

### Bring On the War Mice

### Book Three of THE GO-KIDS

by

Ryan Schneider

Copyright © 2010 Ryan Schneider

All Rights Reserved

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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First Edition

Also By Ryan Schneider

The Pillow Book

(with petal darker)

A Shadow Passed Over the Son

Book One of THE GO-KIDS

Hallowed Be Thy Name

Book Two of THE GO-KIDS

### Chapter 1

### Milk, Milk, Lemonade . . .

Parker caught Dr. Seabrook glance sideways at General Ramsey: I told you so.

"You know something, Mr. Perkins?" said Colby. "For once you and I are in total agreement."

Dr. Seabrook tapped his screen and a new schematic appeared up above. It was a diagram of a Battle-Suit, of Go-Boy Ultra. It was bigger and leaner than Igby's One-Zero-One, more refined. "This is Go-Boy Ultra," said Dr. Seabrook. "It's a prototype, the latest and greatest in the never-ending quest for the ultimate Battle-Suit. And as you've just seen in the surveillance video we cut together documenting its escape, it's pretty serious. It also doesn't suffer the same problems that plague the original Go-Boy Battle-Suit. Don't get me wrong, the One-Zero-One is very impressive. But Go-Boy Ultra can fly circles around it. It's lighter, faster, more maneuverable, and it's better armored. And better armed."

"So what's the problem?" asked Bubba.

"The problem," said General Ramsey, "is that Dr. Red stole it. It's gone. That's what we just watched. The greatest, most amazing, most potentially horrifying machine ever built, ever conceived, is out there somewhere, flying around, doing God knows what. It is literally in the hands of a mad scientist."

"So I guess your Top Secret underground base has some really super-duper security, huh?" said Colby. Despite his irreverence, Colby had a point.

"If he's mad, why did you ask him to help you?" asked Sunny.

"Good question," said General Ramsey. "Dr. Seabrook? Would you care to answer the young lady? Because I still can't figure this one out."

"As I said before," said Dr. Seabrook, clearly working to maintain his composure, "Igby and I were having difficulty with the new pilot interface. Without the pilot interface, the suit is useless. We were stuck for almost a month. So we found someone we thought could help us. We didn't give him access to the entire project. At least, not at first. But as we worked the problem, we realized it went deeper than we thought. That necessitated giving Dr. Red more and more information. Eventually, he had everything he needed. Though at what point he decided to steal the suit I don't know."

"Don't cry over spilt milk!" said Bubba. "And, if life hands you lemons, make lemonade."

"Lots of it," said General Ramsey.

"Milk, milk, lemonade, around the corner fudge is made," said Colby. Igby giggled.

"I hate to sound like a broken record," said Parker, "even though I've only seen records in the Smithsonian when my parents took me there after I got straight-A's on my report card, but you still haven't said what you need us for. What's the deal?"

"The deal," said General Ramsey, "is this: you're going to track down Dr. Red and capture Go-Boy Ultra!" His face was one gigantic smile, as if he'd just given Parker the secret for spinning straw into gold.

Parker had only one thought: You've got to be kidding.

### Chapter 2

### If Life Hands You Lemons . . .

"You've got to be kidding," said Parker. He stared at the elated General, whose enthusiasm had not waned during fifteen seconds of horrific silence.

"No," said the General, "I'm not kidding. The plan is simple. You hop in the Battle-Suit and go get Go-Boy Ultra."

"Me? By myself? You just said Go-Boy Ultra can fly circles around the One-Zero-One. Not to mention that stuff about being better armed. Forget it. I'm not doing that."

"Not just you," said General Ramsey. "All of you! Even Igby. He's been dying to get out and do some real flying for a change, instead of always in the simulator or stuck inside this hangar making itty-bitty test flights. We have five working Battle-Suits. One for each of you. They'll require a bit of polishing, but they're in excellent condition. And Igby and Dr. Seabrook finished this one this morning. It's ready to go." He motioned to the nearby suit. The team had yet to reassemble it and it looked far from being ready to go anywhere. "Well, it's almost ready."

Parker sneaked a peak at the other kids. Their faces were blank. They seemed to be as much at a loss as was he.

"Look, I know this is unexpected," General Ramsey continued, "and again, I apologize. But when Go-Boy Ultra was stolen, we knew we had to do something. And do it fast. So I came up with a plan. The only way to catch the deadliest machine ever built is to use the second-deadliest machine ever built. That meant I needed a pilot. Who better than the person with the most experience flying a Go-Boy Battle-Suit? The star of the Go-Boy SV show and the movies . . . Colby Max!"

Parker heard Colby puff up from eight feet away.

"So we arranged to sort of borrow Colby for a bit."

"Borrow me?" asked Colby. "What am I? A library book? Besides I'd say it's more like kidnapping."

"What are you yelling about?" asked Bubba. "Parker's the one who got kidnapped. Not you."

"They meant to take me," said Colby.

"Meant schment, you big crybaby," said Bubba. Colby glowered at him.

"As I was saying," General Ramsey cut in, "I had originally planned to use just one pilot, with Igby's assistance, of course. But when I saw the four of you upstairs, I remembered the five original Go-Boy suits and Igby and Dr. Seabrook down here slaving away with the team. I knew I had the answer."

"If life hands you lemons," declared Bubba, "make lemonade!"

"'Stop saying that!'" said Colby. He affected an English accent, "'You seem a decent fellow; I hate to kill you.' 'You seem a decent fellow; I hate to die.'"

General Ramsey waited for Colby to finish, then resumed. "The five of you will spend a couple weeks training, learning some procedural stuff to keep the Federal Aviation Administration off my back, get a crash course in aerodynamics and Battle-Suit configuration, then suit up and take down Dr. Red."

"Assuming he doesn't kill us all," said Parker.

The ensuing silence pounded like a jackhammer.

"Say we do somehow manage to survive," said Parker, "what do we do once we've uh . . . you know?"

"Neutralized him?" suggested the General.

"Right. What do we do with Go-Boy Ultra?"

"Ideally, you bring it home. It's worth quite a pretty penny. Otherwise, destroy it. Don't worry, this won't be one of those political jobs where you're forced to fight with one hand tied behind your back. There'll be none of that 'do-not-fire-until-fired-upon' nonsense. When you get out there, you have a job to do. Then get back home in one piece. You'll be authorized to accomplish the mission by any means necessary. The question, my friends, is if you'll accept the mission."

General Ramsey's last sentence hung in the air like the stench from a decaying carcass everyone knew to be in the room but was too polite to mention.

"No way, Jose!" said Colby, finally breaking the silence.

"That's General Ramsey to you, son," said a large technician sitting at the computer console.

"That's okay, Tupper," said General Ramsey, "Colby is entitled to his opinion."

"That's right," said Colby. "And my opinion is that this is nuts."

"I love nuts," said Bubba, "almonds and cashews. Especially smothered in chocolate."

"They have them upstairs in the Mess Hall," said Igby. "Macadamia nuts, too. From Hawaii."

"Really?" asked Bubba. "Can we go up there?"

"If you two are finished with your culinary pow-wow, would you mind putting a sock in it?" said General Ramsey. "We're discussing matters of major international importance here. Global security, if you will."

"But General," began Igby.

"Zip it."

"Yes, sir," said Igby. Igby suddenly bore the serious look adopted by Jim after admitting his carelessness with the photograph of Colby.

"I won't deny the element of risk inherent in the mission," said General Ramsey.

"The element of risk?" said Parker. "This whole place is crawling with risk. You'd be totally looney tunes to go up against Go-Boy Ultra. Even if there are five us. Like Colby said, it's nuts."

"But Parker," began General Ramsey.

"This is going to be so much better than Skycade, huh, Parker?" said Bubba. Parker was virtually blinded by Bubba's massive smile. "No orphanage. No crummy base housing. And no Maryland military school. We can stay together, just like we said. And we'll be real pilots. Just like we always wanted." Bubba's energy was infectious.

"You mean you're actually going to do it?" exclaimed Colby.

"Opportunities like this don't come along very often, Mr. Max," said Bubba.

"Opportunities for suicide missions?" said Colby. "Forget it." He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair.

Parker considered Colby's statement. Everyone's eyes were on him.

"Sunny, what do you think?" asked Bubba. Parker thought he saw her blushing. He felt bad that all of a sudden she was on the spot.

"I dunno," she said, "I get scared riding the monorail back home."

"But Parker said you play Go-Boy with them at the arcade," said Igby.

"I do. But this is the real deal, like you guys said before." She turned in her chair and surveyed the nearby Battle-Suit.

"Are you afraid of flying? Afraid of heights?" asked General Ramsey.

"No," said Sunny, "not really. Whenever I get on an airplane, it occurs to me the plane could crash, but there's nothing I can do about it. There's no sense in worrying about something over which you have no control. All the worrying in the world won't change anything."

"Show me the man who's added one single hour to his life through worrying," said General Ramsey with a wry smile.

"Luke, twelve-four," said Bubba, and General Ramsey winked. "That's one of my mom's favorites."

"Besides," said Sunny, "I know the airplane pilots want to make it in one piece. If they survive, so do I."

"Tough to argue with that logic," said Igby. He smiled at Sunny. She smiled back. Parker didn't know why, but he didn't like it.

"Then why do you close your eyes on the monorail?" asked Bubba.

"Because," said Sunny. She took a deep breath before she continued. "When I was a little girl, I was at a carnival one Saturday afternoon with my parents. It was upstate, not far from G.I.T., actually. My mom and I were in line for The Mouse, a small roller coaster. My mom loves roller coasters. At least, she used to, before my brother got killed. While we were standing in line, some people asked if they could go ahead of us, so they could ride with their friends. I didn't want to let them go in front of us, but my mom said it was okay. Everyone was talking and laughing when the train pulled away and went up the hill. We watched as the people put their hands in the air. They were screaming and laughing as the train rushed down the hill, then back up again and into the first turn. Then, just as it reached the turn, it jumped the tracks and broke through the wooden railing. I watched it fly off into the air. It did a nosedive, flipped over, and landed upside down in the parking lot. Everyone died. All I could think as I watched it happen was that if not for my mom, she and I would've been on that train. We would've died, too. I wish I would've closed my eyes when it happened. Then I wouldn't know what it was like. Now, when I ride the monorail, I close my eyes. If something bad happens, I don't want to watch."

"You never told me that," said Parker.

"Yeah, Sunny," said Bubba, "how come you never said anything?"

"It's not the kind of thing you go around bragging about," she said.

"But still," said Bubba, "if I'd known all that, I never woulda tried to make you ride up front with me and Parker."

"I know, Bubba," said Sunny, "I know." She looked across the aisle at Igby. "Are you sure the Battle-Suit is safe?"

"Considering what it's designed to do, it's as safe as I can make it," said Igby. "I designed it so I could be the one to fly it. Go-Boy Ultra is for grown-ups but the original Battle-Suit is built for kids. I'd be the dumbest genius ever if I invented something I couldn't use myself. Naturally I wanted it to be as safe as possible. If anything goes wrong, the pilot interface will help you. If you get nervous, just relax and ask the F.M.S. for help. If you have an engine failure, there are redundant parachute systems which deploy automatically. And a standard Emergency Locator Transmitter to help us find you in case of an off-airport landing, like if you crash in the wilderness or something and have to eat tree bark and worms and weird berries and stuff."

"Sunny," said General Ramsey, "that carnival ride was a temporary structure. Go-Boy is a half-billion-dollar piece of hardware. Igby's made it virtually idiot-proof."

"Good thing," said Bubba, looking exaggeratedly at Colby. Colby rolled his eyes.

"But," the General continued, "if you don't think you can do this, no one here is going to force you."

"I didn't say I can't do it," said Sunny. "I just don't want to crash in a parking lot somewhere."

"Maybe Igby can write that into the software protocol," said the General, "no crashing in parking lots."

"Consider it done," said Igby.

"Well?" asked Bubba.

"Well what?" asked Sunny.

"Are you in? Will you come flying with Parker and me?"

Sunny smiled. "Sure, Bubba, I'll come flying with you."

"Excellent!" said Bubba, clapping his hands.

"I guess that just leaves you, Colby," said Igby.

"He already said to forget it," said Bubba. "We'll just have to go without him."

"Wait just a second," said Colby. "Give me a chance to make some lemonade of my own out of these lemons the General dropped in my lap. General, are we going to be paid for our services?"

"You mean the warm fuzzy feeling of helping your country isn't enough?" asked General Ramsey.

"There's nothing warm and fuzzy about getting my butt shot off by Dr. Red. I've done autograph signings in hospitals for disabled veterans. I've seen the reality of combat: young, strong, healthy men and women with no legs or missing half their face. I've seen the sacrifice made in the name of national duty."

Parker couldn't help but envision his dad, running down a dusty street somewhere, being blown up by a buried land mine.

"I'm not saying duty isn't important, because it is," said Colby. "I'm just saying if I'm going to jump on this lunatic bandwagon, I expect to be paid for the ride."

"You're thirteen years old," said Bubba, "why do you need money?"

"In case you've forgotten, I am a celebrity," Colby replied. "I've grown accustomed to a certain standard of living. Plus I've worked hard to get where I am. Acting may not be as important as defending the country, but it has its merit. Anyone who's ever done it knows acting is a lot of work. If I'm going to give all that up to participate in some hair-brained secret mission, I expect compensation. A lot of it." Colby turned from Bubba to General Ramsey. "Let's be honest. You're the ones who let Go-Boy Ultra slip through your fingers and now you need me – us – to clean up your mess for you. Don't pretend that doesn't put us in the driver's seat, in a position to be demanding." He looked around at the other kids. "Chances are good that at least some of us won't survive this 'mission' as you call it, not if Go-Boy Ultra is as good as you say. If I'm going out on a suicide mission, then at least have the common courtesy to tell me that's what it is. If we're kamikaze, honor us as such."

"Comma-what?" said Bubba.

"Kamikaze, Mr. Black," said the General.

"What're they?" asked Parker. He didn't like the notion of being described by a word he didn't understand.

"Pilots," said Sunny. "In World War II, after America was attacked by the Empire of Japan, and both sides were fighting in the Pacific, Japanese pilots flew their fighter planes directly into U.S. warships. They turned themselves into human missiles. They took off from Japan knowing what they were going to do. Knowing they wouldn't be coming home. They were honored by their commanders, by their families, by the people of Japan. Most of them were young, not even twenty years old. They were called kamikaze. In Japanese it means divine wind."

"That's so fascinating and really sad," said Colby, "but they still lost the war and the pilots were still dead."

For all the ceremony and honor accorded to young men volunteering to die for their country, Colby was right: dead is dead. Things had just gotten a lot more serious. Even Igby didn't look so jovial.

"I think Colby has a point," said Sunny. "If something . . . bad . . . should happen, then at least our families will have something to show for it."

"Something besides an American flag folded into a triangle," added Colby. General Ramsey stiffened.

"Very well," said the General. "I'll see to it that accounts are set up for you and your families."

"Before we leave," said Colby.

"Of course," said the General.

"Does that mean you're in?" asked Igby.

Colby looked to General Ramsey. "General? Do we have a deal?"

"As you wish," said General Ramsey.

"'Princess . . . Butter-cup!'" said Colby. He cleared his throat. "Sorry. And I can get that in writing?" asked Colby.

"By noon tomorrow," said the General.

"'Mr. Silver, you just bought yourself a champion.' I'm in," said Colby. There was a noticeable, collective sigh in the room.

"Now," continued the General, "I believe there is just one more matter to attend to. Unless I am mistaken, each one of you has agreed to volunteer for this mission. Everyone, that is, except Parker."

Everyone looked at Parker. He felt their eyes drilling into him.

"Park?" said Bubba quietly, clearly confused.

Parker didn't have the heart to meet the eyes of his friend.

### Chapter 3

### The Ends of the Earth

Silence echoed in the cavernous hangar. Everyone was looking at Parker.

"Park?" asked Bubba. "Is what the General said true? You don't want to come?"

"Well, it's not that easy," began Parker.

"But we agreed. You, me, and Sunny. In the toy store, while we were standing in line. We agreed. That we'd always stick together. That we'd always be friends. No matter what. Like Igby said with his oath. No matter what."

"I know," said Parker, "I know."

"Then what's the problem?" asked Bubba. "Don't you want to stick with Sunny and me?"

Parker averted his eyes. He looked down at his shoes. "Of course I do," he said quietly. He struggled to find the right words to explain what he was thinking, what he was feeling. He wasn't sure he truly wanted to sign up for this, opportunity of a lifetime though it may be. Colby had made a strong argument: there was a possibility this mission could in fact go horribly wrong. Yet part of him couldn't deny his desire to get his hands on a real Go-Boy Battle-Suit. Even if it meant putting his life on the line. It would be so far above and beyond flying the simulator in Skycade, he could scarcely imagine it. The very thought of it didn't seem real, despite the presence of a functional Battle-Suit just a few feet away. It seemed unreal. Surreal. The Battle-Suit, this place, this entire crazy, twisted-up birthday seemed absolutely surreal. And, in many ways, completely thrilling.

Yet part of him insisted on resisting this invitation to adventure. Part of him argued this was Ramsey's problem. They were the ones who built Go-Boy Ultra and let Dr. Red steal it. So they could be the ones to stop him. It doesn't involve me, Parker thought to himself. He could get up and walk away. He could go back to Kingdom City, to Sky City South, like he'd thought of doing before. There he could wait for his dad, because he knew his dad was doing absolutely everything possible to get home for his birthday.

As he thought about where his dad might be and what he might be doing, Parker had an idea. If he agreed to General Ramsey's plan, for the five of them to train together and learn to pilot their Battle-Suits, he could use his suit to fly around, to go anywhere he wanted. He could use his Battle-Suit to fly across any ocean, to soar over any continent. He could fly through all extremes of weather. Through arctic cold or desert heat. He could rise higher than any fog bank, higher than the mightiest of thunderstorms. He could bypass hurricanes and tornadoes. He could glide effortlessly through the darkest of nights.

He could use his Battle-Suit to find his dad.

No one could stop him.

Not even Dr. Red.

Images of being swept into his dad's warm embrace blossomed in Parker's mind.

He made his decision.

He would do what General Ramsey asked. He would agree to his proposal and do his best to return Go-Boy Ultra to Candyland so Dr. Red couldn't use it against them or sell it to the highest bidder. He would do his best to do whatever the General asked. He would do his best to find his dad. If necessary, he would fly to the ends of the earth to help his dad find his way home.

