My Cousin is a Time Traveller

by David Solomons

  “I am a ninja,” he said falteringly.

  “Again!”

  “I AM A NINJA!”

  He repeated the phrase over and over, the words blurring along with his fingers as he worked the sheet of paper into a new shape. His eyes misted over, as if he was tapping into an ancient, supernatural power – or possibly he was remembering the instructions. Several dozen ninjas later he stopped. Grasped lightly in his still fingertips was a half-bird, half-skeleton-key thing. It was at once delicate and strong, like a man-sized tissue with added aloe vera.

  “I call it Crouching Aardvark, Leaping Chicken,” he declared, sliding the slimmest portion of the device into the lock. He wiggled it for a few seconds and there was a click. The door was open. We were free.

  Serge’s eyes shone with his triumph. “Next class I am going for the ladybird-in-flight.”

  We poked our heads out to check that the coast was clear.

  “Talbot must have a study,” said Dina. “My bet is we’ll find what we’re looking for there.”

  “But this place, it is enormous,” said Serge. “There must be fifty rooms or more. Where do we start?”

  I had an idea. “Serge, you said the house looks just like Star Power’s mansion, right?”

  “Oui, right down to the whimsical Gothic Revival architecture.”

  “OK, good, so in the book does Star Power have a Batcave?”

  Serge nodded. “His Sanctuary of Reflection, where he goes to meditate on how important he is to the world. It is located in the topmost tower.”

  When we’d arrived, I spotted a tower situated in the middle of the house. “Like the one here?”

  “Exactement!” said Serge with a grin.

  Now we were getting somewhere. With the thud and whir of the printing press fading behind us we made our way along dim and dusty corridors to the heart of the mansion. Wooden floors echoed to our footsteps as we passed through ornately decorated rooms filled with suits of armour and fans of swords stuck to the wall, probably with heavy-duty superglue. This part of the house appeared to be unguarded, and it wasn’t long before we had reached the main entrance hall. Hanging on the dark wood-panelled wall next to a stag’s head with an irritated expression was a display of framed gold and silver discs. They outlined the entrance to the tower, through a narrow door. A spiral staircase wound up through the body of the tower and we began to climb. My leg muscles were burning and I was feeling dizzy by the time we arrived at the topmost door. If Dina was right, Talbot’s study and the answers to our questions lay beyond. Dina didn’t hesitate, marching straight through. Catching my breath, I followed her inside.

  It was a large round room with a stone floor, lit by what at first I thought were flaming torches stuck to the walls on metal arms, but quickly realised were flickering LEDs. A chill wind gusted through an open window on the far side of the room. Shivering, I went to close it. As I drew closer my shoe crunched against something brittle. Shards of glass lay scattered across the flagstone floor and across a large old desk that sat below the jagged frame. The window-pane had been smashed. Also spread across the desk’s leather-topped surface were a jug filled with something green and gloopy, and several teetering stacks of Star Power books. One copy was open, with an uncapped fountain pen resting on the title page. I spotted a movement in the shadows beneath the desk and crouched down for a better look.

  “Don’t hurt me!” cried a man’s voice. Someone was hiding under there. He threw his hands in front of his face and scrabbled away in terror, knocking the leg of the desk in his haste and unbalancing the books perched on top. They toppled over, thudding to the floor.

  “It’s OK,” I said, sliding aside the swivel chair in front of the desk and reaching out a hand. “We’re not going to hurt anyone.”

  There was a pause, then nervously he poked his head out.

  It was the figure I’d glimpsed through the window when we’d arrived at the mansion. Familiar from posters and TV appearances, yet startling to see in the flesh. I felt myself lean forward for a better look in order to confirm what my eyes were telling me.

  “Billy Dark?”

  Brave enough now to emerge from his hiding place, he stood before us. Shorter than he appeared on his posters, but just as gaunt, his floppy hair fringing a ghostly pale face and eyes made even wider by rings of dark make-up. He wore a long black coat with the sleeves rolled up to reveal skinny forearms, one of which was tattooed with a Chinese symbol. Gold trainers glinted beneath the coat’s swishing hem.

