Global Union: A New Life Page 3

  Malcolm’s face scrunched, and he grumbled and turned away. DeMarcus looked his father in wonder of what was wrong as he listened to the two. Sekhmet clenched his hand. “Come on, we went over this. It’s not forever.”

  “That’s nearly two decades, Earth Time,” Malcolm grumbled. “I come back after what feels like a few years and DeMarcus is already a grown man.”

  Sekhmet shrugged and snickered. “You say that like we can’t keep in touch.”

  Malcolm sighed and walked away. “It’s whatever.”

  All this glooming and DeMarcus looked on, totally oblivious with his attention on his toys hovering over his chair. He turned his bubbly smile to his mother, who grinned back at him before lifting him from his seat. He reached for her, giggling as she held him high and brought him back in for a hug, and watched as his father shrank out of view over her shoulder as he was taken back to the bedroom.

  The three got dressed for the day: Sekhmet in a white shirt, and red slacks, wrapping her head and shoulders with loose, maroon shawl over her scars before putting DeMarcus into his little blue pants and a white shirt. Malcolm, meanwhile, draped a forest green shirt with baggy blue pants and dark blue jacket. On their way out, they greeted the Gentili perched outside, and DeMarcus giggled at the drone spreading its wings and taking off into the air. Sekhmet held DeMarcus close as they took the elevator to the garage, where a blue aerocar sat in wait.

  After buckling in DeMarcus, Sekhmet’s smirked at Malcolm arriving a few steps behind her, opening the passenger side for her. A nice gesture, but Sekhmet sometimes found it annoying. “Your ride, princess,” Malcolm teased.

  Sekhmet shook her head. “Really, Malcolm?” she said with a smile as she took her seat inside.

  DeMarcus tugged at the toys in his car seat as the aerocar’s engine hummed. He looked out the window, watching the buildings around him sink below his sight as the aerocar rose from the ground and flew them off into the city.

  The ride was quiet, the muffled whir of the outside air being the only sound inside until his mother turned on the news on the car panel. There was talk of the Reconstruction reaching its seventh year, with Seraphyne City being the quickest city in the country to recover from the Solar War. Then there was talk of immigrants traveling to the Iuvian colonies orbiting the fractured moon Luna, or all the way to Mars. Not that DeMarcus cared or understood any of it—his attention was to the window at a squadron of drones cruising in the distance. Two grey, eagle-shaped Gentilis, and alongside them were three thick, wedged-shaped drones, the NAF Blue Havocs flying in formation.

  He reached out to the drones, his little fingers gripping nothing but the empty air as the drones vanished over the buildings. Where did they go? What were they doing? DeMarcus wanted to know, reaching for the window before stirring up a fuss. Sekhmet turned her seat around and gave a few tender words as she reached into a bag, pulling out a bottle of juice that DeMarcus reached for.

  “Here you go,” his mother said, handing him the bottle. He wasted no time downing the juice, only stopping when his mother’s face stiffened out at the window toward the high fences.

  Past their boundary stood the pale, decaying husks of buildings, some leaning on each other along the craters and shattered streets—the city ruins, wounds from the Solar War. It was a small section, the only one in the city. But there were many like them around the world and far bigger than this, most of them being havens for militant groups.

  “A recent clash between the Amalgam Concord and the Human Defense Front has resulted in the deaths of dozens in the Southern Gulf city of Saltillo, halting the development of the Garden of Harmony” said the anchorwoman on the car panel, “Global Union investigators have estimated that the skirmish claimed a total of twenty HDF members, further dwindling the organization’s numbers as—”

  DeMarcus flinched from his mother growled as she switched the station to a smooth lounge music channel. “Of all the damn—”

  “Whoa! Careful, Sekky!” Malcolm interrupted. “Don’t want DeMarcus repeating that.”

  Too late. Already, little DeMarcus laughed and shouted the new word he learned with every shake of his bottle. “Dama. Dama!”

  The day had barely begun, and DeMarcus was already saying something he shouldn’t. “DeMarcus, no. Don’t say that,” his mother told him.

  “DAMA!” DeMarcus repeated.

