A/N: Sorry I'm late with this one. RL happened.

Check out my profile for the Spanish Glossary and a link to the full playlist on Grooveshark.

Bioware owns the rights to all of their characters and the original series. The original characters in this story belong to me.

Music: World at Large, Modest Mouse; The Kill, 30 Seconds to Mars; Nothing's Gonna Change My World, Fiona Apple (Her version is a remake of the Beatles. The original is better but it isn't on Grooveshark)

YOU ROCK, PESTOMONKEY! Most awesomest beta ever.


INTRODUCTION

Date: 5.5.2176
Sender: 2nd Lt. James Vega, Citadel Alliance Barracks
Recipient: Cpt. Emilio Vega (retired), Earth, San Diego SubSec 4422-80
Transmission Code 4A-Blue

[TRANSCRIPTION FROM AUDIO ]

Hey.

Here we go – my first letter home. Just about everyone is in the Mess Hall at the moment, so it seemed like a good time to record a message.

You were right; my first TDY isn't anything like I imagined it would be, especially with what happened a few weeks ago. I know that people die in this job, but still... losing Stella was hard. Thanks for your words of encouragement to the rest of the squad. I showed it to them.

We just came back from a minor assignment. Not that any time I have shots fired at me it can be considered "minor", of course. It gets complicated real quick in a firefight, and there's so much more to it than you think there is in training. There's a subtext to every order and every drawn weapon. The bad guys aren't really all bad, and the good guys aren't really all good. It's easier for us because we just have to follow orders most of the time, but it must be really confusing to be a merc like Mason was. I'm not sure I could ever do that.

I'm going to look Mason up while I'm here. I wonder if he'll recognize me? Probably not. I can't wait to see the look on his face when he realizes who I am.

[laughter]

We just docked at the Citadel. This place is amazing, but it smells strange. I wasn't expecting that. I think it's all the aliens living together. It's not a bad smell or anything. Just different.

Remember how fascinated I was with the Keepers back when I was a kid? They aren't nearly as interesting as I thought they'd be, just trot around with their little bombs on their backs. Everyone just ignores them completely, which is no fun at all. It's kinda creepy.

How are things on the homefront? I've been thinking about home today because it's Cinco de Mayo. It's been four years since... you know when I'm talking about.

[pause]

You never answered any of my questions about space back then. I'm beginning to think that you did it so I would come out here and find out for myself. You wanted to get me away from Pop. I can see why.

After all that business with Lola, whenever Pop got on me I just told him to back down, and he did. That made me overconfident, but it isn't much of a victory to win an argument with a washed-up surfer. I got in trouble a lot for a while after that, throwing my weight around. Mom was good at keeping me out of trouble when she was around. She didn't like Lola, that's for sure.

I wonder what happened to Lola. But you aren't going to tell me, are you? You always were tight-lipped about the things you do.

I'm going stir-crazy right now because they won't let us leave the base. It's the first time we've been exposed to so many aliens in one place, and I guess some people get kinda spooked by all the different beings. It doesn't bother me at all. I think it's awesome. I want to meet all of them and asks lots of questions, but I don't know enough about them to know I wouldn't accidentally insult them or whatever. If it were up to me, though, they'd all be my friends. There would be a lot of bear hugs handed out on the Citadel.

Mom would have loved seeing me make it to this place. She wanted me to do something special with my life and kept encouraging me to work harder. She was completely devoted to doing the right thing, although she was doing it for the wrong person most of the time. She had you to look out for her her whole life, even though she was making a bad choice by staying with Pop. I wish I had a sister or a brother to look out for like you did, but I guess I have about six of them now so it's all good.

I couldn't have done any of this without you around to back me up. I can't imagine what my life would have been like if you hadn't done just what you did. I only wish that Uncle Trent was still around so you wouldn't have been alone all this time.

If you think of it, can you check up on my Pop? I don't want to talk to him or anything, but I –

[pause]

I just want to know he's okay. I promised Mom I would help him, and I kinda feel like I broke my promise by cutting him off like that. I think she'd understand, but still.

Yeah, so, we're on patrols for the next few months on the fringes of the Terminus sector. Getting some experience so we can play with the big boys. Even though I'm pretty much the biggest person here.

[laughter]

I can't think of anything else to say. Hey, I'll talk to ya soon, okay?

[RECORDING TERMINATED]


CHAPTER 9

Four years earlier...

James

Jimmy Sanders was wasting away one late July morning in his bedroom. His fourteenth birthday had come and gone with very little fanfare.

Much of the population of San Diego kept indoors at the height of the summer of 2172, the abnormally hot air creating a miserable atmosphere for all but the heartiest of souls. James liked to think he was one of those tough guys, but since he had stopped visiting his uncle this was where he spent most of his time. The windowless room was more cramped than usual, but he didn't mind.

He sat on his bed, comfortable in his pajamas with cool air pumping down on him from the vent. The sound of turning pages was all that broke the silence of his room; that, and the occasional rustle and crunch from the clandestine stash of snacks behind his nightstand. He sorted through his old hardcopy 'zines and comics, every once in awhile adding or removing one from several uneven stacks that lay on the floor to the right of the bed.

