Black Panther

by Ronald L. Smith

  T’Challa tapped a bead on his Kiyomo Bracelet. A tablet-size screen appeared in the air in front of him. He waved his hand over it and watched it float to the wall above the TV. Then it expanded.

  “What the—?” Zeke said.

  “And I thought the watch was cool,” Sheila said under her breath.

  “This is a Kiyomo Bracelet,” T’Challa said, holding up his wrist. He had to admit, it did feel good to show off. Just a little. “It’s different from the watch, and more of an everyday accessory.”

  “I thought it was just a fashion statement,” Sheila said.

  “Every Wakandan has one,” T’Challa said. “They’re used for all kinds of things.” He grinned. “Like deep searches.”

  He walked toward the projection and tapped the screen.

  “What is your query?” a pleasant female voice inquired.

  “Bartholomew Jones,” he said. “All data.”

  Instead of a page of text showing search results, a black circle appeared on the screen. The bottom edge of the circle began to glow red.

  “What’s it doing?” Sheila asked, leaning into the screen.

  “It’s searching world servers for anything to do with Bartholomew Jones,” T’Challa replied.

  “That’s not Google,” Sheila said.

  “Far from it,” T’Challa answered.

  The automated voice spoke again:

  “Result: Bartholomew Jones. Born 1975, Chicago. Antiques collector and former ancient-religions scholar. Frequent visitor to the continent. Holds several passports for African countries.”

  “So he was in Africa,” T’Challa said. “Interesting.”

  “But what was he doing there?” Zeke asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” T’Challa replied.

  “That language I translated was Old Nubian,” Sheila said. “Maybe ask where it’s spoken?”

  T’Challa didn’t answer but nodded at Sheila. “New search,” he said, now walking about the room. “Languages. Old Nubian. Places spoken.”

  The circle went back to black and began to pulse red. Zeke pushed up his glasses, not taking his eyes from the technological marvel in front of him.

  “Old Nubian. Archaic, defunct language. No known first-language users in the world.”

  “Hmpf,” muttered Sheila. She drummed her fingers on her knee. “You said some of the Old Nubian words sounded familiar. Remember? They must’ve been root words that worked their way into other African languages.”

  T’Challa kept nodding, as if listening and thinking at the same time. “New search,” he announced. “Bartholomew Jones…Vibranium.” He turned to look at Zeke and Sheila. “Search Wakandan servers only.”

  Zeke’s mouth formed an O at the mention of T’Challa’s home country.

  “Can anyone search Wakanda data?” Zeke asked.

  “That would be difficult,” T’Challa said. “This technology was invented there and responds only to biometrics. That’s why I touched the screen before searching.”

  “Uh, okay,” Zeke said.

  They all waited while the screen ran through results. T’Challa tensed.

  The screen displayed an image of the Wakandan flag marked with a stamp:

  CLASSIFIED: ACCESS CODE REQUIRED

  There was a moment of silence.

  “Classified,” T’Challa murmured, and then stared at Zeke and Sheila. “What does Gemini’s dad have to do with Wakanda?”

  Sheila stood up. “Is there any way to break into that file? Like, a secret password or something?”

  T’Challa grimaced. This is Wakandan national security. I can’t just break into it.

  Or can I?

  It was important. He could tell his father—tell him what was really happening—but…

  The King of Wakanda had enough worries at the moment.

  I have to do this on my own. I can’t run to Father with every problem. I have to lead someday.

  “I’m not sure,” he finally answered.

  Zeke’s eyes were permanently wide. He looked at Sheila, and then T’Challa, as if he had just come to a sudden revelation. “This is like, a secret mission. I’m in an embassy, talking about breaking into a top secret file with the Black Panther. Like in a graphic novel.”

  Sheila smiled and shook her head.

  “Zeke,” T’Challa said wearily. “I’m not the Black Panther, remember? That’s my father, the King of Wakanda.”

  “But still,” Zeke said. “You will be the Black Panther someday.”

