ftp.xmission.com/2014.06.ftp.xmission.com.tar/ftp.xmission.com/pub/lists/arfic-l/archive/v01.n058

Internet Message Format | 2001-11-06 | 41KB

From: [e-mail] (arfic-l-digest)
To: [e-mail]
Subject: arfic-l-digest V1 #58
Reply-To: arfic-l-digest
Sender: [e-mail]
Errors-To: [e-mail]
Precedence: bulk


arfic-l-digest       Wednesday, November 7 2001       Volume 01 : Number 058




----------------------------------------------------------------------

Date: Tue, 06 Nov 2001 13:14:47 -0600
From: Wendy Perkins <[e-mail]>
Subject: (arfic-l) Grimm's Law - Part 04/10

- --=====================_4151899==_
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"; format=flowed


- --=====================_4151899==_
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"

Grimm's Law
A Tomorrow's Future Story
by Wendy Perkins
[e-mail]
Part 04 of 10

Chapter 4

The room was all but gone this time, faded to a pressing, infinite grayness.
Only the door remained substantial.

"It figures," Lisa sighed. But it wasn't a surprise, not really. Wishful
thinking had been all that let her convince herself that the first dream was
a one-off. "So," she added, throwing her arms open wide, "How do you
want to play this? I'm not going to stand here and whimper, so you can just
forget that idea. I set my alarm, though. I wasn't about to hang out here all
night."

There was no response, no hint at all that anything or anyone heard her.
The air in this space wasn't any more real than the light that seemed to fill
the space; the curtains couldn't twitch nor the light flicker in any way that
could even be interpreted as meaningful. There was no way to tell if
someone else was present.

"You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?" she called.

If Sara was listening, she didn't answer. Lisa remained alone in the room
that was a shadow of what it had been.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," she sing-songed. Her voice rang
in the stillness. "Midnight, starbright," she continued under her breath. "I
wish I see a ghost tonight." Memories sprang to mind of many a childhood
evening playing the combination hide-and-seek and tag game. The gray
dreamscape lent itself to imagining a foggy night, although it lacked the
flashes of lightening bugs or the playful screams of her peers seeking to
navigate in the dark. "And if I do, I'll take my shoe and knock it black and
blue.

"Ghost in the graveyard!" she sang out: the name of the game, but also the
warning to the designated "ghost" that their time to hide was up.

As if on cue, Sara appeared. She, too, seemed faded around the edges. A
kind of weariness that seeped through every movement, and couldn't be
pin-pointed to any one description. "You came back," she said. The girl
leaned in to peer at her face. Lisa saw her reflection in the other girl's eyes,
and had no doubt that the reverse was true.

"Yeah, want to tell me why?"

Instead of answering, Sara flashed out of existence.

"Great!" Hands on her hips, Lisa glared out at the emptiness. She waited
for several minutes for Sara to return, until she started to imagine that the
grayness was closing in around her. Then she started to pace, to count off
steps. To try to force dimension in its absence.

Eventually she realized that no matter how far she seemed to walk, no
ground was covered. Nor was she tiring out. It was no more than she
expected for a dream, but she'd already had ample proof that this wasn't
just another dream. Through it all, the door didn't move.

She stopped in mid-step, caught with that thought. The door hadn't
changed position relative to her. No matter how much she paced, how far
she seemed to walk, the door was still in the same relative location. Even
her attempts to circle it were met without result.

"Great," she repeated, but without the fight. "So what am I supposed to do
*now*?" The last was directed up, in the general direction of a God that
Lisa wasn't sure she believed in.

She felt her attention redirected to the portal; the same invisible force that
had stopped her from opening the door before now moved her head so she
had a clear view of it. While Lisa watched, the air in front of it thickened,
then became a person. A Hispanic teen, with the broad, high-cheek boned
face of someone who no doubt had ancestors among the indigenous
population.

He was turning in place, clearly trying to reason what he was seeing. He
just as clearly didn't see Lisa. His gaze skipped over her, just another
spirit.

"How come he can't see me?" she breathed, more to herself than anyone
else. She didn't expect an answer, but the silence of this place begged to be
filled.

Lisa watched with morbid fascination as the new arrival explored the
scene. She couldn't help but wonder if he saw the same emptiness as she,
or if his mind was filling in the blanks somehow. Maybe he saw the
bedroom that she'd seen on her first visit. Was it just the previous night?

