Bounders

by Monica Tesler

  “That’s all good, Sunshine,” Marco says, “but we’re down one, if you haven’t noticed.”

  Lucy’s face darkens. “Good. As far as I’m concerned, Mira’s a liability, something we’ll have to work around if we want to win this thing.”

  As quickly as the shadow on Lucy’s face arrived, it fades. She steps onto the chute platform and flashes us a smile. “So, who’s with me?”

  I follow Cole and Marco into the chute cube. Cole’s still mad, but I’m optimistic. After all, Lucy’s right: we’ll have to work as a pod. And that means we all have to get along.

  “Well?” Marco says. He’s staring at me. In fact, all of them are staring at me. Even Cole.

  “What?” I ask.

  “How do we do this? You know, the mega fast human chain.”

  Why are they asking me? Any of them could figure it out. Lucy and Cole did it with me the first time. They stand there, waiting for my answer, like I’m the missing glue that can make it all stick.

  “Okay, well, ummm . . .” I stink at breaking things down into steps. I just know how to do something or I don’t. Like, for example, I clearly don’t know how to fly the blast pack.

  They still stare. I have to come up with something. I close my eyes and picture us in the chute. First I hit Lucy’s shoes with my head. Then I reached up and grabbed her ankles and yelled at Cole to do the same. When we connected, I urged them to stretch out as far as they could.

  “So, how ’bout this,” I say. “Lucy, you go first. Marco, you stand ready. As soon as Lucy lifts off, you step onto the platform and try to grab her ankles before she’s completely sucked in. Cole, you go next. I’ll take the rear.”

  “You’re grabbing my ankles?” Cole asks me.

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  Cole pauses. Lucy and Marco bounce on their toes, antsy to get going. Cole tips his eyes to mine for a second and then turns his body toward the chute. “No problem.”

  “Good,” I say. “If for any reason you miss, just get into the chute as fast as you can and make the grab inside. And remember to stretch out. It gives you speed.”

  Lucy rubs her hands on her pants and steps up to the chute. “Here goes,” she says, and presses the button.

  A loud whooshing fills the chute cube, and Lucy is sucked up. Marco is quick. He’s on the platform and sailing up after Lucy in a flash, his hands locked on to her ankles.

  Cole hesitates and misses the grab by a solid second. He looks back at me, a question on his face.

  “Just go!” I yell. “Make the grab in the chute.” I push Cole, and he stumbles onto the platform. As soon as he’s sucked up, I take his place. There’s no way I’m going to screw this up. Not when I’m the one who gave the directions. Not when Cole is the kid in front of me.

  My hands clamp onto Cole’s ankles, and my body is yanked into the chute.

  “Where are you guys?” Marco shouts.

  “We’re coming!” I yell. The wind plasters my hair against my face, covering my eyes. I stretch my arms and legs out as far as I can. We accelerate, closing in on Marco and Lucy.

  “I think I’m close!” Cole shouts.

  “Make the grab!”

  Bump. We caught up. Cole and Marco connect, and we zip forward: a four-person chain barreling through the suction chute.

  “Woo-hoo!” Marco yells.

  We rush through a straightaway, accelerating every second. Tears stream from my eyes, and my stomach drops as we fly through the dark tunnel.

  Without warning, we bank right. As the last in the chain, I whip around the corner. My left leg bangs against the side of the chute, sending currents of pain up my bruised hip. Still. It’s awesome.

  The chute echoes with our screams. I hope no one’s behind us. They’ll think we’re badly hurt (which isn’t too far from the truth, in my case).

  I slam into the arrival trough on top of Cole, who’s on top of Marco. Somehow Lucy managed to jump out of the way. I guess she learned her lesson the last ride.

  Cole pushes me. “Get off.”

  Geez. Settle down. I climb out of the trough and extend a hand to Cole. He ignores me and climbs out the other side.

  Marco takes my hand and hops off. He pats me on the shoulder. “Nice work, Captain,” he says. “That was incredible.”

  “Yeah, Jasper,” Lucy says. “Thanks.”

  You’re welcome? What did I do?

  Cole’s already headed for the pod room. We race to catch up.

