“Check it out,” Frank said from the seat beside me. “I found another interesting site. Looks like those bloggers the ATAC material mentioned are ramping up their attacks now that the park is about to open.”
I tore my gaze away from the view long enough to glance over. Frank was hunched over his laptop. Well, as hunched as he could get with his safety belt and shoulder strap firmly and properly attached, that is. Typical Frank.
“You’re missing some great scenery,” I told him. “Not to mention an amazing ride.” I leaned forward and clapped the pilot on the shoulder. He glanced back and gave me a grin and a thumbs-up.
“Never mind that.” Frank looked up. After shooting a glance at the pilot to make sure he wasn’t listening, he went on. “Look at this—there’s a guy out there posting all over the web, claiming he’ll do anything he can to stop Galaxy X from becoming a success.”
I sighed. Frank could be a nerd sometimes, but he was a persistent nerd. I figured I’d better look at what he’d found. Then maybe he’d leave me alone and I could go back to enjoying the ride.
“Who is he?” I asked, leaning over for a look at the screen.
It was a skateboarding message board. Frank pointed to a post at the top. The headline read REAL SK8RS UNITE! and the poster’s tag was Sk8rH8r.
“Skater Hater,” I said. “Clever. So what’s he ranting about?”
Frank scrolled farther down. “He says GX will just be a way for coddled suburban kids to pretend they’re living on the edge,” he said. “He seems to think it will cheapen the experience of real X Gamer types.”
“I see his point, I guess.” I shrugged. “Doesn’t seem worth getting so worked up about, though. It’d be like us freaking out over kids pretending to ride motorcycles in video games just because we ride ours for real. I mean, who cares?”
“A lot of people, apparently.” Frank clicked on a different tab so a new site displayed. STOP GX! was at the top in huge, blinking neon letters.
“Whoa.” I grabbed the laptop and scrolled down, scanning the site. It seemed people really were angry about this theme park. Angry enough to create a whole website about it. “But like I said, who cares? If the park is as lame as they all claim, it’ll fail anyway.”
“Doubtful. Just about everything Tyrone McKenzie touches turns to gold.” Frank leaned over and clicked onto a new site, this one a biography of the wealthy music producer. “See?”
“I’ll take your word for it.” I handed back the laptop. We would be at Galaxy X soon, and I didn’t want to waste any more of the flight on boring research. I figured we’d get a feel for what was going on when we arrived.
Frank frowned. “Look, don’t forget this is a mission, not a vacation,” he said in his nerdiest older-brother voice. “We need to be up to speed when we get there. Preview Daze starts tomorrow, remember?”
“What’s to research? You already dug up those anti-GX websites—what else is there to know?” I was feeling kind of impatient. The pilot had settled down and was flying straight. I really wanted to encourage him to throw in a few more stunts before we reached our destination. But I couldn’t with Frank buzzing in my ear.
“Well, for one thing, it would help to get familiar with McKenzie’s background and family situation.” Now Frank was morphing from dorky older brother to stodgy professor. “It always helps to be prepared.”
“Thanks, Scout Leader Hardy.” I rolled my eyes off Frank’s disapproving look. “Whatever. Why don’t you fill me in on the gist?”
“Fine. McKenzie himself is a media mogul—he produces not only tons of music acts, but some TV and other stuff as well.” Frank scanned the page in front of him. “It says here he’s an avid amateur astronomer, loves all sports, and was a competitive skier for a while when he was younger. Opening a place like Galaxy X, aimed at what he calls ‘boys and boys at heart,’ is a lifelong dream.”
I snorted. “Boys at heart?”
Even Frank grinned and shook his head. “Anyway, he has one kid from his first marriage—a son, Nicholas, who’s a few years older than us. Then there’s an eighteen-year-old stepdaughter from his second marriage. Then, from his third marriage—”
“Whoa, how many times has this dude gotten hitched?”
Frank shot me a look. I could practically read the thought balloon: If you’d done any research you’d already know that, you hopeless slacker.
But he didn’t say it. “Three, actually,” he said instead. “His current wife is a former beauty queen from Texas. They have an infant son named Tyrone Jr.”
