Infinity Lost (11 page)

“Everyone, sit down, please,” says Professor Francis. Percy gives him a smile and a nod of thanks before he continues.

“Blackstone Technologies, or ‘Blackstone Tech,’ as we call it around here, is the world leader in cutting-edge, advanced scientific research and development. That’s right, people; this is where we invent it all. You should consider yourselves extremely privileged to be here today. You are only the fourth group to have been granted a tour and the first group of school students ever. I must admit that I was quite surprised to see a high-school tour on my schedule at first, but I don’t doubt for a second that your very influential parents had something to do with that!”

Percy waves his hand dramatically over the model. “Everything you will see today was developed by our scientists and engineers under the guidance of our founder and CEO, the esteemed Dr. Richard Blackstone. I’m sure you all know who he is!”

I know who he is, alright. But then again, I’m his daughter and even I don’t really know who he is at all. It seems everything about him is a secret, and thanks to Jonah that also includes me. I try to shake off the unpleasant thought and focus back on Percy.

“Is Dr. Blackstone here today?” asks Sherrie Polito.

“Well, I’m not at liberty to answer that question,” replies Percy. “But, I do have another little surprise for you.”

Percy leans over, touches the table, and all of a sudden that writhing, hissing sound can be heard whispering beneath the rising volume of the valiant opening notes of a stirring piece of classical music. Everyone turns to look as a white amorphous blob begins forming up from the floor beside a goofily smiling Percy. Higher and higher it rises until, after only a few seconds, it has smoothed into a shiny column at least twelve feet tall. Suddenly, as if air is being vacuumed out from inside the shape, it begins tightening into the figure of a giant man, growing taller still as the rousing music gets even louder. The surface of the shape compresses further, and soon the sharp details of a crisp white suit, lustrous, black collared shirt, and bold red tie have adorned the growing effigy. Flesh tones and details flush into the statue’s hands and face as eyes and eyebrows, lips, a moustache, and neatly trimmed and combed jet-black hair morph onto the towering, now fifteen-foot-tall, hyper-realistic-looking,
unbelievably
egotistical monument of none other than Dr. Blackstone himself.

The huge statue moves, placing its hands on its hips, and, as the music reaches its triumphant climax, it tilts its giant head to stare heroically toward a distant imaginary horizon.

I subtly look around the table. Everyone except me and Bit seems to be awestruck, all of them wide-eyed and smiling up at the ridiculous thing. Even though no one but Bit knows that I’m his daughter, I can’t help but feel incredibly embarrassed. I hope with all my heart that this wasn’t my father’s idea.

Percy looks absolutely chuffed. “Ladies and gentlemen. Scientist. Inventor. Visionary. Philanthropist. Genius. Dr. Richard Blackstone.” Amy Dee and Sherrie Polito actually start applauding. With obvious enthusiasm, Percy presses the edge of the table again and the music resumes, a softer piece this time, full of gentle reverence. The statue’s arms dramatically sweep open, looking out over us as if it were addressing a thronging audience of fervent admirers as it begins to speak.

“Everything in our wonderful reality is connected. If you could look closely enough, down to the smallest parts, you would discover that you’re made of the same things that your toaster or an elephant or a neutron star or a bacterium or a lobster or a cheesecake or a dandelion is made of. Like infinitesimally tiny ballerinas, these unimaginably small parts make everything that exists by dancing to the infinite myriad of symphonies played by our wondrous universe. Just take a moment, and imagine the endless miracles we can achieve when humankind is finally able to wave the very baton of creation and conduct the music of the cosmic orchestra of reality itself.”

The music ends and Amy and Sherrie start clapping again; this time they’re joined by Jennifer, Karla, Miss Cole, and Professor Francis, all of whom are smiling and nodding and fawning up at the statue of my father which, to my relief, is very slowly reverting to a blob and sinking back down into the floor.

Percy holds his hand over his heart and sighs. “That gets me every time. Anyway, where were we? Oh yes . . . we are currently inside Dome One, the main dome.” With another press of the table, little glowing holographic labels blink on all over the three-dimensional map, hovering and slowly rotating above every structure in front of us. I notice Bit suddenly take a new and special interest in the map. I can see her scanning the tabletop, mentally noting the labels and their corresponding buildings as her finger, poised by her glasses, makes little pecks at the air, pointing from one tiny floating signpost to the next.

“This is where most of the computer-controlled constructs are created,” says Percy. “Things such as the jungle and the sports stadium and the tyrannosaurus you saw earlier. And, of course, slightly less exciting things like this table and these chairs.”

Jennifer’s hand shoots up.

