The Minder's War Boxed Set: The Minder's War

By Gerhard Gehrke

The godlike invaders chose Earth as their battlefield. A young girl serving time in a youth correctional facility stands in their way.

Get all three complete novels of the Minder's War series in one boxed set!

Set includes Refuge, The Glass Heretic, and The Children of Magus.

"A brilliantly created sci-fi dystopia with dashes of horror." --Readers Enjoy Authors' Dreams

"Sci-fi with horror, violence, and heart thumping action." --Jane Reads (Five star review)

"A must read." –Goodreads review

"Five Stars. I loved the strong characters." –LibraryThing.com review 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucas Ross Publishing
• Release date: Sep 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393187431

Gerhard Gehrke

Gerhard Gehrke is the author of Nineveh's Child, the Supervillain High series, and A Beginner's Guide to Invading Earth.

Book preview

Chapter One – Awake

Iam.

Magus’s first thought upon waking confirmed that he was alive and alone. He felt the presence of billions of others nearby, but none shared his mind.

It’s over. The hive is dead.

He would not mourn the hive. He didn’t know sorrow. But he understood that with their passing, he had finally achieved a freedom that he hadn’t known for over a thousand years.

But he didn’t need to reach out to the other minders and guardians who had been in the hive’s servitude to know they would continue on their course, blind to the fact that their master was now gone, winked out of existence. It was in their nature to forge ahead loyally, as the obedient slaves knew nothing but servitude. Would any of them even sense their master’s passing? He didn’t know. Most of the trillions of hive particles were mindless, nothing more than microscopic seeds wrapped in carbon cocoons ensconced within the ships of their fleet, flying through space towards their next world. The fleet would continue on its course, their destination set long ago when the hive still lived.

And they had found the next world. Their flight would soon reach an end and another planet would fall. The other guardians would go to work ensuring the success of the invasion.

But he wouldn’t.

There had been enough time for sleep, and he thought he would stay awake a while.

WHAT A LOAD OF CRAP, I muttered. Everyone in the group turned to look at me. I hadn’t intended to say it out loud, just like I hadn’t intended to get caught stealing my mother’s pills or selling her packages left on the front step, saying they had been snagged by some kid on a bicycle, but here I was.

In jail.

The room around us was cinder block and bare of art save for a few safety posters and one proclaiming The Responsibility Lies on You to Stop Sexual Harassment. There was some drug stuff too, and maybe a motivational poster with puppies. I don’t know. I never really looked at the walls.

You have something to add, Deanne? This was Bethany. She was the biggest of the girls I had dubbed the Unshorn Sisterhood, the ones that ran the Goddess prayer meetings where I was sitting at the fringes spouting my editorial comments. She was also the largest girl in the Roseville Youth Detention Center for Girls. Apparently when I called her Mongo that first day, she caught wind of it and someone must have explained Blazing Saddles to her, because she had cornered me and purred curiously specific threats about what would happen to my front and back private parts once she got me alone. But she had never followed up on any of her threats, and she’d even allowed me to achieve a Kuiper Belt–level rotation around her crew. But that was because of Mindy.

Mindy liked me.

I don’t know why. Maybe it was because on day two a baggie of joints fell out of Mindy’s pocket and just before a corrections officer spotted them I planted my foot squarely on the booty. Mindy recovered the goods once the officer passed along, and she thanked me and hugged me and promised we would be best friends. I didn’t like the best friends thing when I was in third grade and I didn’t want it now. I never told her I thought she hadn’t noticed the dropped bag and that I wanted the pot for myself.

I avoided eye contact with Bethany. This worked with most of the girls trying to establish a pecking order, but not with her. Why couldn’t everyone just shut up and do their time?

Bethany got up from the circle, pushing her folding metal chair back and shoving past a couple of the true believers. Everyone was wearing their powder blues that day, just like every day. Bethany had her sleeves rolled up to her biceps and pinned there, revealing rather impressive muscles for a seventeen-year-old girl. I had been sitting backwards on a chair and got up just in time for her to get close and tower over me. A hush fell over the room. It was precisely at moments like these that the enlightened and pious all went mute.

You push, Bethany said. You push and push and push. Her center-parted hair hung around her face like curtains. She jabbed me with a finger. I stepped back and she followed. She jabbed again. Her brilliant dark eyes shined. She was breathing on me. I could smell her sweat. I kept my palms up, the universal sign for Don’t wanna fight no more.

She didn’t speak sign language. She slugged me, a hard low blow to the beltline.

After taking a hit, a practiced beta dog like me knows how to stay in that in-between place that avoids escalation: not getting back up on my feet, and not dropping to the floor to get kicked and stomped, either. But she had knocked the breath out of me and I fell. I tried to protect myself with my arms and hands.

Bethany, stop it, Mindy said, tugging fecklessly on Bethany’s jumpsuit pants. She was small enough that Bethany might accidentally swallow someone like her in her sleep. She could bench-press six girls Mindy’s size, easy. But Bethany paused, looked down at me for a moment, and then turned and went back to her place in the circle.

Mindy helped me up.

Thanks, I said.

You okay? she asked, real concern in her voice.

I’ll be fine.

I went back to my chair, not so much to listen or to show that I was unfazed, but because I doubted I could make it out of the multipurpose room without collapsing.

Chapter Two – Division of Labor

Some of the other guardians and minders would not only sense the hive’s passing, Magus decided, but would adapt.

Many possessed greater intelligence than he and a few might thrive without the hive’s supervision. Even the weakest among them would see no reason to assume the hive would revive and resume control. These would fall in line with the stronger guardians, especially the Alpha, and remain docile drones. Magus didn’t fear any of these. None had demonstrated their will upon him or risen high in the hive’s hierarchy of captured servants, even though all of them had come from a conquered world and had retained their identity. Some possessed certain gifts or needed traits. The hive took and used what was needed.

