by B. B. Ullman
“So, Saunders, was Brit right in thinking that you guys were going to haul us off for questioning?” I asked.
“Brit is sharp,” Saunders said with a nod.
“Then why aren’t you busting us right now?” Lars asked.
“Even in my line of work, this is unusual. It’s more than unusual. And I didn’t exactly agree when my boss gave the order to—anyway, I want more information.”
Brit eyed him shrewdly. “And you’d get more information by tagging along with us—right?”
“Right again, Brit. You should come to work for us.”
Brit frowned. “I don’t think I’d like working for the military industrial establishment.”
I had to smile.
Saunders made a sound like he was tired. “Sometimes I don’t like it either,” he said with a scowl. I figured he was thinking about the lie he’d told, about taking us to find Ma when really he had orders to lock us up. But he quickly shook off his guilt. “So where’s your Uncle Commodore?” he asked with a hint of sarcasm.
I scanned the parking lot. A snowplow had scraped out about six parking places, piling the snow in a truck-size mound. The one street light that serviced the lot was glowing cheerfully, as was the Steak Night activity sign. But the three SMHR units were nowhere to be seen.
“Maybe they went inside,” I said, “to appear less conspicuous.”
Brit made a skeptical face. “It’s sort of hard for those three to be inconspicuous.”
Unexpectedly, Agent Saunders handed Brit his communication device. “Here, take it. I’m on your side. I want you kids to trust me.”
Brit took it. “The jury is still out,” she said coldly. She listened briefly to the earpiece and gave it a shake. “Hello, Commodore?” There was no response. “Well, let’s go check inside.”
We walked up the wheelchair ramp and opened the big door. I was hit with a blast of warmth and delicious aromas. “Mmm, something smells good.” The clock on the wall said seven-o-five. I realized I’d only gotten one piece of pizza, and I was starving again.
The barnlike community room was a sea of tables and chairs, but there were only four or five people eating. In the corner was the big-screen TV, droning on about the news of the snowstorm.
There was a noisy clinking and clanking coming from the kitchen, and the cooks emerged from a swinging door. They were wearing the “Adeline Seniors Rock” aprons that were popular in our town. The aprons had black silhouettes of rocking chairs above generous patchwork pockets. Laden with pans and platters of food, the cooks marched deliberately toward us, strangely choreographed tall to short, moving in robot lockstep.
It was our missing SMHR units looking weirder than ever.
They set the pans and platters down on a table by the emergency exit. There was a beautiful potato dish, a lush salad, and a three layer chocolate cake.
Mr. Noguchi, the regular cook, was peering from the kitchen service window with his hands on his hips and a very puzzled expression on his face.
The Commodore gestured to the little feast on the table. “We have mastered the culinary arts,” he announced.
29
Debrief
It seemed a little odd to me that the SMHR units were helping us like this. Not only did they distract Agent Saunders so that we could get out of the house, but they’d even lent us their car to escape. And now they had bothered to cook us supper?
“Why are you SMHR units doing all this?” I asked. “Aren’t you just supposed to be gathering data?”
My question seemed to baffle them for a moment. They all blinked as one, and then Citizen Lady said, “Indeed; gathering data is what we do. However, when the home-plane anticipated danger and damage and, thus, urged the triad’s prompt return, we concluded this action countered our commitment to data acquisition.”
Her longwinded reply didn’t really answer my question, so I tried again. “But why are you helping us?”
“Helping is useful for accumulating data, and this triad chose to be useful.”
This still sounded like double-talk to me.
Med Tech Tek got more to the point. “To do otherwise was stressful. We chose to reduce the vexing anxiety by ignoring protocol and helping. It was the obvious solution.”
“I guess that makes sense. But you guys cooked us supper; that was nice and very thoughtful.”
“We were correctly reminded by Med Tech Tek that you humans might need a protein and carbohydrate break,” the Commodore said, “especially after all of the taxing activity. And choosing the Center of Seniors seemed an excellent rendezvous point for easy access to food, as well as a low probability of discovery—perhaps you have noticed that many seniors are afflicted with poor eyesight and diminished hearing?”
