Daniel X: Game Over (6 page)

“He was my friend,” said Kenshin, choked up.

“Why would they bring it all the way to Earth just to kill it?” I asked.

“It’s all part of one of their video games—only, of course, they’re more than video games,” explained Eigi. “Number 7 and Number 8 didn’t just get into this line of work here on Earth. They’ve been at it for millennia, on many other planets, with many other races. And the final stage of their efforts is always
extinction.
They take great pride in being the ones to destroy the last vestiges of a species. This Hunt Club of theirs is actually a safari game they run for the best—that is, winning—players of past conquests. It’s something they do to test out their systems when they arrive at a new planet. And it also helps them tie up any loose ends from the planets they’ve left.”

“Their virtual hunting games have become real hunting games?” I asked.

Eigi nodded.

“But how?”

“Essentially, they’ve gotten their players so addicted that their habits force them to cross over into the real world,” continued Eigi.

“Like what we saw in that creepy theater,” Dana said quietly.

“In fact, these ‘winners’ are actually still willingly paying them for the experience,” Eigi went on. “They’re here to track quarry through the streets of Tokyo and all over
Japan. That is, in fact, why
we
were brought here. We’re among the last of the Alpar Nokians—we’re close to extinction, too—so we qualify as prey. And so, of course, do you.”

“That’s
sick!
” bawled Emma, our official Animal Planet addict. “Why would they
do
that!?”

“Who can know the heart of the beast?” asked Eigi.

“A veterinary heart surgeon?” asked Joe, eliciting not a single laugh. This was
not
a funny situation.

Clearly, I needed to put a stop to this and take out Number 7 and Number 8. Both of them at once. Both of them, even though I hadn’t even managed to lay eyes on them yet, except in their human forms on television and on the Internet.

As if reading my mind—which maybe she can because, after all, she came out of it—Dana said, “Maybe we should back off and find some other way, Daniel.”

I ignored her. “Eigi, do you know where Number 7 and Number 8 live? Are they in the GC Tower?”

“Yes, I think they’re up on the top floor most of the time. We sometimes heard our guards saying things about going up to the penthouse, so I assume that’s where they stay.”

“You’re
not
going up there, Daniel,” said Dana.

“Well, not there, precisely,” I said to her with a wink.

THE SQUEEGEE IN my hand was shaking so much that every window I tried to clean ended up looking like a chalk-covered snake had slithered across it. The reason for my nerves was that I was standing in a window-washing gondola six hundred and sixty-three feet above the street. I was attempting to pose as a window washer, but I don’t think I was exuding the necessary degree of confidence or indifference to heights. The street below me—at least the one time I stupidly looked down—was spinning like I was in one of those tilt-a-hurl rides at the state fair. And the way the wind was buffeting and rocking the narrow, low-railed platform… let’s just say I was seriously regretting that third helping of tempura Joe had convinced me to eat.

Coming up here had seemed like a good idea when I’d been safely down on the ground. The Mode Gakuen Cocoon
Tower—among the coolest skyscrapers on earth—is a fifty-story teardrop-shaped structure encased in a latticework of curving dark glass and white aluminum. And it happens to be located just across the street from the GC Tower, where Number 7 and Number 8 keep both their official business and their residence.

Unfortunately, the Mode Gakuen’s unconventional shape means it doesn’t have much in the way of a flat roof on which to sit. When you’re trying to spy on two evil penthouse-dwelling aliens across the street, that can be a bit of a problem. Especially when you’re not so keen on heights to begin with.

Of course, two hours into my reconnaissance mission, it was all seeming like a big, fat, needlessly-high-up-in-the-air waste of time. Boy, can aliens be boring. The only thing I’d discovered about Number 7 and Number 8 so far was that they were Internet junkies. They hadn’t done
any
thing but surf the Web on their laptops. And their surfings weren’t exactly the stuff of legend. Other than reading some news stories about the big refinery explosion last night, they mostly seemed to be interested in landmark Tokyo buildings and—get this—parenting websites. Weird. Boring, but weird.

I was just about to call it a night when I suffered the worst bout of vertigo ever. And it had nothing to do with the height or the unsteadiness of the horrible window-cleaning gondola.

Someone had just emerged from the private penthouse elevator and entered their suite. Someone with a striking
resemblance to an overgrown mantis with wild dreadlocks and the most evil-looking eyes you could imagine.

It was Number 1—
The Prayer!

My parents’ killer… my ultimate nemesis… the darkest stain in all my nightmares.