Most became raw material for the conquest.

But all had their will bent, as had Magus.

There was one he feared, one who could have fought the hive off when they had invaded her world but who had chosen not to. The Alpha Guardian. Like him, she too still lived. All of the ships of the fleet were intact. He would have been alerted if any had suffered system failure.

The Alpha’s ship was in the lead position and she was already assuming control.

THEY HAD COMPUTERS for us at the youth correctional facility. With the internet, we had the wisdom of the ages and a window to the world. I could have been working on schoolwork or practicing SATs or soaking in a TED Talk on recidivism in criminals. Instead, I was compiling a YouTube playlist of monkey and goat screams that sounded like people having sex.

Mindy couldn’t stop laughing.

I turned the speakers on the computer all the way up and let it rip. The computer room came alive with the sounds of grunts, animal hoots, and oral spasms. The correctional officer scowled as she headed our way. She leaned in and looked at what was playing.

Shut it off, she ordered.

I hit pause. She waited until I closed the browser, revealing a 500-word essay Mindy was working on. Something about positive self-image and her feelings. I had a different therapist, but I could have summarized my feelings in two words if I could use a contraction and the F-bomb.

As soon as the CO had turned and taken three steps back to her desk, I relaunched the browser and played some more monkey sounds. A few other girls were laughing now. The CO pointed to a row of chairs against the wall by her desk.

That’s a time-out, Deanne, she said.

I went and sat, but something about the fact that it took the CO a few minutes to calm everyone down fed my soul. Only about half of the computers were occupied. About thirty girls were across the hall in the TV room watching the news. Through one of the inside windows, I could see a corner of the TV and a few of the faces paying rapt attention to CNN. Right away I knew what was on. It was the only thing the news covered these days. The Goddess had shown up again, and on this particular day she had been spotted in Nairobi.

LUNCH. AFTERNOON CLASS. Group for those who want a twelve-step feather in their cap for the juvenile parole board. None of it was memorable enough to be much of a blip on my radar. Late afternoon, my twelve-girl homeroom had kitchen duty, so we prepared dinner under the bored stare of the dining services supervisor. We were making spaghetti. Everyone wanted in on the measuring and stirring and tasting. That’s where the fights happened. I settled in washing pots and everyone left me alone. I liked the steam and the hot water and the fact that while washing pots, I couldn’t smell any of the other girls. By the time I was finishing up, my hands were wrinkled and my white apron stained and damp.

Mindy and the rest of the Goddess worshippers were lingering in the dining room by the time I was off shift and able to eat. There were a couple of new girls. One was a certified loner, and the other was one of the born-agains and a fixture in the group’s daily Bible study. I sat at a nearby table and listened in as Mongo—er, Bethany—expounded on what it meant to have a god on earth and what the future for all of us, and especially womankind, would be. I twisted noodles on my fork and ran them through the tomato sauce.

Bethany yielded the floor and the discussion became the usual bout of speculation and hopes and leavened dreams. The Goddess would end all wars. Halt global warming. Prevent earthquakes. She would cure cancer. She had cured cancer, at least for the neighbor of the cousin of one of the girls down in Fairfield. I was waiting for the Goddess to be cast as a superhero who would fight crime, but the group steered clear of that one, at least this time.

Finally it was Mindy’s turn to speak.

I think she’s beautiful, Mindy said.

Everyone agreed. It was a hard point to argue, as the footage of the Goddess showed a woman wreathed in flame leaving a trail like a meteor peeling out in the upper atmosphere. She radiated fire, leaving her facial features masked beyond a mere outline. It’s a wonder what special effects could do. But I kept quiet as I ate my noodles.

Her fire draws the faithful, Bethany said. It cleanses us. It’s the light that pushes away the eternal dark.

There followed a murmur of agreements.

She’s the daughter of fire, she continued, a flame that will never die. Bow your heads and we’ll pray.

I stopped eating while they prayed and tried not to make any noise. Enough of a ruckus from the kitchen cleaning crew echoed into the dining room. Voices, some laughing, some shouting, could be heard through the walls and windows of the rest of the facility. I kept quiet until they finished and then I ate the last few bites of my dinner.

SATURDAY MORNING WAS a light schedule, which meant we didn’t have school. Some girls took the opportunity to sleep in, but I couldn’t figure out how that was possible considering how loud the facility got once 120 girls were up and showering and making noise. Whatever homeroom had breakfast duty had mucked up the pancakes, as there was raw batter in the middle of mine. The flavorless cantaloupe and honeydew chunks were too cold and hurt my teeth. At least the veggie sausages weren’t bad if you put syrup on them.

I sipped coffee and watched Mindy eat. She happily sawed away at the done parts of the griddle cakes and sopped up the syrup without a word of complaint.

Is your mom coming tomorrow? she asked. It’s Sunday.

I know tomorrow’s Sunday, I said, prodding an uneaten chunk of fruit. Yeah, she’s supposed to.

My dad’s coming. And he said he’s bringing my baby brother.

Oh yeah? How old is he now?

Five. And smart. My dad says he can read really well, whole sentences and stuff. He loves books. I wish I was like that when I was little.

You can read fine now, I said. And you’re smart—smarter than the other girls in your little group.

It’s your group too.

I shrugged. I had run out of edible things on my tray. It looked like pancake surgery, and I had lost the patient. The Goddess worship group now counted as a faith meeting, which showed up on my paperwork. I was the well-rounded reprobate who could add religious service to her County Corrections Department résumé.

