Suddenly Astronaut Page 3

  Bruce stood tall, smug. "That's what I thought. Come on, guys, before Deacon sees us."

  The heat boiled over. As the three boys turned away, Ben blurted, "Tom's not stupid, you're stupid. You're so stupid you'd eat your own head if someone told you it was a burger."

  Back to Ben, Bruce stopped. His fists clenched. He, Clay and Matthew turned slowly, Bruce snarling with rage, Clay and Matthew grinning gleefully at the thought of what was to come. Bruce took a deep, nasally breath as he raised a finger to point it at Ben, who flinched.

  "You'd better pack your bags, because you're going to the infirmary."

  As Bruce grabbed Ben by the scruff, Clay and Matthew held his arms. He clung to his Hoverclaw as best he could. Bruce showed Ben his balled right fist, ready to use it on him, consequences be damned, but before he could, a voice intervened.

  "Mr Wenzig, it's time for class. That goes for all of you."

  It was Tom. The boys released Ben, letting him sag in his seat.

  "Stay out of this, robot," Bruce said, not breaking his stare at Ben. "You don't tell me what to do."

  "I don't, you're right, but I will inform the person who can."

  Bruce was defeated, for now. "Come on, guys," he said. "You'd better grow eyes in the back of your head, Ben. Your stupid electronic guard dog won't be able to protect you forever."

  They marched off, leaving Ben to breath again as the room fell to chatter once more. "Thanks," he said to Tom. "But don't leave it so long next time."

  "I'm sorry, Ben. Unfortunately my perimeters have been set to intervene only at a threat level four. I used to be set lower, but people don't like the perception of an automaton having authority. It makes them uncomfortable, and I can understand that. I can report the incident to a senior—'

  "No! Don't. Don't report it."

  "Why not?'

  Things like this were never easy to explain to Tom. As close to human as he was, much of his emotional understanding was naïve, almost innocent. He had improved a lot since Ben had known him, but sometimes he still failed to gauge just how devious humans could be.

  "It's just easier for me if you don't. If you tell Mrs Deacon, Bruce'll find out, and then I'll pay for it."

  "But if you don't report it, Bruce will continue to treat you like this."

  Ben shrugged. "Lose-lose, I guess."

  The afternoon dragged just as much as the morning, but the excitement was mostly gone. It was only when Mrs Deacon snapped him from a daze that he realised the day was done.

  "Remember," Mrs Deacon said to him as the rest of the class headed out the door. "Only as long as you need."

  "Yes, Mrs Deacon."

  She left the room and shut the door behind her. Like a gut punch, Ben's excitement was back. He could hardly contain himself. The anticipation of the first successful airborne retrieval was so great that he almost wanted to give up on the whole idea.

  "What if it doesn't work?" he said to Tom as he sat there staring at the Hoverclaw-shaped lump in his bag.

  "And if it does?"

  Ben grinned. He couldn't help it, but it was immediately wiped off by a sudden and vivid imagining of the device splintering into a million pieces on the classroom floor. "I don't think I can do it. I'm the guy who builds it, not the guy who flies it."

  "You'd let someone fly something you hadn't tested?"

  Of course he wouldn't. "No."

  "Then what are you waiting for?"

  In a flurry of nerves and exhilaration, Ben whipped the Hoverclaw from the bag. Its many repairs and modifications had it looking more industrial than like the sleek, streamlined machine he'd set out to build, but that didn't matter. He set it down on a table in the middle of the room, switched it on and stood back. The whine of the lifters and the squeak of servos sent a shiver down his back. He gave the command to pick up a small foam ball on the next table, then watched as the whine built to a shrill scream and the Hoverclaw took to the air.

  The flight was a complete success. With some trimming and some tweaks, the Hoverclaw flew smoothly and accurately. The flight had felt like an hour, but it had been a minute at most, Ben watching unblinkingly and with baited breath. With great satisfaction and a grin that wouldn't fade, he packed the Hoverclaw away and left the classroom.

