D A M O N

On the edge of Bradleyston, Eden

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THE SECOND the fleet of TimePods and Crates hit the concrete, helpers and Emergency Services surged forward just like Beaky would for a biscuit—"Vicious overfed rat," he could imagine Laila saying skeptically, 'cause she'd never liked the friendly Chirostenotes—and surrounded the glistening orbs.

Damon blinked back the dryness of his eyes, caused by him not doing so in an effort to spot the transition of empty to collected matter, and turned to Laila to speculate on what their buddy would be like, pausing for a second before a sputter escaped from his stomach.

"Laila, your hair," he couldn't hold back his sniggers. Her dark hair that was frizzy enough in normal circumstances was standing on end, like she'd just touched one of the Van de Graaff Generators that they watched on their PortScreens for science. His nervous hiccups sobered up with the glare that Laila shot him (Okay, not that funny) before she raised her eyebrows.

"You should see yourself, Dumbo," Laila shot back, and he could image her lips twisting in that familiar one-sided smile under her mask.

Damon held back his groan and ran a hand through his own hair, feeling as dumb as Laila's nickname for him suggested he was. Rule number one about insults, Damon felt his neck flush as he looked back to the TimePods, make sure you can't be insulted yourself.

While his classmates murmured and ruffled up their hair even more, Damon's attention was locked on the Emergency Services workers with their unmistakable khaki body suits, crossed with haphazard lines that represented the First Aid 'X'. With practiced motions they swung open the upper shells of the TimePods, like cutting through a boiled egg and removing the top of it.

One by one the TimePods were opened, and the last one of the at least twenty-string fleet elicited a cheer from their class. Even Juliette's eyes were crinkled up in a rare grin underneath her mask.

Laila caught hold of his forearm and pulled him towards her, the movement so jarring he nearly lost his balance and fell, his heart banging from her touch and the fear of slipping on the gravelly earth. Tendrils of her dark hair tickled him in his face, smelling like coconut shampoo, before he bent to hear her muffled whisper in his ear.

"Think we could sneak away for a closer look?"

Damon blinked, feeling his mind churn with useless observations. Laila's wearing her earrings today. She has to be careful, else Beaky's gonna get hold of them like he got hold of her nose ring (a horrible memory for both he and Laila; she'd never worn a nose ring since). Geez, gotta remember to appreciate a Laila with straight hair more (in the humidity, it never lasted). A very intelligent, "What?" escaped him instead.

Damon untangled himself from her grip as quickly as possible before he did something he regretted, like twirl her hair around his finger or kiss her, and shook his head quickly like he'd known all along what she was asking.

"We can't."

Laila's brows furrowed, but her eyes didn't flash with a Death Ray, so that meant she was okay with his answer. Thank goodness, otherwise he'd have to wrestle her out of making a bad decision that would end up with her dying because of exposure to Old World air, and that wouldn't have been fun at all. Before he could feel relieved, though, there was a commotion beyond the plastic barrier.

Shouts rang out as a man—a newcomer, from the standard-issue sterilized grey bodysuit he wore—punched one of the ES workers. Damon felt his body twitch like he'd taken the blow himself, and he felt the shock of his classmates ring through his system.

The man scrambled past more of his opposers, slamming his hands against the plastic. Damon heard Laila whisper, "Oh my God," and he was thinking it, too. Sometimes they had rogues, people demented by the world they saw or the one they left behind, but he'd never seen one up close. It was much less thrilling seeing it play out—the panic of that poor george and the tasing the ES workers had to give him to get him under control as he gurgled, "My daughter! My daughter! We have to go back for her!"—than it was hearing about it through local gossip.

News traveled fast among the trees.

Damon sighed as the rogue slumped, his hand still flushed on the barrier separating him from the real Jurassic. For a while even the avian dinosaurs quieted their chirps, and he could hear the low buzzing of electric charge through the perimeter fence.

"Right, everybody," Juliette sounded a smidgen flustered, and she clapped her hands for their attention. "I want you all to jot down a witness report for your notes. It won't be for marks—" that elicited a small cheer from the people at the back—"but it is compulsory." This went down far less happily.

Their class grouped together in their little cliques and separated. Laila gestured to a waiting bench unoccupied with hopeful family members, and Damon plonked down as he took out his PortScreen, pressing his finger to the sensor and opening his documents.

"Work together?" Laila asked unnecessarily.

"Sure." He answered, like he always did. Damon's gaze trailed back to the landing strip. They were already moving the tased george, and the first few people were entering the Jurassic-lock.