“A question?” asks Percy.

“What are the constructs made of?” Jennifer asks, scratching at the edge of the table with her fingernail.

“That’s a very good question. Does anyone hazard a guess?” Percy asks, scanning the group.

“Holograms,” blurts Brody.

“That’s a good guess,” says Percy. “But incorrect. As I’m sure you know, holograms are merely projections of light. Constructs have weight and physical mass. Anyone else?”

“Some kind of force field?” asks Ashley Farver.

“That’s a good guess, too, but not quite right I’m afraid.”

“What do you think, Finn?” Ryan whispers to me.

“I dunno,” I whisper with a shrug. “Maybe . . . nano grains?”

“Who said that? Was that you, Miss Brogan?” asks Percy. Everyone turns to look at me. “Did you say . . . nano grains?”

I nod sheepishly.

“That is a very good guess indeed! How do you know about nano grains?”

“Ah, I must have read it somewhere? On a science site or something, I think.” For someone who couldn’t lie her way out of a paper bag, I seem to do it quite often.

Percy raises his eyebrows and nods. “Like I said, very good guess. Unfortunately, still incorrect.”

Margaux smiles and snorts in my direction, obviously delighted that I got it wrong.

“They are actually formed from a meta-material that is made up of incredibly tiny separate pieces called quantum grains. Miss Brogan was almost right. Nano grains were the predecessors of quantum grains. We’ve improved them quite a lot since then. Basically, quantum grains are like itsy-bitsy building blocks. When they’re combined with billions of shifting magnetic microfields and the correct program, the computer can construct realistic simulations of almost anything. The potential applications of this technology, once perfected, are endless.”

“Mr. Blake? Was that silver woman in the jungle made of quantum grains, too?” asks Jennifer.

“Please, call me Percy. Silver woman? Oh, you must have seen a DT, a Drone Template. No, they are worker robots. Similar to the ones you might have at home tending your garden, only much, much more advanced.”

“Why isn’t everything in the world made of quanty grains?” Brody asks loudly, his hand in the air like a flagpole. “I would totally make thirty awesome cars for myself and a smoking-hot girlfriend.”

A few people chuckle at Brody’s comment, and Brent high-fives him.

“That would be nice,” says Percy, his perfect white teeth fixed in a grin. “Unfortunately, for the meantime, the constructs can only be created within the circular boundaries of the three domes we have, and a few small restricted research, construction, and medical areas dotted throughout the rest of the complex. The constructs require massive computer-processing power, you see, and the only computer in the whole world that is powerful enough to handle the task is right here at Blackstone Technologies. Computer, say hello to our guests.”

Suddenly a calm, deep, very familiar voice emanates down from overhead.

“Hello and welcome to Blackstone Technologies.”

Everyone looks around in surprise, but I instantly smile upward into the darkness. It’s Onix! I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me before! It makes perfect sense that Onix is here. He is a Blackstone computer system, after all. I suddenly feel protected and safe knowing that someone I trust is up above watching over me. I better not say hello to him right now, though. That might create more questions than I’m willing to answer.

“Computer, smoking-hot girlfriend, please. Brunette with long legs, wearing a bikini!” Brody shouts up into the darkness.

“Make mine a redhead,” Brent says, prompting an icy glare from Margaux and muted laughs from around the table.

“Sorry, boys,” Percy chides. “The computer and the DTs only take orders if you’re wearing one of these.” He pulls back his sleeve to reveal a thick silver band with a Blackstone diamond logo on it fastened around his wrist.

“It’s called a command module. It relays my voice to the computer and the Drones, and also doubles as quite a stylish watch.” Percy touches the band and little green glowing numbers project from the black diamond, hovering just above it. “Mercy, look at the time! Any other questions will have to wait until later, I’m afraid. Please stand back from the table everyone.”

We all get up, and with another push of a button there’s a quiet hissing sound as the 3-D model of Blackstone Technologies instantly melts flat as the table, and all fifteen chairs slowly dissolve back down into the dark gray floor. Margaux stares longingly at the tiles, no doubt wondering where in the world her precious phone might be by now.

“Now, if you will all follow me out of Dome One, we’ll make our way through to the laboratory sector,” says Percy.

“Can we have one more construct before we go, please?” Millie interrupts.

“Yeah, can we?” chirps Amy Dee.

Percy checks his wrist again.

“Yeah, one more, one more, one more,” chants Brody, pumping his fist in the air.

“Well . . . alright,” Percy says with a grin and a wink. “I think we might have just enough time for one more. Any suggestions?”

Almost everyone shoots their hands into the air.

