by Paul Cude
"NOTHING! Not a damn thing. Even if we knew how this happened... and we don't, finding a way to reverse it is all but impossible. It would be like taking a normal human and turning them into one of us. It simply can't be done."
Fighting back the urge to vomit, Peter's legs suddenly turned to jelly.
"You mentioned that there were two halves to this problem. What's the other?" queried the king.
"You remember out little conversation... just a minute ago?" whispered the doctor.
The monarch nodded.
"You and I need to have a little chat in private."
"Okay."
Grabbing a fistful of curtain, the good doctor yanked it two thirds of the way around Richie's bed, enclosing Peter, Tank and Flash. Turning to the friends, her scowl having all but disappeared, she said,
"You can stay for fifteen minutes. After that, you'll have to go. She drifts in and out of consciousness, and might well wake up. She's coherent but pumped full of some rather powerful painkillers, so you can expect her to be a little confused. Make sure you don't tax her too much. At some point tonight we're looking to move her upstairs to one of the human wards. There's nothing more we can do for her down here."
Peter started to protest. Again the doctor's index finger came out.
"She'll be just fine. We'll make sure, wherever she is, that the ward is staffed by dragons familiar with her condition. But it's better this way... trust me. Also, you'll be able to visit whenever you like, something I'm sure will boost her recovery. And you, mantra boy," she exclaimed, using her well exercised index finger to point at Tank, "no more of the clever stuff. We've tried everything, and none of it works. You'll only get someone else hurt. Understand?"
Sheepishly, Tank squeaked the tiniest, "Yes."
"This way Your Majesty," declared the doctor, holding back two parts of the surrounding curtain to form a doorway. Taking one step towards the gaping hole, the king turned back to look at Peter.
"I'll catch up with you... I promise. It might take me a few days with everything that's going on, but I will. If there's a problem, or she," he nodded his head sideways, indicating Richie, "needs anything at all, you know how to get a message to me."
Peter croaked a, "Thank you," in reply, his throat really dry from not having had a drink all day.
The king turned to face Flash.
"I'm going to need your particular skill set, so don't get too comfortable."
"Ready as ever Sire," replied the ex-Crimson Guard, bowing his head slightly.
With that, the monarch waltzed through the gap in the curtains, followed swiftly by the doctor, leaving the three friends in total silence, none of them quite knowing what to say. It was Peter who spoke up first.
"What does it all mean?"
Tank shrugged his shoulders despondently. Flash considered the question carefully before replying.
"It has implications on so many levels. First and foremost, her health. If she's a fit and healthy human, and we've no reason to doubt that's the case, then she should make a full recovery. We all know what a superb athlete she is, so on that front things should be fine. As for the mantras not working on her, I for one have never come across anything like it. But as a group, I would suggest we're ideally placed to try and find out more. I can search the king's library, and Tank can pump Gee Tee for information. It might be a little complicated and confusing now, but together we're in a unique position to get to the bottom of it."
Silence resumed briefly, that is until Peter plucked up the courage to ask,
"And what is it you're not telling us?"
Burying his face in his hands, Flash exhaled deeply. In the normal course of his duties, it would be about now that he'd be deciding if a little white lie was in order. But ever since the cruel twist of fate that had left him trapped in human form, the three dragons with him had become his friends. Never having had friends before, he really didn't want to lie to them. But he also didn't want to hurt them either. In the end, the decision wasn't a difficult one.
'Friends always tell each other the truth, no matter how hard the subject matter, don't they?' he thought, as he straightened up to face Peter.
"If she's human when she leaves hospital, she'll have to live as one of them."
Peter's face brightened.
"That's not a problem; that's what she does now."
Flash caught sight of Tank's troubled face out of the corner of his eye, realising he was much further along with where this was going.
'Here we go then,' he thought. 'Might as well get it out in the open.'
"She won't be allowed to carry on as she is, Peter. Under no circumstances will the council allow it."
"I don't understand," replied the young hockey playing dragon.
"I think I do," cut in Tank. "You mean the council won't allow her to live as a human and retain her dragon memories, don't you?"
"I'm afraid so," Flash nodded.
"That's preposterous!" exclaimed Peter.
"I'm really sorry Peter, but I'm pretty sure that's what'll happen."
"Why, why, why would they do that?" Peter stuttered, starting to get in a tangle.
"If she's fully human, then they simply can't take the risk that she might reveal our existence to the rest of the world. As well, to them, it will be easier casting her out than actually trying to help her recover and fit back in, without any of her dragon abilities. To them, it will seem like the perfect answer to a very uncomfortable question."
"You can't know this for sure," Peter spluttered, getting more upset by the second. "Anyway, the king would never allow such a thing."
Tank wandered around the bed to his friend. Putting one of his giant arms around his shoulder, he said,
"Just calm down a little... okay? Getting upset won't do anyone any good, and there's certainly no reason to take things out on Flash. You asked him the question, and he answered truthfully. For what it's worth, I think he's probably right." Peter started to open his mouth at this point, but taking a leaf from the good doctor's book, Tank held up his index finger and then carried on. "But the point at which that happens is a long way off. For now, we need to help her recover. We need to be there for her. And while we're doing that, we can look into how the change occurred and what, if anything, we could do, should the council try and cast her out. But for now, let's just support her. That's what she needs the most."
