by Paul Cude
'Still,' he thought, 'I need to get to work straight away. Better safe than sorry.'
Placing his backpack gently on the floor beside his desk, he took off his coat and threw it over the back of his swivel chair. Undoing the many layers of the backpack took about two minutes. (It had been designed to keep out cold, moisture and it would seem... dumb humans as well.) Eventually he retrieved the hard drive and, picking up his small toolbox off the desk, he headed out of the door and into the component warehouse. The place was HUGE with racks and shelving over thirty feet high in some places, disappearing off into the distance for as far as the eye could see. Components for computers, printers, faxes, microfiche readers and photocopiers were all there... piled high... quite literally. Now though, he wasn't hunting for any of these. His target was an old computer right at the back of the underground warehouse. It was in the darkest, dingiest corner, and was said that nobody used it at all, but if they did, it was only if they had to and even then, it was for the shortest time possible. Stories and rumours passed around the departments all the time about what lay on the other side of the wall that the computer sat against. Some said it was weapons, some said experiments were being conducted using strange and wonderful chemicals. Occasional reports of desperate screams and out of this world sounds came back from those few people who used the terminal. This was not a place for the faint hearted. After a journey of only a few seconds short of seven minutes (he'd timed it and counted every second in his head), he'd managed to avoid everyone. Recognising footsteps a couple of times, he'd changed his route to avoid contact with anyone, which at this quiet time in the shift cycle hadn't been too difficult, especially as the whole place was like one giant maze. Reaching his destination, he quietly placed his toolbox on the floor and flicked open the clips, the sound of a lone forklift truck far away in the distance for company.
Positively old and ancient by today's standards, the terminal was the only way to access and search the old stock system that was still occasionally used. Normally it was powered on all the time, but luckily for him it was off. Again, he was counting down the seconds, hoping against hope that he could do what was required in record time. And he did. Twenty three minutes it had taken him to fit two circuit boards and an internal USB adapter, also cutting out part of the back plate of the case, making it look as though it hadn't been tampered with. As he tackled the installation of a new hard drive under a massive pile of wiring covered with dust an inch thick, he was sure no one would stumble across his little addition in a million years, not unless they were specifically looking for it. As he wandered back to his workshop, relief and sweat poured off him in equal amounts. Now all he had to do was act normally and go about his daily routine.
'What's done is done,' he thought to himself, and tried really hard to forget about the little black box counting down, not a million miles away.
Six months ago that had all happened and was now nothing more than a distant memory as he sat in his swivel chair, tiny screwdriver in hand, trying very hard to lever out a stubborn power supply unit. Suddenly his mobile phone vibrated on his desk, causing it to scuttle about like a drunken crab. Looking around to make sure nobody had noticed, phones were supposed to be switched off at all times, something most workers here ignored, though he might get into trouble if caught. Leaving the computer where it was, he picked up his phone and scrolled through the menu to look at the new text. It was from an unknown number and simply said:
'Now is a great time for a vacation. Check out the latest deals to European destinations on our website. Occasionally we have cheap breaks to Madrid... watch this space.'
It was a text he'd dreaded seeing. Everything came flooding back. Having stopped gambling, he'd moved into a slightly better, but not flashy, new flat. But he still drank, every night... to forget. To forget what he'd done. But now he remembered... he remembered everything. And soon, an offer of a trip to Madrid would appear on that website, and he'd have to take it up, knowing that whatever happened here was now well and truly beyond his control. He got back to work... secretly terrified.
18 The Chance of Escaping... Absolute Zero
Wheezing and spluttering echoes bounced off the reflective white surfaces everywhere as the huge bag of tortured bones slept, if that's what you could call it. To anyone watching, it would have looked more like a self induced nightmare rather than sleep brought on by exhaustion. Throughout it all, the raggedy old dragon wailed, muttered, screamed and stammered, sometimes names, places and events, occasionally curses, some of them in the ancient dragon language, but always ending in the same way... BETRAYAL!