“Miss Cole?” Percy says smiling, revealing his perfectly straight rows of pearly-white teeth. “How about you?”

“Me?” she says, completely surprised. She hadn’t even raised her hand. “Oh no, not me. I wouldn’t know where to start.” Margaux and Millie stare wide-eyed in obvious disbelief that Miss Cole would pass up an opportunity as cool as this.

“There must be something you’ve always imagined doing?” asks Percy.

“Well, I have always liked . . . pirates,” Miss Cole says shyly.

“Well, what a coincidence. So have I!” exclaims Percy. “I have just the thing for you. Everyone come forward, that’s right, bunch together, please. That’s good, now stay exactly where you are.” There’s an undeniable look of excitement on Percy’s face, his big blue eyes are sparkling, and his game-show-host smile is even wider and whiter than before.

“I think you’re all going to like this.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Percy stands straight and proud as if he’s about to announce an important decree from the peak of a mountain. “Computer, initiate Seven Seas construct Blake fourteen.”

There’s a tone of acknowledgment, and all the lights in the clearing immediately extinguish, plunging us into total darkness.

Miss Cole squeals. I feel Bit fumble in the dark in my direction until she finds the sleeve of my blazer. She grabs on to me and pulls me closer. I don’t really like being touched, but I know how easily frightened Bit can get sometimes, so I decide to let it slide.

“Everyone stay exactly where you are,” Percy reminds us again from somewhere in the darkness. Bit and I stay rooted to the spot. There’s that hissing sound again. It’s much louder this time, though. I know that it’s the sound of something being quantum constructed, but it’s so dark I can’t even see my hand in front of my face, let alone whatever it is that Onix is forming around us.

Suddenly there’s a deep rolling, rippling echo in the distance. It’s unmistakable. It’s the magnificent rumble of powerful storm clouds churning chaos overhead, undulating and ominous. I hear the thunder swelling and boiling in the pitch-black sky and a shiver of excitement runs down my spine. It must be some kind of clever acoustic trick, because it sounds like it’s coming from so far away. I stare in its direction, waiting for a flash. Just when I think one will come, the rippling echoes wane and lull before slowly gathering and building again, brewing high and heavy in the vast expanse of darkness above us. The hissing hasn’t stopped. In fact, it’s getting louder. And louder. It’s not even a hiss anymore. It sounds more like water. Tons of water. I breathe deeply through my nose and marvel at the unmistakable briny scent of the ocean. That’s the moment when the ground moves under our feet.

“Whoa!” Bit shouts from beside me. There’s another screech from behind; I can’t tell who it’s from.

The floor moves up. Then drops. Then up again. It’s not enough to tip me and Bit over, but it feels extremely strange. A strong wind gusts out of nowhere and whips around us; sea spray speckles cold against my cheek. Bit grips me tighter and my heart beats faster. I’m looking all around now, searching for any source of light when suddenly, with an almighty thunderclap, a thick twisting bolt of lightning sears through the darkness, instantly illuminating everyone and everything around us with a bright-white flash. I quickly take in our surroundings and find, to my astonishment, that we are all standing on the uppermost deck of a swaying sailing ship in the middle of a deep dark sea. All around us is expansive ocean. For as far as I can see, there’s black water rolling and crashing, breaking and foaming with high, white-crested peaks against the side of the ship as it cuts through the water.

It’s incredible.

Even though I know that none of this is real, everything looks and feels so convincing, from the boards beneath our feet, to the wooden ship’s wheel secured with a fraying knotted rope ten feet in front of us. There’s another thunderclap overhead, another flash, and through the fleeting blue haze of the lightning strike I see the billowing sails high above us. Two thick wooden masts jut skyward, draped with rope webs of netted rigging. Beyond the crow’s nest high above us, tiny flickers of starlight twinkle in the gaps between the electric-sparking charcoal gray of the swollen storm clouds.

“This is amazing!” I shout as the pale-blue light fades to black.

“This is horrible!” Bit shouts back to me.

Suddenly a man’s voice bellows a terrifying war cry from the darkness.

“READY THE CANNONS!”

I don’t scare easily, but I seriously scream my head off. And I’m certainly not the only one who does. Margaux and Millie wail like banshees, I hear Professor Francis yelp like a wounded dog behind us, and there’s a tandem man-scream from who I can only assume are Brent and Brody.

