by Adam Holt
Trackman was telling my dad something about the Device, but the presence of a full-sized Android had distracted me. I tried to catch up to their conversation.
“That’s correct, Commander,” said Trackman in a high pitched voice, “that Device of yours is causing some serious calamity at our center in Florida. Researchers haven’t learned much about the Device, but lightning has struck their research facility a few times…a few times every day. We’re convinced the Device has something to do with that, so we’re moving it to a new location.”
“Where’s that?” my dad said.
“Houston,” he explained in a sharp tone, “to the research facility near your home. Maybe things will go better there. Dr. Chakravorty is optimistic.”
Sunjay’s dad! I thought.
“Niles Chakravorty is always optimistic. But if you keep having these problems?” my dad asked.
“Well, I don’t know, Commander. Possibly we send it to Moon Base Tranquility. There’s no atmosphere there for the Harper Device to disturb,” said Trackman, turning to admire the columns behind him. “But I didn’t gather all of you here to discuss this. I called you here to discuss a major problem. This is classified information, as you might expect.”
“Shoot, of course it is,” said Buckshot, “it’s always classified when you show up, Trackman. You’d tell a waiter at a restaurant to keep your order a secret. So go on then. Tell us somethin’ we don’t know.”
“Oh, I intend to do just that,” Trackman smiled. “We’ve lost all contact with a certain space station. How’s that?” Everyone in the group was silent as Trackman continued. “So you and your crew will investigate. This is probably just a search and repair mission.”
“Well, that is news to everybody here,” said Buckshot. “Which space station?
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why not? The media will hop on this story like fleas on a monkey’s butt.”
“No, they won’t. We’ve managed to keep a secret, for once.”
“You mentioned it was probably a repair mission,” said my dad. “What else could it be?”
Trackman sucked air between his teeth and let out a sigh.
“That is also classified,” said Trackman. “There’s not much more I can say, other than we want you to fly this mission. So, please consider the Space Alliance’s offer—you’ll all receive quadruple pay and a year off upon return. In the history of the Alliance, there has never been a more generous offer. May I have your decisions, please?”
“Say no!” I shouted in my room, wishing my dad could hear me. “ Say no!”
Just as I said this, Lincoln Sawyer blinked three times and, for a microsecond, looked right at me. Well, he didn’t see me. He saw Little Bacon standing in the corner of the room. Or did he? Why would he start moving for no reason? I wondered. Then it hit me. He had a reason. Little Bacon must have taken my shout as a command! He yelled “No!” when I said, “Say no!”
I told Bacon not to say another word in that room. He gave me a thumbs-up. Still, Sawyer glanced toward Little Bacon every few minutes like clockwork. I didn’t know what Sawyer could see in that virtual room, but his Android “ears” had certainly heard something. By the time I recovered from that shock, I realized half of the group had accepted Trackman’s offer. Buckshot and Sylvia Moreline both seemed ready for another mission, but not my dad or Quentin “Redshirt” Anderson.
“Four times our regular salary?” said Redshirt. “That’s a lot for a repair mission, Gallant. Maybe too much.”
“Well, we are only giving you four weeks to prepare. It seems only fair. Commander Harper, any questions?”
My dad ran his hand along the red streak in his hair. “Four weeks? This is a tough decision for a number of reasons that have nothing to do with space,” he told Trackman. “We just returned to our families, and I wasn’t planning on leaving for a while; however, I’m in.”
But you just said—wait, why? I thought, sitting alone in my room. What about taking time off? You lied to me!
“Then I am, too,” added Redshirt. The rest of the crew nodded agreed.
“Splendid,” said Trackman, taking a deep, loud breath, but my dad wasn’t finished speaking.
“I do have one condition, Mr. Trackman.”
“Ah, what’s your condition, Commander? Anything for you.”
“We take the Device,” he said calmly. “If it goes, I go. If it stays, I stay. You said yourself that the Moon would be a good place to research it. So we will take it there.”
The entire group fell silent again. There’s no way Trackman will agree to that! Yes! I thought. But Trackman just nodded and narrowed his beady eyes, like he was trying to hear a faint sound.
