What do fathers want for their daughters?

Beita found the idea creeping into her head as she watched the man at the helm of the boat strain against the wheel. The boat they were stealing, she amended with a hint of guilt. He said it was fine, that they’d bring it back, but she doubted they would. He wasn’t really her father, of course, he was much too young for that at twenty years old, but he was the closest thing she had. The closest for a long time now.

One might think they were related, though, which always thrilled her. They both had brown skin, black hair and some misread her Indian features as Asian, while his Japanese features were unmistakable. What always got a second glance, if not her clear blue eyes compared to his grey, was her off-colored birthmark in the center of her forehead. Better they paid attention to that and didn’t notice other things.

“This is taking forever, Jordan! Go faster!”

He ignored her. He was moving away from the wheel, pulling at some ropes. He was wearing shabby blue jeans, threadbare work boots and not much else. He was tall, maybe six-four last she checked, handsome in a gruff way, with wide shoulders and a powerful build. Muscles glistened in starlight as he pulled the ropes connected to sails.

“You could ask me for help,” she said. “I’m bored!”

“Can’t reach,” he finally said. “Too tall for you.”

She couldn’t tell if he was teasing or being honest. Or both. She hated it when he did that. She huffed all the same. She was considerably smaller, which wasn’t her fault. She was only eight~ish. He had two feet on her, sure, but she was cute. Cute mattered a lot in this world. She was wearing a nice yellow sundress, something he got her a few days ago. She didn’t get out much, so it made her happy, despite the circumstances. Topping it off was a straw hat that she needed to keep grabbing to keep from flying away into the wind.

“Keep watch, don’t want someone to notice,” his voice was deep, harsh, but kind. Comforting to hear.

It’d been deepening over the last four years since he took her in. She liked it. He sounded like an Old West gunslinger. It was a base, growly kind of voice, no sharp edges at all. She smiled, moving to the edge of the boat, watching the dock they found it at. No one was stirring, no police lights, even their fellow boatmates were fast asleep or otherwise occupied. It’d really been four years since…that day.

She was aware they knew each other before then, but she couldn’t be expected to remember that in any detail. Sitting, she was a little disappointed that her legs couldn’t reach the water. She wanted to splash around in it some. She frowned, staring out at the town of Cherchell, situated along the coast of Algeria. It was a gorgeous little place, plenty of history, she would have loved to stay here longer. The duo touched down a scant thirty minutes ago and got to work scouting out a sailboat they could take.

Steal, she reminded herself again. Couldn’t risk trading any money and getting caught. The Supreme United Nations would be on them faster than they could get away and that would be trouble. Trouble was nothing new for them. She glanced back at Jordan, wincing at the deep, faded scar that went down his torso. It wasn’t alone, of course, not with the kind of life he led, but it was the most obvious. Smaller scars littered his arms, his back, and a jagged one was still somewhat present across his neck, though slowly it was going away.

In time all his scars would fade. Maybe even the chest wound, though she doubted it. But there would be new ones to take their place. She wondered if the saltwater aggravated any of them. Not that he’d say to her, anyways. He never complained around her. He never said much in general. Worries that he resented being her caretaker were common, unfounded as he assured her they were. Shaking her head, she looked back towards the city. It was easy to lose her train of thought, but in her defense, there was much in this world that was interesting.

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The Supreme United Nations held a grip over this world like no power before it. Eventually even the United States bent the knee before the militarized superpower- given no choice by the increasingly disastrous alien attacks. Most of the myriad of governments were allowed to operate semi-normally, but all manner of information, news, and all aspects of the military went through SUN approval first and foremost. Every new piece of technology was vetted by them, every news story, even media needed to be approved.

In some ways, since they took over, the world was more peaceful. Wars were practically nonexistent, and it allowed the military arm of the SUN, the Anti-Alien Taskforce, to respond quickly and efficiently. Beita didn’t think it was worth the oversight and exploitation. Jordan didn’t talk about them with her much, maybe wanting to spare her the adult topic, but they were a fact of life for everyone. Even her.

That didn’t mean he approved of them. Which was why they were out here. A meteor fell, one with unusual properties, next to a Spanish island. Nueva Tabarca, situated near Santa Pola, with a population that didn’t reach the triple digits but was a known tourism hotspot. Beita was certain the meteor was more than it seemed. She had an eye for these things. Especially when all information about the island and the meteor was quickly shut down.

Her usual method of getting around was too easy to trace. The SUN Taskforce would be aware of them in an instant if they landed somewhere they were already looking and pounce. Since they weren’t even sure anything was going on, as he reminded her, they needed to play it subtle. So, they had to take a roundabout. Well, that guilty feeling reminded her, stole a roundabout.

It was a pretty boat, probably why Jordan chose it. Normally that would have been a joke, but this time he was thinking more than practical. With a near perfect white finish and fresh, clean sails, it looked like it belonged to a tourist with money to burn. Someone who didn’t use it for work or living. She researched sailboats before they moved out and this was a nice one. Catalina 36, a yacht that could go up to 8 knots.

Jordan prodded her shoulder.

“We’re ready.”

Beita clapped, jumping up from the side and rushing around. She plopped down next to the wheel, Jordan ambling along. He didn’t have a limp or nothing, he just took his time. He stopped to secure her belt, Beita groaning. He made sure it wasn’t too tight before moving over to the wheel, starting the boat up.

“Cherchell is nice, isn’t it?” Beita motioned to the city. “Think we could spend a few days here?” Nothing pressing was going on, after all. There might not be anything happening at all. No ticking clock but their own anxiousness.

His grey eyes glanced back at the light ladened city.

“Too many people.” He stared across the ocean.

Beita sighed, kicking at the floor a bit. “What if I’m wrong and there’s nothing there? It was just a dumb rock?”

His gaze never wavered. “You’re never wrong.”

They were leaving the marina, lights off, going barely faster than a drift at first. They needed to slip away in the dead of night as best they could. By the time officials were alerted, they’d hopefully be more than halfway there.

“I’m wrong about lots of stuff,” she said. “This could be one.”

“No. You’re never wrong. Not about this.” He looked at her.

Despite herself, she could feel a blush creep on her face. “Stop patronizing me. I’m not a child.”

“You’re not?”

“Shut up!” She smacked his arm.

He smiled, slightly. It was a happier expression than she’d seen from him in a while.

“Don’t doubt yourself, Beita,” he said after a few minutes of silence. “Want to go hiking when we’re done?”

“Oh, where?” She couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. Jordan was busy often, so they couldn’t spend a lot of time together in normal circumstances. But he always took time out for her when he could. She loved those times. They weren’t exciting, but she got enough excitement on these missions of theirs. They were peaceful.

“A mountain range.”

“Not the Rockies,” she said quickly.

“Not the Rockies,” he agreed.

This was a mission they were on, she reminded herself. An anxiousness hung over her. The way Jordan was acting told her, though he might not have been anxious, he was prepared for the worst. They couldn’t, they wouldn’t, trust the SUN Taskforce with the fate of humanity, so this was their work. They went on these missions because no one else could.

They were the ones who fought monsters, after all. They were the Lightning Brigade.