The seventh day after the crash, Carol had her splint removed and the doctor had decided to pin the bones together. It was the first time Carol had had such a serious injury and she was not enthusiastic to spend a night in the hospital. Since her initial hospital visit had been to a Barnes-Jewish branch in Farmington, she had to make the ride into St. Louis City to go to the Barnes on Forest Park Drive. She wasn't enthusiastic to make that drive. She was even less enthusiastic to have surgery. Her husband came with her for emotional support, but Nate had school, and for some reason, she didn't want Aylala coming near a hospital.

"Can't you just set them and put a cast on?" She asked the doctor.

The doctor shook his head with a patronizingly sad smile. "I'm very sorry, but the bones that are broken simply can't be set in a cast. They have to be manually held in place."

"They don't hurt. Maybe they're fine where they are?" she asked hopefully.

The doctor laughed. "This is completely routine, I promise you. It's a small incision and if you like, we can use a local anesthetic instead of putting you under. It'll be no worse than a trip to the dentist's office."

"I ain't heard of a soul spending no night in the dentist's office," she mumbled.

The doctor said, "Is this the tough sergeant I heard about that took a knife to the shoulder and didn't even squeak; afraid of a visit to the doctor?"

"You ever watch 'Kingdom Hospital'?"

"You're in very good hands, I assure you."

Carol simply moaned and prepared herself mentally for what was to come. It didn't actually take them that long, but she wasn't going to get her cast until the next day. She wasn't looking forward to having her whole upper body immobilized. Her husband would come back the next day to take her home. They kept the volume down on the TV in the hospital, so she read the book she had brought along, 'Queen of the Damned,' by Anne Rice.

Fortunately, the cast was a new variety, much thinner and didn't cover half of her torso, like she was afraid of, though it still went across her collar bone and looped around her neck. Her shoulder was immobilized, but she could still move her forearm. Plus, it was immobilized in the normal hanging position so she didn't look like an idiotic Frankenstein reject. She wasn't home for half an hour when there was a knock at the door. At first, she thought the woman with the over-permed hair and devil-red suit was a real estate agent until she flashed her badge.

"Ah! Family services," said Carol.

"Hi, I'm Margaret Chambliss. You are looking after a minor child that is," she looked at her paper, "a witness to a murder named Aylala?"

"Yes," said Carol, "come right on in. Would you like something to drink? If the kids haven't struck, we should still have some lemonade, or if you like, I have Dr. Pepper and Sprite."

"Oh no, I'm fine, thanks. I understand the child doesn't speak English."

Carol let Ms. Chambliss walk around the living room, the kitchen, wherever she wanted to go. "Well, that was true last week but it ain't true anymore."

"Oh, so she's learned how to communicate a little bit?"

"That's one way of putting it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"She's got a mind like a steel trap. Once something goes in, she does not lose it. You'll understand when you meet her. Aylala?" she called. "Some of the things she says are truly unbelievable. Everybody that meets her is bamboozled."

Footsteps came walking from the second floor. Aylala appeared walking down the stairs and approached the strange woman warily.

Ms. Chambliss congenially said, "Well, aren't you a bit underdressed?"

Point blank, Aylala said, "I was raised in a jungle. I would wear less than this if your sensibilities in this place weren't so skewed."

Chambliss blinked in surprise at the proclamation. "I was under the impression that you could not speak English."

"I taught myself, Margaret Chambliss."

"How did you know my name?"

"It's on your clipboard."

She looked down, as if expecting something different. Sure enough, Margaret Chambliss was on a black plastic sticker in raised letters on her clipboard. "Well, I am here to interview you, make sure you're comfortable and settling in just fine."

Aylala said, "My mattress is made of springs. I have never slept on springs before. We made our mattresses from bundles of grass, or if we could collect enough, feathers from the gruutpa."

"What is a gruutpa?"

"It is kind of like a goose, except it has a long, sharp beak that it uses to pluck insects from underground and it makes a call like," she made a low pitched sound like gruuuuuuuu and then made a pop with her tongue. "Gruuuuuuuu*pop*, gruuuuuuu*pop*."

Carol pursed her lips, trying to stifle a laugh.

Chambliss said, "How did you teach yourself English?"

"How did you teach yourself English? I learned by listening to others, the same way you did."

"Where do you come from?"

"Far away."

"From where?"

Aylala sat on the couch and shrugged. "My home is called Akakor. I don't really know where it is from here."

"Akakor; that sounds familiar, maybe South American. How many languages do you speak?"

"Now that I know English, three."

"What are the other two?"

"My language is called the 'Tongue of Rakavla the Bold'. The other language I speak is the language of the gods."

Chambliss' eyebrows raised and she said, "Those both sound very poetic. Who are the gods?"

"Please, I would rather not talk about them."

Chambliss nodded. "Well, you seem to speak English exceptionally well. When did you start learning it?"

