Happenstance

Happenstance April 1, 2013

A Musing...

Sculpture is the art of the hole and the lump.

–Auguste Rodin

April 1, 2013, Page 2

Happenstance Literary

Next issue: On or about April 15, 2013 Submission deadline, Monday, April 11, 2013 No exceptions Creative Prompt: April Flowers

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Reasons to visit Northern NM CCHP: Preserving the Past For visitors who enjoy exploring history, CCHP is a great starting place. Permanent and traveling exhibits tell of the multi-cultural history and traditions of the area.

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Happenstance April 1, 2013 Happenstance Publishing Sharon Vander Meer For permission to use content contact:

sharon@vandermeerbooks.com

Cover image: Fired Up, by Peter Leone Some interior images from clipart.com

Page 3 • I Believe Page 4 • CCHP: Preserving

the Past

Page 5 • Q&A: Artist Isaac Sandoval Page 6 • Where is Security?

by Ceci Zeigler

• 200 NM Poets

Page 7 • Episode 8: Thunder

Prime: Hunter’s Light,

by Sharon Vander Meer

Thunder Prime: Hunter’s Light Episode 8

Q&A: Artist Isaac Sandoval My art is an attempt to communicate social commentary with a world that has stopped paying attention.

In this issue:

Pella learns how her rescuers found her, and discovers more about who her youthful charges are. Her journey takes a turn.

Events of Note: What: Cindy Charlton Reading and book signing When: Saturday, April 6, 2 p.m.

Where: Tome on the Range Bookstore, 158 Bridge Street, Las Vegas, NM What: 200 NM Poets Reading When: April 6, 1 to 3 p.m.

Where: Belen Public Library 333 Becker Ave, Belen, NM

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Subscription: $12 annually Free to contributing writers Mail check to Sharon Vander Meer Happenstance Publishing PO Box 187 Las Vegas, NM 87701 Subscribe online at Happenstance Literary All rights reserved by Happenstance Publishing in Las Vegas, N.M. Reproduction of contents in any fashion without written permission from the publisher is prohibited.

Happenstance Publishing is not responsible or liable for the loss of any unsolicited materials or incorrect dates or incorrect information in articles. Opinions expressed within the pages (or web posting) of Happenstance Literary do not necessarily represent the views or opinions of the magazine. Bylined articles and editorial content represent the views of their authors.

For permission to reprint any part of a bylined article, contact the author. www.vandermeerbooks.com Copyright 2013

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Happenstance Literary

Call for Submissions These creative prompts are suggestions, not fences to corral the writing muse.

April: Flower Power / Spring May: Transitions June: Traditions July: Summer Celebrations August: School Days September: Autumn Leaves October: Spirits and Ghosties November: Fabulous Food December: Winter Celebrations Submission deadlines: One week prior to the publication date, which is typically on the 1st and the 15th of each month.

Writer’s Guidelines: 1. Must be original work.

2. Grammar, punctuation and spelling must be correct.

3. Maximum length 1,500 words.

4. Acceptable genres and styles: poetry, humor, essay, memoir, short story, photo essay, feature articles, travel, social commentary, food, wine and dining, book reviews, fiction, non-fiction, mystery, romance and sci-fi/fantasy.

5. Submission does not guarantee publication.

6. Submit work to: sharon@vandermeerbooks.com.

If you have specific questions about the submission process, please e-mail sharon@vandermeerbooks.com Compensation not paid at this time.

I Believe

I

am a Christian. That does not mean I think it’s my place to discount or in any way denigrate or question the belief and faith practices of others.

I have come to accept that the relationship others have with God is their business and God’s business, not mine. If I say God loves everyone, how can I in the next breath say, “Except...” and then insert whatever faith practice or life style that’s not like mine? I’ve never believed God much cared what it says over the doorway of the place of worship one enters.

Because Easter has just been celebrated there have been several programs on television (mostly cable) about the “truth” of the resurrection, how much of the bible is verifiable, whether Judas was a betrayer or following the will of the Most High God. Did Jesus really die and then come to life again, or was his body taken by the disciples and everything else a myth? The questions are limitless, it seems.

It intrigues me that in the quest for truth in these programs, the messages from Christ are lost along the way. Did he walk on water?

Does it matter? Did he feed 5,000 people with a few fish and loaves of bread? In what way do these miracles make Christ more or less believable? Were you there? Did you see? Like Thomas, will you only believe when you have proof?

