And What of Earth

Chapter 10



Saturday, for Jennifer, was spent with Poke, learning as many root nouns as she could. With most of their nouns being constructs of compounded root words, learning the roots would enable her to be more fluent much sooner than normal. Verbs would wait until last -- they too were compounded to indicate tense, with no special conjugation required. The phrases that Jennifer had learned thus far were a help once she started breaking down the individual components. She had finally stopped parroting their language, and started learning it.

Myka stayed away, secluded in his office. It was the only way he would be able to function properly, or, at least as properly as his overactive pleasure center would allow. If he couldn't detect Jennifer's scent, he was clearheaded. He knew that he needed all of his faculties -- he had to try and spin the survey to reflect the best of the Terrans and hide their failings. He had to fulfill the compensation that had been requested by Jennifer when he and his people had callously dishonored her, almost two ninedays ago.

When she wasn't teaching Jennifer the language, and the basic customs and societal norms, Poke was busy trying to determine possible courses of action that might help her accomplish the goals she had been tasked to achieve. Some of which were no longer possible. All of which seemed beyond her control. No amount of abasing would save her from the consequences, she feared. How could this mission get any worse?



Sunday morning, Jennifer made a point of going to church with her dad. This was the first opportunity that she had had since the aliens had arrived, because of the barrier. She wore the only slacks she had under the only long-sleeve dress she owned. Fortunately, both together hid the symbiote reasonably well. She discreetly waved to David and Amelia Stone, sitting by the far wall of the tiny church.

After the service, Gerry Hodges drifted over to talk with Henry Stevens, to see if he still needed occasional day help. Jennifer waved to Barb's husband John as he headed out the door with his son, to go to the Burger Shack and help his mom at the counter for a few hours. She then went to the table where the CDs of previous sermons were available for sale to chat with the Stones. As she frequently did, she teased them about being at a Baptist church since they were semi-practicing Methodists. After the wordplay was done, the Stones invited Jennifer and her dad for Sunday dinner, which she gladly accepted. After a quick stop at the church library to borrow a couple of sermon recordings, she saw her dad leave with the Stones, while she made her way to the clinic to do her usual Sunday visit with Barb.

"Hey Barb!" Jennifer said cheerily as she entered the clinic. "Any customers today?"

Barb looked up from the 3 year old fashion magazine she was reading. "Hey kid! Absolutely quiet. Look at what I've been forced to read. Good sermon today?"

Jennifer nodded. "Don't fear," she said. "I guess since the Wakira arrived, that's been a popular message." She placed a folded sheet on the counter along with 2 CD sleeves. "Today's sermon notes along with the sermon recordings from the previous 2 weeks."

"Thanks. I know it seems weird to say, but I've missed going to church since Bethy and I switched schedules." Barb's eyes flared slightly when she looked at Jennifer's sleeve. "Jenn, honey, what's with the pink latex under your dress?"

Jennifer went pale. "Oh crap! It shows?"

Barb looked her in the eyes. "Only because I could see up your sleeve. What is a good rural Baptist girl like you wearing something so risque as that? I could imagine Underhill wearing something tawdry like that, but not you. What gives?"

"Firstly, it's not latex. Though I freely admit that it sure looks like it. I wore latex for one of the videos my band did. I hated every minute of it. Though, I think I almost looked attractive in it --." She dropped her eyes down. "But no, it's not latex. It's -- it's Wakiran. My body scent is causing problems with some of the alien males. So, I need to wear this thing." She lifted her eyes back up. "Don't tell anyone, okay? I feel embarrassed and humiliated wearing it. The aliens don't think anything about it, but I saw myself in my full-length mirror last night, and I look like a sextrade worker. I don't need humiliation on top of the crap the county is dumping on me."

"Bethy told me about that. She also told me that it's being taken care of. I didn't ask how--." She paused, then said, "After seeing your Wakiran thing, the thought that comes to mind is 'How do we keep her down in this desolate town after she's seen the stars'. Figuratively, at least."

Jennifer winced and hoped it hadn't shown. "Why leave everyone you've ever loved and everything you have ever known for a place where you'll never belong? I gotta go, Barb. The Stones invited Dad and me to Sunday dinner. Leave the CDs here tonight? I want to catch up on the sermons I missed."

"Sure, honey. I'll make sure Bethy knows that she's not allowed to turn them into coasters or ashtrays". Both women laughed. "Enjoy your dinner, Jenn."

"Thanks Barb. Have a quiet shift." As she went through the door and turned left onto Main, the words "where you'll never belong" kept running through her head.



Monday was absolutely quiet, with no care requests at all. Not even a minor injury from one of the surrounding farms. Not one kid having fallen out of a tree, not one case of sniffles -- nothing. When General Comiston arrived, he placed a mylar sleeve holding a magazine dating back to 2007 in front of her, then assumed his usual position in the other chair and started pulling the food out of the bags.

