Akiko in the Castle of Alia Rellapor by Mark Crilley Page B

something my dad once told me about mountain climbing. He was born and raised in a small mountain village in Japan, and he always claims he had to climb a mountain every day just to get to school. I find that a little hard to believe (especially because my mom gives me a wink every time he says it), but he swears it’s true. I don’t know, maybe it was just a
small
mountain.
    Anyway, he told me that climbing
down
a mountain is just as hard as climbing
up
one, and that sometimes it can be even more dangerous. People going down a mountain can start to move too fast if they’re not careful. Then if they take just one bad step—
    “Spuckler!” Mr. Beeba called out, interrupting my thoughts. “Look down there to the right. Those are Torg patrols, aren’t they?”
    “Good eyes, Beebs,” Spuckler answered, stopping in his tracks.
    I tried to get a look at what Mr. Beeba was talking about, but all I could see were these little gray dots in the distance.
    “Torg patrols?” I asked.
    “The word
Torg
is an acronym, Akiko,” Mr. Beeba explained. “It stands for
Turbo Obtuvian Retramodular Gigatron
.”
    There was a very long pause.
    “Torg patrols?” I asked again.
    “They’re general-use robots,” Spuckler said, as if he were translating for Mr. Beeba. “They can be programmed to do almost anything. Why, this whole castle was prob’ly
built
by Torgs.”
    GA-GUNCH! GA-GUNCH!
    Suddenly we heard a loud mechanical sound coming from somewhere below us, the sound of a gigantic piece of machinery. From behind a large boulder to our left, an enormous gray robot lurched out into the middle of the road only fifty or sixty feet ahead of us.
    GA-GUNCH! GA-GUNCH!
    “Heavens!” Mr. Beeba squealed.
“A T-t-torg!”

 Chapter 3 

    Spuckler hurried us all off the road to a spot behind an enormous slab of stone. We crouched down and huddled together, hoping we weren’t visible from the road. The noise kept getting louder.
    GA-GUNCH! GA-GUNCH!
    Spuckler had his head poked out so he could keep an eye on the thing.
    “It’s gettin’ closer,” he whispered back to us.
    “Get back here and keep quiet!” Mr. Beeba whispered. “Maybe it didn’t see us.”
    “I never been much for hidin’,” Spuckler whispered back through gritted teeth. “Makes me feel like a sissy.”
    “Come on, Spuckler,” I said, reaching out to grab him by the arm. “Stay here and hide with us, just this once.”
    GA-GUNCH! GA-GUNCH!
    “Sorry, ’Kiko,” Spuckler said as he pulled himself free. “Gotta take her on face t’ face. It’s the only way I know.”
    Mr. Beeba groaned as we watched Spuckler swagger out into the middle of the road. I couldn’t see the robot yet, but I could tell it was pretty close. Spuckler folded his arms and stood in the middle of the path like a
    statue. Gax shuddered and wheezed a little. I wondered if he’d ever had to deal with a Torg before.
    FZAMM!
    Just then a bolt of yellow light shot past Spuckler and struck a boulder a few feet behind him. My jaw dropped as I stared at the enormous hole it left in the rock. Spuckler wasn’t fazed a bit.
    By now the Torg had come into full view. It was about thirty feet tall, with two enormous legs and six spindly mechanical arms hanging off its body. The entire surface of the robot was pale gray, with spots of white frost. It leaned forward and raised an arm, a
    double-jointed one with a smoking laser gun at the end. There was a rapid clicking sound as it prepared to shoot again.
    Spuckler leaned over and picked up a small stone. He snapped his hand back and chucked the stone up at the robot’s body.
    TWING!

    There was a tinny whistling sound like a ricocheting bullet in a Western movie. Spuckler grimaced and leaped to one side as a second bolt of yellow light shot past him, this time missing by just a few inches.
    “Heavens,” Mr. Beeba whispered to me. “One more shot and he’ll be vaporized for sure!”
    “V-vaporized?”
I gasped.
    “It’s actually not such