Wraith

by Shane Smithers

  Please, please let this be a way out, he thought.

  On the other side, James could feel a narrow shaft barely big enough for him to wiggle down. A few minutes later, he dropped out of the shaft, landing on the floor of another pitch-black chamber. He groped around, eager to find a door or a hatch, before his hands eventually came to rest on a large square object jutting out from the wall. Like everything else in this place it was cold and smooth. However, on closer inspection, he could feel some raised shapes running across one side.

  Writing! Maybe he could figure out what this machine did, or even who owned it. But, when he traced his fingers over the shapes, they didn’t feel like the alphabet he knew. He named the first country that sprang to mind. ‘Bulgaria?’ During the last few weeks of the school term, James’s teacher had let each student pick a country to study by taking turns throwing a dart at a world map – she was a very cool teacher – and James had hit Bulgaria. Darren had first hit the Pacific Ocean and had to have another go. James doubted the shapes really were Bulgarian, but it was a comforting thought.

  On the other side of the room he found another, identical object. He placed his ear against this one and tapped it with his knuckles. It made a hollow sound. He couldn’t imagine what the things were for and was about to tap again when the humming began. It was much louder than he remembered. The sound was coming from inside the square objects. In the darkness James heard a scraping noise, as if a vent was opening, and then the air turned bitterly cold. The pressure in the room dropped and his hands shot instinctively to his throat – he couldn’t breathe.

  James peered helplessly into the blackness, feeling as if his head was about to explode. He wanted to scream, to cry out, but nothing escaped his lips. He sank to his knees, still clutching his throat. He wasn’t going to make it – he was going to die. At that moment, hope left him, as did consciousness, and he collapsed onto the floor.

  ~

  ‘Hey, Alto. You’re not going to believe this.’

  ‘What?’ said Alto. He walked across the top of the humming atmospheric sampling unit toward his colleague Strato, who had just opened up one of the panels and was peering down into the machine.

  ‘Come take a look.’

  ‘I’m coming as fast as I can. This old unit wasn’t designed for sky walking. Work and Safety would have a field day if they knew we were clambering all over it without a harness. Any strong wind and we could easily be blown onto another cloud.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, quit your jabbering and come take a look. Honestly, you won’t believe it,’ said Strato, shaking his head.

  Alto stepped around his colleague and gazed down into the darkness. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust and then he drew a sharp breath. ‘I don’t believe it!’ he said, blinking several times as if that might change what he saw.

  Strato smiled beside him. ‘I told you, you wouldn’t believe it.’

  NINE

  Intensive Care Unit, General Hospital, Nebulosity

  James’s eyes flickered open. He let out a slow moan and rubbed his throbbing head. His arm felt as if it weighed a hundred kilos and he let it drop back to his side. This head cold really sucked. Why wouldn’t it go away? Maybe he had Man Flu! His dad had always said Man Flu was the worst flu of all to get. He closed his eyes and snuggled further down into the wonderful warmth of his bed. It was so lovely and soft.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ said a quiet voice from somewhere above him.

  James blinked a few times, but couldn’t focus. It was as if he were peering through very thick spectacles. ‘Mum, is that you?’

  ‘No, no, I’m not your mother,’ said a woman softly. James struggled to sit up. ‘Who are you? Why are you in my bedroom?’ He felt a hand gently push him back down in the bed. He had little strength to fight it.

  ‘You are in the Recovery Ward,’ the woman said.

  ‘Recovery Ward? You mean, like in a hospital?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why am I in hospital? Do I have pneumonia?’

  ‘The atmospheric technicians brought you. And, no, you do not have pneumonia.’

  James squinted at her blurred figure. ‘How do you know? Are you a doctor?’

  ‘Yes. My name is Dr Cannenta.’ Her speech seemed a little too perfect, as if she had learnt English from a robot. ‘You have had quite an ordeal,’ she said.

  ‘Where’s my mum and dad?’

  ‘I do not know their whereabouts.’

  ‘They haven’t come to the hospital?’ Something must be wrong. His parents would never . . . unless . . . and then he remembered! ‘They’re in New Zealand.’