"I'll do it." Parker looked up. Everyone was watching him, eying him like the giant eagle on the wall of the hangar. "I'll do it," he said again. "Count me in."

"Awesome!" shouted Bubba.

"On one condition," said Parker. He looked squarely at General Ramsey.

"Name it."

"Find my dad. You find him and bring him home."

"Parker, the nature of your dad's deployment is, uh, of a very sensitive nature. It could take weeks, even months."

"Then you better start looking," said Parker.

General Ramsey returned Parker's gaze. "Very well. I'll make some phone calls. There are more than a few people in The Pentagon and at Air Force Space Command who owe me some favors. As soon as I know, you'll know. Fair enough?"

Parker nodded his head.

General Ramsey surveyed the five of them. "Then we have a deal?"

They each nodded their heads along with Parker.

"Good. But know this," continued the General. He spoke softly, his voice barely audible. "If you fail, no amount of money in the world will make a difference. I'll be the one handing Old Glory to your parents. And Dr. Red will succeed in delivering Go-Boy Ultra into the hands of our enemies. So from here on out, it's strictly business. I expect one hundred and ten percent at all times. Give me your best and I'll give you my best. I'll teach you to fly. I'll teach you to shoot. I'll teach you to fight. I'll make you tough as nails and sharp as a tack. You do what I say when I say to do it. You do that and I promise when you find Dr. Red he won't know what hit him. You'll blast him clean out of the sky and knock him down into the dirt. He'll have to fly to the ends of the Earth to escape the toughest, deadliest, most awe-inspiring fighting force ever assembled. I guarantee he'll wish he'd never been born."

He surveyed each of them slowly one at a time.

"Dismissed."

### Chapter 4

### Soldier

The General's words sank like water into dry desert sand.

Parker knew then what it meant to be a soldier. And he was terrified.

### Chapter 5

### Hope

General Ramsey concluded the meeting and led them through a side door. Before exiting the massive hangar, Parker took one last look around. The technicians continued eagerly reassembling Igby's Battle-Suit while the team in the blue lab coats remained huddled over their computers, busily analyzing stuff he could only assume to be highly important. The UFO was gone, much to his dismay, having apparently disappeared through one of the many side doors along with the partitions and scientists. He'd desperately wanted to show it to his friends. Especially to Bubba, with whom he had once done a report for school, discussing the possibility of extraterrestrial life existing somewhere in the universe and what it would be like, what it would mean, if such beings visited Earth.

Parker trailed behind the others. He looked over his shoulder as the door behind him closed on its automated mechanical tracks. He caught a final glimpse of the giant eagle. It stared right through him.

He hurried to catch up. They were in a corridor with more side doors. General Ramsey led them to an elevator. As they rode, the General showed them a computer display inside the door. Parker could make out the words Barracks, Mess, Study Hall, Ready Rooms 1-5. "This is a direct route to your Barracks," said General Ramsey, pointing to the Barracks button. "This wing is now officially restricted to all personnel except for you. You will have absolute privacy to help you concentrate on the mission. You'll each have your own room surrounding a communal bathroom. Sunny, you'll have your own lavatory. Laundry service will be provided free of charge but you will make your beds every day and hang up your clothes. This isn't a hotel. You are not on vacation. I expect you to keep your rooms clean and tidy and your appearance to be appropriate at all times. We run a tight ship here."

"Cleanliness is next to Godliness," chimed Bubba.

"Indeed it is," said the General. "This elevator will also take you to the Mess Hall." He motioned to Mess on the display and tapped the screen.

"What's that?" asked Parker.

"What's what?" replied General Ramsey.

"That," said Parker. He pointed at the display screen. "That red thing. There, at the bottom."

"Oh. That's the Restricted Level. We won't be going there."

"How come?" asked Bubba. "What's down there?"

"Restricted stuff," said Sunny.

"Excellent deduction," said Igby. He smiled at Sunny. She smiled back.

"Like what?" asked Parker. He tried to ignore the funny feeling he had again while watching Sunny smile at Igby.

"Restricted stuff," replied General Ramsey. He winked at Sunny. The elevator shuddered ever-so-slightly. "You will get chow three times a day. Chow is not allowed outside the Mess Hall under any circumstances. Is that clear, Mr. Black?"

"Crystal," said Bubba.

Colby spoke in a deep voice, sounding suddenly fierce and gruff. "'I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom I provide and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said Thank You and went on your way. Otherwise, grab a weapon and stand a post. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you are entitled to!'" Colby looked around. Everyone stood looking at him. "Colonel Jessup says, 'Hi.'"

General Ramsey scowled at Colby.

"I mean, yes, sir," added Colby. "Perfectly clear, sir."

"Good," said the General. "Adjacent to the Mess Hall is the Study hall, where I expect you to be whenever we are not working in the simulators or up in the hangar. You've got a lot to learn in a short amount of time."

Parker realized he had been mistaken. He was only now discovering what it meant to be a soldier. His dad must have gone through these same emotions. He decided right then and there that if his dad could do it, so could he. He hoped he could, anyway.

"Exactly what do we need to learn, General?" asked Sunny.

"Excellent question," said General Ramsey, turning to Igby.

Igby's eyes sparkled as he spoke. "We've got to teach you orientation to the flight environment. Basic aerodynamics. Navigation. Meteorology. Battle tactics . . . ." Igby took a breath. "That's just the theoretical stuff. Then there's the really important stuff like Battle-Suit integration and interface. Takeoffs. Basic flight maneuvers. Formation flight. Weapons application and dispersal . . . . Oh, and landings of course. You've got to be able to land."

"When exactly will we be, uh, you know . . ." said Parker.

"Deployed?" said General Ramsey.

"Yeah," said Parker. General Ramsey scowled again. "I mean, yes, sir," Parker added.

"Your team will be deployed as soon as you can be ready to go," said the General. "I would like to see you fully operational two weeks from now."

"Two weeks!" said Colby. "You're nuttier than my parents. There's no way we can learn all that junk in two weeks."

"Is that a fact?" said General Ramsey. He seemed to get even taller.

"It takes me a month of rehearsal to memorize my lines," said Colby. "Then there's blocking and pacing and a million other things to think about. Not to mention the technical stuff that takes months of hundreds of people working fourteen-hour days. And that's just making a movie. This is real. If we don't learn our parts and know our lines perfectly, we could get killed. Or worse."

"What's worse than getting killed?" asked Bubba.

"Let me see," Colby pinched his chin like a philosopher. "You could get mangled, burned, shot down, blown up, paralyzed. You could be a drooling vegetable slobbering all over yourself staring at the ceiling all day like those poor guys in the V.A. Hospital I told you about. How's that for starters?"

Bubba didn't say anything.

"Then you had better learn your duties well," said General Ramsey. "We're counting on you. The whole world may be counting on you."

Parker didn't like feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. An ominous quiet filled the elevator. He knew the others didn't much care for it either.

"It isn't going to be easy," said Colby.

"I never said it would be," said General Ramsey. "But nothing worthwhile is ever easy. It's like I told you before, history does not long entrust the care of freedom to the weak or the timid."

"But we're just kids," said Colby.

"Yeah," said Bubba, "Parker just turned thirteen today."

"Is that so?" asked General Ramsey. Parker nodded. "Happy birthday. But don't think because you're young you can't make a difference. Great works are performed, not by strength, but by perseverance."

"Who said that?" asked Parker.

"Samuel Johnson," replied Sunny. "My dad gives me Quote of the Day toilet paper," she explained. "Every time you spin the roll a holographic image comes to life to act out the quote for the day. Samuel Johnson was a couple days ago. This morning it was Ghandi."

"Samuel Johnson talks to you in the bathroom?" asked Bubba. "Who is he?"

"One of the greatest writers of all time," said Sunny. "The other day he said, Do not let yourself hope for much and you will be the less disappointed."

"That's a dangerous mentality, my dear," said General Ramsey. "In fact, it's not one to which I choose to subscribe. If I don't allow myself to hope what we're planning to do will make a difference, then we may as well turn off the lights and lock the doors and all of us go home. I'll risk disappointment if it means doing what's right. Doing what's right requires hope. Often times, hope is all we have."

You're more right than you know, Parker mused silently to himself.

### Chapter 6

### The Last Supper

The elevator doors opened and General Ramsey led them into a large cafeteria. Rows of long tables and shiny floors gleamed under the endless banks of white, ultra-efficient overhead lights. An entire battalion of super-secret soldiers could be fed here. Parker wasn't sure how big a battalion was, but it sounded like a lot of people.

"This is the Mess Hall," said the General. "Unfortunately, I don't have the luxury of providing an entire staff to prepare your meals. I'll see if I can't find at least one cook but until then you'll have to fend for yourselves. The cupboards, pantries and refrigerators have been fully garrisoned, however, so I trust you'll have no trouble feeding yourselves. You've got to keep your blood sugar levels stable and your metabolism maximized if you're going to survive the rigors of your training."

He led them to a table closest to the kitchen. "I took the liberty of ordering in supper. A real feast. To commemorate your first night in Candyland and the beginning of your training." A broad assortment of food spread across the table in front of them. "I didn't know what you liked so I got a little of everything."

The General wasn't kidding. There were two steaming pizzas with lots of gooey cheese. Next to the pizzas sat a platter of small cheeseburgers with yellow cheese melting over the sides of the buns and onto the mound of golden French fries surrounding the burgers. Next was a plate of crispy fried chicken, along with coleslaw and mashed potatoes and gravy, even some biscuits with little packets of butter and honey. Near the chicken were several white cardboard containers of Chinese food with long wooden chopsticks poking out of them. There was also a plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut into little triangles and surrounded by yellow potato chips.

"This is nothing formal so everyone help yourselves," said General Ramsey. "Dig in."

Bubba stepped up to the table first. He picked up a tray and carefully arranged a plate, bowl, saucer, plastic cup, a napkin, and silverware from their stacks. He handed the tray to Sunny. "Ladies first."

"Thank you, Bubba." Sunny accepted the tray. She grabbed a slice of pizza, stretching cheese from the pan all the way to her plate. She attempted to reign-in the cheese with her knife and fork but to little avail.

"Try this," said Igby. He grabbed an unopened pair of chopsticks and tore off their paper wrapper. He deftly wrangled the excess cheese, pinching it between the chopsticks and wrapping it around them like a snake curling around a branch in an apple tree. He deposited the cheese onto Sunny's plate.

"Thank you, Igby," she said.

"You're welcome," replied Igby.

Bubba handed a tray to Parker. "Batter up, brother."

"Thanks." Wishing he had been the one to help Sunny with her stringy cheese, Parker fell in behind Sunny and helped himself to a slice of pizza and a few potato chips. Sunny moved on to a large bowl of salad topped with little red tomatoes and purple and green olives.

Bubba handed a tray to General Ramsey, then to Igby, and finally to Colby.

"Gee. Thanks," spouted Colby. "Like I couldn't have gotten my own tray."

"The polite thing would be to just say 'Thank You.'" said Bubba.

"I already said, 'Thanks.'"

"Then I guess there's nothing left to say."

Colby took his tray and walked around to the other side of the table and started loading up his plate without looking back. Bubba prepared his own tray, stuffing a handful of extra napkins into his back pocket.

Igby leaned in close to Bubba and spoke quietly. "What's with you two?"

"Nothing." Bubba took the last five pieces of pizza. He alternated their direction side-by-side so they fit on his plate. He took four plastic cups and placed them upside down at the corners of his tray. He stacked a second tray on top of the four inverted cups, creating a pyramid. On the second tray he added four cheeseburgers and a fistful of fries.

"Doesn't seem like nothing," said Igby. He used his chopsticks to scoop a nest of egg noodles out of the little white box and onto his plate.

"You ever meet someone who just rubs you the wrong way?" asked Bubba.

"Not really," said Igby.

"Then you probably wouldn't understand," said Bubba.

The kids moved down the table, as did General Ramsey, helping themselves to anything and everything. Near the end of the table Parker found an assortment of beverages in plastic pitchers. He saw chocolate milk, strawberry milk, banana milk and regular milk. He poured himself a cup of water and a cup of orange juice to go with his pizza and potato chips. The school nurse had warned about getting Scurvy from lack of Vitamin C in his diet. Beyond the drinks loomed a veritable bakery of desserts. He took several chocolate chip cookies. He caught a whiff of a cherry pie. The scent reminded him of Sunny's Cherry Lip Lover. He scooped up three slices of the pie. Then he put them back, along with all but one of the cookies. He didn't want General Ramsey to think he was a pig.

He sat down next to Sunny at a nearby table. Parker took a big bite of pizza and looked over at Sunny. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, along with her napkin.

"What're you waiting for?" The hot cheese burned his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

"It's impolite to start eating before everyone is seated," she said quietly.

"Oh." He considered spitting the pizza back onto his plate but decided that would be more impolite than eating it. He quickly chewed and swallowed.

"Don't wait for us," called General Ramsey. He poured himself a cup of coffee and piled coconut cream pie on his plate. "Eat before it gets cold."

Sunny started to eat as Igby, Colby, and General Ramsey sat down. At last Bubba reached their table. His food pyramid boasted an impressive assortment of goodies. He sat down and carefully arranged his plates around him, removing them from the plastic trays. He slowly unfolded his napkin and tucked it into the collar of his shirt. He picked up a cheeseburger and was about to take a hearty bite when he realized everyone sat watching him. "What?"

"Gee, Andrew, when you get done taping Larry Lester's buns together, would you mind telling me if you always eat that much?" said Colby.

"No, you idiot. I do not always eat this much," replied Bubba. "But General Ramsey said this is a feast to commemorate our first night in Candyland. I'd be pretty stupid not to accept his hospitality. Not to mention impolite."

Parker thought of the cherry pie he'd put back, along with the chocolate chip cookies. He wished now he'd been more like Bubba and had taken what he'd wanted. Now that they were all seated, he didn't want to be the only one to stand up and go get more food. He decided to enjoy the food he had in front of him and took another big bite of pizza, realizing as he quickly chewed and swallowed that he hadn't eaten anything all day and he was famished. He took a big gulp of orange juice and coughed as he swallowed. He managed not to spit out his food as he tried to regain his composure.

"Everything all right?" asked General Ramsey.

"What is this?" asked Parker. He held up the glass of orange liquid. "It's not orange juice."

"No, it's not orange juice," replied the General, "it's Twang."

"Twang?" asked Parker.

"Sure. Haven't you guys ever heard of Twang?" General Ramsey looked around the table at each of them. "Judging by the vacuous expressions on your faces—"

"What's vacuous?" asked Bubba. He took a bite of folded-up pizza from one hand and a bite of cheeseburger from the other.

"It means empty," said General Ramsey, "like a vacuum."

"A vacuum cleaner?" asked Bubba.

"More like a vacuum tube," said Igby.

"Or the vacuum of space," said Sunny.

"As I was saying," said General Ramsey, "Twang is one of my favorite drinks."

"What is it?" asked Sunny.

"It's a vitamin-fortified drink made from orange powder."

"What's it taste like?" asked Bubba.

"Ask Parker," replied General Ramsey.

"What's it taste like, Park?" asked Bubba.

"See for yourself." Parker handed his cup to Bubba. Bubba took a sip, then a bigger drink. He smiled.

"It's good," said Bubba.

"See?" said General Ramsey.

"What's so fab about it?" asked Sunny.

"'This little piece of gum is a three-course dinner.' 'Bull.' 'No, roast beef. But I haven't got it quite right, yet.'" Colby shoveled egg noodles into his mouth and sat mumbling with the noodles dangling out of his mouth.

"It was sent into space with the astronauts a long, long time ago," said General Ramsey, ignoring Colby's interruption. "They took it to the moon with them during the Gemini program. And they drank it on the Space Shuttle. We have a supply of it here in the base so I thought that since you kids are going to be pilots, it seemed fitting to serve up a pitcher of Twang. Don't you like it, Parker?"

"It's okay," replied Parker, "I just wasn't expecting it, that's all. I was expecting regular old orange juice."

"Tell us more about becoming pilots, General," said Sunny. "Are there any other foods or beverages we should know about?"

"No, I don't think so," said the General.

"What about Astronaut Ice Cream?" asked Bubba. "My dad brought me home some of that one time from his trip to the Johnson Space Center down in Texas. Remember, Park? They freeze it to minus forty degrees—"

"Fahrenheit or Centrigrade?" asked Igby.

"Centigrade, I think," said Bubba, "then they dry it with a big vacuum cleaner thing and seal it up in those special stay-fresh foil packs you tear open. The ice cream comes out like a big piece of chalk, because it's all dehydrimated or something."

"Dehydrated?" asked Igby.

"Right," said Bubba, "dehydrated. It's good stuff. I like the Neapolitan, because I like to take little bites of strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla. Parker likes strawberry the best. He ate three packets. It made his poop turn pink. Remember, Park?"

"That's funny," said Sunny.

Parker felt his face flush hot.

Colby rolled his eyes.

"I'm working on a loop-hole in the Federal Aviation Regulations to try and get each of you licensed as a pilot," said General Ramsey, obviously struggling to change the subject. "Of course, none of you is yet sixteen so you can't legally get a student pilot certificate. And the Go-Boy Battle-Suit is a one-of-a-kind aircraft and defies current aircraft type classifications, but I think there may be a way, once you each pass your check-ride with Igby, of course."

Parker found his attention wavering as General Ramsey spoke further about the legal requirements of thirteen-year-old kids becoming licensed pilots in state-of-the-art Top Secret aircraft. His imagination wandered out to the blackness of space and the freezing vacuum and low gravity of the Moon. He tried to imagine standing on the Moon drinking Twang from a foil pouch with a straw, kind of like the packets of Astronaut Ice Cream Bubba had mentioned. He imagined himself all alone on the Moon, surrounded by a vast sea of gray lunar horizon, with nothing to eat but Bubba's fried Frinkies and pouches of Twang that had been brought to the moon back in 1965. He found the prospect terrifying: alone on the Moon with no way to get home. He wondered if a Go-Boy Battle-Suit could fly in space, if it could get you from the Earth to the Moon or from the Moon back home to Earth. He tried to imagine the fiery, terrifying re-entry into Earth's atmosphere, the searing heat and endless buffeting by the super-heated air, the immense friction and flames as he fell out of orbit at almost eighteen thousand miles per hour, plunging toward Earth. He remembered an ad he and Bubba had seen one night featuring one of the old Space Shuttles General Ramsey had mentioned, Columbia. It lost one of the protective ceramic tiles on its belly and the heat of re-entry caused the shuttle to overheat and break up. Thousands of pieces rained down on farmland all over the Midwest. Parker remembered how quiet he and Bubba had gotten when they saw the photographs of the astronauts who died that day. The ad explained that during more than forty years and nearly five hundred missions, only two shuttles were lost, Columbia and Challenger. Although each loss was catastrophic, only two accidents out of more than five hundred launches meant the shuttle program held an impressive operational service record. Parker had to admit, however, the closer he got to being a real pilot, the more apprehensive and nervous he felt.

