Project X-Calibur (11 page)

21

101:38:34

NOW THAT WE HAD LOST
nine hours of prep time, there was an even greater sense of urgency; every second that passed brought us one step closer to sitting behind the controls of X-Calibur.

We quickly arrived at two large doors, which slid open to reveal what looked like nothing—
literally
nothing. No color, no shape, as if someone had taken outer space and then erased every single star. As we stepped into the void, Pellinore pulled a remote control out of his pocket and hit a button. “Let's get you into your training pods,” he said.

Five perfectly round pods rose out of the darkness. They weren't very large, maybe five feet across, and practically invisible.

Pellinore pointed to a little microphone on his tie. “My voice will be transmitted to all of you, and, as always, you can speak back to me and each other. An open line of communication will be crucial in battle. Each pod has a different color weapon, so you'll be able to distinguish your own laser fire from everyone else's.”

Malcolm quickly headed for one of the pods and slipped through a hatch on its side. Kwan, Tyler, Darla, and I made our way to the remaining four pods, putting on our helmets along the way. With a new sense of dread, I ducked into one, and the hatch swished closed. The inside was cramped, with barely enough space for a pilot seat and steering controls.

“Everyone ready?” Pellinore asked through our helmets. We all quickly chimed in.

“We had planned on Professor Barrington giving you a thorough weaponry tutorial, but with today's . . . developments, the only way to learn is trial by fire.”

“Are these lasers real?” I asked, slipping into my seat. “There's no chance we can really hurt each other, right?”

“What makes you think you'll be battling each other?” Pellinore countered. “It is just a simulation. But don't get too comfortable.”

As I strapped myself in, he added, “The purpose of this exercise is simple, knights: to make your mistakes now, before you fly an actual craft. Your mission: destroy as many alien ships as possible. And
don't get hit.
”

My heart pounded. In the confines of the pod, it sounded like thunder. I had to push aside the kid I was just a day ago, the one who had to hide inside a smelly gym locker for fear of being pummeled by classmates. I had to find
another
Ben Stone, one who was ready and able to do his part to save the world.

I was pumped and ready. And then . . .

Everything went pitch black. And I mean
everything.

Except for my steering console and the two floor panels beneath me, which glowed in neon green. I grabbed the controls just as the void outside lit up to reveal a jaw-dropping replication of outer space.

“Bloody brilliant,” Malcolm muttered.

My pod began to slowly drift forward, and I felt an instant sense of weightlessness. The experience in the zero-g arena would definitely pay off here.

I spotted something in the distance, and the sight put a lump in my throat. A fleet of alien spaceships, dozens of them, lurked in the distance like a band of metallic sharks. I recognized the shapes from Barrington's lectures.

“Go time,” Malcolm hissed, and I watched as a storm of blazing red laser fire blasted out at the approaching aliens. Their sleek sizzle was so real that they blinded me at first. A split second later, yellow, blue, and white lasers cut through the darkness.

I squeezed my weapon triggers, and green lasers rocketed out from beneath my pod. I hadn't been prepared for the sharp kickback from the laser guns, and I was jolted by my pod shuddering. Some of the simulated alien ships exploded on contact with our weapons, disappearing a second later.

Darla is going to kick serious butt at this,
I thought.
It's the greatest video game ever.

The remaining alien ships darted away from each other, and in the blink of an eye there were twice as many of them, coming
at
us now. I yanked to the left and my pod spun sideways. I found myself looking at a whole
other
batch of aliens bearing down on me from
all
directions. Startled, I hammered my laser triggers again. My pod kept shuddering with every blast I unleashed, and I was getting
hit
now too, which was causing my pod to shake even more.

I squinted into the glare of the alien lasers as my mind raced through our previous tests. I felt a bead of sweat rolling down my cheek, the muscles in my arms burning as I tried to hold onto my triggers and control my pod.

“Get outta there, Ben!” Tyler yelled.

“Easier said than done,” I grunted.

“Has anybody noticed that I'm kicking
major
butt up here?!” Kwan asked excitedly.

I pulled back on my steering controls as hard as I could, hoping to rise above the storm of alien firepower coming my way. But my right foot hit one of the glowing green panels on the floor. With the sudden surge of juice, the pod began to spin wildly. Dazed, I rolled upside down, then right side up, over and over as I continued to get pummeled. In my panic, I couldn't seem to find the brake.

“No, no, no, no,” I chanted, spinning faster and faster. I released the steering controls as my stomach did somersaults and I squeezed my eyes shut. I was in sensory overload, and then . . .

It stopped.

I opened my eyes. The view of space and aliens and everything else had disappeared. The simulation was over.

“Somebody get us more quarters!” Kwan laughed. “Let's go again!”

I took a few steady breaths, fighting back nausea. My pod came to a complete halt as something popped up within my windshield. It was a digital scoreboard with each of the knights' names, kills, and hits taken.