He sighed as he picked up the next few, deciding which ones to keep on the shelf next to his bed. It would be so much easier once he had his own wrist comm, or even an omni-tool to read stuff like this. He had enough money to buy whatever he wanted, he just didn't want to start any new fights with his father about how it was spent. The prize money from the race still sat in his new account, untouched despite his father's numerous pleas. It was simply easier to leave it there than to deal with the drama outside the door to his bedroom.

At first he'd felt bad about getting all the money when Tom was dead, but to be fair, he would have won the race himself if he hadn't given Tom his bike.

A loud bang at his bedroom door made James sit upright. The handle jiggled and the door pushed forward slightly before it hit the mound of laundry blocking the path.

"Who is it?" he called out, scrambling to shove one of the stacks, his collection of illicit magazines, under his bed.

"Open this door!" his mother's voice called out. The door was shoved inward one more time, to no effect. The annoyance that undercut her normally kind voice made James cringe.

"Just a sec!" Hoping this wouldn't be another argument, he stood up and kicked the boxes and clothes out of the way so she could open the door.

"James, I want this room cleaned up today. It stinks in here." Her nose wrinkled in distaste as she stepped inside.

"Yeah..." He nodded and took a deep, exaggerated breath. "It's got a bite, doesn't it? Perfectly ripened. You sure you want me to destroy this work of art?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, obviously not amused. "After you're done cleaning, I want you to leave this room for a while. You shouldn't stay inside all day. You've barely left home all summer. You used to go out all the time."

His good humor disappeared in a flash. "That was with Tom."

Her tone softened. "I understand, I really do. It's been difficult for you this summer, querido. But you need to keep living. Make some new friends."

"It's not that easy. Tom was the only one that didn't treat me like dirt." His jaw flexed as he once again fought down his distress, pushing it down into the ball of grief he didn't want to examine.

"School starts in a few weeks. I'm sure there will be a few boys who like the same things you do."

"It's not about that. You just don't get it." He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to calm down. She stood in front of the only exit. The room began to feel like a trap.

She looked around at the posters and comics about extraterrestrial worlds. "Your uncle has been to some of these places. He had to plan and work really hard to get where he is. He started when he was about your age."

"He had more to start with than we do."

"Some, but not as much as you might think. You can do so much with your life." She stepped forward, speaking passionately.

"Like you did?" he snapped. Who was she to talk? She was totally out of touch with reality.

A change came over his mother's face and he wished he could take the words back. "Siento, Mom. I didn't mean it like that." He stood in the middle of the messy room with his hands gripped in front of his chest, wondering what he could say that wouldn't make things worse.

She played with her long ponytail, a nervous habit of hers. "I want you have all the adventures that you want. I want you to be stronger than I am." She was so despondent that he reflexively tried to cheer her up.

"Hey, I'm pretty strong already. See?" James said, putting up an arm and making a show of trying to flex it. Her mouth quirked at his antics and he grinned back at her. It was good to see her smile.

"You're a growing boy. Almost taller than your father already, and you have a nice little barriga going too," she said, stepping forward and patting where his shirt was stretched tight over his belly, smiling affectionately up at him.

"Salga de ella!" He pulled away, blushing, and almost tripped over his comics.

"It's time for you to get out of this room and get on with your life."

"You should too, Mom. Pop keeps you prisoner here, and you don't do anything about it."

"It's a choice I made, a commitment I made." Though her voice was firm, she wouldn't meet his eyes.

"It doesn't have to be that way."

"I'm fine where I am. I need to know that you can take care of yourself."

He stared at her bowed head in confusion. She was acting really weird. "Okay, Mom. Not sure what to do, but I'll go out."

"Good." She sighed and her head came up to regard him seriously. "Then go out with your uncle. He's here now."

So that's what this was about. "I don't want to go out with him."

"It would mean a lot to me if you went."

Her wistful look melted him. "Fine. I'll be out in a minute."

She sniffed a few times, then navigated haltingly back through the room to the exit, stopping with her hand on the door to catch her breath. She'd been doing that a lot lately.

"Are you okay, Mom?"

She turned around at the question. "I'm fine, why?"

"No reason." He shrugged and shook his head.

After the door closed behind her, he looked around. He'd grown accustomed and even a little attached to the mess. The more it piled up around him, the more it seemed to insulate him from the outside world.

Unless your mother drags it in, of course. With a wry smile, he started gathering up the clothes on the floor and stuffed them in the hamper to take to the processing unit in the hallway. The magazines went back onto the shelves, freshly organized. He rubbed the back of his neck and double-checked that he hadn't missed anything.

Maybe it was time to get over his issue with Uncle Emilio. He knew he should be grateful to his uncle for helping Lola, but it was just as hard now as it had been three months ago to know he couldn't see her one last time. And now there were only a few weeks left before school started, weeks that he could fill with biking and shooting at the range.

That thought settled it. It was time to let it go.

