Dangerous (12 page)

of her slushie.

GT noticed me. His gum chewing got louder.

“Maisie Danger Brown.” He shook his head and smiled,

and I got the feeling he was accustomed to charming people

with his smile. “You could change Earth’s technology forever.

What do you say we work on something really valuable? Cold

fusion? Faster-than-light travel?”

I laughed. “I’m not a gumball machine of inventions, just

put in your coin and out comes a prize!”

GT’s smile vanished.

“I mean,” I said softer, “the techno token doesn’t work that

way. Mostly I just have an understanding of how some machines

work. When I come up with a new idea, it’s not something ran-

dom I want but something I
need
. . . or . . . I don’t know how

to explain.”

He nodded as if interested, but I guessed he still hadn’t

recovered from being laughed at.

“I have noticed your regard for my boy.”

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Shannon Hale

“He’s our fireteam leader, that’s all,” I said, busying myself

with Fido.

“I think it’s sweet that a girl like you caught his eye.” He

held out a unwrapped stick of gum. I shook my head. “You’re

not his usual type, but of course you figured that out. I’m sure

he’s confided in you about his expulsions, his time in juvenile

detention, his dozens of disappointed ex-girlfriends. Thanks

for overlooking all that.” He put an arm around my shoulders

and whispered close to my head, “I know he can be frustrating

sometimes. If you ever need to talk, think of me as a second

father?”

I glanced across the lab and found Wilder watching us. He

didn’t look away until his father had left the room.

“I don’t like him either,” Mi-sun whispered, and it took me

a moment to realize she meant GT.

“It’s like he wants to recruit us to work for him,” I said.

Mi-sun shook her head. I knew she felt as I did, that we

wouldn’t leave the team for anything. Couldn’t, perhaps. If I

was a prisoner—or a zombified caterpillar—for the moment I

was a willing one.

She stirred her slushie, the straw making a rustling sound

as quiet as her whisper. “I think I’m going crazy. Maybe what

my dad has is catching.”

“Or maybe it’s the token.”

“Have you been having crazy dreams too?” Her eyes looked

hopeful. “I dream about pink things. All the time.”

“Pink things?”

“Pink floaty things. You don’t dream of them?”

“I don’t think—”

“They don’t like me, the pink floaty things. They want to

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Dangerous

take my body.”

I patted her shoulder and hoped that would count as

comforting.

At least we didn’t have to deal with GT much longer. He

flew out the next morning.

Wilder started us on a schedule that made astronaut boot

camp look frivolous. Up at dawn for a group run. Ruth ran cir-

cles around us. Literally.

Back to HAL for breakfast (Ruth and Jacques ate an entire

ham each) and then fireteam training. We began to redo all the

fireteam exercises from boot camp, shattering every previous

record. Wilder’s strategies were scary-good. I wasn’t too shabby

myself. Our model rocket flew eight thousand meters and broke

the sound barrier.

In the afternoon we had time to hone our individual skills.

I installed the guts of a GPS and satellite phone into Fido that I

could control the same way I controlled the arm, dialing with a

thought. But I wanted to offer more help than the ability to call

911. So like any reasonable teenager in my situation, I designed

a robot suit.

A few days into the build, Wilder rushed into the workshop

my lab groupies and I had taken over.

“We’ve got a training mission. Come on.”

He took off, and I dutifully followed.

“Some of the security guys were Special Forces,” Wilder

explained over our headsets as Dragon flew us in a helicopter to

the site. “They set up a simulated rescue. All we know is there

are two VIPs trapped by enemy gunmen. They’re instructed

to fall down as if dead when Ruth taps them or Mi-sun shoots

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Shannon Hale

them. Mi-sun, you’ll be shooting paint balls.”

While he went over tactics for a rescue operation, I

strapped on my robot suit’s arm and leg pieces, the power pack

and tool kit on my back. It was raw and skeletal, metal bars run-

ning alongside my limbs, a breastplate over my torso.