“You’ve got a point, Mr. Commodore,” I said. “This all looks really good.” I felt almost faint with hunger. I ran and got a plate and some cutlery from the service window. Lars followed, and Brit and Albert were right behind. We all sat down and served ourselves and for once Albert didn’t pick at his food. He ate with a concentration that he usually reserved for counting dust.
“I could not burn the bovine,” Citizen Lady said sadly, “despite the proclamation of Steak Night and 1-Buck Bingo. But I discovered nuts and cheese and yams . . . they should offer sufficient caloric sustenance.”
“And here,” said Med Tech Tek, “we have cake, which is nearly void of nutrition, but very attractive. You’ll note that I applied the frosting as instructions dictated, and then added my own design with the geometric swirl in the crème product.” Med Tech Tek had created an amazing design of white tree limb-fractals on top of chocolate frosting. It was the most beautiful cake I’d ever seen.
“You are an artist, Med Tech Tek! And you did an awesome job with everyone’s new eyes.”
His face and smile clearly showed pleasure. “Thank you very much for the compliment, Pearl.”
“Pearl?” Agent Saunders asked.
“It’s just a nickname,” I said.
“While you take in the calories, we need to formulate a strategy,” the Commodore urged. “Agent Saunders, your skill set may be helpful, so pay attention.”
Agent Saunders looked annoyed. “I always pay attention,” he muttered. “That is my skill set.”
“We need to debrief,” the Commodore said briskly, oblivious to the fact that he had just insulted the agent. “At this juncture, the negative energies continue to leak from the half-constant, and with each physical disturbance of the site, the flow increases. The negative thoughts seem to be attracted to any and all beings who are conscious—particularly to that which is conscious and positive. The negative energy works quickly to overwhelm the positive, and then all these thoughts bleed back to the half-constant where the negative pressure is already too great. Alas, it becomes—what is the term?—a vicious cycle.”
“So where does Albert come into the picture?” I asked. I tasted the cake and it melted in my mouth like a chocolaty brownie dipped in whipped cream.
The Commodore’s turquoise eyes sparkled. “The triad proposes that—” all of a sudden, an ear-splitting blast of feedback squawked from Brit’s jacket pocket. SCHREE-AUCH! Brit jumped at the sound. It was the communication device. She retrieved it from her pocket and set it on the table; it emitted a high-pitched cackle. “Watch the TV, Saunders!”
It was the crazy Partner again.
“I’m going to blast that alien cloud.” He began to laugh hysterically, sounding totally off his rocker. There were gunshots. He wasn’t using the silencer anymore. “Oops! Got one of ours. Sorry, buddy-boy.”
At that moment, the big TV in the corner flashed to “BREAKING NEWS.” It was the eye-in-the-sky chopper reporter for Channel Seven, and she was panning her camera to show a view of my street! It was swarming with the BETI guys—I recognized their hazmat suits. But the announcer claimed they were police officers and that the house in question was a meth lab. The camera panned down on the roof of poor Mr. Shinn’s house.
Then, to the surprise of the news reporter, there was a flash of red in the woods—and it coincided with the gunshots the Partner was firing that we all heard from the earpiece! The scarlet flair turned into an explosion, blasting straight up. It looked eerily like a mushroom cloud, only thinner and redder. The spotlights from the BETI ground-crew gave it a hellish glow.
“Oh my God, what has he done?” Brit gasped.
30
This is not a drill
Saunders was on his cell phone. “Yes, ma’am, it’s me. You’ve got to stand down and get the team out of there. I took a ride in the AV and they are the real deal. No, they claim it’s interdimensional. No! Everything you throw at it will only make it worse. Then get clearance from higher up. I said—”
At that moment, a siren blared. It was right outside and loud enough to rattle the overhead lights. The siren paused. “THIS IS NOT A DRILL,” a lady’s voice said calmly, and then the siren resumed.
