The Strike Trilogy (26 page)

The punk stomped his foot. “It didn’t have any wheels! Or seats! Or an engine!”

“Well, let’s not be picky about it,” Wakefield said. “Come on, let’s have a drink and celebrate.”

The punk stepped toward a pool table. “Nah. I think you’ll be having something else.”

The punk picked up a pool cue and reared it back, holding it over his head.

After the TV changed to a commercial, Wakefield turned around. As soon as he did, the punk brought the pool cue down with all his strength, intending to smash it over Wakefield’s head. But, Wakefield caught the cue, snapped it in half with one hand, and tossed his half away. Then, the bald man stood up, grumbled in annoyance, and punched the shortest punk in the nose. The punk was knocked backward into his friends, and once they got back to their feet, they all screamed in anger and charged at Wakefield. The bald man waited for them, finished his beer, and then swung the empty bottle and cracked it across the Mohawked punk’s face. The longhaired punk then lunged at Wakefield from behind, so Wakefield swung his elbow back, whaled him across his jaw, brought both his fists down onto his back, and sent him to the floor.

Finally, without breaking a sweat, Wakefield grabbed the shortest punk by his jacket, lifted him off the ground, slammed his body onto the bar, and dragged him across it, shattering a dozen bottles and ten glasses of booze. Finishing the job, the bald man picked up the punk from the bar, held him over his head, and tossed him across the saloon. The punk crashed into the piano in the corner, causing the instrument to snap off its legs and fall to the ground with a dull
BOOM!
, its keys all loudly ringing at once. As the pianist and bartender looked at the ruined piano in shock, the punk lay silently in the middle of the broken wood and wires, his eyes closed.

Tobin and Keplar were stunned. The rest of the patrons in the saloon were now standing, anxious and readying themselves in case the bald man turned his fists on them. Unfazed and unhurt, Wakefield dusted off his hands, walked to the bar, and finished a drink that wasn’t even his.

“Sorry, Jesse,” the bald man sighed, putting a roll of money on the bar. “Won’t happen again.”

With his metal tools clanking against him, Wakefield pushed open the swinging doors and walked out of the saloon. Keplar watched him go, then turned to Tobin.

“Gee, I hope that guy’s on our side.”

Outside the saloon, Keplar and Tobin ran out of the doors just as Wakefield was getting into his black pickup truck.

“Hey,” Keplar said, “are you Wakefield?”

Wakefield started up the truck. “Sorry, fellas. It’s my day off.”

Tobin stepped toward the open passenger side window. “But, uh, those guys called you Wakefield, and we’re looking for a guy named Wakefield. Are you him?”

“Yup, but I can’t help you. Sorry.” Wakefield put the truck in drive.

“We’re here with a guy named Orion,” Keplar said, stepping in front of the truck. “Maybe you know him?”

Wakefield narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah, I know him. What’s he need?”

“It’s our friend Scatterbolt,” Tobin said. “He’s in trouble.”

Wakefield pointed to the back of his truck with his thumb. “Get in.”

“Can you help us?” Tobin asked.

“No,” Wakefield replied. “But my father can.”

CHAPTER TEN

A
fter a fifteen minute, bone-rattling ride in the back of the bald man’s pickup truck, Tobin and Keplar found themselves standing in the lobby of “Wakefield and Son’s,” a repair shop for robots, androids, transforming cars, cybernetic livestock…and the occasional vacuum cleaner. The wide, clutter-filled shop was in an area similar to the one around Jesses’ Place—with dimly lit dirt roads and a smattering of other wooden-planked buildings surrounding it—but there was one big difference: an elevated train track that ran through the middle of the area, curving by the back of the repair shop.

As he walked around the lobby of the shop, Tobin was inspecting all of the technological wonders and bizarre metal devices on display. In a work area toward the rear of the store, the boy could see Orion standing next to Wakefield Sr., the man that they had been looking for at the saloon. The short, white-bearded man appeared to be about seventy-five years old, with a round face and large head that was topped with a ring of thinning, white hair. At the moment, he was hunched over a table, wearing thick, black glasses and using a table-mounted magnifying glass to inspect Scatterbolt’s golden sphere.

“He doesn’t look like a wizard to me,” Tobin said.

Keplar picked up a tin sign that was resting on a table. The sign read:   WAKEFIELD AND SON’S REPAIRS: TECHNO-WIZARDS.