Fredric Bluewillow, Peter's grandfather, pulled taut the chains holding him against his will and the wall of ice as he listened to the old dragon for what seemed like the millionth time... and perhaps it was. The brutality of this place was like nothing he'd ever imagined. Not in his worst nightmares could he ever have pictured or dreamed that such a place existed... but it did, and he was trapped here, escape not even a distant possibility. Years, no decades, had passed, of that he was sure. How he hadn't gone insane, he didn't really know. But that was the question wasn't it? Was he still sane, or did he just think that he was? Talk about too much time on your hands... all these questions, and the more he pondered, the more confused he became. Spending the last, what he assumed was about an hour, exercising, he preferred to do that every time 'Bag o' Bones' really started having a bad time of it in his sleep, often asking himself why, sometimes refusing to admit the real reason, dwelling on it for so long that nothing but the truth mattered now. The real reason he was so uncomfortable was because it could have been him over there now. But for a twist of fate, and a swift promotion to become George's new partner after everything that had gone on during the clear up operation after Troydenn's defeat, he could have been that miserable bag of bones, wailing and moaning, begging to be put out of his misery. After all, he had been scheduled to be on that fateful mission, escorting the prisoners to that icy hellhole in Antarctica... the same hellhole that he assumed he now sat in. Every time the horrific noises started, all he could think about was that it could have been him; he could have been here centuries instead of just decades.
'Just decades...' he smiled to himself. If nothing else, he'd maintained his sense of humour. At times, that was all that seemed to keep him going, that and the memories. Memories of his friend... George. In many ways they'd been like brothers, inseparable for the most part, but with very different personalities. His first instinct had always been to fight, not for the joy of it, or the glory... nothing like that. He'd always fought for others... against injustice. For those that couldn't stand up for themselves, his first instinct to step in, put himself in harm's way and defeat the perceived evil. That was far from George's way. By no means a coward, the exact opposite in fact, he'd always sought diplomacy first, stepping in harm's way with little or no thought for himself, but always looking to distract, to think things through, to find a non violent solution. On this, the two dragons always disagreed, and often argued vehemently, each sticking to their own point of view. Memories of those arguments, the long evenings disseminating those very different viewpoints, meant so much and helped him on the odd occasion when his sanity started to slip away, in this bleak desert of white. Desert... there was a word. If he did dream, it was of deserts and... the sun, oh how he missed the sun. To feel its warm kiss one last time he'd give everything he had.
And then there was his grandson... Peter! Barely a moment passed when he didn't wonder what he was doing, whether he was even still alive. Having been stranded here for so long, he had no idea what state the dragon kingdom was in, if it even still existed in the same form at all. Having received no information... nothing. Clearly everything going on here led him to believe some kind of attack had either happened or was in the planning, with the questions asked of him when tortured all the same... all strategic... even after all this time. Decades had passed and they were still asking the same questions... and foolishly
or not, he still refused to answer, up until recently, anyway. To him, it was a matter of... PRIDE! There was simply no way he would betray his king, his friend, his grandson and his way of life. Thoughts of Peter brought tears to his eyes, tears that instantly started to freeze as they left the surface of his retinas and slipped onto his skin. Anger welled up inside him at being deprived of the company of his grandson for so long. Deep down, he'd known for nearly the entire time that he'd been held captive here that someone had betrayed him. The way he'd been ambushed and so cleverly taken... it could only have been that.
