The Eighth Excalibur

by Luke Mitchell

  Nate paused, fingers on the doorknob.

  It also appears to have been parked there for nearly an hour, with two occupants still inside.

  Nate tried and failed to process that. Spies? He tore his eyes from the opaque SUV windows and forced himself to turn the doorknob instead. Paranoia. Just paranoia.

  That particular greasy cloud was snuffed from his brain like a light switch at the sight of his automaton hand pushing the door open, and at the sudden sharp terror that its opening swing would reveal Marty, Kyle, and Zach all waiting for him there on the couch, with the inexplicable clip of Nate’s YouTube heroics looping on all four TVs.

  The house, thankfully, was quiet.

  Gods bless his late-rising roommates.

  Interesting.

  Interesting? Nate frowned, easing the door shut behind him and padding straight for the hallway to his room, minding the squeaky points in the faux wood as best he could.

  License plate identification indicates that the vehicle outside belongs to the Department of Defense.

  Nate froze.

  What?

  Through the too-thin walls, he heard Kyle sleep mumbling, bed frame groaning under him as he tossed or turned.

  But how…

  It couldn’t be.

  How did you even…

  Look up a simple identification registry?

  Oh shit.

  Here’s a metaphor for you, Nathaniel: a child might as well ask an adult how he or she managed to pluck a cookie from the open jar.

  Oh shit, oh shit, oh—

  “Stop!” Nate hissed, eyes wide. It was only when he heard the muffled scrabbling of Copernicus from the next door down and the sounds of stirring from Marty’s room at the end of the hall that he remembered he was supposed to be sneaking.

  Whatever you’re doing, stop it, right now, he thought desperately, hurrying for the safety of his room. He didn’t make it further than opening the door, though, before Copernicus spilled out in a rush of unbounded doggy excitement, pausing only to welcome his magnanimous captor home with a boop of the snoot to the leg before dodging Nate’s grabbing hands and racing off down the hallway in a thrice-cursed game of tag.

  I am being helpful, the Excalibur insisted. Unlike that whining bundle of fur.

  Nate started after said bundle of fur, pinching his temples in a vain attempt to stay calm. Are you or are you not currently inside the DoD’s secure network?

  A pregnant pause.

  I would hardly call it secure, considering.

  “You can’t just hack the DoD all freaking willy nilly, man!” Nate hissed, throwing his hands wide in exasperation as Copernicus hopped onto the couch, whirling to face him with a doggy grin. “They’ll track you! They’ll track me! They’ll—”

  The clack and creaking groan of an opening door spun Nate around like a freaking piñata on the business end of a hungry bully’s bat, and there was Marty, standing in the open doorway, just staring at him like, like…

  “What’s up, dude?” Marty’s voice was cautious. “You look like you just found out that the time machine worked.”

  Nate couldn’t think of a damned word to say. Not with the feds outside, probably prepping the tranquilizers and black bags even as his helpful Excalibur gallivanted around the freaking DoD network, leaving its grubby fingerprints all over gods knew what, tracing a trail of dark holes and life sentences right back to… to where, exactly?

  Did Excaliburs operate through the freaking router?

  He almost barked a frantic laugh, his head spinning with the panic.

  Ahead, Marty’s head was cocked now, his bemused expression losing the playful touch. “You don’t… need to know what year it is, do you?”

  Nate managed to open his mouth. Kyle’s door yanked open before he could do much else.

  “The time machine worked?” Kyle’s bed-tassled head poked out, looking first to Marty, then to Nate, where he ran a critical eye from baggy hoodie to sweatpants to sneakers. “Dude, were you working out?”

  “No, I… I mean, yeah, but I—”

  There was a knock on the front door.

  Three decisive raps, and whatever bullshit he’d been preparing to spout all came buckling in, right along with everything else—vision blurring, room lilting drunkenly around him. Too much. A knock on the door, and they were coming. Whoever the hell they were. Coming from their black SUV to take him in. Coming to drag the freak from that internet clip off to some government black site where they could poke and prod and violate the ever-loving shit out of his so-called rights until—

  “Nate!”

