Stopping at one of the doors, M-73 held out a finger and pushed it against the stone. As the slab slid open, Arthur jerked his head in surprise. The room inside was as big as a house, set out on two open-plan levels. Through the railings of a mezzanine above, he spied the edge of an unmade bed and a table stacked with dirty plates. Downstairs, an incredible workshop filled the floor.
Arthur recognized a few pieces of apparatus lying on the clean surfaces of the workstations – a pink-flamed Bunsen burner, a set of floating test tubes and a beaker he’d spotted in Newton’s study. But most of the equipment was new to him. A transparent machine filled with red gas buzzed loudly in one corner; holographic screens glided in and out of focus, and glowing liquids gurgled away in racks of conical flasks. It was like a cross between a live-in scientist’s laboratory and a wizard’s lair.
Angry voices sounded at the back of the room. “Boss?” M-73 called, whizzing forwards. He passed a dog bed, where Cloud was asleep. At the rear of the lab, a large black hoody was slung over a well-worn leather office chair, tucked under a desk. Hanging above was a noticeboard filled with scribbled notes, highlighted newspaper cuttings and annotated pages ripped from books. The portraits of a dozen people stared out from a number of postcards pinned around the board’s edge. One showed a Japanese woodblock print of a dark-haired woman in samurai armour riding a black horse with yellow eyes: Tomoe Gozen.
Milo Hertz, Valeria Mal’fey and Tiburon Nox were standing around a dark Wonderway frame, talking. Milo looked exactly like M-73, except he had legs instead of hover-wheels and there were dark circles under his pale grey eyes. Arthur couldn’t help but like him instantly. His hunched bearing and the shy way he peered out from under his hair made it seem like he’d just woken up one morning in that wrestler-sized body and never got used to it. He was dressed in jeans and a Hawaiian shirt, this one featuring pineapples.
“Hey, M-73,” Milo said, raising his hand. “Thanks for coming. Valeria wants me to go over some profit projections she sent us last week,” he said tiredly. “Can you get me a copy?”
Valeria’s rust-red hair was slicked against her scalp like a layer of grease. She wore an acid-green trouser suit with wedge heels. “It’s quite simple, Milo,” she said drily. “They’re going down. The Wonderscape’s been open for five years and player numbers are stagnating. Do I need to remind you that we invested all of our parents’ inheritance in the company? Unless we increase profits, we’ll lose everything.”
Tiburon Nox towered next to her, his oily black Wondercloak dripping from his shoulders. “We’re not beating our rivals any more. Warstar’s share prices have risen, as have Techmax Games’s.” In the greenish glow of the orb lights, he looked positively ghostly. “I want people to associate one name with in-reality gaming: Hxperion. Anything less than the best is not good enough.”
“What we need,” Valeria said, tapping her chin with a perfectly manicured finger, “is to give our consumers something they’ve never experienced before, something unique to the Wonderscape.”
“We already have a unique selling point!” Milo insisted. “Our realms are themed around heroes from human history.”
“Yes, that was a good idea of yours – to begin with,” Valeria conceded. “But five years on, it’s just tired interior décor.”
Milo shrugged, his pineapple shirt stretching across his muscles. “Isn’t it enough that people are enjoying the game and we continue to get great reviews? The Wonderscape is making people happy – that’s the whole reason I agreed to be a part of this business, to inspire people.”
“Inspiration has no net value,” Tiburon said, gazing down his long nose at his younger brother. “I, however, have been pioneering a new mind-transfer technology, a way to copy the contents of a human brain into a mimic. It’s something we could use to enhance our current operations.” He snorted. “I’d like to see Warstar compete with that.”
Milo stared at him. “Mind transfer? Tiburon, are you serious? That’s not ethical.”
“You treat your M-classes like people anyway,” Tiburon sneered. “I find it distasteful myself.”
“What’s distasteful is that they all must have our faces,” Milo retorted.
