Project X-Calibur (3 page)

4

141:38:12

“I DIDN'T WANT YOU
to have to see this,” the kid sighed as we walked through the devastation, “but you left meno choice.”

I'd never left Texas, and now I was on
another planet.
Was I dreaming? I tried pinching myself.
Maybe Mom wasn't kidding when she said eating a burrito before bed could cause nightmares.

We walked down a street littered with strange vehicles, round as fishbowls with a dozen small wheels at the base. Most had been burned, reduced to husks.

“What happened here?” I breathed. The sky overhead was spotted with purple and gray, as if even the planet's atmosphere was covered in bruises.

“They were attacked,” the kid said softly.

“Is anything here still . . . alive?” I wondered. Did I
want
anything to still be alive?

The kid shook his head. “We began to detect evidence of the destruction here some time ago—space debris, and sound waves produced by explosions. A faint distress signal. Back then, we didn't have the technology to even
know
that it was a distress signal, much less decipher it.”

“Can you decipher it now?”

“Oh, yes. Our technological advances in the last few years have been stellar.”

“What did it say?”

I noticed the kid's hands tense. For the first time, he was afraid.

“Dredmore. Whoever or
what
ever did this is called Dredmore. And it will penetrate Earth's atmosphere in six days.”

My stomach clenched like it was churning with glue. “You're talking about more aliens?”

The kid nodded, then began walking again.

“How can you know for sure?” I asked, following.

“We've been tracking them from the moment they came into our view parameters last week. Before that, they could have been anything—asteroids, meteors, dead satellites that drifted off course; we just couldn't be sure.”

“But now you are?” I pressed. I still couldn't shake the feeling I was in a dream. It was like the afternoon I found out my father died. I came home from school and Mom was already home. I stood there in the doorway for a long moment before going inside. My gut already knew what had happened, but I didn't want to accept it.

“One hundred percent sure,” the kid confirmed, his voice thick with the weight of it. “Otherwise you'd be in Biology class right now.”

I had so many questions, but I didn't know where to begin. And I was still shivering. Walking in the middle of an ash-covered war zone will do that to a person, especially if that person is wearing gym shorts and a tank top.

“How long have you been stalking me?”

The kid flapped his hands like he was shooing away my words. “
Scouting
you . . . Long enough to know you're the one we need.”

A terrifying thought barreled into my head. I stopped walking.

“Is something wrong?” he said.

My heart was practically tripping over itself. This was all starting to make sense.

“You're an alien, aren't you?” Just hearing myself ask that out loud forced me to take a cautious step backward. As I did, something crunched under my foot. The bone was long and looked heavy. If the kid came at me, I would grab it and fight him off.

“I assure you I'm human, Benjamin.”

“You sure do like
assuring
me of things, but I wasn't born yesterday,” I said. The kid exhaled loudly. “And that teleporting hand buzzer of yours? It's got ‘alien' written all over it.”

I covered my mouth in case the kid tried to jam an alien embryo into it. I have this little rule about being impregnated with alien babies: I avoid it.

“This thing?” he asked, opening his palm again. “It's just a machine, built by our techs. Wires, circuitry—”

“What about
that
?” I shot back, pointing at him.

He looked down. “What? My shirt?”

“Very funny. No,
you.
No offense, but you
stink
at being an eight-year-old! Just admit it. You're a lizard or something under that little kid disguise!”

The kid's face twisted into a flabbergasted scowl. “I assure—I mean, I'm
not
a lizard.”

I looked into those strange eyes of his. The craziest thing was, I
did
trust him. So I let my guard down. A little bit, anyway.

“I still need answers.”

“We have a weapon,” he said pointedly. “We think it's potentially the
greatest
weapon humankind has ever had in its possession. And we believe that tapping into this weapon's . . . abilities . . . is the surest way to protect Earth.”

Hmm. Now we're getting somewhere.

“What kind of weapon?”

“I'd rather not say yet, and before you question that, let me explain. I need your mind to be open, without preconceived notions of what you're about to do. It's imperative for this . . . project . . . to be a success.”

“What exactly
am
I about to do?”

The kid took a step toward me. This time I stood my ground.

“Travel to London and begin your training.”

Whoa. I definitely didn't see that coming.

“Training for what?”

“To protect Earth from the coming threat.”

“What about school? What about my mom?” I felt a little dizzy.

The kid just watched me with a little smile.

“Take a look around.” He held out an arm. “This will be Earth if we don't stop what's coming. Your school, your friends, your teachers . . .” He trailed off, but I got the point.

I looked off at the destruction in the distance. These poor beings had probably lived lives very much like ours.

“You're sure I can help stop this from happening?” My voice trembled. The kid, too short to reach my shoulder, patted my elbow.

“I'm sure,” he replied softly. If there was a chance I could prevent this from happening to Earth, then I had to take it.

The kid was looking at me with wide, hopeful eyes, waiting for my answer. I took a deep breath. The cold wind felt like daggers, but I didn't mind. I needed the jolt to say what I was about to say.

“Okay. I'm in.”

5

138:54:37

“YES, OF COURSE.
I'm so proud of him, thank you,” my mother gushed into the phone, “but if you don't mind my asking—why such short notice?”

I stood a few feet away, leaning against our kitchen counter. Mom was in her waitress uniform and had already worked a morning and afternoon shift. Today was her day to work a split, but she'd be home for another hour.

“Oh, you did?” She covered the bottom half of the phone.
“Where's the mail from yesterday?”
she whispered.

I rushed into the foyer to a cluttered table. I grabbed the stack of envelopes, then bolted back and handed it to her. Her eyes widened when she found what she was looking for.

