20 Chapters
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Medium 9781480721883

Chapter 7

Timothy J. Bradley Argosy Press PDF


The next morning, Penny, Hari, and Sidney returned to the microshelter for breakfast. The other students lined the long tables set up for them, eating and chatting about the exciting day to come. Sid wolfed down another protein bar.

Even in his micro state, his appetite was as big as ever. As he ate, he inspected one of the shock prods used to electrocute any bees that got too curious. The mental itch of his curiosity was focused on how the shock prods worked. And the only way to scratch that itch was to take something apart. He cracked open the titanium casing and stared at the inside.

“What’s up?” Hari asked, sitting down with a tray of food.

“Nothing!” Sid replied guiltily, but when he saw the grin on Hari’s face he relaxed. “Habit, I guess. You know, I think I could make these things deliver a really big shock if

I reversed the polarity of these two modules.”

“I hope you disconnected the battery before you started poking around in that thing,” Hari said. “Otherwise, you’ ll be the one getting the really big shock.”

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Listener’s Guide to the Coyote Steals Fire CD

Northwestern Band of the Shoshon Nation Utah State University Press ePub

As told by Helen Timbimboo, Northwestern Shoshone Elder

Listen for these Shoshone words in the story:

Kakuttsi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grandmother storyteller
Itsappe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Coyote
Pisuppeha . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stinkbug
Pia Po’naiha . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Packrat
Yehnettsi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Porcupine
Waseppitte . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Four-legged game animals
Painkwaih . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Fish
Kuna waihyatteki . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fire started burning
Kaan kwaisi yukwamitto’i . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . That’s the end of the story. (The rat’s tail broke off!)

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2. Faces

Elsa Marston Indiana University Press ePub



Shifting uneasily on the velvet-cushioned divan, Suhayl surveyed the grand reception room. This was his first visit to the Turkish bath, a treat from his father. Upon his arrival he had been awed by the ancient building with its floors of colored tiles, the marble fountain, and peacocks painted on the walls—almost like a palace, he thought, where wonderful things might happen. As for the bath part, in some mysterious inner chambers he’d taken a good hot shower and then gotten dressed quickly, while his father went through the whole process: thumping massage, thorough scrubbing, and a final dip in cool water.

Now the time had come to talk. Suhayl shot a furtive glance at his father. Even now, he tried to hold on to a few wisps of hope. Maybe … maybe Papa would say he was coming home. In spite of the anger that had simmered inside Suhayl for months, he still longed for those days when they’d been a family, when his father and mother had both been there for him.

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3. The Hand of Fatima

Elsa Marston Indiana University Press ePub



Aneesi paused outside the dining room. She had spent the long, hot summer morning helping Sitt Zeina prepare a lavish lunch, had waited on the guests without a single slip, and had just finished clearing the dessert dishes. She was tired and hungry, and her plastic sandals chafed from so much running back and forth. All she wanted right now was to sit down in the kitchen and enjoy the leftovers.

But something had caught her attention. Holding the silver serving plates still half full of pastries, she lingered in the hallway to listen.

Sitt Zeina was telling her husband, in no uncertain terms, “We must have that garden wall repaired, Yusuf. You know, where the old fig tree is pushing it over. You’ve put it off long enough, and costs are going up every day. Besides, there’s a lot more we should do with the garden.”

Before Dr. Jubeili could answer, one of the guests broke in with a laugh. “What are you thinking of, Zeina? Big ideas for the Jubeili estate?”

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Chapter 2

Timothy J. Bradley Argosy Press PDF

give her what she wants, and you won’t have any trouble.

That’s reasonable, isn’t it?”

Sidney looked at her narrowly. “It sounds reasonable, but it doesn’t feel reasonable.” He sighed. She looked tired.

“I hope you didn’t get into trouble or anything at work.”

“Well, pal, it wasn’t great to get called out in the middle of a meeting,” she said as she raised her eyebrows.

“Sorry. Thanks for picking me up.”

“Just promise me you’ll keep a handle on your temper from now on, okay?”

“Okay,” Sid replied ruefully. He felt bad about ruining his mom’s meeting, but he wasn’t sorry for what he had said.

It was all true. As they made their way home, Sidney admired the nanobot bridge. The beams glistened in the sunshine.

Maybe life would be simpler if I just act like a mindless bot and do whatever everyone else does, he thought. The car lowered its wheels to the ground as it left the highway and started threading its way through the neighborhoods that led to the Jamisons’ house. Sid brooded, staring out the window, wishing he never had to see Ms. Dirge again.

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Chapter 1

Timothy J. Bradley Argosy Press PDF

his mom without getting killed—or worse, grounded with no intermaze access.

A brisk knock at the door startled him. The door opened, and his mom stuck her head in. “Sidney, why are you still in your pajamas? We have to get moving, or—”

She saw the half‑assembled device on his desk. “Is that my new voxpod?!?!”

