Impossible Mission

by Keith Robinson

  Barton pulled up at the immaculate, white-painted side entrance. Ant jumped out and hurried to the door, urging his friends to follow. “Come on, hopefully we can avoid the staff.”

  He heard Madison repeat “staff” under her breath as though it were unbelievable that a household could have maids and butlers running about the place. Ant couldn’t remember the last time his family—just him and his parents—had been truly alone in the house.

  “How many servants do you have working here?” she asked.

  Ant winced. “Enough to get stuff done. Look, it’s down this hall.”

  He glanced back, wishing he’d remembered to speak to Barton. He’d have to go back outside in a minute and talk to him. The man had a right to know what was going on. He wasn’t likely to go sneaking off to file a report about strange goings-on regarding Master Carmichael and his friends, but there had to be a limit to his loyalty when it came to safety and well-being. Ant needed to reassure the man that all was well.

  Except it wasn’t.

  The guest rooms were on the right about halfway along the hall. “This wing is reserved for business clients,” Ant explained to Madison. “There are some other guest rooms in the main part of the house, but these ones are more private. I doubt my mom’ll stop by, and my dad has probably forgotten this hallway exists.”

  He knew that wasn’t true. Actually his dad paid attention to anything related to business including the guest wing. Still, he might stay away if he knew Ant had a friend over.

  “This is like a hotel suite,” Madison said as she walked into the palatial room. “A king-size bed, sofa and armchairs, huge TV—”

  “My own miniature kitchen,” Liam interrupted, brushing past and clicking noisily on the tiled floor. “And look, a massive bathroom with a hot tub—”

  “Just don’t trash the place,” Ant warned. He looked down at Liam’s feet, wondering if those clunky metal-and-plastic monstrosities were liable to crack the tile. “You can’t even take your shoes off now, so make sure you wipe ’em before you climb all over the white bedsheets.”

  Liam hurried back into the living room, obviously searching for the remote control. “Do we have movie channels? Man, this is going to be great! Is there popcorn?”

  Madison grasped Liam’s arm and halted him. He looked at her with surprise as she glared down at him, acting more like a bossy big sister than a friend. “Cool it,” she growled. “Ant’s doing you a huge favor, so don’t let him down by messing up the place. This isn’t a vacation. This is serious, Liam. You’re turning into a robot.”

  “I know, I know,” Liam said, wearing one of his pained expressions. “Tell me about it. That’s why I need something to take my mind off it. You think I should just sit around all day and night waiting for it to happen, fretting and stressing over it? No way!”

  Still gripping his arm—and tightly judging by Liam’s wince—she turned him around and forced him to sit on the sofa. She sat too, turning toward him and pointing at his feet. “Okay, show me.”

  As Liam grumbled and lifted a leg out straight, she grabbed it and pulled it onto her lap where she could examine it closely. He shut up and leaned back, his lips pursed. Ant moved closer, watching as Madison pulled Liam’s trouser leg higher and higher, past his shin.

  The black, bonelike rod that formed his ankle continued up his leg into much thicker synthetic casing that formed his lower leg. The casing was very rough, apparently busy constructing itself from the inside out. No doubt in time it would develop a smooth outer shell. A little higher still, real human flesh remained unchanged—but not for much longer. The transformation was too slow to see in real time, a bit like watching the hour hand of a clock, but it was definitely happening.

  “It’s starting at the feet and spreading upward,” Ant murmured, leaning close.

  “This leg is a little ahead of the other,” Liam agreed, sounding serious now. All his earlier excitement about popcorn and movies had dissipated. Now his veil of worry was clear to see. “I had trouble putting my pants on this morning. I doubt I can get them off again now. I might have to start wearing shorts. That’ll look funny, huh?” A laugh escaped him, but he didn’t look amused.

  Madison inched his thick jeans trouser leg up as far as it would go, just above the knee. It looked like a toymaker had slapped clay on a steel frame and only just started the process of smoothing it out, blending it where it met organic tissue. “Does it hurt?” she whispered, tentatively prodding the fleshy area around the bone.