  Dr Cannenta didn’t answer.

  James went to sit up again. ‘I think I’m going to vomit.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Something’s wrong with my vision, everything’s fuzzy. Did I hit my head or something? Why am I here?’

  The doctor placed a firm hand on his shoulder. ‘Do not try to get up; you are not strong enough yet. You did not hit your head. Everything is fine, try to relax.’

  James was about to point out that it is hard to relax when you’re in a hospital bed that you don’t remember getting into, you can’t see properly, and your parents aren’t even in the country, when the doctor suddenly came into focus. ‘I can see again!’

  She gave him a knowing nod. ‘Of course. It was only a matter of time.’ James was immediately drawn to her startling eyes – vivid ice-blue with small, jet-black pupils – very similar to a Siberian Husky’s: such a beautiful breed.

  With some difficulty, James pulled his gaze away and glanced around the stark, white, windowless room. It was minimal even for a hospital, with only a small sink against one wall and a chair in the corner. At the end of his bed was a table with a monitor of some kind that emitted an occasional boop rather than a beep. He noticed a strange symbol on the opaque door and wondered if this might be a quarantine room. His eyes wondered back to the doctor. She wore a light green, skin-tight full body suit – which reminded him of Cathy Freeman’s running suit at the Sydney Olympics many years ago – and a transparent face-mask, which also made James think he may have been in quarantine.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, interrupting his thoughts. ‘I had forgotten that you are an Agrarien and not used to our form. I should have warned you.’ She gently took his arm and plucked something out of it. It stung just a little and he noticed a droplet of blood in its place.

  ‘A what?’ said James, watching her smooth a clear gel over the spot.

  ‘An Agrarien,’ she repeated softly.

  James stared blankly at her. What was she talking about?

  ‘A land-dweller,’ she explained. She reached across and put the gel on the table at the end of his bed.

  ‘A land-dweller?’ repeated James. ‘Aren’t we on land?’ Maybe she meant they were on a boat. But why would he be on a boat? His memory of the last few days seemed hazy.

  She gave a little sigh. ‘No, we are not. We are quite a few thousand metres above land.’

  ‘Oh,’ said James knowingly, thinking he finally understood what she was saying. He suddenly remembered flying up toward Govett’s Leap and seeing the waterfall there. ‘We’re in the mountains. Katoomba or somewhere.’

  ‘Or somewhere,’ she acknowledged.

  Why was she being so cryptic, James wondered. What’s she hiding from me? He rubbed his aching temple, thinking hard. What had happened to bring him here? Wherever here was. A swirling whiteness danced on the edge of his thoughts and a small, visible shiver ran through him.

  ‘Are you feeling cold?’ When James shook his head, she did a quick inspection of the monitor at the foot of his bed and flashed him a smile as if to say all was looking good.

  ‘What did you call me before?’ James asked. ‘You said I was an Ag . . . Ag . . .’

  ‘Agrarien,’ she finished for him.

  ‘Right, an Agrarien.’

  ‘Yes, that is correct.’

  ‘What did you mean by that?’

  ‘You are a
land-dweller.’ She pointed to the floor.

  ‘While I am a sky-dweller.’ She swept her arm around the room.

  ‘A sky-dweller?’ said James, his eyes widening. This can’t be real. Either he was dreaming or someone was playing a trick on him. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Did Darren put you up to this?’

  The doctor looked puzzled at his question. ‘I am not sure who you mean, but there will be time to discuss all of these things later. For now, you need rest.’ She turned towards the door, flashing him another reassuring smile. ‘I will be back in a little while.’

  She returned a few hours later, and for one short moment she seemed blurry, but James rubbed his eyes and she swam back into focus. She wasn’t wearing her face-mask. A good sign, James thought.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.

  James sat up, propping a pillow behind him, and smiled. ‘Much better, thanks.’ He decided he liked this doctor, she was super-nice.

  A tall man in a dark suit strode through the door. ‘Finally . . . you are awake!’ he said loudly, giving James a start. He had short, sandy-brown hair with a flicked up fringe, and an olive complexion. James guessed he was somewhere in his early thirties.

