Volume I - Genesis

Chapter 2—Cybernetics 101, Part II: Course History

Aaron

I was embarrassed. And that didn't even really begin to cover it. Not in the least. Patrick fucking Adams, the one guy in the entire city of Reefside, California that I hated more than anyone, had just saved my life from some pscyho freakshow. Even if he did get my car blown up, the guy saved us. And now, here I was sitting not three feet from him with absolutely nothing to say. I mean, what would I say? "Thanks for saving my life?" Like he'd even take the gratitude. He'd probably just make some smartass remark or imply that I was somehow stupid or primitive because I didn't speak like him or listen to old "retro" music or play guitar or whatever other hipster artsy shit he was into.

So, I didn't say anything. I stared out the window of his best friend's luxury SUV. It was a nice car—it was a 2029 model fresh off the lot with all the newest tweaks and upgrades, like VR Mapping and Virtual Assistant, Kinetic Rechargeable Electric Engine Hybrid, full holo-integration, self-driving and auto-course correction, and a new set of full 360 peripheral proximity sensors.

All in all, it was a beautiful vehicle. Top of the line, even. With all the money Grae's family had, it was no surprise. Still, it wasn't as nice as my truck, but still up there.

Awwwwwwwwww, God!

My truck!

My baby.

I had invested all my birthday savings and summer job money into it—granted my parents had bought it for me for my 16th birthday—but all the work I had put into making it my car was mine. Hours upon hours of body work, modding, tweaking, decaling...it was probably my only hobby outside of football. Now, it was nothing but burnt scrap. And on top of that, I had no idea how the hell I was going to explain any of this to my parents. Every fiber in my body was telling me to just text one of them and let them know I was being stalked by Xeno kidnappers. But I knew how overprotective they would be. And if I told them, I'd be on the next interstellar flight off Earth. Probably to the newest colony on Mirinoi, or to a secret bunker on Eltar.

"You okay?" Patrick asked me, interrupting my spastic thoughts.

It took me a second to respond. Partly because my ears were still ringing from all the explosions, and partly because I was trying to read his question to sniff out the hostility in it. I knew it was there somewhere.

But it wasn't. The guy had just saved my life in about every sense of the phrase, and he was sitting here asking me if I was okay like we were best buds. What the hell was wrong with him? He must've hit his head pretty hard. Or maybe I had. Cuz Patrick and I were never actually "civil." I mean, as long as we didn't say anything and as long as Jay or Matt weren't around, we'd be okay. But civil was usually out of the question for either of us.

"Uh…y-yeah," I sighed finally, "I'm fine." Then I realized I should return the courtesy and added, "You?"

"I'm a little shaken up, but I'll live," he said with a small grin.

I nodded, but felt myself wincing just seconds later. My neck was unbelievably stiff, and my elbows felt like I'd had the skin peeled off with a rusty spoon. I lifted my forearms to get a good look at my injuries, and had to keep myself from freaking out like a six-year-old girl. As lame as it was, I absolutely hated blood, and both my elbows had been scraped clean of any skin, leaving bright red patches of clumpy, pasty blood. And the six billion pieces of gravel sprinkled all over the gashes sure as hell didn't help.

"Damn…that looks pretty bad," he noted, glancing at my wounds. "Let me see it."

I looked at him like he'd lost it, and honestly wondered if he'd literally smacked his head somewhere in that battle back there. I mean, that ninja chick did rough him up pretty bad. Maybe he had a concussion or memory loss or something.

"What?"

"Just let me see," he demanded, not as neutrally as he had before, "I'm trying to help you."

"Why?" I asked, though not as rough as I'd anticipated it sounding.

"Beats the hell out of me," he muttered as he loomed in closer to my elbows.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes as I slightly extended my arms away from my body to give him a better look. And I gotta say—having Patrick of all people tending to my wounds was way more awkward and embarassing than anything else so far. He and I had actively hated each other for two years, and now, because of some crazy, blurry Xeno attack, we were supposed to put that aside? I assumed it had something to do with a near-death experience, so I let it slide.

