by Sean Cullen
“At last, we were victorious. We forced the remaining evil invaders back into their own plane and destroyed the gate forever. Yes, we were victorious, but at a terrible cost. Our civilization was in ruins. Most of our people were dead.
“With our remaining resources, we built this refuge in the sunken ruins of our capital. The dome was built and the shields went up. We went into hiding. Our great achievements were forgotten by the surface world, and the name Atlantis faded into myth and legend.”
Xnasha heaved a great sigh and fell silent. Mimi and Cara sat lost in their own thoughts. Mimi tried to imagine the beautiful world as it had once been—the glorious city shining and alive, filled with magnificent wonders instead of the faded shell that now remained—but it was hard to grasp the magnitude of what Xnasha’s people had lost in that long-ago war.
“So the Grey Agents have been here before,” Cara said, finally breaking the silence. “How did they manage to come back if you destroyed the gateway?”
“I don’t know. I can only guess that once they got a taste of the life and energy in this world, they have striven ever since to return. As I said, the gateway was a massive undertaking requiring all the resources of our great and powerful civilization. Perhaps it has taken them this long to find a way to return—and even then, managing only a small breach allowing just a few to come through—but I’m sure it is just a prelude to a much larger invasion. My belief is that they are trying to build a permanent gateway somewhere in our world, and then they will come in strength.”
Cara turned to Mimi and nodded. “It has to be in Providence.”
“Providence?” Xnasha asked.
“Thur Headquarters in Rhode Island,” Mimi explained. “It’s a state in America.”
Xnasha clapped her hands in delight. “I’ve heard of it. They make chickens there!”
Mimi laughed. “I guess they do, kinda.”58
Cara folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. “That’s something I find curious.”
“What?” asked Xnasha. “That Rhode Island has a chicken named after it?”
“No … although that is weird. But what’s weirder is that you know anything about Rhode Island and chickens and that you speak almost perfect English.”
“Oh that! That is easily explained. Come with me.”
A few minutes later, after being led back up to the city square, they found themselves in one of the strangest places they had ever seen. Considering how many strange places they’d been in before, that was quite an accomplishment.
“So that’s how y’all know how to speak American,” Mimi cried in amazement.
“English.” Cara rolled her eyes. “The language is English.”
“Whatever.” Mimi scowled. “Just answers a few questions, is all.”
They were standing in a vast stone building beside the temple. Stacked haphazardly around the space were piles of artifacts from the surface world. There were cars, tires, wagons, and chariots. There were suits of armour from every era of history: plate mail from Europe, coats of metal rings, rusted and rotting, swords, shields, and helmets. There were licence plates and kitchen appliances. There were farm tractors and furniture. In short, almost every aspect of surface life was represented in some way. Most of it was the worse for wear from soaking for a long time in the salty depths before the Atlanteans scooped it up for their weird museum. All the junk was stacked willy-nilly in tottering piles, but one piece had been lovingly restored, cleaned, and polished. Standing in the most prominent place in the centre of the hall on a marble pedestal,59 its shiny chrome gleaming in the torchlight, was a radio.
A soft glow shone from the dial. The radio looked as though it had been ripped out of a larger housing. Perhaps it had once been in a boat or car dashboard. A bent, twisted aerial sprouted from the top. Currently, it was picking up a gardening program.
“I’d give those rhododendrons a good watering in the morning once a week, Doris. Anything more and you’ll have root rot on your hands,” a cultured voice advised from the speaker.
“Thanks, Reg, for taking my call,” a lady answered.
“Thanks, Reg, for taking my call,” Xnasha mimicked the voice perfectly. She reached over and turned down the radio by twisting a black knob. “I listen all the time. I love it. I would love to garden, wouldn’t you?” Her pale eyes danced with excitement. She danced in a circle, her arms swept wide to encompass all the strange relics of the surface world. “All these treasures, so mysterious and amazing. Rhododendrons and root rot. It’s just so exciting!”
