Aunt Temperance’s eyes narrowed into slits as she tucked away her flashlight and adjusted the canvas bag on her back. “Do not call me ‘my lady,’” she said indignantly, silver strands of hair dangling at her cheeks like a pair of exclamation marks. “Or ‘madam.’”
Then, snatching the chain from Cho’s hands, she leaped from the lip of the pipe and swung across the river of gunk to land gracefully on a block of concrete on the other side.
Cho’s jaw dropped. “Is this the same aunt you used to tell me about?” he asked Ozzie. “I always had the impression that she was feeble. Delicate.”
“To be honest with you, Cho, me, too,” Ozzie said.
Cho’s sanctuary turned out to be nothing more than a cave hollowed out in the junk, with a makeshift roof of corrugated tin. It rattled in the rain, but at least it kept the area beneath dry.
“My humble home,” Cho announced with an apologetic smile as he led the way inside.
Ozzie could see the evidence of the captain’s habitation over the past few weeks. A couple of cement slabs had been arranged into a hard bed, with only Cho’s long turquoise coat to serve as a blanket. Nearby, on top of an old oil drum, were Cho’s hat and his gloves, while on another was his belt, carefully laid out with all the tools of his trade, including his hunting horn, his handcuffs, his canteen, and—most important, in Ozzie’s opinion—his Valdune sword.
“Aunt T!” Ozzie said excitedly. “This is Cho’s blade. The one I told you about—it can transform depending on who he’s fighting.”
Aunt Temperance scowled. “And whom do you like to fight, Captain?”
Ozzie was mortified by her response. Cho was a hero—a real hero, one who charged into danger and repelled glibber hordes with a magical sword. But Cho merely said, “I don’t care to fight at all. Only when it’s necessary.”
“If it wasn’t for him, we would have been worm meat back on Glibbersaug,” Ozzie added. “Cho, how come you don’t use the sword now? Or at least carry it around? You could defeat the motos.”
Cho shook his head. “The blade has no effect on those mechanical men, lad. They are not living beings, so the steel doesn’t respond to them. It merely clanks off their metal bodies. It’s useless in this pitiful place.” He slumped onto a crumbling cement block and gestured for everyone else to find similar seats in the rubble. “And all my belt and coat ever seem to do is get snagged on the junk here, or the equipment in the factories. Better to sneak through this world without sleeves and swords.”
“No kidding,” Fidget said. “Tug nearly lost his tail.”
Cho ran a hand through the skyger’s scruffy and scorched fur. “Poor cub,” he said. “Your coat has seen better days.”
“All I need is some Luxuria,” Tug told him. “Then my coat will get back its natural sheen.”
“Luxuria?” Cho echoed.
“It’s a type of shampoo,” Tug explained. “There was a story about it on the TV in Ozzie’s world. If we had some, it could help renew my hair’s natural gloss. Oh, and it would prevent split ends.” He looked hopefully at Aunt Temperance.
“Sorry, Tug,” she said. “I have a lot of things in my pack, but no Luxuria. Split ends are the least of our problems.”
“What’s a split end?” Cho asked. “Actually, what’s a TV?”
“It’s a place where everything is amazing,” Tug raved.
Cho’s brow furled. “Where is this land? I’ve never heard of it.”
Fidget snorted. “That’s because it’s not a real place.”
“I wish it was,” Tug said. “TV Land would be so cool. All your problems would get solved in, well . . . I would say thirty seconds. My favorite stories are the ones about food—by the way, what do you have to eat around here, Cho?”
“There is nothing to eat in this wasteland,” the captain answered. “Thankfully, though, I had this when I arrived.” He leaned over to retrieve his canteen. “Arborellian nectar. There’s a bottomless well of it in this magical container. I’ve grown a little weary of the taste, but it’s kept me from starving.”
“I’m not weary of it,” Tug promised, licking his lips.
Cho laughed as he undid the stopper and held it over the skyger’s gaping mouth. The skyger happily gargled down a stream of syrupy liquid. Ozzie knew Tug could have kept drinking for ages, but Cho cut him off and passed around the canteen.
