As the three of them followed Cloud down, the air turned staler. It smelled like the back of Arthur’s wardrobe: musty winter coat with a hint of damp trainer. Judging by the cobwebs breaking across his body he doubted anyone had been there for a very long time, and he wondered what they might find. Perhaps they’d discover a clue to Milo Hertz’s location, or even Milo himself? It was important they found him soon; both of their missions relied on it.
At the bottom of the stairs they stepped onto a stone floor. The air hummed and soft purple light glowed overhead.
They were standing in the corner of an enormous hall filled with rubble. Chunks of masonry were missing from the walls; there were holes in the ceiling, blackened potholes in the flagstone floor and scorch marks on just about every surface. The far wall was covered by flickering holographic screens and beneath the wreckage was the remains of a friendly office, equipped with comfy floating armchairs, and desks with shattered coffee mugs and shrivelled pot plants. Water dripped from several holes in the ceiling, echoing like a snare drum.
With his nose pressed against the floor and his bottom in the air, Cloud set off to sniff the site, doing his best bloodhound impression.
“This has got to be Milo’s headquarters,” Cecily whispered, treading carefully over the debris. “But what happened? It looks like it was attacked.”
“Yeah, by mimics,” Ren said ominously. “I bet these burn marks are exactly the kind of thing that would be made by the V-class and T-class units’ weapons.”
Arthur shuddered. It was one thing seeing the mimics with weapons, but another entirely to witness the damage they could cause. And to think all that power was being wielded by Valeria and Tiburon alone…
He felt a waft of air overhead and ducked as four black drones the size of crows shot out of a hole in the ceiling. Their chunky cuboid bodies were like a cluster of obsidian Minecraft blocks with strange googly eyes. Hovering sinisterly, they began scanning the ground with long green sensors.
Ren drew her bow. “More robots.”
“What are they?” Cecily asked, inching back. “Do you think they’ll try to kill us?”
“Those are the top two questions,” Arthur agreed, nodding frantically. His muscles tensed as he checked the hall for exits. If the robots had been sent by Valeria to hunt them down, they’d need a quick escape.
But the drones paid them no attention. Within moments of completing the scans, the bodies reconfigured into masses of smaller cubes. Two of them transformed into dustpans while the other pair changed into brushes. Then they set about sweeping the floor.
Cleaner bots, Arthur realized. Their presence must have activated them. Slowly, his nerves started to subside. Navigating the ruins, he tried to imagine what might have transpired. It struck him as odd that the mess had been left untouched. Perhaps that was why the space felt haunted, like the wounds inflicted had never fully healed.
As the three of them ventured further in, more technology hummed and glowed into life. Dust crumbled from the rubble as devices buried underneath struggled to the surface. Arthur jumped as a cloud of glittering nano-particles burst in one corner and fashioned itself into a jukebox vending machine. Violet light shone under furniture and around the edges of the room, giving the place a funky hotel-lobby vibe.
It wasn’t until they’d reached the centre of the hall that they could finally examine the holographic screens. Most of them were flickering so badly it was impossible to discern what they had once displayed, but a couple showed live CCTV-style footage of the city. One was the view outside the concealed tunnel entrance, by the IGC building.
The largest functioning screen resembled an airport departures board. A section on the left featured a list of numbers marked by either a hexagon, triangle or cross; and a column on the right displayed either OPEN, CLOSED or PENDING. Each number had a name written next to it.
“Those must be the realms of the Wonderscape,” Cecily said, staring at the screen. “There are over two hundred of them!”
Arthur’s gaze drifted down the grid. Some names he’d never heard of; others sounded familiar but he wasn’t quite sure who they were. Of the ones he knew, there were doctors, musicians, dancers, inventors, athletes, chemists and campaigners, among others.
“William Shakespeare, Marie Curie, Edith Cavell,” Ren read. “Albert Einstein… I can’t believe all these incredible people are trapped here, forced to do Hxperion’s bidding.”
“And Tiburon’s threatening to kill their families,” Cecily added in a wobbly voice. “It’s barbaric!”