  Nate blinked down at the hard pressure of Marty’s fingers on his arm, feeling his weight sinking into the faux wood through his heels even as his head seemed to float inexplicably upward, up into a cloud of gentle hugs and speeding thoughts that, while critically important, felt safely distant. Unthreatening.

  “Hey…” he mumbled, the words buzzing pleasantly on his tongue, his jaw too relaxed. “Hey! Cut that out!”

  The cloudy distance lessened. Marty let go of his arm, holding his hands up in peace, like he thought Nate had been talking to him.

  “Sorry, man,” his friend said, glancing at the door. “Do you need to… sit down?”

  Nate shook his head, racing thoughts regaining a hint of their edge, but definitely not the entirety of it. “Just, uh… Just a little winded.” He looked at Kyle, who was watching with riveted attention. “From the workout.”

  I told you to stay out of my head, he added silently to the Excalibur.

  And I told you you were being a fool to contact your precious authorities last night, the Excalibur fired back. If you want me to stop, I suggest you pull yourself together and make me.

  Another knock at the door.

  This time, Nate didn’t implode. But he did tense when Marty turned to answer it.

  “Wait.”

  But Marty was already sliding the deadbolt free, turning the doorknob. Nate stared in a stupor as his friend pulled the old wooden door open, distantly noting that this might just be a moment his roommates would be talking about for the rest of their free lives—the time their old pal Nate had been mysteriously abducted by the US government and never seen again, Maker rest his soul.

  What a shame he couldn’t think of a single goddamn thing to do.

  Which was probably why he half-collapsed to the couch with relief when he saw not some dark, faceless spook standing on the stoop, badge and black bag in hand, but only a confused-looking Zach.

  Their lanky fourth stepped into the living room, carrying a plastic bag from Wings Over, and a rather nonplussed look on his dark eyebrows. “Who locked the door?”

  Marty and Kyle looked expectantly at Nate, who swallowed, caught between the relief that he was not yet arrested and the horror that he might still be found out any second. Had he locked the door without realizing?

  “Sorry,” he said, heat spreading to his cheeks. “I must’ve done it by accident.”

  That earned him a general odd look from everyone, given that none of them had ever seen fit to lock the door since they’d moved in a couple years ago, aside from during summer and long holidays.

  “Nate’s maybe having a stroke,” Kyle explained. “Or a time travel.”

  “Hmm,” Zach said, plopping down beside Nate in his customary position on the couch, and sliding his waiting wings from the bag. “Sounds like you might wanna get that checked out, dude.”

  Stop peeking out there. You look like a frightened hare.

  Nate leaned back from his bedroom window blinds, scowling at the wall. What the hell else do you expect me to do?

  The SUV was still there, watching, waiting. Looking a thousand times more ominous, now that he was armed with a vague idea of where it might’ve come from.

  For the first time in his life, Nate actually found himself longing for the safe, humdrum hours he should’ve been spending today, debugging code and studying data compression theory. Instead, the only question i
n his head as he leaned over to peer out the window again was whether his imminent doom would be coming at the hands of the troglodans or the feds outside.

  Are you sure about those plates? And the people still inside? And how the hell do you even know how long it’s been parked there?

  I do have eyes, Nathaniel.

  Nate frowned at the non-answer.

  Sensors, then, the Excalibur grumbled. Forgive me for trying to anthropomorphize.

  That really cleared things up.

  For future reference, it might’ve been handy to know that you could see through car doors and, oh I don’t know, hack the freaking DoD at the drop of a hat.

  The Excalibur rippled with smug satisfaction. I did tell you my phallus was bigger than yours. My finest metaphor yet, in my humble opinion.

  “Humble,” Nate muttered, abandoning the peep show and sinking back down to his bed. “Right.” He ran his hands through his hair, trying to think, not getting very far. Had the feds simply come to keep tabs? Or were they just waiting for a chance to grab him?

