Chapter 6
I stood completely still, letting them get the full effect of the swirling blue mist that suddenly surrounded me. Then, when the startled exclamations had died down, I deactivated my force shield.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Finally, my father said, "You're . . . a Prime?"
"That's right, Dad," I said. "I'm Prime Blue."
My mother turned to him and said softly in Mandarin, "What is a Prime?"
He gave Padma and me an apologetic smile and replied in English, "Do you remember last month when Angela went with her marching band to play for the Cleveland Browns game and that awful monster attacked us just before halftime?"
Mom nodded dubiously at first, but suddenly her whole face lighted up. "Oh, I see! Trevor, were you there? You were one of those young people who saved us?"
"Uh huh; that's my job these days. I was the one who ran over to help the band kids, in fact."
"Why, that's marvelous! When did you quit your Tae Kwon Do demonstration team?"
I chuckled and shook my head ruefully. "There never was a Tae Kwon Do demonstration team, Mom. I'm afraid I had to lie to you guys about that. I joined the Primes right out of high school, but I wasn't allowed to tell you about it until now."
Angie, who is never comfortable unless she is the center of attention, said, "Um, I was there too, Mom. You know, at the football game?"
"Yes, dear, I know," my mother replied in that patronizing tone of voice that mothers have. "And you were very brave to run out in your band uniform and attack those -- whatever those things were -- before your brother came over to help you. But Trevor is a Prime! From what your father is saying, I take it he was one of the ones who actually destroyed the monster."
"Yeah, I know. Like I said, I was there," she insisted. "And I helped them destroy the monster. Mom, I'm a Prime, too!" When we all turned to stare at her, she shrank back into her seat a little bit. "Well, sort of. They, um, they made me a Junior Prime."
My mother regarded her skeptically, and Angela turned to appeal to me. I waved my hand carelessly. "Sure, Angie, go ahead. I know you're dying to."
She gave me a bright smile. "Thanks, Trev!" She reached into the back pocket of her jeans, pulled out the badge Wizzit had given her, and said, "Junior Prime Pink, activate!" A second later, she was surrounded by swirling pink mist. "See?"
Dad looked slowly from me to Angie, and then his gaze settled on Padma. "I assume you're a Prime as well?"
"Of course she is," my mother said. She turned to Padma. "You're Prime Indigo, aren't you, dear?"
Startled, Padma could only nod. My father looked at my mother in astonishment, as if he half-expected her to whip out her own badge and shout, "Prime Mom, activate!"
"How did you --?" he began.
"It was something she said in an earlier conversation," she said, laying a hand on his arm. "You were in the other room. It didn't make much sense at the time, but it seems obvious now."
Did I ever say my mom was dumb? No, of course I didn't, because she's not. In fact, she and my dad are two of the sharpest people I know. Sharp, but (in my mom's case, at least) a tad single-minded. She said to Padma, "I suppose this means that you and Trevor really aren't . . .?"
Padma smiled and shook her head. "No, ma'am. As Trevor said, we are close friends, but we are not romantically involved. Each of us has . . ." Here, she gave me a sly, sidelong glance. ". . . our own fish to fry."
Padma and I spent much of the afternoon telling my parents what we could about the history of the Primes: how Wizzit approached Montana rancher Roy Windham nearly sixteen years ago with a warning about a coming alien invasion, and how the two of them recruited seven young people from all over the world (including Roy's own thirteen-year-old daughter Shelley) to become the very first team of Primes.
My dad, who keeps up on the news more than my mom does, was aware that Shelley had been arrested and asked us about her. Padma and I told him what we knew, and he agreed that the entire detainment had always sounded fishy to him, especially because even now they hadn't actually charged her with any crime.
We told them that we were visiting Shelley regularly in her supposedly secure cell, which led to a discussion of teleportation, force shields, and healing comas. I mentioned that, as Junior Prime Pink, Angie could teleport with the rest of us, but she had neither the protection of a force shield nor the safety net of a healing coma.