As Arthur contemplated the scale of Tiburon’s cruelty, his mouth went dry. The heroes, he realized, were similar to the three of them – lost in a time they didn’t understand and unsure if they would ever get home and see their loved ones again. But he had Ren and Cecily, while the heroes were all alone. Tightening his jaw, he felt a renewed surge of determination to help them all. “The symbols probably denote who designed which realm,” he guessed. “That’s why there aren’t any hexagons towards the end of the list, because Milo had fled by then.”
At the bottom of the screen was an M-shaped controller like the one they’d used in Tomoe Gozen’s realm. Ren gave it an experimental nudge and a pinprick of light traced her movement on-screen. “This doesn’t tell us where Milo is,” she said, moving her hand away from the controller. “Shall we search this place for clues? It’s where Milo worked before he ran away. We might find something useful.”
“Can we have a drink and something to eat first?” Cecily asked, clambering over a section of rubble. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m running on empty.” Arthur had noticed she was scrambling towards the vending machine. Its flashing neon lights seemed to activate an alarm in his head saying, You haven’t eaten in waaay too long.
He checked his watch. It had been seven hours since they’d woken up at Tomoe’s house and they hadn’t stopped since. “Let’s restock our supplies and take a break before we begin,” he decided. “There aren’t any mimics here. I think we’re safe.”
Cecily took charge of the shopping while Arthur and Ren found a reasonably unharmed bench and heaved it up against one wall. Cloud flopped on the floor, his pink tongue lolling out of his mouth.
“I’m not exactly sure what everything is,” Cecily admitted, carrying back an armful of strange cuisine. There was a star-shaped loaf of bread streaked with what looked like blue jam, a box of glowing purple dumplings and some cube-shaped fruits with cracked skins. She’d also purchased three litres of water contained in a squidgy pouch. Ren poked a hole in it with the corkscrew attachment on her multi-tool and they refilled their Pipsqueaks bottles several times, guzzling as much as they could.
“Here,” Arthur said, sharing out the bread. “This stuff has a weird marshmallow texture, but it tastes good.” As he bit into the dough, his memory returned to last weekend when he and Dad had made pancakes. They’d played rock, paper, scissors for the last one, and even though Dad had won, he’d given Arthur the final pancake anyway. A lump formed in the back of Arthur’s throat as he considered the possibility that he might never see him again.
Ren nudged him with her elbow as she peeled one of the cube fruits. “You all right?”
The water on Arthur’s Wondercloak had turned a dismal shade of grey and was dotted with circular ripples, like a puddle in the rain. “Just worrying about my dad,” he said honestly. “It’s just the two of us and if we don’t make it home…”
She gave him a weak smile. “I’m trying not to think about that.”
Cecily huffed and dropped her chin into her hand. Her sunflowers bowed their heads like a hearse had just driven by. “You wanna know something embarrassing?” she said wearily. “My parents might not even know I’m missing. I was off sick with flu for a week last year and they didn’t call me for three days because my aunt hadn’t been able to get hold of their PA.”
Arthur lowered his hunk of bread. Whenever he was ill, his dad took the day off work to care for him. He hadn’t realiz
ed how lucky he was.
“Their business is everything to them,” Cecily continued. “They sometimes work seven days a week, and they’re away so often doing fashion shows or photo shoots I spend more time with my aunt and cousins.” Her voice cracked. “They’re a really nice family, but I’m an outsider there.”
She paused, her eyes welling with tears. Without thinking, Arthur shuffled closer and put his arm around her shoulders. He felt Ren’s hand on Cecily’s back and realized she’d done the same from the other side. “Your parents probably think they’re doing the right thing,” he reasoned gently. “They’re working hard to give you the best in life.”
“I know,” she said quietly, “but I’d rather see them every day, like you do with your dad.”
Arthur didn’t know what to say. It hadn’t occurred to him that someone like Cecily, with her nice house and expensive holidays, would be envious of what he had.
Hoping to cheer her up, he searched for Cloud. The little dog was digging in a pile of rubble on the opposite side of the hall, wagging his tail. As he pawed at an old chair leg, Arthur caught a glint of silver in the heap. “Hey, do you two see that?”
Cecily sniffed and dried her cheeks. “Where?”
Arthur rose to his feet and walked over. He covered his hand with the edge of his Wondercloak so as not to cut himself on any sharp edges, and began tossing aside pieces of debris. Working quickly, he freed a misshapen mimic head from under the junk. It had no skin or hair, just a bare skull and lifeless eyes.
