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

  The image flicked back to the announcer, who turned to another camera view. “In other news last night, renowned guitarist, The Hedge announced his resignation from the world’s most successful band, You, Who?, citing irreconcilable differences. Sources say the lead singer, Bobo, led a revolt against the popular guitarist after a joke-guitar-solo backfired.”

  ~ 14 ~

  Smoke Signals

  The sun had dropped and the tantalising smear of green vegetation on the horizon was growing bigger. But not big enough.

  Nathan had managed to pull up some of the rough gorse and weave the vine-like stalks and leaves into a makeshift hood covering his head and neck, but his mouth was dry and his vision swam from the lack of water.

  If he didn’t find something to drink soon ...

  He’d already thought digging a hole in the loose earth might help him to collect water, since he could see plenty of plant life around him, which had to get water from somewhere. But he had nothing to dig with, and nothing to hold the water. He’d decided his best bet was to keep going to the green smudge he could see in the distance and hope for lusher land. And shelter.

  He had no idea how cold it would get at night. Or where he was. The place had a familiar feel about it though. Had he seen this place in a documentary? No. He shook his head as he stumbled along over the dry, rocky earth. It wasn’t anything visual that was familiar, but he still couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  He clambered up a slight rise, and looked down the other side. And smiled. A clump of trees. Which meant moisture and shade.

  He ran unsteadily down the slope. Maybe there would be an oasis, just like he’d seen in some of those old movies, with a wonderful pool of cool, refreshing water? He covered the ground easily, even though his legs ached—and then he was struck with the thought. The familiarity with where he was had nothing to do with what his surroundings looked like.

  It was how he moved.

  Up until now, he hadn’t noticed that when he moved, it had that slightly dreamlike quality. When he walked, it wasn’t so obvious—but running; or stumbling fast as he was doing now—was different. He found himself thinking about gravitons and dark energy and pushed the thought away, because ...

  He was in Paolo’s world again. He felt a mixture of joy at knowing where he was, until it sank in and he felt himself slump, even as he ran.

  How would he ever make it back to his own world? Sarina wasn’t here; there were no portals. He didn’t even have any understanding of how the Prof’s collider had made this happen.

  He caught himself. Falling into despair would not do. What he needed most was for his survival-instinct to trump any other emotions, and to use his greatest strength; his logic and reasoning skills.

  He would find a way. First to try to communicate with the township, if he was anywhere close. He hoped he hadn’t been transported to the other side of their world. Though, if that was the case, surely there would still be people who might help him? No point in hypotheticals at this moment, he thought. Either way, he had to find a way to communicate with the Prof and Sarina, wherever they were.

  He arrived at the bottom of the slope and stumbled into the shade cast by a tree. A quick glance around confirmed his suspicions. No deep pool of cool fresh water. Never mind. He sat down with his back supported by the tree and put his mind to work. The instant cool relief of being out of the sun already gave him hope.

  The ground in front of him was dry and covered in small twigs and branches from the dehydrated trees and he poked at it absent-mindedly while he thought. He stared at the ground and wondered if this harsh environment was what early mankind had experienced. What did they do to evolve and overcome it? They must have been incredibly resourceful. He felt helpless without all his gadgets, computers and tools, and he slumped. Here he was, supposedly wanting to follow in his great-great-grandfather’s footsteps. What kind of inventor was he?

  Rubbish, compared to early humans, he thought. They’d come up with all sorts of stuff; fire; the wheel—

  Fire!

  He smacked the side of his head. What an idiot. That dry kindling in front of him would be perfect for a fire; which would serve two purposes. If he got it going soon enough, he would be able to send a smoke signal, which would attract attention. And if it really did get cold here at night, he’d have warmth.

  He started to collect the driest of the twigs and branches and sweep them into a mound. One thing he’d learned quite some time ago was how to rub one branch into another to start a fire. Another thing occurred to him, as he sifted through his growing pile of combustibles for a suitable starter. Fire had a third purpose. To scare away creatures who might be ... hunting. He shivered despite the heat, and sped up his search for a pair of branches suitable for fire-starting.

