by Jeff Norton
No pressure then.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Trial by Rocket
I grabbed the wheel and the virtual dashboard flashed to life. The racer could feel me. It knew what I wanted. And what I wanted was … to win.
Sonya called up to me from the tarmac.
“You can beat the Reeds on speed,” she said, “but against a Yazzerbeast, you’ll have to be cunning. Try to annoy him. Use his temper against him. Break his concentration.”
Batta’s racer looked like a hundred bazookas glued together then spray-painted black. He snarled at me from his cockpit. He was smaller than Graz, more wiry. But he had sharper teeth and a scarier growl.
I waved, cool as I could, trying to unnerve him.
The Slugs ushered my friends back behind the fence, and I was suddenly alone with my frantically pounding heart.
Four AJABots glided over everyone’s heads and hovered – gassy-smelling blue flames spurting from jets on their feet – above the starting line.
“Bipeds and quadrupeds, mammals and machines,” the biggest one boomed, “welcome to the qualifiers!”
He explained the course was straight to the east radar tower and back – two hundred miles each way – and there would be three heats. Only the three winners would advance to the finals.
The drive-in screen burst to life with shaky images of the Reed, Batta and me, and then (when two of the AJABots whizzed way up into the night sky) it showed spectacular overhead views of the drive-in, crowd and racers.
“We’re filming everything!” the loud AJABot said. “So you guys won’t miss a thing!”
The crowd whooped and cheered.
“You there, Houston?” I said.
“I’m here,” he said, his voice crackling in my ear. “They’re going to start any moment. Get ready.”
“Don’t crash into the radar tower,” Sonya’s voice said.
“Do the spinning thing again,” Octo said. “I can film it off the drive-in screen this time, buddy.”
“Don’t do the spinning thing,” Sonya said.
“RACERS …” the AJABot announced, louder than ever, “are you READY … ?”
Batta punched the air and howled.
The yellow sphere shimmered and went transparent. The Xenophile pilot inside waved with his whole body. The crowd loved it.
I gave another thumbs-up. Pressed the clutch with my left foot. Hovered my right foot over the accelerator.
“Remember, Sherman,” Houston said. “Gently.”
“RACERS …” the AJABot continued, “five … four … three … two … ONE …”
I hovered my foot over the accelerator.
“IGNITION!”
I stomped as hard as I could, shooting off like, well, you know, a rocket.
“GENTLY!” Sonya yelled.
“Keep the radar tower in sight,” Houston said. “You must be ready for your turn.”
“Spin it!” Octo growled.
The air whooshed, the giants in the engines did their teeth-rattling “AAAAAAAH” thing, and I lined up my trajectory with the floodlit tower in the distance.
I checked my flanks. I was keeping pace with the other two rockets.
“Hey,” Octo said in my earpiece, “nice going, Earthman! Show him, Houston!”
A floating TV picture bleeped into life and showed me three dazzling white lines – the racers’ three exhaust flames – shooting across the desert.
And the middle one, my rocket, was in the lead.
“Don’t get too excited,” Sonya said. “Anytime now that yellow ball’s gonna …”
There was a yellow flash to my left, and the sphere roared. On the screen, the Reed’s vapour trail suddenly drifted upward, above Batta and me.
“ … start having fun.”
“He’s gonna loop!” Octo laughed. “Then bounce.”
Over the intercom, I heard the drive-in crowd start chanting.
“Loop de loop … loop de loop … loop de loop!”
Then it happened. The yellow sphere soared up, up, up towards the stars, then swooped back down, bouncing off the desert floor like a rubber ball and hurling through the air until it was right back next to me.
Batta, meanwhile, had made up some ground and was close enough for me to see a long, gloopy string of Yazzerbeast snot fly from his nose and splatter against his racer’s steering fins.
Classy.
“Any tips from the pit crew?” I called.
“Go-uh fas-uh-ter, dude,” Octo said, clearly chomping something at the same time. “You need to go faster.”
