‘What’s that one for?’ Darkus pointed his spoon at the one hexagon Emma hadn’t labelled.
‘It’s the prison cells,’ she replied.
‘That’s where Dad and Novak will be.’
‘Spencer is probably in the scientists’ quarters,’ Bertolt added.
‘This is a river,’ she followed a line straight through the central hexagon, ‘and this is a cliff. The river becomes a waterfall here. Lenka told me that below ground, under the central dome, is a huge insect farm.’
‘Below ground!’ Darkus was feeling more despair by the second. The Biome was huge. It could take a long time to find Dad and Novak, even with the help of the beetles, and then he had to get them out of there.
‘Our biggest problem,’ Emma said pointing at the square marked door, ‘is that the only way into this glass labyrinth is through this door in the ground. It’s a mechanized trapdoor with an entrance tunnel behind it.’ She leant back. ‘I’ve been out to it at night. There’s no way to get it open, and there’s no other door into the building.’
There was a long silence as they all stared at the scruffy piece of paper.
‘I’ll bet I can open it,’ Bertolt said, sitting up straight.
‘What?’ Emma frowned. ‘I doubt it. I’ve tried everything.’
‘Darkus, pass me your bag!’ Bertolt unzipped the front pocket, pulled out the thingamabob and held it up, switching it on. A white hexagon appeared. ‘With this.’
Emma’s smile stretched from ear to ear. ‘You kids never cease to amaze me. Where did you get it? Can I see?’
Bertolt handed it to her and she turned it over, her fingers running over the surface, pushing and pressing it.
‘An American entomologist called Hank gave it to us,’ Darkus said. ‘When Lucretia Cutter’s helicopter took off, a load of her luggage was left behind, and this was found in one of her bags.’
‘This looks like the devices I’ve seen her thugs using.’ Emma handed it back. ‘What you have there, Bertolt, is the key to the Biome’s front door.’
Darkus looked at the little black square.
‘And if we can’t make it work,’ Emma spooned the last of her rice and beans into her mouth and swallowed, ‘there’s always plan B.’
‘Plan B?’ Virginia asked.
‘We get in through the river,’ Emma said, running her tongue over her top teeth. ‘I saw your old neighbours trying to get into the Biome that way this morning. It seems to have worked, unless they’re dead.’
‘Humphrey and Pickering?’ Uncle Max asked.
She nodded. ‘The reedy stick-like man and the giant oaf. The ones who were arrested after the Emporium collapsed.’
‘They’re here?’ Darkus was flabbergasted. ‘But how? I mean . . .’
‘I think they arrived with Lucretia Cutter. They appeared around the same time her helicopter landed.’ Emma shrugged. ‘They’ve been crashing about the forest like a couple of suicidal morons, attracting every hungry predator for miles.’
‘Imagine if they got eaten by a jaguar,’ Virginia giggled.
‘Virginia,’ Bertolt chided, ‘that’s not very nice.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Says the boy who trapped them both in a burning pile of furniture and tried to torch them to death.’
‘I didn’t! I mean, I wasn’t trying to . . .’
Darkus laughed.
‘Right, time for bed, I think,’ Uncle Max said, getting to his feet. ‘Tomorrow we’ll hike to the fringes of the forest beside the Biome and plan our attack.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tannhäuser
Lucretia Cutter had agreed to see him. This was his chance to talk to her about Novak. Barty took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway. The mezzanine floor above the laboratory reminded him of a lobby in an expensive hotel. The long bar against the back wall led to a viewing gallery, looking out into the Arcadia dome. Lucretia was standing with her back to him, looking into her Eden. In the middle of the floor stood a grand piano. Glancing down to the floor below, he could see the lab, the glass wall and the base of the pupator.
‘What do you want, Bartholomew?’ She didn’t need to turn around to know that he was standing behind her.
‘I’m not comfortable about forcing Novak through another pupation,’ he said. ‘It could kill her.’
‘Don’t think of the girl as a human with a name. Think of her as a genetic experiment. She only got a name because she lived. For a while I called her Handbag.’ She laughed.
‘I cannot.’ Barty shook his head. ‘I will not.’
‘I do so enjoy your weaknesses,’ she laughed softly. ‘Do you know, your inability to kill is one of the reasons I don’t see you as a threat? Your hopeless belief that good will out makes you impotent and harmless.’
‘Novak is a child.’
‘Enough. The girl will experience the full pupation,’ Lucretia snapped. ‘I cannot become who I wish to be without another metamorphosis, and I cannot be sure it will work until it is tested. It has to be tested on her because she is my genetic mirror. We are the only two humans to have gone through the pupation and survived. My mission is too important to take the risk with my own life, so she will go through a second metamorphosis whether you like it or not.’
‘Please, Lucy, have a heart,’ Barty begged. ‘Whatever you call her, she’s your daughter.’
Lucretia snorted. ‘Novak’s pupation will take place tomorrow. If you don’t want to be there, that is your choice.’
There was a long silence.
Barty walked over to the piano. ‘Do you still play, Lucy?’ He ran his fingers over the ivory keys, playing a random series of notes. ‘I remember you were really rather good once.’
