by K. A. Holt
Jim was chatting with Dad about simulated nerve impulses or something boring like that when I caught a glimpse of a figure behind our little group.
Mr. Shugabert was tailing us.
I tugged on Mom’s flight suit and jerked my head in Mr. Shugabert’s direction.
“Why’s Sugar Bear lurking back there?” I asked.
“Oh, Mike,” Mom said, laughing. “He’s not lurking; he’s following us.” She turned around and waved at him. “His apartment should be right next to ours. Adjoining, probably.”
My eyes widened. Chewing Gum Commercial Dude was going to be practically living with us? Bleh. Who needs extra grown-ups around, anyway?
When we went up to our doorway, the mapper beeped and a little drawer opened from the side. Inside was a flash key.
“For emergency use only” was written across both sides of the flash key. Dad grabbed my hand.
“Hey. Don’t use that. Look: the apartments are equipped with a retinal scanner.”
He pressed his right eye into a small indentation on the door frame. We heard a buzz and a ding, and the door whooshed open.
We waved to Larc and Jim; then Dad swept around and grabbed Mom. He picked her up with her legs hanging over his arm, her arm around his neck, and her butt sagging in the middle. I covered my eyes with my hands.
She hooted. Dad said very solemnly, “I must carry my bride over the threshold of a new home.”
He marched inside with Mom kicking her legs happily. I wanted to make a smart-mouth comment, but it felt weird without Nita. I actually missed her.
Dad set Mom down and smiled at me. “Well, get in here, Mike.”
I walked through the doorway and into the apartment. I glanced over my shoulder just as the door was shutting behind me, and I saw Mr. Shugabert walking into the apartment next to ours. He caught my eye and this time he wasn’t smiling.
The door closed and I felt a chill. The exact kind of chill you’re not supposed to feel on a seventy-two-degree climate-controlled ship.
I have to say, I was not impressed. This apartment was teeny-weeny. Wait. Not teeny-weeny. Teeeeeeeeeeny. Weeeeeeeeeeeny. Especially compared with the size of the ship. If every apartment on the ship was this size, they could stuff the entire population of Star City in here. As it was, there were only about fifty people on this mission—with maybe ten kids added to that. It seemed crazy for the ship to be so huge, with so many tiny apartments. What did the Project think, we were going to go to Mars and find a colony of aliens to ship home? Heck, even then we could all have our own apartments. Actually, that would be spankin’ awesome.
I walked over to a wall and pushed a small square button. A table floated down from the ceiling and two benches slid out from under it. They were the color of scorched metal. And I would know. Stinky and I once tried to smelt some old MonsterMetalMachines with Hubble’s plasma laser. It didn’t work.
Dad patted the tabletop and I pushed the button again. The benches slid back and the whole thing floated back up. It was crazy cool.
With a goofy I’m-a-dork-and-I-love-gadgets grin, I pushed another button and a small viserator popped out of the wall. My mouth fell open. I had never seen such a little viserator. This thing was the definition of “teeny-weeny” (emphasis on “weeny”). I started to complain about the obvious futility of such a small vis, but Mom held up her hand.
“I don’t want to hear it,” she said. “You’re lucky we have one at all. Not everyone does. And you watch too much vis as it is. Now you’ll have more time to concentrate on school.”
Great.
Dad hollered, “Hey, Mike, come look at this!” He was in front of an enormous window. It took up the entire back wall of the room. We could see white stars and red stars and blue stars and even a little bit of Earth up in the corner. Dad flipped a switch and the lights went out. This made everything outside the window seem even brighter and more sparkly.
“Spectacular,” he breathed.
Mom walked up to the window and put her hand on it. I did the same thing and for a moment all three of us were quiet, just staring out at the stars and the Earth and the black void around us.
“Well, Marie …”,’ Dad said a few minutes later as he randomly pressed on a wall, looking for more buttons. “I’m flummoxed. Where are the bedrooms and bathrooms?”
Mom smiled. She walked over to the super-giant window and pushed a small button on the sill—a button I had missed in my button-pushing parade.
