The Secret of Zormna Clendar by Julie Steimle (great reads .TXT) 📖

once, and he had chewed her out. But even if Zormna had asked for permission, he would probably have insisted on standing over her while she video-chatted with her school. How could anyone possibly have an open conversation with that going on?

Silently, Jennifer observed Zormna take up one of a number of old universal remote controls that were in the room and hold it as she would a calculator. The girl punched in a series of numbers like she was working out an equation.

“Primitive,” Zormna muttered.

A shiver ran up and down Jennifer’s arms. Why did she say that?

Zormna stood in front of the large TV, which now had a fuzzy screen full of what her father would call snow. The blonde spoke at the screen—but it wasn’t English. “Kerr’gre’narr Zeta gee’pa sru sha Korr Rregg. Alea Salvar, za nee tar?”

Jennifer caught her breath. She slid quietly down the wall, letting go of the doorknob. She hadn’t realized that she was holding it until then.

And the TV answered back.

<<Tenarr klesn trii sru knappen Rregg Korr.>>

Jennifer cranked her head closer to the door crack, wide-eyed.

Zormna spoke in English at the TV this time. “Addressing Zeta fifteen, Loshan. Receiving me?”

<<Loshan, Zeta fifteen. Who is calling? Zormna is that you?>> The speaker sounded startled.

Zormna smiled. “It is nice to see you too, Salvar.”

So that was Zormna’s friend. Jennifer could barely see the picture on the television. Terrible angle. But she could make out a young, red-haired teenaged boy (of around sixteen maybe) in some kind of one-piece black-and-white uniform. On the front of his uniform was this dark, circular symbol. But it was like a tiny white circle within a larger black circle within a larger white circle within a big black circle, all circles meeting at the top and each circle half the size of the one it was in. It reminded Jennifer of an eyeball—a really creepy eyeball looking up at his chin.

Zormna went back into her native tongue, rattling off in hasty succession a list of what sounded like complaints and pleading.

But the boy responded in English.

<<Zormna, the PMs may be monitoring your call. I think it would be safer in English.>> He did not have much of an Irish accent at all. It didn’t even sound British.

“Fine. English.” But Zormna said it with a roll of her eyes. “The point is, I have had enough. You left me here, and then I found this person who tried to help me find my great aunt, and as fate would have it—she’s dead.”

<<The one who helped you?>>

“No.” Zormna scowled. “My great aunt. Two years ago. The locals say the federal government may have killed her. But I don’t believe it.”

<<But you are well, correct?>>

Glowering at the TV screen, Zormna ground out, “Well? Well? Salvar, I want to come home now. Someone killed my great aunt! What if those people who killed my great aunt are still nearby?”

He went silent for just a second then said, <<After two years? Highly unlikely. Who would linger that long? Besides, she wasn’t expecting you.>>

“She was,” Zormna snapped. “She even set aside a will for me and gave me her house.”

<<Then all is good,>> he said. <<You have your own home— >>

“No. I don’t. Those people who took me in won’t let me. They say I’m too young.”

He smothered a laugh. <<Really?>>

She scowled at him. “They made me go to school here.”

He snickered.

“It is not funny!” Zormna curled her pale fingers into fists. “I sit among children who have hardly mastered basic mathematics, and think that their crude humor is so adult. Half of them are so barbaric. And petty. The gossip alone is like…like dealing with uppercity cretins. Enduring this place has been exhausting. Besides, their clothes are terribly uncomfortable. Jeans notwithstanding, do you have any idea how little these women wear? They don’t have a clue about dignity! And they force me to wear a dress—weekly!”

Jennifer froze. This was what Zormna had been thinking the entire time? What a snob! That the kids at school were…

No. Wait. Come to think of it, Zormna did have several classes with Brandon Fry who almost constantly made snarky, sexist remarks. She was surrounded by jerks like that on a daily basis. And some of the girls at school had been calling Zormna a prude because she had remarked that she had no desire to look sexy—which baffled everyone since she was the sexiest thing alive according to all the boys. Especially during PE.

Zormna’s friend at the other end of the video chat laughed in as if she had merely recounted a trip to an amusement park. <<The Kevin will be glad to know that you have adapted well.>>

Zormna scowled furiously at him. “Ha, ha. So funny. Go ahead and laugh. But get me out of here.”

He shook his head. <<My apologies. But we cannot do that at this present moment. And for the record, as your superior now, I must censure you for contacting us. It is against protocol, and you know it. Your location could be traced.>>

“I don’t care. Get me out of here,” Zormna growled. Softening, she added, “I am alone here with no weapon. How is this safer?”

Salvar’s expression shifted. He averted his eyes as he said, <<Zormna, there have been searches in the ranks. The People’s Military have gone through all the files. They are asking too many questions that point to you. It is not safe here.>> He then added solemnly, <<I don’t think you can come back.>>

“What do you mean?” Zormna went ash gray, her lips pale. “Why can’t you just let me come back? I can fight. You know I am a good fighter. I can defend myself.”

Salvar shook his head. <<Zormna, you just don’t understand the situation. It is not as simple as that.>>

Zormna clenched her teeth. “Why do you think I will not understand? May I remind you that I have a higher adult score than you? I know people are out to kill me. I know my family is hunted.”

<<Not the— >>

She stomped her foot. “You know I am the best Surface Patrol pilot and fighter. Stop trying to shelter me. Let me fend for myself!”