  “Okay, crew, let’s get settled,” Waters says when we arrive. He grips my shoulder and squeezes. “Welcome back, Jasper. I’m glad you’re on your feet.”

  We sink into the beanbags and stare at Waters.

  “So you gonna explain how to bound today, Teach?” Marco asks. “Give us the goods we need to ace this competition?”

  Waters studies us with a grim face. “No. I’m not.”

  We look around at one another. Why not?

  “I’m not,” Waters continues, “because the whole pod’s not assembled.”

  The other cadets look at me. I shrug. No, I have no idea where Mira is. Come on, people. Didn’t we just ride here together in the chute? Why would I know any better than you where Mira is?

  “I don’t get it,” Lucy says. “Why do we have to wait for her? It’s not like she’s going to help us. She’s the reason we’re going to lose. Seriously, Mr. Waters, why is she even here? How did she make the cut?”

  Waters’s face grows rigid, and his eyes drill into Lucy. She shifts in her seat and glances at me. I’m sure she’s looking for my support, but I turn away.

  “Mira is a member of this pod,” Waters says, “just like you. She’s critical to the success of this pod. In fact, I may go so far as to say Mira is the most critical factor to the success of this pod. You’ll do well to remember that, Miss Dugan.”

  “Yes, Mr. Waters.” Lucy dips her chin and stares at the green carpet.

  “Jasper,” Waters says, “please bring Mira to the pod room. I expect you’ll find her in the sensory gym.”

  It takes a second for his words to register. Does he really want me to search for Mira? Why me? Why is it always me? I guess I don’t have much choice. I haul myself out of the beanbag, leave the room, and wander out of the pod hall.

  Lucy said the sensory gym is in this structure. I head away from the chutes toward the part of the building I haven’t explored yet. An obnoxious horn blows as a mini Spider Crawler zips around a corner, heading straight for me. I jump out of the way just in time to avoid being run over. The robot abruptly stops in front of the chute cube, stretches up on its spindly legs to unlock the door and activate the chute, then crawls onto the platform. Whoosh! It’s sucked into the tube.

  Those things are creepy.

  I turn down the hallway where the robot came from. It looks the same as every other hallway—bright lights, green-gray walls, lots of chrome metal. Most of the doors are secured with a bioscanner. If Mira is in one of those rooms, I’m locked out.

  The door at the end of the hall is open, so I head that way. As I enter the room, I’m enveloped in soft warm light. All the harsh florescent bulbs have been replaced with natural glow orbs. I almost feel like I’m outside. Back on Earth.

  Rings and rope swings hang from the ceiling. Ladders and climbing walls rise to elevated platforms. Slides and fireman poles lead back to the ground. My shoes sink with each step. I bend down and press my fingers into the floor. A deep mat cradles my feet.

  I don’t get this place. It’s completely anti–Earth Force, like Waters’s love den.

  A tent is in the corner. I peer inside. Piles of pillows and blankets are stacked against the edge. I could definitely lose some time in there. Unfortunately, I have a job to do. I drop the door flap.

  A row of trampolines is against the far wall. They’re lined up one after the next all the way to the edge of a large pit. A knotted rope hangs from the ceiling above the pit. What on earth is in there? I cross over and peer in. The
pit is filled with tiny silver beads.

  Awesome.

  Mira will have to wait a minute.

  I glance over my shoulder, making sure I’m still alone. Then I walk back to the door and look down the hallway. No one. I skip to the far end of the trampoline wall and slip off my shoes. I hoist myself up and bounce a few times before taking off.

  Hop.

  Hop.

  Hop.

  Grab the rope.

  Swing and drop.

  I sink into the bead pit. The little silver spheres part just enough to let my body through, then rush to mold around me. The metal is cool against my skin. I lay my head back, close my eyes.

  For the first time since arriving at the space station, I relax. I forget all about Bad Breath and the blast pack. I don’t care about Cole. I slip deeper into the bead pit and let myself drift.

  The soft tinkling of piano keys tickles my ears. What is that? The music grows louder, more intense. I’ve heard the song before, but I can’t place the memory. Where’s that music coming from?

  I drag myself out of the bead pit and follow the sound. A hallway I didn’t notice before opens from an inside corner of the sensory gym. At the end of the hall is a small room with a black grand piano.

