Wonderscape

by Jennifer Bell

  “Oh, right.” Arthur hadn’t spoken to a V-class before and after watching the real Valeria on-screen, it felt strange communicating with her mimic clone.

  The robot took a pen and notepad from the pocket of her overalls and looked down her nose at them. “Well? What is it?”

  Arthur thought carefully. They needed to choose a name that wouldn’t draw attention; something that would help them blend in with all the others.

  Just then, one of the Falcon’s Fury girls came barging past, lugging a tyre over one shoulder. “Move, pipsqueak!” she bellowed, shoving Ren.

  Ren glowered at her. “Pipsqueak?”

  “Very well,” the V-class said. “Good luck, Pipsqueaks. Travel with wonder.”

  Arthur flinched. “What? No, we don’t want that as our team name!”

  But it was too late. The word Pipsqueaks had already appeared on the holographic board at the far end of the building – and on the back of their Wondercloaks.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Ren said, clawing at her hood. “How are we meant to go unnoticed now?” The drawings on her cloak instantly shifted into the blueprints for a deep, dark well, big enough to hide in. Arthur assessed his own cloak. Between the team-name letters, the seawater was sloshing fretfully in all directions.

  Annoyingly, after powdering her nose using a Hxperion-branded compact mirror, the V-class strutted away without further comment. At the same moment, a dog’s bark echoed around the walls, and Arthur spotted Cecily and Cloud running over.

  “Thank goodness we found you both,” Cecily said breathlessly. “Cloud and I went up to one of those viewing terraces while we were waiting for the paint to dry and … we can’t enter this race. It’s too dangerous.”

  “But – we’ve just entered!” Arthur said. “Our team name is up on the board.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “Haven’t you noticed it says Pipsqueaks on your back?” Ren asked brutally. “That’s what we’re called. Anyway, we have to compete in the race, you know we do.”

  “Pipsqueaks?” Cecily shook her head. “But…”

  “Ren’s right,” Arthur agreed, checking his watch. “We’ve got no other choice. We’ll be slime in fifty-two hours, anyway. The race can’t be more dangerous than that.”

  Cecily’s voice was hollow. “See for yourself.”

  They summoned one of the glowing elevators and rode it up to the highest terrace in the building. A shoji slid open to reveal a crowded platform tucked under the eaves of the roof. After weaving through the mass of people, Ren and Arthur stopped at a railing and peered over the edge while Cecily stayed a few paces back to avoid triggering her vertigo.

  Arthur immediately saw the reason for Cecily’s concern.

  Beyond the plateau where the red and white buildings were situated, the land plummeted into a steep valley. It was easy to spot the start of the racetrack in the trees, as it was marked by a row of chequered flags, flapping violently in the wind. The route then curved to the edge of the plateau and zigzagged down into the valley on a road that looked as if it had been cut into the sheer face of the rock. Arthur counted twelve hairpin bends before it straightened out, heading for the finish line below.

  Despite the precariousness of the course, there were no safety barriers at the sides of the track. Threads of black smoke rose from piles of rubble scattered down the canyon side, and Arthur shivered when he realized what they were.

  The remains of red vehicles.

  9

  “We’re going to die,” Ren said, squeezing the handle of Cloud’s lead like it was a stress-ball. “And we’re going to do it in a car that looks like a giant chilli hot dog.”

  The three of them stood in their paddock surveying Cecily’s paint job. The rear of their long, round car was coloured a glossy maroon but the tone changed in a steady gradient towards the front, where it was a spicy orange-red. Arthur felt nauseous looking at it, and it wasn’t just that it resembled food. He couldn’t quite believe what they were about to take on. That racetrack, those corners, the speed…

  A couple of V-class mimics wearing T-shirts saying Pipsqueaks Rule! stood watching them from the edge of their paddock. One had a flag in place of an arm; the other was so filthy with motor grease Arthur doubted she’d ever taken a shower. He guessed Hxperion provided two free supporters to every team so that the less popular ones always had someone to cheer for them. Holographic Pipsqueaks to Win! banners had also appeared on the sides of their paddock along with boxes of various budget team accessories, including branded helmets (the kind worn by bicycle riders and not high-speed car drivers) and water bottles.

