The Dreamer Chronicles Trilogy Boxed Set Vol I - III: A Sci-Fi Parallel Universe Adventure (The Dreamer Chronicles - Science Fiction For Kids And Adults)
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ABOUT ROBERT SCANLON
Born in Australia, Robert was whisked back to England where he spent his childhood. After many years complaining about the weather, he did the only sensible thing, and moved back to Australia. Queensland actually. Where he enjoys walks along the beach with his wonderful family.
(Pssst. He still complains about the weather if it gets too cold!)
www.RobertScanlon.com
Here’s a bit more about him ...
Robert is an Author and Entrepreneur – but he wasn’t always.
He’s studied chemistry; worked in the music industry; sold handbags; taught yoga; raced motorcycles; and trained thousands of people in Presentations Skills, Train-the-Trainer, Negotiation Skills … and more.
Mostly though he loves to read.
And read and read. His father was a science-fiction fan, so Robert grew up on a voracious diet of all the top-notch sci-fi writers (there’s a list below!), eventually discovering he had read the entire science-fiction section of his local library. But nowadays he writes books and runs websites. Which is fun, and nothing like work at all.
Here are some questions he’s often asked (well he made them up actually, but he’d LOVE you to ask them anyway!):
What was your first job?
It was mowing the lawn for my Dad. The pay was terrible, but it was fun because I liked engines, so I revved it a lot and it sounded like I was racing around the grass.
I also used to be a golf caddy, which was funny because I don’t enjoy golf.
And I sold handbags from a market stall, which is also funny because … well handbags are not really a boy-thing. But it did teach me how to sell something you don’t use yourself.
Where do you live?
Right now I live in Queensland, Australia which is beautiful. The first half of my life I lived in England, which is rainy. I lived in the South of France for a little while too – that was rather nice and I’d like to do it again!
Do you play an instrument?
Ha!
I love music and used to sing and play guitar in a band. Now I don’t have a guitar or a bass, but I could play one badly if asked. I’m learning to play piano (it’s hard!) since I didn’t do that at an early age. I think everyone should learn an instrument of some description, it’s a lovely creative activity.
What do you like to read?
My dad loved Sci-Fi, so that was a big influence. I loved John Wyndham, Philip K Dick, Robert Heinlein and I have a soft spot for Isaac Asimov (who had great non-fiction books about space that I loved). So I still love Sci-Fi, but also like Fantasy; Thrillers and some Action. I also enjoy Young Adult books hugely. I mean, who doesn’t like Harry Potter? (If you don’t, I feel for you, I really do haha!)
What is an Entrepreneur anyway?
Hmm. Good question. I wish you hadn’t asked it. (What’s that you say, these are questions I wrote down to ask? Oh. Alright then, better answer it.).
Ahem. An entrepreneur is someone who looks for opportunities to help people by providing a service or a product that is not available; or could be made much better. I think having a creative or an entrepreneurial spirit is a wonderful thing, and with more of it, we could change the world for the better. (And not always with money as the reason!)
Can I get in touch with you to ask more questions?
Yes, as long as they are easy ones!
Just use the “Contact” link on my website at RobertScanlon.com/contact-robert/ and send me a message!
One last thing before you go ...
When you turn this page (and swipe past the Table of Contents) you’ll be greeted with a request from Amazon to rate and review this book and post your thoughts on Facebook and Twitter. Now I realise you might not have a Facebook or Twitter account, and that’s OK by me (but if you are a Mum or Dad reading this, then feel free to share away!)
You’ll be able to let other people know that you enjoyed the book, and I will be forever in your debt!
Thank you,
Robert
1. Xtrium
2. Ultimatum
3. Demands
4. Attack
5. Assessment
6. Capture
7. Sketches
8. The Cage
9. Confrontation
10. Gas
11. Results
12. Skateboards
13. Drums
14. Rescue
15. The Lake
16. Plan B
17. Drowning
18. Gunfire
19. The Shed
20. The Portal
21. Disturbance
22. The Chase
23. Escape
24. Moths
25. Fear
26. Counting
27. The Cell
28. Summons
29. The Playground
30. The Trap
31. Caught
32. The Orange Witch
33. Paolo
34. The Project
Dreamer Chronicles II
THE DREAM KILLER
(The Dreamer Chronicles Book II)
Dear Reader, thank you for joining Sarina on her journey in the second instalment of The Dreamer Chronicles. I hope you enjoy it. May I share a word or two about spelling? Thank you! I consider myself to be ‘half-Australian’ and ‘half-British’. Which means I’ve chosen to use British English spelling conventions throughout. So for example, when you see an ‘s’ that you think should be a ‘z’, that’s me using my native spelling.
But knowing you, Dear Reader, that won’t bother you one bit!
Please, start reading!
For Gabrielle.
~ 1 ~
Madness
The inky-black likeness of a malevolent eye stared down at Sarina, dominating the middle of the canvas.
