Blackout

by Andrew Cope

  The glitter ball had already begun to glow as Shakespeare launched himself from Sophie’s arms. It wasn’t so much a plan as an instinct. I can’t stop the machine, he thought, but he remembered the Past Master saying that precision was everything. He knew that the satellites would be aligned in a few seconds, but that the slightest nudge would send the laser beams off track.

  ‘Shakespeare!’ yelled Sophie as she watched her cat take a running jump at the glitter ball. The little girl’s hair swirled in the wind as he leapt higher than she thought possible. The glitter ball was glowing as Shakespeare hit it. He yowled in agony, the smell of singed fur blowing across the open-plan apartment, and his body landed in a heap. Ben held Sophie back as the ball grew brighter and a dozen beams of bright light shot harmlessly into the sky.

  Shakespeare peered into the clouds, hoping he’d hit the ball with enough force to divert the lasers. He righted himself. His fur was smouldering, but he was very much alive. He ran to Sophie and curled himself round her ankles, the little girl crying with joy.

  The Past Master looked up at the sky, horrified. ‘You’ve ruined my plan,’ he cursed, pointing a bony finger at Shakespeare. ‘You’ve sent the lasers off course. You’re an evil cat.’

  Sophie hid Shakespeare in her coat. ‘He’s a hero,’ she glared. ‘He’s put a stop to your wicked plan.’

  They were very high up and the wind was howling. Cups and saucers whipped off the table into the city below. ‘It’s a bit blowy,’ shouted one of the old ladies. ‘Like the gale that brought the trees down in 1986.’

  The Past Master knew that Plan A had been foiled so he went straight to Plan B: Escape. Live to fight another day. The old man walked calmly to his wheelchair. ‘You’ve heard of the saying “it ain’t rocket science”. Well, this is!’ he yelled, his voice trailing away in the wind. He pressed a button and wings flipped out of the side of the chair. Button number two ignited the engines, flames billowing out of the back. He fixed his goggles into place and struggled to strap himself in.

  Shakespeare was proud of foiling the plan and thrilled at knocking the laser beams off target. But the mission isn’t over. There’s no way I can let him get away! The cat leapt out of Sophie’s arms and launched himself at the wheelchair, gripping the man round the neck. You’re not allowed to escape, you evil baddie. The old man tried to release the handbrake on his chair, but Shakespeare sank his claws in. The man gripped the feline scarf, trying to tear Shakespeare away from his neck.

  Sophie, seeing her cat was in peril, threw herself at the wheelchair. The man screamed as the cat’s claws sank in. He swatted Shakespeare and a ball of ginger hit the floor. Sophie landed on the launch button and the chair accelerated towards the edge of the eighty-seventh floor.

  Dorothy spilt her tea as the jet-powered wheelchair was catapulted into the London sky.

  Shakespeare righted himself, his head spinning. The wheelchair was spluttering into the early afternoon sky, the pensioner strapped in and Sophie’s legs dangling off the edge. That wasn’t supposed to happen!

  Ben was yelling something that was lost in the wind. Shakespeare looked at the professor. He looked back, his face white and drawn, his mind whirring. You didn’t need the biggest brain in the world to know that this wasn’t good.

  15. The Catsuit

  ‘But it’s untested,’ yelled Professor Cortex as he pulled and stretched the Lycra suit on to the cat. ‘I mean, it works in theory, but,’ he gulped, ‘we’re a long way up and this isn’t a theory.’

  Shakespeare had conquered his fear of dogs. And water’s not as bad as it used to be. Now I’ve got the chance to tick ‘heights’ off too.

  All eyes were on the cat dressed in a tight-fitting orange suit. He stood tall like he’d seen superheroes do.

  ‘The idea is that you hold your legs out and catch the wind,’ yelled the professor. ‘But, up here, it’s very windy,’ he said, stating the obvious. He carried the Lycra-clad cat towards the edge of the roof.

  Shakespeare could see the microlite wheelchair wobbling in the near distance, Sophie’s legs kicking as she struggled to stay aboard. He suspected it had been designed for one passenger and that Sophie’s weight wasn’t helping matters. If he’d thought things through, he wouldn’t have done it. But he wasn’t in thinking mode – he was in Spy Cat mode. Rule number one! My favourite person in the whole world is in danger and I’m the only one who can help.

