They both nodded.
He smiled. “The Professor has requested your presence—rather urgently I’m afraid. He sent a car for you to save time. Will you be so kind as to follow me?”
Sarina looked at Rona and they both shrugged. The man gave them a nod and beckoned them to follow him to the limousine rank outside the station, where a larger than usual minivan-like stretch limo waited, complete with rock-star style blacked-out windows. Sarina smiled at the Professor’s thoughtfulness—the larger limo would accommodate the wheelchair more easily.
The man opened the sliding door at the side, and lowered the ramp for Rona, who wheeled herself in with the precision acquired from years of practice. Sarina followed, and found a luxurious plush leather seat.
The door slammed shut, and they were in darkness.
“Hey!” Sarina said, “What happened to the lights?”
The dividing black glass between the cabin and the driver’s area lowered, and spilled light backwards. Two men sat in the front—one was the man with the sign, who sat in the driver’s seat. The other leaned back and spoke. “Sorry, Miss Metcalfe. Please be aware the interior is also soundproof.” He grinned, but his eyes were cold. “Have a nice trip.” He turned back and the opaque black glass slid back up, and they were plunged into darkness.
“Sarina?” Rona sounded shaky. “What’s going on? Who are these men?”
Sarina was in shock. “I ... I don’t know.”
She didn’t know who they were. But she did recognise the man beside the driver. She’d seen him once before. With a newspaper. At the café. When she had lost her notebook.
~ 8 ~
No Signal
The limo came to a halt and they heard the muffled thump of the front doors opening, then closing. Sarina had found Rona’s hand and squeezed it tight. “Do you think they are going to kill us?” she whispered, but before Rona could reply, the door was slid open, and Newspaper Man’s face appeared.
“Put these on.” He threw two blindfolds at them. “Don’t worry, it’s not for long.”
Past the man, Sarina caught a glimpse of a large dimly lit warehouse. As far she could tell, the limo had driven into the building. She had no idea where they were.
“Now!” the man demanded.
They glanced at each other and slipped the blindfolds on. Sarina heard Rona’s wheelchair move and Rona’s angry voice echo across the large space. “Who are you? Where are you taking us? How dare you kidnap a little girl. Let her go and I’ll pay the ransom.”
No one replied.
Sarina’s wrist was grabbed by a large, calloused hand and she was pulled along steadily, but not roughly, across what she assumed was a large expanse of concrete. A voice with a heavy accent she didn’t recognise spoke broken English. “Up stairs. Hold rail. One step at time or might trip.” Her foot scuffed into a metal step, and she lifted it up to begin a steady climb up a narrow, staircase, holding onto a cold, worn and bumpy metal railing. She counted the steps until the hand stopped her—there were twenty-eight—and the voice spoke again. “Lift foot up over step.” She lifted her foot up and extended it gingerly, and realised she had stepped over a very low metal sill when her other foot brushed against it. Where was this?
“Rona? Are you there?”
“No talk,” the gruff voice said, and pulled her along, “just follow.”
She sensed she was inside a narrow enclosed space—a corridor?—and there were sounds. A low, distant thrum and clanking. And the sharp smell. She was reminded of the smell of some of the truck stops on the motorways. Some special type of petrol they used. What had they done with Rona? Her heart beat too fast to breathe easily and she had to make a conscious effort to not hold her breath, or risk passing out.
They stopped and the blindfold was pulled off. She stood in front of a large iron door with a huge handle. She saw it was a corridor she’d guessed they were in, and they’d stopped outside a room on her right. The door was open enough for her to see it was small. Male voices drifted out, speaking a language she didn’t recognise. The large man who had led her up the corridor peered in around the door, and obscured her vision. He said something in his own language to whomever was in the room. A reply came that she didn’t need a translator to understand: it was an order. Whoever was in the room was this man’s superior.
The large man backed out of the room, and before he closed the door, Sarina caught a glimpse of the other man: stout and red-faced. He wore a dark cap and a matching heavy jacket with bands of yellow around the cuffs. He studied her for several moments before turning away, then the door closed.
The large man wrenched down the handle of the door in front of them and shoved Sarina through, but he did not follow. “Wait. No talk. I come back with food.”
The door closed behind her, and she peered into the darkness. There were bulbs strung across a massive, enclosed room. Her eyes adjusted and she could see she was on a raised metal gantry, a few metres above a flat surface about the size of a tennis court. At the far end she saw Rona.
“Rona!” Sarina forgot about the instructions to remain quiet, and rushed down the stairs, and across to her friend. “Are you okay?”
Rona nodded. “I’m fine. You?”
“Yes. Where are we?”
