The Dreamer Chronicles Trilogy Boxed Set Vol I - III: A Sci-Fi Parallel Universe Adventure (The Dreamer Chronicles - Science Fiction For Kids And Adults)

by Robert Scanlon

  Sarina nodded and turned to her own easel. Her mother watched from the top of the ramp, as did a group of tourists, entranced by Rona’s easy style.

  Sarina picked up a deep green pastel and rolled it in her fingers for a moment. Rona spoke from behind her.

  “Take a moment to centre yourself. Reach in and find your creative spirit. The bright light no-one can ever darken. Take it by the hand and place the pastel in it. Then begin.” Her voice had taken on a dream-like quality.

  She closed her eyes a moment and felt the pastel’s slightly roughened surface in her hand. She reached down inside herself to that tiny core of fresh confidence and strength she had won, at some cost, in her adventures with Nathan and Paolo. She wondered what Paolo’s world was like now, and the thought gave her an idea where to begin drawing. Yes. Paolo, Eva and Lucio. She opened her eyes and began to stroke the surface of the paper, losing herself in the connection with the vivid images of the friends she had made in the other world, and the life Rona had somehow kneaded into the hand-made pastel.

  A few minutes passed; several pauses to change pastel; and now she was completely lost in her imagery, unaware of the gasps of pleasure from the growing crowd.

  “But she’s so young!”

  “Beautiful. Where did she learn to draw like that?”

  “There’s a face we’ll be seeing more of, I bet.”

  The last from a smart man in a suit. “What do you think, Rona? A big future for this one?”

  Rona nodded, unable to take her eyes away from the girl’s evolving image.

  Sarina stopped, straightened to stretch and looked around. “Oh. Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts. These are fantastic, Rona, I love them!”

  Rona nodded. “Carry on my dear. We’ve not seen talent like yours here for a long time. Besides”—she looked up at the crowd—“it’s good for business.” A few people laughed.

  She hovered over the colours for a few moments, undecided, then her hand made its own move and snatched a charcoal-grey from the end of the open tin. She decided to go with the flow. No doubt her mind had something bubbling under the surface it needed to say. She worked quickly, creating shades and shapes, putting down the grey, picking up the black, but always gracefully sweeping the surface of the paper; light touches and delicate pressure.

  She was no longer aware of her movements. Only greys and blacks and darkness and mounting terror and talons and grim eyes and swooping bat-like wings and giant-maw-like beaks and she screamed—

  The crowd was gathered over her.

  “Someone get her some water.”

  “Here, Rona—a cushion for her head.” It was the man in the suit.

  Sarina lifted her head and accepted the cushion. She was lying on the floor of the conservatory. “What happened?” She looked up at her mother. Her mother looked back at her with a pained gaze, and clutching her own shoulder.

  “You ... got very intense about your work and sped up. Then you finished and your eyes glazed over. And you fainted.”

  “I finished?” Sarina got up on one elbow and looked around at her picture. It depicted a happy and colourful representation of two boys—one obviously a teenager; the other much younger—and a serene-looking woman, all looking directly out of the picture. Drawn in the corner and behind them was a sinister portrayal of a large, bat-like bird with an almost-human face. Its talons were extended and it was in mid-flight, intent on its prey: The happy family, unaware of their fate.

  “Valkrog!” she whispered.

  Rona’s gaze was fixed on Sarina, then she glanced up at the man in the suit, who raised his eyes at her and shrugged.

  “Okay everyone, the girl is obviously fine now, so let’s give her a bit of space. I think she was so gripped by her work, she’s forgotten to breathe!” The crowd chuckled.

  Sarina sat up and gave Rona a weak smile. “Thank you. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

  But she did know. It was the madness. Now she had no doubt. From the way her mother had looked at her, and from the way she remembered becoming so manic when she was drawing ... and that creature. Ughh. Now her mind was totally messed up and the madness taunted her with Valkrog. What was she thinking? The creature was vaporised anyway. She wondered why her mind had picked him. Maybe to represent her mad side? Because her happy mind thought of Paolo and his mother and brother? So the evil side of her was Valkrog?

