of it.”
“What is this invention?” Rutger asked.
Master George paused. “Let’s go back up to the complex. I’d like Sato and Sally to join our discussion. We’ve much to talk about.”
Mothball, troubled, bent over to pick up her large pile of logs, wet from soaking in the river; she grimaced at how filthy they were after lying in the dirt.
“Could you take mine, too?” Rutger pleaded. “It’s hard enough for me to fit through this ridiculous cave as it is.”
“Don’t know if I can handle your twigs,” Mothball muttered. “Might tip me over.”
Rutger happily picked them up, then threw them on top of the stack bundled in her arms. One end smacked her in the nose.
“Blimey, that hurt! Go on with ya, get in the ruddy lift.”
Master George had already entered the well-hidden
elevator, waiting with arms folded and slightly shaking his head, as if observing the antics of misbehaving children. “Please, would you two hurry?”
Rutger sucked in a huge breath, trying to shrink his tummy, then ran forward into the dark slice of air between the two vertical walls of the cave. He made it two feet before he came to an abrupt halt; his legs dangled below him, his body lodged in place.
“Help!” he cried out, like a monster was coming to eat him.
Mothball snorted as she held in a laugh. With glee, she balanced herself, lifted one leg, cocked it, then kicked Rutger in the rear end as hard as she could. As he tumbled forward into the elevator, he managed to say, “Thank you!”
Mothball stepped onto the lift and pushed the up button.
~
Buzz.
Sato looked up from his bed where he’d been reading through his reports again. The intercom had rung for him. He put his papers aside, swung his legs off the bed and onto the floor, then reached over to hit the button on the wall.
“Yes?” he shouted.
“Ow, do you have to answer so loud?” It was Rutger, his voice a hollow echo of itself.
“Sorry. What do you want?”
“We’re meeting in the conference room in ten minutes. I’ll be providing refreshments, so snap-snap!”
Click.
Sato put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face with both hands. The nightmare of his parents’ death had seemed more vivid lately, the horrific images floating in his thoughts for hours after waking up. They hung in his mind like dirty, tattered drapes blocking out the sunlight. He shook his head and bent over to put his shoes on.
“Another meeting,” he mumbled. “Joy.”
A few minutes later, he slid into a cushy chair around the conference table, reaching out to grab a Chocolate Chip-Peanut Butter-Butterscotch-Pecan-Walnut-Macadamia-Coconut-Delight, one of Rutger’s specialties. The little man always said the name in full, despite its length. No one in the complex cared what they were called because they tasted delicious.
Everyone else was already seated: Mothball and Rutger to his right, Master George across from him, Sally to his left. They were the only Realitants at the Grand Canyon Center at the moment—the others had gone off with various duties and assignments.
“Sorry to bother you, Sato,” George said. “I know you wanted some time for a bit of relaxing after we spoke earlier, but I felt this gathering couldn’t wait.”
“No problem,” Sato muttered. He’d tried so hard to improve his mood lately, but the recent spout of dreams had quashed his efforts. The world seemed bleak and grim—the only thing that gave him reprieve was trying to figure out the mystery of the crazy people.
George rested his clasped hands on the table in front of him. “First, let’s summarize where we are at the moment. Thanks to our good man Sally, here”—he gave a nod to the lumberjack, who seemed lost in thought, his thumb picking suspiciously at his nose—“for putting the Earwig Transponder inside Tick so we could track him better and scramble Chu’s eavesdropping capabilities. For as long as I shall live, I shan’t forgive that man for his violation of Rule Number 462 on those poor kids. Hijacking a nanolocator . . . it’s evil, I tell you!”
George’s hands squeezed together as his face reddened. “But the milk’s in the kitty litter, as my mum was fond of saying—no use weeping and wailing. With the transponder in Tick’s ear, we’ll have much more information.” He cleared his throat. “For example, we know they’ve just had a bizarre incident in the Tenth Reality, but we’re not quite sure what happened.”
Rutger slammed his hand on the table. “Don’t tell me that wretch stuck them in the Grinder Beast’s training tunnels?”
Sato leaned forward at this question—the words Grinder Beast would perk anyone’s attention.
George nodded. “Indeed. I must say, I was rather tempted to go rescue them, but I didn’t want to ruin our chances at getting on the inside of Chu’s plans. I believe we all agree that Chu would not put them in total danger—not yet, anyway. It appears he’s running them through some sort of test, and I can’t imagine he’d waste their potential by letting one of the Grinders kill them so easily. They serve us best as spies—albeit unknowing spies—at the moment.”
“That’s a big risk on your part, it is,” Mothball said, the most accusatory thing Sato had ever heard her say to George. The tall woman loved those kids like her own children. Sato felt a little jealous; she didn’t seem to care so much for him.
“That’s neither here nor there,” George responded. “I was right to wait. They’ve been winked to the Sixth by Chu, where they seem to be safe and sound for the time being.”
“What was that you said about a bizarre incident?” Sato asked.
