G.I. Joe Classified, page 1
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Control Number 2022932881
ISBN 978-1-4197-5440-1
eISBN 978-1-64700-277-0
G.I. Joe and all related characters are trademarks of Hasbro and are used with permission. © 2022 Hasbro. All rights reserved. Licensed by Hasbro.
Book design by Brenda E. Angelilli
Published in 2022 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
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CHAPTER
1
A REAL AMERICAN TOWN
Stan and his mother drove into the town of Springfield late on a Sunday afternoon. He was watching a video on his phone, so he hadn’t noticed, but his mother tapped him on the shoulder.
Stan paused his video. “Huh?”
She pointed to a huge LED sign by the side of the road that said:
WELCOME TO SPRINGFIELD, A REAL AMERICAN TOWN
She grinned as they drove past.
“You see, Stanisław?” she asked in her thick Polish accent. “A real American town!”
“Isn’t Chicago a real American town?” he asked sourly.
She waved her hand dismissively. “Chicago is Chicago.”
Stan couldn’t argue with that. Chicago was special. Unique. He missed it already. He eyed Springfield’s wide streets and orderly buildings suspiciously. Everything was new and streamlined here, with digital billboards and luminous street signs. It was smooth and sleek, like out of some sci-fi movie. He had to admit that it looked neat. But it wasn’t Chicago.
“This is a great opportunity for us, Stanisław,” his mother said. “DeCobray is one of the most successful companies in the world. My promotion is going to help both of us in many ways.”
“I know, Mom.” Because this was probably about the twentieth time she’d told him.
“I’ll be making more money now, too, so we will be able to afford nice things.”
“Can’t wait.” He would have preferred keeping his friends to having nice things.
“And Springfield has one of the best rated school systems in the country. You will be able to go to any college you want.”
“Great.” He knew he was supposed to be excited about that, but it seemed so far away. A million years from now.
Her brow furrowed. “That is, if you work hard.”
“I will, Mom,” Stan said with a hint of irritation. He always tried hard in school.
“And no fights!”
Stan winced. “And no fights.”
He wasn’t a violent boy. He didn’t enjoy fighting. But when he saw someone get bullied, it made his blood boil. What was he supposed to do—let people get beat up?
Her expression softened. “You miss your friends back in Chicago.”
“I miss everything back in Chicago, Mom. Just . . . look at this place.”
Stan gestured to a restaurant they were driving past called Red Rocket, which seemed to have an actual, functional rocket on top. There were no brick townhomes, no winding streets, no deep-dish pizza places. This far from Illinois, they probably hadn’t even heard of Portillo’s.
She frowned. “It is a very nice place, Stanisław. DeCobray headquarters is here, and they have invested a lot of money to make it nice for their employees. For us.”
Stan sighed. “I know, Mom. It’s just . . .”
“Not Chicago,” she finished.
“Yeah.”
They drove through the clean, well-lit, and very un-Chicago town in silence for a little while.
Then his mother said, “Why don’t we drive past the school. Maybe when you see it, you will feel more excited.”
“Sure, Mom. Whatever you say.”
“You can stop the sarcasm, my little Clash.”
“Clash” was the nickname his father had given him when he was small because even then he’d been a bit rowdy, and it was the name of his father’s favorite rock band. He remembered that when he was really young, he and his father would dance around the apartment, blaring “Rock the Casbah” and “Should I Stay or Should I Go” until his mother yelled at them to turn it down. His father was gone now, but his mother still used that nickname when he was being troublesome or sarcastic. And while she’d never said so, he suspected she liked using it because it reminded her of Stan’s father in a tiny way that didn’t hurt too much.
A few blocks down, they arrived at Stan’s new school. His old middle school back in Chicago hadn’t been anything remarkable. Just a big rectangular brick building with a faded sign and an American flag out front. He felt it was what a middle school ought to look like.
Springfield Academy did not look like that. It was a lot bigger, for one thing. He supposed that made sense, since it was a combined middle and high school. But rather than rectangular and brick, it was all swoops and curves, glittering chrome and gleaming windows. If it weren’t for the LED sign that said SPRINGFIELD ACADEMY, he might have mistaken it for some kind of fancy tech company.
“See? It is very nice,” said his mother as they slowly drove past.
“I guess,” he agreed reluctantly.
Then he spotted two students hanging out on the steps in front of the school. They looked to be a couple of years older than Stan. One was a boy with longish hair who wore a dark camo jacket. He sat on the steps slumped forward staring down at his phone. He looked relaxed, but there was also an intense gleam in his eye that drew Stan right in, though he couldn’t say why. The other student was a girl with long black hair and glasses. She wore a black leather jacket and leaned against the handrail. The girl appeared to be talking to someone, though it didn’t seem like it was the boy. She might have had ear-buds in, but Stan couldn’t see because of her hair. There was a slight smile on her face, like everything was a tiny bit amusing to her but not enough to actually get excited about.