  “Not a bit,” Liam said. “Seriously, there’s nothing. I can feel you poking at it, but it’s like I was born this way. It feels fine. And look, I have complete control.”

  He wiggled his foot to demonstrate. Faint whirring sounds emanated from the ankle.

  Madison ran her hands over his weird, half-formed robotic shin as though she were petting a small dog. “Can you feel this?”

  Liam shook his head. “It’s all metal and plastic below the knee. No feeling.”

  “So pretty soon you’ll have no feeling all over?”

  “I guess.”

  She sighed and gently pushed his leg off her lap. When she got up to pace about, Ant sat down in her place and stared at his friend. “So what’s supposed to happen now?” he asked. “You change and then what?”

  “I go on my mission,” Liam said simply.

  “Yeah, but how? Where is this mission? How do you get there? I suppose a wormhole will open again, but when? How do you know you’ll be ready? How do they know?” He jabbed a thumb skyward.

  After a moment’s thought, Liam said, “The Ark Lord told me he’d send a briefing before I leave. He said I’d be fully prepped. I don’t know exactly how that works, but I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  “But when?” Ant demanded. The uncertainty of it all was gnawing at his insides. Oddly, he still found himself anxious about Liam skipping school the next day, knowing that could lead to social services and parents finding out, and a whole heap of other trouble following closely behind. He almost wished Liam’s transformation would happen faster.

  His friend had nothing further to say, offering only helpless shrugs. How he could remain so calm was beyond Ant. Yes, he was clearly worried, but he wasn’t screaming in panic or yelling in anger and frustration. He was handling the situation well, all things considered.

  “I need to go talk to Barton,” Ant said at last. Seeing the looks of surprise on Liam’s and Madison’s faces, he added, “The man’s not stupid. He’s heard things. He sits up front driving while we blather on about aliens and wormholes. He’s seen the damage to your house, Liam. He saw your weird feet when you got in the car. I need to talk to him.”

  “You don’t think he’ll—?” Madison started to say.

  “Tell anyone? Probably not,” Ant assured her. “He’s cool. But I owe him an explanation or something. I’ll be back soon. Watch a movie or something while I’m gone.”

  As he left the guest room and headed back along the hall, he crossed his fingers and hoped his driver was ready to accept the unbelievable without batting an eye.

  He stepped outside. The limousine was there, black and gleaming in the morning sun. Barton stood patiently with feet apart and hands clasped as though he were at a funeral.

  “I, uh . . . I need to talk to you, Barton,” Ant murmured.

  The driver dipped his head. “It’s about time, young sir.”

  Chapter 10

  As Ant dithered and tried to figure out where to start his story, Barton motioned toward the limousine. “How about we sit inside, Master Anthony?”

  For once, Ant got to sit up front. It felt strange being in the passenger seat next to his driver. “I don’t know where to begin,” he said.

  Barton twisted around to stare at him. Small and thin, he had lines etched into his forehead, deep crow’s-feet wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and closely cropped grey hair under his chauffeur’s cap. As far as Ant knew, he was fifty-six years old and had no family t
o speak of.

  “Young man,” Barton said, “I think you ought to know that I didn’t become your chauffeur by accident.”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve enjoyed working for your father and driving you around. It helps tremendously that you’re so well grounded. Many of the people that come here to this house—your father’s business partners, or your mother’s friends—walk around with an air of distaste for the staff. You could very easily make my job something to despise. You are, after all, a schoolboy with rich parents and a permanently assigned driver at his disposal. But instead of being snooty and snotty like some privileged kids I’ve had the misfortune to meet, you treat me with respect—and, dare I say, like a friend?”

  “You are a friend,” Ant agreed, surprised at this impromptu speech. Barton hardly ever spoke so openly. He rarely smiled either, even though he had a wicked sense of humor lurking behind those worry lines.