Did he understand that this was more than just a dream, she wondered. In a
bed back at the school that had once felt so safe and normal her body lay in
sleep, but her mind was quite conscious of the here and now--such that
they were. Although her body was asleep, she was quite awake. Yet, there
was a certain stiffness about the teen's movements that suggested that he
wasn't quite aware.

"Sometimes they talk," Sara said, once again standing next to the elder girl
as if she'd never left her side. "They beg, or yell or pray to God. Some cry.
I don't like the ones who cry. Mostly they just look around, and then . . ."

The boy reached for the door. His hand never found the knob. Instead, he
stepped straight though what had appeared to be solid wood. He didn't
come out the other side.

". . . they go away."

The act itself seemed so innocent, so painless. The teenager had been
there, and then he walked through the door. And Lisa knew with utmost
certainty that this was not a good thing. Sara sounded sad, and perhaps a
little lonely as she related the facts. Lisa was just horrified. She rubbed at
the goose bumps on her arms. "Ghost in the graveyard," she repeated
without humor.

She looked up to see Sara standing at her side. And another thought
occurred to her. "Why me?" she asked. Why was she standing here
watching when another person had been allowed to pass? she meant. Why
was she allowed to see the boy, when he hadn't been able to see her? If
Sara was to be believed, what she'd just seen had happened before, and
would happen again.

"You answered me," was the murmured response. "No one's ever
answered me before."

"Yeah, you said that already."

"They go away. She went away, and she didn't answer me."

Her hands stilled. The topic had somehow jumped beyond the creepy
scene that had just played out, and Lisa wasn't sure when it happened.

"Lisa Davis," Sara added, her voice child-like and almost too low to be
heard. "Make it stop. She went away and I . . . ahhh . . . ." The sound
turned into a moan, then escalated into a scream of anguish. Sara pressed
her arms against her ears, fingers locked behind her head. Dropping to her
knees, she curled in on herself. Her hair cascaded over her hands and face,
hiding her from view, offering yet another layer of protection.

"Sara?" Lisa laid a gentle hand on the girl's head.

Sara froze in place, the scream cut off abruptly. For precious seconds the
two stood immobile. Then Sara pulled back, crawling on her knees. "No.
Nonononono." The desperation of the word tore into Lisa, the sound of an
animal under attack. The sound of a person without knowledge of pain,
one naive of her right or ability to fight back, being tortured.

Curling her fingers into a fist, Lisa grimaced and took her own step back.
Whatever it was, Lisa was pretty sure she hadn't started it. But she was
sure that she had made it worse.

"There. Will be. No. Touching," Sara choked out. "Not. At all." Then she
flickered out of existence again.

Lisa couldn't move for a long time after that. Her limbs shook from the
rush of adrenaline that had no outlet in either fight or flight; her heart
pounded in her chest, the beat equipresent in her jaw, and deafening in her
head.

[Lisa?]

She came awake. Not suddenly, not like waking up from a nightmare. But
there was no transition. One moment she was sleeping; the next she was
awake in her dorm bunk-bed. Her sheets had all been kicked down to the
foot, and her pillow was squashed in the corner where the bed met the
wall. From above, the soft snores of her roommate filtered down. It all felt
so normal, until the dream surfaced in her memory. Then she felt her pulse
quicken, and the darkness of the room turn a little less friendly. The bed
springs creaked as Tanya rolled over, and Lisa realized there was no one
here she could talk to about the dream. No one who would see it as she
did.

[Lisa?] she heard again.

She felt the softest touch at the fringes of her mind, and reached out in
return.

****

"It wasn't just a dream," Lisa said. "Adam, it felt so *real*."

Lying awake in her bed, she'd felt Adam reaching for her. After their less
than amicable discussion they day before, she hesitated about accepting
the offered help. She had told him to go away, after all. She hesitated, but
only for a second. Once, the two of them had been the only representatives
of their race. Then, Adam had needed her and the two had formed a
friendship of default that promised to become much more. But Lisa's fears
interrupted the developing relationship, stalled it when she walked away.
She had told herself then that she didn't need them then, and she had
mouthed the same words again one day previous.

