As Jools neared the treacherous sentry, he held his breath. Now he could see into the open-sided chamber between the pillars. Sea lanterns gave it an eerie splendor befitting another treasure trove.

  Suddenly, the elder guardian’s spikes snapped outward and locked into place. It had sensed him. Evasive action! Now!

  Again, Jools used his dusty rock climbing skills to scale the wall next to him. The aquatic assassin needed a clear view to target him with its laser beam. It lashed out with its tail, hoping to hit the invader even if it couldn’t be seen. Jools pushed off the wall, frantically swimming toward the pillared room, and dropping to its floor when he got far enough from the elder guardian to not draw fire.

  There, in the center of the watery citadel, was a glass chamber. Inside, on a pedestal lit from above, sat his diamond, with his enemy standing patiently behind it. The glass-paned wall and the lenses of her squareish glasses magnified her dark eyes. She seemed to be staring right at Jools.

  Can she see me? Could be a trap! Jools stopped and swayed in the water. The pull of the diamond and the push of possible danger immobilized him for moment. Then he found the airlock entryway, silently stepped on its trigger, and entered the dry room. It sealed off behind him. He hoped the griefer hadn’t seen the transparent panes move.

  “I know you’re there, Jools the third,” came Termite’s measured speech. “You’ve upset my elder guardian.”

  His cover was already blown. “And we’ve killed its brothers. So, maybe living here won’t be as secure as it used to be. Nice digs, though.”

  “It cleaned up well, once we dried the sponges.”

  “We know you’ve been planning to make this into GIA headquarters,” Jools bluffed, “with no thought to environmental concerns.” He moved slowly and deliberately as he spoke, sidling around the room to come at the pedestal from another angle. Termite would stand as far as possible from a pressure plate, which might set off an explosive charge. He crept away from the most obvious trigger point.

  Termite sighed. “Once again, you’ve got me,” she said. “Lady Craven and her underlings and mobs will move in as soon as the place is ready. We don’t need to dry out all the chambers; just the ones we’ll be keeping the monsters in.”

  “You won’t finish that job anytime soon,” Jools threatened. “Our army will—”

  “Will what? Have you trained them to fight underwater?”

  Jools flailed for control. “All we’ll have to do is wait your people out. You can’t survive down here forever without any air.”

  “Oh, yes, we can.” She reached forward and caressed the red diamond. “We’ll be trading this for a lifetime supply of underwater aids. Then we’ll see who has the upper hand.”

  The griefers planned to mount a revolution from beneath the sea! Jools had never wanted to wipe out a player so badly. But he had also never wanted to possess something so valuable that was so close.

  Termite? Or the stone? Fight or flight?

  Jools calculated that he could do both. His diamond sword was fortified with the strongest enchantments. But Termite wore the very best armor. . . . If he were to remove her helmet, though, he could deal her a damaging blow, grab the jewel, and rely on a potion of Swiftness to power him out of danger. He’d have to use the pedestal as a blind, sipping from his visible glass bottle in the only place she couldn’t see it—directly in front of her, on the other side of the obstacle.

  Nothing could be more terrifying than crouching at the feet of the griefer boss who had killed him once before, with only a slim stone pillar between them. Jools panted, noting that his breathing meter had dipped. Hands shaking, he fumbled with the glass bottle and straw, nearly dropping both in his effort to hide them. He slurped the mixture and set the bottle down.

  To his horror, it tipped over with a clink and rolled away.

  Hey! Distraction!

  Just as Termite spotted the empty beaker, he sprang for her with an outstretched arm. He locked his elbow and knocked the protective helmet from her head with his fist. In the next breath, he drew back his sword like a cricket bat and knocked her a horizontal shot. The direct hit shoved the griefer to the ground. Without stopping to see whether she was dead or alive, Jools swiped the diamond from its pedestal, slung the cord around his neck, and yanked at the sliding door.

  Back in the watery citadel, he coughed and sputtered. He was almost out of breathing time!

