Hamish X Goes to Providence Rhode Island

by Sean Cullen

  Hamish X groaned and sank back down beside the fire. “I don’t believe it. Can this whole journey become any more difficult? I just want to ask him some questions.” Hamish X stamped the sand as a sign of his annoyance, his boots flaring in the blue flame. “I’ve already had to fight a gang of slavers, steal a helicopter, and fly across the desert, and now I have to get into a stronghold guarded by evil mercenaries?”

  “Life is unfair,” Harik said softly. “But all is not hopeless. We have an old saying: ‘If all you have is a bucket full of sand, be thankful at least you have something to carry the sand in.’ Why bother going after this doctor? Is it really that important?”

  Hamish X looked down at his boots and then up at the star-encrusted black velvet of the night sky. He sighed. “Yes. Yes, it really is that important. I must speak with him if I am ever going to be free.” He dusted the sand off his trousers and picked up his pack. “Do me a favour. Take care of these two?” He swept his hand towards Thomas and Maggie. They immediately began to protest.

  “No way!” We aren’t leaving!” Maggie snapped.

  “Yeah.” Thomas crossed his arms. “We’ve come this far. We want to see how it ends.”

  Hamish X was about to argue with them when Harik stood. “Before anyone decides anything, we will show you El Arak. That may make your decision for you.” Harik rose to his feet and shouted something to his comrades. Camels, harnesses, and saddles were brought from behind the large dunes. Minutes later, Hamish X, Maggie, and Thomas were trotting through the sand under the moonlight in the company of Harik and his warrior tribe.

  Chapter 18

  PARVEEN

  Parveen scuttled like a mouse through the walls of ODA Headquarters. Using the ventilation shafts as his personal transportation system, he moved silently under the very noses of the ODA. Grey Agents went about their business without the slightest notion that they were being observed, their movements recorded, and their actions catalogued and correlated.

  Parveen’s plan of action was in fact a plan of no action. He had decided that he must observe his opponents and find a way to exploit their weaknesses. In the days that he had huddled behind access grates watching his quarry, he had come to realize one thing: the disturbing apparatus in the main chamber was the centre of all their operations. To strike a crippling blow against the gate would in turn cripple the ODA.

  There were a number of problems facing Parveen as he sat in his little lair, cataloguing his notes and observations. How could he destroy the gate? Explosives would do the trick. He believed he knew where to obtain them in the storerooms of the ODA compound. The armoury was located on the lowest level. Unfortunately, electronic and robotic warders as well as a number of Grey Agents guarded it: a problem, but not an insurmountable one. He had some ideas in that direction.

  Destroying the gate might be possible through tampering with the main computers. He had yet to get close enough to observe the mainframe, but given some luck and a little courage, that was also possible.

  The only real worry was escaping with his sister and as many of the other prisoners as he could. Would the destruction of the gate bring about the immediate destruction of the whole ODA Headquarters? If he destroyed the gate, did it follow that the Grey Agents would cease to function, or would they remain as dangerous as ever? He didn’t know the answers to these questions. He needed more information.

  He reviewed his notes and decided it was time to make a move. He had a limited number of hamster bombs in his backpack. They were saved as a last resort. If he used one on a Grey Agent inside the compound, he was certain there would be a general alert. He had to make a choice: the gate and its computer or the armoury. He ruminated on the choices while eating a last protein bar he had found in the bottom of his bag. The bar was a welcome change from the nutrient syrup. Swallowing the final morsel, he made his decision: he would go for the armoury first. Without raw materials, he would not be able to take the computer offline.

  He felt better now that he had a distinct goal. Pulling on the hood of his sneaky suit and donning his goggles, he checked his tools and his backpack one last time, taking out a single hamster bomb and tucking it into his pocket. Thus prepared, he ventured off down the main shaft.

  He padded softly along the shaft, stopping twice to allow maintenance robots to trundle by, pressing himself against the wall to avoid detection. The robots never registered his presence, leading him to believe that they were not monitored directly by the Grey Agents. The ODA probably never imagined anyone would ever infiltrate their inner sanctum, so they were not specifically looking for intruders. Their arrogance and overly developed sense of invulnerability could be used against them, Parveen mused. He watched the second robot trundle away down the shaft and a thought struck him: the Grey Agents paid absolutely no attention to the army of service robots that wandered around the facility. The automatons were practically invisible. That may come in handy. He mentally jotted a note to that effect before heading off to the grate that led out into the main catwalk.

