all very far away.
Nick—and his younger brother, Tommy—had grown up mixed together with the Penderwicks, sometimes babysitting for them, and always making good jokes, plus teaching sports to everyone from Rosalind on down, though not as far as Lydia, and also failing with Batty, hopeless as she was at sports. Nick hadtaught Ben football and had promised to start on basketball the next time he came home on leave. He was due home sometime this spring. It couldn’t be soon enough for Ben, who missed him terribly.
With the Black Hawk safely out, he dumped the rest of the box onto the ground. Here was a hodgepodge of action toys, many of them inherited from Nick and Tommy, plus a battered Millennium Falcon from Ben’s mom. There were several from Ben’s father, too, his birth father, that is, not his dad. These were all
Star Trek
figures, especially from
The Next Generation,
Worf, Troi, Picard, and a few evil-looking Romulans. All that Ben knew about this father, who had died in a car crash before Ben was even born, came from stories his mom told him. Sometimes he and Batty talked about their dead parents, but not often and usually not with sadness. It’s hard to be sad about people you’ve never met, especially when the parents you ended up with are so good at being parents.
Ben’s box had also yielded up a Chinook with only one set of rotor blades, a transporter room with a big crack down the middle, and lots more figures. Other than the
Next Generation
ones, Ben could identify only about half, including Luke Skywalker, Chewbacca, Spock, and Ginny Weasley, whose red hair was almost the same shade as his. The rest of the figures he used for his own purposes. An authoritative man in a blue uniform was Nick. And there was one mean-looking guy all in black that Ben called DexterDupree, after a man famous among the Penderwicks for his loathsome personality. Dexter had once been married to Jeffrey’s mother, but they’d divorced several years ago, after which she’d managed to marry and divorce another man, and was rumored to be engaged yet again. Ben set Dexter on a rock and spoke to him in his deepest voice, using the military code he’d learned from Nick.
“Ready for defeat, Delta-Echo-Xray-Tango-Echo-Romeo?”
“Never, never,” squeaked Dexter, who wasn’t smart enough for code.
“Ha, ha, ha. You’re doomed.”
Ben balanced Nick on the Black Hawk—he was too big to fit inside—just out of reach of the rotor blades. “This is your leader, November-India-Charlie-Kilo. Prepare for departure. Start engines.
Schwoof, schwoof, schwoof, schwoof
—”
“There you are.”
His position had been discovered by a person or persons unknown! Ben tipped Nick into the underbrush for safety, then parked the Black Hawk behind the Millennium Falcon.
“You’re entering a war zone,” he said in the deep voice. “Prepare to defend yourself.”
“Okay.” The intruder turned out to be Skye, now shoving through the bushes. “In the mood for some goalkeeping?”
Skye was always trying to put him into an oldcatcher’s mask and chest protector—more hand-me-downs from the Geiger brothers—so she could shoot soccer balls at him. This was not Ben’s idea of fun.
“No,” he answered.
“What’s Captain Apollo doing?” She pointed down at the man in the blue uniform, half hidden by a dried-up hydrangea bloom.
“That’s Nick.”
“Nick as a Colonial Warrior? I guess that works.”
“He’s coming home soon, right, Skye?”
“We hope so, buddy. The Geigers will let us know as soon as they hear anything.” She kicked aside more dead leaves. “Okay if I sit down?”
He scooted over to make room, and down she came, squashing Dexter with her knee.
“Sorry, Spike,” she said.
“That’s Dexter,” said Ben.
“Actually, this is Spike from
Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
He’s a bad guy. So Dexter works, I guess.”
“Good.” Ben had gotten the bad part right.
She picked out a female Romulan. “This
Nick—and his younger brother, Tommy—had grown up mixed together with the Penderwicks, sometimes babysitting for them, and always making good jokes, plus teaching sports to everyone from Rosalind on down, though not as far as Lydia, and also failing with Batty, hopeless as she was at sports. Nick hadtaught Ben football and had promised to start on basketball the next time he came home on leave. He was due home sometime this spring. It couldn’t be soon enough for Ben, who missed him terribly.
With the Black Hawk safely out, he dumped the rest of the box onto the ground. Here was a hodgepodge of action toys, many of them inherited from Nick and Tommy, plus a battered Millennium Falcon from Ben’s mom. There were several from Ben’s father, too, his birth father, that is, not his dad. These were all
Star Trek
figures, especially from
The Next Generation,
Worf, Troi, Picard, and a few evil-looking Romulans. All that Ben knew about this father, who had died in a car crash before Ben was even born, came from stories his mom told him. Sometimes he and Batty talked about their dead parents, but not often and usually not with sadness. It’s hard to be sad about people you’ve never met, especially when the parents you ended up with are so good at being parents.
Ben’s box had also yielded up a Chinook with only one set of rotor blades, a transporter room with a big crack down the middle, and lots more figures. Other than the
Next Generation
ones, Ben could identify only about half, including Luke Skywalker, Chewbacca, Spock, and Ginny Weasley, whose red hair was almost the same shade as his. The rest of the figures he used for his own purposes. An authoritative man in a blue uniform was Nick. And there was one mean-looking guy all in black that Ben called DexterDupree, after a man famous among the Penderwicks for his loathsome personality. Dexter had once been married to Jeffrey’s mother, but they’d divorced several years ago, after which she’d managed to marry and divorce another man, and was rumored to be engaged yet again. Ben set Dexter on a rock and spoke to him in his deepest voice, using the military code he’d learned from Nick.
“Ready for defeat, Delta-Echo-Xray-Tango-Echo-Romeo?”
“Never, never,” squeaked Dexter, who wasn’t smart enough for code.
“Ha, ha, ha. You’re doomed.”
Ben balanced Nick on the Black Hawk—he was too big to fit inside—just out of reach of the rotor blades. “This is your leader, November-India-Charlie-Kilo. Prepare for departure. Start engines.
Schwoof, schwoof, schwoof, schwoof
—”
“There you are.”
His position had been discovered by a person or persons unknown! Ben tipped Nick into the underbrush for safety, then parked the Black Hawk behind the Millennium Falcon.
“You’re entering a war zone,” he said in the deep voice. “Prepare to defend yourself.”
“Okay.” The intruder turned out to be Skye, now shoving through the bushes. “In the mood for some goalkeeping?”
Skye was always trying to put him into an oldcatcher’s mask and chest protector—more hand-me-downs from the Geiger brothers—so she could shoot soccer balls at him. This was not Ben’s idea of fun.
“No,” he answered.
“What’s Captain Apollo doing?” She pointed down at the man in the blue uniform, half hidden by a dried-up hydrangea bloom.
“That’s Nick.”
“Nick as a Colonial Warrior? I guess that works.”
“He’s coming home soon, right, Skye?”
“We hope so, buddy. The Geigers will let us know as soon as they hear anything.” She kicked aside more dead leaves. “Okay if I sit down?”
He scooted over to make room, and down she came, squashing Dexter with her knee.
“Sorry, Spike,” she said.
“That’s Dexter,” said Ben.
“Actually, this is Spike from
Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
He’s a bad guy. So Dexter works, I guess.”
“Good.” Ben had gotten the bad part right.
She picked out a female Romulan. “This
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