  No attempt to further reprimand him was made. His father glanced and smiled at his mother, who shied away over what she started. Fortunately, DeMarcus didn’t say it fourth time as he went back to his bottle.

  “So ‘princess,’ Where to?” he asked.

  She arched her eyebrow and tittered. “Anywhere away from this view,” she said, pointing at the ruins.

  “Sekky…”

  Sekhmet sighed. “It just brings back so many bad memories. And it always seems like the world keeps getting worse no matter what.”

  “That’s because you keep listening to the news,” Malcolm said. “They’re always making things seem worse.”

  “They usually are.”

  Nothing else was said after that, no arguing, no debate. Just a somber silence as DeMarcus turned to the dark grey husks of buildings his mother kept staring at. It was a view cut short as the aerocar descended to the ground, landing at the parking of a shining white monolith standing over a round lake with rivers snaking it perimeter, the Seraphyne Megaplaza.

  Bobbing up and down as his mother placed him in his stroller, DeMarcus reached for the shifting colors on the walkway toward the megaplaza. Its doors slid open to pale struts and stairs, where moving arrows and avatars on the walls pointed to the plaza’s stores. As far as DeMarcus knew, everything was a toy to grab as his stroller rolled into the rainbow of toys in Cesare’s Play Shop.

  From stuffed plushes and mini-drones, to self-building blocks and holo-games, it was a dazzling sight that he was eager to get his hands on. One toy caught his eye, and he reached out to a box with toy soldiers marching by tanks and sound-breaking jets in an ancient time before the modern era. He turned to his father picking it up and holding it out.

  “I think he likes this,” Malcolm said to Sekhmet.

  A soft grumble came Sekhmet as she squinted her eyes at Malcolm, who looked back at the box then back to Sekhmet as if he read her mind.

  “Oh…right. Sorry.” Malcolm returned the box and followed her to another section. “So, got something in mind?”

  “Something simple,” she answered. “Maybe a plushie, some blocks. Anything but that last thing you picked up.”

  DeMarcus babbled and reached to a small object jumping on display before a small mix of children. Sekhmet strolled DeMarcus to an open spot near the display, giving him a full view of the label hovering over it. “Pee, Kay,” he said, reading the large letters.

  His mother read the full label out. “PK9 Terri. Maybe this?” she pointed.

  It was a pale, pudgy robot shaped like a puppy running and jumping over the plastic obstacles and walls. Then twisted and bent itself in ways completely unnatural, coiling into a spring that bounced and barked at the kids around. Returning to its original shape, its body went stiff and its eyes, once bright and blue, went dark.

  “I never thought they’d bring poly-pets here this soon,” Sekhmet said.

  Malcolm’s head tilted as he looked at the robot. “This is actually a toy?”

  “They were popular when I was growing up,” Sekhmet said. “Didn’t think they’d come with a new model like this.”

  The poly-pet’s eyes flashed blue as it came online again, rolling itself into a ball and bouncing around. DeMarcus pressed against the glass display, giggling as the poly-pet moved.

  “Pretty advanced for a baby’s toy,” said Malcolm.

  “Actually, it’s a lot less smarter than your OmniMorph, sir,” the parahuman clerk spoke. “Despite the motions, they can’t compare to actual dogs. They bark and do all sorts of tricks, but this model has limited functions compared to the higher end poly
-pets. It only follows commands on a simple data-plaque, but they’re as durable as a pillow, so they can’t hurt you or the child.”

  Sekhmet leaned down to DeMarcus and joined in watching the poly-pet run and spin about. “It can certainly keep him company as he grows,” she said.

  “It’s even possible to have this one ‘aged-up’ to be bigger,” the clerk added. “There are tech stores that can modify its appearance. Unfortunately, that’s also why Cyron Industries plans to recall them.”

  “For modifying it?” Malcolm asked.

  “Well, despite how these toys are made, there are rumors of PK9s being weaponized into cheap suicide drones,” said the clerk. “It’s difficult and expensive to find an underground shop to customize them that way, but militants have their ways.”

  Sekhmet grumbled, shaking her head at Malcolm. “I think we’ll pass,” he told the clerk.

  The clerk chuckled. “I don’t blame you.”

  “Do you have something else for toddlers?”

