The Guardians of Zoone

by Lee Edward Födi

  Ozzie leaned forward to read in flowery handwriting: Tempie & Mercurio.

  “Didn’t recognize you at first,” Miss Mongo said to Aunt Temperance with an accusatory tone. “But that’s you, innit . . . ‘Tempie’? With him.”

  “That’s right!” Fusselbone added, hopping excitedly, as if dancing on coals. “Piper thinks you were in love. That you broke his heart, sent him into a downward spiral, made him—”

  “Piper’s a gossip queen,” Ozzie interrupted, feeling the need to jump to Aunt Temperance’s defense.

  “Been starin’ a lot at this photo, doin’ some speculatin’,” Miss Mongo said, ignoring Ozzie’s outburst. “Take away the machine parts and that’s Klaxon, ain’t that right?” She thrust a fat finger at Aunt Temperance. “You two got history. What is it? What did you do to him? Whose side you on, anyway?”

  Ozzie didn’t need to defend Aunt Temperance this time. “What is this?” she demanded, flying to her feet. “An interrogation? Zaria knows the truth. She knows Mercurio. She sent me a message, you know—she told me Mercurio was in trouble. She told me to save him.”

  “That was before,” Miss Mongo said.

  “Before what?” Ozzie asked.

  “Before she realized what Klaxon was capable of.”

  Aunt Temperance turned and hurled her teacup against the nearest wall. It shattered into pieces, leaving tea trickling down the bricks. “Not Klaxon. Mercurio,” she insisted vehemently. “That’s the thing no one seems to understand. They’re not one and the same.”

  “No, they’re not,” Miss Mongo agreed after an uncomfortable moment of silence. “He’s all funny in the head—that’s what I think, me. Thinks like a machine. Wants everything pure and simple. Clean. He finds us lot upsettin’ because we don’t . . .”

  “Fit in?” Fidget guessed.

  “That’s right,” Miss Mongo said. “That’s why we’re out of work while Klaxon sits up there, puttin’ everything in order.”

  “It’s not in order at all!” Fusselbone squeaked. “It’s absolute—”

  “His version of order,” Miss Mongo corrected him morosely. “That’s what I meant.”

  Ozzie contemplated the crew. He knew they had been misfits in their own worlds, but at one time or another each of them had found a way to the station, where Lady Zoone had taken them in, given them jobs, and made them feel like they were a part of something important. She did the exact same thing with me, Ozzie thought. And now she’s gone.

  Aunt Temperance was so focused on Mercurio, he realized, that she had forgotten about Lady Zoone. The most important person in the nexus. Maybe in the entire multiverse. “Aunt T,” he said, “what we have to do is—”

  “You want to know whose side I’m on?” Aunt Temperance said. “I’m on the side of right. I can put an end to all of this. Take me to him. Take me to Mercurio. I’ll talk to him. I’ll—”

  “You can’t go up there!” Fusselbone sputtered. “It would be preposas—well, it would be bad!”

  “Mercurio isn’t who you think he is,” Miss Mongo informed Aunt Temperance. “Not anymore. You think you’ll jus’ march up there and it’ll be all slugs and slurps?”

  “I think they do romance a little differently where Miss Mongo comes from,” Fidget whispered to Ozzie.

  “I’ve seen him in his . . . his current state,” Aunt Temperance said in a fluster. “If I can just talk to him, see him, I can . . . I can . . .” She took a deep breath. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I’m done trying to convince you people.”

  She stomped to the door, threw it open—and came to an abrupt halt as she was confronted by the darkness of the corridor. Then, turning on a heel, she marched back into the room and snatched up her bag of essentials.

  “Aunt T—” Ozzie began.

  She silenced him with a glare. Fishing out her flashlight, she stormed into the passageway, but not before emphatically slamming the door behind her.

  Ozzie moved to follow her. “We can’t let her just go up there all alone!”

  “Leave her be, luv,” Miss Mongo advised. “She’ll never find her way outta the catacombs. Worst case, she’ll fall in some hole.”

  “Fusselbone and I will retrieve her,” Cho assured Ozzie.

  He rose to his feet, only to freeze an instant later when Aunt Temperance screamed, “NO ONE FOLLOW ME!”

  Cho sat back down and offered Ozzie a faint smile. “Perhaps we’ll give her a minute or two to calm down first.”

