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

“Jafarr,” Uncle Orren broke in, half exasperated. “Calm down. I saw you come in last night with her. I understand what happened.”

Jeff heaved a relieved sigh, though he glanced out at Alex and Eric, and laughing Aaron particularly, eyeing their amused grins. Aunt Mary glared their way, forcing them to smother them if only a little.

“Are you ready?” Uncle Orren asked him.

Jeff nodded. “Nearly.”

Thinking, Uncle Orren walked down the hall to the kitchen. “Make sure she can find something to eat before you go out.”

Jeff nodded again. He caught the other men’s glances though. They burst out laughing. Jeff rolled his eyes, going back into his room.

“Now you….” Aunt Mary started into them.

*

Completely dressed this time, Zormna peeked out of the bathroom into the hallway. Jeff was nowhere, though Alex was now sitting on the couch eating his breakfast. She peered over there for a few more seconds then turned to Jeff’s bedroom door where she attempted to open it. It was locked.

Knocking lightly, still burning from embarrassment since she knew exactly what was going through everyone’s heads, she whispered, “Jafarr.”

It was silent on the other side. She knocked again. This time it opened, and Jeff stood there, fully dressed. He was still a little pink, and he couldn’t quite look her in the eyes. Glancing up, he handed her a bag.

“It’s your dress and stuff. Malia will make sure you’re ready when it’s time.”

Zormna took the bag and nodded. He walked past her to the door. He was wearing a nondescript gray hoodie, carrying a rough leather jacket under his arm along with a New York Yankees baseball cap. It wasn’t his style. She watched him.

“You should get something to eat,” Jeff said, looking back as he went back into the hall. “You can have anything in the fridge.”

She followed him to the front of the house, though cautiously. Jeff went toward the front door where he started to undo the locks. There were several.

“Jafarr?” she said, taking a step after him.

The people in the kitchen and the living room craned their necks a little to listen better.

Guarded, Jeff turned around, still holding onto the doorknob. “What?”

Zormna blushed as she extended her free hand. “Thanks.”

He let go of the doorknob and took her hand. “You’re welcome.”

Jeff gave her one look before he turned back toward the door and opened it.

“Good luck,” she said.

He nodded with an appreciative smile.

When he closed the door behind himself, Zormna sighed. But once turning from the door, she cast a distrustful glance at the people she could feel watching her. For certain, those in the kitchen and the living room quickly occupied their time with their original tasks. Zormna strolled into the kitchen as if trying to decide what to do next, though her eyes rested on both Eric and Aaron who were gazing more intently at the contents of the silverware drawer than most normal men. With a roll of her eyes, Zormna then turned toward Aunt Mary who was buttering her toast too much.

“Is the suit ready?” Zormna asked in her old formality. She really didn’t know the others of the household that well. Even Alex, though she felt more at ease with him than the others.  

As if at last given permission to look at her, Aunt Mary lifted her eyes to Zormna’s face and nodded. “I have them in a drawer. I can get them now if you want.”

Zormna shook her head. She leaned tiredly against the counter and gazed at the tiles, musing over the task ahead to herself. Jeff had planned most of what they were about to do. And it was a decent enough plan so that she had confidence that it would work. But it was still a risky venture. Things could go terribly wrong.

Eric glanced at Aaron as he picked up his breakfast. He took it into the dining room. Aaron nodded and followed, peeking at Zormna as he passed by.

She noticed.

“Don’t think I don’t notice the way you’re looking at me,” Zormna said suddenly.

She turned around and glared at Aaron and then slightly at Eric who didn’t bother her half as much as that blonde fellow. She wasn’t smiling. In fact, she had one of her more militaristic glares. “I’d appreciate you both keeping your mind on task, and not on ridiculous notions. Cut Jafarr some slack. He’s just doing his duty.”

Zormna turned and walked into the living room. Alex watched her in surprise though, following her as she headed towards Jeff’s room. It was the first time he had ever heard her defend Jeff. Up until then, they both remained civil but not on edge with each other. Zormna usually stayed out of their in-house spats—of which she had overheard several whenever she visited as Aaron had always been hard of Jeff. And ‘Uncle Orren’ frequently ‘corrected’ Jeff for something they later discovered Jeff to be right about.

But Aaron took offence. He tromped directly out of the dining room after her. “Cut us some, flymite. We have seen the blood of our families. We know how dangerous this is. What do you, you mighty Zeta District leader, know about suffering?”

Eric reached out to pull Aaron back. But the man shook him off. Aaron didn’t really like Zormna any more than he did Jeff.

Zormna turned back around. Her glare fixed on the twenty-something blonde.

Alex popped to his feet, quickly putting himself between them while facing Aaron. “She knows just as much as the rest of us, Asdrov. She’s just saying lay off on Jafarr. That’s all.”

But Aaron did not look likely to forgive Zormna for criticizing him. His eyes were saying that Zormna had chosen to champion the wrong man. Not any time soon would he want to ease up on someone he still considered to be a pretentious upstart, but he resolved to not argue it out. He went back into the kitchen to finish his breakfast.

