Forging Zero (15 page)

Libby shook her head silently and
looked away.

“I am!” Monk shouted, shoving her
blanket at Joe.  She was about five inches taller than Maggie.  Maggie,
meanwhile, had confiscated Joe’s blanket as her own and was holding it up to Scott,
who was sitting on the floor and rolling his eyes. 

Joe finished with the others, who
were already laying their blankets side-by-side, comparing them with serious
looks, and looked back at Libby.  “You sure?” 

Quietly, Libby said, “I’m gonna
be tall, Joe.  I don’t need to check.”

Something about the way she said
it made Joe believe her.

#

“Libby, get in the car.  I forgot my eye kit.”

Libby watched as her mother hurried back into the house, heels
clicking loudly against the circular cobblestone driveway, leaving Libby
standing alone beside the Ferrari.  Libby stared at the little Barbie lunchbox
her mom had packed her, which was dwarfed by the enormous pile of her mother’s
luggage that even then their housekeeper, Marcella, was trying to stuff into
the trunk.

Something was wrong.  Her mom always packed Libby more stuff
than she could ever possibly use.

“Marcella,” Libby said, “where’s Mom going?”

Marcella’s brown eyes widened, but instead of telling Libby
what was going on, she abandoned the luggage and fled back into the house,
rubbing her hands on her crisp white apron.

“Mom,” Libby said when she returned, “Where are—”

“I said get in the
car,
Libby!” her mother
interrupted, slamming the trunk down on what few bags Marcella had managed to
pack for her.  “I’m late as it is.”

“Late for what?” Libby asked, still not moving from beside
the little cherub fountain in the center of the courtyard.  She eyed the
Ferrari warily.  Her mother never let her ride in the Ferrari.  It always
attracted too much attention.

“The
shoot.
  Jean-Jean wants to do one in front of an
alien ship.  He got me a suite at the Hotel del Coronado and dinner at Donovan’s. 
Now all we have to do is get there.”

“Mom, why do I only have a lunchbox?” Libby asked.

Her mother wrinkled her perfect nose.  “Because you’re
always complaining about me bringing too much luggage for you.  Now get in the
damn car or I’ll tell your teacher you won’t be needing karate lessons
anymore.”

Libby frowned.  “It’s taekwondo.”

“Yeah, whatever.”  Her mother waved a perfectly manicured
hand and yanked open the door on the driver’s side.  “Just get in the car,
Libby.  Don’t make me tell you again.”  She slid inside, one long, perfect leg
at a time.  Libby heard her mutter, “Little brat,” before the door slammed shut.

Feeling a weird pang of foreboding, Libby got in the
passenger side and shut the door.  The solid click of the door locking into
place reminded Libby of a prison gate clanging shut.  She hated road trips. 
Her mom would always be looking in the rearview mirror, primping, making sure
her windblown look was perfect even though she would never put the top down and
get the real thing.

Road trips, in general, were hell for Libby.  The first
thing her mom did upon reaching a shoot location was to hand her off to the
staff.  While her mother was out posing in new and exotic locales, Libby was
often confined to a hotel daycare or the back of an RV.  Libby would rather
stay at the house with Marcella, but her mother liked to say that Libby needed
to get out and “experience life.” 

Libby had figured out a long time ago that really meant her
mom just didn’t want to pay Marcella to watch her.

So it was with absolute boredom and a lot of resentment that
Libby watched the lines of cars pass by on the freeway.  Traffic had been
crappy ever since the aliens showed up, but most of it was to get out of the
city.  There was almost nobody stupid enough to try getting
into
the
city, where all the ships had landed.  As far as traffic was concerned, their
trip into San Diego was a breeze.

“Mom, can we
please
put the top down?  It’s hot.”

“Then turn up the air conditioning,” her mom said.  She was
dabbing at some mascara along the corner of her eye.  “I don’t want the stylist
pulling out hair because I got it all snarled in the wind.”

“Can we listen to the radio, then?” Libby asked.

“No.  I’m driving.  It’ll distract me.” 
Dab, dab.
 
The applicator came back with a tiny clump of black, and her mother glanced
down at it, then returned her attention to the mirror, leaning forward over the
steering wheel to get a better look.

