All at the same time, a sea of identical holodroids materialized from the spheres. Griffen watched in horror as a small compartment opened up from within each metal ball, revealing a handgun. In sync, each holodroid reached down and took its weapon.
The technician laughed unpleasantly as the enormous wave of holographic images pointed their guns at Griffen.
“Oh, shoot!”
Griffen snatched a small device from his belt and activated it. The device expanded to form an energy shield—just in time to absorb the storm of lasers. Protected by the shield, the impact threw him across the floor. Friendly fire destroyed most of the spheres nearby.
Griffen scrambled for the transportation tube, holding his shield behind him as he ran. Suddenly, he felt a searing pain run up his body as multiple lasers pierced his legs. The warrior slid across the floor, carried by the momentum of his own weight.
Knowing that he’d never make it to the exit, he adjusted the shield so that it expanded over his entire body. Wave after wave of lasers pelted the force field—weakening it with every blow. Griffen tapped some buttons on the little device, and the lasers started to ricochet off the shield, causing dozens of spheres to explode all around him.
Despite his efforts, Griffen could see that the battle was hopeless; for every sphere he destroyed, ten more took its place. Even worse, his defenses were failing. A red light on the device flicked on and off, signifying the almost depleted energy of the force field.
He heard a rumbling sound coming from the far wall. The floor vibrated as a yellow tidal wave of lightning split the room in half, tossing the droids everywhere. Hundreds of round balls crashed against the ceiling like bowling pins, breaking most of the lights.
From within the chaos emerged a sole figure. Dark in appearance and foreboding, he walked slowly through the rubble. The whole army of holodroids turned their guns and fired at the mysterious man, but, surprisingly, the lasers dissipated in the air before reaching him.
Griffen watched in awe as the man manipulated the magical waves in the room to do his bidding. Spheres on both sides of the ultramage melted as he walked past them. Surely the entire ship did not contain this much E.M. energy—let alone the room! A seasoned magician like Griffen would have sensed it.
“Thank you,” Griffen said, massaging his wounds.
It was too dark to make out the stranger’s face, especially because he hid behind a black cloak.
The man stood above the fallen warrior for a moment or two, as if contemplating the situation. Then, without warning, he brought out both hands from his cloak. The last thing Griffen saw was two wands emitting a painful blast of energy that penetrated his shield and struck him in the chest.
The dark ultramage turned to see the technician peering from behind the console. Completely terrified, the short man made a run for the exit, but he didn’t get very far before he was hit in the back by an evil spell. He screamed for only a second as the magic ripped the molecules from his body. Soon, he was gone entirely.
The holodroids continued to fire relentlessly at the ultramage, but none of the lasers made contact. The dark man threw something down at his feet, and a puff of smoke appeared. Just then, Captain Drackus—the real Captain Drackus—rushed into the room with a group of men.
“Stop!” he yelled at the holodroids. “I said STOP!”
A laser blast grazed his arm.
“STOP FIRING, YOU IDIOTS!”
The holodroids froze. Fuming with anger, Drackus ran to the droid that had shot him, picked up the metal orb, and smashed it against the wall. He then pulled out his gun and destroyed another sphere nearby.
“Charles!” he boomed.
A short, balding man ran to his side.
“Yes, sir?”
“I want you to recalibrate their aiming algorithms.” He kicked one of the holodroids, and it went spinning down the room, bumping into its companions like a pinball. “When they fire their weapons,” he growled, pointing to his bloodied shirt sleeve, “I expect them to shoot to kill!”
“Pardon me, sir,” Charles said, “but I’m not the one who wrote the weapons subroutine. I’m in charge of the physical traits division. If you’ll remember, it was I who discovered how to manipulate the photonic energy so the droids could carry weapons. That aspect works perfectly. In fact—”
“Then who wrote the weapons program?” Drackus interrupted.
“George,” the technician said. “George wrote it… Where is he, anyway?”