She stared at the photograph of the girl that was on the cover. Tartan tunic, white blouse with ruffled collar. Blonde hair in loose ringlets held in place by two bright red bows. Powder blue eyes that gleamed in scarcely-contained excitement, and a smile that spoke of quiet determination. Comiston watched her closely as she stared at the image. After a few minutes, she said, "Holy crap, I was pretty back then." Her eyes dropped down. "What the hell happened?"

At first, Comiston thought that she was again expressing her usual self-deprecating humor, but no giggles came forth. She started staring at those powder blue eyes again. "Do you remember this?" he asked her.

"Lincoln, July 2007," she said, matter-of-factly. "Dad drove me to Lincoln so I could play in a chess tournament. I was a late entry -- a novelty entry really. Nine year old girl, just a few points short of getting her expert level in chess. I made it an odd number of entries. I had to play a 14 year old boy in order to actually qualify for the tournament. I beat him in 23 moves. I made a point of standing up to shake his hand, and to tell him that he was just having a bad day."

She sat and carefully slid the magazine out of the sleeve. "Cameras everywhere. It was very disconcerting. I had trouble keeping my focus. The organizers tried to get the photographers to not take pictures while we were playing, but they didn't seem to listen. Or they thought that the request wasn't meant for them." Comiston slowly sat, the food still stacked in front of him.

"I made it to the final 8. My opponent was a guy in his 30s, I guess. He opened with a variation I had never seen before. I kept staring at it, trying to figure out what he was trying to get me to do, so I would do something completely different. I burned up most of my time in my first six moves. When I realized what I had done, I only had 8 minutes left. I had to average a move every 15 seconds or so. Only way to do that was to provoke simple exchanges. I was beginning to panic. I had just over 3 minutes left, and we were pretty much even. I think I was a little weaker in my defensive position, but points wise we were even. I made a move -- as I lifted my hand off my piece I gasped and said 'Crap!'. I looked up at him. He looked saddened and apologetic. I looked down at the board. I knew that the mistake had been fatal, but I looked to make sure. 'Checkmate in 4' I told him and the audience. He nodded and we played out the rest of the game. When we shook hands, he apologized. I told him that it was my fault -- I couldn't figure out his opening and took too much time trying to decipher it. Got enough points for my expert level, and then some."

She flipped open the magazine to the story and scanned it briefly. "Sloppy reporting," she declared suddenly. "The writer said that my parents supported my chess endeavors. Only my dad did. Mom told me that I was stupid wasting all that time and effort. 'Peregrine'" she said in a shrewish voice, "'why do you waste your time playing board games. You're being an idiot, Peregrine. Peregrine, why don't you do the things that girls should do?' Peregrine this. Peregrine that. Oh how I hate that name she foisted on me!"

"Peregrine?"

She looked at him, eyes burning with fury. "Don't call me that! Only she would call me that. Fricking stupid name! And don't go telling anyone either. It's on my birth certificate but nowhere else. My dad enrolled me and made sure that I was enrolled as Jennifer Allison! Every fricking time she'd put me down, she'd always use that name. I am not Peregrine! I never was Peregrine! I never will be Peregrine!" Her eyes drifted back to the photograph.

Comiston decided to pretend that the outburst never happened. As Jennifer put the magazine carefully back into its sleeve, he distributed the meal. "The magazine belongs to a William Miller--." He watched closely for a reaction.

She stiffened, hesitated, then put the magazine on the counter next to the toy dog. "He was the guy who beat me."

"You made an impression on him. When the magazine came out 6 weeks later, he made a point of keeping it. Pristine. I got a phone call from him a few days ago. He offered to lend it to me so you could see it. He fully expected to see more chess articles about you as the years went on."

Her face remained cold and expressionless. Not the reaction the General had hoped for when he arrived. She unwrapped the chicken burger but didn't touch it. "Couldn't get to other tournaments," she finally said. "Mom kept going ballistic every time Dad brought up the subject of taking me wherever." She inhaled audibly. "Finally, two years later, David Stone drove my dad and me to Milwaukee for a big tournament. I wasn't seeded obviously. Got to the round of 32. I played against the number 1 seed. He toyed with me. In the end, I looked at him and angrily told him to stop playing around. That there were at least three weaknesses in my defense, and that I didn't appreciate being made to look a fool. He declared checkmate in 7. I made him work for it. I didn't concede for 10 moves." She paused, her eyes no longer focused on anything. "By that time, my parents had had to sell the car. Dad was still working, but they had slashed the hours. He was laid off and the plant closed about 2 months later. By then, I was in high school. The chess club there wouldn't let me join. They were afraid of me. Because they were all recreational players, I probably could have crushed them easily. Mom made a point of reminding me several times that she had said that chess would never take me anywhere." She picked up the burger and bit into it. They were silent the rest of the lunch.



