Final Battle (6 page)

There was a quick close-up of me looking into the camera, taken at the media conference yesterday, before the bomb blew. I was grateful not to see anything hanging from my nose. But I hated the goofy smile I wore.

“Reaction around the world shows mounting sympathy for the World United Federation's Combat Force, a military organization that, until now, few people seemed to like. But when the Terratakers try to kill a teenager, it should be no surprise that they lose some of their popular support. Now to New York, where our network political analyst has this to say.”

The screen immediately showed a serious man in a three-piece navy blue suit holding a clipboard. “Yes, Fred. As our viewers probably know by now, the first assassination attempt occurred less than an hour earlier yesterday at a news conference in New York City. There Combat Force officials had just announced to the world the incredible ability of Tyce Sanders to handle a robot by hooking up his brain to the robot's computer. As if this unveiling of technology that fuses human with machine wasn't enough to get the world's attention, it was also announced that Tyce Sanders had controlled the robot that prevented a nuclear plant meltdown outside Los Angeles earlier in the week.”

The analyst's image faded as the network logo appeared on the screen. A deep voice said, “Robot control. Colonization of Mars. And terrorist assassination attempts. More on this when our one-hour special returns… .”

The television image switched quickly to two women in business suits. One sniffed under her armpit, hoping the other wouldn't notice. But the other woman did notice and began to recommend a brand of deodorant.

“Strange planet you live on,” I mentioned to Ashley. “Life or death situations on the news. With breaks to bring us really important things, like controlling body odor before important meetings.”

“I've been meaning to talk to you about that serious issue,” she said, grinning and plugging her nose. “Now what was the name of that deodorant you could use so badly?”

“Ha-ha.”

We were interrupted by the opening of the door.

Cannon moved into the room. “I'm sorry I had to leave you two alone for so long. But I knew you would be safe here.” Then he paused and sat down next to Ashley.

I knew something was up just from the way he sat down.

“Ashley,” he said slowly and kindly, totally unlike his normally brusque self, “I have some news for you. The computers have been humming 24-7. They now have a match to the results of your DNA tests.”

“My parents?” Her voice trembled.

He nodded.

Ashley's eyes widened, and she turned to look at me.

I was as startled as she was. After all, Ashley had spent her entire life thinking she was an orphan and had only recently been told by Dr. Jordan that her parents were alive. Now we knew it was true.

The look in her eyes was a mix of fear and excitement.
What will they be like?
it seemed to say.

My stomach fluttered nervously for her. What would it Robot Wars be like to find out you had parents after all these years? And to finally meet them? Then another thought struck me.
Will it change Ashley's and my friendship? What if her parents don't want her to return to Mars? Or she decides to stay with them and not go?

“Ashley? You okay?” the general asked.

Ashley just nodded.

“They're here right now, ready to meet you,” the general continued. He stood up, walked toward the door, and opened it.

I could tell Ashley was holding her breath.

A man and a woman stepped into the room. They looked approximately my parents' ages. The man was of medium height, with thick, dark curly hair. He looked stiff in tan pants and a golf shirt. The woman was petite and Asian like Ashley. She wore a red hat that matched her dress. Her eyes looked misty, as if she'd been crying.

They ignored me and stared at Ashley. They smiled, but with hesitation, as if they weren't quite sure how to react.

“Ashley, please say hello to your parents,” Cannon said.

CHAPTER 9

In the darkness, I stared at my computer screen and rubbed my face. I had been given a standard sleeping room somewhere in the depths of the military base. Two soldiers stood outside in the hallway to guard my room. It felt like I was in a prison cell again.

I kept seeing Ashley's stunned face and feeling the grip of her hand on mine.
What would it be like
, I asked myself again,
to meet parents you didn't remember?
When she'd left the room with them, she'd stared back at me with a sad and scared face. I couldn't get it out of my mind.

As a result, I hadn't been able to sleep, so I'd decided to add to my journals. These had begun when the dome on Mars started to run out of oxygen. Mom had said it might be good for people on Earth to see life on Mars from a kid's point of view. Even though the dome had survived the crisis, I had continued with my journal entries. Although I'd never admit it to Mom, now I liked typing my thoughts. It helped me sort them out.

And now, at least, focusing on what to put in the journal might take my mind off my loneliness.

I began to type on the keyboard, trying to put together all the things Cannon and I had talked about in some kind of order. The things I'd been thinking about a lot lately.

I stopped. I felt like I was writing an essay as homework. But I knew it should be in my journal. Sometimes I daydreamed that my journals would survive on DVD-gigarom for hundreds of years and that far, far into the future, a kid like me might stumble across them and begin to read.

