My Cousin is a Time Traveller

by David Solomons

  “It looks like someone was playing around with the fuse box in the hall cupboard,” she said suspiciously.

  I didn’t know how she could tell. She was like a forensics expert in one of those police shows she was always watching.

  She narrowed her eyes at Zack and me. “Any idea who that might have been, hmm?”

  Zack couldn’t help himself. He confessed to switching off the power, but—

  “But nothing, young man.” When Mum got into her stride she was scarier than Servatron. “You know you’re forbidden from going near the fuse box.” I could see her mentally flick through a list of suitable punishments, and at last she said, “No Billy Dark ticket for you.”

  His protests fell on deaf ears. Under normal circumstances I would’ve been delighted to see Zack get into this much trouble, but the loss of the ticket was a setback to our plan. On the bright side, Servatron was quiet, for now. However, Dina had said that the AI learned from experience. It would be back – and the next time it would be smarter and deadlier.

  I was heading out to the tree house to check on Dina when I was intercepted by Dad. He pulled me aside, whispering that he needed my help with what he called “a secret mission of vital importance to the future”, but which turned out to mean loading the car with all of the gadgets Mum had told him to return. Zack had been drafted in too. When I reached the driveway my brother was standing next to the car, warily eyeing the Diner Recliner. Dad put down the back seats and we piled everything into the boot. In ten minutes the car was laden with all the devices he had purchased in the last three months. There was just enough space for the toaster. Thankfully, its dials were dark – Servatron was no longer inhabiting it. Dad wiped the soot-stained exterior with a sleeve and placed it down carefully.

  I didn’t understand why he was driving all this stuff back to Rocketship.com. “Two taps on your phone and they’ll send a drone to pick it up,” I reminded him.

  Zack rolled his eyes. “He’s not returning any of it, obviously.”

  A disobeyal of a direct command from Mum. Stunned, I turned to Dad with a questioning, frightened look.

  “Your mum’s upset right now,” he said by way of an explanation. “But she’ll change her mind.” He slammed the boot shut and trotted round to the driver’s door. “And let’s face it, even if she wanted to Mum can’t stop the way the world is going. Rocketship.com is the future. Wolfgang Hazard is a genius.”

  “Who’s he?” I asked.

  “The brains behind the company,” said Dad. “He’s a visionary. Never mind drones, I saw a video – he’s about to launch a one-hour global delivery service. Imagine it.” A gleam came into his eye. “Being able to order anything from anywhere in the world and know it’ll be with you in sixty minutes.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Zack. “Nothing can move that fast.”

  Except for Star Lad, I thought to myself.

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” said Dad. “Wolfgang Hazard has been developing the technology for years. Reusable rockets. It’s his patented Intercontinental Logistic Missile system. Picture the scene. You’re standing on your doorstep, you hear the sonic boom overhead and look up in the sky to see the distinctive solid-fuel rocket trails of a hundred fast-moving missiles delivering payloads of happiness. One of them arcs down towards you and as it homes in unerringly on your location and you glimpse the Rocketship.com logo on the casing you think to yourself, ‘Hurrah! My mini waffle-maker is on its way.’”

  Dad was brimming with excitement about this version of the future. All I could think was that it may well begin with one-hour delivery, but did it end with Servatron?

  He slid behind the wheel. “Oh, and, boys, I’ll need you both at the shop this afternoon. Sales of Star Power are going so well we’re having a special book signing.”

  I couldn’t hide my surprise. “Billy Dark is coming to our shop?”

  “Uh, no, but Chris is dressing up as Star Power.”

  Zack stifled a laugh.

  “But Star Power didn’t write the book,” I said. This was getting ridiculous – did my dad think he was real too?

  “He probably wrote as much of it as Billy Dark,” Zack muttered, adding, “Will Cara be there?”

  “It’s all hands on deck,” said Dad with a nod. “I’m expecting a big crowd. I’ve had to order extra marshmallows.”

