We Built This City

by Matt London

  Sprout’s voice came to Evie in the darkness. “We’re trapped,” he said.

  DIANA LED MISTER SNOW AND THE OTHER RESCUED WINTERPOLE AGENTS THROUGH THE complex to Mister Snow’s office, which Diana’s mother had taken over. Rick stayed close by Diana’s side. She was worried. Her mother would be furious when she saw they had escaped and that the Lane family was once again meddling in Winterpole business and breaking rules. Her mother would have a Vesuvia-grade meltdown when they got to the office.

  Rick pulled a detention file from his satchel full of cyberpaper and prepared for a confrontation. As they opened the office door, Diana held her breath.

  Inside, Mrs. Maple stood on top of her desk, on one foot. Her elbows were jutted out, while her left index finger was stuck in her ear and her right pinky was up her nose.

  Diana hesitated. “Mom?” she asked at last, wondering if this was all a dream.

  “Diana!” Mrs. Maple’s face went bright red. “Don’t look at me!”

  “What are you doing up there?” Rick asked, moving into the room with the others.

  “I am following orders from the one holding the Ultimate Continent Ownership Form, of course.”

  “Oh, good grief,” Rick said, adjusting his glasses. “Mrs. Maple, please. Can’t you see that Benjamin’s outrageous instructions go against the basic philosophy of Winterpole?”

  Mrs. Maple wobbled on the desk but did not fall. Impressively, she still kept her finger in her nose. “What does a lawbreaker like you know about the philosophy of Winterpole, Mister Lane?”

  “Mom,” Diana pleaded, “you need to nullify the authority of the Ultimate Continent Ownership Form. Winterpole has lost control of the continent. Benjamin has used the UCOF to establish a dictatorship. You’ve had your finger up your nose for hours! Admit it, the UCOF backfired.”

  “No one has the ability to do that,” Mrs. Maple said. “Except the Director.”

  “Take us to him!” Mister Snow shouted over Rick’s shoulder.

  “I am your superior officer!” Mrs. Maple snapped. “I don’t take orders from you.”

  Diana pushed Mister Snow out of the office. “Mister Snow, please, you’re not helping,” she said.

  Rick stepped forward. “Mrs. Maple, please, get off that desk. Help us. You have the power. Give us access to the Director. We’ll set things right.”

  “The day I take orders from a Lane will be a sad day indeed,” said Mrs. Maple.

  “Mom, please!” Diana stepped forward. She couldn’t take this anymore. She had to speak her mind, in a way that made her nervous but happy too. For the first time, she was telling her mother, to her face, how she really felt. “You’ve never trusted me to do the right thing on my own, just to follow the rules, no questions asked. Winterpole is overprotective of the world, and that’s how you’ve always been with me. But when I was on my own I was fine! Just like the world will be fine without all of Winterpole’s rules.”

  “But, Diana,” her mother said, “I have to protect you. The rules are what keep you safe!”

  “Not every rule. The rules aren’t perfect. There are serious flaws. We’re slow to react and even slower to adjust to changing times. But I’ve made efforts to make Winterpole the best that it can be. Haven’t you been amazed by how efficiently we were running things on the eighth continent before you got here? How hardworking our agents are? That’s because of the changes I’ve made. I compromise. I adapt. I adjust when things aren’t working. That’s the way to be a successful rule-making organization—to remember that we’re making the rules to help the people.”

  Diana watched her mother’s face relax. She lowered her hands and foot, then looked over at Diana, Rick, and the other agents.

  “The rules must be followed,” she said weakly.

  “Then change the rules for the better,” Diana urged. “And follow the new ones.”

  Mrs. Maple hopped off the desk, filled with new life. “You’re right. Follow me. I’ll take you to the Director.”

  “Mom . . .” Diana said. “I . . .”

  “Not another word, Diana.” Her mother was all business, as usual. “Move quickly.”

  Mrs. Maple led the group deep into the complex, back to the Director’s private chamber. With a swipe of her keycard, she opened the door.

  The hermit crab boy, Gregory, was waiting for them. He turned around and ran backward at them, shell-first.

