Kingdom Keepers V(126)

Finn could picture himself drowning in raw bread dough, suffocated by the bulging belly of the thing and then spit out a minute later. “We need to think of something quick,” he said.

“Olive oil,” she said.

“I don’t think this is the time to discuss recipes.”

“Trust me. My mother bakes a lot. You always put oil on dough. It makes it less sticky.”

“I clearly should have taken home ec,” he said.

“The lower shelf to your right.”

“I see it!” One-gallon plastic jugs of olive oil, lined up like soldiers.

“We need a match,” she said.

The two doughboys had never stopped advancing. Finn and Willa bounced against each other, out of space. Nearly out of their minds.

“Now would be a good time to do this!” she said.

Finn grabbed one of the jugs, twisted off its cap, and spilled oil onto the floor. Then he had an idea—a brilliant idea, as it turned out: he stuck the bottle bottom-first into the chest of the doughboy. The oil glugged out, spilling down the thing. Willa saw his technique and did the same, sticking a spilling jug into her opponent. Oil was everywhere.

Finn’s doughboy took another swing at him with the cleaver. It whooshed past his ear. He couldn’t convince himself it wasn’t going to cut him. Too close.

As the doughboy lifted his weird-looking foot and took a final step toward him, the bottom of the foot landed in the puddle of oil. The doughboy raked the cleaver back high overhead, but had so little traction he lost his balance. It teetered. Finn leaned forward, concentrated on his hands, and pushed. The doughboy toppled over backward, now lathered in oil.

He turned and shoved Willa to the side just as the fork aimed for her throat. Finn deflected the fork to the side and kicked at the thing’s leg.

But his now-solid foot sank into the dough and stuck there.

Willa reached for his outstretched arms and pulled Finn free as the doughboy readied the fork to skewer Finn. Together they scrambled over the stainless steel waiter line into the kitchen proper. Finn had seen his mother do this trick. He snagged a piece of dry spaghetti from a huge pile by the stove and, lighting the stove, held the dry spaghetti to the flame. It lit like a match.

Willa snatched it from him, crossed to the waiter counter, and dropped the burning match on the other side.

The flame spread slowly, very unflamelike. It spread like a drop of food coloring in a glass of water—randomly, and yet in all directions at once. The oil-covered flour began to blister and bump. It first turned golden, then quickly to a dark brown. The doughboy’s legs stiffened with crust and became unmovable. The other one was now three connected partly cooked dinner rolls the size of truck tire inner tubes lying on the floor. The oil quickly burned out, never rising high enough to trigger any fire alarms.

The air smelled deliciously of fresh bread.

“Makes me wish for a stick of butter the size of a tree trunk,” Finn said.

“And an oar to spread it with,” Willa fired back.

“Nice thinking with the oil,” he said. “For a minute there…”

“You saved my life,” she said.

“Ditto,” he said.

“What now?”

“We can’t wait for Philby. The longer we’re here, the more stuff she’s going to throw in our way.”

He didn’t have to tell her whom he meant. Willa nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

Finn’s hands tingled. Back to their hologram state. He wished he could have all cleared, wished he had more control of 2.0. Was sick with envy that Philby had that control and not him.

He led the way as they left the kitchen and walked down a long hall. They arrived at a freight elevator.

“Interesting,” he said.

“If you’re thinking we can ride that to the engine room, it’s not going to happen.” Like Philby, Willa had the capacity to commit the ship’s blueprint to memory. He envied her that. “It terminates on what’s shown as Deck One. Crew and Cast Members only.”

“We’re Cast Members.”

“True, though we’re not allowed in that area. There is a stairway not far from where we’d get out. It’s worth a try.”

She checked Finn’s watch. “We give Philby five more minutes for the second cross.”

“Agreed.”

He pushed the button. The elevator arrived. They stepped inside, and when the door closed, he didn’t push any button. The elevator car stayed put.

He spoke what was on his mind. “You and Philby are the techies…what’s the possibility that 2.0 is being developed for a second generation of DHIs?”

“You mean we are the beta when they talk of beta 2.0?”