3 Minutes to Turnfall - Chapter 8: Sage
Serial Novelette / Sci-Fi
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CHAPTER 8: Sage
“Come on in, you two,” Director Vo’s voice rattled on the speaker panel outside his office.
“You wanted to see us?”
“Yes, I have some good news for you both.”
Teague and I exchanged glances.
“Well, I assume the week off has left you two completely re-energized.”
I wish. I hoped he wouldn’t notice the deep shadows under my eyes. I nodded.
My poor nerves.
We had been relieved of our duties for one week after Teague’s miraculous reappearance. It was then when Teague’s night terrors began.
Night after night, my poor brother dove deeper into some agony I didn’t understand, and I had the inescapable burden of wrenching him awake, each night taking me longer and longer to do so. I prayed getting back to work would help him somehow.
“You two are off clean-up duties from now on,” Warren said, his lips forming a thin line. Maybe it passed for a smile, but I wasn’t convinced.
The look of surprise on my brother’s face was priceless.
“I know how much you enjoyed being on the rotations, Teague. But now, you’re onto something else.”
Teague’s face darkened. He probably thought Warren was oblivious to his daily scowls. I pursed my lips to keep from smirking.
“Where are you placing us?” I asked.
“You both will work in the central mainframe of the colony. Sage, you’re assigned to Unit 3, Turbine Hall A, to work with the maintenance crew, and Teague, you’ll be in Unit 2’s control room with the tech department there.”
Teague’s eyes lit up at once. “Really?” he blurted out.
“Yes, we know that’s what you’ve wanted to do since you came here. Now’s your chance to show us your skills.”
Teague grinned. “Thanks, Warren, Sir.”
“The council decided on it, so if you want to thank anyone, it would be The High Leader.”
Teague’s grin slowly trimmed to a tight smile.
“Uh, why the change?” I asked quickly.
“You’ll have to ask The High Leader that question. Here are your new ID bands. You may surrender your old ones to Darcy here.”
A short, gleaming copper bot no more than two feet tall rolled out to me from somewhere behind Warren’s desk. It held out two brand-new ID bands, and I reached over and grabbed the shiny black cuffs that were replacing our current orange ones.
“When do we start?” I asked.
“Tomorrow, you may report to your new team supervisors. Your schedules are in your accounts along with your new pay grade. Let me know if you have any questions. I’ll check in with each of you from time to time.”
I smiled. “Thank you, Sir.”
Warren’s gaze lingered on me for a moment, and I felt heat rise to my cheeks as the door opened for us.
He nodded. “If there’s anything you need, come see me. You’re free to go.”
“How ‘bout that?” I said, grinning at Teague as we headed back to our deck.
“Why do you think they did that?” he asked.
“I thought this was what you wanted? No more ‘monster goop’ to gather, no more barrels to haul.”
“I guess,” he shrugged. But I noticed his smile had disappeared.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Why do you keep looking over there?”
“That woman. She keeps on staring. A major wicked stare. Like she wants to stab me in my sleep or something.”
I followed Teague’s gaze three square tables down to the right, where an off-world woman sat alone. Her long hair was pulled back into a tight gray braid. Deep lines decorated her dark eyes that now stared daggers our way, at Teague it seemed. I recognized her immediately, and what’s worse, I recognized the stare. It was the stare of loathing. Loathing for someone who was alive, knowing they very well shouldn’t be.
“Pay no attention to her,” I said, forcing a swallow of my steak. “Just eat.”
“You know her?”
“Not really. Her name’s Vera. She’s the wife of that guy, Cal. You remember him? He—um—was lost during Turnfall last month.” My steak now tasted like corrugated board.
“Holy shee—really? The one like us?”
“Yeah. I remember him lifting three times the barrels I could,” I said. “They’re both from Misonar, too, but I think he’s the only one like us. She’s not.”
“She’s his wife?
“Yeah.”
“But she’s so—so frail.”
“Yeah.”
“And he was so—”
“Strong?”
He smirked. “But why does she keep staring?”
I gnawed on my lower lip. “Just try to ignore her.”
My brother did his best to pretend like he wasn’t constantly meeting the woman’s gaze. I knew we should have grabbed our dinner to go and had eaten at our deck, but Teague insisted on the Food Hall.
“Be right back,” he said, abruptly springing up from the table.
“Where are you—Hey, your food!”
This kid, I sighed. He rushed off in the opposite direction from the staring woman toward a corner table where Miriam Murray sat eating with Jordan Reddy.
Not a minute after, a bulky shadow came up to the table. “Well now, you’re all patched up and better, yeah?”
Oh no, this guy. “What’s up, Cynco. What can I do for you?”
“I just wonder…how’s it you got out of clean-up duty? You and the zombie?”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. The Space Case.”
Don’t tell me. I knew Miriam was a bit of a blabbermouth. What is it? People have nothing better to do than gossip? I thinned my lips, evening out my breath. I’ll let that slide for now. The hell you want anyway, guy?
The towering shadow belonged to a male off-worlder built like an Orestian guard. He thumped down across from me, pushing Teague’s tin tray of half-eaten noodles to the side.
“Uh, hold on. Who said you could sit here?”
He ignored me and continued with his chatter.
“Well, he seems to be alive and well,” he said, eyes drifting over to Teague, who now stood behind Miriam. “The only one to come back after Turnfall. The Osties sure have their quirks, don’t they? But one thing was always made clear to us in this metal palace—spat at us from every nook and cranny. Inside, er else. A sentry swore to me once he saw what happened. Some fool was caught outside. Was banging on the gates too late. Turned into a ‘puff of ghostly light,’ I think he said. You should have seen his face. Looked like a ghost himself,” he said, smirking. “So what makes your brother so special, huh? What really happened to him? You can tell me, promise to keep my trap shut.”
