No Passengers Beyond This Point (10 page)

Why doesn’t my cool mom do something?

She’s standing there watching, twiddling her fingers in a twinkling wave, as my whole body gets sucked down through darkness, a black hole, a tunnel. My hand hits the side, bends my fingers back, my ankle bone bonks the wall, and a sharp pain pierces my foot as I speed downward unable to stop myself.

Instinctively I roll up in a cannonball, my arms protecting my head. Now I’m spinning faster and faster. My legs are tucked tightly, I’m gripping my ankles. I can’t see anything but endless black and black and black as I hurl down. Ohmygod maybe I’m blind. I will get sunglasses. I want to be the kind of blind person who wears sunglasses, I think as I spin down and down, until at last I see a perfect circle of light that slowly grows. My world flashes light for one blinding second, before I hit hard.

B
efore I leave my dream home, my dad guy has me sign a stack of papers. Each page says more or less the same thing.
I, Finn Tompkins, understand under the laws of fair trade that I will be giving up time for information
. I remember my mom said when you buy a house it feels like you’re signing your life away. But I’m not buying a house, so I don’t understand the need for this. The dad guy just says that’s the way they do things here.

When I’m finally finished, I arrange with him to get word to Mouse and India that I’ll meet them later. Then I push the tram icon and the rooms rotate until the station appears.
Next tram to arrive in forty-five seconds,
the blue light flashes. I hear the hum first and then I spot the tram approaching; sleek and fast, silver with sky blue trim and sparkling windows. The tram pulls up, the doors slide open, I wave good-bye to my dad guy and find a seat on a blue leather cushion. The tram is full of people, all in colorful uniforms with cloud patches embroidered with their names. Some are speaking English, some Spanish, some French.

“Next stop, Skyline,” the recorded voice announces. “Restricted area, authorized visitors only.” The voice launches into translations as the tram pulls to a stop in front of a platform with the name Skyline in sky blue on a big station sign.

No passengers get out. Just me.

I take the stairs leading up to a platform with an elevator. According to the sign, the elevator requires my fingerprint to open. They couldn’t possibly have my fingerprint, but when I press my index finger against the pad, the doors slide open.

Weird.

The inside of the elevator is painted like a mural of blue sky, clouds, and birds in flight. The elevator zips upward so quickly it makes my stomach drop. When the doors open to Skyline, I see how high we are. Through the glass windows are real clouds and the tiny city of Falling Bird below.

The room takes up an entire floor. It’s shaped like a cylinder with windows all around and an observation deck. Even the rug is a strange combination of old-fashioned tapestry patterns set into different size circles. There are desks in a ring around the room, with binders and books and computer screens on them. And then out from there are chairs all facing the windows and a vast system of old-fashioned radio switchboards. People with headphones are sitting at some of the radios.

In the very center of the lounge is a huge circular desk where a large man sits. He’s got bulky shoulders, dark skin, and a buzz cut, and he’s wearing an ordinary plaid shirt. He jumps up when he sees me as if I’m the person he’s been waiting for.

“Finn.” He pushes a button that opens a door in his round desk for him to walk through. He extends his big hand to me. “I’m Sparky.”

He has a friendly handshake and welcoming eyes. I like him immediately.

“You’re a guy after my own heart,” Sparky says. “I can’t tell you how rare it is for someone to exchange dreams for information.”

I’m not sure what’s so special about this, but I’m glad he likes me. “Yes, sir,” I say.

“The thinking, the planning, the organizing . . . all quite commendable.”

“And the worrying. Don’t forget that.” I crack a smile.

“You can call it worry or you can call it foresight. Either way there aren’t a lot of twelve-year-old boys who have that skill set. We could really use a sharp young mind like yours around here.”

I shrug. I’m not sure what to say. People don’t usually appreciate this about me. “How do you know so much about my life?” I ask.

“Computer access, manuals, word of mouth.” He points to the stations. “Can’t always keep up with the technology you all have, but we’re good at capturing information.”

“I don’t understand how you could have my fingerprint.”

“Oh, that’s standard stuff. When you push a button in your dream home, your fingerprint is automatically sent to us electronically. The most exciting part of our technology is”—he lowers his voice—“it incorporates the desire component.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means it’s partially powered by what the user wants.” He touches his chest. “In here. Some people call it the heart factor.”

I’m trying to figure out how this could even be possible, when Sparky enters my name on a keyboard.

“Let me show you a few things,” he says.

A picture of my old house pops up on the big screen facing us. Alongside it, my school, my family, and all of my school photos appear.

“The one question I have is why you didn’t go into managing the basketball team. The games never seemed to work for you.”

“I like to play.”

“Ah yes, dreaming is intoxicating, isn’t it? I suppose you want to go home too.”

“Of course.”

“Let me frame the question differently for you. Is Uncle Red’s home?”

I don’t want to talk about this, but he’s waiting for an answer. “I dunno,” I mumble.

“Well look, let’s not waste time here. You’re off the clock right now, but that will change soon enough. Here’s what you need to know. You can come work for me. It’s not Headquarters or anything, but it’s pretty nice up here.

