Revenge of the Star Survivors

by Michael Merschel

  Edna Beacon,

  ARC Coordinator

  Faculty Representative, Disciplinary Tribunal

  I switched off the flashlight and sat in the dark. Then, in my head, came a vision right out of Episode 68, the one with the showdown against the Vexon Battle Star: Torpedoes were loaded into firing tubes. Weapons banks were charged. Fighters were readied. Jaws were set.

  I was—gods of Omega, hear my vow—going to war.

  Just as soon as I found a way to sneak this envelope back to the office.

  10.03.03

  I sat in the closet through the lunch hour. When the bell signaled the class change, I slipped out and headed to the ARC. On the way I actually passed Les in the hall, and he made eye contact with me. He looked worried, or frightened, or afraid. In other words, normal.

  In the ARC, Ricki looked tense as well. I suppose it’s because she knew what I was carrying.

  Me? I was beyond fear. It’s amazing what carrying a satchel of top-secret documents can do for your focus. I felt alert, engaged with the world and on the verge of doing something heroic. I just needed to execute my newest plan—once I had one—and bring down my enemies.

  One of whom, it turns out, was in the ARC.

  Principal Denton was standing over Ms. Beacon at her desk. “The file was due this morning, and I will not tolerate excuses,” he was saying.

  “I left it with Nancy, right on time, and I will not tolerate your bluster, George,” she said.

  They glared at each other. It was matter meeting antimatter, and I fretted for the safety of the galaxy.

  Denton blinked first. “If you don’t hand over the envelope today, I will be forced to put another insubordination notice in your file. You know that the rules on such matters are quite explicit.”

  “When you find it, I will demand another apology from you, but I will not actually expect to receive one.”

  Denton huffed out, giving me an odd sideways glance as he left. Maybe he was worried about his shoes. Given the turmoil in my stomach, he had good reason to be.

  I could only assume that the missing file he was after was the one in my Cosmos backpack. Which meant I had to get it back to him at light speed. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The situation called for calm. Calm and ingenuity. Ingenuity and courage. Courage and control. I had all these things, I told myself. I could make this work, I told myself.

  “Mr. Sherman,” Ms. Beacon said in her sternest voice.

  I opened my eyes. “Uh, yes?”

  “Is there a reason you are standing in the middle of my library with such an odd look on your face?”

  I had forgotten to sit down. “Uh, no,” I said. I turned toward my table.

  This was definitely a no-win scenario. I was much too conspicuous to make a second appearance in the office today. I couldn’t endanger Ricki by asking her to slip the file back in place. And I couldn’t endanger Ms. Beacon by holding on to it.

  Things were so bad that I saw Ricki, usually a model of good posture and stoic behavior, chewing on a pencil eraser. I wanted to hide. Like the stowaway in the engine room on yesterday’s Star Survivors. Hidden among some innocuous cargo and riding around the galaxy. That sounded good.

  And—as I saw an aide walking through, pushing a small cart full of interoffice mail—inspirational.

  I set my backpack on the table and unzipped it, then adjusted things so that the envelope was right on top. I waited nervously while the aide, a girl I did not know, walked into Ms. Beacon’s office, picked up several folders and some mail, and walked out.

  As she did, I sprang toward the desk. “Oh, Ms. Beacon!” I called. “I had a homework question I was hoping you . . .”

  I “accidentally” tripped over the cart; folders went flying; I dropped my backpack with a thud.

  “Hey!” the aide barked. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m so sorry!” I told her. “Here, let me help you pick things up.” I did so, and while she was gathering stray envelopes from the floor, I reached into my backpack, pulled out the folder, and slipped it onto her cart.

  The aide gathered up the rest of the mail, gave me a withering look and pushed the cart out of the ARC and down the hall.

  My sigh of relief was interrupted by a very stern, “Mr. Sherman.”

  I timidly walked to Ms. Beacon’s desk.

  “Yes?”