“Tell the ventitent,” I said to Houston, “to just enjoy his pizza. I’m going flat-out here.”
“He says to just enjoy your pizza,” Houston said.
“Whoa,” Octo marveled, “how did he know it was pizza?”
“Will you guys concentrate?” Sonya said. “The tower’s coming up, Sherman.”
The Reed was on my port side and Batta to my starboard. We were neck and neck and neck. Suddenly, Batta rammed into me.
“Argh!” I yelled. The rocket races were supposed to be non-contact, but then again, so was “touch” football.
The bump sent me into a spiral, and I pulled the ship up to avoid hitting the yellow ball. Once I was upside down, I spotted Batta’s ship careen across – and smash sideways into the unsuspecting Reed ship. It bounced uncontrollably across the ground.
My competitors were down … but I was in a death spiral, and I couldn’t stop.
I spun and spun, unable to regain control.
“Your starboard engine’s malfunctioned,” said Houston. “It’s keeping you in the spiral.”
“You’ve got to jettison it,” said Sonya.
I opened the hood to the two levers that controlled the rocket boosters. I pulled up hard on the right-hand lever, but nothing happened.
“It’s stuck,” I screamed, going into another spin.
“Sherman, watch the tower!” called Sonya. “Don’t hit it!”
That was it! I could knock the dud rocket off the racer by clipping the tower.
I controlled the spiral just long enough to slam my starboard rocket into the concrete tower, dislodging it from the racer.
I heard a CRUNCHHHHHH as the engine slammed off.
“Good move!” cried Octo.
I swung the ship around and prepared to race to the finish – not that I had any other rocket to worry about now. It was then I noticed that not only had I knocked off my own misfiring rocket, I’d fractured the tower. It was collapsing like an oversized game of Jenga.
“Move it!” shouted Sonya.
I hit the acceleration, hoping to avoid any falling concrete, and blasted my way back across the dark desert.
I shot over Batta yelling at the Reed, who was twisted into a pretzel but fortunately not hurt.
I eased up on the engine, worried about overheating the single fusion booster, and soon soared triumphantly over the finish line. The crowd cheered and I heard the AJABots announce Aldrin as the winner, advancing me to the finals.
At that moment, I wanted to rip off the mask and get some credit for what had been a pretty eventful race, but I knew if I did, NATO would be handing me over faster than I could say Article Five.
I parked the rocket away from the crowds, behind the drive-in screen, and Octo reached up with a few tentacles to lift me to the ground.
We hugged, high-fived, and whoo-hooed.
My whole body buzzed with excitement. I felt part of something, a team … a winning team.
“You did great, Sherman,” said Sonya.
“Good flying,” said Houston. “For a human.”
“Thanks, guys.” I scanned the distant crowd, looking for the blue glow. But both Juliet and NED were gone. “Did she stay to see me win?”
“Dunno,” Octo said. “We were all eyes on you, buckaroo.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Dressing the Part
With the race trials behind me, and both the Rocket Rac
e final and Prom three weeks away, I turned my attention from Groom Lake to fair Verona, where we lay this scene.
It was a Friday, and Drama was the first class of the day, and our last rehearsal before the big show that night. While everyone else gossiped and texted before class began, I quietly snuck into the back corner of the auditorium and tried to concentrate on running my lines.
But as soon as I started repeating, “A greater power than we can contradict Hath thwarted our intents,” to myself, the whole place went completely, utterly silent. And when I looked up – expecting to see Ms Teg watching us from the doorway – what I saw was Juliet walking into the room.
Walking.
Not floating.
And the glow was gone too. I mean, believe me, the girl still glowed. No beams of light any more, it was just … her, a teenage girl, but she could totally teach the torches to burn bright.
Her hair was light brown, in a loose ponytail. She wore ripped jeans, and a really cool faded gray T-shirt with a little Saturn logo on the front. She paced self-consciously past the staring Xenophine Reeds and Slugs and AJABots and Aristox as they watched her – every inch of the way – walk down the aisle, slink along my row, and take the seat next to me.
