Changing into costume on the roof of a pizzeria isn’t a good idea, but it’s better than changing in the parking lot.
After everything that happened during the end of my junior year, maybe I should have been wearing my costume under my clothes all the time, but I didn’t. Summers are hot, and we were already into the middle of July.
I stayed low, pulled my costume out of my backpack, and stuffed my clothes inside, hoping that no one was working late in one of the old, brick buildings across the street.
After the last time Chuck’s Pizza got robbed, Dad told me, “If some guy pulls a gun on you and tells you to open the cash register, open the cash register. Don’t try to be a hero. Call the police after he leaves.”
So, I was scheduled to work at Grand Lake Steak and Fine Dining except Dad got a call, and Chuck’s Pizza was short staffed, and could anybody help?
Dad sent me.
And that wasn’t all bad. You get better tips at Grand Lake Steak than Chuck’s, but half the staff at Grand Lake Steak hated me because Dad had me help retrain them. Continue reading Haley: Part 1→
Once, when I asked my grandfather what Xiniti were like he said, “You know those science fiction stories where an explorer visits an unknown planet, discovers aliens that sneak back to Earth aboard their ship, and destroy the world? That’s what they’re like. At least, if you’re the Abominators. We managed to get off on the right foot with the Xiniti despite that.”
Staring at the Xiniti on the screen, I tried to come up with something appropriate to say. Not much came to mind. Continue reading Space Date: Part 10→
The drone flew away, dodging the Xiniti ships by moving into the routes reserved for traffic coming out of the gate.
Even though most ships slowed down before using a gate, they didn’t have to, and could come out at theoretically any speed, so cutting across lanes wasn’t smart.
I rushed into the back of the jet, and put on the Rocket suit. When I got back to the cockpit, I checked the screen I’d been using to read the conversation with the drone.
Nothing had been added. Apparently the AI didn’t feel any pressure to make conversation when it didn’t have anything to say.
“WILL HITCHHIKE. REJOIN TRIBE/CLAN/CIVILIZATION. WE ARE NOMADS.”
So I digested that for a little while, wondering if it was true, or if it skipped a few steps. For example, the step where it turned us over to the civilizations of genetically modified humans who fanatically worshipped the Abominators, and might possibly hold a grudge against us for the way our grandfathers destroyed the last of their masters.
After setting a course for Raptor’s position, I clicked through menus on the jet’s computer. I knew Grandpa had mentioned a translation program at some point. I’d never had a reason to use it.
The League jet had cameras all around the body, allowing me to check out almost the entire hull without leaving the cockpit. I’d always thought that was cool, but as of that moment I could guess at the practical reason why Grandpa had installed them.
A long, black shell clung three quarters of the way down the hull. The fact that it had attached itself said a lot about it.