MESA VERDE, COLORADO
November 9, 2016
Goodness Groceries had been a Mesa Verde institution since the earliest days of the 20th century. Founded by Hiram Godinez, the store was originally named Godinez’ Groceries, but changed to Goodness when the one-time costermonger now shopkeeper found, either due to mistake or malice, they could not pronounce his Spanish surname and kept mangling it as Goodness. Since then, the members of the Godinez family had run the Goodness Grocery and had made it the lifeline of the Eastbury neighborhood of Mesa Verde, well into the late 90s.
Then came 2008 and the Great Recession. The current owner of the store, Elizabeth Godinez-Rodgers, unable to keep up with the larger supermarket chains and the skyrocketing rents, announced that after over 100 years, the Goodness Grocery was going to close. Though the neighborhood was shocked by the impact of the recession on such a storied institution, the Mesa Verde City Council wiped their hands of it, issuing a bland PR announcement that though they were saddened that such a pillar of the community was to vanish, nothing ever lasted forever. Even Ethan Cavanaugh, the Governor of Colorado, a native of Mesa Verde himself and someone who had grown up with the Goodness Grocery, said he was personally “heartbroken” that such a location was to vanish from the streets of the MV. And as the last day was coming, the store held a grand celebration – if it was going to go, it would go out in style. It would be enough for Godinez-Rodgers and her family to move elsewhere in the country and hopefully restart the store there, though sadly it would no longer be a Colorado presence.
So, it was a surprise that a pair of college students, California native Marybell Corvus and her fiancé, New Zealander Justin Benison, offered to buy the store. Marybell had been trained as an art historian but had been unable to land a position at any of the local museums, while Justin, a florist, seemed to do unnaturally well for himself in his position, though he admitted that he came from money. After agreeing that not only would they keep the store open and mostly unchanged (including the name), the Goodness Groceries closed for a month “For Upgrades and to Be Better Than Ever!™” Not only would the store continue to carry the hard-to-get items that the community wanted, but the produce and meats would be organic (but not priced like it!) and continuing to be affordable even against the competition. Furthermore, the building next door was purchased as well and expanded into the current store, allowing for a bookstore and café as well to grace the location. And so, the newly christened Goodness Organics, Bookstore & Café opened its doors and once again caught the attention of both the thrifty and the boheme in this MV neighborhood.
One of those blithe spirits was Jessica Akane Aomori. Currently, the fourteen-year-old high school freshman leaned back in a lounger while sipping on the store’s famous Baked Cocoa – a large hot chocolate with marshmallows melted over it, turning the whole thing into a sort of sugary equivalent of a French Onion soup – and reading the latest issue of Teen Vogue while relaxing on a Saturday afternoon, eyeing the latest Milan fashions with mild envy and waiting for her friends.
“Hey! Did you save me one?” a voice called out from behind her. Jessica turned to look at the newcomer. Dressed in a black-sleeved jersey shirt and jeans, her long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, was Penelope Martinez, one of her best friends. “I could really use a Baked Cocoa and a choco-macha scone.”
As if by magic, one of the employees showed up with a tray of the saccharine specials. Setting it on the coffee table just as Penelope sat down, the teen wasted no time diving in. “Oh, man, I owe you, Jessie! I needed this after a long-ass day of practice!”
Jessica smiled. “So don’t keep me in suspense! How’d you do?”
“I made the team!” Penelope said with a grin. “It was down to me or Beverly Fisher. And you know how Beverly can be,” she groaned between intakes of the foodstuffs. “She actually offered me $100 if I would quit so she could make the team.”
“Oh? That’s cute,” Jessica replied; she’d been on the bad side of Beverly herself once or twice. “What’d you do?”
“Oh, I ‘accidentally’ dropped my wallet and the $400 I already had in it. She saw that and shut up, and when Coach Kay chose me, it was all she could do to just blow a fuse.” She laughed. “Just because Mom wanted me and my brother to have a normal life instead of living in Upperside, doesn’t mean I’m poor!”
