in media res

An early cold-open. Should I have left it in the book?

0 ~ Campfire Tale

Las Cruces, New Mexico

It was 6:03 AM Mountain Time, 26 minutes ahead of sunrise, 43 degrees Fahrenheit in town, 35 in the desert, mostly clear, the eastern sky shining pale blue with a tinge of pink.

To the northwest, still dark and full of celestial wonder, a colorful ionized-gas display marked a position downrange of the solar system’s galactic path, where Star Forge Partners, a Jivada-based materials manufacturing company, was suctioning space dust into an electrostatically charged funnel.

Furry aliens from outer space and their human partners, mitigating the potential of a cosmic-gas-fueled micro-nova burning half the Earth to a crisp, 15 years hence.

At street level, an Anye-tech fighting drone named Titter spotted a black Chevy Suburban taking a position near the Fowlkes residence.

Young Mason Fowlkes and his sister Erin peeked out through a window in the living room, more agitated than fearful.

Erin said, “Feds.”

Mason replied, “What’s wrong with those guys?”

“Let’s ignore them.”

Mason edged toward the front door. “I’m going to mess with their heads a little bit.”

“Dummy dick.” She turned on the porch light. “If Mom and Dad find out, you’re in big trouble.”

Drones Titter and Tatter dropped concealment on the way across the street. Agent One rolled his window down, a startled expression on his face.

Mason said, “Are you here about the runaway drone?”

The agent stammered. “I beg your pardon.”

“If you see it, don’t talk to it.” Mason lowered his voice. “On account of, the ship’s AI is said to have a screw loose.”

Agent Two leaned across. “Say what?”

“So, a hundred years ago, at the Fleet Historical Society orbit near Jivada, the Anye migration vessel Mahacamu was boarded by hijackers pretending to be crew. When ‘Camu’s Oma wised up, he killed them.”

“No shit!”

“It was a big scandal. Ship’s Oma came down with a bad case of PTSD. Everyone on the board of governance resigned.”

“And this ship’s Oma sent a fighting drone here? To do what?”

“To get therapy.” Mason pointed west. “We think he wants to talk to Nancy Torrance, two blocks over. She’s a shaman, strong in the spirit world, able to speak with the dead which, you know, is probably what’s going on with the large-scale Anye reasoning engines.”

“Demonic possession?”

“No, sir. Dead people, pulling strings from the between life.” The wind kicked up, sending a chill breeze down the street. Mason performed a stage shiver. “High-voltage spirits reaching out through inanimate objects to make their voices heard.”

Agent One gave him the hairy eyeball. “Nancy Torrance the school system psych counselor. Husband’s a jet engine mechanic.”

“Russ is Chumash. Born on the rez in California, so you got that old hippie vibe going on. Nancy is Algonquin, east coast tribe, from a clan that honors the old ways.”

“And you’re telling me Mrs. Torrance speaks to the dead.”

“You can read up on the science at the Jivada OpenWeb Library. 70,000 years; that’s how long the Anye have been studying the soul.”

There was a moment of silence. Agent Two tilted the SUV’s steering wheel out of his lap. “We’re here about the spacecraft in your back yard.”

Mason returned a sheepish grin. “We needed stuff from the house.”

“You’re Mason Fowlkes?”

“Yessir. What agency are you from?”

“Department of Defense.”

Mason took a breath. “I was gigging you about the runaway drone.”

“I caught on at the end, but it was one heck of a campfire tale.”

“No hard feelings?”

“Naw.” The man leaned back. “Where are you living now?”

Mason pointed his thumb at the sky. “Dust cloud; Anuraga.”

“They got a high school up there?”

“Yeah, but I’m in vocational rehab, apprenticed to the Shipwright Guild.”

The man laughed. “How’d that happen?”

“My dad took a seat, first contact, front row.” Mason held thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Until that moment, I was this close to going steady with my first girlfriend. Next thing I know, my family’s hiding out from the law on an alien spaceship.”

“Sounds pretty cool to me.”

“Stuck in a giant windowless tin can crawling with 8,000 AjJivadi technocrats, all of them focused on trying to save our world. Meanwhile, I’m the teenager from Earth who doesn’t know how to do anything useful.”

Mason’s sister crept up on his right side. She said, “What are you doing; telling your life story?”

He shuffled his feet. “Sorry. We got to talking.”

Erin nodded at the agents. “Hi.”

Agent One nodded back. “Good morning, Miss. So, what happened to get your brother sent into the juvenile correction apparatus?”

“He stole Mom’s gummies and came back to the apartment stoned.” Erin made a toothy grin. “They had words. She threw him out.”

Agent Two spoke across the SUV’s console. “That’s harsh, man.”

Mason shrugged. “I’m over it.”

The sun peeked up over the horizon. Skies blossomed in the east. The next-door neighbor came out with an elderly Chihuahua on leash, who then barked herself wheezy and had to be picked up.

The neighbor’s wife appeared with their granddaughter, the latter still in pajamas; who then dashed across the street waving her hands like a beauty queen on a parade float.

Mason was summarily dragged away. Agent One threw his voice at Erin’s ear. “Is that the girlfriend?”

Erin replied, “Almost girlfriend. They haven’t talked in months.”

Their conversation paused. The sun climbed over mountains, throwing shadows into the street.

The neighbor and his wife escorted their asthmatic Chihuahua back into the house. Mason and the granddaughter took their reunion to the opposite sidewalk.

Agent One beckoned Erin to come in a little closer. He asked, “How old are you?”

She sniffed. “Eleven.”

“How old’s your brother?”

“He’ll be seventeen in August.”

“So, who’s flying the spaceboat?”

The question drew a wide grin. “Guild apprentices are like farm kids. You start driving when you’re able.”

“Really.” The man shook his head. “Your brother has a learner’s permit, and you’re riding along?”

Erin fixed him with a solemn gaze. “Mom wanted her life back. Mason’s been taking care of me since I was six.”

He let out a sigh. “Okay. My mistake.”

Erin wrinkled her nose. “Do you know who John Sinclair is?”

“FBI director. President Benequista’s man.”

“Mr. Sinclair says we grew up fast because we had to. Mrs. Sinclair says it’s true for Mason, but I’m just a strange little girl.”

The agent covered his grin. “Friends of the family?”

“The Sinclairs have an apartment on Deck 34, other side of the swimming pool from where we live. I babysit the kids.”

“I’m starting to form a picture.”

Erin smiled. “I’m connected.”

“I can see that.” He pointed. “Are those his fighting drones?”

“Until the ship’s master says turn them in.” Erin lifted her chin. “Mason operates drones on the job.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not here to start a fight.” He offered a handshake. “It’s nice to meet you, young lady.”

Erin stood up straight. “It was nice to meet you, sir.”

A bright new day began to pop up over New Mexico where, less than two years before, the Anye Disclosure changed everything for everyone.

On a sidewalk in a middle-class desert-scape neighborhood, Mason Fowlkes and his would-have-been sweetheart exchanged final goodbyes; arms intertwined, foreheads touching, acknowledging a past and future governed by forces beyond their control.

Read the book at http://marolitango.substack.com