For the most part.

"Hey, Grace," Patrick called a little to his right, toward the driver seat. "Do you have a med kit anywhere in here?"

Our chauffeur shook herself from her reflective state and answered distractedly. "Yeah, in the glove compartment."

Patrick undid his seatbelt and leaned forward over the passenger seat, and when he stretched to reach it, I saw the long tear in the back of his shirt and the gnarly slash on his lower back. It looked like he'd been stabbed or something, and I found myself wondering if he was a little more than just "shaken up."

Hell, he was just as banged up as me and hadn't even mentioned it. I had to admit, the dude was just as tough as he made himself out to be.

I shot my eyes back toward the window as sat back down with the med kit in hand. And then I tried to pay more attention to the street outside than what was going on in here.

But, just to prove that the day could get even weirder, Patrick took a seat on the floor right between my legs.

"Dude!" I shouted, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Don't get excited," he snapped back, "I'm taking care of your boo-boo."

Ah, that was better. Hostility. Things were back to normal, now. That didn't stop me from staring at him like he was going to stab me at any moment.

"Are you gonna stop being so damn stubborn and let me put this on? I'm not doing this for my health, you know."

I nodded reluctantly, resuming my window-watching and trying to ignore my nemesis between my legs. I felt a few sharp pains as he removed the larger pieces of gravel from my torn elbows. I smelled the strong sting of alcohol as he opened up a cleansing antibacterial wipe before I even saw it. I knew what was coming.

"This is gonna sting a little," he said, "but it'll clean it out pretty good."

"I know what it does," I snapped.

Apparently he didn't care about my attitude; we were all a little high strung at the moment. He dabbed at the wound and I sucked in a quick breath, gritting my teeth at the burning sensation that spread all up and down my forearms. I bet a quick "told ya so" would have felt pretty good.

But he didn't tease me. He just finished up, took out a few big bandages, and looked up at me. I tried not to make eye contact with his cold grey eyes. I never felt comfortable meeting them. Ever. Eye contact was already weird enough, and he seemed to love it for some fucked up reason. Probably because he got off on intimidating people with it. But, I dunno, maybe it was because he wasn't pissed at me, or maybe it was because I was delirious and losing my mind; but I swear, in that split second, I didn't feel like he was trying to stare bullets into me. His eyes didn't seem as icy and colorlessly evil. He didn't seem so evil.

"Can you do the rest or…" he trailed off, his question hanging in the air like it was taunting me.

I hung my head, looking away from him. My voice came out soft and pathetic when I asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"What do you mean?" And the curiosity in his voice was genuine.

"This!" I emphasized my point by shaking my elbow at him.

He shrugged, a small, almost untraceable grin on his face. "I dunno, it's what I do. Besides, we almost died back there. Like, really died. So...no offense, dude, but now doesn't really seem like the right time to be fighting with you too."

I nodded sluggishly. "I guess."

He took my lack of an answer to his question about the bandages as a "no" and gently laid them over my elbows like he was suddenly the school nurse. When he finished, he even smoothed out the edges and took more care with them than I'd expected. He patted them and admired his work, and then grinned at me.

"There," he said lightly, "good as new."

"…Thanks," I said awkwardly, studying his handiwork.

He nodded at me in response, and then made his way back to his seat beside me.

"So what was that all about?" he asked, and from the sound of his voice, I could tell he was addressing the whole car—not just me.

Grace responded first. "No clue. I checked all over Google to see if anyone reported a fire at Reefside High, or anything like that—but it seems like no one even knew it happened. Even the cops aren't saying anything."

"Seriously?" I chimed in. "That's bull. They blew up my truck! In midair! That shit looked like the 4th of July."

Grace held back a laugh. Miserably. But she tried.

"It's not funny."

"You're right, you're right," she admitted, "I'm sorry. What were they after?"

"I have no idea," I groaned, rolling my eyes. "They wanted some guy named Thomas."

