Their ship, their rules.
When I disembarked, I walked right into the middle of a plastic decontamination bubble they’d sealed around the steps. It was airtight, and made me wonder what exactly they were worried about.
From the outside of the bubble, a man instructed me to strip down to my underwear—which, are you kidding me? The plastic didn’t make me invisible. But he was adamant, and he pointed at the jumpsuit he’d left for me—one that matched his own—to let me know he wasn’t going anywhere until I put it on.
After realizing I had no choice, I held it up. “Seriously?” I double-checked my watch. “All this because I was gone for less than an hour?”
He didn’t answer, just smiled politely while he waited.
“This is crazy,” I muttered.
No response.
I stripped while he gave me the courtesy of pretending not to watch, and once I was changed, he said through the plastic, “Hold your breath.”
Before I could ask why, the entire tent filled up with a yellow smog-like substance, and I did as he’d instructed, afraid I might choke on the stuff.
When Mr. Personality finally dubbed me cootie-free, I was released from the toxic shower and escorted to some sort of interview room with only a table and two chairs.
Proving worthy of the nickname I’d silently given him, Mr. Personality told me, “Wait here,” in his android-like voice.
“Yes, sir.” I would have saluted, but I was worried even that pinch of sarcasm would blow his robot brain.
I was restless during the twenty minute or so wait—I had no way of knowing how long it was exactly, since along with my clothes, my watch had also been confiscated. I tried doing a jumpsuit makeover, rolling and unrolling the sleeves to see if there was any improvement one way or the other. I pulled the zipper all the way to my chin, and then dragged it partway down again, opting for a more casual look.
In the end though, a jumpsuit was a jumpsuit. Besides, there were more important things to worry about.
All I really wanted was to get out of there and back to my friends, but no one would say if or when that might be. So when Dr. Clarke and Molly finally appeared, I practically launched myself at them, knocking over the plastic chair I’d been perched on.
“What’s happening?” I asked. “Where are Tyler, Simon, and Jett?” I’d expected to find them waiting for me when I came back.
Dr. Clarke wore a strange expression on her face, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear she was onto me. Like she somehow knew what had happened up there.
But she couldn’t. There was no way she knew the things I’d discovered, I reminded myself.
“Where were you?” she hissed. “What the hell happened?”
I kept my cool, sticking to my plan. “Um, I think the phrase you’re trying to come up with is: you’re welcome.” I took a step back from her. I crossed my arms over my chest, my back rigid. “Not only did I fly your little spaceship, but I brought it back in one piece. Or was that not the point?” I challenged.
Dr. Clarke eyed me. “Is there something you want to say to us?”
She was probably waiting for some sort of explanation about the ship’s tracking system. I didn’t have to admit to shutting it down or anything. For all she knew it was an internal malfunction. How was I supposed to know why it had glitched?
But I could at least try to act like I felt bad over how long I’d been gone.
I let out a breath and wrung my hands in front of me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be gone so long, I just . . . Where are my dad and the others?” I bit my lip. “I want to make sure they’re okay. Can I see them?”
Dr. Clarke glanced at Molly, and I got the sense it was a nod. A Go ahead. You do the talking.
Molly took an entirely different approach. Her voice was more soothing. We’re friends, you and me, her tone suggested. She was definitely Good Cop. “Sure. I get it. They’re fine. We took your friends back upstairs so they could wait with the others . . .” She glanced at Dr. Clarke. “Until you came back.”
“Look, I know I said five minutes, but couldn’t they have just waited a little longer?”
The two exchanged a look I couldn’t decipher, and Dr. Clarke’s brows raised. “We’ll need to debrief you,” she stated, all Bad Cop. “We need to go over your timeline, every second of your mission.”
My mission, is that what they were calling this? Was that typical, to do a debriefing, just routine stuff?
Good Cop put her arm around my shoulder and led me toward the door. “Come on. We can do that later. For now, let’s get you upstairs so you can see for yourself that everything’s A-OK. Then when you’re feeling better we can do that debrief. Sound good?”
Dr. Clarke wasn’t thrilled by Molly’s suggestion, but I, for one, was happy to see the door shut behind us. I was in no hurry to be interrogated by Dr. Clarke.