There was a stunned silence. A dozen robot heads, most wearing makeup, swiveled to peer coldly at the tiny, insignificant boy-creature. Code sat very still. “Sorry. Uh. Sorry about that. I’m, uh, left-tentacled …” Code trailed off meekly. “Clumsy with my right …”
The dead silence stretched on for a whole minute. This was it. Code was sure that he was about to be thrown off the platform. It would probably take five minutes to hit the ground from this high up, he thought. I wonder if I’ll suffocate before I splatter?
Then a long, low chuckle reverberated from the glass dome. The giants glanced over at Gary, whose battle visor was glowing with mirth. His great chest heaved mightily as he tried to stifle his laughter, but oily tears were leaking from his visor. He was huge and armored and quaking with giggles. None of the lady giants moved a motor.
Finally, there was a soft chortle from Lady Watterly. And then a chuckle. Then a giggle, a cackle, and a guffaw. Quite suddenly, the entire table erupted into gales of hearty laughter.
“It’s been eons since anyone so much as spoke out of turn!” exclaimed a giantess wearing a necklace made of ball bearings. “Oh, I just did!”
Paralyzed with laughter, she bashed the table with a clunky paw, jangling heavy bracelets like wind chimes.
Another ladybot leaned over to Code and confessed, “Ah, that’s okay! I’m middle-tentacled myself.” She giggled loudly, slathering battery acid onto a loaf of green circuit board with a dainty tentacle encased in a white satin glove.
Some of the other robots decided to copy Code, tossing their goblets onto the table. The resulting sprays, floods, and dollops of acid nearly seared Code’s flesh off and the plumes of acrid smoke almost choked him unconscious. Peep buzzed in silly loop-the-loops over the table.
Code sat back and watched in queasy amazement.
Maybe robots didn’t always have to follow their programming? These robot ladies seemed happy to have a break from the routine. It had simply taken Gary to show them the way, by having a sense of humor. Code mouthed a silent “Thank you” to his friend across the table.
Gary gave a thumbs-up, devouring the gourmet meal and gulping down a bubbling cocktail with gusto. Code began to relax. Things were going really, really well. Maybe the trip to the Beamstalk wouldn’t be a problem after all.
“Attention!” called the butlerbot. “We are now leaving the extreme upper atmosphere. It is customary at this point to open the air lock to the observation deck and enjoy the sight of the radiation belts. Please attend.”
The robot giantesses clapped with glee. “They say a breath of fresh space vacuum helps the digestion!”
Code watched in horror as the butlerbot pulled a lever and the air lock cracked open. During dinner, the platform had risen so high that they were above the atmosphere. Nothing but hard radiation and the lethal vacuum of space was on the other side of the dome. If he didn’t freeze to death in the ice-cold temperatures, the lack of oxygen would suffocate him—assuming, of course, that the radiation didn’t burn him first.
In a panic, Code leaped from his seat onto the table. “No! You can’t! Uh, radiation belts give me gas!”
Again the room fell silent. The door continued to creep open. Oxygen whistled out through the widening crack. Code shivered as he felt the freezing-cold grip of outer space.
“Uh, me too,” said Gary. “And you don’t want to be nearby when I have the space gas.”
Lady Watterly said nothing. She stared at Code, her head cocked slightly to one side. She clearly didn’t believe him. The butlerbot kept his hand on the lever and the air kept rushing out of the room. The oxygen grew thin. A sheen of ice began to form around Code’s nose. He breathed heavily, struggling to get enough air.
Peep darted over to the lever and tugged valiantly, but she couldn’t budge it.
Code realized that he was going to have to prove his story about space gas. Growing faint, he mustered his energy. With every last ounce of his being, he focused on his own survival and … belched. Code sucked down a final lungful of air, and in a series of inspired belches, he burped the words: “Please. Close. Air. Lock.”
Shocked silence.
And then, once again, the robot ladies club collapsed into gales of laughter.
“Very well. Harold, please close it,” said Lady Watterly.
The butlerbot let go of the lever and the air lock crashed shut. Code took big gulps of air as the oxygen returned to the room, then collapsed on the table, heaving a sigh of relief.
