The Twin Powers (3 page)

After Dr. Traum captured Tom and Eddie, it had been up to me to bust them out of the insane asylum where they were prisoners and drive them to safety. That was the best day of my life. I had never felt so strong and big and smart. I'd do anything to feel that way again.

When the real Eddie finally came back to EarthTwo, we lived together in Grandpa's house and talked all the time about joining up with Tom and his friends, defeating the aliens, and freeing Eddie's dad.

Now I wondered if it was ever going to happen.

“What do we do now, Ronnie?”

“Work on your powers.”

“That's what Tom said.”

“You talked to him?”

“Last night. He said he had a fight with a guy in school.”

“Who?”

“A skinny little guy in sunglasses.”

“Was it Hercules?”

“Could have been. The guy told Tom to work on his powers. Use his imagination.”

“This is good news, Eddie. They're back. Something's going to happen.”

“You really think so?”

“Does Elvis have a pelvis?” I knew that would make him smile. It did. He put a hand on my shoulder.

“Maybe we'll get to see Dad and Tom soon.”

ALESSA

NEARMONT, N.J.

2012

 

I
HADN'T
seen Tom so excited in months. For the next forty-eight hours, we talked and texted about Hercules and the aliens and saving the Earths. For the first time in a long time, we went back and forth to school together. The three of us walked the halls like a six-legged creature. We kept saying the same things over and over.

“It's going down,” Tom said. “Maybe we'll get to see Dad and Eddie soon.”

“Hercules was just a test,” said Britzky.

“For what?” I said. That was my line.

“To see if I'm ready,” said Tom.

“You better be ready,” said Mrs. Rupp, the history teacher. We hadn't heard her come into the room. She put her laptop on the desk and yelled, “It's time for . . . Mrs. Rupp's . . . Timeline!”

The class groaned. Mrs. Rupp makes us memorize dates. She says you can't understand history unless you know the order in which things happened. She says that there are people who don't know that there are nearly a hundred years between the Revolutionary War and the Civil War. She tries to make it into a demento game show, but it still isn't fun.

Now we were studying the history of nuclear power, for bombs and for everyday energy, which could have been interesting, but not on Mrs. Rupp's Timeline. No stories, just dates.

“Oh-kay-doh-kay, here we go,” she shouted as her timeline flashed from her laptop to the screen in the front of the room. “Let's look at nuclear testing, from July 16, 1945, the Trinity test in New Mexico, to January 14, 2012, when the Science and Security Board of the
Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists
set the Doomsday Clock to five minutes to midnight. Where did we leave off, anybody named Alessa?” She pointed at me.

Britzky saved me. “August 1953, when the Doomsday Clock was set to two minutes to midnight.”

“Righterooni!” yelled Mrs. Rupp. “Next?”

“Why two minutes?” asked Tom.

“The scientists thought the world was really close to nuclear war and maybe total destruction,” said Britzky. “That was based on—”

“That's enough, Todd,” said Mrs. Rupp. “We have many years to cover and this is only one blip on one of our timelines.”

“But it's interesting,” said Tom. “My dad always said history should be stories.”

Mrs. Rupp glared at him. She'd never liked Tom. “Your father can tell you all the stories he wants, but we're here to learn the order in which things happened.”

“But I want to know why they happened and how they happened and what happened afterward,” said Tom.

“Me too,” I said, to give Tom some support.

Mrs. Rupp's face got stony. “Moving right along. Next?”

Tom said, “May 12, 1958. A thermonuclear explosion in New Mexico.”

Mrs. Rupp checked her laptop and shook her head. “It's not on my timeline. It couldn't have happened.”

“Maybe there was a cover-up,” said Britzky.

“It was a big secret,” said Tom. “The government didn't want people to know about it.”

Mrs. Rupp looked confused and angry. She was figuring out what to do when I jumped in. “C'mon, guys. We've got another sixty years before they set the Doomsday Clock back to five minutes before midnight.”

Britzky and Tom gave me the dirty looks they always do when I try to smooth things over. But they're always glad afterward when nobody gets punished.

