Hallowed Be Thy Name Page 10

General Ramsey pecked out a code on a tiny number pad.

  “Another door?” said Colby.

  “Third time’s a charm,” said Bubba.

  A yellow light flashed above their heads and a frantic hissing rush of air buffeted them before the door opened. Sunny took a step behind Parker and took hold of his arm.

  “Pressurized door,” said General Ramsey. “The hangar is open to the outside environment.”

  The door opened. Inside was what did indeed appear to be an aircraft hangar. An aircraft hangar for a massive aircraft, judging by the enormity of the cavernous space. A shiny concrete floor reflected the white fluorescent lights hundreds of feet above. On the back wall loomed a gigantic mural. An enormous painting. Bigger than any Parker had ever seen. Staring down at him loomed the eagle he had seen upstairs embossed on the lobby floor. It was huge. And completely lifelike. The fierce gold eye sparkled like a giant jewel. As Parker walked closer, the eye seemed to follow him. The pristine white feathers on its head and tipping its enormous brown wings looked so real he wanted to reach out and touch them. He felt sure they would be smooth and soft. The majestic bird held two humongous candy canes in its yellow feet, pinned inextricably by the black taloned claws. The eagle hovered over a midnight black background, creating the illusion of soaring out of a pitch-black night sky. In its beak flowed the same sweeping banner and strange writing. Parker wondered what the symbols meant. They seemed familiar; was it . . . Latin? Sunny would know. Parker looked away from the giant eagle. He still felt it staring down at him. Watching.

  The other walls of the hangar seemed cut from the earth itself. Pure bedrock. Cold. Hard. Vast metal doors were cut into the rock at regular intervals, big enough for aircraft to pass through. He wondered what lurked behind them. Along the far wall sat an enormous hydraulic lift leading up to two massive metal doors. They were bigger than any of the others, activated by heavy machinery and perched on sliding tracks. The doors were presently closed but they no doubt led outside. General Ramsey’s voice echoed in Parker’s mind: it’s wise to know your location at all times. You may need to escape. Parker studied the lift. It couldn’t be too difficult to operate. If he could just get outside, he could run like the wind, back to Kingdom City. To his apartment. Where he would wait. For his dad, who would come home.

  Parker turned his attention away from the lift and realized he had fallen behind the others. They walked quickly behind General Ramsey, who seemed to be leading them to a specific location within the hangar. He heard a whirring sound and looked over his shoulder.

  Nearby was a curtained-off area. Through a break in the curtains floated what he could only describe as a flying saucer. An honest-to-goodness flying saucer. It hung suspended from a heavy-duty mechanical arm mounted high up on the rock wall, tethered by thick black cables. It hovered lazily over the floor of the hangar. The long safety cables attaching it to the arm hung slack as the craft floated soundlessly. A small team of researchers in white coats busily scribbled notes on electronic clipboards. Another man recorded the floating disc using a small digital camera.

  A row of small windows banded the upper section of the craft. Inside these windows Parker saw a cockpit full of red light. Perched in the center of the cockpit with his hands pressed to a control panel sat a little grayish blue-green man with big black eyes.

  Parker stopped and stared. He absently realized his mouth hung open, though he was too distracted and thoroughly flabbergasted to close it. The little man looked up, saw Parker watching him. He held up his hand and with three long, spindly fingers waved at Parker. Before Parker realized what he was doing, he raised his own hand and waved back. The little man smiled. Parker felt a strange sensation wash over him. He felt . . . joy. He smiled.

  “Park,” said Bubba, “you’re missing this.”

  Parker looked around and saw Sunny, Bubba and Colby standing next to General Ramsey. They stood on the perimeter of a circle of white-coated people frantically writing on their computerized clipboards, all with their backs to Parker and the flying saucer.

  “Guys, you wont believe it,” said Parker. He watched the UFO hover effortlessly above the concrete floor.

  “Parker!” shouted Bubba. The shout jolted Parker from his distracted trance. He knew Bubba meant business when he said his full name.

  “What? What?” said Parker, trotting over to the perimeter of spectators. He hated to just walk away from the little pilot in the strange craft. He pushed his way to Bubba’s side.

  In the center of the small circle of people loomed a walking, moving, fully articulated, life-sized Go-Boy Battle-Suit. It wasn’t an artificial shell like the Battle-Suit in the toy store. It wasn’t connected to cables like in the movies. It wasn’t being hoisted off the ground to simulate flight on a Hollywood sound stage or back lot. There was no computer animation. The Go-Boy Battle-Suit marched inside the circle of people. It moved its arms and legs and torso. It almost looked as though it were exercising.