  Waiting until the catwalk was relatively clear of traffic, he pushed the grate outward and slipped through, crouching and looking around. He’d had a close call when Mr. Sweet had almost seen him that one time. He had learned to stay as still as possible until he could move without anyone looking directly in his vicinity. The sneaky suit had trouble blending in with the background when that background shifted swiftly. Parveen pressed himself up against the grey wall and stood still for a moment.

  He took a look out across the vast chamber at the gate that pulsed softly with its nauseating radiance. Even at this distance, the sight still made him feel ill. The chamber floor was busy as ever. The Grey Agents didn’t seem to need extended periods of sleep. At least, they didn’t follow any pattern of night and day as human beings tended to do. They worked around the clock without rest.

  Parveen took a few deep breaths and tried to remain calm. He hated being out in the open, sneaky suit or not. He was certain that his luck would soon run out. Someone would see him or trip over him and he would be caught. He pushed his fears aside and waited for someone to pass by on the way to the elevators.

  After what seemed like hours, a Grey Agent in a combat jumpsuit strolled by on his way to the plain metal elevator doors. Parveen allowed him to get a few metres ahead before trotting off after him. The Grey Agent strode purposely to the elevator and stopped in front of the doors. He punched a small keypad beside the door, his overlong fingers dancing quickly over the keys as Parveen crept up to within a metre of his back.

  The elevator was the only way to get down to the lowest level of the facility. All the ventilation shafts were fitted with proximity alarms and stout steel grating. Parveen believed that, with time, he could have circumvented the alarms, but he would have needed an acetylene torch to burn through the metal grating. Therefore, the elevator was the only option. He would have preferred to crack the code on the keypad lock that protected the elevator and ride down himself, but he decided against it in the end. Even if the sneaky suit had withstood security scrutiny, he imagined that the arrival of a seemingly empty elevator on the lowest level would have sparked undue curiosity. Parveen watched the Grey Agent manipulate the keypad. He wished he could just watch and steal the code, but each Grey Agent seemed to have a different one and the writing on the keypad was not in any alphabet that Parveen had ever seen. There were strange characters on the keys, and he theorized that the Grey Agents had colour codes that registered only in spectra peculiar to their otherworldly eyes. In the end, Parveen had chosen the more dangerous but sure method of sneaking onto the elevator with another rider.

  The Grey Agent finished punching the keys and stood back as the elevator door whooshed open. He stepped into the elevator car. As he did so, he heard a rattle and a clink in the rear corner of the cabin. He turned and bent over, finding a small metal screw lying on the floor. He plucked it from the ground and held it up between the thumb and forefinger of one grey-gloved hand. He tilted
his head from side to side, puzzling over the tiny screw. He turned his goggled eyes to the ceiling of the car, trying to see if there was an obvious place the screw might have fallen from. Finding no clue as to the screw’s origin, he pressed a finger to the side of his head.

  “This is Mr. Pastille. Log a request for a maintenance check on the main elevator.”

  “Acknowledged,” came the reply in his ear.

  He nodded and tucked the screw into his pocket, watching the doors slide closed.

  For the thousandth time Parveen silently thanked heaven that he’d thought to bring along the sneaky suit. Without it he would have been sunk long ago. He had taken a screw from the ventilation shaft cover, and the little object had provided him with the distraction he needed to board the elevator car behind Mr. Pastille. Now he stood pressed against the back wall praying that the Grey Agent would not turn around.

  His prayers were answered. Mr. Pastille stared resolutely forward as the car lurched and dropped down the shaft, slowing and stopping seconds later at the armoury level. The doors whooshed open to reveal a long corridor stretching out away from the elevator. Mr. Pastille stepped out of the elevator unaware that Parveen was right on his heels.