  Once he had driven off Zack and I took a roll and cheese and carton of chocolate milk out to Dina in the tree house. Dina ate while we told her about our ticket problems. She dismissed it as a minor hurdle. Which was fine for her to say, but as someone who has struggled for years with minor hurdles, trampettes and every other bit of PE equipment, it seemed a far bigger problem to me. Then Zack told her about the book signing.

  “This could work in our favour,” she said between bites. She looked at Zack. “You and Cara will be at the comic shop until it’s time to leave for the concert. That means we’ll be able to set up a defensive perimeter and keep an eye on both of you, without splitting forces. Servatron will no doubt mount another attack, but it’ll be like a siege. I have some experience of sieges. I was in Carthage when they held out against the Roman army during the Punic Wars in a hundred and forty-nine B.C.”

  “Uh, in the end didn’t the Romans wreck the city and sell everyone into slavery?” said Zack.

  Dina dismissed his doubts with a wave. “We’ll need everyone – gather the team.”

  “I’ll fetch Serge,” I said.

  When he’d left last night he was in a sorry state. I’d hoped that a good night’s sleep would restore him to his normal Kit Kat-loving self, but I was in for an unpleasant surprise. I biked over to his house and when his maman let me in I found him in his room, sitting at the window staring at his copy of Star Power. He was wearing his taekwondo gear again, although I was pretty sure this wasn’t one of his practice days. I think he just liked the look. He gazed up at me with the same blank expression I’d seen on his face the night before.

  “Luke,” he said with a small smile.

  At least he recognised me. But something was wrong and I needed to confirm my suspicion. I jumped right in. “Who saved the world from Nemesis?”

  “Star Power, of course.”

  Uh-oh. Not a good start.

  “And Gordon the World-Eater?”

  “Again, the one and only Star Power.”

  Frustrated, I prised the book out of his fingers and waved it in front of him. “Star Power isn’t real – he’s a fictional character!”

  I could see from his expression that my words, unlike the ones in the book, weren’t getting through.

  “Last night, did you finish reading this?”

  Serge nodded.

  I remembered that in the school canteen, Josh Khan had also just reached the end of Star Power when he began talking as if the character was real.

  It was the book.

  Something about it made readers believe Star Power was a real person!

  “It’s a book that rewrites you,” I muttered, dropping it in shock. The pages splayed out on the floor.

  “Luke, what are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about Billy Dark. All this time I believed he was an innocent pop singer and lately a children’s book author. When in fact he’s a supervillain!” But I was missing something. As evil plots go, it’s not as if making people believe in a pretend superhero achieves anything. Was Servatron connected to this? It didn’t sound like the AI’s style, but I couldn’t rule it out. “We need to call a meeting of S.C.A.R.F.”

  “Why would I need a scarf?” said Serge. “It is a balmy day out there.”

  This was worse than I’d thought. If Serge had forgotten about our secret organisation, what other memories had he lost? All our adventures, gone – his story replaced by a fake one. I looked into his eyes, searching for a spark of the old Serge. “It’s all going to be OK.”

  He gave me a quizzical look, and in that moment I swore I would do everything in my
small power to return Serge to normal. But how? Maybe there was a clue in the book. It had fallen open at the dedication. I never paid any attention to that stuff, so this was the first time I’d noticed the page. I read the words with surprise.

  To Christopher Talbot – the wind beneath my wings. I couldn’t have written this story without you.

  What?! Billy Dark knew Christopher Talbot? When did that happen? One thing was certain – Talbot knew more about the book than he had let on.

  “Come on, Serge,” I said, heading for the door. “Time our deputy manager answered a few questions about Star Power.”

  At the comic shop the signing was well under way. The ground floor was rammed with customers laden down with copies of Star Power and the whole place had been transformed into a shrine to the fictional superhero. Intricate lines of bunting criss-crossed the ceiling, fluttering over a series of cleverly stacked books that together spelled out his catchphrase, “For Fame and Glory!” The shelves had been stripped of comics and in their place gleamed row upon row of silver-covered, red-edged Star Power and the Revenge of the Plasmatrons. The fictional superhero’s starburst symbol exploded on to various surfaces, beamed by cleverly positioned projectors. Superhero music blasted out of speakers. In the midst of the soaring strings and horns, a bass line interrupted along with vocals by Billy Dark.