  She sighed. How on earth was she going to get through this holiday, let alone the competition finals. Any weakness and her art invitation would vanish into thin air.

  Rona was looking at her. “Sarina, what was going on in there? When you were sketching at the end. Something changed. What was it?”

  Sarina could feel her ears turning red. “Ah, if it’s okay, I’d rather not talk about it.”

  Rona nodded.

  Sarina tried to smile. “Can I buy some of your pastels? They truly are amazing. I can practise with them for the competition I’m entering.”

  “Your work is breathtaking, Sarina. I don’t think you’d be a fair rival in any competition,” Rona said, still with a serious expression and slightly narrowed eyes. “I think even if you only had a lipstick to use as a crayon, you’d win. But given what just happened, I’d like to gift you a set. If it will help you feel better?”

  Sarina squatted next to the woman’s wheelchair. “That would be really lovely of you, but—”

  Rona leaned across to her and took Sarina’s hand. “Don’t ‘but’ me, Sarina. I know talent when I see it, believe me.” She dropped her voice so no-one else could hear. “Maybe you don’t want to talk about it here and that’s fine. Please listen, and listen well. When the darkness comes, you must fight it. Find the strong place and don’t let go. And remember. You still need friends.” She leaned back and laughed and looked up at Sarina’s mother. “Just some heart-to-heart artist-talk.”

  Her mother, who had been chatting to the man in the suit, nodded and smiled. “Thank you, Rona. She needs to hear encouragement—and not from me.”

  Rona looked back at Sarina and smiled. “My apologies. In the heat of things, I didn’t introduce you. That well-dressed and charming man handing his card to your mother is my very good friend, Simon. He’s the town’s star lawyer.”

  Sarina shook the man’s hand. “Thank you. I’m sorry to alarm everybody.”

  Simon smiled. “I’m glad to see you are okay. I can’t draw to save myself, so every now and then I drop in to be inspired by Rona. And by you today too, as it turns out.”

  Sarina blushed.

  Rona wheeled away and back up the ramp. She stopped at the top and looked back at Sarina. “I tell you what. I’ll trade you a set of the pastels for that drawing Simon has taken a fancy to.”—she pointed to Sarina’s picture— “If that is acceptable?” Her eyes were smiling again.

  Sarina nodded and followed Rona back into the shop.

  The woman wheeled her way around with ease, negotiating customers and display units, until she arrived at the shelf of pastels, where she pulled out a drawer below; selected a sealed tin and presented it to Sarina. “There you are, Sarina. Please accept these with all my love, and may they serve you well. You’ll find my details on the underside of the tin. If you need me anytime.”

  “Thank you. I ... I think I have to go.” Sarina nodded once, turned and walked out, her eyes betraying her sadness. What was happening to her?

  Her mother caught up with her on the pavement. “Are you sure you still want to go away? If you’d rather us find somewhere to rest?”

  “Mum, it’s what I need the most. Somewhere with no people and ... somewhere to paint. And draw.” She looked down at the tin of pastels in her hand and back up to her mother and burst into tears.

  Her mother pulled her close. “Darling, it’s okay. Let’s go back to the hotel; we’ll catch a cab to the station, pick up our things and head off. Don’t you worry. It will be alright.”

  Sarina hoped it would be alright. She tried to reach down to her s
trong inner core, but instead found nothing. Rona’s words echoed in her head; ‘You still need friends’. Part of her mind detached itself from her blubbering, and thought of Nathan. And the Professor. Was she right in not confiding in them? Rats. Now she didn’t know what to do. It was so confusing.

  She released her mother and wiped her eyes. “Let’s go, Mum. A walk will do me good.”

  An hour later they were on the train. It felt good to look out the window and watch life go by. First houses and gardens, then fields and trees, then later, green rolling downs. She pulled the tin of pastels from her bag. ‘Rona’s Perfect Pastels. Lovingly Hand-Made For Discerning Artists’. She realised she knew almost nothing about Rona and turned the tin over. Nothing there, only Rona’s contact details, as she had said. She turned it the right way up and opened the tin. Inside was a small piece of parchment-style paper, with the information printed in a handwritten-font.