Maybe she didn't need Adam's help, but someone else did. Someone who,
if it was possible, was more frightened than she. And that someone didn't
seem to be in any hurry to go away until she got that help.

Now Adam regarded her in that soul-searching manner of his, as though
looking for the truth behind her words. Not that he expected her to lie --
not that any of them could lie to him -- but he looked as if to see the things
she wasn't ready to admit. Perhaps, hadn't even yet recognized herself. "It
wasn't just a dream," he confirmed. "I . . . lost track of you." He bowed his
head to the floor.

In the dim light of the spaceship, his expression was impossible to read.
Almost without conscious control she felt the clenched control of her mind
ease. The power she had first struggled against, then ignored, was waking
up. Although she never wanted to admit it, the Tomorrow People's abilities
could be convenient at times.

Her hard-fought-for control relaxed, and for the second time in less than a
day she reached out with her thoughts to find Adam's. She found nothing.
His control was better than she could have wished for herself; his thoughts
were untouchable.

That wasn't fair. What did she have this power for if she couldn't use it for
anything good? "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, instead,
using the recourse she was best familiar with.

Adam raised his head. "I can feel you," he admitted, tapping his temple,
"here."

She stared at him in silence for several seconds before responding, "You
keep track of me?"

"I don't have a choice."

"Wait a second. You spy on me? All the time? And you're just now getting
around to mentioning this?"

"It's not spying, Lisa. I don't close my eyes and watch you take a shower."

Her eyes widened at the thought, and she opened her mouth as if to say
something, but no words came out.

"I couldn't even if I wanted to," he cut in, interrupting the brewing outrage.
"It doesn't work that way. You, Megabyte, Jade. Everyone. You're all
here." He tapped his temple again. "Usually," he added with a frown. "You
know that. Or, you used to.

"I always know where you are, how you're feeling. When a Tomorrow
Person dies . . ." he squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard. ". . . the
loss . . . we feel the loss. The part that we share . . . is gone."

She nodded silently. "But I didn't die," she said. "I think I would remember
that. I can't seem to forget the last time it happened."

"No," he agreed. "You didn't die. You just . . . I'm not even sure how to
describe it. It's like it went blank. You were still there, in my head, but . . .
you weren't. I didn't know where you were anymore."

"Do you have *any* idea how many people there are in the world who I
could wish had the same problem?" She pressed the heel of one hand to
her forehead and held it, eyes closed, for a long moment. The ship
hummed and moaned in the background, like it was trying to answer her
question.

"Okay," she said. "You said the ship wanted something from one of us.
Apparently that person is me. Here I am." She dropped her hand back to
her side, acutely conscious of the slight quiver in her fingers that she
couldn't seem to bring under control. "This is all your fault," she directed
to the central column.

It moaned in response, the voices of thousands of generations of
Tomorrow People past and yet to come trying to speak through alien
machinery that had been broken long before the rise of earth civilization.

"Okay, but why *me*?" She turned suddenly to face Adam. "Why
*now*?"

"Maybe she knows you, goes to your school?" he suggested.

"Too young," Lisa argued. "She couldn't be older than fifteen." Which was
true, although there had been something about her that seemed much
harder. When the girl looked at her, it wasn't with the innocence Lisa had
come to expect from fifteen-year-olds. Including herself at that age, though
she had fought hard and often to deny it then.

"Is there anything else you remember. Anything, at all?" Adam was
leaning against the wall that looked out onto the ocean. He showed no
signs of having been awakened by her dream, but there were many times
Lisa questioned if he slept. She knew he pretty much lived in the spaceship
and he cared for the Tomorrow People like his own. She didn't know if
there was another place he called home, or another group of people he
called family.

With a shake of her head she answered, "Nothing. The first time, I guess it
was her bedroom we were in. She mostly just acted strange and cryptic.
All this stuff about me being able to hear her, *and* she knew my name."

"So she's telepathic."

"No kidding. The second time, well I already told you what happened the
second time. And it sounded like it's happened to her before, more than
once." She sucked in her lower lip, then added, "I think maybe he was a
Tomorrow Person too."

That got Adam's attention. He looked at her squarely, focused on her with
an attention that would be frightening coming from anyone else. "How?
Can you be sure?"