  “Star Power. Makin’ the bad guys cower

  Comin’ through when it’s zero hour

  Got more pluck than a bass guitar

  Bringin’ more dazzle than a movie star

  Doin’ it all for Fame and Glory

  Star Power’s is the only story.”

  “Outrageous,” I grumbled. “A real superhero doesn’t need a theme song.”

  “Ah, but it is not just a mere ditty, of course,” said Serge. “For when the illustrious Star Power takes to the stage on planet Zirl for the intergalactic sing-off against the Plasmatrons’ finest Attack Choir, it is the song that reduces everyone in the audience to tears, wins the competition and thus saves the entire universe. He is truly the one who writes the songs that make the young Zirls cry.”

  The way Serge talked about Star Power was disturbing. And he wasn’t the only one. As I pushed through the throng of people I caught snatches of conversation from delirious fans.

  “Star Power is so … famous!”

  “He signed my book!”

  “I touched his Gauntlet of Glory!”

  Of course people were excited to meet real superheroes like Star Lad and Dark Flutter, but the way the customers in the shop talked about Star Power he was more of a celebrity than a superhero.

  “Luke, over here!” It was Dad, calling from the other side of the room.

  Serge and I fought our way to the counter, which was besieged with eager customers brandishing books.

  “Just in time,” Dad said, the cash register bleeping like a crazed R2-D2. “The world’s gone mad for this book. You can help me out on the till.”

  I looked at the long line of people. If I got stuck here I’d never get a chance to quiz Christopher Talbot.

  “Be right back,” I said to Dad, swiping a book from a stack on the counter. “Just need to get mine signed.”

  Dad started to object but was immediately swamped by the boisterous queue. Before he resurfaced, Serge and I hurried downstairs.

  The basement was even busier than the ground floor, but unlike the chaos upstairs, here in the Fortress of Snackitude there was a degree of organisation. A row of temporary barriers like the sort you get at airports formed a route around the room. Eager readers filled their ranks in an orderly queue, chattering excitedly among themselves at the prospect of meeting Star Power and getting their book signed. All of the tables bar one had been cleared away. At the sole remaining table sat Christopher Talbot dressed as Star Power, his keyboard-studded face hidden behind the distinctive red helmet worn by the superhero character. The rest of the costume consisted of a silver spandex suit (as shiny as the cover of the book), red boots, red Gauntlets of Glory with palm-mounted limelight blasters to “expose villainy to the spotlight of good”, and his famed Gullibility Belt, which was kind of like Wonder Woman’s lasso of truth. But instead of making people tell the truth, the belt had the power to make them believe whatever Star Power wanted.

  A silver ballpoint pen clutched in one gauntlet flashed again and again as he signed copies for eager fans. Next to him stood Cara, dressed in her super-waitress costume, sullenly flipping open each book to be signed, ensuring the correct spelling of the dedication by writing down the name of each reader on a sticky note, and moving them along when she considered they’d had enough time with the author-slash-superhero. I noticed my schoolmate, Josh Khan, in the queue, hopping from foot to foot in his impatience to meet Star Power. Whatever had caused Serge to start acting strangely, I’d seen the same thing happen to Josh.

  Beside me I heard Serge gasp. “It is him!” He stuck out a trembling finger, pointing across the room at Talbot. “I am in the presence of the great Star Power himself!”

  “No, Serge, it’s just Christopher Talbot dressed up.”

  “You must be mistaken,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “For Star Power’s alter ego is none other than reclusive billionaire orthopaedic shoemaker, Norman Dagger.”

  “Come on! Think about it.” I tapped a finger to the side of my head. “How does an orthopaedic shoemaker become a billionaire?”

  “By producing very comfortable shoes,” said Serge.

  There was no point trying to argue with him, not in his current state of mind. I scanned the room, seeking out my unaffected S.C.A.R.F. colleagues. Lara and Dina patrolled the edges of the café, while Zack had positioned himself behind the coffee counter, serving drinks as he kept an eye on proceedings. Each of them checked in with a nod. All were keeping watch over Cara. If Servatron planned to get to her, it would have to go through all of us. It was a weirdly comforting thought.