  After several minutes, he had what he was looking for: A bark-stripped piece of wood wide enough to sit flat on the earth, and a second sturdy, thinner branch he could snap short enough to fit between his hands and roll it to spin it into a depression in the bigger piece of wood underneath.

  He looked for an implement of some kind he could use to scrape the small hollow, and to make a blunt point for the one he would hold. He soon found what he needed: a sharp rock. He grinned. Early mankind’s skills were not yet forgotten.

  A few more minutes and he had what he hoped would work. He knelt and placed the wider piece of dry wood between his knees, and placed a mound of fine twigs and dry desert-grass around the hollow he had scraped.

  He took the thinner stick, now with a blunt point, placed the blunt point into the hollow so that the stick was vertical and supported between his palms ... and began to rub his hands back and forth rapidly, so the point of the stick spun around in the depression of the wood below. It was hard work, but two things helped him; the dry and the heat.

  A tiny wisp of smoke started to rise up from the two pieces of wood and Nathan laughed. Rather maniacally, he thought. He increased his effort until the smoke was quite a cloud. A couple more minutes and he should be able to abandon the rubbing, and blow on the glowing embers.

  His palms were getting raw from the effort, but he now had a decent cloud of smoke. Time for the next step, which, in his previous experience, was the most difficult. If he started blowing too early, or too hard, then all he would achieve would be to blow the tiny spark of a fire out.

  He put the stick down and bent over with his face close to the smoke. He breathed in—then coughed heavily as the smoke sucked into his lungs and he accidentally blew away all his hard work into a shower of fading sparks.

  Drat.

  Back to square one. But with hands rubbed raw. Early mankind obviously had tougher hands than his twenty-first-century softened variety. But, he resolved, he’d been close. At least both the sticks would be hot and it shouldn’t take too much more rubbing.

  It wasn’t long before he had the smoke billowing again—it was more voluminous this time—and he placed the rubbing stick on the ground, turning his head to the other side and carefully leaning back away from the smoke. He inhaled slowly and deeply, then leaned back down to the small smoking mound of kindling. And blew steadily. He resisted the urge to grin, laugh or inhale as he saw a tiny flame lick its way around the dry grass, but kept blowing softly until he had no more breath left.

  And a fire!

  He grabbed the fine kindling he’d placed to one side and arranged it around his new baby. Score one for mankind! He felt elated at having taken a giant step towards his own survival.

  After several minutes he had a strong fire going, and now he would make some smoke for a while and take advantage of the sun going down. If he was lucky, the smoke might not only rise in a plume; it would also cause an interesting sunset and further attract attention.

  He grabbed the handful of green leaves he’d pulled from the lower tree branches and threw them on top of the fire. Plumes of white smoke began to broil into the air, rising up in a solid line.