He passed the head to Cecily, while he and Ren dug a badly damaged arm and separate chest out of the pile, as well. Several gashes in their metal casing allowed a glimpse through to the mimic’s advanced inner circuitry.
“I can’t tell by the shape if it’s a T-class or a V-class,” Cecily remarked, cradling the mimic’s battered head in her hands. She brushed dust off its chin, revealing a spiky figure inlaid into the surface of the metal. The letter M.
“Of course,” Arthur hissed, frustrated he hadn’t thought of it sooner. “This must be one of Milo’s mimics, an M-class!”
Ren scrutinized the chest part she was holding. “Perhaps they were shut down when Milo ran away?”
Arthur felt something tugging on the M-class’s arm and peered down to find Cloud chewing on the mimic’s index finger. “You can’t eat that,” Arthur said, trying to shake Cloud off, but the dog persisted. He growled and chewed harder, grinding his back teeth together.
There was a loud hiss, and then the M-class’s fingertip opened like a clam shell, revealing a small red lever inside.
Arthur flicked it down and Cecily flinched as the mimic’s head started moving in her hands. The muscles in his forehead twitched; he blinked rapidly and rolled his tongue around the inside of his mouth like he was trying to dislodge a crumb of food stuck in his back teeth. Eventually, his eyelids stopped fluttering. “Good evening,” he said, a little uncertainly. “Is there anything I can help you with?” He spotted Cloud sitting on the floor and spluttered, “Cloud? Is that you?”
The little dog licked the mimic’s fingertips.
“Yes, I missed you too,” the M-class said affectionately.
Before the two could catch up, Arthur spied movement on one of the CCTV screens. A mob of V-class mimics was filing into the hidden concrete tunnel, each carrying what looked like a sleek gold can of hairspray, but was probably filled with atomized C-4 explosive. They started to spray the edges of the stone door.
“They’re going to blast their way in!” Cecily squeaked.
Ren instinctively dropped the mimic’s chest onto the floor and drew her bow, but Arthur covered the top of her quiver with his hand. “There are too many of them. We have to hide.”
“Then we’d better take these body pieces with us,” Cecily said, tapping the M-class’s chest with the toe of her shoe. “The mimic might be able to give us a clue to Milo’s whereabouts.”
16
With Cloud’s lead gripped in one hand and the M-class’s metal arm dangling from the other, Arthur rounded a corner and skidded to a halt in front of a wall of debris. Ren had the M-class’s torso tucked under her arm, while Cecily clutched his head.
“Dead end,” Ren said, wheezing. “Where to now?”
Milo’s headquarters seemed to go on for ever. Arthur bent over and took a mouthful of air. Cecily, he noticed, wasn’t even panting but then he’d seen her practising with the school cross-country team, so he wasn’t surprised.
The sound of hover-wheels echoed near by; the V-class mimics were close. Arthur scanned the corridor and spied a large air-vent covered by a metal grate, low down in one wall. “In there, hurry!”
Ren unscrewed the grate with her multi-tool and they crawled in, pushing the M-class body parts ahead of them. Once Cloud was safely tucked inside, Arthur and Ren lifted the grate back into position and poked the screws through from the other side to hold it in place. They just had to hope the mimics wouldn’t notice. Cecily propped the M-class’s head, torso and arm next to each other, against the vent wall. His grey eyes swivelled around in their sockets, but he stayed quiet.
It didn’t take long for voices to arrive.
“The suspects made a purchase in this building sixty-two minutes ago,” a V-class sneered. “They may have left by now. What are your orders?”
Arthur tensed, realizing Hxperion did have a way to track them – by monitoring their DIRT transactions. They would have to remember not to use a vending machine again. He, Ren and Cecily went like statues as footsteps crunched over the dusty floor. Arthur glimpsed a pair of knee-high green boots through the slats of the grating. Valeria.
“I don’t care what it takes, I want those brats found,” she growled. “Triple the patrols and scour the realm. It looks like vandals may have already broken inside; we can’t let anyone obtain any information lying around. Destroy the place.”
