She whirls around on me. ‘What is this thing? Where did you get it?’ She jabs her finger at Jinx’s inert form.
‘I don’t . . . I told you . . .’ The tidal force of her anger almost knocks me over.
‘All that code we were looking at? Those elegant phrases, interspersed with the uglier sections . . .’
‘His code and the black mark.’
‘No. All of it was an illusion. Like an overlay. A false front. I’ve never seen anything like it. I broke through but . . .’ She throws her hands up at the screen. ‘He shut me out.’ She stares down at the small robotic creature curled up on the desk as if it is something alien.
‘But he’s got a black mark on him – he couldn’t do anything.’ I unleash him from the computer and gather him up in my arms. I’m afraid of the look in Zora’s eyes, I realize. I don’t know what she’s going to do. She might take him. I can’t let that happen.
‘You have to hand him in.’
‘Zora, you can’t ask me to do that.’
We face off, staring at each other, Jinx in my arms, and Linus at Zora’s ear. Finally, Zora’s shoulders slump. ‘I won’t tell anyone. Promise you’ll be careful. Your baku isn’t normal. You don’t have control. He’s not the companion you thought he was.’
I open my mouth to protest. It doesn’t matter to me what Jinx is. I still love him.
But she continues. ‘Look around . . .’ she gestures at the TRAITOR sign on the wall, and I wince, at the remnants of coffee mugs and ramen cups, and I wince again, at the bags under my eyes and greasy hair I haven’t had time to wash. ‘I know you want to believe that you are in control of this situation. But Lacey . . .’ In that moment, both Linus and Zora fix me with the same wide-eyed stare. ‘I’m not sure just who here is controlling who.’
FOR THE FIRST WEEK BACK AFTER MR Baird’s shocking revelation, I’m as skittish as a mouse, imagining someone coming to take Jinx around every corner.
But nothing changes. Even Carter seems to have dropped his vendetta. My former teammates still ignore me, but as I walk past Kai in the hallway he flips a bottle of spray paint over in his hand, menacingly. At least I know who the ‘TRAITOR’ culprit is.
I go to each class as normal, keeping my head down, and use the isolation to regain some focus. For once, History and French get my full attention – much to the surprise of my professors.
There had only been one odd moment to remind me of the wild happenings of the week before.
The morning after the Baku Battle, when it was established that no other team had managed to repair their bakus enough to take any points from me, I had to meet with Mr Baird to remove Jinx’s black mark.
I’d tried to make as little eye contact with him as possible, but he acted as if nothing unusual had happened the night before. I guess he’s had a lot of acting practice in his years as a corporate spy.
‘Well done, Lacey,’ he said, once the mark was off. ‘Good luck with the next battle.’
‘Th-thank you, sir,’ I stammered out.
But it was once I’d gotten to my desk that the strange thing happened.
>>You looked at my code, said Jinx.
Yes, with Zora, I reply.
>>Did you find anything?
No . . . I’m sorry, Jinx.
He beeps, which I interpret as a sigh.
>>Don’t worry, I’m doing enough to figure this out for the both of us.
What are you doing?
He didn’t reply.
Jinx? What do you mean?
The questions spilled out of me then.
Do you know how you came to be at the bottom of the ravine? Do you remember anything of the time before I brought you back to life?
All the things I’d wanted to ask but hadn’t.
Then the biggest question of all. Do you remember who made you?
>>No, he’d replied, and for the first time his robotic tone was devoid of its usual warmth. But I’m getting close.
Even now, he refuses to explain more. I don’t care. I’m glad just to have Jinx back and everything back to normal.
At the end of the week, I stay back to talk to Mr Baird.
‘It doesn’t seem like anyone is after Jinx,’ I tell him. ‘I know you think I might be in danger, and I appreciate the warning. But Jinx isn’t what you are looking for. He’s not some rogue baku – he’s just normal. And I also want to let you know that working for Moncha Corp is still my dream. I want that internship more than anything. That hasn’t changed.’
