The Armor of God
Book Four of THE GO-KIDS
by
Ryan Schneider
Copyright © 2011 Ryan Schneider
All Rights Reserved
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Smashwords Edition
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Smashwords Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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
Bring On the War Mice
Book Three of THE GO-KIDS
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, Parker 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. Go-Boy’s unstoppable fist struck 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 from the original Apollo moon landing 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.
“That was a wicked landing, Park.” 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.”
Bubba raised one foot and stepped 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 had stood up from his living room sofa. He took a couple steps, moving closer to Parker, then stopped and looked back at Sunny and Colby. “Come on in, the water’s fine,” he called.
“‘No, no it’s just me and the moron twins.’ ‘We’re not twins.’ ‘Let’s pee down the air hose.’ ‘I’m on the bar.’ ‘ You’re on the bar. Uh-oh, you fell.’ ‘Nobody said love’s perfect.’ Colby shook himself, blinked rapidly a few times and turned to Sunny. “Let’s dance.” He and Sunny stepped off their platforms. They stumbled a bit as well, quickly steadied themselves, and soon stood comfortably.
Parker stepped away from the crumbled cement 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 when he spoke.
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. “‘Man who catch fly with chopstick accomplish anything!’”
General Ramsey ignored Colby. “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.
Chapter 2
Lucky Thirteen. Again.
Parker, Sunny, Bubba, Igby, and Colby stepped out of the elevator, helmets in hand. They approached a metal railing. And stared in awe.
A massive foyer opened up before them. All four sides of the room were lined with walkways from which others could look down upon the floor. When General Ramsey referred to a simulator, Parker had imagined something like the Go-Boy game at Skycade. But this felt more like an indoor sports arena with the lower seating and the floor removed, like when the monster trucks came to town. The Kingdom City Cyclops could play basketball here. All they needed was a hardwood floor, two hoops, and a scoreboard and they could pulverize the Knickerbockers right out of the playoffs and go on to win the championship like they had the year before.
Where the basketball court would normally be lay a sea of large white cubes. Many of the cubes were moving. They twirled and twisted this way and that. Each cube sat inside three concentric rings, allowing the cube to spin in any direction. A powerful robotic arm supported each cube from underneath, allowing the cube to move vertically. The smooth joints of the arms whirred and hummed, filling the enormous room with an eerie mechanical cacophony. A brilliant red number decorated the other five sides of each cube. As each cube spun around, its shape dissolved into a blur. In its place the, bright red number beamed like red laser light, hovering in mid-air.
An immense video screen hung on the far wall, built into the rock. On screen, a sleek grey fighter jet raced through a grassy ravine. The horizon whirled and spun as the pilot skimmed the tree line on a practice target run. Parker almost began to feel dizzy looking at it. Sunny actually looked away.
Parker was disturbed by what he saw next: there were people everywhere. Hundreds, maybe thousands of people. They stood two and sometimes three people deep, packed against the railing on each of the floors above. They clamored to look down onto the central atrium housing the simulators. Parker realized they were all looking at him and the other kids. Mostly, however, they were looking at him. People in flight suits came and went down below, getting out of the large cubes. Gradually, each of the simulators came to rest and the occupant exited, joining the crowd staring at Parker and the others.
“See?” said Colby, “my public awaits.”
“Your public wouldn’t wait for you to cross the street,” said Bubba.
“Oh yeah?” Colby demanded.
“Yeah,” said Bubba.
“Suck it, fat boy.”
“Put a sock in it, Wizard of Crap,” said Bubba.
Parker tried to ignore the bickering by looking over the railing. Directly below he saw several impressive rows of computer terminals. At each terminal sat a technician who was able to look out at his pilot from the computer observation deck.
“Uh-ten-SHUN!”
Every person in the room snapped to attention, chest out, shoulders back, eyes forward, heels together. Thousands of combat boots pounded the floor in impressive unison.
