Nikolas and Company: The Merman and The Moon Forgotten (5 page)

“The English accent just makes it more
insulting,” Caroline said.

Swish . . .
swish.

Entering Brandy
Wendell.

“It’s so making my hair limp.” Brandy
held a large, metal platter covered in aluminum foil. “Caroline?
Where do you want your murdered cow?”

Brandy couldn’t be more
different. Being the youngest sister, she hates to cook. Brandy
claims that it keeps her from her number one love: looking cute. In
defense, Brandy also explains that cooking keeps her from talking
with her friends, all 372 of them to be exact. Some people collect
stamps; Brandy collects people.

“Caroline,” said Brandy. “Your
roast?”

“You made a roast?” Tim said to
Caroline.

“Yes, I did, Tim. It’s a recipe I’ve
wanted to try out for a while.” Caroline shoved a non-functioning
radio aside and set down the mashed potatoes.

“For an after party?” said
Tim.

Brandy called out, “Caroline? The
murdered cow?”

“Next to the other thingamajig.”
Caroline took off her glasses to wipe them.

“Microwave,” Nick offered.

“Oh. Is
that
a microwave? Neat,” Caroline
said.

“Oh. My. Gawsh. The smell of animal
death—it’s so in my sweater.” Brandy plopped the roast down next to
the microwave and quickly unbuttoned her cardigan. “OK. Angora. Six
thousand dollars off the rack—not that I actually paid for
it.”

“Where you get your clothes is a
mystery,” said Caroline. “We live in a refugee camp, you
know.”

“Daniel,” said Brandy.

“Where does
he
get your
clothes?”

“He has his sources,” said Brandy.
“It’s all I can get out of that boy. Anyway, it’s not like I ask
where you get all your roast beef and pies.”

“Pies!” Caroline put her hand to
forehead. “Oh, dear. I forgot the pies.”

“OK. Nick,” Brandy said. “I expect a
full on promotion to your little inner sanctum here. Spent all
morning getting the word out for your show. Most of them said ‘no’
to the show ‘cause of the last incident, but ‘yes’ to the after
party.”

“What will I do? I need those pies,”
Caroline said.

Brandy rolled her eyes. “Call Haley and
tell her to bring them already.”

“Demonstration,” Nick said.

“What?” Brandy said.

“It’s not a show,” Nick corrected
Brandy, pointing to the machine. “This is a scientific
demonstration.”

“Yeah,” Brandy said. “When towers of
smoke and flame are involved, it’s a show.”

Clop . . . clop . . .
clop,
came the sounds of a wooden stick
hitting concrete.

Swish . . . swish.

And now, all the way from
the refugee camp, half-brothers Daniel and Xanthus
Kobayashi,
the computer introduction system
continued its exposé.

Two boys stood in the doorway. One had
Japanese features and leaned on a cane; the other was dumpy and
looked to be half-African, half-Japanese.

Nineteen-year-old Daniel
Kobayashi is not much taller than a hobbit and intelligent beyond
his years. By the early age of ten, he had made the front cover of
Japan’s holopaper, ‘I’. They named him “Child Genius of The Year”
for discovering the very first non-metal magnet. That was until the
genetic plague killed his mother, crippled him, and left him
utterly hairless, which makes him more goblin than hobbit, I
suppose.

Xanthus, Daniel’s
half-brother, is thirteen years old. Xanthus explains to everyone
that he received his name from a visit in the night by an African
tribal leader indigenous to the Sub-Saharan, known for his powerful
magic and warrior-like skills. This would be true if by “African
tribal leader” he means ‘I live in my own fantasy world because I
can’t cope with life at the refugee camp.’ Xanthus’ pitiful faux
hawk, his earring of a silver woman, and mismatched black outfit
make for an awkward compilation.

Xanthus found a lone
barstool, flipped down a plastic band that had been resting on his
head and announced, “Gotta beat this level, Nick. Let me know when
you make ecological history.” With that, he was lost to the virtual
reality world of
Magicgeddon.