“Who are they?” he wondered aloud.
“Tch.” His mother made a disapproving noise. “Hooligans is what they are. Loitering in front of the school like that.”
“Hooligans, Mom?”
“Look at them!” She gestured to the pair as they drove past. “I tell you, those two are no good!”
Of course, that just made Stan want to know them even more.
CHAPTER
2
A REAL TECH TOWN
DeCobray had hired a moving company to transport everything from their old apartment in Chicago to their nice new house, so it was already stacked up in neat boxes on the bare living room floor when they arrived.
Their Chicago apartment had been tiny, so it didn’t take Stan and his mother long to unpack. And since the new house was so much bigger, it still felt empty when they were done.
Stan’s mother rubbed her hands together gleefully. “We will just have to go furniture shopping next weekend!”
“Yay.” Stan was not a fan of shopping.
That night, he had a hard time falling asleep in the unfamiliar house, but eventually he drifted off. When he woke the following morning, his mother had already left for the office. That was nothing new. His mother had more or less lived at the DeCobray regional office in Chicago, and he hadn’t expected that to change now that she was working at the world headquarters.
Stan got dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, then made a few half-hearted swipes at his shaggy brown hair. He ate a bowl of cereal, then grabbed his backpack and used his phone to navigate the walk to his new school.
Springfield Academy looked just as strange and unschool-like as it had the night before, although now beneath the school name, the LED sign also said:
IT’S TIME TO MAXIMIZE YOUR POTENTIAL!
“Maximize my potential?” he muttered to himself as he started climbing the steps to the school entrance.
“That is correct,” came a female voice with a Slavic accent nearly as thick as his mother’s, although he couldn’t place the country.
It was the girl with glasses from the night before. She stood by the front doors of the school at the top of the steps, looking at him expectantly.
“You are Stanisław Migda of Kraków, Poland, correct?”
Stan was born in Poland, but his father had been American, so he had dual citizenship. And since he’d grown up mostly in Chicago, he didn’t have an accent. Well, not a Polish accent, anyway. He might have a little bit of a Chicago one.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he said as he approached.
“Excellent. I am Baroness Anastasia Cisarovna. You may call me Baroness.”
“Oh, uh . . . Nice to meet you . . . Baroness.” He’d expected her to say that he could call her Anastasia. Or maybe even Annie. It felt weirdly formal to call her by a title, but he’d never met a baroness be fore, so maybe this was normal.
She smiled. “Such a polite boy. I like you already.”
“Thanks?” He felt himself blush.
“DeCobray wants its international students to feel at home,” she said in a crisp, businesslike tone. “Which is why I, as a fellow European, have been assigned to be your peer orientation counselor. It is my responsibility to help you adjust to the exceptional student life at Springfield Academy. First, you will need this.”
She handed him a pair of earbuds that hooked over his ears. They were connected with a thin strip of soft material.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Put it on,” she commanded.
He obediently fixed the buds to his ears, the material stretched snugly across the base of his skull. It was surprisingly comfortable, and the back part was completely hidden by his hair.
“State your full name and grade,” she told him.
“Stanisław Migda, eighth grade.”
Anastasia’s eyes seemed to look at something directly in front of her, but there was nothing there. Then she nodded in satisfaction and waved her hand. “Voice print accepted.”
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“Say ‘Activate display.’”
“OK, uh, activate display?”
A hologram display screen suddenly appeared in the air in front of him, kind of like a video game interface. Text at the top flashed, “Good morning, Stanisław,” for a moment, then disappeared. In one corner he could see the time and current temperature. When he looked at Anastasia, a small text bubble appeared beside her that stated her full name and grade ten. He turned to look at other students entering the building and could see their names, grades, and even their hometowns.
“Whoa.”
“Yes, whoa.” Anastasia seemed pleased with his reaction. “The Lyre XR device is the very latest in DeCobray technology. These headsets can be found nowhere else in the world.”
“But we get them?” he asked.
“Students at Springfield Academy are fortunate enough to be a beta test group for this revolutionary new technology,” said Anastasia. “Follow me.”
The display was pretty minimal, but walking while it hovered in his peripheral vision still took some getting used to.
“Can other people see what I’m seeing?” he asked.
“No, it is not a hologram. The Lyre device interacts directly with your neural receptors to create the images inside your head.”
“It’s connected to my brain?” That sounded creepy and he reached up to take it off.
“Of course not—that would be a terrible invasion of privacy,” Anastasia said quickly. “The Lyre is a one-way, noninvasive projection utilizing brain wave entrainment and cranial electrical stimulation.”
