Broken Dreams (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 5) (17 page)

Waving for them to follow, he walked toward a rope that hung down from the catwalk. Once there, he pulled on it, and a ladder slid down with a rattle, ending with a solid bang when it hit the concrete floor. “You guys are okay climbing a ladder, right?” he asked.

Everyone nodded, and he held out his hand, inviting them to climb.

After reaching the narrow catwalk, Sam eased up on his toes to look over the rim of the shiny silver bucket and saw a glowing orange liquid. He felt heat radiating from it on his face. To the left of the bucket, he could see a mold mounted and braced on the platform, waiting to be filled with liquid metal. When Mara and Ping joined him, he pointed to it.

The arc-shaped depression in the large rubbery sheet featured sweeping indentations throughout, giving it a skeletal aspect. It was at least fourteen feet wide and twelve feet deep.

Mara frowned. “It looks like some kind of wing.”

Bruce finished his climb and walked up behind her. “Very astute observation. It is a wing.”

“You’re building an airplane?” she asked.

He paused for a moment and then said, “Something like that. Let’s just say it’s a flying mechanical device.”

“I’d love to see it. Is that what she’s putting together in the large tent in the back yard? I saw it when Ping and I landed in the copter.”

Sam huffed. “You flew in a copter? No fair.”

Mara ignored him and turned back to Bruce, still wanting an answer to her question.

“I don’t know. It’s not my place to show people Mara’s work. She’d get bent out of shape if I let a bunch of strangers see her design before it was completed.”

“Look at us,” Mara said. “We’re not just a bunch of yahoos walking in off the street. For heavens sakes, I
am
Mara. And these guys are family.”

He looked doubtful. “Yeah, I get that, but I’m gonna need time to think that one over, maybe talk it over with Ping—the other one. He says you guys are going into town in a little while. I’ll talk to him while you’re gone,” he said. “Maybe Mara wouldn’t mind. I mean, this is the final piece to be assembled, so technically the thing will be done this afternoon.”

“It’s liquid metal right now, and you are saying it will be ready to assemble later today?” Ping asked.

“Frigisteam,” Bruce said. “Spray a little on the piece, and it’s instantly cooled.”

“Of course,” Mara said. “Well, ask your Ping if it’s okay, if you don’t mind.”

“Do I get to pour this or what?” Sam asked.

Bruce pointed to a control box hanging two feet away. “Just push the top button. That’s all there is to it.”

Sam complied, and they watched the bucket tip forward and pour a stream of hot glowing magma into the wing-shaped mold. As the orange liquid flowed across the ribs of the wing, Sam squinted at it, watched it fill the spidery etched surface like water flowing from rivers to streams to creeks. The surface of the thing was incredibly detailed. After five minutes, the bucket’s lip tilted back to level, and the mold was filled.

From somewhere below, a familiar voice called out. “Mara?” It was the other Ping. “Your father will be here to pick you up in about fifteen minutes. You should change clothes before you go into town.”

She looked at the Ping next to her and gave him a confused look. “I do?”

Standing before the large walk-in closet, the other Ping shoved several pieces of clothing toward Mara, and she pulled back, repulsed at the thought of wearing whatever it was.

“Are those leather pants? Do you want my ass to look the size of Nebraska? No. No way I’m wearing that. In no realm would I voluntary put that stuff on my body,” she said.

“First off, this is not leather. It’s a flexible durable blend that you—well, she—invented that looks like leather, yet completely synthetic and quite comfortable. As far as your hindquarters, yours appear to be identical in size and shape to my Mara’s, and she made these”—he waved one leg of the russet brown pants at her, which flopped back onto his shoulder—“with the express purpose of covering said hindquarters in a way she found acceptable. The least you can do is try them on.”

Mara walked across the large bedroom and sat on the end of the queen-size bed. “What is your fixation with my clothes? Nobody cares what I wear, least of all the big black cloud we are going into town to hunt.”

“Mara, in this realm, you are the progenitor, the person responsible for the existence of everything. If you go into town dressed like that, they will think something out of the ordinary happened during your disappearance,” he said.