  ‘Geronimooooo!’ wailed the cat, spreading his legs and plunging off the side of the Shard.

  He remembered the professor saying that it’s gliding, not flying. He recalled the video of the squirrels. They simply extended their legs and soared effortlessly through the air. ‘Except it’s not as easy as it looks,’ he yowled, legs flailing as he whooshed past floors 86, 85, 84, 83 …

  It was at floor 33 that he stopped scrambling and started gliding. His legs extended and instead of falling he started swooping.

  ‘Woaaa,’ he meowed, catching an upward current and zooming past the huge windows out towards the big city.

  George and Jess were from America. They were dining in the Shard restaurant and George had been commenting that everything was bigger and better in America. ‘I mean, darlin’,’ he drawled, ‘the Brits have Cheddar Gorge and we have the Grand Canyon. We have steaks the size of plates and the Brits have this …’ He lifted the limp lump of meat off his plate with a fork.

  His wife gazed out of the window just as Shakespeare sailed by. She watched as the cat turned and swooped back, this time taking time out to salute her. And then he was gone.

  Jess looked around to see if anyone else had seen the flying cat. The other diners were tucking into their small British steaks, the chatter and clinking of cutlery carrying on as normal.

  She looked out across London. ‘Their food might not be up to much, honey’ she admitted, ‘but their cats are pretty cool.’

  The winged wheelchair was one hundred metres in front, wobbling wildly as the old man struggled to keep control of the vehicle with one hand and the little girl with the other. He wasn’t evil. He just wanted the world to be a better place. And he certainly didn’t want this little girl to die. The Past Master had a strong mind, but his body wasn’t what it used to be. The effort of hanging on to the child was taking its toll. Add in the excitement of flying across London and his heart rate was racing dangerously. ‘Hang on,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll try and land.’

  The lawnmower-powered engine was already spluttering. There was a loud explosion and it stopped. Sophie had righted herself so she was sitting on the old man’s knee, just like she had with her own granddad a thousand times. The balance was better, but the microlite wheelchair was now a glider instead of engine-driven. The only way was down. Sophie felt the man’s grip loosen and she gripped the sides of the chair extra tight.

  ‘Where are we going to land?’ she yelled.

  There was no answer. She wasn’t sure whether he had died or just passed out. The only thing she knew was that she was going to have to land the craft herself.

  16. Splash Landing

  Shakespeare was gaining. The wheelchair engine had stalled and the chair was falling a little too fast. Most cats weren’t aware of Newton’s law of gravity. They knew that if they fell out of a window they’d go downwards. And it annoyed them that birds could go upwards. Shakespeare’s eyes were watering. Wind billowed into his cheeks, his face ballooning like a Cheshire cat. London was laid out below, the river snaking like the start of EastEnders. He tilted his body and started swooping downwards, a feline missile in search of its target.

  Sophie was panicking. The ground was getting closer and the odds of a safe landing were remote. Shakespeare swooped by and Sophie screamed. ‘I think he might be dead,’ she yelled, her eyes bulging and her hair billowing. ‘And I’m too young to die! Help!’

  Flying squirrels are born with flaps of skin. That means, for them, it’s normal to launch off trees and glide to the forest floor. Shakespeare had had exactly ninety
seconds of practice as he swooped towards the wheelchair, attempting to dock. He recognized the London Eye below. And the Houses of Parliament. He was low enough to notice that London’s roads were busy. Typical London, thought the cat. Maybe the old man’s right. Maybe there are too many people rushing around.

  Shakespeare zoomed past Sophie, yowling in frustration as he failed to make contact.

  He lowered his left legs and turned for another go. Head down was fast. Head up was slower. He dive-bombed the chair, head down, pulling up at the last second, and landed, bat-like, clinging to the back of the chair, legs spread out behind him to cause enough drag to slow the wheelchair’s fall.

  Sophie looked delighted and terrified at the same time. ‘Now what?’ she yelled, her voice trailing away.