“What is that?” Saunders yelled.
“It sounds like the siren for the dam!” Brit shouted.
“What dam?” Sanders demanded.
“The earth dam above Adeline,” she shouted back. “They test it every Wednesday for evacuation. But they test it at noon—never at nighttime. I can’t believe the dam would burst. Not now, when the ground is frozen.”
“It didn’t burst,” Saunders hollered, shaking his head. “This is classic BETI. They’re going to get everyone out for their safety and for national security. This dam business is just an excuse. What’s the normal procedure here?”
“Everyone is supposed to head up the hill to the church.” The noise of the siren was hurting my head.
“THIS IS NOT A DRILL.” The voice of the calm lady echoed over the loudspeaker—and the siren wailed on.
“They’ll bus the entire population out of town,” Saunders said decisively. “It’ll be a total evacuation, probably a thirty-mile perimeter. Your mom and grandmother should be safe for now.”
“This noise is vexing,” the Commodore said loudly. He almost sounded irritated. “We need quiet to discuss strategy. Where does Mrs. Rona Zucker dwell?”
“About two blocks from here,” I shouted. “Why?”
The Commodore and the other two SMHR units got up from the table and started heading for the exit. “We shall borrow the Zucker dwelling for a second rendezvous,” said the Commodore.
I got up and grabbed a piece of cake for the road. So did Lars. “Mr. Commodore, to get to the Zuckers you need to go left on Dibble and right on Rock. She’s the third house down—the one with the gnomes and fake deer in the yard!”
“We’ll drive—you walk,” he said flatly. The three SMHRs were out of there and the door was closing behind them.
“THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”
Brit and Lars were putting on their coats while I rushed to get Albert all zipped up. By the time we got outside, the SMHRs and the V-dub were gone. The loudspeaker on the light pole was wailing at ear-popping decibels, so we got away from there as fast as we could. People were beginning to fill the streets. We were going against the crowd that was bustling in the opposite direction, up the big hill to Saint Aloysius.
As we hurried along, I said, “Keep your eyes out for Ma and Meemaw and Mrs. Zucker. If they see us, they’ll just worry and we don’t have time to explain all this crazy stuff.”
We tried to keep our collars up and our heads down so we wouldn’t be recognized. I noticed that the townspeople were not panicking. They were walking with brisk and serious attitudes, but there was no running or pushing. People were corralling the little kids and walking patiently with the elderly. Just bunches of folks keeping their eyes on each other, puffing out little worried clouds in the cold night air. I liked my town at that moment.
“You kids need to go the other way.” It was Mr. Kahn, who owned the blueberry farm.
“We will,” I assured him. “We just need to meet up with some—some people.”
We took a shortcut down an alley and peeked over a fence to watch Mrs. Zucker’s house. Ma and Meemaw and Mrs. Zucker were leaving, carefully stepping down the porch stairs, bundled up like they were going to the Arctic. They carried what looked like bags of groceries. Be prepared was Meemaw’s policy. As soon as they were out of sight, we ran to the house. I was surprised to see the front door fling open—I was afraid we’d been caught, but it was just Med Tech Tek. The SMHR units were already inside.
Citizen Lady and the Commodore were clearing the table in the dining room. It was littered with the remnants of the meatloaf dinner that Mrs. Zucker and Ma and Meemaw had been eating not fifteen minutes before.
“How’d you get here so fast?” I asked.
“That would require a technical explanation,” the Commodore said shortly. He still seemed a little irritated. We could hear the alarm droning, but it wasn’t nearly as loud as it had been at the Senior Center.
“Come sit down,” Citizen Lady urged.
Mrs. Zucker’s house was overly warm and crammed with furniture, books, and dusty knickknacks. Her piano top was crowded with pictures of her grandchildren. A big one in the center featured her husband, Vintner, who had died a few years earlier. He had been an ugly man with kind eyes. It made me think it was good that Ma and Meemaw had been here tonight. It would have been pretty scary for old Mrs. Zucker to get evacuated by herself. It could be hard for old folks to be by themselves. I guessed I would never have that problem as long as Albert was around.
