“This is Rainy Riddle, of Riddle Me Up a Storm, reporting live at the Giggling Gargoyle Arcade. And as you can see just over my shoulder”—the girl scooted to one side to give her cameraman a better angle—“the legendary Devin Drobbs is at it again.” She softly nudged Devin with her elbow. “Hey, Devin, looks like you’re about to break another record.”
Devin offered the girl a smug grin. “You think so? I hadn’t really noticed.”
Rainy giggled. “I’m dying to know how many tokens you’ve had to spend before deciding to attempt to make history today.”
“Actually, this is my first time ever playing.” Devin glanced over from the monitor, winked at the camera, and then pressed the button once more, instantly zapping a yowling ghost. An awe-inspired murmur passed through the crowd of onlookers. Devin could hear them whispering, wondering how he could play so flawlessly when he hardly ever looked at the screen.
A large man with a graying goatee and a Bluetooth earpiece protruding from his left ear shouldered his way in between Devin and Rainy. “All right, kiddos. Devin doesn’t have time to entertain every wannabe reporter from here to Toledo. If you want an interview, you’re going to need to make an appointment.” The man whipped out a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to Rainy.
Rainy scowled. “Excuse me, but our viewership just surpassed one hundred thousand subscribers on our YouTube channel.” She paused to bat her eyelashes at the camera. “Be sure to click the ‘subscribe’ link at the bottom of your screen to check out all our videos.”
“How old are you, kid?” the man asked.
“Rainy’s thirteen, Dad,” Devin said from behind them. “She’s in like three of my classes.”
“Thirteen? With one hundred thousand subscribers? That’s way more than you have.” The man rapped his knuckle lightly against the back of Devin’s head. “How is it you didn’t tell me about her?”
Devin slammed his hand down on the button and obliterated a pair of snarling phantoms as his character arrived at the final level. Celebratory music chimed from the console, and a hush settled throughout the arcade.
“Dan Drobbs?” Rainy asked, glancing down briefly at the business card. “You’re Devin’s father?”
A flashing light triggered on Mr. Drobbs’s earpiece, and Devin watched his dad step away, absently bumping into people as he listened to the voice on his phone. Mr. Drobbs stopped walking and hunched over, both hands covering his ears to better hear the messenger. “Tomorrow morning?” he asked. “Yes, of course. Wait. He’ll be coming to my house? No, not a problem at all. That will be just fine. We’ll be ready. Oh no, thank you, sir.”
Devin’s hand slipped off the button as his dad spun around, a toothy smile stretched across his face. The crowd let out a collective groan as mournful music played from the game console and a three-headed phantom devoured Devin’s character, ending his record-breaking run.
Rainy Riddle gasped. “You were so close! What do you have to say to your disappointed fans?”
“Who was on the phone?” Devin asked.
Devin’s dad curled his lower lip and pointed at his earpiece. “Who, that? Oh, it was no one important.”
Once again the crowd groaned, a few of them smashing their drink cups to the carpeted floor. But Devin wasn’t upset. He pumped his fist in celebration.
“I knew it!” Devin cheered, high-fiving his dad. “I had a feeling I’d win!”
ALMOST NINE THOUSAND miles away from Beyond, California, twelve-year-old Nika Pushkin boarded a private jet in the Domodedovo airport in Moscow, Russia. Flanked by an entourage of headpiece-wearing agents, Nika took her usual seat in the middle of the plane, next to the window. Nika’s grandfather, Mikel Pushkin, sat down beside her.
“Please fasten your seat belts, my dear,” her grandfather instructed.
Nika didn’t protest. She pulled and locked her shoulder straps into position, each metal clasp buckling with a distinct clang. She then eased her legs into the custom-fitted braces located beneath her seat. Nika hated the way they clung to her skin like two mammoth leeches. Her grandfather assisted with connecting her forehead strap, the most awkward-fitting piece of all her dreaded seat belts. The forehead strap was only a requirement during takeoff, and whenever there was turbulence, but it made Nika feel like she was some sort of insane criminal being transported to a maximum-security prison.