‘That’s gratifying to hear.’ She tipped her head back. ‘Yes, I still play. Music is the soul’s expression, after all.’
‘You still believe you have a soul, then?’
‘Souls aren’t exclusive to humans, Bartholomew,’ she replied. ‘Elephants, monkeys, beetles, all living creatures have souls. I believe trees have souls, don’t you?’
Barty levelled his gaze at her unreadable compound eyes. ‘What you are planning to do, what you are already doing, is going to result in the deaths of millions of people. You are committing genocide. I fail to see how you can talk about expressing your soul through music, when you set about committing mass murder with a smile on your lips.’
Lucretia’s nostrils flared with anger. She swept over to the piano in a series of lurching steps, and sat down. She placed her two human hands on the keys, nails painted black, fingers weighed down by diamond rings, and began to play.
‘Is everything so black and white to you?’ she said softly as she played the first notes of a tune that Barty faintly recognized. ‘Aren’t humans, as a species, committing mass murder on an immeasurable scale? Forty per cent of all of the earth’s animals have become extinct in the last fifty years. Aren’t our population growth and addiction to wealth killing this planet? We are hastening our own demise, fighting wars over fossil fuels and nuclear weapons.’ She played a series of chords, the music building. ‘What is there about humanity that you think is worth saving? Doesn’t your heart grieve for the last elephants, the last giraffes? Don’t you wonder what will be left for your grandchildren? Don’t you want to stop it all?’
‘But of course . . .’
‘You don’t see how. Do you? You lack vision. The meek shall inherit the earth, the Bible says, and we think that means meek humans, but why are we so obsessed with our own species? Yes, the meek shall inherit the earth; in fact, I plan on giving it to them. I plan on giving it to the beetles.’
Barty felt her words like hammer blows to his chest. ‘Do you really think you can take on all the governments of the world?’
‘I already have.’
‘Lucy . . . they will send nuclear bombs.’
‘Ha!’ She laughed and played, and played, lifting two beetle legs on to the higher and lower octaves of the p
iano. ‘The big boys with their bad bombs, we must all quake when the bullies shake their fists. Well, not me. The Biome is a self-sustaining environment with a hyper-oxygenated atmosphere. The hexagonal design of each panel of military grade glass – used in the windshields of stealth bombers – is impenetrable. But even then, more than half the facility is underground. We are safe here. If they bomb me, I’ll destroy more of their crops, like I did in India. If they use nuclear weapons – well, the Amazon rainforest is the lungs of the earth, they may as well be bombing themselves. They’d destroy their soil, their harvests and their water supplies. I have turned the planet into a giant chessboard, and I have them in checkmate.’
‘But why?’
‘I am going to change the course of the human race, Bartholomew. I’m going to wipe out the human population. I’m going to re-wild the planet. The humans that will be allowed to live will be the ones that put the environment before their own meaningless lives.’
‘I can see how you think this might be a solution, but . . .’
‘There is no solution to global warming. We have pushed the planet far beyond the point of no return.’
‘That is absolutely not true, Lucy.’ Barty moved round the piano so he could see her face. ‘You will be punishing the weakest first. The poorest and the youngest will die from starvation.’
‘That can’t be helped. I’m not here to save human beings. I’m here to save the planet – I’m the only one who cares enough to do anything about it.’
‘You’re wrong.’ He brought his fist down on the piano lid, but she kept playing, the rhythm of the music becoming more insistent. ‘There are millions of people who care.’
‘Where?’ she hissed. ‘What I see is people protecting the wealth and power they have by electing politicians who keep the rich rich and make the poor poorer. They do not care about the environment, and choose not to believe in climate change.’
‘That is not everybody,’ Barty argued.
‘Where are the revolutions?’ she cried. ‘Where are the human beings insisting that the environment be the key issue upon which a government is elected? I can’t hear their protests.’ The melody folded and doubled, becoming feverish. ‘Humanity is weak, and that is why the earth needs me. Humanity is a plague. It’s not just climate change; it’s sheer space. We’re running out of places to grow food for the human horde.’
‘There are other ways to tackle population growth.’
‘None that will have a big impact, fast enough – and anyway, the people in power won’t allow it. This is the only way, Bartholomew.’ She smiled at him, a ghastly leer. ‘Just think of how beautiful this planet will look when I’m done with my cull and the giant insects return.’
‘Who made you God?’ he whispered, shaking his head.
‘I did! And the people will worship me and carry out my edict, or die.’ She leant forward, taking a deep breath in through what was left of her nose, the music rising, as a waterfall of notes cascaded down the keyboard.
Barty suddenly recognized the tune. It was the overture to Tannhäuser. Lucy had taken him to the Royal Opera House to see it a long time ago. She’d always loved Wagner. He stepped forward and placed his hand on her shoulder, closing his eyes as she played.
‘Are you really not afraid of their bombs?’ he asked softly.
‘Let them do their worst.’ She leant into the keyboard, her body moving with the music. ‘The underground superstructure of the Biome can seal off the upper glasshouses. We would be untouched by an explosion and free from the impacts of nuclear fallout. We are equipped to survive for some decades here – although the effect on the rest of the planet would be terrible.’ She laughed. ‘You know that old adage that the cockroach is the only creature that could survive a nuclear holocaust? Well, it’s not true. The beetle is.’
