Alex Reynard
The Library
Alex Reynard's Online Books
CHAPTERFORTYONE
It cannot be understated how acutely aware the residents of Bigwheel 51 are that they are just one thin level away from the penthouse. Consequently, they try everything possible to outdo 52 in terms of glamour and finery, and the whole of their Bigwheel reeks of trying too hard. Case in point: the thing Gyre 2 was just about to crash into next.
Thousands of faces looked up as a huge spinning coin fell out of the sky,. Debris, ash, and limbs showered down. Directly below was one of the most outlandishly ostentatious fixtures of a city already famous for them. The Gold Fountain. This fountain was not made of gold; the "water" in it was. Superheated molten gold, spraying 24 hours a day into a sparkling plume that dazzled citizens year round. Yes, there were occasional complaints about children crawling up into it and getting burned alive in seconds, but que sera sera.
Gyre 2 was about to introduce itself to this gilded amusement, swooping in like a loud drunk at a baptism. The crunch sent a shockwave through 51's Spoke Two that knocked hundreds off their feet. Those who hadn't started running soon enough now howled in agony as molten rain poured down upon them, turning them instantly into golden screaming statues.
The apartment building bounced again, batting a private helicopter out of the sky like a shuttlecock, and came back down to reduce even more of the city to smears of dirt and metal.
Back on 52, Zinc swiveled his eyes around 360, looking for... "Great, they do have 'em up here!" He dashed down the street, letting the others follow, headed for a hovering screen a few blocks away.
To help Ectopians navigate their constantly-shifting environment, Route Finders were placed all around the city. The ones in 52 were fancier, but still worked the same. Zinc was happy to realize this as he skidded up in front of it. Like in a mall, it showed a map of the immediate area with 'You Are Here' indicated in yellow. Zinc plunked about five seconds' worth of willpower into the slot and the map lit up.
"Rippingbean & Woofingbutter's!" he shouted. He was panting a little, finally realizing how hard he'd been running a moment ago.
Various routes to elevators and slapstations appeared, along with the prompt for 'Edgejump'.
Zinc stabbed the option so hard his wrench went right through the holographic screen.
The others arrived in time to see a glowing red line, like a liquid laser, pour out of the bottom of the map and go running down the street. Zinc's wrench grabbed Toby's shoulder. "C'mon! Hate to do this to you, but nothin's quicker than an edgejump."
Toby wanted to pretend he didn't know what that was, but the term was too unmistakable. And he couldn't argue with it. What could get them to their destination faster than gravity? For a moment he was surprised the map would offer such an option, but then he thought that, in a city that didn't believe in guardrails, why not? "So do we just jump to our death or will there be something to land on?"
"Nothing any softer than concrete," Zinc said.
Toby replied honestly, "I don't know if I'll be able to make myself do that."
Junella was right behind him, still remembering how he'd bossed her around a moment ago. "Nothing to worry about, Fearless Leader. My boot on your ass'll make the choice for you."
Below came sounds of carnage. Block 2C was now dented and splashed with shining gold. More crimson was added to Gyre 2's color scheme with every pass over a slow pedestrian. The wheel had landed in a bad place: another shopping district, far more crowded than the last. The little coffeeshops and shoe stores offered no resistance to Gyre 2's tonnage. Even Guard Station 17 folded like a house of graham crackers. One guard stood in the middle of the street firing round after round from his sidearm at the onrushing wheel. Whether he was trying to make it stop or just taking out his anger on it, no one knew, because he was squashed like a bug seconds later.
Oh my, was there ever looting. Not only were dozens of people already scavenging the rubble on 52 and carrying away jewelry, phones, magic items, and weaponry, but back at the cracked imaginite storage silo, people were going insane. Hooting, maddened Ectopians were filling their shirtfronts and purses with shimmering chunks, scattering in all directions so the guardsmen couldn't nightstick their skulls in. One feline fellow somehow managed to acquire a wheelbarrow. The guardsmen ensured he did not get far with it.