In the so-called fact-finding most of these programs miss the message altogether: love one another.

What in heaven’s name does that mean? I don’t know what it means for you, but for me it means serving others, and that takes many forms. Not everyone can be a preacher or a teacher, a rabbi or a priest, but everyone can serve where she or he is.

Kindness.

Friendship.

Thoughtfulness.

Understanding.

Mercy.

Nurture.

Listening.

Faithfulness.

Respect.

Integrity.

Truth.

Succor.

Comfort.

Compassion.

These are one-word descriptions of what service might look like.

How we apply them each day says more about our faith than showing up at a worship structure every time the door is opened.

The Easter story is about transformation. We are transformed and made better every time we reach out to others. We arise each morning to new life and new opportunities. What we do with that is up to us.

As a Christian I believe the transforming power of Christ is alive and at work in the world today. Part of that transformation for me is knowing that God’s way is good enough for me, even when I don’t understand it.

—Sharon

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Happenstance Literary

Reasons to Visit Northern NM

CCHP: Preserving the Past

The Montezuma Castle, now on the campus of the United World College of the American West, is often on the annual Places With a Past tour. This building has housed a hotel, a Baptist college and a seminary for Jesuit priests from Mexico. The UWC is one of 10 colleges of its kind in the world, matriculating 200 students each year representing countries from across the globe. (Photo courtesy of CCHP)

T

hrough the dedication and advocacy of a handful of Las Vegans, the Las Vegas Citizens Committee for Historic Preservation was formed in 1977.

It grew out of a realization that many historic structures were being destroyed, renovated beyond any hope of restoration, or falling into ruin. Since its formation CCHP has continued to encourage the preservation and appreciation of the area’s historic resources.

Its mission is to “…preserve, protect and promote the historic, cultural, and architectural heritage of greater Las Vegas through education and advocacy, and to encourage economic development through restoration and rehabilitation.”

To accomplish this hours of volunteer time were invested early on to determine the Las Vegas buildings to be nominated for inclusion on the National Register of Historic Places. More than 900 structures are currently listed. Renovation of these properties comes under a City of Las Ve-

gas Historic Buildings Ordinance, which provides guidance in the renovation and rehabilitation of these architectural treasures. The ordinance was written by the city with help from CCHP. For visitors who enjoy exploring history, CCHP is a great starting place.

Permanent and traveling exhibits tell of the multi-cultural history and traditions of the area. From there visitors may take several walking and driving tours, using a guide available at the Santa Fe Trail Interpretive Center and CCHP office at 116 Bridge Street.

Through the year other tours are available with specific focus. The Places with a Past Historic Home and Building Tour is held annually in August and is the group’s biggest fund raiser. For $20 a person visitors have the opportunity to tour seven to ten properties with docents on site to talk about the architecture, renovations, and the stories of families who occupied the property since its construction.

The Garden Tour shows off landscaping that reflects consideration for the high dry climate of the area and ways xeriscaping can create inviting outdoor spaces.

A Holiday Home Tour in December features Victorian and adobe homes decked out in a mixture of traditional and contemporary lighting styles using faralitoes, luminarias and electric lights.

CCHP is a treasure trove of interesting information, including booklets about area pioneers written by G. Doyle Daves, a historian and CCHP volunteer, and taped recordings of interviews with area residents by Jesus Lopez, local attorney and history buff, talking about the rich traditions and stories of the area.

Many resources are available at the CCHP office. For more information and a schedule of up coming events, contact CCHP at 505 425-8803, or go to their website at http://www.lvcchp.org.

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Happenstance Literary

I

Q&A: Artist Isaac Sandoval

’ve had the pleasure of knowing the Sandoval family since the kids were little, before they started showing up at their folks’ businesses to help out.

Isaac, the oldest, has always been outgoing and creative. It’s no surprise he has taken his quirky look at life and turned it into sculptures that delight and surprise. His paintings on old car hoods are something to behold. This Q&A is Isaac’s take on who he is as an artist.

H: Tell us a little about yourself.

IS: I was born in a very small town called Las Vegas. This town was the original Vegas and was one of the last wild-west towns. While growing up my parents made me work at their New Mexican restaurant and bakery. This experience influenced me becoming an artist greatly. I found comfort in creating because of the similarities art and food making shared. Opening a kiln evokes the same sort of emotions as opening the oven to find a fresh loaf of bread; and running a cast iron furnace feels like cooking a pressure cooker full of beans that builds up within the furnace melting the iron just as the heat in a pressure

cooker melts flavors together.