  Ozzie, Fidget, and Tug hovered around Mr. Whisk in his makeshift workshop, watching the old man tinker with Scoot. Ozzie could hear Miss Mongo in the next chamber, cleaning up the shattered teacup. Cho and Fusselbone, as promised, had gone to find Aunt Temperance.

  Ozzie looked about the small alcove. He had seen Mr. Whisk’s actual workshop in the station above, and this place was a sort of replica—albeit a much smaller one. Bins of scavenged tools and spare parts were scattered and stacked around an improvised workbench. Many of the spare parts, Ozzie realized, came from disassembled motos; he spotted legs, arms, and even a few heads.

  “Where did all these come from?” Ozzie asked, picking up one of the moto arms.

  Mr. Whisk peered over his glasses at Ozzie, eyes smiling. “This is the work of the Underground. Whenever someone ‘eliminates’ a moto, they pass on the bits and pieces to me so that I can fiddle with them, figure out how they work.”

  Suddenly, something small and furry dropped onto the workbench from the shadows above, making Ozzie jump. Then he realized what it was.

  “A quirl!” he exclaimed, gaping at the tiny rodent. “What’s she doing all the way down here? Miss Mongo said that Klaxon closed the quirlery.”

  The quirl scurried over and under the various moto parts littered about the workbench until she reached Mr. Whisk. She offered him a pitiful squeak, prompting the old man to smile and produce a crumb from his pocket. The quirl quickly devoured it.

  “Quirls are native to Zoone,” Fidget reminded Ozzie.

  Mr. Whisk nodded. “Most of them are hiding in the depths of the Infinite Wood, but this little soul seems to have decided to join the Underground.”

  The quirl twitched her nose and stared at Ozzie with bright eyes. He noticed she had one slightly bent ear, as if she had experienced her share of adventures. She scuttled up Ozzie’s sleeve and began to root around in his hair. Ozzie couldn’t really get mad at her for that; Aunt Temperance often compared his hair to a squirrel’s nest.

  Mr. Whisk turned his attention back to Scoot’s head. “Quite ingenious inventions, these motos, I will admit. You say this one is on our side?”

  Ozzie nodded. “Her name is Scoot.”

  Mr. Whisk turned the moto’s head over in his seven-fingered hands. “She’s been around awhile, this one. She doesn’t look like the rest of them.”

  “No kidding,” Fidget piped up. “All the other motos are symmetrical. Glitch-Brain here has one eye bigger than the other. And crooked teeth.”

  “They’re not crooked,” Ozzie huffed, which made the quirl in his hair give a squeak.

  Fidget shrugged. “She’d never survive in TV Land. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Where’s TV Land?” Mr. Whisk wondered, as he began rooting through a box of tools.

  “Just this place that Tug thinks is great,” Fidget said. “But it’s not real.”

  “It’s not that great,” Tug said with a pensive twitch of his tail. The space was so cramped that he knocked over a bin of scrap moto parts—though the skyger himself didn’t notice. “I’ve been thinking, and it’s kind of strange that no one on the TV has crooked teeth or seven fingers or even purple eyebrows.”

  “Because everything there is perfect and happy,” Ozzie said sarcastically.

  Mr. Whisk began prodding Scoot’s head with an awl. “Perfect and happy. Two different things, if you ask me.”

  At that moment, his tool found a release lever, there was a click, and Scoot’s hat popped open on a hinge to reveal a networ
k of gears, cogs, and what looked like miniature bicycle chains.

  Ozzie hadn’t even known Scoot’s hat could open. “That looks complicated,” he said as he examined the mechanical brain. “Can you fix her?”

  “There’s a broken belt here,” Mr. Whisk said, pointing with his awl. “I can take one from one of the other moto’s heads.”

  “Wait,” Fidget said. “I just remembered—Scoot and the other motos can detect each other. So, if we switch her back on, Klaxon’s motos might pick up her signal. They might find this hideout.”

  Ozzie grimaced, and it wasn’t because of the quirl bedding down in his hair. He knew Fidget didn’t like Scoot, so she was probably glad for the excuse to leave her switched off. But even he had to admit that she had a point.

