HC

  “Thick slices,” I told Pitch, tossing him a red pepper.

  He caught it one-handed while the other swirled a knife through deft fingers. I grabbed an onion, and the sound of knife on cutting board filled the kitchen.

  Was Pitch gonna give me another chapter of Unknown Cosmos today? He’d left off the story with “Renallah is listening.” Humph. Just like a Joon. Tease us with some kind of cross-dimensional mystery and push pause.

  I’d give him extra kitchen duty for that. I glanced at his peppers. Perfect, even slices of red lined the cutting board. The man was a menace. Showing me up in my own kitchen.

  But he’d never made fajitas before, so I was the sensei today.

  The grill outside was already lit, waiting for us to bring out the garlic-coated shrimp, mushrooms, and sliced peppers and onions, so it was past time for dawdling. We had hungry kids, my wife, Rhoda, and Tyne in the backyard playing language games—bundled up in jackets against the evening chill.

  At the moment, they sat in a circle rolling a ball between them, calling out words in Trauwin. The kids were doing excellent with language lessons. Paddy wasn’t too bad either.

  My silent kitchen companion had shown up, uninvited, with his cousin, Tyne, for reasons yet to be determined.

  That was the way of things with the Joon family, I thought, knowing Pitch could hear whatever went through my mind. They did things no one else understood just because they could.

  Tease. Games. Toy with me. Their favorite pastime, and Pitch was right in there with them. Even if he never spoke aloud.

  He chuckled, letting me know he heard my thoughts. Again.

  Wiping his hands on a towel, Pitch handed me a little box from his pocket. A trinket I’d like to own myself. My wrists got tired from long hours at the keyboard, so Pitch’s gadget was a welcome sight.

  When I wasn’t entertaining Joons, I was busy getting book two of Shapeless Poetry outlined. And next week, my short story “Murder Pizza” would publish on stream in time for Halloween. Sure would be handy to have Pitch’s little contraption to work with.

  I popped the scalp relay onto the top of my head while Pitch hovered a screen in front of us.

  Maybe he was gonna tell me why he was here in my kitchen, helping me chop vegetables I was perfectly capable of cutting on my own. A chat screen opened on the pad, and text scrolled across it. I focused my thoughts, making sure to tell the relay only what I wanted it to say.

  I managed to not chop my fingers off in the process—barely.

  Pitch: I’ll loan you the relay for two weeks.

  HC: What’ll it cost me this time?

  Pitch: A mere chapter

  HC: What?!

  Pitch: For Unknown Cosmos

  HC: Hmm. Damn, almost nicked my finger. Shit. Crap. Dammit! Okay, I’m thinking only of words and not chopping onions. What do you want me to write, Pitch? I don’t know any mermaids.

  Pitch: ??. Me either.

  HC: ?? Then what?

  Pitch: Today. This dinner. Everyone together.

  HC: Okay. That all? Easy enough for the exchange. It’ll be nice to write my next book by thinking it onto the page with this relay.

  Pitch: One more scene.

  HC: ?

  Pitch: You’re getting good at the relay, HC! Write the convo you had with Grandpa Sly at the potluck. Like I’m a fly on the wall. . .

  I laughed out loud. That was too good. Trouble. Every single Joon.

  “You haven’t delivered on your last promise, Joon,” I muttered. Oh yes, he’d let me borrow the scalp relay for a day on his starliner after he heard me humming my new song. He liked it and wanted a permanent copy.

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  What did he want for that? At first, it’d been a favor he’d do for me. A gift. He’d record the song for me.

  Why was he willing to do such a thing? He loved Muriel and Harley, my characters.

  Seemed like an innocent request. And truthful. He'd slept with Red Phoenix under his pillow as a youngster, hadn’t he? Recalling that fact was a gut punch.

  So I agreed to let him see my new song that only Paddy knew.

  Then Pitch read the lyrics and changed his mind.

  The terms of the bargain were updated. He’d let me borrow the scalp relay for four days if I’d allow him put my lyrics in his book.

  With an additional caveat. I had to keep the song between Paddy and me until some unspecified, nebulous future date of “When I say it’s time.”

  Who in their right mind would agree to such a thing?

  Crazy people. Like me.

  Paddy and I sang a gorgeous duet for Pitch in a cabin on his starliner, and he supposedly recorded it. But I had yet to hear a single note of said song.

  Pitch: Remember your promise. Attached file: “Time Like This”

  My pad buzzed with an incoming message. My song. I itched to listen to it, but dinner needed to come first.

  “We have a deal,” I told him, and my memories of the potluck at Slydar and Rory’s poured across his screen as we finished chopping veggies. Yes, I sent the story through the relay to his pad without cutting my hand off.

  Pitch nodded his thanks, and we got dinner off the grill and onto plates in no time. The guests all agreed that I was as good a chef as Pitch, and after fajitas, we got another lesson.