“Yeah, but you dress normal, Penny, therefore due to the laws and regulations going on in that girl’s mind, you’re poor. I mean, look at me: I dress fashionably, so she’s never considered me poor – she just thinks I have bad taste. Besides, it’s not like being not well off is a crime or anything. I mean, my own mother grew up over in Dove Creek, and that’s as blue collar as it gets. It’s just that Beverly is a snob, pure, plain, and simple.” Jessica wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Then again, I don’t pay $800 for a pair of ‘pre-distressed’ jeans, so what do I know?”
“Heya, you two.” Arriving to join the pair were Doriatessa and Ghislane Benison, the twin daughters of the owner of the store. The two were visibly depressed and that singular owner was part of the problem: having apparently somehow had enough of life in the US, Justin Benison decided that he wanted to move back to his native New Zealand. When his wife balked at the idea, he just as simply announced he was divorcing her and leaving, despite the two seemingly to have a perfect marriage. When he’d departed two years ago, he hadn’t contested the divorce at all, leaving her with practically everything; it was believed that he came from a family of means, giving up all that money and a sizeable chunk of real estate in one of the most well-to-do portions of one of America’s growing cities meant nothing to his bottom line. In fact, aside from his clothing, the only thing he took with him was their oldest child, their son, Whelan.
Both girls noticed the twins looked as though their pet dog had died and they hopped over to give them hugs immediately. Ghislane tended to need them most often, as of the two, she was the more sensitive. “I hate my stepmother,” Ghislane said simply.
“What happened this time?” Penelope asked.
Ghislane sighed. “We just got off a call with our father, who was telling us that his new wife is pregnant and we’re going to be older sisters. And then You-Know-Who just gave a ton of backhanded compliments about our mother, how she was doing suuuuuuuuuch a good job raising us in the middle of the desert, like we’re subsistence living during the 1930s or something.”
“Well, from what you told me, she’s never left her home country, so that’s it.”
“No, I think it’s that she’s a bigot, but I’ve never met her,” Doriatessa interjected.
“I know I’d like to keep it that way,” Ghislane agreed.
Jessica grinned. “Well, girls, then let me make your day a little brighter!” She reached into her purse and brought out a bunch of tickets. “Here we go, front row seats to the Broken Desktops’ concert at the Mountainside for next Saturday!”
“Jessie, you’re a lifesaver!” Ghislane squealed. “How the hell did you get them?”
“Friend of my Mom works at the Mountainside and they got a bunch of free tickets to give out. Since she found out about it, she asked her friend and they sent over four with no problem!” She then added, “Plus, just to make it extra special, my Dad arranged for us to stay overnight at the Hilton Skyline, even though he and my mom will be staying next door.”
Doriatessa hugged her. “Did I mention you’re my favorite best friend whose name starts with a J?”
“No,” Jessica replied, “but I’ll take that. Honestly, though, I hope this makes your day better.”
“Oh, you have no idea. James is headed out of town that weekend, so we had to cancel our date; and then afterwards, it’s going to be Christmas Shopping Season, which means that we’re going to have to help our mom run this place. Especially since the bookstore is probably going to be busier than normal this year.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. We apparently got a bigwig author coming to do a book signing first weekend in December, so Mom says she’s going to need help.”
“Well, if she needs any help,” Jessica offered, “I think I can chip in.”
“I wish I could, but with soccer season going on, I’m probably going to be either at practice or in a game,” Penelope apologized by way of explanation.
“Well, let’s not worry about that right now,” Ghislane replied. “I think I need me a Baked Cocoa, too. Anyone else want one?”
“I’ll take one, sis,” Doriatessa asked.
“I’ll take another,” Jessica said, while Penelope silently shook her head.
“I have no idea where you put any of that. You drink Cokes and hot chocolate like a fish, and you never get fat!”
“Good Japanese genes, as my grandmother often says,” Jessica giggled. “That or it’s probably all going to hit me when I’m fifty or something.” Jessica closed her eyes, savoring the drink as she brought it to her lips once more.
=+=
She opened her eyes with a start. She found herself seated back in the Merlin, except…it wasn’t really the Merlin. The sounds of the helicopter blades still hummed, but it slowed to a drumbeat. The main cabin of the helicopter seemed cavernous and far different in dim lighting, especially since enough time had gone on that the first streaks of sunlight should have come up.
