by Harrison, S.
Percy nods and holds his wrist to his lips. “Computer, restricted area line. Bisect room length.”
There’s another soft tone and an eight-foot-wide black-and-yellow-striped border streaks across the length of the floor right beneath the Drones’ boots, up the walls at either end, and clean across the entire length of the ceiling. The words “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY” appear and slowly begin scrolling along the strip in bold white letters, repeating themselves in a continuous chain of warning.
“Security detail, none of these students may leave the room or cross the line until further notice. Threat level lavender, restrain and detain,” orders Percy.
Every other Drone in the row immediately turns on their heels; three are now watching Margaux, Brent, and Brody, and three are keeping a very creepy watch on us.
“Please stay on your own side of the room everyone,” Percy announces. “You all know what will happen if you cross this line. These Drones are many times stronger than any of you, and I’m sure the last thing you want is to be put in an arm lock for the next four hours.” I notice that the twinkle in Percy’s eye and the bounce in his step have gone completely.
“We shall leave you to your thoughts. See you at four o’clock, Mr. Blake?”
Percy nods. “After you, Professor.”
They turn and head toward the door marked with the large gray “2”. It slides open and they walk through into the corridor beyond it. The Professor’s head and shoulders suddenly pop back into the room. “Oh, and Miss Brogan, Mr. Blake has asked Nurse Talbot to come by soon to give you another check-over. These fainting spells of yours are very disconcerting.”
I raise my hand in protest but it’s too late. With a quiet swoosh, the door slides closed and they’re gone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ryan props his hands behind his head and eases back in his chair. “Alone at last.”
“Well, alone except for that troop of DTs standing in the middle of the room,” says Bit.
“And those three DBs over there by the wall,” Ryan adds, eyeballing Margaux and company.
“DBs?” I ask.
“Douche Bags,” Ryan says with a sly grin.
“I heard that,” Brent calls over.
“You were supposed to, asswipe.”
“You wait till we get out of here, Forrester.”
“What are you gonna do, Brent? Bleed and cry until my arms get tired from beating you?”
Brent boosts himself from his chair. “I wasn’t crying! My eyes were watering!”
“Stop fighting guys,” I plead. “This sucks enough without you two arguing.”
“Shut the hell up, you bitch,” growls Margaux. “It’s your fault we’re all in here in the first place.”
“Hey, don’t talk to Finn like that!” Bit screeches, taking me by surprise yet again.
“Well, well. Look at the little geek sticking up for her girlfriend. I knew you two were hot for each other,” Margaux says with a self-satisfied sneer.
“Bit and I are not hot for each other,” I say, finally getting to my feet. “But if we were, I could do a lot worse than Bettina Otto, that’s for sure.”
I smile at Bit and she blushes.
“That’s hot,” Brody says with a goofy grin.
Suddenly door number four slides open and Nurse Talbot enters the room, momentarily defusing our little debate. She’s clutching a shiny white briefcase with a big red cross on it.
“Hello, everyone. I’ve come to examine Miss Brogan.”
“That’s hot,” Brody says again. Brent fist bumps him, and with a smarmy smile flumps back into his chair. Nurse Talbot doesn’t seem to notice Brody’s comment at all and primly walks to our side of the room. “Please take a seat, Miss Brogan, and tell me what happened.”
I sit back down and Nurse Talbot kneels beside me. I try to focus my attention on her and away from wanting to slap Margaux Pilfrey in her pouty, pink lip-glossed mouth. Nurse Talbot fishes her penlight from her breast pocket and shines it in my eyes just like the last time. “Nothing happened, really.”
“Are you sure? Percy mentioned that you stopped breathing. That is very serious.”
“I . . . I just choked on some gum, that’s all. It was just a stupid mistake. I’m fine now, really.”
Nurse Talbot looks from me to Ryan to Bit and back again. “Is that true? I wasn’t informed of that.”