As if drawn in highlighter, the red line from the Route Finder streaked onwards towards the edge of Spoke Five. Toby was staggered by the sight of the expanse between spokes. It was one thing to be told this city had no guardrails, another to see proof of it. Grass and sidewalk reached right up to touch the nothingness. The drop seemed to suck him in. Just the twelve-foot-thick arm of metal he was standing on, several tons of air, and then a counter-rotating Bigwheel ninety feet below. With 52's illusory atmosphere gone kaput, high winds were let in that tried maliciously to shove him towards that plunge.
The red line stopped at the very edge where similarly-colored numbers were counting down: one minute and four seconds left. Zinc called out to Toby. "See that? When it gets to zero, we jump. We'll sail clear down to 48 and either land on Rippy 'n Woofy's roof, or the sidewalk next to it. Quickest way down. You understand, Toby?"
The mouse nodded. "Understanding it, and wanting to do it, are two different things."
Zinc did something wholly unexpected and hugged his client. Toby blinked as he felt his face pressed into his leather jacket. "But you will. I can already see it in your eyes, Toby. Goddamn, you impress me. I thought you'd have run back to the car by now to go shove yourself cowering in the glove compartment."
"I want to. I very much want to."
Zinc pulled back to look in the mouse's coral-colored eyes. "But you won't. You're a fraidy cat, Toby, but you're fully stocked on loyalty. I admire that. Really. I didn't expect it from you at first."
The mouse was speechless. He couldn't express how much it touched him to hear that.
But the screams and fire down below reminded him of why they were doing this in the first place.
Having a purpose outside of himself helped to distract from the terror. The buzzy, soupy, unreal feeling in his brain was holding out, but not for long. It was giving him the false courage of someone convinced their actions are merely a vivid dream. And knowing that more people would suffer as the seconds ticked by unless he and his friends did something about it helped to squeeze a bit more longevity out of that faux-valor.
Toby watched the red seconds count down.
Piffle came up behind him to squeeze his shoulders. "How's tricks, 'cuz?" she asked gently.
"Couldn't be better," he said, voice cracking.
05...04...03...02...01
Junella Brox did not make threats idly. She raised up her booted foot and sent Toby sailing over the edge. She allowed a giggle at his scream, then hopped off after him.
George, Zinc and Piffle followed. Good thing too, since the few guardsmen that had recovered their wits enough to start chasing the terrorists who had been seen fleeing Gyre 2 would have caught up with them in another few minutes.
The Route Finders were popular because they were programmed so damn well. They calculated time, place, rotation and velocity so precisely that, if you followed the countdown exactly, there was a 99% chance you would splash down at your desired destination. A longer fall sometimes required a stopover in another wheel, but as soon as you revived, the red line would direct you to your next jump. Comparatively, going down a mere four Bigwheels was a piece of cake. On 52, the red line blinked out of sight, but not before spelling out, 'Have A Nice Day'.
Falling. Plummeting so fast it felt like the air was peeling off his skin. Toby's eyes watered as he kept them clamped shut. His whole body was clenched up like a packed snowball. He had no idea when the impact would come. Toby's brain was like a trunk full of broken china tumbling end over end. His rational mind tried to shout down his instinctual panic, which was difficult because, boy did it ever have some volume. He tried to tell himself he was in no real danger, that people died here all the time and it was no big deal, that he himself had died at least three times and was still around to tell the tale. But when panic wants its way, sometimes it gets it no matter what.
George tucked his legs in, streamlining himself, to catch up with his falling master. "Would you like some assistance, Sire?"
Toby made a gurgled yelp.
"I shall take that as a yes." Carefully, he stretched out his neckbones to take Toby's collar between his teeth. The wind was pummeling both of them, and the onrushing colors were not helping his aim. But still, George looked ahead for an opportunity.
The 'whoosh' of onrushing air changed in pitch every time the five plummeters passed by another spoke, sometimes by mere feet. But soon enough, up ahead, the glittering crown of Rippingbean & Woofingbutter's Survival Emporium sparkled as if to welcome them.
Teeth clenched tight, George swung his curled up master back and forth, building up momentum. At just the right moment, he snapped his head and let go, sending Toby tumbling straight up.