"Seven days ago."

"Come on, now. You're among friends. You don't have to lie to us."

"I never lie. If there is something I wish not to tell you, I simply do not tell you. If you have a tongue that betrays people, rest assured it will betray you, too."

"You really didn't know English seven days ago?" Skepticism was etched on Chambliss' face.

"The first word I learned was 'dead', the second was 'alive', the third was 'name', the fourth was 'chocolate', the fifth was 'shoes', the sixth—"

"Okay, I get the idea." Chambliss laughed. "You're fifth word was shoes?"

Aylala smiled and kicked her feet out so that Chambliss could see the Reebok sneakers, the first thing that Carol had bought for her. "I have never had shoes before. My feet are cozy."

Chambliss turned to Carol. "Can we talk in private?" Carol led her out onto the back porch. "Has this girl talked at all about where she's from?"

"She says she lived in a tribe. Ain't been able to drag more out of her with a pack of wild horses. You see how she likes to dress. She must have been somewhere awful cold before we found her because she was covered head to toe in animal skins. I mean, like animal skins as in what a cave man might have worn."

"The way she claims she learned English. That can't be true."

"All due respect, you ain't been watching her learn English. You ain't seen how she disassembles everything you say and picks out the words she's figured out. You ain't listened to her experiment with new words. You ain't seen how she can pick up a book the size of War and Peace, flip through it in fifteen minutes and then recite it perfectly from cover to cover. She did that with a copy of 'Ivanhoe' when she finally really figured out how the letters of the alphabet interact with each other. I'll bet she didn't even know half of what she was saying, and her pronunciation was perfect. She walked through the house ignoring everyone, trucking right through it. It took her all day. Now, every so often, she recites the little poem that's in it. I'm not even a hundred percent what it means, so I'm sure she doesn't know, but I think she likes the way it sounds."

"Well, she doesn't have anything nice to say about her home, does she?"

"She's real hard to nail down about that. When she talks about her home, and her people, she's full of pride. She misses it something fierce. I think something really bad happened, because when you start asking about it, she starts to get this mile long stare and she zips up."

"You've grown fond of her," Chambliss said with a wistful smile. "Do you have any kids?"

"I have a son. He's thirteen."

"That is the worst age. That's when their evil twins replace them."

"Nate's been okay. He goes through his teenage angst thing, but he stays out of trouble and keeps his grades up."

Chambliss smiled slyly. "Very close in age. Is there any chemistry between those two?"

"Well, you can be certain that Nate's noticed. I wish she'd cover up a little more…"

Chambliss said, "I'd be worried if he didn't notice her. What does your husband do?"

"He's an avionics engineer at McDonnell-Douglas."

Chambliss looked at the yard. She took note of the swimming pool, the garden, and said, "Any pets to go with that doghouse?"

"The dog passed away of cancer about a year ago. I just haven't found the right dog to replace him. My son has an umbrella cockatoo that one of his cousins gave him for his birthday a couple of years ago."

Chambliss nodded and said, "How long have you lived here?"

"Nine years."

"Okay, I don't see a problem with her staying here. We need to issue her a social, an ID, and we need to enroll her in school. She definitely learns at a high enough level to keep up with high school. This school district is…"

"R-9; she'll go to Mehlville."

"What is her last name?"

"She doesn't have one."

"Hmm…It's not as if she has a common name. I don't see how she actually needs a last name, but they might have a problem with it." She pulled a sheet of paper off of her clipboard. It was a triplicate form. She pulled the yellow copy off and handed it to Carol. "Take her to a driver's license bureau and give them this. Also, if her parents or closest relatives cannot be found, the default is to remand her to state care. If you want to adopt her, tell me now, because once the state has her they won't let a police officer adopt."

"Are you kidding?"

"No police, no FBI, no military: if you have job in which people regularly die, you will be turned down by the state for adoption. Private adoption is different; they'll let you. State's a bitch, so as long she doesn't end up in their system, you're fine."

"So you're saying if I want to adopt, you'll keep her out of state."

Chambliss nodded. "I'll register her with St. Vincent DePaul instead."

"Absolutely, I'll adopt."

Chambliss scribbled more information out. "Then, until we know for sure, we can use your last name. Her registration will give her all of the federal protections of any citizen. Her lack of a passport was an issue. It isn't anymore. We're sure of her age?"

"She said her birthday was 92 days ago. She has seen 14 harvests." Carol grinned broadly.

Chambliss chuckled. "She certainly has a colorful personality. We'll look into the story around her and we'll see about…do you think she might be eligible for political asylum?"

"Well, she's being chased by foreigners that speak the same language she does. I think it's definitely a possibility."