“There we go,” her grandfather whispered. “Comfortable?”
She shifted her eyes as she gave him a sideways glare.
“Don’t be that way, my printsessa. I’m not making you wear your mouth guard. Not yet, at least. And I have a special treat for you. Milk shakes!” He snapped his fingers, and one of the agents produced a large Styrofoam cup. “Your favorite is vanilla, am I wrong?”
Nika stared at the milk shake and felt her mouth water. “How am I supposed to drink it?”
Her grandfather snapped his fingers again, and this time, an agent placed a straw in his hand. “They’re not too thick. But, please, do take small sips.”
Milk shakes were Nika’s favorite, especially vanilla, but she liked them ice-cold. Grandfather would never approve of her drinking any substance that wasn’t at the appropriate temperature. Not too hot or too cold.
Once the jet had leveled to its cruising altitude, Grandfather Pushkin allowed Nika to undo her wrist, head, and shoulder straps. Then he moved to the front of the jet to speak with his pilots.
“I want to watch the video again,” Nika said to one of the men resting in the seats across the aisle. She nodded to the console hanging from the ceiling of the jet and sucked the rest of her now-lukewarm milk shake into her mouth. The man pressed a button on his radio and whispered into the mouthpiece on his lapel.
“You work for me,” Nika hissed, and jabbed her index finger once more toward the TV. “You work for me. Now, do as I say.”
The black screen of the television brightened as the familiar face came into view—that of the man she had met in her grandfather’s office in Chelyabinsk less than a week before.
“Nika Pushkin, once again, congratulations for winning our contest. We’re so excited to have you on board,” Doug Castleton spoke on the video. “I understand you or your grandfather may still have doubts about whether or not you can do this, but I want nothing more than to put your mind at ease, because your safety is our utmost concern.”
As the video continued, the jet entered a patch of turbulence, and Nika’s grandfather reappeared from the cockpit. He glanced up at the screen and furrowed his brow. “This is the tenth time you have watched this video. Why do you do this?”
“What would you have me watch? Cartoons?” she asked.
On the screen, Doug held a bright orange suit. “Each of our four participants will be wearing one of these.” He stretched the suit in his hands for emphasis. “It’s practically indestructible. It can even repel a bullet fired at close range, but that would never happen, of course.”
“Nika, my dear, I can have my pilot take us home, and I’ll buy you whatever you desire,” Nika’s grandfather insisted.
She shook her head. “There’s nothing else I want.”
“What about a stable? You’ve always dreamed of riding. I will purchase you one with the finest horses and private lessons for you.”
Nika glanced up at him, her eyes narrowing. “You would let me ride a horse?”
“If it meant ending this ludicrous charade, yes. I would consider it.”
She scoffed. “Consider it.” Riding an actual horse had been a dream of hers, but her Dedushka was only bluffing. “No. This is what I want.”
Her grandfather knelt next to her chair, his hand resting softly on hers. “Before your father passed away, I told him that I would never purposely put you into harm’s way.” He drew her focus away from the console. “You are getting older and your health, my printsessa, it continues to deteriorate. We know very little about this ride. How can this Doug Castleton ensure your safety? He can’t, Nika.
No one can.”
“I believe him,” Nika said, nodding at the television screen. “That uniform will keep my body protected.”
“Plastic. It’s just plastic!” His voice grew agitated.
“Dedushka, stop,” she said softly. “We are not going home. I entered the contest because I wanted to win. And you promised me that you would allow it for my birthday.” She pulled her straw from her empty cup and licked off the remaining liquid.
It had taken quite a good deal of persistence from Nika and Doug to convince her grandfather to let her go to Beyond, California. Mikel Pushkin fought mightily against it, but in the end, he couldn’t go back on the promise he’d committed to for her thirteenth birthday. Whatever her heart desired, he would deliver. It was fortunate Mr. Castleton arrived when he did, as Nika was just about to request a hot-air balloon ride, something her grandfather had forbidden since the moment she first saw one flying over their estate in Chelyabinsk when she was only seven years old.