I WANTED TO run and hide. I wanted to teleport myself to another continent or, heck, another planet. But this was Number 1. I couldn’t afford to be scared. I couldn’t afford to get distracted. And, most of all, I couldn’t afford to miss this chance to find out what he was doing here.

And that was a problem, because he was a street-width away from me behind a wall of insulated glass. Unless I wanted to get closer and run the risk of being seen, it was going to be hard to find out what they were saying.

Hard, but not impossible… especially for a kid who’d recently downloaded the Massachusetts Institute of Technology’s Acoustical Engineering PhD curriculum into his cerebellum. I zoomed in my eyes on the glass of the floor-to-ceiling penthouse windows to the point at which I could see the vibrations caused by my enemies’ words.
And from there, it was a simple matter of translating the vibrations back into sounds and…

“That poor, poor kitty cat. What is
wrong
with you two?!” asked Number 1, swiveling his head back and forth in his creepy rendition of a disapproving head shake. His voice carried a note of amusement, but Number 7 and Number 8’s obvious nervousness made it clear he wasn’t totally joking.

“I have told you before,” he said, his eyes flashing (only that’s not really the right word because it wasn’t light coming out of them—it was
darkness
). “And I’ll tell you again—there is only
one
creature I need you to hunt to extinction, and that’s Graff and Atrelda’s unfortunate leave-behind. Little whatever-his-name-is.”

“He calls himself Daniel,” replied Number 8, timidly.

“What day of the week is it?” said Number 1, rising up on his hind legs and glowering at her.

“Tuesday.”

“Then
I
want
you
to call him
Thursday Night Soup.
”

“But what if he time-travels back to Monday?” asked Number 7.

“I’ve seen to it that he can’t do any more of his time-travel tricks,” Number 1 said, annoyed. “Now do your job and
hunt him down.
”

“Yes, sensei,” said Number 7 and Number 8 in unison, bowing and backing away from him.

“And stop acting like humans!” screamed Number 1. “You two are taking this playacting too far. Between your tabloid antics and the way your so-called son’s been behaving lately, you’ll probably end up going native on me.”

“Of course, master,” said Number 7 and Number 8, like they shared voice. It was a little creepy how they did that, actually. Maybe it was a talent that came with being married a really long time…

“Listen to me!” Number 1 barked. “I cannot afford
any more
screw-ups. I’m having to spend enough time recruiting and training replacements for Numbers 6, 5, and 3 without worrying about two
more
openings to fill.”

“Don’t worry, master. We’re on schedule.”

“I need you to be more than
on
schedule. You need to be
ahead
of schedule,” said Number 1, straightening up to his full height and glaring down at the human-looking couple. “We’ve had an unfortunate setback,” he said. “A Pleionid has landed here on Earth.”

“A
Pleionid?
” asked Number 7.

I was familiar with the name. Pleionids were a species of legendary genius and unique telepathic abilities. Unfortunately, they were also complete pacifists and had offered next to no resistance when Outer One poachers had invaded their world. Theirs was one of those legendary extinctions, much like the dodo bird or the passenger pigeon here on Earth.

“But they’re extinct!!” blurted Number 8.

The impatient look Number 1 gave her was enough to remove any doubt. “I don’t care whether you kill it, or him, first—but by no means may you let them make contact with each other… unless it’s as ingredients in one of your meals. Do you understand me?”

Number 7 and Number 8’s ravenous, drooling expressions
made it clear that there was no mission they’d have more willingly undertaken. For these two hunters of endangered species to receive a shot at one the most legendary of all interstellar creatures—

Number 1 backed in to the open elevator, his insect eyes now glowing red.

“Don’t even
think
of failing me.”

“Oh, no, master. We won’t!” they yelled as the polished stainless steel doors slid closed.

I gripped the railing of the window-cleaning gondola with both hands. My head was spinning. Number 1 here in Tokyo? The monster that had killed my parents and probably orchestrated the near genocide of my race?

Had I really just seen him with my own eyes? Had I really just overheard his plans?

Or was it all a trick? Had Number 7 and Number 8 known I’d be watching? Was it just a red herring to throw me off? Was I really supposed to believe there was a living Pleionid somewhere in this city? And
what
was that part about how Number 1 had seen to it that I could no longer time-travel? I’d never doubted myself this much before. I didn’t know what to believe…

But I didn’t have any more time to ponder it right then. The elevator doors opened again and disgorged a figure far less intimidating yet in some ways more disturbing than Number 1.