  “I do not know where your head is today, but mine is on some very important reports. Would you please stop acting like a small child and behave in the manner I have come to expect from you?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Beacon.” I had never seen her this annoyed before.

  Then she grimaced, shook her head and pressed her fingers to her temples.

  “Forgive me, Mr. Sherman. I am having a particularly challenging week. I don’t mean to take it out on you. Nevertheless,” she added in a low voice, “you must use extreme caution and not draw attention to yourself, Clark.”

  Wait—did she just use my first name?

  “Excuse me, Ms. Beacon?”

  She looked across the room at Ricki, whose nose was buried in a book. “Please come with me.” She motioned me out the door and into the hallway. We were alone except for the office aide, who was wheeling her cart around the corner far down the hall. When she disappeared, Ms. Beacon turned to me.

  “I’m going to tell you some things in confidence, Mr. Sherman. I can trust you, yes?”

  I nodded. My pulse raced.

  “I cannot discuss other students’ records with you,” she continued softly. “But perhaps you know one or two who have crossed the lines of decent, acceptable behavior?”

  I nodded again, more vigorously.

  “They should have been dealt with long ago. But Principal Denton is a powerful man inside this building. He can protect the people he wants to protect. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I told her.

  “He is also well known in the community. And he has friends on the school board. He is not to be trifled with.

  “But even a decorated combat veteran and experienced business executive has standards to meet. And even if he—well, I’ve never been able to prove my suspicions about him, so I’ll spare you those details. But I am hoping that soon, I can get some key people to listen to me about his lack of competence.”

  “Like, Counselor Blethins?” I blurted out.

  She raised an eyebrow in surprise at my suggestion.

  “She could be helpful, yes,” she said. “But she’s fearful, and I’ve never quite been able to persuade her to . . .” She seemed on the verge of saying more, then halted herself again. “It comes down to this: Principal Denton is in a precarious position. He knows that if enough voices make themselves heard, his situation will become untenable. That might make him desperate. And desperate, petty men are capable of ugly things. So please, for the sake of both of us—”

  I nodded. “I’ll be careful, Ms. Beacon. I’m—I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologize. But again, don’t get caught up in any . . . shenanigans. Stay out of trouble, and with luck, we might see the resolution of multiple problems that have been disturbing both of us. Now, return to your seat, please.”

  This time, I did.

  Of course, I didn’t get a whole lot of reading done. I stared blankly at Ricki until I processed what had just happened.

  The folder was out of my hands, safely headed back to its proper home.

  Nobody would know it had been missing.

  Everyone would be safe.

  All systems were nominal.

  And Denton was in a precarious position!

  Ricki looked at me questioningly and I broke into a grin and gave her a Chuck Yeager–caliber thumbs-up.

  Maybe I would take on a new nickname. People could call me “The Captain.” Because I was totally in command.

  10.03.04

  Ms. Beacon had warned me to be careful. And I had intended to do just that. But when I had to walk past Ty in the locker room before A
thletics, he pretended to be swinging a bat at me. This made Jerry and Bubba laugh.

  And that made me burn with determination to get rid of him.

  As I understood the tribunal file, Ty was right on the border of serious trouble. Beacon thought he had crossed the line already. Surely I could push him totally over the edge, make him do something that would force Blethins and even Denton to act.

  But what?

  Les would help me figure it out. I had to tell him what I had learned, and fast. But he was nowhere to be seen. I’d have to try to catch him in the Sanctuary.

  When the last bell finally sounded, I made a quick dash from the gym to the park to the drainpipe.

  I had hoped to catch him passing through on his way home. I did, but not in the way I expected.

  “What are you DOING in here?” he said, when I found him in the chamber, where he apparently had been for a while. “Didn’t you get my message?”

  “Uh, what message?” I asked.

  “In the usual spot! On your math desk!”

  “I was—a little distracted this morning.”

  “I wrote FORBIDDEN ZONE! I drew a radiation symbol!”

  “Les, if I’d seen it, I’m not even sure I’d have . . .”