Cara and Mimi exchanged a look. “You got some weird ideas about what’s amazing and what ain’t! You live in this amazin’ place surrounded by amazin’ things and yer listenin’ to the radio?”
“What’s the matter? Don’t you like rho-do-den-drons?” She turned the tuning knob with her knobby fingers, filling the air with static as she searched for another channel.
“It ain’t the subject matter,” Mimi began, but she stopped when the confident voice of a female newsreader came in loud and clear.
“Leading off the international news this morning, geologists are still puzzled by the freak eruption in the Swiss Alps two days ago. Mount Nutterhorn, until recently thought to be completely stable, has now spewed molten rock over hundreds of square kilometres, raining ash and debris as far away as Brussels. Relief agencies are heading into the area, which is sparsely inhabited by humans. The region is home to many dairy farmers and local fauna such as the Alpine Puking Rabbit, an endangered species. More on this story as it develops. Now to Bill in New York, who has a fascinating story about a cat who can type his own name! Bill?”
Mimi reached over and turned the radio off. “They wrecked it. They wrecked the Hollow Mountain.”
Cara’s face was ashen. “George, the King … everything is gone.”
Mimi’s face reddened with fury. She slammed her hand down on the pedestal. The impact knocked the aerial askew. “We gotta make ’em pay.”
“Careful of the radio,” Xnasha yelped, leaping to adjust the wire.
Mimi grabbed the woman’s shoulder and spun her around, glaring into her pale blue eyes. “That was our home. We gotta get outta here and get back at the Grey Agents.”
Xnasha shook her head. “You can’t do anything. They’re too powerful! They crushed our whole civilization …” She pointed at the radio. “They destroy whole mountains, remember.”
“We gotta try! We need your people to help us.”
“No.” The Atlantean shook her head, rattling the shells in her hair. “We can’t help you.”
Mimi clenched her teeth to stop herself from shouting. She took a breath and said, “This place is amazing. You people of Atlantis are powerful, too. Why are you sittin’ around here listenin’ to the radio?”
Xnasha looked confused. “But … but … the radio is amazing! There’s a whole world that I will never know. All I have is this radio. We can’t go to the surface, so I listen to the radio and learn what I can.”
“Can’t go,” Cara said. “Why can’t you go? Is the light of the sun deadly to you? Is the air poisonous?”
Xnasha shook her head, suddenly quiet.
“No,” Mimi said sarcastically. “The only thing keepin’ them out o’ the fight is fear. They’re afraid. It’s a good thing you heard about the Rhode Island Red ’cause yer a chicken yerself!”
Xnasha looked at Mimi with a puzzled expression. “I’m a chicken? I don’t understand. You have the strangest manner of expressing yourself.”
“I mean, you ain’t got no guts!”
Again, Xnasha was confused. “I believe I have guts inside my abdomen.”60
“Aw, ferget it. I cain’t even insult ya proper.” Mimi turned on her heel and stamped out of the museum and into the night.
Xnasha turned to Cara and asked,
“She was insulting me?” “She was basically calling you a coward,” Cara said gently. “But don’t listen to her. She’s a little upset righ
t now. I think you have good reason to be afraid of the Grey Agents. You know better than anyone what they’re capable of.” Cara yawned. “I’m so tired. Let’s go and find Mimi before she gets lost. I need to sleep.”
Cara began walking to the door, but Xnasha stood still, looking at the floor. Cara went back and touched the woman’s arm. Xnasha raised her face and there were tears shining in her eyes.
“What’s the matter, Xnasha?”
“I … I am not a coward. I want to help you. I want to see the surface but … my people are few. How can we hope to make a difference?”
Cara looked her in the eye, pursed her lips, and shrugged. “I don’t know. We all do what we can. I know that if my people were driven underground by a gang of evil creeps and forced to live in hiding for thousands of years, I’d want a little payback.”
