Jordan Connerey stepped off the 757 airplane and into the clear plastic tube with metal flooring. He stopped and gazed at the Nerone Airport. With a sigh of contentment, he felt a gentle buzz in his throat. Jordan smiled at the sound. Confident, he now strode through the airport with his carry-on bag, the only thing he brought on this trip. It was all he needed.

Now customs, just ahead prepared to check him into their country. The petite girl behind the counter turned her blue eyes to him; she twirled a strand of hair as she looked him over. Was she flirting? “Sir, your visa?”

A smile crept up his face, and Jordan flipped open his wallet. He tossed a well-worn Mastercard on the counter. The girl blinked, “Sir, I need your visa, not your credit card,”

Jordan returned the credit card to his wallet and placed the visa booklet on the counter. This girl was going to be a tough cookie, not one for laughs, despite her flirtatious behavior. She flipped it open with her manicured nails, “Sir, you’re from Seron?” She sounded surprised; apparently not many people came from the distant, yet large country in the west, which closed its doors to all other countries. Everyone knew that there was an iron curtain that separated them from the rest of the world. And now…?

Jordan took a deep breath and spoke, “INDEED, IS THERE A PROBLEM WITH THAT?” He watched her reaction to the computer voice. All attraction and flirtation she had shown were dismissed and forgotten.

She appeared horrified. Jordan grinned inwardly, that techno geek Greg was a genius! He quickly reflected back to the trip on the 757 to this strange country. He had cleared his throat so many times because the voice box felt so uncomfortable in his throat, that the flight attendants gave him two bottles of water. Those didn’t soothe the foreign object lodged in his throat. It felt like an undigested food, like peanut butter and bread stuck to roof of his mouth, only this was down further. The only way to dislodge the thing was to make himself throw up, stick his finger down his throat. Jordan wouldn’t have to worry about that until after the trip. Presently, he was beaming over the sudden changes in behavior when they heard his new voice. If they only knew…

The poor girl was trembling before him, and forgetting which blanks he was to write in. Jordan softly smiled at the girl and decided to share with her a nugget of information, “DON’T EVEN START SMOKING, OR IT WILL TAKE YOUR VOICE LIKE IT DID MINE.”

She nodded, biting her lip and looking at him in pity. Ha! Pity! What a great emotion to use for his mission. He walked through the metal detector and explained to the men there that he had a voice box. The whole time, of course, he spoke in his voice that sounded like if he held a note too long, and after it had failed, the only sound was the crackling in his throat. Ehehuhehuheh.

Jordan smiled to himself and hailed a cab. He was in.

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Linda McKnight hummed to an old tune on the antique CD player that they still held in the kitchen. Hmm hm-hm hmmm, hm hm hm hm hm hmm hm-hm… She broke off the song to call up the stairs, “Samuel! Come set the table!”

She returned to stirring the spicy taco meat on the skillet before her. Soon small footfalls that sounded like thunder thumped down the steps and spilled into the kitchen. Linda turned from the meat and scratched Samuel’s curly light-red hair, just like his father’s. “Set the table, will you, hun?” Linda turned back to the taco fixings.

“Ah! You better not have your hand in the shredded cheese bowl!” Linda called back over her shoulder as she knew that her son was always prone to temptations.

The red-head quickly stuffed the handful of cheese into his mouth and reached for the plates to set the table as his mother had asked.

“Do you have clean hands?”

Samuel groaned, and threw the faucet on, quickly running his hands under the cool water for one second, and then drying them. His mother rolled her eyes, boys will be boys.

The gentle clatter of dishes being placed on the table was enough reprieve for now to keep Linda from worrying about her Damien. He was acting so strange lately. Samuel eyed the tacos, “What silverware should I put out?”

“Hmm well, we’ll be having ice cream for dessert, so we’ll need spoons, but I think that’s it” The child’s face lit up at the thought of ice cream. He quickly moved about and placed spoons at each setting, all three of them.

Linda walked away from the taco meat again and looked at the table for anything missing. “Oh! I almost forgot. Put a knife at father’s setting.”

Samuel glanced at the head of the table where dad always sat. He turned to his mother, “A knife? What do we need knives for?”

“Umm…” But then Linda was busy running to the taco meat which was beginning to burn. She managed to pull it away from the burner in time and save the meat, “Just put it there, Samuel!” She couldn’t think of any easier way of saying it than yelling it to the boy.

Samuel blinked and took a butter knife from the drawer and set it next to the place setting, no sooner had Samuel done this, but Damien McKnight, Samuel’s father, opened the door by voice recognition.

Linda gasped a sigh of relief as she stared at the set knife. The boy had done it, thank God, he did it.