“Oh, Ms. Watterly, your mysterious guest is quite the rake! I haven’t had this much fun in ages!” said an overgrown lady robot through greasy tears of laughter.
“Thelma, do not ever let me hear you say that I do not plan an amazing dinner party,” replied Lady Watterly, staring daggers at Code and Gary. Clearly, they were uninvited, but if the guests were happy, Lady Watterly seemed to be happy.
Relieved, Peep landed on Code’s shoulder and refused to leave his side for the rest of the trip.
Outside the safely sealed window, the docking gates of the Celestial City appeared. Below them, Mekhos had shrunk to a gray green orb. Gary looked up from his oil of vitriol and wiped his face. “Are we there yet?” he asked.
Code smiled at Gary. He had thought the slaughterbot was helpless, but Gary had saved his life twice in the last few hours. The big clunky robot was smarter than Code gave him credit for. Code was thankful to have made it up the Beamstalk at last—despite nearly being burned by acid, deprived of oxygen, and bruised from a series of hearty thumps to the back from his new entourage of female robot admirers.
“We’re here, Gary,” said Code. “We’re finally here.”
16
Celestial City
The Great Disassembly:
T–Minus One Hour
Leaving behind the wild dinner party, Code and Gary crept unnoticed down a long, dark passageway of perfectly polished silver and into the Celestial City. With the Disassembly imminent, the city seemed completely empty. The only faces Code saw were the hologrammatic portraits of strange-looking humans that lined the walls—the past kings and queens of Mekhos, he assumed.
Code wondered whether he was related to any of these odd faces. Every single royal had some kind of robotic addition: a beautiful princess possessed piercing red robotic eyes, a rugged prince had two monstrous metal arms, and in one particularly disturbing case, a haggard king was missing his lower half and instead stood proudly on eight golden spider legs. Code touched his own face thoughtfully. Is this what’s in store for me?
Peep wriggled out of Code’s pocket. She launched into the air and purposefully buzzed ahead. As usual, Code and Gary followed close behind.
Passing through a low archway, Code emerged from the claustrophobic hall and entered the broad main street of the Celestial City. It was a vista that could only have been built by the peculiar robotic residents of Mekhos. Soaring turrets and towering walls crowded the sky under a vast translucent dome that twinkled with starlight. Rocket-powered elevators shot up and down the sheer faces of empty buildings. Stairways circled and squared their way around the streets and buildings, with some steps large enough for giants and others small enough for ants. It was incredible, but Code didn’t have time to linger; he had to rush to catch up with Peep.
They trotted across empty pavilions and down deserted alleys. The city was eerily silent, except for the sharp snapping of banners in the artificial wind and the soft roar of waterfalls cascading beneath tall bridges. Ahead, the Celestial Castle was sprawling and magnificent—and deserted.
Finally, Peep led Code and Gary through a nondescript door and into the castle. Code had never seen her in such a rush. She peeped and blinked urgently as they trooped through cramped halls, winding their way deeper and deeper inside.
In the heart of the castle, the group reached a door covered in strong rivets and bands of thick metal. A dial illuminated with symbols protruded from the portal—a lock. Below it, a confusing array of keys p
rotruded from a panel, each a unique shape.
“A keyboard,” whispered Gary.
Peep got busy. She hit the dial with a series of light beams and tugged on the keys one at a time. The dial spun and the keys shifted. And … nothing happened. Peep chirped in frustration.
“Oh, no!” cried Gary. “It’s locked and we haven’t got the combination.”
In disbelief, Code stared down at the rows of keys. It can’t come down to this, he thought. There’s got to be a way. Leaning forward, Code looked closer at the keys. And closer. His gray green robo-retinas zoomed in until the confusing array of keys filled his vision. And he noticed something. Out of dozens, three of the keys were worn down slightly more than the others. It was a difference of just a few millimeters, but it was enough. Someone had touched these three keys more than the rest.
“Ah ha!” exclaimed Code, turning the three special keys in every combination he could think of. After a couple of tries, the lock opened with a thundering boom.