Patrick seemed to be trying to remember more about the brawl, too. "Yeah, they said 'The Heir and Thomas's his network key.'"

"What, like WiFi?" Grace joked. "None of this makes any kind of sense."

"Well, what if they were looking for Dr. Oliver?" Patrick wondered.

If there was any more humor left in the situation, it was all sucked out when Patrick made the connection. Probably because it was perfectly logical—Dr. Oliver's first name was Thomas, and we'd all seen the Ranger Documentaries and how much trouble he'd gotten himself into as a Power Ranger. Back in 2013, Space Patrol Delta—Earth's first unified police task force, or SPD—published all known Ranger Records in existence. By 2020, basically every Ranger on the planet had revealed his or her identity. It was great publicity for SPD, their recruitment levels in their Ranger Division program went through the roof. Basically, "secret superheroes" were a thing of the past. Everything was run by SPD.

Now, that definitely didn't earn Earth any popularity points with the rest of the immediate galaxy. All the other planets that participated in the SPD program pretty much kept SPD out of their politics. But Earth was different. Everything had a military application and followed the "Carry a big stick" policy. Didn't really look good to all the other planets. But Earth didn't much care about its appearance in the grand scheme of things. At least, that's what my dad was always saying.

"Did they mention anything?" Grace asked.

"Well," I sighed, "at first, they said something about the Cyber network and how it must be controlled." I realized how weird that sounded coming from me, and added, "Or something weird like that."

"Well, whatever it is, it sounds important. Doctor Oliver might be in trouble if those two get to his house first. Especially if no one's saying anything about the attack on the school. We need some answers," Grace said adamantly. "They can't just cover this up and act like it didn't happen just so they can advance the Xeno Rights movement."

I cringed a bit, fighting the urge to groan. Grace had made her stance on "Xeno"—or Aliens—and their rights crystal clear to the entire school. In ninth grade, her Student Government campaign was for separated lunches for humans and Xeno, but she was quickly shot down by Doctor Oliver. By 2026, she gave her stance a little makeover to get more votes for sophomore prom queen. That's not to say she went out of her way to hide her dislike for non-humans. I just kind of stopped paying attention after that, mostly because I was constantly arguing with Patrick and focused on keeping him from stealing Amy from me. But now, I could sort of see why Grace was so against Xeno.

She stopped at a red light and quickly put her hair up in a high, tight ponytail. I knew her well enough to know that was her way of saying she was ready to get down to business.

"Beamz—Voice Mode," she said to her nicknamed car.

Her dashboard beeped in compliance, and a small hologram of a screen appeared from her radio. "Good evening, Grace," it greeted her robotically. "Today's date is: Thursday, September 21st, 2028. Time: 6:24 PM. It's rather cool out, don't forget your jacket in the trunk."

"Call—Amy Martin," the blond instructed, ignoring the computerized car's welcoming.

Patrick and I exchanged looks, and I quickly looked away. Sure, we were getting along for now—but I knew that we'd be back to fighting by tomorrow.

Amy answered on the third ring, and from the sounds in the background, Sanders and Kevin didn't appreciate being crammed into Amy's car with Jay and Matt. Sure, Amy's car was nice, but that was for Amy—who was barely five feet tall. It wasn't made to hold 3 footballers and Matt. I could hear my buddies nearly overpowering Amy's quiet voice, but what I understood from her conversation with Grace was that we were GPSing Doctor Oliver's house. Which was a good 45 minutes away.

Crazy-ass old man. Like he really needed to live an hour away from school. I understood getting away from his work, but seriously?

"We're getting answers, one way or another," Grace said, her voice ringing with finality.

So, sure, I was a starting wide receiver, and I was brave enough to charge into suicidal end zones and get tackled by 200 pound linemen, but I wasn't stupid. Despite what Patrick and his buddies like to think. That was exactly why I didn't bothering with Grace's plans. Especially when I didn't have a car to get home.

