Galaxy X

by Franklin W. Dixon

  A couple of Cody’s bodyguards hustled him off to the medical center despite his protests. I couldn’t blame them. Someone shouted to call Mr. McKenzie, while someone else got on the loudspeaker and ordered the other riders on the course back in. In all the confusion, Joe and I had no trouble slipping away.

  “Wow, that was close!” Joe exclaimed as we paused just outside. “Should we check for clues in the equipment shed? Maybe other bikes were tampered with.”

  “Nah, the employees will be on top of that,” I said. “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go see if Mr. W. Whatever Jackson is still outside. It might be time for a serious talk with him.”

  We headed for the main gate. “Do you really think that old dude did this?” asked Joe, sounding doubtful.

  “I don’t know. I’m still not convinced he has the access. But we should figure it out for sure before we tackle the trickier suspects.”

  “You mean McKenzie and Son?”

  “Bingo.”

  But when we got outside, there was no sign of any of the protesters. “Cops showed up a couple of hours ago and hauled them all off to the station,” the security guard on duty reported. “Guess Mr. McKenzie talked them into taking things seriously after, you know . . .” He glanced around and added somberly, “Mr. Smith.”

  “So much for that,” I muttered as we walked back inside.

  “Still doesn’t mean Jackson couldn’t have done it,” Joe pointed out. “Who knows how long ago that bike was messed with? There aren’t many people here using the equipment yet. It’s possible someone loosened that wheel hours ago—even days ago.”

  “True,” I agreed. “But how likely is it that Jackson could’ve hobbled in here on his cane and done it?”

  “I hear you,” Joe said. “But like we were saying earlier, he could have an accomplice. Maybe one of those other protesters?”

  I still wasn’t totally convinced. Somehow I just couldn’t imagine the polite housewives and earnest hippies we’d seen earlier pulling something like this.

  “Anyway, looks like we’ll have to wait on questioning any of the protesters,” I said. “So what now? Want to follow up on the Nick theory?”

  “For sure.” Joe nodded. “Speaking of which, I found out some juicy info earlier. . . .”

  He filled me in on some online research he’d done. I already knew most of the info from my own research on the way down. But I listened carefully in case I’d missed anything.

  Then we set off in search of Nick. A lot of celebrities were hanging out in the main arcade, but there was no sign of McKenzie’s son among them.

  “A bunch of guys were talking about hitting the mogul course,” Joe said. “You know—the reality TV dudes, that Bret Johnston guy from Mr. Nice Guyz, some others. Maybe Nick’s with them.”

  I shot him an amused look. “Getting awfully cozy with the celebs, huh?”

  Joe rolled his eyes. “Come on. Let’s head over to Mount McKenzie.”

  We approached from the “warm” side of the mountain—the half with the climbing walls. When we got there, we started around toward the skiing and snowboarding stuff on the “cold” side. As we passed an unmarked door leading directly into the fake mountain, it opened and Erica came out.

  “Oh!” she said when she saw us. “Hey, guys. How’s the investigation going?”

  “So-so.” Joe peered past her curiously. “Where’s that door go? Is there stuff to do inside the mountain?”

  “Nothing fun. It’s just a service door,” she said. “Leads back to the security station and some other behind-the-scenes stuff.” She made a face. “I was hiding out from that Bret guy from Mr. Nice Guyz. He keeps hitting on me.”

  “Really?” Joe grinned. “Hey, I bet there are a lot of twelve-year-old girls who’d love to be in your shoes.”

  “Maybe. But I’m just not into it.” Erica sidled closer to me. “Want to pretend to be my boyfriend for a while?” she asked with a grin. “Maybe that’ll give him the hint.”

  I laughed uncertainly, not sure if she was joking or not. “Um, sure. But listen, have you seen your brother? We need to talk to him about something.”

  “You mean Nick?” She shrugged. “Haven’t seen him. Why? Is this about that loose handhold or whatever? Because he already handed it over to our father.”

  “Yeah, he mentioned that,” Joe said. “We just need to talk to him.”

  Her eyes widened. “Hang on,” she said. “Is Nick, like, a suspect or something? Is that it?”