At that moment the chopper banked sharply, tossing us both against our safety belts. The pilot pulled off his earphones and glanced back. “Sorry about that, guys,” he yelled over the roar of the engine. “Just avoiding a bird. We’ll be arriving at Galaxy X soon.”
“Thanks!” I leaned over and pressed my face against the window, scanning the horizon for the first glimpse of GX.
“You heard him, Joe. We don’t have much time to review this stuff, so . . . ,” Frank said.
“Right,” I agreed. “That means it’s too late. We might as well forget the homework and play it by ear for now.”
Frank frowned. He hates when I want to play things by ear.
“Okay, even if you don’t care about the background info, maybe you’ll be interested in the list of celebrities who are supposed to turn up to this preview thing.” He tapped another few keys, then turned the screen toward me. “Here it is.”
That piqued my curiosity a little. Leaning toward him again, I scanned the list. It consisted mostly of rock stars, professional athletes, and well-known young actors. I also spotted a sportscaster, some TV hosts, and a couple of comedians. Several hot bands were scheduled to perform at the grand opening, including Mr. Nice Guyz, the Royal We, and other familiar names from the top of the charts.
“Whoa, check it out!” I exclaimed. “Cody Zane and David Sanders are coming.”
“Who?” said Frank. “Oh, wait. You mean those skateboard guys?”
“Not just those skateboard guys,” I said. “The skateboard guys. They’re incredible! I swear, some of their moves totally defy gravity.”
Frank tapped more keys. “Hmm, looks like Cody Zane is playing a major role this week, actually,” he said with interest. “There’s going to be some kind of contest. . . .”
I wasn’t really listening after that. That was because I’d just leaned back to the window and caught my first glimpse of Galaxy X.
And trust me, there was no mistaking it. I mean, where else would you see a five-hundred-foot-tall volcano rising up out of the otherwise flat chain of barrier islands?
Even Frank lost interest in his research when I pointed it out. And no wonder. The closer we got, the more spectacular GX looked.
For one thing, the place was huge. In addition to the enormous fake mountain at the center, there was tons of gleaming metal everywhere—roller coaster tracks, a bunch of parked vehicles that looked like Indy cars, and more that I couldn’t make out from the air. I spotted several big domes, like the kind you see over indoor tennis courts. There were some long dirt tracks that I guessed were for BMX or similar sports. Swathes of sparkling white snow coated the northern slopes of the mountain. A space shuttle—yeah, that’s right, a freaking full-size space shuttle—was parked near the base of the ski slopes. Even in the bright daylight, neon was visible all over the place. And water was everywhere—surrounding most of the base of the mountain and in large pools throughout the park.
“The whole place is laid out in the shape of a big X,” Frank commented as he peered down through his own window.
“Hey, you’re right!” I hadn’t noticed until he said it. But the two main paths through the park did form a huge X. They seemed to be paved with something different from the rest—black asphalt inset with silvery metallic stuff that glinted brightly in the sunlight.
“Landing in five, guys!” the pilot called back to us as the chopper swooped lower.
I saw that we were aiming
for a cluster of nondescript buildings at one edge of the big X. We landed on the roof of the largest one, a sleek, low-slung, office-type building.
“Welcome to GX HQ,” the pilot said, saluting. “Enjoy your stay at the coolest place in the galaxy.”
It sounded pretty scripted. But who cared? I couldn’t wait to get out and start checking out the place!
Soon we were standing in a hushed, overly air-conditioned office lobby. Expensive-looking oil paintings hung on the walls, and everything seemed to be made of mahogany and brass.
“I’m so sorry,” the receptionist told us. “Mr. McKenzie was expecting you, but he got called away unexpectedly to meet with local news media at the base of Mount McKenzie.”
Mount McKenzie, huh? Okay, research or no research, I already knew at least one thing about this Tyrone McKenzie guy. He definitely had a serious ego!
A man had stepped into the reception area just in time to hear what the receptionist said. “Typical,” he grunted. “Tyrone never thinks twice about making everyone else wait for him.”