Lightning strikes the top of the main mast and lights up the night, the ship, the sea, and the thick matted beard, leathery skin, and blacker-than-black eyes of a frightening seven-foot-tall pirate. He’s dressed in a weather-beaten, triple-cornered hat, a salt-crusted canvas jacket, dark linen breeches, and knee-high leather bucket boots. A rusty cutlass hangs from his thick black, gold-buckled belt. The pirate captain towers over us like a gnarled giant, staring out over our heads into the ocean beyond with a look of murder in his dark eyes. He doesn’t seem to notice us at all, or even see us for that matter.

Bit started screaming the moment he shouted three seconds ago and she hasn’t stopped. Her arms are wrapped around my waist and she’s squeezing me like she’s trying to extract orange juice.

High in the sky, the wind parts the clouds and the ship is bathed in bright moonlight. I look down onto the lower deck and see that it’s bustling with pirates, hurriedly running back and forth attending to their duties.

“Ready the cannons!” one of them shouts, parroting the large, scary pirate captain’s order.

The pirate captain leers, the glint of a gold tooth peeking out from between his dry, salt-cracked lips.

“If they want t’ take me in . . . they’ll have t’ kill me first,” he says to himself, gravel-voiced, eyes fixed, still staring back out over the stern of the ship. I slowly raise my hand and wave it in front of his face. He looks straight ahead as if I’m invisible. He really can’t see us at all. I follow his gaze, turning my head to look out over the dark ocean. There, in the moonlight, barely a hundred feet behind us, is another ship, almost twice the size of this one. With its massive sails tightened with wind, it bears down on us, its huge red-and-gold bow slicing through the waves as it gets closer and closer with every passing second. It’s so close that every time its bow dips, I can see uniformed men scrambling across its wide deck, pulling on ropes, loading muskets and cannons, and running into position, gripping the rails with one hand, their swords drawn for battle in the other.

“Everyone!” Percy yells over the roar of the writhing ocean. “Make your way to the side if you would like a better view! It’s all quite safe, I assure you!”

Everyone staggers and sways to the railing as the pirate captain shouts down to his men, “READY YOURSELVES, MATES! I’M BRINGIN’ HER ’ROUND!”

I’m at the back of the group closest to the captain. I watch over my shoulder as he draws his cutlass and slices through the frayed rope holding the wheel steady. He jabs the sword into the deck and with both massive hands, heaves the ship’s wheel into a spin. The ship immediately tilts and swerves to the right, cutting a wide, white-foaming curve through the black water. Everyone who can clutches the rail; the rest of us hold desperately on to each other.

“It be a good day to die,” the captain murmurs to himself. I seem to be the only one who hears him. The boys whoop and cheer out across the ocean. I see Ryan gripping the rail. He looks back at me, smiling and laughing.

The other ship is turning now, too. They are circling each other, now about 150 feet apart. Hatches on the side of the larger ship open up, and cannon muzzles begin sprouting along its entire length like a row of iron roses. Over in the distance, I see a man shout a command and suddenly all hell is let loose as the cannons erupt into a fierce barrage of powerful explosions. The surface of the ocean turns bright orange. Barely a split-second later, the side of our ship is violently ripped into splinters. All over the lower deck, pirates are screaming and shouting.

“FIRE!” shouts the pirate captain. Half a dozen cannons boom from the side; some of the cannonballs find their mark, but they don’t do nearly as much damage as the behemoth across the way did with its fearsome barrage. Our little ship is terribly outmatched.

I see the man in the distance shout once more, and with a rolling succession of blasts the cannons on the other ship spit fire again.

Wood chips fly in every direction as cannonballs punch huge holes through the side of our ship. A barefooted pirate dressed in a red-and-white-banded top, blue pants, and a black bandana is standing in the center of the lower deck, pointing and shouting orders. Over on the other ship, the last cannon in the row spews a plume of flame.

Lucky shot or not, the result is the same. The barefoot pirate is halfway through an order when, with a sickening wet smack, a cannonball wipes his head clean off his shoulders.

His freshly decapitated body bizarrely stays standing upright, arm still extended, finger still pointing. A gruesome two seconds later, all of his limbs go dead-weight loose. His legs buckle and he drops to his knees as a thick squirt of blood fountains from his tattered neck stump; it spurts high into the air before fanning into a wide spray as his limp body topples backward onto a pile of rolled rope.

Sherrie Polito screams at the top of her lungs.

Professor Francis quickly turns to Percy. “Thank you for the demonstration!” he shouts over the return cannon fire. “But I think that’s quite enough for today!”

“Oh, dear me! Of course, Professor, I do apologize! I forgot that this battle is not exactly PG!” Percy replies. He lifts his wrist to his mouth and shouts into his silver bracelet. “Computer, freeze construct!” There’s a loud, resounding tone and everything goes deathly silent. Everything except for Sherrie’s sobbing.