“It is delicious,” Aunt Temperance acknowledged after taking a sip, “but I’m sure it plays havoc with one’s dental hygiene. And I’d like to know about its nutritional value.”
Ozzie rolled his eyes. “It comes from Arborell, Lady Zoone’s home world, you know.”
“It’s said to be the lifeblood of the Arborellia,” Fidget added. “So, I’m pretty sure it’s good for you.”
Aunt Temperance didn’t seem convinced. She passed the canteen to Ozzie, but he waved it off. “Tell us what’s going on, Cho,” he said. “How did you end up here?”
“I came from Zoone,” the captain replied. “Same as you, I assume.”
“No,” Ozzie said with an irritated edge. “I haven’t been back since I last saw you.”
“Actually,” Tug said, “Captain Traxx dropped us off.”
“Captain Traxx!” Cho exclaimed. “The Captain Traxx?! The pirate?!”
“She’s pretty cool,” Tug informed him. “Well, cooler than dentists.”
“It’s a long story,” Aunt Temperance cut in. “And we’re happy to tell it to you, but first—”
“Wait a minute, Cho,” Ozzie said excitedly. “If you came from Zoone, that means there must be a portal here that will take us back to the nexus! Is it in the station house?”
“There’s a station house here?” Cho asked in surprise.
“On the outskirts of the city,” Fidget told him. “We came through one of its doorways after the pirates dropped us off. But we didn’t see a door to Zoone there.”
“That’s not a surprise,” Cho said pensively. “The magic in this world has all but died, and with it a connection to the nexus. If there are tracks, they will lead only to other dying or less magical worlds.”
“Then how did you get here?” Ozzie pressed.
Cho sighed. “The portal I used is different. The motos built it on the terrace at the top of Zoone Station. I snuck through because I thought Lady Zoone was here. But it was a mistake. Once I was here, I couldn’t get back.” The captain stared forlornly at the ground. The rain had tapered off, turning the world quiet again, with just the soft sound of water dripping off the edge of their tin roof. “I failed Lady Zoone,” he said, just above a whisper.
“I don’t know about that, Captain,” Aunt Temperance spoke up. “But Zaria sent a message to me. To seek her out, and to help her save our friend.”
“Friend?” Cho asked, eyes flitting up. “What friend?”
“Well, he’s my old . . .” Blushing, she fingered the locket around her neck. “We were all in the circus together,” she said. “And the truth is—”
Suddenly, a deafening, terrifying scream ripped across the scrapyard and reverberated through the hideout. It was impossibly loud, so loud that it even caused the tin roof to tremble. But the shriek didn’t sound as if it was coming from close by—Ozzie had the sense that it was somehow being amplified from far away.
Cho erupted to his feet. “That’s no moto!” he exclaimed as soon as the sound had ceased. “Someone’s out there!”
Aunt Temperance was on her feet, too, her eyes wide and her hands trembling as she shouldered her canvas bag. Ozzie knew exactly what she was thinking: Maybe, just maybe, they had found Mercurio. Cho led them outside, and up the side of the nearest mound by way of an improvised set of steps. Even though the rain had stopped, water still dripped from every edge of metal, making the climb extra precarious. Ozzie slipped more than once; it didn’t help that his shoelaces had come untied.
The sky was bleary and yellow, but the rain had caused the haze to lift, meaning the top of the heap provided them a good
view of the inhospitable world in every direction. Behind them was the entrance to the park, and the factory sector that they had navigated when first arriving. In front of them was more junk, stretching toward a horizon that was dominated by a massive dome of metal. It was covered with blinking lights and antennae. If a robot could get a pimple, Ozzie thought, that’s what it would look like.
“What is that thing?” he asked.
“That’s where I ended up when I came through the door from Zoone,” Cho replied, staring earnestly ahead. “Some sort of moto base or headquarters. The only reason I escaped is because it’s still under construction. I jumped through an open section of wall and made my way into the scrapyard.”
The scream sounded again, so loud and agonizing that it caused Ozzie’s skin to prickle.