I looked the newcomer over. He was maybe fifty years old, tall and sort of swarthy, with permanent frown lines in his brow. His suit looked like it probably cost more than my parents’ house.
Meanwhile Frank was still talking to the receptionist. “Maybe we can head out and track him down,” he suggested. “We’re really, uh, eager to get settled in.”
McKenzie himself knew we were coming, of course. So did his immediate family. But our ATAC instructions had warned us not to clue anyone else in on our true identities—not even McKenzie’s employees. There was no telling whether any of them might be involved. So as far as the receptionist knew, we were just a couple of ordinary brothers who’d won a radio contest.
“I don’t know . . . ,” she said, sounding dubious. “Preview Daze hasn’t officially started yet, which means the park is still technically closed to everyone except staff and crew. I think perhaps it would be better if you had a seat and waited for Mr. McKenzie to return.”
“Why should these two young men waste a beautiful morning sitting around waiting for Tyrone to remember they exist?” The swarthy guy stepped forward and extended a hand toward us. “You two must be the contest winners I heard were coming, eh? Congratulations, and welcome to Galaxy X. I’m Jack Smith, one of Mr. McKenzie’s business partners.”
Frank and I shook hands and introduced ourselves. “We’re really looking forward to checking this place out,” I said.
Smith chuckled. “I’m sure you are. It’s quite an experience.” He gestured for us to follow him past the reception desk. “Come on, I’ll show you how to find Tyrone.”
Ignoring the receptionist, who still looked worried, Frank and I followed. We headed into a hallway and then down some stairs. Soon we were stepping outside into a small parking lot. Half a dozen shiny new Utility Terrain Vehicles were parked near the door.
“Sweet!” I exclaimed, hurrying forward to check them out.
A big, beefy young security guard stepped forward to block me. “Can I help you?” he said in a polite but firm voice. “This is a restricted area.”
“It’s okay, Wallace.” Smith had emerged by now. “These are a couple of our radio contest winners. I was just going to point them toward Mount McKenzie so Mr. McKenzie can welcome them to Galaxy X. I was thinking they could take one of the dune buggies here.”
“Oh!” Wallace’s expression lightened up. He actually looked pretty friendly when he wasn’t going all stern on us. “Yeah, it’s a hot day and the mountain is pretty far. Why don’t you borrow Nick’s vehicle?” The guard waved a hand at one of the UTVs, a bright purple number with silver racing stripes. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”
Wallace was sweating like crazy in his long-sleeved guard uniform. He also didn’t look like he was in very good shape. I guessed Frank and I wouldn’t have any trouble making it halfway across the park on foot without collapsing. Still, I wasn’t about to turn down a chance to test-drive one of the UTVs.
“Sure!” I said before Frank could open his mouth. “Thanks, that’d be awesome.”
“All right then.” Smith was already turning to head back inside. “I’ll let Wallace give you directions. Enjoy your stay, boys.”
“Thank you, sir,” Frank said. “We appreciate your help.”
“I’ll drive,” I volunteered, vaulting into the UTV before Frank could protest. “And I don’t think we need directions. I’m guessing we just aim for that.” I pointed at the mountain rising from the center of the park.
Wallace looked amused. “Pretty much,” he agreed. “Just take that path on the other side of the lot and make a left onto the main path. The mountain will be dead ahead.”
“Thanks.” Frank climbed into the passenger seat. The guard gave us a wave, then wandered back to his post near the door. He looked kind of bored. It had to be tough just to stand around doing the guard thing with all that cool stuff so close at hand.
But I forgot about Wallace as I started the UTV. “Sweet,” I declared as the engine roared to life. “This thing’s really souped up!”
“Just be careful,” said Frank.
I grinned at him and revved the engine. He rolled his eyes, but I thought I caught a ghost of a smile. Frank might be kind of uptight sometimes, but underneath his Mr. Good Guy front he loves action and adventure as much as I do.
Aiming for the path, I stepped on the gas. The UTV handled like a dream. All I had to do was breathe on the wheel to get it weaving back and forth. Talk about power steering!