  The door is open. The notes tear out of the room and run down the hall, pulling me toward them. By a magnetic force, I’m drawn to the music, to the piano, to Mira. And there she is. Her long thin arms are spread wide above the keys, jabbing and pounding and commanding the instrument. Her body sways and jerks in time with the beats and measures. I move, too. I can’t help it.

  Mira’s eyes are closed. She tips her head back so her chin lifts from her neck in a straight line. The long braid holds most of her hair, but golden wisps escape and float above her head like a halo. She looks as small and delicate as a bird but as strong and masterful as a thousand kings.

  Then the tone changes, and her chin drops. Her head rolls forward to her chest and pivots loosely between her shoulders. Her whole body caves in as a hollow sadness drones from the piano. The room is filled with melancholy.

  I am filled with melancholy.

  And I’m sitting up in bed, Addy at the foot, playing her violin, my clarinet gripped strong in my hands.

  The music fades to a whisper as Mira’s slender fingers brush the keys in a final chord. I sigh. I’m as relaxed as I’d been in the bead pit.

  She hears me. My sigh. But she doesn’t look at first. She opens her eyes and stares at her fingers. Her body shifts then. Slowly. Like she needs a separate second to take control of each muscle. To bring them back.

  Then she looks at me with her bottomless eyes.

  My heart falls to the ground, and I’m not sure I can speak. Then I shake my head, cough once, and say, “I’ve come to take you to the pod room.”

  11

  “MIRA, JASPER, GLAD YOU COULD JOIN us,” Waters says when we enter the pod room. “I was telling the others something important while you were out, so I’m going to say it again. There is only one way you’ll succeed here at the EarthBound Academy. And only one way you’ll succeed as Bounders, and that is by working as a team. . . .”

  Waters’s mouth moves, but I can’t hear his words. All I can hear is the melancholy music streaming from the piano, filling the hall, filling my mind. I can’t look at Mira. If I did, I’m sure I would melt. I’m sure everyone in the room would know what happened. Not that anything did happen. She played the piano. Okay, she played the piano better than anyone I’d ever heard. And she knows I play the clarinet. So we have a musical connection. Big deal.

  “Jasper,” Waters says, “this is critical. You need to be engaged. I’ll wait until you’re ready to join us.”

  Everyone stares. Cole glares. Great, just great. Another space out. I press my hands into fists to stay focused. “Sorry.”

  “Let’s get started,” Waters says. “You’ll be taught the basic bounding mechanics for the ships during your classes. In pod sessions, we’ll be focusing on new technology.” He and Gedney exchange a suspicious glance.

  Cole perks up. “New technology?”

  Waters nods. “That’s right. Okay, here goes—” Waters opens his mouth, but no words come out. He rises from his beanbag and drags his fingers through his hair. “I feel like there should be a musical accompaniment to this announcement.” He looks at Mira, but she doesn’t react.

  Why is he acting so weird? I turn to Cole, who turns to Lucy, who shrugs. There is definitely something going on.

  “Boss, come on, don’t leave us hanging here,” Marco says. He hops up and crosses to the bin of spiky balls in the corner. Marco never sits still for long.

  Waters’s slow gaze circles the room. “Gedney, the gloves.”

  Gedney hobbles over to Waters with a pair of shiny gloves in hand.

  I look at Cole again. His eyes blaze with excitement, but I can tell he doesn’t know what to expect.

  “Gloves?” Marco asks. He plops down on his beanbag and tosses a bumpy purple ball from hand to hand.

  “I’ll let Gedney do the honors,” Waters says. “How ’bout a demo, old man?”

  “Well, yes, no time to waste.” Gedney steps to the center of our circle, and Waters dims the lights. Gedney shakes out the gloves and slides them onto his hands. He’s careful, meticulous, making sure each finger is perfectly in place—a slow process for someone always urging us to hurry. He smooths the end seams of the gloves midway up his forearms.

  Gedney’s hunched body straightens as he raises his arms out and up. Moments before, he seemed small, forgettable, but as he lifts his arms, he morphs into something commanding.

  Then he jerks his hands in the air.

