“I do not have any cuddly toy animals,” I said through gritted teeth, conscious that Lara and Dina were looking at me.
“But what of all those you keep in your wardrobe?”
I intercepted him before he could get there. “We’re not playing Star Wars battles, OK?”
“I brought a book,” said Lara, producing Arthur Veezat’s latest from her bee-bag. “We could read.”
Things really were desperate.
“That’s a good idea,” said Dina.
“Ah, but I left my copy of Star Power at home,” said Serge.
“You can have mine,” I said, scanning my bookshelf. It wasn’t hard to locate. Star Power and the Revenge of the Plasmatrons was a striking book, but what made it pop was the smear of tomato-ketchup-red paint along its page edges.
Lara and Serge made a space on the floor, threw down a couple of pillows and immersed themselves in their books. I had a better idea. I dug out the stash of notebooks from under my bed, the ones in which I’d been recording our adventures. I would spend the evening writing.
“What’ve you got there?” said Dina.
I told her and she asked to read one. Having only just learned of Zack’s superhero alter ego, she was curious to fill in the rest of the story. Officially, my notebooks were S.C.A.R.F. documents and only accessible to members with the highest security-clearance level, but I couldn’t see any harm in letting her take a look.
For the next hour a happy silence descended on the room, broken only by the scribbling of my pencil. Judging by the peace and quiet, we had outwitted Servatron. At least for now. Serge said he was hungry, but he was at a really exciting bit in the book and didn’t want to stop reading to go hunting for snacks (possibly a first for him). I volunteered, and headed downstairs to the kitchen.
All was dark as I entered, my tenth birthday candle lighting my way. I opened the fridge, momentarily surprised when the internal light didn’t come on. No power, of course. As I searched for snacks I was startled again, this time by a noise at my ear.
“Bzzzzz!”
It was one of Lara’s bee patrol. It made another insistent buzz, which meant it must have detected electrical activity. But how? Everything was turned off. I was about to discover the answer to my question.
“Power loss detected,” announced a familiar voice. “Switching to battery back-up.”
I swung round, holding the sputtering birthday candle before me. Squinting into the darkness, I made out two red pinpricks of light burning from the worktop.
The voice spoke again. “Hello, Nigel. Time for a delicious slice of toast?”
The toaster had an internal battery. Bonkers. Whose first thought in a power cut is, “Quick, I need an emergency bagel”? But then I remembered that this was no ordinary toaster, but the control hub at the heart of Dad’s Home of the Future. Which meant as well as being able to connect with every other device in the house, it also had a built-in camera. A spy camera.
“Timefora d-d-d-delicious slice of to-o-o-o-ast?” This time when it spoke, the words came out a mixture of fast and slow. Something wasn’t right. I had a terrible suspicion that Servatron had gained control of our toaster. On the bright side, it wasn’t like the evil AI was now in the driving seat of a battle tank or a strike fighter.
“Slice of toast. Slice of toast,” it chanted, its elements suddenly glowing red. Even from where I stood I could feel heat rising from the device.
“Toast! Toast! Toast!”
There was the snick of a catch releasing as four spring-loaded trays shot up. They were empty, of course, but unnaturally hot. The mechanism gave a gentle puff and then, to my horror, a spark leapt from the top of the toaster. No sooner had I registered one spark than it was joined by several more. In seconds they combined to form a column of fire, so that the toaster quickly turned into a flamethrower. The flames touched the window blind, which went up with a whoosh. The underside of the nearest kitchen cabinet had caught too. At the centre of the fast-spreading blaze sat the AI-controlled toaster, flames reflected in its polished chrome body, its two vivid red dials glowing. I could have sworn its electronic display showed a wisp of a smile.
“Fire,” I mouthed. Then as panic fluttered in my chest, I shouted it. “FIRE!”
I dived for the cupboard under the sink, knowing that it held an extinguisher, only to discover that the door was sealed with one of Dad’s helpful voice-activated locks. He was still waiting for the imminent software update to fix the language issue, but in the meantime we’d all had to learn a few words of German.