  He grinned. It would be visibl
e for miles.

  ~~~

  Makthryg trod wearily through the dry soil. Twice he had fallen, and his pants were now tattered and showing the blood from the gashes sustained on one of the falls.

  He would be lucky to get out of the scrubland alive, and he cursed the power of the oddly-dressed duo who had played the main part in banishing him. His mind, already hallucinating on and off over the last day, went into a fantasy overdrive planning his revenge on the Orange Witch.

  First he would keep them alive long enough for them to reveal how they made their power, though he would make sure he and Valkrog would make them divulge their knowledge ... painfully.

  Valkrog. He hadn’t felt the connection again for some time. Perhaps the creature really was dead, and all he had experienced was yet another desert-driven waking-dream.

  Like the plume of smoke he could now see only several rocky outcrops away from him. The sun had played plenty of these devilish tricks on him. On several occasions, he had had his hopes raised at the sight of a shimmering pool of water; or a clump of shady trees to rest under, but each time, it had been no more than a cruel illusion of nature.

  Still, the plume of smoke looked real and merited a halt to take a moment’s rest while he peered into the distance. His eyelids were caked with dust and long-dried mucus, and it hurt to stare so—but was this another of nature’s bad jokes? The vision looked real. And yet more tempting was the small outcrop of trees he could barely make out if he shaded his eyes with both hands.

  Enough. One way or another he would plough on and investigate the smoke. If it turned out to be merely another illusion, then at least it had provided him some motivation to keep going. And some respite from the desolation.

  He stepped forward and ascended the next rise, buoyed by having the smoke in the distance as a target. By the time he reached the last hill before the smoke, the sun was almost down, but he was now sure this was no illusion.

  He was also sure the smoke was of human making. At the top of the rise, he crouched and peered down into the clump of trees where the smoke was coming from. A small figure sat against the base of one of the trees. Makthryg rubbed his hands together. Someone who would do his bidding. Someone who would be persuaded to carry him out of this desert if need be.

  He circled around until he could approach the figure from behind, and stopped briefly to collect some of the more leathery vines growing among the gorse.

  He crept down the hill, ignoring the protests of his exhausted body. On closer inspection it appeared the person against the tree was of slight build, and possibly asleep, judging by the angle of their head, which was slumped down against their chest. His lips cracked as he broke into a painful smile. They would be easy prey.

  He ran the last few metres and raised the vines up over his head with one hand, ready to pull them down over the figure, then lace them around the tree. The person’s head jerked awake at the last minute, but too late to prevent Makthryg flinging the vine around from one side, then catching it with the other. He quickly wound the vines around and around both the person and the tree, securing them out of reach by lashing them to each other behind the trunk.

  He straightened and walked around to confront his captive. And received a shock. But not an altogether unpleasant one. Looking back up at him with fear in his eyes was a boy.

  The very same boy who had been instrumental in defeating his attempts to use the Xtrium. The accomplice of the Orange Witch. Nature hadn’t been cruel after all.

  Rather the reverse, he thought, as he squatted in front of the boy and prepared to interrogate him.

  ~~~

  “Andreas!” Tomas turned around from the top of the large rock he had climbed and looked down at the small party gathered at its foot.

  Andreas, Paolo and Rocco all looked up as one.

  “What do you see, my friend?” Andreas called up.

  “It looks like smoke. From the same direction as the flash.”

  Andreas stroked his chin. “Either the flash was lightning and the fire it caused has now taken ... or ...”

  “Or I am right,” Paolo said.

  Andreas nodded and looked up to Tomas. “Come down, Tomas, but before you do, see if you can determine how near we are to the edge of the forest.”

  “No need, Andreas,” Tomas grinned, “we are already there.” He started climbing down.

  When Tomas jumped down the last metre, he clapped Andreas on the back and grinned again. “Now what?”

  Andreas looked up at the sky and the setting sun. “I think we had better move out of the forest. The desert scrub will be bearable at night, but we will all need to don warmer clothing to remain comfortable.” He looked at his friend. “What does this smoke look like?”

  “There is little wind and the smoke forms a solid, vertical plume.” Tomas smiled. “It is man-made. I would stake my plough on it.”

  “Or girl-made,” Paolo said. He looked up and then back to Tomas. “How far, Tomas?”

  The stocky man pursed his lips. “I would say we might cover most of the distance with the fading sun. The last hour would be in the dark—”

  “And too dangerous.” Andreas looked at them in turn. “We do not know what we seek, nor why. We have no need to risk broken limbs or ankles by becoming impatient and attempting to reach something unknown in the dark. But that does not stop us making good ground while we can. I suggest we let Tomas lead us out of the forest. Be vigilant.”

  Paolo followed Tomas and couldn’t help but think of his friends. The tingling on the back of his neck troubled him, and he suspected they had yet to discover the full impact of the flash—and the smoke. Andreas, as usual, had picked up on the same apprehension.