Parker whirled around to see General Ramsey exiting the elevator. Wendy stood at attention nearby. It was she who had called to order the now-silent room. Dr. Seabrook walked behind the General, followed by Tupper and Royd. Being civilians, they did not come to attention with Wendy and the others. Parker looked over his shoulder and realized Sunny, Bubba, Colby, and Igby all stood at attention, feet together, arms pinned closely to their sides. He wondered when the other kids had learned how to stand at attention, particularly Sunny and Bubba. Perhaps that morning while he was still asleep in his jeans and T-shirt. He quickly tried to imitate their stance.
“Listen,” Colby said softly. “It’s so quiet I think I hear crickets.”
“Cool it,” Bubba hissed. “Hey Park,” Bubba whispered, “think General Ramsey will let us go flying later?”
“Not a snowball’s chance in—” began Colby.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” spat Bubba.
“As you were,” called General Ramsey. Igby relaxed, as did Sunny, Bubba, and Colby. Parker quickly did the same. The scores of people lining the railing relaxed and stood quietly. “As for whether I let you go flying later remains to be seen, Bubba.” Parker could almost feel Bubba’s embarrassment emanating from his body.
“He’ll let us fly if you guys can keep it together,” said Colby.
“Can you?” asked Bubba.
“I know I can,” replied Colby.
“If we all relax, concentrate, and work together, we should do fine,” said Sunny.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Miss Harper,” said General Ramsey. He turned and motioned to the sea of people crowded around the railing. “I see you’ve met The Suicide Squad.”
“The what?” said Sunny.
“The Suicide Squad,” replied General Ramsey. “That’s what they call themselves.” He motioned proudly to the room before them. “This is where Candyland’s student pilots and test pilots spend a great deal of their time. Below us are two hundred full-motion simulators, able to move through three hundred-sixty degrees of rotation in any direction. We’re able to simulate flight in more than two thousand different types of aircraft operating any place in the world, day or night, in all weather conditions. We can conduct massive aerial battles here. All without firing a single live round. Put simply, these simulators will prepare you for combat.”
“You mean we have to get inside those things?” asked Sunny.
“Of course,” replied General Ramsey. “Why, are you claustrophobic?”
“Is she what?” asked Bubba.
“Claustrophobic,” said Sunny, “it means you’re afraid of enclosed spaces.”
“Oh,” said Bubba. “Are you?”
“No,” said Sunny. “Well, maybe just a little. After watching the roller coaster go off its tracks, I don’t like being strapped-in or buckled-in someplace I can’t escape in a hurry, in case there’s a fire or I’m plummeting to my death, for example.”
“Rest assured, neither of those scenarios is a possibility,” said General Ramsey. “Follow me.” He turned and headed for the nearby stairs leading down to the lower level full of computers.
Parker gazed out over the sea of simulators. He saw two pilots standing near a white cube with 13 painted on its sides. Parker found that the longer he looked, the better he was able to see them. It was as if he were looking through binoculars. The one on the right looked nice enough, a bit shorter and stockier than the other. His flight suit bore his name: ROJAS. The taller pilot resembled a typical fighter-jock: spiky blond hair, chiseled cheekbones, big blue eyes. He probably moonlighted as an underwear model. A patch on his flight suit bore his name in bold black letters: GUNNER. Gunner pointed up at Parker, then exchanged words with Rojas, who nodded. Parker suddenly wished Dr. Seabrook had sent tiny robots into his ears to improve his hearing as well.
“Wait,” said Parker.
General Ramsey stopped and turned back. He did not appear pleased.
“General, please wait.” Parker saw General Ramsey soften a bit. “Who are all these people and what are they doing here?”
“They’re here to see what you’ve got. I told you before, Parker, good news travels fast. Clearly your reputation precedes you.”
“What reputation?”
“Isaiah Chapter eleven, verse six: ‘And a little child shall lead them.’ Now, if you wouldn’t mind, follow me.” General Ramsey turned and quickly descended the steps leading down to the computer workstations.
“What the heck does that mean?” muttered Colby.