  It dawned on T’Challa once again that what he was doing could put his claim to the throne in jeopardy. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. He was in too far now. He swallowed. “Do you guys have any place to be? Say, for the next few hours?”

  “No,” Zeke and Sheila said at the same time.

  “Good,” T’Challa said. “I think we’re going to have a long night.” He picked up the phone to dial room service. “Who likes pizza?”

  Over the next several hours, amid pizza boxes, bottles of soda, and chocolate bars, the trio brainstormed on how to break the code.

  “Passwords?” Sheila ventured.

  “No,” T’Challa said. “That’s too simple. All the files have encryption keys. There’s no way to configure them.”

  “Well, did you try a brute-force attack?”

  T’Challa swallowed. “A what?”

  “It’s a way of using another computer to get at encrypted files. There’s an app for it.”

  “I never knew you knew so much computer stuff,” Zeke said.

  “That’s because your head’s always buried in a book,” Sheila replied. “Not that that’s a bad thing,” she added with a half smile. She took out her tablet and quickly typed in some numbers and letters in the search bar. “Got it,” she said.

  “Got what?” asked T’Challa.

  “The program that will help me decrypt the file.”

  T’Challa smiled. “Well, go for it,” he said.

  Sheila typed and murmured to herself, took long gulps of soda, and shook her head back and forth several times as she worked. Every now and then she’d set the tablet down and scribble something on a piece of paper.

  T’Challa’s thoughts drifted. Not only had he revealed his true identity, he was now in the midst of what could be called treason. Treason. He took a deep breath.

  Sheila kept working while Zeke peppered T’Challa with questions:

  “Where does Vibranium come from?”

  “Exactly where in Africa is Wakanda, anyway?”

  “Can you fly?”

  T’Challa trod carefully. He didn’t want to give away more than he needed to, but Sheila unknowingly came to his rescue before he had a chance.

  “Got it,” she announced.

  T’Challa rose from his seat.

  “Bring up the search page again,” Sheila ordered him.

  T’Challa tapped his Kiyomo Bracelet and the screen appeared. The classified file hung in the air—taunting them, he thought.

  “Okay,” Sheila said, “type this string of numbers into the search bar.”

  T’Challa typed in what seemed like random zeroes and ones for what felt like minutes. “Are you sure this is right?” he asked during a pause, when Sheila reached for a drink of water.

  “I hope so,” she said. “It’s binary code, and should unlock the sequence.”

  T’Challa typed in more zeroes and ones. Zeke bit his fingernails and watched.

  “Last one,” Sheila said. “Zero, one, one, zero, one.”

  T’Challa stopped his typing.

  Everyone took a deep breath.

  “Enter,” Sheila said.

  T’Challa’s finger hovered over the screen. His heart sped up. “Here goes,” he said.

  He pressed ENTER.

  For a moment, nothing happened. They all waited, holding their breath.

  But then…

  The Wakandan flag faded and was replaced by a picture of a man and
lots of text.

  T’Challa knew the face.

  It was Bartholomew Jones.

  “Yes!” Zeke shouted.

  Sheila blew out a long and deserved breath.

  T’Challa looked more closely at the screen. Under the head shot of Bartholomew Jones was a report on his activities:

  Bartholomew Jones

  D.O.B.: 3/10/1975

  Nationality: American

  First visit to Wakanda: 2000

  Reason for visit: Scientific inquiry into Vibranium

  T’Challa paused. “So he was looking for Vibranium.” He continued to read down the page:

  Colluded with fringe Wakandans called the Circle of Nine.

  “Circle of Nine?” T’Challa said.

  “What is it?” asked Zeke.

  “Who are they?” Sheila added.

  T’Challa focused on the screen in front of him.

  Circle of Nine: Banned group of Wakandan mystics and fringe scientists / Some known as former PHOTON employees / Wanted Vibranium for research into dimensional portals, but request was denied.

  “Oh my God,” Sheila said.

  “Portals?” Zeke questioned.

  “What’s PHOTON?” T’Challa asked.