Tank had a way of cutting to the heart of the matter. Feeling so stupid, Peter knew his friend was right. But deep down, he was afraid, afraid for his friend, unable to bear the thought of her being cast away, tossed aside like a little loved or played with rag doll.
'If the council want to do that, then they're most certainly going to have to go through me,' he mused, embracing his friend and apologising to them both. Quickly, he shook Flash's hand, thanking him for his honesty. Then the three of them just sat and waited, all the time watching over their stricken friend. Her breathing was a little ragged, Peter noticed, as her chest rose and fell, but he was glad that she was sleeping, and hoped that the pain from her injuries didn't trouble her so much in that state.
In the blink of an eye, their visiting time was over. A large dragon nurse pulled back the curtain and escorted them back out of the ward, the way they'd come in. As they shuffled back towards the entrance, the sound of muffled voices rang through the air from behind the giant, all encompassing curtain, now off to their left. It certainly sounded like the king, in a rather animated state. Intrigued, the three of them tried to get a little closer, but the nurse was having none of it. Having been suitably reprimanded, they continued on their journey, with Flash and Tank both having the same idea at almost exactly the same time. Casting barely noticeable mantas that enhanced their hearing many times over, they waited patiently to hear what was being said, but to no avail, as the voices remained muffled and incoherent. Flash figured it out before Tank. The curtain! Clearly the curtain was imbued with some kind of magic, a noise scrambling mantra if he wasn't mista
ken. Whatever was going on in there, the medical staff certainly wanted it to remain a secret.
Reaching the end of the ward, the dragon disguised as a nurse held the door open for them to leave. Tank and Flash walked straight through, while Peter glanced back over his shoulder, hoping to glimpse the king one more time before they left. Disappointment spread out from his chest like a spilled drink when he couldn't spot the monarch. Just as he was about to turn round, he noticed the giant curtain had got snagged on something, leaving a gap from foot to knee height. And through that gap he caught sight of something extraordinary, something that just shouldn't have been. Before he had a chance to take stock, he was grabbed by the arm and thrust through the door.
"Come on sonny, you've done enough gawping for one day. Be on your way," cackled the nurse. And with that, she slammed the door shut behind them, leaving all three alone in the eerily darkened corridor.
Lagging behind his friends, mulling over everything that had happened not only in the ward just now, but the events of the previous week, Peter, despite having lived through it, and there had been moments (particularly in the clubhouse when Tank was laying down the mantras to contain the laminium bomb's blast) when he'd thought he wouldn't survive, it still seemed like a whirlwind of a dream to him. Things had happened so fast, and had gone from nothing to everything in the blink of an eye. As if saving everybody at the sports club wasn't enough, even though it came at the cost of the building itself, the loss he felt at losing Janice's friendship, well... love actually, cut deep. And then to find that Richie had been in the cellar when the building had been obliterated was nothing short of heartbreaking, only to be negated by the fact that she had, amazingly, survived. That had all been combined with a short spell in jail until everything had been sorted out, and with the much bigger picture: the devastating terrorist attacks across the globe which had wreaked havoc both above and below ground.
'The earth,' he thought, as he continued to follow his friends, 'is a much more dangerous place now than at any other time I can remember. I just want things to go back to how they were... safe, secure, playing hockey, with the clubhouse intact, and my beautiful Janice tucked up in my arms. Oh why did it all have to go so wrong?'
2 A Wing And A Prayer
A dragon call to arms went out across the kingdom to every living and breathing dragon. The world had been savagely attacked, the like of which had never been seen in its history. Even the darkest days of the previous World Wars paled in comparison with this outrageous, audacious act of violence.
Of course they all knew about it, each and every one of them. It had been plastered across the telepathic papers, with signs and banners flashing and pulsing away at the local storage nodes, making sure every dragon consciousness that arrived there got the message. As if that weren't enough, the king himself made a personal plea, compelling dragons to drop what they were doing and join the rescue efforts in any way they could. And they did, in their hundreds of thousands across the planet, those who were able taking human guise, infiltrating the world above and offering as much aid and assistance as was dragonly possible. Other, mainly subterranean, dragons made their way to the underground areas that had been hit in the attack. In his plea, the king had issued orders that everything was to be used in their fight against whoever had perpetrated this heinous act of barbarity, and in repairing the damage that had been wrought across the globe. So everything was. Both above and below ground, dragons wove their magic in two totally different ways. Below ground, dragons openly used their magical energies to cast mantra after mantra, some to the point of near exhaustion. Most were moving wreckage, some were reinforcing damaged structures, others carefully recovered the bodies of the slain. It was a grim task for sure, but by working together and drawing strength, both physically and emotionally, from each other, progress was made. Dragon towns and cities were made safe and the dragon corpses were recovered with as much dignity as possible.
