Project X-Calibur

by Greg Pace

  “Do your parents know about your . . . problem?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but they tell me it’s all in my head, that I’m just being weak. Especially my father. He’s a psychologist,” she spat. “He hates video games, and he tries to blame my fear on them.”

  I nodded sympathetically.

  “Forget it, I’m going to tell Pellinore to send me home.” She turned to approach the group of techs following us, but I stood in her way.

  “Wait,” I implored. “Maybe I can find a way for you to overcome your fear.”

  She looked at me like I was crazy. How the heck was the boy who barfed going to help anybody?

  “Why do you want to help me so bad?” she countered. “To make sure you won’t be the worst knight here?”

  “No. I swear. It’s just . . . I think . . .” I leaned in and whispered, “We’ll need you. Assuming you really are some kind of master shooter.”

  “What do you mean assuming?” she said, shoulders back. “Nobody’s better than me at space battle games. You’ve heard of Astro Galactic Showdown, right?”

  “Not really,” I admitted.

  “Doesn’t matter. Point is, I was the first player in the world to ever score ten million points.” Her eyes lit up. “It was kind of a big deal. I got an award for it and everything.”

  “See? That’s why we need you,” I decided.

  She still looked troubled. “What if you’re wrong, Ben? This isn’t really a time for maybes, is it?”

  She was right, of course. But I could ask the same question about myself. I was also one big maybe. “Just give me tonight to think of something,” I bargained. “If I can’t come up with anything, you can leave tomorrow. Deal?”

  She swallowed, but slowly nodded. “Okay. Just tonight.”

  I looked forward again as we walked on, wondering what the heck I’d just agreed to, and why. What if I somehow got her to stay and then she panicked when the aliens showed up? What if the world ended because of Darla? Because I had talked her into staying?

  Darla reached out to tap my arm. “Hey—even if you can’t think of anything, thanks.”

  I forced a smile, but I couldn’t have been more tense. I wasn’t making this “defending the world against aliens” thing any easier on myself.

  If anything, I just kept making it harder.

  23

  098:19:10

  “I’M THINKIN’ I might call home before we go,” Tyler said. “What about you, Kwan?”

  Back in our room, Malcolm was pulling his sparring outfit out of the closet because he was going to the gym before bed. Tyler and Kwan, both already changed into their sparring outfits, had agreed to go with him. I, however, decided not to join them. I wasn’t exactly getting along with any of them, and I still had some lingering nausea from the pod fiasco. I didn’t need to risk making a fool of myself again, and I had to figure out how to solve Darla’s claustrophobia problem.

  “Nah, I’ll call later,” Kwan replied. “My dad’ll just go on and on. As if there aren’t more important things to worry about.”

  “Go on and on about what?” Tyler asked.

  “My parents want me to quit surfing.” Kwan slumped onto the edge of his bed. “They want me to be a doctor or lawyer, but they say that’ll never happen if I’m distracted. So they made me promise I’d quit surfing after this year.”

  “That sucks,” I offered, drawn into the conversation from where I was sitting against the wall on my own bed. I thought Kwan might hurl an insult my way, but he didn’t.

  “Tell me about it.” He pulled at the edges of his comforter. “I love surfing, and I’m good at it. Plus, I’m not saying I don’t want to go to college. I’m just not sure I want to be a doctor or lawyer.”

  “I wanna go to college,” Tyler agreed, “but I don’t think I can.”

  “Why not? Too expensive?” I asked.

  “That, and I’m just not smart enough for college.”

  “How do you know if you don’t even try?” I countered. “You did just fine in Barrington’s class, remember?”

  “Yeah, but nobody in my family has gone to college.” Tyler let out a loud sigh. “They think since I’m not any smarter than them, it’d be a waste of money.”

  Kwan rolled his eyes. “That’s weak, dude. Sounds to me like they don’t want you to be smarter than them.”

  For once, I agreed with Kwan.

  Tyler scrunched his face. “Maybe. But we do okay with our croc and gator farm. We’re swamped with tourists who wanna see me wrestle.”