  Arthur could feel the stares of the other teams boring into the back of his head. A couple of wanderers in an adjoining paddock were whispering. The words pipsqueaks and amateurs sailed over. He swallowed down a ball of fear, knowing the wanderers were right. They were amateurs. They didn’t have a clue about racing and it was probably going to get them killed.

  Cecily lifted her chin, pretending she hadn’t heard. “This red makes a bold statement,” she argued, defending her handiwork. “It says: powerful, fresh, wild.”

  “It says: we have no idea what we’re doing,” Ren responded frankly. “In the end, it won’t make us go any faster and that’s all that matters.”

  “That’s not true,” Cecily retorted. “If I’ve learned anything from my parents’ business, it’s that when we look good, it can make us feel good inside. People come into their salon feeling meh but leave with a spring in their step. So if we have to descend the side of a perilous cliff-face – and deal with the worst vertigo ever, by the way – we should at least try to do it in style!” She took a deep breath and froze. “Wait… What did I just say?”

  “Err…” Cautiously, Arthur retraced Cecily’s own words. “If we have to descend the side of a perilous cliff-face—”

  “Arthur!” she gasped. “That’s it! I know something that could help us in the race.” She grabbed her mobile phone from her handbag and waved it in the air. “I’ve figured out who the hero of this realm is!”

  Arthur threw himself in front of her to try to keep her phone hidden from view but Cecily seemed too intent on examining her phone case to worry. She pointed to one of the manga characters on the back – a beautiful woman with long, flowing black hair. The character was dressed in revealing white battle armour and carried a huge sword in one hand.

  “This is Saisei,” Cecily explained. “She’s a character from Samurai Deeper Kyo, one of my favourite manga series. In the story, Saisei’s a zombie but her true form is that of a real-life woman from twelfth-century Japan – Tomoe Gozen, the most renowned female samurai in history.”

  She pronounced the name To-mo-eh. Arthur found himself repeating it slowly in his head. “Is that who you think the hero is? Tomoe Gozen?”

  “Well, Tomoe fought during the Genpei War,” Cecily replied. “It was between two clans – the Taira, who wore red, and the Minamoto, who wore white. Tomoe was a leader in Lord Kiso’s army on the Minamoto side.”

  Red versus white. Arthur glanced up at the samurai battle painted on the ceiling. “It’s just like this race.”

  She nodded. “I thought Tomoe sounded cool, so I researched more about her. She was written about in this ancient Japanese epic called The Tale of the Heike. She’s described as a warrior who used to ‘ride unscathed down perilous descents’ – just like how I described the racetrack here.”

  “I never would have guessed you were so into manga,” Ren remarked, appraising Cecily thoughtfully. “Me too.” She paused and frowned. “I’ve just thought – remember that black symbol we saw on the door to this realm?”

  “It was like a giant comma,” Arthur recalled.

  “Well, in Japanese it’s called a tomoe,” Ren said. She pointed decisively to Cecily’s phone case. “All the clues point towards Tomoe Gozen; even the name of the realm-challenge: Race of the Warrior. It has to be her.”

  Arthur glanced contemplatively
at the other paddocks. If no team had ever beaten the White Tiger before, then no one had ever won the chance to meet the hero. And that meant the Pipsqueaks might be the only people who knew it was Tomoe Gozen. “What else can you tell us about her?” he asked Cecily. “If the whole realm is themed around her, then the race probably is too. You’re right, it could give us an advantage.”

  Cecily returned her phone to her handbag. “The Genpei War era was dominated by men – the samurai class were all men – but Tomoe still earned a position of leadership in their armies. She must have been fearless.”

  “So, then, we probably have to be fearless to complete this challenge,” Arthur decided, gazing nervously at their tiny car. Two lines from the riddle set alarm bells ringing in his head: The answer to this puzzling race, lies in an unexpected place. If he could just figure out what that meant.

