Chapter Nine
The room where Magnor and Erika arrived was similar to the one they’d left, except for the position of the portal. They were lucky no Trollek guards or human sloggs were present.
Eager to proceed, Magnor dropped Erika’s hand and stepped off the dais. Had they reached the proper location?
He took out his PIP and did a quick calculation. His brow wrinkled into a frown. These numbers didn’t match the coordinates he’d entered on the control panel.
“Give me your backpack,” he told Erika in a terse tone.
“I don’t mind carrying it. Your arm—”
“Is fully healed. Please do as I say.”
“Fine, it’s all yours.” She withdrew her purse before handing him the sack.
He pocketed his PIP, removed his folded cape from the backpack, and then transferred over his supplies from the satchel. After slipping the sack’s straps over his shoulders, he fastened on his cape and sword. His final order of business was to use his phase weapon to vaporize the satchel and empty cylindrical container.
“What are you doing?” Pausing halfway to the exit, Erika gaped at him.
“We’re not in Copenhagen. I don’t want to leave any evidence of our arrival.”
“Then where are we? Could this be one of those Trollek villages you’d mentioned?”
“We appear to be in California.” He strode to the door and cracked it open. “It’s clear. Let’s see why fate has brought us here. If we meet anyone, pretend you’re confounded.”
They proceeded along a corridor and up a flight of steps to a closed door. Boisterous voices sounded from the other side.
Gritting his teeth, he twisted the knob and pushed the door open. They emerged into a lively gift shop crowded with people.
A pretty blond woman gestured to him from behind a sales counter. “Hello, I didn’t expect any others to come through. Are you the last?”
“Yes, mistress.” He bowed his head in obeisance.
She pulled out a ledger. Around them, customers chatted and browsed the souvenirs. Why were they so animated? Were they free from mind control, or had they been instructed to act that way?
His glance rose to a placard above the counter. It gave ticket prices for standard, deluxe, and VIP tours of Kevlin Meyers Studios.
Erika poked him. “Omigosh, we’re in Los Angeles. This is KM Studios.”
“Ah, it’s another theme park.” Enlightenment dawned. The controls back at the portal must have been fixed to these coordinates. But why send people here?
“Please put your index finger into this scanner, and then I’ll issue your tickets,” the attendant said in a flat tone.
When Magnor complied, something scraped his skin. The clerk examined her monitor with narrowed eyes. He hoped the analysis didn’t expose his identity.
“You qualify for the VIP tour. So do you, Miss,” she added after Erika had done the same. “Take these tickets, go outside and find your tram.”
Could selected individuals from the casino be relegated here for further testing? What did it mean to be assigned to the VIP group?
There was only one way to find out.
They jostled their way past racks of logo tee shirts, baseball caps, framed photos of film stars, and other merchandise. Magnor sniffed the aroma of brewed coffee from an adjacent café.
Outside, boarding areas for the different types of tours were identified by signs on posts. He showed their tickets to a man in uniform who swept them onto the rear of a tram. All the other seats were already filled.
“Welcome to the VIP Studio Tour,” their thin-faced male guide said into a microphone as the driver took his seat. “We’ll be going on a two hour journey into the imagination where you’ll see backlot streets, soundstages, crafts shops, and more. If you look sharp, you might even spot a celebrity.”
Magnor adjusted his sword on the narrow seat of the open-air motorized cart that held twelve people. An overhead canopy shaded them from the California sun. No one paid attention to them or noticed his strange garb. The other tourists stared straight ahead with vacant eyes.
Meanwhile, other guests boarded the standard tour tram to their left. This group spoke in loud voices with excited expressions. The men pointed cameras while the women studied guide maps. They appeared to be a normal bunch of tourists.
He squinted at the farthest queue, where there didn’t appear to be a single person under sixty among them. Like the others in his tram, they didn’t react to the bustle around them.
Glancing back, he saw the building they’d come from had been the Tour Center. If he needed to reach the portal again, this would be the place. Curious to see why they’d ended up at this particular locale, he decided to explore before moving on to Copenhagen. Besides, their directive was to destroy any recruitment centers, and that might apply here.
Erika leaned toward him. “Our group looks like they’ve been spellbound. Have you noticed?”
“Yes, and I’m wondering what the purpose of this place might be besides serving as a possible recruitment camp. Let’s see where this tour goes.”
“Our first stop will be Orientation for a brief film on the history of KM Studios,” their guide said before taking a seat.
Their tram zoomed ahead through the main gate leading into the studios. Multi-story brick buildings lined the broad avenue beyond. According to their host, this section served as an inner city street exterior. Magnor marveled at how real it looked with chained trash cans, graffiti-stricken walls and scraggly trees surrounded by wire fencing.
After rounding a corner, they pulled up in front of an old-style cinema. Other trams had stopped here too, ones that must have emptied earlier.
As directed, their group lined up to enter single file. Inside the double doors, a uniformed attendant shook each person’s hand and gave them a set of plastic framed eyeglasses.
“That woman touches everyone who passes through here,” Erika whispered close to his ear. “Are you okay?”
“I believe so.”