“I don’t know any more than you do. He doesn’t remember much. And he’s already been grilled.”
“Glad your brother is alive and kicking, but it’s all kinds of strange to me. And I don’t like it.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“What? I can’t come talk to you?”
I arched an eyebrow. “You’re disturbing my dinner.”
“Ey, look here, Sage. I figure…”
Here we go.
“Since the Soren Siblings have been promoted to working internally, alongside the Osties, you guys are racking up the points. I thought maybe…you’d be down for a race.”
And there it was. The magic word. My heart did a little flip-flop flutter, and I couldn’t help my eyes, widening at the prospect. He saw it too, and a grin grew within his square jaw.
“Think you can convince the Director?”
“Possibly,” I said, taking a sip of my soda. “What are the stakes?”
“Ten thousand points and your new twin-engine bullet.”
“My brand-new cruiser?” My heart sank. I’d just gotten the replacement delivered to our garage. I was excited and wanted to make some mods.
“Yeah, assuming it don’t crash…again.”
I squinted my eyes at the arrogant brute.
“Not this time.” I smiled confidently.
“So, you’ll speak to the Director?”
“You sure you want to race me again? You got ten thousand points just lying around? And I’m surprised you’re willing to part with—what do you call this one?”
His cleft chin twitched. “Dolly.”
“Dollyy, yes.” I chuckled a little at the thought of his heavyweight titanium cruiser. It was fast, for its size. “Hell, I’ll take her…if she survives.”
“Oh, I won’t be parting with her darlin’. Last time was a fluke, Inga was temperamental, rest her soul.” He grimaced. “But she was a beaut.”
“Riiight,” I said. “Inga was a beaut, chopped up for parts.”
Cynco made a fist and knocked it along the table impatiently. “Dolly’s state-of-the-art.”
“Fine. Ok, I’m in.”
“Great,” he said. He stood up to leave and turned back suddenly. “Say, how you liking it on the inside? Where they got you holed up?”
“Turbines. Not too bad—”
“Turbines? Turbines for a woman? Lil’ thing like you?”
Lil’ thing. My eyes blazed.
“You sure you can handle all that power?”
“Better than you.”
He burst out laughing.
“STOP! STOP…IT…TEAGUE!”
Miriam’s voice sliced through the stale ambience of the dinner crowd.
I glanced over and immediately bolted out of my seat. My heart dropped to my knees, as if I already knew what to expect even though my eyes hadn’t seen anything yet. “Oh Lord…no…no…no,” I said under my breath.
A commotion had formed, with people beginning to gather, to hover around the corner table.
I ran over, elbowing my way, breaking through the small crowd. Gut-wrenched, I found my brother with his arm locked solid around Jordan’s neck in a choke hold.
Jordan was bigger than my brother, taller too, but I knew he was in trouble under my brother’s left arm. His hands frantically gripped Teague’s forearm, scraping, forcibly trying to pry it off, the young man gagging and red-faced and unable to spit out any audible commands. The whites of his eyes began to swell, and I could see he was near giving up.
Miriam had begun to pound her fist on Teague’s shoulder, screaming at him to let go.
Teague’s face was blank, his eyes dead, staring straight ahead. At what, I honestly wished I knew.
My mind raced backward and seemed to slow. I hunched over, gasping like the wind was knocked out of me. I have to do something. I have to do something now. Like before.
And I looked up, and Teague was twelve again.
“STOP! Stop it, T—Let him go!” I cry. I pull on him, grabbing his common arm. My hand grips his wrist, and I twist it. Hard. Tears spring out from his eyes. But I didn’t let go.
“OWWW!” He yells.
Teague blinks several times through the tears, clear enough to see me. Whimpering, he looks down at his mechanical fingers, parts of synthetic skin torn, visible metal uncurling around the throat of Kyle, a kid from his school, an 8th grader, one grade ahead of him. The poor kid’s face is half exposed, clean, and half-pooled in blood, staining the concrete. His puffy, bruised eyes are shut.
“I’m—I’m sorry!” Teague cries. “I don’t know… don’t know what happened. But—but he started it, I know that much.” He gasps through his tears as I steer our aircar away from the school’s sky lot. “Sage, please! Please believe me! He threw something at me. He called me a—”
“I don’t care! I don’t care what he called you!” My eyes blaze. “The next time you get in a fight, Little Man, I swear—” I wring my arms up and bring my fingers together in a crushing gesture.
He bites his lower lip, shrinking in his seat, and stares out the window at the growing skyscrapers as we begin to descend.
“You could have killed—” I choke slightly, and the tears just fall. “I swear—if Mama was here—”
If Mama was here, I thought now. I rushed to my brother.
“Teague…that…is…enough!” I grabbed his arm, wrenched at his fingers one by one, trying to pry them off a red-blue-faced Jordan. I grabbed Teague’s common wrist. And twisted.
“Argggh…Owww!” My brother cringed, rapidly blinking in surprise. Clarity flooded his eyes, and he let go.
Jordan wheezed a hacking cough as he crashed down on his hands and knees.
Teague seemed dazed, slack-jawed, frowning. He stared at Jordan on the ground, then at me, then at the distressed, frightened blue eyes of Miriam, whose mouth hung open in disbelief. Her head shook like little tremors, and I wondered if she even knew she was doing that.
Orestian officers had come to break up the commotion. I listened to people’s recounts, which poured out of their mouths so fast, all at once, like they were all from one person, a solid witness from the onset. Then I watched the Osties flank my brother, gripping his elbows with metal clamps, escorting him out of the Food Hall. He hung his head and didn’t resist.
I hope you enjoyed Chapter 8! Stay tuned for the next chapter.
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