  Ben's elation was brought to an abrupt halt by the sight of Bruce, Clay and Matthew gathered at the end of the corridor. They were throwing things at each other and hadn’t yet spotted him.

  "Perhaps it's wise to go the long way around?" Tom suggested.

  Ben looked behind him. The corridor was empty, inviting. Safe. He turned back to the trio of bullies and took a deep breath.

  "What are you doing?" Tom asked.

  "I'm going home," Ben said. He had as much right as anyone to walk down that corridor, and riding on the thrill of his recent achievement, he strode towards the group. As he approached, it still didn’t seem like they'd spotted him. They still hadn't as he passed, his heart racing in his chest. He was about to let himself breathe again when a voice called out after him.

  "Where do you think you're going?"

  Ben stopped. He turned. "I'm going home, Bruce."

  Bruce clearly didn't like Ben using his name. "You can't come through here. This is our spot. Go the other way."

  Clay and Matthew, no longer throwing things at each other, sneered their usual sneer.

  A quiver weakened Ben's knees. "No."

  Bruce looked surprised. "No?" he repeated. "Are you stupid?"

  Ben shook his head. "No." He turned to continue on his way.

  "Grab the little gomer," he heard Bruce instruct.

  Before he'd gone a step, two strong hands clamped down on his shoulders and whipped him around. He was presented with an approaching Bruce, who seemed unusually calm and worryingly gleeful.

  "You're getting pretty brave," Bruce said, stopping in front of him, hands clasped behind his back. He was tall, very tall, and Ben could be sure there was a hint of stubble on his chin already. "So your parents are the station directors and that makes you think you own the place, huh? Well, my dad was supposed to get that job," he said, taking a step forward to jab Ben in the chest with his index finger, "not your stupid parents. My dad says your parents are useless and that they'll make idiots of themselves pretty soon."

  From that vantage point, Bruce could see Ben's bag.

  "What have you got in there?"

  Ben made to protest, but before he could react, Clay had already stripped it from his back and was handing it to Bruce. The heat behind his eyes rose, his face flushing pink.

  This amused Bruce no end.

  "I know what you're thinking, Ben," he said. "I know what you want to do."

  All of a sudden, Ben realised what was going on. Bruce wasn't going to hit him. None of them were. They were big, but they weren't completely stupid. Bruce wanted Ben to hit him. He was going to provoke Ben until he lost his cool, and then Ben would be the one in trouble. He'd miss his grade, maybe even get suspended. Then he'd never get permission to go on the tug.

  Bruce reached into the bag, retrieving the Hoverclaw. Looking it over, he frowned. "School project, huh?" he said. He twisted one of the lifters, the motor whining in protest. "Think you're pretty smart don't ya? Well I don't think this is smart at all. In fact, it looks a bit delicate to me—"

  "Don't!" Ben yelped, leaping forward, caught by Clay and Matthew.

  He watched through blurring eyes as Bruce, with a quick flick of his wrist, snapped the lifter clean off.

  "Whoops …" Bruce said with mock concern. "I guess I was right—it is delicate …"

  "Tom," Ben said, "do something!"

  "That gomer robot can't help you," Bruce sneered. "It's not allowed. After all, this is just a get-together among friends, right guys?"

  Clay and Matthew nodded in frenzied agreement.

  Bruce leaned in towards Ben, close enough for Ben to reach. He was pinned down at the shoulders, but his arms were free. In a second, it could be over, and
Bruce knew it.

  "Unless you think otherwise?" Bruce added with a spiteful grin.

  Ben balled his fists. "I know what you're trying to do."

  Bruce glanced between Clay and Matthew with an innocent look on his face. "I don't know what you mean," he said and the pair sniggered. "I told you, this is just a little chat among friends."

  "You're not my friends," Ben said through gritted teeth.

  "And this isn't an accident," Bruce retorted, letting the Hoverclaw fall from his grasp.