  “So that’s what you’re going to do for the rest of your life?” Kwan grimaced. “Wrestle overgrown reptiles while people watch and eat popcorn?”

  “My parents didn’t go to college either,” I offered, “but my mom still wants me to go.”

  “What does she want you to be?” Tyler asked.

  “Whatever would make me happy.”

  Kwan and Tyler paused. “Your mom sounds cool.”

  I nodded, feeling a little homesick. Malcolm, now sitting on his bed in his jumpsuit, was trying to listen discreetly.

  “What do your parents want you to be?” I asked him.

  “Well . . . my mother passed away when I was five,” he said, averting his gaze.

  “Oh. Sorry to hear that.” I meant it.

  “My father’s alive, though,” he added.

  “Is that his medal you’ve been carrying around?”

  Malcolm reached into his drawer and lifted out the familiar medal. He eyed it a moment, like the sight weighed heavily on him. “My grandfather’s. It was awarded to him for outstanding service in the British military. He’s a war hero. Legendary in some circles,” he said blankly. I remembered a similar expression on his face in the cafeteria when Pellinore said he came from generations of military service.

  “Have you called him since you’ve been here?” I asked.

  He shook his head and turned the medal over in his hands. “No use. Gramps is old and doesn’t remember much. He has Alzheimer’s.”

  “What about your father? Do you live with him?”

  Malcolm tilted his head uncomfortably. He no longer wanted to be in this conversation. “I live with my grandfather, so I can help out when he needs it. My father is a military official, so he travels a lot.” He let out a breath and put his grandfather’s medal back into the drawer, closing it a little harder than necessary.

  “Anyway, I’m going to show a spar-bot who’s boss.” He turned for the door, and Kwan and Tyler quickly followed.

  “Have fun, Earnhardt,” Kwan called on the way out. “Don’t barf on anything.” And then they were gone.

  Alone, the room seemed much larger and too quiet. The window screen had paused on a mountain view, and the only sound coming from it was an occasional phony bird chirp. The countdown clock on the opposite wall showed almost ninety-eight hours left until the aliens arrived. I had anxiety in my gut every time I looked at a clock now. It was like being strapped to a ticking bomb.

  How the heck can I possibly help Darla? I looked to the window, thinking about how the view tricked our minds, even though it wasn’t real. That’s when it popped into my head: What if there was a way to trick Darla’s brain during battle? I crawled over to the window control panel and pulled it open to look at the guts of the mechanism behind it. A couple of compact wires, probably audio and video, went up and into the wall. I grinned. I had half the puzzle solved . . .

  My helmet. Yes! It was on the floor next to my bed. I had a crazy idea. A ridiculous idea.

  “But it just might work,” I whispered.

  24

  096:01:48

  TWO HOURS LATER, my footsteps echoed as I moved into the gloomy and deserted hallway. I looked out into the dim space to see a light glowing from the ceiling up ahead of me. Waiting. It felt familiar. I had done this before, I
remembered, in a dream. I slowly kept walking, and the light suddenly went dark. The one just beyond it then began to glow, waiting for me to continue. I lifted my foot, but hesitated: If I took one more step, something big would happen. I could feel it. But even though my mouth was as dry as chalk and my insides were twisted into nervous pretzels, I had to find out what.

  BAM! As my foot hit the floor, it echoed like a bomb detonating. In a flash, I was magnetized to the floor. The hallway took off at a blistering speed, taking me with it. Deeper and deeper into HQ I went, past the room that held the big black box, past the room full of TV screens, until everything around me blurred and I had to close my eyes. All at once, the floor came to a stop. I opened my eyes and looked up at . . . X-Calibur. I had somehow found my way into the underground hangar.

  The ship was spotlighted from above, while everything around it was pitch black. I could feel warmth coming from it and hear its gentle hum. I had no idea why I had been brought here, or what I was supposed to do.

  The side of the ship shimmered in a pulsing wave of brilliance. I reached out and lay my hand against it. The hum intensified, warmth moving into my hand and up my arm. I should have been afraid, but I wasn’t. Not yet.