She returned his gaze, wanting him to understand exactly what this piece
of information meant. "His name is Alejandro de los Reyes."

"That's why the ship . . . ." Adam gazed off into the distance, his brow
furrowed in thought. He was dressed as always in a simple, loose-fitting
t-shirt and jeans. He should have looked like any other young adult. But
partially turned, with the dim light catching his profile and casting his face
into shadows, he looked like anything but.

"Are they Tomorrow People?" Lisa asked when his silence grew too long.

He shook his head. "We haven't had any new break-outs since Rachel."
Rachel was the blonde American who came into her own during the height
of summer a few months back, Lisa remembered. "I suppose they could be
peope who're about to break out," Adam added.

"I don't think so," Lisa responded slowly. "There was something just . . .
wrong . . . about this, about her. I can't put my finger on it--" she stopped
in frustration, searching her thoughts for just the right description, and
coming up blank. "You'd see it too if you met her."

[So, introduce us,] Adam said, projecting the thought right into her head.

"Don't *do* that," she said, rounding on him with finger upraised.

"You needed to know I'm serious," he answered. "Introduce us."

"Adam, I don't even know if I *can*," she protested. "I mean, what if she
doesn't contact me again?"

"Do you think she's contacting you?"

Lisa scowled. "What else would you call it?"

He crossed the ship to sit cross-legged in one of the round portals that led
out of the main room, like a guru sitting in meditation on top of a
mountain. Through closed eyes he looked up at the ceiling, as if
concentrating on a sound he could barely hear. "Maybe you're contacting
her," he suggested. "Maybe she's a Tomorrow Person from another time or
another planet, and you've reached out to her." When his eyes opened
again, Lisa made sure her face expressed every bit of doubt and disgust she
could muster. "Maybe not," he conceded, looking a little sheepish.

"No," Lisa said, just to make sure he understood. "There is no way this
would be happening if it had been up to me to start it. Don't even try to
blame me."

"I'm not blaming you."

"Good, then we agree that she's the one causing all the problems. So, how
do I make her stop?"

"Well, we have to figure out what she wants," he said, sounding
reasonable.

Lisa kicked at some of the sand that covered the space ship floor. "When
did it become 'we'? She came to me, remember? She's not your problem,
yet."

She saw something darken in Adam's eyes, as if he were holding himself
responsible for recent events; at his failure to protect her from the world
she had opted out of. "If she's a Tomorrow Person, then she is my
problem."

"Okay, so she's your problem. She's my problem. She's generally just a
problem. A real problem child."

"We need to stop her before something happens," he said.

"What makes you think something is going to happen? Besides the fact
that something has *already happened*." She heard her voice rising and
forced herself to take a deep breath. In a more normal volume she added,
"I'm sorry, but I'm having a very hard time remembering not to panic. I
don't like the unexplained, and lately I seem to be surrounded with things I
can't explain."

"I understand," he said quietly, twisting his hands together in his lap in a
gesture of nervousness that didn't seem like one Adam would ever have
reason to know. "What if we find Sara and ask her?"

That, she thought, was the elder speaking again. No matter how ridiculous
a situation they found themselves in, Adam was able to establish and
maintain the distance necessary to solve it. It was one of the elements that
made him a good leader. And one of the elements, Lisa thought, that made
her a lousy follower. Because while everyone else was happily following
Adam's course of action, she was stuck trying to figure out how things got
the way they were to begin with.

There was just one problem.

"How?" she asked.

He shrugged carelessly, like the situation wasn't anywhere near as
complicated as they were making it seem. "We know her name," he said.

Lisa kicked again at the sand and started drawing concentric patterns with
the toe of her shoe. "And we're supposed to do what? Look her up in the
phone book?"

"Sure."

"Which one? There're probably dozens of Grimms in my town alone and
we don't even know if she's in my town. We don't even know if she's in my
country." Why was she having a bad feeling about this? Why did she feel
like she was being set up?

Adam shrugged again. "You said she sounded American."

"That's what people say about Megabyte, too." The comeback dropped
from her lips, followed by the realization that she had squashed any last
chance at normalcy. The only kind of investigation left was the kind she
did not, under any circumstances, want to participate in.

Adam's expression grew intense. Lisa didn't have to be telepathic to see
the thoughts and plans racing through his mind. Each idea echoed on his
face, his expressions shifting faster than Lisa could identify and keep up
with them. "There is something we can try," he said at last.

