Busted Flush

“Oh, snap.” Drake’s appetite, which had been next to nothing, came back to life and he had the carton open in a flash. The ice cream was as good as she said. Maybe better. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Niobe shrugged. “I have a soft spot for kids.” Her expression went distant for a second, like she was listening to something only she could hear. Then she continued. “Er, handsome young men like yourself. Anyway, I know this isn’t the friendliest place in the world. You’re probably not happy with how they’re treating you, and I’ll bet you miss your family and friends, too. Am I wrong?”

He didn’t want to think about his family and friends right now. “No. It’s just that you’re the only nice one so far.” Drake took another extra-large mouthful of ice cream. His mouth was happier than any part of him had been in a long time. “I’m not complaining, though.”

Niobe smiled. It was a grown-up kind of smile, like she knew so much more than he did, but Drake didn’t care right now. “I’ve got to get back to my rounds,” she said. “Have fun with your Game Boy.”

“Oh, I will,” Drake said. Niobe opened the door and pulled her tail-thing through to the outside of the room. “My name’s Drake.”

Niobe nodded. “Hang in there, Drake. See you soon.” Then the door closed and she was gone.

Drake polished off the remainder of the ice cream and tossed the carton on the floor. He popped the Gameboy cartridge into the slot and powered the machine on. Moments later a menu of several games, most of them older than he was, showed up on the screen. Drake almost went for Missile Command, but decided Defender was more his speed. He paused a moment before starting the game. Niobe might be the person, the friend he needed, to get out of here. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he had to hope for something or give up entirely. He’d think about it later. Right now there were aliens to kill.

Early-morning sunlight poured down through the skylights. Far above, Niobe knew, the sky would be a brilliant azure. Just wait ’til you see it with your own eyes, kiddos. There’s nothing like it.

Niobe found Pendergast coming out of the cafeteria. He held a cup of coffee in one hand and a foil-wrapped bundle in the other. She could smell the green chile and chorizo from his breakfast burrito, and the chicory in his coffee.

“All done,” she said.

He breezed past her. “What’s done?”

“I introduced myself to Drake, like you asked.” She walked backward, keeping abreast of him. “I think he was glad for the company. Seems like a nice kid. I’d be happy to visit him again.”

“Good.” Pendergast said nothing more.

“Meanwhile,” Niobe said, hoping to jar his memory, “the kids and I will be taking our leave this morning.”

Pendergast shook his head. “No. I’m afraid not.”

“What do you mean, ‘No’?”

“No, you’re not taking your children anywhere.”

She stepped in front of him, arm raised, blocking his path. Coffee sloshed over the brim of his cup. “I’m not asking your permission. I’m telling you as a courtesy.”

He sighed. “Niobe. Taking your children out of this facility—the only place where they can receive the specialized medical attention they need—is a reckless and irresponsible act. And so I’ve decided, for the sake of your children, to revoke your leave privileges.”

Anger made Niobe’s tail quiver against her back. “You forget. I have a key card for the elevator.”

“Which you’ll find quite useless. It hasn’t worked for many weeks, in point of fact.”

Her knees felt weak. Watery. “But . . . I promised them Disneyland . . .” She slumped against the wall. “Please don’t do this.”

“It’s for the good of your children,” Pendergast said. He stepped around her and was gone.

Don’t trust him, said Yvette. Either of them.

Double Helix

BETTER TO DWELL IN THE WILDERNESS

THAN WITH A CONTENTIOUS WOMAN

Melinda M. Snodgrass

THE CONCRETE WALLS OF the locker room at Invesco Field at Mile High seem to exhale the scent of old sweat, gym socks, and cheap aftershave. This, I think as I lift the champagne bottle out of the ice and survey the label, is the downside of being so famous and popular that you have to play in stadiums rather than theaters. Thank God my performances are played in more intimate venues. I would so hate to make a 747 disappear.

Even here, far beneath the stadium, I can faintly hear the beat of the bass and the roar of the crowd as Joker Plague performs their final number. I find myself thinking about a Roman holiday when I was in high school and how we had toured the cells beneath the Colosseum. Places for enslaved gladiators and wild beasts brought across oceans solely for sport and blood. Not so very different from modern football.