  A klaxon sounded, reverberating around the building. Crowded on the balconies, the supporters hushed as a flashing message appeared on the holographic board at the far end of the room.

  Media and non-essential personnel, please leave the floor.

  Race starts in

  10:00

  Cecily snatched Cloud’s lead from Ren’s hand. “Come on, we have to get ready.”

  The fan-mimics who had been cheering the Pipsqueaks’ name abruptly changed character and zoomed into a paper elevator, which took off towards the roof. The atmosphere in the paddocks became feverish as the other eight teams rushed to put on their helmets and board their vehicles.

  Ren threw a Pipsqueaks helmet at Arthur. “I need you in the front with me. Cecily’s going to watch over Cloud in the back.”

  Arthur wasn’t sure when those arrangements had been made, but he was too anxious to argue. He pulled the helmet over his head and stumbled to secure the strap around his chin.

  “See you at the bottom, Pipsqueaks!” one of the girls taunted from the Falcon’s Fury paddock. “That is, if you make it in one piece!”

  Arthur’s jaw tightened as he opened the front-left car door and got in. Bundling Cloud onto the back seat, he heard Cecily mutter derisively under her breath. He might have also caught the barrage of curses Ren directed at the Falcon’s Fury paddock, but when he shut the door, everything went quiet.

  Soundproofing, he realized. Nice. He fastened a reassuringly mechanical seat belt and surveyed the car interior. The curved seats and floor were upholstered in a thick, woven black material and small mirrors had been fixed all around the windscreen to allow every rider a clear view of the car’s surroundings. Arthur’s trainers sat on a slanted footrest and above, where Arthur would expect to find a steering wheel and dashboard, there was instead a long silver panel punctured with two cup holders and a golf-ball-sized glass orb that throbbed with green light.

  “That’s the best I can do,” Cecily grumbled from behind.

  Arthur looked over his shoulder. Cloud was strapped into a makeshift doggy harness that Cecily had cobbled together using two seat belts, Cloud’s lead and her leather jacket. He seemed comfortable and secure, which Arthur thought was a remarkable achievement considering the little dog’s fondness for wriggling. Cecily gave Cloud a kiss on his head before fitting him with his helmet and whispering, “Good boy. It’s going to be OK.”

  Arthur’s throat tightened as he turned back around. It was clearly not going to be OK. They needed a plan, and they needed one fast.

  There was a burst of noise as Ren yanked open the front-right door, settled into the seat beside Arthur, and slammed the door shut again. “I hope I haven’t just given people a reason to be suspicious of us,” she admitted, her cheeks flushed. “I just called Falcon’s Fury a bunch of names that are probably too stupid to still exist in the twenty-fifth century.”

  “Maybe not, if pipsqueak is still in use,” Arthur commented. “Are you all right?”

  “Not now I’m sitting in this deathtrap,” she replied, securing her seat belt.

  As if “deathtrap” was a cue to switch on, the glowing orb on the panel brightened and the holographic head of a half-human, half-lizard materialized. The creature had wide yellow eyes, scaly green skin and a mop of centre-parted dark hair.

  “Good evening, Pipsqueaks,” he said in a soft French accent. “I will be your driver for today’s race. I advise you to wear your seat belts and helmets from now on. How are you feeling?”

  Arthur’s mouth went dry. The only reason he could think of to explain their driver’s reptilian features was that he was based on some real-life alien from the Known Universe. “We’re just great,” he croaked, staring at the lizard-man’s slit-shaped pupils.

  “Pleased to hear it,” the driver replied. Outside, the floor of the building had cleared, and technicians and supporters were making their way to the viewing terraces. “If you turn your attention to the front window, you can view our proposed route.” The windscreen darkened and a flashing green outline of the racetrack and its surrounding terrain appeared. “I have plotted a course to ensure you reach the finish line safely.”

  Arthur tried to concentrate on the map but it was difficult not to be distracted by the driver’s forked tongue flicking between his lips as he spoke.