"Don't," she interrupted. "Don't you dare suggest a mind merge. I don't
even want to hear it!" That was something she'd never done, to share one's
mind with another person . . . or worse, with the space ship . . . so
completely that there was no telling where one mind left off and the next
began. A mind merge was supposed to enhance memories, to bring to light
the details that had been perceived but not noted. It was also supposed to
let one view memories from a different perspective. It was an experience
she didn't need.

"It may be the only way."

"Or it may be the wrong way. Did you think of that? Adam, I'm part of this
because she came to me. I don't know if it'll happen again; I can only hope
she'll find someone else's head to waltz around in tonight."

"You said this was the *second* time she came to you," he pointed out
reasonably.

"It had better be the *last* time," she demanded. "I didn't ask for this, and I
don't want it. All I want is for her to stop."

"Easy," Adam said. "We find out what she wants and we give it to her.
Then she won't have to come to you anymore."

She stomped her foot down hard. "I am not doing a mind merge."

"Do you have any better ideas?"Adam asked, still sounding too reasonable.
He sounded like he wanted her suggestions, and wasn't just spitting the
question out as a dare he knew she couldn't accept.

The quiver in her hands grew stronger and she clasped them behind her
back to hide the shaking from the one person who wouldn't fail to notice it.
"I can't," she said, voice catching.

She could.

"Please?"

Did he see through the lie, she wondered? Could he know the choice he
was asking her to make? He was asking too much.

"I can't," she repeated.

He didn't respond, verbally or telepathically; she could feel him standing
somewhere just inside her personal space, hesitating, sizing up the
situation and her determination. She almost wished he would touch her,
place his hand on hers and say something uniquely Adam that would make
her cave in and go with him. Instead, the silence stretched on. She was just
about to look up, to apologize for disappointing him again, when she
registered the electric charge in the air and flash of light that signaled his
departing teleport.

"I'm sorry," she said to the empty ship. "I can't."

The moan it responded with left no doubt that it didn't believe her either.

****
End Chapter 4
- --=====================_4151899==_
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"; format=flowed


- --=====================_4151899==_--


- -
 To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "[e-mail]"
 with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message.
 For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send
 "help" to the same address.  Do not use quotes in your message.

------------------------------

Date: Wed, 07 Nov 2001 09:57:04 -0500
From: "Michele Bumbarger" <[e-mail]>
Subject: (arfic-l) Character Death

Hopefully, that got everyone's attention.

This topic came up when I was reading email from the TPFICT list . . . I
have to ask, what's the stand on character death in fandom?


**********************************************
Michele B.
Archivist, Author & Webmistress
Alternate Realities Fan Fiction Archive
http://www.alternate-realities.net
**********************************************


_________________________________________________________________
Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp


- -
 To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "[e-mail]"
 with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message.
 For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send
 "help" to the same address.  Do not use quotes in your message.

------------------------------

Date: Wed, 7 Nov 2001 10:25:13 -0500
From: "Horrocks, Elizabeth" <[e-mail]>
Subject: RE: (arfic-l) Character Death

Character Deaths, in general, are disturbing...even when done by their very
own creators (RIP: Tasha, Doyle, Ritchie, Alex... *sniff*)  But it's all
part of the game.  Anything to get that emotion flowing!

Sometimes a character death brings about a whole new dimension to other
characters. It all comes down to the circumstance and how it's handled.
Despite my initial obscenities and 'why, God, WHYs?'  fanfic can explore
some interesting relationships and reactions through a death.

So, in brief (too late...), I guess my take on character death (in fanfic or
otherwise) depends on the situation and outcomes of that death.

Besides, sometimes I need a good cry...  ;)

- -----Original Message-----
From: Michele Bumbarger [mailto:[e-mail]]
Sent: Wednesday, November 07, 2001 9:57 AM
To: [e-mail]
Subject: (arfic-l) Character Death


Hopefully, that got everyone's attention.

This topic came up when I was reading email from the TPFICT list . . . I
have to ask, what's the stand on character death in fandom?


