Project X-Calibur

by Greg Pace

  “Actually, there is something,” I said quickly. “You’re a girl, right, Darla?”

  “Last I checked, yeah.”

  I scratched the back of my neck awkwardly. “Well . . . I snuck out of the room last night with Ivy.”

  Darla’s eyes widened in surprise. “It was her idea,” I added quickly. “She called me to come and meet her. My question is: Why would she do that? I think she’s mad at me now, and I’m not sure what to do.”

  Darla just smiled a little.

  “What?” I asked defensively.

  “Well, for someone who’s obviously so smart”—she nodded to the helmet—“you sure sound dumb as a skunk right now. Just tell Ivy how you feel. Tell her you’re sorry. Just . . . be you. She obviously already likes you, Ben.”

  I smiled, feeling pretty dumb, even though I was glad I asked. “Thanks.”

  I squeezed out of the pod. “Sorry, Mr. Pellinore! Everything’s fine! Darla just needed help with her seat belt.”

  Before they could ask questions, I climbed into my pod, put on my helmet, and took a few quick, deep breaths.

  Show us what you’ve got or go home, Pellinore had said.

  “Sounds like a plan,” I muttered. “Bring on the fake aliens.”

  30

  076:03:23

  THE GOOD NEWS was that I didn’t get any more motion sickness during the first round of BSR training against Ivy and Darla. The bad news: I came in third place.

  Ivy won, but with Darla’s claustrophobia under control, she was finally able to use her video game skills. In the second round, Malcolm won easily, but everyone was getting better. We trained for hours, always switching up the participants. The most exciting rounds were the ones with Malcolm and Ivy. He won the vast majority of them, though Ivy did beat him a couple of times and came close on all the others. Pellinore never once praised his daughter.

  When the day-long BSR-fest finally ended, there was no way to sugarcoat the outcome. Yours truly hadn’t won a single round. I came close a couple of times, but, like Dad used to say, “close” only matters in horseshoes and hand grenades. I gave it everything I had, and I still came up short.

  When we got back to our rooms for the night, the countdown clock now showed seventy-six hours left. I had a headache, and I was still seeing multicolored spots and flashes in my vision, remnants of looking at virtual alien lasers whizzing at me for seven hours. For the first time, even Malcolm looked tired. He was trying to hide it, but his bloodshot eyes told a different story. And there was no gung-ho talk from him about going to the gym before bed, either. I called Mom.

  “I have a surprise for you,” she said. “When you come home, Denny wants to throw a party for you at the diner.”

  “Why?” I asked softly, trying not to sound as beaten as I felt.

  “Because we’re all so excited to have a science genius around, that’s why. Everyone is proud of you.”

  It wasn’t easy to hear that. I missed her, but I also dreaded the possibility of actually going home early. I found myself getting angry at Merlin for getting my hopes up that I could be a hero in the first place.

  “Sounds great, Mom. Listen, I gotta go. I love you,” I said quickly, then hung up. I sat there on my bed for a quiet moment, then noticed Malcolm watching me. When I looked at him, his glance quickly shifted, and he continued polishing his grandfather’s medal.

  Kwan had his ear up to the wall again, trying to hear into Ivy and Darla’s room.

  “Anything interesting going on over there?” I asked him. I wondered if Ivy preferred having an honest-to-goodness room over a sleeping bag in the gloom of the ceiling.

  “Nah. Can’t hear a thing, anyway.” Kwan threw himself on his bed. “I sure hope they fix the damage you did, Earnhardt. I wanna fly actual ships again. I need the rush, man.” He yawned. “I just hope you guys are ready to get your butts kicked tomorrow. No way I’m going to be the loser who gets sent—”

  He cut himself short when our eyes met. As much as he had given me a hard time so far, something in his eyes showed pity for me, and it hurt much more than his wisecracks.

  A knock on the door ended the awkward silence.

  “Who is it?” Malcolm asked.

  “Merlin.”