Whenever I had that daydream, I realized how amazing reading and writing were. Without them, humans would not be able to pass on much information from one generation to the next. And reading what someone wrote was like hearing them speak in your mind, no matter how much time and distance had passed. So, in a way, I had the chance to talk to someone hundreds of years in the future. If they happened to find my journals… .

So as I keyboarded, I began to imagine I was telling this directly to a kid living in another solar system. He or she might think this was so ancient, hearing about the squabbles on the tiny planet of Earth, billions of miles away. But if it was ancient history to him or her, it was also important. Because if the Terratakers succeeded in stopping space expansion, the chance to read it from another solar system would never happen.

Someone knocked on the door and I stopped keyboarding.

“Yes?” I called. I wasn't too worried. If the Terratakers had somehow made it into the depths of the Combat Force base and overcome the soldiers who guarded me, I doubted they would have knocked before entering my room. “Come in.”

The door opened.

I hit Save on my computer and spun in my wheelchair.

It was Ashley.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey yourself,” she replied. “I didn't know if I'd have a chance to say good-bye in the morning.”

“Not a big deal,” I said. Even though it was.

“Yeah. Not a big deal,” she repeated slowly. “I'll only be gone for a day or so. Cannon says he still needs me to help you on the Moon. After that …”

Something about the way she hesitated made me afraid.

“After that?”

“Well.” She paused. “I mean, these are my parents. If I go to Mars to help assemble the carbon-dioxide generators, I might not see them for years and years. Cannon says it will be up to me whether to stay or go.”

“I see,” I said. And if she stayed, I would not see her for years and years.

“It's unfair,” she returned. “Even if I wanted to go to Mars—and I think I do—how can I reject my parents? I'd feel guilty all my life. But they don't seem like my parents. I hardly know them.”

“You've spent almost a day with them. How was it?”

She shrugged. “They seem like strangers. We get along, but it's hard to find things to talk about. I guess I shouldn't expect anything different, though.”

I nodded. “At least you'll have the next few days.”

“I'll miss you,” she said softly.

“Yeah.” I stared down at my lap. “I'll miss you too.”

“Pardon? You mumbled something.”

I coughed. “I'll miss you too.”

“You'd better.” She grinned. “But I have an idea. Remember the ant-bot?”

How could I not remember? It was a miniature robot. I didn't know its official name, but Ashley and I had always called it the ant-bot.

“In all the confusion when we got arrested after the trip from Mars, no one ever asked for it back. I've had it hidden with me the whole time.”

That would have been easy enough. It was smaller than an ant, and on the outside it vaguely looked like one too.

“You want me to have it now?” I asked.

“No. I'm going to keep it with me. Tomorrow night, about this time, maybe you can visit. I mean, not you. But through the ant-bot.”

“You got it,” I said. I knew what she meant. “Tomorrow night.”

She ran to me and kissed my forehead. Then she ran out of the room before I could say anything else.

In one way I felt good about that kiss on my forehead. And in another way, horrible. What if she decided not to return to Mars?

I shut my computer down. I couldn't sleep. But I sure didn't feel like writing any more journal stuff.

CHAPTER 10

A loud ring and a monotone voice woke me. I blinked until I was awake enough to realize it was the phone beside my bed, reporting that I had an incoming call. I groaned and reached for it. The alarm clock showed it was 5:00. As in 5:00 a.m. Hours before regular people woke. Unless there was a good reason for this call, I was going to be very grumpy with the person on the other end.

“Hello?” I croaked.

“Tyce.”

I knew this voice! Instantly I was wide awake. With no thoughts of being grumpy. “Dad! Where are you? Are you all right?”

“You are mistaken. This is not your father. But I have a message for you.”

“But—”

“Listen. When you have your upcoming interview, don't be afraid to tell her the truth. About anything and everything. Trust no one else.”

Then silence.

“And?” I said. “Anything else you want to tell me?”

“Yes. Robots don't get headaches.”

More silence. The person on the other end had hung up.

Slowly I placed the telephone back. I stared at the alarm clock and watched the red numbers change, minute by minute. But I wasn't really focused on the numbers. Not with the thoughts going through my head.

The man had said he wasn't my father. But I knew my father's voice. It couldn't have been anyone else. Plus, only my father would have told me that robots don't get headaches. It was a private joke. Very private. Robots aren't supposed to get headaches, but their controllers sure get them. And I'd had plenty of them from the short circuits I'd gotten on several of our missions together. Had he said that so I would know it was him even though he had just denied it?

If that was true, what was going on? And what was this about an upcoming interview?