“Oh, uh, sure.” He had no idea what any of that meant. But as long as it wasn’t connecting to his brain, he supposed it was fine.
They walked through the hallways of Springfield Academy together. Anastasia was telling him something about the history of the school, but he kept getting distracted by the names and grades that popped up next to the face of every person he saw.
He did notice that the other students gave them a wide berth, and some even looked down at the ground as they passed. Maybe because she was a baroness? Should he be doing that? He wasn’t sure . . .
Then he noticed the classrooms.
“Are all the walls in here glass?” he asked as he peered into one room. It had rows of sleek white desks and surprisingly comfy-looking chairs, but it was otherwise empty. “Doesn’t that get distracting, seeing people walk by while you’re trying to focus on the teacher.”
“No, no,” she said dismissively. “It’s one-way glass. On the inside it looks like mirrors.”
Stan stared at her. “That’s a little weird.”
“It is necessary for the school administrators to make certain that the education received by students at Springfield Academy is perfect in every way.”
“I . . . guess that makes sense.” It didn’t actually make sense to him, but Anastasia seemed really sure of herself, and he didn’t want to contradict her.
“You will notice there are no projectors or electronic whiteboards in any of the classrooms,” she said.
“Huh, that’s true.”
“That is because all your educational materials are displayed on your Lyre device.”
He tapped the bud on his ear. “So all my textbooks are in here, too?”
“Textbooks, as well as any multimedia the teacher utilizes during the class period. There is no need for projectors and whiteboards, and you can customize the display to best suit your learning style.”
“This is incredible,” said Stan. “I can’t believe I’ve never heard about this before.”
“That is because we cannot talk about it outside Springfield, or post anything about it on social media until DeCobray is ready for a public launch. In fact, I’m afraid I must ask that you hand over your personal phone for the time being.”
She held out her hand.
He stared at it. “You want me to give you my phone?”
“Your mother has already signed the consent form.” There was a hint of impatience in her voice.
“But . . . What if I have to text her or something?”
“She is a DeCobray employee, correct?” Now her voice bordered on irritation.
“Uh, yeah?”
“Her contact information and yours are all in the DeCobray database. You can use your Lyre device to call or message her at any time, just like you would on a phone.”
“Well, I guess if my mom is cool with it . . .”
It wasn’t the first time she had forgotten to tell him about something like this. That was the trouble with having a brilliant engineer for a parent. Sometimes the little stuff escaped her.
He handed Anastasia his phone. “So, is there anything this Lyre device can’t do?”
She smiled. Once again, she seemed pleased when he showed how impressed he was with the device. “Well, at this time, it runs only DeCobray software. No third-party apps.”
He grinned. “So no games?”
Her black eyebrow raised over her glasses. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that exactly. But for now you must get to your first class. My friend Michel and I usually hang out at the Red Rocket after school. Meet us there and we will show you some of the Lyre’s more amusing tricks.”
“R-Really?” An older student was willing to take this much time with him? And a baroness, no less?
“Of course,” she said, back to her brisk, no-nonsense tone. “I’m always thrilled to have another European at our school. Don’t worry, little Stanisław, I will take you under my wing.”
He felt himself blushing again. “Thanks.”
Anastasia dropped him off at his first class and said goodbye. He felt a little embarrassed at the special treatment, but only one person in the class seemed to even notice. A tall Black boy named Julien March, grade eight, from Kansas City, according to Stan’s Lyre display.
Their eyes made contact and Julien nodded, his expression unreadable. Then he turned back to face the front of the class.
Stan found the only empty seat in the room and sat down. A moment later, a face appeared directly in front of him and he involuntarily flinched. It was so high-def that for a moment he thought the man was actually standing there. But he quickly realized it was a projection from his Lyre device.
The man had thick iron-gray hair neatly combed back and sharp, elegant features. He wore a trim burgundy suit with a yellow tie and pocket square.
“Good morning, students of Springfield Academy,” he said in a rich, soothing baritone.
“Good morning, Principal Zartan,” the other students in Stan’s class said.
Apparently everyone was seeing the same thing on their Lyre devices. This must be how they did morning announcements. At Stan’s old school, it had been over a crackling PA speaker.
“Another fine day of learning is before us,” Principal Zartan said. “Be sure to study hard. I look forward to seeing all your metrics at the end of the day.”
Metrics? Maybe with these Lyre devices, all their classwork was automatically tracked and graded. Stan supposed that made sense, but it also added a layer of pressure to everything.
“One item of note,” continued the principal. “Please welcome our midyear transfer student, eighth grader Stanisław Migda, and congratulate his mother, Leokadia Migda, on her promotion to DeCobray corporate headquarters.”