“Yes, absolutely,” I say, nodding and smiling. “Right guys?”
“Ah . . . sure. Yep, that’s what happened, alright,” says Ryan. Bit looks at me and Ryan, and then to Nurse Talbot and nods a little too enthusiastically.
Nurse Talbot doesn’t even look the slightest bit suspicious at our bald-faced lies. In fact, her expression is blank.
“Alright then,” she says standing up. “False alarm. I suggest you take more care with how you chew in the future.”
She turns on her heels, and, just like that, heads toward the door.
“Excuse me. Nurse?” Margaux says in what I suspect is the same superior tone she reserves for her servants.
Nurse Talbot stops in her tracks and looks over at her. “Yes, what is it?”
“I am bored out of my mind in here. Can you make me a TV out of the floor or something? Or maybe a gun to shoot Finn Brogan in her stupid head? Either would be great; both would be marvelous.”
“I’ve been informed that you are all being punished. It wouldn’t be appropriate to provide you with entertainment.”
“Pleeeease! I’m so sick of looking at those three idiots, and that all-girl android bobsled team.”
“We’ve been in here for only fifteen minutes,” sighs Ryan.
“And it’s driving me crazy!” screeches Margaux.
“Driving you crazy? Really? And here I am thinking that you’d already stopped at crazy, had nuts for lunch, and were well on your way to wacko city.”
Bit and I both laugh quietly. Brody can’t help himself and laughs out loud.
“Do you see what I’m dealing with here?!” shrieks Margaux.
Nurse Talbot’s chin tilts upward ever so slightly for a moment, like she’s trying to formulate a thought.
“Perhaps I can keep you distracted from each other and still stay within the boundaries of your punishment. All of you please stand and turn your seats to face the walls.”
We all look at each other in confusion.
“Now, please. A few feet back from the walls will suffice. Be sure not to cross the boundary line.”
Ryan stands, drags his chair and flumps into it, facing the wall like Nurse Talbot instructed. Bit and I drag ours over and join him. The other three do the same on their side. Margaux makes Brent take her chair, of course.
Nurse Talbot looks toward the ceiling. “Computer, display Percy and the school tour on walls one and three. Mute display audio.”
There’s a tone of acknowledgment and the sky-blue wall scattered with clouds suddenly flicks to black. Barely a second later it flashes back on with a six-foot-high, fifteen-foot-wide, ultra-high-definition live camera feed of Miss Cole and the rest of our tour group. The massive screen is divided into eight square sections, each one showing a different view of their location. In the bottom right-hand corner of each square, there’s a camera number followed by a label reading “DOME 2.” I glance over my shoulder to see that a mosaic of pictures, identical to ours, has appeared for the others on the opposite wall of the room.
Up on the silent screen, I see Percy and Professor Francis arriving and taking their seats with the group, who are all perched side by side on the benches of a small white grandstand. The stand is positioned on the edge of what appears to be a large, dirt-floor arena enclosed by a thick circular wooden barrier. It kinda looks a little like a place you would hold a bullfight or a rodeo, except that directly behind the barrier, where an audience would usuall
y be, is a very familiar-looking shiny black curved wall.
Standing with his hands on his hips in front of the grandstand is a stern, athletic, important-looking older man with a shock-white, buzz-cut hairstyle. He’s dressed in a brown-and-green camouflage-patterned, military-style uniform and black combat boots. In the center of the arena, there are twenty or so soldiers in full khaki garb, complete with helmets, dark visors, and camo-patterned face masks that completely obscure their faces. They’re marching about, perfectly in step, performing precise and intricate shoulder-to-shoulder military drill patterns.
“There,” says Nurse Talbot. “Now you can watch your classmates enjoying what you are missing out on.”
“Thanks a lot,” scoffs Margaux.
“You’re welcome,” Nurse Talbot replies without a hint of sarcasm. She turns and strides over to door number four. It slides open, she steps into the white corridor beyond it and, with a quiet swoosh, she’s gone.