“It’s called branding, Milo,” Valeria scolded, as if she’d had to remind him of it a thousand times before. “The more our faces are seen, the more widely we are known.” She signalled to Tiburon. “At least Tiburon’s trying to find a solution. You’re refusing to acknowledge the problem. Whatever happens, we need to announce a new feature of game play by Expo 2469, or Hxperion will be in serious trouble.”
The vision abruptly disintegrated into clunky grey-scale pixels. Arthur blinked several times, but it didn’t correct the problem. When the image finally sharpened, he found himself watching a different recording in Milo’s live-in laboratory.
This time, the place was a wreck. The floor was covered in broken glass; drawers and cupboards were hanging open and apparatus lay smashed on the worktops. Racing to his desk, Milo Hertz was clutching Cloud, wrapped in a black hoody. Arthur recognized Milo’s outfit as the one he’d been wearing when he ran across the stage at Expo 2469.
Milo placed his bundle on the floor and Cloud wriggled out from inside, the obsidian time-key still dangling from his collar. “M-73, are you all right?” Milo asked, wiping sweat from his brow.
M-73 wobbled forwards. “There were T-classes here, boss,” he explained anxiously. “They found the time crystal you were working on yesterday and got away with it. I tried to stop them.”
“It’s not your fault,” Milo reassured the M-class. Kneeling at the foot of the Wonderway, he tapped a number into the keypad and inserted a realm-key from his pocket. The frame burst into a swirling mass of blue vapour with an arched wooden door in the centre. “Tiburon confronted me at the Expo. He’d been spying on the lab and had found out about the time crystal I hid here. When he spotted the other crystal on Cloud’s collar, I had to get out of there.”
“What shall we do now?” M-73 asked urgently.
Milo fiddled with something on Cloud’s foot. “First, we have to get this crystal out of Tiburon’s reach.” He gave Cloud a serious look, staring into his fluffy white face. “Listen, you need to protect this crystal. I’ve activated your tracking device; get as far away from here as you can and await my instructions; I’ll be in contact as soon as I’m able.”
There was a loud bang from somewhere behind M-73, and he swivelled round to see Tiburon Nox marching through the crumbled doorway of Milo’s quarters. Ten T-class mimics flanked him like a troop of ghostly bodyguards, each carrying a smoking sword – the same weapon Arthur had seen them wielding in the Wondernews video.
“Cloud, go!” Milo urged.
The little dog nudged the wooden door open with the tip of his nose and bounded through. It closed behind him with a click; the blue mist evaporated and the black Wonderway frame returned.
Tiburon whispered something in the ear of one of his T-class units, who did an about turn and whizzed away.
“You’re too late, Tiburon!” Milo cried. “You won’t find him.”
The corners of Tiburon’s mouth wrinkled. “I wouldn’t be so sure, brother. I have spies everywhere. And it’s a good job I do, or else I wouldn’t have discovered this.” Dangling from the tip of his bony finger was a glittering black time-key. Arthur could just about see the initials MH etched on the hexagonal base. “When, precisely, were you going to tell me you’d developed a method of time travel?”
Milo’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t mean to invent it and I wasn’t going to share it with you. It’s dangerous. It needs to be destroyed.” He went to snatch the time-key off his brother, but Tiburon swiped it away, out of his reach.
“You invented it by accident?” Tiburon said, sounding amused. “How typically unambitious of you. Don’t you realize what could be achieved with this technology? It won’t be dangerous if I control it.”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” Mil
o murmured. He glanced warily at Tiburon’s T-class units. “History isn’t something to be messed with.”
Tiburon growled, “And neither am I.” His knuckles turned white as he tightened his fist around the time-key. “With this tool, Hxperion can pulverize its competition and build a grand legacy. We can be the most powerful organization in the Known Universe.”
“Playing with time isn’t like playing chess,” Milo argued, staring down his brother. “I won’t let you do this, Tib.” He pounded a large fist onto the desk behind him, making the whole thing shake. A glass of water fell off the side and shattered.
Tiburon’s nostrils flared. “Then I’m afraid you leave me no choice.” He whispered to one of his T-class units, and four of them approached Milo.
“What are you doing?” Milo asked, edging back.