  “Ah,” Mr. Whisk said, holding up one of his long fingers. “Not a problem. See this cable right here? I’ll just unplug it. From what I’ve gleaned from the other motos, this is what connects her to the motos’ overall communication system. They have a sort of hive mind. Don’t worry—she’ll work mostly the same. She just won’t be able to detect the other motos. Good news is, they won’t know about her, either.”

  He replaced the broken belt and closed her lid hat. “Nothing else seems out of order,” Mr. Whisk said. “Time to pop her head back on and see what happens.”

  Ozzie and Fidget braced Scoot’s body while Mr. Whisk slid her head onto her rodlike neck. After it clicked into place, Ozzie reinserted Aunt Temperance’s ring and gave it a twist. Scoot’s eyes instantly began to flicker, and her body lurched forward. It was exactly like back on Moton, when they had first switched her on.

  “Up-down-up-up-down,” Scoot announced, her head spinning slowly. “Oh . . . I had the most strange dreamy-dream.”

  “Motos can dream?” Fidget asked skeptically.

  “I was playing bash-the-ball,” Scoot said.

  “I’m not sure you were playing exactly,” Fidget informed her. “Participating, maybe, but I don’t think you can call it playing when your head is the ba—”

  “It’s okay,” Ozzie interrupted, scowling at the princess. “You’re fine now, Scoot.”

  The moto wheeled out into the main room and everyone else followed. Miss Mongo had finished cleaning up the mess and was now shifting around various crates, as if attempting to make the place seem a bit homier.

  “Oh, hello,” Scoot greeted her, rolling up to shake her hand. “You seem familiar.”

  “Huh,” Miss Mongo grunted as her arm was jostled up and down by Scoot. “It is an aberration, innit?”

  “No sign of Aunt Temperance yet?” Ozzie asked.

  “Don’t worry, luv. I’m sure the Cap’n and Fussel—”

  She was interrupted by a loud thump on the wooden door. Everyone turned toward it.

  “Open up, aberrations,” ordered a monotonous voice.

  Ozzie looked at Fidget in surprise. The quirl burrowed deep into his hair.

  “Motos,” she mouthed, her periwinkle eyes wide with alarm. “They found us.”

  23

  A Mission to Save Lady Zoone

  Ozzie felt like a robotic flying death bug was scuttling down the back of his neck. How had the motos found them? He glanced over at Scoot, wearing her usual unintelligible expression. She was disconnected from the moto network now, Ozzie realized, but she hadn’t been when they had first stepped through the ripple door. Had that been all the motos needed to detect her signal?

  “Outta me way,” Miss Mongo grunted. She slid over to the door and yanked it open—to reveal not motos but a scrawny teenaged boy holding a box that seemed much too heavy for him. The quirl in Ozzie’s hair squeaked in relief.

  “You didn’t say the correct passphrase!” Fusselbone panicked, scurrying out of the darkness behind the boy. “It’s: No one here except us aberrations! Get it right, my boy, get it right! We might think you’re a moto! Or worse!”

  “What’s worse than a moto?” the boy said in a deadpan tone as he lugged in the box and set it down on the nearest crate. The box was filled with limp-looking vegetables and some dusty jars of canned food.

  Fusselbone followed the boy into the room, jabbing at the back of his leg. “You weren’t followed by any probes, were you? Did you hear any buzzing on the way down?”

  “I followed protocol,” the boy promised as Cho and Aunt Temperance wandered in, too.

  She doesn’t look any happier than when she left, Ozzie thought.

  “Meet one of our upside operatives,” Miss Mongo said, nodding at the teenaged boy. “He’s the last person I hired before I lost me own job in the kitchens. We calls him Minus. Though, sometimes, he’s a real zero.”

  Minus released a melancholy sigh, collapsed onto the nearest seat, and removed his cap to reveal a nearly bald head, with only a hint of lime-colored fuzz showing through his scalp.

  “Hmm,” Aunt Temperance grunted in disapproval. “Your hair is inappropriately green.”

  “That means it’s almost time to shave again, my boy,” Fusselbone told Minus, leaping onto his shoulder and inspecting his head. “Best do it before you get in trouble!”

  “Why would you get in trouble for not shaving?” Ozzie wondered.

  “Oh, you know,” Minus answered slowly, grimacing as Fusselbone continued to inspect him. “Klaxon doesn’t like hair. Too messy. Too unpredictable. Doesn’t like fancy colors, either. Like mine. So, if you want to keep your job, you have to shave. Even your eyebrows. Unless you dye them an acceptable color.”

