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  Advisors At Naptime

  May 23rd, 2011

  Carol wants a nap. Carol needs a nap. And no one will let her have one because she’s important. She’s important because the grown-ups believe she’s an average five-year-old. Average five-year-olds have uses for bad guys who want to conquer the world. Only no one realizes that Carol isn’t average. Carol’s smart. And tired. And will do anything to get her nap.

  A strange science fiction story by USA Today Bestseller, Kristine Kathryn Rusch. Available for 99 cents on Kindle, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, and in other e-bookstores.

  Advisors at Naptime

  Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  Published by WMG Publishing

  Copyright © 2010 by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  It was time for Carol’s nap. They always forgot her nap. Mommy says every kid needs a nap. Carol used to hate naps, but now she’s tired. All she wanted was her blankie, her cuddly dog, and her squishy pillow.

  And Mommy. They never let Mommy into the playroom with her.

  They said Mommy sat outside, but once they left the door unlocked and Carol got out. She was in a cold hallway that looked like a giant tube or something. No chairs, icky white lights, and a hard gray floor.

  No Mommy, no guards, no one to hear if she cried.

  She stamped her foot and screamed. Everybody came running. Mommy said they were watching a TV screen with Carol on it in that room up there — and then she pointed at this tiny window, way up at the end of the hall — and Carol got mad.

  “You lied,” she said, pointing her finger at Mommy in that way Mommy said was rude and mean. “You promised. You’d be right here. You said!”

  Mommy got all flustered. Her cheeks got kinda pink when she was flustered and she messed with her hair, twirling it like she yelled at Carol for doing.

  “I meant,” Mommy said in that voice she gets when she’s upset, “I’d be able to see you all the time.”

  “You said—”

  “I know what I said, honey.” Mommy looked at one of the guards — they’re these big guys with square faces and these weird helmets you could see through. They also had big guns on their sides, latched down so nobody can grab them away — and then she looked back at Carol. “I meant I’d be able to see you. I’m sorry I said it wrong.”

  Carol wiped at her face. It was wet. She was crying and she didn’t know it. She hated that. She hated this place. It wasn’t fun like Mommy said it would be. It was a thinky place filled with grown-ups who didn’t get it.

  Mommy said she’d be playing games all day, and she did, kinda, but by herself. She sat in front of this computer and punched numbers.

  Once this scary guy came in. He wore bright reds, and he kinda looked like a clown. He bent down like grown-ups do, and talked to her like she was really stupid.

  He said, “Carol, my dear, I’m so glad you’re going to help me with my little project. We’ll have fun.”

  Only she never saw him again.

  Which was good, because she didn’t like him. He was fake cheery. She hated fake cheery. If he was gonna be icky, he should just be icky instead of pretending to be all happy and stuff. But she didn’t tell him that. She didn’t tell him a lot of stuff because she didn’t like him. And she never saw him again. Just his mittens.

  Mommy said every important person had mittens. Everybody who worked for him could be called a mitten, which meant Carol was one, even though she didn’t look like a mitten. She finally figured it was some kinda code word — everybody here liked code words — for workers.

  She thought it was a stupid one — Mommy would say, be careful of Lord Kafir and his mittens — and Carol would have to try not to laugh. How can people be afraid of big fake-cheery guys with mittens? ’Specially when they had big red shoes and shiny red pants like those clowns at that circus Uncle Reeve took her to.

  Carol had a lot of uncles. Mommy used to bring them over a lot. Then she met Lord Kafir, and the uncles didn’t come to the house no more. Lord Kafir promised Mommy a lot of money if Carol would play games at the Castle with him.

  Mommy asked if this was a Neverland Ranch kinda thing and Lord Kafir’s mittens — the ones who’d come to the house — looked surprised. Those mittens didn’t wear helmets. They wore suits like real grown-ups and they had sunglasses and guns that Carol had seen on TV.

  They wouldn’t let her touch the guns (she hated it when grown-ups wouldn’t let her touch stuff) but they promised she’d be playing with “weapons” all the time.

  Mommy had to explain that weapons were like guns and stuff, only cooler.

