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

her in amazement.

Smirking in thought, Zormna replied, “To sue the FBI.”

Not far away, Jeff burst into laughter and then caught himself quickly.

“Why would you do that?” Adam asked, puzzled, especially glancing at Jeff who was trying to keep a straight face.

The others of Jeff’s group started to laugh. Sam and Adam watched with increasing puzzlement.

It was Jeff that replied. “If you haven’t heard the story, then perhaps you should ask Darren.”

“Which reminds me,” Zormna asked, glancing around, “Where is Darren?”

The others looked around also. Darren, whom Jeff’s friends normally were annoyed to see, was not there at all. Not even his books or an evidence that he had come and gone. Normally, he came with Zormna and Sam. At least, he had headed out of Chemistry with them toward the cafeteria.

 “He’s in the library,” Jennifer said, looking up from her History notebook. “He said he had homework to do.”

“Again?” Zormna exclaimed. “Doesn’t he finish it in class? He didn’t study much in the library last year.”

Jennifer shook her head. “Well, things were different last year.”

Sighing and nodding, Zormna turned back to her lunch. Last year Darren had practically stalked her and wouldn’t shut up about her being from Mars. This year, he kept his word and had not made one mention of it. And now he was not even around.

*

Darren rubbed the edges of his board with the sandpaper and smiled, feeling some satisfaction in the results he was getting. He was nearly ready to paint on the wood varnish. He gazed across the room at Kevin, who contended with the vise after destroying yet another saw blade. He had given up on the table he was going to build, and resigned himself to making a wall plaque. However, Kevin was regretting the methods he chose to make it and the pattern he had picked. Across the room, Sam was operating the scroll saw very well. He had managed to cut his glued-together boards into a nice shape, which supposedly would be a seat for a stool when he was done. Darren sighed and placed his board down.

“Ready to varnish?” the student teacher asked, stopping from his rounds around the room.

Darren nodded. “I think so.”

“You can go into the back room and do it. Just put your name tag near your project when you leave today,” his teacher said.

Nodding again, Darren picked up his pieces of wood then walked to the back room. A few others were in the room wearing facemasks and goggles. He placed his wood on the table as he walked over to the wall pegs to take a mask and a pair of goggles for himself. Pulling them on, he glanced across the room where he saw Sam Perkins staring at him. The guy smirked and continued on his project.

A chill ran down Darren’s spine. He shook it off as he pulled on the goggles and mask.

“Ready to varnish?” a girl across the way asked with a strange giggle.

One of the Henderson twins mimicked her, swaying as if he were high then trotted by with his partially glued together project.

Darren rolled his eyes.

*

Jennifer knew a great deal more about sewing than Zormna, so she ended up sewing the curtains that would hang over the PVC pipe frame Zormna had built. But the frame was well-made. Zormna also had constructed a small table map with lights that lit up when you pushed a labeled button. It was simply ingenious and looked professional. She still had to paint the land formations to finish it, but it ran on D batteries and was light to carry—mostly made out of Styrofoam that she had scrounged and electronic parts that had been left behind in her old junk room. That room amazed Sam to no end and annoyed Jennifer. Zormna also provided an unfinished sign made from green and white Christmas lights that would eventually hang from the top of the booth. It said Ireland when lit.

After a trip together to their local fabric and craft store, Zormna had bought reams of green and gold cloth, from which Jennifer planned to make costumes for the three of them. Her great aunt had a sewing machine left from her internet run handbag and hat business, which she had unearthed from the room in the turret, and a heap of old coupons that had no expiration date for that store. Some of the cloth Zormna had bought was covered in clover and was, as Jennifer put it, rather cute. She had found an equally cute pattern to use also. When Jennifer finished, she made two dresses with bloomers, a green and gold vine vest, and green pants. Jennifer showed them to Zormna and Sam on Wednesday.

Zormna nearly choked on the pizza they had ordered when she saw them.

“You made me a dress? What has gotten into you? You know I hate dresses!” She shouted, dropping her slice onto the coffee table.

Sam laughed, overcome by Zormna’s violent revulsion.

“I dunno. I like it. It’s perfect,” he said.

Zormna scowled as she pointed at it. “It’s a dress.”

Jennifer held up the light green underpants that were long enough to reach her knees. “It’s got bloomers. It is just like pants.”

Shaking her head and holding the bloomers up with a skeptical eye, Zormna replied, “Not much like pants—not with that frilly thing on the cuffs.”

Sam rose from cross-legged position with a smile at it. “Zormna, these outfits will clinch our grade. If we wear these I’m sure we’ll get A’s.”

Zormna shook her head, not agreeing in the slightest.

Pulling the bloomers out of Zormna’s hand with a roll of her eyes, Jennifer said, “You wear that cheer outfit. How can this be worse?”

Immediately Zormna’s cheeks went hot. She averted her eyes. Picking up the dress, she held it up to herself. “Fine. But only for this Saturday.”