“Nick,” Daniel nodded.

“Daniel,” Nick nodded in
return.

Daniel turned an inspecting eye to the
room. Nerves crept up Nick’s back as he watched the boy genius limp
to the machine and inspect the Prometheus 10,000 like some five
star general of science, if those even existed.

“Hmm,” Daniel said to
himself and moved to the edges of the room, where three fishbowls
were placed on wooden chairs. Each bowl had a piece of charred
cardboard taped to it, with the scribbled numbers
#17, #18,
and
#19.
The bowls were filled
with sooty water.

Daniel traced a figure eight
in bowl
#17,
and
then tasted the black water.

A fish eye rose to the
surface.

“So, yeah,” Nick said. “We couldn’t
experiment on ourselves.”

Daniel said nothing. He swished the
water with his pinky finger. Another eye rose to the top, but this
one was attached to a fish paddling desperately.

“Mom and Dad have like a hundred of
those fish. They won’t miss a few.”

Daniel still said nothing.

“Well,” Daniel finally spoke,
“experimentation is the heart of the scientific method.”

Nick’s shoulders dropped. The boy
genius approved.

Swish . . .
swish.

Entering the oldest of the
Wendell sisters, Haley Wendell—

“I’ve got pies,” said Haley. She stood
in full karategi, holding two pies like a waitress at a small town
diner.

“Thank goodness, Haley,” Caroline
clapped.

“
Haley?” Tim did a
180
^o
,
the motherboard sailing from his hand.

“Tim!” Nick lunged for the
motherboard.

“My match went a little long. Sorry,
Nick,” Haley explained. “Then Caroline was all manic about her
pies.”

Sixteen years old,
the computer introductory system continued,
enchanting blond hair and deep green eyes. Haley’s
name is on the lips of every boy at the refugee camp, without any
aid on her part. In fact, it takes a brave boy to ask her on a
date, knowing that Haley has responded with more than a
‘no’.

Haley inhaled deeply and turned around.
She spotted two old-fashioned milk crates underneath the work
bench.

She verbally assaults
would-be suitors, leaving only a scarred psyche for collection.
Over Christmas break, Weaver High School’s basketball team, who had
won 4 state championships in a row, made a bet as to whom she would
say “yes” to first on the team. Every one of them stepped up and
took their turn. She told them exactly what she thought.

Haley stacked the crates.

Not only did the basketball
team not win state championship that year, the point guard asked to
be transferred to another school because, and I quote from his
Friendbook account, ‘I have serious questions about my own ability
to dribble a ball, defend the basket, or lift a fork and put it in
my mouth.’

Haley climbed the crates until she was
eye level with the computer introductory system. She locked onto
Daniel with her steely blue eyes.

Now only nerds and misfits
dare to ask her on a date, as they are already accustomed to verbal
assaults in a public environment. But, do not be fooled by her
aloof countenance. She is madly in love with—

“Haa!” Haley executed a perfect half
crescent kick.

The now smoking computer system swung
over the door frame by a red wire.

CREZAKKK!

The box fell, shooting out a bed of
sparks.

Haley jumped down with her eyes still
locked on Daniel. “Put it back up and you’ll be trading that cane
in for a breath-operated wheelchair.”

“Hi, Haley!” Tim’s voice cracked. “How
are you? How’s life? Win any state championships? I bet you beat up
all those girls. You’re like a queen . . . of kung fu. A—a kung fu
queen. Queen fu. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.” Tim’s smile could
swallow the Mississippi river.

“Hey, Tim,” said Haley.

“Great. Thanks for asking, Haley. Um,
yeah . . .” Tim’s eyes danced around, desperate to hold onto the
anemic conversation. “I hit a girl.”

“You hit a girl?” Haley squared with
Tim.