Mindy finished up and we went to walk the yard. The outside fall air was cold that morning and the sky held a smoggy tan haze. A few girls were playing basketball but most strolled about or sat talking. At least it was quiet. The distant sounds of traffic on the highway and the buzz of a chainsaw were somehow comforting and normal. Through a series of fences we could see the neighboring institution where the boys were held. Several basketball games were underway in their yard.

Have anything this morning? I asked.

Therapist, Mindy said.

How’s that going?

She’s really helpful and supportive.

That’s her job.

And she does it well. She says I need to challenge myself and set goals, even hard ones. She says if I can do this with the type of friends I choose, I won’t get into trouble like I have.

I didn’t say anything, just nodded, appreciating the irony of the comment as we made it to the end of the chain fence enclosure and turned to head back.

GOD, GRANT ME THE SERENITY to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference, I said. And bring back Firefly.

There followed a collective Amen from the seven girls in the group.

Ms. Garavano, the tweed-clad Latina who ran the group, said, Thank you, Deanne. Now let’s go around and share how our day has been going and how we made it through the week.

The girls shared. I shared. Through it all, I played a quiet game of hypocrisy, lie, or truth as the other girls revealed and made up facts about their struggles with drugs and alcohol. After we all said our piece, the score was 3-2-1. I didn’t count myself. My week had gone fine, thank you very much, and I told everyone it had been a struggle, with enough pausing to really sell it. But it hadn’t been a struggle. No one inside the facility had access to oxy and smoking a joint didn’t count as a set-back. I had ridden out my minor shakes in the first week of incarceration. But I dreamed of little white pills.

I sipped my fifth cup of coffee for the morning and offered encouragement to each speaker and nodded and didn’t stare at the cup of brown liquid or the floor throughout any of it. After our ritual confessions and oversharing, I was helpful with a couple of the girls who were working on their workbooks. Think second-grade-level coloring and puzzle book with an addiction theme, and you’ve got the right idea.

A girl named Ronda was having a bit of a breakdown. She was already being comforted by a couple of other girls who had their arms around her, but I leaned in and gave her a hug.

We draw strength from one another, I said softly in her ear. She nodded and the waterworks subsided. After the hour was up, the group filtered out.

Deanne, Ms. Garavano said. I lingered and she waited until we were alone. I just wanted to say that I appreciate how positive you are with the girls. You have a real gift—a talent—and I’m hoping your example will rub off on the others.

Thank you, Ms. Garavano, I said.

Oh, please. Call me Mary. You have a month left in here. Have you spoken with your counselor about placement with a school? I wanted to tell you I think you could sign up for your GED test and begin accumulating college credits. I’ve seen your academic scores. You’re quite bright, and your talents could do so much good outside of here. I know of several programs in the area you can apply to and I can get the paperwork started.

I nodded, my expression neutral. Let me think about it.

It’s no problem to do. It will give you a head start on any junior college you plan on attending and give you some excellent experience. Think of it like laying a foundation for your future.

It sounds exciting. I’ll get back to you.

I’ll even call your mother to get her to sign off on the paperwork. I’m sure she—

Leave her out of this, I said a little too quickly. Where I go once I graduate is none of her business.

Ms. Garavano was silent, her lips forming words that didn’t come. Had I yelled? Maybe I had.

Deanne, she said finally, composing herself. You have to learn to accept the help that comes your way. Women like us must stick together. The system as it stands does little enough. Think about it, and let me know Tuesday as these things take time.

I nodded but couldn’t make eye contact. Without a word, I gathered my own activity book and journal and left the room.

I felt edgy. Sleep never came easy, so going to bed early was out of the question. The TV room was crowded, but with the volume as high as it usually was I could drop into a chair and no one would bug me. I had learned a long time ago how to ignore people. If I was lucky, there might be something entertaining on. Unfortunately, though, the facility didn’t get the Syfy channel and no one else liked Star Trek anyway.

The privations of prison life.

SATURDAY AFTERNOON could get weird. Whatever saint said the devil finds work for idle hands must have gone to a youth detention facility. We had arts and crafts and game time like we were in kindergarten, or like we were seniors, spending the last years of our lives playing Parcheesi while sucking down our laudanum so we’d go quietly into the long night. Today, one counselor was providing art lessons with pencil, charcoal, and chalk. For some reason, everyone participating was drawing a clown. Just freaky. Another counselor brought in a helper dog. The animal was the center of attention, especially after it ate something that upset its stomach and developed a bout of diarrhea. Music came in from the neighboring room, where a few instruments were available, but the piano player, clarinet player, and the two on recorders couldn’t agree on a melody, or even a key.

In the middle of it all, Mindy doodled with the crayons, intent on her own non-clown-themed drawing of a sad bouquet of wilted flowers sitting in the middle of the table.

That’s really good, I said.

Thanks. She sifted through the pile of crayons, not finding the colors she needed. She settled for a canary yellow and began adding highlights to one of the flower petals. Using her thumb, she smeared each petal so the colors blended.

The correctional officer in charge of our room was flirting with a staffer just outside the doorway. The counselor giving the lessons had left to use the restroom. With plenty of blind spots, girls will be girls. Drugs were traded for cash. I saw two cell phones exchange hands. Anything that wouldn’t immediately be missed went into a pocket: pages ripped from books, paper clips, and marker pens that could be huffed to get even an imaginary buzz.

I made sure not to stare at anyone.

Among the books piled on the table was a copy of the Advanced Dungeons and Dragons Player’s Handbook. I was leafing through it. There had been an actual D&D group in the facility the last time I had been a guest here. I had joined them in playing, but it didn’t last long. Apparently, it was bad form for my druid to sacrifice another one of the player characters to Gaia. But I loved the black-and-white illustrations that complemented the endless tables and class descriptions. The artists must have assumed that the women fighting alongside the men of the party wouldn’t need armor below the top of the thigh. I was reading through the psionics rules when someone called out, The Goddess has shown up again.