Something started to burn in Libby’s chest as she watched
her mom drive.  “Doing your makeup doesn’t distract you,” she noted.

“If you were
pretty
, like me, makeup would come
natural to you, so of course it wouldn’t distract you.” 
Dab, dab.

At her mother’s words, the awful pain in Libby’s gut
returned, and she spent the rest of the trip curled up against the door,
waiting to be released into a stranger’s hands.  When the car finally pulled to
a stop, she sat up.

A huge obsidian sphere loomed over them, too close to be
safe.  It had landed in the middle of a playground, squashing the swingsets and
monkey-bars flat.  Libby stared up at it, suddenly finding her throat very
tight, her hands sweaty and cold.  The glossy black surface gleamed even more
perfectly than her mother’s pampered skin.  A spiral staircase erupted from the
bottom, the exit hole puckered and uneven like some sort of zit.  An alien
stood at the base of the staircase, watching them.

“Well, we’re here,” her mom said. 
Dab, dab.
  “Go
on.  Get out.”

Libby reflexively grabbed the seat.  “I don’t want to get
out.  I want to stay in the car.”

Her mother stopped dabbing at her makeup to give Libby a
long look.  She sighed, deeply.  “They
told
us we’ve gotta give up our
kids, Libby.  You think I
want
to do this?”

Libby swallowed hard, looking at the alien.  After years of
being alternately ignored or used as a photo op, the thought had certainly
crossed her mind.  “Mom, I don’t wanna—”

Her mother’s award-winning features tightened in
disapproval.  “Are you seriously going to do this?  Seriously?  Do you know how
awful
it is for me, to have to give up my
kid
?  Because they’ll
kill
me if I don’t?”

Libby bit her lip and looked at her lap.

“I don’t have a
choice
, Libby,” her mother went on.  “What,
you want me to
fight
the aliens for you?  What, with my
purse
?”

“Sorry, Mom,” Libby managed, remembering to reach for the
calm Master Ryu had taught her.  She was finding it difficult.  “Maybe we could
come back in a few days?”

Her mother grimaced.  “We’re here now, Libby.  You want me
to drive all the way back here just to do it all over again?” 

Libby remained glued to the seat, tense.  “Mom, I—”

With a huge, disgusted sigh, her mom got out of the car and
slammed her door shut behind her.  She stalked around to the side and wrenched
Libby’s door open, her delicate brows bunched in a scowl.  As Libby cringed
into the upholstery, her mother casually reached in, grabbed her daughter’s
wrist, and tugged her out of the seat.

Only the calm words of Sahyun Nim Ryu kept Libby from
kicking her mother in her perfect nose as she dragged her out of the Ferrari
toward the aliens. 
Remember your peace, Libby,
he had said, while they
practiced in a grassy area within her mother’s perfectly manicured backyard
gardens.
  Center and find peace.  Whatever happens, keep your mind still and
at ease.  A worried warrior makes mistakes.

“Be glad your Daddy isn’t here to see this,” her mother
snapped.  “The only thing he likes about you is you’re not scared of anything. 
I wonder what he’d think if he saw you now.”

Realizing it was true, Libby lowered her head in shame.

“Here.”  Her mother shoved her lunchbox at her.  “Go up to
that alien over there.  Tell him you’re here for the Draft.” 

Libby had heard about the Draft on the little TV Marcella
kept on all the time in the laundry room, and suddenly it all made sense to her. 
She glanced up at her mom, both hurt and thankful.  “You mean you pretended
there was a photo shoot so I wouldn’t get scared?”

Her mom snorted and pointed.  “Jean-Jean’s right over there.” 
Indeed, the photographer’s sleek gray RV sat backed over a hopscotch area.  He
was already setting up the lights.  “I thought I’d get you out of the way
first.”

Libby looked.  She saw the cameramen, the tripods, the
flowing white tents, the beach towels spread over the playground sand.  Six
photographers, unbeknownst to her, had been taking pictures of them the whole
time, the reflective black lenses of their cameras flashing in the sun as they
clicked photo after photo of them together, in front of the ship.  Libby took a
deep breath.  “Bye, Mom.”