  Currents of light race through the gloves to the tips of his fingers and then out into the pod room. First ten then twenty then a thousand rays of light shoot out of the gloves, dancing and darting and weaving together like an army of spiders spinning their webs into the greatest net ever known. And then he’s pulling and gathering the lines of light into a great ball. A great ball of yarn made of strings of light, knotted together in a perfect orb. Gedney has it there between his fingers, molding it, massaging it, gathering it together until it acquires a certain quality or symmetry that seems right, certain. Like it’s the only design it can possibly be.

  And then Gedney disappears. Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe I just blinked. Because he’s there, and the ball of light is gone. The air behind him shimmers for a second and then is still.

  “Ummm, what just happened?” Lucy asks.

  Gedney’s shoulders roll forward, and his knees shake. When I’m sure he’s about to collapse, Waters eases him onto a beanbag. Gedney pulls the gloves off finger by finger and lays them lengthwise across his lap.

  “Seriously,” Marco says, “what on earth was that?”

  I don’t have the faintest clue. It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, but I have no idea what it was.

  Cole jerks up in his seat. He taps his fingers. He mumbles to himself. Then his face lights up like a lantern. “You bounded,” he says.

  What?

  Gedney nods. “Indeed, I did.”

  “But how?” Cole says.

  “Wait a minute, Geds,” Marco says. “Just slow down. What does he mean, you bounded?”

  Waters places a hand on Gedney’s shoulder. “Just that, Marco. You all just witnessed Gedney bounding through space. A very small space, yes, but he bounded.”

  “How is that possible?” I ask. Bounding requires all kinds of sophisticated computers and calculations and precautions. You can’t just free-bound. That’s the stuff of sci-fi stories.

  “Gedney’s gloves make it possible,” Waters says. “Gedney is the mastermind behind this incredible new biotechnology. A biotechnology you were born to master.”

  “But free-bounding?” I ask. “Bounding through space without a ship? How could that not have been leaked to the media?”

  Lucy, Cole, Marco, and I huddle around a rear table in the mess hall. I t
hought we should debrief from the pod session, and I want to keep my mind off the afternoon’s Mobility class.

  “You heard him,” Marco says. “It’s top secret. Highest-level clearance.”

  “Yeah, I heard him about the clearance,” I say, “but that doesn’t make it clear. Why would we need to keep it secret? What’s compromised if it’s disclosed? You’d think they’d want people to know about the greatest scientific advancement in modern time.”

  “Unless,” Marco says, “there’s a threat no one knows about.”

  Marco’s eyes drill into me. If this were a mystery movie, the camera would be zooming in for a close-up, and suspenseful music would be playing.

  “You mean . . . ? You couldn’t possibly . . . ?” I say.

  Marco nods. I cover my face with my hands. I don’t want to believe the gloves have anything to do with the alien prisoner, but I can’t ignore the uncomfortable feeling in my gut.

  “What are you talking about?” Cole asks.

  Marco gives Cole a crooked stare. Even I know it means shut up.

  It flies right over Cole’s head. “What?” he says, indignant.

  “The med room,” I whisper.

  Cole’s eyes widen. “Whoa . . . I guess it’s possible.”

  “Oh, come on,” Lucy says. “You boys stink at secrets. Just clue me in, will you? It’ll be easier on all of us.”

  Cole shrugs, and Marco gestures to me, giving me the honors. Well, I guess there isn’t a lot of downside in telling Lucy.

  “There’s an alien being held captive on the ship,” I say.

  We lean forward, awaiting Lucy’s reaction.

  “So?” Lucy asks.

  “So, it’s not a normal alien—not that there’s anything too normal about an alien—but this one’s not a Tunneler. Marco and I saw him on the first night. They had him in the med room. The same one I was treated in. And let’s just say he wasn’t friendly.”

  Lucy rolls her eyes. Her hair is tied in ribbons again, even though Bad Breath made her take them all out in our last Mobility class. “So they’ve made contact with a new alien species. So what? I’m sure the public’s not always the first to know. They’re a lot more careful with disclosure since the Incident at Bounding Base 51. And just because one alien is a bad dude who needs to be locked up, it doesn’t mean we have to condemn his entire species.”