  Rick stepped forward. “I order you to stop!” He held out a sheet of cyberpaper—a halt order. Blue electricity crackled off the front of the page, but Gregory broke through the barrier. Rick barely dove out of the way.

  A pocket-size icetinguisher dropped out of Mrs. Maple’s sleeve and into her hand. She fired once at Gregory and a dome of ice splashed across his shell. He shook, breaking the ice into shards. That shell was super strong. Mrs. Maple fired again, aiming at his feet and anchoring him to the floor with ice.

  “Restrain him!” she ordered. The Winterpole agents piled onto the bulky cyborg. He swung his body about, trying to break free, but the agents clung to Gregory’s thick shell, looking quite comical in their suits.

  Mrs. Maple fired several more blasts of ice at Gregory, and soon he was subdued, coated in ice and stuck to the ground. Some of the agents were frozen to him, and they complained loudly. Against Winterpole regulations, Mister Snow moved about the mound of ice, trying to pry his agents free.

  Diana ran to Rick and helped him up. Rick nudged his glasses back up his nose. They walked to the center of the room, where steam hissed out of the Director’s isolation chamber.

  Rick banged on the metal. “Hey! Mister Director. Open up! I know you’re in there.”

  There was no reply. He banged harder. He kicked the metal container. Nothing.

  Suddenly, the back wall illuminated with the massive pixelated face of the Winterpole leader. “Who dares disturb the meditation of the Director of Winterpole?”

  “Show us your true face, Director!” Rick shook his fist at the screen. “Stop hiding inside that bubble. Get out here and face us.”

  The Director’s computer-generated eyes narrowed. “Winterpole Law Number One, Section One: The Director of Winterpole gives the orders. Winterpole Law Number One, Section Two: The Director of Winterpole does not take orders.”

  “You can’t open the bubble, can you?” Rick smirked. He looked like he had just beaten the last level of an impossible video game. “Because there’s no one inside the bubble. Is there, Director? Admit what you really are.”

  The Director’s face shook violently. “I am the Director of Winterpole!” he bellowed.

  “Rick, use your overrider!” Diana called to him. She circled the bubble and pulled on the access hatch, but it wouldn’t budge. Her mother and the other agents crowded the isolation chamber. “Help me!”

  Rick drew his overrider and flashed it at the access hatch.

  “Stop that!” commanded the Director. “Do not open that hatch!”

  Sparks flew. The hatch popped open, belching steam into the room. Diana fanned away the cloud and looked inside.

  A tangle of wires covered a school-desk-sized circuit board, which obstructed any “access” into the isolation chamber at all. Several more circuit boards were stacked in a row. Diana couldn’t believe it. Where was the Director? Was Rick right? Was the Director really a supercomputer?

  A round monitor on the top circuit board flashed. An audio waveform swirled as the voice of the Director boomed. “Oh no! You have uncovered my secret at last. No one can thwart the omniscience and power of Winterpole’s great intelligence. Step away, before I vanquish you all with my, um, artificial mind.”

  Diana exchanged a look with Rick. Something about the hokey way the Director was talking puzzled her. He didn’t exactly sound like a supercomputer.

  “How did you come into command of Winterpole?” she asked the cir
cuit board, unsure where to direct her question.

  “I have always commanded Winterpole. The elegant code that dictates my actions has evolved over the decades along with the organization. That is why Winterpole has advanced so efficiently.”

  “Something doesn’t add up,” Rick said.

  “I know,” Diana agreed. “Help me with this.”

  She reached into the isolation chamber and tore out the top circuit board. Sparks flew as the wires popped free. Rick grabbed the next one with her and they pried it off together.

  “Stop that!” bellowed the image of the Director on the wall. “I order you to stop immediately. Unhand my circuits! I am an invincible computer program! Please believe me!”

  Rick and Diana kept ripping out the circuitry inside the dome while the Winterpole agents cheered them on. Down deep in the dome, under the wires, Diana saw movement.