# # #

The trail through Farmington led Colonels O'Neill and Porter through Chesterfield. They were getting dangerously close to the St. Louis Metropolitan area and they didn't want these warriors getting any closer. It would be a nightmare if they made it to one of the more densely populated suburban areas like Creve Coeur, Manchester, Florissant, or Kirkwood. When Jack learned that there was a Six Flags in Allenton, on the very western edge of St. Louis County, he said, "We have to keep them away from Bugs Bunny, whatever it takes." It would become a media circus if they made their way to the inner city.

Simone said, "We can always sick the Tasmanian Devil on them."

A renaissance festival near Chesterfield Shopping Center would provide a good cover for Egyptian warriors, and these warriors definitely took advantage. Two men in Egyptian style armor wearing kohl—the witness, being a ren-fest veteran, had correctly identified it—had been wandering around the area. One of them robbed the Bank of America in the shopping center lot. Apparently, he spoke English. They found their way to the shopping center. There, a jewelry store salesman was found dead in the bathroom, his clothes missing. He was wearing a black Jones New York with a striped tie. The went missing with the death of the salesman was the one that robbed the bank and if he washed off the kohl and took that armor skull cap off, CCTV identification from the bank or anywhere else would be next to useless.

"Great," said Jack, "That must give us a thousand suspects in the next fifty yards. Why do these mall hawkers always have to dress the same?"

Simone said, "I wonder what he did with the staff weapon. It wasn't in the bathroom and nobody saw him walk out with it. He could be anywhere. This is a big-ass mall."

Jack said, "Well, we saw him on the bank surveillance cameras. The camera got a clear look after he killed that bank teller."

Simone shook her head in disgust. "You mean that grainy-ass picture? After he got two thousand in unmarked bills and blew that girl's head off, he came here made it really freaking hard to identify him. He could be on the bus to Mexico right now. This shit's for the birds." She shook her head and she said, "I'll start at the top. You start from the bottom."

O'Neill nodded and signaled for his team to spread throughout the mall. Simone sent her team to the second floor and she took the escalators to the third floor. :::You know he'll be impossible to find.:::

Simone hit the side of her head. :::Hey! We talked about this! You don't bother me while I'm working.:::

There was a chuckle. :::It's amusing how you still think you're in control. No matter. The Jaffa in the video; he's being groomed as Ra's next first prime. You'll never catch him without help.:::

:::What kind of help?:::

:::Well, not to put too fine of a point on it, but mine.:::

:::And how can you help me?:::

:::Simone, I am in your mind. That makes you a goddess; his goddess, to be precise. If you let me address him, he will bow to your every whim.:::

:::So this is another gimmick to get me to let you in my mind.:::

:::Simone, you're not getting it. I am already in your mind. I possess you from head to toe. Your struggle to resist is only the temporary illusion of freedom. I will eventually take full control. I would like to share.:::

:::Not a snowball's chance in Hell.:::

:::I will settle, in the short term, for a truce. I can show you the Jaffa and if you let me just briefly speak through you, I can promise he will obey your every wish.:::

Simone gave it some thought. She soon dismissed it. :::No. It's nice, you being all helpful and all, but if I let you take control, I might not be able to push you back out.:::

:::Simone, the only reason I do not take full control of you now is because you fight so hard I would be constantly exhausted, but I don't have to fight to take you. You do have to fight to keep me out. You will eventually wear down, I won't. Now, if you will agree, I can help you put a quick end to this investigation, and help you to save lives. I promise that I will not forcibly take your will.:::

That was an awful lot of moral dilemma for Simone to weigh. She could possibly put a quick end to this chase by submitting to slavery. On the other hand, if she chose to do the investigation the old-fashioned way, it could drag out for weeks, and several killers would likely escape. :::You win.:::

The snake showed her an image of the Jaffa in his full armor. Then she showed him what he looked like without it. Damn, he looked any ordinary Middle Eastern salesman. She'd have never been able to identify him.

The snake laughed and said, :::He could be the guy next door, couldn't he?:::

:::So, I'm just searching the mall to make sure I cover my bases. Where do you suppose he went?:::

:::He's still here. The police are still at the bank. He can't take a chance on them becoming suspicious of people leaving the area. He'll stay until the police are done questioning witnesses. Just keep searching. He's here somewhere.:::

:::Ahh…so my old teacher at Annapolis was right about always searching the initial scene.:::

:::Quite. Even if a day has passed, don't just assume the suspect has left. Make certain first.:::

Simone nodded. :::Okay, if I was ducking the police after two murders and a bank heist, where would I go?:::

She went downstairs to the Wehrenberg Theater and showed the ticket agent her Air Force ID. "There may be a murder suspect inside. I'd like to check the theaters."

She nodded. "Sure. Police have already been through, but they didn't seem to know who they were looking for anyway." She called a manager who escorted Simone from theater to theater.