**********************************************
Michele B.
Archivist, Author & Webmistress
Alternate Realities Fan Fiction Archive
http://www.alternate-realities.net
**********************************************


_________________________________________________________________
Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp


- -
 To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "[e-mail]"
 with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message.
 For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send
 "help" to the same address.  Do not use quotes in your message.

- -
 To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "[e-mail]"
 with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message.
 For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send
 "help" to the same address.  Do not use quotes in your message.

------------------------------

Date: 7 Nov 2001 07:57:43 -0800
From: [e-mail]
Subject: Re: (arfic-l) Character Death

Michele asked:
> I have to ask, what's the stand on character death in fandom?

Mostly, I'm against it. However, I'm also guilty of it. I guess
it depends on the story and situation. A character killed just
because the author has no idea what else to do with the character
is usually not a good thing. Either leave the character out of
the story, or figure out what to do with hir. A character killed
in the line of duty, so to speak, can make for some interesting
stories.

I hated the death of Richie on Highlander. Why? Because the
writers clearly killed him off because they ran out of ideas
for him. They've admitted as much. They were also getting tired
of fan mail demanding more Richie. They've admitted that, too.
So, they kill the character out of bordeom and spite, but it
has almost no effect on the other characters. It's as though
Richie never existed.

I loved the death of Joyce on Buffy. Yes, I hated losing her as
a character. The interplay between her and Buffy was such that
I looked forward to their scenes together. But, that's also
why I liked her death. Granted, she was killed because the
actress wanted out of her contract (good, and common reason),
but the death was made realistic. It had repercussions. They
killed her in such a way that her life mattered, and the story
resonated from her absence.

Those are canon examples. Despite peoples' wishing and Rivers
of Denial, there's nothing that can be done to fix those
deaths on the show. In fanfic, the fix is obvious: don't read
the story. OTOH, a good character death can be just what's
needed to make an okay story into an excellent story.

The question the author has to ask is: Why am I killing this
character(s)? As a reader, I'm going to ask the same question.
If the answer isn't, "because there was no other way to tell
the story," then it's worth rethinking.

When all else fails, there's always the delete key.

Just my $0.02.

...
Wendy



- -
 To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "[e-mail]"
 with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message.
 For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send
 "help" to the same address.  Do not use quotes in your message.

------------------------------

Date: Wed, 07 Nov 2001 16:21:48 -0600
From: Wendy Perkins <[e-mail]>
Subject: (arfic-l) Grimm's Law - Part 05/10

- --=====================_986294==_
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"; format=flowed


- --=====================_986294==_
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"

Grimm's Law
A Tomorrow's Future Story
by Wendy Perkins
[e-mail]
Part 05 of 10

Chapter 5

Professor Greenberg stood up at the blackboard in front of a lecture hall
full of students in various states of repose. He was well past his prime,
with deep creases lining his face, and the bulbous, venous nose of
someone who'd had more than a few drinks. In one hand he held a piece of
chalk, in the other an eraser. As fast as he could write, he also erased. The
students were expected to take their notes in the few microseconds
between the creation and destruction of each thought.

"The undeniable fact," he lectured, "is that the English language is always
changing, always growing. While its primary ancestor was the Germanic
branch of the Indo-European family, it is being raised by a truly global
village, each of which has left -- and is leaving -- its mark on this linguistic
child.

"Some of those marks can be traced to specific places and specific times,
others are not so obvious. One of the questions on the final might deal
with this topic, so listening now would be a good idea." He glared out at
the lecture hall. Half the approximately 250 seats were empty, but weren't
supposed to be. From somewhere near the middle of the hall came music,
a walkman turned up just a notch too loud. The beat that poured from it
sounded like the fight scene in a kung-fu movie.

Lisa couldn't hear the song well enough to recognize it; she doubted the
Professor could hear it at all, or he would have kicked the student out of
class twenty minutes ago. She shook it off and tried to focus on the
lecture; her pen rested on the open notebook, all set to take notes as soon
as she found find a break in the writing-and-erasing that would let her
start. She couldn't seem to wake up today; couldn't gather the energy to
keep up with the pace of the class. Being unable to sleep after returning
from the Ship that morning, she had tried to get some homework done;
she'd ended up sitting in the lounge, staring at a blank television screen.

Now she was sitting in an auditorium, staring at a Professor who might as
well be lecturing in Tocharian. Her mind just wasn't on school.

Adam said he'd lost track of her.

