by Bobbie Peers
To Michelle, had it not been for you, this book would never have been!
BIG BEN,
LONDON
The world-renowned clock tower loomed darkly over the grand buildings. Gray moonlight was reflected in the clock face. The gigantic hands said three thirty. London was quiet now, so quiet that from down on the street you could almost hear the clockwork inside the tower way up above. But in the nighttime darkness the ticking was soon replaced by something else.
Footsteps.
The dim light of a streetlamp revealed the shadow of a person growing in time with the footsteps. At last a tall figure came into view and stopped in front of the fence surrounding Big Ben.
It was a man wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a long overcoat. He glanced up at the clock face. For a moment he stood completely still, like a statue on the dark street. Then, in one quick bound, he leaped the fence and strode over to the wall of the clock tower. He fumbled around in his pockets until he finally found what he was looking for: a small metal door no bigger than a matchbox. He ran a pale hand over the textured limestone wall, and as if the stone were magnetic, he secured the little metal door to it. With a series of clicks and mechanical movements, the metal door began to grow, becoming larger and larger until it was the size of a regular door.
The man glanced around warily before opening the door, stepping inside, and closing it behind him.
A short time later, the door opened once again, and the man emerged, holding something in his hands. It looked heavy and was wrapped in a dirty cloth.
He shut the door behind him. It shrank, and the man plucked it back off the wall. He returned it to his pocket and looked around before leaping back over the fence and vanishing into the darkness.
The sound of his footsteps faded away, and then there was complete silence. It was even quieter than before.
Big Ben had stopped.
• • •
In a secret control center at the Institute for Post-Human Research in England, a red alarm light started flashing. Beneath the light was a small label that said BIG BEN, LONDON. A frightened technician looked up. He swallowed his coffee the wrong way and broke into a violent coughing fit, but his eyes remained transfixed by the flashing light the entire time.
“Call Goffman,” he said, his voice quavering. “Now!”
1
“William . . . ,” a voice said.
William rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head.
“William . . . ,” the voice said again. “You have to get up.”
“Just a couple minutes,” William grunted. “Just a couple more minutes.”
“NOW, WILLIAM!”
He sat up and looked around. He had bed head, and his eyelids felt heavy. He glanced at the laptop on his nightstand. His grandfather’s face smiled back at him from the screen.
“I’ll be in trouble with your mother if I don’t get you up on time,” his grandfather said. “So you’re going to have to get up no matter how tired you are.”
“I know, I know . . . ,” William mumbled, swinging his feet out of bed. The floor was cold, and he wanted to hide under his covers again. At the moment he thought his grandfather was lucky he was a computer program—he didn’t have to wake up in the morning.
“You need to be out the door in nineteen minutes,” his grandfather said.
William scrambled out of bed and found his clothes.
With both his mother and father at work, his grandfather was responsible for making sure William made it to school on time. Now that his father was able to get around without a wheelchair, thanks to the exoskeleton he had received from the Institute, he was working at the local museum. It was the same museum where William had cracked the world’s most difficult code a little over a year ago, and had his life turned upside down.
“How many days are left now?” William asked, pulling his sweater on over his head.
It had become a ritual they performed every morning. William knew the answer but liked to hear his grandfather say it anyway. He could hardly wait to get back to the Institute.
“Eleven days,” his grandfather said, smiling. “And you have fifteen minutes until your bus leaves. You should unplug me.”
William walked over to the laptop.
“Have a good day,” his grandfather said with a wink. “And keep out of trouble.”
“You too,” William said, and waved. He turned off the computer and pulled out the thumb drive.
Then he walked over to his grandfather’s old desk and carefully placed the thumb drive in the drawer before taking out a small key and locking it.
• • •
Ten minutes later, William was running down the driveway in front of his house. He’d buttered a slice of bread at the last minute, and as he turned onto the sidewalk, he took a big bite, then stopped abruptly. A man wearing a red uniform and a hat that was pulled down so far the visor hid his face was standing in front of him. He held a small gray package in his hands.
“William?” he said.
William hesitated.
“William Wenton?” the man repeated, taking a step closer. He clicked as he walked. William glanced down at the man’s shoes. They were white and black. Was he wearing tap shoes?
William looked around. There was an old, dented red mail truck parked in the street, but otherwise it was completely deserted.
“I have a very important express delivery for William Wenton,” the man said. “Is that you?”
William forced himself to swallow the buttered bread in his mouth. “Yes,” he eventually replied.
“Do you have some ID?” the mailman said.
“Uh.” William thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out his bus pass.
“You don’t have one with a picture on it?”
“It says my name right there,” William said, pointing.
The mailman muttered something to himself as he carefully tucked the package under his arm and inspected the bus pass.