I look out over the ocean. The silent water is completely still, like a detailed three-dimensional photograph. The pirates down on the damaged deck are frozen in half-stride, the panicked looks on their faces stuck and unmoving like so many wax statues.

The captain standing beside us is as still as stone, his hate-filled eyes fixed angrily on the enemy vessel across the water. Even the glowing yellow fire-bursts of the cannons are stopped in time, cannonballs hanging in midair just beyond them.

Sherrie has gone from sobbing to a labored wheezing. “She’s asthmatic!” screeches Ashley Farver. “She’s having an asthma attack!” Sherrie desperately claws at her blazer pockets and after a few seconds begins to panic. “She must have left her inhaler at school!” screams Ashley.

“Oh dear.” Percy raises his wrist to his lips with panicked urgency. “Computer: medical emergency protocol epsilon.”

Over in the corner of the upper deck, a white hospital bed on a rectangle patch of gray tiles suddenly molds itself up from the boards. Ashley helps Sherrie over to it and she lies down, still gasping for breath.

“I’ll take her down to Nurse Talbot. I shouldn’t be long; feel free to look around but please stay on the ship until I get back,” Percy says, trotting over to the bed. “Hold on, girls.” He presses a spot on the edge of the bed and Sherrie, Ashley, and Percy lower through the deck and disappear from sight as the bed-shaped hole in the deck molds itself over with boards once again.

“Cool,” Dean says, making for the stairs. “I’m gonna go look at that headless guy.”

“Wait up,” says Brody, jogging after him, closely followed by Brent and Ryan. Eventually everyone meanders down the stairs to get a closer look at all the carnage while they can. Professor Francis and Miss Cole follow after them all, to make sure they don’t get into too much trouble, I suspect, leaving just me and Bit on the upper deck.

“I’d like to get a closer look at that frozen cannon fire. The tech here is mind-blowing! Are you coming, Finn?”

“Sure, I’ll meet you down there in a minute. I just wanna . . . look at the ocean for a little while.”

Bit gives me a confused look. “Ohhh-kaaay? You really are weird sometimes y’know.”

I give her a little smile as she turns and walks down the stairs.

I wait until she’s out of sight and then walk over to the rail at the far stern of the ship. I check over my shoulder one last time, just to make sure no one is in earshot before I lean over the rail and whisper out over the ocean.

“Onix? Hello? Can you hear me, Onix?”

There’s no answer. Try something else.

“Onix. It’s me, Finn. I know you’re there. I heard your voice at the conference table.”

There’s still no answer. Maybe I have to be formal. He is at work, after all.

“Onix, verify voice command authority Infinity One.”

Still nothing.

“Onix can’t hear you, child,” whispers a graveled voice, and my whole body twitches as a cold shiver runs down my spine. I spin around to see exactly what I expected. I’m alone. There’s no one up here but me. No one but me and that angry, black-eyed pirate construct.

I stare at it. It’s still frozen to the spot. I walk over to it and look up into its eyes. They’re motionless. Lifeless.

I ball up a fist and knock on its chin with my knuckles. It thuds like a wooden statue. I must be imagining things. My mind is obviously playing tricks on me.

I walk back to the railing and whisper out over the ocean again, “Onix? Answer me, it’s Finn. Onix?”

“There’s no use, child,” the voice says again, and I jump in my skin. I definitely heard it that time. I spin around and gasp out loud as I find, to my absolute horror, six inches from my nose, the snarling face of the huge pirate captain bearing down on me like a monster ripped straight from a nightmare. I’m frozen in shock as he stares into my eyes. His glare begins moving, roving all over my face, studying my features intently.

“I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw you here,” he says, grinning horribly.

What the hell is happening? The scream is barely forming in my lungs when his arm becomes a blur, violently jarring my head back as he catches his massive hand around my throat, choking my cry from escaping.

I grab his wrist with both hands and struggle to get free, but it’s hopeless. He’s far too strong. His arm is like wrought iron. He easily lifts me off the ground by my neck, my legs dangling beneath me. I choke and heave, desperate for air as he throttles me. I kick at his groin as hard as I can but it has absolutely no effect at all. “Help me, someone . . . help me, Onix,” I gasp, my words nothing more than feeble breathless whispers.

He smiles a dirty, gold-toothed leer. “Onix can’t hear you, Infinity, can’t see you, either . . . can’t help you now.”

My mind is overflowing with fear. How does he know my name?! Blood is pulsing in my temples. My eyes bulge in my skull. My lips are stretched back thin over my clenched teeth.