On the surface, dragons used their power in much the same way, following the king's appeal. Small groups operated across the stricken sites, openly using their power, careful not to reveal themselves to the humans, well... mostly, but more concerned with time ticking by, and rescuing those that remained trapped or badly injured. The use of their power wasn't casual or reckless, but more measured, controlled, and just... MORE! It was almost as if they'd stepped out of the shadows and into the light. Things got done. For the most part the humans were in disarray, and had little chance of noticing the speed with which things were progressing, or indeed how much of the heavy work had been completed without the need for cumbersome machinery. Survivors were found... mothers, sons, fathers, daughters, animals in all different shapes and sizes, all saved because the rulebook had been thrown away, at least for the time being.
Efforts, however, didn't stop there. Magical mantras were used to repair electrical sub-stations and the infrastructure they needed to provide power. Water was also an issue, but this was child's play to the dragons on the ground. With their eidetic memories, creative minds and wealth of magical power, they almost resembled gods in what they could do. Hospitals in the midst of a blast radius sprang up from virtually nowhere, as good as new, having been obliterated only days before. Sewage systems were not only repaired, but made more efficient and effective. All this was achieved without the humans' knowledge. How? Groups of police, fire and other government bodies, all dragons in disguise, manned (or dragoned) each and every perimeter cordon, at each and every site. Some were harder to maintain than others, some required extra resources which duly arrived, thanks in no small part to the plea from the king. In most cases, humans couldn't get within a mile of the edge of each blast. It was teamwork on a massive scale, with parties of dragons numbering in the hundreds, purely devoted to organising the hundreds of thousands of volunteers who were answering the dragon king's call.
Human media were the thorn in the side of all this, but dragons had worked their way up the ladder over time in nearly every organisation, with newspapers and television being no exception. Top level executives began issuing unusual orders about who should be covering the story, or stories, depending on how you looked at it. Helicopter pilots and the news reporters who travelled with them were selected not because of their reporting experience, but because they too were dragons, and they too were being co-ordinated by the groups underground, making sure not to film or record the dragon squads working at the scene of each blast, instead only filming or snapping pictures of the devastated areas that were unattended. It was a little clumsy, a little chaotic, but most importantly... IT WORKED! Everything the news channels and newspapers featured had been vetted by a dragon at some point. No human on the entire planet had any idea of the actual scale of the unseen dragon aid, and would be surprised at the pockets of infrastructure and vital services that remained untouched over the coming days, having actually been swiftly rebuilt or repaired.
But of course there were still bodies. Tens, hundreds, thousands... more! It was hard going, even for the dragon recovery teams, who it had to be said for the most part were pretty much detached, mainly because most of them regarded humans as far below their equal, equating them more with a beloved pet, than something worthy of sharing the planet with. These were much older and rapidly diminishing views, in an ever changing world, but still they existed, not quite widespread, but common enough. It hardly mattered though. Each and every dragon went about their business, whatever it was, with utter professionalism, dedication and ruthless efficiency. Minutes turned into hours, hours into days, days dragged on until finally, the whole dragon operation was called to a halt.
Once the order had been given, schedules and rotas were changed back, allowing tired and weary dragons to be substituted for their grief stricken charges. Over the course of twenty four hours, deployment was pretty much as it should have been, with the odd dragon here and there, but for the most part, it was mainly humans who inhabited and covered the devastated areas.
3 All Hail Our Savi
our In Scale
A patchwork of images faded in and out of his mind almost constantly now. For the most part, he couldn't tell whether he was awake or not. Reaching back into his mind, he tried to recall how it had all started. Remembering being somewhere... somewhere he shouldn't have, then... it all became dark and he'd awoken here, wherever here was. It was one of the many questions 'THEY' wouldn't answer.
Thinking of them mainly as 'THEY' because of their continued evasiveness, he'd asked what had happened, where he was and how he'd got here, all eliciting the same response..."All in good time." What the hell was that supposed to mean? Why were they being so restrictive with the truth? What was going on? And why couldn't he remember exactly what had happened? All these things constantly nagged at him, but nothing like the big question, the one that stood out like Batman in a Marvel production, the elephant in the room: why could he not feel, or move, any part of his body? And why were his neck and head surrounded by some kind of tiny metal scaffolding frame? Had he broken his back and become permanently disabled, or suffered massive trauma to his head? It might explain a few things if he had. Politely he'd asked these questions, only for the nursing staff (if indeed that's what they really were... sometimes he wondered about that, however ridiculous it seemed) to change the subject very quickly and awkwardly, all of them saying that he'd have to be a patient patient and wait to speak to the doctor, who was on his way. That was days, if not weeks ago. It was hard to remember and keep track of time with all the drugs they were feeding him. On waking up, they'd give him a drink, but before he knew it, he felt sleepy again. Trying to fight it, he gave everything he had in an effort to stay awake, but the pleasant, almost joyful feeling of the medication starting somewhere lower down in his body, was just too hard to resist. In the end, sleep won every time.
But he was awake now, and more alert than he could remember being for some time. Hearing the door to his room open with a tiny little squeak, followed by the expansive whooshing rush of air which normally preceded footsteps, he knew instantly this time was different, because there was more than one set, three or four if he wasn't mistaken. This was something... NEW!