Her grandfather pursed his lips. “Nika, it makes no sense to—”
“And I don’t want to be treated any differently from the other participants. I am to be the same.”
“The same?” He shook his head sternly, but his eyes softened. “You don’t understand the risk involved. It is my duty as your grandfather to warn the Castletons of what precautions need to be taken to ensure your safety.”
“Yes, but no one else is to know of my secret.” She shook the empty cup above her head and her grandfather plucked it from her hands. “Remember, Dedushka, for this weekend, I am not broken.”
IT WAS AFTER three in the morning when Harold Dippetts returned to the Adventure Machine testing facility. He had taken a short break to grab a bite to eat from Taco Snyders, the only restaurant still open in Beyond, California, at that hour, before hurrying back to work. It had been another long day, but a necessary one. The contest winners would be arriving by the end of the week, and Harold was trying to meet his deadline.
As he gripped the doorknob to his office, Harold felt an uncomfortable burbling in his enormous stomach. He dropped a couple of antacids into his cup of black coffee and watched the froth bubble to the top.
“I should’ve passed on that second smothered burrito,” he mumbled to himself, before pushing the door open. What he wouldn’t give for a real home-cooked meal. Until the Adventure Machine went live, Harold was resigned to the fact that his meals would mostly consist of Taco Snyders burritos.
Harold blew across the lip of the paper cup and took a timid sip before spilling most of the liquid down the front of his shirt. He hadn’t expected to see anyone in the office, and the sight of the man thumbing through Harold’s workbook had startled him.
“Hello, Harold. How was your dinner?” It was Terry Castleton, Doug’s older brother and the head of research and development at the Adventure Machine facility.
“Um—uh—I had burritos,” Harold stammered, suddenly aware of a patch of dried hot sauce coating his chin.
Terry frowned at the crumpled bag gripped in Harold’s hand. “From Taco Snyders? Why didn’t you get something from the on-site cafeteria or the food court?”
Harold scrubbed nervously at the hot sauce with the sleeve of his lab coat. “Well, I think the cafeteria closes at nine, sir. Plus, I’m usually the only one in at this hour.”
Terry smiled. “You’re not the only one.”
There were almost always two vehicles parked at the facility at all hours of the night: Harold’s faded blue pickup truck (minus all four hubcaps), and Terry Castleton’s silver Volvo.
Harold cleared his throat. “Not to sound rude or anything, but what…uh, what—”
“What am I doing in your office?” Terry asked. He closed the workbook and placed it on the desk. “I received word that you were close to finishing, and I wanted to take a look for myself.”
Harold nodded and looked at the clock dangling crookedly from a peg above his desk. “What, you mean now?”
Terry moved toward the entrance of the lab at the back of Harold’s office.
“If you don’t mind. With the launch taking place this weekend, I need to make sure everything is set before our visitor arrives.”
“Visitor? I was told there would be four participants.”
“Yes, yes, there will be four, but I wasn’t talking about the children. We have a very important member of the CTPAB witnessing the launch.”
Harold dabbed the spilled coffee from his shirt with a napkin. “Oh yeah, I did hear that one of them would be coming.” Of course. A lawyer from the California Theme Park Approval Board needed to give their final endorsement before the ride could be cleared for public access. Everything depended on that approval. Thus the need for Harold to work a month straight of sixteen-hour shifts.
“There’s still a bunch of procedures to run through,” Harold said, tossing his half-drank cup of coffee into the trash and hurrying to follow Mr. Castleton through the door. “It’s just that—ouch…” Harold jarred the corner of his desk with his hip, sending half his collection of lizard action figures scattering across the floor. He furiously rubbed his side and fumed exhaustedly at the mess of lizards. He had barely finished posing them! “It’s just that I’m not quite there yet.”