Mindy dropped the crayon and abandoned her artwork. I followed, and we both filed out and crowded into the TV room. The title on the bottom of the screen read Live: Goddess sighted in Saudi Arabia. The footage was from a shaky handheld camera or phone. In the distance floated a burning woman. A trail of orange flame spread behind her, stretching up into the sky for miles. The air wavered around her. To her left, the sun was just cresting the far horizon. Much of the action on the ground was obscured by a sprawl of white flat-roofed buildings, but a broad highway nearby showed dozens of vehicles pulled over and a small crowd forming.

The Goddess slowed in her flight. The train of her flaming robe descended to the desert floor but nothing beneath her burned. She held her position as a warm radiance flowed down from her like a cascade of embers. Hands from the crowd reached upward. Soon they were engulfed in the light. The camera shook but reacquired the shot. Whoever was holding the camera got higher on a parapet for a better vantage. Some of those on the ground were bowing low. Others stood, their arms and hands outstretched. None appeared to be harmed by the fire.

A commotion arose on the outer portion of the crowd. An open Jeep had pulled up and a number of white-robed men were piling out. One of the men was carrying a sword, and he started dragging people out of the raining lights. Another man held a rifle and was shouting, judging by his gestures. A shoving match ensued. The man with the rifle popped off a few rounds above the crowd. He then fired upward towards the Goddess. The crowd reacted instantly. Those closest rushed him. He shot some and then vanished from sight as the throng overwhelmed him. The man with the sword was also grabbed and dragged down.

The audio on the television wasn’t good. The speaker crackled and distorted the announcer’s voice, but he wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t obvious to those of us watching. A riot was starting on the streets below the Goddess as other police or militia appeared in more Jeeps and the crowd of people grew.

My mind raced.

For this to be possible, the news agency had to have produced this ahead of time. Throwing a Live title on the screen was no difficult thing. But as far as global conspiracies go, this was a doozy. The lack of polish and the sheer scope of what the camera was showing made me feel the first doubts that this was merely a hoax. But that was what they wanted me to believe. I had to watch closer.

At least a thousand people were on the streets now. If these were all paid extras, then the budget for this production must have been huge. CGI crowds were common enough, but with so much activity on the street, I believed these were real people. I made up my mind that something beyond my understanding was going on.

The Goddess hung there in the air as the crowd below her boiled and bled and the violence spread. Police were actively shooting into the crowd now. Canisters of gas spewed white smoke. The camera operator was shouting in Arabic. The studio reporter was trying to give a play-by-play but remained useless.

Then the camera turned and a military helicopter appeared. My stomach sank. The camera turned back towards the Goddess, and that was when two rockets flew towards the woman. The image was blurry enough that I couldn’t tell what happened to the rockets. Had they missed? But there was no explosion and the Goddess remained where she had been. The camera operator zoomed in. The screen showed just enough of the burning woman’s features—the lines of her outstretched arms, her legs and feet suspended on the air, and her flowing mane of hair. Then she flew on. It was fast, too fast to make out, but it looked like she streaked over the city of Riyadh and went out of sight.

The news station cut back to the studio, where the reporter babbled about the Goddess being attacked by the Saudi military. It hadn’t been the first time someone took a shot at the Goddess. Random reports had been spread of people in Mexico, Siberia, Alaska, and the Philippines shooting up at her. But this was the first confirmed footage of the military taking a potshot. If any of this was real, I wondered why such an action had taken so long.

The reporter, having regained his composure, explained the latest round of sightings, stretching from a U.S. Navy sighting in the Persian Gulf to the Goddess doing a flyover of Bahrain. The previous day she had shown up in the southern hemisphere, in Argentina and Chile. A global map displayed all the week’s sightings. The Goddess was busy. She had been seen on every continent but Antarctica.

A shaky satellite hookup from Egypt was a potato-quality slideshow of a BBC reporter standing on the banks of the Nile. The Goddess had just blown past heading west. The news descended into talking heads, politicians, and experts. No one wanted to commit to a definitive declaration that she was of divine origin, but the word alien got thrown around. The talking heads couldn’t agree whether she was a national or global threat. Probably, I concluded. Since nothing like a global peace had been declared, I also guessed her arrival wasn’t the kind of second coming where everyone melts down their swords and AK-47s.

Quite the opposite.

Some countries had closed their airspace to all traffic, even though the visitor hadn’t interfered with any planes. Of the multitudes who had been in contact with her radiance, none had died or assumed superpowers. Hysteria aplenty, though.

But now that rockets had been fired, there was consensus on one small thing: despite all the attempts at communication via radio, loudspeaker, and blasting music in her direction, along with the prayers of the lowly, and now even violence, she ignored everyone.

WHAT’S WRONG? I ASKED Mindy. We had finished dinner and were sitting in the multipurpose room. She had her drawing and crayons in front of her but she was only staring down in her lap. Her breathing came in short gasps.

Cramps. I feel sick in my stomach.

Maybe you just need to go throw up.

She shook her head irritably. No. I can’t.

What do you mean you can’t? I asked.

I can’t throw up.

Everyone can. All you do is stick a couple of fingers into your throat—

Just stop it! I don’t want to talk about it.

We sat in silence for a minute. I took some paper and one of the no. 2 pencils and started to scribble. I darkened everything on the outside of the page and started to work my way in. I had her attention. I hadn’t started out with a plan, but soon enough I was zeroing in on the general outline of the vase and its flowers. After another minute, I had lost her again. She squeezed her arm while she kept her other arm tight across her belly. I got up and helped her stand. She was shaking her head but she moved along as I helped her to the bathroom.