So I shut my mouth and rode along in silence, silently jamming in my head to the music Grace was playing. Her sound system was probably better than mine, which kinda stung. Her presets were a little off, though; she probably needed to boost her trebble a little bit. Other than that, I could tell she had some quality subs in the back. I'd never figured Grace for a car junkie, but I didn't bother to ask her if they were standard or custom. I didn't care that much.

I knew I was really just trying to distract myself from my bigger issues. Like what my parents were going to say. If they knew I was getting into any sort of trouble on Earth, or that someone was looking for the "heir," then I was going to have to kiss my life goodbye. No more football, no more crew, no more truck, no more high school.

No more normal.

So, maybe this was part of the near-death experience thing? Maybe that's why I was questioning how people were going to remember me if my parents just snatched me out of school tomorrow. Maybe Patrick was right. Again. As usual.

"Thanks for saving me back there," I finally said.

There, I said it.

It still burned in my mouth a little, but I tried to force a smile. Something to make the situation less awkward and embarrassing for me.

He looked up, somewhat surprised. "Uh, yeah...uh...no problem, man."

I wanted to stay silent, but something inside me was pushing me to hold a conversation with him. Which was weird not just because it was Patrick, but because conversation was never my strong point. It wasn't that I was dumb, it was just that social situations were weird to me. I didn't really get them. When I was younger, I'd obsess over one or two topics, and just talk about them all the time. Hence the car fetish. I just so happened to luck into loving football—lucky for my social life, at least. I could show up on the field, or even in school, I just wasn't a conversationalist.

"So," I said awkwardly, "how did you, uh…learn to fight like that? You kept up with that ninja bitch like it was nothing."

Again, he looked somewhat shocked that I was attempting to not only make conversation—but that I was complimenting him. What the hell was wrong with me? I instantly regretted opening my mouth. This was a dumb idea. Why did I even do this again?

I started forming some lame ass apology to shrug off the conversation, but he answered me before I could.

"Thanks," he said through a small, almost forced chuckle. "I started studying martial arts in primary school. Partly cuz I thought it looked cool, you know? But mostly cuz of..."

"Guys like me?" I filled in for him.

He laughed a little again, the same chuckle as before. "Yeah, pretty much. I used to be a really small kid—scrawny and lanky—so I didn't really have a choice. Plus, thanks to Revelation X, everyone in Canada thought I was Xeno."

I scrunched up my face in confusion. Revelation X—a.k.a. Revelation Xeno—was basically just Earth's fancy way of saying "hey look! Aliens exist!" right after Doomsday in 2012. By 2020, most Xeno had integrated into everyday life on Earth; but, true to human nature, they were met with open discrimination. Mostly, it was the ones with green skin and antennae, but every once in a while, an "exotic" human would get accused of being Xeno. Mostly really, really hot girls. And strippers.

"Uh…why?" I asked him, wondering how someone could mistake him for an alien.

"Dude, I look like I spend all my time laying out on a Mexican beach. I lived in Canada."

Then it clicked. He was talking about his skin. For a second, I thought he was about to tell me he really was an alien. Wouldn't surprise me, I guessed.

"So you got picked on a lot?" I ventured further. "What, just because of your skin color? Sounds more like racism than anything else."

"It was anything, really. I was a weird kid. I came home one day with a black eye because I got beat up by a girl."

I laughed, trying not to offend him too much. Why was he telling me this?

"My mom wasn't upset that it was a girl," he continued in good humor, "she was pissed because she was a first-grader. I was in the third grade." He let his story sit in the air for a second or two, and I could just barely hear Grace over the music, cackling.

"Yeah, so, I was a pretty big target. I guess fourth grade was kind of the breaking point cuz I got jumped by these kids who tore up my pictures. And I just flipped. So that's when mom made me start taking classes—so that I wouldn't be a 'violent kid.'"

I nodded. "So you just stuck with it?"

"Eh...kinda. Once I got older, I started playing more sports, hit puberty, and started working out," he said jokingly. "Toronot has some rough areas, so I had to be able to hold my own. People didn't really fuck with me as much anymore."

