He had a mouth.

  He had a brain, ears, eyes.

  Mo'Steel took a deep breath and looked down. He was amazed to see what looked like his own familiar chest slowly rising up out of a vast pool of water. And he was still growing. Up and up, like an educational data chip that showed two years of a plant's growth in two minutes.

  He was still wearing the same tattered clothes, but as his arms emerged from the water, he saw sails attached under them like webs on a duck's feet.

  Messed up.

  Whacked.

  But very, very interesting.

  Now he noticed toy boats floating in the water. They were firing at one another. Mo'Steel could hear a tiny, tinny ping every time one of their guns fired. Little figures on the deck of each boat were staring up at him. Whoa — it was the Constitution! And Mo'Steel was pretty sure that skinnylooking action figure hugging the deck was Jobs.

  Jobs was on the gun deck, looking out at the water. British cannonballs had punched big holes in the side of the ship.

  Six of the Constitution's cannons were loaded and ready to go. Olga and Burroway had handled the gunpowder and cartridges. D-Caf, 2Face, Anamull, Burroway, and Jobs worked up a sweat pulling the cannons out far enough to load them and securing them until they were ready to fire. Edward and Roger Dodger were also hanging around, attracted by the massive guns.

  The British ships were drawing closer. Jobs admired the elegance of their movements, the way their captains set and furled sails with the help of dozens of crewmen. The ships moved purposefully. Another ten minutes and they would be close enough to board the Constitution.

  Funny. This would be only the second battle the old frigate had ever lost. The other had been the day before against the Blue Meanies.

  The Constitution — named after a then-just-drafted document that defined a fragile new democracy, the document that governed one of the most powerful nations Earth had ever seen. The Constitution— a proud American icon humbled by this ship's computer and their little band of Remnants.

  Jobs wished he could be on the real Constitution fighting for freedom instead of in this crazed computer-generated environment where there was no honor, only survival.

  "I say we shoot," Burroway said. "What's the point of going down with ammo still on board? Maybe we'll get lucky."

  "Let's shoot," Edward pleaded.

  Jobs shrugged. One of the other ships was so close it would be practically impossible to miss. They should shoot. Why not? Well, Jobs could think of some reasons. Like the danger of playing with matches — not to mention gunpowder and a weapon that weighed a thousand pounds, give or take a few hundred.

  They'd figured out how to fire the big guns during the battle the day before. Jobs had called on a 507-year-old memory of a Civil War reenactment he'd seen on a field trip. Firing the cannons took teamwork, caution, and backbreaking work. It also took guts — because if you were lazy or unlucky or standing in the wrong place at the wrong time, you could lose a finger or your life.

  "Release the cannon!" Jobs called tensely.

  Edward scrambled forward and yanked free the blocks of wood that stopped the cannon from rolling around the deck. Olga pulled out the wooden plug that kept moisture out of the barrel.

  "Move her into place!"

  Anamull, T.R., Jobs, D-Caf,2Face,and Olga hauled on the ropes that encircled the cannon's platform. Creaking and groaning, the wheels turned and the cannon moved forward until its barrel poked out through the gun port. Jobs crouched down and sighted along the barrel, but he immediately stood up. The British ship was right there. They couldn't miss.

  "Fire!" Jobs yelled, stepping off to one side and taking a second to make sure Edward was clear

  Burroway touched a slow match to the touch-hole in the top of the barrel.

  A pause. Then —

  Light flashed. A sulfurous smell filled Jobs's nose and his ears rang with a sound like thunder

  The cannonball raced across the space between the two ships, hitting the cartoon seamen about shoulder height. It made the ship balloon.

  Wait. That didn't make sense. Cannonballs couldn't do that. Jobs blinked. Looked again.

  The ship was rising up out of the water! It looked as if some gigantic animal was pushing up under it. Jobs thought of a whale, then of the blimp creatures that lived in the copper-colored sea that was the ship's default environment. It wasn't either of those things. This creature was covered with something that looked like brown cord.

  "It's Mo'Steel!" Edward yelled.

  Actually, it was Mo'Steel's head. Mo'Steel's head in a close-up big enough to fill a screen at the cine-plex. Big enough to lead the Macy's ThanksgivingDay Parade. The cord was his hair The monstrous head was somehow pushing up the British ship and also becoming a part of it. A short section of mast protruded from his forehead. The tricolor British flag waved on his cheek like an animated tattoo.

  Here was the really weird thing: The head seemed to be alive. The eyes moved, examining the scene and then seeming to concentrate on the Constitution. The eyes scanned the ship like King Kong looking for Fay Wray.

  Jobs could feel the eyes looking directly at him. He could have sworn he saw a flicker of recognition. In his gut. Jobs knew this monstrous head belonged to Mo'Steel. The real thinking and feeling Mo'Steel. He didn't know whether to be happy or horrified.

  Billy.

  An awareness of Billy suddenly surged into Mo'Steel's consciousness.

  Billy was there with him. Somehow Billy was holding him, somehow Billy was pulling him back.

  Wait, Mo'Steel thought. 'Migo, a moment please!