The first theater they went into was thankfully mostly empty, then again, the movie showing had been out for a couple of months. It was hard to get away from the film, the sound was so high. "Um, Wayne, what do you do if every time you meet this incredible woman, you think you're gonna hurl?" "I say hurl. If you blow chunks and she comes back, she's yours, but if you spew and she bolts, then it was never meant to be." Simone stopped a moment and looked at the screen. "The shit they make these days…" She checked each face but none of them were her Jaffa warrior.

Leaving that theater, she went into the next one. "Ah, shit," she muttered. This one was packed. She should have realized that any Disney movie would be. "You're a lot smaller than my last master, or have I gotten bigger? Look at me from the side! Do I look different?" "Wait, I'm your master?" "That's right! He can be taught!" Fortunately, most of the people here were kids, but there were no disturbances. "Three wishes to be exact, and icksnay on the wishing for more wishes. That's it: three. Uno, dos, tres! No substitutions, extensions, or refunds!" She checked every adult face and by the time she was satisfied her warrior wasn't here, Princess Jasmine was saying, "Go…jump off a balcony."

The next theater wasn't as bad, but it still had a fair amount of people. This was one with Jack Nicholson and Tom Cruise. "What I do want is for you to stand there in that faggoty white uniform and with your Harvard mouth extend me some fucking courtesy! You gotta ask me nicely." "Colonel Jessup, if it's not too much trouble, I'd like a copy of the transfer order, sir." Simone hoped that her suspect was here. She didn't want to see the crowd for "Batman: Returns". As luck would have it, the Jaffa was sitting in the seventh row, in his victim's suit. She had found him.

Thankfully, the manager waited in the aisle while she worked her way to him. He looked up, ready to draw his zat'niq'tal when her eyes glowed. "Is this the respect you pay to your goddess, a daughter of Ra?" she said, speaking in undertones that still revealed the distortion in her voice. The Jaffa's eyes widened and he relaxed his grip on the weapon. "You are to do all that I say without question."

Simone found herself immediately back in control and she ordered the Jaffa to come with her. He stood and acted as any faithful Jaffa would.

The snake said, :::There now, Simone. That wasn't so bad, was it?:::

# # #

Aylala didn't understand why she needed to go to this school, and when Carol came home with her books, she was even more confused. She had already been given an aptitude test. Studying for it was educational enough. The test was redundant. Now she had her school textbooks. She found the math to be painfully easy. The history book conflicted with what she had already read in Carol's personal collection. The literature book only contained short stories and excerpts, samplings of famous authors. The mythology book was so full of comparative study that no real insight into any one culture's beliefs could be gleaned. Then there was French I—why did she have to learn another language? Interestingly, reading the French book gave her a greater insight into English.

That left the remainder of her course schedule. There was science, which she found to be the most interesting of all of the subjects. Then there was her last class that did not require a book. What could the last class be if it did not require books? What was P. E.? Of course, each page of her course books was immediately committed to memory. By viewing the Earth people's reactions to her, she realized that other people here must not have had her talents. That had been true in her home, but she didn't expect it to be true everywhere. There were people here with eidetic memories, some of whom could memorize as efficiently as she could. Still, it seemed that nobody could learn and comprehend the way she could or as quickly. She wanted to see if there were others like her and spending the last weekend at the library, pouring through references of exceptional people in history, she found that people like her existed, but were extremely rare. She was sure that Einstein had a mind like hers, as did Franz Liszt, Stephen Hawking, Steve Jobs, and Benjamin Franklin.

How would the school staff react to her? If the people around her were confused and disturbed by her capacity to learn and things she said, how would an organization in charge of her education react? The way school was described to her, she couldn't help but compare it to the Chess matches that Ra would force her to participate in. He would play against her and he would make his Jaffa and his possessed child gods play against her. None of them could win. Would they be fascinated? Would they be frightened?

She would find out. It was October, so school had already started a month earlier. The day she went to school, the temperature dropped dramatically. She hadn't realized that it would be so cold. What had happened? It had been so warm during the time she had been here. Where she came from, it never got cold. She hadn't realized such bitter cold was possible until she and her friends had been forced to take refuge for an entire month on a frozen planet. She had covered herself with heavy animal skins to survive. That was the last place she had been before arriving on Earth. If anything was certain, she knew that she hated the cold.

Carol gave Aylala a black leather coat, having seen how the girl liked her police jacket. Aylala couldn't stop herself from hugging Carol. The jacket was thin, but it was heavy and could be buttoned or zipped. The lining was a thin synthetic fur that could be removed by unzipping it from the inside. This was how it had been when she was younger, before her father had been executed by Ra. Her family had loved her. They had given her all they could. Her mother had been faithful to Ra and was overjoyed that her daughter had been chosen to become a host for one of his children. Still, for all of her life, she defied Ra, and one day, he decided to punish her. That was when things had changed, when her mother started looking at her in disgust.

