Kingdom Keepers V

by Ridley Pearson

  Enough with the iPAQ! she wanted to say.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “You set?”

  “I’ll put my phone behind a fire extinguisher.”

  “Perfect.”

  “So I guess this is it for now.”

  “I’ll be watching you at least some of the places. You’re not alone.”

  Then why do I feel so alone? she wanted to say. But she’d volunteered for the assignment. She couldn’t complain now.

  She tucked the phone behind the fire extinguisher, summoned her courage, and walked through the door. She opened her eyes once through to the other side.

  The corridor was narrow and more confined than she’d expected. The lighting wasn’t great, either. The carpet was indoor-outdoor stuff that felt spongy and therefore a little weird underfoot. Charlene practiced 2.0 moves repeatedly, as had become her habit—reaching out to physically touch, then reaching out again and intentionally remaining projected light. This practice had become second nature, and she went down the hall doing the moves absentmindedly—running her fingers along the wall, running her fingers into the wall’s metal, so that her fingernails and first knuckle were missing.

  Her mind was supposed to be on locating the crate and determining its contents. Instead, she was thinking how smart Philby had been to tell her to change into the Cast Member costume of shorts and polo shirt before going to sleep. Where Finn was a boy with the big ideas, Philby was the one with the picky little suggestions that turned into practical solutions. Why had no one brought up Philby’s slipping away from the four of them? Why had she kissed Finn? It was going to ruin everything. Who was she supposed to talk to about it?

  She spotted a security camera on the wall up ahead. She waved into it and gave a thumbs-up, hoping he might be smiling back at her from wherever he was watching. But then things grew darker as she passed the stairway he’d described. Darker still as she stepped into the wings of stage left. Then her head split in two.

  In her left ear, the sound of panting.

  In her right, voices.

  From the overhead stage lights came a burst of red light. Then blackness. A warning from Philby? she wondered. Or someone fooling with the lights? Trusting Philby, she made herself solid, stepped into one of the side curtains, and twisted inside it as if wrapping herself in a towel, leaving enough of a crack to see out.

  Two people in a hurry—girls, not women, she thought—appeared downstage, disappearing behind other curtains. A moment later, the panting grew louder, and two awkward-looking dogs followed on their heels, also disappearing back there. Not dogs, she realized: hyenas.

  Avoiding the hyenas, she headed for the stairs, following the voices. Men’s voices bubbled up from down there. The presence of the hyenas made her believe she was on the right track. They’d been used on Deck 4 as patrol dogs. Here, they had to be guarding the mystery crate. Why their apparent handlers had been running from them, she didn’t know. It had not looked like playing, but pursuit. Like so many other questions that arose from being a Keeper, she couldn’t explain what she’d seen and didn’t have time to think about it. Survival depended on having her full senses at her disposal; she could ill afford distraction.

  The metal stairs were as steep as a ladder, with a handrail for balance. She arrived to the bottom landing careful to keep herself in full hologram, expertly in control of her emotions, using 2.0’s enhancements to push back the potential effects of her fear.

  Like Finn and Willa, Charlene had perfected her ability to compartmentalize her anxiety, so that now, as she entered a dark and narrow companionway, she remained analytical and calm. A lighted doorway ahead on her left proved the source of the voices.

  She peered around the edge into a surprisingly large area, its walls and ceiling crawling with pipes and wires. It looked like a room in her school’s basement, a place only janitors went. There were Day-Glo orange caution triangles on the walls and yellow hash marks on the floor designating safety areas. It was not just pipes and wires on the ceiling, but rubber tubes—hydraulics. And now she realized the heavy, gated platform at the far end was an elevator of some kind. They were below the main stage; it and three smaller lifts serviced trapdoors in the stage overhead. Large props and actors could come and go through the floor during a show. This in turn explained all the safety warnings.

  There on the center lift stood the wooden crate like an obelisk around which several workmen were gathered. They appeared neither concerned nor excited; if anything, they teetered on the edge of boredom. It occurred to Charlene that either they didn’t know what was in there, or whatever was in there was not that big a deal.