He watched Bubba enjoying the Twang and thought maybe he didn't want to be a Go-Boy pilot after all, even if General Ramsey could help them get their licenses through a government loop-hole. He definitely didn't want more to eat. He knew he'd probably be so hungry he couldn't sleep later that night, but right now his pizza and chips and cookie looked about as appealing as the chocolate-covered tomato worms Sunny had been admiring back in Sky City Hobbies and Toys. Even the slice of cherry pie made his stomach clench up. He set his pizza back on his plate and wiped his mouth with his napkin. He noticed Sunny looking at the wedge of pizza with only two bites out of it. She looked at him and smiled in a funny way, then looked back at General Ramsey.

"What happens if we don't pass our test? Our check-ride with Igby?" she asked.

"Nothing," replied General Ramsey. "Don't worry, you'll still go on the mission. Dr. Red doesn't care whether you're all legally licensed pilots and frankly neither do I. Sometimes you have to bend the rules in order to do what's right. The trick is to know how far the rules will bend before they break. How's the food?" General Ramsey surveyed their trays. "Bubba, you ready for round two?"

"Yes, sir, General, sir," replied Bubba.

"Great," said the General, "me too." He and Bubba stood and went back to the buffet. General Ramsey brought back another fat wedge of coconut cream pie and more coffee. Bubba returned with the last of the cheeseburgers, several pieces of chicken and three slices of cherry pie.

Parker felt simultaneously jealous and revolted as he watched his friend enjoy the dessert. It occurred to him that the ad featuring the space shuttle had been selling life insurance. Using death to sell life.

### Chapter 7

### Against the Fall of Night

Parker sat idly while Bubba and General Ramsey finish their dessert. The General showed them around the kitchen, how to rinse their dishes in a giant sink and then run them through an automated dishwasher.

He led them out of the Mess Hall and up a flight of stairs to the Study hall, giving them a brief tour before leading them up another flight to show them around the Barracks. They each had their own room near a central bathroom. Further down the hall was the bathroom designated for Sunny. At last the General stood waiting for the elevator.

"The sleeping fox catches no poultry," said the General. The elevator doors opened and he stepped into the car. "So we'll begin at seven a.m. Sharp. Be awake and dressed and ready to begin."

"General?" asked Sunny.

"Yes?"

"What about our parents? They'll be worried we haven't come home."

"My dear, I'm taking care of everything. Don't worry. You'll be able to speak with them soon enough. Okay?"

"I guess."

Sunny's eyes dropped to the floor. Parker knew how close she was with her parents. Despite the high demands on her academically and with the duties around the house, combined with their insistence on her strict compliance with their rules, they were always first and foremost in her thoughts. It pained him to see her worry about them.

"By the way, you'll find everything you need beneath your bunks. Enjoy your first night in Candyland." The doors slid closed and General Ramsey disappeared from view.

"Well," said Colby. "Here we are. Not quite what any of us had in mind when we woke up this morning, is it?" No one spoke. "Igby, you sure you want to stay here instead of in your regular place?"

"I'm sure," said Igby. "The only way this is going to work is if we are a team. And the only way we're going to become a team is by getting to know each other. Training together. Studying together. Living together. That way, if any of us has a problem, there are four others who can help."

"Good point," said Parker.

"I prefer to work alone," said Colby.

"Not anymore," said Bubba. "Didn't you hear what Igby just said? I think he's right."

"I think maybe you need to wipe the cherry pie off the end of your nose, Miss Piggy," said Colby. Bubba quickly pulled a napkin from his back pocket and rubbed the end of his nose. The napkin came away clean. Colby laughed.

"Nobody likes a wise guy, Mr. Wizard of Crap," said Bubba.

"I told you before: it's Wizard of the Sky," said Colby.

"Are you guys going to duke it out now or wait until morning?" asked Parker. "I don't know about you, but being kidnapped and taken to an underground city to be recruited as a warrior test pilot has kinda taken it out of me. So if you don't mind, I'm going to turn in."

"We've all had more than enough excitement for one day," agreed Sunny. "Why don't we all go to bed."

"I second that," said Igby.

"Fine," said Colby.

"Fine," said Bubba. He glared at Colby as they slowly turned away like gunfighters on dusty Main Street of an untamed frontier town, not willing to turn their backs on each other.

The boys went into their rooms and closed the doors behind them, leaving Parker in the hallway with Sunny. They stood together for a moment without speaking.

"Not exactly your typical thirteenth birthday, was it?" Sunny asked.

"No, not exactly."

"At least it turned out okay."

"How do you mean? We're not at home eating the cake and ice cream Bubba's mom made. I never got to open your present. And my dad's not home from the war. No telling where he is. So how is that turning out okay?"

"It'll all work out in the end," said Sunny.

"How do you know?"

"Because. We're the good guys now. The good guys always win. We have right on our side. In the end, that always counts for something."

"Maybe."

"You'll see." Sunny took his arm and patted him on the shoulder. "A few weeks from now, we'll be back home and everything will be fine. You can open my present while we eat Mrs. Black's cake."

"Maybe."

"It'll be okay. I promise." She kissed him quickly on the cheek and trotted off down the hallway. She reached her door and looked back at him. "Goodnight, Parker. Happy birthday." She disappeared inside and gently closed the door.

Parker leaned against the wall, sensing the fall of night somewhere high, high above him. It was a few hours before the end of his thirteenth birthday.

He stood awhile in the empty corridor. Sunny had just kissed him on the cheek. Strictly speaking, it was their first kiss. He knew he should be pleased. But somehow the magnitude of it had diminished. Amidst the events and craziness of the day, a kiss on the cheek seemed inconsequential.

And so he stood in the empty corridor.

Alone. As usual, he thought to himself.

### Chapter 8

### Everything Happens for a Reason

After a time, Parker entered his room. He left behind the sounds of silence in the hallway, the quiet breathing of the underground world around him.

The decorative motif of the room was unmistakable: small. Two sets of close-quarters bunk beds, a small desk with a small lamp, and a small closet. The room felt like a broom closet. Which meant he was the broom. How four people could live and sleep in such a tiny space was baffling. But, he realized, this installation was originally conceived not only as a research facility but as a haven in case of nuclear war or environmental disaster on the surface. Space had to be maximized and comfort had to be sacrificed. He looked around the cramped room and realized comfort invariably takes a back seat to survival.

An artificial window loomed above the desk. It showed the black branches of a tree silhouetted against a night sky strewn with stars.

Beneath the bunks he found four green rectangular footlockers. He couldn't tell what they were made of. One of them had writing stenciled in yellow: PERKINS. He pulled it forward. It was extremely light but he sensed also very durable. The electronic padlock hung open, with a small slip of plastic attached bearing a six-digit code. He lifted the lid. Inside he discovered seven pair of pants, seven T-shirts, seven pair of socks, and seven pair of underwear, all neatly folded, and all of them black. Were these someone else's clothes? There were also two pair of clean black boots, much like those he'd seen Igby wearing. He took out a T-shirt and held it up. Though it was black, it looked similar to his red shirt he'd put on that morning while hurrying to meet Bubba for breakfast at The Cloud Deck. Now that he'd met the magnificent Colby Max, he was glad he'd gotten water all over his Colby Max T-shirt and had exchanged it for the red one prepared by Mrs. Black. He unfolded a pair of pants and held them up. They too appeared to be his size. Carefully, using only his fingertips, he picked up a pair of underwear and held them up by the elastic waistband. Again, he thought they could fit him. Slowly, carefully, he brought the underwear close to his face. He found the seat of the underwear and carefully smelled the area. They smelled clean. Apparently these weren't someone else's clothes. And apparently even Top Secret underground cities had dress codes. Everyone he had seen thus far seemed to be wearing some sort of uniform.

A sharp knocking sounded at his door. He set the underwear back into the footlocker and stood up. Who could be coming to visit him? They were supposed to be getting some shuteye. General Ramsey said to be ready at seven a.m. Parker hated getting up early in the morning, and after the day's excitement he knew waking up tomorrow would be difficult, tempered only by one thing: he was going to get one step closer to flying a real Go-Boy Battle-Suit.

He reached for the doorknob, thinking it must be Bubba come to visit for a minute to trade insults about Colby. Or perhaps it was Sunny, come to give him another birthday kiss, one for the other cheek.

The door opened and he saw neither the smiling face of Bubba nor the soft eyes of Sunny. Before him stood a short, thin, greenish-blue alien with big black eyes and a small mouth.

Parker gasped. He took a few steps backward. He thought of screaming, of crying out, calling for help, calling for Bubba. But he didn't. He looked at the little alien and his fear slowly subsided. Though the large head was out of proportion with the body and the eyes out of proportion with the face, Parker found the creature had a kindness to him. Parker had the distinct impression the alien was smiling. As they looked at each other, Parker's apprehension faded altogether. This was the same little man he'd seen piloting the flying saucer in the massive hangar.

"Hello," said the little man. His voice was soft and warm, inviting.

"Um, hi," said Parker.

"May I come in? The ice cream is melting."

"Um, sure." Parker stepped aside and the little man entered. He wore a snug black bodysuit that clung to his petite body, complete with attached booties and a high neck. In his hands he held a white bowl of pink ice cream.

"I brought you strawberry. That is your favorite, isn't it?"

"Um, sure."

"General Ramsey would not have chosen you for this mission were you not able to say anything other than 'um, sure.'"

Parker realized he was indeed stammering. "Right."

"It's not exactly Shakespeare or Glufferbishnit, but it's a start."

"Glufferbishnit?"

"She was a creator where I come from. The greatest who ever lived," said the little alien. "I'll let you read some of her works sometime. Only a few of her greatest works have been translated into English, but it'll give you a sense of the power of her talent. Would you like some strawberry ice cream? My hands are getting cold."

"Um, sure," said Parker, before realizing he was stammering again. He reached out and took the bowl. He held it in his hands and stared mutely at the little alien.

"Everything okay?" asked the alien.

"Um, su–" he stopped himself, then said, "Actually, no. To be honest, everything is most definitely not okay."

"Things always look their worst on an empty stomach. You didn't eat much at dinner."

"How do you know what I ate at dinner?" asked Parker. "How do you know I like strawberry ice cream? And why are you bringing it to the Barracks? General Ramsey specifically said chow is not allowed in the Barracks. And who are you, exactly?"

"Those are all excellent questions, Parker. That's good. As Morra Glufferbishnit herself once said, 'Sthe-ah emrbpo tahrbpoke ohpoke-oo thtdeme oo-eee-oolpemrbk.'"

Parker listened in utter amazement as the little alien spoke his native language. It had a clicky sing-song cadence to it. "What does that mean?" he asked.

"Roughly translated, it means 'Brilliant minds ask simple questions.' As for your first question, I knew your feelings when you opened the door. I therefore knew you were hungry and had therefore not eaten much at dinner. As for the strawberry ice cream, it's my favorite so, actually, I guessed it might be your favorite, too. I'm bringing it to the Barracks so you can eat it in your room where you can have some peace and quiet and hopefully regain your appetite."

"But General Ramsey said—"

"I know what General Ramsey said," said the alien. "Don't worry about General Ramsey. What General Ramsey doesn't know won't hurt you." Parker had to admit he liked this logic. "Besides," the alien continued, "you won't last long flying Go-Boy on an empty stomach. Ice cream is high in calories and it tastes good. And this is all natural, no corn syrup or artificial things. It's the perfect treat for a finicky appetite. It's quite a delicacy where I come from."

"Where do you come from? And who are you?"

"I was getting to that. My name is Carl. I am from a planet much like Earth but a great distance from here."

"Your name's Carl? Is that your real name?" It seemed . . . ordinary.

"When I'm here on Earth it is. Back home everyone calls me Itlemrb. But I like Carl better. Why do you ask if it's my real name? Is something wrong with Carl?"

"Uh, no, nothing is wrong with Carl," said Parker. "It's just kinda weird. For an alien, I mean."

"You don't like it?" asked Carl. "Does it mean something silly or disgusting? Is it a girl's name? Because as you can see I am clearly not female. I don't understand why no one told me when I picked 'Carl' that it meant something silly or disgusting or feminine." Carl took short little paces around the tiny room as he spoke.

Parker stood there, holding a freezing bowl of strawberry ice cream and racking his brain for a means by which he could convince a neurotic alien named Carl that the name 'Carl' was an honorable and respectable or at least perfectly normal name on Earth. It wasn't as common as John or Joe but it was all right as names go. He wished Bubba were here. Sunny, too. They'd get a real kick out of this. Bubba would enjoy the strawberry ice cream and Sunny would be a more respectable, qualified person to interact with a being from another planet. If Igby were here, he'd probably listen quietly because he was probably already friends with Carl, given their sharing of employment at Candyland. And Carl and Colby could perform Shakespeare or perhaps a play by that Morra Glufferbiscuit person, assuming plays were what she wrote.

"Your name is fine," said Parker. "It doesn't mean anything silly or disgusting. And it's definitely a man's name. In fact, I think it is a very manly name. If I were an alien visiting Earth from another planet and I had to choose an Earthling name, I would definitely choose a name like 'Carl.'"

"Really?" asked Carl.

"Absolutely."

"Oh, good. Here." He held up a spoon.

"How did you know I needed a spoon?" asked Parker. He took the spoon.

"As I said before, I can sense your emotions. I sensed longing mixed with anxiety. I assumed a spoon was the logical solution to such emotions when holding a bowl of strawberry ice cream."

"Thanks," said Parker. He dipped the spoon into the ice cream and tasted it. It was cold and creamy, sweet and fruity, and absolutely delicious. He felt the tiny strawberry seeds in his mouth and he crunched them between his teeth. "Do you want to share?"

"No, thank you," said Carl. "I've eaten three gallons of it so far today."

"Three gallons!" exclaimed Parker. "Who eats three gallons of ice cream in one day? Not even Bubba could do that."

"As I said, strawberry ice cream is a delicacy where I come from. Ever since the Roswell crash back in 1947."

Parker stared blankly at Carl, a spoonful of ice cream seemingly stuck in his mouth.

"I see by the knit of your brow and the slight dilation of your pupils that you have no idea what I'm talking about," said Carl.

Parker put the spoon back in the bowl and swallowed the cold, smooth ice cream. "You're talking about the UFO that crashed in Roswell, New Mexico. Actually, I know all about it from a science project Bubba and I did last year on sub-space quarks and the potentiality of interstellar binaries. At least, that was the topic of the report. We ended up doing a presentation on unidentified flying objects. Our teacher said our presentation was inane and off-topic. We got a 'D.' But me and Bubba – I mean Bubba and I – didn't care because we had fun and everyone said our presentation was the best. Anyway, supposedly a ship crashed with three aliens on board. Only two survived and were taken to the nearby military base, where they later died, too. Or it was just a military weather balloon, like the Air Force said."

"No," said Carl, "it was no weather balloon. A passing ship experienced a malfunction. The pilot did some pretty fancy flying and managed to get her ship to Earth. Despite her valiant efforts, it crashed in the desert. Sadly, she perished. The other two travelers were indeed taken to the base. They were treated for their injuries and eventually regained their health. During that time, they were studied and questioned by people from your government and the governments of your allies. They shared much of our technology with you and quite by accident were given strawberry ice cream. Eventually they were picked up by a passing freighter and returned to our home planet, along with their deceased pilot. The freighter was loaded with a vast supply of strawberry ice cream. The two star travelers are credited with introducing the delicacy to our people. An epic tale was composed, celebrating the event. Strawberry ice cream is highly sought-after, for it is pleasing not only to the palette but also to the mind and body. Of all the UFOs spotted here on Earth since that time, most of them are travelers from my planet visiting Earth to enjoy a nice bowl of strawberry ice cream. Some of us like ice cream cones or milkshakes. But mostly it's enjoyed all by itself."

"You guys come all this way just for strawberry ice cream?" asked Parker.

"Sure. It's a relatively short ride from my galaxy to your Milky Way Galaxy." Carl stopped and grinned, covering his mouth with his long spindly fingers.

"What's so funny?" asked Parker.

"Forgive me. It's just that my people find it so funny that your Milky Way Galaxy is named after one of the key ingredients in the strawberry ice cream that is so treasured by us." Carl's smile dried up suddenly and he spoke with great respect. "Without Earth and her inhabitants, we would not be where we are today."

"Us?" said Parker. "What do you need us for? Can't you make strawberry ice cream on your planet? And by the way, is it all flavors of ice cream you guys like so much or is it just strawberry?"

"No, it is thus far only strawberry. To date, we have tested twenty-seven-thousand, four-hundred eighty-two flavors in all. Next Friday we're testing the twenty-seven thousand, four-hundred eighty-third. Someone told me it's chocolate-covered cactus flavor but she was wrong last time about the barbecue-flavored cotton candy so I guess we'll just have to wait and see. It's downstairs on Level Nine, one floor above the Restricted Area. You should come along. Last time there was karaoke. I do a decent rendition of Transcendental Tal's song "Flower Child." I love that song. There was something special about America in the 1960s. I wish I could have visited Earth then. Or perhaps I'm giving in to the tendency to romanticize the past." Carl looked off into space.

Parker had the distinct impression Carl was remembering something with a bittersweet fondness. Similar emotions rose within himself, heartache by proximity, perhaps, and he found himself reliving the last time he visited Central Park, before The Attack, before he and his dad moved to Sky City South. When his mom was still alive . . .

A perfect spring day in New York. Bright sunshine and a cool breeze. Dad and I assemble the kite while mom unpacks lunch. I hold the kite while dad holds the string. I throw it in the air and he runs backward, then trips and falls on his butt. Mom laughs but pretends it was a sneeze. Dad gets up and we try again. This time he doesn't fall down, and the kite takes flight. He lets out more and more string, then hands me the spool. The wind falters and the kite dips. He shows me how to pull on the string to make the kite fly again. Cucumbers on my sandwich. White geese gliding on the pond. Mom and dad holding hands. All of us together. And cucumbers on my sandwich.