Now, really, this was the coolest thing so far. The window slid out into space! As it slid, windows appeared on both sides of it so that it was a kind of three-walled window—like a pop-out wall on those antique campers in the Star City RV Museum.
Then those side windows started to slide out to the right and the left as the big window stretched along with them, making a long, clear tube. Finally a new wall popped out of the floor on each side of us. This whole new section of window-rooms expanded our apartment so that it looked like these rooms were a very big blob of dew hanging on to the side of the ship.
Mom motioned at the new space. “This,” she said, “is where our rooms are.”
We stepped over the sill into the new space. The whole thing was clear, so when I looked down, I could see stars and deep black space. It made my stomach jump. This window-room was a kind of foyer. To the right was a doorway. This was Mom and Dad’s room. Once through the doorway, Dad moved around the room, pushing little clear buttons on the walls. Bedroom furniture appeared. When the bed rolled out, there was an old-fashioned book lying on the mattress.
“Hey, look at this, Marie!” Dad picked the book up. “A gift from the captain.” He ran his hand over the pages. I tried to see but he clapped it shut and stuck it on a bookshelf attached to the bed’s headboard.
Dad pushed another button. In a corner, a nozzle stuck out of the wall. It looked like a showerhead. “You can’t just take a shower in the corner of the room,” I said, confused.
Mom came over. “Push the button next to the nozzle, Mike.”
I pushed it and two more walls whooshed up beside me, enclosing me in a triangle of clear plastic. The walls mottled themselves so that no one could see in. A seat appeared and I thought, Oh, boy, I hope that’s a toilet. I lifted the lid. Yep. A toilet. A weird one, made of plastic and with no water, but a toilet just the same.
“Hey, Dad,” I said, “I found the bathroom.”
I heard mumbling between Mom and Dad but I couldn’t make out exact words. I pushed the button on top of the toilet and it disappeared into the wall. I really hope it flushed. Then the bathroom walls slid down into the floor. Mom and Dad were huddled in the far corner of the room, whispering.
“I don’t know why you gave it to him,” Mom said, sounding a little distressed.
“It was just precautionary,” said Dad.
“It’s dangerous, that’s what it is,” she snapped. But right then she saw me.
“Hey, you!” She smiled a bit crazily. “What’d you think of the bathroom?”
I stared at them for a minute and said, “Um, it’s pretty cool. I’ve never whizzed in a toilet like that before.”
Mom’s smile faded in a flash and she rolled her eyes. She’s not a fan of the word “whizzed” when it refers to peeing. (She likes “whizzed” to describe something you’d do to a test. Like “Hey, I got every answer right and totally whizzed that test.” How dumb is that? It sounds like you peed on your test.)
Across the hall was my room. When I stepped into it, I was happy to see that the floor was mottled just like the bathroom walls had been. I was also happy to see a shower nozzle sticking out of the far corner. My own bathroom. Wow. I didn’t even have my own bathroom on Earth. Nita would be jealous. (Gram only has one bathroom and it’s pink and reeks of cream deodorant.)
I started pushing various buttons on the walls. Bed. Desk. Chair. Computer thing labeled “Personal Homework Station.” What the heck was that? A fake computer? I made a face and was on my way to investig
ate it further when I heard a voice.
“Hi, Mike.”
I whirled around. There was no one in the room with me.
“The time is five-twenty-three. Are you ready for dinner?”
“Who’s there?” I asked quietly. “Is that … is that you, Mr. Shugabert?”
“Dinner will be ready in approximately twenty-two minutes,” the voice drawled.
“Uh, okay,” I whispered, looking around. I backed slowly out of my room and ran back into the living area. Disembodied voices—especially one in my bedroom—generally scare the bejeebers out of me.
Mom and Dad were milling around near the viserator, talking quietly again. Mom came over and put her hand on my shoulder. “Mike? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Nah.” I shrugged. “It’s only Mr. Shugabert spying on me in my room.” I shivered. “That’s all.”
“Oh, Mike. He’s not spying,” Dad said. “Mr. Shugabert has just prepared the apartment for us. That’s all.” ‘Prepared’?” I asked.