  Shakespeare had a sinking feeling. He assessed the situation and there was only one solution. He noticed people pointing upwards, cameras flashing as the makeshift glider plunged towards the capital city. We’re sure to get millions of hits on YouTube, he thought. Roads are full. People everywhere. There’s only one solution. Water isn’t my biggest fear. My biggest fear is losing the little girl I love the most in the entire world. The River Thames sparkled below. This calls for a splash landing!

  Sophie was squealing. The river was getting closer and the winged wheelchair was descending too steeply. ‘Tower Bridge is getting closer and we’re nosediving straight for it. What are we going to doooo?’ yelled the little girl. ‘You can’t swim! And what about the old man? He’s strapped in. When this hits the water, it’ll sink, taking him with it.’

  Shakespeare felt calm. The glider is going to hit the bridge. Guaranteed. If we’re aboard when it hits the bridge, we’ll all be dead. Guaranteed.

  The old man’s eyes flickered open and his grip tightened round Sophie. ‘I’m so sorry, little girl,’ he said. ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were just trying to slow the world down, so your generation could spend time playing outside.’

  ‘What, learning to swim!’ yelled Sophie, jabbing her finger at the grey Thames. ‘It’s a bit late for explanations. We need to get you out of this chair before we hit the …’

  Shakespeare knew about the word ‘sacrifice’ and he felt calm. Lives left? Nil. It was a now-or-never moment. Rule number one!

  Sophie’s hands were raised in anticipation of hitting the bridge. He slammed a paw on the belt buckle and it sprang open. He stuck one claw into the old man’s hand and one into Sophie’s and extended to full range, raking them across their skin. Sorry, folks!

  Both passengers screamed and let go, falling from the wheelchair and plummeting into the river.

  Less than a second later the wheelchair slammed against the bridge. A thousand camera phones clicked, recording the crunching and scraping of metal. There was an agonizing screech as the chair slid down the wall and splashed into the water.

  17. A Viral Hit

  ‘One million hits in less than a week! That, Agent Pusskins, is quite an achievement.’

  Shakespeare watched the video one more time, panic rising in his tummy. He watched the wobbly footage of the old man and his beloved little girl plunging into the water. Their heads bobbed up, Sophie cupping the old man’s chin in her hand, her bronze lifesaving skills coming into use. The footage continued, focusing on the humans. Whoever had recorded the video had thought it best to commentate rather than jump in and help. ‘Splash landing, dude,’ said an American voice.

  The camera phone quickly zoomed to the wreckage, the winged wheelchair sinking fast, and then back to the struggling swimmers. A boat had arrived and Sophie was being hauled aboard. ‘Women and children first, man,’ noted the commentator. ‘And he must be her grand-pappy,’ he continued as the old man’s limp body was dragged from the water.

  Shakespeare swallowed his panic, allowing pride to surface. I’m not on camera, he purred. He remembered the moment – the water swallowing him up. He’d heard of doggy paddle. I guess this must be pussy paddle, he thought. His legs were kicking hard. His mission had been accomplished. As he hit the water, he knew Sophie was going to be OK. If I could survive, it would be a bonus.

  And, as a Spy Cat, I’ve learnt fast. His body had hit the water with some force. I had the wind knocked out of me, for sure. But I wasn’t going to give up. He remembered Lara telling him a Spy Cat never gives up! So I kicked harder than ever. But nobody saw a soggy cat. All the attention was on the people. The rescue boat made the water extra choppy. Shakespeare gulped as he remembered going under again. I thought it would be my final time.

  The Internet movie continued and his purring grew louder as he watched Sophie struggle to her feet and point at the water. She stood on the side of the boat, shouting frantically, jabbing her finger at the Thames. The commentator got excited. ‘There might be another body,’ he said hopefully. His lens scanned the grey water and he picked out a speck of ginger. ‘OMG, man, it’s a cat.’

  It certainly is, thought Shakespeare, puffing his chest with pride and sitting tall for an ear stroke. My little girl and me. We’re a team.

  He watched as his frantic body was pulled out by a net and he was reunited with the squealing little girl.

  Wet cat, wet girl, happy ending!

  ‘Of course,’ said Professor Cortex, tearing his gaze away from the computer screen, ‘the science was actually quite simple. The Past Master, or “Eddie” as he now likes to be called, had worked on thermodynamics after the Second World War. He was way ahead of his time.’