"But that was a long time ago," said Carl, and Parker sensed him trying to shake off the bitterness of his own memory. Flying the kite that day in Central Park did indeed seem long ago. Yet he remembered it like it was yesterday. That was the funny thing about loss; the timelessness of it.

"As I was saying," said Carl, "the reason we need you is twofold. First, we need Earth because strawberry ice cream contains milk, as I stated earlier. Milk is a key ingredient in strawberry ice cream. And because the proper milk comes only from cows and cows come only from Earth, we are dependent upon you."

Parker wondered if there were cows on Carl's planet, wearing four-legged space suits, chewing their grass and cud and mooing inside big bubble helmets. That would be a funny sight.

"No, cows can't live on our planet and, yes, that would be funny," said Carl. "As I was about to say, my new friend, the second and most important reason is because my people are indebted to you. If not for you and the discovery of strawberry ice cream, we would not be where we are today. For that, we will be grateful beyond the span of time."

"Wow," said Parker, "I had no idea. Guess I should have been eating strawberry ice cream instead of chocolate."

"Not to worry," replied Carl, "that just means more strawberry for me."

"But how can you eat three gallons in one day?" asked Parker. "Doesn't it make you sick? Me and Bubba and Sunny— oops, I did it again and Sunny hates bad grammar. I meant to say Sunny, Bubba, and I once entered an ice cream eating contest they had at The Cloud Deck and even Bubba could only eat about a gallon before he got sick."

"The strawberry ice cream caused illness?" asked Carl.

Parker smirked. "Yeah, you could say that. There was a line for the bathroom so Bubba ran to the elevator but there was a line there too so he barfed in a potted plant. Sandy was kinda p.o.'d but later said the plant grew almost three inches that week and that Bubba could have free ice cream for life. I remember that every time I walk past that pot. It always makes me laugh. I was there this morning, as a matter of fact, before I saw Sandy on my way to meet Bubba. She looked tired. I think the war is getting to her. Sometimes I think I still see bits of pink stuff in the pot."

"Fascinating," said Carl. "Absolutely fascinating."

"Sunny thought so, too. She even took a soil sample from the plant to send to some botanical research lab in California."

"And what did they find?"

"Nothing," said Parker. "Sunny's mom thought the pink soil sample was a new kind of shampoo and washed her hair with it. So Sunny never mailed it."

"Fascinating," said Carl. "What happened when Sunny's mom discovered the true nature of her shampoo?"

"Nothing. Sunny never told her. Her mom was so happy that her hair was so soft and smelled like fresh strawberries that Sunny didn't have the heart to tell her."

"Fascinating. Not only is it an invaluable element in the evolution of my people but it also makes excellent shampoo. Should I ever grow body hair I'll remember the cleansing properties of strawberry ice cream."

Parker took another bite of his ice cream but having just recounted the potted plant episode, as it had come to be known, seemed to have left him with little appetite for it. He saw Carl looking on happily and smiled, pretending to enjoy the ice cream.

"You best try to get some sleep," said Carl. "General Ramsey and his team will be putting each of you through the wringer tomorrow, so you'll want to have all your faculties. It is an honor and a privilege to make your acquaintance, Parker Perkins. I look forward to speaking with you again soon. Good night and slo-fee poke distee-umblupoke. Which means, 'never quit and never lose hope.'" Carl turned and reached for the door handle. "I'll be in my room."

"Your room? Where's your room?"

"At the end of the hall. About ten feet from here. If you find you have a question or need anything, just think real, real loud. If I don't respond, it may be I'm distracted by another gallon of ice cream, so please feel free to pay me a visit."

"I have one more question," said Parker. "What brand of ice cream is your absolute favorite?"

"Why, Parker," replied Carl, "have we not been discussing strawberry ice cream all this time?"

"Of course we have," said Parker. "I want to know your favorite brand. You know, who makes it? Can I get it at the store?"

"Yes, you can get it at the store, Parker," replied Carl.

"Is it . . ." Parker hesitated to ask. The thought of having eaten secret alien food all these years loomed in his mind. "Is it Alien Ice Cream? Like Bubba suggested this morning?"

Carl grinned again, broadly. And this time he didn't try to conceal his smile. "Of course it is."

"I knew it!" cried Parker, "I just knew it. All these years. All these years I've been eating Alien Ice Cream. Bubba, too. And we even managed to turn Sunny on to it."

"After the Roswell incident," explained Carl, "a company was set up to make the ice cream and prepare it for shipment to my planet. The ice cream was called Alien Ice Cream as a kind of inside joke. Sometimes the obvious truth offers the best disguise."

"It makes perfect sense," said Parker.

"What makes perfect sense?" asked Carl.

"The ice cream. You. This place. Everything." Parker grinned. "My mom always said everything happens for a reason. I just realized the reason I like Alien Ice Cream is so you and I would have something in common when we met. Tonight."

Carl grinned back at Parker.

"That makes perfect sense," said Parker.

"Indeed it does," agreed Carl. "Indeed it does."

Neither of them spoke.

"You best get to bed," said Carl, breaking the silence. "I won't be sleepy for another month or so but I'll be in my room if you need me. Just think real loud."

"You're not going to sleep for a month? Do you have imsomineeuh?" asked Parker. "Sunny's mom has that. Ever since Sunny's brother was killed. She hasn't slept more than a couple hours at a time for almost a year. Sunny thinks that's why the house is so clean."

"You must mean insomnia. And no, I do not now nor have I ever suffered from anything remotely resembling a sleep disorder. You see, one day on my planet equals nearly three months on Earth. So every three Earth months I go to sleep. I sleep four to six weeks and wake up again. Compared to most of my race, I sleep sixteen days, nine hours, thirty-eight minutes and seventeen-point-four-five-six-six-seven seconds less than average. Which makes me a rather light sleeper."

"Fascinating," said Parker. "So what does everyone here at Candyland do while they're waiting for you to wake up? How do they test the flying saucer I saw downstairs if you're up here sawing logs?"

"Sawing logs?" asked Carl. "I'm asleep, Parker, not practicing being a lumberjack."

"Sorry," said Parker, "figure of speech. I meant while you are asleep."

"I assume they wait," said Carl. "I'm asleep so I don't really know what goes on. Sometimes I return home to my planet to sleep."

"What's the name of your planet?"

"If I told you the name of my planet, you'd be able to find it on a star map. If you found it on a star map, you'd want to travel there."

"Of course I would. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing is wrong with that. It's simply that you're needed here, on Earth."

"Oh. I guess you're right. But what if . . . ." I'm not good enough? What if I fail? He couldn't bring himself to actually say the words.

"What if you're not good enough?" asked Carl. "Is that what you were about to say? What if you fail?"

Parker nodded. He was amazed Carl had read his mind. But he also felt completely pathetic.

"Failure is not an option, Parker," said Carl. "I know that's a cliché, an overused expression of might and bravado. But never before in the history of your planet and its people has it been more true. I'm sorry to be the one to have to tell you this. But this isn't just a really cool secret government military base where you're going to get to fly a real Go-Boy Battle-Suit. This is serious. For you. For your friends. For your dad, whom I know you love and miss dearly. This is serious for all of us. Even for me. I love your planet and its people. In all the galaxies I've explored, of the hundreds and hundreds of planets I've visited, never before have I encountered a more beautiful place inhabited by such brilliant and loving people. Yet not everyone on Earth feels this way. And they would seek to use Go-Boy Ultra to destroy that beauty and enslave the love of mankind. You can't let that happen."

"I still don't understand why it has to be me," said Parker. "Can't you do something? You have that flying saucer upstairs. Why can't you go after Dr. Red?"

"Even if I had weapons here, your people would never allow me to use them. Nor would mine. It would inevitably be seen as an attack by me upon Earth. It would be seen as an act of war. That is the opposite of why I am here. This problem must be handled by humans. And they've chosen you."

"Don't you understand?" pleaded Parker. "I can't do this. I know I said I could but I can't."

"Parker, you're the only one who can. Goodnight."

Carl turned and left, closing the door softly behind him. Parker set the bowl of mostly melted ice cream on the small desk and climbed up onto one of the top bunks. He lay back on the pillow and folded his hands across his chest. A thunderstorm of fear, pain, anger, and confusion rolled around inside him. Before even a single tear could flow down his face and drip onto his pillow, exhaustion claimed him. His eyes closed and he fell fast asleep.

### Chapter 9

### Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

Parker's eyes shot open.

Dim yellow light emanated from the artificial window above the tiny desk.

What time was it? Where was the stupid clock? Every room in a Top Secret underground installation needed to contain a prominently displayed clock. Artificial windows were notorious for falling one hour behind the Atomic Clock.

Parker sat up. The overhead lights flickered and buzzed to life, triggered by a hidden motion sensor. He made a mental note to put tape over the sensor once he had located it. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and dropped to the floor. He realized he'd slept in his clothes, even his shoes. He grabbed the bowl of liquefied strawberry ice cream and bolted for the door.

He ran down the deserted hallway to the stairs, holding the bowl before him. The melted pink goop sloshed against the white bowl. He leaped down the stairs two at a time. He emerged on the landing and burst into the Mess Hall. The door banged shut behind him. Sunny, Colby, Bubba, Igby, and General Ramsey all turned and looked at him. They sat at the same table. Parker hid the bowl of melted ice cream behind his back and walked over to them.

"Good morning, Mary Sunshine," said Colby. "We saved you some eggs. I made them myself. Bubba ate all the bacon, though. Sorry."

Bubba stood and clapped Parker on the shoulder. "Morning, soldier." He went to the kitchen and returned a moment later with a plate bearing a mound of scrambled eggs and two pieces of toast. Bubba leaned in close, so only Parker heard him say, "I told him you were polishing your boots. So why aren't you wearing them?" Parker gave him a look of frustrated appreciation. Bubba answered with the slightest of nods.

"Surely Mr. Perkins isn't hungry, Bubba," said General Ramsey. "If he had an appetite, he would have been dressed and ready in time for breakfast, as were the four of you. I can only assume, Mr. Perkins, the bowl of pink liquid behind your back was at one time frozen strawberry ice cream. I can further assume you were eating it in the Barracks. Did I not say chow is never to be taken to the Barracks?" The General looked steadily at Parker. Parker forced himself to return the look but chose not to speak. General Ramsey looked him up and down, surveying his appearance. "Going casual, I see."

Parker looked down at his clothes. His jeans and red T-shirt were wrinkled and disheveled now from having been slept in. He looked at his friends. They each wore the black pants, shirt, and boots they'd found in the footlockers beneath their bunks. They looked good.

"Was the uniform not to your liking, Parker? Or perhaps the garments were the wrong size." General Ramsey looked at him, eyebrows raised. It seemed the General expected an answer.

"Well—"

"No matter," said the General, cutting him off. "Perhaps tomorrow morning you'll find time to follow my simple instructions. We were just enjoying a nice cold glass of Twang to start your training on the right foot." General Ramsey held a glass toward Parker.

Parker didn't move. Being publicly humiliated didn't make him feel exactly trustworthy. Or thirsty.

"Please, drink up," said the General. He again extended the glass of Twang. "I'd hate to send you downstairs for all those tests on an empty stomach. You're not afraid of needles, are you?"

"No." Many frightening things swam around in Parker's sleepy mind, such as being buried alive or attending his dad's funeral. There were many things of which he was deathly afraid, such as leading his friends into an aerial dogfight against Dr. Red and Go-Boy Ultra and seeing them get shot. At the moment, needles ranked relatively low on the list. Sunny, however, didn't look as calm. Her face looked ghost-white.

"N-n-needles?" she squeaked.

"Don't worry, my dear," said General Ramsey. "We need a small sample of your blood. You won't even know it's gone. I promise." General Ramsey stood up and approached Parker. He handed Parker the glass of Twang. Parker held his breath and downed it. "Good boy. Perhaps tomorrow you'll find time to enjoy breakfast with your friends. For now, let us all move this party downstairs to the Infirmary."

General Ramsey took the empty glass and the bowl of pink goop from Parker's hands and carried them into the kitchen along with the plate of scrambled eggs. He emerged empty-handed and strode toward the elevator. "Follow me." The kids stood up and followed him. "The flight surgeon and his team are waiting."

"Waiting for what?" peeped Sunny. "Why are we going to see a flight surgeon?"

"Are we going to have an operation?" asked Bubba. He sounded excited.

"No, no," replied General Ramsey. "Just a routine physical. A flight surgeon is specially trained in aeromedical factors. He'll make certain you're all fit to go flying. Standard test battery. Health, physical fitness, eyesight, mental acuity, reflexes. Typical pre-flight medical exam. It'll be over before you know it."

"We're going to find out who has the right stuff," said Colby. "We're going to have six-inch electrified needles inserted into our hands and inflatable bulbs inserted in our rectums."

Ding!

The elevator arrived and they all boarded. General Ramsey tapped the screen and the elevator car rumbled quietly as it began its ascent.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. "Follow me. And don't touch anything," ordered the General. The kids followed him down a long white hallway and through a white door into the Infirmary. Rows of beds lined the white walls, surrounded by complex life-support machines and equipment Parker hoped he never needed to use. Everything looked clean and white, sterile. General Ramsey handed them hospital-style gowns. "Put these on. You may change behind those partitions. The flight surgeon will be with you shortly. If there's anything wrong with you, he'll find it. Igby and I have work to do but he'll return shortly. Enjoy your physicals." Igby and the General left through the same white door.

"There's definitely something wrong with you," muttered Parker. His stomach gurgled and growled. He decided he could have used a second glass of Twang. He also didn't like the thought of waiting two to three hours to eat some actual food. He almost wished he could drink the warm, melted strawberry ice cream straight from the bowl General Ramsey had confiscated.

"Now what?" asked Sunny, snapping Parker out of his daydream. Everyone stood watching him.

"Change, I guess," answered Parker.

"Everyone take a separate curtain," said Bubba. "Sunny, you change behind that partition." He pointed to a long curtain hanging from a track in the ceiling. "We'll change behind those over there."

They dispersed as Bubba suggested and a few minutes later emerged one at a time wearing only the gowns. Everyone except Bubba.

"We're waiting!" called Colby.

"Hold your horses!" said Bubba from behind the curtain. "Wizard of the sky, my bu—"

"Everything okay, Bubba?" asked Sunny.

"I think mine is too small. The back won't stay closed."

"Come out so we can help you," said Parker.

"No way!" said Bubba.

"You want me to come back there?" Parker threatened.

"Oh, all right then," said Bubba. "But you better not laugh." The curtain slid open. Bubba stood wearing the gown and looking as silly as Parker assumed he himself looked, except even more so, as Bubba's backside protruded visibly from the small gown. Colby burst out laughing. "It's not funny," said Bubba. He began rubbing his backside with his hands. "It's freezing in here." At this they all burst out laughing. Even Bubba was unable to stifle a grin.

"Here," said Sunny. She grabbed another gown and handed it to Bubba. "Put this one on backwards, like a coat." Bubba slipped it on. Sunny helped him tie the strings of both gowns together, forming a kind of hospital-style smock.

"Thanks, Sunny," said Bubba.

"No problem."

The door opened and Dr. Seabrook entered, followed by Igby. Parker noticed Igby now wore his green flight suit. Upon seeing him, Parker decided he didn't mind missing breakfast and enduring a lot of silly tests. He wanted a flight suit of his own. That would get him closer to Go-Boy. And closer to finding his dad. He still wasn't sure about finding and actually stopping Dr. Red. For now, he would try not to think too much about what was to be expected of him later on.

"Where's the flight surgeon guy?" asked Colby.

"I am the flight surgeon guy," replied Dr. Seabrook. "I am not only a doctor of science but of medicine. Aerospace physiology is my specialty. However, if you are concerned about my qualifications, Mr. Max, I'm certain Igby would be kind enough to show you the exit."

Colby didn't speak. Nor did anyone else.

"Don't blow this for the rest of us, Colby," said Bubba, breaking the silence.

"Okay, okay," said Colby, "I was just asking."

"We shall begin with nanocular cornioretinopothy," said Dr. Seabrook. In his hands he held a small brown vial. "Everyone look up at the ceiling please while I administer the eyedrops."

"Nano-what?" asked Parker.

Dr. Seabrook held the vial up for their inspection. "Suspended in this harmless saline solution are millions of tiny robots. They're going to give you perfect vision. You must have perfect vision to pilot a Go-Boy."

"You're going to put robots in our eyes?" asked Parker. "What are they going to do?"

"They're going to reshape your cornea so it perfectly focuses the light onto the back of your eye, which is called the retina. If this image is distorted or is focused in front of or behind the retina, it can't be relayed to the optic nerve. The optic nerve attaches to the retina in a place called the fovea."

"Foh-vee-uh," Bubba said slowly, savoring the word.

"Foh-vee-uh," said Colby, mocking Bubba.

"That's right," said Dr. Seabrook. "Your eyes will become almost like a built-in pair of high-power binoculars."

"So you can see stuff that's really far away," added Igby.

"Tiny robots?" asked Parker. "Will it hurt?" He glanced at Sunny. She watched Dr. Seabrook, wringing her hands together, awaiting his response.

"Not at all," replied Dr. Seabrook. "They're so small you won't even feel the insertions. It's more of a tickling sensation. Like an itch you can't quite scratch. But don't worry, it only last a few hours. By dinner time your eyes will be right as rain."

"'There is no spoon,'" whispered Colby. He became suddenly stern, speaking softly, slowly. "'Do you hear that, Mr. Anderson? That is the sound of inevitability.' 'I told you . . . my name . . . is Neo!'"

Parker waited until Colby was done speaking. "What happens when the little robots are done?"

"They exit the eye via your tear ducts, through the sinus cavity, then down the back of your throat and into your stomach. There they will be destroyed by your gastric juices."

"'Congratulations, Jack. You just digested the bad guy,'" said Colby. He belched loudly.

"You mean I'm going to have tiny robots for dinner?" asked Bubba.

"Gross," said Sunny. "I'm not doing it. My eyes are just fine."

"It's your right to refuse, of course," said Dr. Seabrook. "But you won't be able to pilot a Go-Boy. The nature of flying demands supreme eyesight."

"Do they know they're going on a suicide mission?" asked Parker.

"Kamikaze," said Colby. "Just like me."

"You wish," said Bubba.

"Shut up, smock boy," said Colby.

"You shut up, Mr. Kami-Crazy," retorted Bubba.

"Don't worry," said Dr. Seabrook, overriding them. "It's not like you're going to have millions of little robot skeletons floating around in your stomach."

"Yuck," said Sunny. "I'm definitely not doing it now."