Having lived in a village all of her life, she always arose before the sun, so nobody was surprised when she was the first one up and dressed, prepared for the day, only to find she had to change for the new weather. This Monday was a slow morning for her. Having read every book in the house, she had little to do and now the gift of the coat had reminded her of her old life, and of her dad. Ra had forced her to watch his execution. She was restrained by the first prime as the rest of Ra's Jaffa beat her father, electrocuted him, cut pieces off of him, and ultimately burned him to death. She had been nine and had been horrified. Ra did this because she hated him, but if he thought this would make her like him, he must have truly been insane. Whatever Ra thought, it had backfired on him. Aylala had become more aloof to him and for a time, she deprived him of the joy he took from her.

Ra moved his queen to the immediate space diagonal to Aylala's king. She couldn't take the queen because she was protected by Ra's knight. She couldn't move to the space away from the queen's diagonal approach because that space was guarded by Ra's rook. Ra said, "Checkmate," but there was no joy of victory. Indeed there was fury behind his eyes. With the back of his hand, he cleared the board, sending the crystal chessmen scattering across the throne room. Aylala's passive indifference infuriated Ra further. "Now you play no better than any of these other fools!" He gestured violently to the other children he had implanted false gods in.

Aylala said, "How could a mere mortal hope to beat a god in any endeavor?" She expected to be struck in the back of the head by the first prime for her impudence, but when she looked at him, his head was bowed and contrite. Was that sympathy that she saw?

Ra hissed, actually hissed at her. "What is this? Does your clever tongue no longer bite?" He flipped the board over, sending what few pieces were left sprawling. "How long will this defiance last?"

"If the great Ra cannot even control himself, how can he think to control me?"

"Perhaps I can think of another punishment for you."

"I would thank you if you sent me where you sent my father." That statement had an effect on Ra similar to throwing a bucket of cold water on him.

He said, "Obviously, I underestimated the impact of your father's demise. Perhaps you are under the impression that that worthless scum is worth any pity."

Whatever else was going on with Aylala, she hadn't been in her right mind, and when Ra insulted the father he had ordered killed, she literally vaulted over the table and recalling everything she knew about fighting, attempted to gouge his eyes. Ra was not human, though his body was, and he possessed strength far in excess of what his body was capable of, and yet he simply did not expect a nine-year-old slave to violently attack her god. He was too stunned to react, to defend himself, or to even yell orders. The first prime pulled Aylala off of Ra before she had a chance to do any real damage, but when Ra stood; his eyes were red and swollen.

"My lord," said the first prime, "I shall have this thing disposed of immediately."

"No!" said Ra. He stood and took a moment to recompose himself. "Return her to her village. She will return tomorrow as always." And that was how it was. It took three months and through all of Ra's rages, he never followed through on his threats. Aylala finally got tired of losing. Still, her mother blamed her for the death of her father, and she never let her forget. Her mother had changed after that. It was as though she had become a different person, and she surely hated her youngest daughter.

Her thoughts turned to Carol, Nate Sr., and Nate Jr. They were the family she had always wanted and she couldn't think like that. Odds were that sooner rather than later, she would be fleeing Ra's Jaffa again, a homeless drifter. If there was anything of value her mother had taught her, it was how to survive. Children of the village were raised by the village and everyone had seen the changes in her mother. When she tried to banish her daughter, they defied her. She had calmed down a bit after that, but she never again held any love for her daughter.

The bus ride was noisy and not conducive to introspection. School was just as chaotic. Her councilor took her to her locker, which since she was starting as a sophomore, was on the first floor. Freshmen got the ground floor, juniors got second floor, and seniors got the third floor. The organization confused her. Why wasn't the ground floor the first floor and as most of her classes were on the top floor, wasn't the locker assignment rather inconvenient?

She had mythology first. The teacher was a rather dull, elderly man that droned on for the majority of the class after introducing her…and then forgetting she was there. The first teacher she mystified was her French teacher. When she told the teacher she had memorized the textbook, the teacher began to question Aylala about the course material. All bets were off when Aylala had revealed that she only began learning English a little more than a week ago. The teacher gave her a second level French course book to read. Aylala got the idea that the French teacher wasn't quite sure what to do with her.

The next teacher was her Social Sciences teacher. Apparently, this was the history teacher, but apparently, it was against school policy to call it history. This was where she found her first discrepancy in the textbook. "Mr. Higgins," she said, "may I ask you a question?"

Mr. Higgins considered her and said, "That was very polite, Aylala." He called the other students by their last names, and though she was listed as Lawrence, her record clearly reflected that she did not have a real last name. "Now, I understand that you may not be fully aware of the way we conduct ourselves, so whenever you ask a question, I'd like you to raise your hand." Aylala raised her hand. "You may ask your question."

"Mr. Higgins, according to this text, Betsy Ross was commissioned by George Washington to create the official flag of the United States, but based on the date of the meeting; it could not have taken place, since General Washington was at Fort Sumter at the time, nearly 300 miles south of Massachusetts. Was there a discrepancy in the dates, the location, or is this meeting a myth?" All of the students looked up at the teacher expectantly. Nobody had ever asked that question before.

