When he could finally see the details, he grinned. The room was glorious, with a large portrait of Philo welcoming him from one wall. The detail of the walls was intriguing. It seemed to Max as though past generations of electric users had each added a fragment of their lives.
His eyes were drawn, however, to the centrepiece of the room. An outfit hung on a manikin, its origins obviously from Philo’s time. A white robe with a lush hood and leather body armour, fitted with spaces for knives and swords. It was designed for a warrior, an outfit that would stand out bizarrely in today’s era.
Max walked around the room, turning to the weapons rack. There was a selection of swords, small knives and smoke bombs lining the shelves. The gear was well looked after, in brand new condition, it seemed to Max, as he inspected them. All the blades were still sharp, the smoke bombs in mint condition.
He’d had no idea this was beneath the dojo and he simply stared for a moment, holding his breath as each revelation caught his eye.
The picture of his mother was the hardest object to take in. The portrait of her had been hung next to that of his father. He searched her eyes, waiting for the picture to talk.
He recalled Philo’s words and tried to picture a life in the Great Halls with them. Would he make them proud? A small scroll caught his attention and he strolled across to where it lay upon the main desk. He picked up the parchment with some anxiety, breaking the seal and reading the words written there:
“To Maximus or Paul.
“If I should pass, the dojo and all its contents are to be inherited by you both. You shall share the dojo and continue its running as my heirs. May strength be found in the smallest of places and the light shine bright into the darkness. That concludes my will. May our family stay forever strong.
Jade Thatcher.”
Time passed, but Max was unaware of the rotating world changing day to night, the sun disappearing behind the tree line outside. The air grew thick with the night fog, which loomed across the dojo.
Max felt his body switch from hyper to exhausted as the adrenaline surge trickled away, but he soon felt a second surge when he came across two swords. Swords he knew were now his. He read the inscription:
“Forged with the strongest materials, these swords have served to vanquish all enemies from every battle field on which they have been used. Known as the Carvers, they have served the mighty Philo. Gifted to the Thatchers in appreciation of great service.”
Max picked up the swords in amazement. They were the lightest swords he had ever felt. He could feel the power concealed within the blades as he swung them in twin arcs.
A suit of golden chainmail had rested under the swords and Max carefully picked it up and tried it on. As with the swords, it felt strong but light as he moved around the room. To his delight, the chainmail didn’t slow him down at all. He gently retired the chainmail and swords to their places.
A second cabinet contained white hooded t-shirts with modern stitching. On top of them was a necklace, which had been passed down the family tree. It had a thin, gold chain upon which hung a yellow diamond. As he held the gem, he felt his energy draining from himself and into the glowing diamond, which sparked with sudden power.
The identity of Maximus Thatcher had begun to form. He wore the golden chainmail under a white hooded t-shirt, his face hidden in the darkness of the hood, the diamond necklace resting on his chest. He was ready. Walking the streets was thrilling. He was a free man. The streets were busy following the recent great population growth. With the growth came more money, which brought more problems as the crime rate climbed. Petty thugs earned their money the easy way and it became common that small shops were robbed. Cops had been recruited from all around the world to meet the demand of the city.
In the midst of all this, Max felt the urge to help people, his goal being to rebuild the dojo to its former strength. Now, he walked unnoticed amongst the crowds of people, blending in, using his elusiveness to evade prying eyes.
It wasn’t long before he picked up on the sounds of an argument. A situation had arisen and forced the shopkeeper to persuade an elderly lady to talk out on the pavement.
“I don’t have enough to pay,” the old lady said, agitatedly. She was close to tears. Her morning had suddenly brought her bad news.
Her house was old, always in need of repair, while her generator was broken and she was out of electricity. The flow of power was the only thing holding the house together, with food, light and heat all having to come from the old generator at the back. Her age had forced her to stop working and with very little retirement money left to live on, Max could feel the pain in this lady’s life.
“I’m sorry ma’am, I can’t help; without money we can’t restore your generator to full capacity.”
The old lady gave up and moved slowly away with a tear running down her cheek, the shopkeeper watching her go with sorrow on his face. In cases like these he was usually more than happy to help, but his business had taken a turn for the worse and now money was a problem for him, too.
Max approached the man. He had been walking back to his shop, and when Max lightly grabbed his shoulder, he jumped, startled.
“Sir, may I grab that lady’s address, please? I may be able to help,” he said.
“Certainly,” replied the shopkeeper with a relieved smile.
It wasn’t an easy house to find, with lots of identical houses and streets throughout the area, but Max finally found the right address. He approached the old generator with crossed arms. It was an antique, but something that was in his ability to fix.
He taped the wire closed, leaving no traces of an open current. Everything looked ready to go, and with a little boost of power the generator sucked in all the electricity it could handle, the indicator now pointing to full.
“That should do it,” said Max, clapping his hands in satisfaction. He walked away with a smile; his first good deed had been carried out.