  ‘Rona hopes you enjoy her hand-made pastels as much as she does. Rona re-discovered the almost-lost craft of hand-made pastel making using fine local china-clay and oats, when she was recovering from a serious accident in which she had lost both legs. The bright colours and the beautiful texture that these pastels produce were instrumental in helping her emerge even stronger from a dark part of her life, and she hopes that they will bring you the same vivid beauty and love that they have brought her.’

  Sarina looked out of the window at the countryside flashing past and wondered how the accident had happened.

  Whatever Rona had done to make her way out of that ‘dark part’ of her life had obviously worked. She hoped it would work for her too, and she clutched the tin of pastels tight.

  ~ 3 ~

  Spikes

  “I don’t think it was serious, Nathan. I think Jimmy panicked, but to be honest, I’d rather the kids err on the side of caution and come and get me if they think something is really wrong.”

  “You don’t think it was serious? Haven’t there been a few problems with those Intensifier things? Em’s not the only one to experience side-effects is she?”

  The Professor looked strangely at Nathan, as they strolled back along the corridor, carrying their headshields. “What do you mean?”

  Nathan cleared his throat. “Well, some of the kids told me they’d been having nightmares that started a few weeks ago.”

  The Professor smiled. “Nathan, remember you are not quite the average boy. All kids have strange dreams from time-to-time, bordering on nightmares.”

  Nathan insisted. “But that’s the point, these are not normal kids. You chose them for their creative abilities. Maybe they are more susceptible to side-effects.”

  “I’d argue the other way, Nathan. Extremely creative people are more likely to experience vivid dreams. What I didn’t manage to explain before, because of our interruption, was that rem-particle activity in young humans is much higher than us older versions. In the same way that rapid eye movement in dreams is more intense for young people, which is a big clue. That’s why we’ve ended up with a lab full of exceptionally creative dreamer-kids. It’s also a reason why I’ve kept the whole project hidden from almost everyone, in case they thought we were trying to breed some new super-race. When in actual fact, that couldn’t be more wrong. I’m trying to save us all. A few nightmares along the way for some hyperactive kids are par for the course, I’m afraid.”

  Nathan couldn’t help but think the Professor was avoiding the real question. As far as he knew, the kids didn’t start having the nightmares until they began experimenting with the yellow hats a few weeks back. But now wasn’t the time to press the point with the Professor. “What about Em, though? Losing consciousness like that is not the same thing as a nightmare is it? Are you sure she will be okay?”

  “A one-off, Nathan. Em will be fine—I suspect she’d just got caught up in the experiment and the adrenalin surge had her unknowingly holding her breath. You saw her come around—she’s back to her usual bright and bubbly self, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Nathan nodded. Maybe the Professor was right. Em had seemed perfectly fine, she wasn’t even bothered by the fact that the other kids hadn’t been able to wake her, and had simply returned to her project.

  As for the Professor? Well, that was another story. Nathan resolved to try to find out what the Prof was holding back. Something nagged at him—

  “Prof! We left the door open!” Nathan and the Professor looked at each other wide-eyed, replaced their headshields back on their heads and ran into the collider room. Where they stopped dead.

  Lena was lying on the floor, out cold.

  “Lena!” The Professor raced to her side and gently stroked her head.

  Nathan pressed the button to close the door and knelt down beside him. “Is she okay?”

  “I think so. She’s unconscious, but fine.” He leaned into her and whispered. “Lena. Lena, my sweet one. Wake up, Lena.”

  Her eyelids fluttered and she opened her eyes momentarily, then passed out again.

  The Professor stroked her forehead. “Lena. Wake up, Lena.”

  Her eyes opened. “Daddy?” She sat up.

  The Professor grabbed a spare headshield from the bench and put it on her head.

  “Why do I have to wear this, Daddy?”

  “To keep you safe, Lena. What were you doing in here anyway?”