“That's good, Alessa,” said Mrs. Rupp. “But let's not get too far ahead of ourselves.”

“See you all in sixty years,” said Tom, putting his head on his desk and snoring.

Mrs. Rupp ignored him and tapped her laptop, and the timeline moved on.

TOM

NEARMONT, N.J.

2012

 

“T
HAT
was pretty dumb,” Alessa said to me on the way home. “Mrs. Rupp hates to be dissed.”

“I couldn't help it,” I said. “It just popped into my head, like a tweet. I don't know where it came from. I've never heard of a thermonuclear explosion in 1958 before.”

“There was a rumor on a conspiracy website,” said Britzky, “of a blast that got hushed up.”

We walked for a while in silence. I wondered if someone had transmitted that information to me.

Hercules? Dr. Traum? Dad?

Why?

I could sense that Alessa and Britzky had something on their minds. I could almost hear their brains buzz. Finally I said, “What?”

Britzky looked at Alessa. They'd been talking behind my back.

She said, “Maybe it's time we helped you work on your powers.”

I was annoyed because she was right about that. It was time. Maybe past time. I'd let things slip the past six months, feeling hopeless.

But I didn't want her to feel too smart. “You know what I'm going to work on first?” I said. “Seeing through clothes.”

Alessa gasped and Britzky said, “He's messing with you,” and gave me an elbow.

Alessa changed the subject. “You know what's weird? All those kids recording Tom and Hercules in the cafeteria, and nothing's showed up on YouTube.”

“The aliens wiped them out, probably with sunspots,” said Britzky.

We just looked at him. It sounded crazy, but he's usually right about crazy stuff like that.

We were at my house and I waved them in. I wanted to keep us together for a while. “Grandpa's got peanut butter ice cream.”

We were at the kitchen table spooning out the ice cream when Grandpa walked in. He didn't say hello. He looked serious. “Stay in the now,” he snapped.

“That's what Hercules said,” said Alessa. I had told her some of the thoughts Hercules had sent me during our fight.

“It's a Primary People expression,” said Grandpa. “Hercules made contact with Eddie yesterday too.”

“Is something going to happen?” said Britzky.

“It's already happening,” said Grandpa. “Look out the window.”

I was closest and got there first. A gray metal spider with spinning helicopter blades hovered over the house.

“A drone,” said Britzky. “It's the kind the government uses in Afghanistan to spy on people and sometimes drop bombs.”

“Why would the government send a drone to spy on us?” said Alessa.

“It's got something to do with Hercules,” I said.

We all looked at Grandpa, who nodded. “The government must have found out that aliens are back in contact with Tom. The drone is going to shadow Tom, shadow all of us, in hopes that we'll lead them to the Primary People and Homeplace.”

“We need to get to Homeplace,” I said. “And free Dad.”

It got quiet. I felt excited and scared. Britzky was staring at his big knuckles and Alessa was thumbing her cell. I could tell they were feeling excited and scared too. For six months we'd been waiting for something to happen, and now it looked as if something
was
happening.

“First thing,” said Grandpa, “Tom has to learn how to use his powers. We have to help him. It doesn't happen overnight. Tom and Eddie are the only half Primary People, half human beings in existence, maybe the only ones ever. That rare combination of human imagination and Primary People rational intelligence is our only chance.”

“To free Dad?” I said.

“To keep the Earths from destroying themselves,” said Grandpa.

We got quiet again. I was wondering and I knew Alessa and Britzky were wondering too: How could one old man and a bunch of thirteen-year-olds save the worlds?

EDDIE

NEARMONT, N.J.

1958

 

W
E
were talking about our favorite TV show,
Wagon Train,
while Grandpa made scrambled eggs for breakfast. Ronnie had really dug the last episode when the wagon master, played by Ward Bond, met his old girlfriend. I told them I'd thought it was sappy—and didn't have enough action.

“I liked it too,” said Grandpa.

“Because it was about an old guy,” I said.

We always kidded around like that.