It takes him a moment that seems to stretch into a lifetime. Then, he nods. ‘It doesn’t look like I could change your mind even if I wanted to.’
‘But . . . I also wanted to let you know that your secret is safe with me.’
Mr Baird’s eyes search my face. ‘I appreciate that.’
I turn to go, but Mr Baird speaks again. ‘You know, Lacey, if that rogue baku did fall into the wrong hands . . . then there could be more at stake here than a school competition.’
I swallow. ‘I understand,’ I say, even though I’m not sure that I do.
When I leave Mr Baird’s classroom, I’m surprised to see Jake waiting for me. He has a friendly smile on his face, which almost breaks my heart. I haven’t seen a friendly face at Profectus Academy this whole week. ‘Just checking you haven’t found some other new rule that means you’re not participating tomorrow? Or if you’re going to be fighting with ten bakus instead of just one?’
I shake my head. ‘No tactics, no strategies. I just need to find a way to get through this.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘Get through? Not to win? Even with a summer internship at Moncha HQ and one-to-one with Monica Chan up for grabs?’
I swallow. He’s read me like an e-book in oversized font.
He laughs at my expression. ‘All my money is on you, by the way.’
‘That seems like a bad bet.’
His eyes twinkle. ‘Well, see, that’s exactly where you’re wrong. Of course I’ll be putting money on you. Money, Monchacoin, heck I’d even take homework passes. You’re on fire. Or, if you maybe need help dodging questions you don’t want to answer, I’ll take a couple of your homework passes to act as a bodyguard. Speaking of bodyguards . . . Are you sure you can’t sneak me on the behind-the-scenes Moncha HQ tour?’
I shrug. ‘No dice. Captains only.’
‘Damn. Thought being your only friend left at school might have some perks.’
That hurt, and he notices. He squeezes my upper arm. ‘Screw ’em. You have a great baku, you’re a better fighter in your first year than people who have been here for years. You’re on track to go right to the top of Moncha. Just don’t forget the people who were nice to you on your way up.’ He winks at me.
‘Never,’ I say.
‘Good luck, then!’
‘I hope I can deliver.’ Preparing for the battle hasn’t exactly been at the top of my agenda – not with all my attempts to stay under the radar, worrying about people coming for Jinx.
‘If it were just you, I might be worried. But with that baku by your side? Lacey, you’re unstoppable.’
I STARE UP THROUGH THE GATES AND AT the entrance to Moncha HQ, Jinx pacing at my feet.
With everything that’s happened, I’ve barely stopped to register where I am. I exhale sharply, my breath streaming out in front of me, a white cloud into the cold air. I’m outside the building I’ve dreamed of working in my entire life. The building where Monica Chan works.
Where bakus are created.
Where the magic happens.
And where once upon a time, Dad came to work every day.
I shift from foot to foot, wriggling my toes to keep them warm. The headquarters are just east of downtown Toronto, on the shore of Lake Ontario, in a part of Toronto that until twenty years ago was known as the Distillery District. Just around the corner is the BakuBeats warehouse, where I celebrated with my former teammates. I remember reading that the Distillery District was once Monica Chan’s favourit
e part of the city – a blend of old red brick and modern glass towers, a collision of history and modernity that made her happy. Plus, it was the location of her favourite coffee shop.
When she made her money, she bought out the historic buildings, and built her headquarters.
It was a controversial move. So many people protested at this young tech CEO coming in and commandeering a place that had been not only a great tourist attraction, but the setting of countless movies and a place of historic importance for the city. But Monica won everyone over, keeping the historic feel and spirit of openness to the public, while shrouding the actual headquarters themselves in mystery. The headquarters took almost a decade to complete – a lifetime in an era where entire sixty-plus-storey condo towers shot up like weeds in the space of a few months. Yet from the surface – and from the air – nothing about the Distillery District looked any different for Moncha’s involvement. Plenty of rival firms sent drones overhead to find out exactly what was going on with the building, bribed employees and workmen to act as spies. But there’s never been a public leak. It’s like the Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory of tech: totally out in the open, and yet fully concealed.