  Chapter 4

  The Hoverclaw plummeted. It was like Ben could see every microsecond in clear, excruciating detail. He'd broken free of Clay and Matthew before it had even hit the ground, torpedoing towards Bruce with fists flying. He landed one hit, maybe two, but Bruce just stood there and laughed. There was a flash of voices and people, hands grabbing him and pulling him away.

  "Stop!" the voices said.

  "What's going on here?"

  "You should know better!"

  Ben realised these voices were directed at him. Suddenly, he was back in the present, puffing and panting, knuckles sore. He was sitting on the floor, Mrs Deacon crouching over him.

  "What happened?" she said.

  "Bruce …" Ben wheezed.

  "Bruce is in the classroom talking to his father," Mrs Deacon said.

  Had that much time passed? It had all been a blur. Ben sat up quickly.

  "My project!"

  "It's on the side over there." What was left of it, anyway. There seemed to be three or four main chunks, with lots of fragments piled up next to them. Pity fell on Mrs Deacon's face. "I'm sorry," she said. "But I need you to tell me what happened."

  It struck Ben that no matter what he told them, he was the one who had struck first. The constant teasing, poking, winding up—it was invisible, undetectable. As far as Mrs Deacon and the other adults were concerned, Ben had lashed out. No doubt Bruce was in the classroom telling a version of events that left him looking like the victim. This wouldn't be the first time. Bruce knew how to pull people's strings.

  "Ask Tom," Ben said. "He'll tell you the truth."

  "I'm afraid I can't do that," Mrs Deacon said, "but I will review the footage tomorrow." She smiled, somewhat sadly. "You've got potential, Benjamin Forrest. I don't want to see you throw it all away." She helped him up, brushed him down. "Take yourself home. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

  Ben did as he was told, and after gathering up the fragments of his project, headed home. It was just gone dinner time when he arrived, but no one was home. He wasn't hungry, so he took himself straight to bed, where he lay there in a state somewhere between being asleep and awake. He remembered hearing his parents come home at around ten o'clock, but for the most part he spent the night reliving his run-in with Bruce over and over again.

  The next morning he awoke to his alarm with a bad taste in his mouth and a weight in his stomach. It took him a moment to work out why, but when he remembered, he wanted to curl up and die.

  "You need to get up, Ben," Tom said softly.

  "I don't want to."

  "You have to."

  Frustrated, Ben sat up. "None of this would have happened if the adults just listened to you," he said. "Why don't they trust you?"

  "It can be hard to trust something you can't see."

  Ben shook his head. "I don't believe that. They trust gravity and thrust. They're both invisible. So why not you?"

  It took Tom a moment to respond. "It's complicated. Humans … can make illogical decisions sometimes. I myself don't fully understand why."

  "Doesn't it make you sad?"

  "Sometimes. But it's okay. I understand."

  Ben frowned. "But you just said you didn't understand?"

  "I understand that humans need to distrust something that's different."

  Ben understood, too. Being different seemed to be treated almost the same as being bad in his experience. He knew he was good, yet he often found himself in trouble. "Why don't people like us, Tom."

  "I like you," Tom said.

  "Thanks. I like you, too."

  Ben washed and dressed quickly, and tried to slip out to school before his parents noticed. He thought he was free when his dad called out to him from the main bedroom.

  "Ben, can we have a word, please?"

  Ben stopped, his heart sinking. "Okay," he replied, retreating back into the room, slumping onto a seat. His dad and mum sitting opposite. They seemed downbeat. They looked exhausted.

  "We heard what happened between you and Wenzig's boy—"

  "It's not my fault!" Ben complained, wringing his hands.

  "Okay, okay, that's fine," his dad replied. "Mrs Deacon said she'll be checking the tapes this morning so we'll see what the truth is then. If the boy's anything like his father then, well—anyway, what I wanted to say is that we love you."

  "We do," his mum said, nodding agreement. This wasn't what Ben was expecting, and he looked between them, confused and suspicious.

  "What I—we—want to do is apologise to you, Ben. We know we've not been around much—even less so recently—and we don't want you to think that because we're not here that we don't love you."

  Ben still wasn't sure where the conversation was going. It was his mum's turn to speak.

