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A REMNANT Transporter?
My eyes did just about everything but cross and swap sockets.
“Did you both know that I was something like this when you agreed to join the mission?”
“I kind of suspected,” said Ivory as she stood up and started arranging papers. “But I didn’t realize your talent had manifested. Each of our talents is hereditary. Ray comes from a long line of Detail Technicians and my father was a third-generation military Chauffeur. And Valcas seems to be just as much in awe of you as he’s always been with your father. Your mother’s a nice lady, Calla, but as far as I can tell, the talent is probably not coming from her side.”
I nodded. I knew it. I’d probably always known there were things about me that were different than the rest of my family—things that I’d only hoped were traits I’d inherited from my father. I never imagined it would be anything like this, though.
“Do you know my father too?”
Ivory shook her head. “No, but I look forward to meeting Plaka when we find him. I really do.”
I got up out of my chair and stretched. The first little bout of training had ended up being more informative than I’d thought it would be. I wondered what was up next.
“So, what other training are we going to be doing?” I asked.
“That’s really all I have for you two. Valcas should be back any minute now. He’s going to train you separately for the rest of the day so that you can gain more mastery over the travel glasses. He said something about communicating versus recording versus traveling... Whatever that means.” Ivory smirked again. “That leaves me to go work out and Ray to do whatever exercises he does to stay brainy and amazing.”
Ray rolled his eyes as Ivory threw her arm around his shoulders and led him out of the room.
I poured myself a glass of Aborealian water and waited around for Valcas to show up. As I waited I swiped my fingertips across the watch the TSTA gave me, stopping when I got to EST, East Coast Standard Time, the area of the United States where I’d spent most of my life. Mom had grown up somewhere in Massachusetts. From her, I’d inherited my love of water—lakes, rivers, oceans. I frowned, wondering whether I’d ever given her credit for that before. I didn’t remember having told her in person. And I had no idea how soon I’d be seeing her again.
When Mom’s work assignments, her trips away from home, had gotten longer—and I now realized more intense, as a TSTA Facilitations Communicator—we’d left Mom’s hometown to live with Uncle Al at Lake Winston, where we’d often visited during summer vacations. At first, I’d loved it there.
Each year, tourist season began with a countywide celebration. I remembered Mom holding me near the lake while fireworks blasted from high up on the mountain, on the other side. Sprinkles of light in burning golds, fiery reds and glowing greens filled the dark sky above us and reflected off the lake. We watched while eating popcorn, hot dogs and lobster rolls that the local crab shack owners brought by in a red cart. We washed down our snacks with homemade fruit sodas and waited until the echoes of thunder from the grand finale died down and the smoke cleared, signaling the beginning of another summer.
During that time of year, Lake Winston drew crowds of people, both locals and tourists. Many families vacationed there. Some were made up of young couples beginning their lives together. Some were old couples enjoying the rest of their time with each other. But most often, there were families with parents and children—families complete with a mom, a dad and kids. Having no brothers or sisters of my own, and having never met my father, I watched the lake families a lot, curious to see how they interacted and wondering what it would be like to be part of such a family. I soon learned that they were quite different than my tiny family of Mom, Uncle Al and me.
I also learned that the kids who laughed and played together could be just as mean as those I’d met in grade school, the kids I’d left behind after graduating from junior high—back when I started high school completely online. The kids at the lake, both the locals and the tourists, certainly weren’t impressed by me. The one afternoon I did try to reach out to them, I’d been helping Uncle Al clean up the grounds near the dock.
A boy about my age, with shaggy brown hair, had run from his group of friends to catch a runaway beach ball. I stopped and stared as he picked up the ball. He smiled at me. Too shy to smile back, I waved my hand to let him know I saw him.
“Hey there!” he’d called out. “You can hang out with us for a while if you want to.”
I’d looked up at Uncle Al, who was collecting metal soda cans and scraps of garbage from the grass around the lake and placing them in a plastic trash bag. He’d peered at me with his black eyes, and then raised his bushy eyebrows at the boy.
“What’s your name, son?”
“I’m Kevin,” the boy said. “Kevin Staunch. I live across the lake.”
“A local boy.” Uncle Al nodded in approval. “Run along, Calla. Go and have some fun. I’ll get this junk back home.”
When Uncle Al was out of sight, Kevin’s smile turned into a sneer. He grabbed my hand and pulled me over to the rest of his friends—one girl and three more boys. We didn’t play with the beach ball, though. It soon became clear that Kevin had another game in mind.
“The old man who owns the lake has a girl,” he said. “Says her name is Cow-la.”
“Calla,” I corrected. “He’s not my father; he’s my uncle, my mom’s brother—”
The other boys leered. “Sounds like Cow-la to me,” one of them said.
Blushing, I looked over at the girl for help. She was skinny with thin hair and an upturned nose. She wrinkled her nose as she looked me up and down. “Well, she looks like a cow to me,” she said.
“You know what they do to cows,” said another boy, as the group formed a circle around me and clasped hands.
I shook my head. “No,” I said, tears forming in my eyes.
Kevin sneered again. “Tip them,” he said, grabbing my shoulders and shoving me toward another boy in the group. The boy caught me and threw me to the ground. I lay there staring at the grass and the dirt, waiting for the burning in my cheeks to cool before I looked up.
The girl stepped forward. “Here, let me help you,” she said. She offered her hand, but something in her eyes made me wary.
“No,” I said as I stood up and brushed grass and dirt off my clothing. “I don’t need your help. I’m going home.”
I tried to run—to break through the circle of clasped hands, but the group of grinning children resisted and pressed in closer toward me, trapping me inside. One of the boys grasped me by the waist and squeezed the soft, flabby handles of flesh that bulged over the waistband of my jean shorts.
“Moo!” he yelled out.
The kids laughed and jeered. Closing in before I was able to stand up again, they continued taking turns shoving me toward each other and the ground.
***
I EMPTIED MY WATER glass and blinked at the TSTA watch. It was three o’clock in the afternoon, EST. I’d been waiting roughly twelve minutes, and Valcas still hadn’t shown up. Everywhere and Everywhen, I read from the watch face. I wondered where and when Valcas was. I wasn’t looking forward to one-on-one training with him, and the Lake Winston memory hadn’t improved my mood.