I was silent, because I knew he was going to say "until I moved here." But he didn't. He fell short somewhat awkwardly and I tried to ignore the silence.

"Guess it all kind of paid off, though, huh?" he said, smirking like he did.

"I'd say so."

"Just be glad you didn't have to find out about it the hard way," he added.

But I lost the humor in it somewhere and made eye contact with him. Was he threatening me, now? I had almost felt like we were…I dunno…burying the hatchet? I felt weird and confused. Even more than I did when I was being attacked by some crazy lady who dressed herself up as a ninja. That kind of thing didn't really surprise me as much as it should have. Not with my family history.

"Yeah," I said shortly.

And that was that. By the time we arrived at Doctor Oliver's house, my entire body was stiff and achey, and my head felt like it had been sat on by a 300-pound linebacker.

"You alright, dude?" Jay asked me, climbing out of the driver's side of Amy's car. "You look like shit."

"Yeah, I'm fine; Patrick patched me up."

He looked skeptical.

"What?" I spat. "I messed up my elbows. I couldn't do it myself."

He nodded slowly, "Alright man, chill."

"Dude, what the hell's going on?" Sanders barked as soon as he was able to squeeze out of Amy's little car.

"Sanders, for real, man...do you have to scream?" I groaned. "Just...wait til we can talk to Oliver. I mean, we should probably warn him that bitches in masks and steroid smurfs are looking for him."

"Steroid smurfs?" Kevin asked, his thick eyebows wrinkled up on his forehead.

"Hey! Dude," Patrick piped up, "that was my nickname."

"That doesn't surprise me," Sanders snorted.

"Can we not do this right now?" Amy yelled above the start of an argument. "My car smells like blood, sweat, and boy, and the last thing I want to hear right now is this stupid ass bickering. Cool? Cool."

I saw Patrick and Sanders glare each other down, but neither of them said anything else.

"Alright, so now that that's over," Grace said, "You guys explain what happened—in as few words as possible—and then just let me do the rest of the talking. With any luck, I can get your vehicles replaced by the school or something."

I wasn't arguing there. I couldn't decide if it was because I didn't mind having my car replaced or if it was because I really didn't want to argue with Grace.

The eight of us—an awkward group, to say the least—made our way to the two-story house, its black color and green trim bringing a small smile to my face. Way to pay homage to your Ranger heritage, Doc.

Grace firmly pressed the door bell, then impatiently began knocking. Her knocks turned into pounds after about four seconds.

I could hear our principal calling to the door, telling us he was on his way. But Grace was relentless.

"I'm on my—" Doctor Oliver fell short as he swung his door open. "Oh." He fixed his glasses confusedly, then blinked. He took in our appearance and sighed angrily. "Did you guys get into another fight?"

"And come running to you?" Jay questioned him skeptially. "Please."

I saw Amy nudge him to get him to shut up.

"Oh," Grace gasped sarcastically, "you are okay. We were hoping you could tell us what happened, Thomas."

He raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You ever hear of a phone? I called you like 87 different times."

I had to keep myself from laughing when he pulled out a small phone and glanced at the screen's alerts and said, "88."

Grace's face hardened, lips tight and pursed.

"We were attacked by some Xeno freaks that want you," Kevin added.

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah," Grace chimed in, her self-righteous tone clear as day, "ever heard of a 'network key,' Heir Thomas?"

And then, his face confirmed my worst fears.

He knew.

He sighed, running his hand through his hair and breathing a faint "Aw man..."

He seemed to be mulling a few ideas over in his head before he finally opened his door wider and welcomed us in.

The inside of the house was nothing like I expected from Doctor Oliver. Then again, I hadn't really spent my free time wondering what my principal's house looked like. Grace's high-heels were clicking loudly on the expensive, glossy floor in the entrance of his foyer, and as he led us into his black-and-white customized kitchen, I found myself appreciating his taste more and more. Everything was obsessively cleaned and polished, his sink spotless and absent of any dishes (though that could have been because his dishwasher was humming quietly at the moment), and his refrigerator was built into the wall to help mask its massiveness.

