The Magic Factory

They’d landed. They’d touched down in Germany.

Oliver was tossed from side to side as the plane careened down the runway. As he bounced around in the back of the truck, teeth rattling, Oliver heard the plane’s engines begin to slow. Beneath him, he felt the deceleration. Soon they’d halt entirely.

Things were getting desperate now. He had to do something. Had to think of something. But everything was happening so fast he couldn’t even begin to formulate a plan.

The plane became slower and slower until suddenly it stopped. Oliver heard the engines whine as they were switched off and began to slow. Then scraping noises told him the cargo doors were being opened. He heard footsteps approaching, the scrape of a key in a lock and then the slam of the truck door being closed. The driver of the truck was back.

The engine suddenly rumbled beneath him and revved. Then with some jerking and juddering, daylight started to stream in through the window. They were outside.

Oliver leapt up and looked out the back. The sight that confronted him sent icicles down his spine.

1940s Germany was filled with swastikas.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Oliver gasped at the sight through the window. On every gray building hung a flag with a swastika. On every road sign, on every car window. It was like a jubilee, but instead of colorful bunting there were flags with the hateful symbol upon them. Oliver swallowed, anguished by the sight of them, by the sea of red and black.

The streets were more or less empty, with just a few passing cars and other military trucks. Oliver watched as they drove through a checkpoint manned by the German army and past a truck at the side of the road with soldiers standing beside it, guns at the ready. He felt sick at the sight of it all.

He tore his gaze from the window, turning back to the bomb. He would have to make a decision, take a risk. If he chose the wrong wire the bomb would explode and the world would end. But if he did nothing, Hitler would detonate the bomb and the world would end anyway.

Oliver tried to approach the bomb, but the truck was jostling him too much. He was flung sideways as the truck made a sharp left turn, falling to his knees painfully. No sooner had he drawn himself to his feet than another sharp turn flung him to the floor again. Beneath him, speed bumps made him bounce up and crash back down. His teeth crunched together, over and over, as the truck careened over them.

Then suddenly they stopped. Oliver hauled himself to standing and hurried to the window. They’d reached an imposing-looking gray building, surrounded by barbed wire. Oliver realized with dread that this could be none other than Hitler’s headquarters.

The truck began to move again, passing them through the checkpoint. Guard towers cast dark shadows over everything. Oliver gazed up at them, trembling at the sight of the heavily armed soldiers patrolling back and forth upon them.

Then the truck shuddered to a final stop, the sound of its engine cutting out. It was too late. They’d arrived. Time was up and Oliver hadn’t had a chance to pull a wire. He hurried to hide behind the crate, some instinct of self-preservation forcing him to flee rather than be caught.

He heard the sound of scraping metal as the back doors of the truck were opened from the outside. He peeped out from his hiding place and saw, with terror, a very familiar face. A face known and feared by every human on the planet. Hitler.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

Oliver’s breath stopped in his lungs. He couldn’t quite believe he was looking at Hitler himself, at the most evil human who’d ever lived. He watched on, frozen with shock, as the terrifying Nazi leader looked into the truck.

Hitler did not seem to notice the strewn pieces of wooden planks. His dark gaze was too fixated on the bomb to realize.

He examined it, his beady eyes scanning what was before him. Oliver could see the sheer delight flashing behind his eyes at the sight of the advanced future technology, of Lucas’s creation.

Hitler seemed thrilled by what was in front of him. He spoke in excited, rapid German to someone out of Oliver’s eyeline. Then he marched off.

Suddenly, Oliver had an opportunity. Hitler would soon be back to collect his weapon. But in the seconds suddenly available to him, Oliver had to do something. It was now or never. He had to take the risk. Make the choice.

But then, as if planted into his mind by the universe itself, Oliver suddenly realized what he had to do to dismantle the bomb. He’d been going about it all wrong, like a bomb disposal expert rather than a Seer. He didn’t need to cut a wire to stop the bomb; he needed to worm inside of it with his mind and use his atomic specialism to rearrange the very atoms within it. Like the objects in Armando’s office, he had to turn the atoms from one state to another. And then he had to hold them there.

Oliver unfocused his eyes and relaxed his brain, inviting in the now familiar sensations needed to summon his powers. This time, they came to him rapidly, easily, far more quickly than ever before, as if fueled by his fear. They flooded his mind with their blinding strength, making his heart pound from the force.

