ArcadiA: A Game Space FastRead

by Peter Jay Black

  I sat on the end of the back row, and recognised the suited guy in front of me: creepy Black Beard from the shuttle.

  Grinding my teeth, I hoped to find Matt before his stupid actions got us both locked up, or worse . . .

  The boat shifted away from the pontoon, and glided down the river. Ahead, a wall opened and we slid into a tunnel.

  Six

  When our boat emerged from the tunnel, it entered a channel cut into a rock face, a hundred feet up. We overlooked an enormous area divided into jungle, desert, forest, swamp and lagoon, all under the giant dome of ArcadiA and a million bright spotlights.

  A red-uniformed alien with a bulbous head, furry face, and floppy ears stood up at the front of the boat. She spread her arms wide. “Welcome to Baytopia—safari among the stars.”

  I, along with several other passengers, gasped as a winged serpent with golden eyes and long talons flew overhead, screeching.

  “Do not worry,” the tour guide said with a crooked smile. “None of the creatures here can hurt you.” As the serpent swooped around the outer edge of the dome and vanished from sight, the tour guide held up a finger. “On that subject, and before we explore the wonderful world of Baytopia and its many zones and inhabitants, let us briefly explain our science and conservation efforts.”

  I gripped the side of the boat as it swung to the right and headed deeper into the rock face, toward a waterfall. As we approached the water parted, and our boat glided through.

  I wondered if my brother had come this way, but given the vast size of ArcadiA and Baytopia alone, I doubted my luck was that good.

  The rock tunnel transformed into glass, and we passed through an aquarium teeming with marine life. There were hundreds of varieties: everything from small guppy-like fish with translucent bodies and antennae, to white sharks. I focussed on a seahorse at least a foot long, its skin all shimmering greens and blues.

  “This beautiful selection of sea life is but a small sample from Alopa,” the tour guide said. “That’s an ocean planet two hundred light years from here. Alopa is special because of its slow rotation and unique underwater topography. Some of the inhabitants spend months in complete darkness.” She waved a hand and the lights went out.

  I sighed out a slow breath at the sight before us.

  Now illuminated by their own bioluminescence, every underwater creature glowed and pulsated with rainbows of light. Some swam in shoals, others alone, all iridescent, constantly changing, and hypnotic.

  Black Beard bowed his head and stared at his feet, as though bored.

  I gazed at the rainbows, imagining what it would be like to swim among them. The water itself seemed to glow with their energy, inviting me in.

  The boat punched back into bright light and I raised my hands, shielding my eyes. When my vision returned to normal, I frowned.

  To our left stood a rock temple within an alcove, illuminated by flickering lanterns which cast shadows over the craggy walls.

  I glanced at Black Beard, but he still stared at the floor, arms crossed.

  “I bet you’re all wondering what’s in there,” the tour guide said with a knowing smile.

  “Bluestones,” a guest in an oversized baseball cap replied with glee, grabbing her partner’s arm.

  This garnered a few appreciative oohs and ahs from the crowd.

  The tour guide pointed at baseball-cap lady. “Exactly right.” She then gestured at the temple. “Housed within those walls are the galaxy’s premiere collection of Class Two Bluestone artifacts, second only to the Antarian collection, each imbued with its own unique magical ability. All lovingly cared for, curated and preserved by the founder, CEO, chairman, visionary, and owner of ArcadiA . . .

  “Jax Newton,” the crowd cried out in unison, and applauded.

  I touched my sleeve, feeling the bracelet the Professor had given me beneath the fabric. Bluestone. The woman on the shuttle had called the crystals Bluestones. So, what? Are they magical? In a universe filled with technology? How does that make sense? And if the crystals have powers, then what are they capable of—

  I stiffened as I remembered my skin turning translucent, and the way I’d shot through the ticket barriers as though they weren’t there. That had to be something to do with the bracelet.