Captain Drackus prodded a brown, smoldering suit on the ground with his foot. “It appears that your brother has been vaporized.” His voice lacked any trace of sympathy.
Horrified, Charles knelt down at the pile of burnt clothing and sobbed. He picked up a pair of broken glasses from the ground and held them tightly in his hands.
“You’re now in charge of the weapons division,” Captain Drackus informed the technician. “I want those droids shooting straight.” The captain looked across the barren room—searching intently for any sign of Griffen—and asked in a puzzled voice, “Now where did he go?”
Chapter 12
Discovering Magic
Simon slowly opened his eyes and let them adjust to the darkness. Thorn snored loudly across the room, and a faint breeze rustled the drapes at the window. He rolled quietly onto his hover chair and activated the armrests as he sat down.
Trying to be as quiet as possible, Simon maneuvered his way through the bedroom and started down the dark, ominous hallway. A creaking sound from somewhere in the house caused his heart to race. Panicked, Simon froze in place and held his breath… Nothing. He started to breathe again, but his breaths were short and forced.
Quiet, Simon, he told himself. You must be quiet.
A moment later, he calmed himself—enough to make his way through the hallway once more.
He emerged into the dining room, where he had spent quite a few nights laboring to eat the strange concoctions that Little Har had created for the family. Simon shuddered involuntarily. He then turned his attention to the mantelpiece.
When he squinted his eyes, he could almost make out the smiling faces of Dr. Troodle and his wife—as well as Thornapple, Tonya, and himself. He inched his way closer to the pictures. A bright flame suddenly appeared in the fireplace. Simon jerked backwards, away from the motion sensor, and the fire died out.
Clutching his chest with one hand and the joystick of the hover chair with the other, Simon moved to the opposite wall. He slowly opened the door so it wouldn’t squeak and entered the next room with caution.
There were no windows in the room, which made it difficult to see anything at all. Simon eased his way forward until he bumped into something hard.
“Is that you?” he whispered hoarsely.
There was no answer. The boy started to breathe hard. His veins flowed with adrenaline, making him jumpy and uneasy—as though he were doing something illegal.
A thick, giant hand curled itself around his shoulder from behind.
“Si-moan,” came a slow, deep voice.
“Har, you almost scared me to death!”
“Sorry,” the big Pud said. “Si-moan hungry?”
“I sure am! What have you got for me tonight?”
The large boy uncovered a plate and revealed what looked like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, except the green jelly was slightly luminescent in the dark.
“Oh, you are a lifesaver!”
“Life… saver?” Har asked slowly.
“Yeah. Without you, I’d starve to death.”
Simon grabbed the sandwich and started to devour it. Har handed him a glass of milk, and the boy guzzled it down. Just then, a light turned on in the dining room.
“Oh, no! What do we do?” Simon whispered frantically.
“Come,” Har said while turning around. “Hide.”
The large Pud got on his hands and knees and crawled through a plastic flap in the wall. He looked like an animal squeezing through an oversized doggy-door.
Simon zoomed over to the entrance but couldn’t fit through because of his hover chair. Quickly, Har pulled Simon out of the chair and carried him into the dark cubbyhole. He then pulled the hover chair in as well, just as the kitchen door opened.
Simon could see the outline of Dr. Troodle through the plastic flap. He was walking right towards them! Then, just before he reached the cubbyhole, the tiny man stopped. Simon watched nervously as Dr. Troodle pulled a bottle out of a drawer, opened it, and took a sip. He put the container back into the drawer and said, “Colder, please.” The drawer closed itself and opened again immediately. “Thank you.” He withdrew the bottle and drank from it once more.
Dr. Troodle leaned against the counter for a moment and then saw the half-eaten sandwich that Simon had left behind. Mildly interested but wary, he approached the sandwich as if it could be a trap. After sniffing it and prodding it with his forefinger, Dr. Troodle seemed a bit more confident. He finally picked up the sandwich and took a bite but quickly withdrew, acting as though it were laced with poison.