The scent of coffee and a toasted blueberry bagel floated through the air and reminded my already-growling stomach that I hadn't eaten since lunch at 11 AM. I fought the urge to ask for food and instead took a seat at one of the cushioned barstools, trying to keep from leaning on my bandaged elbows for fear of staining his clean countertops.

"Coffee, anyone?" Doctor Oliver offered us, breaking the tense silence that loomed over us all.

"Yes, please," Patrick responded gratefully.

Amy, Grace, and Sanders spoke up a few seconds later.

Doctor Oliver carefully poured five cups of coffee, then set the milk and sugar out for everyone. He took his black. I noticed, interestingly enough, that so did Patrick. Grace asked for skim milk. Of course.

"So," our principal finally said, "can someone tell me what, exactly, happened?"

Everyone stared at me.

"Well," I started awkwardly, "we were leaving detention. I'm guessing Amy and Matt had already left, but Patrick and Grace weren'tfar ahead of us. Me, Jay, Kevin, and Sanders were just goofin' off, heading to the parking lot, when this…ninja star thingy came flying at us. I mean, it barely missed us, but then as soon as it landed—boom."

"Why did they attack you, though? What did they say?" our principal pressed on.

"They said 'the Cyber Network must be controlled. Where is Thomas?' That's all she kept saying," I answered.

"Oh no, she had plenty more to say when I was stalling her," Patrick chimed in. I silently prayed for him to stop, but of course, he didn't. "She said her 'quarry' was Thomas and the Heir."

"At least she talked. The blue guy wasn't half as nice," Sanders added, sipping his coffee noisily.

"Yeah, no doubt," said Kevin. "I thought he was gonna lay us out for sure."

Doctor Oliver looked like someone had poisoned his coffee.

"What?" Grace asked him, noticing the look on his face.

He exhaled deeply before he explained. "These two, Mira the White Shadow Ninja and Rheas the Cobalt Crusher—are part of a radical scientific cult movement known as the Aleph Beyt."

"Cobalt Crusher?" Sanders laughed boisterously. "Nice."

"Aleph Beyt?" Amy repeated, ignoring Sanders altogether. "Like the Hebrew alphabet?"

I was slightly confused with what Hebrew had to do with anything, but then I remembered that Amy was Jewish.

Principal Oliver nodded. "In 2012, after Doomsday and Revelation X, SPD was finally allowed an establishment on Earth. A lot of people in the original SPD wanted to advance humans genetically and theorized that using technology to combat supernatural forces would get us nowhere."

"That's stupid," Sanders said, "how do you 'genetically advance' a human?"

"By creating Super Humans," Grace answered ominously. "Like Supreme Commander Tate. He and the entire 2025 Beta Squad were composed of genetically altered humans." Then she added, "And a few Xeno."

"Okay, so what does that have to do with this Aleph Beyt cult?" Matt asked.

Sighing, Doctor Oliver seemed like he was about to give us one of his college level seminars. "Are any of you familiar with the Temporal Protetion Act of 2012?"

Of course, Grace was the first to answer. "Of course we are, it's the biggest coverup of all time. And a bad one at that, I might add."

"Right. Essentially, the TPA was used to wipe any historical records from the year 2012, or to seal them away for a minimum of 15 years. Now that it's been 15 years, it's under review; and trust me when I say, the information contained within the TPA is enough to rock the foundations of a lot of what we believe now."

"What does that have anything to do with those alien guys that attacked us?" Sanders barked.

"Or the 'Ear Cyber Network?'"

"Dude, nobody said anything about ears," Patrick corrected Jay, "she clearly said heir."

"Wait, like the wind?" Sanders asked.

"Yeah, cuz that totally makes sense," Grace interrupted. "She's looking for something that is literally all around her. How on Earth could you possibly be that stupid?"