  "We know we're not the best parents, and we've heard that children who don't get fully committed parenting can act out—"

  "I'm not acting out!" Ben protested.

  "I know, I know … and that's why we want to let you know that we aren't going to punish you for this incident, no matter what happens. It's our fault, Ben. We should be there for you."

  "Unfortunately," his father continued, "we're just so busy with the station refit. You understand, right?"

  Ben nodded slowly. "So I can still go on the tug tour if I make the grades?"

  They both nodded, smiling sympathetically.

  "Of course," his father said. The smile faded a little. "But there's something you must do for us first."

  Ben shuffled in his seat. Here it was. "What?"

  "Well," his mum said, looking a little uncomfortable, "we'd like you to think about trying to make some friends with some of the other children in class, you know, join an after school club or something and get to know some of the other students."

  "We think it would be for the best," his father added.

  Ben didn't know what to make of this. Make friends? He'd never had friends, except for Tom. The other kids didn't like him, and he didn't like them, either. They did their thing and he did his, and that was how he liked it.

  His mum leaned forward and touched his knee. "Maybe it would good for you to spend more time with other kids your age and less time with Tom."

  Ben couldn't believe it. He felt hurt, almost betrayed. Through all he'd been through with Bruce, with Mrs Deacon, for all the humiliation he'd experienced over the years, he had believed that at the very least his parents understood him. It had never occurred to him that they also saw him as unusual, looked at him with a disappointed eye while envying the other parents with their normal children.

  "I have to get to school now," he said, voice thick.

  "Of course," his father said, standing up. "You'd best be on your way so you aren't late."

  Ben was up and heading out of the door before he even realised he was doing it.

  "We love you," came his mother's voice after him.

  He joined the train of kids as they snaked by, not even looking up to see what threatening expression Bruce was throwing his way. His mind raced like it had never done before, question after question making his thoughts a blur. Is that what his parents thought of him? As a useless gomer, destined for trouble? He'd rather they'd screamed and shouted at him for something he'd not done than pity him for it. It made him feel hollow to think about it.

  "Are you okay?" Tom asked.

  "Sure."

  "I don't think you're okay."

  "I'm fine."

  "Well, I'm here if you need to tal
k about it."

  Ben did want to talk about it, but talking about it would make it too real. He wasn't sure he could cope with it. He also wasn't sure how long he could keep it down for either.

  "Am I a disappointment?" he blurted. It took him by surprise.

  "Of course not. Far from it."

  "Then why are my parents disappointed in me?"

  "They aren't disappointed. They're just—tired. It's a very busy time for them—"

  "I know, they keep telling me."

  "—but they want to do what's best for you, even if they aren't sure what that is."

  "What is best for me?"

  "Only you can know that for sure."

  Ben thought about that for a minute, as his bag of Hovercraft fragments bounced against his back. Was that true? Did he know what was best for him? He was just a kid, after all. Adults were often telling him that kids didn't know anything and that he should just listen. Now he wasn't sure if either he or the adults knew what to do. Did anyone know what to do?

  "This will all be in the past very soon," Tom said. "You'll see."

  And he was right. Mrs Deacon didn't speak to him after all, that day or the next. She must have seen the footage, seen that he was provoked. He was still surprised that she hadn't spoken to him, though. Maybe his parents asked her not to. Was that for the best? He didn't know. It was all very confusing.

  Busying himself with the repair of the Hoverclaw, it wasn't long before the practical exam and presentation was upon him. He couldn't quite find the balance in the claw that he'd had on that first test flight, but it worked well enough, and he kept it at home safe until the day of the exam. The day was especially nerve-wracking as his parents had agreed to come and watch with the other parents, taking an unprecedented break in the middle of the morning to spectate.

  As students mingled in the classroom, preparing their projects, the low, unsettled murmur fell. Mrs Deacon had entered.

  "The parents are assembled in the gym," she said to the room, hands clasping a tablet. She seemed almost as nervous as the students. "You will be called alphabetically. Make sure you're all prepared and ready to present."