“Something out of the ordinary
did
happen. I’m not your progenitor.”

“They don’t know that, and, if people find out, a panic in the streets will ensue again. People will never leave you alone long enough to search for this Aphotis of yours. It’ll be like the chasms were appearing all over again.”

Someone knocked at the door.

“Come in,” she called, relieved for the distraction.

Her father opened the door and stuck in his head. “You ready to go?” he asked.

Ping waved his arms, still covered with clothing. “She refuses to wear her clothes.”

Dr. Lantern opened the door wider and smiled. “There’s not much point going to town if you make a spectacle of yourself. You’ll just freak out the natives, and you won’t be able to help the police chief with his problem.”

Mara sighed. “You’ve got to be the first father in the universe who thinks his daughter
should
wear leather pants in order to
not
make a spectacle of herself.” She stomped over to Ping and took the clothes while her father made a discrete exit.

Ping pointed to the walk-in and said, “You can change in there while I get your boots. I believe they are under the bed.”

“Boots?” she said. “Like combat boots?”

Ping rolled his eyes and waved her into the closet. “Hurry. Your father has people waiting on him.”

Inside the large closet, she found a small bench and a full-length mirror on the back of the door. She made a point of removing the Chronicle from her pocket and placing it on the bench next to the wad of clothes she’d taken from Ping. After taking off her polo and jeans, she plucked an off-white linen piece from the pile. A blouse. No buttons, just a slipover with a collar. Not a polo, but she could live with it. She yanked it on, and it fit. Next, the pants. She hated the feel of them as she pulled them up. And her butt felt a pinch as she tucked in her shirt and buttoned the pants.

She glanced into the mirror, turning to look at her backside.
Way too big. What was the other Mara thinking?
Then she felt something tingling up her legs and along her rear.
Odd
. With another look in the mirror, Mara swore she saw wisps of steam curling around her legs. She was just about to dismiss that thought when her butt caught her attention again. Now it looked
great
.

Gotta get me some of this material before I leave this realm.

She stared for a few more seconds until a knock made her jump.

“Are you okay in there?” Ping said.

“Almost done.”

One other piece remained on the bench, also made of the pseudoleather stuff. Holding it up, she determined it was a vest—a button-up casino-dealer’s type vest. Mara shrugged, slipped it over her shoulders and buttoned it up. Tucking the Chronicle into her left pocket, she took another glance into the mirror and studied herself.
Not bad
.

She stepped out in her stocking feet to find Ping holding a pair of matching boots that would cover most of her calves. She grimaced but didn’t argue before taking them to the bed.

“You look very nice,” Ping said.

“Thanks,” she said as she slipped on the boots, pulling up the side zipper on each. Standing, she noticed two wide parallel loops sewn to the outer right thigh of her pants, one near her hip and the second at mid-thigh. She slipped a thumb into the top one and asked, “What’s this for?”

Ping walked over to the dresser next to the closet and picked up a copper stick. He turned and handed it to her. “For this,” he said.

The Chronicle of Cosms.

“What do you want me to do with that?” she asked.

He pointed it at her thigh and said, “Slip it into the loops.”

“You want me to wear the Chronicle like some kind of decoration?” she asked.

“It’s a symbol of your position in our society,” he said. “If you show up in town without it, people will become very distraught. I promise you,” Ping said.

As she took the Chronicle of Cosms from him and slid it into the loops on her thigh, she said, “If you pull out a tiara or a cape, I promise that you will regret it.”

She raised her leg, bending it at the knee to see if the eyepiece restricted her movement, but it rested flush along her thigh and didn’t bother her at all. It struck her as odd to have it there, but it didn’t look bad.

Mara’s father pulled the wagon along the front of a wood structure that reminded her of an old country store with a weathered porch covered by a roof of wide sloping planks. Two rocking chairs sat unoccupied on each side of the building’s front door at the center of the porch. To the right of the door was a single-pane window, large enough for a display at a retail establishment; however, this one had gold and black letters applied to it, arranged in an arc that read Police.