“You know what,” she said into the phone, her cheeks turning red, “I'm sorry, it did come. Sometimes it takes me a few days to get around to—”

She stopped talking. I moved closer to get a look. The envelope had a fancy crest on it and said THE ROYAL ACADEMY OF SCIENCE. I could hear the guy talking to Mom on the other end of the line now. He had a deep voice and a British accent.

“I appreciate that, yes,” Mom was saying. “I'm sure Ben will be thrilled. Again, thank you. Good day to you, too.” Then she hung up.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“Why didn't you tell me about placing first in your school science fair?” she said, hands on her hips.

Uh . . .

“I guess I forgot.”

She tore into the envelope. “The man on the phone said it was some kind of
worldwide
science fair. Did your science teacher know that?”

Uh . . .

“He might have mentioned it,” I lied. The kid had made me promise at least three times that I would play along.
Billions of lives are at stake,
he had cautioned.

“The winners are being flown to London, all expenses paid, to participate in a weeklong convention. You really knew nothing about this, Ben?” Hands on her hips again. Not a good sign. She was irked.

“Well . . . I knew
something
about it, but I couldn't be sure it was real, so . . . I didn't mention it.”

Not entirely a lie that time,
I convinced myself.

“It's definitely real,” she insisted. She pulled out the envelope's contents. “In fact, he said a car is on its way here right now to take you to the airport . . .” She trailed off and stared wide-eyed at the paper in her hands.

“What is it?” I asked, and she handed it to me without a word. I leaned against the kitchen counter again—otherwise I might have passed out right there on the faded yellow linoleum.

It was a check made out to me, Benjamin Stone, for TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.

“But . . . what . . . how . . . ” I stammered. My shock quickly gave way to exhilarating visions of me running into the nearest electronics store and buying the biggest TV they had, then driving it home in a new sports car that would make Todd's precious pickup truck look like it belonged atop a trash heap.

Mom hungrily examined the rest of the envelope.

“It's your prize,” she read. “According to this, it's meant to start a college fund for you.”

Oh.
Good-bye, mega-TV and sports car, you were nice while you lasted.

“Who exactly did you talk to just now?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Something Pellinore. I wasn't prepared for that accent of his. I figured it was just someone playing a prank at first. His first name was something with a P,” Mom said. “Yes.
Peter Pellinore.
”

The name sounded
familiar.

“Oh my!” Mom suddenly cried, giving me a jolt. “I have to pack you a bag!” She raced out of the kitchen. A split second later I heard stomping around upstairs.

“I guess that means I can go,” I said to the empty kitchen.

I went upstairs to find Mom dashing back and forth between my room and the hallway closet. In her hand she held Dad's old duffel bag from work.

“I've got socks, underwear, extra jeans, a few shirts,” Mom rattled off as she whizzed past me. “Just make sure you unpack as soon as you get there so the clothes aren't wrinkled. I don't want you looking like you live in a gutter.”

“Sure thing, Mom—”

“Oh, and you'll need a jacket. I think it gets cold in England.” She looked up as if pulling thoughts out of the ceiling. “And it rains! Oh no, do you know where the umbrella is?!”

She was seriously losing it.

I rolled my eyes. “They'll probably have umbrellas there, don't you think?”

She stopped to bite at her lower lip, nodded quickly, and said, “Maybe you're right.” She whirled away again, disappearing into the bathroom.

I looked to my right and saw that the door to Mom and Dad's bedroom was open. Since Mom usually slept on the couch downstairs now, the master bedroom had become something of a museum. I stepped inside and picked up a framed photo of me, Mom, and Dad. It was taken a couple of years ago on Dad's birthday, when we took him out to dinner at his favorite steakhouse. The three of us had never looked happier. Would we have smiled like that if we had known what the future had in store for us?

Mom stood in the doorway, holding the duffel bag all zipped up and ready to go. “Can I take this picture with me?” I asked softly.

She swallowed a lump in her throat just as a car horn honked outside. As we rushed downstairs, I stuffed the framed picture into the duffel bag.

When we reached the landing, her eyes turned glassy. “Call me every night before bed, and in the morning, too, when you wake up. And maybe also at lunch. Call the diner if I'm not home. You have the number, right?”

“Yes, Mom. I've called it a million times,” I groaned. As I hugged her fiercely, I took in the sight of our tiny den. It wasn't much to look at, but there were a ton of memories in that room.
Am I insane to be leaving like this? If the end of mankind is just six days away, am I making a mistake by not spending these final days with Mom?

Two more quick honks came from outside.

Mom and I turned to the front door. “That Pellinore said the driver would see to it that you got on the plane safely. And he said someone would be waiting for you when you land in London, too,” Mom said a little breathlessly.

I nodded, afraid that if I spoke, she would hear how nervous I was. This was really happening. I was about to leave home for the first time in my entire life.

“Maybe I should come to the airport with you—” Mom began, but I shook my head.

“I'll be fine, Mom, I swear.”

She gave me an almost helpless look, then grabbed me again for another hug.

“This is all so sudden,” she said as she held me tight, her voice shaky.

Tell me about it.

She released me, so I grabbed my duffel and opened the screen door, making my way outside before she could protest. I had already rushed to the limo by the time she stepped outside and onto the porch.

I yanked open the limo's side door, threw my bag onto the back passenger seat, then looked to the front to see the little kid sitting behind the wheel. He was sitting on a stack of books, to be able to see over the dashboard.

“You gotta be kidding me,” I hissed.

“Get in.” He motioned urgently.
“Fast.”

I jumped into the limo and rolled my window down to wave good-bye to Mom before turning back to him. “Are you sure you can drive?”

“Belt up. Safety first!” he said cheerfully.

As we drove off, I turned and looked through the back window at Mom, still rooted to our porch. And then, as we turned a corner, she was gone.

I suspected that the life I had always known was gone, too, for better or worse.