by Lucy Hawking
“When we discover which kids are missing,” he said slyly, “we can find out who has been tampering with the systems in order to help them. My guess is that you’ve got someone or something on the inside working against you.”
“Caramba!” cried Dump. “So true! I have traitors on the inside working against me all the time!”
“When I capture these runaways, I will interrogate them,” said Slimicus. “They will tell me all they know—and they will lead you back to any traitors you have within.”
“Good, good,” said Trellis. “Good work, whatever your name is . . .”
“Slimicus Slimovich,” murmured the Child Hunter.
“Could they be spies?” pondered Dump. “Could these kids have come over from Other Side?”
“Maybe,” said Slimicus doubtfully. “I’m just a humble Child Hunter, wanting to pass on information to the very—”
Dump interrupted him. “I’ll bring forward the so-called peace treaty with Other Side,” he mused, as if to himself. “Distract them. I just need long enough to—” He suddenly seemed to remember that he was broadcasting, and not just following, his private thoughts. “Get them both,” he commanded the Child Hunter. “And anyone who has harbored or helped these kids, any followers of the movement—any movement, anything that isn’t completely and totally loyal to me. Tell me everything. Leave nothing out.”
“Master,” said Slimicus, bowing low again. Without seeing his face, George knew he was smiling.
“What are you waiting for!” ordered Dump. “Get on with it!”
With that, Dump vanished, his weak, sickly laser light looking as if it were feeding itself back into the end of Slimicus’s illuminated stick once more.
Once Dump had dematerialized, leaving the forest to its dark whispers, Slimicus pulled his stick out of the ground, retracted it like a tele-scope, and put it back in his pocket. Whistling to himself, he sauntered away, taking a route out of the other side of the clearing.
George dared breathe again. “What was that all about!” he squeaked into Atticus’s ear.
“Trouble,” replied Atticus. “It means big trouble.”
“What do we do now?” said George.
“On the bright side,” said Atticus, checking the forest around him for clues, “if we’ve run into old Slimicus and he’s on Hero’s trail, it means we’re going the right way.”
Chapter Seventeen
Looking ahead, George shaded his eyes to get a better view of the rolling plain in front of him. Once, George guessed, this might have been moorland, covered in heather. Behind them lay the edge of the giant forest, now shady and dark in the morning sun. In contrast the land in front was empty, scorched, and desolate. He sat down on a rock and puffed out his cheeks. The sun had risen over in the east. As the bright disc rose above the horizon, out of the corner of his eye George noticed something glinting.
“There!” He pointed. “To the north! There’s something there!”
“Oh yes!” said Atticus. “You’re right—so there is.”
“Is that Wonder Academy?” asked George.
“Too big,” said Atticus, squinting into the distance. “That’s not Wonder Academy. I think we’ve found it.”
“Found what?” said George.
“Our next destination,” said Atticus. “I think we’ve found Edenopolis.”
*
They might have found Edenopolis, but for now they couldn’t go there. To keep them safe, Atticus made George wait until nightfall to start crossing the plain. While they waited, he set about foraging roots and plants from the bare landscape.
“I can’t light a fire,” he said to George. “It would make us too visible. But these you can eat!” He had peeled the fleshy white roots with his hunter’s knife as well as amassing a fine collection of insects that he claimed were edible.
George, whose rations seemed to have almost run out, had no choice. He had never eaten a live ant before, but, seeing Atticus scoop a handful into his mouth, followed his example.
“Delicious, huh?” said Atticus happily.
“Um, kind of citrusy,” said George. They weren’t as bad as he’d expected, especially when wrapped in a green leaf. He washed them down with water from his purifier. He wondered how Hero was managing until he realized that she must have helped herself to some of his rations. He and Atticus couldn’t even talk much as Atticus said it was too risky—their voices could be picked up by some hidden sensor. All they could do was sit very still and wait.
As night fell at last, after the longest day of George’s life, they crept across the bare land. George looked up to see whether he could spot more roving satellites or other signs of human activity in the night sky. He wished he had his telescope with him. But, even with just his naked eye, he was sure he saw signs in the skies above that proved that all human activity in space had not stopped.
When he wasn’t wondering about the skies, he thought about Hero. Where was she now? How could they possibly find her? He couldn’t even be sure she was heading for Wonder Academy. George had understood from Dump’s words that, while he and Hero had eluded the surveillance of Eden so far, they were now being hunted. Even if Dump wrongly thought they were a pair of spies from Other Side, once they caught him and Hero—and Atticus—the penalty would be terrible. George didn’t know if they would be strong enough not to give away Nimu and Empyrean. He’d told Matushka everything without really checking that it was safe to do so. He’d been lucky—he hoped! She was a fellow exile and wanted the end of Eden so that her people and her son could return to some kind of freedom. But the next time he must say nothing at all.
As dawn broke, they drew near to the capital of Eden. It rose out of a bank of smoke-gray clouds, shining so brightly it was as though the shards of high buildings were made of gold. Beyond it thrashed an angry-looking sea, bashing against huge fortified barricades bristling with missiles, erected to keep the sea from drowning the city—and outsiders from landing on the shore.