“KÜCHENSCHRANK ENTRIEGELN!” I shouted. Cabinet door, unlock! Nothing happened. Of course not – no power. I grasped the handle and pulled with all my strength, but my parents had shelled out for really well-made kitchen cabinets and it wouldn’t budge. There was nothing else for it – if I wanted to open the door, I’d have to restore power to the house.
My shout had attracted the attention of the others, so when I dashed into the hallway it was to see that Lara and Dina had reached the foot of the stairs, and Zack and Cara were emerging from the sitting room. Ignoring them, I ducked into the cupboard where the fuse box was located. Fumbling in the dark I found the master switch and threw it.
There was a loud snap and the house lights came back on. After an evening of candlelight, the sudden brightness was dazzling.
“What are you doing?” hissed Zack, who, like the rest of us, squinted against the harsh electric lighting.
“Fire,” I said breathlessly, pushing past him back into the kitchen.
“I’ll call 999,” said Cara, urgently restarting her phone.
I yelled at the cabinet again and this time it obeyed my command. Reaching in, I knocked over bottles of washing-up liquid and spare kitchen roll in my rush to grab the extinguisher. Swiftly I aimed it at the fire and unloaded its contents. The extinguisher did its job, snuffing out the flames on the worktop. The charred window blind fell off its mounting and clattered into the sink.
Zack had followed me into the kitchen. Now he grabbed a fire blanket from the cupboard and threw it over the smouldering remains. Although the toaster had been the source of the fire, it was unscathed apart for a lick of soot on its chrome body. Along with the smug electronic grin on the display I glimpsed a blinking downward arrow symbol that meant a new update was ready to install – just before the blanket covered the toaster from sight.
For the first time since the blaze began, I drew breath.
“Is the fire brigade on its way?” Zack asked Cara.
She stared at her phone, confused. “It’s weird. I’ve got a full signal but I can’t dial out.”
“Your call is being jammed,” said Dina.
Cara threw her a mystified look.
Lara cocked an ear. “Do you hear that?”
From all over the house came the sound of urgent buzzing. I exchanged a worried look with Lara.
“Servatron is here,” I said.
“Serva-what?” said Cara, who didn’t know about the AI.
Dina reacted first, rushing back into the hall cupboard, mumbling, “Gotta get the power off!” She threw the switch. Click. And again. Click. “It’s no use!” she yelled. “I can’t kill the power. Servatron must have run a bypass.”
With dismay I realised what had happened. The AI had started the toaster fire on purpose, knowing that I would be forced to restore the power – and let it in.
Zack made a decision. “Let’s get the heck out of here.”
“What’s going on?” said Cara, struggling to keep track of developments. “Zack, please tell me wha—”
He grabbed her hand and propelled her along the hallway towards the front door, but they had barely taken two steps when there was the snick of a bolt being thrown.
“Front door … locked,” declared the computer-voice.
“HAUSTÜR ÖFFNEN.” Front door, open, Zack said calmly.
Instead of obeying his command, it replied with another announcement that sent a chill th
rough me.
“Back door … locked.”
From across the house came the mechanical rasp of catches falling into place. “All windows locked,” said the computer. There were two more snicks. “Toilet seats … locked.”
Now, that was just mean.
“House secure,” said the computer, as Dad’s smart security system outsmarted us.
We were trapped in here with Servatron. I looked around at the alarmed faces of my friends. I had an idea.
“We have to unplug everything.”
Even with the power on, if all the gadgets in the house were disconnected then Servatron couldn’t use them to carry out its attack. The others nodded their understanding.
“Pair up, for safety,” said Dina.
Lara looked around. “Where’s Serge?”
I realised then that I hadn’t seen him come downstairs with her and Dina. Which meant he must still be in my room. Alone.
“Serge!” I shouted as I dashed upstairs.
“I’m coming with you,” said Lara.
