Tape Escape

by Cameron Macintosh

  I reach up to the highest shelf I can grab, and pull myself up as high as my arms can lift me. Somehow, I manage to edge my feet sideways onto a shelf, and steady myself. I feel like I’m clinging to the side of a cardboard cliff. Right in front of my face, there’s a row of books, all with different color spines. There’s a Treasury of 21st Century Fairytales, and The Rolling Bones — a Century of Rock (1962—2062). It’s all very interesting, but there’s no time for browsing. I reach up to the next shelf and hoist myself upward.

  Pulling my face up to another row of books, I fling my feet around below me, searching for a bit of shelf to land them on. I can barely get the toes of my shoes onto it - the books are sticking out too far. All I can do is reach an arm up to the next shelf. Somehow, I manage to drag myself up and land my feet on a wider ledge of bookshelf ... but by then it’s already too late.

  ”Intruder detected. Intruder detected.”

  I look down and see an eight-armed security-bot throwing scanner beams in all directions. I know I have to do something. If one of those beams hits me, I know I’ll be sent back to the horrible Unclaimed Urchins Home, and I won’t even have Oscar there with me to make it slightly bearable.

  Like a frightened spider, I clamber up shelf after shelf until I finally reach section 363566. My arms feel like they’re about to drop out of their sockets, but there it is: book 3635662295b, sealed in a see-through plastic cover.

  It’s hard to imagine that this thing’s nearly 400 years old! It has a bright yellow cover, and a title in old-fashioned letters: A History of Music in the Home, 1930—2030. I’m about to grab hold of it when a bright red beam beats me to it. The book starts glowing like the brake light of a zoot-scooter. A second later, my right hand starts glowing the same red color as the book, and the security-bot chirps out:

  ”Intruder located! Intruder located!”

  My hand feels like it’s been hit by a red-hot sunbeam. I whisk it away, but another beam hits me on the leg. It makes a smell like melting rubber, but strangely it doesn’t hurt a bit. I grab the book quickly, tuck it down my pants, and climb higher and higher. It only takes me a few extra seconds to reach the highest shelf and scramble onto the very top of the top row of books. It’s then that I realize why the beam didn’t hurt me - I reach into my pocket and find a half-melted plastic tongue spraying steam from one side. It looks like I have the angry guard’s tongue to thank for saving my life!

  Up on the top row, I’m shielded from any more beams, but I know I don’t have much time. I slide the book out of my pants, and out of its plastic cover, and search through it for “audio cassette tape” - whatever that’s supposed to mean.

  I turn the first page gently and sigh in relief when the paper doesn’t turn to dust. Slowly< flipping through the pages, I stare at pictures of ancient machines with names like “record player,” “MP3 player,” and “minidisc.”

  Finally, halfway in, I come across a black-and-white photo of Jessie’s strange object. A rush of excitement gurgles through my stomach. According to the author, people used these things to store sounds and listen back to them later. The sounds were imprinted in the magnetic tape that ran along the gap at the bottom. In the age of On-Call AirTunes, that seems kind of... primitive, but I read on a bit further.

  I learn that the cassette tape alone can’t really do much. To hear what’s stored on it, I’ll need to put it in a cassette player . another piece of equipment that hasn’t been used for nearly 400 years! According to the book, the player reads the sounds on the tape with metal devices called heads, and then plays the sounds out loud through speakers.

  I’m about to read the next paragraph when I hear the distant sounds of beagle-bot barks. I have a feeling that’s Oscar’s way of telling me it’s time to get out of there!

  I tuck the book back into its plastic cover and peer over the edge of the shelf. Down on the floor, the security-bot’s spinning in confused circles, shining its beams in every direction. There’s no way I can climb down the same side of the shelf, or the other side either - just looking down makes my head spin.

  Fortunately, the top shelf’s close enough to the ceiling that I can almost touch it without standing up. I slowly climb onto my knees and reach up to the nearest ceiling panel. It’s tightly screwed to the roof. I’ll never be able to get it off with my bare hands.

  I lie back down on the top row of books and scan my brain for ideas. There aren’t too many in there, but after a few minutes I grab hold of one. I’m not sure it’s a very good one, but for now it’ll have to do.

  I lean over the edge of the shelf and start waving.

  “Hey, laser brain!” I yell. “I’m up here!”

  The security-bot’s chirps rise in pitch. Beams from every one of its eight arms angle up toward me. Before they have the chance to make contact, I drop flat onto my stomach. The beams come together just above me. They focus into one extrahot super-beam that hits the ceiling and burns a hole right through it!

  I tuck the book into a gap on the shelf. Then, I stand up and aim my head toward the blue sky. I lift my arms over the smoky edges of the hole and haul myself up onto the roof.

  From up there, Skyburb 9 looks like a floating football, covered with grimy buildings. Far beyond the edge of the Skyburb, I can see another sprawl of buildings, way down there on the ground - but what am I thinking, there’s definitely no time to enjoy the view!