The doorbell rang and Sidney jumped up, relieved for the escape. “I’ll get it!” He squeezed past his mom and ran for the front door.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just take apart your own things….” his mom sputtered as she collected the voxpod pieces and strode into the bathroom to get ready for work. As he ran for the door, Sid could hear Housemate giving his mom the daily data download as the house’s digital brain set the shower temperature to her liking.

Sidney knew the punishment about to be dropped square on his head was only being postponed for lack of time.

He had a long history of dismantling household appliances, from his nanobot to the autopilot on the hoverboard that was his ninth birthday present. His track record of successfully reassembling these objects was less impressive. But when he saw his mom’s brand‑new voxpod, the idea of cracking open the deep red shell to see how it worked was irresistible.

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5. In Line

Elsa Marston Indiana University Press ePub



Halfway home from school, on a lovely clear day in December, I did something really daring. I decided to change my route. Not much, of course, because my mother knew exactly how long it took me to get home and she would be waiting. I just thought it would be nice to walk along the canal a bit and pretend it was the Nile. That’s how it happened I ran into Fayza.

I’d noticed her in class. You could hardly not notice her, even in a classroom as packed with people as ours. She always raised her hand to answer the teacher’s questions—she even asked good questions of her own! What’s more, she was a lot smarter than most of the boys and wasn’t afraid to let them know it. So I’d begun to think I’d like to get to know her. But how? Most people still acted as if I were from Mars, or someplace even farther away, and they couldn’t figure me out. I was afraid Fayza might feel that way, too.

Well, I would try, at least.

Fayza was standing at the edge of the canal, holding a big bunch of flowers—roses so bedraggled they looked as though the flower seller had given them to her for free. But what made me curious was the way she was staring down at the canal. I stopped near her to see what she was looking at. It was a donkey, dead, lying there in the water.

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Chapter 4

Timothy J. Bradley Argosy Press PDF

at Bleaker High when the entire class wanted to answer a question. He was so surprised that he still had his hand up after everyone else’s went back down. Dr. Vary was looking right at him, eyebrows raised. “Do you have a question?”

“Um, no…no, sorry. I just…um, no.” Sid could feel the blood warming his cheeks. Usually, you can make it through the first week without everyone thinking you’re some kind of freak, he reminded himself. Be cool.

The girl sitting in front of him turned around in her chair. Sid instantly recognized Penny from his dorm building. She gave him a quick grin before facing forward again.

Sid bristled for a second, expecting a snarky remark, but her smile hadn’t been mocking him. It was just a smile.

Maybe things will be different here, he thought.

Dr. Vary continued his lesson. “Okay, let’s take a look at how mutations have historically been shown in popular culture.” Dr. Vary opened several image windows showing gigantic ants, spiders, and a praying mantis. The huge insects were terrorizing cities. People ran back and forth, screaming wildly toward the camera.

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4. The Olive Grove

Elsa Marston Indiana University Press ePub



Hustling along behind the other boys, Mujahhid stooped to grab a stone, then quickly caught up. About halfway across the open square they stopped. Right next to the military checkpoint was a two-story stone house that the Israelis had taken over. The boys could see the olive-drab helmets of soldiers behind sandbags on the flat rooftop.

“Take that, you dogs!” Mujahhid shouted in Arabic, hurling the stone toward them. “Get out of Bethlehem—it’s our town!”

Shouting with every throw, he then flung whatever he could get his hands on … chunks of plaster, pebbles, concrete rubble, worn bricks from the older streets. The soldiers, of course, had every other kind of missile—bullets, stun grenades, tear gas, shells. Today they weren’t firing, though, not yet. The boys grew bolder and started making dashes to throw from closer range.

You can get near enough to see faces, thought Mujahhid, but not what’s in their eyes. Anyway, they’re all the same … they all hate us. Even the young guys, just three or four years older than us, hard as their rifles.

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Hive Mind Reader's Guide

Timothy J. Bradley Argosy Press PDF

You’re both the author and illustrator of Hive Mind. How does this affect the way you work?

I’m an artist first, and I tend to think in images and “movie clips” when I think about a story—almost like puzzle pieces. Writing the story is a matter of arranging the puzzle pieces in the right order and typing it into my computer. Once I have a first draft of a book done,

I go back and see what is still missing or might need to be described in more detail. I do lots of little sketches as I write, and those usually end up being the start of any illustrations in the book.

What character in Hive Mind is most like you?

I’d have to say that I have a bit of Sidney in me. When I was younger, I was always frustrated in school because we weren’t learning anything interesting, especially in science! It drove me crazy. I never complained the way Sidney does at the beginning of the book, but I thought about doing it lots of times. That made that particular scene really fun to write.

If you were a student at Sci Hi, what would you study?

