Attack of the Spider Bots (10 page)

“Yes, ma'am,” Ghoulie said. Although his tech-talk skills were right up there with Albert Einstein's, he was not very eloquent in the small-talk category.

“Yep,” said Scilla, “my grandma's plannin' a big party for our family, and I'm gonna be making the decorations. My cousin is bringin' four kinds of cookies. Uncle Ed is supposed to be in charge of games, but all he really likes to play is horseshoes. As far as I'm concerned — ”

“That sounds wonderful, Scilla,” the principal interrupted, turning Scilla off as only a teacher could.

One thing Scilla could do very well,
though Beamer,
was talk.
In fact, finding a way to turn her off would probably make a pretty
good science project.

“Oh, I hope that new friend of yours will have a nice holiday too,” she said. Seeing their questioning looks, she went on, “You know, that homeless boy your mother told me about. Are you planning on visiting him any time soon?”

“Well, I don't know . . . I suppose,” Beamer said with a nervous gulp.

“Do you have any time in mind?” she asked. “I'm sure the sooner you went to him, the better he'd feel. The holidays are especially hard on people who are alone.”

“We were thinking maybe next Saturday morning,” Scilla chimed in like she was giving a press report.

Beamer gave Scilla a keep-your-mouth-shut look. She shot him back an annoyed grimace.

“Well, that's nice. I'm sure he'll appreciate it,” said the principal. “Give my best to your parents,” she said as she turned to walk back toward her office.

When the Star-Fighters stepped off the city bus the following Saturday, Beamer scanned the neighborhood like his head was a radar dish. He'd had an uneasy feeling ever since their conversation with the principal.
Still, Jack said he wouldn't
show himself until he was sure they were alone.
Beamer saw no sign of any police cars — of any cars at all, for that matter.

It was just the same old deserted, rundown neighbor-hood — except that the ice Castle/trolley station was melting. Thanks to a gazillion dripping icicles, there were
plop-plop
sounds all around them. Beamer felt like he was tap-dancing all the way to the trolley yard — either that or going crazy from the infamous drip torture.

Beamer, Ghoulie, and Scilla had brought a few presents for Jack — some stuff they'd found cheap on the Internet. “Jack!” Beamer shouted as he approached the sagging snow Castle. Ghoulie and Scilla joined their voices to his, making a little trio singing Jack's name, as if it was a Christmas carol. “Come out, Jack!” Beamer shouted. “It's just us, like we promised.”

“If you don't mind,” they heard Jack's voice echoing from somewhere, “I'll wait a little longer, just to make sure.”

“Well, whatever,” Beamer answered, looking for him across the rooftops.

“I hope you guys have done a little practicing with the football since the last time,” he said from another direction.

How'd he get over there without anyone seeing him?
Beamer wondered.
Maybe he really was Peter Pan. Peter Pan could fly, but
he wasn't invisible. Right now, Jack was doing a pretty good job doing
the invisible thing.

They went into the building. The dripping sound was even louder in here as the legions of icicles hanging from the balconies, rafters, and ticket booths shed their frozen weight.

The old wooden benches were beginning to peek out through the rolling hills of snow.

“Hey!” Jack yelled again from somewhere above them. “I've been wondering: Who or what is a Star-Fighter?”

The three exchanged glances, rolling their eyes in unison and once more wondering
how they could explain this?

“Well, you see,” Beamer began, looking up toward the voice which now seemed to be above them, “we have this tree house — ”

“ — and it's shaped like a spaceship,” continued Scilla.

“I get it,” the invisible boy interrupted. “So, since you play in a pretend spaceship, you call yourselves the Star-Fighters.”

Beamer thought he could hear him snicker. “Well, there's a little more to it than that — ”

“Hey, I totally understand,” said the voice from nowhere. “That's what most kids do — make-believe. Not me, though, I gave that kid stuff up years ago.”

“Are you telling me you don't dip into a little fantasy now and then in this ‘ice palace' of yours?” asked Ghoulie with a definite smirk. “Come on.”

“Well, in case you didn't notice, this ice palace is melting.

And besides, ice is cold. I have to spend too much time trying to keep warm and fed to do much playing.”

“So why don't you go back to your mom?” Beamer asked. “I'm sure it's plenty warm there with lots of food in the fridge.”

“Are you kiddin'? With all the screamin' and carryin' on and the other times when she was totally out of it on drugs? I prefer this reality over that one. Besides, I can't do this there.” He suddenly gave an ear-splitting war whoop. “Wahoo!”

They heard a loud bump far above them in the station. Beamer ran out the side door and looked up on the roof. There was Jack, skiing across the rooftop, flying from one roofline to another like he was in the Swiss Alps.

“Yeooooow!” Jack shouted as he sped up one incline and leaped in the air over to another slope of the roof.

His skis didn't look up to snuff for the Winter Olympics. They were just aluminum slats bent up in front. He vaulted off the roof, flew over their heads, and skidded across the snow on the ground in front of them.

Scilla took a running jump onto a large hub cap and bobsledded over to him. “Come on, Jack. Are you telling us you just abandoned your mom?”

“Hey, y'all have got it backward,” Jack answered indignantly. “She abandoned me.”

“But you said — ” started Beamer.

“Okay, like she didn't kick me out, but she might as well have,” Jack interrupted in a huff. He hunched down to remove his skis. “My folks had their own problems. And when those problems got big enough, they forgot I was even in the picture. So, after Dad died and Mom disappeared into druggie land, I couldn't take it any more. I left. The last I heard she moved, so I couldn't find her even if I wanted to.”

