by Jeff Norton
For one moment, life couldn’t get any better.
Until it got unimaginably worse.
“Get off that stage, young lady!” shouted my mom’s voice above the applause. The Mentor stormed down the aisle and jumped onto the stage with fists clenched and eyes glaring.
“A boy!” she yelled.
“Do you mind, madam?” Ms Teg squealed, fluttering in front of the rampaging Mentor. “Groom Lake High has a zero-tolerance policy toward pushy stage-moms!”
“I’m nobody’s mother. I am the—”
“Mentor!” Juliet yelled. “What are you doing?”
The applause faded and a nervous, shocked alien babble rose up to replace it.
“Madam, if you please,” Ms Teg hissed again.
But the Mentor ignored her, stomped straight up to Juliet, yanked her away from me by the wrist, and started wagging her finger. Right there. Center stage.
“A boy!” she yelled again. “You took physical form on this primitive planet for a boy?”
“Mentor, please,” Juliet said, “people are watching!”
“A mortal boy with no powers, no standing in the universe … in tights?”
“I don’t usually dress like this,” I said in my defense.
But she just kept on ranting, and then suddenly turned to jab her finger at me.
“You stay away from this Icon!” she said. “She is spoken for!”
“I’m still in training,” Juliet snapped, suddenly crying, “and I am not spoken for.”
“You will be, young lady. Your parents have ordered a Pairing!”
“What?!” cried Juliet, yanking back her wrist, hitching her costume away from her feet and storming off stage- right. “No!”
“Where do you think you’re going?” called the Mentor, before turning back to me. “This is all your fault.”
As if on cue, the spotlight swung onto me, half-blinding me. As I squinted through the light, I spotted Mr Meltzer shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
And then I saw Dad.
He was frozen. His mouth open. His eyes wide behind his glasses.
“CAROL!” he yelled, loud enough to silence the entire crowd.
It took a few moments for the Mentor to realize someone was talking to her. She shielded her eyes and gazed out from the stage.
“Carol!” Dad called again, quivering. “Is. That. Really. You?”
A lump came straight to my throat. I checked the wings for Jessica, and saw her sprawled on the floor, with Quudo crouched over her, fanning his limbs to cool her down.
I could only watch as Dad pushed through the crowd and scrambled up onstage. He stood there, frozen.
“You’re … alive?” he whispered.
“Dad, listen,” I said. “She’s not …”
The Mentor narrowed her eyes. “I see,” she said. “You must be—”
“This is my dad,” I said to her.
“Of course,” the Mentor said, and she gave Dad a kind of weak, you-poor-thing smile.
Dad grabbed her arms.
“You’re alive!” he whispered again.
The Mentor wriggled gently out of his grip and started edging away, backwards, and offstage.
“Sherman,” she said, “would you mind filling your father in on the details? I genuinely don’t have time. I have a rebellious goddess in-training to reprimand and a Pairing to prepare for. You understand, I’m sure. Teenagers.”
And then, unbelievably, she was gone.
“It’s not her, Dad,” I said. “It’s not Mom.”
Dad gazed at me. Gazed offstage. Gazed at Jessica, who was now sitting up and sipping from a glass of water. He sighed a huge, desperately sad sigh.
“Then once again, son,” he said, “it seems you have some serious explaining to do.”
As the audience’s attention moved away from us and they began filing out of the auditorium, I finally came clean about the rocket and Mom’s ashes. Then I tried to explain the physics of the Mentor’s intergalactic cloning, but Dad interrupted me. “You launched her ashes in that rocket?”
“I just wanted her to get her wings,” I confessed. “She always wanted that, ever since she was young, and I figured this was her best chance to ever fly that high. It was something I could do for her. Only me. I know you don’t understand, but this was just something I had to do … for her.”
“You launched her ashes in that rocket?” he said, stuck on repeat.
“Yes, Dad, I just—”
“Without inviting me?”
And then he did the most un-Dad like thing he’d ever done.
