First Contact
Copyright© 2026 by Charlie Foxtrot
Chapter 2
Nev’s face hadn’t said no yet.
Harko had already expressed his thoughts, but he wasn’t the one facing a useless stat that was “Flagged.”
The system had been telling me to engage for four years. Tonight I would.
Nev’s blue eyes stayed focused on my face. “You’ll go alone if we don’t come with you, won’t you?”
I hadn’t expected that question. At least not from her.
I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry.
“Don’t tell me you’re actually considering this, Nev. He won’t go if we don’t. He’s not that dumb.”
She ignored him. “When would you go?”
“Tonight. There’s a gap in the sensor field. I watched to see if the patrol covers it. They don’t, not consistently. We’d have at least forty minutes after a sweep to clear the personnel gate.” I’d timed them and double checked the schedule.
“Forty minutes to cover two klicks to the forest and not leave an obvious trail? You’re trying to kill us.”
We could all travel farther, faster. “You’re not that out of shape, Harko. Nev could cover it in ten minutes.”
She likes to run.
“It’s a class two rift? We’re just kids. Class two has killed adults, Kes.”
Nev’s lips pursed. “Harko, when was the last time a person died in a class two? It sounds like you’ve studied them.”
He was surprised to have to defend his position. Me challenging him, he would expect. Nev questioning was new ground.
“I can look it up.”
Nev nodded. “He’ll go without us, which will make it more dangerous.”
“So you’re in?”
She looked me in the eye, holding my stare to the point it was almost uncomfortable. I blinked. Her shoulders loosened, not quite a slump. Then she nodded.
“Someone has to keep an eye on you.”
“Which part of random variance in flux and anomalies in local environments don’t you two understand about flux rifts?”
“You want to see one, too, Harko,” I teased. “Admit it.”
He grumbled.
“Let’s do it.” Nev punched my shoulder. It wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t playful either. It put me on notice that I owed her one.
“I’ve got a test,” Harko complained.
“So take the test,” Nev said. “We’ll get some supplies.”
Ditching school was frowned on, but not that uncommon. Nev and I skipping out together was unique.
I thought about the punch as we walked down the paved road toward what passed for Main Street. Finley’s was our general store in town. I had no idea what we should get, so grabbed regular stuff. Some snacks and water, mostly. Nev added a small first aid kit, which was a good idea.
Nev stopped between the rows of canned goods. “Are you trying to impress someone from the cafeteria?”
Her words were rushed and her eyes wouldn’t meet mine directly.
Someone there? Yes, partially.
“No.”
Now her eyes found mine. She searched for something, then nodded.
“You mentioned a patrol gap,” Nev said after we finished shopping and headed toward our side of town.
“Yeah. There’s a gap in the sensor field, which is why I went to see if they were covering it with people. That’s when I saw the patrol.”
She snorted. “How do you get access to see where sensor gaps exist?”
“Mom. She’s a little sloppy with security on her work gear. It’s not like we have a real enemy out there, from her perspective. We’re in the Fringe. Flux rifts are a fact of life. That’s why they put up the warning signs on the gates and activate the fence at night.”
“Yeah, you never know what might come out in the Fringe. Did you hear about the crestpelt that tried to jump the fence in the north west quadrant?”
I laughed. “Of course. Mom’s handheld buzzed like a banshee. She said the guards almost pissed themselves.”
Nev shook her head. “We probably would, too. What are we going to do if there’s a crestpelt around on our way going out or coming back?”
“They’re just big, overgrown cats. They’ll avoid us. Dad’s got some cans of pepper spray in the house. I’ll grab three, one for each of us.”
Mom and Dad were both at work. Nev followed me into the house and stopped in the kitchen while I went to the storage closet for the spray. When I came back she was reading the calendar on the wall. Mom kept it on paper, saying it reminded her of her own childhood.
“Your dad’s birthday is a week from tomorrow,” she said.
I’d forgotten, despite Mom writing it down in blue ink. Nev said it the way she’d said everything this afternoon: a fact she’d noted. I handed her one of the cans of spray. She checked the simple safety trigger, nodded, and put it in her bag.
Curious that she mentioned Dad’s birthday.
She left before dinner and I reminded her to set an alarm.
Then I nearly forgot to take my own advice.
I was puffing from my jog to the warehouse one street from the gate, worried she would think I had chickened out. She was still there. So was Harko.
“Changed your mind?” I asked. Nev shook her head.
Harko pointed at the small pack I had, then the larger one sitting at his feet. “I figured you’d just go running off and get yourself killed, so I decided I could at least come and bear witness.”
“We’ve got food, water, and a first aid kit. Oh, and I brought pepper spray for us.” In the dim light, I saw his eyes widen.
His foot tapped his pack. “Shelter. Flares. Fire kit. I’m still an idiot.”
I’d packed snacks. He’d brought a survival kit.
“We should get going.”
Nev grabbed the larger pack from Harko, who did not protest. I shouldered mine. We glanced up and down the road before crossing to the gate.
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