She'd already yelled at him about that, he assured her that he wasn't spying
on her, the matter was supposed to be closed.

Dammit. The matter wasn't closed. She did not like the idea of Adam, or
anyone else, keeping tabs on her every move. It was for that reason that
she had come to be where she was now. Not the college part. The part with
the ever super-paranoid mom who made her phone in every day and who
questioned anyone who looked at either of them even a second too long. A
mom who did not know her nineteen year old daughter was dating, and
wouldn't approve of it if she did.

Because once someone had tried to keep track of them, and it had nearly
gotten them both killed.

Adam had meant to be comforting. He wasn't. It could *never* be a
comfort that someone would both have the ability to know her mind and
would choose to use it. Lisa learned that lesson too well. She felt a shiver
run up her spine. She pondered this for a moment, then realized with
surprise that the shiver came not from knowing that Adam hadn't just let
her walk out of his life, but with the knowledge that she expected nothing
else from him.

Lisa had long known she would grow up to be important. Really
important. Her earliest memories were daydreams: the kind of super hero
stories where the bad guy only looked monstrous, the challenges were
right within her ability to overcome, and she always, always finished on
top. In her dreams she was rich, powerful, and subject to no one. She lived
immersed in the unspoken admiration of all around her.

When she turned twelve, she packed those dreams away along with her
Barbies, just another toy outgrown. Lisa Davis didn't have time for heroics
anymore: she had boys, clothes, and a reputation to worry about. She was a
teenager who had a woman to become.

Then came the talent show, the one where she teleported in front of a room
full of people.

And it wasn't a fantasy anymore. It wasn't a daydream where she could
manipulate the outcome until it suited her needs; where she could look at
all the people who made her life difficult and think, "If only you knew."

Now she worried about exactly that: who knew? After her mom was
captured and held hostage, after she was subjected to that horrible *thing*
that destroyed her ability to think, after her new found friends had nearly
died trying to save them . . . After all that, she learned that wealth, power
and freedom didn't belong to people who had something to exploit. She
figured the only way to ever be safe again was to make sure no one knew
the truth. If she didn't acknowledge her powers, she wouldn't use them.
Then, maybe, she could forget she wasn't just like everyone else sitting in
this classroom. Maybe, someday, everyone who knew better would also
forget. And Lisa Davis would be once again left alone to grow into the
woman she always wanted to be.

Except it wasn't quite that easy, as last night so succinctly reminded her.
Sometimes, she was learning, she had to be a person she *didn't* want to
be.

Like right now: She wanted to be angry. Adam had reached into her head
without being invited, had reminded her of a part of her life she didn't look
back on fondly. But she knew that even for all the distance she had tried to
put between them, there was a connection that hadn't been severed --
because she could still reach back. Adam had let her walk away, but he
couldn't let her disappear. That wasn't in her nature.

The dream. That wasn't his fault. Sara had come to her, twice, and would
probably keep coming to her until she figured out why. She sighed into her
pillowed arms. Of all the problems she thought she'd find in college, this
hadn't even made the list. But, it wasn't in her nature to turn down a
request for help.

"Miss Young," the professor said, interrupting her thoughts. "Perhaps you
could tell us what happened in 1066?" He sounded smug, proud to be
calling her on not paying attention.

For just a second she panicked. That date was important. She remembered
it from her attempt at studying the other day; it was on the list, one of
those dates for which she had neglected to write down an explanation.

"Norman conquest," she said, pulling the answer from the professor's head,
too distracted to care about the morality or hypocrisy of it. "William the
Bastard of Normandy became William the Conqueror when he defeated
the English King Harold at the Battle of Hastings." She spoke the words
without emotion; she had none to spare on him.

"Ummm . . . thank you," she heard the professor answer. He turned back to
the board and started to write, the chalk squealing on each down stroke.
"Historical accounts tell us that King William spoke Norman French.
When he moved to England, he brought all of his French speaking friends
with him and, out of them, created the new nobility of England. . . ."

Adam had suggested a mind-merge. He knew how she felt about her
powers, and about the Ship. Yet of all the possible options, that was what
he decided was needed. Perhaps it was. While she had been off trying to
live her quiet life, he'd been left to lead the Tomorrow People alone. It had
changed him, but she couldn't bring herself to believe that Adam would
make any decisions without at least attempting to take the thoughts and
feelings of the others into account. If he said mind-merge, it was because
he believed it was the best option. The only option?