  “Hey, look!” she cried, grabbing fistfuls of cables and snapping them free like she was plucking roots from the ground. They broke, exposing a cushioned chair at the bottom of the dome, surrounded by televisions, computer keyboards, and a microwave.

  At the center of the clutter was a chubby old man in a dirty T-shirt that struggled to cover his oversized gut. He looked like one of those guys who doesn’t get off the couch for an entire football season, or in the case of this guy, several seasons.

  “Oh, blast it!” the man wailed in a voice that Diana imagined a slug might have.

  “Mister Director?” she asked in disbelief.

  “Don’t look at me! I am the all-powerful Director of Winterpole!” He held up his arms to shield his pale face from the light.

  “So he’s not a robot?” Rick asked, sounding disappointed.

  The Director looked up at Rick. “No, but if it weren’t for you two, no one would have ever found out! My deception was perfect! The best way to protect myself from usurpers and other unsavories was to conceal my identity. I wondered: what entity would make the most intimidating leader of a monolithic, global rule-making organization? The answer, of course, was a powerful supercomputer. I had to become a computer, and so I began to think like a computer. I asked myself, ‘How would a computer run Winterpole?’ And the answer was that the computer would need to create an illusion—pretend that it was in fact a person, not an AI. And so I created the illusion of the Director, the person, as a charade of the computer.”

  Diana squeezed the bridge of her nose and winced. “So, you’re a person, pretending to be a computer, pretending to be a person?”

  “And you fell for it!” the Director said proudly. “The illusion was sustained for years. Anyone suspicious would have to dig so deep and get so many permissions they would never find the truth, and thus I was able to sustain my command over the organization.”

  A loud crash, like a thousand panes of glass shattering, drew their attention to the room’s entrance. Gregory had broken free of the ice and scurried from the room.

  The Director flailed his arms. “What’s that? Who’s there? This assemblage is obstructing the viewpoints of my multi-directional cameras!”

  “Gregory is going to warn Benjamin!” Rick said. “Diana, we have to do something.”

  Diana nodded. “Mister Director.” She leaned over the opening into the isolation chamber so she could lock arms with the man inside. “Come with us to the surface. We have to negate the Ultimate Continent Ownership Form. Benjamin Nagg has taken control of the continent. We need you to stop him.”

  “Oh no! I created the Ultimate Continent Ownership Form as a contingency plan. But now we need a contingency for our contingency.”

  “Benjamin taking control was never the plan,” Rick said. “We have to stop him before he hurts more people.”

  “But I’m the Director of Winterpole! I can’t break my own rules just because I feel like it!”

  Rick exclaimed, “Look at all the rules you’re allowing Benjamin to break because he has the Ultimate Continent Ownership Form! He has violated countless laws. That must supersede the UCOF.”

  The Director nodded. “You may have a point, Mister Lane. Stand back, everyone!”

  The agents followed their boss’s commands and backed away. So did Rick and Diana. The isolation chamber began to shudder. Cracks appeared in the sides of the dome and it blossomed open, folding apart like a great metal flower. Wheels appeared underneath the dome and it rose onto its movers. The Director sat atop the walker like it was a spidery scooter. He used a remote to pilot his mechanical platform toward the exit of the room. “Follow me, agents! Other folks! We shall go to the surface and deal with these do-badders.”

  Taking a deep breath, Diana and the rest of the group tailed the Director to the cargo elevator tube. This was a square shaft where Winterpole agents could load hoverships for storage and maintenance. It was big enough to fit their crew, which now included Diana, Rick, Diana’s mother, Mister Snow, the formerly imprisoned Winterpole agents, and the Director of Winterpole on his rolling platform. Rick pushed the button for the surface and the platform rose. Above, Diana saw the square of morning sky widen.

  When they reached the surface, Benjamin was waiting for them. Three platoons of Winterpole agents surrounded the elevator tube, each with an icetinguisher aimed at Diana’s group.

  At the sight of the Director, whose face so closely resembled the digitally rendered face they knew, the agents hesitated. Benjamin pushed through the circle, his thick metal arms knocking agents to the ground with each shove. The Brat Brigade stayed behind him. The girl with the cheetah legs, Kitty, was perched on Gregory’s shell. Buzz looked ready to peck out the eyes of the first person who crossed him.