“Ah,” Tobin said. “I see what they’ve done there.”

Keplar smirked. “A little play on words.”

“Very cute,” Tobin said.

Tobin picked up a small, shiny microwave with glowing springs and stepped to his right, but then bumped into something; Wakefield Jr. was standing in his way. Tobin looked up at him.

“Uh, I mean, not cute,” Tobin stammered. “I didn’t mean you and your dad were...cute. I just meant...that…”

Junior walked away.

Keplar laughed. “Nice work, Tobe.”

“I don’t think he likes me,” Tobin whispered, as he put the shiny microwave back on its table.

In the work area in the rear of the shop, Orion was standing over Wakefield’s shoulder as the short, goggle-wearing man inspected the sphere.

“So what do you think?” Orion asked.

“Well, it’s not damaged,” Wakefield replied. “If it was, we’d be in big trouble.” He picked up the sphere and showed it to Orion. “This is Scatterbolt’s brain, for lack of a better word. Everything that makes up Scatterbolt—his personality, his memories, his voice—it’s all on this sphere chipboard. It was incredibly smart of him to remove this before they took him.”

“So what they have is useless, then?” Orion asked. “His body? It’s just an empty shell?”

“Well, they might be able to get some random information from it, but that’s all. Anything they do to it won’t hurt Scatterbolt—for all intents and purposes, I’m holding Scatterbolt right here. The only bad news is that Bolt is currently without a body. It’s gonna take me a while to make a new one.”

“That’s okay, take as much time as you need. Just try and make it exactly like the old one. He’s become, uh, part of our team, you know.”

Wakefield looked for something amid the piles of tools on his workbench. “Yeah, I know, I know. Don’t get all emotional on me.” He found a transparent glass tablet and handed it to Orion. The tablet had a handle on each side, allowing it to be held like a map. “Lucky for us, Scatterbolt’s body also has a tracking device, so whoever took him, you can use this to find them.”

Orion inspected the glass tablet. There was a map on the screen, and a blinking light in the middle of a large landmass, marking the location of Scatterbolt’s body. “Thank you, Wakefield. You have no idea how much this will help.”

Wakefield checked his watch. “Hold onto something.”

Confused, Orion clutched the top of the workbench with both hands. Wakefield stood in a doorway and braced himself.

The repair shop began to rattle. A whistling pierced the air. As Orion’s brain vibrated in his skull and the metal devices and tools on the walls clanged and swayed wildly, a flying train zoomed by the shop, hovering above the train tracks outside and traveling at over 200 miles per hour. When it finally passed and the building stopped shaking, Orion let go of the workbench and regained his footing.

“Why did you move your shop to this place, Wakefield?” he asked, with his eyes wide and his hands on his ears. “I’ll never understand it.”

Wakefield returned to his workbench, as if the earthquake was only a minor delay. “Eh, it’s not so bad. I like being alone. Plus someone has to keep an eye on all these thugs and loonies around here.”

Wakefield began using a small torch to solder the sphere under the magnifying glass, so Orion walked around the workshop. A framed picture on a shelf caught his eye.

It was an old magazine cover. The colorful image showed Orion, Tobin’s father, and Wakefield, appearing to be in their early thirties, and dressed in costume. Wakefield, much thinner and with a full head of hair, looked especially young, with black welder’s goggles on his eyes and a belt across his waist with mechanical devices and tools hanging from it. The headline read:

THE INVENTOR HELPS THE GUARDIANS SAVE QUANTUM CITY!

“Fifty years ago we offered you a spot on our team,” Orion said, “and fifty years later, you’re still saying no.”

Wakefield shrugged off the memory. “I work much better on my own than I ever did with any team. Don’t know why, just do.” The short, balding man sat down at the workbench. “Ya know, it’s strange you coming to see us. I was just about to send Junior out looking for you.”

“You were? Why?”

Wakefield thought it over. “A bunch of friends of mine that work in the Never-World, they’ve been telling me lately that they’ve been seeing someone walking around in the city. Someone we both know.”

“Who?”

Wakefield looked up at Orion. It took him a moment to answer.

“Scott,” he replied. “Tobin’s father.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

F
rom the time that he was ten years old, Marcus Drake had known that he was one of the most important people in the universe.