"We weren't focused on what they were saying," I snapped, defending Sanders and Jay and changing the topic. "We were trying not to get killed."

"ENOUGH!"

The room fell silent, all eyes on Doctor Oliver now. "Now, you all barged into my house asking for answers—answers I'm not even legally inclined to give you. So, if you want to know why you're all standing here looking like death, I suggest you stow your crap."

Wow.

Maybe we had all forgotten that we were in his house. Sure, he was our principal, but this obviously went way beyond our normal lives. And he was about to tell them everything I didn't want them to know.

"We're sorry," Grace finally said, "we'll shut up."

Doctor Oliver took another deep breath, calming himself. "When the TPA was passed, 22 members of SPD High Command left because of the division of ideals and priorities. So they rebelled and dropped off the grid, calling themselves the Aleph Beyt."

"Why the Aleph Beyt though? I mean, I get that there are 22, so it kind of fits…" Amy wondered.

I could tell this really bothered her. Amy wasn't very outspoken about her religion, but I'd dated her long enough to know it was important to her.

Doc smirked a little. "It's because SPD uses Greek letters, so, to be clever, they took to Hebrew. Now that the TPA is under review, though, they've been more active than ever. They're looking for the link between technology and nature. Trying to push the human genome to the next level. Essentially, exactly what Grace said—to create super humans."

"Is that what the Cyber Network is?" Patrick asked. "Like your Intro to Cybernetics class?"

"To an extent," Doc said.

"So what, they needed your help with something?" Jay spoke up. "Are you like an expert on this kind of thing?"

"You could say that."

"That doesn't make any sense," Grace said, "if they needed your help, why didn't they just get you? Why attack us?"

Doc looked like he was thinking long and hard about this. I couldn't tell if it was because he had his suspicions about what else they were looking for, or if he already knew and just didn't want to tell us. Then, like he'd suddenly made up his mind, he set his coffee down, looking very seriously at all of us. "What I'm about to tell you is still classified," he said, "but, seeing as how you've been put in the middle of all this, I feel it's fair to tell you why your lives were endangered."

Grace made an "mhm" sound, but we all ignored her.

"Around the same time the Aleph Beyt cult surfaced, Earth began to slowly work on building an alliance with the planet Eltar—as you all know from your Universal History class, Eltarians are the originators of harnessing the Morphing Grid, or the force that allows Rangers to morph; they started all of that. So, naturally, when Earth wanted to develop rangers for SPD, they asked Eltar for help. Meanwhile, Eltar was dealing with its own dilemma, as they had no current Ranger team to defend their planet. So, they began to work on a set of Morphers that would trump any set of Morphers."

"The Cyber Network," I said, more than asked.

"Exactly," Doctor Oliver said, looking at me strangely. "They were actually referred to as the Cyber Morphers, capable of fusing technology with the arcane elements of the world."

"You mean like, earth, water, air, and fire?" Matt asked.

"More or less," the principal responded. "When Eltar finished the Morphers, they were kept with their King, Hunter, who was also a former ranger from here on Earth."

My fists tightened temporarily, but no one seemed to notice. I was really hoping Doctor Oliver didn't know. I mean, I knew he was connected, but surely not that connected. Right?

"Crimson Thunder Ninja Ranger, right?"

Doctor Oliver nodded at Matt, who was 2-for-2. Apparently he wasn't as dumb as he acted. I knew that feeling.

Doctor Oliver continued. "Hunter decided the morphers should reside on Earth, as a sign of good faith to SPD, who was afraid that because the Cyber Morphers were so powerful, Eltar would be able to use them to wipe out SPD."

"Why would they think that?" Grace asked. "That's ridiculous."

"You have to remember, this is the early SPD, and Eltar was not and is not a member of SPD. SPD has no jurisdiction there, so, it was somewhat logical for them to be fearful."

"So where are the morphers now?" Grace asked, jumping to the point.

Doctor Oliver was silent.

"Oh, God," Amy sighed. "You have them."