  “I cannot believe it,” said Serge. “Regard my quivering hand. I pulsate before you, and yet I am not even a fan. Such is the power of your celebrity.”

  “Good job Cara isn’t here,” I said, aware that my heart was racing. “She might explode.”

  Serge burst out laughing, even though it wasn’t that funny. And then so did I. Weird. I couldn’t stand Billy Dark’s music and yet even I felt like giggling until my head fell off. Dina, on the other hand, had no such trouble remaining focused. As an experienced time traveller, she was probably more used to being around famous people.

  “Never mind Cara,” she said, turning to Billy. “What are you doing here?”

  He threw her a puzzled look. “This is my pad.”

  The question of how Christopher Talbot could afford a giant mansion had been answered. He couldn’t. It belonged to a pop star. I pulled myself together and studied him again. Something in Billy Dark’s bewildered expression reminded me of the zombie-like workers we’d encountered in the printing press.

  “Talbot’s done something to you too,” I said.

  “No way,” said Billy. “Mr Talbot’s like a brother to me.”

  That seemed unlikely, but Billy said it like he believed every word.

  “Excusez-moi, Mr Dark,” said Serge, “but why were you hiding under the desk?”

  Billy glanced quickly at the broken window, his eyes still wide with fright. “I thought you were that robot-thing coming back again.”

  Up until then Dina had shown little interest in what the pop star had to say, but this got her attention. “Servatron was here?”

  “If that’s what you call it. Washer-dryer on vacuum-cleaner legs with an evil-looking toaster for a head?”

  I could tell that Billy was still shaken from his encounter. I led him to the chair, sat him down gently and poured him a glass of the green liquid. “Tell us what happened.”

  He took a long drink then wiped his lips. “I was sitting here signing copies of my book for my fans when that thing crashed through the window. Ignored me, went straight over there and plugged itself in.” He pointed to the opposite side of the room at a laptop computer balanced in an alcove. “Thirty seconds later…” He smacked his palms together. “Zoom. Outta here.”

  “Did it say anything?” asked Dina.

  “Just one thing. Sounded like…” He paused, screwing up his face as he tried to recall the exact words, and then putting on a robotic-sounding voice said, “Formula, downloaded.”

  “Formula?” I said. “What formula?”

  Dina immediately crossed to the open laptop and ran a finger across the touchpad. The dark screen came to life, displaying a heroic background image of Star Power. “Password protected,” she said, turning to Billy. “D’you know what it is?”

  He shook his head. “That’s Mr Talbot’s personal laptop.”

  “Everything in this house is related to Star Power,” I said. “Bet the password is too.”

  As our resident Star Power expert, Serge took over from Dina at the keyboard.

  “I shall try ‘by the power of stardom!’ with no spaces, lower case. It is the phrase that Norman Dagger utters to transform himself into his superhero alter ego.”

  His fingers tapped it out, but that didn’t work. Neither did Star Power’s battle-cry, “For Fame and Glory!” nor Serge’s next handful of attempts.

  “Try ‘Side Table of Despair’,” suggested Billy Dark. “That’s the title of my new album.”
<
br />   Out of politeness we did, but it was never going to work. We were running out of options.

  “What about the name of his alter ego?” I said. “Whassisname?”

  “Norman Dagger?” replied Serge. His face lit up. “Norm Dagger. Nom de guerre. It is a French phrase for an assumed name – one you would adopt if trying to hide your true identity.”

  He typed it in, hit Enter and the password screen gave way to the desktop. We were in!

  “Now let’s see what Servatron was downloading,” said Dina.

  There were a handful of folder icons scattered across a background illustration of Star Power in a flying pose. In one labelled “Drafts” were what appeared to be thirty-eight different versions of the Star Power novel. The latest one, at the top of the list, was called FinalFinal RevisedVersion4(revised).

  I looked at Billy Dark. “I thought you said that you wrote the novel.”

  “I did,” he said, frowning.

  “Then what are all these files doing on Christopher Talbot’s laptop?”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “Never mind that,” said Dina. “Servatron wasn’t interested in the book. Open the next folder.”