  No use. He felt himself shrinking, falling. He hit ground in the basement, landing hard. He sat staring at the red beam, butt aching, and tried to get his breath. His stomach heaved, he had a nuclear headache, and every cell felt bruised.

  Alive!

  Mo'Steel laughed with pure joy and beat his chest like a gorilla in a bad movie. Like King Kong, in fact. He felt fantastic. He felt immortal. The Grim Reaper hadn't gotten him this time. He'd gone to dust and back and survived.

  "Yahoooo!" he yelled. "I live."

  Kubrick was watching him warily, keeping his distance. So the skinless wonder boy was scared of him. Now that was interesting. Alberto was still out of it and Billy didn't look much better. His face had that vacant, blind look he'd worn while comatose. Then — blink — the light and intelligence came back into his eyes.

  "You okay?" Billy asked.

  "Fantastic," Mo'Steel said. "Very substantial adrenaline rush." His mind was reeling, trying to make sense of what he'd seen. "Billy, you old freak, you saved my life!"

  "I brought you back," Billy said.

  "We were up there, right?" Mo'Steel said, pointing above his head to the environment.

  Billy nodded.

  "Well, I have to go back," Mo'Steel said immediately, urgently."Only ... can you pull me out like you did last time? Except this time I want you to wait until I give the sign."

  "Yes," Billy said, although he sounded uncertain. "It isn't any more difficult than reading someone else's dream."

  "Why do you want to go back?" Kubrick asked.

  Mo'Steel almost said for the rush. No doubt, he was ready to try the ride again. But that wasn't the real, important reason.

  "Our friends upstairs weren't doing too good," Mo'Steel explained. "Sounds weird, but it looks like some British warships are attacking them. They're getting hammered, taking on water. But up there, I'm big! And they could use a little Godzilla action to turn the battle around."

  Nobody argued with him. Kubrick, Alberto, Billy — none of them seemed to care if he was in for a woolly ride.

  That was just the way Mo'Steel liked it. Emotional arguments and hand-wringing just wasted a lot of time. He got up, brushed off his pants, and stepped back into the beam.

  CHAPTER 13

  "THE KID'S GOT STYLE."

  After Mo'Steel's enormous head disappeared, they fired the rest of the cannons. Jobs aimed at the Cartoons and took out maybe two dozen, maybe less. Seemed to slow them down a little.

  "What now?" Edward asked.

  Tate, too, was looking his way. And Roger Dodger Even Anamull and D-Caf.

  Jobs felt like a favorite baby-sitter who's run out of games. The truth was it didn't matter what they did. They were surrounded, out of ammo, and the ship was taking on water Lots of water, judging from how far they were tilting to starboard. All that was left was to wait for the British to board them and try to fight them off.

  Violet came down the ladder "Are you guys busy?" she called. "Because we need help bailing! Find a bucket or anything that will hold water and head to the stern. Olga, T.R., and Burroway are already up there."

  The littler kids hurried off to find buckets. Violet pulled Jobs aside. "Any ideas?" she asked in a low voice.

  Jobs met Violet's gaze. She knew. Yeah, she definitely knew bailing was hopeless. Bailing was just an exercise she had dreamed up to keep people from panicking.

  "The Cartoons will board sooner or later," Jobs said quietly. "We're outnumbered about forty to one. I don't think anything can save us, not even Tamara."

  "Oh, well, in that case, I guess I'll do some bailing," Violet said with a wry smile.

  "Yeah, bailing sounds like a good idea," Jobs said.

  He hesitated. He felt as if he should say something to Violet. Something comforting. She looked scared. Waiting was hard. Waiting for the Cartoons to act and not knowing if they could protect themselves or if they were about to face death.

  "Jobs!" Edward called, his voice squeaky with excitement. "Jobs, get up here now!"

  Jobs and Violet ran for the ladder and scrambled up. They joined 2Face, Tate, Roger Dodger, and Edward. Yago and the others were standing nearby.

  Mo'Steel.

  He was back. His head had blossomed up from under another one of the British ships. Jobs watched in amazement as his shoulders and chest rose out of the water

  He was alive, or at least animated. He shook the water from his shoulder-length hair Wrinkled his nose and sniffled with a sound like a freight train.

  Once again, Jobs felt Mo'Steel's gaze fall on him. Not knowing know what else to do, Jobs waved.

  "Romeo! Romeo, are you okay?" Olga was standing nearby, shouting up at her gargantuan son. He didn't seem to hear her Olga fell to her knees, sobbing. Violet rushed forward to comfort her.

  Everyone else stared upward silently. Awed.

  Yago looked woozy. He had an angry red knot on his head. He must have fallen sometime during the battle.

  Up and up, Mo'Steel rose. His waist appeared. His legs. He didn't stop growing until he was ankledeep in the ocean water He was impossibly big. As tall as a ten-story office tower As tall as a Buddha carved into a mountainside.

  Elements of the ship were superimposed on his flesh. His skin had the bumpy texture of sailcloth. A line of cannons ran diagonally across his chest like a bandolier, firing wildly, the cannonballs falling into the water

  Jobs struggled with the puzzle, but he couldn't crack it. His mind buzzed with questions. How could Mo'Steel still be alive? How was he appearing in this environment? And why? Did he need their help?