“I can’t say for sure. There was a surge in Chi’karda in that area, some kind of great disturbance that caused a Ripple Quake in one of the fragmented Realities. If I had to guess, I’d say Chu destroyed one of the training tunnels in order to wink them out. That glass is particularly resistant to Barrier Wands.”
“But how would he do that?” Rutger asked.
“Well . . . that brings us to our next item of discussion.” George looked over at Sato. “Based on the information Sato has gathered, combined with the evidence of our spies and the disturbances we’ve seen this past summer, I believe Chu has built some sort of superweapon that contains more simulated Chi’karda power than anything ever built previously. I believe it’s responsible for some of the odd things happening to Tick and the others, as well as for spreading the plague of insanity.”
Everyone turned to look at Sato, as if he would follow this up with a brilliant statement supporting George’s theory.
“Everything points to that,” he said, unable to think of anything else. George had said it better than he ever could.
“We can dig more into the details later in the meeting,” George continued, “but I want to put something on the table now before we say another word. It’s rare that I must give an assignment as terribly important as the one I’m about to ask of Sato.”
Sato’s mind had been drifting, and he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “What was that? An assignment?”
“Yes, a mission of sorts.”
Sato swallowed. He felt as if the temperature in the room had risen twenty degrees. “You want me to . . .” He had mentioned the possibility of sending someone to gather samples, but he’d never guessed the old man would choose him.
“I can think of no better Realitant for this than you, Sato. You have stealth and wit about you. Plus, no one will suspect someone so young, and if you do get in a bind, I trust your ability to get out of it.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Rutger said, squirming on his booster seat. “What mission are you talking about?”
George paused before answering. “Sato and I are positive the explanation for people going crazy is some type of plague—literally. And we’re quite sure it’s linked to Chu’s superweapon. I want to send Sato into the area most infected with this plague and obtain a blood sample from one of the victims. Until we understand the dise
ase, we won’t know how to fight it.”
Sato barely heard George’s words, as if they were coming down a long, dark tunnel. George wanted to send him. What if . . . what if he caught the plague? He was perfectly willing to face danger in his quest to avenge his parents’ death, but the prospect of a nasty disease that made you crazy sickened him. Frightened him.
“Are you up to it?” Mothball asked, reaching over and patting Sato’s arm.
“Huh? What?” he said.
“Are you up to it, I said.”
Sato looked around at the others in the room. Several beads of sweat finally let go and slid down his temples. He hadn’t expected this.
“I . . . uh . . .” In that moment, the image of his parents burning popped into his head, and his squishy fear hardened into concrete resolve.
“I’ll do it,” he said, trying his best to keep his voice firm. “I’ll be fine.”
Sally stood up, folding his arms across his broad chest. “I reckon I’ll go wid the young fella.”
George shook his head. “No, Sally. I have an entirely different mission for you.”
Chapter
22
~
Lots of Left Turns
They’d been walking for hours.
This new Reality seemed the most normal of any Tick had visited so far. Aside from a few oddities, it wasn’t much different from his hometown in Reality Prime. One of those differences was the style of the buildings and the clothes of the citizens. It was slight, but everything here seemed a little more elaborate, a little fancier. Many businesses had huge fountains in front, with complex displays of shooting water; the moldings on the houses had carved pictures of animals and trees. The men wore fancy dark suits and greased back their hair, and the women wore dresses with white gloves pulled clear past their elbows. Also, an eerie, operatic soprano voice sang from speakers throughout the town.
Another odd thing: the place appeared to only have left turns—at least off the road on which they currently walked.
“Dude, what’s up with this?” Paul said, pointing to his right, where a thick forest of tall trees loomed like an ominous wall. “Look at all that land out there. Why aren’t they building on it?”
“Who cares?” Sofia said, annoyance creeping back into her voice. “Maybe they’re a bunch of idiots.”
Tick understood her mood. Even though the weather was pleasant here—partly cloudy sky, soft breeze, warm but not hot—he felt like they were going nowhere fast. Not to mention the sick feeling he still had from almost being trampled by a raging monster inside a gigantic glass straw.
Paul yawned. “Just seems a little weird that there’s this huge town to our left, but nothing at all to our right. We should open a real estate office.”
Sofia ignored him. “Well, our plan to stay on this road isn’t working. I say we go into the city.”
“Me too,” Tick agreed. “Everything is starting to look the same—I swear I saw that exact building a couple of hours ago.” He pointed to a tall office complex made of dark granite with shiny, black windows that sparkled as if inlaid with gold.
“Whoa,” Paul said, stopping.
“What?” Tick and Sofia asked at the same time.
“That building doesn’t just look familiar—it is the same one we saw earlier. I’m positive. Man, this road is a ginormous circle that goes around the city. No wonder we’re not getting anywhere.”
“That explains all the left turns,” Tick added.
“I thought we were all supposed to be smart,” Sofia said. “It took us how long to figure this out?”
“Come on,” Paul said. “Let’s go into the town and find a sweet old lady who’s willing to feed some starving kids.”
Right on cue, Tick’s stomach rumbled with hunger. “Hope our money works here.”
“I doubt it, but we can try,” Paul said.
At the next road, they turned left, the wall of trees now at their backs.