“We've got work to do, knights. Some of you more than others,” Pellinore announced.

Malcolm, whose bars were fire-engine red, had clearly done the best. After him came Kwan, then Tyler, then me and Darla in a virtual tie for last place.

“Sweet job, Malcolm,” Kwan said. “But I'll get you next time.”

“Doubt it,” Malcolm replied coolly.

With a groan, I popped open my seat belt, eager to get out of the cramped pod. But as I stood up, my legs felt like melting rubber. I yanked my helmet away from my mouth just in time to double over and hurl chunks right there on the pod floor.

“Oh, man! Call the Keebler elves!” Kwan cried. “Somebody just lost his cookies!”

Everyone
had heard.

I closed my eyes and plopped back down into the pilot seat, wishing I were dead.

22

099:13:41

“HEY, WHAT'S
Ben's favorite animal?” Kwan asked.

“I don't know. What?” Tyler played along.

“A
yak.
” Kwan chuckled. “Get it? It's an animal, but it's also a word for—”

“A joke isn't funny if you have to
explain
it, moron,” I griped.

Malcolm led the way back to our rooms, with Kwan and Tyler right behind him. Darla and I followed. Any admiration Kwan had for me was long gone, and I wasn't even sure Tyler thought very highly of me anymore, either.

“What would we call Ben if he had wings and pointy ears and fought crime?” Kwan continued. I answered before he could offer up the punch line himself.

“Barf-man,” I said glumly. “Hilarious. We're so lucky we met the world's only surfer-comedian before we all go ka-boom.”

Kwan scowled over his shoulder and kept walking. Darla gave me a tired smirk. She looked drained.

“Are you okay?” I whispered, but she said nothing and looked away. “I thought you would have done better in the pods.”

“Hey,” she turned on me, her voice low. “You're the one who barfed, remember?”

“Sorry,” I muttered.

Ahead of us, Kwan slapped Tyler on the back. “How's it feel to be beaten by someone half your size?”

Tyler shrugged. “I beat you in the jar-a-scope thing, remember? 'Cause I had more room to breathe. Those pods were so tiny.”

I looked over at Darla, and a bunch of memories hurtled into my brain: Darla, gazing fearfully down the narrow tunnel at the start of our HQ tour. Darla, lingering at the open door of X-Calibur. The fear in Darla's eyes right before she got into her BSR pod.

“You're claustrophobic, aren't you?” I whispered to her, and the instant panic on her face told me I was right.

She moved closer and grabbed my arm. “Don't tell the others,” she pleaded. In front of us, Kwan glanced over his shoulder, so she quickly let go.

“I would
never
tell,” I whispered back. “But are you going to be okay in an actual ship?”

She shook her head, flustered. “I don't know. This is all a mistake. I shouldn't be here.”

“Why don't we tell Merlin or Pellinore? Maybe they can help you—”

“
No.
Please. They'll send me home. Although, I don't know, maybe they were wrong to bring me here. I'm not cut out for this.”

No wonder she'd been keeping to herself. Her shoulders sagged, and for the first time since meeting her, I saw the real Darla.

“I thought I could overcome it at first,” she whispered, more to herself than me. “I
wanted
to believe I could be great, but . . . I'm not great. Not at all.”

She sounded just like I felt. Video game champion or not, we weren't so different, were we?

“Do your parents know about your . . . problem?” I asked.

“Yeah, but they tell me it's all in my head, that I'm just being weak. Especially my father. He's a
psychologist,
” she spat. “He hates video games, and he tries to blame my fear on them.”

I nodded sympathetically.

“Forget it, I'm going to tell Pellinore to send me home.” She turned to approach the group of techs following us, but I stood in her way.

“Wait,” I implored. “Maybe I can find a way for you to overcome your fear.”

She looked at me like I was crazy. How the heck was the boy who barfed going to help
anybody
?

“Why do you want to help me so bad?” she countered. “To make sure you won't be the worst knight here?”

“No. I swear. It's just . . . I think . . .” I leaned in and whispered, “We'll need you. Assuming you really are some kind of master shooter.”

“What do you mean
assuming
?” she said, shoulders back. “Nobody's better than me at space battle games. You've heard of Astro Galactic Showdown, right?”

“Not really,” I admitted.

“Doesn't matter. Point is, I was the first player in the world to ever score ten million points.” Her eyes lit up. “It was kind of a big deal. I got an award for it and everything.”

“See? That's why we need you,” I decided.

She still looked troubled. “What if you're wrong, Ben? This isn't really a time for maybes, is it?”

She was right, of course. But I could ask the same question about myself. I was also one big maybe. “Just give me tonight to think of something,” I bargained. “If I can't come up with anything, you can leave tomorrow. Deal?”

She swallowed, but slowly nodded. “Okay. Just tonight.”

I looked forward again as we walked on, wondering what the heck I'd just agreed to, and why. What if I somehow got her to stay and then she panicked when the aliens showed up? What if the world ended
because
of Darla? Because
I
had talked her into staying?