  Serge clicked one marked “Retconite”, which contained a document filled with a string of chemical symbols. I couldn’t make head nor tail of what I was looking at, but it was definitely a formula.

  “This must be what Servatron downloaded,” said Dina.

  In the same folder was also a series of diagrams that demonstrated the technique for applying paint to the edges of a book. The instructions included the precise amount to use and a set of precautions.

  “Retconite is highly toxic and its effects are permanent,” Dina read aloud. “No more than two point five millilitres to be used per book.”

  On the screen the biohazard symbol jumped out at me. I’d seen it before. “The sprayed edges! The red paint must be this Retconite stuff. It’s the brainwashing substance.” I filled the others in on the isolation chamber I’d seen through the viewing window in the printing press. I began to put together what I’d observed with this new information. “When you turn the pages the Retconite must be absorbed into your skin. Turn enough of them and your memory is rewritten.”

  There was one more folder on the desktop, labelled “Monologue”. Inside this one was a list of video files, each dated. I clicked the first of them. An image of Christopher Talbot appeared, dressed in the same Star Power costume he’d worn for the book signing, holding the red helmet under one arm. The picture bounced about.

  “Hold it still,” Talbot snapped at whoever was in charge of the camera.

  “Sorry, Mr Talbot,” mumbled a familiar voice.

  “Hey, that’s me,” said Billy Dark. “But I don’t remember this…”

  The Billy Dark in the video continued. “What are we doing today, Mr Talbot?”

  “Rehearsing.”

  “Got it,” said Billy. “Uh, for what?”

  Talbot sighed. “At some point in the coming weeks, if my scheme goes to plan – which it will – I will inevitably be faced with that annoying child, Luke Parker, his S.C.A.R.F. buddies, Star Lad and the other one, Flutter-girl.”

  In the room Serge, Dina and I exchanged surprised looks.

  “At that point in time they will undoubtedly be my prisoners, and I will be gloating over them as I finally reveal my plan. I have to get my monologue just right. Strike a balance between glorying in my imminent victory and not giving away anything that could undermine my ultimate triumph. Y’know, like accidentally revealing the secret location of the self-destruct button. Basic stuff, but easily avoided by working on my speech. Words are very important, Billy. Words can change the world.” He placed the helmet over his head. “Now, let’s go for a take.”

  “Is he about to tell us his plan?” asked an incredulous Dina.

  Talbot proceeded to balance a pair of reading spectacles over the helmet and peered down into one Gauntlet of Glory. Held there was a collection of index cards on which he had written his speech. Making small circular gestures with the other gauntlet, he began to read aloud.

  “So, Luke Parker, we meet again blah blah. Don’t bother trying to escape la la la. Standard opening stuff.” He discarded the top card and the one after that. “Ah, here we are. Right.” He cleared his throat. “Star Lad saved Earth from the Nemesis asteroid, Star Lad vanquished that interdimensional sandal-wearing monstrosity, Star Lad is the world’s greatest superhero. It’s always been about Star Lad,” he grumbled. Then a smile slowly spread across his face. “But what if it was a different story? Picks up book and brandishes it meaningfully. Oh, wait. I see.” He pushed his slipping spectacles back into place. “Thanks to my natural writing ability and the brain-altering Retconite I have placed in the sprayed edges of this book, everyone who reads it will forget about Star Lad. He will be erased from history, replaced in people’s hearts and minds by me, Star Power!”

  Christopher Talbot had always dreamed of becoming a superhero, and this was his latest attempt to make that dream a reality. He had created a hero out of paper and ink, but now Star Power was about to leap off the page. Talbot didn’t care about saving the world – all he wanted was to prance about in a cape being famous and taking credit for everything Star Lad and Dark Flutter had achieved.

  “Uh, ’scuse me, Mr Talbot,” Billy Dark interrupted. “But what about Star Lad himself? Won’t he still be around?”

  “Of course, Retconite cannot remove his superpowers,” replied Talbot, “but once exposed to it he and Flutter-girl will no longer remember being superheroes. Their power will lie unused and forgotten, like a rashly purchased gym membership. They will effectively be normal again. Although from time to time she will wonder why dogs come to heel for her more easily than other people.” He flicked through his cards. “Now, where was I?”