He was born in an area of Capricious known as Whinland, a place that had traditions and customs that many of the other countries of Capricious considered archaic: when the children of Whinland turned ten years old, they were brought to a secluded academy in the center of the country to determine what the child’s way of life and future would be. Three weeks after his arrival, Marcus had been brought before the instructors and dean of the academy and told his destiny: he was the smartest, strongest, and most athletically gifted student in the history of the school. And, they had told him, those qualities were not even his most impressive: like only a few of the other students at the Whinland Academy for the Future, Marcus was a superpower: by focusing his anger, he was able to transform his body into a red, rhino-skinned giant, making himself even more extraordinary. Marcus was special, and he had a special future waiting for him as one of the leaders of the universe. This leadership position was his gift from the universe itself, and his right—simply because of the traits that had been fated to him.

It was these traits, Marcus had learned at the age of ten, that set him apart from every other student who had ever gone to Whinland Academy—and really, every other person in Capricious. On this day and every other day for the next seven years, Marcus had been told it was his duty and future to be one of the universe’s protectors, because the other, lesser inhabitants of the universe needed him. It was his responsibility—his destiny—to lead the universe to become a safer place. He was, after all, as he was told time and time again, stronger, smarter, and mentally tougher than anyone he knew or would ever know in his lifetime. At the Whinland Academy for the Future, Marcus Drake had learned the lesson that had driven every moment of his life since then: everyone in the universe has a destiny that is set out for them from the moment that they are born. Everything that happens to them is simply prelude and preparation for this destiny, which has already been set. Some children at the Whinland Academy had been destined to become teachers, so they had become teachers. Some were told that they were destined to be bankers, so they had become bankers. It just so happened that Marcus Drake was meant for something more. He was special. He was meant to be a leader. A savior. He was meant to watch over the weak and simple. He was, he had learned three weeks after his tenth birthday, one of the most important people in the history of the universe.

Now, at the age of thirty-three, in the center of Capricious’ most dangerous jungle, Marcus Drake had used the instructions left behind by his mentor and idol Vincent Harris to unearth several gigantic buildings from the ancient ground; the stone beast with the head of an ape, the body of a lion, and the wings of an eagle was now surrounded by seven other stone structures, which were being used as living quarters and training centers for Rigel and his army. A team of Rytonian workers had also cleared out the area’s trees and dense vegetation, and there were now roads and a long runway cutting through the middle of the jungle. This construction had made it much easier to bring supplies, food, and demonic Gore soldiers into the secret headquarters, and especially to its center of operations: the massive, flat-topped, grey pyramid that sat in the middle of the other seven structures.

One of the floors of this gargantuan pyramid was currently housing a science lab, where a team of Capricious’ most brilliant scientists were working all hours of the day to try and solve the complicated technological puzzle of Scatterbolt. On a long table in the center of the room, the robot’s empty body was lying under constant observation, with its wires and power-cells connected to dozens of computers set up around the lab.

“Well?” Rigel asked. He was standing over the shoulder of one of the scientists. “What have you found?”

The scientist adjusted his glasses as he inspected a monitor; it was displaying a constant stream of information being emitted by Scatterbolt’s insides. “A lot of spare data, but nothing significant. It mostly seems to be historical stuff—this thing must have read over a million books, and we can’t get through—”

Rigel grunted. “‘Historical stuff?’ Your life depends on what you find here, and all you can tell me is that you’ve found ‘historical stuff?’”

“We—we’re looking, sir, it’s just that—”

Rigel leaned down, inches from the scientist’s face. “You haven’t found a single mention of the Daybreaker or how to find him?”

The scientist pressed his back against the wall and turned his head. “No, no, not yet, but we are—”

Rigel walked away. “I’ll be back in an hour. Find something.”

As the red giant stomped out of the lab, the scientist dropped his shoulders and let out a relieved sigh.

In the pyramid hallway, Rigel was joined by Adrianna and Nova, and the three of them walked toward the building’s command center in the center of the headquarters. It was a large, open, foyer-like area, where one could look up and see the other floors of the pyramid, all the way to the flat top of the structure.

“I know I’m kinda new at this stuff,” Adrianna said, “but kidnapping the best scientists on Capricious and forcing them to work for you? Isn’t that a little...blatant?”

“We need to examine the data from the robot,” Rigel said. “He could be the key to finding the Daybreaker.”

“I know, but don’t you think we could be risking being found out, since we—”

Rigel stood in front of Adrianna. “I’m sensing some doubts.”