  “Stuff is happening, Clark! That’s why I passed you in the hall today! To make sure you knew to be on alert!”

  “Les, I guess if you need me to understand something, you’re going to have to speak in a language besides Advanced Nerd next time. Look, I need to ask you—”

  But Les wasn’t listening. His teeth were clenched. His body was curled and tense, as if he were about to pounce on something. “Leave. NOW,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “Just . . . just go, Clark. I can’t have you here!”

  “Les, is this about breaking the rule about whose day it is? I’m sorry, but I really need—”

  “GO, Clark. I mean it.”

  “Don’t you want to hear what was in the envelope? It’s—”

  “Clark!” He kept looking around, frantic.

  “OK, OK, I’ll go!” I said. “But answer one question: Do you know anything that Ty has done that would have him on the verge of being kicked out of school? Or why—?”

  I was cut off by a loud series of whoops from the tunnel entrance.

  “I guess you can ask him yourself in a few seconds,” Les said flatly.

  My blood turned to liquid methane. Which, if you don’t know, is really, really cold.

  “I must have been followed.”

  “No,” Les said. “This my fault.”

  I didn’t have time to figure out what he meant; I needed to flee. I looked up at the ladder that led to the school above. The lowest rung was out of my reach. I could try to hide behind the wall of milk crates that Les had stuffed with old paperbacks and electronic bits—but for all its functional beauty, it wouldn’t conceal me at all.

  That left the small drain pipes that flowed into this chamber; they were unexplored and barely big enough for me to lie down in.

  They were all I had.

  I pulled myself in feet-first, rolled over on my stomach and scooted backward. “Jam one of those crates in here,” I told Les. “One with lots of books.”

  Les analyzed what I was doing, nodded, then did as I had asked. As he shoved the camouflage in place, he gave me a furious stare and said, “No matter what you see, don’t say a word.”

  As he turned around, Ty emerged into the main chamber. I lay flat against the dusty concrete and hoped the books would protect me. I could see Ty stand up, look around and smile.

  Jerry and Bubba came behind him. Bubba looked slightly unnerved. Jerry looked right in his element in an underground den, weasel that he was.

  “Pretty cool,” said Ty. His voice had an odd ring to it. It was . . . sincerity. I had no idea he could speak that way.

  “Gives me the creeps,” I heard Bubba say. “I’ll bet there are spiders.”

  “Don’t be such a wuss,” Jerry said.

  Their banter was relaxed, and crudely friendly. I had forgotten that Les had to live in their world every day. Maybe he had learned some sort of survival skill that enabled him to blend in.

  “Yeah, don’t be a such a worthless wuss, Bubba,” said Ty. “Les is playing designated worthless wuss for the rest of the season. Aren’t you, Les?”

  Or maybe not.

  “If I’m worthless, then why did you come?” Les said. “Perhaps you’re worried I’ll stop doing your homework?”

  They responded with angry silence. Nice one, Les!

  “So talk, little brother.” Ty’s voice had an edge again, like a switchblade. “You’ve got nowhere to hide now, so this had better be good.”

  “I brought you here to show you that I didn’t need anywhere to hide now. That I’m serious when I say it’s time for a new deal.”

  “I like things just the way they are, where you do my homework, and I don’t beat the crap out of you whenever I feel like it,” Ty said. The others laughed.

  “I’m sure you do,” Les said, his voice cold and steady, the way it had been with me the day he rolled out from the bottom shelf of the library. “But I heard your dad talking the other night. About school. About how you’re one mistake away from being kicked out. And how that would ruin your baseball career. That makes me think that I have a lot more power over you than you have over me.”

  “Dad will beat the hell out of you if he thinks you’re screwing with me and baseball,” Ty warned.

  “I can handle him on my own,” Les said. “Can you say the same about algebra?”

  Jerry and Bubba stared at Ty, awaiting cues, while he folded his arms and sneered.

  “What do you want?” he finally asked.