Mr. Higgins smiled. "Finally, I have one with a brain. No, the meeting was a myth. The legend of Betsy Ross didn't actually start until 1870 when her grandson, William Canby began pushing information about this meeting between her, George Washington, Robert Morris, and her husband, Colonel Ross. You're absolutely right. The date of the meeting conflicts with the known location of George Washington, and there is no written record of any meeting having ever taken place. There was only one verifiable fact: the State Navy Board of Pennsylvania noted in its minutes for the date of May 29th, 1777 'An order on William Webb to Elizabeth Ross for fourteen pounds twelve shillings, and two pence, for making ship's colours,&c, put into Richards store.' That is a ships banner; not the Star-Spangled Banner. The truth is, we don't really know who made the flag, but after the end of the American Revolution, a banner maker that was routinely hired by the Navy billed Congress 275 dollars for the Star-Spangled Banner design. Congress voted not to pay.

"I'm afraid that our textbooks and educational system aren't as concerned with accuracy as they are with instilling in you a sense of national identity. A number of legends are passed off as real when, in fact, they either can't be confirmed, or just flat-out didn't happen. My advice is, once you're done with this, go to the county library and check out some real history books. There's an old saying: 'History is written by the mighty.' Don't take anything you learn at face value. Get some facts first."

Someone else raised his hand.

Higgins said, "Yes, Mr. Des Peres." He pronounced it Da Pray.

Des Peres said, "Why does everyone think Betsy Ross made the American flag then?"

"Because in 1909, William Canby's brother, George Canby, wrote a book called the Evolution of the American Flag that supported William's claims with more details, but more importantly, in 1893, at the Columbian Art Exposition in Chicago, he produced a painting by Charles H. Weisgerber called the Birth of our Nation's Flag that depicts the very meeting in question. There's a problem. This is a composite portrait and the artist wasn't actually there. Otherwise, he would have known that Betsy Ross didn't create the stars in a circle, if she created the flag at all. The Betsy Ross Memorial Association, founded by George Canby, sold ten cent memberships to buy Betsy Ross' house, a membership that included a copy of the painting. That's how the story got so widespread and that's why our school system accepts it as the truth."

Aylala made a production of flipping the book shut.

Higgins laughed. "You don't trust it anymore, huh?"

Aylala shook her head.

"Don't worry. Most of the information in there is accurate. Not all of it, but most of it."

"What about George Washington's cherry tree?"

"That was the typical BS that goes with a presidential campaign. You sure know how to call them."

Aylala said, "I was raised on grandiose claims and utter nonsense. What about the discovery of America. It says that Christopher Columbus discovered America 500 years ago, yet I read a book just yesterday at the library that describes thousand-year-old Viking inscriptions in Nova Scotia."

"Well, the conflicting stories there are both true. We simply have a case of two separate sets of European civilizations that did not associate with each other discovering America at different times. The Viking discovery doesn't count because ultimately, it did not contribute to the ultimate colonization of America. They did not contribute to our history in any way, so history books have a way of neglecting that discovery. If you search, there's another case-it's hard to find so you really have to search-in 1490, English settlers found their way to the shores of Pensacola, Florida and started a settlement. The local Native American tribes tried to help them settle in, but they were very independent, and they weren't ungrateful, but they wanted to do it themselves. After a year, the whole settlement was wiped out by a hurricane. They had no impact on American history, so now they're the chewing gum on the boot heel of history. You see, Columbus and Amerigo Vespucci had no way of knowing of these pre-Columbian discoveries, and they are ultimately the only ones who had a significant impact on history, so they get the kudos for discovering America. The Vikings did, at least, leave a mark, those carvings you talked about, and they got to name two regions: Nova Scotia and Newfoundland. That's about it. They get a notable mention."

Next came lunch. She thought she had gotten used to the strange food but she hadn't yet encountered the fruit embedded in a cup full of a gelatinous substance. The square that vaguely resembled pizza seemed rather unappetizing. The next problem was that the cafeteria was on the ground floor across from the commons. Her history class had been on the top floor and the other side of the building. The money that Carol had given her had proven to be enough for a full lunch and a bottle of water from the vending machine that Nate was kind enough to show her how to use. The only two classes she had with Nate were her last two, and they weren't until after chemistry.

This was also her first meeting with the fashion queens of Mehlville. The leader was a senior and she was dressed like she ready for a fashion show. "Thanks for bringing me lunch, new girl." The senior pushed Aylala to the side and grabbed her tray.

Aylala said, "I think you have made a mistake."

The senior said, "And what's that, new girl?"

Aylala pushed her tray into the senior's blouse, making a mess of pizza, gelatin, and macaroni and cheese on what appeared to be a rather expensive shirt. "Touching me," she calmly said. She opened her chocolate milk and poured it down the senior's blouse.