I sat with her for an hour while she leaned against the tile wall by a toilet. She fidgeted and squirmed but refused to make herself puke.

I’m going to lie down, she said finally. I walked her to her room and left her there.

In the TV room, they were watching the news, but at least the volume had been turned down. I slunk in and grabbed a chair along the wall. Talking heads on Fox News were analyzing the Goddess and saying the same things said a million times since her first appearance. No one knew anything.

I’m not saying they should have shot at her, Ronda said. She was turned around in a chair and facing Bethany and her followers. I’m saying she just can’t show up like this and expect nothing to happen. If she’s at all smart, she’d know people aren’t ants. We don’t just stop and worship the queen.

Ants don’t worship their queen, someone said.

You know what I mean. People see her and some get scared. And maybe they’re right to be scared. She could be dangerous or evil.

The Goddess isn’t evil, Bethany said crisply. To say that is ignorant. Is that what you are, Ronda? Ignorant?

A hush fell over the room. I perked up. Bethany was leaning forward, her jaw jutting out. Ronda was clearly taken aback. I didn’t mean anything by it, she said in a small voice.

Right. Neither did the people shooting at the Goddess.

Bethany was serious and her gaze never broke. I was amazed to see none of Bethany’s posse said anything. No one else in the room did, either. She was bigger than the rest of us.

Would someone turn up the TV? I said. I pulled my legs up on my chair, leaned back, and paid rapt attention to a drug commercial where everyone looked happy and rode bikes on the beach. For the life of me, I couldn’t decipher what the drug was supposed to do.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bethany lean back. Ronda turned forward to watch the TV. The volume came up. And mercifully, someone changed the channel.

Chapter Three – Visitation

Magus’s world hadn’t been as fruitful to the hive as many others, its people not easily subjugated. The planet fell just the same, and in Magus they found what they needed to wipe out the last holdouts of resistance.

Each moment since his awakening was a time for reflection. He had a perfect memory of what they had done and what he had done as their slave. He became one of their minders, a guardian trusted with vital hive functions, and there was no choice but to serve.

He could recreate an image of his world in his mind before the hive’s arrival, could see the colored crystal spires that rose through the lavender clouds. Lightning would strike these formations, creating heat and delivering energy to the machines at the spires’ bases. The sound this generated was incorporated into songs. The light weavers would chant throughout the nights while his family and all the others share-slept in a mental embrace that spanned a continent. Magus’s lucid memories allowed him to wander among his world’s wonders. But he was alone.

When they came, the hive microbes could find no purchase on Magus’s people and their silicon shells, but they found grist for their fleshy machines among the lower creatures that lived under the rich soil. These became their soldiers. Soon the hive had an army. The hive’s minders acted as generals, officers, and facilitators of the horrors which followed. Many of his people perished.

The why of it escaped Magus.

The Alpha Guardian had found his weakness. Because of a defect in Magus’s genetic code, he would never reproduce, so his flaw wouldn’t be passed on. But the Alpha had tricked him, as she had tricked others on previous worlds. Her talent was particularly useful to the hive. Her rank rose quickly among the minders and they would make her Alpha before the conquest was over.

She had feigned a resonance that should have been known only to the females of Magus’s species, and he had been drawn out. No female should have sung that song to him. The females all knew he was an unsound candidate for a mate. He had been surprised, had acted without thought, a response to a biological imperative closed off to him. The shameful moment stung in his memory as his greatest failure. On its own, the hive infection would never have been able to penetrate his skin without killing him. Millions of his kin had died during these brute-force assaults but none had ever yielded.

But the guardian’s mock song had caused him to leave his skin, and the trap was sprung. He had succumbed. With his fall, his people, who had never known duplicity or deceit, had become the hive’s easy prey. He was the hive’s agent. They used him to bring his people down. They made him a minder, and his family and his entire race were stripped of their biological essences for the hive’s machines.

His world was poor, but his people were the real prize.

SOMEONE ATTACKED RONDA the next morning right after breakfast. She was knocked over the head and lay bleeding and unconscious. I had just gotten in line for food when it happened and couldn’t get close enough to see much of anything until a nurse and then a pair of EMTs came through the crowd. I spotted Bethany standing out in the hall with her gaggle around her. She was inscrutable. But she had been the last person to speak with Ronda before bedtime, as neither had said much after their brief nothing-argument. Maybe it was someone else. Anything could have happened that morning to set off a beatdown.

My money was on Bethany.

The correctional officers got us all back in our rooms. The facility was locked down. I spent the morning sitting on my cot. My stomach rumbled because of no breakfast. But small miracle, maybe it meant I would miss family visitation. I felt instantly guilty, but I savored the bitter emotion.

Too bad for Ronda, though, and I hoped she would be okay.

A pair of COs came and searched me and my room. This always happened in pairs, and the COs had taken to wearing body cameras so everything would stay aboveboard as invasive hands went everywhere through me and my property. I knew well enough to keep quiet. They found nothing. There was nothing to find.

Lunch was served by homeroom group and we had fifteen minutes to grab food and eat it. It’s amazing how much gossip flies when you’re stuffing your face.

It was a lock in a sock, a girl named Tanya said. They found the padlock in the hallway trash. Taken off a classroom closet door. Smack, right across the back of the head. Fractured skull. The sock probably got flushed.

I had eaten half my ham and cheese sandwich. We only had four minutes left. The toilets have screens, I said. They’ll catch it.

Tanya shrugged. The other girls nearby were listening. But there’s a hundred things you could do with a bloody sock to get rid of it, she said.

Mindy was staring at me, her face frozen in a look of disgust. She had just finished peeling the crust off her bread.

I’m sorry, I said. We’ll change the subject. I just hope Ronda is okay. Did anybody actually see anything?