Contain, decontaminate, spritz, decontaminate, allow access. On cue, the Jurassic-lock's exterior door was opened by a woman in a hazmat suit, and the very first guy of that shipment stepped out. The sun's glare caught on his plastic visor (that was how they could always tell the newbies apart. The plastic visor had to be worn the first twenty-four hours of colonization; the gloves for forty-eight.) Damon thought that the guy was crying, and looked away with a twinge of discomfort.

It was weird to watch these people wander into a world he had known his whole life. Odd. And guilt-inducing.

"Potential Kinetic Energy becomes solid matter," an Australian voice came from Laila's PortScreen, reading one of their textbooks. Damon rolled his eyes and turned to give her his full attention.

"Excited to meet the newbie?"

Laila's lips quirked. "Eh. Everybody needs some excitement in their lives." He didn't know whether she was talking about them or Mac, but he didn't pry.

You need to tell her about that guy, Damon reminded himself with a jolt. But with a quick look around—friendlies standing less than fifty yards away, and Juliette separating Alan and Harvey to his left—the moment felt awkward, and quickly vanished when Laila asked him what a synonym for 'momentous' was.

Later, he promised himself. Later.

About twenty minutes passed before a notif from Juliette turned up; Mac had made his appearance. Damon climbed to his feet and saved his a thousand-word essay on how there was nothing one second and a fleet of TimePods the next, extending his hand to Laila. She took it and he pulled her up, shooting her a glance he hoped wasn't too apprehensive.

Sure, they'd learnt as much as possible about Old World and the people there, and he had enough knowledge about the music and stuff of the times to come up with basic conversation, but now that the time was here to finally meet their buddy, well... he pulled his hand away before Laila noticed it was sweaty, stuffing his PortScreen in his satchel.

Damon bit the inside of his cheek as Laila took the lead, feeling a flutter of both excitement and dread in his chest. It'll be fine, he tried to reassure himself. He's just a normal kid, after all. Like Laila and me.

The last of the human shipment was exiting the lock. Behind him were cheers and sobs as family and friends were reunited with loved ones, or were left incomplete. He saw Margo and Jez introducing themselves to a plastic-helmeted, pale faced girl, and hoped they wouldn't influence the poor newbie too much. For a small class, they had more than enough gossipers.

"There you two are," Juliette exclaimed, standing next to a tall, willowy boy. "Laila, Damon, this is Macbeth Cheslin."

"Mac," the boy said curtly. He reluctantly extended his hand for them to shake, and Damon could feel Laila's alarm burrowing into his side.

"Sorry, but we can't," Damon explained, his voice steadier than he thought it would be. "Second Gens run the risk of death at exposure to Old World particles, which is why you're wearing," he motioned up and down, hoping Mac would get it. "That."

Damon's insides twisted slightly as Mac lowered his hand, a frown dousing his tanned face. He had wavy neck-length chestnut-brown hair, which made his eyes seem even bluer as they hardened a little. "Oh."

Juliette stepped away from Mac, her smile—the only one in the group—a little strained. "Well, I trust you three will get on. Laila, Damon, don't forget to send in your reports before the end of the day."

Damon nodded at her back as she turned, looking anywhere but at Mac. His excitement had drained away and was replaced by resignation. Idiot. Never volunteer for a buddy ever again. It was too late to do much, though, so he gestured to the staircase that led down the ridge.

"Bradleyston is that way. We'll take you to your housing quarters, and, um, show you around."

"Will there be dinosaurs?" Mac interrupted him, just as he sucked in a breath. Damon nudged Laila, C'mom, I can't be the only one talking here, in annoyance before answering.

"Yeah, you might see a few. They're just the small ones, though, so nothing to worry about. Um, some of the residents keep them as pets and we eat their eggs. Like eating a chicken's egg, only bigger."

Mac was fiddling with his glove, and his eyes were flickering in that way that suggested he wasn't really listening.

"Well, what're we just standing around for?" Laila finally emerged from her silent stupor, thank goodness, and tugged at Damon's sleeve before she encouraged Mac on. "I'm Laila, and this over here is Damon..."

Like always, Laila walked ahead, and Mac stayed in pace with long strides, listening to her chatter. It felt like a mosquito had stabbed its proboscis right into his heart to deflate it. 'Cause something about the way Laila was looking at Mac (and even from afar as they left him behind, it was noticeable) made it twist in his rib cage.

She was looking at him—Mac—the same way he looked at her.

Behind him he knew that tinny poster was busy glowing, and like it had the one year they'd had an electric storm, his temper sparked.

'Welcome to Bradleyston', yeah right.

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QOTC: How do you think Mac will fit in?