And it was only once she’d given the room a little wave that, slowly, everyone got back to their phones and their conversations.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” I said. “You look so … human.”
“What can I say? I’m a disciple of the Method.”
“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for taking physical form on this ‘primitive planet’?”
“Probably. But I figured if you’d risk getting imprisoned just to get my attention, the least I could do is show up for the play in the right costume.”
A sudden shudder shook through me. I had to ask.
“You didn’t, um, clone this look from someone else, did you?”
“No, this is all me.” She took the band out of her hair and swung her head to the side. Her hair caught the light and swooshed like in a shampoo ad. I was mesmerized.
Octo gyroscoped up to the two of us, and nodded. “Nice look. I think Sherman’s got something he wants to ask you.”
I wasn’t ready for the big proposal, but I knew what Octo was thinking. Since Prom night coincided with the NED invasion, keeping Juliet around in physical form was our best chance of ensuring our planetary bodyguard would be on Earth when the NEDs arrived.
Octo moved down towards the stage, reciting his Mercutio lines, leaving me to prematurely pop the big question. The fate of the world rested on my narrow shoulders.
“Juliet,” I said, finally mustering the courage. “Would you go to the Prom with me?”
She looked at me.
Up, down, and all over. I wasn’t sure if she was sizing me up, or figuring out how to let me down. Then she smiled.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d ever ask, Sherman,” she said. A look of confused horror must have crept across my face because she added quickly, “Yes, I’d love to go.”
“With me, right?”
“Yes, with you.”
I couldn’t believe it, even though I knew it was happening. It felt so, well, un-Sherman-like. It looked like I really was going to save the planet and acquire the hottest Prom date at the same time.
“Thespians, first positions please,” called Ms Teg, fluttering into the auditorium. “Final rehearsal before our big night.”
* * *
It’s amazing how easy everything seems when you’re walking on sunshine. Juliet and I killed it in rehearsal. Then I aced a popquiz in Planetology, and even nailed the problem set in Math class. So by the time I reassembled with my crew at lunch, I was feeling a million per cent.
The cafeteria was as packed and crazy-smelling as always, and most of the chatter – audible in between the crashing plates and chanting football players and hollering lunch ladies – was about Aldrin. Houston’s mysterious brother, who beat the Reed and the Yazzerbeast into the race finals, hadn’t been seen since the trials. Absence, it seemed, made Groom Lake’s gossip mill grow curious.
“Sherman!” Octo hissed, munching on a Sentuvian eyeburger and slurping root beer through a straw. “Don’t look now, bro, but Juliet has entered the cafeteria … she’s grabbed some food from Nancy aaaaaand … she’s a-comin’ this way!”
I crossed my fingers under the table, secretly hoping she’d want to break the strict social hierarchy of the cafeteria’s caste system. But I knew that she had a rep to protect. And thanks to the gulag-avoiding robotic disguise, I was still just Sherman Capote to the masses.
Sonya licked three tonguefuls of Venusian mouse- mousse from her spoon. “Juliet’s the queen bee of the cool table, Sherman,” she said. “I doubt she’ll lower herself.”
I tried to keep it cool.
Mr Cool.
Señor Suave.
Monsieur Mojo.
Lord Lowkey.
I did my best to focus on not spilling gravy on my favorite NASA T-shirt, but from the corner of my eye I kept track of her new human-look as Juliet shimmied between tables, still heading our way, balancing her tray and ignoring cat-calls from the Fungi.
“Besides,” Sonya went on, “if she does sit here, it’s only gonna attract awkward questions. Everyone thinks Aldrin’s the big hero, remember. Not Romeo Capote here.”
“She’s not Aldrin’s Prom date though,” I said, grinning like an idiot.
Houston looked up from the racer blueprints he was scribbling on, checked no one would overhear, then whispered across the table.
“Everyone wants the nine-one-one on Aldrin,” Houston said.
“Four-one-one,” I corrected him.
“Does an omnipotent gal like Juliet actually need lunch?” Octo mused. “Isn’t she just, like, powered by the cosmos?”