  “To be left alone,” Les said.

  “Whatever. I don’t like to be seen with you anyhow.”

  “That goes for me and my friends.”

  “Double easy,” Ty said, laughing. “Since when do you have friends?”

  “I’m talking about Clark Sherman.”

  Wow. Did he just say that?

  There was a long silence, followed by a trio of guffaws. “So you’re friends with Clark Sherman himself?” Ty asked, although instead of “Clark Sherman” he used a term that would indicate a person with a severe urological deformity. “It figures.”

  “Yeah, Sherman’s the only person in the school who’s a bigger wuss than you,” Jerry added. “Such a wuss that he needs you for protection! What a total—”

  “Actually, Ty,” Les said, cutting him off, “I’m trying to protect you from him.”

  Ty snorted. “What, are you gonna tell him not to puke on me?” More laughter.

  “No,” said Les. “But I’ll make sure he doesn’t discover exactly how much he can hurt you right now.”

  I could see Ty’s eyes narrow in the candlelight. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it’s not just your grades that are a problem. We both know that your disciplinary record is full of near-misses. If a formal complaint made it up to the district level, you’d be history. All Clark would have to do is go to Denton, or even Blethins. If he reported everything you’ve been doing to him, even they would have to act.”

  “I’ve been threatened before. I’ve always managed.”

  “Only because your victims ran when Denton pressured them. But I know Clark. He’s not afraid. They’ll punish you and ban you from sports. They’ll have to. Denton knows that. So does your dad. It’s why they told you to stay totally clear of him, to not even look at him.”

  Ty growled through bared teeth. “How did you—”

  “I heard them talking on the phone. Every single word.”

  On the phone? How in the name of the Great Bird of the Galaxy had Les managed to—

  “If you’ve been hacking his phone again, Dad’s going to kill you.”

  Oh. That’s how.

  “I don’t care. If he’s raging at me, that doesn’t change my life a bit. Yours will change an awful
lot, though, if you’re sent to alternative school.”

  “That’ll never happen. Denton says we’re a team—and we can stay a team all through high school.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “No. Dad did. He says he’s been talking to the principal at the high school. Told him he was trying to decide whether to enroll me there or at St. Andrew’s Prep.”

  “You wouldn’t last a week at St. Andrew’s, and you know it.”

  “The high school principal doesn’t. And he and the baseball coach want me. Bad. So Dad says maybe we might cut a deal—the high school could hire Denton as like, deputy principal in charge of discipline or something. And Chambers as an athletic director.

  “They’d all get nice new jobs. And when they do, they can keep watching out for me. Me and my arm. I’m set for the next four years.”

  Ty—shielded by Denton and Chambers—for four more years? I would have clawed through the concrete until my fingers were bloody shafts of bone to get away from that prospect. And I might have started trying, if Les hadn’t spoken.

  “But if you’re expelled, you lose it all, Ty. Nobody would touch you. Not the baseball scouts. Not St. Andrew’s. Nobody wants a head case with a criminal record. Especially if he’s failing half his classes. And once you’re out of baseball, you’re as good as dead to your dad. Look what happened to your brothers.”

  Ty’s fists were still clenched, but his voice was dead calm.

  “That’s B.S. You don’t know all that.”

  “Maybe your dad didn’t spell it out to you as clearly as I just did,” Les said. “But he talks a lot when he’s drunk. I hear everything.”

  It was amazing to watch: Ty had been boxed in, backed into a corner, checkmated. If Les proposed his deal again—that Ty back off of me in exchange for continued homework help—Ty would have had no choice but to accept.

  But Les wasn’t done.

  He folded his arms, looked over his shoulder and sent a warning glance toward my hiding place. And then he let his last arrow fly:

  “You know, Ty, even with your arm, you’re quite a disappointment to him,” he said. “No wonder he blames you for driving your mom off. How old were you when you figured out that she left because she was sick of taking care of kids—right away? Or did you hear it in one of your dad’s rages?