It was enough to cancel a nice amount of his downward energy. Toby had no idea what the hell was going on, until he landed, still alive, on something surprisingly soft.
George had about three-quarters of a second to appreciate his fine shot before smashing into the silver pyramid atop RB&WB's roof, making lightbulbs explode and sending chunks of splintered black bone in every direction.
Zinc landed on a fire hydrant. The results were too gruesome to describe.
Junella stared ahead at the onrushing asphalt with her eyes held open, a rictus of defiance on her face. Ready to face physical annihilation for the umpteenth time. And then, just a few feet from the street, something yanked her ankle. She looked up through her legs to see Piffle holding on with both paws, wings a-blur.
"Gotcha!" she said with a great big smile.
'Damn. Now I have to thank her,' Junella internally grumbled.
Toby dared to peek at his surroundings and found himself in a dumpster behind the store. Simple fear of germs knocked his fear of falling away as he scrambled to get himself out. His feet weren't making too much traction on the squishy, soft bags he'd landed on. And the smell confused him. Shouldn't it have been worse? He looked down to realize he'd landed on half a dozen trash bags full of freshly baked bread. Some of them had split open and the loaves were spilling out. He didn't have time to guess what the heck they were doing here, because strong vinyl arms gave him a yank.
"No time for a nap, o valued client," Junella sang acid-sweetly. "And don't expect me to apologize for kicking your ass."
Toby flicked crumbs off his clothes. "You did give me fair warning." He wondered why he wasn't a gibbering mess after falling four levels and inexplicably surviving via bread, but that disconnected fog around his perceptions let him know he was still firmly in the land of shellshock.
Junella and Piffle guided him around to the front of the building just in time to see Zinc's foot kick open the front door hard enough to shatter it. The canine barreled out of the building with five or six security guards chasing after him. Their tazersticks were brandished and sparking.
"I'm really sorry!!" he hollered. "Put it on my tab! The door too!"
George picked a really good time to get himself together and drop down from the roof, because the sight of his sudden landing made the security guards shriek and retreat like panicked penguins.
"Nice timing!" Zinc complimented.
Junella ran up. "Got the potion?"
Zinc held up two glass bottles, each held delicately between the clamps of his wrenches. "And a spare just in case!"
Not wasting any time, Junella snatched both of them out of his grip and tossed one immediately to Piffle. "Make those pockets useful. Might need it later."
"Aye aye!" Piffle replied.
Junella whirled around to George, "Normally the effects of these are random. So you gotta concentrate on what you wanna be as hard as you possibly can, got that!?"
"Absolutely!
Then she chucked the bottle at him hard enough to shatter, figuring he wouldn't mind.
And he didn't. The magic liquid took hold of him and, within moments, his calcium and marrow were replaced by copper and tin. The potion ensnared him, remolding him like a pair of giant play-doh-crushing hands. It only took a second. Once again he was a mechanical parrot. But this time, he'd managed to maintain enough force of will to keep the transformation from affecting his size. Larger wings meant faster flight.
Toby blinked at seeing a horse-sized toy parrot appear in front of him.
George wriggled his new body around, getting used to it again, as he addressed his friends. "My plan is to fly out past the city and observe the apartment wheel. It may simply stop on its own, but we cannot count on that. I will look for anything we might be able to place in its path to divert its course."
"What do you mean, 'place'?" Junella asked.
"I think he means we're gonna have to drop a building in front of it like a penny on the tracks," Zinc replied.
George nodded. He spread his creaking, clanking wings. "If I calculate a course of action, I will return to you and relay instructions."
Zinc knew there was no time for that. Luckily, he and Juney had tried this trick before: he reached up and ripped off one of his own ears. "Catch, Georgie."
The parrot speared it on one of his talons. "Sir Zinc?"
"Now you've got a walkie talkie."
"Oh? Oh! That's very clever, Sir!"
Zinc heard the nightmare's response through both ears, even though one was currently detached.
Needing something to do to feel useful, Junella assumed a pose of leadership. "Allright, everyone! George, get airborne. Just do whatever it is you're gonna do and tell us where to be. I'll make sure we're there. For now, we'd better start running again before those store guards make us pay for the door."
