Chapter 1
“It’s sped up,” Professor Kilfoyle says. He projects a display on the whiteboard in our classroom and points out the trajectory. “The Glyph is now eighteen days away, instead of the predicted twenty-three.” We watch the Glyph beep across the arc as it nears our planet. “And it’s getting faster.”
“So what does that mean?” Tara asks.
“All we’ve got are the facts I’ve given you, Tara. Your analysis will be just as valid as mine.”
“Then it means we’re screwed,” Tara says. The class laughs, but she doesn’t and neither do I.
“Not how I would put it, but . . .” Professor Kilfoyle clearly isn’t too happy about the Glyph speeding up either.
“Do we have any weapons?” Taper says, perma-sneer affixed to his face.
“Oh, we’ve got weapons,” Professor Kilfoyle says. “We’ve got rifles. We’ve got bows and arrows–”
“We don’t have anything that will shoot down something in space,” Tara says, stating it more than asking it.
“I’m sure the authorities are busy working up a plan,” Professor Kilfoyle says. “Whatever that might be.”
Do we know where on the planet it’s going to land? I manage to type, but only because I started it about seven sentences ago.
“Not yet.”
“It’s here,” Taper says. “It’s obviously here. We’re the population center.”
I hold up my hand so they wait for me. We’re the human population center, I say. There are a million and a half other people on this planet.
Taper shakes his head. “Not people.”
“Enough of that,” Professor Kilfoyle says sharply. “And look,” he says, calming down, “we don’t know that it’s hostile.”
“The Noise dreams are pretty hostile,” Tara says.
Professor Kilfoyle raises an eyebrow. “I thought your mother said they were caused by a local bacteria.”
Tara says nothing, just holds his gaze.
“They are,” Taper speaks up. “The Spackle set it loose on us.”
You have no proof, I type.
“And what does your mom have proof of?” he snaps back.
The answer to that question is, I don’t really know.