  She summoned her courage, took a deep breath, and entered the room.

  “Everything go okay here?” she asked one of the men in the blue coveralls.

  The man leaned back on the inverted plastic tub he used for a stool and waved his hand. “Not a problem.” He was Indonesian or Indian with a thick, singsongy voice. “Our straps are not of the proper length. We could double them up, but the commodore said it is not regulation. There may be some in galley storage. If not, we are to use regular lines. Not a problem.”

  She strode up and circled the crate, her senses on full alert. Philby would want to know everything. Its corners were screwed shut, not nailed. The plywood was thick, though new. It still held the sweet pine smell of freshly sawed lumber. The holes cut into its top and bottom were covered with a fine black mesh. From within came the heavy sound of a creature breathing. There was a cluster of four bolts on opposite ends of the crate’s narrower sides. If structural, they represented two ends of a bar, suggesting whatever was inside was heavy. It would take a beast to break the lumber apart.

  A beast, she thought. In darkness. A bar across the top.

  Philby would know what to make of it all. She wished she possessed such a mind as his.

  Heavy black arrows were stenciled onto the crate pointing up, with THIS END UP! stenciled below.

  A red light flashed on the wall. Two of the four men got to their feet.

  “What the…?” the lead worker said.

  “Everything okay?” Charlene said.

  The light stopped flashing, and the workers noticeably relaxed.

  The other man standing said, “Someone hit it by mistake.”

  “Obviously,” said the leader. He told Charlene, “It is the lift signal from stage level, warning to stand clear.”

  “But there is no show going on!” explained his companion. “No reason for lift signal.”

  Philby, thought Charlene. Warning of trouble.

  Enough! She’d done her reconnaissance; there was no need to push it further.

  “I’ll be back in a half hour to feed it,” she said.

  “Whatever you say, miss.”

  She was caught off guard by the sound of someone coming quickly down the stairs. She had no desire to be caught by the Overtakers—2.0 or not. The speed of the descent signaled trouble; she could feel it in her bones. Best to hang her head and hurry quickly out of here.

  “Julia!” A girl’s voice. A somehow familiar voice from outside the room, but not Willa.

  “You’re wanted upstairs immediately!” A second girl’s voice, also familiar.

  Charlene had just stepped through the open doorway, now wishing she could reverse her decision and hide. She wasn’t Julia. She was in trouble.

  The two girls were up the stairs a short distance, looking down at her.

  Charlene’s breath caught; her throat constricted. She could hardly breathe.

  Amanda and Jess, their shoulders bearing faint blue outlines.

  Jess waved for her to hurry.

  Amanda said, “Maybeck’s got them cornered.”

  * * *

  The Vibe was rocking. Open until two a.m. and celebrating a day on the beach and a successful Beach Blanket Barbecue, the teens had swarmed into the club after the ship had sailed. The music pulsed, the projection screen was showing a film, and the various gam
ing stations were surrounded by kids. Finn kept the ball cap pulled down low as he pushed through the crowd like a man possessed. The encounter with his mother had jarred him, had loosened the lid on the semblance of order in his life, first disrupted at Typhoon Lagoon. What was he supposed to do to save her? How was he meant to combat Maleficent’s extraordinary powers? Would anyone other than his fellow Keepers even believe him if he appealed for help? He was about to find out.

  “Bogey, two o’clock,” spoke a familiar voice from over his shoulder. He turned to catch Dillard Cole in profile. It was the second time Dillard had come to his rescue. Who had nominated him as Finn’s guardian angel?

  He turned as advised. Luowski was talking to several other kids, all a head smaller.

  The music beat louder all of a sudden. A popular song. The dance floor crowded, the going difficult. Kids didn’t usually dance much; what the heck was happening?