“Hero was right!” said George. It looked like a fairy-tale castle, floating on a mass of nebulae with peaks that reached the sky itself.
“Shooting stars! We’re in luck,” said Atticus. They were perched on a rocky outcrop on the plain, which gave them a view of the sweep of land leading up to Eden itself. Across it, moving like a line of trudging ants, came a long procession. Looking more closely, they could see that it was made up of a raggedy column of humans and horses and caravans with huge wheels. There was no doubt in which direction this ramshackle procession was headed.
“It must be the Day of Reckoning!”
“The what?” said George, though he had a memory of Empyrean telling him something about it. Something to do with paying taxes?
“Tell you later!” said Atticus, scrambling down the rocks toward the procession. “Keep up!”
They clambered down from the ridge and ran across the plain to catch up with the back of the crowd. As they got closer, they realized it was made up only of humans—they could see no robots. In fact, there was almost no technology visible—the people were plodding along, some leading, some riding scruffy horses carrying saddlebags packed with provisions for the trek. Dusty caravans swayed in front of them, pulled by huge beasts with heads so low to the ground their noses grazed the dust.
“Is that . . . an ox?” said George in disbelief, pointing to one of the beasts slowly tramping across the empty landscape toward the city.
Atticus nodded.
“Why don’t they have cars?” said George. “And buses and trains? Why are people using animals to get around?”
“Only the elite are allowed to use technology of any kind,” said Atticus. “It would be illegal for any of these people to travel that way.”
“I hate the future,” said George, forgetting that Atticus didn’t know he was from the past.
“Why did you say that?” asked Atticus. “Where do you really come from, George?”
“Quiet!” The leader of the group they ha
d attached themselves to flicked a whip toward the hindquarters of the ox pulling the nearest caravan. “Now we will sing the national anthem!”
The motley crowd were dressed in a variety of different costumes. Some of them looked like peasants from the Middle Ages; others wore clothes made up of patches of colorful fabrics, as though they had sewn their clothes together from other garments. Like Atticus, a few of them were clad in animal hide. George glanced down at his jumpsuit. Once it had been white, but now it was the color of the forest—greeny-brown, gray, and black. He fit right in.
The marchers started to sing. “Eden is the best of all possible worlds!” they quavered uncertainly, to no particular tune.
“Join in,” hissed Atticus, elbowing George. Obligingly George opened his mouth and pretended to sing along. “Eden, we love Eden,” the exhausted crowd caroled. “Eden is the best!” There was obviously a high note that the marchers couldn’t reach, so the song trailed off and once more the only sound was of feet pounding slowly, ever nearer to the gorgeous skyscrapers of Edenopolis, bathed in a glowing, iridescent light.
George thought that he and Atticus were blending in. But, looking around, he realized something.
“Where are all the other kids?” he said quietly to Atticus as they marched onward, getting close to the perimeter of Edenopolis.
People in the crowd around them were starting to give them funny looks. A man dressed in a fur jerkin and shabby patched trousers came over to Atticus and said a few quiet words to him. The man looked at George and his eyes filled with tears. He wiped them roughly with a dirty hand and then clasped both of George’s hands, and then Atticus’s. He seemed quite overcome. Atticus, ever practical, nudged him and pointed at the nearest covered wagon with his eyebrows raised in question. Nodding in reply, the man ushered them quickly over and lifted up the canvas flap at the back so that they could jump in.
Inside, the air was warm and musty. It smelled of old blankets and dust. Bundles of provisions, logs, and animal hides were stacked up on the wooden base. As they plodded along, the wagon swayed from side to side with the steps of the animals that pulled it. The motion was weirdly like being in a ship on the ocean. George felt a bit sick, rather tired—and so confused. But he had been awake for so long that he couldn’t stop himself from dozing off—the warmth, the motion of the oxen, and the unaccustomed feeling of safety knocked him out.
Atticus woke him up. “Nearly there,” he whispered into George’s ear.
But, just before they got to the outskirts of the big city, the procession came to a sudden halt. Through the tentlike canvas covering of their wagon, George could hear someone addressing the crowd.
“People of Eden!” a voice bellowed. “We have arrived at Edenopolis, the great capital of our wondrous land, for the Day of Reckoning—the most important day of the year! You will find out today what you have earned through your labors and what Eden has charged you for the privilege of being an Edenite! But that is not all! When you get into Edenopolis, you must be happy! You must cheer! You must look joyful! Whenever you are asked, you will say, ‘Eden is the best of all possible worlds!’ We are here to create a huge crowd to honor our leader, Trellis Dump—may he live forever—and hear his speech! Anyone who does not cheer will be punished. Remember, Eden will be watching you!”
“What now?” said George to Atticus.
But, before Atticus could answer, they were interrupted. The man opened the flap again, his face frantic and scared. He whispered something to Atticus.
“They’re searching the wagons,” Atticus relayed to George. “We have to get out of here . . .”
The two of them slipped out quietly. Their friend was obviously not working alone. He ushered Atticus and George into the middle of a huddle of other gaunt-looking adults, all dressed in shabby clothes. They moved forward in a closely packed group, concealing the two boys in their midst as they passed into Edenopolis. They went through a huge ornamental gateway with high fences on either side. Carved into the apex of the arch were the words GATE OF PROSPERITY.