  Joe and I traded a glance. Oops. “Well . . . ,” I began, searching my mind for a good response.

  “Got it,” she said. “But listen, don’t waste your time. I mean, I get why you’d think of him, the way he and our father are always sniping at each other. Not to mention how he always wants to be the center of attention.” She paused. “Actually, now that I think about it, I totally wouldn’t put it past him to want to mess up Dad’s plans. The thing is, there’s no way he could pull it off.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Joe. “He has full access to the park, and—”

  She held up a hand to stop him. “Yeah, that’s not what I mean. See, Nick’s hopeless when it comes to anything mechanical or technical. He can barely work his iPod.” She shrugged. “If he tried to mess with the wiring on that mechanical bull or the steering on the dune buggy, he’d probably electrocute himself.”

  I remembered how everyone kept saying how good Erica was with the tech stuff. Was she just disdainful of her stepbrother because of her own superior skills? Or was she right about Nick’s abilities—or, rather, inabilities?

  “Okay, thanks,” I said. “Good to know.”

  “You’re welcome.” She squeezed my arm and grinned. “Anything for you, Mr. Boyfriend.”

  Joe laughed. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just cleared my throat. “Er, come on, Joe. Let’s go see if they finished checking over those motocross bikes yet.”

  • • •

  We finally tracked down Nick a few hours later. Unfortunately, we didn’t get anything useful out of him. All he wanted to talk about was how his dad had almost killed Cody Zane. The weird thing was, he didn’t seem too clear on exactly what had happened. Either he was a better actor than I would’ve thought, or he hadn’t had anything to do with the accident.

  Joe and I talked it over when we got back to our cottage that night. “Think Erica was protecting him by talking about how clueless he is?” Joe said.

  “Maybe, but I doubt it. They don’t seem that close.”

  “So is Nick still on the list?”

  “Sure, for now. Along with his father. And Jackson.” I sighed, feeling frustrated. The Nick lead hadn’t panned out. The protesters still weren’t back. And we were running out of time. “But I feel like we’re missing something, you know? Like, some key clue somewhere that’ll point us to a whole new culprit.”

  “You sure about that?” Joe flopped down on the couch and smirked at me. “I think you’re just protecting your new rich daddy, Tyrone McKenzie.”

  “Very funny.” I glanced at the darkening windows. “The public grand opening begins tomorrow. Whoever’s doing this only has one more night to make mischief. Feel like trying to catch him in the act?”

  “Sure.” Joe sat up and reached for one of the flashlights lying on the coffee table. “Let’s go.”

  Soon we were skulking around GX. It was pitch-dark, thanks to the clouds covering the moon.

  “This place is kind of spooky at night,” Joe murmured as we approached Mount McKenzie. “Wonder what it’d be like to try snowboarding in the dark?”

  “Don’t even think about it,” I warned in a low voice.

  “Shh!” Joe hissed suddenly, cocking his head to one side. “Did you hear that?”

  “What?” I held my breath. A second later I heard it: a sort of soft clunk.

  Joe was already creeping toward a fence nearby. “I think it’s coming from the BMX course,” he whispered.

  The entrance to the course was p
retty far away. So we scaled the fence. We were as quiet as possible. But not quiet enough. We reached the top just in time to see a figure dressed in dark clothes and a ski mask glance up. Then he took off running in the opposite direction.

  “Stop!” Joe shouted, leaping down from the top of the fence.

  I hit the ground running, just a step or two behind him. I caught the dark figure in the beam of my flashlight as I ran. It looked like a fairly large guy. That was all I could tell from the back.

  Just then I felt my feet start to skid out from under me. “Whoa!” I cried. “Careful, bro.”

  “It’s some kind of grease.” Joe aimed his flashlight at a large can lying on the ground where the figure had been crouching. “He was sabotaging the course so the bikes would all skid out!”

  I caught the figure again with my flashlight. He was just clambering over the fence on the far side. “Come on, we’ve got to catch him.”

  By the time Joe and I vaulted over the fence, the dark figure was sprinting for Mount McKenzie. He dashed across the bridge leading to the base of the Summit.