  Everyone immediately looked to me. Was he here to take me home already? I went to the door, step by step, like I was making my final trek down death row. When I opened the door, it was Merlin, all right. Alone.

  “Good evening.” Merlin looked past me. “All of you. Good work today. You should be proud of yourselves. Can I speak with you, Benjamin?” he asked, nodding his head toward the hall.

  I wasn’t sure what to feel. Would this be the last time I saw the knights? What about Darla? And . . . Ivy? Would I at least get a chance to say good-bye?

  “Should I bring my stuff with me now?” I asked Merlin. He squinted in confusion for a moment, then seemed to realize I thought I was going home. He shook his head.

  “No. Just bring you.”

  Merlin and I walked in silence. He took me through a part of HQ I hadn’t seen before. We took an elevator up, and when it stopped, it opened on a steel door. Merlin pressed his hand against a scanner by the door. It glowed green as the door unlocked.

  “After you,” he urged, pointing up a set of stairs.

  When I got to the top of them, the sight took my breath away.

  31

  075:48:19

  STEPPING INTO MERLIN’S LAB was like stepping into another world. It was at the very top of HQ, and there was a large opening that allowed a view of the night sky, with an enormous telescope to bring the stars even closer.

  There were several easels displaying hand-drawn star constellations with numbers and measurements scrawled everywhere. I ran a hand over the nearest table. The ancient wood was smooth, but I could still feel ridges and pockmarks. I had a feeling this stuff had been in Merlin’s possession for hundreds of years.

  “I’ve never shared Percival’s fondness for steel,” he said as he watched me take it all in.

  He ran a hand down the side of a wooden bookcase, touching it so gently that I might have mistaken it for something alive.

  “Steel is too cold. It gives nothing back. But wood breathes; it holds memories. The blood, sweat, and tears of those it serves. You can feel them in the grain.”

  I moved tentatively toward to the telescope.

  “Go ahead,” he nodded.

  I stepped onto a wooden stool behind it and pressed my eye to the lens. The view made the stars look like they were at the tip of my nose, like I could reach through the lens and grab them. I remembered a camping trip Dad and I took a few weeks before he died. It was the first time we’d gone together, because it had always been so difficult for him to get weekends off. I could almost hear the crackling campfire and feel Dad’s arm around me again. I had never felt safer.

  “What do the stars tell you?” Merlin asked. I turned to him, not sure what he meant.

  “Maybe it’s easier if I explain what they tell me. You see, even though there is no true magic—not in the supernatural sense—the stars come closest to offering us answers, if we know what questions to ask.”

  I stepped down from the telescope. “What do you mean?”

  “You, Benjamin. The stars have pointed me to you.”

  “But I’m not good at this,” I croaked. “I keep losing, and I almost killed everybody and . . . the barfing. Remember the barfing?” I stared at the floor.

  He nodded casually. “Hard to forget the barfing,” he chuckled. “But Arthur often battled nerves too. Believe it or not.”

  Arthur. As in King Arthur.

  Merlin patted my arm. “I have faith that your . . . mishaps were merely your nerves getting the better of you. As you and your peers might say—no biggie.”

  “Wait, Arthur really got nervous?” />
  “Indeed. Why do you think he was so motivated to create the fantastic legends surrounding himself? Because he was hiding behind them.” A bittersweet smile played at the edges of Merlin’s lips as he remembered the good old days. He seemed very fond of Arthur. “Later on, of course, he came into his own and didn’t need the legends. He had earned his mythic status. Although I’m not sure he ever entirely conquered those butterflies of his.”

  I looked back at the telescope again. Could the very stars that had been in the night sky every night of my life, the same stars that had twinkled over my one and only camping trip with Dad, be spelling out my destiny? It seemed beyond insane.

  “What about Malcolm or Ivy, or any of the other kids?” I asked.

  “The stars don’t speak of them to me, Benjamin,” he countered, unfazed. “They all have their place—there are no accidents in the grand design. But you are meant for greatness.”