  The tour guide waved her arms, breaking my train of thought. “And why does our boss keep his collection here, of all places?” she asked with mock wonder, looking around at everyone. “Why would Jax Newton choose this location, when he has the means to build the most powerful vault in existence?” She winked, and before anyone could answer she said in a loud whisper, “Because he doesn’t need any such thing.” She grabbed a bucket from the deck and with one big swing heaved its contents onto the shore. A pile of raw meat slapped against the rocks.

  I screwed up my face and covered my mouth with my hand. Disgusting.

  Low snarling filled the air. The guests on the temple side of the boat pulled back, and one of them pointed. “There. Look.”

  I clapped a hand over my mouth and let out a muffled yelp.

  Seven

  I recoiled so far along the bench that I almost toppled over the side of the boat. Three animals the size of black bears lumbered from behind the temple building, sniffing the air, drool dripping from their pointed teeth.

  As if wanting to add more fuel to my nightmare, one of them reared up, standing over six feet tall. They each had thick black hair covering their bodies, and flat, wrinkled faces like grotesque apes.

  “Grondars,” a rotund alien man said, with apparent awe and glee.

  My world drained of colour and my body froze with fear as the grondars fought over the meat, tearing it apart.

  The tour guide chuckled. “Yes. Those Bluestone crystals are perfectly safe with these guys around.”

  As the boat glided away, Black Beard’s head rose and he turned to the side, his heavy brow reminding me of one of those grondars. He peered up at the rock ceiling, rising from the bench, when something fell from his lap and toppled into the water, vanishing beneath the surface.

  I tapped his arm and pointed. “Sir, you’ve dropped something.” I’d assumed it was his wallet.

  Black Beard sat back down and gave me a look that made my shoulders stiffen. He stared, as though he’d like nothing better than to murder me, then finally faced the front again.

  I slumped in my seat. What’s his problem? I thought, as the boat rounded a corner and followed another tunnel. All I wanted to do was find Matt and go home.

  A minute later, our tour boat drifted past a long row of windows on the right-hand side of the tunnel. Beyond were laboratories filled with high-tech equipment—everything from microscopes and centrifuges to a whole host of machinery I didn’t recognise.

  The boat stopped and the glass turned black, blocking the view of the labs. Then a three-dimensional image of a silver arrow-shaped device appeared.

  “A Baytopian probe,” the tour guide said. “Thousands of them travel the galaxy, seeking new life.”

  The probe flew around a blue planet, then dropped into the atmosphere and through the clouds. Lush green land, then a forest rushed up, and the probe dove through the treetops. It stopped a few feet off the ground, focussing on a dense bush.

  I, along with several other tourists, leaned over for a better look, causing the boat to list to one side.

  A rustling sound was followed by movement of the leaves. Then an animal appeared from the undergrowth, snuffling the ground with a long, pink nose. It had small brown eyes, short fur covering a rounded body, and a stubby tail. It reminded me of an anteater crossed with a warthog, but the size of a guinea pig.

  I cringed and murmured under my breath, “Horrible.”

  A beam of light shot from the probe and swept along the animal’s body.

  “When the Baytopian probes find interesting lifeforms,” the tour guide said, “instead of taking the animals from their natural habitats and caging them for our amusement, the probes scan the creatur
es down to their individual molecules and atoms.”

  The silver probe pulled back and a pulse of energy radiated from its shell through the trees, the clouds, the atmosphere and out into space.

  “That data is then transmitted to the science vessel Discovery,” the tour guide continued, as the energy hurtled toward a spaceship in the shape of a diamond fixed to a rectangle, hanging in the void. “There, an expert team of highly skilled scientists study the data. The animals deemed to be of extraordinary interest are relayed here.”

  The screen vanished and the glass turned transparent again, revealing a lab with a wide table. Above the table was a device resembling an oversized microscope, with silver points at one end. Mounted at the other was a blue crystal, the size of my fist.

  “Using our unique Bluestone technology, not available anywhere else in the galaxy,” the guide said with a wink, “Baytopian scientists use the scan data to print the animals, creating exact duplicates.”