I’m lucid dreaming, she realized. She was an adult again, her normal self. The earlier part of the dream felt as though it was so far away, just like everything else in her life. She also had to admit, recalling that earlier, happier, part of her life hurt. Back when she had close friends. Long before her own life spiraled away and long before humanity realized both that they were no longer alone in the universe, and back when most of humanity still existed.
She didn’t even want to think about the body count. From the last time she searched on the internet, her parents were gone, victims of Decimation. She didn’t know if her older brother had survived; he, like her, was an artist and probably wouldn’t have lasted long in the post-Decimation humanitarian crises that popped up. Jessica had tried to reach out to him shortly after she joined the Navy, but Adam had nothing to say and told her to never call again; he accused Jessica of sending their grandparents to an early grave, as they worried about how much Jessica had spun out of control. That call had been the week before the war started and Jessica had never tried to contact him since.
It’s been years since I thought of anyone, she admitted to herself. Maybe it had been nearly checking out in Rome that had done it. Or maybe it had been the letters she had yet to write, to let the families of the dead know that their loved ones fell in battle trying to defend both America and humanity and having served with honor and all that fluffy stuff that was, truthfully, nothing but meaningless bullshit.
A light flickered where the cockpit was, catching her attention. She got up and followed it, and as she did, she didn’t find herself in the cockpit, but instead an alcove, where a mirror attached to a wall sat, illuminated by soft candles and lilting synthesizers – the kind of music that her mother always called “Enya crap”, though Jessica never knew why. Drawn toward the mirror, she looked in, not sure of what to expect.
Sure enough, as she gazed into the mirror, she saw herself – but not as she was. Instead, the Jessica that looked back at her was herself from her high school days: less muscled, body less defined, a tiny bit more pudgy (though still on the svelte side), and with always fashionable clothing that she wouldn’t dream of nowadays: her favorite white ruffled blouse with a black polka-dotted undershirt, black skirt, and all the accoutrements, including the black felt sailor hat that she’d picked up somewhere and practically wore every day of her high school years.
A sailor hat, a part of her mused. Once a vital part of a mariner’s uniform, now nothing more than a ladies’ fashion piece, as it had been replaced by the more standard sailor cap. Yet if the name of the item had ever been a portent of what Jessica would become, back then she never would have realized it.
“Things have changed, haven’t they?” a familiar voice from the past asked from behind her.
Jessica turned and saw a figure standing there. The figure was vague, undefined, and hazy as if nothing more than an image from a long-abused VHS tape. But Jessica knew that voice, as familiar with it as her own.
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“It was you, wasn’t it?” she asked. “It was really you.” The ill-defined figure declined to answer, but to the Sailor, that was more than enough of one. “Why?” she asked.
“It’s good to see you, Jessie,” was the response.
“Just Jess now,” was her own response in turn. “I’m not the same person I used to be, Tessa. I’ve…changed. For good and bad, mostly bad, though I hope that I’ve done some good over the years.”
“You have, I’m sure. I know I’m proud of you, though I wish I could have spared you all the pain you went through.”
All the pain I went through, Jessica thought in her mind, and part of her became unreasonably angry. Everything I went through? After all, like the others, this was another person that had abandoned Jessica in her time of need. But just before the words were to explode from her mouth, reality hit Jessica. There had been a reason Tessa wasn’t there, and Jessica damn well knew that. Any accusation would be just her pain talking.
“I never meant any of it to happen,” the figure replied. “I wish I could have done anything to prevent the pain you went through. You were as much a sister to me as Lane is, Jessie. You and Penny both.” At that, Jessica scoffed, and the figure replied, “I don’t ever recall you being this cynical.”
“Adulthood and a war will do that to you,” she responded. “I don’t even know if Penny is alive and honestly? I really don’t care, either.”
“I need you to care, Jessie! I need her help, just like I need yours.” The figure went over and took Jessica’s hands in hers. “I once told you about a dream that I had, and everything that was going to happen is now happening. Everything that had been preordained has come to pass.”
“We were kids, Tessa. I don’t even remember you having any dream like this that you mentioned. Trust me, after everything I’ve been through, I most certainly would have remembered something like that.”