  This time, it wasn’t just Tyne. It was both Joon boys, and the subject was telepathy. We sat in a circle in the living room. Some of us on sofas, some on the floor, mirkas and bunny sitting with their bonded people.

  “You know what it’s like to feel Georgia, right Filly? And Brindle, right Bloom?” He looked at the kids, then at the rest of us. “You know when you think about someone you love and feel appreciation, right here?” Tyne pointed to his heart.

  “It starts in your body, not your brain, and that’s the feeling we want. So close your eyes, and focus on your heart. Think about feeling a warm hug from your favorite person. Or the sound of their voice when they hum you a lullaby.”

  That was easy enough. Paddy sat right next to me, and her happy humming walking through the house always made me go warm inside. I focused on the feeling of my heart smiling.

  Tyne’s voice continued, “Now let go. Just feel.”

  Softness surrounded me like a warm glow. As in a dream. Peace. Comfort.

  Decidedly not my wife.

  I opened my eyes and looked across the room. Pitch tilted his head and gave a little shrug.

  WAIT—was that telepathy? Did I do it?

  I closed my eyes again and tried. Come on, HC, you can do this! Relax your brain. Affection. Remember what love feels like. I tried, dammit, but I couldn’t do it again. I was in my head.

  I glanced around the room. Rhoda, Tyne, Bloom, and Filly all sat still and silent, eyes closed, smiles on their faces. Slightly creeped out, I turned to my wife who was watching the others with her mouth open.

  She grabbed my arm and whispered softly against my ear, “I felt Bloom, Wimpy. So happy. It was wonderful!”

  My heart wanted to overflow, so I closed my eyes again and let it. Then I thought about my grandchild. Beautiful, smart, and caring. The bunny in their lap. The first time I held Bloom in the hospital, tiny and crying.

  A pale turquoise light shone in my mind, and it felt like goodness and love. I opened my eyes, and Bloom grinned at me.

  “You did it, Grandpa,” they said in Trauwin.

  “You did it, Bloom!” I cheered in Trauwin since I knew the words.

  “Dessert! Dessert!” Filly demanded, and because we’d promised brownies à la mode would be granted after telepathy class, we went back to the kitchen to celebrate our first lesson.

  I gave those Joon boys extra ice cream, adopting them into my family. Trouble or not, they were stuck with me now. We’d have tutoring ’til they were blue in the face if it kept connecting me to my grandkid.

  And you know what? I never got a single complaint from anyone about any of that. We all got along just fine.

  One Week Ago

  “Mr. Merrin, you’re not the young man I spoke to all those years ago!” Rory Joon pulled me into a hug.

  “Well, madam, you don’t look a day over twenty,” I crooned in my deepest love-song voice.

  “Hey now, there’s only one man here that gets to charm my wife,” Slydar said over Rory’s laughter.

  “Baby, hush now, HC an’ I are talking. Now go on, HC. You were saying?” Rory snickered.

  “You know, I never imagined back then that throwing in with you lot would get me tossed across a galaxy so hard I’d land in your backyard barbecue, but here I am,” I laughed.

  “And we couldn’t be happier. There’s another Muriel and Harley story on the way, I hear. Not an action-adventure this time, eh? Sapphic love story? You got it wrapped up?” my hostess asked.

  I nodded, “Bitsy’s proof-reading Shapeless Poetry final copy, and book two is rolling around in my head already. You know how it is.”

  “I absolutely do,” she agreed. “Once you get that first story on the page, the rest of ‘em start crowding in. That’s why poor Bitsy could never stop writing cartoons—“

  “I’m glad she didn't,” I interrupted. “Otherwise, I might never have found Five Spheres. So, job well done to all of you Sibsil Creeds.”

  “That’s good to hear, HC,” Slydar started. “How you likin’ it in Nineton?”

  “Oh, I’m a convert, Slydar. Sign me up for the Borden Sloan fan boys club. Truly, my family’s grateful for everything about Uno and this crazy new world we’ve found ourselves in. Tell me this, are earthquakes frequent?”

  Slydar’s dark face opened in a huge guffaw, and it was wondrous to watch. He and his wife shook with laughter, but didn’t answer my question. Hmm. Needed a new tactic.

  “Lotta rumors about the Sloans around here,” I began. “Galactic Ministers. . . telepaths. . . grandchildren appearing out of thin air.”

  “You never know what goes on behind closed doors in the privacy of other people’s homes,” Slydar smirked, then nodded to his granddaughter Celia. “On my way, hon.”

  “I don’t suppose you wanna elaborate?” I asked Rory.

  “What fun would that be? Stories are better when they happen in their own time, don’t you think, HC? I know you’re not about to disagree with me since it took you four decades to write Shapeless Poetry.”

  I groaned and downed the rest of my beer. The afternoon was a loss. Except for the excellent dinner and bang-up news Sam and Cora told us.

  It took quite some time for me to get the stories that Rory promised, and when I did, I realized she was right.

  Time had a way of turning waiting into something.