They took seats in the darkened theater, whereupon he stole a quick kiss as insurance against the Trollek mind spell.
“Stop it. You’re not supposed to behave that way.”
“You’re right.” He glanced around but the humans on either side of them stared straight ahead. “I don’t see any of the older people here, do you? I wonder where they went.”
A female voice over the loudspeaker system distracted him. “Welcome to KM Studios. Please put on your 3-D glasses and the adventure will begin. This innovative technique brings cutting-edge virtual reality to your studio experience. When you are done, you’ll be ready for the next stop on your tour.”
What? This was some sort of indoctrination? He steeled himself against the possibility that he’d be affected.
“At the conclusion, follow the instructions of the guide on your tram. This person will be your kabak, and you’ll obey his commands. When you leave the studio and return home, resume your normal activities and wait for further orders. In the meantime, tell your friends how much you enjoyed touring KM Studios and encourage them to visit. Now sit back, relax, and enjoy learning about movie-making magic.”
The 3-D film started with a montage of hit movies filmed at the studios then segued into a documentary-style description of the production facilities.
“This historic ninety-acre lot contains twenty-five soundstages, including one with an in-ground water tank that holds up to two million gallons.” Images accompanied the male narrator’s voice. “Our eighteen acre backlot can double for a scene set anywhere, from a tropical rainforest to a bustling urban center.
“KM Studios is a global leader in the creation, production, distribution, licensing, and marketing of creative content and its related businesses, across all media and platforms. Every aspect of the industry is included, from feature films, TV and home entertainment, to DVDs, animation, comic books, and more. Now let’s talk about how it all started.”
Despite his resolve to remain alert, Magnor got drawn into the video. When the film finished, he couldn’t wait to see the production facilities in person. He blinked as the lights went up and the interior brightened.
Outside, his group boarded the tram for the next segment of their tour. They wound through various street sets—a Midwestern town with a white church, a broad New York avenue, an inner city precinct, and a picturesque New England village.
As they trundled down a suburban street that looked so real he could have sworn someone would emerge to cut the grass, he noticed the rear of the structures consisted merely of scaffolding. That’s not the only illusion in this place, he thought with a twisted smile.
Magnor didn’t believe in coincidences. He meant to discover what had brought him and Erika there.
At intersections, they spotted other trams snaking along. Those seemed to hold normal tourists judging from their dynamic expressions and lively voices.
Again, he wondered where the gray-haired group had gone. They weren’t in sight anywhere. Nor did he spot them as their tram stopped at intervals and they got off to walk through cavernous warehouses holding props and costumes or various craft studios.
Their next stop took them onto sets for shows under production. Inside one of the buildings, Erika pointed to a boisterous crowd rounding the corner ahead.
“Look, those folks are on the standard tour. Why haven’t they been confounded?”
“The Trolleks can’t turn everyone who walks through the doors here into mind slaves. This place has to appear legitimate to outsiders. They’re dividing people into three groups. VIP people like us have already been confounded and came through the portal. I’m assuming a preliminary scan at the Viking Vegas Resort shows these people to be candidates for further genetic testing. Hence the finger scrape at the ticket booth.”
“And the others?”
“A certain portion of park visitors is left untouched. Some are probably assigned to a VIP tour to be newly confounded. And older humans are being segregated for unknown reasons.”
He caught a snatch of dialogue from the regular group’s escort, a lean young man in a logo blue polo shirt and navy trousers. His uniform colors matched the trams with their cobalt exteriors.
“Next we’ll view the set for Forensic Times,” the fellow said with a broad gesture. “This show is my personal favorite, and you’ll be the only group to see where they film.”
Magnor’s eyebrows shot up. “Forensic Times! We have to join them. That’s my favorite crime drama.” His mission temporarily forgotten, he grabbed Erika’s hand and tugged her their way.
“What are you doing? The guide will notice our absence.”
“We’ll say we got lost if he catches us. I don’t want to miss this opportunity.”
Erika hurried beside him along a corridor strewn with props. “Are you crazy? This isn’t on our agenda.”
He gave her a chagrined glance. “I have to see this set. It won’t take much of our time. We’ll catch up to our group afterward.”
“You must be an avid fan.” She couldn’t have sounded more astonished if he’d transported her to his planet.
“Why is that so unusual? Isn’t watching television what males do on your world? We should fit right in.”
****
Would wonders ever cease?
Erika kept pace next to him, astounded by his behavior. Her great and mighty warrior liked crime shows on television?
“Why detective stories?” She spied the group ahead just as they disappeared behind a wall that didn’t reach the ceiling. It must be the back end of a set.
Magnor glanced at her with a wry expression. “My people aren’t familiar with a scientific approach to crime. They’ve never heard of trace evidence, fingerprints, or blood spatter. A hearing before the tribal council based on witness reports is considered justice. Many rulings might have gone differently if we’d practiced these techniques.”
“O-kay.” His bitter tone hinted at a personal interest in the subject. So did the hard glint in his eyes, but she’d pursue the topic later.
Meanwhile, she should remind him of their mission. What was it, again? To go to Copenhagen and find some ancient book that would tell him how to destroy the Trolleks? They’d ended up here instead. What other purpose did this movie studio serve besides another place to recruit human mind slaves?