Alex turned around to face Zormna, towering over her as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “He’ll be fine.”

Flinching from his touch, especially since it was her shoulder where the mark of her family was branded, Zormna grimly nodded.

Walking back to Jeff’s bedroom, Zormna sat the small folding chair at his desk. There was so much time before she could join him in the operation. But that meant she had time to kill. And what was there to do? Staring at Jeff’s bedroom, as she hardly felt up for the tour the night before when she had crashed on his bed (which smelled like him), she sighed. He had posters of bands on the wall—none of them modern. She wondered if they were props or real interests of his. He also had a poster of Mozart in a leather jacket rocking out to whatever he was playing. There was an old record player on a cinderblock shelf next to some plastic egg-crates stacked three-up which were filled with books. Most of them were school books.

In one corner of the room sat a row of instruments, of which Todd and Brian had told her about. Jeff played several instruments, they had said. Zormna walked over to them, picking up the banjo. She plucked a few strings, not well. Then she examined the other instruments. One was cello. Another looked like a Russian balalaika. Her mind idly recalled that his family—his real family—were descendants of famous musicians. And while strumming a few more times over the banjo strings, Zormna wondered what Jeff’s life would have been like if he had pursued a music career instead of joining the rebellion. Though here, with a chuckle and another sweeping gaze over Jeff’s instrument collection, it seemed he was doing both.

She put down the banjo and dropped back onto the bed, groaning. Despite her increased confidence in Jeff’s capabilities, Zormna felt sick to her stomach. Things were so close to breaking apart. Intuitively, she knew the FBI had not invested all their efforts into one agent. In a disturbing way, she felt like Sam’s real job had been to mask what the FBI were truly up to.

A diversion.

Metaphorically, the FBI would not have put all their eggs into one basket. However, Jeff was about to make them do just that so they could stop it all. She just hoped he was a master musician with this kind of thing too.

*

“Will that be all sir?” Mr. Sicamore’s secretary, asked.

Agent Sicamore nodded, hardly looking up. “Thanks. Marc. Go home. You shouldn’t be in here on Sunday.”

Marc nodded, smiling. “Then I’ll see you Monday?”

Mr. Sicamore waved to him.

Once more alone, he perused through the neatly printed files of all their findings thus far. Hopefully it would be useful to convince the heads of state into taking a well thought-out course of action against those extra-terrestrials. The package he was arranging was nearly complete. His presentation would be flawless. His only regrets were not being able to get decent recordings of Zormna’s and Jeff’s voices speaking in their alien language. After all, their slurred speech under sodium pentothal was not admissible evidence. Not really.

So their infiltration project had not been a complete success. And though they had other agents on campus, getting someone as close to their targets was no longer possible. Their targets clearly were doing their best to blend in quietly with society rather than infiltrate and manipulate it. But their undercover agent had gathered some interesting, though perhaps not very useable evidence out of their school writings proving that the pair were at least involved in if not surrounded by murder and death. This gave them probable cause. The only real thing they needed was proof of active contact with the other world in order to officially take them in.

In a way, Agent Sicamore wished they could leave the two teenagers alone. After Agent Keane’s full debriefing, it was clear to everyone in the project that the two ‘Martians’ were merely in hiding, maintaining what fragile security they had. The freaky thing they realized when Agent Keane was exposed was that Jeff had resources they didn’t know about, resources they still had not discovered despite all their exhaustive efforts. But as for Zormna, all their efforts had paid off. Space surveillance had revealed a great deal about who she was and who she was connected to. Too much, in fact, for them to ever ignore her.

Currently, Agent Sicamore was listening once more to the recording of the interchange they had tapped into. It had been in English, mostly. Two voices. Both men. They had picked it up after recording routine calls between ships and a station somewhere on one of Mars’ moon Phobos where their spy satellite had anchored and camouflaged itself. The conversation was enlightening. 

It was picked off a hair-thin frequency which came in and out of focus. They had to digitally enhanced it to fill in the gaps. It was like listening into a whispered secret, though.

*static buzzing* << Zeta Fifteen this is Alpha one. Get me Alea Salvar. >>

<<Yes, Kevin, >> the moon side responded.

They knew then that the leader of the Surface Patrol was called the Kevin. That they learned from Zormna early.

<< Sir, >> came the brief young voice of the one they supposed to be Alea Salvar.

<< Clear the room, son. Change to line Kooarta. >>

*static buzzing* And they lost the signal for a few seconds. But after a lucky adjustment they picked up the conversation again.

<< …heard from Alea Zormna? >>

<< No, sir. She hasn’t called. >>

<< Goo— >> More static. << —ure she doesn’t. We can’t afford to have the—*static*—pinpoint her location. >>

The one spoken to didn’t sound very happy. << Father, don’t you think we should contact her tho— *static* —s got to be going crazy over there. >>

It was silent for a moment, with some static.

<< It is better not to. She can handle herself. Just tell everyone sh—*static*—l on special projects and won’t return