Good. That’s all I need.
“Where’s the bathroom?” he asked.
“This way,” Anderson said, leading him down a hallway. Arcadian set down the clipboard and followed, removing the injectable sedative from his pocket. Ten minutes later, Arcadian exited Wesley’s apartment wearing Wesley’s DNA and carrying his bags and passport.
By the time the sedative wore off and Wesley Anderson accused Ron the plumber of accosting him, Arcadian would be on his way to Earth. By the time they discovered Arcadian Savoy III had not reported back to work after his vacation, he’d be lost in the faceless crowds of Earth.
For the several days flight on the shuttle, he kept to his cabin as much as possible. Once the rocket docked, he and Wesley’s DNA were the first to exit down the ramp.
At Customs, he had a bright smile for the agent, who blushed when he winked. She stamped his passport, smiling. “Welcome back to Earth, Mr. Anderson.”
Welcome to Earth. The words and the reality infused him with a sweeping elation so strong he had to fight the urge to shift and spread his wings with joy. Instead, he corralled his emotions and collected his passport.
Ahead of him, a young man about his size pulled open the door, leaving his DNA on the handle. Arcadian grazed the handle lightly, just enough to collect the surface DNA. Once on the street, he placed that hand in his pocket, sheltering the DNA until he had a private moment.
The next day, wearing the DNA of the young man he saw leaving customs, he arrived in New York City, traveling on Earth currency he’d won at the poker tables on Draco. Exhausted, he stopped by a coffee shop and ordered a triple espresso. He took his drink to a seat by the window.
‘Freedom’ whistled through his mind, bringing him a smile. The espresso left a sharp bite on his tongue, making his mouth water and his lips pucker. Two tables away, a cluster of young girls chatted, tickling his ears with talk of boys and make-up. The sun shone on him through the window, the real thing being a far cry from the simulations on Draco.
He lifted his face and closed his eyes. In a state of emotional and physical relaxation, he dropped his cup. The pop of it shattering on the tile floor jolted him. Realizing what he’d done, he instantly morphed into the young man again. No one behind him would have seen his transition, but a rough-looking, unshaven man on the sidewalk outside did.
He saw me.
His elation collapsed, replaced with fear of capture and being sent back to Draco.
I have to find Lazar.
Hands shaking and stomach now sour and jittery from the caffeine, he shot to his feet and walked out the door. The man who spied him talked on a phone, but the side glances he peppered Arcadian with boded ill will. Arcadian dived into the heavy sidewalk traffic in a panic.
He went several blocks and changed sides of the street twice, not seeing the man anywhere. He reversed direction and took an irregular pattern through the streets, maintaining the general direction he needed to reach Lazar’s address, until his sense of peril receded and his pounding heart finally calmed.
Whew, that was close. I have to be more careful.
With Lazar’s address and directions in his mind, he began walking. When he reached the first corner, a drone buzzed overhead, drawing his eye upward. At that moment, a van screeched to a stop in front of him, the side door slammed open, and two men dragged him in.
Visceral panic bloomed at being assaulted; such violence didn’t happen on Draco. He opened his mouth to scream, but they stuffed it with a bitter tasting cloth. Next a black fabric sack dropped over his head, adding claustrophobia to his distress.
Before he could shift, everything swam into black.
“I’m telling you, he’s a freak, some kind of chameleon or something. I saw his face change. I shit you not.” The excited words invaded Arcadian’s consciousness through a blur of darkness.
“I have a line of interested buyers going around the block, so I’m not sitting on him. You want this bad boy, bring the cash and be here within the hour.”
Arcadian blinked. The black sack had been removed from his head. His hands were bound in front, along with straps lashing him to a stout wooden chair. The word ‘buyers’ echoed in his recent memory. With effort, he asked, “What do you want?” Fear of another person, an unknown emotion to him, skittered down his back. He frowned, uncertain what to do. Earth crime and law had not been on his list of research, only Lazar.
What have I done?
The man swaggered back and forth. “I saw you, man. I saw you change your face. And I have one helluva heavy hitter coming to give me a load of money for you.” A chorus of agreement came from the shadows.
Arcadian glanced about. A large dark building seeming abandoned; two cohorts in the corner; him tied to a chair. A flash of anger rose from his belly, fueled by his indomitable need to seek his place and find his destiny.
This is not why I came to Earth.
He flexed his muscles to test his bindings.
Gonna take a dragon to get out of this.
During his months of practice in controlling the morphing process, he’d become adept at managing this ability. He closed his eyes and envisioned his form as dragon, imagined his wings opening, his legs expanding with a rush of growth hormones and morphing chemicals.
His captor turned his back and stared alternately at his watch, then out the glass door. His two companions joined him.
Arcadian slowly expanded his body until first the seams on his pants gradually ripped, then the buttons popped off his shirt. He strained against the ropes binding his hands and they stretched and snapped. He stood slowly, going to his full eight-foot height.
One of the men heard and