The day was still young and he wanted more from it, pacing the streets until he reached the park, where he sat, waiting. Time passed very slowly. His stomach now growled in protest as he watched the pedestrians walking by.
A speeding car weaved in and out of traffic and terrified citizens scattered desperately to avoid the crazy driver. Max stood at the sound of sirens lifting the air. They weren’t far behind. He started moving with joy, following their position, cutting through streets and weaving through alleyways to try and cut the distance between them. It was no use; the vehicle was too fast. Disappointed, he continued walking through the alleyway, trying to forget the speeding car, deep in thought.
“That is not the deal we agreed on,” a voice said.
Max’s steps slowed with every word, although his heart rate speeded up. He zeroed in on the location of the voice, coming as it was from behind the corner of a brick wall.
“It is this or you die.”
“Put the gun away,” the man breathed, his voice trembling with fear.
“This is not an offer. I am telling you,” said the man holding the gun. He had a thick Russian accent and now let out a coarse laugh. Max turned the corner and lifted his hands.
“You don’t need to do that,” he said.
He quickly covered the distance between them until the Russian could see every detail of his face. The Russian swiftly turned the weapon on him, surprise leaping into his eyes.
“Who are you?” he snapped.
“Nobody,” Max replied. He stood still, observing every detail of the Russian and his two companions who stood behind him. He had a Desert Eagle pointed right at him and it was almost shiny enough to see his reflection.
“You must be someone, otherwise we wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation.” The Russian seemed to relax now, pulling out a cigar and laughing with his two companions.
“Look at the balls on this kid,” he said, as he nodded his head at Max.
The necklace sparked as Max’s energy brewed, catching the eyes of the crooks.
“Get that necklace and teach this critter a lesson,” the boss said, turning his attention to the man who still trembled against the wall.
“So, what is it going to be?” said the Russian, blowing smoke to the side.
Max watched as both henchmen drew closer. One drew a knife, while the other cracked his knuckles.
“I am a bit insulted that we have to beat a kid like you.”
The other man nodded in agreement, approaching Max with a crooked smile. He replied in Russian and both men laughed as he spat beside Max’s feet.
“Necklace now,” the man said with a heavy accent.
“Pure cockiness only leads to your downfall. I have experienced this.”
“Do not talk,” the man replied.
He swung his knife with no hesitation, his sole purpose being to drive it through Max. Max was not fazed and grabbed the punch, pulling the man close to him. He let out a jolt and the thug hit the deck, the necklace releasing enough electricity to handle the next.
“This is not something I like doing,” said the boss, unaware of the action behind him. He grabbed the quaking man by the collar. Max squeezed his shoulder and he dropped the gun in surprise. The boss seemed confused as he tried to identify his attacker, assuming Max had already been dealt with. Max kicked the man’s legs from under him, leaving him sitting in the middle of the alleyway, a look of shock on his face.
“What is the meaning of this?” the Russian shouted, staring up at Maximus.
“Be gone, and take your thugs with you,” Max ordered, pulling him to his feet.
The man waddled over to his men, slapping them as they gingerly stood and returned to their car with their pride in smithereens.
“Thank you!” the man said gratefully, grabbing Max’s hand and shaking it vigorously.
“No problem. Just stay out of trouble, okay?” he said, turning around to leave.
“Hey! Before you leave, may I offer you a token of my appreciation?”
“I’m not a charity.”
“Of course not, but look, here’s a ticket into this weekend’s expo. It’s not much, but it’s all I have on me,” said the man as he handed over the ticket.
“Very kind,” replied Maximus, dubiously.
“Your name?”
“Maximus,” he replied, shaking his hand.
The man grinned at him, turned and headed away down the alley. His bubbly personality left Max with raised eyebrows and a small smile as he glanced down at the ticket.
“Why not,” said Max, as he left to head back to the dojo.
Chapter 26
New Technology
Families were out in huge numbers, the streets crammed, people wandering between the stalls at the expo. Posters hung from every lamp-post, shop and billboard, promoting the new generation of equipment. Vending machines were hired for the day and struggled to cope with the customers’ demands. Light decorations hung from the power lines, glittering excitement into every kid.
Two full blocks had been roped off for the event, at a set-up cost of over five million dollars. The stalls ranged from kids' adventure games to miniature robot fights, controlled by two people in tech suits, pretending to hit thin air in order for the robots to imitate their motions.
The weather was hot with no cloud cover. Tight security measures were in place and the police were out in large numbers, patrolling the streets and observing the technology with interest.
The event was headline news and reporters roved the streets looking for a story. The technological future was advancing at an alarming rate, with new companies forming every year. This convention was a means to showcase that technology, luring investors into funding the inventors’ advancements.
Max enjoyed the atmosphere as he passed through the ticket line. His reaction was quite similar to those of the children, running around experiencing this setting for the first time.
He passed a row of new cars, run only on battery power, admiring the sharp body shape of each one. Max had never seen any on the street, but loved their sleek aerodynamic design and fancy interiors. He cringed at the price, topping as it did over a million dollars. These cars were clearly on show for a select few.