  The doctor made a small ‘tut’ sound under her breath.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said in almost a whisper. ‘I did not mean to startle you.’ The man pulled up the only chair in the room and sat down next to James. ‘How are you feeling?’ Concern showed in his ice-blue eyes.

  ‘O-okay, I guess.’ James wondered if he was the police.

  He patted James lightly on the shoulder. ‘That is good to hear. You have made a remarkable recovery considering you were in a coma for quite some time.’

  A coma! James shot the doctor a surprised look, but she didn’t seem to notice. ‘How long?’ James asked the man.

  ‘Five days.’

  ‘What?’ gasped James. ‘That means I’ve been here for nearly a week! Why? What happened to me?’

  ‘You do not remember?’

  James shook his head.

  ‘One of our maintenance crews found you in an ASU.’

  ‘An ASU?’

  The man seemed to consider James for a brief moment. ‘An Atmospheric Sampling Unit,’ he said slowly. ‘They found you just in the nick of time. A minute or two later . . .’ He trailed off.

  James took a sharp breath, suddenly remembering the humming noise and the horrifying burning in his lungs. And then it all came flooding back – the strange vortex in the cloud dragging him in; the hideous darkness engulfing him like a cold, wet blanket; endless searching with no way out. ‘How did you know I was there . . . in that thing?’

  ‘Fortunately for you, we have sensors in all our ASUs. Occasionally a bird will fly too close and get caught. We knew that something was in there as soon as it happened, but our closest maintenance crew was over India at the time.’

  If all this were true, and he’d been gone for nearly a week, why weren’t his parents here? Or even Darren and his mum – where were they? Surely, everyone would be going crazy with worry. ‘Where are my parents? Have you contacted them, or the Foxes?’ James demanded.

  The man crinkled his brow and gave a little chuckle. ‘It is a bit hard to contact your parents, or, ah, these foxes, when we do not even know your name.’

  ‘Oh,’ said James, feeling himself deflate.

  They looked at him expectantly, eyebrows raised. ‘I’m James . . . James Locke.’

  ‘Well, James Locke, nice to meet you,’ said the man, extending his hand and grasping James’s firmly. ‘I am NIB Primary Agent. Please call me Cirro. Welcome to Nebulosity.’

  ‘Nebulosity?’ repeated James.

  Cirro seemed to eye him cautiously. ‘You have never heard of us?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said James slowly, not wanting to offend. ‘I’m not very good at geography.’ Nebulosity didn’t sound like any Australian town he had ever heard of.

  Cirro gestured to the doctor and they excused themselves. Through the partially open door, James could hear them whispering, but not well enough to understand their conversation.

  A few minutes later, Cirro, still smiling pleasantly, re-entered the room. ‘There are more questions that I need to ask you, and I am sure you have many more questions of your own.’ James nodded. Hell yeah, he thought. ‘But Dr Cannenta informs me you still need more time to recover. So, tomorrow, I will take you to the Empyrean.’ He picked up the chair next to James’s bed and placed it back in the corner, then extracted his phone from an inside coat pocket. ‘In the meantime, I will contact your parents and reassure them that you are safe.’ James gave an inward sigh of relief. ‘Can you please tell me your address and phone number?’

  James quickly recited his contact details.

  ‘Rest well, James,’ said Cirro, shoving his phone back in his coat. ‘I will see you in the morning.’ He walked out, closing the door behind him.

  James sank back in his pillow and absent-mindedly fiddled with the hospital bracelet on his wrist. He had so many questions. Like, what did the doctor mean they were thousands of metres above land? And what was with all that Agrarien and Azurien stuff? But by far his biggest question was who – or what – was the Empyrean?

  TEN

  Intensive Care Unit, General Hospital, Nebulosity

  James hung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling slightly woozy, and cautiously stood up. He felt a little shaky on his feet, but after a few moments the feeling passed and he quickly dressed. His old clothes had been cleaned and pressed and the doctor had given him some thermals to wear. Must be cold outside, thought James.

  Out in the hall, Primary Agent Cirro politely pointed at the exit. ‘The Empyrean is very eager to talk with you.’