~
Reginald looked down at the weaselly little hotel owner of Circle City, rocking between his two feet, fidgeting with the buttons on his fancy red vest. Chu was astonished that someone could show so much weakness in front of another grown man. His name was Phillip, and he couldn’t be more than five feet tall, fat, with streaks of black hair pasted in greasy lines across his obviously bald head.
Ah, yes. The comb-over. Delightful. Reginald swore that if he ever went bald, he’d simply invent a way to make his hair grow back. Hmm, he thought. I can’t believe I haven’t done that yet . . .
“What do I get out of all this?” Phillip said, his voice sounding to Reginald like a talking rat high on helium. “And how do I find the kids?”
“They’re in the city. Three young teenagers—a Caucasian with brown hair, a girl with black hair, and a dark-skinned boy who’s a full foot taller than you and ten times as handsome. They’ll be wandering around, obviously lost, smelling like a bag of three-week-old tuna—the brats haven’t showered in days.”
Frankly, Reginald was annoyed that Atticus still had the other two kids with him. He’d hoped they’d have been killed by now, but they seemed as determined as their powerful friend. No matter. That was the beauty of the test—there were no rules, not really. If Atticus made it to the end, he made it to the end. Even if he had the help of friends and the Realitants.
Realitants. What a waste of human DNA.
“All right,” Phillip said. “I’ll send out my boys to find them, bring them here, offer them rooms, as you said.”
“And feed them. They’ll be here at least a week, probably longer. I want the boy—I mean, I want all of them—well-rested and strong for what lies ahead. I will pay you double your rates, plus a bonus.”
“What kind of bonus?” The hotel owner tried his very best to display an expression of professional hardball on his face, but it looked more like a fat squirrel eyeing an acorn.
Reginald stifled a laugh. “The value of one week’s worth of rent for all your rooms.”
Phillip choked, his eyes wide with the prospect of such a sum for doing almost nothing. “I’ll have to think about—”
“Shut up and take the deal,” Reginald said.
Phillip nodded, his face flushed red. “Okay, it’s a deal. I’ll have them here, safe and sound, by tonight.”
“Good.” Reginald reached into his pocket and pulled out two sealed envelopes, then handed them over. “The thick one is half your money, including the bonus, plus money for the kids to spend. You’ll get the rest of your portion when they . . . disappear.”
“And this other one?” The hotel owner held up the thin envelope.
“I want you to deliver that to them at precisely six o’clock. If you can’t get them to the hotel before then, wait until morning to deliver it. I don’t care if it’s am or pm, just give it to them at six o’clock.”
Phillip’s eyes squinched up in confusion.
“Don’t ask any more questions,” Reginald said. “Just do as I say and enjoy the money.”
After giving Phillip a few more instructions, Reginald turned and walked away, enjoying himself and his clever ways even more than usual.
~
“All right,” Paul said as they passed a small group of kids playing a version of soccer with a square ball. “I’ve known for awhile that you guys stink, but now I can smell myself. I don’t care if it’s in one of those fancy fountains—I need to get clean.”
Tick lifted up his arm and smelled his armpit. “We do stink. Dude.”
“I don’t,” Sofia said. “But I’m starving.”
“I’m glad you think you smell so nice,” Paul said, stopping to study Sofia up and down. “What’s your secret?”
Sofia halted as well, folding her arms and returning the stare. “I don’t sweat.”
“You don’t sweat?” Paul looked over at Tick. “She doesn’t sweat, Tick. Now I’ve heard everything.” He continued walking toward the center of town, shaking his head.
Nothing muc
h had changed since they’d left the border road and headed deeper into the city. The buildings had gotten a little bigger with fewer pillars and less frilly decoration; apartments and condos had replaced the extravagant neighborhood homes. The sun had sunk lower in the sky, the darkened glow of twilight fast approaching. None of the people they passed paid them much mind, despite their dirty clothes and haggard appearance. Everyone seemed extremely busy—all made up and pressed clean.
“Look up there,” Sofia said, pointing straight ahead.
Less than a quarter-mile ahead of them, twelve roads came together like spokes of a wheel, intersecting in a huge open-air mall where hundreds of people milled about. Tick realized something, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before.
“Where are all the cars?” he asked.
Sofia and Paul stopped, as if stunned by the simple question.
Paul snapped his fingers. “I knew something was missing. We haven’t seen a single car.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Sofia said. “There’s nothing primitive about this place. If anything, it seems a little more advanced than our reality.”
“Ah, dude,” Paul said. “What if they beam around like in Star Trek?”
Sofia snorted. “I’ll be sure to ask Dark Gator if I see him.”
Paul burst out laughing; Tick held his laugh in, pressing his mouth closed.
“What?” Sofia said.
“What did you call him?” Paul asked.
“Dark Gator.”
“Man, oh, man, you are too good to be true, Miss Italy, too good to be true.” Still chuckling, he walked toward all the people. “I think I see a restaurant up there. Let’s check it out.”
Sofia looked at Tick, her eyebrows raised.
“It’s Darth Vader,” he whispered. “And he’s from Star Wars, not Star Trek.”