  “And who is this superfan?” Benjamin asked in his cold, robotic voice.

  “Oh, heyas!” the Director waved, wiggling his fingers at the crowd.

  “Identify yourself,” Benjamin snapped.

  “I am the Director of Winterpole. You are a very naughty boy, Benjamin Nagg. A very naughty boy.”

  Benjamin made an iron fist. “I’ll show you just how naughty I can be, Mister Director. I control Winterpole now. Why, I control the whole continent!”

  “Wrong!” the Director cooed. “You’re oh so very incorrect, Mister Nagg. As Director of Winterpole, I hereby declare the Ultimate Continent Ownership Form to be null and void. It doesn’t mean anything!”

  “What? No! You can’t do that.” Benjamin looked around, his red eyes flashing. The agents lowered their weapons, wondering if Benjamin’s rule was truly over. The Brat Brigade backed away.

  “Seize these continent seizers!” the Director ordered. The Winterpole agents charged Benjamin.

  Buzz grabbed Gregory’s shell and flapped his wings, taking to the air. “Run, everyone! Get out of here!”

  Benjamin’s hoverboots shot him skyward, and the others fled the scene. The Winterpole agents opened fire with their icetinguishers, but the Director’s presence hadn’t improved their aim.

  Mister Snow barked orders. “Get after them! Man your hoverships, agents, let’s go!” The agents leaped to action, rushing about the launchpad and climbing aboard their vehicles. A squad of hoverships took off and pursued the Brat Brigade south, over the jungle.

  Diana turned to Rick. “I can’t believe we did it. You saved me. And we saved Winterpole. Thank you.”

  Rick adjusted his glasses to hide his blushing. “Just returning the favor. You’ve saved me a bunch of times.”

  The Director wheeled close to Diana and Rick. “Now the question remains, what to do about you, Miss Maple.”

  “Agent Maple,” Diana’s mother corrected. She gave Diana a small smile.

  “Oh, yes, of course!” The Director said. “I believe a commendation is in order, for your bravery, efficiency, and overall superlative Winterpole-esque behavior.”

  “A commendation?” Diana asked excitedly. “Me? Really? Rick deserves one too.
We never could have saved Winterpole without him.”

  “I have something else planned for young Mister Lane.” The Director cleared his throat. “I think you’ll like this. You have proven yourself to be a defender of the world, well in line with the stated goals of Winterpole. As such, I hereby declare all past infractions committed by the Lane family, Lane Industries, and the city of Scifun null and void! Your records are clear! Penalties deleted!”

  Rick gasped in surprise. Diana hugged him jubilantly as he grinned from ear to ear. Rick’s communicator beeped. George Lane’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Did I hear that right? My record’s clear? Woohoo!”

  The Condor zoomed overhead, corkscrewing in wild patterns. Tristan Ruby’s speakers, strapped to the wings, pumped a triumphant fanfare.

  “Dad!” Rick shouted into his communicator. “Have you been listening this whole time?”

  “Of course!” George said over the comm. “I had to block out this maniac’s music somehow.”

  “I heard that!” said the muffled voice of Tristan Ruby in the background.

  Diana looked at Rick, shaking her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe it. It’s over.”

  “Uhhh . . .” George’s voice crackled again. “I wouldn’t count your endangered eagle eggs before they hatch. You kids better take a good long look at the sky west of here.”

  Squinting into the distance, Diana felt her heart sink. Looming among gray storm clouds was a massive black hovership, shaped like a deadly shark.

  “Mastercorp,” Rick said in dismay. “They’re coming.”

  INSIDE THE PYRAMID, GRAINS OF SAND COVERED THE STONE FLOOR, AND EVIE’S SHOES MADE LOUD scraping noises with each step. She led the way down the narrow corridor, aiming her flashlight into each dark nook and cranny.

  “Evie,” Sprout whispered, staying close behind her, “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

  “What other way is there to go? We can’t go back. I didn’t see any turns. The only way is forward.”