“And we will take off again. And again. And again. Sooner or later you’ll tire and we’ll be off. Even you can’t hold us down forever.”
For the first time in decades Lutz was speechless.
“Oh, by the way, I took photos of Barnside blowing her circuits. Any trouble from you and I’ll plaster your illegal android all over the Mars-Wide-Web.”
It was a lie but, Zeke fancied, a rather inspired one.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, but I would. I’m expelled, you see. I have absolutely nothing to loose. Tar rah. Albie immediate take off.”
Lutz began shouting. But with the blades spinning her words were inaudible. She disappeared from view as the Red Admiral buzzed up into the new Martian day.
Lutz cursed in four languages. Then she looked beyond the departing gyro to the changing sky. A century on Mars had taught the Principal to read its mysterious moods. A whiff of sulphur was blowing up from the distant southern plateaus.
“A turn for the worse,” she sighed. “The winds are picking up.”
Part Three
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A Hundred Feet Up
The Red Admiral buzzed across a yellow sky. Early morning shadows carpeted the valley floor. Purple canyons soared above the gloom.
The boys’ triumph against Principal Lutz left them in cheery spirits. Scuff opened Albie’s music files and chose a compilation called ‘Three Centuries of Pop’.
“If only I had my guitar!” Scuff said, clicking his fingers to a song about love-struck Fridays.
Later they took turns at pausing Albie and flying the gyro themselves. After a few hair-raising dives, they quickly mastered the joystick, rudders and throttle. Zeke even managed a loop-the-loop.
“Good thing I skipped breakfast!” Scuff grumbled, as they turned right side up.
Later, with the miles clocking up on the gauge, a more serious mood crept over them.
“We’re expelled from the best school in the Solar System!” Scuff shouted over the hum of the blades.
“Can’t your dad sponsor a new wing? Then the old bat will have to take you back.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about. How will you get reinstated, never mind track down your father?”
“Scuff, if we don’t stop Magma opening the Infinity Trap, none of that will matter anymore.”
Scuff frowned. “How can you be so sure?”
Zeke drew a deep breath and began updating the Canadian on his ‘trip’ inside the engraving.
“How come these things always happen to you?”
“Because I speak Hesperian. And, I think, the Orb of Words somehow made me ‘Martian friendly’. Like the engraving knew me.”
Scuff chuckled. “The Orb of Words? I like it. A lot catchier than, um, the Globe of Incomprehensible Alien Syntax. Do they come in Spanish? Or Japanese?”
“The Orb is no joke, Scuff.”
Scuff lost his smile. “Pardon me, bro. So, this Spiral, is it mega dangerous?”
Zeke stared into the distance. “It’s name in Hesperian is Klriinthnga. That means Killer Spiral.”
“Do these words just pop into your head? You’re not communicating with some prehistoric alien ghost, are you?”
“They just pop into my head. And I only understand them if they have a meaning in English. Some words swim about my brain without a shred of meaning. Mchx-dthfkii, for example.”
“Maybe that means ‘the big bad spiral is a wimp’?”
“I wish,” Zeke said sadly.
Neither boy said anything for a long time.
“So what’s this Infinity Trap like?” Scuff asked eventually.
“Dunno.”
“They didn’t tell you much, these living thoughts.”
“They were recorded before life on Earth existed. It’s a miracle they still work.”
The gyro juddered over a pocket of warm air.
“What was it like being two dimensional?” Scuff asked.
“Unbelievable.”
Scuff picked his nose. “Totally not, bro. You’ve not been doing your homework.”
“Huh?”
“Superstring theory. Its calculations tell us there may be ten or more dimensions all around us. But, being three-dimensional creatures, we can’t see them.”
Zeke gave him a baffled look.
“Length, width, and height. The three dimensions that shape our awareness of reality. We see atoms as fixed particles in our space-time continuum. Major mistake, bro. They’re really strings of energy.”
“Like knitting?”
Scuff glared. “Like guitar strings, obviously! Strings vibrating through different universes. We only see a cross section of the greater whole. Anyway, if we are three-dimensional creatures living in a ten-dimensional universe, then being a two dimensional creature is, well, not so inconceivable.”