The impassable portal slid back, leaving behind a flurry of glimmering dust motes.
For a moment, Code thought the vast room inside was a burning inferno. Then he realized that the searing light wasn’t caused by flames, but by the reflections of billions of coins, gems, artifacts, vehicles, weapons, armor, crowns, artwork, cannons, and mysterious antiquities heaped into careless mounds between towering, gleaming archways. It was a treasure room beyond all measurement or comparison.
Code dimmed his robo-retinas and stumbled inside, craning his neck to inspect all the amazing treasures. Hovering orbs dotted the room, sending rays of luminescence cascading over the loot. Precarious piles of coins were heaped everywhere: tiny diamond coins, pie-sized golden coins, coins with legs crawling over each other, and coins that dissolved together and spread apart like amoebas. Every coin was imprinted with the noble visage of King John Lightfall. An exoskeleton the size of a small building stood motionless on the far wall, its hands resting on a monumental sword.
Gary tromped around the room randomly, tossing up handfuls of coins and cackling with glee. Meanwhile, Code remained where he was and scanned the space carefully. He noticed that most of the brightly burning light converged on one spot at the far end of the room: a magnificent pedestal with a glass case on top.
At last, thought Code. This must be where the Robonomicon is kept. Code had imagined how the book would look: massive, dusty, and covered in specks of gold. It would glitter in the light, and when he opened it, the writing would be in glimmering golden letters and filled with diagrams, maps, and magical words—and all the answers he needed to save this world.
Code stumbled toward the pedestal like a sleepwalker, climbing over a half-buried airplane with the word “Electra” painted on its fuselage. Slipping on piles of coins, Code made his way up a mountain of loot and finally reached the glittering pedestal. Peep hovered near his head, tugging on his hair and fluttering at his ears. Code brushed her away and grabbed hold of the pedestal.
“I found it,” he breathed.
“The Robonomicon?” asked Gary.
“Yes. We’re saved, Gary.”
Peep chirped frantically and shot beams of red light at Code. She yanked on his earlobe and smacked into his cheek. Mesmerized by the pedestal, Code paid no attention.
“Hooray!” thundered Gary.
Holding his breath with anticipation, Code yanked opened the case.
There was nothing inside but a cushioned pillow. The case was empty.
“Oh, no!” cried Code in despair.
“You got that right,” said Gary.
Code turned and saw Immortalis hovering in the air like a robotic jellyfish. Two silent jet thrusters spit blue flame from either side of a writhing mass of black tentacles. The body of King John Lightfall dangled in the air, supported by hundreds of tentacles wrapped around his torso, arms, legs, head, feet, and even his fingers. The cables twisted and wrinkled his elegant, kingly robes, and he swung lightly. A single unblinking blue eye adorned the middle of the Immortalis machine, like a glowing sapphire in a black crown.
Frightened, Peep alighted on Code’s shoulder and hid under his collar.
Code’s eyes widened as he met the gaze of his poor grandfather, caught in the foul embrace of Immortalis.
“My boy,” uttered King John Lightfall. “Protect—”
The king’s words were cut off as several thin black cords shot out of Immortalis and wrapped around his neck, jaw, and face. A thicker cord tightened around his chest. The swiftly moving cords paused, then began moving together purposefully. Code grimaced as Immortalis played the king’s tortured body like a puppet.
“Let him go, Immortalis!” demanded Code.
“I am King John Lightfall,” hissed the old man in a wheezing grunt. His eyes rolled wildly. “And you are too late.”
A taut cord easily subdued a kick as John Lightfall tried to wriggle free of Immortalis.
“I made it this far, Immortalis,” said Code. “Now where’s the Robonomicon?”
“It’s gone, gone, gone. And without her not even you can stop me, human,” said John Lightfall.
Code could feel Peep under his shirt collar, trembling in fear. Alas, before he could stop her, the little bot bolted away and sped through the cavernous treasure room, ducking and weaving.
“Thank goodness!” said the king, in his own voice. Then the wires snapped his jaw shut and began moving his mouth again. “You!” he spat in a strangled voice, pointing at Peep.