"What about you, Igby?" asked Parker. "You're wearing glasses right now. How do you fly?"

"I wore glasses before I came here. I was so accustomed to wearing them that, even after my eye adjustment, I kept wearing them. But the lenses are lightweight plastic. They don't actually do anything." He took the glasses off. "I see very well. So will you in a few hours."

"You look really good without your glasses," said Sunny.

"I do?" asked Igby. His cheeks and forehead slowly turned red. Sunny smiled and nodded. Igby looked down at his boots. He slid his eyeglasses into a pocket in his flight suit.

"Bubba, you want me to go first?" asked Parker.

"No way! I want to go first!" said Bubba. "I want to be able to see far away stuff at night." Parker had to admit he, too, found the concept intriguing. Bubba plodded toward Dr. Seabrook with his eyes turned toward the ceiling. He held his arms out in front of him, his hands feeling for any obstructions. He looked like a mindless zombie wearing a hospital gown. Dr. Seabrook squeezed a couple drops of silver liquid into each of Bubba's eyes.

"Why is it silver?" asked Sunny.

"The solution also contains colloidal silver. Tiny bits of silver act as an antibiotic to prevent infection. Just in case. Now Bubba, keep your eyes closed for a minute to give them time to pass through the cornea," instructed Dr. Seabrook. Bubba closed his eyes.

"Tiny sensors, tiny robots, tiny bits of silver . . ." said Colby.

"Does it hurt, Bubba?" asked Sunny.

"I feel a draft," he replied. "But not on my eyes.

"Maybe it's on your foh-vee-uh," Colby mocked.

"Keep it up and as soon as I get to open my eyes I'm going to kick your plasma," warned Bubba.

"It really doesn't hurt?" asked Sunny.

"Nope. Don't sweat the small stuff, Sunny," said Bubba.

"Har-har, smock boy," said Colby.

"I told you to put a sock in it, Kami-Crazy," said Bubba.

"Next," said Dr. Seabrook. He stepped over to Colby. "Look up, please." Colby looked up and Dr. Seabrook squeezed a couple drops of the silver liquid into his eyes.

"Ow! Ow! It hurts, it hurts!" cried Colby. He brought his hands to his face, digging at his eye sockets as he flailed around. Sunny recoiled in horror, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Knock it off, Colby," demanded Parker. "It's not funny. You're scaring Sunny."

Grinning, Colby stopped flailing and stood still. He put his hands in his pockets, as though he were waiting for an overdue bus. "I had you going, didn't I?" he asked, his eyes closed. "You thought I was really in agony, didn't you? I told you I'm a good actor."

"Yeah, you're the brightest star in the sky," said Bubba.

"It's okay, Sunny," said Parker. "You want me to go next?"

"Yes, please," peeped Sunny.

Parker stepped over to Dr. Seabrook and looked up. "Bring on the war mice."

"That's the spirit," said Dr. Seabrook as he prepared the eyedropper.

"What did you say?" asked Colby.

"Bring on the war mice," said Parker.

Colby's brow crinkled above his closed eyes. "Bring on the war mice?"

"Yeah."

"What the hell does that mean?" asked Colby.

"That's your line. You say that in every show, in both movies."

Colby laughed. "It's not 'Bring on the war mice.' It's 'Bring on the warm ice.'"

"What's that?" Parker asked.

"Tell 'em, Ig," said Colby.

"It means bring on the Battle-Suit," said Igby. "The canopy is made of warm ice. It's water that's solid but not frozen. I call it 'warm ice.' It's the only thing strong enough to withstand the heat and stress of flying as fast as we do."

"How can you have water that's solid if it's not cold and frozen?" asked Sunny. Her eyes stayed on the vial.

Igby grinned proudly. "Molecular manipulation."

"'Bring on the warm ice' is my line," said Colby. He was right; he said it once in the course of each SV episode.

"You mean we've been saying it wrong all this time?" asked Bubba, eyes closed and head tilted back.

"Apparently," said Parker.

"War mice," Colby mumbled to himself.

"I like war mice better," said Sunny. "It's cuter. Like Bubba's mice, Igby and Colby."

Igby grinned. "You have mice named after us?"

Bubba smiled, too, his eyes still closed. "I do indeed."

Colby huffed.

"Ready, Parker?" Dr. Seabrook stood waiting.

Parker saw the blurry image of the eyedropper hover over his face. He struggled not to blink as a drop of cold liquid landed in each eye. He closed his eyes as Dr. Seabrook had instructed and waited. He didn't feel anything. After a few seconds, however, his eyeballs started to feel strange. At first it was just on the outside, the cornea, but then the sensation moved inside his eyes. After a minute, the backs of his eyes started to itch and tingle, as Dr. Seabrook had said they would. Parker imagined a sub-microscopic wrecking crew in there rebuilding his eyes.

"It's okay, Sunny," he said. "It feels kinda funny, but it's not bad."

"Will you hold my hand?" asked Sunny. Parker sensed her step forward and felt her take his hand in both of hers. Her hands were cold and sweaty. She must be really nervous. Even more than when she spelled 'subsuperdumbatoonerismology' and won the spelling bee in front of four thousand people.

"Sunny, look up, please," said Dr. Seabrook.

A moment later Parker heard Sunny make two distinct peeps, one for each drop as it landed on her cornea. "It's cold, but it's okay," she said.

"How long do we have to keep our eyes closed?" asked Parker.

"Good question," said Colby.

"Yeah," agreed Bubba. "Are we going to have to eat lunch like this?"

"Don't you think about anything besides food?" asked Colby.

"Don't you think about anyone but yourself and your dumb acting?" Bubba replied.

"If my eyes weren't closed right now—"

"That's quite enough, gentlemen," said Dr. Seabrook.

"Say, Doc," began Colby, "how long have you guys had this nanocular retino-whatever technology?"

"It was perfected nearly fifteen years ago," replied Dr. Seabrook.

"So it's been around since before any of us were even born?" asked Colby.

"It seems that is correct."

"So, why is it that this technology isn't available to the public? I mean, I've never heard of it and I've been to the eye doctor lots of times. Are you afraid you're going to put all the eye doctors out of business?"

Dr. Seabrook didn't respond. Parker tried to listen for any clues as to what he may have been doing. Silence filled the room. "'Qui tacet consentire videtur,'" Colby said quietly. "'He who is silent is understood to consent.' Regarding Henry, I had enough so I said 'when.'"

"Weirdo," murmured Bubba.

"I heard that," said Colby. "You can't do that on television."

"What's television?" asked Sunny.

"You may all open your eyes now," said Dr. Seabrook. "We'll move on to the other tests. Please have a seat on a nearby bed."

Parker opened his eyes and looked around. His vision blurred a little. He wiped the corner of his eye. Silver liquid glittered on his finger. Tiny robots. He smeared them on his jeans.

They all looked at each other as they sat down and waited. Dr. Seabrook began his examinations with Bubba. Igby followed closely, pushing a small cart on wheels bearing a touch screen. They moved quickly and efficiently. Dr. Seabrook checked their reflexes by pounding just below their knees with a small rubber hammer, looked in their ears with a small flashlight, and checked them physically with his hands, tapping out notes all the while on the touch screen. He drew two vials of blood from each of them. Sunny held Igby's hand and looked up at the ceiling when Dr. Seabrook inserted the needle into the vein in the crook of her arm. Dark blood squirted into the little vial. Parker thought she might cry. He realized how difficult all this must be for her, being the only female in the group. Igby pressed a square of antimicrobial adhesive onto Sunny's arm after Dr. Seabrook removed the needle. Sunny managed a smile. Parker felt very proud of her.

"Everyone on your feet, please," Dr. Seabrook said. "I want each of you to stand on your tip toes and squat down and up until I tell you to stop. Igby, if you'll please demonstrate." Everyone looked at Igby.

"Demonstrate?" asked Igby. "Why me?"

"Because I asked you to," replied Dr. Seabrook.

Igby glanced at Sunny. After an awkward moment of silence, he complied with Dr. Seabrook's request. He stood on his toes, stretched his arms out before him, and began squatting up and down.

"Everyone, please do like Igby," announced Dr. Seabrook.

The kids looked at each other and then hopped down from the beds on which they sat. Bubba joined in first, followed by Sunny.

Parker and Colby looked at each other, and then at Dr. Seabrook, who stood waiting for them to begin.

"That was not a request, gentlemen," said Dr. Seabrook. "If you don't pass all the tests, you'll fail your flight physical. If you fail your flight physical, you can't pilot a Battle-Suit. You can't go on the mission."

"Without all five of us, there is no mission," said Colby.

Dr. Seabrook remained silent.

Parker and Colby looked at Sunny, Bubba, and Igby all squatting up and down.

"C'mon, Park," said Bubba, "My legs are getting tired."

"I will if you will," said Colby. "Bring on the war mice." Colby winked.

"Fair enough." Parker put his arms out and stood on his toes. He squatted up and down along with his friends. Colby joined in.

"All together now, please," called Dr. Seabrook. He tapped his touchscreen repeatedly. After a few moments the kids were in sync, squatting and standing in perfect unison. "Excellent," said Dr. Seabrook. "Now remain in a squatting position and walk around on your tip toes."

The kids did as instructed. They moved in meandering paths, occasionally bumping into each other.

"Hey, look at me," called Igby, "I'm a duck!" Igby folded his arms to his sides, elbows out. "Quack! Quack-quack! Quack-quack-quack!"

"Me too!" said Bubba. He imitated Igby's movements and sounds. Sunny and Parker laughed. Even Colby couldn't help but grin. In mere moments, all five of them were doing the duck-walk around the Infirmary, quacking loudly and flapping their arms. Dr. Seabrook abandoned his touchscreen. He waded into the cacophonous sea of duck-like children, trying without success to corral them.

"Enough!"

All quacking ceased.

Everyone looked around. General Ramsey loomed near the entrance, hat in hand. Behind him stood three people wearing yellow jumpsuits. Parker recognized them from the hangar yesterday.

"Is this an Infirmary or a barnyard?" demanded General Ramsey. Without saying another word or waiting for a response, he turned and left, leading the people in yellow jumpsuits with him.

"That's enough of that," announced Dr. Seabrook. "Everyone get dressed and follow me."

The kids went behind the curtains. Once dressed, they followed Dr. Seabrook around the corner to an impressive fitness center. Five large electronic treadmills stood lined up side by side. "I want each of you to stand on a treadmill." The kids did as he instructed, with Parker between Bubba and Sunny. Colby stood on the machine next to Sunny. "You too, Igby."

"I had a stress test last month," said Igby.

"I want to see how you do against competition," said Dr. Seabrook.

"Get on up here, Ig," said Bubba, poised on the treadmill next to Parker. "Let's see what you've got."

Igby mounted the treadmill on the end, next to Bubba.

"Now that you've so colorfully demonstrated your orthopedic health, we shall proceed with Cardio-Pulmonary Restructuring, or C.P.R. This will maximize the uptake of oxygen in your bodies. If you need to stop for any reason," said Dr. Seabrook, "press the red button in front of you." He moved down the line, attaching a wireless electrode to each of their chests. "If at any time you feel faint or dizzy or experience pain of any kind, notify me immediately. The belts will tilt upward to simulate walking up a hill. I want each of you to keep walking as long as you possibly can. Begin."

Dr. Seabrook tapped his touch screen and the treadmills whirred to life. Each of the kids began walking. At first, they moved awkwardly, looking sideways at each other, craning their necks to see what the others were doing. The belts gradually moved faster and the degree of incline increased. The sidelong glances and silly smirks decreased. Each of the kids focused more and more on keeping pace with the advancing treadmills.

Dr. Seabrook watched each of them closely, making notes on his touch screen as their breathing became more and more labored.

After a few minutes, drops of sweat fell from Parker's forehead onto the treadmill. Sweat ran into his eyes, making them sting along with the fuzzy feeling inside them from the retinal conversion taking place. He looked around and saw the others were sweating, too.

"You're each doing very well," announced Dr. Seabrook. "Keep it up."

Parker felt his legs beginning to burn. He wondered who would be the first to slap the red button. He really hoped it wouldn't be him.

Drops of sweat dripped steadily from the tip of Bubba's nose and he was breathing heavily.

Sunny's brow shined with perspiration as she stared determinedly off into space.

Next to her, Colby breathed heavily but looked to be doing all right.

On the other end, Igby looked to be the most fatigued. He stumbled, and then caught himself. Parker hoped no one would actually fall. He and Bubba had once learned the hard way that a treadmill is not a toy. Actually, it was the seat of Bubba's pants that discovered this one afternoon in the Sky City Fitness Emporium. They went up there to find out how fast a treadmill could be made to turn. Their ulterior motive had been to procure a treadmill to use as a kind of catapult, a device with which they could launch themselves into the lake at Canary Downs. They found a treadmill in a corner and cranked up the speed. When at last the belt spun wildly on its rollers, Bubba sat down on it, expecting to be launched off the end. This is precisely what happened. Their plan worked. Save for the enormous holes burned clear through the seat of Bubba's pants. They immediately abandoned the plan. For weeks, Bubba had to sleep on his stomach. And Mrs. Black insisted he apply a special aloe-mentholatum salve every night before bed. To this day, Parker couldn't stand the smell of menthol. He suspected Bubba like it even less.

Parker glanced over at Bubba. Bubba was sweating profusely but breathing steadily. Sunny seemed to be doing well enough considering the ever-rising treadmill beneath her feet. Colby appeared to be going strong as well. Igby, however, looked to be in bad shape. He breathed shallowly in and out as he hustled along. His eyes looked wide and his head listed badly to the left.

Igby reached out and slapped the red button. The treadmill slowed steadily to a halt. Igby jumped off of it and knelt on the floor, fighting for breath.

"You have your inhaler, Igby?" called Dr. Seabrook.

Igby nodded his head. He rooted around in his flight suit's multitude of pockets. He finally procured a silver bottle with a nozzle on one end and a red button on the other. He put the nozzle to his mouth, closed his lips around it and depressed the red button. He took a deep breath as the medicine rushed into his lungs. He held his breath a moment and then exhaled, finally breathing normally.

"Igby has asthma," said Dr. Seabrook. "Once a month we test his respiratory and circulatory systems, to see how they're responding to his therapy. As long as he has his inhaler, there's nothing to worry about. Though why, Igby, you are never able to open the correct pocket, I fear I shall never know."

"When you're suffocating and panicking," said Igby between breaths, "your short term memory goes right out the window. Sometimes, I can't even remember my own name." Igby stood up and took two slow deep breaths. He seemed to almost will his body to slow its breathing.

"And I know I don't need to explain again how dangerous it can be to fly while you're in the middle of an asthma panic attack," said Dr. Seabrook.

"No, you don't need to explain," said Igby. "But thank you for your concern."

"That's what I'm here for," said Dr. Seabrook.

"What does it feel like to have an asthma attack?" Sunny asked.

"It's like suffocating," said Igby. "You're breathing but you're not getting any air. Try breathing through a plastic drinking straw for ten minutes and you'll know."

The treadmill belts rose to an alarming angle. The pace increased. Parker's legs burned. A sharp, stabbing pain in his ribs caused him to lose his balance and nearly fall.

"How's everyone doing?" asked Dr. Seabrook.

Parker noticed Dr. Seabrook examining him. He stood taller and tried to appear in control.

Colby slapped the red button. The belt slowed and stopped. Bubba smiled and seemed to pick up the pace. Colby collapsed onto the floor, flat on his back, breathing loudly.

"It's best to walk around, Colby," suggested Dr. Seabrook. He tapped his screen.

"Whatever, dude," Colby gasped. "I'm tired."

Thirty seconds later, Sunny slapped her button. She jumped down and bent over with her hands on her knees, breathing heavily.

Parker clutched his ribs against the pain. He glanced at Bubba. Bubba breathed heavily but both arms swung freely and he took long, confident strides up the artificial mountain moving beneath his feet. The red digital numbers on Parker's treadmill display counted steadily upward.

Four more minutes passed.

The pain in Parker's side felt like he'd been stabbed with a spear. Any moment his legs would collapse and he'd fall.

Finally, after eighteen minutes, exhausted and able to go no further, Parker slapped his button. He jumped off the treadmill and collapsed on the floor next to Sunny.

"Congratulations, Bubba," said Dr. Seabrook. "You are our winner."

"Awesome!" chanted Bubba. He victoriously slapped his button and rode the belt to a halt.

"I thought you said not to sweat the small stuff," said Sunny.

"I did," said Bubba.

"You all did very well," announced Dr. Seabrook. "Igby, you exceeded your previous score by nearly two minutes. Your oxygen uptake has increased an additional seven percent. That's excellent. Everyone is in excellent health. I proclaim each of you fit and ready to proceed to the next phase of your training. Congratulations. Let's all head up to the Mess Hall for some refreshments and a snack."

"Nice work," said Parker.

"Thanks, buddy," said Bubba. "You didn't let me win, did you?"

"Heavens no," replied Parker. "That was fair and square. It felt like someone stabbed me in the ribs."

"Just like Jesus on the cross," said Colby. He still lay on the floor with his arms and legs spread wide.

"I thought my ribcage was going to explode," said Parker.

"Me too," said Sunny.

"Me three," gasped Colby. "If that was C.P.R., next time let me die."

"I felt the same way," said Bubba.

"Then how did you outlast us?" asked Igby. "You even beat Parker."

"Never underestimate the power of sheer determination," Bubba replied.

Bubba's words echoed in Parker's mind as they headed for the elevator. He rode up to the Mess Hall with his friends, and made himself a solemn promise: He would find his dad. As soon as possible.

The elevator doors opened and the kids stepped out.

"General Ramsey or I will return after lunch to escort you downstairs. You will be fitted. Have a nice lunch."

"Fitted for what?" asked Parker.

Dr. Seabrook pressed a button and the elevator doors whisked shut. "Fitted for what?!" Parker yelled as the doors closed.

"Grown-ups can be so obtuse," said Igby.

"What's obtuse?" asked Bubba.

"Clueless," said Sunny.

"All I want is to know what's going to happen next," said Parker. "So it won't be so scary."

### Chapter 10

### A Big Puddle of Ketchup

Dr. Seabrook entered General Ramsey's office and quietly closed the door. A single lamp shone on the broad desk. It did little to illuminate the large, ornate office. In the dim light, he could just barely see the General sitting behind his massive desk, relaxing in his favorite black leather chair, staring at the bank of surveillance camera monitors. The primary central screen showed a feed from the Mess Hall. Parker, Sunny, Bubba, Colby and Igby sat around a table, eating lunch. Dr. Seabrook sat down in front of the General's desk.