Dad sounded like he was explaining something I should know already. “For our convenience, Mike. He’s rigged the place with voice-automated systems to work as your alarm clock, study guide, channel-changer, et cetera, et cetera.”
Mom chimed in. “This way Mr. Shugabert is omnipresent, Mike. Anything we need, he’s here to get it for us.” She nervously shuffled her feet, but then she smiled. “Cool, huh?”
I didn’t care what Mom said. Having a weird, overly friendly dude always at my beck and call gave me a creepy crawly feeling. Especially when his disembodied voice was eager to help me out, too.
Pitch-black.
Where was I? My heart thumped a million miles a minute. I sat bolt upright, whipping my head around. As the sleep drained from my brain, I remembered that I was in my room on the Sojourner. I gave my nose a quick tug and wondered why my eyes weren’t adjusting. I couldn’t see anything.
“You rise early, Mike,” said the voice of Shugabert. “Your breakfast isn’t ready yet.”
“What …,” I said, pulling the covers closer. “Why are you in my room, Sugar Bear?”
“You rise early, Mike,” the voice of Shugabert said again. “Your breakfast isn’t ready yet.”
It was a recording.
“Mr. Shugabert?” I asked again, tentatively.
“It is approximately four-thirty-one in the morning. Mr. Shoo-gah-bear is still sleeping. Should you need him, please knock gently on the adjoining door.”
“Lights,” I said.
A soft glow filled the room and I could see the windows and my partially unpacked box.
“Mr. Shoo-gah-bear is still sleeping,” the recording repeated.
“Off,” I commanded. “Stop. End program.”
“I do not understand your request,” the creepy voice said. “This voice-automated system only serves as a complimentary notification servi—”
“Go away, vamoose, get out of here! Turn off!” This voice was creeping me out.
“Please rephrase your request.”
“Leave!” I shouted.
“Leaves are green, flattened, lateral structures attached to stems and functioning as principal organs of photosynthesis and transpiration in most plants.”
“Wha—No, not ‘leaf,’ you moron. Leave. L-e-a-v-e”
“For your convenience, please knock on the adjoining door. Mr. Shoo-gah-bear will be with you as soon as he’s available.”
“Great,” I muttered, hopping out of bed and searching my box for my favorite MonsterMetalMachines towel. “I’m living in a perpetual voice mail system.”
While I showered, I had a brain wave that I should go out and explore the ship a bit. So after my shower, I pulled on my jumpsuit and shoes. I snuck out of the apartment and headed for the lobby.
After rounding a corner, I jogged down the stairs—and felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned. Mr. Shugabert was standing there, his red jacket spotless, a little doodad in his ear almost completely hidden. He looked refreshed, as if he always stood around on stairways at four-thirty in the morning.
“Where are you off to so early?” he asked cheerfully, though it seemed like his eyes narrowed a bit when he looked at me.
“Just out for a jog,” I said, feeling my face flush. I hated that. I wasn’t even doing anything wrong. Well, except for the sneaking-out-of-the-apartment-at-four-thirty part.
“A jog?” He raised his eyebrows.
I shrugged. “Sure.”
“Do your parents know where you are?” His voice sounded as if he was talking to a three-year-old who was just caught eating cookies before dinner.
I didn’t say anything. He leaned over so that we were face to face.
He smiled another one of those chewing-gum-commercial smiles. “You really shouldn’t be out here like this, Mike. Spaceships can be dangerous for little boys. You don’t want to get hurt, do you?” I could smell his hot breath. It did not smell like fresh mint. And I did not appreciate being called a little boy.
“I’ll be fine,” I finally managed to sputter.
Shugabert stood up and placed both hands on my shoulders. With more pressure than he really needed, he twisted me around until I was facing the opposite direction. “Go back to your apartment, Mike, and I’ll pretend like this never happened.”
“I told you, Sugar Bear,” I said, starting to get mad, “I’m just out for a … a jog. I couldn’t sleep.”
Another red-jacketed guy I’d never seen before came up to us. He frowned at me and whispered something into Mr. Shugabert’s ear. I felt Mr. Shugabert’s hands release my shoulders.
