“Why don’t you try out for the baseball team? With an arm like that, with a little work on control, we can use that. You know, a lot of Division One schools offer great…”
Cameron stood there for five minutes as Wannsik continued on about the merits of college scholarships. That wait hurt him worse than the one time Roen broke his collarbone when he was twelve years old in a freak sparring accident. Finally, when the coach was done with his sell, Cameron politely declined and bolted for the sports field.
When he got to the bicycle racks, he unlocked and pulled his bike out of the rack, and jumped on. He had already begun pedaling when he realized that something was wrong. He looked down; his tire was flat. He looked behind him. Both of them were.
Cameron jumped off and checked the treads. Someone had slashed them. With a snarl, he threw the bike to the side. Several mocking barks came from the field and he saw a group of those jocks laughing. He began to stomp toward them.
No, Cameron.
“I’m sick of them. I’m going to teach them who they’re messing with. I’m going to break -”
No. You will not.
“They’ve been picking on me since I moved here. I’m going to make sure they never pick on me again!”
You are more powerful than they. Direct your power up, not down.
“It’s not fair!”
Things rarely are, son. You have more important things to deal with right now.
Cameron shot them one more glare and stomped back to his bike. He picked it up and threw the frame over his shoulder. If he ran the entire time, he could make it back in about two hours. Three, maybe, with this bike.
Behind him, he heard those jerks throw more insults his way, taunting him with chicken noises and baby crying sounds. God, with humans like these, it sometimes made him want to be a Genjix.
Stop! You will take that thought back, Cameron Tan.
“Like hell I will, Tao. Those fucking kids are the scum of the Earth.”
Do not judge an entire species based on the actions of their worst few. That is the trait of the Genjix. The Prophus choose to look at the best of humanity. That is our difference. If you cannot learn this, then you cannot be my host. And watch your language; I promised your father.
At that moment, no matter how hard Cameron tried, he couldn’t stop it. He began to cry. Tears streamed down his face as he lugged the bike over his shoulder and jogged home. He was so embarrassed; he probably looked ridiculous too.
It is all right, Cameron. There is nothing wrong with what you’re feeling, though you are right about one thing.
Cameron sniffled. “Right about what?”
You do look a little ridiculous.
Cameron caught himself chuckling in spite of how he felt. A little of the pressure bottled up in his chest was let out. “You’re supposed to make me feel better, not worse.”
I know. I sometimes suck at this job. Now, get home and see if we can find some good news about your father. How fast can you run?
14 Ontario Region
Timestamp: 2712
Before the ESA passed, the Prophus depended on commercial air transportation to move around the world. We were getting our butts kicked financially, politically, and literally, so Command had decided to scrap our meager fleet and fly everyone coach.
Luckily for us, that crappy law damaged the Genjix far more than it did us. Ironically, as much as we despise it, it probably saved the Earth from total destruction.
Roen and Marco must have looked like a dirty pair of homeless hitchhikers by the time they limped out of the mountains to the outskirts of Ontario, Oregon. It had taken them a lot longer to cover those ten kilometers than they had originally planned. Both of them suffered several minor and not-so-minor bumps and bruises from rolling down the hill in the car. Fortunately for them, the antique heavy steel-framed Oldsmobile was built like a tank, and they had come out of the accident a little better than the casual observer would have expected just by looking at the wreckage.
Burying Ines and Hurley was a no-brainer. Neither Roen nor Marco even considered leaving their comrades unburied. Still, it took three hours to dig the two plots with their entrenching tools, so they didn’t start on their journey to town until well past dawn. Roen had wanted to call Jill, but both of them had had to go dark. Between the NSA, IXTF, and now confirmed Genjix involvement in this area, any use of a cell phone or Internet was an invitation to have a SWAT team knocking at the door. The only way to safely contact her was to utilize the crypto key, and they couldn’t do that until they set everything up and got on-line.
What compounded the difficulty of their journey was the fifty kilos of gear they carried on their backs. Marco had insisted they bring all the weapons and ammunition they had had with them, and Roen did the same with the medical supplies and the cash. In the end, they decided to just suck it up and bring everything. Add the thick forest, the rugged terrain, and Mother Nature deciding to toss in a shower to boot, the two made a pair of miserable-looking dogs by the time they reached the Mountain Border Roadside Inn.
Roen checked in at the front desk where a bored attendant handed him two sets of keys. He paid with cash and came out a few minutes later to see Marco staring disapprovingly at the entire establishment. The motel was just a run-down two-story building with doors opening out to a parking lot through balcony hallways. The awning was a combination of lime green and brown, and the building looked like it was designed sometime in the early seventies to serve as a drug or prostitution house that charged by the hour.
“Well, it was only thirty bucks a night,” Roen said when he noticed Marco’s scowl.
“Thank goodness Mum isn’t alive to see this.” Marco shook his head. He held out his hand. “Very well, give me my keys. Were you able to get us adjacent rooms at least?”
Roen made a face. This might get a little ugly. “Well, actually, we’re in the same room. It’s a queen-sized bed, though.” If his heart had been any weaker, the look Marco gave him might have struck him dead.
The Brit’s face turned red and his eyes went all sorts of stormy as he threw his four bags over his shoulder, walked five steps away from Roen down the side of the building, and kicked the ugly brown-and-green brick wall. He walked another few steps, and then repeated the action. Again, Roen wasn’t sure if he should be more insulted or amused by Marco’s reaction to being stuck with him. In this case, he decided to be amused, so he grinned as he trailed after the pouting Englishman.
Roen had specifically asked for the upstairs corner unit. It offered them some privacy, though he was fairly confident anyone who patronized this establishment would probably prefer to keep to themselves anyway. More importantly, this unit offered them multiple exit points for a quick escape.
The two settled into their new room, negotiated sleeping arrangements – Roen left side, Marco right – and then he set up shop while Marco hopped in the shower. This was when he found his new Marco pet peeve: the guy liked to take long showers. Thirty minutes after he came in, after Roen had finished doing all the work breaking down and taking inventory of their supplies, Marco came out of the bathroom dripping wet with a towel around his waist. He began to comb his hair.
“You might want to hold off a bit, chum,” he said. “I think they’re out of hot water.”
Roen, with the mud on his outer layer now caked dry, but his underwear still soaked through from the rain, took in a deep breath and counted down from fifty-one. Long gone were the days when it took him less than a minute to keep his cool. And when it came to Marco, his countdown might have to go into three digits. At this point, he could smell himself, he was so dirty.