As much as she hated to admit it, she didn't seem to be getting much of a
choice about her involvement. The part of her that knew that her years of
solitude were a temporary reprieve, knew also that the time of reprieve
was at an end.

Once she had promised to return to the island, to Adam. She had said the
words without understanding what she was leaving or what she would be
returning to. Still, she had meant them.

It seemed as if someone were making sure she kept that promise, for real
this time.

"That was *tight*," a voice announced in her ear.

Lisa started. Her pen careened across the page, leaving a black ink trail.

"You put him right down. He thought he gonna make an example of you.
You made *him* the example." Each word had the initial syllable
emphasized.

"Isaac," she breathed. For some reason she had been expecting Adam. "Hi.
You made it to class."

Isaac jumped over the row of seats and threw himself down into the seat
next to Lisa. He was wearing a ratty gray sweatshirt, the sleeves torn off,
over a forest green long-underwear shirt. It looked like he'd dressed in a
hurry. Around his neck were a pair of headphones from which came the
same driving beat Lisa had heard earlier.

"Yeah, I made it. Last week and all. Gotta put in an appearance some
time." Isaac reached down to the walkman hooked on his belt and shut off
the music.  "Let's get gone; nothing here worth stickin' around for."

"But the class--" Lisa started to say, then stopped and looked around. The
class was over. The blackboard was wiped clean and everyone was gone,
including the Professor.

"Sucked. Yeah, I know." Isaac finished for her. "What say we get outta
here?" He stood up and held out his hand to her.

Lisa closed her notebook, shoved it into her bookbag, then took the offered
hand.  She kept hold of it while they negotiated down the narrow aisle, up
the stairs and out the door into a day that threatened at Springtime. The air
was warm enough that she didn't need to zip her jackets; Isaac wasn't even
wearing a jacket. Passing students walked with a bounce in their steps that
hadn't been present for weeks.

"So," he asked, "What's the plan? We've got a whole evening in front of
us. No more classes. I refuse to study anymore today. Gotta have a brain
break."

"Actually," she answered, "We don't. I have to catch up with someone."

"You have something better to do than hang out with me?" Isaac looked at
her in disbelief. "I thought candles, hot chocolate, marshmallows, a rented
movie we have no intention of watching . . ."

"I wish I could," she responded. "It sounds so warm and cozy." She sidled
a little closer to him and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "It's just
that I've got other plans."

"But you ain't gonna tell me what they are?" Isaac sounded offended.

"There's not much to tell," she said with a shrug.

Isaac removed his arm. "Why don't you tell me anyway," he suggested.
"Who're you going out with? Where are you going? How long is it going
to take? Maybe we can get together later tonight?"

They stopped walking and Lisa turned to face him. "What's with all the
questions? Don't you trust me?" They were standing in a small courtyard
around which the main buildings of the campus sprawled. The grass was
dead; the defrosting ground squelched under their feet. Two guys, both
with their heads covered by red bandanas, walked by hand in hand.

"The world's a big, bad place," Isaac said. "I like to know what my girl is
up to. Gotta know she's safe."

She narrowed her eyes. "You sound like my mother. Why does everyone
act like I'm about to jump off a cliff and they have to step in and save me?
I'm not a lemming. And I'm *not* perpetually on the verge of running off
and doing something stupid."

"Tell me the truth, Lisa. You seein' someone else?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "If we're going to stay together, you
need to start trusting me. You also need to realize that I had a life before
you, and I still have one that you're not always going to be part of." With a
shake of her head she started walking away. "When you figure out how to
deal with that, give me a call."

She didn't look back to see what, if any, expression he had.

****
End Chapter 5
- --=====================_986294==_
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"; format=flowed


- --=====================_986294==_--


- -
 To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "[e-mail]"
 with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message.
 For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send
 "help" to the same address.  Do not use quotes in your message.

------------------------------

End of arfic-l-digest V1 #58
****************************

-
 To unsubscribe to $LIST, send an email to "[e-mail]"
 with "unsubscribe $LIST" in the body of the message.
 For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send
 "help" to the same address.  Do not use quotes in your message.