  On the other side of the lab, he handed me something that looked like an X-ray. It showed a cross section of a spaceship that I recognized all too well.

  I peered over the familiar curved lines. “This is X-Calibur, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But take special notice of the ship’s inner structure.” He jabbed an area in the center of the image.

  I squinted in the soft light for a better look. The image showed that every inch of X-Calibur’s body was crammed full of something that looked like thin rods—thousands and thousands of them, folded over and over and crossed and intertwined.

  “What is all that in there?” I asked.

  “The simple answer? I haven’t the foggiest idea. Nobody does. But Percival still had his techs duplicate every inch of that maddening structure in the X-Calibur prototypes. Why do you think it’s taken years to build each of our ships?”

  Merlin took the cross section from me and pointed to the alien ship’s insides again. “They change. We’ve had other children and teenagers take that pilot seat over the last six years, mostly for testing purposes. But the ship’s functions proved to be different for everyone, sometimes even changing day to day. I daresay that vessel refuses to be tamed.”

  “What happened to these other children?” I wondered.

  “Most have stayed with us,” Merlin explained. “Engineers, techs. The younger ones, mostly. I often lose sleep over the valuable years they’ve sacrificed for us, believe me.”

  I thought of Arlo, asleep on his keyboard.

  Merlin motioned to the cross section again. “My point, Benjamin, is that what you see on paper is not always the best indicator of success or failure. There’s no denying that Malcolm is a highly driven and exceptional child who comes from a legacy of war heroes. But what of your legacy? Your father was a hero, too. He died saving lives. Was his heroism any less noble because it took place in a small town that might seem inconsequential to some?”

  I shook my head. “No, sir. Not at all.”

  Merlin nodded and put his hands on my shoulders. “Do you regret helping Darla? You wouldn’t be in this predicament of fighting for a spot here if you had allowed her to quit.”

  I was shocked that Merlin knew about what I’d done for her, but when I remembered the gratitude on Darla’s face, my answer was crystal clear.

  “No. I would do it again,” I said firmly.

  “Of course. But can you say the same for Malcolm? Would he have put himself on the line for her? Or would he have reveled in the chance to watch a competitor go home?”

  I envisioned Malcolm sitting on the edge of his bed, polishing his grandfather’s medal. “I’m not sure,” I said softly.

  Merlin nodded. He seemed fond of that answer, too.

  “Being a hero isn’t always about strength or courage. Those things eventually come to those who truly have what it takes in here.” He pointed a finger to my chest. “Compassion cannot be measured or taught, Ben. I still believe you belong here more than anyone.”

  He finally called me Ben.

  “So I’m not going home yet?” I dared to ask.

  “No. You’re not. And yet implies that you going home is a foregone conclusion. That said, your opportunities to impress us are dwindling fast.”

  Opportunities to impress us. So Merlin’s faith in me was not limitless. I had to impress him sooner or later.

  I nodded. “Understood. And thank you.”

  32

  074:53:06

  WHEN I GOT BACK to the room, the lights were off and the others had gone to sleep. I slipped into bed and stared up at the countdown clock, wishing Ivy would call again.

  I looked over at Malcolm, lying on his side, his back to me. In my heart, I didn’t think he was all that different from Tyler or Kwan or Ivy. Their parents were trying to make them be what they wanted them to be. Pellinore wanted Ivy to avoid danger at all costs, Kwan’s parents wanted him to quit something he loved, and Tyler’s parents wanted him to be a kid who’d already reached his potential. If I had to bet money on it, I’d say the medal Malcolm carried around with him was a burden more than anything else, a reminder of a legacy he had no choice in.

  Malcolm stirred and turned over to look at me, his face hard to read in the darkness. “What did Merlin want with you?”

  “Oh, just . . . a pep talk. I guess he figured I needed it,” I muttered.

  There was a moment of silence. “Can I ask you something, Ben?” he whispered. “If we succeed in defending Earth, do you think people will find out about it? Do you think it’ll be in books, just like King Arthur and Percival Pellinore?”

