The Mars Project - Julie Steimle (good ebook reader .TXT) 📗

Chapter One: Buying Cars

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The lack of money is the root of all evil.”—Mark Twain—

 

 

Zormna Clendar stared at the vehicle and grimaced.

“It’s a piece of junk,” she said flatly, her Irish-like lilt rather thick. The fourteen-year-old immigrant didn’t really look the Irish stereotype though. Her dark green eyes had an Asian shape to them, to begin with. Pasty white skin with fiery blond hair which was so wild in its curls that she reminded people of the sun, she had a lot of loose ringlets near the ends and wavy on the top, with all sorts of reddish gold streaks throughout. Some days she looked absolutely cherubic—a visitor from the heavens, depending on which sort of god you actually believed in. Fact was, if it weren’t for her often-angry expression, people would have taken her for a sweet porcelain doll—but a doll in military clothes, as she stood like a soldier most of time. That, or a kung fu doll, as she frequently dealt with idiots in the good old fashioned martial arts way.

But her friend, sixteen-year-old Jennifer McLenna, was redheaded and freckled. And she looked as Irish as her family claimed to be. Jennifer used to think she was of Irish descent too. But recent events had knocked that notion out of her head—recent events such as Zormna’s arrival to the neighborhood and Jennifer’s home.

“It’s not junk. It is a classic. You are never going to find such an inexpensive Mustang convertible,” Jennifer replied with a little annoyance in her voice. Zormna just didn’t get certain things, even though she had been in the US for several months now. And though Jennifer had learned to bear the girl’s quirks with patience, there were days she still wanted to strangle the blonde—like right now.

“Look at it. It isn’t even aerodynamic.” Zormna sullenly marched around the vehicle inspecting it as she would something had had to be flightworthy. “It is bad enough that it has an archaic combustion engine, but does it have to have such a drag to it? I won’t even enjoy driving it.”

Jennifer stared at her and sighed. “You don’t need an aerodynamic car. And knowing you, all that will do is encourage you to speed. And the last thing you need is to be arrested for speeding.”

“They don’t arrest you for speeding,” Zormna argued, sticking her head inside the sleeker car that was parked just next to the convertible. “They just give you a ticket.”

“And tickets go on record.” Jennifer pointed out, listing with her fingers in a very mother-preach-me sort of way that frequently annoyed Zormna. “And records are read by the FBI. And you don’t want to give the FBI more reasons to follow you, do you?”

Zormna was already scowling at Jennifer. “Give me a break. Speeding would be the least reason to follow me. Besides, they are quite decided on following me everywhere anyway. I mean, they’re right over there.” Zormna pointed to a green Pinto across the street. Inside, two plain-clothed men sat watching the two girls.

Jennifer shuddered and turned back towards her friend, hissing. “I hate it when you do that. Just when I feel like I have some privacy, you just have to go and let me know they are still there.” She peeked over her shoulder again with another shudder. “When are they going to give it up and leave? They’re not going to find anything new.”

Zormna shrugged, almost used to the watching eyes of the federal agents. “I don’t know. Maybe you should bring them doughnuts. I’m sure they’re starved.”

Jennifer rolled her eyes. “That’s not funny. You’d think they would have figured out you’re stuck here. It’s not like you can run. I mean, they’ve gotta know Dad had that radio thing hauled off so you can’t contact…you know, your people again.”

Zormna thought the notion of teasing the FBI was funny, though. After all, there were few things those days that could take her mind of the stress she felt while attempting to act ‘normal’ in that ordinary American suburb, mostly because the FBI was always watching.

It had been almost a half a year since the FBI started following her, and definitely more than six months since her arrival to Pennington Heights when she moved in with Jennifer’s family. Heavily sighing as she mused over her circumstances, Zormna knew Jennifer had been more than generous to her. Humoring Jennifer McLenna was the only payback Zormna could think of. After all, what was a girl from another planet to do?

Zormna stared at the convertible and frowned. “So I have to get this one, huh?”

Jennifer smiled triumphantly and nodded. “It is the best choice—the least conspicuous. Besides, it is a great car.”

“Yeah, sure. A great car.” Zormna’s sarcasm leaked out. “It is still a pile of junk.”

Jennifer merely shook her head then went off to call for the car salesman who was sure he had found a few suckers. Zormna eyed him sharply as he cheerfully massaged his hands and strode up to them both.

*

Jeff Streigle was bent over the engine of a rusty green jeep, reaching inside to reattach a spark plug when they drove up. Hearing the rumbling engine of the used car in desperate need of engine work, the seventeen-year-old glanced under his arm through his dark moppish bangs, spotting the old white Mustang convertible with two familiar faces in the front seat. Jennifer was driving. Zormna looked like she had eaten a really sour lemon.

She hopped over the door as soon as the car had stopped as if being inside such a ‘repugnant’ vehicle was too much for her. Jeff shook his head, smiling wearily to himself. A techno-snob forever, Zormna was going to make herself a pain.   

“Hi, Jennifer, Zormna,” he said while rising from the jeep’s innards, approaching them. “Nice car.”