  So here’s what Carol thought then: she thought she’d be going to a real castle, like that one they show on the Disney Channel — maybe a blue one, maybe a pink one, with Tinkerbelle flying around it, and lots of sparkly lights. She thought she get to wear a pretty dress like Cinderella, and dance with giant mice who were really nice, or meet a handsome beast like Belle did.

  All the girls who go to castles get to wear pretty dresses with sparkly shoes, and they got to grow their hair really long (Mommy keeps Carol’s hair short because “it’s easier”) and got to dance what Mommy called a walls, and they lived happily ever after.

  But that’s not what happened. The Castle wasn’t a castle. It’s this big building all gray and dark that’s built into a mountain. The door let you in and said stuff like checking, checking, all clear before you got to go through another door.

  Then there was the mittens. The ones outside the mountain door wore suits and sunglasses. The ones inside actually had the helmets and weird-looking guns and big boots. They scared Mommy — the mittens did, not the boots — and she almost left there. But the assistant, Miss Hanaday, joined them and talked to Mommy and reminded her about all the money she’d get for just three months of Carol’s time (Carol didn’t like that), and Mommy grabbed Carol’s hand really tight and led her right into the castle/hall/mountain like it was okay.

  Carol dug her feet in. She was wearing her prettiest shoes — all black and shiny (but no heels. Mommy says little girls can’t wear heels) — and they scraped on that gray floor, leaving black marks. Mommy yelled at her, and Carol hunched even harder, because the place smelled bad, like doctors or that school she went to for three days, and Mommy said the smell was just air-conditioning, but they had air-conditioning at home and it didn’t smell like this. At home, it smelled like the Jones’s dog when he got wet. Here it smelled cold and metal and — wrong.

  Carol hated it, but Mommy didn’t care. She said, “Just three months,” then took Carol to this room with all the stuff where she was supposed to play with Lord Kafir, and that’s when Mommy said she’d be right outside.

  So Mommy lied — and Carol hated liars.

  And now all she wanted was a nap, and nobody was listening because Mommy was a liar and nobody was in that room. Carol was gonna scream and pound things if they didn’t let her nap really soon. She wanted her blankie. She wanted her bed.

  She wanted to be let out of this room.

  She didn’t care how many cookies they gave her for getting stuff right. She hated it here.

  “Hate it,” she said, pounding on the keyboard of the computer they had in here. “Hate it, hate it, hate it.”

  Each time she said “hate,” her fist hit the keyboard. It jumped and made a squoogy sound. She kinda liked that sound. It was better than the stupid baby music they played in here or the dumb TV shows that she’d never seen before.

  She wanted her movies. She wanted her big screen. She wanted her blankie and her bed.

  She wanted a nap.

  She pounded again, and Mommy opened the door.

  “Honey, you’re supposed to be looking
at the pretty pictures.”

  She was leaning in and her cheeks was pink. If her hands wasn’t grabbing the door, they’d be twirling her hair, and she might even be chewing on it.

  “I don’t like the pictures,” Carol said.

  “Honey—“

  “I wanna go home.”

  “Tonight, honey.”

  “Now,” Carol said.

  “Honey, we’re here to work for Lord Kafir.”

  “Don’t like him.” Carol crossed her arms.

  “You’re not supposed to like him.”

  “He’s s’posed to play with me.”

  “No, honey, you’re supposed to play with his toys.”

  “A computer’s not a toy.” Carol was just repeating what Mommy had told her over and over.

  “No, dear, but the programs are. You’re supposed to look at them and—”

  “The bad guy always wins,” Carol said. She hated it here. She wanted to see Simba or Belle or her friends on the TV. Or maybe go back to that kindergarten that Mommy hated because they said Carol was average. She didn’t know what average was ’cept Mommy didn’t like it. Mommy made it sound bad.

  Until that day when she was looking at the want ads like she did (Honey, don’t mess with the paper. Mommy needs to read the want ads) and then she looked up at Carol with that goofy frowny look and whispered, “Average five year old…”

  “What?” Mommy asked.

  “In the games,” Carol said. “The bad guy always wins.”