“You’re making my head hurt. Change the subject.”
“Okay, two more hours and we reach Gagarin Freetown.”
A determined look blazed within Zeke’s dark eyes, a look Scuff dreaded. “Actually, let’s skip it. At this rate we can get to Noctis Labrynthis by tomorrow evening. The Admiral’s fusion cells are fully charged.”
“No way, bro. I’m not peeing out of a moving aircraft. And my stomach needs regular recharging.”
“But Scuff—”
“But-splut, no arguments, bro. I mean it.”
Zeke bit deeply on his lower lip. Scuff was risking his life. He had to remember that.
~~~
Five golf balls sat on the horizon, arranged in a pentagon. Slowly they grew in into buildings.
“Twenty-first century biospheres, how primitive,” Scuff sniffed.
“This place sounds pretty lawless,” Zeke remarked.
Scuff flicked a switch on the console. “Albie, are you programmed with the Encyclopaedia Americana?”
“Negative, Sir.”
“The Encyclopaedia Marius?”
“Affirmative.”
Scuff sighed.
“Everything is so second rate on this planet. Very well, tell us what you know about Yuri-Gagarin. And make it snappy.”
Lines of holographic text shimmered in front of the windscreen.
Yuri Gagarin
Born 1934-03-09, Klushino, USSR. Died 1968-03-27. Russian Cosmonaut and first man in space.
Yuri-Gagarin Freetown
A Martian colony that began as a Russian research station in 2124. As the environment in the Mariners Valley stabilised it grew into a significant trading outpost. In 2174 it was decreed a Russian Protectorate. However in 2243 a peaceful revolution, led by Ptolemy Cusp, declared Independence making it the first sovereign state of Mars.
“What a totally jackass name! Who does this Ptolemy Cusp think he is?” Scuff barked.
Albie answered the question with more text.
Ptolemy Cusp
Born 2221-07-08, Hokusai Station, Mars. Un-elected leader of Yuri Gagarin Freetown. ‘This young man is a dangerous mix of businessman and revolutionary with a dash of the Samurai for good measure’ (Captain Leopold Doughty, the Martian Book of Quotations 2243-14-09)
“It didn’t dawn on me there’s so much going on outside the School,” Zeke said.
“Totally, bro. These so-called Martian trueborns are all for a war of independence, the morons.”
“Thought you’d support a war for independence, after all—”
“You’re thinking of the American War of Independence, Zeke, I’m from over the border, remember?”
“Oh, sorry.” Scuff rolled his eyes and continued, “These trueborns are just troublemakers. How dare they—”
A voice crackled over the radio.
“Autogyro RA1960. Are you landing here?”
“Absolutely,” Zeke replied. “Um, permission to land?”
“Permission? Heck boy, you got no horse sense? You don’t need no permission. Just park your ve-hee-cle in any free spot you can. See y’all later.”
“That’s la
wless alright.” Zeke said, and took control of the joystick
The Red Admiral dropped rapidly over a sea of tents and prefabs. A landing strip opened up in front of them. Zeke steered a perfect touchdown.
“Not bad for a beginner,” Scuff muttered, just loud enough to be heard.
A lanky, freckle-faced teenager with black spiky hair ran across the tarmac and tapped on the cockpit. Scuff slid over the windscreen.
“Courtesy of Y.G.F.T.,” the older boy drawled in a rich American accent. He handed them canned drinks.
“Craterade, one of our best sellers. Brewed from gen-yoo-ine Martian iron oxide; puts fur on your chest.”
A cold drink was exactly what they needed after the long dusty flight. Zeke and Scuff followed the boy back to a flimsy wooden shack with the sign ‘Arrival Suite’ nailed over its door.
Zeke beamed. “This is a really friendly place.”
“Wonder how you go about becoming a citizen?” Scuff retorted.
Both boys squeezed through the narrow entrance. Once inside their smiles evaporated like water on an airless moon. Two burly men in combat fatigues were aiming huge guns at them. A similarly dressed woman stood by the exit. She had tightly-cropped ginger hair and eyes as piercing as spotlights.