And I’m about to be allowed in. I hope it doesn’t disappoint. I crane my neck as employees walk past me and into the building. From what I’ve glimpsed so far, the lobby interior looks just like any other corporate office.
Jinx sits at my feet, grooming himself. I didn’t know what to wear, so I’m in the most sensible corporate-type clothing that I own – a plain black dress that I borrowed from my mom and a dark red cardigan underneath my puffer jacket to ward off the cold November air, and a pair of thick black tights and boring patent leather Mary Janes that make me feel like I’m five and forty years old all at the same time. How does that work? With my asymmetrical bob falling over my eyes and thick glasses, I don’t think I’m fooling anyone into thinking I’m cool enough to work here, and – seeing the streams of Moncha employees walking in sweats and oversized parkas, I wish I had just gone with my normal out of school uniform of trainers, jeans and a button-down shirt.
Jinx buzzes. >> Teacher and hostiles approaching.
I look up and see Mr Baird, with the other team captains. I swallow down my feelings of insecurity, and my mixed emotions at seeing Tobias again. His face is buried in the hood of his jacket, his posture hunched over, his back turned to me.
I can’t tell what is worse – him ignoring me, or the open hostility on the faces of Gemma and Elektra. They’ve both got new versions of their bakus to replace the ones that were destroyed by Jinx in the Baku Battle.
Tears threaten to prick at my eyes, but I hold them back. I’m here at Moncha headquarters now. I’m going to make the most of it.
‘Before we go in,’ says Mr Baird, his voice tense, ‘I’m afraid I have to black-mark all of your bakus. Security reasons.’
>>No, I don’t want . . .
Jinx wriggles in my arms, trying to escape, but Mr Baird latches the mark on in time. I feel sick, as if I’ve violated Jinx’s trust. But maybe it’s better for us both – at least he won’t attract any unwanted attention while he’s in that state. I take a deep breath, and remind myself that I’m about to embark on a tour of a building I’ve wanted to see all my life.
We head in through the automatic doors, and I gasp.
What I’d seen before – the lobby that looked like every other boring corporate office block – was just an illusion. A hologram laid behind the doors, to fool anyone who was looking in from the outside.
The real lobby?
It’s a cathedral of light and space and green and curves. The building is not the vision of the future I saw in old sci-fi flicks, all shiny chrome and glass (only the bakus wandering around are evidence of that). This is warm red brick and tiled mosaic floors, renovated to take advantage of the natural light, streaming in through iron-clad squares of window. There are trails of hanging vines and ivy, and bright pops of colour from the occasional bloom. A fountain bubbles up from the centre, adding to the serene atmosphere. There are perches everywhere for flying bakus, obstacle courses around the walls for land-based ones, and snugs for leashing up.
We’re greeted at the fountain by a young woman with a stunning lynx baku. She steps forward to shake Mr Baird’s hands. ‘Are these the team captains?’ she asks, giving us a beaming smile.
‘All present and accounted for,’ says the teacher.
‘Well then, if you guys would like to follow me . . . I can give you the grand tour! My name is Nina Fiore, and this is my baku, Bright. I’m a high-level baku designer here at Moncha Corp. We have about an hour before the Baku Battles, so lots to cram in.’ She leans in towards us conspiratorially. ‘So many of us have requested the afternoon off to watch – lots of former Baku Battle alumni in this building! Looking forward to a great show! I especially can’t wait to see that eagle baku in action. I remember when he was just a few sketches of a pencil on paper in the Moncha brainstorming lab.’ To my shock, she actually wipes a tear away from her eye. But then my heart swells with pride. I knew that the people who worked at Moncha really cared about what they were creating, and here was direct proof.
‘Speaking of,’ Nina continues, after gathering herself, ‘let’s head to the brainstorming lab now. It’s as good a place to start as any . . .’