Dr. Lantern turned and said to Mara, who sat in the back with Ping, “To keep things simple, it might be best if you introduce Sam as your cousin from out of town. Everyone knows the progenitor doesn’t have a brother.” He glanced at Sam, sitting next to him. “That okay with you?”

He shrugged. “Whatever works.”

“Most people know Ping as the manager at the manor, so there’s no point in telling them otherwise. Agreed?” Dr. Lantern said.

Mara nodded as they disembarked.

“I’ll pick you up here in a couple hours. If your plans change, have Sam send me a mider.” To Sam he asked, “You’ve still got the receiver, right?”

Sam pulled it from his pocket, waved it as he jumped to the ground. “Got it.”

Walking alongside the wagon on her way to the porch steps, Mara paused and said, “Thanks for the lift.”

Her father smiled and nodded before his expression turned more somber. “Please be careful. I don’t understand this Aphotis thing, but it sounds dangerous, and I don’t want you guys to get hurt. Also remember your actions have consequences. This place may seem like a dream to you, but we live our lives here.”

Mara felt a twinge of defensiveness at that last sentence and was about to ask him what he meant by it, but she stopped herself, wondering if she had said something to make him think his world was less that real. Instead she said, “We’ll remember.”

Her father made
click
ing sounds, and the horse and wagon pulled away.

Mara looked at Ping. “What do you think he meant by that?”

“I suspect the ‘your actions have consequences’ line is something he says to his daughter on a regular basis. After all, she’s a young woman recognized as the creator of this realm. It seems like the sort a thing a father would say in that circumstance,” Ping said. “As for the rest of it, he’s clearly concerned for your safety and for the safety of his world. He’s letting you know.”

Sam interjected, “Wouldn’t it be easier to say, ‘Don’t blow up this world’?”

“We can’t all be as plainspoken as you are,” Ping said.

Mara shook her head at her brother and turned to climb the porch steps. At the front door, she paused, not sure of the etiquette of knocking before opening the door. She decided to forego knocking.

Inside a wide-eyed receptionist behind a counter greeted her. “It’s really you!” she said with a mix of awe and excitement. “The progenitor is truly back, safe and sound. I can’t tell you how happy that makes me. My entire family spent hours focusing their thoughts on your safe return.”

Mara blushed and said, “That’s very kind of you. I believe I have an appointment with the police chief? Mike Simmons?”

The woman stood and waved her hands. “As if you would ever need an appointment.” She moved to the side of the counter, swung open a partition and waved Mara through. When Ping and Sam followed Mara, the receptionist raised her hand. “I’m sorry, but the chief wants to speak with the progenitor privately.”

Mara tried not to look irritated. “Please, could you call me Mara?”

The woman nodded eagerly and said, “Of course, Mara.”

“And I would like it if my friends could join us,” she said.

Ping waved her on and said, “Go ahead and see what the chief wants to discuss. We can wait here.” He indicated the chairs along the wall before the receptionist’s counter beside the door.

Sam gave him a put-out look but turned and sulked over to a chair.

The receptionist swung the partition closed and cupped a hand to the side of her mouth and called out, “Mike! She’s here, in the flesh!” She lowered her hand and giggled. “Sorry about that. We are a little informal around here.”

“No problem,” Mara said.

Across the open office with four unoccupied desks facing each other, a man in a khaki uniform emerged from a doorway in the far corner of the room. He smiled and said, “Well, don’t let her stand around. Bring her on back.”

As they neared, Mara noticed the man looked like a portly version of Andy, the sheriff on
The Andy Griffith Show
, an old TV series, though the badge on Mike’s chest was a shield, not a star. At the door, the receptionist touched Mara’s arm and said, “It was an honor to meet you.” She returned to her counter at the front of the office.

“Sorry about that,” the chief said. “I know how uncomfortable you are when people treat you like that. Kaitlyn got excited when she heard you were dropping by and would see you.”

He pointed to a chair at the front of his desk and took his seat behind it. Mara noticed he had a mider receiver pad in a stand on his desk. It looked like a brass flat-panel computer screen; however, she couldn’t see a keyboard.

“So … you are back now,” he said.