Though the face of the figure continued to remain featureless, Jessica swore she could feel tears of sorrow there, an unyielding pain that echoed down to the base of her own soul. “I know you thought they were just stories and myths, but they were truths and portents.”
“After what you told me and showed me, you know there’s no way I could ever think that. I know you didn’t lie about any of that. But even still, a lot of it doesn’t make sense.”
“It probably shouldn’t; it isn’t time for it to make sense yet. Even I don’t understand everything.” The figure took Jessica in an embrace and for a moment, she felt as though she was okay, as if everything was right with the world. It wasn’t really a sense of purpose, so much as a True Thing.
“Tessa, I….”
“You don’t have to say it; I already know. But right now, you have a different task. To put it in another way: right now, you are in the caterpillar phase. You have much more to go on your path before you change and become ready for the next part. But I will tell you this much: what you will need to do next is going to test you as a person.”
That made Jessica wonder. “How?”
“For starters, a lot of it will require forgiveness. First of all, that includes yourself. You carry a lot of weight I never meant you to have, and all these years it’s hammering you down. Forgive yourself, let it go, and join the fight.”
Despite herself, Jessica laughed. “Did you forget what I do for a living? Fighting is what I do best.” But the smile curdled into a frown as she admitted, “Forgiving myself? Not so much. And if you’re expecting me to forgive others, that might be a step too far.”
The figure let go. “Even so, that’s what must be done. And if you can’t forgive yourself, then do it for my sake. You’ll understand better when you do. Start with that and go from there.” The figure seemed to smile. “After all, grasshopper, the journey of a thousand miles always starts with the first step.”
“You still remember that?”
“How could I forget? It was Adam’s favorite saying. And between you and me…if James wasn’t in my life, I probably would have tried to make a play for him. He was cute. But don’t forget my words, Jessie. Forgive and then fight.”
=+=
SPANISH TERRITORIAL WATERS
090339ZJUL31:
Jessica woke up with a sudden start, realizing that a second later, it had been turbulence that had brought her back to the waking world – the actual waking world, not another layer of dreams. As she blinked away the last few vestiges of sleep, she realized the wetness of her cheeks and that she’d been crying during her sleep.
A heavy compress hit her heart. Tessa, Lane, I miss you both, she admitted to herself. It was funny that the two people she could most easily forgive didn’t seem to exist anymore – or even at all, if things were as they seemed. But Jessica had, over the years, learned that there were quite a bit of things that never felt as what they seemed.
“Commander, if you’re not strapped in, you may want to do so,” she heard the pilot call back from the cockpit. “We’re in the middle of a bit of turbulence.”
“Are we under attack?” she called back.
“No, just turbulence. There was an attack about thirty minutes ago, but that was a slight distance away from here and Spanish Air Force fighters took care of it – we were never in any danger.” There was a pause. “We should be arriving at the refueling point soon and you should be able to stretch your legs. With any luck, we should arrive at HMS Cormorant – the base at Gibraltar – at about 1200 or so.”
“Thanks, Leftenant.” She sank back into the jump seat she was on, mulling over the dreaming remnants still stuck in the corners of her mind. Whether that dream was true – or rather True, and she was pretty damn sure that it was – that didn’t matter at the moment. Right now, she had a different mission to accomplish, one that took priority and that meant heading to the Mountain to do whatever it was there that they wanted of her.
It was the very fact that this was all way above her paygrade that made her consider just what the hell she’d gotten into. And thinking on that, she realized maybe that’s why the admiral promoted her, she mused.
Because now she would have a fighting chance.
=+=
PRETORIA, SOUTH AFRICA
090539BJUL31:
She was late, and people had suffered because of it.
She was late and innocents had died as a result.
Eyes filled with rage, regret, and tears as she looked at what had once been one of the last surviving units of the South African military. The formerly 550,000-strong combat force had been all but decimated, the result of fighting a hopeless battle to ensure that the civilians that had been here ran for their lives. South Africa had been one of the few places that had survived Decimation mostly unscathed and now they were paying the price for that temporary respite.
She was late.
People died because she was late.