“Come here for a hug.”  Her mom wrapped her long, thin arms
around her and squeezed gently to keep from damaging her expensive gauze
dress.  In that moment, she held Libby tighter and longer than she’d ever held
her before, and for a moment, Libby thought her mother was showing the first
real hint of love she’d ever gotten from her.

Then she heard the cameramen scramble in to get close-ups. 
“Just hold her right there,” one of the guys said.  “That’s right.  Perfect,
perfect
!” 
After another minute to give them their shots, her mother released her and went
to begin rummaging through her luggage for her outfit bags.  Now the
photographers were focused on Libby, leaning in close, crouching upon the concrete
in front of her for a better angle.

“You gonna be a hero, kid?” one of the photographers said,
his face hidden behind the huge black eye of his camera.  “You gonna go fight
aliens?”

Gripping her lunchbox, surrounded by strangers, Libby lowered
her head and bit her lip.  She wanted to run to her mother and grip her leg,
but her mom hated that.

“Poor kid’s crying,” one of the photographers called.  “Be
sure to get that.”  More clicking of their shutters.  One leaned in close for
face-shots.  Libby twisted away, wishing she could drop her lunchbox and kick
the guy in the head.

“Hey, kid,” one of them prodded, “how about you look up for
us, okay?  Stop staring at the ground.  Nobody gets on the front page of
People
staring at the ground.”

Flushing, Libby took a deep breath and turned toward the
alien ship.  The alien standing guard was watching her.  Swallowing hard, she
walked up to the Ooreiki at the base of the staircase.  It stared down at her
through a black helmet that made his face look like some sort of wasp, utterly
motionless.  On its chest, a four-pointed star sat in a circular border, both
made out of a bright, near-white metal that reminded Libby of her mother’s
wedding ring.  Libby cleared her throat and glanced behind her.  Her mom wasn’t
even looking, but the photographers used the opportunity to snap at least a
thousand pictures, the flashes lighting up in waves.  Libby turned back to the
alien.  In her strongest voice, she said, “I’m here for the Draft.”

The alien made some guttural sounds in its chest.  A little
black ball hanging around its throat said, “
We don’t start collections until
tomorrow.
”

Libby lifted her chin.  “I want to go now.”

It gave Libby a long look.  She couldn’t see its eyes behind
the helmet, but she stared back at it anyway.  Finally, it said, “
You can’t
bring foreign objects on our ship.
”  A slender tentacle snaked out to touch
Libby’s lunchbox.

“Fine,” Libby said, throwing it aside.  It clattered against
the crushed jungle-gym and split open, spilling a dozen tiny bags of Cheetos
out onto the sand.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mom walking away
from the car, toward the mini city of the photo shoot.  She could even make out
Jean-Jean as he ran out and embraced her mother, then led her back to the site
with an arm around her waist.

“
This way,
” the alien said.

Libby turned and followed him
onto the ship.

CHAPTER
7:  An Unexpected Gift

Now that Nebil’s war classes had
begun to give him a taste of what Congress could do to its enemies, Joe had
begun to worry that the aliens would tire of the human resistance and simply
blow Earth away. 

It would be easy.  Like popping a
zit.

The more he learned about this
alien army, the more the cold, hard truth settled into his guts like a cancer. 
Congress was too big.  Utterly too big to be stopped.  And it dealt with those
who crossed it quickly, and with breathtakingly brutal efficiency.  It wiped
out whole cities, plunged planets back into the Dark Ages, then set up blockades
to keep it that way.

And Earth was filled with groups
of guys rolling their sleeves, planning out how to best take down the ship
squatting in the parking-lot of their local strip-mall.  Humans, Joe knew from
agonizing experience, couldn’t take a hint if it was splattered across live
television.

Furthering his fears that
Congress would simply decide that humans were more effort than they were worth
and just blow up their whole solar system, every time Joe asked about Earth,
the aliens completely ignored him.  As if the idea wasn’t fully off the table
yet, but they didn’t want to spook the nine hundred kidnapped kids so it would
be easier to blow them away when the time came to abandon the farce. 

Instead of giving them any news
of Earth, the aliens filled their every waking minute with lessons about
language, war, weapons, and culture.  And, despite Joe’s aversion towards his
captors, he learned everything they had to teach him and found himself craving
more.