  Barton gave a nod and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, gazing out through the windshield at the line of trees surrounding the courtyard. “There are strange things going on with you and your friends. Another driver in my position would have assumed all this chatter about wormholes and aliens was simply childish banter, some kind of ongoing game. But my ears pricked up the moment you started talking about strange events.”

  Ant frowned. “What do you mean?”

  The man turned to him again. “I had a son once,” he said softly.

  The conversation seemed to be deviating more and more. “You did?” Ant said. “What . . . what happened to him?”

  “Now that’s a very difficult story to tell. Far more difficult than yours, I should imagine.” Barton managed a faint smile, and it sent new cracks across his stony face. “I’ll save it for now. I think you three have enough to worry about at the moment. But I’ll always remember the last thing my little boy told me before he sent me away.”

  Annoyingly, Barton paused.

  “Which was what?” Ant pressed, feeling awkward.

  “He said, ‘Go away, Dad. You’re no fun anymore.’ And that was that. He sent me away.”

  “What do you mean he sent you away? How can a little boy send you away?”

  Barton shook his head gently. “My little boy could do anything he pleased. And I mean anything. My wife and I had no control over him. Rose left when he was very young. I did my best as a single parent, but . . . well, I was a poor father. He deserved better. He sent me away, and I never saw him again. That was a long time ago.”

  Ant digested this information with a degree of shock. Barton had been married? He had a son? “So . . . so your son—”

  “Caleb.”

  “So Caleb is . . . well, I guess he’s all grown up by now, right? Is he alive?”

  “I can’t be sure about either.”

  Confused, Ant blinked rapidly. “Wait, what?”

  “I can’t be sure he’s still alive, and I can’t even be sure he’s all grown up.”

  Ant felt like he was beginning to drown in a sea of confusion. “You can’t be sure he’s all grown up? How long ago did—?”

  “Oh, he should be all grown up by now,” Barton agreed, “except he managed to stop himself from aging. I last saw him twenty-three years ago, but he may still be eight years old.” Barton winked. “He’s a very special boy. And one day I’ll find him again.”

  A dozen questions flitted through Ant’s mind, so many he didn’t know where to begin.

  Before he could get a word out, Barton let out a heavy sigh. “I believe your friend Liam is the key. Or rather his house is.”

  “His house?”

  “I lived there a long time ago. It’s where Caleb grew up. Rose and I bought the place in our early twenties. She had a high-paying job, and I did okay. Caleb came along shortly after, and we noticed straight away he was special. Rose couldn’t deal with him. She left us, and I had to make ends meet by myself. I managed thanks to Caleb’s special talent, but there was always the danger of attracting attention. By the time he was eight, things had gotten out of hand, and one day the police showed up and we had to leave in a hurry. We had to abandon the place.”

  “And then . . . Liam’s granddad bought it?” Ant asked, feeling dizzy.

  “Yes, he bought the house after I left,” Barton agreed. “He got it cheap because it was foreclosed on in my absence. The property included that patch of land down by the lake.” He sighed again. “There was no jetty when I owned it, but I often took Caleb out on a boat. Being so isolated, it was one of the few places I felt safe to take him.”

  Ant was flabbergasted. He’d stepped outside to tell Barton a fantastic story of aliens and time travel, and instead he was listening to an even crazier yarn. “And you think he’s still eight years old?” He had a bit of trouble getting those words out. Despite everything he’d seen in the past couple of weeks, a boy who didn’t age stretched even his imagination.

  “I’m sure of it,” Barton went on, staring into space. “After Caleb sent me away, I changed my name and built a new life, but I couldn’t let go of my son. Every chance I got, I drove down that lane in my beaten-up van to watch my old house, but I think I spooked the new owner, Liam’s grandfather. He called the police, and I slipped away in time but had to be careful after that. He died a few years ago, and the property passed down to his son. So now Liam and his parents live there. I continued watching the place from time to time, but it was risky hanging about in the lane. One day, a limousine passed me as I was loitering fifty feet back from the driveway. The limo—this very limo we’re sitting in, actually—stopped outside the house, and you got out.”