Tiburon moved to the Wonderway and tapped a number in the keypad. “Placing you somewhere you won’t be able to stop me.”
Milo glanced fearfully at the Wonderway. There was no door inside, just a curtain of thick blue smoke. “That’s a closed realm.”
“Yes. One of mine, in fact – that’s how I’m certain there’ll be no way for you to leave. I was going to open it at the Expo, but I decided it should remain closed.”
The T-classes glided towards Milo, their hands outstretched. Milo stumbled back into his desk as they grabbed him by the shoulders and searched his pockets. “M-73, help!”
M-73 zoomed forwards to intervene, but his path was blocked by another three T-class units wielding smoking blades.
“You can’t expect me to just walk through there,” Milo exclaimed as the T-class units emptied several realm-keys from his pockets.
After whispering something in the ear of another T-class, Tiburon’s voice went cold. “I don’t expect you to walk. Goodbye, brother.”
Milo’s eyes flashed with terror. “No!” But the T-classes tossed him through the wall of smoke as if he weighed no more than a sack of newspaper.
Looking on, Arthur felt Tiburon’s betrayal like a stab to the chest. How could he do that to his own brother?
Tiburon waited until the Wonderway had closed before turning to address his T-class mimics. “My brother has fled,” he said coolly. “Make sure the press are tipped off about his troubled finances. Oh, and destroy this place and anything that moves inside it.”
Before storming out of the apartment, he browsed Milo’s noticeboard and ripped down several postcards. “I’ll give our investors something no I-RAG is offering,” he muttered angrily.
As the T-class mimics swarmed M-73, the recording faded to black. Arthur’s pulse was racing when he opened his eyes. “We’ve had it wrong this whole time! Milo didn’t run away, he was trapped!”
Ren glanced in the direction of the main hall. “I might be able to open the closed realms using that controller,” she said thoughtfully. “But we still need to figure out which one Milo was sent to.”
Arthur tucked M-73’s neuro-processor inside his rucksack for safekeeping and glanced at his watch. Countdown to protoplasm was now twenty-eight hours away. If they wanted to save the heroes and get home, they had to reach Milo before the clock ran out. Arthur swallowed and kicked off the grate. “Time’s against us. Let’s go.”
They raced back into the main hall. Ren hurried to the controller at the foot of the large screen and started working. Arthur noticed Cloud’s ears flatten as he cowered by Cecily’s legs. “I don’t mean to panic everyone,” she said nervously, peering up, “but is that what I think it is?”
Arthur threw his head back. Strapped to the ceiling was a large green device in the shape of a triangle. It featured vials of coloured liquid, wires, and a holographic countdown panel with under five minutes remaining.
He might not be an expert, but Arthur had watched enough action movies with his dad to know what the device was.
A bomb.
17
The bomb’s ticking echoed around the hall. “We need to leave, now!” Arthur hollered.
“Just a few more seconds…” A bead of sweat trickled down Ren’s forehead as she focused on the screen, using the controller to make changes to the long list of realms. Her jaw trembled. “I have to get all the realms open, otherwise we’ve no chance of reaching Milo Hertz.”
Arthur briefly considered taking a photo of the list with his phone, but then he checked the holographic countdown panel on the bomb. They had less than four minutes before it detonated and he reckoned they’d need most of that just to clear the building.
“All right – done!” Ren threw back the controller, and on the largest holographic screen, every red CLOSED status changed to a green OPEN one. “Let’s go!”
Cecily grabbed Cloud and the three of them charged towards the exit. Arthur’s thighs burned as he bolted up the stairs two at a time and hurtled through the stone door. They ran as fast as they could away from the IGC building, their feet pounding the hard earth. The streets were darker now and as they raced past various stalls and shops, Arthur noticed the T-class units were holding weapons – the same smoking swords he’d seen before. When they were two streets away, a deep boom reverberated through the air; the ground shook and dust crumbled from the walls of buildings.
The bomb had detonated.
Arthur’s heart was thudding as he skidded to a stop in an empty alleyway off one of the main thoroughfares. “Did you see the T-classes? They’re all armed!”