Sam and Jennifer shared a smile.

*

The week flew by, so much that they covered all of Act Three in Romeo and Juliet in English class without any real change to the rhythm of the class. Their teacher again had them read from their papers that Friday. Again the students waited with chills in fear of having their names called. This time Jeff was one of the unfortunate.

Standing up to pluck his paper from his teacher’s outstretched hand, Jeff read:

“Violence in school nowadays seems to be one of the usual catch phrases in the news. Children are shooting children and teachers. Innocence is being killed. Is it the presence of guns in our community, or is it something deeper? I can’t help but wonder what went wrong. Is it the lack of love between parents and children these days? Or is it the constant numbing to violence in movies and TV and video games that has made it so children begin to think all problems can be solved by simply killing their classmates?

“I grew up in a rough neighborhood. I got into fights as consequence. I did not have a good home life. My father blamed my fights on my friends, so he sent me to different schools to see if that would change. I only got into more fights. I had a chip on my shoulder, and I hated my father. Each new school brought new problems. As I went from school to school, I became more distant and angrier. I even ended up going to a military school to see if that would change things. I only returned with scars,” he read.

Zormna scowled at him, but she knew he was only playing up his alibi.

“This school is my last chance. I was sent to live with my uncle. My anger did not stop, though. It only built. I was enrolled into sports to give me a vent for my anger. That helped. It didn’t stop it though. The last straw was when, in defending myself, I broke a boy’s leg. I was arrested, but later released on probation. I realized then that if I didn’t find a release for my anger, I would probably destroy myself,” Jeff read. “I think, oftentimes, people need help to wake them up from the cycle of self-destruction. I woke up. Perhaps they need to too.”

He looked up at the teacher, handing the paper back. Mr. Humphries nodded with a reserved smile.

“It is interesting the things you learn about people. We all have a story to tell. Yours is very well written, thank you, Jeff,” Mr. Humphries said.

Jeff sat down. Zormna glanced over at him and rolled her eyes. Their friends watched him also, a little subdued.

When they left the class, Zormna walked behind him, poking him in the back as she walked away. “Interesting story, Jeff.”

He shook his head with a chuckle, watching her leave with Sam and Adam by her side, heading in the same direction as Tammy who had skirted away from him. Brian, though, picked up on Zormna’s tone and halted, peeking once at Jeff. So had Joy, but she was frowning for a different reason.

*

“And in the east region?” the director in the room asked the operator of video frequency.

“There we’ve spotted a regular window where ships come through the atmosphere. They come at regular intervals, and usually at times where this side is masked from the Earth,” the man reported.

Agent Keane opened the door and stepped inside. The light from the hallway nearly blinded the others in the room so much that they winced from it. He closed the door quickly and sat down.

“Where do these go?” the director asked, pointing at the picture of a small box like ship with a longer black carrier ship, barely visible against the dark back ground. In fact, if they had not been using other types of sensors, they would not have noticed it at all.

“They travel out of the system toward the asteroid belt. They could be mining ships mining in the asteroid belt.”

“And that one?” the director asked pointing to the west monitor.

The man shrugged. “Those head toward the moon. Then they just vanish,” the operator answered.

“No idea what they are for?” the director asked, pursing his lips.

The operator shook his head. “Not a clue. They don’t come regularly. They’re fast, sleek ships. I would send a probe out further, but I think staying here is what has been keeping them from spotting us so far.”

The director nodded. He then turned to the agent that just entered and smirked. “Long day?”

Agent Keane sighed and peered at the video screens that showed real Martian activity in space. “Yeah.”

The director laughed. “Agent Sicamore will want to see you. You shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

The agent nodded but sighed instead of getting up. “I know. I just want to watch just to assure myself that there really are Martians out there.”

The men in the room chuckled.

“Why is that?” the director asked, stretching his achy back as he talked. He groaned as he sat down next to Agent Keane.

Agent Keane shrugged. “Because those two are giving me squat.”

The director laughed again and said, “You thought it’d be easy?”

Keane shrugged. “They’re kids. I would have at least expected them to slip up. Man, it is like they are trained for this.”

Smiling in the dark, the director said, “Maybe they have been.”

Agent Keane laughed and stood up. “Maybe. Maybe. I’ll go find Sicamore.”

“He’s in his office,” the director replied, waving his hand towards the door.

 

“Who is he? Who is he?” Agent Sicamore stared at Jeff’s picture, running his fingers through his hair and murmuring. “What are they up to?”

A knock came at the door.

“Enter,” he called.

Agent Keane opened it then stepped in. Agents Sicamore smiled somewhat in hope.

“Ah, Agent Keane, please tell me you have a good report,” Sicamore said.

Sitting down, the young agent shook his head. “I’m sorry Mr. Sicamore. It is the same as yesterday and the day before that. Those kids really rehash their alibis well. I think the only hint at what they are is in the middle of inside jokes. Nothing I’ve recorded is of use.”

Agent Sicamore nodded and said,