After breakfast, Ronnie and I cleared the table and washed the dishes while Grandpa spread out the special map he keeps hidden away. He was planning a summer vacation for us, driving out to New Mexico. We would tell people we were going to visit Indian pueblos, but the real reason we were going was to check out the area where there had been rumors of an alien spaceship and nuclear testing. Ronnie and I wondered if it was a Primary People thing, but Grandpa didn't want to talk specifics. We thought it was because he didn't trust us to keep our mouths shut.

I was excited about the trip but I didn't enjoy having to look at maps. Also, I was anxious to get to baseball practice. I was supposed to work on my pitching that day, and Ronnie was keeping a chart of my balls and strikes, as well as what kind of pitches I threw. I was working on a curve ball. I wanted to get better, especially after the duel with Hercules.

“Okay,” said Grandpa, stabbing at the map with his finger. “Here's where we're going. Culebra de Cascabel. It's in a valley in the desert. The coordinate numbers are 106:06W and 34:19N. I want you to remember that.”

“I can't remember that,” I said.

“You can,” said Grandpa. “Don't try to memorize it. Just look at it and let it print itself onto your brain.”

“You can do it, Eddie,” said Ronnie. He was always cheering me on. “Like you remember football plays.”

“It's important,” said Grandpa.

I looked at the map and recited, “Culebra de Cascabel. It's in a valley in the desert. The coordinate numbers are 106:06W and 34:19N.”

“Excellent,” said Grandpa.

“I forgot it already.”

“It's embedded in your brain.”

“How do you know?” I said.

“It's in the Primary People part of your mind.”

There was a heavy knocking outside. Grandpa folded up the map and stuck it inside his shirt before he went to the door. He came back with two men in dark suits and hats. Grandpa gave us a warning look. “Eddie, Ronnie, these are federal agents.”

My dog, Buddy, growled at them.

“Like the FBI?” I said.

“I hope you can help us out, Eddie,” said one of them, ignoring my question. He flashed his badge and ID card at me too fast to read. “I'm Agent Smith. This is Agent Jones.”

Ronnie asked, “You hunting Communists?”

“We're not allowed to discuss the case,” said the agent, winking. “What can you boys tell us about this fellow Hercules?”

Both agents pulled out notebooks and pens.

Be careful,
thought Grandpa.
Nothing about aliens.

Grandpa doesn't think I'm so smart either. Just like Tom.

“He showed up at baseball practice,” I said. “You should ask Coach.”

“We talked to your coach,” said Agent Jones. “He said he didn't remember. He said he had a headache and the whole practice was kind of a blur. What do you remember?”

“You think there was something strange?” said Agent Smith.

“For a skinny little guy, he could hit a ton,” I said.

They nodded and wrote that down. “Anything else?” said Agent Smith.

Grandpa said, “Boys'll be late for baseball practice.”

“We're going to have to take Eddie to headquarters,” said Agent Smith. “Give him a lie-detector test.”

“Eddie never lies,” said Ronnie.

“We'll find out,” said Agent Jones.

“I'm not lying about anything,” I said. I felt hot and angry.

“What do you think he's lying about?” said Ronnie. “Let's see your badges again.”

Before I knew it, each agent had one of my arms and was pulling me toward the door. Buddy went to bite them, but Ronnie grabbed him.

“Where's headquarters?” said Grandpa.

“Downtown,” said Agent Jones.

“When will you bring Eddie back?” said Ronnie.

“When he tells us what we want to know,” said Agent Jones.

Stay calm,
thought Grandpa.
Remember, you have powers.

Outside, Agent Jones got into the back seat with me. Agent Smith drove. Neither of them said a word all the way into the city. My mouth was dry. I took deep breaths and held them for a count of ten. That's what Coach says to do if we feel nervous before an at bat.

We pulled up to a dumpy-looking hotel near the river.

“Is this headquarters?” I said.

They didn't answer. They pulled me through the hotel lobby and into an elevator. We got off at the fourth floor. The hall smelled of cigarette smoke. Agent Smith opened a door to a room containing a bed, some chairs, a television set, and a bathroom. It reminded me of a hotel room in a movie we'd watched on TV. In the movie, the cops were hiding a witness so he could testify before the grand jury. But the gangsters shot him through the window. I told myself to stay away from the window.