  It stopped, turned, and walked toward them. The massive metal feet clomped on the pavement. The mighty hands balled up into fists. The cockpit canopy shone a smoky black. As with every time he watched one of the Go-Boy movies, Parker felt awestruck. Goosebumps arose on his arms and he felt his scalp tingle. The Battle-Suit drew closer; it began to look dangerous. Parker’s instincts screamed that he back away from it. His curiosity, however, kept him rooted firmly where he stood. The Battle-Suit stopped in front of them, no more than six feet away, and then didn’t move.

  Parker sneaked a peek at Bubba. Bubba’s eyes conveyed it all: I don’t believe it either.

  The Battle-Suit raised its right hand and held it up, palm out. Its fingers wiggled. Was it waving? In the back of his mind Parker wondered about the flying saucer and the little green man inside. Until music began to play. Sound emanated from the Battle-Suit, just a drum beat at first, then the catchy addition of some electronic cymbals. Parker recognized the music immediately: Up, Up, and Away!, the Go-Boy theme song. The toe of one massive booted foot began to tap the shiny concrete floor. The hips started to move. The Battle-Suit swayed slightly, back and forth, back and forth. The music tempo increased as the arrangement progressed, as did the synchronous movements of the Battle-Suit. Parker couldn’t believe it. He was looking at a real, fully-operational Go-Boy Battle-Suit.

  And it was dancing.

  Parker glanced at Bubba again. Bubba’s mouth hung open. His eyes bulged. He stared transfixed at the machine dancing in front of them. On and on it went, dancing, bee-bopping as if to an Oldies tune, knees knocking, hips rocking as it did the Charleston. It squatted up and down, kicking its legs out at the knees in an impressive disco display. From a squat, the suit leaped into the air. It executed a crisp back handspring and landed on its hands. It danced while walking around upside down, then popped neatly upright again as the music concluded, arms spread wide.

  General Ramsey strode toward the Battle-Suit, clapping his hands. The other scientists all put their clipboards under their arms and joined in the applause. The Battle-Suit bowed deeply like a Broadway star. Parker watched in awe as it blew kisses to the clapping spectators.

  The applause subsided and General Ramsey spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, fellow colleagues, distinguished guests,” – he motioned to Parker and the others – “what you have just seen is a successful demonstration of this fully-operational—”

  “‘Battle Station!’ ” Colby said in a croaking, hissing, angry voice. He became much more serious, opened his eyes wide and tilted his head back. “ ‘And now, young Skywalker . . . you will die.’ ” Colby covered his mouth with his hand again, and his voice was reduced to a muffled mumbling. He held out a hand, inviting General Ramsey to please continue.

  “What you have just seen,” General Ramsey continued, still looking at Colby for any more interruptions, “is a successful demonstration of this fully-operational Go-Boy Battle-Suit.” He looked back at Colby, waiting.

  Colby stood breathing loudly through his nose
with his hand still over his mouth.

  General Ramsey surveyed the crowd around him and said, “I think it is now safe to say that after all your hard work, your long days, nights, and weekends, we are once again on schedule. Without all of you, God only knows where we would be.” The General clapped his hands again and looked around at the group of men and women in the circle. They began to applaud as well. Parker really looked at them for the first time. They smiled and shook hands and hugged each other. General Ramsey’s praise truly buffered their tired eyes and weary hearts.

  Parker turned to Bubba, whose mouth still hung open as he stared at the Battle-Suit. Sunny stood close behind them. Parker’s eyes met hers. “What do we do?” He mouthed the words clearly to be understood over the applause. Sunny shrugged her shoulders. Parker turned to Colby. Though Colby’s hand no longer covered his mouth, his expression was clear: Don’t look at me.

  Parker turned back to the Battle-Suit and to General Ramsey. The General shook the hands of the scientists as they continued congratulating each other with hugs and more shaking of hands all around.

  “That thing is for real?” asked Parker.

  “I beg your pardon?” said General Ramsey, looking around to see who had spoken. The low hum of voices subsided.

  “I said, that thing is for real?” repeated Parker.

  “Indeed it is,” said General Ramsey.

  “But it can’t be,” said Parker. “Go-Boy is just a show. A movie. It’s all special effects. It’s not real.”

  “Right you are, Parker,” said General Ramsey, “right you are. They are fake. This one, however, I assure you, is very much the real thing. This is the real deal.”

  Parker thought of the boy at the toy store, dejected and sobbing as his mother led him away after learning the Battle-Suit wasn’t real. If only he could be here now.

  General Ramsey beamed like Bubba’s dad when Bubba won his first cage fight by way of a knockout eighteen seconds into the first round.