Piffle looked towards the store entrance. The only thing holding back the guards was the tangle of gawking, confused customers. "Good idea!"
Junella drew her sword. "CHARGE!!" she rumbled, picking a direction at random.
With a mighty burst of wind, George swept his considerably-improved wingspan down upon the air and pushed off into the sky. His new brass eyes did not change his nightmarish vision, which was good. He would need his senses performing at optimum capacity for what he was about to do. He hoped he had not oversold his ability. If he had, he knew he might be landing his companions in even more trouble than they were already in.
***
Meanwhile, back on 51, a much-beloved chandelier store was being reduced to a glass sandwich by Gyre 2's unceasing footsteps. It all happened in an instant, bulbs shattering, sparks showering, sculpted metal flattening. The owner knelt on the sidewalk and beat his fists bloody against it.
Gyre 2 was not slowing despite the dozens of little toy buildings in its path. They burst like concrete piñatas. An army of looters was now trailing behind it, scavenging in the wake of its passage. Guardsmen herded shoppers, families, and children out of the way. A massive cheer broke out when it became clear the wheel was heading for the edge. But of course, this only meant it was now someone else's problem.
At least the residents of Bigwheel 50 had some warning. Gyre 2 charged over the edge of Spoke Two, sailed across the gap, and ricocheted hard off Spoke Three. It sent up a ringing CLANG that turned every head for a half-mile in its direction.
Then a frozen, silent moment as it fell. And hundreds of citizens held their breath.
Being a round number, Bigwheel Fifty was less a resort for the wealthy, more of a tourist hotspot. Ectopia Cordis' version of Hollywood and New York rolled into one. An arts and entertainment mecca. It was sometimes called the Lighthouse Bulb, since even from the ground there was a noticeably stronger glow than any other level. It was also the Bigwheel with the greatest total population at any given time.
The sea of people turned into a sea of blood as the wheel touched down. It bounced. It slammed. It bounced again. Cameras flashed like twinkling fireflies as world-famous landmarks were clobbered into rubble. The Tenwing Theater. Doreo's Chophouse. The Globe Gallery. The Celestilogicon. Even Saul's Bowling Paradise. All gone in seconds.
Johnny Baba And The Scoundrels were playing to a sellout crowd in Cogsbody Arena. Screaming fans let the pounding drums and sizzling guitars reverberate their guts into rock 'n roll nirvana. Johnny Baba himself looked up past the lip of the open-air stadium and saw Gyre 2 rear its dented, blood-soaked head. He kept on singing, kept on shredding his guitar, and merely glanced between his bandmates. They could have stopped the show, sure. But what fun would that be? Instead, they played harder, louder, drowning out the looming growl of onrushing destruction. As Gyre 2 smashed through the opposite edge of the arena, the band had exactly enough time to come to a blistering, finger-bleeding crescendo. "Goodnight everybody!!!" Johnny Baba bellowed, an instant before he and everyone in rows C through J were churned into raw gore. Those who attended the concert that night said it was the greatest show ever.
***
Soaring, gliding, swooping. Rising over rooftops. Laughing in gravity's face. In his old life as an ordinary nightmare, George had experienced a deep primitive satisfaction from the feeling of control. From his body moving just as he commanded it to, from herding his fleeing prey and teasing them into ambushes. Flight gave him a feeling of control richer than any he'd ever experienced before. To be unrestrained by linear motion, free to move in any direction he chose, was magnificent. If he were to be honest with himself, he was in some small way grateful for the cataclysm of Gyre 2 for giving him the need to drive this strange metal form to its limits.
Ectopians can be a pretty jaded bunch. But still, a parrot the size of a small airplane, flying fast enough to make the air ripple behind it, is something worth a look. Upturned faces swiveled to George's path as he rocketed above the streets of 48. A woman leaned out the window of her revolving apartment and chucked a beer bottle at him. It missed, of course, but George wished he had time to stop and sink his beak into her brains for such an offense.