"Why can't you give her this force shield?" my mother wanted to know. "Especially since all the rest of you have one? Wouldn't it be better for her to have one?"
"That," I said with a smile, "is a Padma question."
Padma flashed me a gee-Trevor-thanks-a-lot look, then turned to my parents. "It is simply a matter of power and numbers. There are seven of us Primes, and each of us is assigned our own prime number. You understand what prime numbers are, do you not?"
My parents both nodded, my mom a little dubiously, and Padma continued, "My prime number is thirteen, for example, and Trevor's is eleven. Each of our force shields and weapons resonate -- I believe that is the correct word -- they resonate to the vibrations identified with our own individual numbers. Using prime numbers makes our weapons and force shields strong; a shield resonating with the number eleven, for example, could be attacked only by another eleven, whereas a shield resonating with the number twelve could be easily destroyed by a two, a three, a four, or a six -- any of the numbers which divide it. It would be much more vulnerable to attack. Do you see?"
My mom shook her head. My dad frowned and said, "I . . . think so . . ."
Padma gave them one of her thousand-watt smiles. "I'm sorry," she said. "It is difficult to explain. It took me a few weeks to understand it all. The point is that, just as there are an infinite number of prime numbers, there could be an infinite number of us Primes. When you get beyond seven Primes, though, the power requirements rise very fast. We simply are unable to add another Prime to our power grid.
"Angela's badge, therefore, works off of its own power supply, which recharges itself by exposure to light or motion. Assigning a prime number to her badge would drain the power supply too fast and might burn out the unit, so we have given her a slightly weaker number -- three hundred sixty-one, or nineteen times nineteen. A prime number times itself is still pretty strong, but her badge is not strong enough to provide a force shield."
My father shook his head when she finished speaking. "I don't know, Trevor. This sounds like dangerous work."
"It can be," I agreed, "and I want you guys to know that we take very good care of Angie whenever she's out with us. We keep her out of harm's way as much as we possibly can."
"One of our Primes, Prime Orange, has agreed to be her minder when she is with us," Padma added. "Orange does a lot of shooting and not so much . . ." Here, she pantomimed punching someone. "We give Angie a blaster and weapons she can use to defend herself -- her badge is powerful enough for that -- and of course if she has trouble, Wizzit can immediately teleport her out of danger."
Dad nodded. "All right. It sounds like you have covered all the bases," he said. "I have just one further question: Why are you telling us this now, if you couldn't before?"
"A couple of reasons, Dad," I said. "The first one involves Angie. See, up to now, I've been the only Prime she knows by sight. Well, and now Padma too, I guess, but none of the others. But she's been a Junior Prime for a while now, and I guess Wizzit has decided that she's not going to go blabbing our secrets to everybody she knows, and so --"
"Hey, I wouldn't do that!" Angie interjected.
"Yeah, little sis, I know," I said, chuckling. "That's kind of what I just said."
"Oh. Right. Never mind."
"Anyway, Wizzit asked me to invite Angie to dinner at our headquarters for a meet-and-greet, but . . ."
"But we, being good parents, wanted to know what kind of peopl
e our wayward son was introducing our daughter to," my mother finished for me.
"Yeah." I grinned. "So now you're all invited to HQ to meet us."
My mother's eyes widened. "When?"
"Whenever you'd like to come over. Now, Wizzit keeps us on Greenwich Mean Time, and lights-out is from eleven at night to seven in the morning, but outside of that . . ."
"You're five hours ahead of us," my dad said, obviously doing some quick mental arithmetic. "It would be the middle of the evening there." He looked at my mother. "Could we go right now?" She nodded eagerly.
I said, "I guess so. Let me check. Wizzit?"
"Now would not be a particularly good time," came Wizzit's voice from my belt. My parents gasped in surprise. Wizzit said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Doctor Chiao and Mrs. Doctor Chiao. My name is Wizzit; I believe Trevor has told you something about me."