Cara turned and went out the door, leaving the Atlantean woman alone in the museum. For a long moment, Xnasha thought about what Cara had said. She looked around at all the piles of objects and saw them for what they were: stacks and stacks of junk, evidence of the lives of others. What about her life? Xnasha realized then that she could no longer sit idly by as a spectator. She could no longer hide while the world above moved on. She took one last look at the place she used to find so fascinating and decided it was a dead end. She wanted to see the living world instead. She set off to catch up with the girls.
Chapter 16
HAMISH X
Night came quickly in the Sahara Desert. Hamish X barely had time to appreciate the reds, oranges, and purples of the western sky spilling down to colour the pale brown sand when the sun ducked beneath the horizon. The moon would not rise for many hours. Though only a few metres below, the sandy ground was invisible to his regular vision. Sitting in the pilot’s chair of the helicopter, Hamish X willed his vision to sharpen. His pupils widened to suck in all the available light. Now the ground was visible, as if there were a full moon.
He didn’t really need to physically see the ground, but it was comforting for him. He gripped the control stick between his knees and checked the heads-up display on the instrument panel. The helicopter gave him a full three-dimensional projection of the landscape, and a cursor showed where he was on a map along with his exact map coordinates. There was no chance he could get lost. He wanted to get as far as he could with the stolen ODA aircraft before ditching it and continuing to his destination on foot.
Since leaving the children from the Christmas Is Cancelled, along with the vanquished crew and a furious Captain Ironbuttocks, safely on a beach just outside Casablanca, Hamish X had taken off again on his own to find Professor Magnus Ballantyne-Stewart.
Thomas and Maggie had protested loudly when he told them he was going alone.
“You have parents waiting for you,” Hamish X pointed out. “They’re probably worried sick.”
“They can worry a little longer,” Thomas said. “We wanna come and help you. The desert is no place to go alone.”
“Really.” Hamish X laughed. “Have you ever been in a desert?”
“I saw one on the science channel.”
“I see. Well, I respect your expert opinion, but I have to go across this desert and I can’t bring anyone with me. It’s too dangerous. In the place I’m going to there is a war going on. I can’t guarantee you’ll be safe.”
Maggie poked a stiff finger into Hamish X’s chest. “You can’t make us stay here. We’re free people. We can go where we choose.”
Hamish X winced as the finger drove into his skin and jabbed his ribs. “You really do remind me of a friend of mine. You have to meet her someday. Maybe after I find out who I am and the ODA are all gone. But until then, I need you both to stay here. These kids need someone to help them get in touch with the authorities in town, and after that … call your parents and go home.” Hamish X smiled sadly. “It’s what I would do if I had parents or a home.”
After a lot more argument, the brother and sister had finally, reluctantly agreed. As Hamish X rushed along over the darkened desert, he hoped they were with their parents right now. He imagined the joy on the faces of their mother and father when they were reunited with the children they thought were gone forever. He wished he could have seen that happy sight, but he had to find Professor Ballantyne-Stewart.
The helicopter was a huge bonus. Using the purloined aircraft, he had managed to cover a great deal of ground in a fraction of the time it would have taken on foot or in a vehicle. He checked the fuel gauge: the needle was just above half. Based on how long the previous tank had lasted, he would be able to fly for another thousand kilometres before having to abandon the helicopter and proceed on foot. According to the maps King Liam had left for him in the luggage locker in the train station in Athens, he would be only a hundred kilometres or perhaps less from his goal.
Two hours later the moon had risen, silvering the dunes. The sky sparkled with more stars than Hamish X had ever seen. As he neared his destination, he felt a sense of unease growing inside him. What would he learn from the man who had made him at the behest of the ODA? Sometimes he wondered if he really wanted to find out everything there was to know about himself. Couldn’t he just be happy? He had these amazing boots. He could do amazing things! He was the unconquerable Hamish X! Why shouldn’t he just turn around and forget this quest for knowledge, find Parveen and Mimi, and go and live out his life somewhere where the Grey Agents might never find him?