“I mean . . . um, yeah, um.” Tim looked
around the room for help. “But it was a tie. You know. Tim: 2.
Rocky the She-Bully: 2.” Tim raised his hands, pretending to do a
victory dance.

“So, you couldn’t win a fight with a
girl?” Haley’s eyebrow rose.

“No!” Tim’s voice cracked again. “I
could have—just trying—just didn’t want to make her look
bad.”

“Congratulations,” Haley
said.

“Thanks!” His voice cracked a third
time. Puberty wasn’t taking any prisoners.

“That’s not what—”

“I submit to you—” Nick cut off the
inevitable verbal carnage. “—I submit to you the first ever, solar
battery projector. Please distribute the protective eyewear,
Tim.”

Tim dropped his screwdriver, pulled out
a small box, and quickly opened it. The contents looked more like a
collection of swimming goggles than protective eyewear.

“Now, it’s common knowledge that
Earth’s climate has been altered over the last couple of hundred
years, leaving us with a never ending overcast and a lack of proper
UV radiation. Uncool, I know. Don’t forget the helmets,
Tim.”

Tim had already shoved a Weaver
football helmet over his head and passed around an army
bag.

“Aren’t these the missing helmets from
Weaver High?” Brandy whispered to Caroline.

“Dude,” Xanthus laughed, “what do we
need helmets for?”

Tim looked at Xanthus. His smile
disappeared and he shoved on the helmet.

“
Currently,” said Nick, “UV
lights have been used to compensate for the lack of sunlight, but
they’re really expensive to maintain and, you know, suck a lot of
power. There’s no other machine that can capture the diffused solar
light and re-project it out, until today. As the god, Prometheus,
brought fire to man, I bring sunlight to Colorado City. The
Prometheus ten-thousand!”

Nick shifted to the left, holding his
hand out proudly.

“Woohoo!” They clapped.

Nick bowed proudly. “Let the
demonstration commence!” He snapped on rubber gloves and donned a
welder’s mask. Nick made a quick hop, grabbed two hand grips and
turned the machine toward a glass bowl.

“You’ve boiled all of your other test
cases?” Brandy said.

“Not really.” Nick’s eyes were pointing
to the corner of the room. No one had noticed a fourth bowl with
the number 20 scribbled on the front. Now that the machine was
pointing in the fish’s direction, it zigged and zagged desperately.
It recalled previous experiments involving the untimely death of
its brethren.

“Not again,” Brandy said. “That’s just
evil.”

“Are we ready, Tim?” Nick
said.

“Sure,” Tim said slowly.

“All right, Tim. Now, I think we made a
mistake in the field array calibration last time. Needs to be a
little more focused.” Nick reached around the machine to an odd
assortment of knobs. He turned a large, silver one, then reached up
and pulled a rope. A hole appeared from the roof, sending a grey
light over the machine.

“I will now take the diffused UV
radiation in the atmosphere,” Nick explained, “store it in the
machine, and concentrate it on our test subject.”

Tim bent down to a battery, with a pair
of positive and negative cables sitting next to it. He attached the
cables, took a deep breath, then pushed the battery cables into two
holes on the side of the Prometheus 10,000.

Sknazz. Pop.

The machine’s insides began to
glow.

“Success!” Nick did an air
punch.

“Really?” Brandy said. “It
works?”

“Of course,” said Nick.

Tim stood up, his face slightly pale.
“If by work you mean it didn’t blow up in your face, making your
nose hair sprinkle out like ground pepper, then sure, it
works.”

“Muzzle your non-believing tongue,
infidel!” Nick raised his hand.

Tim rolled his eyes.

“Now then. Our recorder
please.”

Tim ran over and adjusted an old
DV-recorder mounted on a tripod.

“Commencing countdown,” Nick called
out. “10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1!”

Everyone slowly backed toward the wall
while Nick kept his face smashed in the scope. Suddenly, the
machine went dark. One could hear a knob click. The room swelled
with light.