  The tip of the device moved back and forth over the length of the table, the silver points a blur of movement, and line by line, an atom at a time, a creature emerged. It resembled a small dog with long, ginger hair, a bald tail, and thin antennae either side of a single horn jutting from the top of its head.

  Once the device finished moving, a scientist in a white hazmat suit stepped forward and waved a torch-like contraption over the animal’s body.

  I held my breath.

  “We call these Trekons,” the tour guide said with pride.

  The Trekon opened its eyes, blinked a few times, then got to its feet and yawned, revealing several rows of razor-sharp teeth more than capable of tearing flesh. Why couldn’t they have made it without teeth? I thought, as the scientist fitted a collar around its neck.

  “These mood collars keep every animal at Baytopia content, calm, and tame, assuring your safety at all times.”

  I scoffed at that. The grondars had not worn collars, and they seemed to be the most in need of something to make them calm and tame.

  The scientist carried the Trekon from the lab and an image appeared on the far wall: a kid stroking a giant black lion with walrus-like tusks.

  Our boat drifted away from the lab, and the tour guide rubbed her hands together. “And now, without further delay, let us explore the wonderful world of Baytopia.”

  Good, I thought. Now I could focus on finding Matt.

  The tour guide took her seat and the boat plunged down a sheer drop.

  I screamed.

  Eight

  I stumbled ashore, knees shaking, clothes soaked through, and growled as I squeezed water from my angora sweater. “This had better not shrink.”

  The river ride drop had been horrendous. Everyone got drenched when the boat hit the pool at the bottom. The other guests found it extremely funny, but the second I located my wayward brother, we were out of there.

  Right after he got an earful of biblical proportions, that is.

  Grumbling under my breath, I marched around the slow-moving tourists, darting in and out of them, following a winding path through the dense jungle. At an intersection, I spotted a gap in the crowd and made a break for it.

  However, as soon as I reached a clearing, a black lion leapt from a bush. I cried out and back-pedalled, slammed into something hard, then spun round and tripped. The next second I found myself sprawled on the floor. Several tourists laughed, and others muttered as they stepped over and around me, but none of them bothered to offer a hand.

  “What’s your problem?” one tourist with orange hair said as she too walked round me. “It’s got a mood collar.”

  Cheeks burning, I looked back. People petted the black lion as they passed and it purred like a kitten. I eyed the collar around its neck and muttered, “Didn’t stop you from jumping out though, did it?” I rolled over to see what I’d slammed into, and gazed up at a human-looking boy who seemed around my age—sixteen—with white hair, dark skin and a narrow face. He wore a red park uniform.

  The boy gave me a bemused expression which turned to a scowl. “Oh no you don’t.” He lunged.

  I recoiled, but the boy reached across me and grabbed a giant snail by its shell. It was around a foot long, purple, and had apparently been making a break for freedom.

  “Come here, you.” Using two hands, the boy pulled it from the floor and tucked it under his arm. “Now, where’s Mareen?” He peered through the legs of the crowd. “Mareen?”

  I glanced around too.

  “What in the Monolith’s name is this?” a deep voice boomed. “Disgusting.”

  The tourists parted for a second and I caught sight of another equally large purple snail crawling over someone’s boot.

  A broad-shouldered alien with wrinkled, gnarled skin and long, grizzled hair, wearing dirty, tattered coveralls and carrying a large toolbox, glowered at it.

  Wanting to help fix the mess I’d made by bumping into the boy and causing him to drop the snails, I scrambled to my feet and rushed over.

  The alien lifted his other leg and was about to stamp down, when I shouted, “Wait.” With every ounce of willpower I had, I grabbed hold of the snail’s shell. How many teeth do snails have? I wondered. Thousands? As I yanked it from the alien’s boot it made a wet thwup sound like a sink plunger.

  “You need to watch yourself.” Spittle flew from the alien’s mouth and splattered the floor.