After changing his clothes he went to the kitchen where his uncle was sitting with a cold glass of ice water in his hand. It must still be sweltering out.

"Hey! Finally!" Emilio rose from the chair and turned around to embrace his nephew. "Wow, I think you've grown two inches since I saw you last. You - ah - you look good." He held him off with one arm to look him over.

James rolled his eyes, stepping back. He was getting really tired of that reaction from people. It was time to start watching what he ate. Maybe tomorrow.

"Did you break my bike yet?" James asked, deciding to jump back in where they had left off more than two months ago.

"Your bike? You have to ride it at least once a week to keep your claim. I might even make you race me for it."

"Oh, yeah? I'll school you, old man. You just wait."

"That's what I wanted to hear. What do you want to do first? Shoot, or race?"

James looked quickly at his mother, but she didn't react. His uncle must have cleared taking him to the range with her first. That would make things easier, so long as she didn't tell Pop. "Range first, definitely."

"Works for me." Emilio rubbed the top of James' head, his hair still shaved into a wide strip across the top. "I'm glad you kept the hair. I thought for sure that your mom would make you change it."

"Nah, she likes my racing stripe."

"I always wished I was brave enough to do something crazy like that," Rosie said, smiling at the two of them.

She blushed prettily, and James was struck with what she must have been like when she attracted the attention of his father when they met. His Pop had been quite the ladies' man, but he'd gladly left it all behind to be with her. He'd heard the story a million times from his father.

James got his shoes from the closet by the front door and sat down to put them on. "Where's Pop, anyway?"

"At the store."

His uncle put a hand on his shoulder. "We'd better go before he gets back. I don't want to stir anything up for you here, Rosie."

"Oh, no, he'll be gone awhile." She smiled diffidently, waving a shaking hand.

James finished fastening his shoes and he looked up to see a strained look on his uncle's face. "How long does it take to go to the store? It's right on the street level."

Rosie shrugged. "Sometimes it just takes a long time. He'll be back soon." She turned away from him and began washing the glass he had used.

"Come on." James tugged at his uncle's arm. Though he knew he could hold his own against his father, anywhere would be better than this place if he came home to find him about to leave with Uncle E. His uncle seemed reluctant to go and looked back at his sister several times before James managed to get him out the door. His mother didn't look up or say goodbye.

Fortunately, they encountered no one on the way up to the truck. James relaxed as he climbed in, relieved not to have to deal with another fight. But once James buckled his harness and the truck lifted off, Emilio started asking questions that made James wish he'd stayed in his room.

"What's going on? Does your father disappear like that often?"

"I guess, sometimes." James looked out the window and sighed in feigned boredom, hoping that he'd drop it. "I don't know."

"Don't act like that. I don't buy it and you're not good at it, so you might as well just tell me. What's going on? I worry about you and your mother."

He didn't know why he even tried to keep things from his uncle. James knew that he was a terrible liar and couldn't act for shit, so it never worked. It didn't help that he always forgot what he lied about and ratted himself out later. Better to just have it out now so they could get on with their weekend.

"He offers to run errands for Mom, which he never did before, then stays out for hours. But he's allegedly doing it for her, so she's ecstatic. Don't even try to ask her about it." He rolled his eyes. He'd tried once to break through his mother's defense and make her see that whatever his father was doing was wrong. It had backfired and she started crying, then Pop came home and laid into both of them. Though he'd managed to shout his father down, it was an experience he didn't care to repeat. Staying in his room was safer.

James shook his head, trying to come back into the present. "Plus he's acting weird. I caught him asleep at the kitchen table in the middle of the day once, and sometimes when he talks he just - I don't know, fades off." He shrugged, not really knowing how to describe it.

"Damn." Emilio's soft exclamation made James look over at him. "You've had a rough summer, haven't you, kid?"

James' face grew hot. He breathed slowly and evenly to keep the tears from coming up, then turned back to the window. "Mmm," was all he could say.

James blinked several times as he looked out at the view they were flying over, above the preserves on the way to Pendleton. As they sped through the sky, the shadow of the car took perfect form on the solid plain of blacktop off to one side of the park, then danced wildly through the trees. The bright sun reflected off the moisture in his eyes, making the landscape seem to catch on fire.

His uncle didn't bring it up again. He seemed to understand that James needed more than just physical distance from the stress of his home life. He always understood what he needed.

They flew straight to the base and spent the day shooting, first at the outdoor range and then, for a special treat, this uncle took him to another range he'd never seen before. This one had moving targets that were positioned at at a distance, perfect for sniping. He'd never shot a sniper rifle before and his enthusiasm showed as they set up, cracking jokes until his uncle was laughed out loud.

He laid on his stomach to shoot. The waist of his jeans cut uncomfortably into his belly as he lifted his head to the rifle on the tripod in front of him. He didn't complain about his discomfort, though. Once he set his eye against the scope of that rifle, he was at one with the world.