And now Pretoria was on fire, many buildings burnt down to their foundations and people turned into so many grisly cinders. The stench of burnt fat – the remains of bodies – and another unidentifiable scent filled the air, and multiple black columns of smoke rose to the sky like dark supplicants praying to the vestiges of the night. Flames lit up several parts of the night and in some places, jags of electricity danced where the power lines were untethered and broken but still active. Cars littered the streets, shot up and destroyed husks that would no longer serve any purpose other than to be a roadway impediment for anyone still living and trying to flee.
The streets were filled with slagged weapons, mostly human. From what she could tell, of the few aliens that had been taken down by this force, the weapons themselves had survived the assault, mostly carbon-scored, but likely still functional. The weapons would be gathered up and then taken to be locked up somewhere, likely forever. The destruction of the Gobi Desert research facility ensured that. The UNIF reportedly set up a new secure facility in the Atacama Desert. It was likely a counterpart to the US facility at Yucca Mountain and an unidentified location somewhere in Russia.
The Queen bent down and picked up a torn, half-burnt nametag that read VERWOERD. A spatter of blood stained the fabric patch, and she wondered if the person survived. She couldn’t ask and truthfully, given that the burning corpse that lay only a few steps away, that was most likely all the answer she would probably get.
Listening intently, she heard some gurgling in the darkened, burnt alcove and she went to investigate. There, in the crumbled entrance that led to a grocery store, a wounded woman lay, breathing heavily against the wall, while not too far from her and leaving a trail of blue blood as it desperately attempted to crawl away, was an alien soldier. The trail of ichor it left looked fake, unnatural, as if it were the result of food dye or some paint from the canister of an artist from so long ago, yet it was undeniable that the cyanoheme was from the alien, ebbing out while it tried to escape its fate.
With an all too practiced familiarity, she flicked her wrist and summoned a sword, blazing with flame, to her hand. In movements that were all too familiar, she drove the blade down into the center of the creature’s body. Its brain was located there, from what she knew, and it would be a quick, relatively merciful death, more than the soldier had likely given innocents. The blade sank through the coral-like armor and into the body like the proverbial hot knife through butter. The Octo writhed and screamed as a high-pitched squeal sounded out as the blade vaporized the Octo’s blood. A second later, it lay still, its insides cooked by the sword and its life now reckoned with.
She let go of the blade; the spell she cast on it would burn it to ashes before dematerializing. Leaving nothing more than a charcoal smear on the melted vinyl flooring. She gave it no more thought, as right now she had more pressing concerns, as the South African soldier still lived and still had a chance to survive the day.
Crouching over the soldier, she saw the look of fear in the woman’s eyes. While it would probably do the woman good for her to remove her helmet and cowl, that moment of succor and comfort might cost her own life via shot to the head. This was still a battlefield, after all.
“You’re safe,” she said, turning off the voice distorter on the armor. Maybe a more human voice would do the deed instead.
Panting heavily, the soldier looked at her with a haunted expression. “Did…did I….?” She coughed up blood, not a good sign at all.
Magic was summoned and placed on the shoulder. A rip of violet energy flowed through the soldier’s body; she wasn’t sure if the boost spell was enough to help her, but she wasn’t a medical practitioner of any kind, so she neither knew healing spells or anything more than the most basic of first aid. “Do you have any medical gear?” the Queen asked.
“Did I get the creature?” she asked, coughing up another spat of blood. “I drove my…my knife into its side and….” Her eyes slid shut, slumping against the ground.
A well of panic slid into the Queen’s mind; was she about to lose another person in this war? Would this be another lost life to be tallied against her conscience?
To her surprise, a new individual moved immediately to her side, beginning first aid; she’d been so focused on trying to heal the soldier in her own way that she hadn’t even heard him coming. His shoulder patch indicated Canadian Army and he carried the extra packs that made it clear he was a medic. Pressing a finger against the woman’s neck, he checked the pulse for a second before saying, “She’s alive. I don’t know what you did, but she’s alive. She owes you that.”
“Good,” Queen said, getting back to her feet, inwardly relieved that the South African soldier had survived and that she would get a chance to get actual medical help, instead of having to make do with what was the magical equivalent of energy drinks and bandages. “Can you help her?”
