Chapter 23

chapter twenty-three A door slithers open—and a tunnel maze, leading to the Operating Theater, lies beyond. As we enter, Cannonhead Johnson shouts like a drill sergeant, "Move, maggots!" Dirk starts to tell Cannonhead to take it down a notch—when we realize he's talking to actual maggots. Or, slugs, maybe. A parade of slugs steadily slithers up his neck and into the cannon that juts out of his head. "Gotta load up the ol' noggin musket," he says. "Of course," Dirk says, like that's a normal thing. "Well, good luck. We'll see you on the outside."

Squish, wiggle. Don't need luck, Meatball. I got a cannon on my head, Fairpoint. Moments later, we're speeding through a maze of curving, splitting tubes and tunnels. They're slick and angled at a steep incline—but we surf up them with incredible speed, propelled by some weird reverse gravity. The tunnels warp around us—expanding, bulging, then tightening. "Rerouting!" Quint says for the third time, watching the Maparatus. "The fully awake fortress's body is changing! It seems to be shutting down nonessential organs and redirecting all energy to the Operating Theater!"

It's a good thing we tapped into the Directarium— otherwise we'd be squished to a pulp right now. Uh, guys, Dave was saying oddball stuff back there. Can you explain the double distraction? Deal to me again? It's a twopronged approach requiring perfectly timed precision. Any minute the goon platoon will start their big breakout with the creature-Brigade. "That'll get Wracksaw's attention," Dirk says. "Enough to clear some guards outta the theater." "Which," June says, "should allow us to place the Fortress Breaker. And detonate it! Setting off that chain reaction Peaches was talking about." "Left!" Quint shouts, leaning at an impossible angle. We zip through the mouth of the forking

tunnel. "It will be chaos! The guards won't know what's up and what's down anymore!" "Yes, not knowing what's up and what's down sure will be awful for them," I say dryly as I watch the gravity-defying floor rush beneath my feet. "And in that chaos, the Goon Platoon and the creatures complete their escape," Quint says. "And we do, too," Dirk continues. "It's the perfect double distraction!" June says. Glancing down at the Maparatus, Quint says, "Ready yourselves—we're about to arrive!" An instant later, we're out of the ever-tightening passage, sliding and skidding into a massive arena- like venue. Thankfully, we enter at the rear-rear-rear mezzanine, back row—the cheapest of the cheap seats. "Forget Operating Theater," June whispers, eyes wide. "This thing is as big as an opera theater."

The stadium's many rows are filled with guards. There are no seats or benches—instead, the guards kneel, their insect-like legs folded and twisted beneath them. Thankfully, their eyes—or rather, the dents where their eyes should be—are fixed on the preparation happening below. On Ghazt... His body lies on a floating slab: the operating table. Though it reminds me more of an altar. The acoustics in this place are rock-and-roll good —we're at least one hundred feet above the operating floor, but the clanging of tools and the chittering of the Dire Nurses carries up. Debra tightens the restraints around Ghazt's body. Eye-Bulb carries a long hose. And looming over them all is Wracksaw. "IT IS TIME!" His voice echoes through the theater. "This thing is about to get underway," I say. "We gotta place the Fortress Breaker now." "But where is the heart?" June says. "It appears we're on top of it..." Quint says, eyeing the Maparatus as he twists it around. While Quint searches, I watch the action down below. Wracksaw extends his armacles, calling for his tools.

Sonic hammer check brain prob. Check color changing. Crazy strong jack