“Any reason the Device will be needed on this mission, Commander?”
“To use your words, I am not authorized to say at this time.”
Trackman’s eyes flashed anger for a moment, but he smiled nevertheless. “Well, it’s an unexpected request. It won’t be popular with the researchers, but I will see what I can do. While I do not make guarantees, I am quite sure the Device will travel with you on this mission—as will I.”
“Hang on now,” said Buckshot, “you’re suitin’ up for this mission? There’s no room for space tourists on The Adversity.”
“If you leave your ego behind we will have plenty of room, Buckshot. I will be Special Adviser to the Commander on this mission. Lincoln Sawyer will serve as ship’s doctor and my assistant. Is that a problem for you, space cowboy?”
The scene grew tense. Buckshot looked angry, but my dad held up a hand before he could speak.
“Gentlemen, there is plenty of room on board my ship for respect. Bring that or don’t bother coming. Are we clear? I hope so. Mr. Trackman, I will wait to hear back from you about our arrangement. Good day, everyone,” said my dad. The virtual room disappeared. My dad stood in his dim, wood-paneled office again. It looked small and dull compared to the virtual world that had disappeared in a flash. He walked over and picked up a picture of the two of us fishing.
I turned off the holophone in disgust. What just happened? My dad just agreed to go back into space! I wanted to run downstairs and punch him, but I took some deep breaths. It was late. I needed to go to bed, and punching him wouldn’t keep him on planet Earth. Before bed I tried to calm myself some more. It’s a good habit. I kept telling myself, “Don’t think about things you can’t control. Think about the things you’re grateful for. Maybe he will change his mind.” I ran down the list: fajitas, sour gummy worms, a trampoline, Sunjay and Tabitha, my house, my dad. I somehow drifted off to a peaceful sleep.
Then the dreams began. At first I pictured myself standing alone in that enormous virtual room, with its marble floor and giant columns. In my hand was a helmet just like my dad’s. I felt like an astronaut preparing for a launch! That was cool, but I wasn’t really prepared. Instead of a sharp, blue jumpsuit, I wore my regular plaid pajamas. Stars! Why do you always end up in pajamas in dreams? I wandered around the room, admiring the bright galaxies that swirled above my head.
Soon I felt a rumbling. It grew. Before long the virtual room shook with earthquaking power. The columns began to crumble, and I ran from side to side, dodging chunks of falling statues. After that the ceiling caved in. I looked up and dodged that debris as well. In place of the golden dome, a beautiful pink sunset appeared in the sky. I gazed in wonder, but the rumbling increased and knocked me to my knees. Finally, out of the center of the room there rose a spaceship—my dad’s ship, The Adversity, leaving Earth in a smoking blaze. I stood there, gazing up at the rocket launch with that helmet tucked into the crook of my arm. The ship faded into the sky and the sound diminished. In its place I heard a faint whisper in my ear: Go, and do not delay. I spun around to see the speaker, but I was alone in the room.
That dream morphed into another dream. I viewed the Earth from the blackness of space. Our planet was cradled in a bed of stars. Then a small red sphere flew past me toward the Ear
th. I followed as it rocketed down, down, down through layers of clouds. Finally, it crashed through a familiar roof and plunged into my room. I saw myself catapulted out of bed and across the room. I shielded my eyes. There in the middle of my bedroom was the Harper Device, glowing red and filling my room with a cool, red mist, a brilliant ball of gases defying all the laws of physics, and spinning, spinning, swirling, swirling, sucking me deeper into its mysteries. Once again I heard that faint whisper, a strange command: Go, and do not delay.
I woke up on the floor with my back against the bed. I opened my eyes and looked toward the middle of the room, hoping not to see a red glow. Then I checked under my bed, carefully. Nothing. I tried to sleep, but how do you sleep after that? I kept thinking about those words: Go, and do not delay. Where was I supposed to go right then? Back to dreaming? Back to sleep?
