Mothership Page 15

  “Elvs,” Cole whispers, “get behind me.” I do as I’m told, and the rest of the girls follow suit. We’re lined up like little ducks behind Bob and Cole at the closet door. Scared, confused little ducks. Bob puts his hand on the doorknob, and quickly yanks the door open. There is a flash of movement as something large tumbles out the door toward Bob, who reacts in a heartbeat, grabbing his would-be attacker and redirecting his momentum into the large Jetman console behind him. The closeted baddie crumples to the floor in a daze, Bob’s and Cole’s fancy ray guns right in his face.

  For the third time that afternoon, I recognize a face in a surprising place.

  “Hey, it’s Des!” I cry.

  Desi is—was, I guess I should say—the head of the AV club, which was most definitely the least popular activity the school had to offer, because there was only one member. As hot and smoky as he was, with his smooth-shaved head, short-trimmed beard, and bulging biceps, it was always clear to everyone that at heart Desi was a complete and utter dorkus. The only thing he was ever good for really was fixing a broken computer or phone.

  Bob leans in to Desi’s face with a smug but deadly grin. “Ladies,” Bob addresses us. There is venom in his voice I haven’t heard before, and his eyes never leave Desi. “Our saboteur.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  IN WHICH WE BEAR WITNESS TO LIFE, DEATH, AND MALFUNCTIONING ROBOTS

  “Saboteur?” Desi repeats, staring cross-eyed up at Captain Bob as he tries to focus on the ray gun trained on his forehead. I have to admit, for an evil mastermind the guy seems fairly innocuous. Bob looks ready to squeeze the trigger at any moment, and I’m gearing myself up to witness yet another murder—what would that bring the daily tally to, a hundred and seven?—when a high-pitched squeal bursts from the closet.

  “Don’t hurt him! Puh-LEEEEEEEEEZ!” The squeal is followed, not a second later, by the squealer. It’s Kate Mueller, president and sole member of Hanover’s audiovisual club. She throws herself down on Desi, shielding him from Captain Bob. She cradles Desi’s head and looks scornfully at all of us.

  “Who is this?” Bob asks to no one in particular, pointing his gun away from Kate.

  “My name is Kate. I’m a student here,” Kate replies indignantly, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “And this is Des. My lover.”

  Okay, so this is weird for a number of reasons. First of all, Kate Mueller is officially the geekiest girl at Hanover. Seriously. They took a vote once at lunch, at Kate’s insistence, and she won, hands down. She gave her award speech in binary. Kate is the last person I’d ever expect to have a “lover,” unless that lover happened to be, say, an elf or a vampire. And second . . . Desi? Lover? Ew. Even if you ignore the fact that she’s been canoodling with the man (or alien, or whatever) responsible for the deaths of more than half our classmates, that’s just . . . well . . . ew.

  Apparently over his initial shock, Bob is tightening his grip on his gun again, and it’s nosing its way back up to Desi.

  “Miss,” he tells Kate coolly, “step away from your . . . friend.”

  “Lover,” Kate corrects. If she’d known Bob for more than eight seconds, she wouldn’t be so petulant, but somehow Geeky McGeekerson can’t seem to see how uncomfortably focused he is on Desi. “I don’t know who you are,” she spits, “but I’m not going to let you hurt him.”

  Cole’s trying to help or something, because he decides to pipe up. “Kate, was it?” he says cheerfully. But the gun he has trained lazily on her is killing the casual vibe a touch. I poke the barrel of his ray gun to the side just a few centimeters, so it’s back on Desi. “Oh, um, sorry. Thanks, Elvs.” I nod, and he turns back to Kate. “This guy isn’t who you think he is. He’s bad news. We’re just trying to keep you safe. Now move aside so we can—”

  “He is not bad news,” Kate spits. “He’s protecting me. He helped me hide during that attack, and kept me safe from all the explos—”

  From behind us comes a sudden wail, breaking off Kate midsentence. “Kate, he’s a murderer! He killed Danielle. He killed them all!”

