George and the Ship of Time

by Lucy Hawking

  “Yup. Must be! Now we just have to work out where Wonder Academy is,” said George. Looking at the gigantic skyscraper, so much taller than the other ones around it, gave him a strange, dark, lonely feeling inside, as though all his good emotions had been vacuumed out and the space left behind was ready to be filled by nasty, cruel, bitter impulses if he didn’t concentrate hard on keeping them out.

  A voice was once again speaking. The screens around the piazza went blank and a 3D hologram of a golden man appeared on the central platform. He was enormous, taller even than the fighting gladiators. He had golden hair, golden skin, and wore a suit made of pure gold—only his teeth and his eyeballs appeared white against the burnished glow. It was the same man, George realized, as the angry orange figure they had seen in the forest with the Child Hunter; the one that wanted them painfully disposed of. But surely, he thought, if Trellis Dump the Second had been in power for forty years, he must be an old man by now. Did no one ever see the real man anymore? Only his chosen hologram . . . ?

  “People of Eden!” The hologram raised its hands.

  “Where actually is he?” George looked around. “In real life?”

  “Up there,” guessed Atticus, pointing at the Great Tower of Dump. “He doesn’t come down because he doesn’t want to breathe the smelly air!”

  The people obliged their leader and began to sing: “Eden is the best of all possible worlds! We love Eden! Eden first and only Eden—forever and ever!” It was a horrible sound, tuneless and unconvincing.

  “Thank you!” The giant hologram raised his surprisingly small hands in the air. “You are the greatest! We are the greatest!”

  The crowd roared, a sound that seemed too loud for the huddled masses in the square. But George realized that it wasn’t just the people making the noise—it was pouring out of huge speakers around the square at the same time.

  “People of Eden!” bellowed Dump as the cheering died away very suddenly, as though someone had flicked a switch and turned it off. “We are here today for another great rally!” The roaring noise started again—and then stopped. “Today,” he carried on, “is not just the Day of Reckoning, when you will find out what you have earned for this past Dump of the sun. And what you owe the wonderful Kingdom-Corporation of Eden for graciously looking after all your needs. Today, we celebrate! We have signed a peace treaty! From now onward, we will bring our two great nations together as one.”

  Another figure materialized next to Trellis Dump, a figure of such incredible beauty it almost hurt George’s eyes to look at her.

  “From now on,” said Dump, “we, the people of Eden and the people of Other Side, will exist in harmony! We are the two greatest nationcorporations on the planet—and now we will work together on our common values. Myself and Queen Bimbolina Kimobolina!”

  The Queen of Other Side, Bimbolina Kimobolina, raised one long, elegant hand and smiled. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Instead, the screens around the piazza filled with emojis:

  “What’s she saying?” asked Atticus, who looked dazed. He was swaying from side to side as if entranced. “She’s so beautiful!”

  George thought of how excited Hero would be to finally see Queen Bimbolina Kimobolina. “She’s speaking Emotilang,” he said.

  “For too long,” bellowed Dump, “we have treated our friends as enemies! We have real enemies in the world. We must stick with our true friends, with our special relationship, and fight against the rest of the world.”

  Queen Bimbolina Kimobolina nodded sagely and sent forth a whole new stream of emojis:

  “Atticus,” said George urgently into his ear. “Time to go.” If they moved while everyone was entranced by Queen Bimbolina Kimobolina, he figured they had a chance . . .

  But it was already too late. A hand landed on their shoulders—a human hand, at least, but no more welcome for that.

  “Gotcha,” a very human voice whispered in their ears. “Slimicus has gotcha.”

  George attempted to twist around, but the voice said, “That’s right, my lovelies! Keep looking forward and start walking.”

  George tried to struggle, but the hand gripped him tightly and pulled his arm back behind him in a half-nelson while deftly doing the same to Atticus.

  “Make way!” the Child Hunter’s voice now cried out. “Let us through! Edenopolis’s premier child-catching service! Slimicus Slimovich has caught another two!” The crowds parted around them, with people casting longing looks at George and Atticus.