She glanced at her brush, dripping black oil-paint, and back up to the eye. No doubt about it, the horrible image was all her own work.
The trouble was, she had no recollection of painting it, nor of switching from pastels to black oil paint. She’d been sketching a beautifully delicate image of a young girl smelling flowers, when she’d blacked out. And now, looking back up at the canvas from her vantage point on the floor—where she had come back to consciousness just a moment ago—the pensive figure was almost obliterated by the large, ugly eye.
She’d been looking forward to spending more time with the pastels. The idea of practising a new style of sketching had attracted her for months; a style that she hoped could give her a significant advantage in the competition finals. She’d immersed herself in the girl’s wistful personality, letting it infuse the colourful image. The picture of the young girl poured directly from her soul and onto the page. So satisfying, as it usually was when she was in full creative flow.
But at no time had she envisaged adding a large ugly eye in black oil paint. Not good.
She sighed and rubbed her eyes. Was this how it started? Moments of blackness? Mysterious things happening around you?
She tried to remember things her mother had mentioned about her great-aunt. Great-aunties actually. Both of them. Locked up in mental institutions for the rest of their lives. Her mother had found it difficult to talk about.
“Well dear,” her mother looked down and plucked at her skirt. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Nowadays mental issues are more openly discussed, but ...” She looked around before settling back to look at Sarina. “I just didn’t think you needed to know, that’s all.”
“That didn’t stop you involving that awful Dr Timms though did it?” Sarina had been angry with her mother for allowing her to be forcibly taken to Stratfords Mental Health Institute. Though the situation wouldn’t have been terribly easy to explain, she thought. Parallel worlds; strange powers; battling sorcerers—they probably would have thought her even more mad if she had tried to explain it.
Of course, that was all behind her now, but it had brought her family’s mental health history out into the open, and she had to admi
t, it wasn’t pretty. Quite distressing really, now she knew the details.
She remembered reading in her art studies about the great artists who went mad. Cut off their ears or worse. Maybe she was one of those creative types. The kind that went mad from their genius.
She shuddered and caught herself. Thoughts like this, in the middle of a composition when her focus had to be on practising for the upcoming competition and creative workshop, were definitely not useful.
Feeling the tightness in her body, she stood up and stretched, moved the ruined drawing away and placed a fresh, blank canvas on her easel. This was the part she loved. That moment when her imagination ran hot and what was inside her could flow onto the board. She breathed deeply and reached inward to check if her new-found strength was still there. It was.
She smiled and straightened, shook her head to clear away the silly train of thought and focused on the canvas.
As she usually did, she began with a soft pencil, bringing forms and shapes into being, lightly caressing the surface, willing the figure to life. After a few minutes the flower girl was almost alive on the canvas again. This time Sarina felt connected to the girl and sensed her creative mind coming alive.
A minor throbbing in her temples caused her to lift her pencil mid-stroke, pause and frown, seconds before the shooting pain bounced through her head, and she blacked out again.
When she came to, she was on the floor once more. She looked down at her hand. The pencil was still there.
She dragged her gaze away and back up to the canvas, hoping she would be wrong.
Taunting her from the canvas was another large, pencilled eye.
She forced herself to breathe. It must be true. She really was going mad. But if anyone found out, she’d never have the chance to finish what she started and make it into the final of the competition.
What she needed to do was confront her mother again and try to learn more about how the madness of her great-aunts had started. She’d have to be careful not to give anything away and show her anxiety, but one way or another, she had to know. Perhaps her last great work before she descended into the depths of insanity would win her the competition, and assure her of an invitation to join the place of her dreams; the Ecole Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts in Paris, just across from the Louvre.
She picked herself up, gritted her teeth and resolved to be strong. After all, wasn’t she the great Orange Witch, who had battled a powerful sorcerer and defeated a dratted bird-monster?
She wondered if Nathan would know anything about madness. Wasn’t he doing some project with the Professor about brain power? On second thoughts, best that he not know. It would only stimulate his usual scientific curiosity and the possible involvement of the Professor. No, she would have to deal with this one all by herself.
She began to erase the over-sized eye.
~~~
“But if it’s been deactivated, why do we have to wear these?” Nathan pointed to the two stainless-steel, dome-like devices on the bench.
“You can never be too careful, in my view.” The Professor stared at the wall, seemingly caught in a thought. He took a deep breath and looked at Nathan, his brow creased. “Nathan, you know as well as I do that humans have irrational fears that aren’t founded in the statistics—”
“You mean like the fear of flying?”
“Yes. As you no doubt know, someone is more likely to suffer a fatal injury crossing the road than flying.” His face resumed its usual smile. “In fact, the other day I was only reminding someone that there is a greater probability of dying from a bee sting than a plane crash. But to get back to my point, statistically I do believe the device is safe. Statistically.”