I attended a small school in Northern New Mexico for my undergraduate education where the atmosphere was encouraging to a young artist. I was able to develop the ideas that I have been building upon today.

Currently, I am finishing up the M.F.A program in Sculpture at Fort Hays State University in western Kansas.

As a grad student, I have been learning how to become an encouraging teacher and artist. In between studio time and teaching, I enjoy walking my dog, hanging out with my iguana, and eating tamales.

H: What is your art?

IS: My art is an attempt to communicate social commentary with a world that has stopped paying attention. Our culture has become over saturated in almost every aspect of daily life. Objects, images, and information are becoming more accessible due to the growing use of technology. However, due to this over saturation, the one thing that was supposed to make everyone as accessible as possible has put a strain on our culture’s communication. My work has come to a point where creating personal narrative, visual haiku, and yelling as loud as I can to discuss issues that our connective consciousness encounters throughout daily life.

H: How long have you been creating artwork?

IS: I have been making art since I was very young. However, I have been pursuing art making seriously for the last seven years H: Are you self-taught or formally trained?

IS: I am formally trained, I studied at New Mexico Highlands University in Las Vegas, N.M. for my undergraduate degree and I am graduating with my Masters of Fine Arts in sculpture this spring.

H: What inspires you?

IS: I think that artists have to be receptive to their surroundings. My influences range from my life experiences, music, uncomfortable situations, and spilled coffee.

H: What would you most want people to know about you as an artist?

IS: I want people to realize that artists and art in general are here for the people and community that surround them. I think all too often people shy away from art because they think it is something inaccessible. Art is not only everywhere but it is also important to communities and can be fun.

H: What about you most reveals why you are an artist?

IS: Sometimes I just can’t stop drawing. I think I have a desire to understand the world around me. By being an artist I have the freedom to research ideas and present them in ways not typically presented.

H: Do you work at another profession or vocation, or is art the focus of your working life?

IS: It is important to be working on more than a single thing at any given time. Right now I am both an artist and a student. This summer I will be moving to St. Louis, MO, for an opportunity to focus on art making at a residency at Six Mile Sculpture Works, an organization promoting the arts.

H: Where can people see your work?

IS: If any one wants to see my art they can visit my website at www.isaacsandovalsculpture.com

Happenstance Literary

S

Where is Security?

ome people wonder if security is even possible. Can our government really protect us from anyone? Is total protection ever available?

So what do we do now? Where do we find the security we crave? Is this a possible reason for our national overweight problem? Perhaps we feel that food will fill the emptiness that fear creates. Or possibly possessions will make us feel better.

Because most of us in our culture are externally focused, we don’t feel secure. We live in fear. And so we spend our lives trying to create a structure of perfection from the imperfect materials of our civilization (including our own bodies, which may have betrayed us in numerous ways). We try to set up absolute protection, but it’s never enough. We can’t get rid of those vulnerable feelings.

Fear sells. People are so needy they’ll try anything that promises safety. Many companies get rich from exploiting the dread of those who want to believe that some kind of technology or another will keep them safe. Just look at the huge pharmaceutical corporations.

Many have said it, but it remains: Hate is not the opposite of love; fear is. We cannot fear people and love them at the same time, though we try to believe otherwise.

The only real security is internal. Security is spiritual. Most Americans declare that they believe in some kind of higher power.

We may want to consider delving into our own convictions and finding ways for our own faith to support us. This isn’t anything that someone else can do for us. We have to do it for ourselves.

We must have the courage to look into our own personal creed and acknowledge the areas of our lives in which we are straying from the stated beliefs of our faith, and falling into cynicism. If we manage to do this, we need to re-direct our lives into our original goals of love and compassion.

When we see where we need to change our attitudes and behavior, we then make the conscious choices to do so. It’s a difficult assignment, but one that fits into every religious doctrine.

In this country, we declare that a person is innocent until proven guilty.

But we live as though we suspect that

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everyone around us is trying to hurt, or at least outdo us. The question remains, how do we want to live – in fear or in trust?

Obviously, there are those who will take advantage of us occasionally. But does living in fear really preclude that? Or could it possibly set us up for more unhappiness?

A wise woman once wrote, “It’s harder to live frightened than brave.”