‘You’ve thought of everything.’
‘Bartholomew,’ she looked up at him, ‘you opened my eyes to the beauty of this planet. You dragged me to the cliff’s edge and made me open my heart and mind to the natural world, and then you abandoned me to stare down and watch humanity extinguish species after species, bulldoze and burn habitat after habitat. How many more miles of the Great Barrier Reef can you stomach losing? How much more plastic must be found in the guts of whales? How many square miles of rainforest traded for oil? It has to stop. The human cull is coming, and the planet will heave a sigh of relief when I’m done. It will thank me, and that is all the thanks I need.’ The music fractured into patterns of notes and she closed her eyes. ‘I know you feel the same way I do, Bartholomew.’ She sighed. ‘And that is why I trust you.’ She played the final refrains of the piece, letting the last note hang in the air.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mud Wallow
Darkus lay awake in his hammock listening to Uncle Max snoring. The rustling of the others twisting in their hanging beds had stopped half an hour ago. He carefully sat up and looked around. Everyone was asleep. Slowly, as quietly as possible, he untucked the mosquito net that formed a tent around his hammock and slipped down to the ground, holding still for a moment to make sure his movement hadn’t woken anyone. He was fully dressed, with his boots on and Baxter’s cage hanging around his neck.
His backpack was where he’d placed it, at the foot of his hammock, packed and ready to go. He pulled open the top and peered down at the Base Camp beetles. Before going to bed, he’d emptied the bag of everything, poured a thick layer of oak mulch into the bottom of it, placed a few pots of beetle jelly on top, and then quietly transferred all of the Base Camp beetles into it. Only Virginia had asked him what he was doing, and he’d fooled her by saying he was feeding and resting the beetles. Looking into the bag, he made a few gentle clicking noises with his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The beetles all looked up at him, nodding their heads and chittering. They were ready.
He lifted the open bag, easing his arms through each of the straps and took one last look at the sleeping camp, its fire a tumble of glowing embers. It was better this way. He soundlessly crept to the path that Emma Lamb had told him led to the Biome. He walked for about ten minutes, until he was sure he was out of sight of the camp, before he stopped to pull out his plastic pooter.
‘Hey, fireflies, I need a little light,’ he called in a whisper.
In answer, twenty-seven fireflies zoomed up out of his bag.
Darkus unscrewed the lid of the pooter. ‘Please could you fly into here? It will keep you safe and make a light for me.’
The fireflies obliged him, fluttering down into the pooter. He put the lid back on and held his firefly lantern aloft as he slowly picked his way down the path. After a while, the darkness and the isolation ate away at his certainty that he was heading in the right direction. ‘What if Emma Lamb was wrong about this path, Baxter? I think I’d better check the map, make sure we are walking towards the Biome.’
He pulled out the map and a compass from a side pocket of the rucksack, and set the beetle lantern on the ground next to it.
‘Let me do that,’ a voice hissed. ‘I’m better at it.’
‘Gaaaaaah!’ Darkus spun around, dropping his compass. Virginia was standing at his elbow. ‘Flipping heck, Virginia! You frightened me!’
‘Sorry,’ she giggled.
‘What are you doing?’ Darkus was flustered, his heart racing.
‘I might ask you the same thing.’ Virginia tipped her head and grinned at him maddeningly. ‘I wonder where you could be off to in the middle of the night?’
Darkus scowled at her.
‘Well?’
‘I just wanted to try something, that’s all.’
‘Really?’ Virginia raised an eyebrow. ‘What could that be?’
‘I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d try out the remote controller thing on that trapdoor,’ Darkus said. ‘Because, you know, if it doesn’t work, then we’ll need to find another way into the Biome.’
‘And if it does work?’
‘Then . . . I was going to com
e back and tell everyone,’ Darkus lied.
‘Right, of course you were.’ She pointed at his backpack. ‘And you brought all of the beetles because . . .’
‘To be safe,’ Darkus said. ‘I need them for light and in case, in case . . .’
‘In case what?’
‘What are you doing up, anyway?’ he challenged her.
‘I’m watching you,’ Virginia shrugged, as if it was obvious.
‘Watching me?’
‘Yeah, we’ve been taking it in turns to watch you since Christmas.’
‘What?’
‘We’re worried about you.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘’Course you are. You watch your dad walk away from you and get on a helicopter with Lucretia Cutter, after you went all the way to America to help him. Why wouldn’t you be fine?’
‘Virginia, I said I’m fine.’
‘Really?’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘You’re fine, are you? Is that why you’ve got weirder and weirder since the Film Awards? It’s not just me, Bertolt’s noticed it too.’ She shook her head. ‘You get cross really easily, Darkus, and you don’t talk to us about what you’re thinking any more.’
‘I don’t?’
‘No. It’s like you think we don’t understand, or that this is something that’s only affecting you.’ She let her arms drop. ‘And sure, we don’t feel it like you do. But the whole world is under siege, Darkus, not just you.’
Battle of the Beetles Page 10