  “I’m not sure.” It was the only answer I had. “But hey—no matter what happens, you’re already a hero for saving everyone in the hangar. Thanks again for that. I owe you.”

  He shifted forward just enough for the light of the window to catch his face. He smiled, but I thought his eyes looked sad.

  “Good night, Ben.” He retreated into the shadows of his bed.

  33

  065:14:57

  THE HANGAR WALL looked good as new. About two dozen techs still stood guard around the hangar’s perimeter. A few of them glared at me.

  “Knights, this is it,” Pellinore boomed. “Today’s training will be longer than yesterday’s training in the BSR. Your time in the pods honed your firing, but today is all about flying. Later, five of you will finally be given a chance to pilot X-Calibur.

  “One of you, however, will be sent home,” he continued. “Or, if you’d prefer, stay on and aid us from the ground.”

  This was my final chance.

  “Ben and Darla—you’ll race first,” Pellinore announced.

  Darla was easily ahead of me already after her BSR performance. If I was going to turn this around, I’d have to find a way to beat her. Badly. I’ll admit, taking the helmet back from her crossed my mind.

  Pellinore gestured to two prototypes parked in the center of the hangar. “Your ships await.”

  “Rock and roll, Earnhardt. Kick her butt!” Kwan called. I guess there were no hard feelings between us—or at least he liked me better than Darla.

  “Good luck,” Ivy added. “To both of you.”

  I strapped myself into my pilot seat. The hangar darkened, and the glowing pyramid-shaped course markers descended from the ceiling.

  “Three . . . two . . . one . . . begin!” Pellinore shouted, and we both rocketed into the underground course, flying neck and neck. My heart pounded as we roared around the first curve and onto a straightaway. Darla came around the curve on the outside; I could see her to my right, keeping level with me. I remembered Barrington growling about making use of vertical airspace, so as we soared into the next turn, I pushed forward on my steering controls and dipped down, cutting down the distance I had to travel. My ship tilted until it was almost on its side, but I kept control and grabbed the lead.

  My adrenaline was off the charts—I might actually win!
r />   Beep. Beep-beep.

  My countdown watch. I dared to look down at it, fearing the worst. Had we lost more time? How much? One of the numbers had bizarrely been replaced by a dollar sign.

  I shook my wrist a few times. “Is anybody else seeing this?”

  “Seeing what, Ben?” Pellinore replied.

  WHOOOSHHH!!!! Darla soared past me. The watch now read 0X4:*X:0%.

  “I think there’s something wrong with my—” I began, but the watch suddenly corrected itself. Had I imagined it?

  “Something wrong?” Pellinore pressed, but before I could answer, his voice blared through my earpiece again. “Well, that should do it. Excellent flying, Darla. Come back down.”

  My face fell. Darla had beaten me.

  • • •

  “That was close,” Darla offered as we exited our prototypes. “You did really well.” She said nothing about her countdown watch flashing random symbols.

  I mustered a small smile. “Thanks, but you did better. Congratulations.”

  She hesitated a moment, then suddenly came at me, arms open, and hugged me. “Thank you, Ben. Thank you so much. For everything.” She was already saying good-bye.

  As Darla and I walked over to the others, I considered telling them about my countdown watch debacle, but decided against it. Without proof, it would seem like I was just making excuses for the loss.

  Pellinore was consulting a clipboard given to him by Barrington. “Next race: Ivy and Kwan.”

  Merlin, who had crept over to me and was watching everything, whispered, “Don’t fret, Benjamin. There’ll be plenty more races.”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  And he was right. There were dozens of them over the next six hours, but the results were practically a carbon copy of the day before. Malcolm beat everyone he raced against, except when he raced Ivy, and the others also proved their piloting skills. But even though my countdown watch didn’t act up again, I only beat Ivy and Darla once—and I’m pretty sure they had conspired to let me win so I didn’t look entirely pathetic.