Adrianna looked up at him. “No, I just don’t think it’s smart to—”

“If you are faltering in your commitment to the Rantamede,” Rigel said, “please let me know.”

“No.” Adrianna was nervous. “I just want what is best. I don’t want to expose ourselves if we don’t need to.”

Rigel stared at Adrianna, then turned to Nova.

“You said there was someone here who wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” Nova replied. “Right this way.”

Nova opened the door to the command center. The shortest of the punks from Jesse’s Place—the saloon in the Never-World—was sitting in a chair, and standing on either side of him there were two green-skinned Rytonian guards. The punk was bandaged and bruised from his fight with Junior.

“Who are you?” Rigel asked. “What do you want?”

“You’re looking for Strike and his pals, right?” the punk replied. “Well, I know exactly where they are.”

In the workshop of Wakefield & Son’s, Orion was staring at Wakefield, with his mind racing.

“People have been seeing Scott?” Orion asked. He looked into the shop’s lobby to make sure Tobin and Keplar couldn’t hear them. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said,” Wakefield replied. “People I know—people we both know from the old days—they say they’ve been seeing Scott wandering around the Never-World. A couple of ’em have even tried to speak with him, but he has no idea who they are. He doesn’t even know who he is—he’s just wandering around, lost.”

Orion’s eyes darted around the floor. “That’s impossible, Wakefield.”

“I know, I think so, too, but I just wanted to let you know. He was last seen down near the mines around the Shadow Ocean, looking for work, so I thought you’d at least want to go down there and see for yourself. It’s gotta be a mistake, but if it’s not…I’m sure he needs our help.”

The next morning, Tobin and Keplar were back on the other side of the Shadow Ocean, ready to take off in the Sky-Blade. Keplar was readying the ship’s controls in the cockpit, while Tobin was standing in the cabin and talking on a walkie-talkie.

“You sure about this, O? You aren’t gonna come with us?”

Orion was still in the Never-World, standing outside Wakefield’s repair shop.

“Yes, I’m sure, Tobin,” the old man said into his own walkie-talkie. “You and Keplar use Scatterbolt’s homing device and find where they’ve taken his body. I have some...other things I need to attend to here in the Never-World, but I’ll catch up with you when I can.”

“Okay,” Tobin said into his walkie-talkie, “but one more thing.” The boy looked across the cabin; Junior was sitting in a seat by himself near the back of the ship. Tobin pushed the button on his walkie-talkie and whispered. “You sure Junior isn’t gonna, like, kill us?”

Orion laughed. “Yes, Tobin. Junior is gonna give you a hand. He knows the area on the tablet map very well, and you’ll need all the help you can get.”

Tobin walked into the cockpit. “Okay, if you say so. Later, Orion.” The boy turned off the walkie-talkie and turned to Keplar. “So, you know where we’re heading?”

Keplar pointed to the glass tablet map they had received from Wakefield; it was now connected to the Sky-Blade’s dashboard, and the blinking light was showing in the center of a landmass on the eastern section of the map.

“Yup,” the husky said. “Me, you, and Mr. Baldie-McScowl-Face are headed to wonderful, scenic Zanatopia. So sit back and enjoy your flight. Try to not get murdered.”

Walking into the cabin, Tobin buckled himself into a seat across from Junior. The bald man was holding what looked like a bag of red licorice; as he nervously snapped off pieces of the candy with his teeth, he was looking around at the cabin’s ceiling and walls. Tobin smiled at him awkwardly.

“Hi,” Tobin said.

“Hi.”

The boy looked at the bag of licorice. “Are you eating candy?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I always eat candy when I fly.”

“Oh.”

A silence.

Junior held out the bag. “Want a piece?”

“Sure.” Tobin took a piece.

Junior looked into the cockpit. “So...are you sure this thing’s safe?”

“Oh yeah,” Tobin said. “Definitely. I’ve flown in it a hundred times.”

“Good.”

The ship’s engines turned on, and Junior jumped and gripped his armrests.

Tobin smirked and furrowed his brow. “Are you afraid of flying?”

The ship ascended into the sky and Junior’s hands darted to his chest and clutched his seat belt.

“No,” the bald man replied.

Tobin smiled. “That’s funny—a guy who makes robots is afraid of flying.”

“Why is that funny?” Junior snarled, with his teeth clenched and beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

“Just is,” Tobin replied with a grin, chomping a piece of licorice.