  And darn if that doesn’t set everyone off. Soon the whole gang is wailing and screeching, and with two gun-toting aliens, a saboteur, and fourteen hormonal baby mamas in such tight quarters, I’m a little worried about our safety. Bob is clenching his jaw, eyes focused on Desi, and I know that the second Kate moves even a fraction of a millimeter, her “lover” is going to be Swiss cheese.

  “Wait,” I say, as something Kate said finally clicks in my brain. It makes sense, actually, about Kate and Desi. Kate was always blabbing on and on about the teachers quarters. I guess that’s because she was up there with Desi, being all . . . lover-ly. Gross. “Wait!” I’m trying to be heard over the din, but it’s basically impossible. I step between Bob’s ray gun and its target, in what is probably one of my stupidest moves ever. But someone’s got to do something.

  “Miss Nara,” Bob barks, “what do you think you’re—”

  “Bo—I mean, Captain, just wait.” I turn to Kate, and the noise around me subsides slightly. “Are you saying that Desi has been with you ever since the first explosion?” She nods, and sniffles just a tiny bit. I guess all the ray gun pointing and talk of her lover being a murderer is starting to get to her. “You’ve both been here?” I ask. “In this closet?” She nods again, and I sigh. “I think she’s telling the truth,” I tell Bob. “I don’t think this is our guy.”

  The other girls don’t appear quite as ready to consider this point, however.

  “Elvie, have you gone bat shit?” Ramona says. “If anyone would know how to mess with the ship’s systems, it’d be the head of the AV club. Now get out of the way so the captain can fry his ass.”

  Bob has managed to wrench his gun around both me and Kate, and suddenly he’s right up in Desi’s face. “You’re going to tell me exactly what encryption you used to lock us out of the main systems, and you’re going to tell me now.”

  “He didn’t encrypt anything!” Kate spits at Bob.

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Desi blurts out, more panicked than indignant. He’s sweating so much that his SUDO MAKE ME A SANDWICH T-shirt’s clinging to his chest.

  “Guys, c’mon,” I say. “This is Desi.” Desi was never my favorite—he had an unfortunate habit of staring just a little too long while he was talking to you. But a murderer? I don’t see it. “He got food poisoning from the kugel during International Foods Week and puked right in the middle of comp science.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Nat remembers dreamily. “The noodles all over the floor looked like a minor Pollock.”

  “Exactly,” I reply. “He’s not a criminal mastermind.”

  “Elvs,” Cole tells me, rolling his eyes like I’m being so immature. “That was probably part of the act.”

  “And we all know how familiar you are with putting on an act,” I respond, a little nastier than I mean to. I see Cole flinch, and I immediately feel the tiniest bit rotten. The dude did just save my life. If we were in China I’d, like, owe him eternal servitude or something.

  Note to self: Instead of eternal servitude, vow to be less snarky.

  “I didn’t sabotage anything,” Desi says, and I swear he’s shaking a little. “Kate’s telling the truth. I’ve been here since the attack.”

  Britta snorts. “Some brave alien baby snatcher you are.”

  “Alien?” Kate unconsciously edges away from Desi, shooting him a quizzical look. “What is she talking about, Des?” Her mouth twizzles into a knot. “You’re not Canadian, are you?”

  Desi looks at Bob and Cole, his expression suddenly a degree cooler. “They know?” he asks.

  Bob nods. “They sussed it out,” he replies flatly. Next to him Cole twists his ankle in a tight little circle, looking guilty.

  “Know what?” Kate asks. She’s examining her “lover” a little more closely now, eyes squinted. “Pookums, what do they know?”

  “Babyface . . .,” Des begins. He reaches a hand out to
touch her, but Kate is on guard now and shies away. He clears his throat, as if he’s about to lay down some pretty bad news. Which, of course, he is. “Well, I probably should have told you this a long time ago, but . . . I just love you so much. I wanted to keep you safe. I’m . . . not exactly human.”

  Kate just sits there, eyes glazed over. She doesn’t move a muscle, and for a few moments I think she might have gone catatonic. The rest of us have already absorbed the invaders-from-the-great-beyond info, so a lot of the girls are fidgeting impatiently, waiting to get things moving again.