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7. Honor

Elsa Marston Indiana University Press ePub



Yasmine speaks …

I was not exactly thrilled when the biology teacher teamed me up with Wafa Ar-Rahman. We’d be working in pairs, she said, when we started cutting things up—a learning experience I really did not look forward to one bit. And now I had to do it with Wafa. Not that she was obnoxious or stupid, but she was new in school, and so conservative and quiet and shy that she really sort of stuck out.

When I got home, I told my mother that my biology partner would be this girl Wafa, whom I could hardly even see, she was so covered up by her hijab. “She wears her head scarf over her eyebrows, and she doesn’t say a thing. She’ll be so boring, Mum,” I moaned. “I’ll hate that class.”

But my mother was the wrong person to complain to. She was a hard-hitting investigative journalist, and she saw opportunities for social change and noble struggle in practically everything. She was so good at her job, in fact, that she’d won a special fellowship to study in London the previous year, and we’d all spent six glorious months there.

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History, Culture, and Traditions of the Northwestern Shoshone

Northwestern Band of the Shoshon Nation Utah State University Press ePub

Coyote Steals Fire is a traditional story that has been handed down for many generations among the So-so-goi people. You may have heard other stories about Coyote tricking someone, or getting tricked himself. Many Native American nations have a story like this one about Coyote bringing fire. One thing it shows us is that animals and humans have common needs, and that we can benefit each other—even though we also compete sometimes.


The Shoshone, Paiute, Bannock, and Ute people are related, and call themselves Newe or Neme (the People). Prior to contact with Europeans, the Newe groups formed small extended-family groupings that traveled extensively as seminomadic hunter-gatherers to survive in the harsh environment of the Great Basin desert. Horses, guns, white contact, and disease destroyed this social organization, resulting in more formal tribal identities and band loyalties. Pre-contact identities did exist to some extent according to the influence of horse ownership and resource use. What became the Northwestern Shoshone band was a part of those groups who had traveled largely on foot in a delicate balance of living off the land. The expression So-so-goi means “those who travel on foot.” The old ones called the Shoshone by that name. When horses became available, the So-so-goi joined the mounted hunting groups in annual harvests.

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8. The Plan

Elsa Marston Indiana University Press ePub



The moment the new art teacher walked into Rami’s classroom, he and every other boy bounced up straight in their seats. With her cheerful smile and green eyes, her shiny brown hair and pink smock that said “You Gotta Have Art,” she looked like all the flowers of springtime.

“We are very fortunate, boys,” announced the principal in his best speech-making Arabic, “to have Miss Nuha Trabulsi to teach you art for the rest of the term. Of course, she has to go to other schools in the camp as well, and therefore she can come here only one day a week, on Thursday. But she will make you learn many things about art—how to draw and how to paint, and maybe other things.” He glanced at Miss Trabulsi for confirmation.

She smiled. “Definitely,” she said.

Rami thought, only one hour a week? And he’d have to share Miss Trabulsi with more than a thousand other boys?

Others might have been discouraged by such odds, but not Rami. After one good look at Miss Trabulsi, he decided on his life’s mission—for the next three months, at least.

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Chapter 5

Timothy J. Bradley Argosy Press PDF

“You two climb like little old ladies,” Penny said from near the top of the rock.

“Oh, yeah?” Sid shot back panting. “Watch this!” He tried to reach a distant handhold, but his foot slipped, and he tumbled back from the rock face into the air.

As soon as he started to fall, his zero‑G harness nullified the gravity around him, and he floated gently across the gym, about fifteen feet off the ground. There were already thirty other students in the same predicament.

“Oh, come on!” Sid shouted, exasperated as he floated midair, tumbling slowly.

Just then, Hari fell away from the wall and started floating. Penny was the first one to make it all the way up the wall. She gave a victorious whoop.

“I can see that most of you need a little more practice climbing,” Ms. Newton said laughing. She turned the master control for everyone’s zero‑G belts up a fraction, and the floating students slowly settled to the ground.

“Let’s try that again,” she said, and the students groaned as they struggled to their feet.

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6. Scenes in a Roman Theater

Elsa Marston Indiana University Press ePub



With a sigh, Hedi plunked himself down on a stone seat in the Roman theater. As the last of the afternoon’s tourists straggled off and disappeared among the ancient walls, he stared dully at the grand view of the ruins and the green hills of the Tunisian countryside beyond.

He hadn’t done very well today. Only one hat sold. His mother would be disappointed, and he wouldn’t blame her … having to make those hats every night after her day’s labor in the fields, weaving straw till her fingers were sore. Tomorrow he’d try harder. Midwinter break from school gave him a few days to earn money, and he couldn’t waste the chance.

It’d be so much better, Hedi often thought, if he could be a guide, more interesting and more money. Once in a while he did manage to latch on to a friendly couple and show them a few sights … the temple, the theater, the baths and marketplace—and best of all, the communal toilet where twelve people could sit at a time. That always got a laugh, and Hedi would get a few small coins. But that was all. A real guide had to be older and know a lot more.

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