  I sit down on one of the roof panels. It’s smooth and shiny, and as soon as I wiggle my bottom I start sliding downward at high speed. The panels even out to a nice gentle slope, so I slow down as I reach the gutter at the lower edge of the roof. When I get there, I clamber down a drainpipe that runs all the way down to street level.

  When I land back on the footpath, I see Oscar at the far end of the street, with the guard’s wallet still in his mouth. The guard is grunting and stomping, about 5 meters behind him. He looks like he’s about to melt into the concrete.

  Oscar seems to be enjoying the chase, but as soon as he sees me, he drops the wallet. The guard dives on top of it and hugs it to his chest, puffing like an overheated steam engine. Before he has time to see me, I slip into an alleyway and peep out onto the street.

  “Thanks for lending me your lovely tongue!” I yell.

  The guard looks up, puzzled, but I don’t hang around long enough to keep chatting. I turn around and run back toward the Skyburb Down-station. When I get there, I find Oscar waiting for me on the footpath with a very pleased look on his face. A very pleased look slides across my face too, as we high-five and start the long journey back to Skyburb 6.

  CHAPTER 3

  A Snowie Storeroom

  Back at the storeroom, Jessie’s eyes dance like jumping beans as we tell her all about the afternoon’s adventures. She’s particularly impressed with Oscar’s tongue-print tactic. She’s also pretty amazed when I tell her about the cassette, and what the tape inside was used for.

  “If you don’t mind,” she says, “I’ll give the Collections Office a call right now to tell them what an amazing new item they can add to the 1980s display.”

  “Hold on,” I say, as a buzzy feeling swishes through my stomach. “I’ve got an idea.”

  Jessie laughs. “Why do I always get nervous when you say that?”

  “You must be terrified of genius! But I was thinking — maybe they’d be even more impressed if they actually saw the cassette tape in action?”

  “But, that’s not possible. I’ve never seen a cassette player, and our chances of finding an old one in here ...” she says, her arms stretching out toward the far ends of the storeroom, “. probably aren’t too good.”

  “You’re right,” I say with a smile, “but what if we found a way to make one of our own?”

  Jessie goes quiet and rubs her chin. “That’s not such a bad idea,” she says. “It’s pretty basic technology we’re talking about here. All we need is a set of old speakers and a device that can read magnetic tape.”

  “Hold that though
t,” I exclaim. “I’ll be back in a second!”

  While Jessie and Oscar scratch their heads, I run toward a packing case I looked through a few days ago. It’s still there under a pile of antique teddy bears - a supermarket barcode scanner from the late 2100s. Maybe, I figure, if I can scan the tape like a barcode, we might get some kind of read-out.

  I take it back to the others and their eyes light up like fireworks. They seem to know what I’m thinking without any of us saying a word - which is really quite scary.

  Jessie takes the cassette tape out of its bag and places one of its holes over Oscar’s tail. Oscar puts his tail into spin-mode and the two wheels inside the cassette tape start turning around. As Oscar’s tail spins, the tape moves along the gap at the bottom of the cassette. I switch on the scanner and aim its laser at the tape.

  Right then I hear the strangest sound that’s ever bumped into my eardrums. It’s a man singing something about spaceships. His voice is deep and croaky, and behind it there’s a fast beat and roaring guitars. It sounds sad but hopeful at the same time. It has to be one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard.

  Oscar and Jessie are both speechless too. With closed eyes, Oscar sways his head from side to side. Jessie stares at the scanner with her eyebrows so high they’re nearly touching the ceiling.

  The song comes to an end and fades into another one. This one’s a bit faster. The same singer tells us to dance like it’s our last night on Jupiter. Before long, I am dancing - well, as much as I can, aiming a supermarket scanner at Oscar’s tail. Jessie’s letting loose too. She’s shaking her hips like it’s Saturday night at the Anti-Gravity Disco!

  After three or four minutes, the song fades out and a woman’s voice takes over. “That was an oldie and a newie from the Brigadier of Bop, David Snowie, who I’m lucky enough to have here with me in the studio ...”

  The scanner’s speaker suddenly falls silent. It takes me a few seconds to realize it’s my fault. My hands are shaking so hard, the scanner beams are completely missing the tape.

  “David Snowie?” I gasp. “Did she say David Snowie??!!”

  “She sure did,” says Jessie with surprise. “Please tell me you’re not playing a trick on us.”

  “Not a chance - I’d never joke about something as important as this.”

  I can’t believe it. There’s a whole exhibit about David Snowie in the Arts and Entertainment Wing of the museum. He’s a musical legend, even though it’s been 400 years since his last album - and that’s the only one still available. Looking down at the tape on Oscar’s tail, it hits me that this could be the biggest treasure I’ll ever touch.

  Jessie seems almost as excited as me. “I’ve never heard these songs, but if this really is a Snowie recording, it’ll be one of the most incredible discoveries since we found that long-lost Justin Jieber album. It’ll mean some nice extra pocket money for all of us, too!”

