The Mars Project by Julie Steimle (i can read with my eyes shut TXT) 📕

Agent Keane wondered if sending another spy satellite to Mars would be worth the bother. After all, if a people truly managed to live undetected from all their probes and satellites before, wouldn’t they be able to avoid this one as well? If they were as Sicamore said, humans with space technology that was undetectable to radar, then wouldn’t it also be logical to suppose that they were so advanced that the FBI’s feeble attempts at masking their satellite would fail? The entire thing made the agent want to doubt.

“Agent Keane, we need your daily report,” the man at the back of the room said.

The young man sat up straighter, and reported, “Nothing new. Day two. Female suspect, Zormna, nearly fell asleep in her first hour class again, apparently overworked.”

Agent Simms chuckled.

“Pardon?” Agent Keane glanced across the table.

Clearing his throat, Simms said, “Not overworked. Mr. McLenna sat up lecturing to the girl again, this time about purposefully spreading garbage on their driveway.” He smiled at Agent Keane and added, “She likes pranks.”

Shaking his head, Agent Keane continued. “Anyway, she went through the class without a word while the boy spent the hour reading Shakespeare. That’s the first hour.”

“Is the entire report like this?” a tired agent on the other side said.

Nodding, Keane replied, “Pretty much. They didn’t do anything out of the ordinary for a typical teenager. I did see the girl lose her temper, but she is reputed around the school for being a short fuse. Jeff, however, is a very cool customer. I don’t think you could get a thing out of him if you poked him with a needle to see if he bleeds.”

One man nodded. “Yes. I noticed that too. He plays around with his wrestling friends most of the time. They only talk about sports, cars, girls, and movies they’ve seen. I think the only way to get anything out of them is for someone to wear a wire and buddy up with Jennifer or Darren. Zormna and Jeff notice all bugs.”

Agent Keane laughed. “Ok. But if we have an agent get close to Jennifer, her boyfriend would knock his lights out, even if it were a student teacher or a counselor. The guy is super jealous. And as for Darren, the guy has the worst reputation as a geek in that school. Only Zormna doesn’t snub him. And I mean that. Even the nerds and geeks avoid that guy. A teacher might be able to mentor him, but…getting close?”

“Good point,” Agent Sicamore said. “It would be less suspicious if an operative inserted himself into another group, a more socially acceptable one to observe when they are more off guard.”

Agent Keane smiled. Perhaps this Sicamore guy wasn’t so nutty.

 “What do you think of wrestling?” Sicamore asked, leaning in.

Agent Keane swallowed. “Well, uh….”

 

Chapter Four: A Can of Spam

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“It is the weak who are cruel. Gentleness can only be expected from the strong.”  –Leo Foslom—

 

 

The class laughed as Zormna tried to swallow her embarrassment when she came to the class late, lugging in the room five heavy text books and wearing her summer cheer outfit. Her book bag had split on the way to class, and she seemed in an unusually sour mood that morning. Their teacher didn’t improve it when he cited the punishment for being late to class, breaking the ninth rule on the list. It also didn’t help when they started to read the next chapter in the text, and she discovered that she had grabbed the wrong book. She had to share Jeff’s book, as he sat next to her. He just watched with a smug grin and said nothing.

“It’s your line,” Mr. Humphries said, looking down on Zormna.

She nodded, trying to fight the blood that was still rushing to her face. “How now! Who calls?” Stopping, Zormna asked, “What does that mean anyway, how now?”

Their teacher rubbed his temple, closing his eyes. “Can someone explain it to her?”

Jeff whispered through his teeth, “It means ‘what’ or something. Just read it and stop asking questions or he is gonna have a coronary.”

Understanding him clearly, she scowled and just stared at the page.

“Your mother,” read another girl in the class, in the role of the nurse.

Trying to bite back the already seething irritation from that morning, Zormna read her part, no matter how ridiculous it sounded to her. “Madame, I am here. What is your will?”

Zormna sat waiting. Her next line wouldn’t come now for several paragraphs. She figured it was enough to listen to the others ramble on in their long lines and ignore the text. But when she peeked toward the teacher, she could tell from Mr. Humphries’s gaze that he wouldn’t let her get away with it. Zormna set her eyes back on the page and distastefully followed.

“And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I,” in a hardly enthusiastic voice, she read when the time came.

Her teacher frowned.

“Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e’er I nursed: An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish,” the other girl read.

Anne, a senior well known in dramatics, read Lady’s Capulet’s part with much more enthusiasm than Zormna thought necessary. “Marry, that ‘marry’ is the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet? How stands your disposition to be married?”