Dr. Troodle threw down the sandwich in disgust and marched out of the kitchen. The lights in the dining room went out, and everything became silent and dark once more.
Simon whispered to Har, afraid of what the answer might be, “What is this little room we’re in?”
The cubbyhole wasn’t much larger than a doghouse. It even had another plastic flap leading to the outside, and the only thing separating the boys from the cold dirt below was a small, ragged blanket.
“This Little Har’s room,” the large boy answered.
“You mean, you sleep here?”
“Yes.”
“That’s crazy! You’re not a pet—you’re a person.”
“Har is big Pud,” he explained.
“That doesn’t make any difference. I can’t believe this. Come on. You’re sleeping in our room tonight.” Simon crawled out of the hole and got onto his hover chair, but the large boy wouldn’t follow. “Come on, Har.”
“Har no go.”
“Why not?”
“Little Har for-bidden. Har go to mines if Har break rules.”
“That’s not fair. I’ll talk to the Troodles—”
“No!” the large boy exclaimed, grabbing Simon’s arm suddenly. “No get Har in trouble.”
Simon looked into the boy’s brown eyes and saw that they were full of fear. “Okay,” he said reluctantly, “I won’t say anything.”
“Har see Si-moan next night?”
“Yeah… I’ll see you tomorrow night…” he whispered. “Goodnight, Har.”
“Good-night, Si-moan.”
Simon left the kitchen and went back to his bedroom. He glanced at Thornapple and wondered if his friend realized the injustice he and his family were committing. The little Pud slept soundly. For nearly two hours, Simon struggled to fall asleep. He kept thinking of Har stuck in that cramped doghouse all by himself while everyone else slept in comfortable beds. It wasn’t fair.
The next morning, he woke up abruptly with the sound of yelling coming from the dining room. Thornapple sat up in his bed and said with a smile, “Har sure is in trouble now.”
“If we ever catch you stealing food again, we’ll send you straight to the mines,” came Mrs. Troodle’s scathing voice.
Simon threw the covers off and jumped into his hover chair. Still dressed in his pajamas, he left the bedroom and zoomed down the hallway. Har whimpered in the corner of the dining room, while Dr. Troodle and his wife loomed over him.
“What’s going on?” asked Simon.
Dr. Troodle answered, “I discovered last night that Har has been sneaking food from us. No telling how long this has been going on.”
“It’s not his fault,” Simon confessed. “He was just—”
“I sorry,” Har interrupted quickly. “Har no steal food again.”
Simon tried to speak, but the terrified look on Har’s face told him to stay quiet.
“Well, you better be sorry,” scolded Mrs. Troodle. “Things aren’t going to be so good for you anymore. We’re going to have to cut down on your privileges. First off, no more second meals for you, young man. You can survive with just one meal a day.”
“Yes,” Dr. Troodle said, joining in, “and I’m not so sure if I like the idea of you walking around without a security collar.”
“That’s right,” Mrs. Troodle said. “I think he’s starting to outgrow his tranquilizer injections. Honey, why don’t you set up an appointment at the clinic to have Har fitted for one of those new deluxe security collars? I heard they’re integrating them with more and more features every day.”
“That’s not a bad idea. I wouldn’t mind getting one with a wireless connection to the Holonet.”
“Just as long as it has a built-in filter,” his wife said. “I don’t want Thornapple getting to any of those underground sites. The last thing we need now is for him to come in contact with Puds writing fiction or painting pictures.”
Har grimaced as the Troodles discussed the dreaded security collar. Simon felt sorry for the big guy, and he didn’t want to get him into more trouble, so he decided to break off his nighttime meetings.
“Har, I don’t think you should have any late-night snacks anymore. Do you understand me?” Simon broke up his next sentence into clear, distinct words. “No-more-food-at-night.”
The large boy frowned and nodded in response. “No more food?”
“Yes, no more food.”
Har exhaled loudly and furled his eyebrows in acknowledgment.