The end of the range circled in the scope, the crosshairs following the figure eight of his breath as he tried to steady his heartbeat so he could see enough to make a shot. His revolving thoughts and worries couldn't find their voice once his breath stilled and he focused on one part of the range. A target popped up and swung off to the right, but his finger had already tugged at the trigger. He grinned as he saw the center of the target shred before it dropped from view.

"Good job! You're a natural." His uncle laughed and clapped his hands loudly.

James rolled over and shielded his eyes from the sun to look up at him. It shouldn't feel strange to be around laughter. He'd been stupid to stay away for two whole months. James hadn't realized how much he missed hanging out with his uncle.

When the sun finally set they packed everything up. The night was very warm, but he felt invigorated by the day's activity. They walked through the soft grass toward the parking lot. He joked around with his uncle as they climbed into the truck.

"Why aren't we camping?" James asked.

"Because I have something to show you back at the house."

James played it cool on the way back to Escondido, not wanting to act like an excited little kid. He followed his uncle into the master bedroom and watched him take a long box out of the closet, wrapped in a blanket.

"My dad gave this to me before he died. I want it to go to you when the time is right." He gestured for James to come closer.

"You come from a long line of soldiers," his uncle said as he removed the blanket.

Curious, James examined the box lying on the bed and looking very out of place there. Everything around him his whole life had been plasti-crete, steel and glass. He tentatively reached out to touch the dark, satiny wood and the shiny brass locks dangling from the side. He felt like he was touching something very old, though it looked brand new.

"We came north to California after the Dissolution, 128 years ago, but the Vegas were soldiers before that in Mexico."

"The Dissolution is the one with the hackers." James loved to read about history, and that was one of his favorite time periods. The idea of so many people banding together virtually to bring down the major world powers - and succeeding - made him feel like anything was possible. It was still a popular theme in comic book series.

"Right. When the backing corporations of most of the governments of the world went broke, the more corrupt governments simply dissolved. Many of the standing armies all over the world lost their funding, including Mexico's. Back then, we were in the Mexican Naval Infantry. Basically the same as we are now, only no zero-gee training." He smiled.

"Go ahead, open it. The code is your birthday."

James raised his eyebrows at this, but tapped the code into each of the four locks. Inside, a stiff purple cushion perfectly framed a sword with a long, slightly curved blade. The blade was wrapped to the hilt in a thin cloth covered in yellowish stains. The hilt was polished wood and brass, emblazoned with an eagle. Though it wasn't an ornate design, it held a quiet dignity that made him stand up straighter.

"His name was Victoriano Rodriguez Vega. We're not sure what his rank was, the records were destroyed in the Data Purge of 2044, but we know he was in the Navy. He carried this in the Mexican Revolution, almost two hundred and fifty years ago."

"Wow. That's old." He leaned over to look at the object, almost afraid to touch it. A pungent, metallic smell came from the box, stinging his nostrils.

"It's okay. Pick it up. Here." Uncle E curled a finger under the hilt and gently pulled upward. The cloth that wrapped the blade fell away near the hilt, revealing a dull finish.

James must have made a face, because his uncle laughed and picked up a blue cloth from the back of the box. "Watch." He polished away the oily substance covering the blade until they could see their faces reflected back at them, warped in the curves of the metal.

"You're giving this to me?" James didn't feel worthy. It was so beautiful. A precious family treasure. How many Vegas had carried this sword? Only James wasn't really a Vega, he was a Sanders. He wondered idly if he still counted.

"Not yet. I need to know you're truly ready to be a man first. You're close, though. Time will tell."

"What do I have to do?" The sword gleamed in his eyes. He couldn't stop looking at it.

"You'll know when it happens. Maybe actually trying out for that scholarship would help you get there."

James made a face. "They want kids with better grades than I have."

"Just keep trying and work hard to improve." His uncle put the sword away and carefully closed the box before facing him again, a serious expression on his face. "Don't wait for things to happen to you, because they won't. And just because something bad happens is no reason to stop trying. It's a reason to try harder."

"Okay, I get it." James looked away, disgruntled. If Uncle E was right, and it felt like he was, then he had pissed away his whole summer for no reason.

"Will you try out for the scholarship? Next year is high school for you, so it's the perfect time to switch schools."

James took a deep breath but couldn't find an answer. It seemed like a lot of work.

His uncle put his hand on his shoulder. "Just think about it. And remember I've got your back. If you need any help, I'm here for you."

James nodded in understanding.

"Good. Let's go get a bite to eat."


James spent the rest of the summer in relative enjoyment, though he was still suffering from bouts of melancholy whenever he thought about Tom. He was still lonely for other kids his age, but more and more he was compelled to stay home just to keep the peace, so he alternated between the two houses and didn't push the issue. His father resented every moment he was gone and James knew that his father was giving his mother a hard time about it, making her feel like she'd done something wrong. He was relieved when school started because he had a legitimate excuse to get out of the house.

But once he stepped back onto the school campus he remembered how much he hated it. The overcrowded building assaulted his senses with the clamor of four thousand teenaged kids per level. The teachers did their best to manage, but some incidents, like the one when he left his homeroom class at the end of the first week of school, couldn't be prevented.

