Chapter 1

The Voice

SNOW TRIED TO calm her mind and focus. Panic is your greatest enemy. That was what Salt had told them. Fear only clouds your senses.

She kept her eyes fixed on the strange mechanical device hovering at eye level a few metres away. It was gunmetal-grey and the size and shape of a handball. It was moving erratically – left, right, up, down – kept airborne by a whirring rotor. Its lower surface bristled with tubular silver spines. She had no idea which of them would shoot. She was on the balls of her feet, knees slightly bent, ready to dodge.

There was a sudden pfft of escaping air. Snow threw herself into a dive to her left. Something fizzed past her to ricochet off the stone floor, kicking up a little puff of dust.

Snow used the momentum of her dive to roll through and spring back onto her feet. When the device fired its second shot an instant later, she was ready.

This time she sensed its aim was low. She launched herself into a high tuck-jump and another tiny projectile whistled past under her feet.

She landed lightly – in time to hear the device let out a third soft hiss. Snow ducked urgently to the right. But she was a fraction too slow.

There was a metallic ping! and Snow felt something glance off her armoured shoulder.

‘Gotcha!’

Oddball stepped forward, grinning. He strode towards the spiky flying device. As it continued to dart about, he reached up to slap a switch on its underside. The machine’s rotor immediately began to slow and it drifted lower. Oddball plucked it from the air. He turned to Snow, eyes sparkling behind his ever-present goggles.

‘Two out of three – pretty impressive for a practice run!’ he congratulated her.

He held up the peculiar flying device proudly.

‘What do you make of it?’

Before Snow could answer, he went gabbling on.

‘I thought I might call it the “PShooter”. “P” for “pressure”, you see, ’cos it runs entirely on compressed air. You just have to pump it up. The air chamber holds enough to power it for a couple of minutes. The shooter-tubes work off the same pressurized system. It’s totally random which ones fire, of course – that’s what keeps you on your toes!’

He gripped the gadget between his knees, produced a miniature hand pump and began energetically pumping air into a valve in the device’s side.

‘Salt asked me to put together something to help improve our reflexes. I thought this might do the job. I pinched the fan for the rotor from one of the big dryers in the laundry. The rest is just bits and bobs I found lying around.’

Snow watched him pumping away enthusiastically and smiled to herself. Every good team needed a techno-geek. Of the group of recently recruited Armouron Knights, Oddball was certainly that guy. Salt couldn’t have found a more gadget-mad individual in the whole of the Academy – or Nu-Topia, for that matter.

He must have had his reasons to choose each of us, I guess, thought Snow.

It was several months now since Salt, the Academy’s elderly armourer, had introduced Snow and her three fellow cadets – Oddball, Rake and Hoax – to an exciting new world of adventure and danger.

Up until then, their lives had been just like those of the other orphans raised at the Academy. Day in, day out, they had pursued their Gladiator training in preparation for their future careers in the Arena, where they would fight staged battles for the entertainment of Nu-Topia’s citizens. They had been confined at all times to the Academy compound, kept within its walls like prisoners.

But not any more. Now, they lived double-lives. During the daytime, they continued as before, regular Academy cadets, attending their lessons and carrying out their chores. But by night, wearing the unique suits of armour that Salt had crafted for them, they became Alida, Sappar, Templer and False-Light, knights of the ancient order of the Armouron.

Salt had opened their eyes to the corruption in the world around them – the so-called ‘Perfect World’, as its unscrupulous ruler, the Chairman, called it. The Chairman had used his influence as leader of the all-powerful Corporation to brain-wash the citizens of Earth into believing his lies. Those who didn’t were soon silenced by his sinister police force, the White Knights.

But under Salt’s direction, Snow and her fellow knights were fighting back – fighting to restore the ideals of their order: Honour, Duty, Compassion and Justice.

Not that they were in action every night. Most nights, like tonight, it was training. And more training. And then more training. Salt was a hard taskmaster. As an Armouron himself, he knew the value of being in peak physical and mental condition. He insisted that his young recruits were thoroughly drilled in the techniques and strategies of combat. Each night, down in the secret chambers of the Old School, beneath the Academy, he put them through their paces.

So far tonight, though, only Snow and Oddball were there for training.

They hadn’t been expecting Tea-Leaf, the fifth member of the team. Unlike the others, Tea-Leaf wasn’t an Academy cadet, but lived outside the compound, on the city streets. Her only route into the Old School was via a secret passage from the Academy’s shuttle garage. Salt had heard news that the garage was to be under close police guard over the next few days. If White Knights were patrolling the area, it was better that Tea-Leaf stay well clear. During the previous night’s session, he had warned her to stay away.

So a no-show from Tea-Leaf was no surprise. But Salt wasn’t impressed when neither Hoax nor Rake turned up, either – even less so when Oddball confessed he had heard a rumour that the other boys were in a ‘spot of bother’.

Salt had given a weary sigh, then departed to find out more – but not before instructing Oddball and Snow to work on their reaction times while he was gone.

Oddball suddenly detached the pump and pulled the PShooter from between his knees.

‘That should do it!’

He lifted a flap in the gadget’s casing, emptied a handful of small ball-bearings into it, then closed the flap again.

‘OK – so this time is for real. Fully charged, she’ll fire eight shots. We’ll score how many you dodge. Rake managed five last night – that’s the best so far.’

Rake would like that, thought Snow. It was pretty important to Rake to be the best at things. He liked to be in charge too. It didn’t bother Snow – Rake made a pretty natural team-leader. But she knew it got on Hoax’s nerves sometimes. Tea-Leaf, too, didn’t always take kindly to being told what to do.