Some of us have decided that we don’t want to live in fear anymore. That we want to trust God, and those around us. We want to believe that life is good. We want blessings, peace and joy surrounding us. It is a choice that each of us makes. It’s amazing how much good we draw into our lives by living this way. And relief. And happiness. And security in God. Amazing grace!

So this is what that word means!

—By Ceci Zeigler. Ceci has lived in Las Vegas, N.M., for more than two decades.

She has written mostly op-ed articles and has recently begun a book. She said of this piece, “We have learned to live in fear, forgetting that we have the resources to ease our insecurities. Sometimes we need to be reminded.”

200 New Mexico Poems Poetry Reading 200 New Mexico Poems: 100 Poems Celebrating the Past, 100 More for the Future, is a dynamic celebration of New Mexico’s centennial through poetry. Its mission is to promote a broader understanding of the state’s unusual beauty and delicate ecology as well as foster a greater awareness of its distinct blend of cultural influences. Above all, the project shows that New Mexico’s enchantment is derived from its people, its stories and literature, and the aesthetics of its environment.

Since its inception, 200 New Mexico Poems has received positive reception and encouragement from people all over the United States. The quantity, quality, and uniqueness of submissions represented are outstanding and represent a wide and varied perspective of the state, which is not limited to residents of the region. New Mexico is often little understood by those who have never visited it and is likewise loved by many who have ventured even briefly across its borders. This collection provides the country, even the world, with a stunning multifaceted and layered

interpretation of the state of New Mexico.

Featured readers will include the following contributing poets: Byron Aspaas, Jason Yurcic, Jennifer Simpson, Gayle Lauradunn, Kimberly Mathes, Mary McGinnis, Don McIver, Levi Romero, Michelle Holland, Lauren Camp, Jamie Figuero, Lisa Hase-Jackson, Cathy Arellano, Pamela Yenser, Kelly Yenser, and GT (Tim) Gordon, Kayce Verde, Karin Bradberry, Georgia Santa Maria (the list is ever changing, so check the website and the facebook event page often at: https://www.facebook.com/events/471794182884337/ Each poet will read three poems from the collection, including the poem before theirs, their own poem, and the poem after theirs.

What: Poetry Reading When: April 6, 2013, 1 to 3 p.m.

Where: Belen Public Library, 333 Becker Ave, Belen, NM

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Happenstance Literary

Thunder Prime: Hunter’s Light Episode 8, Revelation e had moved to a suite at Wayfarer, something I could not have done if not for Consuelo’s kind heart.

When I told her about the three kinder she moved us to the suite reserved for galactic dignitaries, and refused to take more cred.

It was a grand space with two bedrooms where the kinder were sleeping, joined by a common area. The arrangement brought back unwanted memories of being a captive of Helena Kneuvian, Bart Casey’s dam. It was the first time I had used on a two-legged being the stiletto given to me

by Mother. At age twelve I had been forced to kill a man, a Chandorian who tried to rape me.

I shut off the memory, and turned my attention to Box. It was time to hear the events that lead to my rescue.

“Proceed, Box. Don’t leave anything out.”

“Do you wish to view my recorded memory?

“Too tired. Maybe later. Oral is fine.”

It’s true I was tired, but oddly wired and wide awake. As Box began I surged to my feet and started pacing.

“When I realized your link was interrupted, I determined it was deliberate. I went to your room at Wayfarer to see if you were there and might have turned it off.”

I raised my eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt. His suspicions were warranted. I’d done it before.

“I encountered B.J. Conner in the Wayfarer lobby. She found out you were missing and communicated her concern to Bart Casey.”

“Found out?”

Box’s expression was priceless, somewhere between mystified, affronted and dignified.

“She asked questions. I couldn’t lie.”

“No of course not, telling a lie isn’t in your programming. Go on.”

“After leaving the Wayfarer I went to the ATV. It was the logical next step. Bart Casey was waiting and he wasn’t at all pleasant. He demanded I include him in finding you. I might have refused but he offered the use of Thunder’s shuttle. I didn’t know what resources would be necessary in looking for you.

“It was easily determined you had been abducted. There were traces of menthane and signs of a struggle. It was also obvious

W

your captors had access to the ATV.” “No one but me has the controller.”

“Except Candaleria Valenzuela.”

“Right. Candle. But she wouldn’t have given her control to anyone without telling me.”

“Unless she had no choice. Shall I continue?”