“They call me Isla The Incisor, because I’m known for my bite.”
She bared two rows of perfect, pearly teeth.
“And I am here, Mr Hailey and Mr Barnum, to arrest you in the name of Ptolemy Cusp.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Arrivals Shack
Scuff puffed out his chest as far as it could go. “Listen up, lady, we’re on a tight schedule here and need supplies. Keep out of our way. Okay?”
Isla the Incisor clicked her fingers. The Neanderthal on her right aimed his gun, a bulky cylinder of coils and chambers. It began whining.
“Hey! I’m an Canadian citizen!”
A flash of neon ran up the barrel. Scuff covered his eyes. Zeke cried out. And then nothing. Nothing except a whooshing noise.
Zeke raised his eyebrows. “That was a damp squib,” he remarked. Scuff let out a sigh of relief.
“Oh was it?” Isla replied with a cunning glint in her eyes. “Okay, psychic boy. Show me your stuff.”
Scuff glanced around the room and focused hard on a couple of Craterade cans. Everyone waited for the cans to move. They didn’t.
“What have you done to me? My psychokinesis is diddly-squat!”
Isla threw back her head and laughed loudly.
“It’s a ferromagnetic gun. It soaked you with magnetic ions, dampening your psychic energies. Don’t worry, kid, you’ll be back to normal in twenty hours or so.”
The boys looked at each other helplessly.
“And if you try any funny business you’ll get a blast too,” Isla added to Zeke.
Zeke opened his mouth to explain he had no special abilities, but then thought better of it. In any case, supposing he was extrasensory? Scuff certainly seemed to think so.
Isla sat down on the table, resting her feet on the chair.
“Right, to business. Our psychic received a telepathic message this morning about you two.”
“Your psychic?” Zeke said in surprise.
“Why not? The governments of Earth don’t monopolise all the talent. A man as clever as Ptolemy Cusp is bound to have a psych in his service.”
“Sounds like a reject Mariner to me,” Scuff said darkly.
“I’ll ignore your prejudice. The point is your principal asked us to apprehend you and return you to the Chasm. For your own safety.”
“Oh sure,” Zeke said, with mock sincerity.
“Apparently Lutz has issued a severe weather warning.”
They all turned their heads to the window. There wasn’t a cloud in the rusty sky.
“Well, Lutz is the psychic, maybe it’s brewing. The point is she wants you back. And Ptolemy owes her a few favours.”
“So you’re sending us back in chains. What happened to that Freetown spirit?” Zeke asked bitterly.
Isla leaned back. “You have a point, Mr Hailey. Yuri-Gagarin Freetown believes in independence. But we have to coexist with our neighbours peacefully. Nevertheless, Ptolemy instructed me to make you an offer.”
“An offer?” Zeke and Scuff said together.
“You’re already expelled from the Mariner’s school. Come and work with our resident psychic. She’s getting on in years. Frankly we’ll soon need a successor.”
“Ooh! That’s an offer with serious potential,” Scuff cooed.
“Then it’s a yes?”
It sounded too good to be true to Zeke. He scrutinized her face for a hint of deceit. He stared into her flashing blue eyes. Beyond those lay the brain, full of thoughts, memories and feelings. If only he could see into that. If only he could delve just a little deeper.
An image slipped into his mind. A glimpse of a tall, well built Japanese man, a proud and confident man. A man Isla loved. An honest man, but a ruthless one.
Zeke cleared his throat.
“We’d be happy to consider your proposal once we rescue our friend.”
“Rescue?”
“Oh I see. This message didn’t tell you why we were running away?”
Isla gave them a blank look.
Zeke sucked in a long breath and began...
“Martian monsters kidnapping kids?” Isla exclaimed at the end of the weird tale. “That settles it. You stay with us. This is a conspiracy with the Mariners’ fingerprints all over it.”
Scuff frowned. “Don’t badmouth the Mariners. They’re saving mankind.”
Isla threw him the oddest look. “Are they? Then why do none of the deep space colonists ever come back? I say the Mariners Institute is up to something. And the Ophir Chasma School is at the rotten core of that plot. You kids are lambs to the slaughter.”
