Si in Space (17 page)

WHY NOT?
You can handle whatever's behind this door.

The room you walk into is some kind of classroom, looks like. White walls with nothing on them and white floors. Ceiling's the same color too. If there weren't chairs and desks in the room, you'd think this was a place you put crazy people in straitjackets.

The kid you were following sits down in one of the chairs. Several other teenage boys are sitting down as well. You motion for John Luke to do the same.

“Excuse me, sir? With the beard?”

“Me?” you ask.

“No, the
other
elderly man with the gray beard. Yes, I'm talking to you.”

The man addressing you looks like the very cliché of a high school teacher. Dark slacks, a buttoned-up shirt with sleeves
rolled, a beer gut, and a balding head. His tone and attitude make him sound just like your own jerky teacher from back in the day.

“Hey, no need to get all high-and-mighty, man.”

“The crazy vets' room is on the thirteenth floor. Take the elevator in the main level concourse up there.”

Did he just call me a crazy vet?

“Look here, Jack
 
—” Then you glance at John Luke, and he shakes his head.

Okay, okay, fine.

So you nod, playing it dumb. Or playing it safe. Or playing it easy. Or
 
—

“Thirteenth floor. Check.”

You give John Luke a wink. You don't want to cause a scene, especially when you're outnumbered like this. And John Luke's a smart kid. He'll be okay. “I'll see you later.”

Of course, you have no idea when you'll see John Luke again. Or what's happening in this little classroom here.

You head back into the hallway and decide to go see what the “crazy vets' room” is all about. Maybe that will explain the teenage boys' room you left behind as well
 
—and show you how to reconnect with John Luke.

This is so not
Return of the Jedi
. Feels more like
Back to School
.

You find the elevator and head up to the thirteenth floor. You ride with a pretty lady in a business suit and a guy who
looks like a bullfighter. The woman is looking at you and giggling.

“What's so funny?” you ask her.

“Now
that
is a good one,” she says. “
Love
the beard.”

“Why, thank you.”

“It almost looks real,” she says before the door opens for her floor and she walks out.

“Hey
 
—it is real. What are you talking about?”

Something's very odd about all this.

You're wondering where your crew happens to be. And you worry again about what's going on in John Luke's classroom.

You get out on the thirteenth floor and see a hallway much like the one you were just in. Everything is very clean, very bright, very bland.

And that's suspicious enough because nobody on Earth is this clean.

You find the door to the room soon enough after asking a couple people. So far, nobody in this hallway has stood out either. Still just the ordinaries. That's what you're gonna call these people. The ordinaries. But they don't fool you. Nope. Not you, Jack.

For a minute you put your hand on the little white box next to the door, but nothing happens. So you knock, and the door opens right away.

A guy with a military jacket and a ponytail stands in front of you. He's got a nice gray goatee.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

You nod.

“Love the beard,” he tells you.

As you take a seat at the nearest desk, you examine the handful of others in here. A woman with tattoos and camo pants. A guy wearing an old uniform as if he's from World War II. And a few others
 
—rough-looking men who all seem like they really could fit under the crazy vets category.

Soon another man comes in, appearing to have just woken up and slipped on some clothes himself. He's got thick, messy hair that he brushes back with his fingers. He's a younger guy, maybe in his thirties. He yawns as he walks to the front of the room and doesn't even look at any of you seated at the desks. He just opens a folder in his hand.

“So you guys know the drill and the process. The implementation period will commence in exactly twenty-four hours, blah blah blah . . .”

The “teacher” standing in front of you closes the folder. “Look
 
—none of you got this gig because you're interested. So let's not waste time talking about anything else you need to know about this Earth. You get it
 
—who you are, what you're supposed to do, what the mission is, right? Okay . . . let's just forget about what the misters want to do with us.”

The misters?

This is your chance to know what's going on. And now that you finally have it, the guy's too tired to teach?

Maybe he really is some slothful human. Aliens can't be lazy, can they?

“Any questions?” he asks the silent room.

You look around, but nobody is even paying attention to him. Everybody's just sitting, waiting, staring vacantly.