My knees went weak as I remembered the fading bruises on Candle’s face. I eased onto the closest chair, swallowed hard and nodded for him to go on.

“She said she returned to her apartment unexpectedly and surprised intruders who were there to steal her ATV control device.

They killed her, or thought they did. When Bart Casey and I arrived she was getting ready to leave, battered but determined. She insisted on joining in our search.”

“The Hermes crew, when did they join your little tribe of rescuers?”

“Do I detect sarcasm?”

“I believe you do.”

“It was Bart. He contacted Romani.”

An ANAI allocating blame. What was the galaxy coming to?

“When Romani found out you were missing he insisted on becoming involved.”

“So your little band is gathered. That doesn’t explain how you tracked me down.”

“SPIN.” “Ah, yes, SPIN.” “SPIN was transmitting, but my internal monitor was a black void. The directional read kept changing. It took thorough diagnostics of my system to realize it wasn’t a problem with my receiver, but a consequence of something blocking SPIN’s line of sight, and the AI jamming device interfering with SPIN’s signal.”

“Yeah, the last thing I remember is being covered with something.”

“That covering blocked SPIN’S visuals until you were aboard Raptor. When it was removed, I could again see what you were seeing, or record what you weren’t seeing when you were asleep.” His sudden silence made my gut tighten.

“And?” Box did a very un-ANAI like thing; he approached me and laid his hand lightly on my shoulder. If it had been a human hand I would have slapped it away. He pulled a chair up and sat down. All these simple acts made my gut knot up even more.

“When you were asleep – drugged based on SPIN’s analysis of the cabin’s air

before the cabin door was opened – you had visitors: Ardis Durec and Henry Kyper.”

He continued talking but nothing got past those words until I heard him say, “Water?”

“What?”

He stood at the cold keep with the door open. “Do you want water or something else to drink? You do not look well.”

I stood up and frantically looked around. I wanted to run. Hide. Pretend my father wasn’t part of a plan to abduct me and…? Yes, and what? Therein lay a quagmire I could not enter.

“I’m fine, fine as fine.” I paced back and forth across the confines of the room and managed to keep from picking up lamps and other loose objects and hurling them at the walls.

“Shall I continue?”

I bit the inside of my bottom lip and nodded.

“Henry Kyper and Ardis Durec came in while you were sleeping. Henry Kyper was concerned for your welfare. He asked that Durec cease using menthane to keep you sedated. Durec said it assured a more restful sleep. They argued and left. It was the only time they were in the cabin. If you fell asleep on the floor a crew member would come in, pick you up and lay you on the bunk. All other activity was food delivery and pick up through the drone service panel.”

I dry washed my face to keep back an emotional riptide and waved away the vacpac of ale he offered.

“Henry Kyper was concerned for your welfare.”

Like that made a difference. He was with Ardis Durec, a vicious AWORI chieftain whose actions were motivated by greed in one form or another. My father knew I was a prisoner on Raptor and did nothing to save me.

When I felt able to control my emotions, I asked how long I’d been missing.

“One hundred eighteen hours, twentytwo minutes, thirty-two seconds.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Days, Box, how many days.”

“Four and one-half.”

“How many times was I drugged?”

“Seven, including when you were abducted.”

“Impact on my system?”

“Unknown. Menthane affects true

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Happenstance Literary earthers and off worlders in different ways.

Because of your size, the affect may be more intense.”

“Addiction?”

“Undetermined.”

Before I could process this, the door to one of the sleeping rooms opened and the two male kinder emerged. They looked wary but determined. When they were in front of me, the taller looked at the other as though for encouragement. The second nodded.

“I am Ja’lu and this my brother, Gol’du.

We want to go home now.”

“So, you can talk,” I said.

“I can talk. Gol’du cannot.”

A sound from Gol’du brought a frown to Ja’lu’s face, and he shook his head.

Gol’du’s countenance took on a stubborn defiance as he crossed his thin arms over his narrow chest.

Ja’lu sighed. “My brother speaks, but in a language you would not understand.”

Gol’du relaxed and nodded. Just so, his expression said.

“He can understand, but he cannot speak?” I was incredulous to the point of not believing the kinder at all.

The kinder’s face turned red as fire in an instant and he stomped his foot. Words spewed out, all run together in a mad rush, making no sense at all.

“It’scomplicatedyoudon’tunderstanda nythingwe’rescaredandwewanttogohome!”