  “It’s a scientific research center in Europe,” Sheila said. “They invented something called the Mass Photon Accelerator.”

  T’Challa and Zeke gave her blank stares.

  “What does it do?” T’Challa asked.

  “It helps them run experiments to look for something they call the God Particle—trying to find out how life in the universe began.”

  “That sounds pretty cool,” Zeke said.

  “Well,” Sheila continued, “some people say they’re messing with stuff they shouldn’t be—trying to split atoms and other things. They say it could lead to another Big Bang.”

  “Uh, guys,” T’Challa said, turning away from the screen, “remember when I said Mr. Jones said something about a circle? It must have been this. The Circle of Nine. They wanted Vibranium.”

  My ring. I never told them.

  “There’s something else,” he said.

  Zeke’s eyebrows rose.

  “That night I broke into Gemini’s house, I was looking for something.”

  “You were looking for Marcus,” Sheila said. “I mean M’Baku. You said he had something of yours.”

  “Yes. That’s right. But there’s more to it. I think he stole a ring of mine. A Vibranium ring, and now Mr. Jones has it. I overheard him when I was in the closet. He said, ‘The Vibranium should provide enough energy, but we shall see.’”

  “You have a Vibranium ring?” Zeke asked.

  “Yes,” T’Challa replied. “My father gave it to me. In the wrong hands, that Vibranium could be dangerous.”

  Silence hung thick in the room.

  “We have to get it back,” Zeke said.

  “I know,” T’Challa said. “And we will.”

  T’Challa woke to empty pizza boxes, half-full soda bottles, and the smell of garlic and cheese. “Ugh,” he moaned.

  And then it hit him:

  Midnight. Under the gibbous moon, in the damp below, where the arches meet.

  He buried his face in the pillow.

  What of the children? They have sworn to it?

  Cold gray light from outside spread into the room. It seemed to creep into T’Challa’s bones and mind. I told them, he thought. I told Zeke and Sheila who I am.

  I hope I did the right thing.

  T’Challa turned away from his locker. A boy passed by dressed as a medieval knight, carrying a sword made of foil. “What the…?” T’Challa whispered under his breath.

  The knight was followed by a girl in an astronaut costume, complete with a giant see-through helmet. Next came witches and warlocks, cavemen and cowboys, and what could only have been characters from books and movies that T’Challa had never seen. They ranged from the gruesome to the downright ridiculous.

  Halloween, he suddenly remembered.

  “Hey.”

  T’Challa spun in the opposite direction. A small figure in a black cape and red pants stood in front of him. A domino mask ringed his eyes. “Zeke?” T’Challa ventured.

  “I’m not Zeke,” the figure said. “I’m the Black Panther’s sidekick. Red Lightning!”

  “Shh!” T’Challa hissed, looking around warily.

  Zeke was joined by Sheila, who looked Zeke up and down. “Really?” she said.

  “And who are you supposed to be?” Zeke asked her.

  “Just a girl,” Sheila said, leaning against a locker and examining her fingernails. “Expert in STEM, computer hacker, and all-around bad girl.”

  Even Zeke smiled at that.

  Sheila gave a sly smile. “Hey,” she said. “I’ve got intel.”

  They ducked into an empty classroom, and Sheila placed her silver briefcase on a table. She clicked the hinges open and drew out a stack of papers. “I was thinking,” she started, “after Zeke and I left the embassy. Zeke’s grandmother said there was a fire in the basement of the school, right?”

  “Right,” T’Challa replied.

  “Well, if that’s where Vincent Dubois died, it makes sense that it might be where the Skulls are going to do the summoning.”

  “Good thinking,” T’Challa said. “Gemini said he would bring Vincent back. And where he died is probably the place to do it.”

  T’Challa paused. He couldn’t believe that he was seriously talking about dead spirits and summonings.

  “But we’re trying to stop Mr. Jones at this point,” Zeke said. “Not Gemini. He’s the Big Bad, right?”

  “Right,” Sheila countered, and then waited, it seemed to T’Challa, for someone to figure out what she was thinking.