  Her expression became serious and her eyes widened. “Daddy, you are naughty! You left the door open. I was going to close it for you”—then her face dropped in puzzlement—“but ... why was I asleep on the floor?”

  “That’s why you must never come in here, Lena, especially without a headshield. You must have been dazed by all the machines and flashing lights, that’s all. But you’re fine now, eh?” He smiled at her. “Thank you for worrying about the door. I know I’ve told you how important it is. But, Lena?”

  “Yes, Daddy?”

  “Never come in here without a headshield, and whatever you do, please do not touch any buttons on this machine. I know I’ve explained them to you before, but I have to remind you again. It might be dangerous and I might not be able to turn it off properly, okay?”

  “Okay, Daddy, I won’t.” She got up and hugged the Professor, then pulled back to look up at him. “May I go now?

  The Professor laughed. “Sure. This time, we’ll make certain the door is closed. You can leave the headshield on my other bench in the storeroom.”

  Lena nodded, flashed a grin at Nathan and stood at the door, waiting for him to press the button.

  When the door was closed, Nathan turned and fixed his gaze on the scientist. “Professor. Surely now you must agree we have a problem? First Em, and now Lena?”

  But the Professor wasn’t looking at Nathan. He was peering at a graph-like printout on a long roll of paper.

  “Prof?” Nathan looked over at the graph. “What are you looking at?”

  The Professor glanced up from the long printout. “It’s just a coincidence, Nathan. You’re a scientist, so you should know you can’t just assume events are linked without evidence. And I can tell you, they were quite separate. Look.” He lifted up the printout for Nathan to examine.

  “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

  “The red trace. Lena had entered the room just as there was a moderate spike in local rem-particle units. That’s what the red trace measures—rem-particle events.”

  Nathan looked down at the long strip of paper he held across his hands. The Prof was right. The red line had wavered erratically before heading steadily upwards, until it had hit a plateau. “So, ah, why did she black out, if these rem-particle events aren’t dangerous? You told me it was a rare side-effect.”

  “Proximity to the machine, Nathan. We’re fine because we have the headshields. But anyone close by who is a super-powerful dreamer—and here, that’s only you and Lena—could be affected. You, of course, were protected. And Sarina is too far away by now to be affected. But Lena was exposed.”

  Nathan frowned. May
be there was something he was still missing. Time to see if he really understood everything the Prof had given him to read. Which, he recalled, he’d been just about to do when Jimmy had interrupted. “Prof?”

  The Professor looked up and raised his eyes. “Yes?”

  “Can I catch up on my understanding of rem-particles now?”

  The Professor sat back in his chair, leaned back and smiled. “Couldn’t think of a better time.”

  Nathan nodded and sat. “Okay. So a rem-particle is actually a quantum particle, which like most of them, does funny things. I mean, it will be a particle if you want it to be, or it will be a wave if you want it to be. Basic quantum mechanics, right?”

  The Professor gestured for him to continue.

  “But the big difference is no-one ever suspected its existence. They’ve all been too busy looking for gravitons, gluons and fermions and such. But you had another idea. You and Professor Malden were researching dark energy when you had a brain-wave. Literally. Professor Malden had connected you to an earlier version of this machine”—he jerked his thumb at the collider blinking away sedately on its festooned pedestal—“where you were researching dark energy and its potential interaction with the brain’s electromagnetic field. But the power surged through the machine on boot up, and at the same time an idea flashed through your head. What if it wasn’t dark energy that affected our thoughts and brain patterns, but it was actually a quantum particle?”

  “Spot on so far, Nathan. But you’ve missed an important logical connection—”

  Nathan held up his hand. “No, don’t tell me. Let me see if I can put it together myself.” He chewed his lip and thought. What had he missed? He looked at the collider, winking at him. Space. The Professor had said something about space ... “Ah! Got it.” He grinned. “Some of your physicist friends were searching for something called a Chameleon Particle, which was named because it could change its behaviour, and be strong or weak, depending on where in space you looked for it. And when it was strong, it explained both dark-matter and dark-energy. Which gave you a massive clue.”