THREE
Michael finished the last problem for his calc class and shut the book. Now what? He still had a few hours before he'd be ready to go to sleep.
He wandered into the living room. Adam was stretched out in the corner. He had the zonked-out, vacant expression that let Michael know he was off in the dream plane. Michael wondered whose orb he was in.
I should give him some suggestions later, Michael thought. He didn't know the orbs of practically everyone in town the way Isabel did, but he'd still managed to discover some that usually had some interesting stuff going on.
Michael headed down the spiral staircase that led to the museum and looked around. Pretty soon the place would be ready for a grand reopening. Smiling, Michael walked over to the information counter and grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil. When the museum opened its doors again, he was going to be the boss. He was going to be Max's boss. Cool.
Leaning against the counter, Michael started a list. (1) Call old employees. (2) Go over account books. (3) Order supplies for coffee shop. Is there enough cash for a cappuccino machine? (4) Come up with killer display for front window.
He wanted something that would make everyone in town come in, even if they'd been to the museum a million times already. But what? He let out a snort. He'd be the best-possible display. He'd have lines out the wazoo if he put a real, live alien in the window. But obviously there were a few little problems with that idea. Like potential imprisonment. Like potential death.
Measurements. Before he could make any decisions, he needed measurements so he'd know exactly how much space he had to work with. He leaned across the counter and opened the long drawer in the middle, then rooted around until he found a tape measure.
Maybe I can set up some kind of multimedia deal, he thought as he made his way over to the window and stepped up into the narrow display area. A video loop. Maybe I could-
All his thoughts disappeared as he felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. The little hairs were standing on end, just the way they had at the game when Kyle Valenti was staring at him and Maria.
Slowly he turned his head and peered out at the dark, empty street. He actually saw a little better at night than he did in the day, so he instantly spotted the guy pressed up against the snow cone shack in the parking lot almost directly across from the museum.
The guy had his face angled away from Michael, but Michael recognized the build and the longish brown hair. It was Kyle Valenti.
Big mistake, rat boy, he thought. This is the perfect time and place for me to deal with you. Michael stepped out of the display window, trying to make it look natural.
As soon as he was out of Kyle's sight line, he sprinted to the back door and slipped outside. He circled behind the museum and the jewelry store next door, then inched up to the sidewalk and shot a look across the street. Kyle was still there.
"Ready or not, here I come," Michael whispered. He launched himself at Kyle, running full out. He lowered his shoulder and rammed Kyle to the ground before rat boy even had a chance to turn around.
Michael grabbed both of Kyle's wrists and pinned them behind his back.
"You just keep eating pavement until we're finished with our little chat. You got that, Kyle?" Michael demanded. He jabbed his knee into the loser's back just to make his point clear.
"I'm not Kyle," the guy said, his words muffled against the asphalt of the parking lot.
"What?" Michael grabbed the guy by the shoulders and flipped him over.
He wasn't lying. He definitely wasn't Kyle. This guy looked more like Michael than he did like Kyle. Michael shoved himself to his feet, then leaned down and helped the guy up.
"Sorry," he said. "Someones been following me, and I thought you were him. Are you okay?"
"Yeah," the guy answered, his gray eyes never leaving Michael's face.
What does he want from me? I said I was sorry, Michael thought.
"So, uh, are you waiting for the bus or something?" he asked. "The stop's a couple of blocks that way." He jerked his chin to the right.
"You're Michael Guerin, aren't you?" the guy asked.
The prickling started up at the back of Michael's neck again, but this time it kept moving until it got all the way to his knees.
"That's right," Michael answered.
For another long moment the stranger just looked at him in silence, causing Michael's adrenaline to start pumping all over again. What did this guy want?
"I'm your brother," he finally said.
Michael's heart responded with a nervous thud, but he ignored it. The guy was obviously wacko.
"Brother," Michael repeated. Just forming the word felt awkward. It was as if his lips and tongue had been shot full of novocaine. "Bull," he exploded. "I don't have a brother."
Ray Iburg had told Michael that he didn't have any family on the home planet. No brothers, no sisters, no nothing.
The guy didn't answer, but a moment later Michael felt the sizzle of power in the air. He had to concentrate to keep his knees from buckling. Whoever this guy was, he had power.
That meant he was one of them.
The sizzling, electric sensation intensified. Michael started building a power ball of his own. He had to be ready for a counterattack.
"You want to play, we can play," Michael muttered.
A cracking sound filled the empty street. Michael jerked his head toward the noise and saw the three-foot-high alien on top of the snow cone shack pull free of the shack's roof. It shot straight up into the air, and it didn't come back down. It just kept on flying. Michael kept his eyes on it until it was out of sight.
"Impressive," he commented, making sure to keep his voice low and even. He continued to build up his power ball. He wasn't letting his guard down until he knew what the deal was here.
"You still don't believe me, do you?" the guy demanded. Before Michael could answer, the guy shot out his hand and grabbed Michael by the wrist.
The connection was instantaneous. But instead of the blast of images Michael usually got when he connected with someone, he found himself on the home planet. At least it matched up with the species memories of home that had always been a part of him.
He knew he wasn't actually there, but every sensation seemed completely authentic. The wisps of acidic mist coming off the lake sent tingles through his skin. The scent of the fruit from the nearby trees was thick and rich in his nose, making his mouth water. He could feel the slow beats of his primary heart and the faster, double thumps of his secondary appendage.
Wait. What? Secondary appendage. Michael didn't even know what that was.
No, that wasn't true. It was like he had two brains now. His Michael brain. And this other brain, a brain that knew exactly what a secondary appendage was, a brain that knew exactly where on the planet he was, a brain that even remembered diving into that lake over there with his father.
His father. Michael felt dizzy. He had no memories of his father. His father had died before Michael broke free of his pod.
What was going on?
He ran his hands down his body, realizing several things at once. His arms were much shorter, his fingers now tapered into hooked claws, and his skin was hard and bumpy. He glanced down at himself and saw what looked like rows and rows of metal rivets where his flesh should be.
What the hell was going on?
He heard the patter of light footsteps behind him, and he spun around. Two beings with small bodies, big heads, and dark, dark, pupil-less almond-shaped eyes approached him. The Michael part of his brain thought it recognized them from the hologram of the ship's crew Ray Iburg had once shown him. The non-Michael part of his brain recognized them, too-as its parents.
"We have to leave you now, my son," one of the beings said. The words weren't spoken in English, but the non-Michael part of the brain supplied the translation and identified the speaker-Father.