Game On!, page 23
Albert looked out the window again. Somewhere up there a robot was hovering in a pine-smelling ITV messaging with him. He smiled and turned his attention back to his phone and typed:
I love you.
After a moment, Unit B’s answer came back:
My internal processing system has not been configured for the action “love.”
Albert laughed.
Another message came through.
Please confirm that you are aware that the FJF investigation of the hacking and kidnapping produced no results. With no arrests, the likelihood of another threat or attempt is high. You, the Zeenods, and I will need to be on alert every moment.
Albert sat down. It was so strange, really, that the universe could produce beings as peaceful and kind as the Zeenods and as brutal as Vatria and the Tevs. He took a breath and followed it as it entered his lungs. He thought about how much he had already learned from the Zeenods and how much he wanted their planet to thrive. Kayko and Ennjy had helped Albert survive the kidnapping. He wanted more than anything to help his new friends and trusted that they would help him deal with any threats that came his way. Yes, it was dangerous, but he was ready. He typed:
I understand and accept the risks.
Message received. Do you require any other information or would you like to end this communication, Albert?
Albert thought about Lightning Lee’s message, and a flicker of doubt ran through his mind. The beloved former Star Striker thought he should quit, but then again, Lee had no idea what Albert was capable of. Albert would just have to prove himself. He typed:
I’m good.
From Unit B:
I don’t understand. Behaviorally good? Morally good?
Albert smiled.
It means I don’t need anything else. See you tomorrow, Unit B!
Unit B:
I’m good, too.
Albert typed:
Wait! If we win, will I get a trophy or a medal or anything to show for it?
Unit B:
Each player is given what you call a medal for each game won. An object such as a trophy is given for the tournament win.
Albert set down his phone and climbed into bed. A fantasy popped into his mind: he would beat the Tevs, win a medal, and make sure that Trey caught a glimpse of it, if that was possible without breaking the secrecy rule. He stayed in bed for a few seconds, but then he hopped up and slipped on some socks and shoes, grabbed a hoodie, slipped an apple and a carrot into his pocket, and snuck out the back door.
The November air was cold and dry. No clouds. Just the almost-bare trees and a half-moon and the Big Dipper and the crunch of leaves underfoot. He crept past the trampoline, picking up a lawn chair, and went to the part of the fence that was closest to the Pattersons’ back door. He stood on the chair and peered over the fence.
Softly, he howled out his question. Are you there? Can you come out?
He waited, worried that the Pattersons had locked the dog door. But after a few seconds he heard the unmistakable sound of the heavy flap opening, the jingle of Tackle’s dog tags, and the rapid click of his nails against the wooden porch steps as he flew out. Albert? the dog called softly.
Delighted, Albert hopped down and ran around to the gate. The second he opened it, Tackle was on him. The two laughed at the unexpected midnight meeting and, not quite knowing what to do with the surge of energy, wrestled around before settling down and sitting down.
What are you doing out here? Tackle asked, sniffing him. It’s freezing, man. You’re in your pj’s.
“I’m excited because I’m going to play in the tournament after all.” Albert whispered the words.
The dog’s ears pricked. I only understand Dog, dude.
Albert laughed and softly barked an apology. I brought us a midnight snack to celebrate. He gave the dog the carrot and, between bites of the apple, told the dog everything. As they nuzzled to keep warm and enjoyed their snacks, Albert was sure he couldn’t be happier.
Thanks for the carrot, Tackle said. Yum.
Yummery, Albert said, and laughed.
13.5
The botmaker tapped off the surveillance video, took off his smartgoggles, and rubbed his face.
Kinney was back in. The number of twists and turns that were happening was making him feel ill.
Before he could fully process the new information, a message came from President Lat, who was watching the footage at the same time.
No matter. Stay the course for game one. You can put your plan into action for game two, which was our original agreement.
He stared at the robotic gnauser, to which he was adding a surveillance camera. In addition to creating the system for the explosion, he was also expected to get this new spybot in place at the hotel to capture video of arrivals and to infiltrate the hotel’s ventilation system and spy on the team.
“I can’t think straight,” he muttered to his gheet, stretched across the top of his empty drink cup, keeping him company while he worked in the otherwise empty factory. The six blue eyes blinked sympathetically at once.
The image of the Earth dog popped into his mind. Albert Kinney and the canine had grown closer, an unexpected outcome of the Pattersons’ hiring of him as dog walker. The two had a… what was it called… a friendship.
Mehk glanced at the sleek arachnoid. “Did you know that Earth dogs receive as much if not more of a dopamine hit—that’s the ‘joy chemical’ in the human brain—when they receive praise as when they receive food?”
The gheet’s head tilted in the listening posture.
“I learned this recently when I did more research on canines!” Mehk exclaimed. “Praise is as important as food!”
He stopped working and looked out the window, momentarily perplexed by a question. Did all life-forms need praise? Did he? Was the praise he received from President Lat genuine even though she was using it to blackmail him?