Back up on the screen I see that the soldiers have gathered into a perfect rectangular formation. They turn all at once, almost like a singular entity, and march with impeccable synchronicity toward the barrier wall. A large square opening forms in the side of the dome and they all troop through it. Our classmates politely applaud as the hole “heals” itself closed behind them.
The man with the buzz-cut hair turns to the group and begins talking and nodding.
“We’re not missing much,” I hear Brody say behind us. “A lame parade, and now some boring guy giving a boring speech. He’s probably giving a speech about corn or wallpaper or something.”
“Corn or wallpaper? What the hell are you talking about, Brodes?” asks Brent.
“They’re the most boring things I could think of.”
“You are the most boring thing I can think of,” chimes in Margaux.
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
“I wish they’d both shut up,” whispers Bit. I nod and smile and go back to drearily watching the screen. Might as well. There’s not much else to do.
With a narrow-eyed glare, the uniformed man scans the group. He raises an arm and points to Dean McCarthy, who is sitting two rows up beside Sherrie and Ashley. Sherrie looks as meek as usual but none the worse for wear. Nurse Talbot obviously took good care of her asthma attack.
Dean hesitantly steps down the levels of the grandstand as the buzz-cut man mouths something into the silver command module on his wrist. Everyone in the group leans and cranes their necks to watch as a long dark slice cuts into the ground a few feet away. It slowly gets wider and wider until eventually, a large square hole the size of a two-car garage has molded open in the dirt.
Something is rising from the center of the hole. It’s a box. A big metal box. It looks like a huge, shiny silver shipping container turned on its end. Soon the olive-drab helmets of two soldiers can be seen rising from the hole, too, standing at attention on either side of the box.
The lift jolts to a stop and one of the soldiers begins tapping away at a keypad on the side of the container. Judging by the height of the soldiers, the massive box must be almost four stories high.
Both soldiers step to the side as the top and the walls of the box slowly begin folding down in sections. After half a minute or so they compact down to ground level, fully revealing the contents inside. There, standing tall and still, a few feet in front of the grandstand, is a towering, thirty-foot-high, camouflage-colored robot. It’s as tall as a small apartment block. Its massive shoulders, chest, arms, and legs are all rounded smooth with bulbous, military-green armor. Its head is a wide green dome with a thick horizontal strip of shiny black where its eyes should be. It’s extremely intimidating, and, I’m guessing, very, very expensive.
“Whoa,” Ryan says, sitting up in his chair. “Is that a R.A.M.?!”
“Ahh . . . I’m not very well versed on giant-robot terminology. What exactly is a ram?” I ask.
“R-A-M,” spells out Bit. “It stands for Remote Articulated Mechanoid. It’s a war robot.”
Ryan looks slightly impressed. “That’s right. Forrester Aerospace used to make R.A.M.s for the Navy until Blackstone got the contract. I saw a couple of them at one of my dad’s factories once, but they were only a couple of feet taller than an average-sized man. That one is almost four times bigger. It’s a freakin’ monster.”
“Oh man, we are missing out on cool stuff!” Brody whines from the other side of the room.
One of the soldiers kneels and unbolts the top of the box from one of the folded-down sides. The other soldier takes an edge and they both lift an obviously heavy metal square over to the older man. They carefully flip it over onto the ground beside him, making a platform of sorts. The soldiers take their positions on either side of the platform, facing out toward the huge green behemoth. The man steps his boot on the edge of the thick overturned lid and a folding metal chair springs up from the center of it. He points at the robot and then, with a big smile on his face, slaps a hand on Dean’s shoulder.
“No way. He’s not doing what I think he’s doing, is he?” Ryan wonders dubiously. “He wouldn’t let that Dean guy drive a R.A.M., would he?!”
“I wish I could hear what he’s saying!” barks Brent.
“Stupid computer!” shouts Margaux. “Turn the display sound on!” The voice of the uniformed man suddenly issues from both sides of the room, clearly and loudly.