  “How?” asked Parker. “I mean . . .” he stumbled over the speed of his own thoughts. “Who’s the pilot?”

  “Ah, yes. How kind of you to ask. Forgive me, won’t you? Very rude of me. Everyone, please forgive me.” He walked briskly to the Battle-Suit and once next to it Parker realized just how menacing the machine was. It stood like an unfeeling, immovable soldier, taller and wider than General Ramsey. Infinitely more foreboding. The General stood next to it and smiled as he placed a hand up on its massive shoulder. “Doctor, if you please.”

  One of the robotic hands moved up and tapped a button below the black canopy. It whisked open, revealing the beaming face of Igby Fry wearing a pressurized helmet. He looked just like he did on his life-sized cardboard cut-out at Sky City Hobbies and Toys.

  Parker’s mouth fell open again.

  “I don’t believe it.”

  Parker turned to Bubba and Sunny. They were staring at Igby nestled inside the Battle-Suit. It was Colby who had spoken.

  “Thanks, everyone,” said Igby. Inside his helmet, his voice sounded electronic as it came through the Battle-Suit speakers, as though Igby were calling from somewhere out in the blackness of space. There was another short round of applause. Igby stood inside the Battle-Suit clothed in a dark green iridescent flight suit. He pulled his arms out of the arms of the Battle-Suit and disconnected several flexible hoses from various locations on his flight suit. He released the red straps of his safety harness, climbed out of the cockpit and jumped down to the concrete floor. The black boots on his feet made barely any sound. They reminded Parker of pint-sized versions of the combat boots he’d seen his dad stow in the back of his closet during his last home visit. Igby pulled off his gloves and disconnected his helmet with a rushing release of pressurized air. He stuffed the gloves inside the helmet and handed it to a waiting technician. He removed his glasses and wiped his sweaty face and forehead on his sleeve. Parker noticed patches on the shoulders of Igby’s flight suit. On one side, an American flag hologram fluttered in the wind whenever Igby moved. On the other side lurked the ferocious eagle squeezing candy canes in its talons. On Igby’s chest was another patch with gold stitching spelling out his last name: FRY.

  “The biofeedback processors need one more tiny adjustment,” Igby said, replacing his glasses. Several of the nearby scientists scribbled frantically on their clipboards while Igby spoke. He undid the high neck of his flight suit, pulled the zipper down to his waist and wriggled the top half of his body out of it, then tied the sleeves in a knot in front of him. “The C.U. should’ve kicked-on while I was dancing. My guess is we forgot to reset the C.P. when we rebuilt the M.C.M. on the L.S.S. Should be an easy fix.”

  The scientists descended upon the Battle-Suit like a swarm. Parker heard the whirring and clicking of tiny electric screwdrivers as they went to work repairing the suit. A scientist handed Igby a white lab coat and Igby put it on, carefully rolling the sleeves up to his elbows and adjusting the identification badge clipped to the breast pocket. General Ramsey led Igby over to Parker and the others.

  “Allow me to do the introductions,” said the General. “This is Doctor Igby Fry, fellow star of the Go-Boy films and weekly SuperVision show. Dr. Fry is also Chief Technician for The Go-Boy Project. Dr. Fry, this is Parker Perkins, Sunny Harper and Bubba Black. Of course, you already know Colby.”

  “Hi, everyone,” said Igby. “It’s nice to meet you.” Igby shook hands with Parker and Bubba, then with Sunny.

  “That was some really good dancing,” said Sunny. She and Igby shook hands.

  “Oh, thanks, I guess,” said Igby. He stuffed his fists deep into the front pockets of his lab coat and looked down at his boots. Parker looked back and forth between Sunny and Igby and got a funny feeling. He suddenly wished they were back at Sky City South, sitting on the sofa like they had this morning, with Sunny happily watching while he opened the brightly-colored birthday gift she’d given him.

  “I don’t believe it,” Colby repeated.

  “Don’t believe what?” asked General Ramsey.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Colby. He ignored General Ramsey’s question.

  “It’s kind of a long story, Colby,” replied Igby. “How’d the autograph session go at the toy store this morning? I heard things went a bit awry.”

  “Awry?” said Colby. “Awry? One minute I’m signing my John Hancock on a stack of my best eight-by-ten glossies and the next thing I know a bunch of junior G-men are kidnapping this clown instead of me!” Colby poked Parker in the shoulder.

  “Don’t do that,” said Parker.

  “Or what?” asked Colby. “You gonna sic the General on me? Have him yank all my teeth out? I don’t think so. I’m getting out of here.”

  “You can’t leave,” said General Ramsey.