  In case I didn’t mention it before, Jessie doesn’t just help us out with a place to work and sleep. She also gives us a few dollars for food and supplies. The way it works is, every time she identifies a new object for the museum, she gets paid a small bonus. When Oscar and I identify an object for Jessie, she kindly passes some of the bonus to us. Since Oscar and I escaped the Skyburb 7 Home for Unclaimed Urchins, Jessie’s kindness has kept us out of all sorts of trouble - and kept us alive!

  “So, what do we do now?” I question.

  “We’d better have it checked by an expert before we hand it over. I’d hate to say we’ve found a bunch of lost Snowie songs and then find out it’s a fake or something.”

  “Yeah, that’d be kind of embarrassing,” I agree, “but who can check it for us?”

  “There’s an ancient music expert down on the ground, in District 6. Do you think you guys could zip down and let her have a listen?”

  “Of course we could!” I declare. Oscar wags his tail at super high speed too.

  “I’d do it myself,” says Jessie, “but those skirts have to be done by tomorrow. I know I can trust you guys to take care of this.”

  “You sure can,” I reassure her. “Oscar, charge up your batteries. We’re heading downstairs to confirm our greatest find yet!”

  CHAPTER 4

  A Visit to the Doctor ...

  Ten minutes later, Oscar and I are at the Skyburb Down-station, waiting for an aircell to take us down to ground level. In my right hand I’m clutching an air-proof case with the cassette tape and the scanner inside. I’m holding onto it so tight my hand feels like it’s about to fall off.

  We have to wait sixteen minutes for our Skyburb to park above Bluggsville Central Cell Station and lower its cell tube down to connect with the dock. As we finally climb into our aircell and zoom downwards, the city lights begin to flicker on through the sprawling jungle of buildings and zip-coasters.

  Our cell slows as we get closer to the ground, and as we draw to a stop the door slides upward. We step out into a crowded station, full of homebound workers, food-selling cyborgs, and robots with guitars, singing about their rusty hearts.

  As we walk out of the station and down onto Vigg Street, a woman and a small girl brush past us. “Keep a hand on your purse, Annie,” says the woman. “You know what those shadies are like.”

  I hear Oscar start growling. He hates being called a shadie as much as I do, but I hold my tongue. Today we’re on a mission.

  We’ve got no time for the anti-Skyburb attitudes of a few silly ground people. It’s not our fault we can’t afford to live down here, or buy nice new clothes. And there’s not much we can do to stop the Skyburbs casting shadows over the city.

  I look away from the sneer on the woman’s face and focus on the street ahead. Fortunately, Oscar knows exactly where to go. He’s got the address and directions saved into his K-Pup memory banks.

  We turn left into Grettle Street, then right into Hubble Road. And then, we see the doorway and its polished metal sign:

  Dr. Rosa Reilly, Forensic Musicologist.

  I’m reaching a finger up to touch the doorbell when the sound of a siren stops me mid-air. For a moment I think it’s a fire siren, but then Oscar weaves himself between my legs and starts shaking. This can only mean one thing.

  I turn back toward the road and see all my worst nightmares marching toward us. The Unclaimed Urchin Recapture Squad - all four of its full-time agents - are marching down the middle of the road, and they are looking straight at me.

  “Max Booth!” yells Squad Captain Selby. “Don’t think you’ll be getting away this time, boy.”

  ‘“That’s what you said last time, Smell-by,” I yell back, trying to sound much braver than I feel. And then, just for good measure, Oscar and I both stick our tongues out at him.

  Suddenly, I notice something very worrying in Captain Selby’s hand - a Project-a-Web handgun! If he gets any closer, he’ll be in range to snare us both in a sticky nylon web and drag us back to the Home. It seems like we’ve really only got one option — run like crazy!

  I tuck the cassette tape case into the side of my pants and leap back down to the footpath. Oscar leads the way, his metal legs moving so fast he almost looks like he’s hovering. I follow him down the footpath and we take a sharp right turn at the next street corner. It’s lucky that the streets are busy, and we’re both a lot shorter than most of the people rushing home from work.

  The way Oscar’s running, it looks like he knows where he’s going ... but as I huff and puff behind him, I do start to wonder. We’re weaving across the city like a pair of confused robo-rabbits. Every time I look back, I see at least one member of the Recapture Squad racing behind us. And every time I look back, they’re a little bit closer.

  “Oscar,” I shout, “there’d better be a plan behind all of this!”

  I really start to have my doubts when I see where he’s leading us - straight to the Skyburb Up-station! To make matters worse, the nearest Skyburb isn’t even close to docking.

  “Oscar, look up - it’s miles
away,” I scream.

  Seemingly unworried about my concerns, Oscar keeps running toward the Up-station, but when we reach the main gates, he runs straight past them and takes a sharp left at the next corner. As I follow him round, I can hear the boots of the Recapture Squad pounding on the concrete just a few meters behind me. When I round the corner, the first thing I see is Oscar sitting still, and smiling. He’s come to rest in a dead-end laneway.

  “Oscar,” I puff, “we’re cornered like roped-up robo-rodents!”