His attention was drawn to the miniature robots and he watched as the robot mimicked the human’s movements. The match was exciting, the final result ending in a knockout.
“Step right up, don’t be shy to try the bot!” cried the stallholder, his voice booming over the crowd. Max smiled and made a move forward, but then another voice yelled over the loud crowd.
Max couldn’t pick out the exact words, but their meaning was clear. A man came running towards him with a woman’s bag gripped in his hand, pushing past everyone in a desperate rush.
Max sighed as he stuck out his arm, clotheslining the small thief and yanking him to the concrete. The thief’s target had been well picked; a mother in the company of her kids, too slow to react.
As one, the crowd closed around him, blocking his exit, and he sat powerlessly until he was hauled to his feet and taken away by the police. The crowd erupted into a cheer and loudly clapped his actions.
“Here is our new challenger!” called the stallholder, reeling Max into the game and he stood, smiling, as the assistants suited him up.
He flexed his muscles to the crowd’s delight and as he manoeuvred the robot, he defeated his first opponent in less than twenty seconds.
He was still undefeated after five opponents had come and gone, marvelling at how natural the robot felt.
“We have our first champion of the day!” said the stallholder, adding Max’s face to the leaderboard.
Max bowed to the crowd, receiving expo points on a card given to him. He slowly made his way down the street and stopped at the last stand with excitement. Nine computer screens showcased the holographic template of a two-piece hover board, a big crowd of spectators waiting in anticipation for the next event. The projections caught Max’s eye as he studied the demos running across the screens.
The test subjects looked like they were selected from a group of athletes. All wobbled on the device, hovering only a few feet off the ground. He listened carefully as the host begun to talk in detail about the board.
“This device is powered by a high current of electricity, displacing it at the bottom and the sides of the board to control the direction and height of the hover. The two platforms are connected by the current, making it easy to store it away,” said the man, holding up the two platforms. He started the current with a flick of the switch, throwing it out in front of him and watching as the board formed.
“The designer, Phil Collins,” said the host to a round of applause, indicating a tall young man.
“Thank you, Tim. This advancement in technology will contribute to a new, greater world.” The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles as he carried on.
“I envision one of these boards in every home in this great city,” he yelled as the hologram showed the separate components of the board, breaking it down through each level of the hologram.
The device was run by small generator and stored electricity to power the board. The new design had been drastically cut in size from the ordinal prototype, as Max could see when the two were compared.
“Phil, would you like to choose the next volunteer?” asked the host over the loud speaker.
Phil nodded and smiled as every hand in the crowd shot up, trying to grab his attention.
“Maximus,” he pointed.
Max was speechless as the crowd around him clapped glumly in disappointment.
He reached the stage, confused but then recognised Phil as the man he had saved from certain death in the alleyway and who had given him his entry ticket.
Phil shook his hand again and Max felt the crowd’s eyes fixed on him.
“I’m glad you made it,” whispered Phil.
“Couldn’t let the ticket go to waste,” muttered Max in response.
Max was impressed by the display, contemplating th
e usefulness of this hover. He could travel much more easily on the board than with the rock used in the first Assessment.
His deep thoughts were interrupted by Phil’s voice.
“Now, may I present a special offer to an individual who recently became my hero,” said Phil, capturing the crowd’s attention. Max drew his hood forward to conceal his face, afraid of being recognised.
“If Maximus here lasts more than ten seconds on this board, it is his to keep,” said Phil, patting Max on the back.
The crowd cheered at the announcement, building the tension of Max’s hover attempt with loud chanting. Phil handed Max the board. It was unlike anything he had even seen. It occurred to Max that this opportunity couldn’t be a coincidence and his eyes flicked up towards his father.
Phil guided Max over to a desk filled with safety gear where a pretty woman behind the desk handed him a magnetic attachment for his shoes. He could easily step off and onto the hover board without falling off, attaching and detaching the shoe as he wished.
“With a sufficient amount of electricity, could this thing fly?” Max asked.
“It could, but that would mean a bigger power circuit, which would weigh the board down,” replied Phil.
“Interesting…”
“Why do you ask?”
“I want to jump off that building.” Max pointed up at the three-storey building next to them.
“That can’t happen. It would be suicide.”
“I won’t die, I promise, and it will sure boost your ratings,” said Max with a smile.
Phil gave him a long look, but then began barking orders to his staff, watching as they scurried off to prepare for the stunt.
“If anything happens to you, though, this company is not responsible,” Phil insisted.
“Agreed. Now, if you could fill my bag with extra parts for the board, please, that would be great,” Max requested as he played with the board, trying to figure out how to use it.
A moment later, he stood on the rooftop, the height reminding him of the pillar, and he peered down as if he were scanning the canyon. Hundreds of onlookers replaced the sand, gazing up at the stunt with noisy anticipation. The host announced the event, setting up a safety net across the courtyard.
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