He hugged me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Star-Crossed
In the weeks that followed, Juliet – thankfully still in physical form – ignored me at school and the Mentor refused to let me aboard their ship.
In GalLang class, instead of conjugating verbs, I formulated conspiracy theories in the back row with Octo.
“What if she’s finally realized that I’m no good for her?” I speculated. I secretly hoped she was simply ignoring me in order to keep on the Mentor’s good side, but I knew that was probably naïve.
“That’s why we stick to the plan,” urged Octo. “You race the rocket, you win, you get your Prom date. You save the world.”
Mrs Rackles, who could hear anything in a two- mile radius, interjected with some unsolicited dating advice – “To love is to suffer” – then punished us for talking in her class by forcing us to write out all of the tenses of “to love” and “to suffer” on the chalkboard. In French.
With twenty tentacles, it took Octo only a few seconds. Me, I was stuck at the board for ten minutes scrawling how I felt about Juliet in every tense. It was torture, but it gave me time to reflect.
Paternal relations had improved somewhat since the Mentor’s shocking appearance. A few days after the disaster in Verona, Dad took Jess and me out for What Beats a Pizza? and we agreed a type of Capote peace accord. Jess was actually nice about my Romeo performance and I found it in my heart to compliment her on how good the Prom preparations were looking.
“There’s only three of us in this squadron,” Dad said, “and we Capotes have to stick together.” Dad had a beer, Jess had fizzy water with lemon, and I indulged my cream soda fetish, and we toasted a fresh start at Groom Lake. Dad even proposed a toast to Mom.
“To Mom, and finally getting her wings,” he said. “Thank you, Sherman, for doing that.”
“Yeah,” agreed Jess. “That was the coolest, stupidest thing you’ve ever done, but I’m glad she soared that high.”
We finished our pizza and tucked into my favorite ice cream, mint chocolate swirl. But the conversation turned as cold as the dessert as soon as I brought up the impending end of the world.
“In a way,” I said, “I’m glad she’s not here to witness NEDageddon.”
“Sherman, you can’t go around saying things like that about our allies,” Dad warned. “The NED race is part of the Bureau and signatory to an intergalactic peace accord that has a very strict non-slander clause. You can’t scaremonger like this.”
Maybe I couldn’t scaremonger, but I could still be scared.
* * *
I finally decided to confront Juliet about the cold shoulder. I couldn’t take it any more – I needed to know whether we still had our Prom date.
As I approached the cool table, where Juliet was back in situ, Graz rose and muscled me back, growling, “COME FOR ANOTHER TRIP TO THE TRASH, SHER-MAN?”
With Earth’s destruction just days away, I wasn’t in the mood for Graz’s gruff.
“It’s Sherman,” I said, “and I’m here to talk to my Prom date.”
“She’s spoken for,” he growled.
I caught Juliet’s eye and she gave me a look I’d never seen on her: helpless and resigned. Instead of radiant and confident, she seemed meek and defeated. NED casually stretched out his arm and put it around her. Juliet looked at me with sad eyes and shook her head. She was as
king me not to make a scene.
I retreated from Graz and joined my crew at our table, announcing with new determination that we had to win the Rocket Race on Saturday. Not only could I not stand the sight of NED sidling up to Juliet, but now that I had a first-in-a-long-while glimpse of normal family life, I didn’t want the world to end just when Dad was beginning to see me as a human being.
“You want to spend your last week alive stuck in the hangar?” asked Sonya.
“Why so negative, pinky?” said Octo.
“All is not lost,” assured Houston. “I’ve been reviewing documentaries of Earth dating rituals and concluded that when the Earth male wins a major game or race, he invariably wins the girl.”
“The Earth girl,” snapped Sonya.
It was odd that Sonya was suddenly so negative, and Houston had become the optimistic one.
“Are you okay?” I asked Sonya.
She sighed, flicked her three tongues and shrugged it off as “family stuff”.
“Which documentaries?” Octo asked Houston.
“Anthropological studies like Grease, Teen Wolf, Footloose and High School Musical.”