  The retailer glanced down and smiled at little DeMarcus giggling back, then he requested the android to the shelf. “In that case, I’d recommend Light-Scribe,” the clerk said. “You can draw shapes for the child, and it’s useful for teaching them spelling and math as they grow.”

  The android sat a box on the counter, a bright blue and white container displaying on it a human mother and parahuman child squiggling a light-pen in their hand. DeMarcus reached for the box, looking up to his smiling mother.

  “How much?” Sekhmet asked.

  “75 Unites,” said the android.

  Sekhmet went through her wallet and pulled out her credit card. “We’ll take it.”

  “Do either of you have military I.D. and are interested in our store membership?”

  Sekhmet’s ears sunk to her shoulders and she glanced at Malcolm, who looked away with a faint smile as she reached in her wallet. “I have a military I.D.,” she said, setting a square piece of plastic on the counter.

  The parahuman clerk’s eyes bulged at her name on the card. “Sekhmet Leona? The Sekhmet of Iuvia? The Solar War hero?”

  Sekhmet shushed him. “Keep it down. I don’t want an audience.”

  “Sorry,” whispered the clerk. “But this is…I never thought I’d meet the Bloody Leo herself in my store!”

  Looking back and forth between his parents and the clerk during their chat, DeMarcus wondered what was going on from his mother’s chuckles. His father looked around the store at the other heads around, and DeMarcus did the same while the payment was made and tilted his head at his mother’s wide gaze at a slip of plastic. “55 Unites?” she said. “That’s a pretty big discount.”

  “Consider it our thanks for your efforts,” said the clerk. “Thanks to you, we’ve come a long way.” Then he smiled at DeMarcus. “And you take care as well.”

  DeMarcus gazed at the retailer before returning a laugh as he was strolled out of the store. Whatever all the fuss was, it all went out of his mind as the shifting colors of the plaza walls recaptured his attention on their way out.

  “That clerk was nice,” said Sekhmet.

  “Uh-huh,” Malcolm nodded. “He didn’t ask for an autograph.”

  “Oh, lay off,” she retorted, sparking more laughter from DeMarcus.

  They visited a few stores before returning home, their Gentili flying alongside them on the way back to the Terraport. Back at the apartment, Sekhmet sat DeMarcus into the living room, leaving him to his toys as she set up the Light-scribe on the wide table. Watching her motion the light-pen like a music conductor, she drew bright squiggles, circles, and lines in the air, all of which had DeMarcus’s crawling over to the colorful lightshow.

  He leapt onto the table, staring at a blue circle his mother drew and sent floating toward him. He bit at the circle, feeling nothing but air through his teeth as it floated away and reappeared on the other end. Then out popped a few numbers marching behind the circle as his mother drew them one by one. “I’m loving this already,” she said.

  There was a loud ring through the room, and a projection with the name “RA” in a white circle appeared over a blue and red one blinking on the table. DeMarcus tapped the blue circle, and a deep voice sounded on the speaker. “Sekhmet? Malcolm? Are you there?”

  “Hi, Daddy!” Sekhmet greeted, picking up DeMarcus and sitting with him on the couch before the projection. “Come say hi to grandpa!”

  DeMarcus pointed at the letters in the projection. “Arr, Aye!”

  “Ah, there he is,” said RA. “How are you, DeMarcus?” DeMarcus answered him with babbles and shouts, to which RA chuckled. “That’s great to hear. If only I were there.”

  “You will, first chance we get to fly to Eden,” said Sekhmet.

  “Good evening, sir,” Malcolm greeted.

  “Malcolm,” RA rebuked, “how long are you going to keep calling me ‘sir?’ We’re family, aren’t we?”

  “But…me and Sekky aren’t married,” Malcolm said with a shrug. “I always figured that was an outdated custom.”

  “Not in spirit,” RA said. “Those silly ceremonies and contracts aren’t really unnecessary to be husband or wife. How’re things on Earth?”

  “Still amok with militants as usual,” Sekhmet said. DeMarcus yanked a thick strand of her hair and pulled it toward his mouth. “Ow! DeMarcus! No, don’t do that,” she shouted as she pulled away.

  Even through a faceless projection, it wasn’t hard to make out a snicker coming from RA. “He reminds me of a certain someone else at that age.”