I knew where I was actually going. Back to Alaska. Dangit. I just wanted to have a normal summer. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen now. Dad had betrayed me. He had four weeks to prepare for another space flight. I had four weeks to prepare for a trip to Middle of Nowhere.
You’ll be left behind again, Tully, said a voice in my mind. Enjoy the launch and have fun chopping wood in the Middle of Nowhere.
If you’re an only child, or maybe even if you’re not, you can relate to that voice, right? The one that mocks you and says, “The glass isn’t half full, it isn’t half empty, it’s broken.” This is why I hate to be alone sometime. That mocking voice just won’t shut up. How great it would be to have a brother or even a sister to talk about stuff like this. I could say, “Hey, (insert my imaginary brother’s name), looks like dad’s going back to space. That stinks, huh? At least we’ve got each other!”
But I didn’t have “each other.” I had Little Bacon, and if I told him about space, he would say, “Space is the final frontier” or something stupid like that. I also had my dad. Now he was leaving, taking the Harper Device with him. Yes, it’s just you alone. SoloTully, HoloTully. That’s who you are. A thousand miles from your friends. A million miles away from your dad.
“Shut up, Brain Voice! What do you know about me, huh? Solo Tully? Is that all you’ve got? I can take it,” I said aloud, jumping to my feet and clinching my fists. “Go ahead. Say it again. Call me Solo Tully one more time. I dare you.”
The voice was silent, but I recalled that simple, strong whisper from my dream. Go, and do not delay. I didn’t have to be Solo Tully. I didn’t need to go back to anything. I could go anywhere, and I didn’t need to delay. Where did I really want to go? I knew the answer.
“If dad is headed back to space, then I am, too,” I said aloud. “This time I won’t be left behind.”
I knew it was impossible to do such a thing, but I meant what I said, meant it deep down inside. I kept repeating those words to myself over and over like a prayer: “This time I won’t be left behind. This time I won’t be left behind.”
COMPANY
A few days passed before I saw Sunjay again. I didn’t see much of my dad, but it didn’t seem to matter. That idea—that my dad wouldn’t leave me behind—comforted me and helped me sleep like a rock. Actually, I must have fallen into a coma because I never heard Sunjay jumping on my trampoline one morning. I didn’t even smell the pancakes cooking downstairs. No, I was too busy drooling on my pillow. I finally heard something that sounded like a herd of wildebeests running up the stairs. Before I knew it, my door was open and Sunjay was trying to rip off my covers.
“Gimme ten minutes. All I need is ten more minutes,” I said, pulling the blankets around me like a worm that refuses to leave his cocoon.
“Oh, buddy, are you crazy? You don’t have ten more minutes. You’ve got company.”
“Sunjay, you’re not company. You’re a disease!” I said, burying myself deeper and feeling him tug the blankets harder.
“Well, am I a disease too, Tully Harper?” I froze. It was a girl’s voice, full of swagger and danger and too many summer theater classes. It was Tabitha Tirelli’s voice. It was the first time I had heard that lovely voice in person in a long time, and she was in my room.
While I was buried under my covers for a moment, I had a flashback that completely cleared my mind. I pictured Tabitha’s younger brothers whipping through the house like miniature hurricanes while her dad sat there in his underwear. I also remembered Tabitha’s note and realized she might have a crush on me and I might have a crush on my friend, even if I did have to look up six inches to see into her lovely green eyes. Now she was trying to rip the covers off my bed with Sunjay. Man, summer was getting weird.
I didn’t want to look into her eyes right then though. Imagine if you were buried under your covers in your favorite pajamas, clutching your drool-stained pillow: you wouldn’t peep your messy hair out to say hello to anyone either.
“Both of you, out of my man cave now!” I shouted.
Tabitha laughed. I could hear the theater in her voice. “Wow, I’ve never been in a man cave before. Fascinating. Sunjay, look at the primitive cave drawings!” she said, poking at a sketch of The Adversity on my desk. I like to sketch. She spoke in an English accent, sounding like a Discovery Channel narrator. “A lovely specimen! And see how the caveman leaves his underwear laying around as decoration, Dr. Chakravorty?”