As he was walking down the hallway on the way to his science class that morning, he noticed several boys teasing a thin black girl. The girl was Monique, from his science class. They had partnered together in lab from time to time.

He recognized one of the boys, Javin, who had washed out of the race trials last spring because he couldn't execute hairpin turns without taking out all of the riders around him. Behind him in the hallway stood two of his friends, watching the spectacle in happy anticipation of a fight. His stomach twisted in fear, but he forced himself to approach them.

"Leaver her alone," he said. They turned around to face him.

Javin threw his head back arrogantly, tossing his dyed black hair out of his eyes. "I know you. You're the one who lost the race and took the prize money. I don't think that's very fair, do you guys?" The two boys beside him shook their heads and grunted assent.

Monique spoke up, shouting over the noise of the crowd. "You couldn't even get into the race, Javin. What difference does it make?"

James almost smiled at her defense, but he kept his poker face as he stared them down.

"Hey, fuck you!" Javin said brilliantly, jabbing his finger at her aggressively at her.

James quickly moved to stand between them. "Leave her alone."

Javin shoved him back and he stumbled into Monique, both of them hitting the wall with a loud bang. A small clearing in the crowd immediately formed around them, giving the potential fight a wide berth. Some stopped to watch.

Before James could regain his balance, Javin punched him in the stomach, dropping him to his knees. He clenched his gut, trying to catch his breath. When he shielded his soft stomach against the next kick, pain exploded in his left arm and he cried out. Monique was shouting at them to stop, to leave him alone. The crowd began to make more noise; whether they were cheering for him or for Javin, he wasn't sure.

All of the frustration and anger that he had been keeping bottled up was coming to a head inside James as he lay there taking the beating. He was tired of being beaten down. Tired of being pushed around. Tired of bullies.

Cradling his arm, he pushed himself up on the locker. The boys took a step back as they laughed and congratulated each other. He heard Monique ask, "James, are you okay?" just before he dropped the injured arm and punched out wildly with his other fist, putting all his weight behind it. Javin didn't see it coming, caught up in his congratulations.

It was a beautiful hit, if unintentional. James' knuckles connected with the bridge of Javin's nose and he felt the sickening crunch of cartilage. Javin fell back, then looked at James in astonishment before running into the crowd, shielding his face. His lackeys followed without looking back.

Monique helped James up to the nurse's station, where the ambulance was called once it was discovered that James' arm was broken. A few minutes later he watched the school shrink in the back window, happy to be getting out of school if nothing else.

A doctor was waiting at the hospital for their arrival. She quickly scanned him with her omni-tool as she spoke. "They'll take you up to the second floor. We've already notified your parents." She smiled kindly at him, but he couldn't smile back. He tried to avoid exposing other people to his father whenever possible. But to his surprise, his mother arrived alone, still in her hotel uniform.

The doctor, a heavyset woman with blonde hair and brown eyes, put a stasis field on James' arm to hold the injury while they decided what to do. It felt really weird, like there were ants under his skin. He jabbed at the field with his finger repeatedly, watching the light patterns change as it gave him a mild shock, until the doctor made him stop with a stern look as she and his mother settled into the chairs by his bed.

"Mrs. Sanders," the doctor began. "Your son's left radius is shattered. The bone will repair itself very quickly with a medi-gel treatment, but it could have negative side effects, so I'm recommending a combination of surgery to fuse the bone and a very mild medi-gel treatment localized around the injury. Then, time to heal, with physical therapy."

"What are the side effects?" his mother asked quietly, twisting the seam of her skirt between her fingers. James wasn't used to seeing her out of the house like this. She looked uncomfortable.

"It depends on how he takes to the physical therapy. Because he's still going through puberty, the medi-gel will accelerate growth abnormally. There is a very small chance of cancerous tumors, or it could make his arms uneven in terms of muscular growth as the injury heals."

"How often do kids get cancer from it?" James asked. This didn't sound like a good idea.

"Not many, about one in two million. But I wanted to warn you of the risks."

"Are there any other options?" his mother asked.

"We could put his arm in a cast and let it heal without medi-gel after surgery, but he'd have to keep it completely immobile. It would also take much longer to heal. The path I recommend you take will only keep the cast on for a few days, then in physical therapy for six weeks. So long as we do daily scans and therapy, I don't anticipate any issues with his treatment."

Seemed like the risks were pretty minimal. "What do I do in physical therapy?" James asked.

"You'll meet with a specialist daily to work on gradually strengthening your arm so that the muscle doesn't develop unusually as the medi-gel does its work. It's a good idea to work out both arms in the same way so you don't get lopsided." She smiled, putting him at his ease before she rose to her feet. "I'll go get it set up."

His mother stood to shake the doctor's hand. "Thank you," she said.

"It's my pleasure."

"Where's Pop?" James asked when the doctor had gone.

"I don't know. He didn't answer the comm at the house."

"He's not going to be difficult about this, is he?"

"I don't see why he would. It's not like you have to stay here."

"Does Uncle E know?"