  At last Kate pipes up.

  “Well, that’s just great,” she says flatly. “And my dad was upset when my sister married a Catholic.”

  There are tears in Desi’s eyes now, real tears, and he’s looking at Kate in this way that, like, if he weren’t a crazed alien who’d posed as a teacher to kidnap a bunch of pregnant girls, might be hells romantic. “Kate,” he says, “I love you more than anything. You have to believe me. I would do anything to protect you.”

  Kate doesn’t respond, just pushes her glasses farther up on her nose. She’s the only person I’ve ever seen wear the things besides my dad. She actually told me gleefully, our first week on board, that she didn’t even need them, because, like the other 95 percent of the population, she’d had corrective eye surgery as soon as she’d hit puberty, but she thought they made her look “nerd-awesome.”

  Bob’s trigger finger is itching, I can see it from here. “Why were you in the closet?” he asks Desi. There is not a trace of sympathy in his voice.

  “I . . .” Desi is definitely shaking now, close to panic. “I had to save her. When I saw your ship, I . . . I knew what would happen to Kate, since she hadn’t been processed yet. My superiors don’t like to leave loose ends.”

  “Processed?” I ask.

  But Desi doesn’t get a chance to respond. Because at that moment the ship rocks violently, and from behind us the sounds of buckling metal and exploding circuitry let us know, if we didn’t know it already, that there is truly no going back.

  “The ship is listing into the planet’s gravity faster than I’d anticipated,” Bob spits out. “The hull could be breached. We’ve got to get away from that hangar. Now.” And without waiting for any argument, he leans down and hoists Desi up by the armpit, his gun pressing into Desi’s neck, and races down the corridor. The rest of us follow hot on his heels.

  The moaning of the ship’s frame takes on an ever more distressing timbre as we make our way to the Health and Wellness Center. We’re almost to the automatic sliding glass doors when I notice the cool breeze on my face. It takes me a second to realize that it’s not the AC kicking in; it’s the air in the room being sucked around me, toward an unseen vacuum that must have opened up behind us, most likely in the hangar.

  “We’ve got to get on the other side of those doors,” I say, charging ahead of the pack to lead the way. Only, when I get there, the doors don’t open. I run into them, Almiri baby bump first, before momentum sends my forehead into the glass with a thunk and I fall back on my butt.

  Cue the blooper reel.

  Cole has scooped me up before I can even register that I’m on the floor yet again. “You heard her. Get those doors open!” he barks. Ramona is trying to dig her fingers in between the two doors and pry them apart, while Bob, still gripping Desi tightly by the arm, looks around the area for something we can use. The other girls are hovering together.

  “Um, is, like, the air getting sucked out?” Chewie asks. “’Cause I cannot hold my breath again.”

  “Y’know, someone could help me here!” Ramona shouts back at us all.

  Natty has wandered over in my direction and is currently inspecting the newly raised bump on my noggin.

  “I think it’s going to be purple and orange,” she coos.

  “Gnat!” Ramona hollers at her. “Try to focus for once, will you?”

  Natty looks over her shoulder at Ramona. “You know what would work great on that is a palette knife.”

  “Well, unfortunately,” Ramona replies, still tugging at the gap in the door with her nails, “I didn’t think to bring my arts and crafts kit with me for our getaw—” Ramona stops cold when she sees Natty nonchalantly wave the small, sturdy tool in her direction.

  “You can keep it,” Natty tells her, handing it over. “I have two more.”

  Ramona takes the knife and jams it between the doors. Everyone is nervously looking back and forth between Ramona and the path behind us, dreading an assumed approaching doom. Ramona scrunches up her face as she strains with the doors.

  “I can help,” Desi offers.

  But Bob just squeezes his arm tighter and turns to Ramona. “Is it giving?” he asks. She doesn’t answer, choosing instead to bully the door with a series of colorful metaphors that make even Cole blush.

  “Just break the glass, idiot!” Britta yells. She never does disappoint. But if her brainless suggestion didn’t surprise, the voice of reason certainly does.

  “How’s that gonna help us get away from the leak, dummy?” Natty says. “Really, Britta, sometimes I think you aren’t paying attention at all.”