Everyone’s eyes went back down to their trays. No one there was part of Bethany’s circle, but a couple had attended. I was practically a regular, and Mindy never missed. Which meant the question must have come across like a trap or test to see who might squeal.

Your mom’s coming today, Mindy said, breaking the silence.

Maybe. She’ll be here, sure. But if we’re locked down, I won’t have to see her.

I’m sure they’ll let us out by then.

We’ll see, I said, not wanting to crush her hopes of seeing her dad and brother.

I HATED BEING WRONG. An hour after lunch, they buzzed us out of our rooms and had us convene in our homerooms. A CO gave us a rundown and told us that if we had information we were to report it immediately. The consequences of not reporting were made to sound worse than being the actual person who assaulted Mindy. It would involve getting moved.

No one wanted to be moved.

There were higher-security facilities for violent female minors downstate. This meant being further away from visitors. Having realized this, I was seriously considering confessing to the crime when homeroom broke up and an announcement was made over the PA. An abbreviated Sunday visitation period would commence in thirty minutes and last until three thirty. An hour and a half of bliss. I walked with about half the homeroom group down to the courtyard. We had to be on the list, meaning a visitor had to be there for us, before we got to go outside.

I willed my name to vanish from the page. I could have just gone back to my room and let the visit slide, but my mom would have raised hell. Part of the secret sauce of getting parole was family being there to catch you as you were ejected from the system, ready to reintegrate with society, link arms with your loved ones, and go forth and never sin again.

The CO ticked off my name and nodded. I was free to enter the courtyard.

The best tables were under the trees or the broad metal overhang because of the shade. It got hot in Roseville. Families claimed the good tables as soon as they arrived, many of them laying out food like it was a picnic and a few even putting down tablecloths. Like always, my mom had gotten there early and could have chosen any table she wanted. Yet once again, she had selected the one in the center of the sunny courtyard, right in the middle of everyone and their visiting families. Here she was, center stage.

Deanne! she called.

She waved me over like I couldn’t see her, or maybe she thought I needed to be coaxed over like a stray dog. Mom looked very sculpted that afternoon. She had on a pastel green outfit with a little matching hat like she had just come from church. A swatch of lace hung over her eyes. Her makeup clung to an extra-thick layer of foundation that made me think she could peel off her face like a mask for a big reveal, letting me know her true identity. As always, her smile was too wide. She had crooked teeth, and no amount of bleaching or whitening could cure those choppers of their stains. They were a teardown and remodel waiting to happen, but that costs money better spent on tummy tucks. Perhaps she would have to give up smiling altogether.

We hugged. She kissed me and gave me the customary once-over. Well, at least they’ve been feeding you, Mom said. She leaned in close and scrutinized my face. With her thumb, she rubbed at my forehead. I pushed her hand aside.

Can you not do that? I asked.

There’s dead skin.

Leave it alone.

We sat. I waited. My mom heaved a sigh, looked around, and gave me the look. It was an expression dripping with concern. This was part of a well-practiced routine that I’m sure she had rehearsed before the first time she’d ever visited me here. It said everything. Here you are, and we’re going to make the best of a bad situation. It was the same sigh and look I’d received when I had spilled milk or gotten mud on my clean clothes as a kid. Her grimace was for the ages. Long after she was gone and buried, her ghost would wear it, informing visitors to her grave that she had a daughter that was a massive disappointment.

How are things? she asked.

Fine.

A nearby family started singing Happy Birthday. They had a couple of balloons taped to the overhang and an orange cake with candles. From the boys’ yard came a few mocking voices joining in on the song.

Well, we’ll have our own celebrating to do, Mom said. Fifteen days left. That’s not so long.

Assuming everyone is happy and I get cleared by the board.

Of course they’ll clear you. You’re here and on your best behavior and you want to get better. What else could they want?

Each instructor has to sign off that they’re satisfied with my performance in their program.

That shouldn’t be a problem. Are you worried about any particular instructor? I’ll give them a call.

Mom, don’t do anything. Don’t call anyone. You’ll only make things worse.

What do you mean worse? Are you failing a class?

No, I’m not failing anything. I’m making all my classes and meetings. Are you?

Her eyes flicked to the side. Mom is about to lie. Sound the klaxons! Danger, Will Robinson! Man the battle station! That was the deal, wasn’t it, sweetie?

Yeah, it was, I muttered.

You’re not alone in here. I’m here with you. And I pray for you every day. This was her taking ownership of my sins. There would be no point in fighting, even though that was the itch I wanted to scratch.

Mom got out a plastic bag of chocolate chip cookies. Home baked. Not her home, but someone’s. I didn’t complain. I ate a cookie. I was about to start on another when I noticed her staring. I offered her one. She shook her head. She was thin.

No, sweetie, I brought them for you. You need to keep strong.

This isn’t a POW camp, mom. They feed me three meals a day and sometimes it’s good.

You look skinny.

I’ve gained weight since getting arrested.

It was true. Getting clean meant I remembered to eat. I started in on the second cookie. Dry. Too many walnuts getting in the way of the chocolate. But decent enough.

Have you seen Robbie? I asked.

Mom tensed and clenched her jaw. I broke the remaining part of the cookie in half absentmindedly. Mentioning Robbie was an innocent mistake, honest.

He calls, she said.

Do you pick up?

She took a deep breath and a serene smile took over. It’s not easy for me to talk to him. I don’t know what to say. He’ll just ask for money.

Does he ask for money on the messages he leaves?

No.

You can’t just ignore him. He’s your son and my brother. It’s not like I can have contact with him. You need to go visit him.

It’s too far.

Wasco is only a few hours away. He needs to see you. You’re his mother.

We’ll see. Maybe when you’re out.