He picked up one of the sleek domed-headshields from the bench and handed it to Nathan. “But as we know, there are lies, darned lies ... and statistics. Just because it isn’t very probable, doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. So”—he shrugged and put on the other headshield—“I designed these. Better safe than sorry.” He leaned in to Nathan. “Of course, if you are concerned, we don’t have to do this. Just say the word.”
Nathan shook his head. “No. I mean yes. I mean ... I’m not concerned, just curious.” Nonetheless, there did seem to be something out of character about the Professor’s explanation. As if he had left something unsaid. But the only way to find out more, and to have the chance to add something totally spectacular to his science scholarship application, would mean going along with the Prof. And he was pretty sure the Professor would not knowingly put anyone at risk. He held up the headshield and peered underneath. All he could see was a fine gauze of metallic material and the suspicion of densely packed microprocessors that lay behind. He turned the object in his hands looking for its source of power.
“Professor, if these are meant to protect us, how do they work? Where do they get their power?” He kept turning it, stopping every now and then to scrutinise each mirrored curve and bevel.
“Ever the curious scientist I see, Nathan!” The Professor laughed. “And please, call me Kingsley. The headshield construction can wait for now. I think we have more interesting things to explore, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir ... er, Kingsley.” Hmm. That was the second time the Professor had evaded an answer. Maybe he was imagining it. Anyway, the Prof was right. They had more pressing things to explore. Like a certain mysterious machine—a particle collider. “Where do we go then? Is the machine kept in a secret underground bunker?”
Professor Kingsley Harrison grinned. “So my scare routine worked then? No, it’s not that dangerous that it needs to be in a bunker. Just well screened. In fact, it’s only across the corridor. Pop that on and we’ll check it out.” He pointed at the headshield and gestured to Nathan to put it on. “Follow me.” He turned and left the small workshop store and Nathan followed him down the corridor, where the Professor stopped outside a large white sliding door, next to which was a small keypad.
Nathan was surprised. He’d passed the door many times, but had assumed from the look of it that behind the door was a refrigerated cold-room, probably used by the bio-chemistry group for storage of specimens. “Oh, I thought this was a—”
“Refrigerated cold-room? Yes, it does resemble one. From the outside. Convenient disguise, don’t you think?” The Professor keyed in a sequence of numbers and pressed a button. The door slid open with a soft release of air, revealing a dimly-lit interior. He looked at Nathan, his eyes glinting. “Ready?”
Nathan had already let the last of his anxieties go when the door opened. When would he have another chance like this? He knew what his legendary great-great-grandfather, Nathan Rosen, would have said. Probably something like: “Try and stop me!” He grinned at the thought of his ancestral name-sake giving Einstein a piece of his mind. Now it would be his turn to be at the cutting edge of a science breakthrough. Yeah, okay, so he was only nearly thirteen. Wasn’t there that twelve-year old a few years back who had expanded on Einstein’s theories? And that dead French physicist, Pascal. Didn’t he create some new hexagram thing at age sixteen, then go on to invent the mechanical calculator at eighteen, and had numerous science theories named after him? Come to think of it, wasn’t he also the guy who kicked off the whole idea of probability theory? Well, watch out world, ‘Goldberg’s Hypothesis’ is coming to change the world as we know it.
“Nathan? Is everything okay? I hate to disturb your meditations, but for reasons of security, I can’t stand here with this door open all day.”
Nathan blinked. “Ah, yes. Sorry, Professor. Just er, caught up in the excitement of the moment actually. I finally get to see the ‘Harrison Collider’ eh?” He flashed a broad grin at the Professor, who was still holding the door aside, and he moved to walk into the darkened room.
“Shh.” The Professor’s expression was dark and he held up his hand to stop Nathan. “I think I made it quite clear that you are in my confidence. That means NOT shouting up and down the corridor.”
“Oops. Sorry Prof
essor Harrison.”
The Professor dropped his hand and rolled his eyes. “In you go then.”
“Wow!” The light spilling in from the corridor shrank to nothing as the Professor pressed a button to close the door, leaving Nathan’s eyes adjusting to the dark. He stared at the array of screens and blinking lights. “Wow!” he said again.
The room was no bigger than a single garage. In the centre was a raised brushed-metal platform, about one metre high, on top of which was a cube-like device—about the size of a soccer ball—festooned with multi-cable connections around its perimeter, all connecting back into the platform below via computer ports.
Atop the entire structure and affixed to the black-metallic cube was a strange-looking keypad. On the left-side of the keypad one solitary orange LED blinked on and off. Slowly.
Nathan looked at the Professor in awe. “That’s it?”
The Professor nodded.
“But it’s so—”
“Small? Yes. When most people think of particle colliders, they imagine a massive, concrete-lined underground structure, kilometres-wide and packed with power generators, electronics. But that’s what happens when you study the power of the sun—you need physically big experiments”
The Professor bent down to peer at one of the arrays of LEDs on the side of the cube that Nathan hadn’t realised was there. He studied it for a moment, then nodded to himself.
He straightened and turned back to Nathan. “But when you are dealing with the mind’s power ...”