Glancing at the page, Zormna read the next line sincerely, “It is an honor that I dream not of.”

Mr. Humphries smiled and stood up. “Let’s stop there.” Gazing across the room at the class, he sat on the edge of his desk and crossed his ankles, folding his fingers together. “Imagine it. You are fourteen and already you are expected to be married. Can you see how Juliet feels? She is being thrust into adulthood at such an early age. Can you imagine it?”

“I can,” Zormna muttered, looking up at the ceiling while leaning away from the text she and Jeff were sharing.

Jeff heard it, almost laughing.

“Imagine how put upon she must feel right now,” Mr. Humphries continued, oblivious to Zormna’s mutters. “Her society expects her to marry at her parents’ request. Now, I know that in our modern context this would never happen, and chances are, unless you are living in a marsh somewhere or some backward village, young fourteen-year-old girls don’t have to worry about being proposed to.”

Zormna choked on a laugh, knowing it would probably incur a long explanation she knew she couldn’t give. Besides having that ‘Don’t hate me because I am beautiful’ thing about her, once during an embarrassing court-martial, over thirty men had hit on her in one month when she was only twelve—including several marriage proposals. It was one of the reasons why she hated boys flirting. Instead of laughing, she coughed.

Joy peeked at her, frowning.

“Still, I’m sure you might feel this same kind of pressure in a different form. This is your assignment. First, finish reading this scene and read scene four. We’ll do scene five tomorrow. Second, you will start a paper about one thing you think your parents’ generation expects of you that you think is unfair, or at least very difficult to cope with.” Mr. Humphries smiled and wrote this in the corner of the board for the next day. “I will expect these completed by tomorrow. You have the rest of the hour to write.”

Zormna sighed wearily. She gazed at Jeff’s book and then at him. Taking a small breath, she asked, “Are you going to read that or are you going to start writing?”

Jeff glanced up at her slightly. “Give me a minute. The passage isn’t all that long.”

Nodding, she stared at her blank notebook paper. Having to play school when she had long graduated had been pain enough, but being required to make up stories for the likes of Mr. Humphries felt like torture. Should she lie? Or should she just bend the truth with pseudonyms and changed location names? And if she told the truth, what could she say? All the responsibilities on her back were much greater than anything any of the other students had to carry, except possibly for Jeff. But of course, he would be making up his story as he was gifted at playing the game.

Glancing at him as he studied the passage intently, she wondered if he had also played the game back Home as well. After all, he was a Zeldar—a descendant of rebels, kings, and music stars. She wondered what stories he made up for his teachers back then. He had to have been artful at it since it had kept him out of the People’s Military’s eye for so long. And even now she admired how he could make the world believe he was nothing more than a punk kid who had made a few wrong turns and had trouble at home, but was striving to reform. Punk kid? Zormna had seen enough of Jeff to know he was a hard worker, incredibly clever, and genuinely devoted to those people he cared about and those causes he believed in. But he was also a scary skilled liar.

She wished she had that skill now, staring back at her blank sheet. What did Mr. Humphries ask they write about? The one thing her parents’ generation expected of her that she thought was unfair? Yeah, right. The only thing on her mind was how the rebellion expected her to be a savior from the oppressive High Class that had ruled their world for centuries. She laughed in herself. Sure, write that and she’ll definitely end up visiting the student counselor for psychiatric help.

But then a smile crossed her lips as a different angle on the topic across her mind. Why not? She thought. It was definitely the best way to twist this topic to her benefit. Wording is what counted, right?

Zormna started vigorously writing her paper. Their entire write-ups had to be only two pages so it wouldn’t take long.

Jeff glanced over at Zormna after he had finished reading the passages. They were such minor scenes. It was no wonder their teacher had the students just read them. Jeff knew what was coming up in the story anyway. He had seen a modernized version of the play. Everyone knew the story and many alluded to it now and again, so it was a breeze following along. It gave him a definite advantage over Zormna who had nothing to go by. However, as he glanced at her, he saw her scribbling out almost a whole page. She had a faint grin on her lips as she penned her point of view onto paper. He wondered what it was and leaned near to peek. He scarcely had a look before she whipped her eyes to him. Sitting up quickly, Jeff held out the book to her. “Um, you want it?”

She peered at him funny, glancing sideways as if him being nice to her was unsettling. “Not yet. I think I’ll just read it at home.”

“What are you writing?” he whispered, peeking up at the teacher who had yet to notice they were talking in class again.

Taking a breath, she braced against the desk contemplating telling him. However, one of her devious grins spread