  He would be vigilant, indeed.

  ~~~

  Sarina walked into the warehouse with Agent Blanchard. On the short flight she’d had time to collect her thoughts. But it had only made her angry. She had to confront the Professor and find a way to persuade him to end this for good. The extra stress on her alone was starting to scare her. Goodness knows what she would do if there really was a giant bird-creature loose in their world.

  In her hand she had the picture Lena had drawn, and the translation from the concierge. Mass nightmares breaking out, and kids hallucinating creatures from other worlds? Whatever was going on, Professor Harrison had to know he was playing with fire.

  She saw him working on what looked to be a cage with wires attached, which encased a small, gleaming machine festooned with flashing lights. She started to march up to him, waving the pieces of paper high, but froze in horror.

  “No! No, it’s not possible.” A wave of dread spread through her—but this was no nightmare, only a cold reality.

  Valkrog, now awake, stared at her from one end of the warehouse as if his very glare could devour her. He was gagged and bound from head to foot, and then bound again to a massive wooden post. How was this possible? She’d seen the creature vaporised before her very eyes ... or had she?

  The Professor stopped, straightened and turned to Sarina with a smile. “Sarina! I’m glad you are safe, and even happier to see—“

  “What on earth is that thing doing here? And how? ...” She felt the blood slowly coming back to her head.

  “Ah yes. I had no time to brief Blanchard unfortunately. Things have been a little ... hectic.”

  Sarina fixed her gaze on the Professor. “I was about to show you this”—she waved Lena’s picture under his nose—“and this was on the news, in France by the way”—she thrust the concierge’s note at him—“but I think I’m a bit too late to warn you that you’re playing with fire.”

  The Professor nodded. “I can understand you would be angry—”

  “Angry?! You have invented a dangerous machine, which I see is now out in public; a vicious creature from another world, who I thought was dead, is on the loose, thankfully now apprehended; a good friend of mine is missing—and then you have the audacity to send your Agent to demand I leave one of my most an
ticipated events, AND place my entry in the final of the competition in jeopardy—which I might add, happens in three days’ time. Angry? I’m furious, Professor! You’d better tell me very quickly why you think I can help—and how you plan to make it up to me!”

  The Professor’s tone softened. “Sarina, if I had any other way open to me, believe me I would take it. But what we are faced with was not possible to predict, and even I’m having trouble deciphering the exact problem. But I do know that right now, I need your help. You are correct of course, it’s time to be completely honest.”

  “Well?” Sarina folded her arms and tapped her foot.

  The Professor sighed heavily. “Something is wrong with the machine. It’s unstable; it shouldn’t have created a portal and sent Nathan off ...” he trailed off and dropped his gaze.

  “And?” She could feel her face tighten.

  “And to free myself from this creature’s imprisonment, I had to take a risk and reprogram it for a short burst of high-intensity energy. Which worked, but ...”

  “Professor, excuse me for being too demanding of the truth, but this is like pulling teeth. Just tell me what’s gone wrong. Something has gone wrong, hasn’t it? Or you wouldn’t have brought me here.”

  He nodded. He held her shoulders and looked her square in the eye. “I was successful, thank goodness”—his gaze flicked over to the creature and back to Sarina, who shivered despite her anger—“but the collider is doing something I’ve not witnessed before. I think it may be interfering with our creative abilities and rapidly accelerating the draining of rem-particles from our world. We don’t have much time.”

  “Much time for what?” She felt her heart sinking.

  “To rescue Nathan ... and possibly to stop our entire world losing its ability to think creatively.”

  “Oh. But can’t you just reprogram the machine back to the way it was again? I don’t understand.”

  The Professor dropped his arms from her shoulders and turned to look at the device and its blinking messages. He looked back at her. “I don’t dare. It’s possible we might get a five-minute window to use it, but even then, I’m not confident, and it may be too risky. And there’s something else I haven’t told you ... or Nathan. Something I discovered since Malden’s death.”