  *

  Jools dropped his sword and rifled through his stores to find another underwater breathing potion. What if he died now, after finally claiming the diamond? He found a bottle of blue liquid, but realized he’d left his straw in the glass chamber. Panic made him breathe harder, taking his meter down to its last bubble.

  As his mind slowed and vision blurred, he managed to pull an empty bucket from his inventory and used it as an air pocket, refilling his breathing meter and replenishing the oxygen his blood carried throughout his body.

  His vitality promptly returned. Jools dropped his chin to his chest for a look at the red diamond. It floated above his heart on its cord, every bit as beautiful as he remembered it. He picked up his sword and, keeping a hand on the cord around his neck, pushed through the water the way he had come. The natural downhill corridor would spit him out back at the entrance, he figured, where his getaway vehicle floated just a short swim away.

  Jools’s momentum and state of mind helped him stave off the three lesser guardians that confronted him near the central treasure chamber. They shot their lasers and shook their spikes, but he retained enough energy to draw a second enchanted sword, and used both hands to deal the three fishlike monsters the multiple hits it took to weaken and, finally, kill them. Then he continued following the corridor toward freedom.

  Despite his love of fishing and his family trips to the shore, Jools wasn’t much of a sailor. Yet, he had never longed to be safely afloat in a boat as much as he did now. At the mouth of the ocean monument, he replaced all of his gear in his inventory, took a few jumps against the sea floor, and pushed upward with all his strength.

  Jools’s hands flew to the diamond around his neck, stuffing it under his tweed coat as he passed by rock formations, baby squid, and bits of sunken debris in a blur. He burst out of the water, flailing his arms and legs. He looked wildly around for the battalion’s craft. He could see it—a dark dot on the horizon—getting smaller in the distance as it sailed back toward the west.

  His heart leaped into his throat. Despair threatened to sink him, right in the middle of the deep ocean. Then something hard hit his head and glanced off.

  He looked up at the silvery hull of the Great Escape.

  “Yes!” he yelled, grappling for the side and using drain holes as hand and toe holds to climb up to safety. Aptly named craft, he thought with relief, swinging a leg over the side of the powerboat and falling to the deck.

  “Ools!” said a familiar voice. “You found me.”

  CHAPTER 16

  OLD FRIENDS WEREN’T THE SAME AS REAL FRIENDS, Jools mused as he caught his breath in the bottom of the powerboat’s foredeck and stared up into Volt’s smirking face. In fact, he thought, there should be a totally separate term for them. Both old and friend were too polite. They conjured up visions of acquaintances that had been left in the fridge too long, molding and shriveling at the edges a bit. As though it wasn’t their fault they’d gone bad.

  In Jools’s experience, social history was more cut and dry. Drifting apart was one thing; severing a relationship was another. Jools considered leaving a person to die while playing at opening a petting zoo or even mining free gold as clear signs that a friendship was over. Without a shared bond, players were strangers at best, enemies at worst.

  So, while he now stared into the face of his one-time friend, he knew LordWhit was long gone . . . and the griefer that had taken his place was his enemy. He would have to forget whatever pleasantries had once passed between them—if there were any—and treat this Volt like a wild animal. That didn’t, however, mean tipping his hand.

  “Thank goodness it’s you,” Jools said to the dishonest skipper. “You’ll be glad to know that I gave your old boss a good trouncing. She certainly turned on you.”

  “Can you believe it?” Volt said. “After all I did for her.”

  “Funny how people can ask you to face grave danger without thinking they owe you anything. One expects some measure of appreciation in return, at least.”

  “Quite right,” Volt said indignantly. “Cash is cash, but bodily risk deserves . . . something more.”

  “Like . . . favoritism,” Jools supplied. “Loyalty, gratitude.”

  The implication was lost on Volt. “This is the last time I work for the GIA,” he grumbled. “I’m going strictly solo from here on out.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Jools. “I enjoyed quite a bit more freedom when I was a freelancer. Working for others on salary brings . . . restrictions.”

  “Oolsy.” Volt’s eyes showed the light of opportunity. “What say we team up? With your knowledge of UBO workings and my insights into GIA weaknesses, we might put ourselves in a plum position.”

