he went home. Thirty-five years is a long time, as mortals reckon time. Though I don't know about aliens. What are you going to do now?”

“I don't know,” replied Connie.

She'd been in dire straits before. Lost. Confused. Hopeless. She'd always found a way out of them. If there was a monster, she'd kill it or escape. If there was a sinister mastermind, she'd get his own giant robot to step on him. If there was a mystery, she'd crack it. But this wasn't any of those things.

This was a dead end.

She hated dead ends.

She'd once found a magic coin that could control the weather. Someone had stolen it. She'd never found out who. She'd never found the coin again. And if someone had been planning on using it for nefarious purposes, they had never gotten around to it.

She'd been on an expedition to the Amazon to find a dinosaur. They'd found the tracks. They'd never found the dinosaur. She'd found dinosaurs before that. She'd found dinosaurs after. She'd never found
that
dinosaur.

She'd journeyed to ancient Mars to discover she hadn't journeyed quite ancient enough, happening upon the ruins of a once-thriving civilization where, if her studies in xenoarchaeology were accurate, everyone had at least three sword fights a day and fell in and out of love nearly as often. It was only ruins and bones. In her youth, her poor timing had irritated her.

A life of endless adventure had taken its toll. She wasn't
the same eager kid she once was, ready to plunge headfirst into any random booby-trapped temple or find romance with any charming pirate king that came along. She was sick of most of it.

But, goddamn it, she hated dead ends.

She was looking for a needle in a pile of needles on another pile of needles with more needles being added every minute and some needles being taken away before she'd even started looking. Also, the one needle she was looking for probably didn't want to be found.

“It's impossible.” She didn't use that word lightly.

“I wouldn't say that,” said Thelma smugly. “You might get lucky.”

“You can cut that out,” said Connie.

“Cut what out?”

“The
I've got a secret
tone you keep using.”

“But I do have secrets.”

Thelma paused for drama.

“The secrets of the dead.”

“Terrific for you. If you aren't going to share them, I don't give a damn.”

“If you knew what I knew—”

“I know more than you know,” said Connie.

Thelma laughed. “You only think that because you've never been beyond this side of death.”

“I've been dead. A couple of times. Once a whole week. You didn't know that?”

“Of course I did.” Thelma didn't sound convincing.

“You want to have a secret contest? I can tell you things that would make you crap your ectoplasmic shorts.”