The Rebel

His father. Michael felt dizzy. He had no memories of his father. His father had died before Michael broke free of his pod.

What was going on?

He ran his hands down his body, realizing several things at once. His arms were much shorter, his fingers now tapered into hooked claws, and his skin was hard and bumpy. He glanced down at himself and saw what looked like rows and rows of metal rivets where his flesh should be.

What the hell was going on?

He heard the patter of light footsteps behind him, and he spun around. Two beings with small bodies, big heads, and dark, dark, pupil-less almond-shaped eyes approached him. The Michael part of his brain thought it recognized them from the hologram of the ship's crew Ray Iburg had once shown him. The non-Michael part of his brain recognized them, too-as its parents.

"We have to leave you now, my son," one of the beings said. The words weren't spoken in English, but the non-Michael part of the brain supplied the translation and identified the speaker-Father.

Michael felt a rush of grief that was from him but not from him. He told himself not to freak and to try to absorb everything being said.

"If it were known your father and I had produced another pod, it would be destroyed," the other being-Mother-told him. "We must find a safe place for your brother to be born, a place where our family will be able to live together without hiding."

"Why can't I come with you?" Michael asked, although he hadn't intended to speak the words, wouldn't have known how to speak them if he had wanted to.

"No one on the ship must know that the pod we bring with us is not our first. No one must know that we already have a child," Father explained. "But I promise that we will return for you as soon as we are able. And I promise that you will be safe with the members of the Kindred until then."

Father reached out and squeezed his shoulder. Mother ran two of her long fingers down his face. Then they were gone.

And Michael was back in his own body, back in front of the snow cone stand across the street from the museum. He scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to get rid of the woozy, disoriented feeling swamping him.

The dark-haired guy was simply watching Michael, waiting.

Michael pressed his fingers against his forehead for a moment. He could almost feel his brain trying to process what he'd experienced.

"I-I was in you just then, you when you were a little kid, right?" Michael stammered.

"Yes," the guy answered, his gray eyes steady as they met Michael's.

"So, then…" Michael stopped, took a breath. Then he forced himself to spit out the words, the words he'd never imagined he would say to anyone. "So then you really are my brother."

Isabel was so bored, she could scream.

She still had a couple of hours to go before it was time for her two hours of sleep. She'd already reorganized the kitchen cabinets and done her nails-three times so she could decide which was exactly the right Isabel-esque shade of polish. She'd even used her power to soften the skin on her elbows and her knees, not that they needed it.

I could write another letter to Alex, she thought.

Another letter explaining how sorry she was about the nasty way she'd broken up with him. Another letter explaining how much she loved him, even though they weren't boyfriend and girlfriend anymore.

Another letter that he'd never get.

Isabel wrapped her arms around herself. She didn't want to think about Alex. Not now. Not in the middle of the night when she was all alone. She knew she'd only end up crying. And once she started, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to stop.

Usually on a night like this, she would insist that Max come downstairs and amuse her. But when she'd gone into Max's room an hour ago, he was bye-bye, off with the consciousness.

It was like her brother had joined a cult or something. And he couldn't wait for her to join, too. Maybe I should call one of those psychics and ask for advice, Isabel thought.

Or maybe she should just go upstairs and shake Max out of his trance. Yeah, he'd been talking to his little friends long enough. Isabel stood up and strolled down the hall and over to the stairs. She had her foot on the first step when she heard a soft knock on the door.

Yes! Michael or Adam had come to save her from terminal e

She spun around, rushed back down the hall to the front door, and flung it open.

"Do you think you could have gotten here a little sooner?" she demanded.

And then she realized it wasn't Michael standing there. It wasn't Adam, either.

It was Alex.

Oh, God, it was Alex.

"Are you? What? I-" Isabel's brain was too scrambled to complete a thought. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, trying to get a grip, then she opened them and a smile spread across her face, a smile so big, it felt like it was stretching all the way to the back of her head. "Just get in here," she said.

Alex took a step forward, then he did a slow crumple to the porch.

Isabel dropped to her knees beside him. She shoved her hands under his shirt and pressed them against his chest. Her heart gave a painful jerk as she realized how cold and moist his skin felt.

Just make the co

No, not her body. Their body. She and Alex had only one body now.

Why is he so cold? she thought. What's wrong? She explored their body slowly and methodically, ignoring the spikes of ice digging into her.

There were no foreign substances in the bloodstream. Alex didn't have a virus or anything that was giving him chills. Isabel directed her attention to his-their-brain, tracing the neural pathways.

Suddenly the images from Alex stopped coming. All she could see was blackness. Then a single image formed. Alex screaming, an endless scream, his face twisted in fear.

He's terrified, she realized. There was no external cause for the condition of his body. He'd been frightened so deeply that his internal systems had started to shut down.

What happened to him? What did he see? What did the beings do to him?

Not the time for questions, Isabel ordered herself. Alex needed her healing. But there wasn't a specific place to direct her powers.

Isabel drew as much strength and energy from herself as she could, then she let it fly into Alex. Was it enough? She pulled her hands away, breaking the co

She would have loved to stay co

"Can you stand up?" she asked. She brushed his hair off his forehead.

"Yeah." Alex shoved himself to his feet, and Isabel looped her arm around his waist and half carried him over to the sofa. It's Alex, her brain gibbered. It's Alex, Alex, Alex, it's my Alex.

"Just lie here for a minute." She grabbed the Indian blanket off the back of the chair and wrapped it tightly around him. "Don't move. I'll be right back," she whispered.

This was definitely not a situation that she wanted the parents involved in. Fortunately they were both pretty heavy sleepers.

"Miss you," Alex mumbled. Isabel didn't know if he meant that he'd miss her when she went upstairs or that he'd missed her when he was gone.

"Miss you, too," she answered, meaning it both ways.

She turned around, ran up to Max's room, and dashed inside without bothering to knock. One look at his face showed her that he was still co