Darla reached out to tap my arm. “Hey—even if you can't think of anything, thanks.”

I forced a smile, but I couldn't have been more tense. I wasn't making this “defending the world against aliens” thing any easier on myself.

If anything, I just kept making it harder.

23

098:19:10

“I'M THINKIN'
I might call home before we go,” Tyler said. “What about you, Kwan?”

Back in our room, Malcolm was pulling his sparring outfit out of the closet because he was going to the gym before bed. Tyler and Kwan, both already changed into their sparring outfits, had agreed to go with him. I, however, decided not to join them. I wasn't exactly getting along with any of them, and I still had some lingering nausea from the pod fiasco. I didn't need to risk making a fool of myself again, and I had to figure out how to solve Darla's claustrophobia problem.

“Nah, I'll call later,” Kwan replied. “My dad'll just go on and on. As if there aren't more important things to worry about.”

“Go on and on about what?” Tyler asked.

“My parents want me to quit surfing.” Kwan slumped onto the edge of his bed. “They want me to be a doctor or lawyer, but they say that'll never happen if I'm distracted. So they made me promise I'd quit surfing after this year.”

“That sucks,” I offered, drawn into the conversation from where I was sitting against the wall on my own bed. I thought Kwan might hurl an insult my way, but he didn't.

“Tell me about it.” He pulled at the edges of his comforter. “I love surfing, and I'm
good
at it. Plus, I'm not saying I don't want to go to college. I'm just not sure I want to be a doctor or lawyer.”

“
I
wanna go to college,” Tyler agreed, “but I don't think I can.”

“Why not? Too expensive?” I asked.

“That, and I'm just not smart enough for college.”

“How do you know if you don't even try?” I countered. “You did just fine in Barrington's class, remember?”

“Yeah, but nobody in my family has gone to college.” Tyler let out a loud sigh. “They think since I'm not any smarter than them, it'd be a waste of money.”

Kwan rolled his eyes. “That's weak, dude. Sounds to me like they don't
want
you to be smarter than them.”

For once, I agreed with Kwan.

Tyler scrunched his face. “Maybe. But we do okay with our croc and gator farm. We're swamped with tourists who wanna see me wrestle.”

“So that's what you're going to do for the rest of your life?” Kwan grimaced. “Wrestle overgrown reptiles while people watch and eat popcorn?”

“My parents didn't go to college either,” I offered, “but my mom still wants
me
to go.”

“What does she want you to be?” Tyler asked.

“Whatever would make me happy.”

Kwan and Tyler paused. “Your mom sounds cool.”

I nodded, feeling a little homesick. Malcolm, now sitting on his bed in his jumpsuit, was trying to listen discreetly.

“What do your parents want you to be?” I asked him.

“Well . . . my mother passed away when I was five,” he said, averting his gaze.

“Oh. Sorry to hear that.” I meant it.

“My father's alive, though,” he added.

“Is that his medal you've been carrying around?”

Malcolm reached into his drawer and lifted out the familiar medal. He eyed it a moment, like the sight weighed heavily on him. “My grandfather's. It was awarded to him for outstanding service in the British military. He's a war hero. Legendary in some circles,” he said blankly. I remembered a similar expression on his face in the cafeteria when Pellinore said he came from generations of military service.

“Have you called him since you've been here?” I asked.

He shook his head and turned the medal over in his hands. “No use. Gramps is old and doesn't remember much. He has Alzheimer's.”

“What about your father? Do you live with him?”

Malcolm tilted his head uncomfortably. He no longer wanted to be in this conversation. “I live with my grandfather, so I can help out when he needs it. My father is a military official, so he travels a lot.” He let out a breath and put his grandfather's medal back into the drawer, closing it a little harder than necessary.

“Anyway, I'm going to show a spar-bot who's boss.” He turned for the door, and Kwan and Tyler quickly followed.

“Have fun, Earnhardt,” Kwan called on the way out. “Don't barf on anything.” And then they were gone.

Alone, the room seemed much larger and too quiet. The window screen had paused on a mountain view, and the only sound coming from it was an occasional phony bird chirp. The countdown clock on the opposite wall showed almost ninety-eight hours left until the aliens arrived. I had anxiety in my gut every time I looked at a clock now. It was like being strapped to a ticking bomb.

How the heck can I possibly help Darla?
I looked to the window, thinking about how the view tricked our minds, even though it wasn't real. That's when it popped into my head: What if there was a way to trick Darla's brain during battle? I crawled over to the window control panel and pulled it open to look at the guts of the mechanism behind it. A couple of compact wires, probably audio and video, went up and into the wall. I grinned. I had half the puzzle solved . . .

My helmet.
Yes! It was on the floor next to my bed. I had a crazy idea. A
ridiculous
idea.

“But it just might work,” I whispered.