  Holding the snail at arm’s-length, and resisting the urge to drop it and run in the opposite direction, I rushed back to the boy. “Here you go.” I thrust the snail at him and glanced at the crowds, expecting a security guard to grab me at any moment. I needed to keep moving.

  The boy tucked the snail under his free arm. “Thanks.”

  The snails’ antennas twitched, as if they were consoling each other on their failed escape attempt, and no doubt planning a new one.

  I glanced around again, trying to work out where I should go next. Matt could be anywhere in the whole of ArcadiA. I dreaded to think how many other parks there were.

  To my absolute horror, the purple-eyed security guard crossed a narrow bridge spanning a river and stopped, scanning the scene.

  I ducked. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  The boy gave me another puzzled glance. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.” I looked for an escape route.

  The boy inclined his head. “You’re running from someone. Aren’t you?”

  I glared at him. “No.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  I sighed out a breath. “I’ve lost my brother, if you must know.”

  The boy’s eyebrows rose. “You have? Well, I can help you find him. No problem. You’ve bumped into the right person.” He grinned. “Literally.”

  “No,” I said. “It’s fine. Thanks.” I turned to leave.

  “Don’t be silly,” the boy said. “Page thirty-six, sub-section C, paragraph three of the ArcadiA employee’s handbook—fourth edition—states: All park cast members must go above and beyond the call of duty at all times, helping guests and putting their needs first.” He raised his eyebrows. “Anyway, no one here knows ArcadiA better than me.”

  I gave him a dubious look.

  “I’m serious.” He lifted his chin. “I was born here.” Despite having a giant snail under each arm, the boy still managed to thrust out a hand. “I’m Nix, by the way.”

  I hesitated and then shook it. “Kira.”

  “Hello, Kira.” Nix smiled. “Let me put these escapologists back where they belong, and we’ll go find your brother. Come on.” He looked about, seeming momentarily lost, then said, “This way.”

  As he marched through the crowds of park guests I hesitated again, unsure if I should take him up on his offer. But since there was no other apparent way to find Matt I hurried after him, keeping my head low and hoping Nix didn’t lead me straight to a security guard.

  We followed several paths through the dense jungle. Every now and again the foliage would part, revealing anim
al enclosures. There were creatures as big as elephants and as small as squirrels, a large mesh cage full of bright red spiders, a pack of wolves with duck beaks and bushy tails, and even one animal that looked like a cross between a giraffe and zebra, plucking leaves from a tree with an eight-foot long tongue. Every single one of the weird animals made my stomach twist with anxiety.

  Colourful birds perched in the treetops, filling the air with soothing chirps and calls. Those I didn’t mind so much. As long as they didn’t have teeth, that is.

  Nix crossed a hump-backed bridge over the river and opened a gate to an enclosure around twenty feet on each side, with giant lettuces, a shallow pool, and heat lamps, all surrounded by a low, wooden fence.

  “Here we are.” Nix set the snails down. “No more escaping,” he warned them, then straightened up and frowned at the gate. “I’m still not sure how they got out. It’s always locked.”

  I could’ve sworn the snails understood what Nix was saying, although I thought snails were deaf. Maybe they can lip-read? Both of them were still as waxworks, their antennae motionless, as if studying Nix’s movements, or waiting for him to leave so they could escape again.

  Nix closed the gate, secured it with the bolt, then scratched his head. “Hold on. Where’s the lock gone?” He glanced around. “I’m pretty sure I had it last time.” He shrugged. “Oh well, at least it’s bolted. They can’t escape.”

  Nix moved away, but I knelt and ran my finger along the inner frame of the gate, then touched the end of the bolt.

  I rubbed my fingers together. If I wasn’t very much mistaken, mucus. Or, in this case, most definitely shelled-gastropod slime.

  Watching the motionless snails, feeling them glare at me, I hunted around. Finding a suitable stick, I wedged it through the clasp. “Let’s see you get that out.”

  Both sets of antennae drooped.