The everpresent noise of the turning wheels. Down here, these poor people hadn't heard the booms and shouts from the tragedy unfolding above. 'It may be too late to save them,' he thought. But perhaps 46 or 45? He could hope.
He was outside the city now. The night was cold as the ocean, but clear. Good visibility. And the innumerable bright lights on every Bigwheel helped immensely. He flew far enough beyond them to get a good overview of where Gyre 2 was and where it was headed. It wasn't hard to spot, he just had to follow the line of smoke and fire. George's metal eyes focused in. He let his mind take hold of the whole structure of Ectopia Cordis, let himself feel every moving part, foresee the runaway building's path...
The small scrap of skin and cartilage was still held protectively in his grasp. He spoke into it. "Sir Zinc, can you hear me?" He paused, feeling foolish. "...Why am I asking questions? You can't respond."
The ear wiggled.
"You can! Oh, that makes this much easier! One wiggle for yes, two for no. Am I coming through clear?"
A good strong wiggle.
"I am approximately one mile out from the city. I can see everything. I had hoped that my worries would be for nought; that this situation would resolve itself and we need take no action. Not so. Based on all factors, I can see the wheel is gaining momentum. I project it will continue on deeply through the levels, not stopping until the low thirties unless something completely unexpected occurs. If you trust me, I believe our best course of action will be to intercept it on Bigwheel 46, but we have only a short time to act. Am I understood?"
One wiggle.
George plunged back towards the city. "I'm heading back now. Meet me at a point equidistant between the large library and shopping mall on that level. We shall make our decision there."
***
Rolling on, unstoppable.
Tourists clogged the street, scrambling over top of each other to escape the wheel, trampling fingers and faces in their panic to get away. Like crabs clawing over one another to escape a bucket, most of them only succeeded in getting themselves ensnarled and stuck in place. Able only to watch as that circular shadow came closer, closer, closer, until everything was black and the pressure made their skulls into a smear.
Amid all the fire and screams, a little girl sat bawling in the street, still holding her father's hand. The rest of him, and her mother, and her sister, were stuck to the bottom of Block 2E.
***
A glint in the sky. Zinc turned around and started waving his wrenches back and forth above his head, signaling in George for a landing.
Junella had gotten them here just as promised. Waving her cutlass around like a rum-drunk pirate, she'd scared enough people away from the nearest slapstation that she and the others were able to ride it down instead of making another edgejump.
How do slapstations work in reverse? To go up, as you’ll remember, a giant spatula flicks the platform heavenward. To descend, each platform free-falls onto a nozzle which, at just the right time, vents a gout of superconcentrated air: the exhaust of the city's inner workings put to good use. How did Toby like this form of travel? Do you even have to ask?
46 was a moderately well-to-do area, mostly residential. The quartet had positioned themselves, as instructed, between two of this Bigwheel's largest structures. To their right was the Walter Rourke Historical Library. It stretched up almost tall enough to scrape the bottom of Bigwheel 47. It was the largest repository of Phobiopolan literature in all the realm, functioning similarly to Earth's ancient library of Alexandria.
Ten blocks away stood the grand Panjandrum Mall. Somewhat shorter, but also somewhat wider. Acres of commerce, open 24 hours a day. So many shops it would be impossible to see them all in one visit. Some selling only such odd specialties as french toast, popcorn, refrigerator magnets, and glow-in-the-dark objects.
Our heroes were far enough away from the guards to take a breather. They were resting against a wall at the far edge of a barbecue restaurant's parking lot. The smell made Zinc wish they had time to stop in for lunch.
George landed in front of them with a blast of wind and a hearty THUMP. Before anything else, he extended a clawed foot with an ear on it. "Thank you for entrusting this to me, Sir Zinc."
"No sweat," he replied as he clipped it back on.
"What do we do now?" Toby asked George.
"We have a choice," the equine said gravely. "In six minutes, give or take some several seconds, the runaway wheel will fall this way. Onto this approximate area. We are lucky only in that either of these two behemoth structures, if tilted properly, would "catch" the falling wheel and send it skidding either to a stop, hopefully, or off the edge and into the parking lot. Either is preferable to its present course of mayhem."