I raised an eyebrow at Box. “It’s complicated. You don’t understand anything. We’re scared and we want to go home.”

“Ah, I see. Thank you, Box. And where is home?” I asked Ja’lu.

The two kinder exchanged a look and Gol’du nudged his brother.

“Chandor,” Ja’lu said. “We are from Chandor.”

Chandor? These true earther looking children were from Chandor? I could not take in this possibility. True earther’s could not survive on Chandor.

Suddenly Gol’du made a sound deep in his throat and stepped in front of his brother. The kinder who seconds ago seemed scrawny as a newborn dragaun, became sleek and muscled in the way wild cats can be, his visage and green eyes filled with feral cunning.

“As am I.” Ella had entered so quietly I had not heard her, but obviously Gol’du had. Ja’lu pulled him back and whispered something that made the kinder relax.

“I wish to go home as well.”

“But, you look…” I hesitated. I had known from the beginning there was something different about the fem. She was true earther in appearance, but her manner spoke of mixed blood.

“I look human, but I am Chandorian.

I did not realize they,” she tilted her head toward the two kinder, “are my kin.”

“No! We are no kin of you! We are of our people, Qzzls and Huqzzls!”

The fem shrugged. “It is such prejudice that keeps you in the caves and ignorant.

That does not change that you are Chandor born. Chandor bred.”

Gol’du’s lunged at Ella, a terrifying scream coming from deep in his throat. I froze momentarily. Ella went into a fighting stance a stunner sweeping the area around her with studied care. Ja’lu grabbed for his brother. I shook off my surprise and I strode toward Ella. Box stepped between us and plucked the stunner from the femkinder’s fingers. He easily wrapped a strong ANAI arm around Gol’du, effectively restraining him.

The scream stopped to be replaced by a chattering hissing stream that had the cadence of language. Ella grappled for her stunner. Gol’du kicked and struggled. Ja’lu tried to peel his brother free of Box’s grip.

The result of this chaos was oddments of décor – flower arrangements, lamps, and statuary – crashing to the floor. The buzzer announcing visitors added to the racket.

This was followed immediately by pounding on the door.

“Security! Open this door now!”

I raised a hand to quiet the chaos, something I need not have done. All three kinder had stopped as if hit with a stunner.

“Please, no!” Ella was dead white when she spoke. “Don’t let them take me. Please!”

The two male kinder blinked rapidly, but it was clear they were frightened, of what I couldn’t say.

“Security. Open now or we use the pass key.”

I pointed to the bedroom. Emma hurried to her room and closed the door. Box took the others to the second room.

As the door closed I let two security guards in.

“It’s about time you got here!” I said, putting my hands on my hips in powerwoman fashion.

“What?”

“I’ve been robbed, or at least somebody was trying to rob me, but I managed to scare them off.”

The two men looked around the room and then at each other before turning back

to me.

“Are your intruders still here?”

“Still here?”

“They’d have to be. There is no way anyone could have got past us. With your permission we will search the room.”

I spread my hands in a suit-yourself gesture adding, “But there’s no one here except three kinder in my care and my ANAI.” “ANAI?” The lead guard quartered the room with his eyes and came back to me.

“Where is it?”

“He.” “What?”

“He, Box is a male ANAI.” The second guard snickered, but a look from his superior sobered him.

“Okay, then,” he said, turning back to me, where is he?”

Box wisely picked that moment to step into the room. “The kinder feel safe now security has arrived,” he said to me.

“Thank you Box.” The two security guards glanced around the room at the mess. “And this intruder,” it was clear he doubted there had been an intruder, “did all this and screamed loud enough to wake up everyone in the place?”

“The scream was me, making noise to, you know, scare him off.”

The guard squinted at me, as though that would allow him to see whether I was lying.

“Look, we’ve had quite a scare. The kinder in my care were just rescued from a slave trader. They don’t need any more trauma.”

He thought this over for a minute and then gave a spare nod.

“I must take a report. If we cannot find evidence of an intruder, you will be responsible for repair or replacement of damaged items.”

I told him I understood, rushed through the report and sent the two men on their way.

As soon as I shut the door and leaned my weary body against it, the kinder emerged from their rooms.

“Any more fighting and I turn you over to authorities, got that?”

Each nodded, but I sensed it was an uneasy truce at best.

“Now, tell me about Chandor.”

Episode 9, A New Plan Getting to Chandor has long been Pella’s dream. Can these kinder get her there?