“Already on it,” he said. “I’m going to get to work now; don’t worry, I’ll make sure we can get her patched up enough to get her to safety. But in the meanwhile, you might want to talk to our lieutenant if you want more information.” The medic pointed to a man in the distance, talking to a bunch of other soldiers. “We sure could use your help.”
The Queen went over just as the man in question identified himself, a fresh-faced man who looked like he had barely departed a military academy and wasn’t a seasoned veteran of war – at least, not yet. “1st Lt. Gordon Witwick, Halifax Rifles, 36 Canadian Brigade,” he began. “What’s the situation, your, uh, highness? Do I call you that? I’m not totally familiar.”
The Queen silently waved it off, instead looking at Witwick. “Don’t worry about titles. Are you here for an offensive, or an evacuation?”
“It depended on the situation, but my guess at this point is that evacuation is probably going to be what happens,” Witwick responded. “Thanks to you, you’ve made it a little easier.”
“It wasn’t me. I didn’t get here until more than a few minutes ago myself.” The Queen shook her head, then pointed at the South African soldier, being tended to by the medic. “The reason this place hasn’t been overrun is because of brave souls like her. The people should sing her praises, not mine.”
“Even still, you’ve—”
“No. I’m no hero.” She started to walk away. “Not if people are dying in this hell and I’m unable to save them, I’m no hero at all. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to clear my head and I suspect there are stragglers hiding in the buildings. We need to see to them before anything else.” With that, she walked off to get back to her mission.
She hadn’t walked more than a block when she heard a voice whisper to her. “Autumn Witch,” it voiced.
She turned towards the speaker. Standing in the shadows, barely visible but clearly there, was someone dressed in Canadian military uniform but without any sign of rank. Given how she’d been addressed, it was clear to her that the individual wasn’t entirely Canadian, if at all.
It wasn’t worth bothering to ask for his identification. “Who sent you?” she demanded.
“It doesn’t matter who did,” the speaker said. “I am merely here to deliver a message.”
“I don’t answer to Canada,” she told him, “though I suspect that you don’t either.”
The speaker chuckled. “Despite your crimes, you are not entirely imbecilic.” The “Canadian” lifted his hand and a globe of magical power appeared in his palm, shaking slightly, indicating a lack of a familiarity with the display of power. “Does that suffice?”
“It does,” she sighed. “State your piece, then get out of my sight.”
“Watch your words, Witch. You’re lucky you’re being given this much.” He gave her a glare the same way a teacher would give reproachment to a recalcitrant child. “You should be doomed for your abominable acts and why you haven’t been condemned is beyond me. You have brought this upon all of us—”
Given everything she’d been through, she was in no mood to deal with some messenger, regardless of where he was from. “Shut up and tell me what you want.”
“I have been given word by the prince that he will offer to spare you, should you—”
“No thank you. All of you disgust me,” the Queen hissed. “You would let innocents die and even if I am guilty, the fact that you will not stand up to defend people, that you and yours cower and hide while the world burns?” She growled. “Dying doesn’t worry me; I’ve faced it too many times. No, what makes me fear at night is being like you and your ilk.”
“You have been gaining too much attention as of late.” The man sneered and the look of contempt on his face was enough that it drew her ire. “If they knew what you truly were, you would be put to the sword – and justifiably so.”
“Better to be put to the sword fighting to save people than to live in your fetters!” she shouted.
“For once, we agree. And that is the sole reason you still live, Witch.” The man slid back into the shadows, and there was no further sight of him. The Queen didn’t bother to follow. It was an overly flashy way of departing, but at least he was gone.
“Queen?” She turned to look at another Canadian soldier – this time a real one, it seemed – who had approached her. “Lt. Witwick has asked me to come get you. We’re getting an intelligence update from Headquarters, and we thought you may want the information as well.”
“That’s fine by me,” she said, giving the other messenger no more thought. She was long used to the hatred and bile from people like him, and from his kind. She had a job to do, and she had her own reasons for doing it. Maybe then she could reunite with her friends and end this once and for all.
Maybe then she could finally earn peace.