Chapter 12

Skirterville

HOAX HEAVED ASIDE the rusted cover above him then climbed two more ladder rungs to poke his head out of the airshaft. Blinking back the sunlight, he gratefully filled his lungs with fresh air. He had never been so pleased to see the sky – even if it was an unnatural one, masked by the green haze of the containment field.

‘Get a move on,’ said Oddball, prodding him from below. ‘If I spend any more time down here, I’m going to lose it.’

Hoax clambered out of the musty shaft, closely followed by his friend.

‘I thought we were stuck down there for ever!’ said Oddball. He stretched his long limbs gratefully.

The encounter with the sewer creature had badly shaken both boys. Their desperate flight along the tunnel following its attack had brought them to a second barred grille. It had taken Oddball several nerve-jangling minutes to cut through it. Hoax had spent every second expecting the monster to rear up out of the blackness and finish them off.

But their firework display had evidently left the creature more wary than they realized. They had made it past the grille without it putting in another appearance.

‘And it’s still trapped in that section,’ Oddball had insisted, as much to reassure himself as Hoax. ‘It’s way too big to get through the holes I cut.’

Nevertheless, they had pressed on through the tunnels with renewed haste. The glo-caps were all gone now, so they had been forced to rely on visor-vision to find the way. Their spirits had sunk on finding their planned route back to the surface blocked by yet another cave-in – until they discovered this alternative airshaft, rundown but passable.

Out in the open, Oddball checked his wrist-stat.

‘It’s taken us way longer than we hoped to get through. We’ve only got just over an hour till the others shut down the field zone.’

He scanned their surroundings. They had come up near the centre of the area enclosed by the energy field. Oddball could see the crumbling remains of the Epsilon power station just a few hundred metres to the north.

He slid open a panel in his suit and drew out the clockwork beetle.

‘I’ll check its departure coordinates again, so we can track down Griffin’s lot.’

Hoax was looking past his friend, a little anxiously. ‘Erm . . . I don’t think that’s going to be a problem . . .’

Oddball turned. Several rather wild-looking men and women had appeared from nowhere. They were closing in on the boys in a semi-circle. All were weather-beaten and dressed in scruffy, worn-out clothes. But they had the look of people whose hardship had only made them tougher. Most were armed with weapons made from cleverly adapted pieces of junk.

The exception was the man leading their advance. He was tall and striking, with broad shoulders and dark skin and hair. The left cheek of his stubbled face was marked with a long pale scar. And he was brandishing a genuine weapon – a heavy, two-handed Gladiatorial sword.

Hoax looked at the several makeshift bows aimed in his direction.

‘Whoa! Don’t shoot!’ He hastily raised both hands in the air. ‘We’re friends!’

The scar-faced man looked them up and down, clearly aware of the armour they were wearing. He eyed them suspiciously and didn’t lower his weapon.

‘We’ve got a message for you,’ Hoax pressed on, ‘from Salt!’

‘You’re friends of Salt?’ The man’s voice was deep and rich.

‘Are you kidding?’ Hoax grinned nervously. ‘He’s like family, the big ol’ softy!’

The man looked less than convinced by Hoax’s description.

‘Prove it.’

Oddball quickly held up the clockwork beetle.

‘How about this? It sought out Salt last night. From the message it carried, we figured it came from an old friend of his. Someone in trouble who needed a helping hand.’

The man looked at the beetle. A moment later, his stern expression dissolved into a warm smile. He sheathed his sword.

‘You were right on both counts.’ He bowed his head formally. ‘I’m Griffin. Welcome to Skirterville.’

Hoax returned his nod, but gave no name.

Oddball was still clutching the beetle. ‘I’ve gotta ask,’ he blurted. ‘Which one of you made this? It’s an absolute masterpiece!’

Hoax looked apologetically at Griffin.

‘Sorry. He’s a bit of a techno-geek.’

Griffin smiled, then answered Oddball.

‘The beetle was built by one of my comrades. A man called Tock – our techno-geek. He crafted it some years ago. It has carried many messages in its time, but none so urgent as the one I sent Salt yesterday.’

His expression became grave.

‘Unfortunately, Tock was badly injured during the beetle’s dispatch. To make sure it penetrated the containment field, he had to get up close. He was trying to make his way back when a White Knight picked him off. We got him back to base camp, but he hasn’t regained consciousness.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Oddball. ‘Judging by this, he’s a genius.’