"I left a message, but he went to Brazil today. It's just you and me for a few hours. I thought we could spend some time together. What would you like to do?"

"Don't you have to go to work?"

"I took the day off. Let's go do something together, just the two of us."

She had never taken time off just to hang out with him, and James wasn't about to pass up her offer. And so they spent the day out together, for the first time in James' memory. He insisted on tapping into his account to treat her to a nice lunch at a restaurant that looked over the ocean, then they went to see a movie. She steadfastly refused any gifts.

"It's okay, querido. I don't need anything, I'm just glad to have this time with you."

But James knew the real reason behind her refusal. He knew that she didn't want to have evidence that she'd gone out without Pop. If she was aware of the reason, she didn't show it, but a comment she made on the way home made him think that she must at some level be aware of how fucked up the situation was with his father.

"I want you to promise me that you'll save your money, as much as you can, so that you can go and do the things you want to do with your life." Her voice lowered so that the other people on the shuttle wouldn't overhear. "Don't let your father have it. He'll hurt himself. I worry about him so much..." She wrung her hands, unable to finish.

"You shouldn't have to worry so much, Mom. We should look out for you more. I wish-"

"No, it's okay. I like it this way. I like to take care of you and your father. It makes me happy." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"If you say so." But he still wished his father would somehow wake up and realize that his gentle mother deserved better than she was being given. He was frustrated at her refusal to understand she was being mistreated. She kept encouraging him to leave, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to while she was in this position. He wanted to look out for her. It gave him some insight as to why his uncle had made sure he stayed near them on Earth.

It all boiled down to one thing: James was tired of bullies, and his father was the biggest one he knew.


The surgery was done within hours and he was sent home, doped up and joking around so much that he even made his mother laugh out loud once.

His first physical therapy session was the very next day. He took the shuttle to the hospital and made his way up past the floor where he'd been the day before, almost to the top of the sleek skyrise. He was troubled by the apathetic reception of his father when he had come home with his arm in a cast. His eyes had been so vacant, like he didn't care at all, which was pretty much the opposite of the reaction that he was expecting. Maybe that was better than the possessiveness that usually characterizes his father's temper.

He entered a vaulted room with walls of tall glass overlooking the city. Tall trees spotted the floor, almost touching the catwalks that circled the floor above. As he peered up at them, he noticed that people were running on the paths amongst the treetops.

The area smelled like wet earth and rang with the sound of running water. He looked down to see an artificial stream meandering through the room, bisecting different types of exercise equipment in small, private alcoves amidst the greenery.

A tall black man with silver hair approached him. "You're James, right? I'm Monique's dad. She told me about what happened. You can call me Deon."

"Um, hi Deon." He awkwardly shook the man's hand. How had he known he'd be here?

"I requested to be your physical therapist. I wanted to thank you for standing up for my girl, so I'm going to make sure you're taken care of."

"Well, she stuck up for me too, so it's okay. But thanks. You're a physical therapist?" Deon was dressed in the standard white robe of the medical profession, but the jacket was cropped short and molded to his well-muscled chest and arms. He didn't look like any doctor he'd seen. He looked more like one of his comic book heroes, still in his alter-ego disguise.

"I have a license to practice physical therapy because I run a gym downtown, where I train people in self-defense. Monique's had some classes but she doesn't take it as seriously as I'd like her to." Deon smiled hugely, showing sparkling white teeth.

"Self-defense, huh? That sounds useful."

"The way things are in this city, it can be. Come on, let's get started." Deon led the way into the paradise where James was to spend almost every evening for the next six weeks.

The physical therapy wasn't complicated, but it was difficult. It was a struggle to make his muscles work the way he wanted them to after the medi-gel treatment. They tugged and twanged inside his arm uncomfortably, and sometimes painfully.

Deon made him work both of his arms every morning and evening. He explained as they sat in one of the alcoves of the therapy level. "You'll have to work out your other arm twice as much to keep up while we do this, but they should be even when you're done."

"So I'll be really strong after this?" James asked, flexing his fists around a rubber ball.

"Only if you keep working out. The boosting effect of the medi-gel is temporary, and only because you're still growing. It's the hormones," he said in explanation. "That's why we have to be careful. If your muscles develop faster than your bones can adapt, it can ruin your bone structure. Check the 'Net. There are some nasty pictures of kids that worked out too much before they fully developed."

"What happened to them?"

"Their bones grew in the wrong way, sometimes even in the wrong direction because of how hard the muscles were pulling on them. Pretty nasty stuff, and difficult to correct. Painful."

"So I shouldn't work out after this?"

"This is just for the medi-gel treatment. You should definitely still work out when it's finished. You're built to be like me."

James looked at Deon's imposing frame, then down at his own flabby body. "Are you making fun of me?"

"No. Check this out." Deon opened his omni-tool and flipped through the applications until he found a selection of photos. He enlarged one section. It showed a young boy about James' age who was even heavier than he was, standing beside four other boys, all of them tall and athletic. One held a basketball.

Deon pointed at the heavy kid. "That's me. I wasn't ever going to be thin like my brothers. They teased me all the time. Then one day I realized that big boys can be big in a different way." He winked at James. "They don't tease me now."