  “Children!” They caught the whisper as they were propelled through the mass of people. “Children!” The voices were full of sadness. One or two hands reached out and patted them.

  One woman burst into tears. “Help them!” she pleaded to the others around her. “Help those kids!”

  But she was swiftly dragged away herself. They heard a faint moan in the background, almost like a whisper running through the crowd. “Rescue them!”

  “Shut up!” shouted Slimicus. He spat on the ground as he forced the two boys forward.

  Despite the heat, just before Slimicus grabbed him, Atticus had flipped his hood back up again, so nothing could be seen of the person underneath. But George, bare-headed and covered in grime, was clearly a young boy.

  “These are some thieving refugee kids trying to take advantage of the generosity of Eden without giving anything back. Coming here to leech off our kindness, and bringing disease and illegal thoughts with them. Be grateful that you are protected from a whole swarm of these things by the beneficence of your Great Leader!”

  The crowd shrank back and the whispers faded.

  “That’s better!” hissed the voice behind them. “Don’t touch the children! Only professionals are allowed to handle children! You know the rules.”

  The crowd cowered as George and Atticus were marched, like small criminals, toward the giant gold doorway of the Great Tower of Dump.

  “Where are you taking us?” asked George.

  “You’ll see,” Slimicus replied. They had reached the entrance now; it was guarded by heavyweight security robots, standing shoulder to metal shoulder. In the middle of them stood one human being, as large and hefty as the robots that surrounded him.

  The two kids were shoved rudely toward the robots, who caught them.

  “Let me into your thought stream,” said the one human standing in the midst of the robots.

  “Oh yes, Your Securityness,” replied Slimicus. The Child Hunter looked ridiculous, a whiskery old man in a battered sola topi, wearing an assortment of tweedy rags. But he couldn’t help announcing himself in case anyone in the crowd wanted to know. “I am honored to introduce myself: Slimicus Slimovich, Edenopolis’s most successful Child Hunter and preserver of security of our great city. You’ll see my registration is live, and you may care to note that I was presented with an award last year for the most children apprehended within the city limits. In fact, you will see I have a consistent ‘five-star’ review rating for my services—and, well, I do deserve it. Ooh, they are tricky little things to pin down! They hide in the most extraordinary places. Just last week—”

  “Cut it,” said the head security guard, his smooth face showing no sign of emotion. “What is this?”

  “Your Excellency,” said the Child Hunter, rubbing his hands together and giving an oily, knowing smile. “Today I have apprehended these two children”—he spat on the ground—“trying to infiltrate Edenopolis and the great celebration of peace.”

  The security guard looked at George and Atticus with distaste. “Children are not allowed to roam free in Edenopolis,” he said. “They should be in their assigned work zones. Bringing them into the city on the Day of Reckoning causes trouble. All those parents get weepy about their lost kids! It ruins the entertainment, according to Trellis Dump, may he live forever. Take them away,” he went on. “Throw them into the sea. Don’t bother me again.”

  “Ah, but Your Most Guardedness,” slimed the repulsive Child Hunter, “these are not ju
st any children.”

  “Then what are they?” said the security guard. He had clearly lost interest.

  “They are special children,” Slimicus said with a leer. “Valuable sources of information. Trellis Dump, may he live forever, particularly asked me to apprehend them and bring them to him.”

  The security guard was on high alert now. “Why don’t I know about this?” he exclaimed.

  “Top-secret mission,” boasted the Child Hunter. “Need-to-know only.”

  “I see,” said the security guard. He communicated with people inside the building. Nodding a few times, he turned back to the Child Hunter. “Thank you, Slimicus,” he said. “I will take them now.”

  “Ah, just you hang on a jolly minute,” said Slimicus. “There may be a reward. I’ll hand over the kids, if you don’t mind.”