“Isn’t it?’ Jennifer nodded enthusiastically as she exited the vehicle with a great deal more satisfaction.

 “Al del’rein’ell arnch ‘orn en’em, Jafarr,” Zormna grumbled in their native tongue, sulking. It was especially annoying when a girl like her sulked. She was too smart for it.

“Speak English, Zormna. You’re setting poor Jennifer at a disadvantage. And who knows who could be listening in.” Jeff rubbed his greasy hands on a rag. He flipped his midnight black hair out of his fathomless indigo eyes to see better, as his hair needed a trim. 

Smiling at the consideration, Jennifer peeked once to the road to see if those FBI agents who had been at the car dealership were now there. Jennifer hated being kept out of Zormna’s and Jeff’s conversations. It happened occasionally. After all, Jeff and Zormna were from the same place, which had been a very well-kept secret from most people.

Zormna darkly rolled her green eyes at him. “I said, noojra[1], I didn’t pick it—and she knows I don’t like it.”

“You’re in a sour mood.” Jeff lifted his head back in an old knee-jerk response to Zormna’s snotty remarks. Recently, they had been on better terms, but there were days when he wanted slap her.

“She hates not getting her way,” Jennifer put in with a condescending nod.

Folding her arms with a glare at the pair if them, Zormna snapped, “It was my money, and it is my car.”

Jennifer peeked sheepishly at Jeff who smirked back at her for manipulating the situation so expertly. She immediately cleared off a guilty expression as she said, “Well, this car is better than what you wanted anyway.”

Jeff decided to chime in. “It isn’t that bad of a car, Zormna. Really, it isn’t.” He peered over it, taking in the size while already thinking about ways to make it better.

With a skeptical glance at the machine, Zormna peered dryly at him. “I’ll bet.”

“We figured you could check it out, fix whatever needs to be repaired,” Jennifer said, ignoring Zormna’s skepticism.

“I know my machines,” Zormna added one last time. “And that is a piece of junk.”

Jeff laughed and nodded, comprehending quite well what she really meant. “Take it over here, and I’ll get to it after I finish up with this jeep.”

Jennifer smiled then jogged back to the car, dragging Zormna with her.

“See, I told you he’d help. Jeff isn’t still holding a grudge like you thought he was,” Jeff heard Jennifer say. He watched Zormna’s reluctant glance back at him as Jennifer said this.

The truth was Jeff and Zormna had mutually hated each other for a time for various reasons, all going back to when they knew each other before coming to Pennington. Their history went way back—so far back that Jennifer did not know the half of it, though she did have the basic story. It had to do with who they were.

And who were they? That was the question the FBI had been asking since they discovered Zormna in Pennington. Even now they were thinking over it while watching Jennifer park the newly bought car alongside the jeep. The FBI knew Zormna’s connection to the town and the reason she claimed for coming to Pennington. Her great aunt had lived in Pennington for decades—famously known as the crazy lady of Hayes Street who early on declared to the world that she was a Martian. And the entire world had been contented to believe in the woman’s insanity. For that matter, it would have stayed that way forever if it were not for the chain of events that had convinced the FBI otherwise.

It had started with the old woman taking electricity from her neighbor’s houses to power a high-charged radio that had broadcasted into (and presumably communicated with someone from) space. But the FBI had come knocking only to investigate her home as a possible drug house. What they found was weirder.

So, they took the woman in for a short weekend at the local sanitarium for mental evaluation. And what they learned was even stranger. But even then they were ready to blow it entirely off her strangeness as the acts of a raving lunatic—if it weren’t for her sudden, totally and entirely, unexpected death.

Murder, they discovered. And it was made to look like a drug overdose. Only they knew that could not be the case, as Asiah Clendar was clean when they had tested her earlier. Someone else had targeted her.

Unfortunately for their case, they never caught the killer.

The file on Asiah Clendar would have been closed that year if it were not for the inexplicable arrival of Zormna Clendar—who was entirely devastated to find on her arrival her only family dead.

The thing was, they would not have noticed Zormna’s arrival had she not reactivated the high-charged radio system to contact her home. And though it had been dismantled before the FBI could inspect the machinery closer, Zormna herself posed a problem. Because the girl was entirely different in behavior than her great aunt—though they were definitely related.

But really, the idea of Martians among us? Martians? It really was lunatic.

And the FBI did not have the whole story either. They knew it, but could not get it.

For example: who was Jeff? That summer they had discovered the boy was deeply connected to Zormna, though they did not know in what way. He spoke with a natural American accent, so it was difficult not to believe his claims that he had met Zormna in Ireland during a vacation rather than on some distant planet as the head of their project proposed. People around town either thought Jeff was from Chicago or somewhere in Missouri. But Zormna occasionally called him Jafarr, which made them wonder.

And as for Jennifer McLenna—Zormna’s first friend in Pennington— they could tell Zormna had told her things about herself that she had not told others. But Jennifer was more guarded than any of their other targets, and a little freaked out. Currently Jennifer was pulling the car into the shop, setting the