They entered an expansive room with a lofty ceiling and pale white fluorescent light fixtures filling the area with a muted glow. Half a dozen contraptions that looked like massive metallic beehives occupied the space. A web of wires and tubes flowed out from the six-foot-tall machines and into a computer at the center of the room. Each of the hives had an amber bulb protruding from the top and a dark glass window at eye level.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about the children,” Harold said, watching apprehensively as Mr. Castleton circled one of the hives. “Will I be given a chance to meet them?”
Mr. Castleton stooped and examined a control panel. “Of course, Harold. I’ll arrange for it.”
Harold grimaced. “I…uh was wondering if I could possibly meet them before the launch?”
Terry stood and faced Harold, his expression stoic, unreadable. “Why would you need to meet them prior to the launch?”
Harold wiped the sweat from his cheek, wondering if he had asked too much. “For research purposes. These programs, as you know, are tricky, and I would like to make sure the ride does what it’s supposed to do.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Terry said. “My brother will be entertaining the children in meetings and debriefings and all the necessities that go along with such an important event.”
“It would just take a minute or two. A quick interview. A few questions.”
Terry shook his head. “I’m sorry, Harold. I’m not about to ask my brother to break from his planned routine. That’s what he does best, and it’s his company. We all just work for him.”
Harold realized that he had been holding his breath, and he exhaled a gust of air. “Well…um…”
“Now, could you please show me one?” Terry gestured to the hive.
Harold typed in his access code, breathing heavily as he studied the data that appeared on the screen. “They’re not ready. I still need time to work out the kinks.”
“Show me,” Mr. Castleton said.
Harold pointed to one of the amber lights. “But sir, they’re in hibernation.”
Mr. Castleton pressed a fist against his lips and closed his eyes. “It’s okay, Harold. Wake one of them up.”
Harold’s shoulders slumped. “I’ll bring Pod One online.”
Terry approached the closest machine to the entry door. He waited for Harold to give the signal and then peered through the glass. The buzzing in the room grew louder as power surged into the pod. There was a moment during which he said nothing. Then Harold heard Terry slowly exhale.
“Now,” Terry said. “That, my friend, is fine work.”
Harold felt his chest swell with pride. “You like it?”
“And they’ll perform as commanded?” T
erry asked.
“I think so, but like I said before, I need a little more time to test them together in a group. It’s hard to determine which one will step forward as the leader, although I think it will be Pod One. He’s more sophisticated than the others.” Harold stared at his hands, which had taken on a slight tremor, before typing a string of commands on his keyboard. The image from inside the pod projected onto his monitor.
“It’s beautiful, Harold. Perfect. We couldn’t have asked for a better specimen.”
On his screen, Harold watched as the man-sized creature inside the machine stood up and pressed one of its three-fingered claws against the glass.
TREVOR SAT ACROSS from his mom in the back of a stretch limousine. The Isaacses had never ridden in a limo before, and they were enjoying the luxury vehicle. Well, Trevor was enjoying himself. His mom kept staring at the crumpled copy of the contract and mumbling about how she wished she could afford a lawyer.
“How am I supposed to know what all this mumbo jumbo means?” she asked.
Cold air flowed from the miniature refrigerator beneath the limo’s privacy window as Trevor pulled out a corked bottle. “What’s this?”
“That’s champagne. Please put it back,” his mom said. “And why aren’t you wearing your seat belt?”
Trevor returned the bottle to its shelf and discovered a small plastic container of unusual-looking paste with a label listing a name he didn’t recognize. He peeled open the lid, and a strong fishy scent wafted out of the opening. “What’s caviar?”
“Fish eggs.”
Trevor made a gagging noise, shut the lid, and tossed the container over his shoulder.
“Seriously?” His mom raised her voice. “We don’t toss food on the floor.”
“I didn’t know it was food.” Trevor picked up the fish eggs and placed them back in the refrigerator. “I thought it was bait.”
The limo lurched as the driver took the exit off the freeway, and Trevor lost his balance. He fell backward and landed sharply on his rear end.
The World's Greatest Adventure Machine Page 2