As soon as we’d rounded the corner onto one of those wide, glittery black paths we’d seen from the air, I opened her up a little. “Let’s see what this baby can do!” I called over the roar of the engine. We passed the entrance to a roller coaster called the Leap and a couple of snack and souvenir stands, moving faster and faster.
“Take it easy, Joe.” Frank clutched the edge of his seat as I careened around another corner onto a smaller, white-paved path past a huge sign proclaiming that this part of the park was SK8R PARADISE. “Hey, where are you going? The mountain’s that way!”
“Don’t worry,” I yelled back. Kicking her back up to top speed, I turned back toward the main path, aiming for the mountain rising in the distance straight ahead. “Just taking a little detour. This thing can handle—whoa!”
I’d just touched the steering wheel to zigzag around a rock in the path. The trouble was, it had zigged all right—but it hadn’t zagged. Even when I grabbed the wheel with both hands and hauled on it, the UTV kept going in the same direction—straight toward a huge, sunken half-pipe off to the left!
“Joe! What are you doing?” Frank was holding on with both hands now as the UTV careened toward the edge of the concrete half-pipe. “Stop!”
“I’m trying!” I stomped on the brakes again and again. But it was no use. They were dead—just like the steering. There was no way to stop our vehicle from plunging over the edge to the concrete at least twenty feet below!
No Time to Lose
“Jump!” Joe shouted.
I didn’t have to be told twice. I pushed off against my seat.
“Oof!” I hit the ground hard, rolling over several times. Yeah, that was definitely going to leave a bruise.
CRASH!
I winced as I heard the UTV smash against the ground far below. Pieces clattered against the smooth sides of the half-pipe, and what looked like a piece of the bumper flew up over the edge and landed on the grass near me.
I sat up, rubbing my shoulder and elbow, and glanced around for Joe. He was just sitting up a few yards away. His face was pale.
“Whoa,” he said. Pushing himself to his feet, he hurried to the edge. “Close call.”
“A little too close.” I joined him and looked down. The UTV was smashed to smithereens. If we’d been in it . . . “You okay?” I asked.
Joe nodded. “A few scrapes and bruises,” he said. “I’ll live. You?”
“Ditto.” I brushed the di
rt off my shorts, then squinted toward the mountain rising in the center of the park. “Looks like we’ll be walking the rest of the way.”
“Yeah.” Joe started to turn away, then shot one last look into the half-pipe. “But on the bright side, this place rules. Check out that half-pipe! Can’t wait to give it a try.”
I couldn’t help laughing. That’s my brother for you: Mr. Short Attention Span!
It was an interesting walk to the base of Mount McKenzie. We passed all kinds of cool attractions, from an enormous neon-encrusted video arcade to a Wild West–themed building called the Saloon. I had to practically put a leash on Joe to get him past the entrance to the BMX track.
The man-made mountain looked even more impressive up close. Its southern slopes were dotted with different climbing walls and zip lines. The snowy northern half wasn’t visible from this angle.
Tyrone McKenzie was standing near the edge of the man-made lake at the base of the biggest climbing wall. I recognized him right away from my research. He was an average-looking guy of average height. Still, there was something commanding about him. Maybe it was the expensive haircut, or the carefully casual khakis and shirt, or the South Pacific tan. Then again, maybe it was the knowledge that he was worth something north of a billion bucks.
In any case, he was on his cell phone at the moment. Several people I assumed to be his family were watching the local news crew pack up its equipment. Joe and I waited until the news crew had hurried off, then stepped forward and introduced ourselves.
“Right,” McKenzie said, lowering his cell phone—actually a super-high-tech PDA—from his ear. “Glad you finally made it. Are you going to help me track down whoever’s trying to ruin me?”
“We’re certainly going to try, sir.” I glanced at the others. “Is it safe to talk freely?”
“Huh?” McKenzie had glanced down at his PDA again while I was talking. Now he looked up and around. “Oh. Of course. This is my family—my wife, Delfina, and our son, Tyrone Jr. That’s Erica over there, and Nick.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Delfina trilled. She was tall, blond, and stunning. And pretty young-looking. The pudgy baby she was holding was playing happily with a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses.
Galaxy X Page 2