George gazed upward. They were in the city now, surrounded by huge skyscrapers. These were taller than any building George could remember seeing in his past life, and beautiful—with turrets, spires, and huge ornamental balconies. But now that they were inside Edenopolis George could see why it was far from a fairy-tale city. The peaks of those towers might be in sunlight but their bases were not. A thick blanket of smoggy cloud eclipsed much of the light from ground level. As they walked into the city, they passed under the clouds, and suddenly it grew darker, hotter, and grayer with each step they took. Where the tops of the buildings looked scrupulously clean, under the cloud each structure was grimy and filthy, smeared with dark grease and dust.
George buried his nose in the front flap of his grubby jumpsuit as they shuffled along inside the circle of workers.
“Why are they protecting us?” he whispered to Atticus. “They don’t know us! Why are they helping us?”
“Because they’ve lost their own kids,” said Atticus. “To the regime. And they wanted us to escape. That man said we reminded him of his own boys.”
George let that sink in for a moment. This future was so horrible. Sometimes he was fascinated by how bizarre it was, at other times repelled by the sheer cruelty and destruction.
“Eeww,” said Atticus as they got farther into the city. “Smelly!”
“I expect it’s cleaner up there,” said George, pointing upward to the thick clouds that settled at around half the height of the tall buildings.
“I think Matushka told me that’s where the rich people live, above the cloud line,” said Atticus.
“But what happens when they come down here?” said George.
“They don’t,” said Atticus. “They just fly from building to building. They never go below the clouds. The rich live up there, with the clean air and the sunshine. And the poor are down here in the smog.”
“How are we going to find Hero?” George asked Atticus as they waded through ankle-deep mud and litter under the thick black cloud smothering the narrow streets between the buildings with a hot, wet blanket.
“Matushka said to look for the Great Tower of Dump,” said Atticus. “Then we’ll find Wonder Academy.”
“But which one is it?” said George, looking up. The whole city bristled with huge towers—how would they ever know which one she meant?
As they shuffled forward, other lines of people were joining them, funneling into the packed streets. They seemed to be headed for a huge square, which George could see was already heaving with people. All those present looked the same—they were dirty, hungry, tired, and dressed in rags. It was as if a medieval market crowd had invaded a city of skyscrapers.
Once they got into the piazza, they realized that it had a central platform on which a performance was taking place. Huge screens attached to the skyscrapers on all sides played out the scene for onlookers. Six-foot-tall gladiators were battling with each other, using swords, clubs, and sticks. An enormous bright blue fighter—one of the only splashes of color in this gray place—stepped forward and thrust its sword into its green opponent. The crowds cheered with delight as the green figure fell to the ground and the blue one raised its fist in triumph.
But the green one was straight back up on its huge feet and lunged forward again.
“How did it do that?” said George in amazement. But then he realized that—like everything about Eden—the gladiators weren’t real. These were projections fighting it out for the amusement of the crowd, who loved it—and it meant that no one was looking at the two boys; they were all gazing upward at the huge figures on the screens.
It’s just as well no one’s paying any attention to us, thought George as he looked around. They were jammed into the center of the crowd now—they couldn’t go forward and they couldn’t move backward.
But they still had to get out.
“Att,” he hissed quietly. “This is too dangerous. We’re the only kids
! If anyone’s looking for us, they’ll spot us straightaway.”
Atticus nodded. “Yup.” But he wasn’t really listening. He was gripped by the show, laughing and cheering as the avatars laid into each other. “This is so cool!”
George wasn’t so thrilled. The whole situation was giving him the creeps. “When I say go,” he whispered in Atticus’s ear, “follow me.”
“Can I watch the end of this fight?” his friend pleaded. “Please! I want to see who wins!”
George hesitated. “We need to go,” he said firmly.
“Please?” said Atticus, turning toward George. “I haven’t asked you for anything at all! Please let me see the end?”
George sighed. There was nothing about two avatars engaged in a bruising battle that made him want to watch. But Atticus, he figured, was a different person from a different time. What harm could it do? Two minutes more—or however many Dumps that was—wouldn’t be the end of the world.
Chapter Eighteen
Just as George decided to let Atticus have a moment of entertainment, something happened that changed the atmosphere of the crowd. Just a minute ago, they had all been jostling and pushing each other, trying to get closer to the central stage so they could get a better view of the fight.
But then a voice rang out and the whole mass of people froze and angled their faces upward, like sunflowers turning to the light. He and Atticus, the two smallest figures in the crowd, looked up. A shaft of light had pierced the clouds, which were rolling back like a curtain to reveal the skyscrapers towering over the space below.
Now sunshine was pouring down into what had been a dark and gloomy space. For a second, they were blinded by the brilliant glare from the buildings reflecting the sunlight. As his eyes adjusted, George saw that the biggest of all the buildings had golden letters on it. They were shining so brightly it took him a few seconds to work out what they said.
GREAT TOWER OF DUMP, the sign read. “We found it!” said Atticus. “I bet that’s the one my mom meant!”