  Parveen stayed as close to the Grey Agent as he dared, trotting silently in the creature’s shadow as Mr. Pastille made his way along the corridor. Every two metres a bright light shone down from overhead. Parveen tried to stay out of the harsh pools of light, keeping close to the metal wall of the corridor. Still, he felt horribly exposed. If he made even the slightest sound or Mr. Pastille decided to turn and look carefully along the corridor behind him, the game could be up.

  After a hundred metres, the corridor came to an end in a heavy steel door. In the centre of the door was a winking red light. Mr. Pastille stopped in front of the door.

  “Identify,” said a feminine voice. Parveen had grown used to the voice of the computer called Mother. She was the central nervous system of the whole Headquarters.

  “Pastille,” Mr. Pastille announced in a clear, lifeless voice.

  There was a second’s pause before the computer said, “Identification affirmative. Enter.”

  The winking red light turned a solid green. The door swung silently inward. Mr. Pastille stepped through the door. Parveen waited until the door began to swing shut before slipping through. He immediately stepped to one side and crouched down.

  The armoury was packed to the rafters with weaponry. Rack after rack of rifles and pistols hung suspended from the ceiling. The grey combat armour favoured by the ODA hung on rails along one wall, looking like the hollowed-out husks of vile, human-sized insects. Hanging from the ceiling in the centre of the room was a huge crystal sphere filled with the multicoloured butterflies that the Grey Agents had unleashed upon the inhabitants of the Hollow Mountain during the assault. The beautiful, deadly things were lifeless now. Dormant, awaiting the dark command of their masters, they clustered on the transparent walls of their container.

  Arrayed on the wall opposite the combat armour was a series of metal cubbyholes containing jetpacks, shiny, polished, and ready for use. Parveen longed to grab one of them, but he didn’t know how he’d be able to secrete it out of the armoury. The pack was too bulky to fit under his suit or in his small backpack. He would have to do without. The rifles and pistols were tempting, but he reminded himself that he had never used one. If Mimi were here (and oh how he missed her now), she’d have a field day arming herself with the ODA’s own weapons.

  No. He knew what he needed. He just had to find it. He looked to Mr. Pastille. The Grey Agent was coming off guard duty and was taking off his weapons for storage. Parveen had to work fast.

  He moved as swiftly as he dared along the racks of rifles and pistols. He reached the end of the row and found a series of lockers facing him. They were labelled in the same weird script he had seen all over the Headquarters. He checked to make sure Mr. Pastille was still occupied and then carefully reached out and tugged on the handle of the closest locker.

  He held his breath, anticipating an alarm.

  None came. The locker opened easily. Inside were neatly stacked bricks of a putty-like substance. Parveen picked one up and held it close to his face, examining it.

  He’d read about such material in science magazines and on the internet. One name for it was plastic explosive. The material was highly explosive if ignited using the proper electronic detonators. Parveen quickly searched the locker but found no detonators. No matter. He could scavenge parts and make one himself. Then he could destroy the gate. He had what he needed. Now it was time to go.

  He closed the locker and turned around to find Mr. Pastille standing directly in front of him. The Grey Agent looked down and Parveen saw himself as a greyish blotch reflected in the dark surface of Mr. Pastille’s goggles.

  “Well, well, well. What have we here?”

  Mr. Candy and Mr. Sweet

  Parveen thought that the locker was not connected to any alarm, but, alas, he was wrong. As soon as he opened the locker door, a contact was broken, sending a silent signal through the massive nervous system that was the artificial intelligence known as Mother. Like an itch on the end of a human nose is signalled to the brain along the nerves via68 electrical impulses, so Mother’s brain was alerted to the itch that was Parveen opening a locker he was not authorized to open.

  Mr. Candy and Mr. Sweet were sitting in the kitchen of the house at 174 Angell Street, combing through intelligence reports, trying to figure out where Hamish X could possibly be, when a chime sounded. The dial of the chrome radio glowed and Mother’s rich voice filled the kitchen.

  “Unauthorized access of ordnance storage locker. Armoury level. Intruder unknown.”

  Mr. Sweet and Mr. Candy were instantly on their feet. Mrs. Guardian, rinsing the teacups in the sink, froze. A teacup, clenched in one of her knobbly arthritic hands, exploded as she squeezed it.