“All right,” he said after a moment, taking a step back. “I believe you. It’s an honor to finally meet you, young Master Wenton.” He bowed and tapped his shoes against the sidewalk a couple of times. Then he handed back the bus pass and held out the package. “Here you go.”
William took it and was surprised at how heavy it was.
“What is it?” he asked, shaking the package a little.
“Careful,” the mailman said. “It’s supposed to be handled with care. And you need to be alone when you open it.”
“Alone?”
William tried to look into the mailman’s eyes, but the shadow from his visor still covered his face.
“Completely alone. This is not a dance for two.”
William suddenly heard his bus down the street.
“I have to go,” he said, and set out at a run for the bus stop.
“Handle with care!” he heard the man yell after him.
William reached the bus stop just as the bus doors slid open. As he climbed on, he turned and looked back toward his driveway. The mailman was still standing there staring at him, but by the time William found himself a seat and the bus drove past his house, the mysterious man was gone.
2
Mr. Humburger paced back and forth in front of the board.
“And when you hear the fire alarm . . .” He paused and eyed his students sternly. “Then you all stand up, nicely and orderly, and walk out the door in a line.”
William sat in his seat and tried to concentrate on what his teacher was saying. But it was hard, since his thoughts were being constantly drawn to the strange package in his backpack.
“Then we’ll gather by class out in the s
choolyard and wait quietly for the fire department to arrive,” Mr. Humburger continued.
There was going to be a fire drill. The students generally looked forward to these, because it meant a break from schoolwork. And today’s would be extra exciting: The fire department was actually supposed to come.
Mr. Humburger glanced up at the clock on the wall.
As the second hand hit twelve, an alarm out in the hallway started wailing. Chairs scraped as the whole class stood up at the same time.
“No panic,” Mr. Humburger urged as he directed the students with both arms.
William knew the teachers competed to see who could get their class outside first.
Mr. Humburger jogged over to the door and waved to his students. “Line up, everyone. Leave your backpacks here. We’re coming back.”
William leaned over and carefully lifted the package out of his backpack and hid it under his sweater. This fire drill suited him perfectly. No one would notice if he snuck off. He had to find out what the strange man had given him.
“Everyone, march in time with the beat,” Mr. Humburger yelled. Then he placed a whistle in his mouth and started blowing the beat at the top of his lungs as he led the way out the door.
The whole class followed, marching down the hallway like a meager little parade for Norway’s national holiday, the Seventeenth of May. As William’s class moved along, other students started streaming out of their classrooms as well, and Mr. Humburger had to hurry. He sped up his whistling, and the marching students tried to keep pace.
William scanned the hallway. Now was his chance to hide. The door to the teachers’ lounge stood open, and the room was deserted. Glancing around quickly, he ducked out of line and snuck inside. Mr. Humburger’s whistle faded into the distance.
William waited until it was totally quiet in the hallway. Then he walked over to the window and peered out. Three fire trucks drove onto the school grounds. Mr. Humburger was trying to direct them, but the drivers ignored him and parked in a completely different location.
Breathing a sigh of relief, William sat down on the sofa. He placed the package on the coffee table in front of him and stared at it for a few seconds.
Scooting to the edge of the cushion, William untied the twine and started carefully removing the thick gray paper. He remembered what the mailman had said: The package had to be handled with care.
His heart beat faster. There were multiple layers of paper, but slowly something began to come into view.
A metal pyramid.
It was covered with strange geometric figures that pulsed with white light.
The familiar vibrations began right away. They started in his belly before continuing up his spine. In William’s head the symbols on the pyramid began to come loose from the metal surface and hover in the air in front of him.
A code.
The pyramid was a code!
William quickly leaned back on the sofa, and the hovering symbols fell back into place. He wanted to solve it, but he was scared. The last time he’d solved a code without knowing what it did, he’d activated a portal in the Himalayas. William wasn’t planning to make that mistake again. He had to talk to his grandfather before he did anything at all. He was about to wrap the pyramid back up when the door flew open, and Mr. Humburger stormed in.
“There you are!” he yelled. “We lost the lineup competition because of you. What are you doing in here, anyway?!” Then he spotted the pyramid. “And what is that?”
Before William had a chance to respond, Mr. Humburger snatched it from him.
“No, be careful . . . ,” William protested.
The pyramid started emitting sparks, and Mr. Humburger screamed and dropped it back onto the coffee table.
“What’s it doing?” he yelled, staggering backward. “Make it stop!”
He stumbled into the wall and remained frozen there.
The pyramid kept sparking as it vibrated its way across the table. William reached for it, but it fell onto the floor and kept going toward Mr. Humburger.
“What does it want?” Mr. Humburger yelled, pressing himself against the wall. “Why is it after me?”
“I don’t think it’s after anyone,” William said, standing up.
The pyramid stopped vibrating and lay at Mr. Humburger’s feet.