  Would there be another innocent knock on the door?

  His thoughts turned to the magical hacker bot in his head, and he wondered if the Excalibur could simply yank the answers straight from their secure servers.

  I thought you wanted me to stop.

  He did. I do.

  Nate’s phone buzzed in his hand, rubbing at his threadbare nerves.

  But if you’re already in there…

  He glanced at the display and for the first time in his life felt a creep of dread at seeing Gwen’s name there. He killed the screen, refusing to even think right then about whether she’d seen his little freak show online—seen him diving to the improbable rescue of Emily Atherton of all people. His head was already too close to exploding.

  Don’t mind me, by the way. I love unfinished thoughts. It’s not as if you’re ignoring a real person, right? I don’t even have eyes.

  Deep breath. We can call your sensors eyes, for Christ’s sake. Now can you find out why we’ve got the freaking feds out front, or not?

  I already told you. They are here in connection to a call flagged last night. Your call. Beyond that, the particulars of the deployment appear to have been intentionally obscured, aside from the designation of the Air Force unit involved.

  Nate frowned, completely lost. “You’re telling me those guys out there are… Air Force?”

  I am merely telling you that the unit connected with this particular deployment order is Air Force. The 501st Space Aggressor Squadron, to be precise.

  Space Aggressor Squadron? That was a thing?

  “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

  I believe I have located a relevant platitude: be careful what you wish for, Nathaniel. Did you not wish for your government to respond to the alien threat when you called them despite my protests?

  Nate looked up at the window, not really sure how to answer that. Not really sure it mattered. Of course he’d wanted them to respond—but to the troglodans, not to him and the other alien threat that just so happened to be riding shotgun in his head. Still, maybe the Excalibur had a point. Maybe whoever was out there was just here to gather his report, or something.

  That is not the point I wish to make here.

  Nate was starting to fire back with his own be careful what you wish for when a knock at the door cut him short.

  “What do you mean, you’re not coming shopping?”

  In some ways, Marty’s incredulous question was almost a relief—namely for the fact that it didn’t yet include an incriminating phone screen waving in Nate’s face, or the accompanying slew of uncomfortable follow-ups about what he was hiding. Even so, Nate could tell he was approaching the last straw where avoiding his friend’s suspicion was concerned.

  Sunday Shopping was Sunday Shopping, after all, end of the world or no.

  “He’s not coming shopping?” Kyle called from the living room in surprised testament to that fact, over what sounded like Zach’s backseat gaming on the lost woods segment of Ocarina of Time. Retro Sunday, at its finest. Yet another timeless ritual Nate had ducked out of.

  “Are you sure?” Marty asked, looking concerned. “It’s brinner tonight, dude. We’re gonna get stuff for Han-cakes.”

  “I just…” Nate looked down at himself, deciding he looked the part plenty well. “I just feel like shit, buddy.” He didn’t have to lay it on thick to sound convincing. He did feel like shit. So much so that he half-considered calling a house meeting and laying it all out then and there, just to get ahead of the inevitable.

  One of them was going to see the footage by the end of the day.

  He knew it.

  Maybe if he brought it up first, tried to explain it away—right along with why he’d been acting so strangely since Friday night. And showing up bloodied and bruised. And avoiding them. And avoiding Battle Royale. And going to the gym, of all places…

  Jesus.

  The more he thought about it, the more it all sounded like a problem for Future Nate to handle. Right now, he just needed to avoid landing in a psych ward. Or a dark hole in the corner of the world, courtesy of the freaking 501st Space Aggressor Squadron outside. Unless…

  Any chance you could work your big phallus magic and eradicate all traces of yesterday’s incident before it’s too late?

  It was an impossible request, he knew, what with all the wildly divergent paths those troublesome little megabytes had already taken to who knew how many thousand separate—

  What will you do in return for such a favor?

  That drew him up short. Right in time to notice that Marty was studying him with a concerned look, a puzzled, Did you hear me? riding across his slanted brow.