  “Is that Lara Lee?” said Serge. “She has a kind face, don’t you think?”

  He barely recognised her. In his head there was no S.C.A.R.F., and without our secret superhero organisation he and Lara never became friends. I was heartbroken at my best friend’s condition. I’d bring Lara and the others up to speed soon enough, but not before I’d had words with Christopher Talbot. Enraged at what had been done to Serge, I returned my attention to the prime suspect in the matter.

  He was wedged into the tight-fitting Star Power costume, signing the book as if he’d written it. And loving the attention. That came as no surprise. Talbot was the only person I knew who craved being a superhero as fiercely as I did. In the past that desire had taken him down a dark path. So, what was his role in Billy Dark’s brainwashing book? I needed to know, urgently, if I was to help Serge.

  Beside me in their cage the three animatronic comic-book villains cackled.

  “I really hate those things,” I muttered.

  The clown pushed its grinning face through the narrow bars and rattled the cage. For a second I wondered if it was being controlled by Servatron, but then I remembered that the actions were part of its normal freaky programming. Nothing to worry about.

  The tannoy system burst into life and Dad’s voice boomed across the shop. “Could Luke Parker go to the stock room. We’re running low on books. That’s Luke Parker to the stock room.”

  “Now?” I mumbled.

  “Right now,” said Dad, as if he’d heard my objection.

  I glanced across the room at the lengthy signing queue. At least Talbot wasn’t going anywhere for a while. I headed back up to the first floor with Serge in tow, and we made our way to the stock room at the back of the shop. The hubbub of excited readers reached even into here – there was no getting away from Star Power today. I groped for the wall switch in the darkness and pale light fell across boxes of books and the stock that had been temporarily stored here to make way for the signing. It also illuminated a section of the room containing all the Rocketship.com purchase
s Dad had told Mum he planned to return. Some, like the Diner Recliner, were boxed, while others had long ago lost their packaging. I couldn’t see the dreaded toaster anywhere.

  “Take these, will you?” I said to Serge and heaved a plastic-wrapped stack of fresh books up off the floor.

  Serge took a step towards me and froze. “Did you hear that?”

  Over the chatter of customers came a faint but distinct whine.

  “It is coming from over there,” he said, pointing to a row of empty Rocketship.com boxes.

  I turned in time to see something rise up behind the boxes.

  It was a strange-looking machine with three legs, two of which were powerful bagless vacuum cleaners, evidently reprogrammed to blow, not suck. The third leg – one of those steam mops – hissed and dripped. Its left arm was a patio heater; the right a telescopic window cleaner that had been adapted so that as well as a squeegee it also came fitted with a range of small appliances, including an electric tin opener and toastie-maker.

  The torso was a full-size washer-dryer, its drum on a spin cycle, causing the distinctive whine. The washer-dryer section was topped by a sort of neck made up of a mini fridge and a large audio speaker. A pair of desk fans attached to each shoulder, working in tandem with the vacuum legs, gave the machine the ability to manoeuvre like a helicopter. On its head it wore an oven exhaust hood like a helmet. Slowly the hood raised itself up and we found ourselves gazing into the four-slice face of evil.

  It was the toaster.

  The two eye-like dials on the chrome casing burned red, the wavy digital display rippled like a grin and then the familiar toneless voice spoke.

  “Hello, Nigel.”

  It was Servatron. The AI from the future had assembled Dad’s hasty gadget purchases into the metal and white-plastic monstrosity that loomed over us. I wondered what was holding it all together and remembered that the speaker forming a section of its neck contained a powerful electromagnet. I suspected that Servatron was somehow using it to generate a field that secured the gadgets in place. As for what was powering the many devices, criss-crossed on its torso, like a pair of ammunition-packed bandoliers, were more than a dozen lithium-ion batteries, including everything from a portable phone charger to a battery pack from a cordless hedge trimmer. It may not have been one of those thousand-year fusion batteries from the future Dina had told us about, but Servatron was packing enough juice to keep itself going for a while.