"I bet." He looked at the picture until Deon waved his hand over it, making it disappear.

"We've got a lot of work to do over the next few weeks, but after that you should start coming down to my gym. I can get you started." He mock-punched James' shoulder, carefully not touching the injured arm. "We fat boys gotta stick together."

James smiled. "It's a deal."


James took Deon up on his offer to help him work out, glad for something new to do away from his family once his therapy was complete. The gym was a magical place to him, full of mysterious contraptions that Deon immediately steered him away from.

"You don't want none of that. The machines are for people who don't want to lift heavy weights. They're looking for small changes and small muscles. You and me, we're going to get you so buff, no bully will look at you in the eye again. You're going to use free weights."

"You're still going to teach me to fight, right?"

"Yes, but that's not the important part. Ninety percent of any confrontation is attitude. If you have the right attitude, sometimes you don't have to fight at all."

As much as James liked the idea of learning to fight, learning how to avoid a fight sounded just as good. "Do you think this will help with my Pop?"

"Does your Pop hit you?" Deon's thick eyebrows squashed together in consternation.

"No, but he's always looking for an argument. Mom and I try to keep things calm around him but a lot of the time he blows up anyway. It's like he wants to argue, but I can't see why anyone would want that."

"Maybe he just wants to control things he can't control."

Control was the appeal of lifting weights for James. He had everything he could manage on his plate already with work and school, but there wasn't any subtext to lifting a weight. Lift, push, and track what you do. Simple. After he had worked out, he felt like he accomplished more than he had all day at school. His appetite grew enormous over the next few months as he expanded his workout.

A few months later it was finally cool enough to hang outside more often. Elsewhere in the country, the leaves were turning red and gold and blowing in the wind, but in Southern California it was beautiful sunshine every day. He went out with his uncle as much as possible and began to hang out with Monique and her friends when he wasn't at the gym with Deon.

The weight dropped off him quickly, far faster than he imagined it would. Deon explained that this was normal, and that most people just stopped when they saw results and didn't go any further with it.

James loved the changes. Sometimes late at night he tried to imagine that he could have helped Lola with his newfound knowledge, even save her himself. Then he could have stopped them from killing Tom…

That was as far as he got. They would have killed him, too. Even his imagination couldn't fix that.

It was after the New Year before his father noticed anything different.

"What happened to your arms?" his Pop asked him in an odd voice. His father was squinting across the kitchen table with a half-focused expression, his eyes on the dip and bulge on James' bicep that hadn't been there previously. His mother looked at him too, cocking her head curiously at him. She looked pale.

James shrugged nervously. "Just worked out a bit." He tried to sound nonchalant. Pop had an uncanny knack for ruining anything fun he did.

"I hope that uncle of yours didn't get you started on this." His father said, sharper this time.

James rolled his eyes. That particular argument was getting old. "I just like doing it."

"What for? Where did this come from?" he asked suspiciously. His mother went even more pale, her eyes tense, as if she was about to cry.

"There's nothing wrong with working out, Pop. You used to surf, why can't I…"

His father sucked in an exaggerated breath through his teeth, a spooky sound that made James stop talking.

"I knew s- something was going on with you," his Pop stuttered. "After we had such a nice summer together, I thought you'd gotten all your uncle's bullshit out of your system. Now this! You're going to-"

James was too shocked to speak. A nice summer? What was he talking about?

He continued his irrational rant as James watched in mute wonder. His Pop was acting strange, even for him, his arm movements exaggerated and his voice pitching in odd places. He began ranting about how Emilio was trying to steal his family again, turn his wife against him, take his son away, and how he cared more about aliens than his own kind. He knocked some of the dishes off the table as he gestured wildly. His mother slowly picked up the pieces and set them on the counter behind her.

Mom tried to calm him down, her gentle hands shaking as she touched his father's shoulder. He unthinkingly shoved back at her, knocking her into the counter. Her arm swept the surface as she lost her balance and fell, knocking the broken dinner dishes down with a loud crash before she crumpled to the floor.

His father stared at her unconscious form in shock and dismay. "Rosie, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" he said in a small, pathetic voice, kneeling next to her.

James rushed over and shook her shoulder, then checked her pulse. "She needs a doctor, Pop! I'll call-"

But his father grabbed his arm as he tried to run past. "No, they can't be here. They'll call the cops. I can't have cops here!" Fear was in his eyes, his pupils enormous in the bright kitchen.

"What are you talking about?" James shouted back at him. "Look at her, Dad! She needs help!" He shook out of his father's grip and ran to the comm unit. As he explained the situation to the medics, he heard the front door slam. When he came back into the kitchen, his mother was alone, still unconscious on the floor.

James knelt next to her, brushing her hair out of her face. "Don't worry, Mom," he whispered. "I'm here."


Josh

The Solana Beach subsection of the San Diego megalopolis had its seedy section, and Josh Sanders knew it well. It was a simple thing to disappear into the shadowy recesses of the skyscrapers, deep in the windowless sections of the residential complexes.