  The ship’s surface glistened like water, and the metal began to feel soft against my palm. I pressed into it until my hand went through the ship’s wall. Then my wrist entered it, then my elbow, as the ship hummed louder, and the warmth crept into my chest. I panicked. I wasn’t sure I was ready for this—whatever “this” was—so I tried to pull my arm out of the ship’s metallic goo. But something inside X-Calibur grabbed me and yanked, my head and shoulders pulled into the swirling metal until—

  I woke up in my bed, gasping for air. Another dream.

  I looked over at the other beds. Malcolm, Kwan, and Tyler slept soundly. I couldn’t remember hearing them come back from the gym, but I’d probably passed out in my day clothes and slept through their return. The countdown clock glowed sharply—but then the numbers suddenly disappeared. What the heck? Was I dreaming again? I sat up and squinted at the screen.

  Letters popped up, one at a time.

  B . . . E . . . N . . .

  R . . . U . . . AWAKE?

  I stifled a cry of confusion.

  MEET . . . ME . . . AT . . . THE . . . B . . . S . . . R.

  The letters disappeared and the countdown returned, good as new. I pinched myself. Still awake.

  Meet me at the BSR.

  “Okay,” I whispered.

  I tiptoed out of bed and into the hall. HQ looked deserted, even though every now and then I could hear voices behind closed doors. I turned a couple of corners, then a couple more, trying to remember how to get to the BSR. It wasn’t easy, especially without the luxury of the moving sidewalks to whisk me along.

  Eventually I found the place, but I stopped several feet from its doors. I peered suspiciously up and down the halls. This could be some kind of test. Or . . . a trap. There was only one way to find out. I moved in closer.

  “They’re locked,” came a voice from above me. I whirled around, tripped backward, and landed on my butt. I was staring up at Ivy, who was looking down at me from an open ceiling panel.

  “What’s up?” She grinned. “Besides me, I mean.”

  “You called me on the countdown clock?” I asked in shock. I stood up and brushed myself off hastily.

  “Sure. Who else would call you like that?”

  Good question.

  “How did you, uh, do that?” I asked. She dropped a rope from the open ceiling panel and slid down it effortlessly. She landed beside me with a soft thud.

  “I know this place inside and out,” she shrugged. “My father brought me here all the time when I was a little kid. I guess he assumed I wouldn’t remember it, but I did.” She held her chin up. It was the first time I noticed a true resemblance to her father. “I remember everything. Plus, I’m pretty good at sneaking around in places I’m not supposed to. It’s a gift.” She laughed.

  I couldn’t say anything in return. Now that she was standing in front of me I was distracted by how great she smelled: like flowery apples.

  “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” she snapped. “Well . . . listen, thanks for not telling my father about me in Barrington’s class.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled. “That’s why I called you here. To say thanks.”

  “Oh, no prob—” I began, but she held up a finger to cut me off. She’d noticed something down the hall.

  “Hold that thought,” she said.

  She hurried to a hallway door that had light coming from beneath it, then put her ear to the metal. Curious, I made my way over.

  “What’s going on?” I whispered. I was growing nervous about all this. Not just because Ivy smelled so great and had the greenest eyes I’d ever seen, but also because finding me in the middle of the night with his daughter would give Pellinore a solid reason to kick my scrawny butt back to Texas.

  Ivy curled a finger toward the door and carefully opened it. The room looked like an office, with telephones, a copy machine, printers, and a few computers. It was the least amazing room I’d seen at HQ. Ivy pointed to the corner where a tech was bent over a desk, fast asleep, his face sideways on his computer keyboard.

  “That’s Arlo,” Ivy whispered to me with a pitying head shake. “Happens almost every night. My father overworks them,” she said regretfully.

  As we moved closer, I recognized the tech. He was the flustered, disheveled guy who had delivered the uniforms to our room. As he snored softly, I could see he was definitely much younger than everyone else who worked here, twenty or twenty-one years old at the most.