  Clearly the security guard did mind, but he moved aside and let Slimicus pass. The robots followed them. Slimicus was beside himself with joy as they crossed the huge entrance hall.

  “The golden elevator!” he crowed. “At last! This is a proud day when Slimicus Slimovich gets to ride in the golden elevator! Ooh, if they could see me now.”

  “They probably can,” said George, looking around the hall, which seemed to be made entirely of gold. It was lit by large braziers with what looked like real flames that flickered across the gold surfaces, giving the place a spooky, burnished glow. “I expect there are cameras everywhere.”

  Ahead of them stood double doors studded with large clear stones, giving out a flash of fire in the changing light.

  “Diamonds!” said George. “Why are there diamonds on a lift?”

  “Shut up,” said Slimicus, who was trying to rearrange his sparse hair now that he had taken off his grubby hat. “You . . . don’t get to speak!”

  “Why not?” said George, who figured he didn’t have much to lose now.

  “Because,” said Slimicus, spitting on his fingers and trying to flatten down an unruly piece of hair while peering at his distorted yellow reflection in a pane of gold, “you’re trash and no one wants to know.” He carefully placed his horrible hat back on his head. “That other one is nice and quiet,” he said approvingly, nodding over at Atticus.

  George hoped fervently that Atticus had snapped out of his daze. Otherwise he really would be on his own.

  The lift doors drew back, revealing a large box made of more gold. George had never thought he’d ever see so much gold in one place that it would become boring and dull, but he found himself longing for something ordinary like a wall made of bricks.

  The robots behind them pushed them all into the gold box. As the doors closed on the three of them, Slimicus sighed happily.

  “At last!” he said. “Slimicus is going up.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The doors opened. Slimicus, who had seemed so keen a moment before, suddenly didn’t want to get out.

  “You first,” he said to George.

  “No, after you,” said George politely, wondering why Slimicus seemed so nervous all of a sudden.

  “No, you,” said Slimicus, pushing George out roughly. Atticus followed, hood still up.

  They stepped forward. Like the entrance hall, the enormous room was covered in gold, but where that had been dark and gloomy, this shone ferociously. Huge windows covered the walls—and, where there were no windows, giant mirrors stood. Chandeliers covered in drooping crystals hung from the ceilings—they looked antique, as though they had been wrenched from a palace belonging to another age. Figures stood around the edges of the room, some lit by the early evening sun, some standing in silhouette against the light.

  But in the middle stood one man, clearly lit by the chandeliers over his head and the light pouring into the room. After all the pomp and magnificence, he looked quite ordinary: just a man in a golden suit, absorbed in playing a game of chess against an invisible opponent. But he looked, George noticed, very different from the figure in the square—older, fatter, more wrinkled, with tiny eyes that seemed to be disappearing back into his head.

  The old man picked up a chess piece and moved it thoughtfully to another square. But the unseen opponent moved fast—an opposing chess piece took up an aggressive position. The man made another move on the chessboard, but again his opponent outwitted him with a “checkmate.”

  “It’s not working!” the man said furiously, looking around him. “It’s beaten me again!”

  The figures around the edge of the room shuffled their feet.

  “I want more!” the man shouted. “I need more brainpower! I need to stay ahead of the machines!”

  “Yes, sire,” murmured the figures. “We will fix this for you!”

  “I want her!” he shouted. “I want you to bring her to me! Why is she not here?”

  “Because you threatened to lock her up?” said one of the courtiers nervously. “Maybe that’s why she fled?”

  But that courtier was rapidly removed by a large robot, who dragged him off and ejected him from the room.

  “We’re working on it!” said the other advisers. “We’ve made her a very attractive offer!”

  “Do more. More hugely. That’s an order,” said the man, now ominously quiet. “I am the most intelligent person in Eden. I have the best brain. I will not be beaten by the so-called intelligent machines . . .”

  “Had you considered,” said a courtier nervously, “that we could make the machines a bit more stupid instead? Like we did with all the people—we canceled proper education, and look what a success that’s been! They believe anything we say!”