“Or you can attempt the trip to Uncle Red’s. You won’t be given the same amount of time as Mouse and India because of the deal you made, so I’d lay odds for you at . . . well, let me first ask, there wasn’t a cat in your dream house, was there?”

“What difference would that make?”

“Unpredictable element. Skews the statistics.”

“No cat.”

“I didn’t think so. Let me look at you.” He walks in a circle around me, inspecting from every angle. “One in one hundred thousand, given your general physical condition.”

“One in one hundred thousand to get to Uncle Red’s?”

Sparky nods. “Afraid so.”

“What are the odds of getting back there?” I point to my old house on the screen.

He shakes his head. “No chance at all. On the other hand,
this
”—he points at the surrounding room—“is a sure thing. One hundred out of one hundred.

“The journey to Uncle Red’s will be very, very difficult. Actually,
difficult
doesn’t even begin to describe what will be required of you. I wish they could make it easier. People think Headquarters should be able to.” He shrugs. “But they can’t change the laws of nature any more than I can. I’ll do my best, Finn, but if you decide to continue on, there’s not much help I can provide.”

“I don’t understand.”

He nods. “Too much information. It’s the story of my life. Look, just keep this in mind. If you want to take me up on my offer, pick up a white courtesy phone. If the heart factor is in line, the phone will connect automatically to me. But this isn’t a default option. You’ll have to choose while you’re still on the clock. The people on default—” He shakes his head, his lips pursed. “Their hearts aren’t in it.”

I look around for a wall clock, a computer clock, a clock anywhere. “What clock?” I ask.

“The puzzle pieces Chuck gave you . . . When you put them together, Chuck will bring you your clock. The clock will let you know how much time you have to make your decision.”

“About whether to come here or not?”

“Exactly. If you decide you want to travel to Uncle Red’s, you’ll need to find the black box within the allotted time.”

“What black box?”

“The black box is a simple information receptacle. It will tell you precisely what you need to know. The tricky part is locating it. If you’re lucky, you’ll get a tunnel dog to help you. Unfortunately, that whole area is out of my jurisdiction. You’ll have to deal with Francine on that, I’m sorry to say. And she’s not a believer in free will.

“Now, I apologize in advance for the downward motion phase. If you were to decide to opt out right now and come work for me, I could keep you from it.” He pauses hopefully.

I look around at this huge observation room. It is tempting. There’s something about the order here that appeals to me. I would be a step ahead of everything. I could get control in a way that’s simply not possible in ordinary life.

“What about my mom? And Mouse and India?” I try to imagine them up here. Mouse would like it, but I don’t think my mom and India would.

Sparky shakes his neatly-clipped head. “You can only make this decision for yourself, Finn.”

“I’d never see them again?”

“Too many factors are out of our control to safely determine that.”

“No, then?”

“I can’t say, Finn. I can gather information, but I don’t have a crystal ball.”

I nod.

“So what is your decision, Finn Tompkins?”

“I want to stay with my family.”

He sighs and puckers his lip up like a little kid. “I was afraid you’d say that. I hate to have to do this to you, buddy,” he mutters.

“Do what?” I ask.

“There’s no other way.” He squints at me, hesitates for a moment, and then pushes the down key on the keyboard.

A second later I hear a popping sound, like metal rivets being driven somewhere below me. And suddenly the circle of carpet I’m standing on gives way and I’m sucked down into darkness, the wind roaring in my ears.

W
hen I open my eyes, everything aches. Nothing like being dropped from the top of the building, then run over a few times. That’s not what happened, but it’s what it felt like. My body was traveling so fast in that dark chute that when I slammed down onto the road, it hurt like you can’t believe.

I liked Sparky too. Why did he have to push that stupid button? I sure wouldn’t want to do that to anyone.

I’m on a narrow street now—an alley full of shops, one jammed against the next. Each shop has a table in front full of dusty signs taped to the tablecloths and propped up around the table skirts. There don’t seem to be any customers, just shopkeepers and birds. Buzzards, blue jays, crows, canaries, even a parrot white as coconut cake—the birds are everywhere.

I don’t know what the shops are selling. I can’t read the signs through my thumping headache. It feels like the loudest music in the world is playing in my head, but I can only feel the vibration it makes. I can’t hear the sound.

Just moving triggers little waves in my eyes. But after a few minutes of sitting perfectly still, my vision clears and I focus on the signs.
Relive Your Moment
.
Return to the Home of Your Dreams
.
Photos, memories, videos, mementos of your day. Relive Your Day
.
Return to Euphoria.

Trying to figure out what they’re talking about has distracted me from the pain. I’m just wondering if I can stand up, when I see Mouse. She’s piled in a heap at the bottom of another tube a half block away.

“Mouse!” I’m all the way up now, standing in one sudden motion. My vision has gone wobbly again and I feel sick to my stomach. Sharp stabbing pains shoot through my head behind my eyes.

I get to the curb and it all comes up. The apple pie, the French fries, the Philly cheese steak sandwich—all of it in a lumpy, gumpy mess.