  Ramona gives one last tug on the palette knife, and the doors spring open. As soon as we’re through, the doors slide closed behind us—not a perfect seal, but it will still buy us some time. The floor is vibrating underfoot, but the violent rocking seems to have passed, at least for the moment, and so we press on.

  “How’s the bump, Elvs?” Cole asks.

  For a moment I think he’s asking about the Goober, but then it hits me that he must mean the damage to my head. Which probably would have occurred to me right away, if not for the damage to my head.

  Irony, or something.

  “I’m fine,” I tell him. “Takes more than a door to put me down for long.”

  “I always knew you were headstrong,” he says with a smirk. Really? That’s the joke you go with, Cole? Epic fail.

  So how come I’m giggling?

  Embarrassed for myself and for the state of comedy in general, I have no choice but to wallop Cole in the arm, which just makes his smile broaden.

  Bob glances over my way as we walk. “So where to now, Miss Nara?” he asks. He’s digging the barrel of his gun hard into Desi’s neck, but the schlub is sweating so profusely, I’m afraid it might slip off. Poor Desi. Even with the chiseled good looks he shares with the rest of his cohorts, I cannot think of a less sexy dude.

  “The fastest way from here is through the gym,” I reply. “That will let us skip past all the medical suites and give us a straight shot to the gym showers. There’s a dumbwaiter in the changing area, to send dirty towels to the laundry. But it also goes down to the aft crew quarters. So from there we’ll be almost home free.”

  “The showers?” Other Cheerleader begins with a sneer. But even I notice that it lacks her usual level of disdain. “God, Elvie, if I wanted to see your dirty laundry, I would’ve . . .” Her face is red, and she’s sweating like crazy. “You’re so . . .” It’s clear that all this running around has started to get to her. All of the girls look pretty run down, actually. I guess I probably am too. But I don’t let myself stop to think about how sore my ankles are, or how badly my back aches, or how that lump on my forehead actually does hurt like a mother, ’cause if I let all the pain seep in and slow me down, I’m done for.

  “Your face is ugly,” she finally finishes.

  “Point taken,” I reply. “Regardless, that’s going to be our best bet.”

  Bob nods at that. “Right. To the gym, then.”

  As we approach the big doors that open into the gym, a cacophony of noise on the other side makes the Goober inside me kick with worry.

  “It’s probably just the machinery malfunctioning,” Ramona offers.

  Um, yeah, you could say.

  The gym is a nightmare. Like, an actual nightmare I had once where exercise equipment came to life and forced me to do Jazzercise in front of all the boys at Lowe
r Merion until it was time for the Algebra 2 test I hadn’t studied for. Normally three to five of the Treadtracks will be active at once, usually on one side of the room or the other. But now they all are, meaning that the entire floor is moving at high speeds back and forth in different directions, like a fun house designed by the Marquis de Sade. Most of the equipment that had been resting on stationary Treadtracks has been flung into the walls, and the friction from the tracks whirring away is generating large plumes of noxious dark smoke that fills the room. It’s this smoke that makes me momentarily mistake what I see next as an illusion. But as I blink against the stinging, I realize it’s no trick of the eyes.

  It’s a gaggle of fit-bots, once the unrelenting taskmasters of our love handles, now charging toward us with a glint in their mechanical eyes that I assume passes for crazy in the robot world.

  “Feel the burn!” one threatens, in the trademark cheerful female voice shared by all the fit-bots. The mechanical monstrosity lifts a sparking StairMaster over its head and wields it like a giant club.

  Another bot is flinging dumbbells of various weights and sizes at us as it charges. “No pain, no gain!” it buzzes, its voice box seemingly on the fritz, and then a more mechanical gender-neutral voice kicks in. “Load exercise platitude number fourteen.”

  We get the doors shut tight just as the first incoming dumbbell slams into it, creating a sizeable dent. There’s a large vending machine on the opposite wall filled with sports drinks and protein powders. Cole lifts it away from the wall with a surprising display of strength and plunks it down in front of the doors, blocking our would-be robot fitness assassins inside.