Ren drew her bow, panting. “Valeria’s message must have got through. Tiburon’s looking for us.”
Thinking of the ruthless man they’d seen in those recordings, panic built in Arthur’s chest. If Tiburon had locked his own brother in a closed realm of the Wonderscape to keep him quiet, there was no telling what he’d do to them. Perhaps there was a fate worse than being turned into slime…
The sunflowers on Cecily’s Wondercloak bristled. “What are we going to do? We’re trapped.”
The streets were quieter now that most of the stalls had been cleared away, but there were still plenty of mimics and wanderers milling around – and anyone who’d read yesterday evening’s Wondernews might be able to identify them as the Pipsqueaks. Arthur spied a hooded figure watching them from under the awning of a closed shop. The figure’s face was in shadow but Arthur could make out a person of medium-height, wearing a long black cloak and leather gloves. “We need to get out of the city,” he decided. “The longer we remain around others, the more danger we’re in.”
“We could fly away on Cloud,” Ren suggested, “but it might attract too much attention. It’s safer to leave on foot.”
“If we’re heading back into the desert, then we’ll need torches,” Cecily said, reaching for her phone. After a moment’s hesitation, Arthur and Ren did the same. It was worth the risk of their phones being seen.
They set off at a frantic pace towards the stone archway on the edge of the city. Fiery braziers crackled on every corner and laughter and music drifted through the streets. Above the jumbled rooftops, the sky was speckled with millions of pinprick stars. Arthur had never seen so many shining so brightly before, and wished he wasn’t fleeing so he could stop and appreciate the view.
Turning into the main market square, he caught sight of the hooded stranger that had been watching them. The figure was half hidden behind a group of mimics unloading Persian rugs from a wooden cart. “I think we’re being followed,” he told Ren and Cecily. “Over there, behind the carpets. It could be a spy for Tiburon or Valeria.”
Ren took a sneaky glance. “If we leave the city now, they’ll only follow us into the desert. Let’s double back on ourselves and try to shake them off.”
They broke into a run along a side street, their phone-torches flashing across the ground. After weaving through a crowd of wanderers, they shot past a parade of noisy restaurants and dodged into an alleyway. Arthur glanced over his shoulder. “I can’t see them. Let’s get out of here.”
Emerging back into the main square, they rushed under the stone archw
ay and ventured into the desert. The air was cool and quiet, and the shadows of the dunes looked like giant’s footprints. Arthur’s calves ached as he trudged through the sand, trying to get as far away from the city as possible. “I’m parched,” he admitted, halfway up another dune. “Do you think it’s safe for us to stop for some…”
His words faded as an enormous gold dome rose over the top of the dune. Arthur tripped and fell to his knees as the dome climbed higher and narrowed into the shape of a balloon, carrying a large metal basket. If he tilted his head at the right angle, he could see a grid of pale blue light wrapped around them both, like some sort of holographic shield. With a deafening growl, a column of deep purple flames shot into the balloon’s neck and lights flickered in a complex pattern under its surface.
Arthur was kneeling there, gawping, when a pair of large hands grabbed him from behind and a rough hessian sack was thrown over his head. “Oi, get off me!” he yelled, trying to wriggle free.
Cecily screamed and Cloud growled. Ren, Arthur was pretty sure, managed to punch her captor because he heard her yell, “Take that!”
Arthur felt himself lifted off his feet. The roar of the balloon’s burner grew louder as he was thrown against a cold, shuddering surface. The next thing he knew, the sack over his head was ripped off, and he was staring up at a man with beady dark eyes, a well-groomed moustache and bushy brows.
“Greetings,” the man said, with an expression of easy amusement.
Ren and Cecily, who Arthur was relieved to see sitting beside him, both spoke at once.
“Who are you?”
“What’s your problem?”
The stranger glanced at Ren, who had delivered the second question. “Apologies for kidnapping you, but you were attracting too much attention on land and I had to get you to safety. There wasn’t time to discuss the matter.”
Wonderscape Page 15