If could have bottled my own feelings in the hour that followed, I would have: my emotions swapping between elation and wonder, delight and curiosity and awe. Any unease or discomfort I had is wiped away. Being here is better than Disney World, better than Christmas – the inner workings of Moncha are exactly what I had envisioned and more.
More, because people seem to actually enjoy working here. The brainstorming lab is filled with people collaborating, using their bakus to project ideas on to large white tables. We get a glimpse of the manufacturing plant, which is like my basement locker on steroids: I glimpse every different kind of material and machinery I could ever imagine working with, all state-of-the-art, and the companioneers inside all smile and wave at us as we pass by.
Nina informs us that Moncha HQ is totally self-sufficient, the machines and computers running on green energy provided by solar panels in the roof, and even the water is recycled daily so nothing is taken from the city’s mains. It’s nothing like the depictions of working life on TV, the daily grind, bracketed by boring commutes. There’s a genuine buzz in the air, electric in its intensity. These are people keyed up on a different plane. I wish that I could have brought Mom and Zora with me. They would have understood, then, what I meant about not being satisfied with simply being ‘content’. I wanted to strive for more. I wanted to strive for this. For joy.
Me being me, all this is accompanied by an undercurrent of panic that maybe I won’t get there. Not even the angry team captains can make me feel as bad as I manage to do to myself. The other captains seem so at ease with their abilities, their innate confidence shining through. They don’t doubt their place here. But even though I’ve known my whole life that I wanted to be a companioneer, even as the ring around my finger tells me that engineering is in my blood, even as Jinx and Aero and Jupiter are working proof that I have some skills, I still worry that I don’t belong.
No, it’s not that. I remind myself. The reason you don’t feel comfortable is because you didn’t earn yourself a place at Profectus. You were rejected. You didn’t make Tobias’s team; there was a mistake. You were never a wild card. It was a fluke. Your true baku is sitting in a box on a shelf in your storage locker and you should be at St Agnes.
But then there’s another voice. A voice that says: Fluke or not, you’re here now. You have to embrace it. You have to live it. And you have to run with it, as fast and as hard as you can, to make it that much harder for anyone to take it away from you.
Maybe it will all come crashing down. But I’ll be damned if I’m the one who presses down on the detonator for the explosion.
We travel down several flights of stairs, the te
nsion rising in the air between the other captains as battle time draws near.
Even though we’re underground, the hallways are wide and spacious, the ceiling height generous – so it feels as if there is a lot of light. There are even ‘windows’ at specific intervals, programmed to show off different outdoor scenes – like a stunning waterfall or leafy forest.
Nina stops outside a black door, marked with a stylized BB. My fingers fidget against Jinx’s body as I realize that the final Baku Battle is about to begin.
‘I hope you enjoyed your tour of Moncha HQ! I look forward to welcoming one of you back here for the summer internship,’ Nina says with a wink. ‘Good luck – and may the best baku win.’
The door opens and Mr Baird beckons us through. We’re led into a room where the other teammates are waiting. I hang back as the captains join their teams, then head towards a paper sign that has my name on it. All the other teams have their names designed up – Gemma’s are in neon lights, while Tobias’s are in a series of neat gold sans serif. Dorian’s are in black and white 1920s Hollywood-style font, and Elektra’s team are in an elaborate cursive, whilst Pearce’s are the most outrageous, in a font that looks as if its styled out of lightning bolts.
‘Competing bakus in the centre.’
The other captains know the drill, but I know nothing – I just wait and watch. There’s a stand in the centre of the room and one by one, the fighters – Tobias, Pearce, Dorian, Terence (from Team Elektra) and Kayla (from Team Gemma) – strap their bakus down on the table.
When I step forward, I place Jinx down gently and tie up the straps. Mr Baird stares at Jinx with laser-like intensity as he removes the black mark from his paw.
Jinx springs to life and he tenses immediately. He’s not able to move because of the straps – although I can see he desperately wants to.
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