“It’s coming from the base,” Cho declared as he began descending the hill. “I’m going to help that poor soul!”
“We’re coming with you!” Ozzie called, chasing after the captain.
“No!” Cho insisted. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Captain,” Aunt Temperance said forcibly. “The children can remain, but I’m—”
“Listen up!” Fidget interrupted with all the authority of a princess. Everyone turned toward her, still standing at the top of the junk, still clutching Aunt Temperance’s blender. “No one goes anywhere alone. We all stick together.”
“I agree,” Tug added with a twitch of his tail that nearly sent Ozzie tumbling down the slope. “We’re a team.”
Another shriek sliced across the wasteland.
Cho shook his head in defeat. “Hurry, then.”
They scrambled to the bottom of the pile, back into the hideout, where Cho quickly donned his long turquoise coat and buckled on his belt.
“Didn’t you say those got in the way?” Ozzie asked.
Cho cast his gaze about the hollowed-out hole in the junk, as if to bid it farewell. “They might. But I won’t be coming back here. One way or the other, it’s time to leave this world.”
13
Something in Between
Even though the base had appeared enormous from Cho’s lookout, it took them nearly an hour to reach it. The screams had long since stopped by then. Ozzie didn’t want to think about what that meant. Aunt Temperance had a look about her that seemed to waver somewhere between absolute determination and complete and utter breakdown.
Cho brought them to a halt at a ridge of junk on the outskirts of the dome and they peered over to survey the situation. Now that they were closer, Ozzie could see that the structure consisted of thousands of plates of metal bolted to a skeleton of curving iron girders, many of which were exposed because the dome was midconstruction. Down on the ground, motos calmly patrolled the perimeter.
“We need a distraction,” Cho said.
Ozzie thought of the old throw-a-rock trick that heroes always used in movies, but he realized they would need a better plan if they were going to ninja their way inside. He wandered over to the nearest pile of garbage bags and nudged one with his foot, making it tumble down and split open. It was full of reams of paper, like old computer printouts.
“These will burn!” Ozzie said excitedly. “Aunt T, did you pack any matches?”
“Of course,” she answered. “And candles.”
Ozzie was soon positioning a candle at the base of the garbage pile. After a couple of attempts, he lit it, then gestured for everyone to scurry back to their hiding place.
“Just to tell you, that candle smells delicious,” Tug announced, his fur turning an optimistic orange.
“You can’t eat it,” Aunt Temperance said. “It’s just scented. Lavender and vanilla.”
The enticing smell didn’t last long; as soon as the garbage bags caught on fire, it turned to an oily odor, and a column of black smoke began gushing into the sky. Once the paper was burning, the entire pile soon followed.
An alarm began to blare from the base. Peeking over the junk, Ozzie saw the moto guards abandoning their posts, antennae telescoping and lights flashing. They were soon followed by scores of motos emptying out of the base.
“It worked,” Cho said, patting Ozzie on the back. “Let’s go!”
The first door they found in the side of the dome was locked. It had no handle or keyhole, just a pad of toggle switches and buttons. Cho didn’t even try to break in. He just kept sneaking along until they reached a part of the dome where its shell was not yet completed.
“We’re in luck,” Cho said, leading them inside.
They began creeping down a long straight corridor, gleaming with brand-new metal walls. There was no decoration, only functional lighting and evenly spaced access panels.
“Where to now?” Ozzie asked.
“I’m not sure,” Cho answered. “This place was only girders and half-finished floors the last time I was here.”
They came to many junctions where they were forced to choose which way to go. In some cases, they climbed ramps to higher levels, but to Ozzie, every corridor looked the same as the last.
“Should have left a trail of bread crumbs,” he grumbled to Fidget.
She arched a purple eyebrow at him. “Who carries bread crumbs around with them?”
Ozzie shrugged. “Aunt Temperance might.”
“True. But it wouldn’t matter. Tug would just lick them up.”
“Quiet,” Cho warned. “We’re coming to some sort of control room.”
He was right. The next room appeared to be a large command center. It was lined with control panels, with another corridor leading off from a gap on the opposite side. But the room’s most prominent feature was a large archway with a sheet of buzzing static across it.