A thrill of excitement shot through her. She’d settled into a reasonable routine in life, hoping to live up to her family’s expectations. But she’d had to suppress her curiosity, the part of her that wanted to discover adventure around the next corner.
Now she had an opportunity to save the world. Had chance brought her to this juncture, or had the quest for more always been in her blood?
They caught up to the tail end of the other tour.
“We’ve lost our group,” Magnor explained to the last man in line.
The guy eyed him up and down. “You’re in luck. We have a couple of empty seats on our tram. But don’t you belong on one of the sets here? That’s a great costume.”
Magnor gave a mirthless chuckle. “It’s from my Halloween collection. I thought I’d dress up for the occasion.”
“Sure, buddy.” The fellow nodded as though humoring him. “Quiet, now. I don’t want to miss what the guide is saying.”
“Stage Nine holds the headquarters set for Forensic Times. The interrogation room, offices, and morgue are all there.” The guide led them through a corridor with pipes overhead and unused furniture pieces leaning against the wall.
A faint banging sounded in the distance. Erika’s nostrils clogged with dust. She supposed things were always being built or dismantled here. The soundstage was a warren of structures representing scenes from various shows, with fake walls, staircases going nowhere, elevated platforms, and spotlights aimed from overhead. Piping lined the perimeter of stark concrete walls.
“The characters’ apartment complexes and the labs are also on Stage Nine,” the guide explained, leading them forward.
“Where do they film Ambulance Chase?” a young woman with Asian features asked. She wore a backpack, as did the other young adults accompanying her.
“Stages One, Two, and Three. Watch your footing, please.”
They stepped over wires taped to the floor before passing through an arch into another area. The young man stopped at a set featuring brick apartment building facades bordering a central courtyard. Trees, green plants and a working water fountain gave the impression they were outdoors.
“Here’s where the characters live on the show. Let’s go inside this house. You’ll see how the interiors are interconnected.”
Erika glanced around the first furnished home. A cozy living room held a couch, a cocktail table, a couple of armchairs, an area rug, and a fireplace. Magazines and coffee mugs lent an authentic touch to the scene.
The kitchen looked like she could cook a meal there, with its gleaming appliances and full array of cookware. She could have sworn that sink must work.
The attention to detail amazed her. Even the hairbrush on the dresser in the bedroom made the room come alive.
“Great Cosmos, I didn’t realize how much labor goes into your entertainment vids. An army of people must work here.”
Her lip curled in amusement at the look of awe on Magnor’s face. “A movie studio needs actors and crews for each show, plus the administrative staff, writers, producers, and directors. I assume they can’t all be confounded.”
He gaped at her in horror. “What if they are all spellbound but have orders to go about their business and behave normally? These shows have enormous influence. Could the Trolleks have found another way besides direct contact to manipulate people?”
Fingers of dread iced her blood. Was the threat from these invaders even more insidious than they suspected?
“When they shot the pilot,” the guide continued, “they went on location to an actual apartment complex that looks like this one. It was cheaper to film that way in case the show didn’t get picked up. Later, they built these sets.” He led them back to the courtyard. “A lot of this foliage is real, but some of it is fake.”
Erika had to admit her to own fascination with the process. But they weren’t here to sightsee. Did she have to remind Magnor of their purpose?
Before she could nudge him, their group headed en masse out an exit. In an asphalt lot, the guide pointed out parking places of stars. “And that’s our Dumpster, labeled Forensic Times.” His mouth broadened into a grin. “You know your show has arrived when you get your own garbage bin.”
“Now what?” Erika regarded Magnor, who looked every inch a warrior with his stern bearded profile, his hand on his sword hilt, and his cape flowing behind him in the mild breeze. “If you’re looking for proof that this is another recruitment center, I’d say it was that orientation film.”
“Is that so?”
“The blond woman at the door shook everyone’s hand as we walked in, and then the briefing instructed people to wait for further orders. What more do you need?”
Magnor spied a tram rumbling by and pointed at it. “Look, that vehicle is filled with older people. I want to see where they go. They’ve been singled out for some reason.” Gripping Erika’s elbow, he steered her in that direction.
“Why don’t you tell your team to follow up on this place? I thought your mission was to find the Book of Odin.”
“It is, but we landed here for a purpose. I’d like to determine what’s going on besides the usual Trollek recruitment activity. Then I may let Dal deal with the demolition aspect.” His gaze zoomed in on a golf cart parked in front of another soundstage door.
“Oh, no. You’re not going to steal that vehicle.”
“Indeed, I am. Come on, get in. We can catch up to the tram faster this way.”
She hopped into the passenger seat while he retrieved his mobile unit, fiddled with the settings, and aimed it at the ignition. The engine sputtered and started.
“When can I get one of those PIP thingies?” she asked in a sugary tone.
He shifted gears and backed out of the parking space. “Sorry, they’re special ops issue only. Hold on.”
The sharp turn made her grasp her seat for support. Then they whisked forward down the street. She could just make out the tail of the tram ahead before it sped around a curve.