"Physicals are complete," said Dr. Seabrook.

"What was all that quacking business? I don't recall seeing Duck Impersonation on the aeromedical survey."

"It was a game," said Dr. Seabrook. "Igby started it."

General Ramsey spun his chair around so he faced Dr. Seabrook. "We do not have time for barnyard antics, doctor."

"Actually, General, it was quite brilliant." General Ramsey looked at him blankly. "From the moment those kids arrived, we've been hammering them. I'm sure you've noticed the bickering between Bubba and Colby. Igby felt they needed a chance to play together, to have some fun, and develop some solidarity. So we concocted the calisthenics as a way for the kids to relax a little. Even if only for a few minutes."

"Did it work?"

"It seemed to. Even Colby got into the act."

"He's an actor. He probably acts like a duck or a chicken all the time."

"They were smiling and laughing. Until you showed up with the tuners."

"I wanted to introduce them. The kids will need their help after lunch."

"Right. Which brings me to why I stopped by. As I was saying, everything is on schedule. Retinopathy is complete and we've begun C.P.R. The kids are all in excellent health. Even Bubba, who's big for his age. He'll lose that baby fat in a few years. He'll make a heck of a football player. Maybe play for one of the powerhouse football colleges like Notre Dame or Nebraska. Maybe even professionally. Although his aspiration is to be a Gamer. Glorious Shepherd is his hero. Someday we may even watch him compete in The Games."

"If he lives through this," said General Ramsey.

Dr. Seabrook sighed deeply. "That, I'm afraid, is true."

"My God, Sherman, what have we gotten ourselves into here?"

"Well, sir, we've got a sticky situation on our hands. Granted, the program is still experimental and not ready for full operational deployment—"

"Tell that to Dr. Red," General Ramsey interrupted. "I'd say Go-Boy Ultra is not only fully operational, it's now a direct threat. Our worst nightmare has come true, Sherman."

"And we're dealing with it, Martin."

"By sending five kids out to do our dirty work." General Ramsey rose from his chair and started pacing around the room. "How in the world did it come to this?"

"Extreme times require extreme measures."

"Extreme? Let me tell you about extreme." General Ramsey came and sat on the corner of the desk, looking down on Dr. Seabrook. "Less than two weeks from now, when these kids complete their training, they will have greater striking power than an entire Marine expeditionary force. They will have more mobility and greater lethality than a special-ops unit. Their size and radar signature will make them virtually invisible. With the upgraded body armor, they'll be too strong and too fast for conventional aircraft or weapons. They'll be able to operate worldwide."

"Sounds pretty impressive to me."

"They'll be virtually invincible."

"So what's the problem?"

"What if they grow beyond our control?" General Ramsey started pacing again. "What happens when they get out into the real world, where we can do nothing more than bark orders at them over the radio? What if they decide they're going to do things their way? Rather than follow mission parameters set forth by us?"

"It's a possibility," said Dr. Seabrook.

"A possibility? I'd call it a probability. You examined each of the kids?"

"Thoroughly."

"Your conclusions?"

"Fit as a fiddle. Physically—"

"No," said the General, interrupting again. "Not just physically. Up here." He tapped the side of his head. "How's their mental, emotional state?"

"Given the mental agility of children—"

"What about Parker?"

"Parker? Well, for a boy who was more or less orphaned by The Attack, I'd say he's doing all right. How would you feel if your mom perished in the worst attack ever perpetrated on American soil and your dad was gone eleven-and-a-half months out of the year, hunting down those responsible for her death?"

"He seems like a good kid."

"I agree. He's a bit detached, maybe. He doesn't seem as present as the others. But I suppose that's understandable under the circumstances."

"Circumstances?" General Ramsey turned to look at Dr. Seabrook.

"Yesterday wasn't exactly a typical birthday. He's under a lot of strain. It's already apparent to everyone, including Parker, that he's expected to be the leader. And being chastised by you in front of his friends this morning didn't help."

"He was late for chow, out of uniform, and disobeyed a direct order when he took ice cream to his room."

"Not exactly grounds for a court-martial, Martin."

"I am his Commanding Officer."

"And I'm sure you haven't forgotten that it's best to praise in public, chastise in private."

"Of course not," replied General Ramsey. "But I needed to set a precedent, make an example of him."

"He's thirteen years old," Dr. Seabrook countered. "It's his first day. Cut the kid some slack."

"Cutting him or any of the others some slack could be disastrous. It's my job to keep these kids alive."

"That's right. But making enemies out of your troops isn't going to help."

"Nevertheless, this was my idea. If something happens to them, I am responsible."

"It's like Igby said yesterday, about the oath to protect freedom. You and I took that same oath, Martin. We've got to keep our promise. No matter what. We didn't ask for this and God knows we tried to prevent it, but Go-Boy Ultra is out there. These five kids are our only hope of getting it back. I'm going to uphold my promise to help them in any way I can. I hope you do the same." Dr. Seabrook stood and headed for the door.

"Sherman?"

Dr. Seabrook stopped and looked back.

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"I'm not very good with children. I lost my dad at an early age, as you know. When my mom told me he'd been shot down . . ." General Ramsey paused for a moment, caught in the memory. "I guess maybe that's why I'm not close to my own kids. I forget sometimes that, underneath it all, our new soldiers are still children at heart."

"We're all children at heart, General," said Dr. Seabrook. "When the kids are done with lunch, I'll bring them down to the fitting room. We'll meet you there."

"Fine."

Dr. Seabrook stopped in the doorway and looked back at General Ramsey.

"What?"

"I'm sorry I suggested showing them the video."

General Ramsey rubbed his tired eyes. "They were going to see it eventually."

Dr. Seabrook considered the carpet for a moment, then looked up. "I simply thought they needed to see what they're up against."

"They do. I just don't want them to get . . . ."

"Scared?"

"I was going to say discouraged. But that, too."

"I think they were already scared, Martin. I know I am. Besides, it's not fair to get them involved in this if they decide they can't go through with it. I know that if I had to go up against that thing. . . . Never mind." Dr. Seabrook left, closing the door softly as he went.

General Ramsey sat in his favorite chair. On screen, the kids had gone from eating their lunch to simulating aerial dogfights with it. Parker's corn dog went head-to-head with Sunny's taco. While the other kids watched, Parker seemed to be instructing them on air-to-air combat tactics, evidently knowledge gleaned from his daily sessions in the Go-Boy flight simulator at Skycade. General Ramsey was heartened to see Parker taking a leadership role. From out of frame, Bubba appeared suddenly. He leaned over and took a big bight of Parker's corn dog. Everyone laughed. Parker held the damaged remains by the wooden stick as it spiraled downward, crashing in a puddle of tomato ketchup on Parker's plate. Everyone laughed harder. General Ramsey smiled. Perhaps they would escape from this unprecedented mission unharmed.

Then again, he thought, they could end up looking like a big puddle of ketchup.

### Chapter 11

### KID

Parker was still laughing, watching Bubba gobble the last of the crash-landed corn dog when Dr. Seabrook entered the Mess Hall. After cleaning up their lunch dishes, they followed Dr. Seabrook downstairs to a room that resembled the locker room of a professional sports team like the ones Parker had seen on SuperVision in ads for designer toenail fungus cream heralded as able to turn your toenails different colors. It always seemed a bit odd that the makers of the expensive salve were interested more in capitalizing on the itchy, painful, smelly affliction than on curing it.

"Hey, Parker, you're over there!" declared Bubba. Parker snapped-out of his memory and looked around. Five partitioned cubbyholes had been prepared, each one resembling a small closet. Above each cubby hung a sign bearing a name. Bubba stood pointing across the room to a sign showing Parker's name. "And there's me right next to you!" He and Parker ran to their cubbyholes. Sunny and Colby ran to their own cubbies. Igby strolled casually to his cubby and sat down in a nearby chair.

Hanging from a rod, Parker found his black uniform, the pants, shirt, and boots worn by his friends. Next to these items he found a long, dark green, full-bodied flight suit. A shiny black zipper ran from the neck all the way down the front of the suit. On the top shelf, he saw a sleek, shiny, dark green helmet, the same color as his flight suit. A gleaming mirrored visor covered the front of the helmet. Parker peered into the visor, studying his own dark reflection. He picked up the helmet. It was surprisingly light. He had always dreamed of having a job which necessitated the wearing of a helmet. He couldn't wait to try it on.

"These are your KID Suits," Dr. Seabrook announced. "Please put them on."

"What do we wear under our KID Suits, Doctor Seabrook?" asked Sunny.

"Exactly what you have on," Dr. Seabrook replied. "Remove your boots and slip both feet in. Then put your arms into the sleeves as you would when donning a coat. Your tuners will arrive shortly should you require assistance. Parker, your uniform was brought from your room and is next to your KID Suit. You may change around the corner in the restroom."

Parker grabbed his uniform and boots, along with clean socks and underwear. He was eager to put on clean clothes and even more eager to match the attire of his friends. All morning, he'd felt singled-out. Being berated by General Ramsey less than five minutes after waking up was worse than being the only one not in uniform. He ran to the restroom and pulled off his wrinkled red T-shirt and dropped his smelly jeans. He replaced his underwear and socks, then pulled on the black pants and T-shirt. They were a perfect fit. He slid his feet into the new black boots. They must have been one size too big, as his toes wriggled freely inside them and the toe of each boot felt long and floppy. Eager to join the others, Parker hurried to retrieve his old clothing from the bathroom floor and ran to the locker room, trying not to trip over his over-sized boots.

"Allow me to introduce some close friends of mine," Dr. Seabrook said. Parker returned to his cubbyhole and stowed his dirty clothes. Two men and a woman stood next to Dr. Seabrook. Parker recognized them as the people who had been standing behind General Ramsey in the Infirmary before lunch. Each wore a grease- and dirt-stained yellow jumpsuit with a black zipper down the front and many smaller zippers sewn into the arms and legs. On the shoulder of their suits, Parker saw the Candyland patch bearing the fearsome eagle he'd seen on the wall of the Main Hangar and emblazoned on Igby's KID Suit.

"Looking good, Park," whispered Bubba when he saw Parker.

"Thanks," whispered Parker. "Who're they?"

"This is Tupper Jones," Dr. Seabrook said, looking directly at Parker. Dr. Seabrook gestured to a massive man with his arms folded across his broad chest. "Tupper knows more about quantum robotics than anyone in the country, perhaps even anyone in the world. He was also the favorite to bring home at least one Gold Medal from last year's Games in Milwaukee if they hadn't been canceled because of the war."

"Yowsa," said Tupper.

"In addition to issuing odd greetings like that one, Tupper personally owns seventy-eight patents for his inventions," said Dr. Seabrook, "some relating to the Go-Boy Project, some not. My favorite, of course, is the self-replicating banana."

"I'm trying to end world hunger," explained Tupper. "I figured most folks enjoy a nice banana now and again."

"He should've made a self-replicating pizza," Parker whispered to Bubba. He saw Bubba's body shudder as he stifled a laugh.

"Is there something you'd like to share, Mr. Perkins?" asked Dr. Seabrook.

"Not really."

Dr. Seabrook stared at him.

"Momma always says honesty is the best policy," whispered Bubba.

"Indeed it is," said Dr. Seabrook.

Parker decided to answer Dr. Seabrook's question. "I said, Tupper should've invented a self-replicating pizza."

"Amen!" shouted Bubba.

"What's wrong with bananas?" asked Tupper.

"Tell him, Sunny," said Parker.

"Too many bananas can cause constipation," said Sunny.

"Constipation?" asked the other man in the yellow jumpsuit. A thick accent muddied his English. "This is new American rock and roll group?"

"Sunny?" said Parker.

"According to the New Webster's Dictionary and Thesaurus, constipation is defined as infrequent passage of dry, hardened feces due to poor functioning of the bowels," Sunny reported. "Bananas are very dense fruit. Eat too many and they can really bind you up."

"Okie dokie," said the man with the accent. "I am thanking you for this important news."

"No problem," said Sunny.

"Next to Tupper is Wendy Lee," Dr. Seabrook continued. Wendy stood as tall as Dr. Seabrook and smiled a brilliant smile when he introduced her. "Wendy has dual degrees in aeronautical engineering and biomechanics. She is a highly decorated fighter pilot boasting more than three hundred confirmed combat kills, more than any other aviator alive today, male or female."

"Yowsa," said Wendy. She grinned at Tupper and elbowed him playfully in the ribs. "And it's three hundred twenty-seven kills, to be exact."

"How many kills do you have, Colby?" asked Bubba.

"Twenty-six from both seasons on the SuperVision show," replied Colby. "Plus fifty in both of the Go-Boy movies."

"That makes one hundred twenty-six," said Sunny.

"Actually, it's one hundred twenty-five because he only got forty-nine kills in Go-Boy . . . Forever, remember?" said Parker. "That last F-99 Zavtra pilot ejected right before impact."

"That's true," agreed Bubba. "He survived."

"Nuh-uh!" countered Colby, "he got eaten by the Killer Koala Bears, remember? If I hadn't shot him down, the Koalas would've had to sit there getting stupid on gum leaves."

"I still don't think it counts," said Parker.

"Me, either," said Bubba.

"Me, either," added Igby.

"Sunny?" asked Parker, "what do you think? Does it count?"

"I'm with Colby on this one," said Sunny. "I think he should still get credit for the kill because he defeated one of his opponents. I don't think Colby should be penalized for what happens when pilots drop in on a bunch of marsupials with the munchies."

"My contract always stipulates how many kills I get," said Colby, "so I'll have to check with my lawyer. Anyway, it doesn't matter because it's just a dumb SV show and everything is fake. I've never actually been in combat. I don't know how to fly a real Go-Boy."

"None of us do, Colby," said Parker.

"From what it sounds like, hotshot," said Colby, "you must have a Go-Boy simulator at home in your living room."

"But I've never actually flown, Colby," replied Parker.

"Finally," said Dr. Seabrook, "I wish to present Royd Frigga. Royd comes to us by way of the European Institute for Engineering and Physics. Royd also studied propulsion systems at Tel Aviv University and at Technion in Haifa, Israel. He is literally a rocket scientist. He has also been a pilot since he was eight years old. If it flies, he can tell you how it works."

"Unless eet eez hummingbird," said Royd, his accent heavy. "Hummingbird too fast for me. So I make robotic hummingbird. Veddy small. Run entirely on sugar, just like real bird." Dr. Seabrook gave Royd a let's-get-on-with-it stare. "I show you later." Royd stifled his big, toothy grin.

"These are your tuners," Dr. Seabrook announced. "They will each act as Crew Chief for your Battle-Suits. They will help you fine-tune the suit, much like motorcycle racers have tuners who help get the motorcycle ready before a big race. My apologies, Sunny, for the chauvinistic metaphor."

"That's okay," said Sunny. "No apologies are necessary, doctor. I love motorcycles. My big brother used to have one. I rode on the back with him all the time. Especially during the summer, when it was warm and we could ride at night. He used to take me to Cony Island and buy blueberry cotton candy for me. It always made my lips turn blue. That was before he. . . ." Sunny looked down at her black combat boots. She looked up again. "Before he got killed in the war. My parents sold his bike right after that. I begged them to let me keep it until I was old enough to ride it. They said it was too dangerous. They said parents should never have to bury their children, and one was enough. But I'm getting a bike as soon as I turn eighteen."

"A pink Vespa?" asked Colby.

"No, a Jixxer One-Thousand," said Sunny.

"Pink and white?"

"Candy-Apple Red."

"That's a pretty serious machine," said Colby.

"I'm a pretty serious girl," said Sunny.

Colby smiled. Sunny smiled back at him.

Parker writhed internally. He knew almost nothing about motorcycles. But that wasn't what bothered him. It was seeing Sunny smile at Colby.

"Six hundreds handle better," said Colby. "I rode one in Go-Boy . . . Unleashed."

"I told you I like to go in fresh!" said Bubba.

"Sorry, Frank," said Colby. "I forgot."

"Apology accepted," said Bubba.

"Who's Frank?" asked Dr. Seabrook.

"Frank Costanza," replied Colby. "Creator of Festivus. And George."

"I don't even want to know what that is," said Dr. Seabrook.

"Six hundreds do handle better," said Sunny, "because they're lighter and have narrower tires and are more flickable. But you'll eventually get bored on a six hundred. You won't on a one-thousand."

"What kind of bike did your brother have?" Colby asked.

"A Jixxer One-Thousand."

"When did it happen?" asked Wendy.

"Last year. Right after I met Parker and Bubba."

"Is that why you missed all that school?" asked Bubba.

"Yes, Bubba," Sunny replied. A tearful sparkle shone in Sunny's bright eyes.

"They said you had the mumps," said Parker.

"No one gets the mumps anymore," said Sunny.

"That was what I thought, too," said Parker. "I had never heard of it. I had to look it up. Highly contagious. Your salivary glands swell up like baseballs. It's pretty gross." Parker didn't know what else to say. He just stood there. Bubba went and put his arms around Sunny.

"What's his name?" asked Igby. "Your brother. What's his name?"

"Steven. My parents called him Stevie. It drove him nuts. I'm not allowed to talk about him. My parents say it's easier if they pretend he never existed."

"My condo-licenses for your loss, my dear," said Royd.

"Condolences," said Wendy, correcting Royd's improper English. She tenderly rubbed Sunny's arm.

"Yes, yes," said Royd, "veddy many condolences."

Bubba released Sunny.

"Thank you," she said, looking up at Bubba. Her eyes came to rest on Parker. He found it difficult to look Sunny in the eye.

Royd continued, "Your great Civil War General William Tecumseh Sherman once say, 'War is cruelty. The crueler eet eez, the sooner it vill be over.' I think all of us have something to say about that, no?" Royd looked around the room enthusiastically.

"Which brings us back to my original point," said Dr. Seabrook. "As I was saying, Bubba, you'll be working with Tupper. Sunny, you're paired with Wendy. Colby, you will work with Royd."

"Max Colby!" declared Royd. "I am fan number one for you!"

Colby smiled broadly at Royd's enthusiasm.

"He got your name wrong, Wizard of Crap," said Bubba.

"At least I have a fan, smock-boy," countered Colby.

"What about me?" asked Parker. He hoped to stop the banter between Bubba and Colby before it escalated. "And Igby?"

