Free A Stranger Thing (The Ever-Expanding Universe) by Martin Leicht, Isla Neal Page A

claps a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not nice,” he agrees. “But enough unpleasantries.” He offers Cole a glowing smile, and I stop to really take the man in for the first time. He’s, like, überbeautiful. I guess that that shouldn’t surprise me, but this guy’s hot even by Almiri standards. He looks fairly young, though with an Almiri that could mean that he’s “only” two hundred years old or so. “Rupert,” the dreamboat tells Cole brightly, offering his hand. “Welcome to the roost.”
    “Uh, Cole,” Cole replies as Rupert winks at him again.
    So, our new buddy is weird, but at least friendly. Although I notice he doesn’t bother to shake anybody else’s hand.
    Oates has moved on to unpacking supplies, and the rest of the Almiri prisoners have dispersed, either helping Oates or finishing up their lunch, so at first I think Rupert is the only guy out of the whole bunch who’s going to talk to us. But it seems there’s one more.
    “Care to introduce me to our new friends, Rupe?” booms out a cheery Boy Scout voice. I glance up just in time to see a man slap Rupert on the back jovially. He’s taller and broaderthan his friend, with a chiseled jaw and jet-black hair in a slicked-back hairdo that’s so archaic, it comes complete with a spit curl. “Finally some new blood. There haven’t been any new guests since I got here a hundred and forty-three years ago.” When it becomes clear that Rupert only has eyes for Cole, his buddy shifts gears, stretching out his arm to Ducky and shaking his hand vigorously. “Pleased to meet you . . . ?”
    “Ducky, er, Donald,” Ducky replies. He’s squinting at the guy, like he’s accessing old databanks for some sort of info.
    “Gosh, Ducky sounds just fine,” the human action figure says, beaming. “It’s good to meet you. I’m Clark.”
    And at that, for some reason, Ducky almost chokes on his own spit. He turns to me, eyes round as basketballs.
    “Are you having a stroke?” I whisper.
    “Well . . . hi there,” Clark says, turning to me. The presence of me and the baby clearly has him ruffled, although he’s dealing with it better than, say, the Swede.
    “I’m Elvie,” I tell him. “And this little screaming bundle of joy”—Olivia’s shrieking is reaching dog-frequency pitches now—“is Olivia.” Suddenly I feel flushed from the attention, the trip, everything, and I’m a bit woozy on my feet. “She’s hungry,” I say, as if it were an excuse.
    “Of course she is,” Clark replies, smiling. “It’s a long trek for a baby.” He reaches down and boops her on the nose. She keeps screaming. “Your little girl might be the first newborn to make it all the way to the South Pole.”
    “I’ll have her plant the baby flag outside later.” I rock Olivia, but she’s too worked up to be calmed.
    “Oates!” Clark calls over his shoulder. “What do we havein the way of baby food?” And Oates, to his credit, immediately heads our way, still limping slightly.
    “Sorry—” I start, but Oates stops me with a raised hand.
    “No need to apologize, child. It’s been a long day. A long several days, from what I gather.”
    “Try a few months,” I tell him. I’m pretty sure that crying your first day of prison is a no-no, even under these totally bonkers conditions, but I’m thinking of trying it out anyway, just for kicks.
    Oates puts an arm around me and shuffles me to a side door. “Gents,” he calls back toward the room as we walk, “get our new mates something hot to fill their bellies, will you? I’m going to show Elvie here to a little privacy.”
    “Thank you,” I whisper as we reach the door. I turn just long enough to see Rupert and Clark making room for Dad, Ducky, and Cole at the tables. The rest of the prisoners scooch far away from them, as though the marching band just invaded the football team’s lunch table. I can tell we’re gonna be real welcome here.
    •  •  •
    Oates sees me to an empty