His vision came back slowly, bringing his mind back from wherever he'd been. Something was heavy on his right side, a slight irritation to his body high. His skin wanted to fly away and be free…

His head lifted with a swaying motion as he struggled to see what was keeping him from flight.

A woman was passed out on the dirty floor next to him. He'd never seen her before, but that wasn't unusual. Several other people lay, arms and legs touching, on ripped cushions around the room, everything hazy and glowing beautifully. A scarecrow with long black hair sat on a bowed couch, watching over them. His arm hung over the arm of the couch, almost touching the floor, bone-thin and as white as the bare bulb lit next to him.

"Seriph," he murmured. The scarecrow looked at him and stood up, shadows and light dancing around him.

The movement was startling and delightful; Josh gasped as adrenaline spiked in his body, causing biotic sparks to race across his skin. The woman next to him moaned as they passed over her, the sparks moving down the people lined up, touching closely to share this experience. Whimpers fluttered in the air as the arm reached down and lifted Josh's face.

"More?" Seriph's thick voice said, his dry lips parting over dark red teeth.

"Out of floaters," Josh breathed after a brief examination of the blue chit dangling from his wrist. Can't use traceable chits to buy illicit goods, so the silver chit with Rosie's last pay was safe. The thought of her suddenly made him sad; he couldn't remember why.

"Time ta go, Sanders." Seriph took him by the shoulder and pulled him up.

The woman next to him groaned her disappointment at losing the contact of his skin, clinging weakly at his arm, but he shook her off. The patterns on his brightly colored shirt shifted in his vision, making it difficult to button back up as he tried to make himself presentable. Eventually Seriph came over to help him, his long fingers painting mesmerizing trails across his chest.

"There ya go. Careful getting home, Josh." The deep voice boomed across his consciousness.

Josh was overwhelmed with gratitude for this kind thought as he was unceremoniously shoved out of the crowded little room. He tucked his blue chit under his sleeve as Seriph pulled one of the people in the hall into the room to take his place. Like him, they'd be allowed to stay inside the temporary haven until they ran out of funds, safe from the hopelessness right outside the door.

Unlike these miscreants, though, Josh had a beautiful wife and son to go home to. He lifted his head as he passed them in his much cleaner clothes. He didn't come here to escape from life like they did; just from himself.

He stepped into the cool night, breathing deeply and tasting the sea strongly. It had just rained and everything looked and felt clean, the pavement dark and shining. Some people didn't even touch the ground anymore, unless they were visiting a park. The ground was where poor people lived. It was where Josh had always lived.

Despite his many disadvantages, Josh Sanders had dreamt of surfing fame and glory, and of having a devoted woman at his side and caring for his home. The latter had come true; Rosie and their son were his pride and joy. The former had ended with a torn ligament in his knee and fractured hip after hitting the reef. His look turned wistful as he began to stumble down the street.

Rosie had been there to care for him during his recovery, even though most of his friends deserted him. Before that, she had valiantly defended him against the accusations of her brother when Emilio came home on leave to find her pregnant. Rosie loved him more than anyone and would always be there for him.

Through the euphoric haze, sadness pulled at him again. Anxiety and shame came with it, and he rubbed his arms to strike up the sparks that drove away the unpleasant feelings. His fingertips glowed enchantingly, mesmerizing him.

Once he broke from his trance, Josh walked from the shadow of the final row of buildings and came to a bluff overlooking the ocean. The waves pounding below pushed cooler air against his face, washing him clean of his unpleasant thoughts. A thin layer of blue lightning coursed down his body at this tactile pleasure, grounding in the wet earth under his feet.

Then James had been born from his lovely Rosie. Josh's sun-weathered skin crinkled in a smile as he thought of his son. Smart, good-looking and devoted to his family. An ideal son. Yes, Josh was a lucky man. Emilio couldn't ever take them away from him, no matter how he tried. They wouldn't ever leave him. So much had been taken from him, all his dreams shattered by bad luck and jealous contrivances, but he would always have them. Rosie and James were his.

A metallic jangling sound behind him made his hair stand on end; a bright light lit up the sand around him, the ocean disappearing into the inky blackness beyond the hard circle of light.

"Hold still! Scanning," a very cop-like voice said.

Josh clenched his jaw and showed his empty hands. "Is there a problem?" He asked over his shoulder. He felt the illegal biotic drug channeled electricity over his skin, reacting to his fear, giving him away. He cursed under his breath.

"Mr. Sanders." The voice said after the telltale beep of an omni-tool indicated that he'd been identified. "There's been a watch out for you for five days. Your wife is in the hospital."

Sadness, anxiety and shame washed over him like the ocean a few feet away, along with a tidal wave of fear. Memory came with it, crippling him. The lingering effects of the red sand wore off in a rush. He sank to his knees, moaning, weak from five days without food while he blissed out on the biotic drug.

He tried to ask whether Rosie was okay, but his mouth wouldn't work. He felt his body jar as it hit the ground and thought nothing else as consciousness slipped away.


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