“So, what were you going to propose?” Brit asked, facing the Commodore.
“Lure it all back,” the Commodore said with a deliberate head-bob. “The triad theorizes that the negative energies will be drawn to an amplified positive charge. So if Albert can initiate a new channel-opening and bait that space with positive energies, and if our integral craft can amplify that charge, then perhaps we can trick the poison back to the source.”
Albert nodded, agreeing with the precept of this strategy.
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I said. “Albert can just put his hand on the panel back in your lab and—” I realized the SMHRs were frowning and wagging their heads. I didn’t like the way they were looking at me. “What?” I demanded.
31
Bleak
It is imperative that Albert work from your father’s laboratory,” Citizen Lady said in a firm and unyielding tone.
“Why? You guys have way better machinery.”
“Because a new opening requires the use of lasers to soften the dimensional membrane. Albert can’t facilitate a channel without them. Our machinery has its limits. It is configured for SMHR units, not humans—and the lasers are already in place. The garage is equipped with everything you need.” Citizen Lady said this like it was the final word.
“Why don’t you do it? You know how.”
“The triad knows how but we cannot make it work. As the Commodore explained before, this task requires consciousness, not computation.” Citizen Lady seemed a smidge bummed out about this fact.
“Couldn’t Albert leave some bait around the existing tear in the woods?”
“Impossible,” the Commodore said. “That channel is emitting too strong a negative stream. It cannot be reversed. Albert must construct a new channel for the bait.”
“Why didn’t we do this on Mars, where it was safe?” Lars asked.
“Equations predicted that this strategy would not work at such a distance,” Med Tech Tek replied. “It must be on Earth, and it is only logical to utilize the system already in place.”
“I don’t see how Albert is supposed to throw enough happiness at a new opening to trick the bad thoughts into following—especially if he has to work in the garage, which is way too close to the red mist.” I shook my head. “I really don’t like the sound of this plan.”
“That is why he will need his counterparts. He will require support from all of you.” Citizen Lady sounded a little sad, but she was very firm. “I am confident that I can adjust our energy amplifier to en
hance whatever positive thoughts he provides.”
Lars looked grim. “This idea sucks. But I don’t know what else we can do.”
“Success is unlikely,” the Commodore agreed.
“Well you’re encouraging,” Brit said sourly.
“I recognize sarcasm,” the Commodore stated. “Success is still unlikely.”
“Do you realize that if the bad energy spreads, there will be war and chaos everywhere?” Brit shuddered. “People would be their angriest, most paranoid selves, like crazy Mr. Shinn and Mrs. Wagner and the Partner . . . ” Brit glanced at Saunders and her eyes looked sorry.
“Even the poor animals,” I added. “It just makes me sick to think about it. It’ll be a horrible world.”
“I can assure you that such a thing will not happen,” Med Tech Tek said.
“You mean the mist won’t spread like that?” Brit asked.
“I mean the imbalance will be righted when the universe is sucked inside out and annihilated. This will occur before all are infected.”
We stared at Med Tech Tek.
Albert sent me a memo with a dark cloud that said Bleak.
“This just gets worse and worse,” Brit said heatedly. “I didn’t think it would happen so fast.”
She must have understood this was a possibility when she watched the movie back on the SMHR craft—that sickening one where the numbers got sucked through the ring.
“Med Tech, are you sure about this inside out business?” Agent Saunders asked.
“My calculations are accurate, I am sorry to say.”
Gloom hung heavy over the dining room table. Finally, I said, “In a way, it frees us.”
“What do you mean, it frees us?” Brit asked.
“There is no what if to this situation. I mean, we’re dead ducks, so we might as well be super bold because we have nothing to lose.”
“Mary’s right,” Lars said. His expression became determined and a little amused. “We might as well be super bold.”