Nikolas and Company: The Merman and The Moon Forgotten by Kevin McGill

anyway,”
Nick cut Tim off. “She talks to me, in my—head.” He tried to stop
that last word, but it got away from him.
    “Pardon me?” Grand lowered the
steward’s horn to his waist.
    “Yeah. I, um,” Nick swallowed. “I can
hear her—she talks to me in my head. Something about peril and
intent and, you know, stuff.”
    “That is unheard of,
Nikolas,” Grand said. “Huron speaks to her steward only through the
horn. She has never spoken directly to the steward.”
    Nick looked around the forest clearing.
You could cut the awkwardness with a chainsaw. Even Xanthus stopped
taking notes.
    “She doesn’t really, like,
talk with me,” said
Nick. “Just a sentence. Two sentences.”
    Grand put the gramophone on the ground
and stood full length. “Very well, Nikolas. What were her words to
you?”
    “Well, um . . .” Nick looked around. He
could hear pressers still sucking up their cargo, but now offbeat.
Each press seemed to meter out doubt from the onlookers.
    “The—the Rones lie about their true
intent. They enter the city of Huron at the peril of us
all.”
    “The Rones?” Grand raised both fists to
his hips. “Are you sure, Nikolas?”
    “Yeah,” said Nick. “Why?”
    “That,” Grand said, “that would
contradict our entire quest?”
    “I don’t know. I can’t help it,” Nick’s
tone grew defensive. “The voice just keeps saying the Rones are
lying to everyone.”
    “What’s a Rone?” Brandy leaned to
Xanthus.
    “Don’t know. I’ve never heard of them,”
Xanthus said.
    Grand’s green eyes investigated him.
Nick could almost hear the unhinging of his own mind. Then, he
raised his chin high. “I believe you, Nikolas. It will be a feat to
convince the Council of Teine of your testimony, but not unheard
of. Now—” Grand bent down and put the steward’s horn under his arm.
“—will you come home? Will you arise and take your place among the
clouds?”
    Nick looked back at his grandfather. He
stood like some giant among the planets. A dusty Jupiter clung to
his shoulder, slowly falling apart among the folds of his trench
coat.
    Phffitt, phfitt. Phfitt . .
.
    Nick’s gaze turned toward Moon.
According to Grand, it was the ghost of an ancient, magical planet
called Mon. Maybe this would explain Nick’s obsession with the
lunar colonies? Maybe Grand’s fantastic version of Moon had been
home all along.
    Or maybe Grand was completely
insane.
    Phfitt. Phfitt, phfitt . .
.
    Then again, a fairy tale world might
not be so bad. Those Grimm fairy tale stories always seemed
uncomplicated. You know, big bad wolf, three little pigs, make sure
you build your house out of brick, kinda story. If that’s what life
on the moon was really like, then that’s where he belonged, right?
A simple life.
    Nick smiled at that idea.
    Phfitt. Phfitt, phfitt . .
. Phfitt. Phfitt, phfitt . . .
    “Yeah!” Nick shouted. “Yes. Yes. Let’s
totally do that—let’s go to magical moons and bridge clouds and
stuff. I’m in!”
    Tim rolled his eyes.
    Grand laughed. “Very good, Nikolas.
Knew you’d be up for it. Now, we have very little time to lose.
Must return your friends to the refugee camp and then make for the
gateway.” Grand turned to the hovertruck.
    Nick’s smile slid away. He
looked back to the Kobayashi brothers and the Wendell sisters, and
then down to the leashes scattered at their feet. Caroline’s
readout blinked: Life expectancy:
17. Haley’s: 18. What would become of them after
Nick and Tim zoomed off to some fantastic world?
    “If I go, they go,” said
Nick.
    “What?” Grand stopped in midstride.
“All of them?”
    “We’re a package deal. I won’t leave
them behind.”
    “Our mission is far too dangerous,
lad,” Grand said. “I cannot allow it.”
    “You don’t know how they treat refugee
kids,” Nick crossed his arms. “They’re tagged, Grand. A refugee
can’t be more than fifteen miles away from the refugee camp before
they’re shocked by leashes, like a dog.