Sweat was pouring down the man’s face, and he was opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish.
“Don’t touch it,” William said, edging cautiously closer.
“There’ll be consequences for this, William,” Mr. Humburger snarled. “Is it finished?” He stretched his foot out and kicked the pyramid.
“No, wait,” William said.
The pyramid emitted a deafening howl, and a geyser of sparks shot out of it.
Mr. Humburger was in a complete panic now. He jumped over the pyramid, sprinted to the window, and yanked it open. He stuck his head out and yelled at the top of his lungs: “ALARM, ALARM!”
Everyone who was standing down in the schoolyard looked up.
“THERE’S A FIRE . . . THERE’S A REAL FIRE UP HERE!”
A fireman holding a firehose turned and pointed the hose at the window.
Mr. Humburger gasped for breath and tried to yell again, but the effort and his panic had drained the air out of him. He settled for flailing his arms around wildly.
A powerful jet of water shot out of the firehose and hit Mr. Humburger in the chest with tremendous force. He was flung backward and landed on his back a little way from the window. William ran over and tried to help him up, but Mr. Humburger pushed him away and scrambled to his feet on his own.
“I have to get out,” Mr. Humburger yelled, pulling off his drenched T-shirt. “I have to get to the roof.”
“No, that’s dangerous!” William yelled, but the man didn’t pay any attention.
“I need to buy myself a little time. I’ve been practicing this,” he said; then he pressed his wet T-shirt to his face and ran out into the hallway.
William stood there. He turned and looked at the pyramid, which now sat completely still on the floor.
• • •
When William walked out into the schoolyard, everyone was staring up at the building he had just exited. He had hidden the pyramid under his sweater and was holding his hands over it protectively to hide the angular bulge. He glanced up at the roof and spotted Mr. Humburger, who was standing up there waving both arms. He had taken off his pants and tied them around his head. His pale white body gleamed in the sun.
The firemen were holding the sides of something that looked like an enormous trampoline. They ran over to the school building and stopped right under where Mr. Humburger was standing.
“THE ONLY WAY IS DOWN,” Mr. Humburger yelled.
“No, wait!” one of the firemen shouted as another fireman stepped out of the main entrance and shook his head. “There’s no fire. It’s a false alarm.”
But Mr. Humburger wasn’t listening. He positioned himself right on the edge of the roof and stretched both arms up into the air like a competitive diver.
And then in an elegant motion, he launched himself off in a perfect swan dive. A gasp ran through the crowd, which followed Mr. Humburger’s journey down to the life net the firemen on the ground were holding out below him.
With a wet squish, Mr. Humburger landed belly first.
3
William sat in the backseat watching rows of buildings glide by. It was raining. The car windows were fogged up, and it made the world on the outside feel remote and insignificant.
“Can you believe the nerve of that teacher?” William’s mother grumbled, clenching the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
“You need to shift up,” William’s father said, gesturing at the gear shift.
“And that principal!” his mother hissed.
William and his parents had been at the principal’s office. There, Mr. Humburger made a production out of blaming William for what had happened and demanded that
he be expelled immediately. The principal, as usual, tiptoed around the subject. Something that made William’s mother even more furious.
“We need to hurry,” his father urged, glancing at his battery display, which showed how much charge remained for his exoskeleton. “I’ve only got eight percent left. And you need to change gears now.”
“How can it be William’s fault that that silly man did a swan dive off the roof in his underwear?” his mother continued, still in the same gear.
William looked at the backpack on the seat beside him. The package was in there. He could hardly wait to show his grandfather. If anyone would know what it was, it was him.
“They should fire him,” his mother continued, turning the wheel hard to the side. The car veered into their driveway and came to a stop.
His mother undid her seat belt and was about to get out, but something held her back. She was staring at the house.
“William, were you the last one to leave this morning?” she finally asked.
“Yes,” William said, looking up. “Why?”
“The front door’s open.”
William leaned forward. She was right. The front door was ajar.
“I definitely remember locking it,” William said.
“And what’s that?” his mother asked, pointing to the kitchen window.
William leaned even farther forward and squinted through the fogged-up windshield.
There was some kind of brown substance on the inside of the kitchen window.
“Up there, too,” his mother said, pointing to the windows on the second floor. “It’s the same in all the windows. What happened in there?”
“Let’s find out.” His father opened his car door and got out. “Wait here,” he instructed, and then approached the house. His heavy exoskeleton clunked against the driveway.
William watched his father move toward the front door. Was his dad really planning to go in there? Alone?
“Alfred . . . ,” his mom said, getting out of the car. “We should call the police.”
His father ignored her, opening the door a bit more and walking in.
William followed his mother. They stopped just outside the door. They could hear William’s father poking around inside. Then it grew quiet.