  ‘The Empyrean’s a person,’ James concluded out loud.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ responded Cirro as if that was a strange thing to say. ‘You may find the surroundings outside a little disorienting at first,’ he went on as they walked the long, empty corridor. All the doors they passed were closed. ‘So, if you feel queasy, please let me know. It should not last long, but every Agrarien is different.’

  James took one step outside and froze – and not because the air was significantly cooler, but because the sensation of viewing the world through thick spectacles had returned. His stomach rolled, and he swayed uncertainly on his feet. Before him, the scene was like a watercolour painting left out in the rain, colours smearing into one another, leaving no distinct beginning or end.

  He was in a street – that much he could make out. Wobbly outlines of buildings marked either side of the road. People walked past like hazy shadows and elongated blurs whizzed back and forth several metres above the ground. He rubbed his eyes.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Cirro, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Can’t. Focus,’ said James, closing his eyes. ‘I . . . I think I’m going to throw up.’

  Quickly, Cirro grabbed him by the arm and said, ‘Easy now. Just concentrate on me. You do not want to waste a good breakfast.’

  James clapped his hand to his mouth, opened his eyes and shifted his gaze to Cirro. Amazingly, Cirro was completely in focus. In fact, everything within a few metres of Cirro appeared normal.

  ‘What’s happening to me?’ groaned James, his voice muffled behind his hand. Was he losing his eyesight? Or maybe his mind?

  ‘Calm yourself,’ said Cirro. He bent slightly to look directly into James’s eyes. ‘Trust me. This is perfectly normal.’

  ‘Normal!’ cried James from behind his hand.

  ‘Yes, normal. Nebulosity is not like other cities. Nebulosity is made from cloud.’

  Had he heard correctly? Had Cirro just said . . . ?

  ‘Cloud?’ repeated James, slowly lowering his hand from his mouth.

  ‘Yes. Nebulosity is the biggest cloud city in the world.’ ‘The world . . . ? Please tell me you mean Earth,’ said James, his eyes widening.

  Cirro gave a gentle laugh. ‘Do not worry,
you are still on Earth. Well, at least in the Earth’s atmosphere.’

  ‘So, when Dr Cannenta said we were thousands of metres above land . . .’ James warily surveyed the ground around him. A fine white mist lay a few centimetres above its surface. ‘She meant it literally?’ He took an uncertain step; tiny eddies of cloud swirled around his feet. ‘Is the ground made of cloud?’

  ‘Yes.’

  James gripped Cirro’s jacket sleeve. ‘Why don’t we fall through it?’

  Cirro eyed his crumpled sleeve but didn’t pull away. ‘It all has to do with resonance. Basically, we are in tune with the cloud.’ He stamped his foot a couple of times, sending swirls of mist into the air. ‘The ground is solid.’

  James slowly released his grip on the primary agent’s jacket. ‘But how am I in tune with the cloud?’

  Cirro pointed to James’s hospital bracelet. ‘You are wearing a harmonizing bracelet. You are perfectly safe.’ He placed one hand on James’s shoulder and gestured with the other toward the street. ‘I know you must have a lot of questions,’ he continued, leading James forward – James noticed that nearby objects suddenly sprang into focus as they passed. ‘I am sure it all feels like some strange dream. However, the Empyrean is waiting and we really need to hurry.’

  Cirro steered him toward a sleek object hovering by the kerb of the road. It was metallic silver with veins of dark green pulsing through it.

  ‘Is that a car?’ asked James. It was bobbing up and down as if impatient to get going.

  ‘It is called a cloud hopper,’ said Cirro. He placed his palm on the side of the vehicle and a female voice purred, ‘Good morning, Primary Agent Cirro.’

  ‘Good morning, Angie,’ replied Cirro. An outline of a door appeared and then the panel slid backwards. Cirro motioned for James to enter.

  James slipped into the passenger seat, which moulded to the contours of his body, making for a horrible sensation, as if thousands of millipedes were wiggling underneath him. In front of him was a blank windscreen. ‘How can you see where you’re going?’