“Excellent idea,” the V-class agreed. “Anything else?”
Dust blew into the vent as a set of hover-wheels floated past, stirring the dirt on the floor. Arthur’s throat tickled and heat rushed to his cheeks as he desperately tried not to cough.
“I think it’s time to contact Tiburon,” Valeria said calculatingly. “Do not ask him for help. Just let him know what’s happened.”
“That way, you’ll be doing him a favour,” the V-class said approvingly.
Arthur heard the grin in Valeria’s voice. “Yes, exactly.” Her tone became grave. “Wherever Milo is hiding, he must have recruited those three to scout out my headquarters. Typical. Now that I’ve grafted for years to turn around Hxperion’s fortunes, he wants to swan back and enjoy the fruits of my labour. Well, I won’t allow it! My brand, my fortune, my empire … everything I’ve built is in jeopardy,” she said, adding with a sniff of indifference, “including all of you.”
Valeria’s anger seemed to linger in the hallway even after she and the V-class mimics had gone. Once the noise of their hover-wheels had faded, Arthur’s shoulders sagged with relief. He waited as long as he could before clamping a hand over his mouth and letting loose a hacking cough. His lungs felt like sandpaper. “Sorry,” he whispered, wiping tears from his eyes. “I couldn’t hold it in any longer.”
Cecily sat cross-legged, hugging her knees. “If Valeria tells Tiburon, he’ll be after us too,” she said grimly. In the dim silvery light of the vent, her eyes shone with worry. Arthur offered her a brave smile, although deep down, he knew their mission to save the heroes and get home had just got a lot more hopeless.
“Even Valeria doesn’t know where Milo ran off to,” Ren noted. “It’s like he’s vanished.”
Arthur’s head throbbed, trying to work it all out. Hoping for answers, he turned his attention to the M-class they’d found. “I’m Arthur,” he said hesitantly. “This is Ren, Cecily and Cloud. We’re trying to find Milo Hertz. Can you help us?”
The mimic’s cheeks twitched. “Your request cannot be processed,” he said, but then his face broke into a smi
le. “No, only joking. I’m M-73; pleased to meet you!”
Arthur blinked. None of the mimics they’d met so far had come close to cracking a joke. He glanced sideways at Ren and Cecily. Perhaps the M-class units had a few eccentricities not present in the V-class and T-class models…
“A large percentage of my memory has been destroyed,” M-73 revealed. His pupils flicked to the fluffy white terrier, lying with his head in his paws on the floor of the air vent. “But if you’re Cloud’s friends, I do have two remaining recordings that may help you.”
There was a whirring sound like a car window opening, and a slot appeared in M-73’s chest which was still propped up beside his head. Nestled within a web of glowing wires and moving lights was a fist-sized glass pebble. It reminded Arthur of the fuel cells from the Principia because there were particles of dust glittering within it.
“In order to view my recordings, you will have to touch this and close your eyes. It is my neuro-processor. Once it is removed, this body will shut down.”
Cecily hesitated. “You want us to take out your heart?”
“It isn’t as primitive as a human heart,” M-73 explained. “If you place my neuro-processor inside an undamaged mimic body, I will be reborn.” A finger on his dismembered arm pointed towards the hole in his chest, while his head gave them all a reassuring smile. “Go on, take it.”
Arthur didn’t feel great about it, but he nodded. Reaching forwards, he gently pulled the neuro-processor out of the tangle of circuitry. The hole in M-73’s chest closed immediately, and within seconds the life disappeared from his pale grey eyes.
“Here goes,” Arthur said, holding the gem out so Ren and Cecily could lay their hands on it. After he’d shut his eyes, he felt a rush of blood to the head, and on the inside of his eyelids there appeared moving images…
M-73 was floating at considerable speed along a corridor of flint-grey stone with a row of doors on either side. Framed photographs of different M-class units holding Employee-of-the-Month trophies covered the walls, and purple light glowed at the edges of the ceiling. Arthur guessed from the décor that the mimic was somewhere in Milo’s headquarters before the attack. Reflected on the polished floor, Arthur could see M-73 as he had been back then – a tall, strapping mimic with cropped dark hair. Unlike Milo Hertz, he moved with his shoulders back and chin up, like a proud soldier.
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