‘Are you ready?’ asked Oddball, preparing to launch the PShooter.

But before Snow’s trial could begin, a burly figure came limping along the passageway that led to the secret doorway back into the armoury. It was Salt. His expression was even more gruff than usual.

‘What’s he done this time, master?’ asked Oddball. Hoax had a well-deserved reputation for mischief.

Salt gave a grunt of exasperation.

‘Your young friend was apparently responsible for this evening’s security alarm,’ he growled. ‘He seems to have believed – foolishly – that it would be amusing to stage a fake cadet breakout. From what I can gather, he got hold of a spare identity belt, yet to be registered, and put it down the canteen rubbish chute. When the refuse collection vehicle picked up the Academy’s waste just after lights-out, it took the belt with it. Naturally, it triggered the security systems as it left the compound.’

Oddball tried to hide his smirk. ‘And they managed to pin it on Hoax, did they?’ he said. ‘It’s not like him to get caught.’

‘By all accounts, he was unable to contain his delight when his childish prank proved a success,’ Salt explained, stony-faced. ‘Supervisor Brand deduced from his mirth that he was responsible – despite Rake protesting there was no proof. Rake should have known better. Brand has given them both an overnight punishment detail.’

The old man suddenly clapped his bear-sized hands together.

‘But enough of their foolishness! Let’s get back to work!’ He turned to Snow. ‘How are those reaction times coming on, Alida?’ he asked, using Snow’s secret Armouron name.

‘She’s good,’ answered Oddball on Snow’s behalf. ‘Really good. You should see some of her dodge moves!’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ rumbled Salt. ‘The armour I crafted for you, Alida, was specifically designed to enhance your natural agility. Only Balista’s suit is lighter. It should allow you ease of movement, at all times.’

It was true. Snow still found it amazing that wearing her blue armour made her more agile, not less. Any ordinary suit would have slowed you down. But there was nothing ordinary about the suits Salt had made for them.

‘And remember,’ continued Salt, ‘your armour’s evasive properties will be maximized only if you harness the power of your medallion. Connect to its Flow and your agility will be greatly increased.’

Snow raised a hand over her Armouron medallion, embedded in her breastplate, and nodded silently.

That concluded Salt’s pep talk. He took a few steps backwards, to give Snow some space.

‘Whenever you’re ready then, Alida. Let’s see what you can do.’

As Oddball got ready once more to release the PShooter, Snow prepared herself again, up on her toes, mind fully focused.

The device whirred into the air and immediately began darting from side to side.

Its first shot was aimed low, at Snow’s legs. Snow side-stepped it easily. As the device released its next two missiles, almost simultaneously, she cartwheeled to the left. Both ball-bearings whistled harmlessly past. A swift dive and roll enabled her to dodge shots four and five. She was back on her feet in time to evade the device’s next effort, then jump high to avoid another low-flying shot.

Eight shots, Oddball had said. That left just one more.

Suddenly, Snow’s concentration was shattered by a nerve-splitting scream of anguish, which exploded in her mind.

She dropped helplessly to her knees and began clawing at her helmet clasp, as though releasing it might somehow let the agonizing yell out of her head.

Then, as abruptly as it had come, the tormenting cry of the mind-voice ceased.

Snow knelt on the stone floor, her body sagging. She had managed to tug her helmet off at last, but echoes of the voice were still resounding in her head.

Somewhere in the back of her throbbing mind, a part of Snow’s brain registered the quiet hiss of the PShooter’s final shot. But she was unable to move, still numb with shock. As the tiny missile rocketed straight towards her unprotected skull, she subconsciously willed it not to strike her.

At the last instant, the ball-bearing veered off-target and struck the floor behind her.

Snow was about to slump forward when strong hands grasped her shoulders. She looked up shakily to meet Salt’s anxious gaze.

‘Alida? Are you all right, Alida? . . . Snow?’

Oddball was standing behind Salt, looking at Snow with a mixture of concern and bewilderment.

‘But . . . that last shot . . .’ he murmured. ‘She didn’t dodge it . . . It dodged her . . .’

‘Not now, Sappar,’ said Salt firmly. He looked into Snow’s face with evident concern. ‘What happened, Alida?’

Snow shook her head, as if trying to clear it.

‘I don’t know,’ she answered weakly. ‘A pain. In my head. It’s gone now.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. I’m . . . I’m OK . . .’

Salt cradled her chin in one of his massive, rough hands and looked directly into her eyes.

‘Has anything like this happened before?’

Snow didn’t answer immediately.

‘No.’ She shook her head feebly. ‘No, this is the first time. I’m fine now. Really.’

With Salt’s help, she got slowly to her feet.

The old armourer gave a low grunt. ‘That’s enough for tonight.’ He turned to Oddball. ‘Sappar, please help Alida remove and store her armour and see her safely back to her dormitory. We’ll continue tomorrow.’

Salt gave Snow one last searching look, then turned and hobbled away.

‘I don’t get it,’ muttered Oddball, as he undid the magna-buckle on Snow’s left arm-guard. ‘How can a ball-bearing going at that speed swerve off course?’

But Snow only shrugged weakly. Her mind was still spinning.

She hadn’t told Salt the truth. She had heard the voice in her head before. In fact, it had been a recurring feature of her dreams over the last few nights. But on those occasions, it had been a faint cry, too quiet for her to make out what the voice was screaming.

But not this time. This time the single word that the voice was crying, with such anguish, had been all too clear.

Hoshiko.

A name.

A name she knew.

The name of her dead father.