  “What’s he doing?” Joe cried. “We’ve got him—there’s nowhere to go from there!”

  “Yes there is,” I said grimly, my flashlight illuminating the guy as he started to climb. “Up. He’s probably thinking he can scoot across at the top and escape by sliding down one of the ski tracks on the other side.” I groaned, knowing what I had to do. “Why don’t you run around and see if you can catch him? I’ve been up the Summit before—I’ll follow him here.”

  Joe nodded. “I’m on it.”

  He disappeared into the darkness. I ran across the bridge and skidded to a stop at the bottom of the wall, peering up. The guy was barely visible in the darkness, scrambling from one handhold to another. There was no time to stop for a helmet or other safety equipment. Tucking my flashlight in my back pocket, I reached for the lowest handholds and started to climb.

  If it had been tough climbing the wall earlier, it was ten times tougher in the dark. But I kept going, relying partly on my memory of the earlier climb. Soon I could tell I was gaining on my quarry. I could hear him just a few yards above me, grunting and panting. Was he getting tired already?

  The only light came from some safety lights down by the wave pool. That was enough for me to see the guy stop and sort of turn to one side. What was he doing now?

  I glanced over. Was he crazy enough to try scooting across to the next wall? If I remembered correctly, it was an easier top-roping one called the Mountaineer.

  “Aaah!” I cried as I felt something smack me in the face. Something gooey and sort of slick. Gross!

  I let go with one hand, swiping at the goop. Luckily it had mostly missed my eyes. I guessed it was the same stuff the guy had been dumping on the BMX track. He must’ve dumped it on me to slow me down.

  A second later I realized it was even worse than that. He wasn’t really aiming at me. He was pouring the greasy goop all over the wall itself! I could already feel my hand slipping. I grabbed for another handhold as my left foot skidded out of its hold.

  “No!” I blurted out in a panic as I felt my right foot start to go.

  I hugged the wall, clenching the handholds as hard as I could. But I could feel my entire body slipping on the goopy mess. How high up was I? A hundred feet, two hundred?

  It was no use. I just couldn’t hold on. One hand lost its grip, then the other, and I was falling . . . falling . . .

  Running on Empty

  I was almost to the far side of the mountain when I heard Frank let out a shout. A few seconds later there was a splash. It sounded loud in the hushed, darkened park. Then silence.

  “Frank?” I murmured, skidding to a stop. My heart pounded as I realized what must have happened. Frank had fallen from the Summit. Had he caught up with the guy, tussled with him, lost his grip? Was he hurt? The vision of Smith lying lifeless on the concrete danced through my mind.

  I turned, ready to race back to check on Frank. Just then I spotted some movement on the upper ski slopes. Spinning around, I was just in time to see the masked figure skid down one of the trails. He abandoned the snowboard he’d been using at the bottom, leaping over the low fence at the base onto the roof of a souvenir stand.

  “Hey!” I shouted. “Stop!”

  He heard me and jumped down from the roof with a grunt. Then he took off in the opposite direction.

  I stood there for a second, not sure what to do. My brother could be in trouble. Big trouble. Then again, he could be just fine, albeit a little wet. Either way, I really wanted to go back and check on him.

  But I knew what he would want. He’d want me to continue the chase. Still not totally sure I was doing the right thing, I took off after the bad guy.

  He had a head start. But he was also a lot slower than me. Soon I was catching up.

  That was when he reached the edge of one of the big man-made lakes that dotted GX. There were a bunch of Jet Skis lined up at the edge of this one. The guy leaped onto the nearest Jet Ski, gunning it out into the open water.

  I gritted my teeth. Okay, if he wanted to do this the hard way, I’d play. Jumping onto another Jet Ski, I took off after him.

  The guy headed straight across the lake. He leaped off the Jet Ski just as it crashed into the far edge, taking off again on foot. As I did the same, I saw that he was heading for the motocross course.

  “Yeah, make my day, buddy,” I growled. If he thought he could outride me over a motocross course, he had another think coming.