He may have got the type of films confused, but he wasn’t wrong. Winning that race was my last and best hope to win Juliet’s heart. So I got them to agree to work every night on the rocket racer, making Carol ready for race day. Even if it meant spending possibly our last week alive in the hangar. At least I’d be doing it with friends.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Race for Your Life
Race day fell on the last Saturday of semester. It was Groom Lake tradition that the Rocket Race ran in the afternoon while Prom owned the evening.
The drive-in was like a summer carnival. Students, teachers and base workers of every species and origin mixed and mingled in the hot Nevada sun. They slid down giant inflatable waterslides, crashed bumper cars and lined up for sodas and hot dogs at the concession stand. Huge speakers on tripods blasted music and rhymed off rocketeer stats. A small fair was set up with alien twists on games of chance: plasma-ball, laser firing and a Zarkorian fish tank.
Of course, it was also the day we expected the NED attack, so I checked the crowd to see if Juliet was anywhere to be seen, and spotted her strolling around the fair with NED, eyeing the milk bottle game. But today I wasn’t interested in games. I had a girl to impress and a world to save.
Two AJABots towed the racer from the drive-in to the start/finish line. Sonya and Houston walked alongside, asking me to check all the key instruments. For the finals, a much longer race, each racer was allowed to have a small onboard crew, and I was happy to have my friends along for the ride, even if Sonya was still in a funk.
“Where’s that ventitent?” she asked. “He’d better not be late.”
“There,” I said, spotting him crouching at the start/ finish line, scrounging in the sand. “What’s he doing? Yoga?”
As our AJABots pulled us into position, Octo raced over and hauled himself up into the control cabin behind the cockpit.
“About time,” Sonya snarled. “You finished playing sandcastles?”
“What’s your damage, pinky?” Octo snapped back. “You’ve been a moody little lizard all week. And today you’ve done nothing but—”
“C’mon, guys,” I said, “cool it, we need to focus.”
I had my Victorian tuxedo on underneath the Aldrin suit, and planned to rush to Juliet right after taking the trophy. I’d swoop her away from NED, take her to Prom, and we’d dance the night away as the NEDs arrived to drain our planet of its magma. They’d realize there was an Icon habitating Planet Earth and they’d turn tail. I might even get a slow dance as a reward for my planet-saving brilliance.
It was all down to me, but strangely, I wasn’t nervous. I was energized, excited, and like a young (and thin) John Travolta, ready to win the race and get the girl.
My crew climbed aboard as the two other racers lined up at the start/finish line. On our right was another team of Martians, led by Klatuu’s cousin Irwoot, in a sleek, silver saucer. On our left was Graz, hoping to restore the Yazzerbeasts’ honor after Batta’s now infamous wipeout at the trials. Graz’s racer appeared to replicate two truck-sized chainsaws bolted together. The thing looked utterly, utterly deadly.
Our course was an eight-hundred-mile loop from Groom Lake, around the Grand Canyon, and then back. First one home would be the winner. I was feeling pretty confident, thinking back to the two F-18s I outran in the canyon.
“All systems are go,” said Houston through the intercom in my helmet.
The AJABots started the countdown: “Ten, nine, eight, seven …”
“Thanks for doing this, guys,” I said. “It means a lot to me.”
“ … six …”
“Give it all you’ve got, Sherman,” said Octo.
“ … five, four …”
“Win it for all of us not cool enough to sit at the universe’s cool table,” said Sonya.
“ … three, two, one …”
The bigger Bot fired the starting gun, which sounded like a small nuclear blast, and I slammed down hard on the accelerator. Both fusion engines roared as I raced across the salt flats, the world rushing by, Earth’s destiny hanging in the balance.
Graz slammed towards my port side and I took to the sky, hoping to avoid his chainsaw. But he’d clearly learned from Batta and matched my altitude. I rotated on the horizontal axis, put the racer into a controlled, downward spiral and got clear of the immediate danger. But I sacrificed speed for safety. I pushed the fusion engines to their max. The ship vibrated violently.