“So what do ya say son? Think you’re man enough to give it a spin?”
Bit leaps out of her chair and whirls around. “How did you do that!?”
Ryan and I both stand and look over in Margaux’s direction in disbelief.
She turns her head to the side and I can see her pompous sneer. “The computer obviously knows a woman of quality when it sees one.”
“Ask for something else!” Brent says excitedly.
“Make another dinosaur!” demands Brody.
Margaux looks at both of them with amused contempt. “Computer, I would like a table and a mirror and a hairbrush and my phone. Now.”
Nothing happens.
“Computer? Hey! Stupid computer! Give me my phone. Now!” Margaux demands, but nothing happens.
“Computer. Mute sound,” commands Bit.
Nothing happens.
She looks upward, ponders for a moment, and then tries again. “Mute display sound.”
The uniformed man’s little lecture about the benefits of military force cuts off immediately. Bit looks mildly surprised, then just as quickly disappointed. “Congratulations, Margaux. You’ve discovered the key word for the TV remote.”
“Whatever, loser,” murmurs Margaux.
“Display, sound on,” Bit orders, sliding back into her seat. The audio resumes with the slightly anxious voice of Professor Francis issuing from both screens.
“. . . not sure that’s such a good idea, Colonel Brash.”
Ryan and I sit down to watch. “Phew. Can you imagine what a nightmare it would be if Margaux could command the computer?” whispers Ryan.
“Yeah, she’d force the Drones to give us all makeovers,” I say with a little smirk.
“You wouldn’t need one,” Ryan says, his expression serious, his gaze moving slowly over my face.
“Shut up. Watch the TV, Mr. Cheesy,” I say with a smile, my face suddenly hot.
“Both of you, shut up,” Bit says, glaring at the screen with her arms folded.
“Get in that chair, son,” orders the man that Professor Francis called Colonel Brash. Dean doesn’t need to be asked twice. He practically leaps into the metal chair. I’ve never seen anyone look so excited.
“Ahhh . . . Colonel Brash?” I’ve also never seen Professor Francis look more concerned.
“There’s nothing to worry about, Professor.” The Colonel juts his thumb back over his shoulder. “That Gun Boy there is set to training mod
e. It’ll be firing paint pellets.” He reaches under Dean’s chair and retrieves a small black box and a visor with a metal headband attached to it. He holds the little box up to show everyone. “And I can shut it down at any time with this little override doohickey here.”
He shoves the box in his pocket and hands the metal band to Dean. “Put that on your head, son.”
Dean puts the band on the crown of his head and Colonel Brash flicks the visor down over his eyes.
“Ahh, sorry to interrupt again, Colonel Brash, but Mr. McCarthy there obviously doesn’t have any knowledge or training in the operation of what appears to be, a very large and dangerous piece of equipment and . . .”
The Colonel promptly cuts off the Professor. “Doesn’t need it.” The Professor looks flabbergasted.
“Thanks to this little wonder right here,” Colonel Brash says, tapping the metal headband on Dean’s head. “In the past, you needed at least six weeks’ training on a control panel with joysticks and pedals to master the basics of piloting a combat mech. But thanks to the brilliant minds here at Blackstone Tech, and this marvelous piece of apparatus right here, anyone can do it.”
The Colonel’s words of reassurance do little to soften the Professor’s hard expression of concern.
“Let me demonstrate.” Colonel Brash fishes the small black box from his pocket and holds it to his lips. “Authorize. Brash. Code one eight two niner, R-A-M twelve slash one, activate engage.” He holds the box in the palm of his hand and presses his thumb to the front of it.
The sound is a low bass hum. It’s coming from the robot. The hum gets higher and higher in pitch, rising and rising, until after a few seconds it maintains a soft medium tone and two light spots grow in the black strip on the front of its dome head, giving it the appearance of having dim white circular eyes.