  Jools’s stomach lurched. Had the fellow no shame?

  “I’d consider it,” he lied. “If the money were right.” Jools rose, dripping, onto the deck and glanced around. “Looks like you’ve done well for yourself. Wicked boat.”

  Volt preened. A light breeze lifted his dark-brown hair, which Jools noticed was receding from his forehead like a low tide. “I’ve quite taken to the sea,” the griefer remarked. “Thinking of getting myself one of those captain’s hats.”

  Jools pointed at the crested blazer the griefer still wore. “It’d match your coat.” He pushed his fingers through his close-cut hair to help it dry, and then squeezed at each jacket sleeve, enlarging the puddle of water in which he stood. “But how did you escape the silverfish? And what happened to the others?”

  “Your captain freed me,” Volt reminded him. “I simply followed you out of the airlock.”

  Leaving the troopers to fend off the mobs alone. Classic Whit.

  Jools had fled, too—but to secure stolen UBO property, knowing that his cavalry mates could carry on without him. “Where’d you go, then?” he asked the griefer. “I didn’t see you in Termite’s penthouse.”

  “I headed for the boat and laid low. Your so-called chums didn’t stick around to wait for you when they got out of that mess.”

  Rob and company knew Jools could escape on the fallback vessel—and that Termite might well be pursuing him. They would’ve high-tailed back to camp, to warn Kim.

  Jools sighed in fake irritation. “The battalion always was good at retreat. . . . Well, all’s well that ends well, eh? What say you show me around this tugboat?”

  “All right. I built it myself.”

  With the help of a mod package and substantial cheats, Jools thought scornfully.

  Volt led him directly to the cabin that enclosed the command room. “This is what I call my sanctuary,” he said. “Climate controlled, wired for sound, and ready to party.”

  Jools admired the cushy captain’s bridge seating and the wood-grain paneling, which was dotted with photographs of bikinied girls on water skis. A drink dispenser sat in one corner and a cluster of upholstered furniture in another.

  Volt walked over to a cabinet and threw open the polished wood doors. Inside it was every piece of equipment needed to record, play, and broadcast music and to capture and replay video. “Watch this.” He flipped a switch, and colored lights began to twirl and shoot through the cabin. “I used redstone transmitters to improve on the lame entertainment center.”

  “And the boat controls?”

  “State of the art,” he replied. “Voice activated. Only responds to my commands.”

  “Brill,” Jools complimented, noting the detail.

  They peeked into the berths and galley. Volt then led Jools down a ramp, below decks, where he heard the subtle hum of machinery. “This is the beating heart of the Escape—the true evidence of my ingenuity,” Volt said matter-of-factly. He gestured at a row of pistons surrounded by circuitry. “I diverted some of the power signals to my customized widgets—those extended arm thingies that do most anything I like without my ever having to leave the cabin.”

  Jools recalled how two of the auxiliary limbs had attacked their dinghy and captured its drops. “Handy. I imagine they operate from a central control panel.”

  “Right. They’ll facilitate everything from an inventory transfer to a burial at sea.”

  “So, what’ve you got for defensive ops? Modified TNT cannons? Fire-charge catapults?”

  “Oh, nothing as unimaginative as guns or flame throwers.” Volt grinned. “Speed is my weapon. I leave every garbage scow on the water in the dust, so to speak.” He exited the engine room, and Jools followed him. “So? What d’you say? I don’t need a mate—everything’s on auto. But I’d let you buy into the enterprise. For the low price of, oh, ten thousand emeralds. . . .”

  “Hm,” said Jools. “Perhaps on pay day.”

  “Okay, mate. For you, I’d go as low as nine and a half.” Suddenly, Volt shouldered into Jools, knocking his jacket open. “Or how about—this!” The griefer grabbed the string around his neck and snapped it.

  The next moment, Jools was looking at the red diamond in Volt’s hand.

  “Poor, daft Oolsy. I knew you’d manage to snag the gem. So I let you worry about Termite while I waited up here with the getaway car.”

