“I think it plugs into something.” Jillian eyed the pronged ending.
Louise picked up the box and examined it closely for hidden connectors. “This doesn’t have any place to plug anything into it.”
Jillian shook her head. “If I was going to leave something for my kids before getting into a spaceship and leaving Earth forever, I’d leave a hell of lot more. Like pictures of you and our parents, and copies of my movies and Fritz.”
Fritz was Jillian’s toddler-sized handmade quilt. Their Grandmother Mayer made both of them one before she died. Louise abandoned her blanket in some long forgotten period of time, but Jillian’s became a fifth member of the family. For years, Jillian never went anywhere without carrying Fritz. It was how everyone told them apart—a fact they used to their advantage often. Luckily when they reached first grade, Jillian was pursuaded that Fritz was in danger of falling apart and should retire to her bed, inside a protective pillowcase. While they hadn’t actually seen Fritz for years, Jillian still slept every night hugging him close.
“Who are you,” Louise asked, “and what have you done with my sister?”
Jillian stuck out her tongue. “I know that Esme is still alive out there someplace, but it’s like she’s dead. She’s gone and never coming back and that’s a lot like dead and buried. Taking Fritz would be like destroying him too.”
“I would take him. I would want the company. My kid can get her own blanket.”
Jillian laughed and waved the odd piece of metal. “Well, that explains this box then. She took all the cool stuff and only left us this garbage.”
Louise held out her hand and Jillian gave her the mystery item. “I think it’s an old computer part. They used to have all sorts of cables and plugs and things.” She took out her phone and took several photos of it. “I’ll run it through Whatsit.”
Jillian spread the 2-D photographs out onto the bedspread. They were portraits of three men, two boys, and a woman whose eyes had been masked by black magic marker. Between the glossy photos was a folded scrap of paper. Jillian unfolded the note and read it. “Beware the Empire of Evil. They will destroy everything you love to get ahold of you.”
Louise shivered. “That is seriously creepy.” She picked up the photo of a man in a space suit, patches identifying him as one of the NASA astronauts, apparently from before the Chinese took dominance in space. The patches were too small to read no matter how hard she squinted at them. “Wow, these are old. There are no digital tags to identify these people. What you see is all you get.”
“There’s writing on the back,” Jillian said.
Louise flipped the photo over. “How low tech. She went into space when?”
“Eighteen years ago. What does it say?”
“The King of Denmark, Neil Shenske. I think this is Esme’s father. Her bio said that her father was an astronaut. This is our grandfather.”
“We’re Danish princesses?” Jillian was obviously wavering between fantastical possibility and the logic that princesses weren’t born from abandoned embryos. Louise was riding the same emotional rollercoaster.
“Nothing on Esme said anything about her being a princess,” Louise forced herself to point out the most logical evidence they had.
They both did searches, racing to find more information.
“American astronaut, inspired by Apollo Moon shots, flew two space shuttle missions.”
“Born in Ohio. Went to MIT. Married Anna Cohan. Had two daughters, Lain and Esme.”
“He was killed in a drive-by shooting at a science fair at an inner city school. Esme was four when he died.”
“I’m not finding any reference to him being the king of Denmark.”
“He’s not even Danish.”
Louise flipped the photo and frowned at the words. “Maybe it’s some kind of code.”
“What do the others say?” Jillian picked up the photo of a dark-haired young man that looked like a movie star caught in a candid moment, his focus intently on something off-camera. Jillian read the back and giggled.
“What does it say?”
“Crown Prince Kiss Butt of the Evil Empire.” Jillian giggled more. “It also says, ‘Yes, you’re smarter, but he’s sadistic and short-tempered. Don’t get snarky with him.’ Esme must have thought we’d be snarky as well as clever. We’re not snarky.”
“Elle Pondswater thinks we’re snarky.”
“Elle is rarely right about anything. Besides, snarky is not genetic.”
Louise rather thought it might be but didn’t want to argue the point. The two blond boys were more average looking. There was, however, a strong family resemblance with the Crown Prince. “Flying Monkey Four and Five. Where are one, two and three?”