  “Acceptable?” Aunt Temperance snapped. “Mercurio’s hair was wild. Circus-wild; black and red and . . .”

  “This is ridiculous,” Fidget huffed. “Everyone who works at the station has to shave their heads?”

  Minus nodded.

  Ozzie ran his fingers through his own thick hair, causing the quirl to give him a playful nip. His hair grew so fast that he had to get it cut every three weeks. Trying to keep it flat was futile; no amount of spray, gel, or wax could keep it from springing up. He wasn’t sure shaving would work, either—not for long, anyway. But at least being bald would discourage quirls from nesting.

  “Truth of it is there aren’t many flesh-and-bone folks workin’ up there anymore,” Miss Mongo said. “Most of ’em have disappeared or been thrown in the clink.”

  “Minus will probably be next,” Fusselbone fretted. “The motos will catch him doing something illicit, then that will be it! Right into prison! Then who will bring us food? We’ll starve.”

  “And, well, I’ll be in prison,” Minus added.

  “This place might as well be a prison,” Aunt Temperance complained, gesturing to the dingy walls. “I couldn’t find my way out of it. This is not what I expected of Zoone.”

  No kidding, Ozzie thought. Me, either. “Look,” he announced. “Aunt T is right about one thing. We need to do something. We can’t just wait around.”

  “Yes, listen to Ozzie,” Aunt Temperance insisted. “Zaria said to save Mercurio.”

  “Actually, Aunt T,” Ozzie countered, “her message said: ‘We can save him.’ That means you and Lady Zoone. Together.”

  “But Zaria’s not here,” Aunt Temperance said slowly. “She’s . . .”

  “In trouble, too,” Ozzie said emphatically.

  Aunt Temperance brushed the locks of silver hair out of her face and slumped onto a crate. “That’s not the way I’m used to thinking about Zaria,” she confessed. “As someone in trouble.”

  “Well, she is,” Fidget said. “And we have to help her.”

  “Then we can all face Mercurio together,” Cho added. “It’s not something you have to do alone.”

  “Not face him,” Aunt Temperance said. “Save him. But . . .” She exhaled, then turned her gaze to Ozzie.

  “We start with Lady Zoone,” he said.

  Aunt Temperance slowly nodded.

  “We need a plan,” Cho declared. “The first step is to find out where Lady Zoone is exactly. Is she under house arrest in her personal tower? Is sh
e in the prison with the others?”

  “We don’t know,” Miss Mongo said. “Sent out some of our Underground to do some searchin’, but they never came back.”

  “The station is enormous, Captain, simply enormous!” Fusselbone said. “And old. There are towers and sections that not even I know about!”

  “Me, either,” Cho admitted. “Lady Zoone could be anywhere. Which means we need to do our own reconnaissance. We need a scout.”

  “Ooh! That’s me,” Scoot volunteered, waving her hand exuberantly in the air.

  Cho chuckled. “I’m afraid it has to be someone a bit more inconspicuous. Which counts out most of us in this room.”

  “It won’t make a difference,” Mr. Whisk said. “The upper levels of the station are restricted, locked down and patrolled by motos. It’s impossible to get up there.”

  “Not if you have this,” Fidget said, pulling Lady Zoone’s multiversal key from beneath her shawl. She spun one of the many gears that were clustered on its bow. “With this, I can open any door in the station.”

  “Are you sure you know how to use it?” Ozzie asked, ogling the key.

  Fidget rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen Lady Zoone use it enough times. You set the gears to the right combination, and you can go to any destination in the station. I just need a keyhole to get started.”

  “None of those down here, luv,” Miss Mongo said. “You’ll need to go upside. But you better not go alone.”

  “I can help,” Tug offered, ears twitching.

  “We can’t disguise a skyger,” Fidget said.

  “I’m a Zoonian skyger,” Tug protested. “I can change color.”

  “Oh, sure, because a purple skyger doesn’t draw any attention. Not at all like a blue one.”

  Tug swished his tail, which happened to bowl over Minus and send him toppling to the floor. The poor guy obviously didn’t have much experience dealing with skyger tails.

  “Listen, cub, I need you down here,” Cho said, scratching Tug’s chin. “You can help us . . . plan. Fidget, you should take Ozzie with you; he’s perfect for this sort of mission.”