“Please hold together …” I almost said “Mom”.
“I’m working on getting you more power,” called Sonya from the cabin. “I’m going to cut the air conditioning.”
“Whoa,” complained Octo, “let’s not be hasty. There’s always room for comfort.”
By the time we reached the Grand Canyon, the sun was starting to set behind me and I was trailing in third position.
I brought the racer in low over the Colorado Plateau, miles of red, rocky desert, with spruce trees flashing by. I approached the rim and dived a mile deep into the grandest of canyons, spotting my competitors. Irwoot was in the lead, his engine’s exhaust bathing Graz in blue light.
I caught myself distracted, just for a moment, by the breathtaking natural beauty of this place. The winding Colorado River sparkled at the base of the canyon and steep, jagged red rocks towered on either side. A flock of wading ducks sensed us approaching and had the good sense to migrate away at speed.
“This is one beautiful planet, buckaroo,” Octo observed.
“Shame about the Yazzerbeast spoiling the view,” I said, refocusing on the race. “I’m going to full thrusters to pass him. Sonya, do I have full power?”
“We’re all set,” she answered. “Boosters are primed.”
“That’s why it’s so hot in here,” huffed Octo.
I flexed my fingers on the wheel, prepared to overtake.
“Sherman, careful of his gravity blades,” warned Houston. “They’ll chew us up!”
“We’re not going anywhere near them,” I said. “Three … two … ONE!”
But the instant I made my move, the Yazzerbully extended a long pole that zapped with lightning.
Electric blue bolts fried our ship.
I was so focused on avoiding the deadly gravity blades, I hadn’t counted on getting tasered. Sparks of electricity popped all over the hull and we sputtered and stalled. All I could do was guide us to a crash landing on the riverbed as Graz chased after the Martians through the canyon.
“You okay up there, pilot?” called Octo, opening the top hatch from the cabin.
“Besides the fact that we just got microwaved?”
“He shorted out the electrics,” said Houston. “Our systems are sizzled.”
“We’ve got to get back in the race,” I called back in a panic. “Can you get us going?”
“We’ve g
ot no power to start up the engines,” Sonya lamented.
“So we’re stuck?” I said, staring up the canyon wall, and up to the red sky. I thought about Theodore von Kármán and his line between Earth’s atmosphere and the rest of the solar system. I wondered if the rest of the solar system would miss Earth when it was gone.
For a moment, we sulked in silence. All I could hear were the waves lapping, and a few quacks from a brave duck that had returned.
“There is one way we can still win,” Octo said with three smiles, “a ventitentical way.”
We all knew he meant wormholes. But wormholes meant cheating.
“That’s what you were doing,” I realized, “at the finish line.”
“You sneaky squidy,” said Sonya. “You were setting up a wormhole conduit?”
“And I’ve got the corresponding one right here,” boasted Octo, stretching out a pale green bracelet. We looked through time and space to see the cheering Groom Lake crowd glued to the images of the Martians racing across the desert.
“It’ll instantly transport us to the finish line,” he promised. “For the win!”
Sonya nodded in agreement. “And Graz has already cheated by electrocuting us.”
It was so tempting.
“No,” I said. “It’s not the right way to win. We may finish first, but it won’t count for Juliet. Anyway, she’s omnipotent – she’ll know we cheated.”
“There may be another way,” offered Houston, climbing up into the cockpit. “But it’s not without serious consequences.”
“Is it legal?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Houston. “There is an internal power source in Aldrin’s suit, so, if I plug it into the main start-up capacitor, it would power—”
“Do it!” I shouted.
“Sherman, there will be consequences,” he warned.
“Like the world ending?” I asked.
I didn’t want to know about any consequences, just that it was possible to get back in the race and win Juliet’s favor. I couldn’t compete with NED’s breeding, but I could compete on valor and honor.
Houston tethered the suit to the ship using a spare cord and the suit buzzed. The entire world felt electric. The ship powered up and I was ready to race.