  “Ah,” said T’Challa. “I see. Mr. Jones will be wherever the Skulls are. That’s how he’s going to…do whatever he has planned.”

  “Exactly,” said Sheila. She rooted and shuffled through more papers.

  T’Challa glanced at the clock above the desk. They had about ten minutes before their next classes started.

  “I pulled the school blueprints off the internet when I got home,” Sheila said. “Here.” She smoothed out a sheet of paper and pointed to a spot. “This is an entrance to the basement. It’s where the custodians keep all the lawn mowers and stuff. If we can get in through there, we can take the stairs right down to the basement.” She pointed to another spot on the plan. “Right here.” T’Challa noticed her fingernails were painted blue with little white stars.

  He angled his head and looked at the spot. “You think this could be the place? In the damp below, where the arches meet?”

  “Maybe,” Sheila replied.

  “That door would be locked after school hours,” T’Challa said. “You’re not saying we’d have to—”

  “Break in?” Zeke suggested. He leaned back. “Well, we’re students here, so technically, we wouldn’t really be breaking in, right?”

  T’Challa hesitated. “We could hide and wait till school is over, then go from there.”

  Sheila slowly shook her head. “I’m not going to hide in a closet for hours until all the teachers leave. How would we know when the coast was clear?”

  Zeke looked at Sheila and nodded. “What she said.”

  She did have a point, T’Challa realized. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll just meet there and get in somehow.”

  “How?” Zeke asked.

  T’Challa smiled. “I’ll find a way.”

  The rest of the day, T’Challa was on edge. Whenever he saw Zeke or Sheila it seemed like they were looking at him in a whole new light. He wasn’t T. Charles anymore. He was T’Challa of Wakanda to them.

  T’Challa watched the clock move slowly during each class. Tonight was the night—the night of the gibbous moon. What did Bartholomew Jones have planned?

  The alarm bell blared loud and sudden, startling T’Challa from his thoughts. He gathered his books from his French class and headed out
into the hallway. His phone chimed. He looked down at his wrist and rushed outside. It had to be his father calling, or—it suddenly occurred to him—someone calling with news of his father. He just hoped it wasn’t bad.

  He pushed past crowds of kids milling in the hall and headed for the exit. As much as he wanted to answer at that very moment, he had to get a safe distance away before using tech that could cause attention.

  He pushed the heavy door open and jogged over to the football field. A flock of birds leapt up and flew away at his approach. As he reached the chain-link fence, he tapped his finger to the screen and turned his back to the school. If anyone was watching, it would look like he was leaning against the fence, staring into the woods.

  A hologram of his father’s face appeared. T’Challa closed his eyes for a brief moment, relieved. “Father,” he said. “Are you okay? What is happening in Wakanda?”

  “We have driven the invaders back,” his father replied. “For now. They breached the Vibranium Mound, but our forces held them at bay.”

  “Good,” T’Challa said, proud of his father. “I knew we would win.”

  “It is only the first strike in a battle, my son,” the Black Panther said. “I fear there will be many more attempts. We captured Ulysses Klaw but he escaped. He seems very determined to use Vibranium to build some sort of sonic weapon.”

  A blur of static flashed across the screen and quickly faded. “T’Challa,” his father said. “How is M’Baku?”

  T’Challa stiffened. I can’t tell him anything. This is my mission. I have to do it on my own. “He’s…better. We’re both doing fine, Father.”

  The Black Panther’s face grew skeptical. “Be careful, T’Challa. Do not reveal your identity. There could still be danger abroad. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” T’Challa said, and almost visibly winced.

  A moment of silence passed between them. T’Challa looked around. The wind was rising, stirring leaves around his feet.

  He did understand, but he had already broken his promise.

  T’Challa stood in front of the mirror, the Panther suit in his hands. Once again, he felt as if the suit wanted to be worn. His fingers tingled as he touched the fabric. His heartbeat sped up, and his chest rose and fell with each breath he took.