“I know this place!” Cho announced excitedly as he pointed at the archway. “That’s the door I came through from Zoone.”
“That thing leads to Zoone?!” Ozzie exclaimed. He charged to the door and immediately tried sticking his hand through the opaque static, only to receive a shock so violent that it sent him tumbling to the floor.
“Are you okay?!” Aunt Temperance cried, racing over to him.
Ozzie managed to nod, but the truth was that it felt like he had stuck his hand into a beehive.
Tug licked Ozzie’s cheek. “Hmm—tingly,” he remarked. Then he snatched Ozzie by his collar and lifted him to his feet.
“You won’t get through, lad,” Cho said. “Not without the passcode.”
“No motos around here,” Fidget observed. “I guess every tin can in the vicinity left to investigate the fire.”
“They’ll return before long,” Cho said. “Everything looks different from when I last came through. None of these instrument panels were here. Seems like the motos have made a great deal of progress in building . . . whatever this is.”
Massaging his hand, Ozzie turned to examine the command center in more detail. He now noticed two closed doors, one labeled Operations, the other Simulations. He had no idea what that meant—he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. The control panels were covered with switches, gauges, and rows of screens—though none of them were activated.
“Are those TVs?” Tug purred, his fur turning a vibrant ultramarine. “That means they’ll show stories!”
“Not likely,” Ozzie told him.
Fidget suddenly shrieked, causing everyone to turn.
“Sorry,” she said, blushing purple. “But . . . look.”
Everyone joined her at the instrument panel where she was standing. Ozzie could see a number of gauges, like the ones you’d find in a car for fuel, except these ones were divided into percentage points. They were labeled Motonization Levels.
“They’ve got world names next to them,” Fidget pointed out. “Look at the first one. Creon: one hundred percent motonized.”
“Motonized? What does that mean?” Aunt Temperance wondered.
“The motos converted Creon to this . . . to Moton,” Fidget stammered. “And now they’re working to do the same to other worlds.” She kept reading: �
��Untaar: ninety-two percent motonized, Yo-Kando: twenty-one percent motonized, Ru-Valdune—” She abruptly stopped.
“Ru-Valdune?!” Cho gasped. He shuffled the princess out of the way and scrutinized the panel. “Seven percent motonized . . .” There was no mirth now in his expression, not even a glint. “The motos are in Ru-Valdune,” he murmured in comprehension.
“Ru-Valdune?” Aunt Temperance asked. “Your home world? The violent place?”
Cho bristled. “It’s still a place. Untaar, Yo-Kando, Ru-Valdune. I know all these worlds. They border one another—they’re known as the wild lands.”
Ozzie’s imagination churned. Cho had mentioned the wild lands before; they had always made Ozzie think of bloodthirsty dragons and inhospitable landscapes.
“The wild lands are on the perimeter of the ’verse,” Cho continued, tapping the control panel pensively. “Cut off from the nexus . . . no doors to connect them directly to Zoone.” He looked at the group, his face drawn with worry. “The ’verse largely ignores them, which probably means no one knows what’s happening there. That they’re being devastated by the motos.”
“Not just the wild lands,” Fidget added. “The entire multiverse. That must be why the motos want to take over the nexus. They’ll spread like a virus—look at this!”
She had moved over to the adjacent control panel. It had only one giant gauge, labeled Zoone.
“Five percent motonized,” Ozzie read in shock. There was a bank of switches next to the display. Ozzie pushed one and a screen at the top of the terminal flickered to life, revealing a view of the station grounds. It was the north platform; Ozzie recognized some of the doors in the picture, plus the view of the station behind them. Travelers were hustling back and forth. “I think this is a live feed,” he said.
He flipped more switches, and more screens came to life, displaying different scenes throughout the station. Ozzie’s eyes danced from picture to picture; some of the cameras showed wide views, but others were more focused—like the one trained on a boy sitting on an upturned crate near one of the information booths in the station hub. The boy had light blue skin and shabby clothes.
The Guardians of Zoone Page 10