  “Why not?” spat Colby.

  “Because you don’t yet know why you’re here,” replied the General.

  “Sure I do,” said Colby, “it’s because I followed these two idiots.” He motioned to Sunny and Bubba. “Though I have no idea why.”

  “Then doesn’t that make you the idiot?” said Bubba.

  Colby glared at him.

  “If you’ll grant me just a few more moments of your time, Colby,” said General Ramsey, “I think I may be able to clear up a few things for you. Once you’ve heard what I have to say and you have considered all the information to make a proper decision, you may choose to leave if you still wish to do so.”

  “After I listen to you, I can split?” asked Colby.

  “If you wish,” replied the General.

  “‘As . . . you . . . wish.’ ‘Hello. My name is Inigo Mantoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.’ ‘Stop saying that!’ ” Colby clamped his mouth closed and curled his lips in until they turned white. He looked at Igby, standing there in his white lab coat, then at the swarm of scientists who had already dismantled much of the Battle-Suit. “Fine.”

  “Excellent!” said General Ramsey.

  “‘Steph
en is my name,’” Colby blurted in an Irish accent, “‘I’m the most wanted man on my island, except of course that I’m not on my island.’” His accent changed, became more . . . Scottish. “‘But I do not want to go. You didn’t want your father to die, either, but it happened.’ ‘FREE-DOM!’” Colby saw everyone was watching him. “Sorry. It’s a medical condition.”

  “Didn’t you say you had medication?” asked Bubba.

  “Yeah,” said Colby.

  “Where is it? You need to double your dose.”

  “It’s in my mom’s purse, back at the toy store.”

  “Now, if you’ll all come right this way,” said General Ramsey, “I’d like to show you something.” He led them toward the nearby rock wall, where several rows of upholstered, padded chairs were divided into two sections by an aisle. The chairs faced an impressive bank of computers and video monitors built into the bedrock. Seated at the station were a handful of technicians wearing blue lab coats.

  “Everyone please take a seat,” said General Ramsey. “Plenty of room here in the front.”

  Parker sat down between Sunny and Bubba, across the aisle from Colby and Igby. If not for the fact they were deep underground and there were flying saucers and a real Go-Boy Battle-Suit dancing around, he might’ve thought they were in a movie theater. A theater full of doctors in white and blue lab coats.

  “Dr. Seabrook, are we ready?” asked the General.

  A man standing at the console turned around. “One hundred percent, General.”

  “Excellent. Everyone, this is Dr. Sherman Seabrook.”

  Dr. Seabrook nodded and waved. Parker wanted to look over his shoulder to see the flying saucer, to find out what the little green man inside was doing. And to get another look at the Battle-Suit. He wanted to touch it. To see what it felt like. To make sure it was truly real.

  “Dr. Seabrook is my right-hand man here. He works side-by-side with Igby on Go-Boy,” said General Ramsey.

  “Where is here?” asked Parker.

  “Forgive me. I apologize,” said General Ramsey. “In my haste, I’ve forgotten to fill you in. What I’m about to tell you is highly classified. And because none of you, with the exception of Igby, possess a Top Secret security clearance – yet – you must agree never to repeat nor share with anyone what you are about to see, nor what you have already seen. Agreed?”

  He made eye contact with each of them and they each nodded their heads. Parker heard Colby mumbling something about an Everlasting Gobstopper and Veruca Salt, which he remembered was the name on a little bottle of wart remover he’d once seen in the medicine cabinet at the Black residence. When General Ramsey looked at him, he fought an impulse to look away. He nodded and General Ramsey seemed to relax a bit.

  “Good. Now, we’ll start with the big picture and work our way to the specifics. This,” he held his arms out wide, “all of this . . . the city, the lab, the hangar, the entire facility, is technically known as Facility Seventy-Five.” General Ramsey pointed to the back wall of the hangar, the wall opposite the giant eagle. Etched into the rock was an enormous “75”. A red light illuminated the massive numbers, creating an eerie glow. Parker had failed to notice them when he’d first entered the hangar. The numbers towered over everyone, and made him feel very small.

  General Ramsey continued, “This is one of many secret, highly-classified underground bunker facilities around the country used for Top Secret research and development projects. To those of us who work here, those of us who live here, it is affectionately known by another name. I suspect you may have heard of the infamous Area Fifty-One? Perhaps the legendary Groom Lake? The Skunkworks at Wright-Patterson?”

  The kids nodded their heads.

  “I don’t like to speak ill of my colleagues, but those places are for babies compared to what we do here.” General Ramsey smiled proudly. “This, my friends . . .”

  Chapter 11

  Facility Seventy-Five