  “Hmm?” Nate said, smooth as buttered sandpaper. He needed to stop tuning out like this.

  “Is Copernicus staying?” Marty asked, apparently for the second time.

  “I don’t really know,” Nate admitted—maybe to both of them.

  Something about his tone must’ve spoken to Marty’s soft spot, at least, because his friend just nodded and crouched down to ask the corgi in friendly doggy tones what kind of kibbles he preferred.

  Of course he did. Because that’s what Marty did. He helped without Nate ever having to ask. All of them did. Which in turn only made Nate wonder all the more why the hell he was trying to avoid this shit with them, of all people. It wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong here. And besides, between the four of them, they had more collective nerd knowledge than your average Comic Book Guy. If anyone could help him figure this mess out…

  Then it is undoubtedly the pinnacle of alien synthience riding in your head.

  Fine. Are you gonna help me, then?

  I could.

  “You want me to grab you anything?” Marty asked, standing back up from petting Copernicus to face Nate.

  Merciful Sith, it was disorienting, trying to keep the dissonant streams of thought straight.

  “No, I’ll uh…”

  Alternatively, the Excalibur broke in, like it owned the place, you could embrace what you have become, and focus on protecting these sad little meat sacks from the troglodans rather than worrying what they think of you.

  Easier said than done from the bottom of a dark pit in Area 51, Nate shot back.

  Marty was still watching him, waiting for an answer he looked like he wasn’t sure he was going to get.

  “I’ll slip out later,” Nate finished, “grab something at McClanahan’s.”

  Marty nodded absentmindedly, studying him for another few seconds before finally turning for the living room.

  Will you help me out, or not? Nate shot at the Excalibur, grateful and relieved that his friend had finally decided to leave well enough alone.

  Except Marty was pausing in the hallway, now, lingering on the edge of saying whatever it was that was on his mind.

  Will you commit to taking our quest for the Beacon seriously? the Excalibur shot back.

  Nate only barel
y reined in his hands before they could jerk wide in exasperation. What do you think I was doing at the freaking gym this morning?

  Marty turned back, opening his mouth.

  “Dudes, check it!” Zach cried from the living room, yanking their attention away. “Someone posted a video from the accident yesterday! It’s…”

  But whatever else he said was lost to the rushing panic churning through Nate’s brain. “Please!” he hissed without meaning to, cursing himself when Marty shot a confused look back his way.

  You must first promise to—

  Anything! I’ll do anything! Just stop that video. Please. Crash his phone if you have to.

  “What is it?” Marty asked.

  Nate stared at his friend, not knowing what to say, knowing only that he probably looked like he was actively having a heart attack.

  The Excalibur was silent.

  “It’s just, uh…” He swallowed. “I dunno, it’s just… I guess I don’t really wanna relive the moment, you know?”

  Lies. What did the lies matter now?

  This was it. He was caught. He could hear as much in the faint mutter of Zach’s voice out in the living room.

  “Dude, what the shit…”

  Nate sighed and stepped out to go face the music.

  Marty preceded him down the hallway, adopting his finest Mother Hen airs. “Hey, guys? Maybe we shouldn’t, you know, glorify the near death experience, and everything.”

  But it was already too late. Nate could see as much by the way Zach was looking at his phone as they stepped into the living room, brow furrowed, like he just didn’t understand what he was seeing.

  “Say no more, Mother Goose,” Zach said, holding his phone out to show them. “Video’s no longer available.”

  Nate stared at the dark screen and the little red frowny face, trying to process the news, not daring to believe it.

  Kyle glanced away from his game long enough to confirm Zach’s words. “Bummer and a half, man.” Then, remembering himself, he glanced at Marty and Nate and added, “That is, good on them, you know? Probably all kinds of copyright… stuff. Violations of privacy, and exploitation of… you know… whatever.” He cleared his throat, returning his focus to Ocarina of Time with one last murmur of, “Good on them.”