“But you can't just — /Talk about escaping reality — ” Beamer and Scilla said at the same time.

Ghoulie interrupted them. “Hey, did you guys hear that?” he asked, anxiously scanning across the graveyard of trolley cars. “I thought I heard something.”

Not hearing Ghoulie, Jack went on. “As far as I'm concerned, a happy family is the most useless fantasy of all. All that huggin' and pattin' only makes you weak when it comes time for a crisis. In the end, people can only rely on themselves.”

“But you're still a kid,” argued Beamer. “However tough you think you are, there's too much you don't know yet. That's what parents are for — to help you get ready to live on your own!”

“He's right,” a woman said brightly as she strode into view around a corner. Several other people were with her, including Beamer's school principal.

At the same time, several policemen suddenly emerged from hiding and circled the kids. “Okay, big shot,” one of them said, “we gotcha.”

Jack bolted to run, but two policemen quickly blocked his path.

“Let's see, did you say your name was Jack?” the woman in charge asked as she referred to some papers.

Jack looked angrily at the three kids. “So this time you ratted me out for good!”

“No, Jack, we — ” stammered Beamer, suddenly feeling a big pit in his stomach.

“You can't count on that being his real name, ma'am,” interrupted the commanding policeman.

“Well, for now it's Jack,” she responded. “Don't worry, we're not taking you to jail, just to a safe place where you'll have plenty to eat and shelter from the cold.”

“I shoulda known better than to trust a bunch of pampered rich kids,” Jack spat at the three Star-Fighters.

Beamer looked down, feeling like worm meat. Ghoulie and Scilla also stood a little shamed-faced, avoiding Jack's eyes.

“Jail isn't totally out of the question,” said the policeman, correcting the social worker as he took Jack by one arm. “A lot of these homeless kids turn to some pretty heavy-duty theft.”

“Not me!” Jack answered angrily. “I've only taken things when I had to, and I always tried to pay it back. I ain't no criminal.”

“Take it easy, officer,” the social worker said irritably. “You're here only to assist us. We'll take the boy. He's in our charge.” She went over and put her arm on Jack's shoulder and starting leading him off. Jack took off toward the station door, but another officer quickly tackled him. They slid together about ten feet, plowing up the wet snow in front of them. When the policeman pulled Jack up, they looked like they should have carrot noses and button eyes.

“I think you'd better let us help you,” the policeman said to the social worker with a knowing grimace. “This one's not going to go quietly — or stay quietly either, I'm betting.”

The police officers and social worker departed with Jack who kept glaring back at Beamer, Ghoulie, and Scilla until he turned the corner out of sight. The three were left feeling like Benedict Arnold, Judas, and Boba Fett — all in one. The principal ushered the morose trio toward her car.

Beamer wasn't sure why he was so upset.
Jack would definitely
be better off with Social Ser vices than alone in the ruins of a station.
Still, when they finally reached the principal's car, Beamer felt the weight of a bowling ball on his chest. From the looks on his friends' faces, he could tell he wasn't the only one.

13

The Lost Star-Fighter

Beamer woke up the next morning with a start. Something was wrong. He had the feeling he wasn't alone. His hand itched. He looked down to see a big black spot in the palm of his hand. It was a pirate's curse! He was doomed! Then he heard his mother's voice and woke up again. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He looked once more at his hand. There was nothing there. He gave a big sigh and sunk back down in his bed. He was definitely taking his guilt feelings about Jack too far.

He hopped out of bed, went out into the hallway, and picked up the phone on a small desk. Last night, his mom had tried to get Jack on the phone, but he'd hung up when he heard Beamer's name. That had only made Beamer feel worse. His dad had suggested they go visit Jack in the Social Ser vices shelter this evening, where he could explain things to him face-to-face. So that's what he was going to do.

He dialed the number his mom had used the night before. It proved to be one of the longest calls in the history of mankind. He now knew why his mom had looked so much older by the time she got Jack on the phone the first time. After hearing a recorded message, he was placed on hold for twenty minutes while he listened to Christmas music. Then he was passed around to four departments, where he was placed on hold for twenty more minutes each place. He finally got the shelter. Once more Beamer repeated his request. “What?” he asked with alarm. His face fell and he hung up.

“He's not there,” he said later to Scilla and Ghoulie. “He ran away. They told me to tell him, if I saw him, that they had a bed and warm food waiting for him.”

The Star-Fighters had been killing time in the tree ship, hoping that they'd take off on an adventure. They didn't care where — to a limburger cheese moon or a planet infested with asparagus — just anyplace where they wouldn't have to think about Jack. But the tree ship hadn't budged.

“Y'all want to go back and check out the trolley station?” Scilla finally asked.

“That's the first place the police would look for him,” said Beamer with a heavy sigh. “I think we've lost him.”

They were all in “woe is me” position — chin cupped in both hands, arms propped up on elbows — when their second air mail special delivery arrived. A sound like a small fan blowing drew their bleary eyes to a corner window. A miniature hot-air balloon with propellers was gliding toward them on a trail of green smoke. How it could navigate to the tree in the first place — how it missed getting poked, pricked, popped, or radically detoured by all the tree branches — even Ghoulie couldn't imagine. Then it thumped into the tree trunk.
Well, the braking system could use a little work.