Project X-Calibur Read Online Free PDF

concealing us behind projections of shimmering brick walls.
    â€œA hologram or something?” I croaked. “I thought that kind of stuff was only in movies.”
    The kid rolled his eyes. Another brick next to the door spun around to reveal an electronic scanner.
    â€œThis is a dental scanner,” he explained. “An intruder would need all my teeth, in formation no less, to gain access. The walls have been fortified against teleportation, in case anyone managed to get their hands on this.” He flashed the device in his palm.
    He bent down and put his mouth to the scanner, grinning like someone was taking his picture. A red ray of light panned from right to left, and with a quick
beep-beep
the light turned green. “Hold on,” he warned.
    I shot him a wary glance. “For wha—”
    We suddenly plummeted downward, our feet somehow glued to the square slab under us as we plunged deep below ground. We jolted sideways through a dark tunnel before ascending again—all in less than two seconds—and then we lurched to a stop.
    I wobbled, trying hopelessly to catch my balance. I could feel a pull from beneath me, and a tingling throughout my feet and legs that somehow held me in place.
    The kid smiled. “The metal is magnetized to bond with the mercury in human blood. Very revolutionary.” He gave a satisfied nod.
    There was a beep, and suddenly the pull was gone. He and I stepped away, and the slab whisked back down into the darkness. I gulped at the sight before me. We had arrived in the center of a huge, circular room lined with doors. The walls—solid steel, reinforced with millions of bolts all arranged in crisscross “X”s—were maybe fifty feet high, and the floor, made up of marble tiles, was so shiny it looked wet.
    On the ground, people carrying clipboards scuttled hurriedly from door to door. Their lab coats all had three letters stitched over the chest pockets: “RTR.” From what I could overhear, most had English accents, and nobody was anywhere
near
my age, but they didn’t seem surprised at all to see us here.
    I looked up. There were three levels of doors, some twenty and thirty feet up, but with no stairs anywhere. On the
ceiling,
huge red numbers were counting down, like a giant digital timer: 137 hours, 32 minutes, 12 seconds . . . 11 seconds . . . 10 seconds . . .
    I nudged the kid. “What is that?”
    â€œThe time left until the aliens arrive,” he said.
    I tensed. A hundred and thirty-seven hours didn’t seem like much when it could mean the end of the world. A pretty woman walked by, her hair up in a neat bun. On her way past us, she gave the kid a warm smile. “Good to have you back, sir.”
    A grown woman, calling an eight-year-old “sir.”
    He shook her hand. “Fabulous to
be
back,” he said brightly. “Where are the trainees?”
    â€œMedical.” She gave me a nod as she passed, but I was more interested in her clipboard. At first it looked pretty standard, until I realized the single piece of paper on it was a paper-thin computer screen. And I mean
paper
thin. Two words at the top of the screen sent my pulse racing: PROJECT X-CALIBUR.
    The kid led me across the lobby to a spot just in front of the doors. “Stay close,” he instructed, and the floor panel we were standing on suddenly
rose up. That’s
how the people here got to the second and third levels of doors.
    Problem was, I was so caught off guard that I windmilled and dropped my duffel bag. It toppled over the side, landed on another floor panel, and triggered it to
also
rise up. The bag kept rolling, only to hit
another
floor panel—up and down, in a circle, all around the atrium, until it finally came to a rest.
    Tell me this isn’t happening.
    From where I stood at the third-level doors, I could see the workers below startled by the sudden chaos. One poor guy hung on the