Griffin nodded. ‘And a good friend. He’s also the only one of our group with enough technical know-how to get the Inimitable off the ground. Without Tock, I fear our escape plans are futile.’

‘The Inimitable?’ queried Hoax.

‘Our ship,’ explained Griffin. ‘The “wings” I mentioned in my message. We’ve been building her over the last few weeks – ever since we suspected that the Corporation had located our base. We knew they’d come after us and that we needed to get clear before they did. But we hadn’t bargained on this blasted containment field . . .’

‘Don’t give up just yet,’ said Oddball. ‘If things are going to plan, our friends are making a few adjustments to Decimal’s precious field right now. With a bit of luck, you should have your escape “door” in precisely . . .’

He consulted his wrist-stat once more.

‘. . . seventy-three minutes. So you’d best get me to this ship of yours. I can’t promise that I’m a match for your friend Tock, but I’m fairly handy with a toolkit. Show me where she is and I’ll get her in the air somehow.’

Griffin looked a little doubtful.

‘He’s not kidding,’ Hoax assured him. ‘If it’s a machine, he’ll get it working. Like I said, he’s a real techno-geek . . .’

Griffin hesitated, then nodded.

‘All right. If Salt sent you to help, I must trust his judgement. And I believe I recognize his handiwork in the armour you wear . . . Follow me.’

And he turned and strode away towards the derelict buildings.

Fifteen minutes later, the boys were back underground. The Skirters had first led them to the ground-level ruins of the old reactor hall, which had once housed the Epsilon power station’s main control centre. There wasn’t much of it left. The roof was entirely missing. But an elevator in one corner of the hall had recently been restored to working order. It had carried Griffin and the cadets down into a large chamber below, where the reactor itself had once stood. Right now, the chamber held something altogether different – a giant, ramshackle airship.

Oddball let out a low whistle.

‘I can see why you call her the Inimitable,’ he said. ‘I’ve certainly never come across anything quite like her before!’

Griffin gave a wry smile.

‘She’s a bit . . . unusual, I’ll admit. Built entirely from parts scavenged from the Dumps. Tock put her together around an old FF1 Flying Fortress hull we dug up – a wreck from the Wars, I think.’

‘How did you ever get her in here?’ marvelled Hoax.

‘A piece at a time,’ answered Griffin. ‘Tock’s team stripped down the hull, then assembled her here, component by component.’

‘More to the point,’ said Oddball, ‘how do you plan to get her out? Assuming we can get her off the ground, that is.’

Griffin gestured to the chamber’s heavy ceiling.

‘The roof was originally designed to slide back – so that the reactor could be lifted out for upgrading. Tock managed to repair the mechanism so the roof doors work again – with a bit of coaxing.’

‘OK,’ said Oddball purposefully. ‘I guess I better see what I can do with her.’

He checked his wrist-stat again. ‘We really haven’t got long now. Mister Griffin, sir, can you round up your people and get them on board? I’ll try to get her air-worthy before our time runs out . . .’

With that, he clambered up onto one of the Inimitable’s stubby wings, yanked off an engine hood and began examining the mechanism within.

Hoax hurried back to the elevator with Griffin. Up in the hall above, they set about gathering together the fifty or so Skirters. Griffin instructed them to collect their belongings and go down to the reactor chamber to board the ship. Several were injured and had to be carried on board.

As they were checking the area for the final time, to be sure they hadn’t missed anyone, Hoax asked Griffin why the Corporation was so keen to get rid of him.

‘My comrades and I stand for the things the Corporation hates,’ replied the exiled Gladiator. ‘Freedom of thought and speech; justice; equality. Just like you and your fellow Armouron.’

Griffin smiled at Hoax’s look of surprise.

‘Yes, my young friend – I recognize the emblem on your breastplate. You serve a long and noble tradition. Salt has done well to revive your order. Earth needs the Armouron now more than ever.’

He returned to Hoax’s question.

‘It’s not just that, though. The Chairman and his sister have their own reasons for wanting me dead. Lanista never forgave me for defeating her in the Arena. And for a long time I have done my best to cause her brother as much embarrassment as I can.’ He gave another smile. ‘I suspect that this campaign is personal.’

‘Oh, it’s personal all right, you lowlife!’ shrieked a menacing voice.

Hoax and Griffin spun round.

On the far side of the hall, flanked by four filth-spattered White Knights, stood the bedraggled, wild-eyed figure of Lanista.