“All you had to do was ask.” Mrs Stricks winked.
Fuming, Fisher stormed off towards the dome.
Her short salt-and-pepper hair bouncing, Mrs Stricks hurried Lucy through the orchard to the long driveway. Surveillance drones hovered menacingly overhead as they made their way up towards the main road.
When they reached the far edge of Nu Co.’s property, they exited through the front gate. Lucy’s bike was propped up on its kickstand on the other side, waiting for her. Whoa. How did it get all the way over here?
She scanned the woodland surrounding the moonlit road. She figured that the Other Mrs Stricks must be lurking somewhere nearby, but she saw no one.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” warned Mrs Stricks. “Mr Fisher’s got that ‘gold fever’ look in his eye. A man in that state can’t be trusted.”
“What are they making in that secret laboratory?” asked Lucy.
“Nothing you should concern yourself with.”
“But I am concerned.” Lucy gripped her bike’s handlebar. “What could possibly produce pink smoke?”
Mrs Stricks gently patted Lucy’s cat beanie. “Just focus on getting yourself home in one piece. Can you do that for me?”
“But—”
“Goodnight, Lucita.” The teacher crouched down low, then flung her arms up and leapt into the air. In an instant her body quivered and liquefied as she transformed into a barred owl, splattering Lucy from head to toe with a surge of transparent slime.
The impish owl hooted what might’ve been an apology and disappeared over the forest canopy. Lucy scraped the goop off her glasses and shook it on to the asphalt.
Seriously, Mrs Stricks? Ew.
Heart-to-Heart
Milo sat on a stool in the kitchen in his blue-striped pyjamas, waiting for his father to come home. He sipped from a mug of warm oat milk with a dash of turmeric and black pepper, then checked the clock again. It was well past midnight. He set the mug down. Where is he?
It had been two hours since Milo had returned home. Nobody had greeted him when he walked through the door, teeth chattering, still clad in his kayaking gear. There was a note on the fridge from Kaitlyn saying that she had an early spin class, and that dinner was in the fridge ready for reheating. Milo didn’t feel hungry. He wasn’t sleepy, either. He was nervous, because he was finally ready to tell his father about the incredible things he’d seen over the last week.
He drained his mug and slid it into the sink where it landed with a CLANK, the solitary sound reverberating off the high ceiling. He was just about to head up to bed when he heard the rumble of the garage door. A moment later, his father entered the kitchen, red-eyed, his tie loosened around his neck.
Spotting Milo, Mr Fisher straightened his shoulders. “You’re up late,” he said, making an effort to sound cheery. He tossed his suit jacket on a stool and set his high-tech briefcase on the marble floor.
“Dinner’s in the fridge.” Milo pointed to Kaitlyn’s note. He fidgeted as his father rummaged through the refrigerator. “How was your day?”
Fisher set a bowl of steamed broccoli, Wagyu steak and quinoa on the counter and unwrapped the cellophane. “Long.” He pulled up a stool at the kitchen island. His phone buzzed and he typed a response to a text.
Dad’s not even going to ask me what I was doing today, is he? It had been like this for the past month, his father seeming more distracted, coming home later and later. The only thing they’d talked about in the last few weeks was how funny it was that birds kept mistaking Nu Co.’s drones for dinner. That, and Milo’s dubious explanations for his perpetually missing shoes.
“Who are you talking to?” asked Milo.
Fisher put his smartphone away. “Sorry, pal,” he said. “It’s work stuff. You know how consuming it can be.” He tapped his fingers on the counter. Milo hadn’t seen him so agitated in a while. “I saw your little friend this evening.” He gave Milo a pointed look, his fork poised over his food.
My friend? Milo nearly choked. Did he track me down after all?
“That girl broke in to the factory grounds. Again.” Fisher took a bite of broccoli.
Milo realised who he was talking about. “Oh, you mean Lucy. She broke into Nu Co.?” That’s odd, but so is she. “Why did she do that?”
“I was hoping you could fill me in.”
“I have no idea what she’s up to these days.”
“I certainly hope not.”
Okay, then. Moving on… Milo took a deep breath. He’d been preparing for this moment all evening. “Dad. There’s something I need to discuss with you. Something very important.”
Fisher exhaled, long and low. “I know,” he said ruefully.
“You do?” Milo was fairly certain that he didn’t.
“I’m still not making enough time for you.” Fisher reached across the granite countertop and took Milo’s hand. “The work we’re doing at Nu Co. is so revolutionary it’s hard to focus on anything else. But I want you to know that I think about you every single day.”
He set his briefcase on the counter, checked the code on his high-security “watch”, then input the number into the case’s locking interface.
So that’s what the code is for. Mr Fisher had been carrying that briefcase with him everywhere lately. Clearly, it contained something extraordinarily important.
Milo heard the rustling of papers as his father pulled something out of the briefcase then snapped it shut.
He handed over a picture of the two of them together from when Milo was a baby. Mr Fisher was dressed more casually than Milo had ever seen him, wearing a Hawaiian shirt with a tuft of chest hair showing. He held Milo in his arms on some tropical terrace surrounded by greenery, smiling as his pinky finger was munched upon by his fat-cheeked baby boy.
Mom must’ve taken this picture. Milo’s mother had died of cancer when he was just six years old. She didn’t often come up in conversation at the Fisher household, but Milo thought