Even as he had those thoughts, he realized it was just a fantasy. He would always wonder. The Grey Agents would never let him go. They would find him wherever he chose to hide, no matter how far he ran. No. It was imperative that he find the Professor and learn the truth. Better to face the unknown head-on.
Glancing at the instrument panel an hour later, he saw that the fuel gauge hovered just above empty. He had to find a safe place to land the helicopter and proceed on foot.
Hamish X checked the maps and saw that an oasis lay a few kilometres ahead. Oases were tiny clusters of vegetation that grew around sources of water in the otherwise barren sands of the desert. According to Hamish X’s charts, there was a well at the oasis where he could land the helicopter, fill his canteen, and begin the final leg of the journey on foot across the desert to the Professor’s last known whereabouts. The file said that the Professor had been seen in the village of Al-Haleed only a month before. If Ballantyne-Stewart had moved on, Hamish X would track him down.
Easing up on the throttle, he cut his speed in half, searching ahead in the moonlight for any sign of the oasis. In a moment, he saw it: a ragged line of vegetation against the normally smooth profile of the dunes. He flew past the site, looking out over it. There were date palms and some scrub grass. A crude stone well marked the watering hole. He brought the aircraft around and was about to land gently amid a swirling tornado of sand when a rocket lanced up from the ground and smashed into the tail rotor of the helicopter.
The vehicle began to spiral out of control. Hamish X fought to hold the stick steady, but it bucked in his hands like a live thing. Hamish X braced himself for the inevitable impact as the whole world tilted to one side and the helicopter slammed into the sand. He was thrown against the restraining straps of the safety harness and banged his head on the side of the seat. Stars erupted in his head. For a second, his sight went dim.
He woke to find himself hanging sideways in the harness. The window below him was pressed against the sandy desert, the windscreen starred and cracked but still holding the weight of the helicopter.
Bracing his feet against the instrument panel, Hamish X punched the button in the centre of the safety harness. Grabbing hold of the door handle above, he swung himself around and stood on the side of the seat. He propelled himself off the seat and pushed the door open. The wind tore the door from his hands, slamming it back against the cabin. Carefully, he stuck his head out the door and scanned the surrounding desert. There was no sign of anyone in the dunes. Nothing moved but the skirling clouds of sand. Whoever had att
acked the helicopter was nowhere to be seen. He waited a minute longer, threw his backpack out, then flung himself out the door and dropped easily into the soft sand, hiding in the shadow cast by the fuselage of the aircraft.
The wind was sharp and cold. Hamish X stood for a moment, listening. The hiss of sand and the ticking of the engines were the only sounds in the vast desert night apart from the rattle of the broad leaves of the date palms in the breeze. He studied the desert for any sign of human activity. There seemed to be nothing but sand, scrub grass, and dates littered around the base of the trees.
Who had fired upon the helicopter? Surely they mustn’t be far away. Was he imagining the attack? Had it merely been a malfunction and explosion in the engine? Perhaps, but he didn’t really think so. All the systems had been running fine up until the time of the crash. He had to be careful. He was in a war zone. He had to assume that whoever had attacked the helicopter would be here soon to inspect their handiwork.
First things first: he needed water if he was going to survive a hike through the desert. He made one more scan of the surrounding dunes but saw no movement at all.
Satisfied that he was alone in the oasis, Hamish X trotted across the soft sand to the well. The well was a pile of roughly hewn stones stacked on top of one another in a circle surrounding a deep black hole in the ground. Arranged over the opening was a tripod made of blackened iron. At the peak of the tripod hung a pulley and rope. Attached to the rope was a plastic bucket. Hamish X wondered who had hung the tripod and how long it had been there. Oases were immensely important to the nomadic people of the desert, being the only source of water in the rolling wasteland of sand. The oases were like islands in a dry ocean. The nomads travelled from one oasis to another like ships passing through a hostile sea. Someone had constructed this well, and now it was used by whomever might need it.