  The guy jumped on a bike. But instead of heading out onto the course, he spun around and roared out onto the main path. Even better. Street riding was what I did every day. There was no way he was going to lose me now!

  I grabbed another bike and followed as he sped down the pathway and around a corner. The chase just got crazier from there. First the dude turned down this little gravel path between the space shuttle and the drag-racing track, almost spinning out. At the other end, he rode across the path and down the grassy bank of a picnic area. There was a small tumbling stream in the middle. For a second I thought that might stop him.

  But no. He gunned the bike, aimed for a high spot, and jumped it! “Bring it on,” I muttered, leaning over my handlebars and aiming for the same spot.

  Whee! The jump was actually pretty fun. But there was no time to focus on that. I got him in my sights again and hit the gas.

  He was already riding up the slope and out of the picnic area. After jumping the curb, he sped down the pathway.

  Most of the lights were off, but there were still a few neon signs blinking away. One of them was the big one over the main arcade’s vaulted entrance. My eyes widened as I saw the guy aim his bike directly at the arcade.

  I didn’t slow down. In fact, I accelerated a little as I rode up the ramp and right into the arcade.

  Did I mention that place is amazing? It’s got every game I’ve ever seen and then some. Right in the middle is this huge, glassed-in cube that sort of floats over the whole place, with a great view of all the action. There’s also something called the Head-2-Head Arena, though its giant TV screens were dark at the moment.

  But I barely saw any of that. For one thing, there wasn’t much light. For another, I was focused on keeping my balance as the guy zigzagged through the place, zipping down one row of games and up another. If he wiped out, I totally had him!

  The guy turned out to be pretty good. He rounded one last corner, making a quick turn around a car game based in a full-size Formula One car. Then he sped out the entrance on the other side.

  One of the park’s many skateboarding half-pipes lay right across the way. I winced as I realized the guy was aiming straight at it. Was he crazy? At the speed we were going, it would be almost impossible to control the bikes down that kind of drop.

  But he didn’t slow down. So neither did I. I saw him disappear over the edge and heard the roar of his bike’s engine. I held on tight as my own bike reached the edge. My stom
ach seemed to drop out of my gut as I went down, down, down. The tires squealed and skidded as they finally met the smooth surface. The jolt bounced me off the seat a little, but I kept my cool—and my balance. At the bottom, the other guy turned sharply and was riding out that way. Whew! I hadn’t been looking forward to trying to get my bike back up over the far edge. . . .

  The side slope was relatively easy. But it still slowed me down a little. By the time I burst out of the half-pipe area, my quarry was halfway down the next pathway. I gunned it and followed.

  Sparks flew from his tires as he swung around. Now he was aiming straight at the tracks of the Old Glory roller coaster. Huh? I couldn’t believe my eyes. Okay, I already knew this guy was nuts—you had to be to do the things he’d done. But was he really crazy enough to try riding a motocross bike up a set of coaster tracks?

  He might be, but I wasn’t. I squealed to a stop in front of the lowest spot of the coaster’s tracks. Dropping my bike, I leaped for the edge and grabbed on. Soon I’d pulled myself up onto the tracks.

  Up ahead, I could see that my quarry was already in trouble. Big trouble. The bike was bouncing all over the place. Its engine let out a terrible whine.

  The guy shouted loudly as the bike tipped. A second later it crashed to the ground some twenty feet below.

  “Whoa,” I murmured. The guy had leaped off just in time. Now he was hanging on to the tracks with both hands, his legs dangling off the edge.

  I moved as fast as I could, trying to get up there before he recovered. But before I reached him, he was on his feet again. He ran farther up, using his hands to help himself along as the slope steepened sharply.

  Still, I could tell he was already slowing down. I put on a burst of speed. This time there was no way he could lose me! Soon I was within twenty feet of catching up, then ten.

  He let out another loud shout as he reached the top of the hill. I glanced up and saw why. There was a roller coaster train stopped there, blocking the path! The guy jumped into the rear car and scrambled at the controls. He was obviously trying to get the thing started, or maybe just release the emergency brake. But he wasn’t having any luck.