“I have to go take care of something, Mike,” Mr. Shugabert said. “I’ll see you back at your apartment.” He nodded slowly, as if the movement of his head would make me nod, too. He started to walk away but stopped and turned around. “I’d hate for your parents to find out about you sneaking out. That’d be a shame, wouldn’t it? Getting punished on your first day as a space traveler?” He was smiling the whole time he talked, but he somehow didn’t look all that happy. There was something more than just condescending about that guy Then he was up the stairs and out of sight.
My heart beating a little faster than normal, I stood there, thinking about going back to the apartment and getting into bed. But something inside me started to burn, like the glow on a handheld screen just after you turn it off. I felt my cheeks warming. Who was he to tell me what to do? He wasn’t my dad. He wasn’t my teacher. Heck, my mom was the mission coordinator. I should be able to do anything I want.
I narrowed my eyes and continued down the stairs, directly into the lobby. I admit, I did throw a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure Mr. Shugabert was gone. But when I was positive he was nowhere in sight, I felt braver. Though as I got farther into the lobby, what I mostly felt was disappointment. It looked the same as it had when I’d first seen it. I thought there might be some fun things I’d initially missed—like a waterfall or an antigravity chamber. But there was nothing like that. Just some trees, a few bushes, and holograms of different solar systems floating over benches. Bo-oring.
I jogged in place and decided to check out the school. Best to familiarize yourself with the enemy as soon as possible. I was leaving the lobby when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a narrow hallway jutting back behind one of the benches. I got this funny feeling in my stomach: the hallway was probably blocked off for a reason, but my curiosity got the better of me.
At home my curiosity was always getting the better of me. I’d sneak into Nita’s room so that I could find all her EFE propaganda and hide it. And Stinky and I used to bust into Hubble’s room and look for dirty reader cards under his mattress. Just the idea that someone was trying to hide something from me made me want to tear down walls to find it.
I followed my pounding gut. Why did I feel so nervous? I did stuff like this all the time. And yet I caught myself breathing shallowly and looking over my shoulder. It was that stupid Sugar Bear. I didn’t think my parents woul
d be thrilled with me for sneaking out if he caught me and brought me back to them.
I grabbed the bench with one hand and stuffed the other in my pocket, trying a one-handed bench-hopping maneuver popular with the MonsterMetalMachine skateboarding mandroid, PunkBot. Woo! I successfully hopped the bench and tried to go down the hallway, but ooooof. It was like I suddenly weighed forty-five thousand pounds. I couldn’t lift my feet, and my arms felt like they were being stretched to the floor. It was like I was stuck in an invisible tar pit or something.
After ten minutes I hadn’t even made it an inch. It must be a gravity enhancement net. Fantastic. These stupid gravity enhancers were the newest in security, at least according to a thing I saw on the vis.
I sighed hopelessly. I couldn’t even yell for help; it felt like I’d need at least twenty strong dudes hefting a crowbar to get my mouth open. I struggled to move my eyes around so that I could get a better sense of my surroundings. I was only about half a foot away from the bench, so that meant anyone walking through the lobby would see me. I was so busted.
Then, on the wall, about three feet above me and two feet ahead of me, I saw a spider skitter up onto the ceiling. I had never been so happy to see a spider before in my life! Thank goodness for spaceships with “natural” atmospheres. That spider proved that the net I was caught in wasn’t very big. So if I could just wiggle forward or up or … I noticed that there was a small grate under my left foot. It was smaller than my foot, actually, so there was no way I could escape that way, unless …
I used all my strength to wiggle a finger in my pocket. It barely grazed a grasshrinker. If I could pop it and get some juice on my fingertip, it might be enough to get me through the grate. Or it might be too much and disappear me completely.
I took as deep a breath as I could muster underneath all the pressure of the net and I scraped my fingernail against the skin of the grasshrinker. It didn’t work. Those things have thick skins for a reason. I had nothing else to do, though, and nowhere else to go, so I stood there for what felt like forever, scritch-scratching at the grasshrinker in my pocket until I felt a little moisture on my finger. Then a gush. And then …