I suppressed a grin. I had mentioned to Wizzit once that each of my parents holds a doctoral degree. Dad is a PhD in Chinese Lit and Mom is a Doctor of Musical Arts, or DMA, in piano. My dad gets called Doctor Chiao all the time at the college where he lectures, but my mom's piano students almost never call her that. I have discovered that referring to them each as Doctor Chiao is a quick, easy way for relative strangers to butter her up.
"Hi, Wizzit," Angela said.
"Hello, Angie," he said warmly. "I heard you passed your belt test. Congratulations. How is your hand?"
"Better, thanks," she said. "The swelling has gone down and it doesn't hurt so much any more."
"That's good to hear." That's our Wizzit. He can be polite and charming when he wants to be. He can also be pretty darn annoying when he wants to be, too. "Trevor," he said, "at present Bill is visiting Shelley, Mike is at the Windhams' ranch, Nicolai and Toby are training in the gym and are too hot and sweaty for polite company, and Trina is in her room touching up a few sketches. She is perhaps interruptible, but none of the others is, I would say. Might I suggest lunch tomorrow? That would correspond to dinnertime here at HQ, and we could meet at either location, or possibly both."
My parents looked at each other. "That sounds fine, er, Wizzit," my father said.
"Very good. I am looking forward to having my team meet you."
There was a moment of silence, and then my mother asked softly, "Is he gone?"
"No," I said with a smile. "He's never really gone, but I think he's done talking for now."
They digested that for a moment, and then my father said, "You told us there were a couple of reasons you were letting us know you are a Prime, Trevor. So far, you've given us only one."
I nodded. "Right. The other reason has to do with you guys." I glanced at Padma, and she reached over and squeezed my hand encouragingly. I smiled at her, then turned back to my parents. "Prime HQ is where I live these days. It's where all of us Primes live. We train there, we do our planning there, we build our weapons there, and it's where we go back to heal up after our battles. It's home. Wizzit keeps its location a secret, though. I don't even know where it is. Do you, Padma?" She shook her head.
"If HQ were ever destroyed," I went on, "or even if its location were discovered, obviously that would be a serious setback for us. Wizzit wants to have . . . well, I guess you'd call it a safe house for the Primes. It would be somewhere we could go if something bad ever happens to HQ. Or if one of us is stuck outside and can't teleport back to HQ for some reason, Wizzit wants a safe place that they could run to. Up to now, we had been using Commander Windham's ranch as that place, but since Shelley was arrested, it's not so safe any more. It's too well known, both to the public and to the authorities."
"And Wizzit wants to use our home as this safe house?" my mother asked.
"That's right, if you agree," I said. "And it wouldn't necessarily be just for emergencies. The Windhams invited us out to their place for cookouts and parties a couple of times a year, and we, in return, took good care of them; we still watch out for Shelley's mom and sister, in fact. That's where Mike is right now." I shrugged. "You could be as involved with us as you wanted to be; it would be completely up to you."
They looked at each other. "I think this is something we will have to discuss privately," my father said gravely.
I tried not to let my disappointment show on my face. "I understand," I said. I got to my feet. "One thing we don't have at HQ is the ability to go outside. I feel like going on a walk. Padma, would you like to get some fresh air?"
"I would love to," she said.
The two of us looked at Angie, who nodded and said, "I'll get my coat."
It was one of those sunny November days you sometimes get in Ohio that starts off chilly, but quickly warms up to tolerable levels. Well, tolerable for someone like me who grew up there, anyway. It was probably a bit too cool for Padma, who was used to the heat of India. At least, she seemed grateful when I removed my jacket and slipped it around her shoulders. The three of us walked down to the park. No one else was around, so we sat down on the benches in the gazebo there.
"So, Angie," I said, "what do you want to know about the Primes?"
She seemed surprised by my question. "You mean, I can ask you about anything? And you'll answer?"