  ‘What are those thermal dynamics things?’ asked Ollie.

  ‘Thermodynamics,’ repeated the professor, slowly and carefully. ‘Diamond is a form of carbon,’ he began, the science sparking him to life. ‘Everybody knows that it oxidizes in air if heated to over seven hundred degrees Celsius.’ He chuckled as if it was the most obvious fact in the world. He ploughed on, failing to notice the children’s eyes glazing over. ‘But what Eddie had rather cleverly noted is that, in the absence of oxygen, diamonds can be heated up to about three thousand degrees Celsius, which, let me tell you, is very hot indeed.’

  I know, thought Shakespeare, licking a bald patch where his fur had singed away.

  ‘This, you see, is at the limit of current scientific knowledge,’ smiled the professor, peering at the children over the top of his spectacles. ‘And that’s where I like to be. Pushing the boundaries and all that.’

  ‘Hang on, Prof,’ snorted Ben. ‘While the Past Master was experimenting on the edges of science, you were inventing a chocolate book.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ stammered the scientist. ‘I’ll admit that wasn’t my finest hour. But the flying catsuit turned out all right, didn’t it, Agent CAT? Anyway, Eddie had cottoned on to the fact that he could superheat the diamonds and use them to power a laser, or series of lasers …’

  ‘That he would use to shoot down all the satellites that cover Europe …’ continued Ben.

  ‘Plunging us back into what he and his team call “the good old days”. I’ve read his notes. Quite fascinating. They called it a “time machine”. His plan was to go back to 1950 BC.’

  ‘BC?’ asked Ollie.

  ‘Before Computers,’ grinned the professor. ‘When the world was simpler and the pace of change a little slower.’

  ‘No Internet,’ gasped Ollie. ‘That’d be a disaster.’

  ‘If his plan had worked, the world would certainly be a different place,’ nodded the professor. ‘Not necessarily any better or worse. Just different.’

  Shakespeare had already pieced most of the adventure together, but two questions had been preying on his mind. He took a pencil in his mouth and approached the laptop. He clicked on Word and typed, ‘why the shard?’

  ‘Presumably,’ nodded Professor Cortex, ‘because it was already the highest place in Europe, he was closer to the sky.’

  ‘Shard is xpensiv. He got money. Where from?’ came the letters on the screen.

  ‘That, Agent CAT, is a very good question. The police report indicates that
, although his gang stole diamonds, they didn’t ever sell any to fund their plan. Instead he had persuaded his followers, of which there were tens of thousands of old people, to donate their winter-fuel allowance to the cause. So he had millions at his disposal. He’d recruited followers from old folks’ homes across the country. Some of them were desperate to go back to 1950 and giving up their winter-fuel payment was a small price to pay.’

  ‘Just one more question,’ said Ben. ‘What’s happened to Eddie and his team? I mean, they’re not actually evil as such. They didn’t want to hurt anyone. They actually thought their plan would be good for everyone.’

  ‘It’s a difficult one for the police,’ agreed the professor. ‘Stealing is most definitely a crime,’ he said seriously. ‘But, as you say, their reasons were fairly innocent.’

  ‘What happened to the diamonds?’ asked Sophie.

  ‘They were returned to their rightful owners. Eddie made sure that hardly any of the old folks were actually involved in stealing diamonds, and the six of them that were have received what the courts call “community service”. One hundred hours each. They’ve got to go into primary schools and talk to the children about “the good old days”. You know, how life was different before computers and fast cars and ready meals.’

  ‘Crikey,’ said Sophie, ‘that’s like an actual living history lesson.’

  The professor was beaming. ‘And do you know what? The children are loving it. They’re learning such a lot. And the old people are enjoying it too!’

  ‘What about Eddie? He was the ringleader,’ asked Ben. ‘Is he in prison? I mean, he did some bad stuff. Didn’t he?’

  The professor looked around at the puzzled faces, each trying to work out if Eddie had actually done anything really terrible. ‘He is doing a short stint in prison,’ sighed the scientist. ‘He planned all the diamond robberies and he really shouldn’t have put Sophie’s life in danger.’