As we reached the landing the wall lights flickered and went out, plunging us into darkness.
“It’s Servatron trying to throw us off,” Lara whispered, striding towards my bedroom door.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a movement. Dad’s hockey-puck-shaped robot vacuum cleaner darted out from behind a pot plant, where it had been lying in wait. It shot across Lara’s path and she tripped and fell, turning her ankle as she landed. She clutched it in pain.
“Can you move?”
She shook her head. “I think it’s sprained. You go on without me.”
“I’ll be right back,” I said, pushing open my bedroom door.
As soon as I stepped inside, I heard the distinctive howl of a Star Wars TIE fighter and looked up to see one bearing down on me. It was my own radio-controlled model, clearly under Servatron’s control. Although it lacked real ion cannons, at the speed it was travelling a direct hit from the sturdy plastic body could knock me out. Or worse. I ducked and rolled across the floor, my hand reaching out to grasp the nearest object with which to defend myself. It happened to be my inflatable lightsabre. I pressed my lips to the valve and began to puff furiously. The TIE flew into the corner of the room and wheeled around for another pass. My chest heaved as I desperately filled the lightsabre. The TIE fighter was close enough now that through the canopy I could see the glow of its targeting computer. I took a step back, raised the mostly inflated lightsabre and swung. My aim was true – I wasn’t named after Luke Skywalker for nothing – and I batted the model out of the air, sending it spinning across the room where it smacked against the wall, its solar array wings popping off and its useless body tumbling to the floor. Breathing heavily, I lowered my weapon.
Serge sat cross-legged next to my bed, staring straight ahead with a blank expression. Even though the battle had taken place over his head, I don’t think he’d noticed a thing. Weird.
“Serge, are you OK?”
He looked up, and it was as if he was struggling to recognise me. At last a smile spread across his face. “Mon ami.”
There was no time to quiz him on his memory lapse. “We have to go. Servatron is in the house.” I reached for his hand and hauled him to his feet. As he got up, my copy of Star Power slid off his lap.
“HELP!”
The cry came from down below – it sounded like Cara. I rushed out on to the landing, Serge following behind. Lara was already hobbling downstairs on her sprained ankle.
The cry for help came again, more urgent this time.
“The sitting room,” said Lara as we caught up with her.
We crashed through the door to find Cara and Dina standing either side of the ninety-six-way adjustable Diner Recliner in Real Pleather that Dad had bought himself to watch all his favourite TV shows. It had a built-in mini fridge and a picnic table. Right now it also had Zack.
Every part of the chair was electrically adjustable, from the footrest to the headrest. Under Servatron’s control it had become alive. Zack must have strayed too close, as all I could see of him was a pair of legs sticking out from between chomping seat cushions. I could hear his muffled shouts of terror from within the writhing chair. Cara and Dina each held one of his legs, desperately trying to prevent him from being devoured.
“Shut it down!” Dina yelled above the whine of the mechanism.
A power cord snaked from the base of the chair to the nearest wall socket. Lara was closest. She made a dart for it but the Diner Recliner was ready. It lurched sideways on its three-sixty-degree super-silent castors, blocking her path. Every time one of us made an attempt to unplug it, the chair was ready.
Zack was slipping out of the girls’ grasp. Lara and Serge lent a hand, but it was only a matter of time before my brother was swallowed up.
I had to stop Servatron. But how?
And then it came to me.
“Just needs an update,” I mumbled to myself. “Hold on!” I yelled at the others, and bolted for the door.
I raced into the kitchen and whipped off the fire blanket. The toaster crouched on the charred counter in a pool of breadcrumbs, red dials pulsing.
“Hello, Nigel,” it greeted me, its sensors detecting my presence. “Your bread is toasted. Your bread is toasted. Your – your –” it stuttered. “You’re toast.”
“Not tonight, Servatron,” I muttered. I couldn’t stop the AI, but maybe I could interrupt it. Pressing a finger to the display I triggered the software update. Information scrolled across the narrow screen, and as it did the toaster audio-described the details.