  The giant Mo'Steel took a few steps, lifted his dump truck of a foot, and kicked in the side of one of the British ships. Water rushed into the gaping hole, the ship flipped onto its side, and it started to go down. Cartoon seamen threw themselves clear of the sinking ship.

  "Yay, Mo'Steel!" Edward hollered.

  Jobs was smiling, too. It looked as if the giant Mo'Steel was there to help them — not the other way around.

  The Constitution rocked gently in the wake caused by Mo'Steel's steps. He was on the move again. Splashing over to another one of the British ships. This time he grasped the mainmast with one hand and pulled it loose. He threw the whole thing — mast, sails, rigging — into the ocean.

  Now the entire group of ragged humans on the Constitution was cheering and shouting for Mo'Steel.

  For the third ship, Mo'Steel bent his knees, lifted one end of the ship out of the water, and flipped it over

  "Yahoo!" Edward yelled.

  "Mo'Steel, Mo'Steel, he's our man!" Roger Dodger yelled.

  Mo'Steel grinned and shook his hands overhead like a prizefighter Then he took a deep bow and began to recede back into the ocean like a genie slipping back into a bottle.

  "Admit it," Jobs said."The kid's got style."

  He wasn't talking to anyone in particular, but everyone nodded.

  CHAPTER 14

  "MAYBE YOU'RE A SUPERHERO."

  Mo'Steel landed on the floor with a back-jarring thud and sat there grinning like an idiot. "Oh, man, you should try this, Kubrick. It is beyond imagining, the woolliest ride in the universe."

  "No thanks," Kubrick said coolly. Kubrick couldn't stand Mo's stupid grin. He acted as if this were all a game, a big joke.

  Only a fool laughs in the face of death.

  And, of course, Mo'Steel didn't even notice how the effort of bringing him back had exhausted Billy. Billy's face was expressionless, as always. But Kubrick could see that he was bathed in sweat and his skin was ashen.

  "I decimated the Cartoons!" Mo'Steel said. "I stomped their boats like Tinkertoys. The few that survived are probably down on their hands and knees right now, praying to the Great Mo!"

  "So your friends are safe now?" Kubrick asked.

  Mo'Steel let out his breath and frowned. "The Constitution took some major damage. It looks like they're going down. And fast."

  Kubrick stared up through the glass ceiling to the environment above. All sorts of debris were floating down through the water. Blasted pieces of wood. Scorched fabric. Even a battered cannonball that fell fast and bounced silently off the glass.

  From below, Kubrick couldn't tell if the garbage was coming from the British ships or the Constitution. The bottom of one wood-hulled eighteenth-century ship looked pretty much like the next.

  "So, let them sink," Kubrick said, suddenly feeling exhausted by all he'd had to endure. The people above were an abstraction to him. He'd met them briefly back on Earth before they'd boarded the shuttle. But they weren't his friends. And he wasn't really anxious to meet more strangers. More people who would stare and whisper behind his back.

  "The ship will just vacuum them up like it vacuumed up the three of you," Kubrick went on harshly. "We can rescue your friends when they get down here."

  "They'll never make it," Mo'Steel said, sounding very definite. "We only made it because Billy was with us. Actually, only two of us made it. Wylson blinked out somewhere on the way down."

  "So what do you want to do?" Kubrick demanded, feeling his anger grow.

  "You tell me," Mo'Steel said, shrugging.

  Kubrick reached out and shoved Mo'Steel. Hard.

  He hated being nagged for solutions, decisions. He'd spent his entire life being told he was incompetent and broken. Now he was suddenly supposed to be a leader?

  Mo'Steel regained his balance quickly and stepped up to Kubrick. The two faced off, Mo'Steel watchful and Kubrick breathing heavily.

  "We have to do this?" Mo'Steel asked.

  Kubrick's dead-feeling hands twitched on his thighs.

  Mo'Steel bent his knees slightly, rolled his head, met Kubrick's angry gaze. He wasn't afraid. Kubrick could see that in his expression. It heated his anger

  Wham! Kubrick brought up his fist and connected with Mo'Steel's jaw. A weight lifted.

  Kubrick's father didn't react. He was down on his hands and knees, staring at his navel.

  Kubrick caught flashes of fists. Mo'Steel hit his chest, his shoulder, his ribs. Kubrick felt the impact in his muscles.

  The strange thing was that it didn't hurt. There was no pain, only a distant sort of sensation.

  Getting hit was supposed to hurt.

  Kubrick wanted it to hurt.

  It didn't.

  Kubrick dropped his fists, puzzlement beating out anger

  Mo'Steel watched warily. He moved in close, taking advantage of the opening, pummeling him. It was like being hit by a foam bat, like virtual-reality pain.

  Mo'Steel finally dropped his fist. "Had enough?" he asked.

  "I couldn't feel it," Kubrick said. He remembered his father's touch in the laboratory. He hadn't felt that, either He'd begun to suspect this wasn't just some passing effect of his "operation." Now he knew.

 

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