The senior said, "Bitch, you are so dead." She stood and balled up her fists.

Michelle was with them and she said, "Tiffany, this isn't worth it. Let's just go."

Tiffany wasn't listening. She threw a punch, but Aylala grabbed her wrist, pulled Tiffany in the direction of her momentum, swung her arm back forwards against Tiffany's momentum, and flipped her over so that she landed on her back, not quite missing a chair. Aylala couldn't be sure, but Tiffany probably had a very swollen kidney at the moment. Teachers and school security were there in moments, but everyone saw Tiffany throw the only punch, and Aylala moved so fast that most thought she had simply stepped out of the way.

When the teachers asked Aylala what happened, she said, "She wanted my lunch, so I gave it to her. It doesn't seem she appreciated it very much." Everyone who looked at Tiffany could see that much of the macaroni and cheese was still smeared all over her blouse, which incidentally was a Versace. There was also quite a bit of discoloration from the chocolate milk. As Tiffany was taken to the school nurse, Michelle broke into laughter, patted Aylala on the shoulder, and said, "Let me buy you another lunch."

Aylala asked, "Will she not bother me anymore?"

"Oh, you've made an enemy for life, but I guarantee she won't try stealing your lunch again. That was a 300 dollar shirt. Watch it. I think you have P. E. with us."

"Seniors and sophomores are in the same class?"

"In this P. E., yeah, all grades. It's kind of an elective you can take if you don't want regular P. E. You learn archery, tennis, racquetball. There's still running and sit-ups and stuff but not as much."

They would all later find out that Tiffany had to go to the hospital with a broken arm and a kidney injury.

For chemistry, Aylala held her questions. She found that reading about science and actually practicing it were two different things, and for this course, her phenomenal memory was not going to give her an advantage. Half-way through the class, she was allowed to handle chemicals. Five minutes later, they had to evacuate the room when a noxious cloud of gas started billowing from her work station. "I think I prefer history."

The chemistry teacher said, "Don't worry about it. You just used a little too much sulfuric acid. It happens. Science isn't perfect."

"I didn't know water could ignite."

The teacher raised his eyebrows and said, "That's the cool thing about science."

"Cool."

In English, she was able to sit next to Nate. Mrs. Davis handed Aylala a grammar book with the admonition that no grammar books left class without permission. For Aylala's benefit, Davis explained the assignment, which was to add proper punctuation to sentences that didn't have punctuation at all from pages 57 to 63 of the grammar book. Aylala, quickly copied the sentences down and punctuated them based on the rules of punctuation as she read them. Once she was done, she sat to the task of memorizing the grammar book. By the time she was done, there was still half an hour left. Nate had finished the assignment as well, and they started talking in undertones.

"How do you like your first day?" He asked.

"It's been a new experience. When I learned English, I did not have a textbook to show me my errors and how to proceed. The French textbook gave me a roadmap. I don't think the French teacher knows what to do with me. Math is all logic puzzles and the teacher doesn't care what we do as long as we finish the assignments. The equations are elementary compared to the problems that Ra tested me with. I think that class is a waste of my time. History and chemistry though; I don't think I can rely on the books to get me through those. I enjoyed those. This class, I think I can use to solidify my use of English."

"And that just leaves P. E."

"What is P. E.?"

"Physical education; they make you exercise and play sports."

Mrs. Davis said, "Nathan, you should know better. Young lady, if you've run out of something to do, you can read from the literature book."

Aylala said, "I already have."

"All of it?" When Aylala nodded, Davis said, "Then read it again. It couldn't hurt."

"There's no need. I have memorized it."

"You've memorized it?"

Aylala nodded. "I am told my memory is different from other people."

"Well, then you can tell me what it says on page 244, paragraph two." Davis opened the book and when she found the page, she said, "Any time now."

"'I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away from each other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centered interests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master of his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention; while with his whole Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in Baker-street, buried among his old books, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. He was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in following out those clues, and clearing up those mysteries, which had been abandoned as hopeless by the official police.'"

Mrs. Davis signaled her to stop. "All right, I believe you. Can you do the same with the grammar book?"

"I already have."

Davis' eyes widened. "Not in the time you've had."

"I don't need to read the page. I just have to see it and make sure I've seen the whole thing."

Everyone in the class was staring at her in disbelief. Davis said, "Well, knowing grammar and understanding it are two different things. I hope you'll make an effort to understand what you've read. In the meantime, please don't disrupt my class."

"I am sorry, Mrs. Davis."

At the beginning of the last hour, she had to change her clothes into something exclusively for physical education. Carol had put clothes in the backpack for her and because she didn't have a lock, Michelle let her share lockers with her.

"Why do you associate with Tiffany?" asked Aylala.