“Version 3.0.14. In this update, eight new shades of brown. Bug fixes. Large download. Toasting is not possible during update.”
That’s what I was counting on.
Dad was always raging at his laptop when it updated its software without asking him. He’d be stuck for hours waiting for it to finish installing, unable to access any of his files. I was hoping it would be the same for the toaster. During the download the Servatron-controlled device wouldn’t be able to toast bread, control the house – or kill Zack.
“Do you wish to continue? Y/N.”
I selected “Y” and data immediately began pouring through the connection from a faraway server.
As soon as it did, the toaster’s dials changed from Servatron-red to a flashing green. Judging by the progress bar it would take about thirty minutes to download and install the update.
I’d halted Servatron. At least for now.
I was aware that the yelling from the sitting room had stopped just as Dina rushed into the kitchen.
“I don’t know what you did,” she said, “but it worked.”
I carried the toaster to the other side of the kitchen, toed open the pedal bin and dropped it in along with the rest of the rubbish. It wouldn’t help – when the power returned Servatron would find another way to get to us – but trashing the toaster made me feel better.
“Servatron knows where Zack lives now,” I said. “He’s not safe here. We have to get him and Cara out of the house. Now.”
With the AI temporarily out of action we were able to unlock the doors and windows (and the toilet seats). Cara didn’t need any encouragement to leave. She marched out, muttering darkly about her freaky neighbours and their even freakier house. A forlorn Zack watched her go, having missed another opportunity to ask her to the concert. Lara slipped out after her sister, assuring us that she would keep an eye on her overnight. At least with Dark Flutter looking after her, Cara would be safe.
Zack, on the other hand, remained vulnerable. He still had his telepathic and flying powers for now but I suggested that he spend the night in the tree house with Dina. Apart from a smoke alarm – which we could easily disconnect – there were no electronics out there that Servatron could use in another attack.
“It’s just one night,” I reminded him. “The Billy Dark concert’s tomorrow – we’re almost in the clear.”
Zack grunted at me and t
rudged off to gather a sleeping bag. Following his encounter with the recliner he was a little chewed at the edges but basically OK. I was more worried about Serge. I found him and Dina in the kitchen, tidying up after the fire as best they could. The place was a mess. When Mum and Dad saw the damage they would be furious. This was going to take some explaining.
Dina flung open the windows to air the place while Serge swept the charred remains of the blind into a bin bag.
“The next time something like this happens, we must call on the help of…” He paused for dramatic effect. “Star Power!”
I studied his face for a sign that he was joking. I couldn’t find one. “You mean Star Lad.”
He looked confused. “Who is Star Lad?”
“It’s all been a bit too much for him,” said Dina. “C’mon, Serge, I’ll walk you home.” She took him gently by the hand and led him out, pausing at the door. “Good job tonight, Luke. Quick thinking.”
I watched my best friend depart. A run-in with Servatron couldn’t explain his memory loss. Could it? I finished off the clean-up as best I could and went to bed. I was still lying awake when I heard Mum and Dad return home. Thankfully, they went straight to bed and didn’t notice the damage to the kitchen until the following morning. As predicted, they hit the roof. I told them the truth, as far as possible, that the toaster had malfunctioned and started a fire. I left out the bit about an evil AI from the future – they weren’t ready to hear that. Dad retrieved his precious toaster from the bin, but to my relief Mum wouldn’t let him set it up again. She’d put up with his gadget obsession for long enough.
“But I thought you loved living in the Home of the Future,” he said.
“Not as much as I love living in a home with a future,” she said. “Rocketship.com have a one-hour return service,” she added, even though I was pretty sure he already knew that. “Use it.”
He slunk off, mumbling that he would send back the lot as soon as he got a moment.
Mum wasn’t yet finished. As well as blaming Dad, Zack got it in the neck too.
My Cousin is a Time Traveller Page 7