Do you ask the teacher who you are and what the mission is?
Go here
.

Do you not say a word and play dumb for a while?
Go here
.

YOU’RE SURE THE MOMENT
you ask these dudes for the truth will be your last moment alive. You’ve got a better chance of saving the world if you let them send you home
 
—they may think they can wipe your memory, but this mind’s like a steel trap.

“Send us back, Jack.”

“Fine,” Gold Helmet says. “You made your choice.”

One of them starts playing dance music over a speaker somewhere. A kind that lulls you to sleep.

Strangely, you feel like you’re in a video game or something. Like
Tron
, maybe. Sure sounds like it, at least.

You’re floating and racing, and you can see John Luke right ahead, hovering and eating a snow cone. You try to say something to him, but it just comes out sounding like song lyrics.

Where are you?

What’s happening?

Hey, aren’t you supposed to be waking up
 
—?

You open your eyes and smell the bacon. Like, you’re literally smelling bacon.

You’re home again in your familiar bed, resting against your favorite pillow.

It’s good to be back.

Or as Tom Petty says, it’s good to be king.

You stretch, get up, and head out to see the missus and enjoy your breakfast.

You give Christine a kiss as she cooks up some eggs and bacon. But you also notice something strange on the counter. Something you haven’t eaten for years.

“Are those Froot Loops?”

Christine nods. “Yeah. The most amazing thing yesterday
 
—they were giving boxes of these out at the grocery store. Free.”

You nod. “Free’s always the best price for me.”

So you decide to go ahead and fix yourself a bowl. A little appetizer with the good stuff.

As you eat the crunchy, colorful cereal, you have this weird sense of déjà vu. You don’t know why, but you’re thinking of John Luke and space and garbage for some reason.

“You okay?” Christine asks.

“Yeah, sure. I’m fine. It’s just
 
—it’s nothing. Nothing at all. Think I had some really weird dreams.”

So you keep eating the Froot Loops. They’ve never tasted better.

In fact, nothing’s ever tasted better.

Nothing at all.

THE END

Start over.

Read “Look at the Stars: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”

YOU WAKE WITH A JERK,
totally disoriented. A glance out the window reveals the surface of an orange planet, and it’s getting closer and closer.

Soon you’re dropping toward the ground faster than you can say
 
—

Boom! Pow! Crash!

You’re down.

Turns out you had no time to say,
“We’re all gonna die! I’m sorry, John Luke
 
—you were always my favorite. I love you, Jack!”

Turns out you didn’t need to, either.

With the pod half-submerged in sand, you crawl out the back and find yourself in the middle of a desert.

You adjust your space suit and make sure you have your trusty tea cup with you.

John Luke trips and falls headfirst into the sand as he’s trying to get out the door. You help him up and watch him wipe off the visor of his helmet.

“Which direction should we head?” he asks.

“Whatever we do, we have to stick together.”

“And avoid the humans. Or things that look like humans.”

You glance up and see a sun hovering over you. But this doesn’t look like the sun you’re used to on Earth. This one has a different shape, a slightly different color. Hey, it’s not square and purple or anything like that, but it’s clearly not the trusty sun you’ve come to know and love. It’s as foreign as the strange, endless sea of desert in front of you.

Your guess on where to go is as good as anyone’s.

“Let’s just head straight. It’s flat in this direction.”

John Luke nods. “Sounds good.”

You’ve been walking for almost thirty minutes when you hear a distant humming sound. Soon it becomes the sound of a whirring engine approaching. Both of you are sweating and scorched and thirsty.

You peer over a sand dune, hoping to see a familiar spacecraft. Instead you spy a dark, dilapidated machine rolling over the sand like some kind of sci-fi bulldozer. Several androids are following it.

You feel like this is happening a long time ago. And, like, in some galaxy far, far away.

Yeah.

Maybe it’s the start of some epic adventure.

As long as it doesn’t involve any tiny, cute creatures with antlers, you’re good.

THE END

Start over.

Read “Look at the Stars: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”