  “We will cruise along the centre of the road,” the driver explained, “decelerate on entry into each of the twelve corners and take an easy line into the straights. I predict you will finish tenth overall.”

  “Last, then,” Ren said, turning to Arthur. “What are we going to do?”

  Arthur chewed on his bottom lip, searching for inspiration. The most predictable way to win a race was to drive the fastest around the track, but the riddle scroll had said the answer to the race was unexpected.

  He pictured Tomoe Gozen riding into battle down the side of a mountain, then he remembered something he’d seen listed among the safety features of their car…

  A horrible idea began to take shape in his mind. As he was thinking, he felt a tingle at the base of his skull, which worked its way over his head to his temples.

  “Something’s happening to your cloak,” Ren said, tugging on his sleeve. “Look.”

  Numbers and symbols written in Newton’s distinctive handwriting had appeared in the water on Arthur’s Wondercloak. He wasn’t sure how or why, but it was doing something to him. He suddenly realized he knew things, things he hadn’t been aware of before. He made a series of quick calculations: wind speed, trajectory, total weight of vehicle and passengers, distance, landing time…

  The ground shuddered. Something was going on outside but Arthur was only vaguely aware of it. “Driver? I need you to plot a new route.”

  The lizard-man turned in his direction. “Your route will be locked in under a minute,” he warned. “What are your proposed changes?”

  Arthur steeled his nerves. “I want you to ignore the racetrack and drive us directly from the start line to the finish line, over the side of the canyon at sixty-two point four decimal degrees north and seven point six decimal degrees east. We must be moving at a speed of one hundred and forty-five kilometres per hour when we drive over the edge.”

  The lizard-man’s response was immediate. “Very well. This is your new route.” The image on the windscreen changed to a dotted line that veered off the track just after the start line and plummeted directly towards the finish in the valley below.

  “Are you crazy?” Ren sliced her palm through the air, pointing to the windscreen. “This isn’t The Fast and the Furious! If we drive off the side of the mountain, we’ll crash and explode into a million pieces!”

  “Route locked in,” the lizard-man announced with a toothy grin. “Travel with wonder!” The image of their journey promptly vanished from the windscreen, although the lizard-man’s head remained.

  Cecily gripped Arthur’s shoulder. “What have you done?” she squeaked.

  Hearing the terror in her voice, he tried his best to explain. “This is the only strategy that makes sense. It’s like what we did aboard the Principia – destroying the obstacles rather than
steering away from them. We have to come at the challenge from a different angle.” He glanced again at his Wondercloak, which had returned to normal. “Also, I think my cloak just gave me the ability to do complex calculations. Don’t ask me how.”

  It was at that moment he noticed what was happening outside. In front of them, the far wall of the red building had slid skywards, exposing the start of a wide road through the dark forest outside. The race-marshal mimics that Arthur had spotted earlier flanked the track every few metres. Small but powerful lights shone from their chests to illuminate the way, like some sort of iron-woman honour guard.

  “This is it,” Ren hissed. “The start line has to be on the other side of those trees.”

  Out of nowhere, music started playing inside the car – a fast-tempo orchestral piece with jerky violins, like part of the score to an action movie. Arthur assumed it was designed to make the whole experience more dramatic, as if it needed any help.

  As the car rolled out of the building, the night sky appeared overhead. Leaves skittered across the windscreen, falling from the trees bowing in the wind. To Arthur’s left, the other eight red vehicles advanced at the same steady pace. He couldn’t hear the roar of their engines, but judging by the ear protectors everyone was wearing, the noise was ferociously loud.

  Cold sweat beaded on the back of his neck as the start line came into view. A large bank of seating was erected on one side, filled with a sea of riotous supporters, all cheering and waving flags. Painted on the tarmac behind the start line was a grid of ten white boxes sitting two abreast. As the Pipsqueaks’ car drove into the last box on the grid, Arthur spotted the White Tiger appearing from a side road and assuming its position at the head of the pack.

  A gantry of red lights was suspended above the start line.