“Come on, you guys,” said Bubba, “this is going to be a blast.” Bubba hopped down the stairs after General Ramsey, followed by the other kids and their tuners. Parker stood alone on the platform. He looked up again at the countless people. He tried to imagine what his dad would do if commanding the attention of a large number of people, perhaps an elite squad of Special Forces soldiers, pacing back and forth in front of them while he explained the mission. Parker imagined them coming under attack, his dad grabbing a radio, calling desperately for aerial reinforcements while Go-Boy Ultra pummeled them from above, swooping in low and fast, striking blow after blow, always disappearing up into the bright blue sky.
“Ahem.”
General Ramsey stood waiting. Everyone in the room was watching him, even his friends. He suddenly felt sweaty-hot and ice-cold at the same time. An airtight knot of fear wrapped itself around his stomach. He wondered if Sunny felt this way during the spelling bee. He tried to act calm and cool, the way Colby always did in his movies when confronted with overwhelming odds, a vastly superior number of enemy forces, and a shortage of ammunition, all of which seemed to happen inevitably right before the end of the movie.
Parker walked down the stairs and joined the others. He pretended he had been here before, that this was something he did every day. In some way, he realized, this was true. He spent at least an hour or two in the Go-Boy simulator nearly every day. Candyland’s simulators looked much more impressive, however. A thousand pairs of eyes studied his every move. Still, there’s nothing to be afraid of, Parker told himself. Nothing except catastrophic failure and unparalleled public humiliation.
“Parker, are you ready?” asked General Ramsey.
“Sure he is,” said Bubba. “Come on Park, get down there and show ’em how it’s done.”
Parker saw Bubba grinning at him and wondered where Bubba found his endless supply of courage. Parker felt anything but courageous. “No sweat.” He looked at Sunny. A mask of concern obscured the sweet beauty he normally found on her face.
“Dr. Seabrook, are we ready to begin?” asked General Ramsey.
Dr. Seabrook finished consulting with a nearby computer technician and stood upright. “Yes, General. Simulators thirteen through seventeen are ready to spin.”
“Excellent. We’ll be watching your every move on the giant screen, Parker. So knock ’em dead. Wendy, why don’t you escort Parker to Simulator Thirteen and help him strap in.”
“Certainly, General,” said Wendy. “Parker, right this way.”
“I can do it myself,” said Parker.
“I know you can,” said Wendy, “but it’s the buddy system. A good pilot never flies alone. Besides, you need someone to button up the sim. You can’t do it once you’re strapped in.”
Wendy was right. Parker descended the stairs and made his way toward Simulator Thirteen. The only sound was his and Wendy’s boots on the black metal grid flooring.
Now that he was down on the floor, Parker saw just how massive the white cubes actually were. About the size of a small car. For them to be lifted into the air and twirled around was truly amazing. To be inside the cube seemed more amazing still.
Wendy led Parker between rows that seemed to go on forever. The sea of pilots parted for him as he walked. He looked into their faces. Men. Women. Old. Young. Some of them were confident. Some looked scared. Others just looked exhausted. So many of them, gathered in one place, united in their cause. The thought of it sent a chill up Parker’s back, made his scalp tingle, and brought tears to his eyes for the majesty of it all, the dignity, the grandeur. He blinked the tears back and calmed himself.
“Hey Par-ker!” shouted Bubba. “Lucky Thirteen. Again!” Bubba grinned his toothy grin and waved his arm over his head, then pointed at Simulator Thirteen. Parker nodded and waved. He even managed a bit of a smile.
Directly ahead lay Simulator Thirteen. Right next to it stood Gunner and Rojas. Parker forced himself to keep walking. He forced himself not to think about what the two pilots might have said about him. He forced himself not to throw up.
Wendy stopped in front of Simulator Thirteen. Right next to the two pilots.
“Parker,” said Wendy, “allow me to introduce two of Candyland’s finest: Gunner Tom and Alex Rojas.”
Parker pretended to be seeing them for the first time. “Nice to meet you guys.”
“I just bet my compadre here a hundred bucks that you crash and burn,” said Gunner. He smiled a sinister smile.
“Gunner, he’s too young to be impressed by your debauchery,” said Wendy.
“Whatever you say, gorgeous.” Gunner raised his eyebrows a few times, smiling again.