"Yup. Before I came, Wizzit said not to hold anything back, so ask away."
We talked for over an hour. Angela asked me a lot of questions, such as what a healing coma felt like, how strong we were when we were powered up, how we built our weapons -- pretty much anything that came into her head -- and I answered nearly every one of them.
I say "nearly" because I declined to answer one of her questions ("Who is your 'other fish to fry', Trevor?"), I deferred a second one to Padma ("Who is Padma's 'other fish to fry'?"), and I deferred to Wizzit on a third ("Are you guys looking for a new Prime Violet?"). Padma was coy about whom she was interested in, saying only that Angie would meet him tomorrow. Wizzit flat-out refused to give her an answer about Prime Violet.
My mom was fixing dinner when we got back, and Grandmaster Park was in the living room talking with my dad. It had slipped my mind earlier, but over the years my parents had made a practice of inviting him over for dinner after every belt test for me and my brothers and sisters. With Angela finally attaining the rank of Junior Master, this might well be the last Chiao test he would preside over.
He hadn't said much to me earlier at the studio, and he didn't say much to me now. The last time we had spoken, weeks ago, he had told me he would never promote me to fifth Dan, the master rank, until I quit my "Tae Kwon Do demonstration team" and went to college somewhere. Now I think he figured I was too resentful to want to have anything to do with him. I wasn't. I mean, it was really disappointing when he said that, but I could certainly understand his motivation. As far as he knew, he was doing the right thing.
He did seem quite taken with Padma, though. I think it was partly because she listened raptly to his well-worn stories of learning Tae Kwon Do back in Korea just after the war and how he started his studio years ago in Ohio. They were interesting stories, but Angie and I had heard them too many times over the years to be very attentive.
When he discovered Padma was a second Dan, he even invited her to come to practice at the studio any time she wanted, free of charge. And then he asked my mom whether the two of us had set a wedding date yet. Seriously, what is it with parents and old family friends? I bring home a pretty young lady to meet everybody, we hold hands a little bit, and they all immediately assume we're getting married. Sheesh!
The next morning, Mom evidently decided she was going to go all-out to make dinner for my friends; she pulled Angie into the kitchen early on to help her whip up a big batch of fried rice, along with some sesame this and some ginger that and some stir-fried something else. Angela had discovered that she could talk with Wizzit through her Junior Prime Pink badge; she had set it out on the kitchen counter, and she and my mom were carrying on
a running conversation in Mandarin with him the entire time they were cooking.
By the time noon came, I was practically starving. I hadn't been able to snag much more than tea and toast for breakfast in between my mom's and Angie's bustling about, and the house had been full of these wonderful smells all morning long. I helped them carry everything to the dining-room table, wondering how we were going to get it all out to HQ.
I stopped wondering when, with five simultaneous flashes of light, the other Primes showed up. "Hi, guys," I said, "I, uh, thought we were going to HQ to eat."
Mike shrugged. "Wizzit said your mom invited us here. He also said to dress up nice to impress your folks." He looked me up and down, taking in my jeans and old sweatshirt, and he grinned. "I think we'll look pretty good by comparison."
I could tell my teammates were making an effort to be on their best behavior. Even Toby, who could be awfully sour at times, was smiling and cheerful, and Mike was at his glib, charming best. He had my Mom practically eating out of his hand. Bill, the elder statesman of our group at thirty-two, pulled my dad into a conversation about college politics -- Bill lectures occasionally at Cambridge -- and Trina, Junior Prime Pink's designated minder, made a point of introducing herself to Angie, probably so that my sister could put a face to the Prime who was giving her orders when she was out with us.
There wasn't enough room at the table for everyone to sit, so we ate buffet style, with people standing around holding plates and chatting. We had been doing that for about fifteen minutes when my mother took my arm and pulled me into the kitchen.
"Son, is something wrong with the food?" she asked me anxiously in Mandarin.
I shook my head. "No, everything is fine. Why?"