  He needed to get past Luowski into the next room if he was to find Storey Ming; she wasn’t anywhere in sight. But it was like the kid was the devil’s apprentice guarding the gates to the fiery furnace. Was Finn required to confront Luowski in order to get past? He had no desire to test that theory. So far Luowski hadn’t noticed him.

  He took a moment to try to force all clear. Unlike his experience with Maleficent, he remained unchanged.

  Keeping his cap low was all-important—he wanted to avoid Luowski, and he also couldn’t risk being recognized. Any fan attention would work against him. He spotted a pair of pirates by the club’s only exit: Cast Members still in costume from the island party, he hoped.

  He’d led himself into a trap. Where better to look for teens like him than in the Vibe? He’d been an idiot to come here.

  “Not that way.” Again, Dillard’s voice over his shoulder. Again, he turned only to see his friend’s back.

  Finn turned away from the pirates and the exit, heading along the near wall in order to avoid Luowski on the far side of the thick crowd. He reached a dead end, the only doors leading to two restrooms. Beyond Luowski, out on the Vibe’s private deck, Storey was giving a pottery demonstration. She might know a way out of the club—if he could reach her to ask.

  He entered the restroom door marked BUOYS. Stalls to his left, a line of urinals, and across from them, sinks. At the far end, another door. The restroom could be accessed from both sides. He cut across the space, not stopping to use a urinal, his eyes dancing in every direction.

  “Perv!” said a kid standing at a sink and watching Finn in the mirror.

  He exited to find himself in an area beyond Luowski and his gang. He headed outside through a set of automatic doors.

  Warm wind whipped his face. The smell of the sea slapped him. The moon, already above the horizon, was working its way into the stars, and for a moment the whole world seemed to both stop and come alive. Moments like this, he thought, were what cruising was all about. Note to self: come back sometime when you’re not trying to save the Kingdom and your own skin.

  There was a game of deck volleyball under way. Some girls and boys were crowded into the hot tub and, over against the ship rail to his left, there was a line of four craft tables, including a girl demonstrating pottery. He offered Storey a small wave and then moved away and along the rail, looking into the dark water breaking off the powerful force of the ship’s bow, five stories below. The sight was mesmerizing. Just for a second, he felt like jumping.

  A porpoise broke the surface. Then another in the white foam cresting off the bow. The moonlight turned the foam into pearls.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Storey Ming.

  “Oh, hello,” he said. “It is.”

  She looked dazzling in the moonlight. He saw that she’d put on some makeup for her presentation, her hair held up and off her face by a decorative comb.

  “I don’t have anything new for you,” Storey said. “No one I spoke to knew of any unusual cargo being brought on. No surprises planned for any of the stage shows. Or none that anyone knows about.”

  “No animals.”

  “Nothing. But it’s not like I have that many connections.”

  “Talk about false modesty. You know the crew. You can view manifests. You know there are stowaways. What and who don’t you know?”

  “I don’t know what or why any of this is happening. I think you do,” she said.

  “You overestimate. I’m a foot soldier. Not much more.”

  “You’re the one to protect,” Storey blurted out.

  He paused, the sound of the water below hypnotic.

  “Am I?”

  “That came out wrong.”

  “Is that why you’re being so nice to me?”

  “I said it wrong. I apologize.”

  “Who assigned you?” He swallowed dryly. “Wayne? One of the Imagineers? Are you really a potter?” He wondered: an Overtaker?

  “I’m throwing pots, aren’t I?” She sounded so defensive.

  “How many others with you?”

  “Listen, it’s a group effort, that’s all. You and the others…your being holograms and all…everything you’ve done so far. No one wants to see that go to waste.”

  “I see. So it’s a matter of efficiency,” he said sarcastically. “No one can afford the time to train a new set of Keepers.”

  “Or maybe the Imagineers feel it’s about time they did just that,” she said. Then she covered her mouth.

  Finn studied her face in the moonlight. “What…do…you…know?”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You said they’re going to replace us. This…” he said, pointing a finger back and forth between them, “could be you and others gaining experience from us.”