Who? Well, that was the million dollar question, wasn't it? He knew it wasn't George. That much he was certain of. Their friendship was a bond that knew no bounds, a friendship forged by flame, flying and from fighting back to back, side by side. But who could have betrayed him, and was that particular dragon still somewhere at large, able to do more harm, especially to his friend... the king? These questions haunted him by the hour. During his torture, that... weasel of a jailer would scream at him that it was all over, that the dragon kingdom had been burnt to the ground... every last one of them dead. The king, the council... his family! This was the hardest part for him. At first he'd reacted, screaming and raging against the impossible bonds that held him in place. Cursing, he described in intimate detail exactly what he'd do to the jailer. In his mind anyway. Knowing they were trying to find a weakness, one which they could exploit, he'd been trained by the best, having learnt not to react under the pain of torture or the heart wrenching agony of those words, but it had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. However, he'd done it and survived. Not just once, but on hundreds, if not thousands of occasions over the course of decades. At first the jailer and the other shadowy visitors that he could feel shrouded in darkness had thought that he'd break... but he hadn't, and in that, the tables had been turned. Although the violence and the scale of the torture increased, he'd known that by some small measure... he'd won. He, Fredric Bluewillow, had beaten them. They could keep him imprisoned until the end of time, but he'd got his victory and that kept him going. Every minute he failed to react, to answer any of their questions, was a victory, not just for him, but for George, for Peter, for every good, honest and decent free dragon across the globe.
Every emotion he'd ever known raced through his aching, cold body whenever these thoughts crossed his mind, but here and now, it was a miniscule humming that caught his attention.
'Ah... here we go again,' he thought. 'I hope we have more success than last time, and that I'm doing the right thing. I'm ninety-nine percent sure it's not a trap.'
Ramping up substantially, the humming had transformed into more of a buzzing, and become much more pronounced. Fredric concentrated on clearing his mind, not easy given his previous train of thought. His emotions were running high, he realised, not exactly ideal for what was about to happen. Still, he lacked the ability to initiate contact, and so couldn't control the timing. Initiating that level of communication in these surroundings must be incredibly draining, and could only happen rarely and for very short periods of time, at least that was his assumption. Abruptly, the buzzing was interrupted by a low pitched whistle, and then a harsh, croaky voice rumbled,
"If yoouuu caann heaaarrrr meeee, fleeeexxx yoooouur leeftt armmmm."
Casually as you like, Fredric loosened his neck, rolled his shoulders twice, and then flexed his left arm, his huge biceps bulging like a giant honeydew melon. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the naga king give an almost imperceptible nod.
"Olllddd Booonnneessss ressstlesss tooodaaaayyy. Whhaaat maakkesss hiimmmm saaadddd maakees yooooou saaaddd tooooooo!"
Focusing his mind intently on the voice, trying his best to weave in and out of all the background noise in his head, he couldn't see any point in denying that he and Bag o' Bones had a connection, albeit slightly tenuous.
"Yes," he replied, hearing it echo off in the distance, which he found more than a little disconcerting.
"Ifff iitttt weerrreee innn myyy pooowerrr tooooo doooo soooo I woouuulddd puuutttt himmmmm ouuuuttt offf hissss missssserrrrryyyyy."
"So would I," he answered, with it again echoing off into the distance.
There was a short pause, not one of silence, more apprehension. Fredric knew the naga king hadn't finished because the noises in his head remained and were getting louder and more painful by the second.
"Dooooo yoouuuuu thhhinnnkkkk ddraaagggonnn thhaattt waaasssss herrrreee gooootttt awwwaaaayyyy?"
He'd gone over and over this in his mind. The jailer had told them that the dragon had been caught and executed on the spot, showing them some scales, a few shards of talon and a very ropey looking wing membrane in an effort to make them believe what had happened. But he'd sensed that there was more to that dragon that had at first been obvious. It was almost as if Fredric had looked into a mirror and seen a younger version of himself. Despite the jailer's claims and the blood splattered evidence to back them up, he was convinced that the dragon had escaped. Escaped to where though? If, as he assumed, they were hidden beneath the Antarctic inside the prison specifically built to hold Troydenn and his followers so long ago, where on earth could the other dragon have escaped to? Perhaps things had changed so much in all this time, both in the human world and dragon domain, that there were large cities and thriving communities nearby. Perhaps Antarctica itself had become hugely populated and that's how the dragon had stumbled across them in the first place. Still... the dragon had bought some hope, and however small that hope was, he refused to give up on it.