“Now you’re talking garbage.”
“And you’re trying my patience. So what’s it to be? Shipped back to Earth as delinquents or a lifetime membership in our little freewheeling clan?”
Zeke’s mind was in overdrive. The two guns fired magnetism not bullets, but Isla could still detain them by brute force. There was no way he and Scuff could overpower her guards. But they might outrun them. He needed a diversion. Zeke caught Scuff’s eye and winked.
“Can we meet this Ptolemy? To help make up our minds?”
Isla beamed.
“Sure.” She nodded to one of the security men. “Fetch the electrocabs.”
The man left.
“I’m so thirsty, can I have drink?” Zeke asked sweetly.
“Me too,” Scuff added.
Isla tossed them the cans of Craterade. Zeke shook his tin vigorously. Scuff copied him.
“What are you doing?” Isla protested.
“THIS!”
Zeke ripped off the can’s ring pull. Scuff did the same. Two fountains of brown fizzy pop showered Isla and her thug. They shrieked in disgust.
“RUN!” Zeke cried.
He bolted for the exit back to the runway and grabbed the handle. Desperately he rattled the door in its frame. It was locked from the outside!
“Y’all looking for these?”
They swivelled round to see the spiky-haired teenager sauntering through the front door. He was jangling a ring of keys in his hand.
Zeke muttered a Martian cuss through gritted teeth.
“Good work, Justice,” Isla said in a voice as cold as ice.
She slowly wiped the bronze-coloured froth from her face, her pale blue eyes fixed on Zeke and Scuff.
“We’re for it now, bro!” Scuff whimpered.
Isla pointed at each of them rapidly with her forefinger. The goon handed his ferromagnetic gun to the boy called Justice, and, dripping soda, pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
“No need for—” Zeke began, as the man seized him, but to no avail. The goon yanked Zeke’s wrists behind and clicked the cuffs on. Scuff made a sudden run for the front entrance. In a fl
ash Isla floored him with a karate chop. The goon hauled him up and cuffed him too.
Isla crossed her arms, her face a picture of fury.
“Don’t say I didn’t try. Let’s see what Ptolemy has to say about you two.”
“Shucks, can I tag along, Boss?” Justice asked. “Not often we get Mariners in town. I’m mighty curious to learn more.”
Isla gave a hard stare as though she thought him an idiot, then nodded. “Whatever, Justice.”
At that moment two small, three-wheeled carts pulled up outside.
“My father’s golf buggy is more luxurious than that!” Scuff remarked sourly.
“GO!” Isla barked.
The goon gave Zeke a shove in the direction of the door. A picture of Pin-mei, alone in the dark, flashed through his mind. With a heavy heart Zeke walked out into the dust.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Biosphere Three
“Move!” Isla shouted, prodding Zeke in the back with her ferromagnetic rifle.
The entrance to the white spherical building slid across and the party filed inside. The dusty streets and ramshackle homes of the Freetown disappeared as the door closed behind them. The next door opened into a large hall. An intricately patterned Persian rug led across the chamber, past computer stations and display units stuffed with Oriental antiques, up to the steps of a throne.
The grand wooden seat, engraved with dragons and space rockets, was occupied by a broad-shouldered East Asian man, dressed in a black silk kimono. Ptolemy Cusp, exactly as Zeke had imagined him! A frail, hooded figure, leaning on a walking stick stood beside the great leader. Both were deep in a whispered conversation.
As soon as the great leader saw Isla he gave a click of his fingers. The thin figure bowed and, without turning to reveal his or her face, tottered away into the shadows.
“Isla? Are our visitors now our prisoners?” Ptolemy boomed with a genial grin.
Isla glared at Zeke and approached the throne. She too fell into murmurs and whispers.
Zeke scanned around for an escape route. They were flanked by guards and the teenager Justice. The boy caught Zeke’s attention and gave a light-hearted shrug.
“Your hair’s bluer than a mountain chickadee. Is that on account of you being a Mariner or did you take a tumble in an ink vat as a young’un?”
The Infinity Trap Page 13