"Because no one is eating. Your friends have hardly touched anything."
I looked around. Padma was avoiding the beef, but that was nothing unusual; everything else seemed normal. "We are in constant training, Mother," I explained with a shrug. "We could get called out to fight a monster at any time, and most of us have learned the hard way that it is no fun to do that if you've just eaten huge quantities of great home-cooked food."
My mom nodded, but I don't think she was convinced. I saw her go over and whisper something to my dad. About half an hour later, Bill suggested that we take my parents and Angie on a tour of HQ. I took hold of my mom and dad's hands, and Wizzit teleported us all away.
Until then, I don't think my parents really believed that I was a Prime. Sure, they had seen me activate my force shield, and my friends had teleported in right in front of them, but I don't think the reality of it sank in until they teleported to HQ. My mom's eyes grew wide, and my dad murmured, "Oh my!"
I gave them the grand tour, consisting of my room, the gym, the lounge, the common room, the office, and the kitchen. Angie disappeared somewhere with Trina; I assume it was to show her the girl's wing and the weapons room. My mom was just peering into the refrigerator and examining a jar of Mike's Marmite when the monster alarm began to sound.
I probably don't always appreciate what an electric effect the monster alarm has on us here at HQ. It instantly commands everyone's immediate attention, no matter what else is going on. I must have been halfway to my room to get my battle vest before I realized that my parents probably had no idea what was happening. I slipped out of my clothes and into shorts and a tee-shirt, snagged my battle vest, and ran back to the kitchen.
"What is it, Trevor? What's going on?" my father asked.
"That's our monster alarm," I explained, shrugging into my vest. "Wizzit has spotted an Enclave monster somewhere -- I don't know just where yet -- and we've got to go out to fight it."
"What, right now?" my mother said, incredulous.
"Yup, right now. This is what I do. Um, Wizzit, Angie can help you teleport them home, can't she?"
"Ordinarily, yes," came Wizzit's voice from the overhead speakers, "but I believe she would be helpful on today's mission."
I cast a worried glance at my parents. "What do you mean? How would she be helpful?"
"The monster is located in China, in the city of Guangzhou. The residents there speak Cantonese and Mandarin, and your sister speaks both languages fluently. She would be of great help as a translator and spokesman."
"Wizzit, I speak Cantonese and Mandarin fluently!"
"Yes, but you might quickly find yourself preoccupied by your 'other fish'."
My 'other fish'? He must be referring to Lily. "She's there?"
"Affirmative."
I started to say a bad word, but I remembered that my folks were listening. Instead, I said mildly, "I see. Thanks for letting me know."
I turned to my parents. "You heard Wizzit. He wants Angie to come out with us. I'm really sorry about this. I'm afraid you guys will be stuck here until one of us gets back."
"She'll be all right out there, won't she?" my mother asked worriedly.
Trina stepped forward. "Mr. Doctor Chiao and Mrs. Doctor Chiao, I am Prime Orange," she said. "I will make it my personal responsibility to see that no harm comes to your daughter."
My parents looked at each other. "I guess we can't say no," my dad said. "Where can we wait for you?"
"The lounge is the most comfortable room," Wizzit said. "And if you like, I can even show you the fight as it progresses."
Everyone else had gathered in the common room. Angie handed me my sais; I saw that she was already holding her blaster and the Escrima stick that was her assigned weapon. Mike looked us over and nodded.
"Angie," he said, "we typically activate in sequence from Red down to, er, Bill over there. I think we'll have you activate last of all, and then Wizzit will send us out. Understood?" Angie nodded, practically bouncing up and down in excitement. Mike said, "Very good, then. Prime Red, activate!"
"Prime Orange, activate!"
"Prime Yellow, activate!"
"Prime Green, activate!"
"Prime Blue, activate!"
"Prime Indigo, activate!"
"Prime Black, activate!"
"Um, Junior Prime Pink, activate!"
Eight flashes of light later, we were on our way.