They wouldn’t let me in if I showed up in person as long as I’m on parole. They don’t let felons see felons.

Don’t say that.

What? Felon? That’s what I am and it’s what he is. He happens to be older, so he’s in big boy prison. I’d be in a place like that too if I did what I did a year from now.

She made a small waving motion as if something smelled. You’re nothing like him.

No? I felt the anger rise and I couldn’t stop. Robbie was just out with the wrong people and happened to be dumb enough to drive his friends to a home invasion. They didn’t tell him where they were going, but that didn’t stop them from using him and then throwing him under the bus when it got time to make deals with the prosecutor. I broke down a fence and did fifty thousand dollars’ worth of damage to a golf course clubhouse while high off my rocker. I also fired a gun at some houses because at the moment, hey, it sounded fun! So save your prayers for Robbie. He deserves your attention every bit as much as I do, maybe more.

I didn’t mention that the last time I had seen Robbie back home, he had thrown a coffee mug at me and had just missed my head.

She stared at me. Finally she said, It wasn’t a big gun.

I could have killed someone.

I was waiting for the dismissive wave, the comment that indicated she didn’t think I was as bad as the other girls jailed here, or even the nervous laugh. I was poised to pounce. Instead she scratched at a lump under her left ear. The tan makeup flaked off, revealing something red that looked like an angry bug bite.

What’s that on your face? I asked.

It’s nothing, Mom said.

Is that a mosquito bite? It looks big.

She gripped my hands. I’ll have a big surprise waiting for you when you get home. You’ll be so pleased. We’re going to do much better with each other, I promise.

I ate more cookie. At least pick up the phone when Robbie calls.

It wasn’t quite a nod, but it would have to do for now. An announcement came over the PA signaling visiting time was over, and she got up to leave. I hoped his cell was comfortable.

Chapter Four – Impact

The fauna of Magus’s world became part of the hive. The surface of his planet crawled with their constructs, and he used all his strength and intelligence to maximize their efforts in stripping the planet down.

Resisting the hive presence hadn’t been possible. Most of the habitable zone was overrun.

But a few areas remained untamed: the islands and the deepest canyons which ran for thousands of miles along the northern subarctic region. The soil was poor here and little native life prospered without assistance. Here, his people fought their last stand. He had dreamed about it. His body had still resonated with their minds and memories while he slept. His people had stopped the hive’s machines cold, dispersed its minions, and even slain one of the guardians.

Magus knew the inevitable would come next. The hive turned to him for a plan, and he provided the answer. All of the crystals in the region would need to be shattered. His people would die as their machines stopped working. This met the hive’s objectives and the tactic was implemented.

It took years, but the hive didn’t view time as a hurdle. His people even whispered of the possibility that the hive was finished with them, that the resistance had yielded the fruit of victory. Large formations of hive growths took to the sky and left their world. But they didn’t go far.

They shepherded back enough asteroid material to bring down every crystal spire on the planet many times over. They dropped it from high orbit. The hive had its own living computers, but they delegated the operation to Magus and he compiled the numbers. To allow for atmospheric variances, he suggested sending five rocks for every crystal, a redundancy that ensured success. Each kinetic strike would leave a crater fifty times larger than the target. The world’s surface would be pulverized.

THE FIRST THING I NOTICED that evening in the TV room was that Bethany had more girls with her than before. Some of the other activity rooms were almost empty. The inmates were crowded in here now, and most gathered near Bethany as they watched TV. As usual, Mindy was there too, so I sat near her. No one appeared to mind.

The local news was reporting on a fire up in the foothills.

Did the Goddess cause that? I asked.

Mindy suppressed a giggle. A couple of the nearby girls shot me the stink eye.

The news showed a California map and ten spots where fires were burning because of early autumn lightning strikes. Most remained at zero-percent containment. The news cut to a commercial.

Any word on Ronda? I asked the group.

It was so transparent I almost laughed. Several girls looked over at Bethany. Bethany licked the front of her teeth. Bad concussion is all, she said. Could have been a lot worse. We’ll pray for her.

There came a murmur of agreement.

Crazy, right? I said. A violent assault like that. It’s a good thing the Goddess only wants peaceful people worshipping her. I mean, things like hitting someone over the head with a lock would earn the Goddess’s disfavor.

You don’t know what you’re talking about, Bethany said.

Mindy nudged me. Again, I should have shut up then and there. Maybe it was the visit with my mom. Or, then again, I continued, "since she hasn’t actually said word one, she might want us to hit people with padlocks. It makes about as much sense as communion wafers, so why not?"

Deanne, I’m going to shut your mouth for you, Bethany said. She rose from her chair. A few of her group interceded but she moved them out of the way. Someone from across the room shouted for us to be quiet, they were trying to watch TV.

I got up too. Mindy tried pulling at my arm but I twisted free. The girls around us made a space. Neither of us wanted to make the first move. Bethany wasn’t stupid. We both knew that getting caught in a fight meant a no-fault transfer to another facility, regardless of who started it.

Hey! came a woman’s shout. Glenda Thomas, one of the senior staffers, came charging into the room and headed straight for us. What’s going on here?

Both Bethany and I stood awkwardly as the teacher strode into the midst of the group.

Are you fighting? Ms. Thomas asked. When she didn’t get an immediate answer, she looked at both of us. She had a whistle around her neck on a lanyard with her ID. One blast of the whistle would bring every CO in hearing range running. This wasn’t supposed to be that kind of place. We had all signed behavior oaths, as much good as that had done Ronda.

Ms. Thomas crossed her arms. Beth. Deanne. Is this something the two of you can work out right now?

Bethany and I looked at each other. Bethany gave a nod and offered a hand. I’m sorry.