Peep flew low over the mounds of treasure, a rapidly moving violet speck easily visible to Code’s new eyes. He splashed after her through piles of coins, trying to protect the scared little robot from the black-tentacled monster. He finally caught up to her.
“What is it, Peep?” he implored. Immortalis was close behind.
Peep sprayed frantic light beams onto a small, humming box. It looked like a birthday present wrapped in smiley-face paper. A single button protruded from the top, serving double duty as the nose for a grinning happy face.
Immortalis shot out a half dozen tentacles toward Code. They wriggled across the coins like snakes. Every instinct Code had was shouting at him to run away, but he chose to trust the little robot.
Peep had never once led him astray.
Code jammed his finger on the button. Impossibly, the box folded in on itself until—somehow—it was no longer there. Instead, Code was surprised to see a boxy, friendly robot looking up at him, a paintbrush in its clawed hand.
“In the name of our ancestors! What have you done?!” cried the king, shrinking away. The happy little bot threw back its head and let out a psychotic laugh that sent a chill down Code’s spine. Out of nowhere, Gary flopped his massive body down onto the mound of coins next to Code, then leaped to his feet.
“It’s Charlie! The greatest robot hero in Mekhos history!”
“And criminal,” muttered Code, backing away.
Without hesitation, Charlie wheeled over to an oddly curved black bar resting against an Egyptian sarcophagus. The bar was long and thin and it looked somehow dangerous. Charlie snatched it up, and with a sigh of satisfaction he cocked the bizarre weapon.
Just then, Immortalis descended on its jet thrusters in a roaring whirlwind of melting coins and let its tentacles fall like the branches of a weeping willow over the little square-shaped robot. Charlie fired his weapon three times, quickly. A tight beam of light vaporized a wriggling chunk of tentacle. Immortalis squealed in pain and retracted its tentacles, dropping King Lightfall. With a surprised expression on his face, the elderly king rolled out of reach of the hovering machine and onto a jingling bed of golden coins.
Peep chirped in distress. She fluttered over to the fallen king, landing on his chest. Code crouched down next to his injured grandfather.
Meanwhile, Immortalis soared up into the air, ignoring Code as it tried to escape from the plucky little robot with the big gun.
“Finally free,” said the old man.
“Gr
andpa? Are you okay?” asked Code.
“Not really,” chuckled the king. He managed to sit up on one elbow, but collapsed back on the ground. Finally, he managed to say, “Oh, Code, you’ve grown up so much. This little one must have found you.”
The king stroked Peep with one weak finger.
“You’ve been gone so long, Grandpa. Everyone thought you were dead. But I didn’t believe them. I never believed them,” said Code.
The old man now lying on the bed of gold coins had taught Code how to catch grasshoppers and how to pick out fossils from beds of shale rock. He was the only adult Code had ever known who didn’t care about getting dirty, or looking silly, or being on time. And he was dying.
Code could feel each second of his grandfather’s life ticking away, precious and irreplaceable. There were too many questions and not enough time.
“How did you get here? Why did this happen?” Code asked.
“Our ancestors built this place. One day it called to me. I was needed and so I came. Just as you did.” After a fit of coughing, the king continued. “I feel like I’ve been here a thousand years, and yet you’re still a boy. Time passes quickly here in Mekhos. Now it’s all about to end.”
“No, I can help. I can save Mekhos,” said Code.
The king looked closely at his grandson. “Your eyes,” he said sadly. “It’s already beginning.”
“Please,” begged Code. “We have to stop the Disassembly. This world will die. My friends will die. Tell me what to do. Please tell me how to find the Robonomicon.”
The king smiled, his unseeing eyes staring vacantly into space. “Knowledge is worthless without action, Code. The Robonomicon can’t help you if you don’t help yourself.”
Code sat back, confused. His grandfather stroked Peep affectionately. “Your little friend here is a queen, did you know that? She didn’t let us down, did she?”
“Grandpa,” said Code. “Please …”
The king grimaced in pain. “I’m afraid that I’ve reached the end of my program, Code. But the story of Mekhos isn’t over. Your time here has just begun.”
Code Lightfall and the Robot King Page 10