"That dragon was special. I believe he escaped the custody of our captors," he sent back to the naga king, all the time limbering up for as much exercise as his bonds would allow, just in case they were somehow being watched.
Moments passed before,
"Yessssss, I tooooooo thhhhougghhhttt hiimmmmm unussssuaaaaalll!"
Above the din in his mind, it suddenly occurred to him to ask a question.
"Have you been able to speak to any of your race?"
Trying desperately not to look in the king's direction, he waited patiently for the answer, despite the overwhelming noise that was now like standing directly beside the speakers at a rock concert.
"I'vvvvveeee trrriieeed mannnnnyyy timmmeeees, buuuut noooo luuuccckkkk. Eeeeveeen thhhoooosssseee thaaatttt I haaavvveee seeennn seeeemmmmm tooo bbeeee shhuuuuuttt offfffff frroooommm meeeeee!"
Against the backdrop of the rock concert assaulting his mind, he let out a string of curses. In the hope of planning some sort of rescue bid, he'd thought the king might be able to get through to members of his race, but as they'd discussed in their previous conversations, there must have been some kind of localised field, probably a mantra or some other magic blocking telepathic communications, which would explain why the short range communications between the two of them were so taxing, both physically and mentally. Before Fredric had a chance to respond, a few last words could be heard before everything went quiet.
"Haaaavvveee tooooooo goooooooo noooowwwww. Ssssoooorrrryyy!"
A sideways glance showed the king slump to the floor, curling up upon himself. For his part, he wished the king a good, dreamless sleep, continuing with his painful exercise, all the time wondering what was going on in the world he knew best... his beloved dragon domain.
19 Liar, Liar, Tail's on Fire
On reflection, the traffic hadn't been nearly as bad as she'd thought it would be, in fact the drive itself could almost be described as enjoyable. It wasn't something that she'd often done, preferring almost always to use the ease, convenience and speed of the monorail, but with the window part way down, the sun shining, and great music on the radio, a little shiver of pleasure pulsed down her arms, despite her feeling a tiny bit claustrophobic. They'd agreed to meet well away from Salisbridge, at her insistence, but with Tim having opted for Swanage as their destination, Richie was feeling decidedly nervous. At the time, she'd been unable to come up with a good reason why they shouldn't meet
there, and Tim had been rather understanding about all the cloak and dagger stuff. With Swanage being almost the dead centre of Purbeck Peninsula, the dragon contingent was of course a worry, but by driving there and using a little known mantra that should, if used with the utmost care and control, render her almost undetectable to other dragons for a very short period of time, she thought she could blend in seamlessly. There was always the chance that her human form could be recognised but the chances of that were so remote, you'd get better odds on Peter, Tank, Flash and Gee Tee forming their own laminium ball team and winning the Global Cup. Just the thought of this brought a smile to her petite, freckly face.
Following the road almost to the sea, she turned left just before the end, parking on an incline just on the right hand side before making her way on foot back along the path and onto the seafront, pausing briefly to look up at the park that towered over her off to her right. It was the same one the three friends had used in the middle of the night to gain access to the dragon domain, the secret entrance ingrained in her eidetic memory, should she ever need to use it. With the wind whipping her hair frantically across her face, she stopped and gazed across at the young human children, toddlers and babies currently playing there.
Something inside her stirred. Something primitive, something unbridled, something forbidden. It was overwhelming, washing over her body in a wave that nearly rendered her unconscious. Recovering almost immediately, she gave a little look around to see if anyone had noticed her momentary wobble. If they had, it didn't show. Slowly exhaling, she set off purposefully towards the venue for their clandestine meeting, glancing at her watch to make sure she was going to be punctual, which to her meant about five minutes after the prearranged time. Well... she was a female dragon, after all, and five minutes was about enough of a delay to make her... fashionably late.