  Mommy slid into the room and closed the door. “The bad guy’s supposed to win, honey.”

  “No, he’s not!” Carol shouted. “He gets blowed up or his parrot leaves him or the other lions eat him or he gets runned over by a big truck or his spaceship crashes. The good guys win.”

  Mommy shushed her and made up-and-down quiet motions with her hands. “Lord Kafir’s a good guy.”

  “I’m not talkin ’bout him!” Carol was still shouting. Shouting felt good when you couldn’t have a nap. “On the computer. The bad guys always win. It’s a stupid game. I hate that game.”

  “Maybe you could do the numbers for a while, then, honey.’

  “The numbers, you hit the right button and they make stupid words. Nobody thinks I know letters but I do.” Carol learned her ABCs a long time ago. “What’s D-E-A-T-H-R-A-Y?”

  “Candy,” Mommy said. Her voice sounded funny.

  Carol frowned. That didn’t sound right.

  “What’s I-R-A-Q?”

  Mommy grabbed her hair and twirled it. “Chocolate.”

  “What’s W-H-I-T-E-H-O-U-S-E?” Carol asked.

  “That’s in there?” Mommy’s face got all red.

  “What’s W-O-R-L-D-D-O-M-I-N-A-T-I-O-N?” Carol asked.

  “D…D…O…” Mommy was frowning now too. “Oh. Oh!”

  “See?” Carol said. “Stupid words. I hate stupid words and dumb numbers. And games where the bad guy wins. I want to go home, Mommy.”

  “Um, sure,” Mommy said. She looked at the door, then at Carol. “Later. We’ll go later.”

  “Now,” Carol said.

  Mommy shook her head. “Carol, honey, you know we can’t leave until five.”

  “I wanna nap!” Carol shouted, then felt her own cheeks get hot. She never asked for a nap before. “And a cookie. And my cuddly dog and my pillow. I wanna go away. I hate it here, Mommy. I hate it.”

  “We have to keep coming, honey. We promised.”

  “No.” Carol said and swung her chair around so she was looking at the computer.

  It was blinking bright red. It never did that before.

  “Mommy, look.” Carol pointed at the big red word.

  Mommy looked behind her like she thought somebody might come in the room. “Honey, I’m not supposed to see this—”

  “What’s that say?”

  Mommy looked. Then Mommy grabbed Carol real tight, and ran for the door. She got it open, but all those mittens with guns and helmets was outside, with guns pointed.

  Mommy stopped. “Please let us go. Please.”

  “I’m sorry, Ma’am,” the man with the biggest gun said. “You have to wait for Ms. Hanaday.”

  “We can’t wait for Ms. Hanaday,” Mommy said. “My daughter punched the computer. Now it’s counting down to a self-destruct.”

  Carol squirmed. She watched Star Trek. She knew what a self-destruct was. “We gots to go,” she whispered.

  Mommy just squeezed her tighter.

  “We gots to go!” Carol shouted.

  Mommy nodded.

  The guards kept their guns on them.

  “A self-destruct?” one of them whispered.

  Another guard elbowed him. “She’s the average five-year-old. She finds the holes before we implement the program.”

  “Huh?” the first guard asked.

  “Y’know, how they always say that the plan’s so bad an average five-year-old could figure out how to get around it? She’s the average—”

  “Enough!” Mommy said. “I don’t care if it is fake. I’m not going to take that risk.”

  Carol squirmed. She wanted to kick, but Mommy hated it when she kicked. Sometimes Carol got in trouble for kicking Mommy. Not always. Sometimes Mommy forgot to yell at her. But right now, Mommy was stressed. She’d yell.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the first guard said. “We can’t let you go until Ms. Hanaday gets here.”

  “And she is!” a lady’s voice said from far away. Carol peered around Mommy, and sure enough, there was that Ms. Hanaday, in her high heels and her black suit and wearing her glasses halfway down her nose even though she wasn’t as old as Mommy was.

  “I wanna go,” Carol whispered.

  “I know, honey,” Mommy said, but she wasn’t listening. She was just talking like she did when Carol was bugging her. But she did set Carol down, only she kept a hold of Carol’s hand so Carol couldn’t run away.