Soon Ruth was moaning in boredom, so Wilder scrapped

the lecture and we started telling jokes. My dad’s puns were
not

a hit. Jacques told the show stopper:

All year Tommy looked forward to his birthday. He

couldn’t wait for the party and presents. He especially

couldn’t wait for the cake.

At last Tommy sat at the table, surrounded by all his

friends, and his mom brought in a huge, frosted birthday cake.

Tommy cheered!

“Cut the cake,” said his mom.

“I can’t,” said Tommy.

“Birthday boys always cut the cake,” she said.

“But I can’t,” said Tommy. “I don’t have any arms.”

Tommy’s mother sighed. “Sorry, Tommy. No arms, no

cake.”

Jacques was laughing so hard by the time he got to the

punch line, he nearly sobbed. Even Wilder laughed.

“You
can’t
think that’s funny,” I said.

“A bit, yeah,” said Wilder.

“It’s not even a joke.”

“It’s a joke because it isn’t a joke.”

I suggested we play “Stump Jacques” instead. Jacques used

to get every song we sang at him, but he missed again and again.

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Dangerous

When Wilder did an obvious Beatles tune, Jacques said, “It . . .

sounds
familiar.”

I frowned at Wilder. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Why did you guys agree to go up?” I asked. “In the

Beanstalk, we could have said no.”

“I was curious,” said Mi-sun.

“If someone offers you a gun,” Ruth said to me, “are you

going to say, ‘No thanks, I’m scared of guns’? No, you take the

gun, ’cause then you’re prepared for whatever.”

“I wouldn’t take a gun,” said Mi-sun.

“Yeah, well, you
are
a gun,” said Ruth.

“I’m not a coward,” Jacques mumbled.

“No one called you a coward,” said Wilder.

“My dad used to because sometimes I’d duck when he’d

throw a ball at me. I didn’t want my glasses to break, so what?

I don’t know why I even cared what the
bleeper
thought
. Je ne

suis pas un lâche
. I hate heights.
Hate
.” He was sitting beside the window, his body angled away from it. “But I still climbed

that
bleeping
string thousands of miles straight up, so
mon pére
can eat my
bleeping bleep
.”

Ruth lifted her fist, and Jacques bumped knuckles with her.

“Why didn’t you say no?” Wilder asked me.

I wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know, but he waited for

an answer, so I said, “Because Danger is my middle name.”

No one laughed.

We stepped out of the helicopter and onto sagebrush and

rocks. In the distance, broken windows on an abandoned build-

ing looked chiseled by sunlight.

Jacques took up his familiar pregame stance, one fist raised,

and he shouted, “Cry havoc!”

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Shannon Hale

Mi-sun, Wilder, Ruth, and I were all thinking the same

thing, I guess, because as one we shouted, “Havoc!”

Jacques beamed. “I
love
you guys.”

“Yay us,” Mi-sun said quietly.

“I mean it,” said Jacques. “We gotta stay in touch after all

this is over.”

Wilder met my eyes, and I gathered that he already knew

what I suspected: there might be no “over” for us—no going

home, no leaving each other, no normal anything ever again.

My heart cramped a little, but at that moment I was more afraid

that it
would
end.

“Don’t hurt my guys,” Dragon said from the pilot’s seat.

At Wilder’s signal, we ran forward in our usual formation.

Jacques was covered in his havoc armor, a motorcycle helmet to

protect his exposed face. Mi-sun carried a havoc shield, and a

bag of paint balls bounced on her hip.

The afternoon sunlight was coming down at an angle like

a swinging blade. My heart picked up its pace, my limbs felt

long and strong. I was becoming used to this delicious sensation,

the motion of the fireteam, Wilder at the center, the four of us

connected to each other through him. A word popped into my

mind: “home.” Was this bizarre web my home now?

Mi-sun had the best vision of all of us and spotted snipers

on the roof. At Wilder’s command she began shooting paint balls.