“When pigs fly,” Wendy retorted.
“Seeing as how Ramsey’s now got kids doing his dirty work,” Gunner continued, “I suspect airborne bacon is in the not too distant future. I’ll get Igby to cook me up some swine when he’s finished rerouting the path of the Earth around the Sun.” He looked down at Parker. “What do you say to that, kid?”
Parker didn’t know what to say. He had the impression he’d entered a room just after the two people already in it had been arguing. Like the night before his tenth birthday, the night his dad gave him the watch, the night before The Attack. The night before his mom was killed. She would say, Kill ’em with kindness. Mrs. Black would probably say Love thine enemy or Turn the other cheek. Whatever that meant. “Maybe we’ll, uh, get to fly together sometime.”
“It’s already been arranged,” said Gunner. “We’ll see what you’re made of.” Gunner and Alex strode away. Gunner looked back, over his shoulder. “I’ll keep the door unlocked and the champagne on ice, Wen.” He winked at Parker and was gone.
Parker looked at Wendy.
“One weak moment at a Christmas party and he thinks we’re soul mates,” Wendy sighed. She opened the door to the simulator and it swung silently upward on its hinges. “Climb in, soldier.”
“Lucky thirteen, huh? I haven’t had such good luck with thirteen the past few days.”
Wendy offered an encouraging smile.
The door of the simulator stood open. The interior was nearly dark. There were rows of lights and a series of video screens, all mounted to resemble the cockpit of a Go-Boy Battle-Suit.
Parker couldn’t go in.
He just stood there. The simulator looked the same as the arcade version, but something about it was different. And he couldn’t make himself climb inside. Seconds ticked by. There was a raging silence inside his head. Everyone was looking at him, watching him stand there like a frightened child. Surely by now they were wondering what the problem could be. Time dragged on. The longer he stood there, the more difficult it became to act. He waited for something to propel him into the dark confines of the big white cube.
Parker looked over his shoulder. The other kids stood on the technicians’s platform, watching him. Sunny looked worried. Bubba rubbed his stomach, looking hungry. Colby sneered. Igby was pecking away at his wrist computer, probably re-computing thrust-to-weight ratios or gravitational constants. Dr. Seabrook leaned over and said something to General Ramsey. They both looked around at the thousands of people. Dr. Seabrook seemed agitated. General Ramsey held up his hand, apparently insisting they wait just a little longer.
They’re testing me, thought Parker. So get in. Just do it, climb in. He struggled to think of a reason to get in. Imagine Dad . . . lying in some burned-out hotel, cut off from his unit, popping in his last magazine while the enemy closes in all around him. He needs you. So get in. Now.
Parker took a deep breath, pulled his helmet on, and climbed inside the cube. Once inside, it seemed even darker. The array of video screens loomed before him.
Relax, you’ve done this a thousand times.
He got into position and leaned against the backrest. He gathered the straps of the safety harness and fastened them together with the big buckle on his stomach. Wendy fastened several wide straps around each of his legs and one over each of his boots.
“Comfy?” asked Wendy.
“Uh, sure.”
“I understand you’ve spent some time in the arcade, playing in the sim.”
Parker nodded and surveyed the interior of the cube.
“The technicians were in here all night rigging this thing up for you. The sleeves are on either side of you so go ahead and slide your arms in whenever you’re ready. The straps on your legs and feet will simulate the legs of a Go-Boy Battle-Suit. It’s just like the arcade game. Except this one is going to spin around, to give you the sense that you’re actually flying. It can be a bit disorienting at first, but just relax and pretend you’re in the arcade. And don’t worry if you crash and burn. The sim is for practicing procedures, mostly. Everybody crashes and burns. Even Gunner.”
“Have you?”
“Not lately.” Wendy smiled. “You know, Parker, you and I are a lot alike.”
“We are?”
