“Where’s everyone else?”
“They went to a movie.”
“And Jack Blake just happened to be going your way?”
“What did you expect me to do? Walk back?”
He didn’t get the chance to reply because an alien warship unexpectedly sent a salvo of missiles in his direction and he had to evade and counterattack simultaneously.
Maggie noted his concentration, though she had only the slightest idea of the difficulty involved. Then she saw the score and abruptly found herself staring intensely at the screen full of little colored lights and matrix images. She also managed to move closer to Alex.
“Energy weaponry on reserve . . . life support critical . . . photonics at peak . . .” the machine declaimed emotionlessly.
“Look out on the right!” Maggie yelled and pointed, excited now in spite of herself. She’d seen Alex play the game many times before but never had the screen been so crowded and full of action. She added absently, “He said it was on his way home.”
“What was?”
“The trailer park, silly.”
“Issat so? Blake happens to live on the other side of town. He’s dumb, but not that dumb. Maybe not half as dumb as I’d like to think.”
Exasperation filled Maggie’s reply. “Alex, I wanted to get back to you, okay? Hey, you’re really going great.”
“Am I?”
“Haven’t you checked your score?”
“No time. Too busy.” And too busy to watch her arrive in Jack Blake’s ramcharger, a small voice scolded him. His gaze flicked upwards and he was surprised in spite of himself. “Hey, nine hundred thousand plus. Not bad.”
Otis overheard. Despite his initial determination to leave the young folks to their privacy he couldn’t keep himself from abandoning his rocker and walking over to have a look. He stared at the screen.
“Nine hundred twenty thousand. I thought you told me this machine can’t score over a million.”
“I don’t see how it can,” Alex replied, concentrating on his work. “It isn’t calibrated past nine ninety-nine. Maybe we’re going to find out what it does.”
“You’re going to bust it, Alex.” Otis moved to the edge of the porch, facing the park, cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted.
“Listen up, everybody! Alex is going for the record. He’s goin’ to bust the machine!”
“You can’t bust these machines, Otis.”
“Then what happens if you hit a million?”
“I don’t know . . . but it won’t bust. Will it?”
Otis leaned close to the machine, his pipe smoking like a small steam engine. “Don’t ask me, son. You’re the electric wizard around here.” A couple of the regulars who’d been sitting outside soaking up the evening cool heard Otis’s exclamation and, attracted by the thought of one of their own doing something a little out of the ordinary, strolled over to see what was going on. They were nearly knocked over as a gaggle of excited kids dashed past them, all but attacking the porch, pushing and shoving for the best vantage points. Alex’s younger brother was in the lead and edged his way up close as strange new sights began appearing on the screen. As quickly as they materialized, Alex methodically demolished them.
“Wow, you never got this far before, Alex!” Louis was so excited he kept bouncing up and down in front of the screen. Alex had to nudge him aside with an elbow. “The command ship! Beat the green shit outta it, Alex!”
“I’m trying to, if you’ll keep your nose out of my line of sight.”
“Oh, sorry.” Louis stopped bouncing . . . for about ten seconds.
There was a bad moment when Alex was positive he’d blown it. Photonics were streaking for his position and there seemed no way out. In the split second available for making a decision he determined to do the unexpected. Instead of fleeing or trying evasion mode he boosted speed toward his attacker. The photonics, calculated to intercept him only if he fled, exploded harmlessly behind him. Before a second wave could be fired in defense, his fingers were stabbing as smoothly as any typist’s on the fire control buttons.
The image of the alien command ship exploded and the bright flare of light shrank pupils all around the screen, making some of the onlookers wince involuntarily. The score limned by the red LED readout above the action rolled over past nine hundred ninety-nine thousand while the synthesized voice inside the console screamed triumphantly, “RECORD BREAKER, RECORD BREAKER!”
The lights faded, the screen blanked, to be replaced briefly with the words, “CONGRATULATIONS, STARFIGHTER.”
“Wow.” Louis’s voice was reverent. “You really blew it away, Alex. What happens now?”
Trying to sound nonchalant, Alex gave a little shrug and turned diffidently away from the console. “Got to find a tougher game, I guess. No point in playing this one anymore.”
More personal accolades were heaped upon the champion in the intermittent light supplied by the buzzing neon sign. Though most of the older inhabitants of the trailer park (Otis being the exception) knew next to nothing about the newfangled electronic games, they could recognize skill in another, and it was self-evident that Alex had just done something very exceptional.
Gradually their talk turned to more familiar topics weather, taxes, the price of gas, the weather, the quality of this year’s cotton crop, how many tourists could be expected during the Season and, of course, the weather. They slid off into the night, chatting amiably as friends do, the quick jolt of excitement already forgotten. Otis gave Alex a congratulatory pat on the back before heading for his own mobile.
Alex turned to Maggie. “Whattaya think?”
“Not bad. But is there a future in it?”
He slumped. “Guess not. But it’s fun.” He tried for a lecherous grin. “Want to come over and see my electronic etchings?”
“You know, Alex, I always wondered what a real etching was.”
“Me too, but it’s a nice line. Well, how about coming over to watch the crickets sing?”
“Do they sound like Men at Work?”
“Depends on the crickets.”
She grinned. “Okay, but you have to promise to walk me home. It’s scaaarrry out.” The Gordon trailer was one step removed from the Rogan’s.
“It’s a deal, if my feet hold out. I’ve been on them all day.”
She was suddenly sympathetic again. “I’m really sorry about the picnic, Alex.”
“That’s okay. At least one of us had a good time.”
The crickets were not recordable, nor did they sound much like Men at Work, or even their much earlier namesakes. It didn’t matter to Alex and Maggie. They snuggled close on the worn porch swing set up in the small fenced are a that was the Rogan’s front yard, luxuriating in the cool evening air. Around them the trailer park was winding down for the night. It was the end of still another summer day. Maggie said little, preoccupied, and Alex was wise enough not to press her for her thoughts.
Somewhere Dan Rather’s report clashed with the Spinners doing “Rubberband Man” on Otis’s stereo. Otis had asked Alex for his opinion on compact disc players, but gave up on the idea when he discovered there was nothing out that he wanted to hear. Sony didn’t seem interested in Otis’s favorite music.
Alex didn’t care much for it either, except for one singer Otis played over and over. It was a voice that stood out even above the news of the war in Afghanistan and the rise in the prime rate Billie Holiday. Alex wished he could have seen her in concert. That made Otis smile, because he knew his young friend would never have been admitted to the joints where Holiday had been forced to make her living. But the boy’s interest pleased him.
“Yep,” a voice was saying from the region of the Boone trailer, “that Alex sure is gonna go places.”
“Sure is,” Elvira concurred.
“I’ll say,” agreed Mrs. Boone. There was a pause, and then Granny Gordon announced the termination of parental radar by calling out, “G’night, kids.”
A few moments later the lights in the Gordon trailer went out. Mrs. Rogan wasn’t home yet. Alex waited a moment longer before slipping his right hand innocently around Maggie’s shoulder. Seemingly of their own volition, the fingers clenched gently, drawing her still closer to him.
Her face turned up toward his and their eyes locked. He bent forward, lips straining for hers . . . and she dodged neatly, bussing him on the cheek. Then she rose from the swing and headed for her trailer.
“Night, Alex.”
His first thought was that she’d made some kind of unconscious mistake. Her aim was off, that was all. But there was more to it than that.
‘”Night, Alex’?” he repeated. “What the hell’s ‘Night, Alex’?” He wasn’t as much mad as he was confused. Usually it was Maggie who initiated the kissing. “Hey, wait!” He caught up to her as she started up the steps toward her small porch.