He thought again about the dog. While he admired Tackle for his loyalty, for his muscle and endurance, for his olfactory abilities, overall the dog had caused problems, and he could not risk any more surprises. There was too much at stake. It pained him now—was this the Zeenod in him?—but he had to find a way to eliminate it, remotely, of course.
“Life-forms are beyond control,” he said to his gheet. “This is why you are preferable to a life-form.”
The thing purred and wiggled.
14.0
Tackle knew about Erin’s party—Albert had told him about it the night before—so the dog wasn’t surprised to see the activity after school. The car zooming in with grocery bags. Balloons being tied to the lamppost.
Before dinnertime, when it was still light, girls began arriving. Mostly by car. Each girl loaded with a sleeping bag, a pillow, a backpack. Each girl greeted at the door by Erin with a shriek. A shriek of happiness, Tackle thought, but he wasn’t completely sure.
Since the weather was warm for November, the girls spent most of the evening in the backyard. Screams on the trampoline. The smell of the barbecue grill. Hot dogs. Hamburgers. Toasted buns. Music thumping. Girls singing. Girls dancing.
In the midst of all that commotion, the Pattersons left—all three of them—and Tackle followed them out and watched the car leave and then he hung around the front and side yards for a while, hoping for a glimpse of Albert. But when he finally got around to wandering back inside, he noticed something strange. His dog bowl. Full. His initial response of excitement was quickly tempered with suspicion. Something smelled wrong. He sniffed again and backed up. Not wrong. Dangerous. Poisonous.
His ears flattened back against his head and his hair stood on end.
Someone had been in this kitchen. Someone had prepared this bowl of food, thinking, hoping that he couldn’t detect the toxic scent. Someone wanted him to get sick. Or die.
He tore around the house, barking and growling as he entered every room, in case the interloper was still there. He didn’t smell or feel a presence, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. When he was sure no one was in the house, he sniffed around the kitchen, trying to pick up a stranger’s scent, and when he couldn’t find one, he ran outside to check the perimeter.
Tonight was the night Albert was going to the game. It was happening at midnight. Tackle had to warn Albert of this new development and was hoping to see him outside, but only the girls and the mom were out.
He stopped racing and stood for a moment, panting, looking from one side of the backyard to the other. Oak tree. Chew rope. Gum tree. Pile of leaves. Picnic table. Ball.
Three huge crows flew from the top of the Grangers’ tree to the Pattersons’ gum tree, cackling to each other and startling a real squirrel in the tree. Without moving, Tackle watched the squirrel’s rapid and expert escape: a scamper along a branch, a leap to the fence, and another leap from there into the safety of the Kinneys’ much smaller cherry tree. In the distance came the huff of a truck on the busier street to the north, the one that led uphill.
His muscles twitched. His ears flicked. He jumped on the picnic table and began to howl.
The girls laughed. He kept howling.
Albert’s bedroom window opened, and Tackle barked out a command for Albert to come over as soon as possible.
The window closed, and Tackle jumped down and ran to wait by the gate.
A sour smell and a yap came from the left. The Pomeranian from the corner house, a small, talkative dog named Simba with a ridiculous mane of hair whose pee smelled like boiled cabbage, was walking by with his owner. Hey, the Pomeranian yapped at him. You’ll never guess what happened today—
Busy, Tackle barked back, and sure enough, there was Albert rushing out of the front door of his house.
Rude, the little dog muttered as he continued past.
Tackle brought Albert to the backyard, and when he told him about the dog food and how he could smell the poison, Albert threw his arms around him.
You are such a smart dog, Albert said. I’m so glad you were able to smell it and know to avoid it. I couldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to you, Tackle.
What does it mean, Albert?
It must mean that whoever is trying to stop me knows you’re trying to protect me, Albert reasoned.
You shouldn’t go, Tackle said. You shouldn’t play.
They sat still for a moment, listening to the laughter of Erin and her friends.
If I quit, Albert said, whoever is doing this will win.
Tackle nodded.
Albert put his hand on Tackle’s head. I’m leaving at midnight. I’ll be careful. My teammates will be watching out for me. We need to win this game. I’ll come and tell you all about it when I get home. I’ll show you my medal. Stay inside. Lie low and protect yourself, Tackle.
The dog looked at him. Yeah, that’s not going to happen.
14.1
In the dark quiet of the den, Albert was trying to meditate when a blood-curdling scream ripped through the house. Erin and her eleven friends were in the living room watching a scary movie, the volume turned up so high that Albert could hear not only the spooky soundtrack with its rumbles and screeches and odd pings and the inane dialogue of the seven teenage characters who had snuck into a house that was for sale, but also the heavy breathing of the alien creature that oozed between the walls, emerging in the dark to devour them one by one.
Focus on your breath, he said to himself. Inhale one, two, three, four; hold one, two, three, four; exhale one, two, three, four.
His grandmother, strong enough to walk now with only a cane, had left that morning for a weekend-long knitting workshop in Baltimore called Yarnia, and his mother had agreed to let Albert have the den—Nana’s room—while she was gone. He had begged for it, arguing that it would enable him to watch television in peace during the party, but really it was because the den had sliding glass doors that led out to the backyard. He planned to sneak out at midnight and activate the szoŭ outside, which would be safer than activating it inside where someone could walk in on him. He had been worried about the party, but having all the commotion in the house was helpful. With so much going on, no one would be paying any attention to him.