"Igby and I work together," replied Dr. Seabrook. "On such short notice, I'm afraid I don't have a separate Crew Chief for each of you. Because you are the most experienced Go-Boy pilot we have, General Ramsey and I thought it best if the other kids work one-on-one with their tuners. Should you require assistance, any one of us will be at your disposal."

Parker didn't like being the only Go-Boy pilot without a Crew Chief. He wasn't so sure about being referred to as the best pilot, either. Admittedly, neither Sunny nor Bubba had ever defeated him in the Go-Boy simulator. But they still flew and fought well when they took the game seriously. He had yet to see Colby and Igby in action, though he suspected marching around on a sound stage in an alloy Battle-Suit mock-up did little to improve their actual flying skills. Igby, however, had apparently flown across the country in less time needed to have a pizza delivered. Parker decided he would do his best to live up to Dr. Seabrook's appraisal of his knowledge and abilities. To do otherwise would not help him in his quest to find his dad.

Bubba managed to finish wedging himself into his KID Suit, which, sadly, was much too small for him. He struggled with the zipper, his face turning red from the effort.

"How's your KID Suit fit?" asked Parker. He unzipped his own KID Suit and began to put it on.

"You're not funny," replied Bubba. "What's this thing made of?"

"Yoctoprocessors," replied Igby, "woven into a sentient mesh." He lay back comfortably in his chair.

"Sentient?" asked Sunny. "You mean the KID Suit is alive?" Sunny's eyes widened.

"Not exactly," said Igby. "It's capable of feeling. It has the power of sense perception. This enables it to convey to you if you're hurt or injured or if the suit is damaged. Like if you're on fire or something. Cool, huh?" Igby smiled broadly.

"I just hope they're strong," said Bubba. "Because this thing does not fit." Bubba pulled harder on the zipper.

"We can let it out a little here and there," said Tupper.

"You can?" Bubba asked hopefully, giving up on the zipper.

"You bet," said Tupper. "Actually, the suit does all the work."

"Good," said Bubba, "because I can't fly like this." He gestured to his open suit.

"You said it," said Tupper. "Now, Bubba," he continued intently, "I'm the Crew Chief for your Go-Boy Battle-Suit. You and I are going to be spending a lot of time together during the next couple weeks. After each flight, we'll debrief. I want you to tell me exactly what's going on with the suit, how it handles, how it performs. Concentrate on how it feels. We'll get all the systems dialed-in in no time. Now hold still so I can measure you, then we'll feed the numbers into the KID Suit's brain."

"The KID Suit has a brain?" asked Sunny from across the room. "Oh, yuck, gross, get it off me!" Sunny began fumbling for the zipper on her flight suit.

"This coming from the girl who was preparing to serve us chocolate-covered tomato worms?" said Parker.

"And who wants to ride a Jixxer One-Thousand?" added Colby.

Parker pulled his KID Suit up onto his shoulders and zipped the zipper all the way up to his neck. The suit fit loosely, awkwardly, just like his boots.

"Those are just bugs!" replied Sunny. "This is totally different."

"Relax," said Tupper. "It was a figure of speech. My mistake. I apologize. The brain is just a computer, just like the one in your boots." Parker looked down at his new boots. "Your flight suits and your boots have a learning computer built into them. Interpretive software analyzes your movements and behavior. In a moment, the neural net will adapt to your body size and shape. In a few days, it will learn your individual movements. The suit will become like a second skin.

"These learning computers will also communicate with the bio-processor in your Battle-Suit, so your physical health will be monitored at all times," continued Tupper. "Now, where was I?" Tupper pulled a nylon tape measure from around his neck and proceeded to measure Bubba at various points on his body. Parker looked around and saw Sunny and Colby being measured by Wendy and Royd.

"I'll take your measurements, Parker," said Dr. Seabrook, coming over to stand before him. "Igby will be proceeding upstairs to prepare for the demonstration. So I can assist you with your fitting."

"Thank you," said Parker. He liked Dr. Seabrook taking time to help him. Since yesterday, he'd been feeling one step behind his friends. This would be his chance to catch up. "What's the demonstration?"

"You'll see," said Dr. Seabrook, his eyes gleaming. "There we are." Dr. Seabrook completed the measurements. "If Tupper, Wendy, and Royd are ready, we'll begin." The three tuners acknowledged with a curt nod. "Excellent. Kids, please put on your helmets and sit down in the chair next to your locker. Now that we have all your measurements as a safety precaution, we'll begin the kinesthetic integration and desensitization."

"The what?" asked Bubba. He grabbed his helmet off the shelf.

"The fitting," replied Igby.

Parker picked up his helmet and turned it upside down to look inside. The interior of the helmet felt soft and thickly padded. He held it with both hands and gently pulled it onto his head. His breathing became louder in his ears as the silver visor covered his face. He blinked in surprise as the mirrored visor quickly faded to a transparent one, until he felt like he was looking through a perfectly clear piece of glass.

"You'll notice the auto-correcting blast shield," said Dr. Seabrook. "The visor is programmed for optimal viewing in all lighting conditions. It will protect your eyes from sudden blasts of light as well as from the sun's ultraviolet and infrared rays. Your face can get sunburned pretty fast when you're flying around at fifty-thousand feet. Touch your forehead to raise the visor any time you like."

Colby raised his visor. "What's your story, Ig? Why aren't you trying on your space monkey suit?"

"I was fitted for my flight suit a couple years ago," replied Igby.

"I'm told it is a bit uncomfortable," said Dr. Seabrook, "but I ask you to please bear with us and it will all be over soon."

"What are you talking about?" asked Colby.

"Yeah," echoed Parker.

"On the count of three," Dr. Seabrook announced. "One . . ."

"Wait a second," said Parker.

"Two . . ."

"I said wait, please," Parker said.

"Three." Dr. Seabrook tapped a button on a nearby touchscreen.

Sunny cried out first.

Followed immediately by Bubba and Colby. They began to squirm in their seats. "It feels like I'm being bitten by fire ants!" yelled Bubba.

"Those aren't ants, you idiot!" said Colby. "We're being electrocuted."

"You're not being electrocuted," said Igby. "What you're feeling is an electronic nucleotide fusion. The KID Suit is sampling your DNA."

"Get it off me. Please," whimpered Sunny. She looked pleadingly up at Wendy, who stood next to her chair.

Bubba and Colby began fumbling with their zippers.

"This sucks plasma!" said Colby.

"You can say that again!" echoed Bubba.

"Movement interferes with the fusion," warned Dr. Seabrook. "The more you squirm, the worse it is and the longer is lasts. Hold still, please." He consulted his touch-screen. "Telemetry is coming in now. You're all approaching twenty-five percent."

"Twenty-five percent!" said Colby. "That's it?"

"I'm going to kick twenty-five percent of your plasma!" declared Bubba.

"And I'm going to help him!" said Colby.

Parker forced himself to sit very still. He tried to relax. He tried to think about something else. He imagined himself flying through the clouds. Big, puffy, white clouds like cotton balls stretched across a perfect blue sky. That's where he longed to be. His fingers dug into the armrests of his chair. He fought against the pain sizzling his skin inside his suit.

"Well, done, Parker," announced Dr. Seabrook, "you're at eighty-six percent."

"What am I at?" asked Colby.

"Me, too!" said Bubba.

"You're both just over fifty percent," replied Dr. Seabrook. "Hold still now. It'll all be over soon. An hour from now, this will be a distant memory. Sunny, you're nearing seventy percent. Excellent work."

Sunny sat staring up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. Wendy stood nearby, whispering words of encouragement.

Parker felt a tiny jolt, stronger than before, then his KID Suit began to constrict around his body. His boots began to feel tighter. His helmet squeezed his head.

"Dr. Seabrook," he said, hoping he sounded calm. "My suit is getting tighter."

"Don't worry," said Dr. Seabrook, "it only constricts between three and five percent. Your fitting is nearly complete, Parker. Well done, son."

In their chairs, Sunny, Bubba, and Colby squirmed. They each tried to stand up. Wendy, Tupper, and Royd held them down.

Parker felt the constriction stop, as did the sensations of sizzling electricity. He breathed a sigh of relief, forcing himself to let go of the chair. He slowly stood up and moved around a bit, testing his suit. He had to admit, both the suit and his boots fit better than they had before. He almost felt as though he weren't wearing them. "Hey." He shook his head around and looked quickly from side to side. The helmet no longer rattled around on his head. He reached up with his hand and touched the side of his head. Where he expected to feel his own hair, his fingers found the smooth composite helmet. It was difficult to tell he was even wearing it. He took a few steps, testing his boots. They were just the right size and clung perfectly to his feet. He felt like he could run the Kingdom City Marathon, like Sunny's mom did each year.

"Not bad, eh?" asked Dr. Seabrook.

Parker smiled broadly and nodded. He noticed a patch on his shoulder. It was the Candyland insignia. The eagle looked even more ferocious up close. The eagle's talons were locked around the candy canes. The bird's piercing gaze and massive wings made him feel confident. They made him want to go flying. On his chest he saw another patch: PERKINS.

The other kids sat stiffly in their chairs, still enduring the nucleotide fusion, being forcefully restrained by their tuners. "Hang in there, guys." Parker hoped his encouragement would help.

"Easy for you to say, ace," Colby grunted, "you're all done."

"You're at ninety percent, Colby," announced Dr. Seabrook. "Bubba, you're at ninety-five percent. Expect constriction in approximately five seconds."

"You mean like a boa constrictor crushing a rabbit?" asked Bubba. "Whoa! It's getting tighter." Bubba squirmed in his seat. Tupper struggled a bit to hold him down. Then Bubba's suit seemed to expand as if by magic. The tension on the zipper subsided and it slowly zipped itself up to his throat. "I know I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I don't remember agreeing to this." Bubba clamped his eyes shut and waited as the KID Suit wrapped itself around his neck. "Hey, it stopped." Bubba blinked and stood up. He came to stand next to Parker. "You're right, Park. It does feel pretty good. It's like jammies." Bubba grinned.

"Jammies my plasma! Whoa, that's too tight!" screamed Colby. "Oh, that's better." Colby relaxed and stood up.

"All done," announced Dr. Seabrook. "Sunny, you all right?"

Sunny nodded and slowly stood up as well.

"Well, that was fun," said Colby. "Can we do it again?" Parker couldn't help but smile at Colby's sarcasm.

"Just don't lose your suit," said Igby.

"Why not?" asked Bubba.

"Because," said Igby, "Dr. Seabrook will have to make a new one and then you will have to do it again. Trust me, I know."

"You lost your KID Suit, Ig?" asked Colby.

"I didn't lose it," said Igby. "I misplaced it."

"When?" asked Colby.

"About a year ago."

Everyone laughed.

"I'll find it," said Igby. "I think it's somewhere on floor twelve, where we had the luau last year. I took it off right before the limbo contest. That was the night Jack got hit in the nose with the croquet mallet. Poor guy."

"Igby, why don't you head to the Main Hangar and get ready. We'll give you a head start, then meet you there."

"Sure thing." Igby grabbed his helmet off the shelf in his cubby and headed for the door. "If you guys think this was fun, you're gonna love what's next." Igby smiled like a mad scientist, which, Parker supposed, he technically was. A scientist, that is.

After enduring robotic eye surgery, cardiovascular stress tests, and electronic nucleotide fusion, Parker couldn't even begin to imagine what more lay in store for them.

### Chapter 12

### Ever-so-slightly

Dr. Seabrook led the procession upstairs to the Main Hangar. Wendy, Tupper, and Royd walked in front. Parker walked ahead of Sunny, Bubba, and Colby, each in their new KID Suits and carrying their helmets. Only Igby was missing, having departed the fitting session early as instructed by Dr. Seabrook.

They passed through the enormous clean room. Parker noticed the technicians in the little rooms stopping to watch him and his friends. Many of the technicians turned to fellow scientists and exchanged words made silent by the transparent walls. Parker wondered what they were saying.

"First rule of aerial combat: never forget to check your six."

Startled, Parker looked behind him and saw General Ramsey smiling devilishly from the rear of the procession. Parker had no idea how long the General had been walking with them; he certainly hadn't been back there the last time Parker had looked over his shoulder.

"In other words, never let your opponent get behind you," said Parker.

"Never," said General Ramsey.

Parker turned his attention back to watching where he was walking. More technicians stopped what they were doing and exchanged words with co-workers. Sunny, Bubba, and Colby also noticed they were being watched.

"My public," Colby proudly declared.

Parker suspected they were the morning's front-page story at Candyland for reasons other than Colby's prominent celebrity status.

"Good news travels fast," said General Ramsey.

"Bad news does, too," Parker heard Colby mutter from somewhere behind him. He didn't like Colby's apparent cynicism and determination to look at the dark side of things, but he had to admit Colby had a point.

"What news is that, General?" asked Sunny.

"There's a new sheriff in town," replied General Ramsey. "Actually, there are five of them. From what I hear, everyone's happy we're finally going on the offensive, happy Dr. Red is going to get what's coming to him."

That remains to be seen, Parker thought to himself.

Dr. Seabrook led everyone through the blast doors and through the rush of hissing air. Inside, the Main Hangar buzzed with activity. Dozens of technicians manned the computer workstations on the far right. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch the four of them enter wearing their KID Suits. Parker felt funny knowing everyone was watching him. Was this what it was like for Sunny when she stood on the stage, blinded by the spotlight, while four thousand people held their breath so they could listen, and the reigning spelling bee champion Huri Okawa cried from his seat behind her?

"You're not getting paid to gawk, people," called General Ramsey.

Everyone returned to what they were doing.

Nearby, Parker saw several new additions to the Main Hangar. Black sheets of a strange shiny material covered four separate, rather large objects, each one looming nearly ten feet tall, situated in a semi-circle. He couldn't tell what lurked beneath the black covers, but he had a feeling he was going to find out.

Nearby stood a large mobile service platform, painted bright yellow with black stripes. Steps led from the floor of the hangar up to a three-sided walkway located midway up the platform. Dr. Seabrook examined the platform and walked over to the workstation, where he conferred with several technicians.

Parker looked up. High above, above the head of the eagle, the hangar doors were rolling open.

"Some door, huh?" said General Ramsey.

Parker nodded.

"It's even bigger than the Benefield door at Edwards." General Ramsey grinned.

"What's going on?" Parker asked.

"Watch this." General Ramsey met Dr. Seabrook's gaze and gave him a curt nod. Dr. Seabrook donned a compact ear-piece with a short microphone boom on it and said something Parker couldn't quite hear.

A few moments later, Dr. Seabrook called out, "We've got a bird inbound, folks. Let's look sharp." He turned and looked at the open hangar doors.

Parker followed his gaze. Several long moments of silence passed. "What're we waiting for?"

"You'll see," said General Ramsey.

Parker continued to stare at the massive hangar doors. Nothing moved. Sunlight slanted through the open doors. The long rays of light reminded Parker of Union Station back home. Still, it did little to inform him as to why nearly fifty people stood waiting, quiet and patient, for something to happen. He turned his head, listening. He listened harder. "I hear something."

"What is it?" asked Sunny.

"I dunno," said Parker. "Sounds like . . . like a blow-torch."

"A blow-torch?" asked Colby. "You're insane."

"Wait!" said Bubba, "I hear it, too!"

"You hear your stomach growling," said Colby. "Next thing you know, you'll hear bacon sizzling. Or maybe you're about to rip a great big disgusting—"

Colby's words were drowned out as the hissing sound suddenly intensified. Parker looked at the gaping hangar doors just in time to see a Go-Boy Battle-Suit come screaming through them. The hissing blast of exhaust shone blue from its massive feet as it rolled tightly to the right and swooped through the hangar. It dove down low, flying past in a rushing gray-blue blur.

Parker and the others instinctively dropped to their knees and covered their heads. The Battle-Suit shot upward into the rafters high up above the lights. Parker squinted up into them, searching for the Battle-Suit. The glare blinded him. From out of the fluorescents blazing overhead, the Battle-Suit dropped down on them like a ferocious eagle dropping from the sky to sink its talons into a trout plucked from a mountain lake. Parker watched the ominous suit gracefully stop its descent just a few feet above the shiny hangar floor. The inky-black canopy concealed the identity of the pilot. Parker felt a gentle blast of warm air waft over him as the blue jets of exhaust flickered against the shiny concrete. The Battle-Suit hovered for a moment, and then descended lower and lower. It settled onto the floor as wisps of blue plasma escaped from beneath its feet. The feet touched the floor with a metallic thud, and the blue exhaust shut off.

"I thought I said no antics." General Ramsey stood with his arms crossed over his chest. "'Nice and easy.' Isn't that what we agreed upon?"

The Battle-Suit's dark canopy whisked backward to reveal Igby inside, wearing his KID Suit and flight helmet. "Hi, guys!" The Battle-Suit's massive hand waved at them. "Sorry, General. I just couldn't resist. You never get a second chance to make a first impression."

"I'll say," said Colby. "You nearly scalped us!"

"Oh, baloney," said Igby, "altimeter and proximity warning systems were both in the green. Besides, the suit told me I missed you guys by more than six feet."

"Nevertheless," said General Ramsey, stepping forward, "I would like each of you to note that that was not a textbook approach to landing. When operating within the Main Hangar, you are to fly at taxi power only. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." Everyone looked at Bubba, the only one to have answered the General's question.

"I can't hear you," said General Ramsey.

"Yes, sir," said Sunny and Bubba, answering in unison.

"I still can't hear you!" said General Ramsey.

"Yes, sir!" shouted all five of the kids.

"That's better," declared the General. "Now, Igby's air show antics notwithstanding, I did invite you down here for a reason." General Ramsey walked over to the semi-circle of tall objects lurking beneath the black covers. "Parker, Sunny, Bubba, Colby, please stand over here." The General led each of them to stand in front of the covered objects. "I want each of you to take hold of the cover before you and pull it down."

Parker, Sunny, Bubba, and Colby exchanged glances. The feet of Igby's Battle-Suit clomped on the floor as he walked over and stood nearby. Faint whines and whirs emanated from Igby's suit. Igby grinned eagerly from inside his cockpit.

Bubba stepped up first. He walked over to the nearest cover and pulled hard. The black sheet cascaded silently to the shiny floor. Beneath it loomed a yellow and black service platform. Standing in the center of the platform was a second Battle-Suit, identical to the suit Igby operated. The suit gleamed under the hangar lights.

"Go ahead, Bubba," said General Ramsey.

"Really?" asked Bubba. "This one's mine?"

"It's not a puppy," said Colby. "You're not going to own it."

"I know that," said Bubba. "General?"

"Go ahead," said General Ramsey.