Michelle shrugged. "We've known each other since kindergarten. All of her friends can't figure out why she hangs with me on account I'm such a nerd. Tiffany, it's only in the past couple years she's turned into a bitch, but I've known her, like, all my life. All of the other girls just pretend. They hang out with her because they think it'll make them cool. I figure I'm the only real friend she's got. I think that's why she's so mean. Everyone always cheats her or stabs her in the back. She's bitter, you know? It's not going to help her if her only friend turns her back on her."

Aylala had to think about that. It seemed that even when a person seemed totally deplorable, there was another side to the story. Now, she wondered what Tiffany's story was. It had to be more than just not having friends.

In class, there were students from all classes and their teacher announced that they were starting archery. The bows were made of fiberglass and were extremely light. "This is a bow?" asked Aylala derisively.

"You have a problem with it?" asked the teacher.

"Please, where are the real bows? I did not learn to shoot toys. I might break this pathetic thing."

The teacher raised her eyebrows. "Let's see you string it."

Aylala braced the bow across her shoulders, bending it backwards and strung it twice as fast as anyone else, who were following the teacher's instructions and bending them across their legs.

The teacher asked, "That's how you learned to string a bow?"

"The way the others are doing it is a lazy technique. Archers have to have strong arms for distance and accuracy. I'll admit, this bow is stronger than I expected—still not as strong as the long bow my father made for me."

Shooting was an interesting time. They had to go outside. Aylala found that the temperature was still too cool for her liking but she decided not to complain. She missed her first shot, not used to this new bow, but only her first shot. Every shot thereafter was a bullseye.

Michelle was a terrible shot. The teacher was a fair enough shot with a good stance, but she clearly didn't know enough to transfer that information to her students. She focused on telling the students to sight down the arrow and where to hold the hands, but she failed to explain the role that the rest of the body played.

"May I?" asked Aylala.

The teacher said, "Go for it."

"Michelle, first, you are holding your wrist to close to the bow. That wrist guard is making you careless. Take it off and you'll learn very quickly how to hold that bow. Second, it's not enough that you hold the hand grip and the white part of the string. You have to make sure you are in line. Both wrists, your right ear, and your right elbow should be in one straight line. Then you will be able to sight down the arrow."

Michelle nocked an arrow and drew.

"You're holding the bow too low. Raise it. Good. Your elbow is too low. Try to bring the fletching right next to your ear. Straighten up. Don't bend your knees. Go ahead and try." Michelle hit the bulls-eye, not perfectly, but it was on the red. Everyone clapped.

Someone said, "Let's see you shoot."

Aylala decided to show off. She drew four arrows and held three down. As quickly as she could, she drew, released, and spun another arrow into position four times and four arrows neatly grouped in the bulls-eye of her target in three seconds. There was a loud applause in the field behind the track. Aylala tried several more trick shots, still never missing her bulls-eye. Each met with resounding applause. She walked up and took the arrows from her target, leaving one. She fired one more trick shot, knocking the remaining arrow out of the target.

This teacher wasn't so pleased with her and she was held after class. "I think we need to discuss your deplorable behavior," she said.

"My 'deplorable' behavior?" said Aylala, bristling. "It is not as though I choose to be here."

"I have no idea what you're used to or what you think you're entitled to, but here you will follow the rules, respect your teachers-in this case me-and you will not disrupt my class."

"I didn't realize that correcting your errors was a disruption."

"Listen, child-"

Aylala lifted her finger and raised her voice. "Do not call me 'child'. You do not where I am from and how I have lived my life. I have never seen places like this before. I have never seen video games, or movies, or automobiles. I was born in a tribe. I never knew such things existed. I will tell you, this place leaves me unimpressed."

"You're unimpressed with this school."

"No, I am unimpressed with this society. The things you teach are all well and good. Your math and science are glorious things, but what good is your history when it is filled with propaganda and lies? You teach archery but your own education in the craft is questionable. What purpose does it serve if you are only going to give them a cursory education?"

"This is an elective. The point is to get you interested."

"And how do you evaluate me as a potential archer?"

"Sarcasm is not going to earn you any point. We both already know you top the charts on archery."

Aylala held out her wrist. A long scar like a rope burn went halfway up her inner forearm. "This happened when I was six. Ever since, I promise you, I always hold my bow perfect, and your bows are too pathetic to do this much, but they're strong enough that I bet they'll hurt enough to teach the same lesson. I did this on a real bow. I am proud of this mark. This mark taught me respect for my tools. This mark taught me how to aim my arrow and catch my dinner."

"I'll admit that is an impressive looking burn."

"I apologize for undermining your class."

"I can see you take this seriously." She patted Aylala on the shoulder and said, "Look, you learn a little self-control and let us get through to tennis, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good, now go and change. The bell will be ringing in a couple minutes."

(Next chapter, things heat up as O'Neill zeroes in on Aylala and on his search, encounters an enemy that may be more than the Air Force, or anyone can handle.)