  Ms. Hanaday was holding a bag. Her heels made clicky noises on the hard gray floor. It was colder out here than it was in that room. Carol shivered. She wanted a jacket. She wanted her blankie. She wanted a nap.

  “I wanna go home,” she said again.

  One of the guards looked at her real nice-like. He was somebody’s daddy, she just knew it. Maybe if she acted just a little cuter…

  “What have we got here?” Ms. Hanaday said as she got close. She reached into the bag, and crouched at the same time. She whipped out a giant chocolate chip cookie, the kind Mommy said had to last at least three meals.

  Carol reached for it, but Mommy grabbed her hand.

  “We would like to leave now,” Mommy said.

  “May I remind you, Ms. Rogers, that you signed a three-month contract? It’s only been three weeks.”

  “Still. My daughter isn’t happy, and I’m not real comfortable here. No child should have to work all day.”

  “It’s not designed as work, ma’am. It’s play.”

  “Is not,” Carol muttered, wanting that cookie. She stared at it. Maybe if she stared hard enough, it would float over to her. She seen that in movies too.

  “Did you hear her?” Mommy asked. “She doesn’t think it’s play.”

  “Wanna nap,” Carol told Ms. Hanaday.

  Really want that cookie, but Mommy still had a hold of her hand. Too tight. Mommy’s hand was cold and kinda sweaty.

  Ms. Hanaday was frowning at her.

  “I don’t like it here,” Carol said louder this time, in case Ms. Hanady didn’t hear so good. “Wanna go.”

  “The day’s not over yet,” Ms. Hanaday said.

  “Delores!” Lord Kafir shouted from down the hall. Carol knew it was him because he had the funny accent Mommy called Brid Ish. Some people from England had it. Most of them got to be bad guys in movies.

  Carol shivered again.

  Ms. Hanaday stood up. Lord Kafir was hurrying down the hall. His shoes didn’t make that clicky sound. They were kinda quiet, maybe because they weren’t official grownup shoes.
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  “Is it true?” he asked Ms. Hanaday like there wasn’t Mommy and Carol and all those guys with the big guns. “Did she break the code?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Ms. Hanaday said. She was holding the cookie so hard part of it broke. She had to move really fast to catch it before it fell to the ground.

  Now the cookie was Carol-size. Carol looked at Mommy, but Mommy wasn’t looking at her.

  “This is the five-year-old, right?” Lord Kafir pushed past Ms. Hanaday, knocking the cookie again. She had to grab real fast and still parts of it fell on the floor. Wasted. Carol wanted to get them, but Mommy wouldn’t let her go.

  “Yes, sir. This is Carol. You’ve met her.”

  “That’s right.” He crouched.

  Carol made a face at him. She hated people who forgot her.

  “You look pretty smart,” he said.

  “I’m tired,” she said.

  “Are you smart?” he asked.

  “Of course I am, dummy,” Carol said.

  “Carol!” Mommy breathed. “We don’t talk to grown-ups like that.”

  He wasn’t a grown-up. He was a mean man in bright red clothes. He was glaring at her like she’d done something wrong.

  “I think you’re pretty smart,” he said like that was bad.

  “Her teachers said she was average,” Mommy said.

  “We tested her IQ three times. She always came out in the normal range.” Ms. Hanaday sounded kinda scared.

  “You know that children often give unreliable IQ tests.” Lord Kafir pushed up and looked at the other grown-ups. “I don’t think she’s average.”

  “Mr. — Lord — Sir,” Mommy said. “She’s—”

  “The other five-year-olds couldn’t beat that self-destruct,” he said.

  “They barely got a chance, sir.” Ms. Hanaday was dripping cookie crumbs. “She got it earlier than the others—”

  “Because she solved the earlier puzzles sooner. She’s good at code words and passwords and secret plans. She shouldn’t be this good if she’s average.”

  “She watches a lot of television,” Mommy said.

  “Can I have that cookie?” Carol asked.

  Everybody looked at her.

  “Please?” she asked in her best company voice.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mommy said, but Ms. Hanaday handed her all the parts of the cookie.