  DeMarcus jumped off his mother to the floor at the ring of her OmniMorph announcing a “Marshal Keith Iyrons.”

  “Put him through,” Sekhmet said, setting her OmniMorph on the table.

  A bronze, craggy face of a man with a military cap on his head projected over the table. A normal humana, he greeted them with a wide smile and a lift of his cap. “Sekky. Malcolm. Afternoon!”

  “Hi, Keith,” the parents greeted.

  “Afternoon, Marshal,” said RA. “How are things in the Sinic Republics?”

  “Imperator RA! Wasn’t expecting you, sir,” Keith answered. “Everything’s well, despite militants causing trouble. Our friends from Themiskyra caught some saboteurs from Serali and Monuma. Always some other problem.”

  “I know what you mean. There was another incident in the Gulf Region not too long ago,” said Sekhmet.

  Seeing his parents speaking overhead, the curious DeMarcus leapt onto the table in the middle of the conversation, puffing up and flicking his tail at the sight of Keith spooking him. “And who is this little guy?” Keith asked.

  “Our son, DeMarcus Maahes,” Malcolm answered.

  “I wouldn’t have known from the grey skin,” said Keith.

  “You can thank Sekky here for using those BM Pigments,” said Malcolm.

  “I told you, they weren’t dangerous,” Sekhmet muttered.

  Keith dodged DeMarcus reaching for his cap. “Too slow,” Keith teased as he dodged more of DeMarcus’s swats. “He’s as feisty as Sekky already. Almost like Tyrone as well.”

  “Another son of yours?” Sekhmet asked.

  “Grandson, actually. Around DeMarcus’s age from the looks of it.”

  RA laughed. “Congratulations, Marshal! Nice to know I’m not the only grandfather here.”

  Keith shifted to RA. “Guess it’s a sign of us getting old.”

  DeMarcus’s hand passed through Keith’s head, and he looked at his empty palm. With a mischievous smirk on his face, he stared at Keith and reared back on his legs. “What’s he doing?” Keith asked.

  Uh oh. Sekhmet sprung from the couch. “DeMarcus, NO!”

  DeMarcus launched at Keith’s head, passing through the projection, and arcing off the table. A loud thud vibrated the floor, with DeMarcus wailing in pain until his mother picked him up and cradled him. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she soothed.

  “Yep, that’s definitely your son alright,” Keith joked, smiling at Sekh
met’s stern stare.

  August 12, 881 RNC.

  It was nighttime at the Terraport, the apartment bare and empty with stacks of boxes sitting at the walls while thin caretaker drones took them out one by one. There was hardly any place to hide around, and four-year-old DeMarcus came into the living room where only the couch remained, along with a thin desk with a see-through screen that his father leaned into. Snickering to himself as he stalked over the carpet floor, DeMarcus snuck toward the back of his father’s chair. He made a few pauses, checking if his father noticed him, and every time he saw little to no reaction as he made his way closer to the desk.

  His ears tuned to the ambient silence until he was within reach of his father. Then he brought his feet in, building pressure in his legs.

  “DeMarcus, you better not,” Malcolm scolded, his eyes still on the screen.

  DeMarcus’s ears shot up. “You saw me?”

  “Call it a hunch,” his father said, looking down at him with a smirk.

  Turning to his father’s desk, DeMarcus noticed the projection of orbs floating over the surface. A large yellow sphere sat at the center, while seven other orbs circled around them in a ring, each of them growing and shrinking as his father tapped and shifted the images around. The bigger one of the orbs grew, the less the other orbs appeared, and sometimes replaced with two or two dozen other orbs circling around a bigger one.

  “What’cha doin’?” DeMarcus asked.

  “Studying this map of the inner Sol System,” Malcolm said. “Dad’s gonna be away for a long time.”

  “Where to? Is it far?”

  His father tapped on the orb circling the third ring around a glowing yellow one. It zoomed into red orb with two small grey ones circling around it. “I’m gonna be around here,” he said. “This place is called Mars. I’m gonna be working as Overseer while you stay here on Earth with your mother.”

  “How long?”

  Malcolm shrugged. “Can’t really say. But it’ll be a while.”