Ruth ran out in front, florescent splatters of paint balls exploding

against her chest and legs. If one hit me, I’d have to play dead. I

ran low. I didn’t want Wilder to think I was useless.

Just as we gained the building, a gas cloud erupted around

us. We held our breath, shut our eyes, and followed where we

felt Wilder lead.

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Dangerous

When I could open my eyes again, we were inside the

building. Wilder gave instructions to the other three to scout

out the surrounding rooms while I climbed up to a security

camera, took it apart, and connected my tablet to the security

system.

“Turn off—” he started.

“The cameras. Got it,” I said.

“And any—”

“Alarms are now off. There’s—”

“A lockdown area? That’ll be the prisoners. Can you shut

down—”

“Yeah, just give me ten—”

“Havoc,” Wilder said on the headset, “detention block in

center stage. Ruthless, back him up. Mi-sun to me. Let’s get an

escape route ready.”

Something exploded, and our back door was blocked

with concrete chunks. Wilder and I ducked as paint balls fired

through the broken windows.

I crawled to the doorway, slid the metal flats of my robot

suit hands under the chunks and lifted, sending our barricade

tumbling.

“You’re awesome,” Wilder said.“Thanks,” I said. “I work out.”

He gave me that appreciative smile, and I returned it. And

maybe we held the moment a few seconds too long.

A crash and a boom from outside startled us.

“Sorry,” he said. “You’re distracting. I have to ignore you

better.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Mi-sun arrived and began firing out the door, driving back

our attackers. She took a paint ball on the leg.

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Shannon Hale

“Blue, you’re hobbled now,” Wilder told Mi-sun.

“Climb on,” I said, and she sat on my robotic shoulders, still

firing paint balls.

Outside Ruth was exiting the far side of the building, tap-

ping guys and watching them sit down.

She’d just cleared the area for Jacques when an explosion

bit my ears and briefly blinded me.

When the smoke cleared Ruth was standing in a crater

made by the blast. Her clothes were completely gone. It looked

like someone—probably Wilder—had anticipated that because

Ruth was wearing what I can only describe as havoc underwear,

and her hair was wound up inside her havoc helmet. One lock

had slipped out. Ruth noticed the charred-off hair and screamed.

I set down Mi-sun and ran forward, shouting to Ruth to

see if she was okay. She shoved me back just as another group of

gunmen rounded the corner. Gunfire pinged her, splattering in

carnival colors. Ruth yanked a paint ball rifle out of a shooter’s

hands and threw it back at him, still screaming. The gunmen

fled, and I don’t think they were faking their fear.

One didn’t flee. He kept firing, his eyes hidden behind

mirrored sunglasses. Ruth grabbed him by his head and picked

him off the ground.

“Ruth, stop! Stop! Stop!” Wilder was running forward.

Ruth looked at Wilder. She released the guy, turned and

punched through the building.

“We said we wouldn’t let them hurt us,” said Ruth. “We

promised.”

“I okayed the grenade,” said Wilder. “I didn’t think it would

hurt. You’re not even bruised, see?”

He lifted her arm, and she yanked it away from him.

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Dangerous

“Ruth, you can’t hurt anyone else. Okay? You promise me.”

She shook her head then lifted one shoulder. “Okay, just .

. . don’t touch me.”

Jacques ran out of the building carrying cardboard cutouts

in people shapes holding signs that read: RESCUE ME. “Yes, we

did it! We rock so hard!”

Howell’s security guys stood up and gathered around us,

slapping us on our backs and shaking their heads. A huge, hairy

ex-Marine kept saying, “Whoa. Seriously, kids—whoa.”

Dragon approached, checking his tablet. “Two minutes,

six seconds. It was supposed to be
hard
.”

We started back to the helicopter. The exclamations and

applause from the security guys felt like physical pats on my

back. If I hadn’t been weighed down by a robot suit, I might

have skipped.

“I bet there are real people in the world we could save like