Bethy arrived a few minutes early that afternoon. When Jennifer asked her what she had meant when she had told Barb that the county thing was being taken care of, she suddenly got motherly and told her not to worry about it. "Those mean nasty weasels from county won't be bothering us again," was all she said. They both sat and waited awkwardly in case Myka showed up late, but, when he hadn't appeared by 6:15, Jennifer wished Bethy a good night and a great shift and left.

Five minutes later, Barb dashed into the clinic. "I thought she'd never leave!" she said.

"She was waiting for her alien friend to show up, though she said something about not being surprised that he didn't. I have no idea what that's all about."

"Is it done?" Barb asked. "And you're sure I'm only committed to three years?"

"It's done. The retroactive pay will be in our accounts by 3am, they said. Sometime around 8:30 tomorrow morning, a horde of agents from the NSA and the Attorney-General's office will arrive at the county offices armed with all the paperwork necessary to seize every piece of paper and every computer and laptop in the place. They won't know what hit them."

Barb looked dubious. "Do you think this'll fool her? Remember, the kid is smart. I mean, I was straight A's in school, and she makes me look like I'm slow."

"Stop worrying, Barb. Everything is going to work out just fine. When she finds all that money in her account, she won't bother trying to find out if it came from the county or from elsewhere. We just have to play dumb for a week or so. It'll be okay."

"I just hope we can pull it off," Barb said to her co-conspirator. "If it works, it'll be worth the commitment. I just have to pray that we don't end up fighting yet another war--."



On her walk home, Jennifer once again started admonishing herself for her emotional display at lunch with the General. If she wasn't kicking herself for behaving so immaturely, she was kicking herself for revealing her first name. The name she despised more than anything in the world. The name she had kept hidden from nearly everyone who knew her. I can't act that way anymore, she told herself. If I blow up like that again, the army will replace me. And I sure as heck can't act that way in front of Myka and the rest of the Wakira. What will they think of us if I blow up over nothing?

But it wasn't 'nothing'. Her mother had systematically sabotaged her life -- her future -- just because it didn't match up with what she had wanted. She had destroyed Gerry Hodges; he had repeatedly inserted himself in between Jennifer and her mother, taking the brunt of the verbal abuse, in hopes of sparing their daughter. Only, he couldn't protect her 24 hours a day. Madeleine Hodges still had opportunities to demean and belittle Jennifer when her husband wasn't around. Destroying the child's ability to dream of any sort of future, save for ones that were too fantastic to be possible. Even dreaming of a fictional battle school, with the various cruelties that had existed there, was better than trying to live under the painful verbal lashings of 'Mad Maddy Hodges'. So much pain. Torment. Vicious rage. All heaped upon a defenseless little girl.

Jennifer turned the corner onto Emerald and walked towards the checkpoint. "Given all that she did to me," she asked herself, as she approached the army sentries, "why can't I hate her?"



Five miles outside the eastern perimeter, the colonel huddled with another group of operatives. He explained how they were to cross the empty land east of the ravine, using tarps made from light-refracting material -- the so-called invisibility cloaks. He reminded them that they wouldn't provide any concealment close up; but that at a distance, the light distortion caused would look like heat shimmer. Once they got to the ravine, they were to cover themselves with a heat-reflecting foil-like blanket and to hide until predawn. Then, and only then could they attempt to cross the creek and enter the town. He reassured them that the authorities knew nothing of their existence. The death of the spy in their midst had ensured their secrecy.



Once home, Jennifer opened the last tin of meatball stew that they had gotten in the grocery giveaway, and put it on the stovetop to heat up.

Her dad was sitting at the kitchen table, in his usual eating spot. The silence was painful to both of them. Finally, Gerry Hodges spoke. "Don't worry about me, Tiger. I'll be able to take care of myself."

The statement caught Jennifer by surprise. "What made you say that?"

"I just wanted to make sure that you knew that I would be okay after you leave."

"Leave? Who said I was leaving? Where am I supposed to be going?" She turned to face the cupboard so she could hide her face. She reached in and pulled out two bowls.

"Wherever they're going," he said, waving his hand towards the back of the house. "I'm a lot better now than I was when I dragged you back here."

"Daddy, what makes you think that I'm going anywhere with them?" She desperately hoped that there was no sign of panic in her voice or in her eyes. How does he know?

"A father knows these things, Tiger. And I know that your new man can't stay here. It means you'll have to leave with him. I just want you to know that I'll be okay. Don't worry. You'll have enough on your plate dealing with strange customs and a different language and everything."

Jennifer turned to stir the pot of stew. Do I lie? Do I tell him that obviously sometimes a father doesn't know? Do I tell him that Myka and I aren't an item? Or do I tell him the truth? If so, how much of the truth? That I'm trapped in a relationship not of my choosing? That I'm going solely out of duty and not out of love? I'm not ready for this conversation yet!

"Nothing is settled yet, Dad. Everything is pretty much up in the air. You may not be getting rid of me that easily." She tried to laugh, to lighten the conversation, but it fell flat. Her dad didn't pursue the topic any further.

That evening's language lessons didn't go all that well. Jennifer found herself unable to concentrate.