Wendy nodded. “Being a female working in a traditionally male profession, I constantly have to prove myself. See, you can take the cave man out of the cave, but you can’t take the cave out of the man.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means with all these chauvinistic fighter jocks strutting through the halls,” she bobbed her head in the direction Gunner had departed, “I always work just a little bit harder, fly a little bit cleaner, and shoot a little bit sharper than everyone else. That way, no one can say I don’t belong here. Now, you’re the youngest pilot I’ve ever met. I’ll be honest with you. Many of the people in this room want to see you fail. They don’t think a kid, sorry, a person your age has any right heading up a squadron of Top Secret, cutting-edge aircraft. But just between you and me, I think they’re jealous. I’m betting you have more flight time than any three of them combined.”
Completely unconvinced, Parker replied, “But I’ve never actually flown before.”
“I know. But once you get over that, once you find your wings, I think you’re going to soar.” Wendy smiled. “Parker, can I ask you a question? What is it I heard you and Bubba say before? Kick something?”
“Oh. That. Right. If something is really, really important, you say, ‘Kick some plasma.’ And then the other person knows you’re there for them.”
“Right. Okay. Thanks.”
“Followed a close second by the always-popular, ‘Kiss my plasma.’”
Wendy laughed. “I’ll remember that one, too. Believe me.”
For a moment, they shared a comfortable silence.
“Well, I’d say you’re ready to spin,” said Wendy.
Wendy backed out of the simulator and grabbed the handle hanging from the big, gull-wing style door. “One last thing: barf bags are located in the map pocket to your right. Have a good flight.” She pulled the overhead handle. “Oh, and Parker?”
He looked up at her.
“Kick some plasma.”
Wendy swung down the gull-wing door. It shut on its hydraulically-actuated hinges. There was a metallic clank and then a green COCKPIT SECURE light on the door lit up.
With the door closed and Wendy gone, Parker felt completely isolated. He looked around the cockpit. Everything looked familiar, all right. A bit newer and more shiny than the arcade game in Skycade, but similar nonetheless. Maybe I can do this, he thought. He noticed some writing scrawled on the instrument panel:
A person’s true character is revealed by what he does when no one is watching. –Anonymous
But they are watching. Thousands of people. And they’re all watching me. Maybe I can’t do this.
“Parker, do you read me?” The radio in Parker’s helmet scratched to life. He lowered his face shield and heard a hissing sound as his KID Suit automatically pressurized itself. He felt a slight pressure on his eardrums.
“I read you.”
“This is Dr. Seabrook, Parker. How are you feeling in there?”
“Uh, fine, I guess. I like the lights. Kind of like Christmas.”
“Sunny wants to know if it feels claustrophobic.”
“It’s cozy, actually.” He felt anything but cozy, but it wouldn’t do any good for Sunny to know that.
“Roger that, Parker. I’ll tell her.”
The radio scratched for an instant, then went silent. Parker hoped Dr. Seabrook was doing his best to calm Sunny’s fear of being strapped inside the dark cube.
“Parker?” It was Dr. Seabrook again. “We’ve got you on-screen. Everyone out here can see what you see and hear what you say. We’re powering-up the sim now. You might feel a slight vibration. Sit tight.”
“Uh, roger.” He hoped he sounded professional, pilot-like.
A vibration began to creep into the simulator. Parker felt it first in his feet. It was like a steadily increasing current, giving off a frequency he could actually hear inside his helmet. He felt a slight pressure pressing down on his entire body. The cube was being lifted into the air by the massive mechanical arm. He couldn’t see anything beyond the confines of the cube’s interior but his other senses told him he was moving. He’d never experienced motion sickness, even while riding in a moving vehicle with a dark hood over his head. There’s a first time for everything. . . . He looked over at the map pocket Wendy had mentioned. Sure enough, the plastic draw string of the sick sack poked out of the top of the map pocket. The vibration subsided suddenly, as did the pressure. He had the distinct feeling of floating.
“Ready when you are, Parker,” said Dr. Seabrook. “We’ll begin with some basic aerial maneuvers . . . straight-and-level flight, steep turns, that kind of thing. Once you’ve had a chance to get the feel of the sim, maybe we’ll even initiate some system failures, just to test your troubleshooting skills. Sound good?”