Bubba walked up to the Battle-Suit standing on the service platform. He slowly climbed the steps up to the gleaming canopy. "Wow!" declared Bubba. "Hurry up, Park, you gotta see this!"

"Go ahead," said General Ramsey, looking at Parker, Sunny, and Colby. "We're burning daylight."

Sunny and Colby each approached a cover and pulled it off. Beneath each cover waited a shining Battle-Suit. Sunny walked all the way around the service platform containing her suit, and then ran up the steps to peer into the cockpit. Colby wrapped his knuckles against the side of his suit. It was virtually silent, like knocking on a brick wall. "It's not a Persian missile, Chip, but this puppy's for real, all right." Colby hurried up the steps to get a closer look.

Parker walked over to the last remaining cover. It rose up before him like an immense black waterfall. The cover was soft and silky in fingers. He gave it a tug and it came free easily, falling silently to the floor and pooling at his feet. A fifth and final Battle-Suit stood before him, proud and defiant, sparkling like a gem.

"What are you waiting for?"

Parker looked over his shoulder. Dr. Seabrook stood behind him.

"It's like a dream," said Parker. "A dream come true."

"Maybe you're afraid none of this is real."

"Or maybe that it is." Parker walked up the steps of the service platform. He realized instantly that this Battle-Suit was much different from anything he'd seen so far. The simulator at Skycade was cheaply made out of cardboard and plastic. The mock-up in Sky City Hobbies and Toys felt like an empty can of tuna compared to the solid, heavy feeling of this machine. He pressed a red-and-white striped button marked Canopy Release and the long, sleek bubble whisked open, sliding backward and out of sight. Parker peered into the cockpit. It looked like the arcade simulator. He grabbed the sturdy silver handles built into the sides of the cockpit and slowly climbed in. The thickly-padded black seat-back and headrest held his body comfortably in position. The interior of the Battle-Suit had a wonderful, distinct smell, like electronics and new leather. Parker breathed it all in.

"Everyone strap in, please," Dr. Seabrook instructed. "Your tuners are here to help so don't hesitate to ask." Dr. Seabrook said more quietly, "Parker, let me know if you need a hand."

"I will." Parker found the four thick red safety belts and attached them to a central buckle. He felt as though he were standing inside a robotic tank. A tank that could fly, he added. He looked around and saw Wendy, Tupper, and Royd standing on the other service platforms, helping Sunny, Bubba, and Colby climb into their suits.

"The suit will feel awkward at first," called Dr. Seabrook. "Get into position, with your feet in the stirrups. Put on your helmets and then slide your hands inside the gloves." Parker did as instructed. His helmet fit perfectly and he told himself the fitting downstairs hadn't been so bad after all. He slid his arms down into the arms of the Battle-Suit. His hands slid into snug, soft gloves. "The suit is very difficult to move until it's powered-up," said Dr. Seabrook.

"How do we power-up?" asked Bubba.

"Your suit is voice-activated," answered Dr. Seabrook. "I want each of you to say in a calm, clear voice, 'Power-up.' Your tuner will be standing-by to help if necessary. Parker, we're monitoring you remotely from the workstation."

Parker found several technicians looking at him from their places along the wall of computers. On the various screens he saw a separate display for each Battle-Suit. A live video feed showed each of them inside the cockpit as well as a first-person perspective showing what each of the kids saw from his or her vantage point, a feed Parker guessed must be coming from tiny cameras mounted in their helmets. This was getting better by the minute. "Power-up," he said, hoping he sounded confident.

Nothing happened.

He must have made a mistake.

Then, after a split-second, the suit came to life. The cockpit lit up like a marquee in downtown Kingdom City. Dozens of gauges and switches illuminated all around him. Purple light filled the cockpit and the gauges glowed ruby red like light from a laser. He felt padded air bladders lining the arms and legs of the Battle-Suit balloon up and press against his own arms and legs, strapping him in. When he had first climbed inside it, the Battle-Suit felt clunky and mechanical, artificial. Now, it seemed to possess an energy all its own, as though his voice command had struck like a bolt of lightning, bringing the Battle-Suit to life.

"Now, very carefully and one at a time," Dr. Seabrook continued, "I want each of you to slowly take one step forward off of the service platform. Who wants to go first?"

There was a palpable silence in the hangar.

"Ladies first?" Igby had maneuvered his suit closer to Sunny. Igby beamed encouragement at Sunny.

"No way, Jose," said Sunny, "not me."

"Parker's the resident stud," said Colby. "He should go first."

"Quite right, old chap," said Bubba, suddenly affecting a rather good British accent. He turned to Parker. "Show us how it's done."

"Fine," said Parker. He tried to act as though he'd done this a million times. Inwardly, however, he was a wreck. His mind was a mess of boiling excitement tinged with abject terror. What if this contraption was to short-circuit and blow up or something, co-pilot and all? "Igby, are you sure these things are going to work?"

"Oh, look at the little sissy," said Colby. "'Igby, are you sure these things are going to work?'" he whined.

"Parker," said Igby, "you saw me fly into the hangar, didn't you?"

"Sure."

"The suits are all perfectly safe. I'd stake my life on it." Igby fixed him with a steadfast grin.

Parker took a deep breath. He wiggled his fingers nervously and was astounded to see the Battle-Suit's powerful fingers wiggle in perfect unison. He slowly raised his arms. The movement was effortless. He had expected more resistance, for the joints of the suit to be stiff. He expected to have to work against the weight of the suit.

"See how easy it is?" asked Igby.

Parker took another deep breath. He imagined himself taking a confident step forward off the platform and falling flat on his face. He wondered if he'd get hurt. Or maybe crushed to death. At the very least, his Battle-Suit would probably be damaged. He wouldn't be able to go on the mission. His friends would have to face Dr. Red without him. And, worst of all, he would blow his only chance to find his dad. Parker looked at all the people standing around watching him, waiting for him to do something, waiting for him to go first, waiting for him to lead. He wondered if they would laugh at him.

"I thought you said you play Go-Boy at the arcade almost every day," said Colby.

"I do."

"Not for nothin', what are you waiting for?" said Colby.

"The simulator is made of cardboard and plastic," said Parker. "This is completely different."

"I thought you said you were ready," said Colby. "Yesterday, you stood here and agreed to do this."

"I know I did," said Parker, "but now that I'm actually standing here, getting ready to take my first step, it's completely different."

"But you said—" began Colby.

"Hey! Wizard of the Sky! Put a sock in it!" said Bubba. "Parker will go when he is damn well good and ready. You got that?"

Colby grimaced and his brow furrowed. "'Your ego's writing checks your body can't cash.'" His expression softened. "'The plaque for the alternates is down in the ladies room.'" Colby laughed in a high-pitched cackle. "'No, no, there's two O's in 'Goose,' boys.'" Colby took a deep breath and shook his head. "Sorry. Whenever you're ready, sport."

Parker looked down at the ground, at the reflection of his enormous suit shining in the polished concrete. It looked to be a long, long way down. "This is completely different," he said quietly to himself.

"Parker?"

Parker found Sunny looking back at him from inside her cockpit.

"Don't think about how to catch the Golden Snitch," she said. "Just catch it."

Parker looked closely at Sunny. She looked just like she did yesterday, when he opened the front door and saw her standing there in her yellow blouse, holding the gift she'd brought him. Except for one small detail. For now she stood next to him, nearly ten feet in the air, locked inside a multibillion-dollar weapons system, preparing to go off on some far-fetched bounty hunt. He didn't know what a Snitch was, golden or otherwise, but he thought he understood the sentiment.

Sunny smiled at him, ever-so-slightly.

### Chapter 13

### The Sword In The Stone

Parker studied the shiny concrete hangar floor. Sunny's smile filled him with warmth. She was right. He was thinking too much. He often said those exact words to Bubba when they played Go-Boy together, teaming up against a couple of kids from California or Vietnam.

"Well? Go on, smart aleck," said Colby.

"I'm goin', I'm goin'." There's no going back now. Parker moved around a bit inside the suit and found it moved with him, leaning side to side and front to back. He prepared to take his first step. He paused for one last moment, trying to clear his mind.

"If I'd have gone first, Dr. Red would be dead by now," Colby said in as monotone, sarcastic, and dispassionate a voice as he could obviously muster.

Parker ignored him.

"Go ahead, Parker," said General Ramsey, "take the sword from the stone."

Parker bent his knees and jumped with all his might.

*** ***
To learn more about this author and to read more of his work, please visit him online:

### Ryan Schneider

Website/blog:

### http://www.AuthorRyanSchneider.blogspot.com

Twitter:

### https://twitter.com/#!/ryanlschneider

GoodReads:

### http://www.GoodReads.com/AuthorRyanSchneider.com

Thank you for your continued interest in THE GO-KIDS. I hope you enjoyed reading this installment as much as I enjoyed writing it. THANK YOU!

~Ryan Schneider

And now, here's a sneak peek at the next installment:

### Chapter 1

### His Own Two Feet

Parker's Battle-Suit sprang from the service platform like a rock fired from a slingshot. He suddenly found himself soaring into the air. The white steel beams of the rafters were approaching his head. Parker put his hands out, hoping either to grab hold of a beam or at least prevent one smashing him square in the face.

He was slowing down. In the next moment, his stomach filled with the odd feeling of weightlessness. Then he was falling. Picking up speed. Heading straight for the polished floor of the hangar far, far below.

He had to do something. Think! Think! Think! In the Go-Boy simulator at Skycade, he was always jumping off cliffs and tall buildings, always falling from dizzying heights. What should I do? he asked himself. Ignite my thrusters and attempt to fly this thing? Or maybe . . . maybe . . . . What? CRASH! That's what.

He continued falling and falling. He racked his brain for something, anything, resembling a solution.

The floor rushed up at him at excruciating speed, despite the inescapable feeling he had been falling an impossibly long time.

He remembered falling like this once before, before the nightmares began. He remembered being surrounded by blackness, unaware of the immovable earth rushing up at him. He remembered the funny feeling in his stomach. And the feeling of dread screaming at him from far, far away in a sleepy corner of his mind. He was about to be seriously hurt. Darkness surrounded him. Danger loomed below. He almost felt like he was flying.

And then, he stopped. No more falling. And no memory of striking the ground, of the impact, the pain, the injury. Just that he was safe. He found himself wrapped in a soft blanket, cradled in the warmth of two strong arms. He looked up. He saw a face he could never forget: the face of his father smiling down at him, eyes brimming with worried tears. Parker felt his dad holding him tight and he never wanted to leave, never wanted to be far from the man holding him in his arms. Next to his dad, Parker saw the worried beauty of his mother. She pressed the phone hard to her ear as she explained her son's injuries to the doctor. In his sleep, he'd rolled out of the top bunk of his bunk beds and fell to the floor. He struck his face against a plastic railroad car featuring a white beagle sleeping atop a red-roofed doghouse, smashing it to pieces.

A few weeks later, The Attack happened, and both his parents were taken, his mom right away, his dad later.

Parker snapped back to reality. The floor rushed up at him. He plummeted toward it. Strapped into a big, robotic, heavy metal object. The last memory he had of being with his mom and dad lingered in his mind. He remembered looking up into their faces, so filled with love. Love strangled and choked to death by the hands of a low and evil enemy, an enemy which even now could be gaining the upper hand on his dad.

Parker would never let it happen. He would find his dad. He would get there.

Parker looked closely at the concrete.

He would be the one to catch his dad this time.

Parker relaxed his body, readying himself to land on his own two feet.

He would be the one to exact the vengeance sought so desperately by his dad. He would pummel their enemies hard enough to drive them back to the steamy core of darkness, far below even the oldest primordial mud.

Inside the suit, Parker braced for an impact that never came. He felt like he'd jumped into a giant bowl of cotton candy. The instant Go-Boy's massive black boots touched the concrete, he bent his knees and dropped into a three-point stance on both feet and one hand. He reached out with the powerful arm, the massive hand, the mighty fist of Go-Boy, and drove his fist down hard to cushion his impact and shatter the putrid faces of those who had taken away the one and only thing he'd always wanted: a family.

He landed in a crouch, the joints of the Battle-Suit absorbing the energy of his fall.

The boots of his Battle-Suit hit the shiny concrete, a metallic thud followed immediately by the sound of stone crumbling. He watched Go-Boy's unstoppable fist strike the ground. Pulverized concrete erupted in a cloud of whitish-gray dust, engulfing him. He waited for the dust to settle, partly so he could see what was happening and partly to take a moment for a quick inventory of all pertinent body parts. Was he injured? He felt okay. There was no pain. Slowly, he stood up. Inside the cockpit, the Battle-Suit instrumentation looked like it had before. All systems were in the green.

Parker stood to his full height, which, in the Battle-Suit, looked to be nearly eight or even nine feet. He towered above all the grown-ups. The only ones with whom he looked eye-to-eye were the other kids in their Battle-Suits. He turned to face them. He rubbed his hands together, dusting off the concrete powder.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," said Bubba. "Did you guys see that? Is this guy good or what?"

Colby cupped his hands over his mouth, issued a scratchy voice like an old radio transmission and said, "That's one small step for a dunce, one giant leap for a confederacy of dunces."

General Ramsey stepped forward. "Thank you, Parker. I knew I could count on you to turn our first lesson into a drunken super-hero ho-down."

Parker blinked in surprise at the General's statement. "You said to take the sword from the stone."

"I told you to carefully take one step off the platform, not to destroy the floor of my hangar."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that." The once gleaming concrete was now a shallow crater of broken rubble beneath Parker's massive robotic feet. "There's a guy who lives across the hall from Bubba who's a union leader or something. But I think he knows about cement, too. His last name's Hoffa, isn't it Bubba?"

"I can't remember," said Bubba, "You'll have to ask my mom. That was a wicked landing, Park. Too cool." Bubba beamed from inside his suit. "I wanna go next. But don't worry, General, I'll try to go easy on your floors."

"Thank you, Bubba," General Ramsey replied.

"Hey Sunny, watch this," said Bubba.

"It's a piece of pie," said Royd. He stood on the service platform next to Bubba.

"'Cake, piece of cake,' " Colby corrected. "'Y'know, Chandra'd have kittens if he found out.' 'Yeah. But he isn't gonna find out, is he?' 'Not from me. They could tear off my fingernails, I won't talk.' 'My God, it's full of stars.'"

"That's right," said Bubba, "a great big mouth-watering piece of double-Dutch chocolate cake."

Parker watched Bubba raise one foot and step off the platform.

"One small step for a man," said Igby.

"One giant leap for Fatty Arbuckle in a billion-dollar suit," said Colby. "Besides, I already made that joke."

Bubba lost his balance when the booted foot of his Battle-Suit hit the ground. He quickly brought his other leg down as well and steadied himself. He stood there easily, as if he'd stood up from his living room sofa. He took a couple steps closer to Parker, then stopped and looked back at Sunny and Colby. "Come on in, the water's fine," he called.

"Let's dance," said Colby. He and Sunny stepped off their platforms. They stumbled a bit as well, quickly steadied themselves, and soon stood comfortably.

Parker stepped out of the cement crater and walked his Go-Boy closer to Bubba and Igby. His first steps were a bit awkward, but within a few feet he felt more comfortable. He exchanged looks with the other kids as they faced one another for the first time in their new Battle-Suits.

"You know something, guys?" said Parker. "We might just pull this off." He looked at each of them. They looked back at him, smiling a little, and he knew they dared to hope he was right.

"Whoa!" Sunny lost her balance and toppled over backwards, reaching out a desperate hand on her way down. Both Parker and Bubba reached for it. Only Bubba stood close enough to reach her. He grabbed the massive hand of her Battle-Suit in his. Bubba immediately lost his own balance and fell down next to Sunny, his suit clanking on the concrete.

"Then again," said Colby, "we might all die a fiery death."

General Ramsey strode over to them. "You kids quit playing around. Put your Battle-Suits back on their service platforms and get your butts downstairs to the Study hall. We've got a lot of work to do."

"You mean we're not going flying?" asked Parker.

"No, you are most definitely not going flying," said General Ramsey. He had to look up at Parker inside his suit.

Colby walked closer and flanked General Ramsey opposite Parker. "You mean you let us get into our Battle-Suits and get all hot-and-bothered and you're not even going to let us try them out?"

"There will be no flying today." General Ramsey looked up at both of them. "Not until you've gotten enough hours in the sim to demonstrate proficiency in these craft. Then, and only then, will I even consider letting you go flying."

"How long is that going to take?" asked Bubba. He squirmed around on the floor of the hangar, attempting to get up.

"That, Bubba, is entirely up to the five of you. When you demonstrate proficiency on the ground, you'll be ready to take to the air."

"'First learn walk, then learn fly. Nature's rule, Danielsan, not mine,'" said Colby. He almost sounded Japanese. "'Wax on, wax off, breathe in, breathe out.'"

"Then let's skip study hall and go straight to the simulator," said Parker.

"Excuse me?" General Ramsey folded his arms across his chest and surveyed Parker.

Parker thought again about his parents, about the two military men who had come to see him yesterday, and steeled himself. He forced himself to stay calm and repeat his suggestion. "I said, let's skip study hall and go straight to the simulator. If we prove we've got what it takes, we can go flying this afternoon."

"Parker," General Ramsey began, "I admire your enthusiasm, but—"

"You said you wanted us operational as soon as possible," said Parker.

"That's true, General," said Dr. Seabrook.

"I vote for the simulator," Bubba said from the floor. He lay still, the hands of his Battle-Suit clasped across its massive chest.

"First, this is not a democracy," said General Ramsey, "there will not be any majority voting. Second, I run the show. I decide when you go to study hall, when you go into the simulator, and when you will be going flying. And third, I fully realize the sense of extreme urgency we all need to maintain during our time together. Extreme times call for extreme measures."

"'Danielsan, that not sound like you,'" said Colby.

General Ramsey ignored him. "Accordingly, if you feel you can cut the mustard in the simulator, and you can prove it, then I will have no problem allowing you all to take a test flight today."

"Really?" asked Bubba.

"Yes, Bubba, really. But if it doesn't go according to plan, you must each agree to do things my way. Agreed?" General Ramsey surveyed each of them and they nodded enthusiastically. Parker nodded as well when General Ramsey looked at him. "Fine. Let's meet in the simulator. Good luck."

We're going to need it, thought Parker.

*** ***

Will Parker and his friends measure up to General Ramsey's demands?

Will two weeks be enough time to prepare for their mission?

What happens if it's not?

Read Book Four of THE GO-KIDS to find out!

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