  “Do you mean the first time I went to Liam’s house?” Ant said excitedly. “Yeah, that was three years ago. Jefferson was my chauffeur back then. He wasn’t very nice. My dad found alcohol stashed in the trunk.”

  “Indeed,” Barton said quietly. “That’s why Jefferson was fired. And that’s how I came to be your new chauffeur. Right place at the right time.”

  Ant narrowed his eyes and stared at Barton’s profile for a long time. “What do you mean by that?”

  Barton turned and looked Ant in the eye. “I’m not a very nice man either, Ant. I confess that I might have had a part in Jefferson’s firing by planting that opened bottle of whiskey in the trunk. And I might have forged my impressive chauffeuring résumé to win favor with your father, who was desperate to find you a replacement driver.”

  Ant gasped. “You—you—”

  “But please don’t hold it against me,” Barton said, looking a little sheepish now. “I can assure you that I take my job very seriously and have your very best interests at heart. My own interests are, shall we say, a bonus? In a nutshell, serving your father and driving you to Liam’s house on a regular basis offers me an unparalleled opportunity to keep watch.”

  Still reeling from this unexpected reveal, Ant sputtered, “K-keep watch for what? Caleb doesn’t live there anymore! Why do you think—I mean, what’s the point in—”

  “It’s all I have, Ant,” Barton interrupted. “I cling to the notion that my son will return one day. If and when that day comes, I’m the only person in the world with even the slightest understanding of how dire the situation will be. I fear for the safety of Liam and his parents, and for you and Madison. If Caleb shows himself again, then we’re all in very grave danger indeed. I could warn you away and advise you not to go to Liam’s house ever again, but I know you would never listen to me. And part of me is happy about that, because I need an excuse to hang around in the lane.”

  Speechless, Ant wanted his driver to spill the beans, to tell the entire story from start to finish and leave nothing out. But a thought popped into his head. “Wait. Liam’s seen himself in the future, so he knows he gets to live another seventy-odd years. He can’t be killed. So he’s safe even if Caleb returns.”

  Barton’s eyebrows shot up. “This may surprise you, young Anthony, but I believe you. Nobody else would take such a statement a
t face value, but I would. What about you and Madison? Do you live to old age?”

  Ant shrugged. “Don’t know. But I could find out. There’s a time wand that lets you see into the future. Liam said that using it is like turning into a watchful ghost. You can’t touch anything, and you can’t be seen or heard; all you can do is watch. He’s seen his future, but I never got the chance to check my own. And now I’m not sure I want to know. What if I don’t make it past twenty? Madison doesn’t want to know either.”

  A long silence descended on the two of them as they sat deep in thought.

  “A time wand . . .” Barton muttered.

  “Tell me more about your son,” Ant said, suddenly wishing he hadn’t mentioned the object. He was fine with Barton knowing everything else, just not the current location of the time wand. At least not without clearing it with his friends first. “Why is Caleb so dangerous? How did he send you away? Where did he go? How can—”

  Barton held up a hand. “I think perhaps we’ll talk about this another day. Liam needs your help. He seems to be . . . changing? I only caught a glimpse of his feet but enough to realize something very odd is going on. Why don’t you fill me in? I doubt I can do much to help, but perhaps I can assist in maintaining your secrecy and ensuring the staff leave you alone.”

  Ant couldn’t contain his grin. It appeared Barton was so much more than a discreet, loyal driver. He was cunning, had falsified his credentials and maneuvered his way into the Carmichael employ, and had a long-lost son who had stopped himself from aging and might just be the most dangerous person on the planet.

  How cool was that?

  Chapter 11

  “Barton once owned Liam’s house?” Madison exclaimed, looking astonished as Ant finished recapping his conversation.

  “A long time ago,” Ant agreed. “He last saw Caleb twenty-three years back, so I guess it was around then that he lost the place.”

  Liam was frowning deeply, and Ant suddenly noticed beads of sweat on his forehead. “Sounds about right. My granddad bought the place in the 1990s. And yeah, he got a great deal on it. Dad told me that. The mortgage is paid off already.”