“Oh, yes, Tully, er, the caveman must have recently decorated,” said Sunjay. He wasn’t going to win an Oscar.
Tabitha continued and tugged on my covers. “Dr. Chakravorty, would the caveman mind if I, uh, take some photographic evidence of this man cave?”
“No pictures!” That was too much embarrassment for one day. Still under the covers, I jumped up and made a mad rush for the sound of their voices, catching both of them by surprise. I wrapped them both in the bedspread before they had time to react. They squirmed around but were trapped in the covers like fajita meat in a tortilla. Tabitha kept up her ridiculous accent.
“Oh, blimey, a giant cave slug!” Tabitha said as she tried to untangle herself. I held them tight. “No! Dr. Chakravorty, a radioactive cave slug bear hug! We are suffocating, Dr. Cha—-“
With that I shoved them both out of the room unceremoniously. They slammed into the wall and fell into a heap. I locked my door and looked around. Tabitha was right. My room was pretty well “decorated,” and their laughter continued as I threw on my jeans and t-shirt and shoved my dirty clothes under my bed. Where they belonged.
“Truce?” I said through the door.
“Yes, truce,” they repeated.
I opened the door and Tabitha stood there in a flowery skirt she had thrown on over a pair of jeans. She twirled her scarf and went into one of her confusing Tabisms. “It’s not that hot outside today. So Antony took all the keys off my keyboard. He’s the littlest brother. I tried to superglue it back together and now my fingers are stuck.” She held up her hand and gave me the okay sign; only her thumb and index finger were clearly stuck together. “Anywho, your trampo is calling my name. I holophoned Sunjay last night when I got home from camp because my dad was wearing pants. So what do you think?”
“So you’re here to get some super glue remover?” I asked. She was completely mystifying sometime. Sunjay seemed to understand though.
“No, well, yes. That would be splendid, caveman, but I’m here for video games and trampoline,” she said, punching my arm.
“Is your dad’s console hooked up?” Sunjay asked.
Of course it was. Dad kept a lot of his old, cool stuff in one room, and we called it Mission Control. Dusty framed pictures took up one wall—anything from celebrities posing with dad to spaceships blasting off to my dad holding football trophies, shiny reminders of his college days. He also collected vintage electronics, like compact discs and video game consoles, and kept them neatly stacked beside a pool table.
Mission Control also had a LiveWall. You may have seen a LiveWall but they’re pretty old—I think from the 2020’s. The LiveWall took up one entire wall in Mission Control and operated like a gian
t iPad or a television, depending on how you used it. It was “old school,” my dad would say, but still pretty fun. The LiveWall was great for pranks, too. I’ve scared the pants off Sunjay a dozen times by pulling up a cute cat picture that says, “You’re purrrrfect.” Then I swipe the screen to the left. A howling zombie fills the entire LiveWall. “GRAAWWL!” screams the zombie, flailing his arms. Sunjay falls over the couch. My dad gave me the idea. He scared my pants off with this thing called “The Scary Maze Game,” which he made me play on the LiveWall. You could probably still find it, but I’ve warned you—it’ll scare your pants off, too, or you’ll need to change them after you play.
Finally, the best part of Mission Control—the brown, threadbare couch. Every time you sit there, the cushions sink in and your butt nearly hits the floor, with your knees at almost eye level. It almost feels like a hammock. It must sound terrible, but believe me; I’ve fallen asleep on that couch a hundred times and never felt better.
All morning we sat on the big brown couch and played our favorite old video game, Cave-In!, on the LiveWall. In the game, you are a spelunker trapped underground in a system of caves. Your flashlight is almost out of batteries. You have to escape before the light dies. Most of the caves aren’t connected, but the spelunker can travel between caves using her only tool—a teleporter wand. When she uses the wand, a portal between the caves opens. She can teleport to another cave. It’s easy on the early levels. You just find the right wall, jump across a few gaps, use the wand, and you’re in the next cave. There’s no penalty for entering a room twice. For the advanced levels, the caves are full of elaborate traps and monsters. If you return to a cave more than once, the monsters are waiting for you. You’re usually dead meat.