“Maybe not,” I said, arranging my fries into a log cabin, “but she’s here to experience normal life, isn’t she? Maybe that includes the three-square-meals-a-day part.”
“Thirty-three, dude,” Octo said.
“I said normal life, not the all-you-can-eat-buffet life.”
“In that case,” Houston said, “I suggest we commence acting normal. My perimeter sensors indicate Juliet will be at this table in T-minus eight seconds … seven …”
“Whoa,” Octo yelled, “you see the look on NEDster’s face when she just strolled past the cool seniors’ table?”
“Shhh your beaks,” I whispered. “She’s coming.”
“ … three … two … one!”
“Hi, Sherman, can I join you?” Juliet asked.
Her tray was filled with nothing but chocolate: chocolate bars, chocolate cake and chocolate milk.
“Since you’ve brought dessert for all of us,” said Octo, “you can sit anywhere you like!”
“This one’s free,” I said, offering her the chair next to me. “What’s with the cocoa-flavoured lunch?”
“You going on an un-health kick?” asked Sonya.
Houston’s eyes glowed. “I’ve just scanned the contents of your tray and the total calories represent twenty-two thousand per cent of your recommended intake,” he said.
“I’ve never had chocolate,” confessed Juliet. “So I thought if I’m going to break a few rules, why not break a few more?”
“The Mentor doesn’t know?” I asked.
“A girl who lives dangerously with her grub,” laughed Octo. “I like her more already.”
“I snuck out early this morning,” Juliet said, with a giddy smile.
I caught Sonya rolling her eyes. “It’ll make you fat, you know.”
“I should try that too!” said Juliet, excitedly. “I’ve never been fat – what’s it like?” She looked at Octo innocently.
“No, no, see this is blubber, not fat,” he argued. “Big difference.”
“Oh,” said Juliet. “Well, you have lovely blubber.”
Octo beamed from all three beaks.
“So, Juliet,” started Sonya
. “What brings you to the not-so-cool table?”
“I thought maybe Sherman and I should run lines one more time before tonight’s performance. Will all of you be coming?”
Sonya grinned and draped an arm over my shoulder.
“To watch Sherman prance around in tights while Octo dies?” Sonya said. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Places Please
Word had spread that afternoon about Juliet and me being Prom dates, resulting in a strange combination of awestruck looks and jealous high-fives when I’d walked the halls between classes. Of course, most of the student body had appendages with anything but four fingers and a thumb, so “high-five” was more like high-claw or high-paw.
That night, the auditorium was sweaty and packed, and not just with students. When Juliet and I held hands and took our bows, the whole place – even the rest of the cast behind us – went wild. I spied Mr Meltzer, Mr Zvisst, Mr Orson and even Lunch Lady Nancy, all clapping away. Mrs Rackles didn’t have hands, but I’m pretty sure that ear was cheering in her own way.
Even Dad was there, politely applauding in his civvies. Jessica had been great as Lady Capulet (maybe because Lady Capulet is distant, moody and annoying), and I’d nailed every scene I was in – but I wondered if Dad was actually proud or just clapping to feign parental supportiveness.
And when Juliet – to whoops and cheers from the crowd – surprised me with a kiss on the cheek, I wondered if she was enjoying Earth-life enough to definitely not disappear between then and the Prom.
I couldn’t stop grinning. The applause and cheering kind of made up for Aldrin getting the credit for the race trials. And when we got a standing ovation, I have to confess, it boosted my ego to a new level. I may have been an anonymous racer-boy, but that night on stage, I became a school celebrity.
My cheek still tingling with Juliet’s first kiss, I felt that finally everything was going to be okay. I would race the final Rocket Races, prove my awesomeness to Juliet and sweep her off her feet at Prom. When the NED invasion came, her physical presence on Earth would be the ultimate deterrent. Surely the NEDs wouldn’t mess with an Icon.
Even Jessica gave me the slightest of approving head- nods from the wings and mouthed, Bravo.