  “Shall I investigate?” she asked, holding her hand up to inspect it for damage. The hand was whole save for one long shard of china that was embedded in her palm. She examined the shard with frank curiosity but registered no pain.

  “No.” Mr. Candy shook his head. Speaking to the radio, he demanded, “Who is the closest agent to the armoury?”

  “Mr. Pastille is currently in the armoury,” Mother informed him.

  “What?” Mr. Sweet’s normally emotionless voice registered the slightest nuance of confusion. “How is it possible that he sees no intruder then?”

  “Shall I alert Mr. Pastille to the situation?”

  “Immediately. And detach a cohort of agents to the site. We shall go there at once.”

  “One moment please,” Mother said, stopping the two Grey Agents as they moved for the elevator. “I am receiving a report from one of our agents in North Africa. According to our assets on the ground, two agents have been neutralized and a child procurement vessel scuttled in the Western Mediterranean. Helicopter 7A is missing.”

  Mr. Sweet and Mr. Candy exchanged a glance. Mr. Candy spoke. “Can you track the helicopter, Mother?”

  “Correlating satellite data.” There was a short pause. “Current location of helicopter designated 7A is South Sahara Desert, one hundred kilometres from the fortress of El Arak. This is also the last known location of Professor Magnus Ballantyne-Stewart.”

  Mr. Sweet and Mr. Candy stood in silence for a moment.

  “It must be Hamish X,” Mr. Sweet said.

  “Indeed, Mr. Sweet. The chance of a coincidence is low.”

  “I agree, Mr. Candy. There could be no other explanation. Mother?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Assign Mr. Pastille to hold the intruder until aid arrives. Arrange travel for Mr. Candy and myself. We must be in El Arak within the day.”

  Mrs. Guardian pulled the shard of china from her palm. No blood flowed from the wound. “Orders, Mr. Sweet?”

  “Remain at your post. The portal will be opened soon. No one can interfere. If anyone
attempts to enter, deter them. Lethally.”

  Mrs. Guardian smiled. On a normal elderly woman’s face, the expression would have been charming. Something about the coldness of her eyes and the set of her yellow teeth made the smile terrible. “Yes, Mr. Sweet.”

  Without another word, Mr. Candy and Mr. Sweet moved swiftly to the elevator. The doors opened and swallowed them up.

  Chapter 19

  MIMI

  Mimi and Cara walked a few paces behind Xnasha as their host led them to the gathering in the temple. Mimi grasped Cara by the elbow, slowing her pace so they could drop farther behind out of earshot.

  “Time is wastin’,” Mimi said, leaning close and speaking softly into the other girl’s ear. “One way or t’other, we gotta get outta here. Aidan and Parveen need us.”

  Cara whispered, “Maybe we can convince them to let us use that submarine. Borrow it maybe?”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Mimi hissed. “Besides, who’s gonna drive it? You?”

  “Maybe.” Cara tossed her head haughtily.

  “Ferget it,” Mimi said. “We’d just get ’rselves killed tryin’. Mebbe if Parv were here, he could figger it out, but he ain’t so I wouldn’t risk it.”

  “What then? Are we going to walk to Providence?”

  “We have to git to the surface and then we’ll start worryin’ about that.”

  “We have our chance to convince them at this council meeting,” Cara said. “Just let me do the talking.”

  “Y’all give it a try, but remember: patience ain’t my strong suit.”

  “I doubt I’ll ever forget that,” Cara groaned.

  The two girls picked up the pace and caught up with Xnasha as the woman headed across the square, joining the stream of Atlanteans heading towards the imposing temple that housed the Crystal Fountain. None of the Hollow Mountain refugees had been allowed to enter the temple the day before. The building was off limits, Xnasha had explained this morning over a breakfast of fish and strange biscuits baked from seaweed and plankton flour. The Temple of the Crystal Fountain was guarded day and night by armed and armoured Atlanteans. Their hosts had allowed the visitors freedom to roam anywhere they liked in the city except for the temple. Mimi had woken early and gone for a jog around the square. She had tried to enter twice but both times had been turned politely but firmly away. Mimi doubted that the guards would have been any match for her in a fight, but she decided to leave well enough alone for the time being, pushing her curiosity aside until later in the day when the council meeting would begin.