  Tricked! Inflamed, Jools reached for whichever weapon was closest in his inventory, but the griefer stuck out a leg and tripped him. Then Volt fell on top of him, and they struggled a bit before Jools was suddenly incapacitated by a splash potion.

  Oh, dear. Feels like . . . weakness. Maybe some specialized brew.

  “You didn’t think I’d really share all this information with you if I were going to leave you alive, did you Oolsy?” Volt said, menacingly. “I thought dying would hurt more if you were green with envy.” He broke another bottle over the downed player.

  Poison! But that alone won’t kill me.

  It looked like his adversary had an even more sinister end for him in mind. What was it he’d said his automated arms could do? Burial at sea. Jools tried to rally his strength. He was about to stand up to Volt and declare that a player who needed a modified boat could never make him jealous. Then, everything went dark.

  *

  Jools awakened in a stuffy, unlit compartment, lying on his side, his hands and feet bound with spider string. Nausea made the pounding in his head worse. He listened. The faint hum of the luxury boat’s power source told him he was in the engine room.

  Where is he taking me? The water-tight boat had shown no gaps in its hold like the ones on Black Lung Bob’s pirate ship. There was no way to gauge what time it was or in which direction they were sailing.

  Jools took stock of his physical condition. He felt completely dry—so the seawater and splash potions had evaporated some time ago. He checked his health bar. He hadn’t eaten since the snack break in the first chamber of the ocean monument. The three hearts remaining would give him some energy and buy him some time.

  The poison, however, had left his mind numb. The usual rush to solve the problem of the moment was replaced by a mental shrug when he asked himself what to do next. C’mon now, Sir Thinks-a-lot. Have at it.

  But no ideas came. Jools’s thoughts drifted off, back to the school day when he’d entered the game . . . before that, to a particularly unpleasant family trip to the beach . . . and before that—to an afternoon when he and Whitney and Jaspreet had gone bowling.

  *

  The tenpins alley was one of those all-inclusive, aren’t-we-having-fun-now? kind of spots, with lane after lane of waxed flooring and automatic pin spotters, elaborate snacks, karaoke booths, and laser lights. The place bustled with movement and the clatter of toppled pins and clanking machinery. Once the three friends had changed their footwear to bowling shoes, Whitney took charge, as usual. “What’ll you drink?” he asked, offering to go to the snack counter.

  Jools and Jaspreet gave him a handful of coins. Whitney soon returned with jumbo-sized sodas, nibbles, sandwiches, and ice cream sundaes. “It’s on me, lads,” he said. When Jaspreet gave him the stink eye, he added, “Someone forgot to pick up their change.”

  Yeah, Jools thought. Out of their pocket.

  They ate the ice cream first and then started in on their first frame. Jaspreet, who was tall and quicker on her feet than the two growing teenage boys, was a naturally good bowler. As Jools and Whitney worked their way past splits and gutter balls, she racked up the spares and strikes. Jools noticed Whitney’s lips grow tighter and his attention wander as their friend won the first two games.

  After drinking all the soda, they took turns running to the bathroom so no one would steal their lane and clear their scoreboard. They resumed play. Despite Jaspreet’s better technique and Whitney’s clear lack of skill, she began to lose . . . and he began to win. Now Jaspreet’s brow furrowed, and her expression grew fixed. “Sometimes the pins get stuck,” Whit ventured.

  “Yeah. During reset,” Jools pointed out, his suspicion growing.

  Jaspreet gauged the tenpins, wound up in slow motion, and sent her ball hurtling toward their center. It bounced at the head pin and jolted harmlessly into the gutter. “That should’ve been a strike!” she cried, looking like she might start crying at any moment.

  Jools thought his play couldn’t get much worse, but after Whitney returned from the restroom, it did. He racked up all of three points in the next game. He’s rigged it somehow; I know it! But Jools couldn’t tell how he’d done it.

  Poor Jaspreet tried changing balls, varying her approach, and swishing her hand repeatedly over the air dryer. Whitney continued to excel. Finally, Jools could tell, the girl was near the end of her rope. I’ve got to find a way to crush old Whit.

 

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