  I had spotted a flaw in Talbot’s plan and so, it seemed, had Billy Dark.

  “But, Mr Talbot, for your plan to work millions of people would have to read Star Power and the Revenge of the Plasmatrons. That’s asking a lot of a book.”

  “And that is why even though I wrote it, your name will be on the cover. Billy Dark, world-famous singing superstar. People love books written by celebrities.”

  I heard Billy gasp from off screen. “But it’s dishonest – I didn’t write a single word. I won’t put my name to it.”

  “Ah, but you will. I’ve put two milligrams of Retconite in that vile spinach and asparagus smoothie you insist on drinking. You’ll forget this conversation and do whatever I tell you.”

  In the room with us, Billy regarded the sludge smoothie gripped in his hand as if it had betrayed him.

  “Yes, Mr Talbot,” said the other Billy Dark obediently, the Retconite already taking effect.

  He had been brainwashed. Of course. Why else would a mega-successful pop singer lend his name to a children’s book?

  Talbot returned once more to his index cards, shuffling through them to the last in the pile. “I’m still working on the ending, but what do you reckon to this?” He stared into the camera and it seemed as if he was looking right at me. “You won’t win this time, Luke Parker.” His laugh was cold and mirthless. “In this world, nothing can beat Star Power.”

  He paused. “Right, let’s watch that back.”

  From behind me came a despairing moan. Billy Dark was gazing forlornly over his desk at all the copies of Star Power he’d signed.

  “I didn’t write it,” he said quietly. “Wasn’t even meaningfully consulted. Mr Talbot tricked me into thinking I did, but it’s all a lie. I really believed I was a children’s author and instead it turns out I’m just the foremost pop singer of my generation with a fanatically dedicated global fanbase.” His skinny shoulders heaved with disappointment. “Might as well go and do the gig then.”

  The dark rings around his eyes making him look like a sad panda, he sloped out of the Sanctuary of Reflection without another word. Then I remembered that he cou
ld still help us. I caught up with him on the stairs.

  “Mr Dark, can I ask a favour?”

  He looked back up at me and nodded without speaking, still gloomy at the recent revelation. “I don’t have any photos, but I could sign your arm. Gotta Sharpie?”

  “I don’t want an autograph.”

  He seemed confused for a moment, then I told him what I did want.

  “Sure, it’s not out of my way,” he said, and motioned me to follow him.

  Five minutes later the four of us were crammed into the golden SUV on the driveway and charging out through the gates of his mansion. We roared through the streets at face-melting speeds until screeching to a stop outside my house, much to the surprise of the neighbours.

  “Maybe I will write a book,” he said as he waved us goodbye. “I mean, how hard can it be really?”

  We made our way swiftly to the tree house to find Zack and Lara already there, having returned from their reconnaissance mission. Despite their best efforts, so far they had come up with nothing. Servatron had vanished.

  “Like a stubborn stain in a hot wash,” mused Serge.

  I brought Zack and Lara up to speed on our visit to the mansion. Christopher Talbot’s monologue had cleared up the mystery behind the book and his plan, but it failed to explain one thing.

  “What is Servatron going to do with the Retconite formula?” asked Zack.

  “Per’aps it intends to publish a mind-altering superhero series of its own,” suggested Serge.

  Dina had been quiet during the car ride back from Billy Dark’s mansion, but now as we speculated on what Servatron was up to, she added her voice.

  “I’ve travelled from one end of human history to the other. I watched Michelangelo put the finishing touches to the Sistine Chapel. I was there when William Shakespeare picked up a quill pen for the first time. When Darwin wanted to call his theory of evolution Charlie’s Big Idea, I was the one who stopped him. I was in the NASA control room when Neil Armstrong set foot on the Moon. These are all our stories – the ones that make us human.” A dark expression slid across her features. “But what if we were suddenly unable to remember them? Science, art, language itself – all forgotten. People wouldn’t even know how to read the books left behind. We’d be helpless, ignorant, a blank page – our story ready to be written over –” She paused. “By the machines.”