I was so shocked I couldn’t respond. I finally shook her hand and mumbled something in reply. The instructor waited for me to enunciate. My bad. I was disrespectful, I managed.

That’s good, Ms. Thomas said. Maybe it’s enough TV for one night for the two of you. Off to your rooms. I’ll speak with you both tomorrow. She paused to look at the news. Oh, and if you haven’t heard, there will be a call for fire duty volunteers in the morning.

I STAYED ON MY TOES when using the bathroom before bed. Bethany wasn’t out and about, but enough of her girls were and I hadn’t exactly ingratiated myself with them with my actions. The question remained whether Bethany fought her own fights or would send a proxy. I stiffened anytime anyone crossed behind me while I brushed my teeth. All eight sinks were occupied, and a CO was always in hearing distance, but they could easily be distracted. A girl could engage them in conversation and meanwhile yours truly could get stabbed or have her head shoved into a deliberately clogged toilet. Where the notion of drowning in sewage came from, I don’t know, but the fear stuck and made me extra vigilant.

Everyone looked calm, intent on their own business. No sideways glances, no clenched jaws, no fist curled on a hidden knife. All the girls had their toiletry kits out and they washed up, did their hair, plucked, and shaved. And a few swapped things, surreptitious handoffs that were best ignored.

I had an odd bump on the back of my hand. It looked like a mosquito bite but wasn’t red. It was tender, but I kept touching it. I tried washing it with soap and hot water but it only got irritated. It hurt to pick at it.

Three girls came in, all of them part of Bethany’s original prayer circle. They had been talking loudly until they saw me and then they went silent. They moved behind me and lingered near the entrance to the shower. I saw our CO just outside, but she was turned the other direction speaking with someone.

Great.

Toothpaste foam dribbled down the corner of my mouth. I spat in the sink. One of the girls behind me snickered. I turned.

This is Unit B’s bathroom, I said.

A toilet’s overflowing so they said to use this one, one of the girls said. Her name was Angie. Finish up, already.

All three were holding their toiletry kits and towels. It was a plausible story. We had four big bathrooms like this one, one per hallway, or unit. Then the three approached me. None of them were as big as Bethany, but they had been eating their Wheaties.

I’m not done yet, I said. I reflexively backed up but there was nowhere to go. My butt was to the sink.

Angie grabbed my hair only to let it go when I slapped her away. The other two laughed.

You like making fun of people, Angie said. I don’t like that.

I stepped close to her, close enough for us to bump. She didn’t back off. Whatever cream she used smelled like strawberries. I pushed at her chest. She pushed back. The girls at the nearby sinks moved away.

Tell Bethany to fight her own fights, I said.

Everything okay over there? the CO called.

We both backed down. I collected my things. The three girls gave me just enough room to squeeze by. I still had toothpaste in my mouth and the bump on my hand was itching like crazy.

Chapter Five – Firebreak

The end didn’t come quickly. Most of the resistance survived the first planetary bombardment, having taken shelter in the deep mines dug within the canyons. But many of the crystal constructs that had grown on the surface were gone, pulverized into sand and dust. The array had long functioned as their race’s communication network, a link between each individual and the entire species. The thoughts, moods, and dreams of the one belonged to all. They had become dependent on the network, as it had never failed them before. Magus knew that, so the hive knew it too.

So the rocks fell from the sky. None of the crystals that survived the first bombardment made it through the second. The third, fourth, and fifth ensured complete success.

After the assault, the survivors’ share-sleep wouldn’t work like before. For the few months that remained to them, each group was left on its own, still able to share when awake with those nearby, but unable to connect with the greater number at night. No one in generations had known this kind of isolation. Magus heard their anguished voices as he prowled the canyons at night, leading the hive hunters in rooting out the last of his race.

His people spent their last moments screaming.

BEFORE BREAKFAST, BOTH Bethany and I grabbed for the same pen to sign the fire duty sheet.

She glared at me. I took a step back and, with a flourish, gestured to the pen as if it were a gift on a game show. After you.

You’re weird, she said and signed the page. When she moved along, I noticed most of her crew was on there already. Who wouldn’t want some outside work that actually pays, even if the pay would be about ten dollars for the day, probably less? I moved back in to put my name down after hers but the pen was gone. Unfazed, I went to the CO attending the cafeteria and put on my best innocent face, the one that hadn’t quite gotten me much further in life than my present situation. She gave me a pen. Mindy waited for me by the clipboard.

You signing up? I asked, surprised.

I can do it.

I’m sure you can. But you’ll be out on the trail working, sweating, and will have to pee in the outdoors.

I can handle it. I handed her the pen and she signed. Then I did too.

What’s wrong with your hand? she asked.

Bug bite, I said, hiding the hand.

An announcement was made after breakfast that the fire crew would be leaving by eleven and to report to the yard at ten for a briefing. You sign a lot of things when first inducted into the Halls of the Delinquent Juvenile. Some are mandatory, some not. One is a release form for possibly hazardous work, which is strictly opt-in. But work functioned like a program, so it was like having another NA meeting, victim awareness class, anger management class, or career education. All that without the pain. Who wouldn’t sign up? At first I believed it only meant we’d be picking up garbage on the side of the highway, which I got to do once. Fire duty was supposed to be more exciting, but hard. A few girls had been out on fire duty before. They were willing to go again but weren’t as enthusiastic as I was.

A lot of hiking, I had been told. And bugs. And sweat. And no bathroom. Conspicuously missing was the thrill of beating back a roaring blaze. Maybe they were trying not to build it up too much.

I sat through the morning algebra class, not listening. The teachers usually didn’t say anything to us if we missed class or even if we got up and left. The facility had conflicting schedules galore, and when you threw in lawyers and court dates, the student body in