Junella looked at George with a pinched mouth and a flat, cold glare. "You said, 'tilted properly'." Her tone demanded further explanation.
"Yes, well..." the horse looked to Zinc. Specifically his wrenches. "I had hoped you would have some idea on how to accomplish that."
Zinc's mouth fell open. "Me? Tilt a whole building!?" He smacked his forehead, forgetting he didn't have one, and nearly knocked his eyeballs off. "I mean... I've smashed big shit before, but..." He paused. His mind whirled.
...Could he?
Toby stepped in to take over and let Zinc think. While waiting for George, Zinc had been blowing off nervous energy, telling him and Piffle about their two options. "There's not really a choice here. It has to be the mall," he said.
"Oh really?" Junella said, challengingly. She did not like to be left out of decisions.
For the first time, he looked at her with not a speck of fear or deference in his posture. He thought about his precious bookshelves at home. "People come back to life here, but not property, right? We are not going to destroy all those books. They're important."
He said it with such complete, total, 100% ironclad end-of-discussion finality that Junella simply regarded him a moment, then nodded.
"Mall it is then," Zinc said. He let his eyes travel all the way up to the top of the wheel of capitalism. All that metal. All those tons of concrete. His wrenches felt like q-tips in comparison. "Shame. I like the place. Bought some nice gloves there once."
Piffle walked over to his side. "Can you really do it?"
Zinc's mouth moved and some near-syllables fell out, as he ran through all sorts of things he could reply. "I don't know," was what he finally admitted. His voice was very small.
Toby slugged him on the arm.
Needless to say, this hurt the mouse more than the canine, but it got his attention. "Toby? You got any fingers left after that?"
"Nyehhffffff," Toby hissed as he cradled his paw. "I was trying to give you a motivational punch. Like in locker rooms, on TV."
Zinc giggled.
"Hey, I'm trying to help!" the mouse insisted. "I remember seeing you standing on that table in Dorster's back room, looking like the scariest thing in the world. You looked like some kinda invincible werewolf god! You nearly scared my pants brown! C'mon, you can take on a mall!"
A goofy grin spread across the canine's face while Toby spoke. For a moment there, the enormity of the task had overwhelmed him, made him feel small. But what was hanging at the end of each chain dangling from his shoulder? A little metal ball. Small enough to hold in your hand. And each one could hit with the mass of a white giant sun. At his command.
Zinc roared his engines to life. Blood exhaust sprayed the wall behind him. His fangs glinted.
"I think you're onto something there, Toby-my-boy."
Piffle jumped and clapped to see him in action. "Go, Zinc!"
Junella didn't care about throwing a wet blanket on things, she needed to be sure this was not a fool's errand. "George, how the hell do you know where that wheel's gonna land six minutes from now? How could ANYONE know that? There must be a zillion factors to consider! All the things it could bounce off 'n whatever. It could fall flat and stop in two seconds!"
George disliked being impolite to his friends, but he held a greater dislike for being disbelieved. "Madam. In my past, I have, on many occasions, instinctively calculated the reactions of groups of dozens of fearful, panicked, fleeing people, in order to taunt and catch and murder them. A sentient mind is only moving parts if you can perceive it that way. So is a falling wheel. If I can handle one, please do not doubt that I can handle the other."
The nightmare had spoken softly, but Junella still backed up a step. Internally, she was throwing a roarer of a hissy fit at being dressed down by both George AND Toby within the space of a few seconds. But Junella Brox was a furson who had spent a long time practicing at putting the lid on her tantrums. "Allright," she sang quietly. "What do you need me to do?"
"If I may, partner," Zinc stepped in, emphasizing the importance of that last word, "I'm gonna hafta hammer like hell at that mall's supports. People will probly try to stop me. I'll be in need of some crowd control."
A smile came to Junella's face. Her hand squeezed her sword handle. "That I can do."
George scooped Junella up by the back of her neck and planted her between his wings. "Then we have not much more than five minutes remaining."
"Gotcha, George." The skunk raised her steel high. "ONWARDS!!!"
*****