  “Fool!” said the man, looking around to see who had spoken. “We tried to change machine learning. We can’t do it! They’re too clever now! They are getting ahead of us! Soon they will be intelligent enough to decide our futures! We will not be in control—the machines will! The Dump regime must be ruled by Dump, not by machines making their own priorities and decisions.” He wheeled around and spotted the kids standing there, with Slimicus behind them.

  “Greetings, Master,” slimed Slimicus, looking around nervously. “I am deeply honored to make your acquaintance again. I am sure your masterful intelligence will remember Slimicus Slimovich, the most successful, most highly rated, five-starred Child Hunter of—”

  “Get on with it,” said the man, waving his hand.

  Slimicus attempted a respectful bow, but forgot that he had put his ancient sola topi back on. It fell to the ground and started rolling toward the windows. Slimicus gave a little cry of horror—“My hat!”—and ran after it.

  The man moved slowly toward the children. As he got closer, they realized that his avatar in the city square had been overly flattering. The real version looked not only much older but also very much nastier.

  “Well, you know who I am,” said the man, who seemed suddenly less confident now that he was faced with actual children.

  “Er, no,” said George politely. “Not really.”

  “Fake!’ said the man. “News! Everyone knows that I am Trellis Dump, may I live forever, savior of the world. When the people cried out to me, ‘Trellis! Trellis! Save us!’ I was there for them . . .” His eyes flashed. “I carried on the work my father had begun. I saved my people. I built walls and towers. I made this city. I changed the world.”

  “Are you sure,” said George politely, “that you changed it for the better?”

  Trellis Dump looked furious, but Slimicus and his hat were back.

  “Don’t listen to that boy, Excellency,” he purred, trying to get as close to Trellis as he could. “We haven’t been able to identify him. He’s some kind of migrant throwaway kid. He knows nothing.”

  “Then why is he here in the Great Tower of Dump?” roared Dump.

  “Because of the other child,” said Slimicus with a horrible leer. “I have just had word that the girl child is a runaway from the Bubble and that she may be able to give us information that will lead straight back to the network of traitors you are trying to unveil!”


  Atticus pushed back his hood and stood there, smirking, alert again, and clearly not a small girl or any kind of student from the Bubble. Very obviously he was a boy from the forest. George breathed a sigh of relief. At least he had his friend back.

  Slimicus gulped. A figure in the room cried out, “No!”

  “Is this a joke?” said Dump.

  “Not at all, Excellency!” said Slimicus, looking terrified. His face had gone horribly wrong.

  “This is a Swamp kid!” guessed Dump correctly. “You’re from that colony place, aren’t you?”

  Atticus nodded. “Yes, I am,” he said clearly. “I am a warrior level three, from the colony. My mother is Matushka, leader of my people. One day we will overrun you, and Eden will be no more.”

  The room gasped, but Dump just threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, Slimicus!” he crowed. “You promised me you would bring intelligence which would unmask those who work against me at the very highest level. Instead, you’ve brought me these useless, know-nothing brats!”

  Slimicus looked like a man who thought he had unearthed buried treasure, only to find it was nothing but an old glass bottle.

  “Which leads me to my next question,” said Dump with what George suspected was a deceptive smile on his face. “If there is a child from the Bubble on the run, where is that child?”

  George gulped. He knew that eventually Eden would work it out, and that even Empyrean couldn’t conceal Hero’s disappearance forever. Maybe Wonder Academy had reported Hero as absent? Whatever, the game was probably up as far as keeping Hero out of this very awkward conversation at the top of the Great Tower was concerned.

  No one wanted to answer.

  “Crazy Hound?” said Dump lightly. “Step forward!”

  “We have been somewhat preoccupied,” said a weathered old soldier in clipped tones, “by disturbances in the southern part of Eden, near the Great Wall.”

  “There’s nothing happening by the Wall!” shouted Dump. “You idiots! You’ve been fooled again by some Resistance bot sending out fake messages.”