He visualized the bomb in minuscule detail, complete precision, not just every single wire or bolt or metal plating, but every single atom. He could see it all, in crystal-clear, perfect precision, from the sonar shield Lucas had surrounding it to the very chemicals deep inside it that would cause the blast.

Oliver immediately visualized what he needed—the dangerous, volatile chemicals inside turning into water—then he pushed out with his mind. Immediately he felt resistance as his own Seer power counteracted with Lucas’s shield. But he could sense it was working, almost as if he could somehow feel the atoms inside reconfiguring themselves in line with his commands.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps. His time was up. They’d come back for the bomb. He had to hold on to his visualization. Which meant he couldn’t get caught. He had to hide himself. He ducked behind a stack of smaller wooden boxes.

Hitler was back, several soldiers beside him.

He watched as the bomb was unloaded from the back of the truck. From his hiding place, Oliver watched on as the bomb was set up, mounted onto the rocket launcher that would propel it into the atmosphere. There were many Nazi soldiers standing around, each looking as menacing as the next. The tension was almost too much to bear. It was compounded by the strain of holding onto the changed atoms within the bomb.

He watched them mount the weapon onto a vertical gurney, its pointed tip directed into the sky. It was ready for launch.

A figure approached. His stance formidable, his aura bone-chilling. The desire to press the button was written all over his face. Now was his moment of glory.

With an evil grin, Hitler reached for the big red button.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

Oliver didn’t want to watch but he couldn’t look away. He had to focus on his visualization. He couldn’t waver. Losing concentration for even a millisecond would have catastrophic consequences.

He held his breath. He tensed every muscle. He focused with every semblance of strength he had available to him. He had to keep the bomb from detonating.

Hitler held his palm over the large red button, hovering there. For a brief second, Oliver wondered whether he’d changed his mind, whether the enormity of his actions had suddenly struck him. But then he realized that Hitler was actually drawing out the moment, toying with it. It was as if he wanted to bathe in the pure power this moment gave him. He was playing God and he was reveling in the ultimate power this weapon gave him.

Oliver could see, clearly and plainly, what Professor Amethyst had been telling him about evil, about the desire for power that consumed people. Oliver resolved in that moment that if he walked away from this alive he would never, ever allow himself to become corrupted by his Seer powers. He would not become Lucas. Despite the cobalt within him, he would fight the lure of the dark side for the rest of his days.

And he would not fail now. He held his breath and fixed the image in his mind.

Hitler flexed his fingers over the button. Around him, his soldiers’ eyes were wide with adrenaline, with anticipation. Then, in one sudden, violent motion, Hitler slammed his palm down onto the button.

The whole world seemed to pause. Time stood still. Oliver felt a horrible tug in his mind, a headache like lightning bolts striking his brain. The atoms of the bomb were fighting against his reality, pummeling against his mind like the fists of a bully. The command of his mind was in direct opposition to the command of the button Hitler had pushed, to the laws of physics that the design of the bomb relied on. The strain was like nothing Oliver had ever felt.

But he took the blows, over and over as Hitler slammed his palm against the button again and again, his face growing redder with each futile attempt to detonate it.

Oliver could feel his powers draining from each blow. It was sapping his strength. He didn’t know if he could hold on any longer. But Hitler was still trying to detonate the bomb, his palm now turned into a fist that he pummeled against the button.

Oliver felt the last semblance of power ebb from him. He couldn’t hold on any longer. But just at that moment, Hitler stepped back.

He’d given up!

He turned to the sky and roared his anger.

Oliver released the chains in his mind. With a surge of relief, he let his tension go, exhaling the breath he’d been holding, relaxing the muscles he’d been straining. For the first time, he became aware of the pain in his jaw from his clenched teeth, and the sweat pouring down his face and back. His whole body felt weak, like he’d accidentally transformed himself into jelly.

There was nothing left in him. No powers. They’d been drained entirely. Oliver staggered, barely able to remain upright. He clutched the trash cans before him to steady himself. He’d prevented the bomb from blowing, for now, but with his powers so severely weakened there’d be no chance of him holding its atoms again. If Hitler turned back and pressed the button one more time, there’d be nothing Oliver could do to stop it.

He watched on, tense, willing Hitler to walk away. Suddenly, the man turned back. Oliver’s heart leapt. Hitler eyed the red button. Oliver prayed he would not press it one last time. He felt every muscle in his body clench as Hitler took a slow step closer to the bomb. Then another.

Finally, Hitler stopped. He stood right beside the bomb, by the big red detonator button. Then he turned to his soldiers, barked an order in German, and strode away.

He’d given up.