He remained silent.

In that silence, though, Jennifer’s thoughts were swimming in this new sea of information. What was this Surface Patrol anyway? And pilot? Zormna was a pilot? Of what? Hang gliders? Airplanes? At fourteen?

“Why am I being kept here when I know I can do something?” Zormna finally asked. “You know something that you haven’t been telling me, Salvar. I know it.”

<<You are just going to have to trust us.>>

Zormna’s mouth popped open in protest. “I have trusted you and your father for eight years, Salvar! I’ve been shifted around from my proper rank to the moon base and now here. This is not proper protocol, and you know it. What is going on? Does this really have to do with me being a Tarrn?”

<<Don’t say that out loud, Zormna!>> He hissed at her, looking around himself in panic. <<You know it is forbidden! Oomshlaka!>>

“Tarrn!” Zormna screamed.

T-what? Jennifer watched the boy’s face go paler under his freckles. That’s when it hit her that Zormna had already corrected the color on the TV. There was still this green tinge, but it rippled in and out so infrequently that she hardly noticed it. Maybe this girl did know a thing or two about machines.

But Salvar’s protestations brought Jennifer out of her thoughts. He snapped, <<Shut up, stupid! Oomshlaka! Do you want to get killed? What if someone else hears this? Not everybody understands!>>

“I don’t understand it,” Zormna said, hanging her shoulders. “Why do they want me dead?”

Apologetic, Salvar opened his mouth to say.

But upon hearing other voices on his side of the screen, he stiffened.

<<Na’tan za Alea Zormna Clendar Tarrn?>> A male voice of a richer caliber resonated from the TV.

<<Ein Tarrnee, lak’ov Korr Rregg kormasre.>> A second and deeper voice, perhaps from an older man responded.

Zormna acted fast. She grabbed the camera, pointed it at the small TV set and put on the sound to Firefly. On top of the TV Jennifer noticed a small iPhone propped up showing what the camera saw. Zormna adjusted it so the picture was the only thing in frame.

Then Zormna stepped back, silently listening.

The conversation on Salvar’s side was brisk—and totally foreign. It didn’t sound Irish at all. Not one bit. She was certain, because at school last October, Todd had done this project on the Emerald Isle for his History class at the cultural fair. He had Irish music playing within the language and a poster giving basic Irish Gaelic at his booth. And nothing that she heard here sounded like it.

A crazy notion threaded through her head in (unfortunately) Darren Asher’s voice. Maybe they were aliens.

Jennifer shook her head to banish that moronic thought. He believed Zormna and her great aunt were Martians. Besides, that guy Salvar and those other two men now in the room with him looked as human as she was. Human.

But… Jennifer stared. They were all really, really pale.

One of them was a man older than her father, dressed in a suit like Salvar’s, only a grayish green with lots more buttons and a few added stripes. Not military chevrons though. His reddish hair had gray streaks in it, along with male pattern baldness. The man with him was leaner build. He reminded her of a Nazi. He had platinum blonde hair, and he wore a dark blue uniform with silver stripes running down the legs and arms. This Nazi in blue stormed about the room shouting at Salvar and the older man like he was on a death mission. His face was red from shouting. And he was growing redder with each word he spat out.

Jennifer’s eyes fixed on the weird writing on his chest.

She had seen it before among the notes Zormna wrote with her math homework. It was also on that English alphabet page that Zormna had made with Mrs. Ryant—a page referred to less and less these days. It was vertical, like Japanese. But it didn’t look like Japanese. And it was most definitely not Gaelic.  

It was annoying that she could not understand a word of the argument. Garble-garble, this. Piratey-R that. Rolling R’s something. And… No. Jennifer blinked. There were a few words she did recognize. Repeated words. ‘Zormna Clendar, something something something.’ And Zormna Clendar, yada yada yada.’

She looked at Zormna as the blonde stood out of view of the camera. Her arms were crossed over herself. Her lips were thinly closed, her fist tensely pressed against her mouth. Zormna cringed with every repeat of her name—yet flinched at the word said after it and in most of the conversation. It was said almost as often as her name.  

<<Zormna Clendar za ray Tarrn!>> the Nazi man blustered. <<Al oomtor’orn en! Na’tan za an’em? Ray Tarrn kai’op ein za’em asorrak’en zheez’en!>>

Tarrn. Zormna’s cringe deepened with each repetition.

What did that word mean? Sociopath? Murdered? Orphan? Or was it a curse word so foul this conversation had to have an X rating?

And the shouting from the TV got louder.

Zormna looked like she was about to be sick. Her skin had gone pallid gray, almost green.

Salvar joined the man in the greens suit, pushing the Nazi-in-blue out of the room.

<<Nee za kareet’narr an’em!>> The Nazi man’s voice raised in pitch.

<<Ein! An’e za rein Tarrn ee an’e za rein kareet’narr. Alea Zormna za da llen comgrenasa ee nazov zhanova,>> The older man held a calmer, sturdy-as-a-rock posture.

The Nazi-in-blue backed up, though not without resisting.

With a more pronounced step, the Nazi man shouted something Jennifer could not make out. Though, she saw a visible shudder go through Salvar and the older man, as well as Zormna. Then the Nazi man stormed out of view.

Zormna stood there, trembling. She rested against the larger TV for a moment, the other hand to her forehead. Breathing in, then out, then in again, then out, Jennifer watched the girl work herself back into