  “That is so not true.”

  “Except that you’re too old,” he said.

  “Seriously? You want to go there?” Storey leaned away from him.

  “As if they’re going to install college kids as guides.”

  “You are so out of line.”

  He looked out at the imagined horizon, that place where the darkness of the sky and the stars blended into a void of sea. What was he missing?

  “Is that what the beta testing of 2.0 is about?” he asked. “We test it. A new generation of student models puts it operational?”

  “You’ve got this so totally wrong. Seriously. I was just…I don’t know what I was doing. Trying to sound more important than I am. Trying to make you like me.”

  “You’re lying!”

  “I am not! I made it up. I thought…I don’t know what I thought!”

  They’d raised their voices and drawn attention to themselves. Finn had bumped the brim of the cap up when challenging her so that now he stood there with his face exposed. How long he’d been like that, he couldn’t say. A minute? Maybe.

  “Hey, Witless…”

  Finn didn’t need to look to know who it was. Two-legged trouble in the form of two hundred pounds of seventeen-year-old flesh and bones. (Greg Luowski had been held back in third grade, and again in sixth.) So when Finn actually did bother to look over at the boy, the surprise that stole over his face wasn’t the result of whom he saw standing there, but instead that Luowski was surrounded by a thin, but evident, blue line.

  A hologram.

  “You have a stateroom, do you, Greg?” Finn said. He was trying to signal Storey that she was looking at one of the stowaways.

  “Don’t bother yourself with my stuff, Witless. I’d be thinking about how well you can swim.” Luowski stepped forward.

  Some of the other kids overheard the confrontation and began forming a ring around the two boys.

  “Somebody get a counselor!” a girl’s voice called out. Finn knew that voice.

  Luowski elbowed one of the boys by his side. The kid took off and tackled another kid heading for the doors.

  “Let’s keep this between us, okay?” Luowski said.

  “So let me ask you: doesn’t it bother you being someone’s goon?” Finn said. “Or is that what they call
in drama class typecasting?”

  Luowski took another step forward. As a DHI, regardless of the operating system, he had the advantage. Never mind his considerable strength. Never mind his supernatural size. Never mind his fighting skills and wrestling championships. The kid was a DHI with a blue outline that told Finn he could touch and hit and bite and thrash—probably for several seconds at a time. The rest of the time he’d be untouchable, unhittable—nothing but a projection of light.

  For Finn, it was exactly the opposite. He was flesh and bones.

  Luowski intended to throw him over the side of the ship, and Finn wasn’t sure what could be done about it.

  At night. In the dark. In the middle of the ocean.

  “They’ll catch you, flubber belly,” Finn said, “because you’re a loser. It’s a ship, brainless. Where are you going to hide?”

  The whole idea was to instill a mixture of anger and fear into the boy. It didn’t take much to pull a version 1.6 DHI’s hologram back to reality.

  “Shut up!” Luowski said angrily.

  Sweet!

  Finn shifted onto his left foot, raised his right, and kicked out, connecting with the boy’s midsection. Luowski flew back and fell down, his green eyes in shocked disbelief.

  “Hmm,” Finn said. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  Luowski clambered quickly to his feet and charged. But Finn had his senses about him. He waited until the last second and moved aside. Luowski struck the rail with a thud.

  The crowd groaned.

  “Nice job, doofus!” Finn said.

  Luowski turned and took a mass of wet clay in his face, courtesy of Storey. The fact that it stuck to the boy’s face was the only test Finn needed.

  He charged Luowski from behind, leading with a shoulder to the boy’s right knee and collapsing Luowski like a folding chair. With Luowski down and moaning, Finn took Storey’s slimy hand in his and fled. The automatic doors swung open, revealing two pirates.

  Not Cast Members. Not costumes. Not role-playing. Pirates. Just like the ones at the Sail-Away Celebration. They grabbed Finn and Storey, spun them around, and lifted them off their feet. The sound of Storey’s cries echoed in Finn’s ears.