“See, Simon. That’s the problem with big Puds,” Dr. Troodle said. “Not only are they dumb as rocks, but they don’t understand half of what you tell them. I’m not even sure they have a conscience. Sometimes it’s nice to have them around, but I find that if you get too comfortable with one—just like with a wild dog—sooner or later you’re going to get bit.”
“Good morning,” said Tonya as she walked into the room. Her green hair was tied up in a bun, and she wore an oversized shirt that went down almost to her knees.
“Honey, let’s go see what else he’s gotten into.” Mrs. Troodle beckoned the large boy to follow them into the kitchen. “Har, come!”
“What’s up?” Tonya asked Simon with a yawn.
“Har got in trouble because—”
He stopped himself.
“Because why?”
“Because he made me a sandwich last night. The Troodles think he’s been sneaking food for himself, and I tried to tell the truth, but Har stopped me. He doesn’t want them to know that I’ve been meeting with him.”
“Oh,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s funny that such a civilized people would practice slavery. Usually, the more advanced a paraworld gets, the less likely they are to enslave their own kind.”
“They’re not slaves,” Thorn chimed in from behind. “They’re indentured servants. And besides, they’re not really our kind.”
Tonya sneered as Thorn entered the dining room. “They look like slaves to me, and they are your kind—only bigger.”
“Har is free to go when his contract is finished.”
“Yes, but where will he go after that? To the dank mines or to the sun-blistered fields? He doesn’t have many options, does he?”
“He has more options than that. In fact, I think his father is a fisherman.”
“The point is: Your people force the big Puds to do the things that no one else wants to do. You don’t let them expand. You even rip away their childhoods so they don’t get an opportunity to go to school and learn.”
Thornapple laughed nervously. “Can you imagine Har in school? We wouldn’t even be able to put him in with the kindergartners.”
“You can hardly put us in with the kindergartners,” Simon muttered under his breath.
Thorn cleared his throat. “The big Puds are put to work so they don’t get into trouble. It’s safer that way.”
“For who?” Tonya retorted. A red streak ran down her hair.
“L
et’s just drop it, okay?” Simon said. “There’s nothing we can do about it anyway. I mean, it’s not like we can change the culture of a whole civilization.”
“Yeah,” Thorn said. “Besides, we have more important things to talk about—like my birthday!”
“Ahhh!” Tonya cried. “Do you have to bring that up every single day?”
“Well, tomorrow’s the big day—right before the anniversary of the Battle of Lisardious. Speaking of that, have you decided to go to the dance, Simon?”
“No, I don’t think I’m going.”
“WHAT?” Tonya blurted out. “You have to go!” Simon and Thorn looked at her in surprise, and the red in her hair turned pink. “I mean… well… I want someone my size to dance with.”
“I don’t know,” Simon mumbled. “I’ll think about it.”
“Well, guys,” Thorn said, “something tells me that Har’s not going to make breakfast for us today. We might as well get ready for school.”
Soon, the three children were on their way to school. All day long, the teachers felt the need to share stories about the Battle of Lisardious. Each story seemed to get wilder and wilder as the day went on. One teacher said the aliens had sent a virus to wipe out the Puds. Another teacher told his students that the aliens invaded because they wanted to take the Puds back to their homeworld to replenish their food supply. By the end of the day, the students were led to believe that not only did the small Puds destroy the enemy single-handedly, but they did so without the aid of weapons.
After school, Tonya met Simon at the hospital for his therapy session. Simon held himself between two metal bars. As Tonya walked in, he started swinging like a gymnast. Over the past two months, his arms had become very strong, but, unfortunately, his legs had not.
“Good,” said Tonya. “Now that you’ve learned to swing like a monkey, let’s see if you can walk like one.”
“Very funny.”
Simon put his feet down on the ground. He stood for a few seconds but soon grabbed the bars for support.
“You’re not trying hard enough,” she told him. “You give up too soon.”
Paraworld Zero Page 13