As he breathed, he allowed an emotion to rise to the surface: anxiety. His life was in danger. Tackle’s life was in danger. I see you, Anxiety, he said to himself. And then, instead of trying to pretend it wasn’t there, he decided it would help if he went over the details of his departure, what he would do when it was time to go, and the questions he would ask Unit B and Kayko upon arrival. He was in the middle of thinking through his list when he noticed that the house had become silent.
He opened his eyes to a room that had grown darker. The moonlight that had been streaming through the sliding glass doors had disappeared—the sky choked by swiftly approaching clouds. Gone, too, was the crack of light that had been visible under the den’s door to the hallway.
He held his breath and listened. All he could hear was the ticking of the old-fashioned clock on the wall. He checked his phone for the hundredth time: 11:33 p.m. He hadn’t expected the movie to end so soon… or maybe it wasn’t over. Maybe it was at that moment of suspense right before the climax—he had already seen the movie—when the mirror was going to crash and then the beast would break through the wall like a tsunami.
Albert waited for the sound of the crash, knowing the girls would scream again. But the solo clock ticked on.
Out of the blue, an image of Vatria came to him, the stare from her eye in the back of her head. I can see that you are weak. Another shudder ran through Albert as he remembered the terror of hurtling toward that black hole, alone in that rogue ITV. And then Unit B’s admonition came to him…the likelihood of another threat or attempt is high. You, the Zeenods, and I will need to be on alert every moment.
A sound came, a brushing of something against the closed door.
Albert stood and, without making a sound, walked slowly toward the door. The clock’s tick seemed to grow louder. The poisoning of Tackle’s food made him wonder if by agreeing to be Zeeno’s striker, he was endangering his family, too. What if whoever wanted to stop him from playing in the tournament decided to wipe him out here—on Earth—rather than on Zeeno and didn’t care who else was hurt in the process? Or what if they wanted to deliberately hurt his family as a way of getting to him? He had thought he was being brave in saying yes to the contract, but maybe he had been reckless.
The sound came again. Albert stopped moving and held his breath. There was no way that Erin and her friends would turn off the movie before it ended, no way they’d quietly crawl into their sleeping bags and go to sleep.
Something was wrong.
He tiptoed all the way to the door and put his ear against it.
A whisper came as if from within the wood. Albert… Albert…
Albert froze.
And then from under the door something wet and cold touched his bare toes. He screamed and jumped back, falling on the floor. The door creaked open.
The light flicked on and Erin and her friends all crowded in to look at him, howling with laughter.
“I told you we’d get him,” Erin said, throwing a wet sponge at his head. “He’s a chicken.”
With his heart still pounding against his chest, Albert threw the sponge back as hard as he could. Erin ducked, and it knocked the wooden clock off the wall. The clock hit the floor and broke into pieces.
Erin and the girls ran.
Albert slammed the door, rage flooding his system. Knowing that all this added stress was the last thing he needed, he tried to calm himself by taking a deep breath.
A few seconds later, the door opened. His mom brought Erin inside and closed the door.
“I’ve had it with you both,” his mom said, her voice serious and strained. “You two need to talk. Work it out. Come to some kind of understanding. Because I don’t want to live in a house where there’s fighting.” She looked at Erin, her eyes welling. “You know what your dad said when you were born?”
Erin and Albert both held their breath. It wasn’t often that their mom talked about their dad.
“He said, ‘I’m so glad now Albert will have a friend for the rest of his life.’” She wiped a tear from her eye and walked out and closed the door.
The siblings were silent. In pieces on the floor, the clock sat. The second hand kept ticking, but instead of moving forward, it thumped against the minute hand, bent upward, blocking it.
A truth came out of Albert in a voice that was surprisingly calm. “You have no idea what’s going on with me, Erin. If you did, I don’t think you would be so mean.”
She blinked.
“It’s true,” he said. “Ever since you made your new team, you’ve been obnoxious and mean. Like Trey. You hate me and you think you’re superior.”
Her face reddened. “You have no idea what’s going on with me, either. I’m actually really scared. Like, all the time.” Her voice almost broke, but she went on. “I thought being on the team would be amazing. And it sort of is, and it’s also really scary. Everybody on the team is perfect. And there’s all this pressure on me to be perfect. I used to love meets, and now when it’s time for one I just want to throw up.” She looked at Albert, and he thought she might cry.
“Do you want to quit?” he asked.
“I’m kind of afraid to quit and afraid to keep going,” she said.
He nodded. “I’m under a lot of pressure, too.”
“What’s yours?”
“It’s… it’s just middle school and… there’s a lot of stuff going on. But it’s big stuff.”
She looked at him. “I think the pressure is making me a little crazy, and I don’t really want to be that way.” A smile broke. “But just so you know, the whole sponge thing wasn’t even my idea. It was Mari’s idea.”