  Ivy watched him sleep, then sighed. She looked around and spotted a jacket draped over another chair, so she grabbed it.

  “Lift Arlo’s head for me, okay? Carefully,” she whispered.

  I looked over at Arlo doubtfully. “You know, if he wakes up, we’re kind of screwed,” I said softly. “Should we really even be here?” I’d worked so hard to prove myself here, and I already felt like I was inches away from being kicked out the back door. I didn’t want to mess things up any more than I already had.

  But Ivy just rolled her eyes. “He’s exhausted, and even if he did wake up, he’s not going to give us away. We’re friends.” She brushed off the jacket, looked up at me, and grinned wryly. “You’ve got to have a little faith, Ben.”

  I sighed, grabbed Arlo’s head, and lifted his cheek off the keyboard.

  “Move him to the right,” Ivy whispered, and I did. The chair swiveled to help me. Ivy folded up the jacket like a pillow and placed it on the desk, next to the keyboard.

  “Okay, put him down.”

  I did, with his cheek on the folded jacket. He stirred briefly, then resumed his slumber. Ivy gave me a smile. “Better. If he slept on the keyboard all night, his cheek would look like a waffle in the morning.”

  We made our way back into the hall and closed the door.

  I pointed to the open ceiling panel with the rope still hanging down. “Aren’t you afraid someone’ll see that?”

  “Nah. Things are on a pretty set schedule around here at night. There’s usually no one walking the halls for another five hours.”

  “Do you live here or something? Your dad said you were taken home.”

  She walked over to the rope as I followed.

  “My father is so focused on his work that it’s easy to pull one over on him. Too easy, actually. But no, technically I don’t live here.”

  “Technically?”

  She contemplated whether or not to tell me more. Those blazing green eyes of hers locked on mine, her expression firm. “I’ll show you. But it’s top secret, okay? Under normal circumstances—like if the world wasn’t potentially going to end—I’d have to kill you afterward.” She smirked and grabbed the rope. “Follow me.”<
br />
  I began to climb. The ceiling was only twelve feet high, so thankfully I didn’t have far to go. But a foot away from the ceiling, my arms trembled under the strain. I had an empty stomach, so I was even weaker than usual. I reached up to grab the edge of the open panel, but instead of grabbing metal, I grabbed Ivy’s hand. She had gotten down on her stomach to help me up with a grunt.

  “Thanks,” I panted, and climbed into the ceiling. She yanked the rope up and put the panel back in place.

  The inside of the ceiling was only lit through thin slits in the paneling. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. Everything was a dizzying network of steel beams and pipes and wires, the guts of this amazing HQ. It was like being inside a massive machine.

  “Now what?” I whispered.

  Ivy pointed up. I tilted my head back for a look at ladder rungs that had been bolted to the side of a steel beam.

  “What’s up there?”

  “My home away from home.” Then she was off again, climbing higher and higher into the darkness.

  “Note to self,” I muttered. “Next time someone calls me on a countdown clock, don’t answer.” I grabbed the first ladder rung and began to climb.

  25

  095:13:02

  IVY HIT THE SWITCH on a power strip, and two small lamps came on with a soft click. The floor we stood on was a solid sheet of metal that stretched as far as I could see. It had a slight curve to it, bending down at the edges, like we were standing atop an enormous ball.

  I cautiously stepped forward. “Are we on top of the zero-g arena?”

  “It’s the top of the BSR,” Ivy corrected me. “But the construction is similar.”

  I looked up at the intersecting beams and wires and pipes, which also stretched as far as I could see. The inner workings of HQ seemed to go on for miles.

  “Are you hungry?” Ivy walked over to the nest of her things: a sleeping bag, headphones, a few bottles of water, a laptop, and a backpack and duffel bag.

  “A little, yeah.” I was starving.

  “Help yourself.” She tossed me the backpack, hard, and I wasn’t quite ready for it. It practically knocked me over, but I tried to look casual. Inside was everything from potato chips to candy to brownies wrapped in plastic.