“My guess is we’re on some kind of ship. A large freighter I suspect. With a Russian crew, judging by their accents.”
“How do you—”
“When you don’t have normal mobility, you pay a lot more attention to your surroundings. More obviously, I recognised some of the sounds of the docks. I spent a lot of time around the docks as a child. And the smell of diesel always takes me back to sitting on the wharves, sketching container ships as they came and went.”
Sarina hugged herself and looked around. “Who are these people? Why have they brought us here?”
Rona pulled Sarina’s hand to hers. “It will be fine. I’m sure it’s a kidnap and ransom job. Though I’m not sure who they think has the money. As far as I know, neither of us have rich relatives.”
“But won’t they kill us when they find out we don’t have any money?”
Rona shook her head and twisted her mouth. “Did they tell you they were bringing food?”
Sarina nodded.
“Me too. They don’t usually feed people they’re going to ... dispose of. And that’s the other odd thing—the creepy guy—”
“Mr Newspaper Man?”
Rona looked at her strangely. “Huh? What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen him before. He sat next to us at the café the other day reading his paper. I think he may have taken my notebook.”
Rona nodded. “Well he seemed to know all about us, what train we were arriving on and our names. So they haven’t mistaken us for some wealthy tourists. And this ship.” Rona wheeled across the heavy iron floor to the nearest wall. “It’s solid—and very quiet.” She banged hard on the wall, but there was none of the echoey clang Sarina expected. Just a solid thump.
“Ouch.” Sarina turned in a circle where she stood and looked around. There were only two entrances she could see—the steel-grated stairs she had come down, and a massive floor-to-ceiling solid sliding door at the opposite end of the warehouse-sized enclosure—closed of course—which she assumed Rona had been brought through. You could scream yourself hoarse in here, she thought, and no one would hear a thing. How could they attract attention, or send a message? She spun around. “Rona. Do you have your mobile phone?”
Rona nodded, but her face told Sarina the answer wasn’t good. “No signal. Same as in the limo; I already tried. This enclosure is sealed tight. But why?” She shrugged.
Sarina shivered. “I’m going to take a look around before this food arrives. There’s got to be some clue why we’re here. Maybe it will take my mind off things.” She walked over to the other wall, and tapped on it. Rona was right, it was as solid as a rock. She ran her hand across the cold metal, and all the way along to the corner, then across to the closed s
liding barrier. She was almost there when her hand brushed across a smoother, bumpy surface, then back to the painted metal. She stopped.
“What is it?” Rona rolled across.
“Some kind of sign or a logo. Something painted.” Sarina rubbed the area where she had felt the bumps and cleaned away the dirt, but could only see a fraction of a grimy yellow sign and an indecipherable symbol. They peered at it, then looked at each other. “No clue here. I guess we’ll have to wait to be rescued.”
~ 9 ~
Predictions
The wind-driven rain lashed Paolo’s face as he and Andreas fought their way back through the trail, both forced to lean into the wind. “Andreas!” Paolo shouted. “Is it not getting worse?”
The older man yelled back. “Aye, it is. If we have any sense we will not venture out in it again.”
Paolo had asked Andreas to trek with him to the place where Valkrog, the bird-man, had killed his father six years ago. Paolo had only been nine. After Sarina and Nathan had helped defeat both Valkrog and Makthryg—the township’s adversary and the bird-man’s creator—he was determined to honour his father with a small ceremony.
With their enemies imprisoned and the threats to the township no more, the time had come. If his father was watching from somewhere on high, he would be proud his son had carried forward the courage he himself had shown that day.
Paolo set out the coloured stones he had brought with him; decorated with the new paints Sarina had taught them to use. The pair stood at the spot in silence. Father would have loved Sarina like a daughter, he thought, but that was not to be. Now neither of them had fathers, but at least he had known his.
They had started the march back when the wind began to pick up. “These winds have been fierce in the last few weeks,” Andreas said. He gazed out at the hills. “I have not seen weather behave like this before.”
Paolo nodded. Every time the winds rose this way, they became worse, in some cases ripping parts of roofs from the township’s cottages. “And the soothsayers are loving it, I think.”
Andreas grinned. “Surely you do not believe their foolish predictions of the world’s end?”
“I can tell you do not, Andreas.” Paolo smiled. “No, I do not. But if these winds continue, there will be those in the township who do.”
Andreas’s grin faded. “Aye, you are right. I will speak with the other Elders. We must not let this get out of hand. Come. Let us continue, before we are blown to pieces.”
They had entered the forest trail, grateful for the temporary protection from the wind. While they made their way up and down the narrow paths through the dense woods, the rain had begun to whip through the trees above, and now they were drenched and gritting their teeth against the wild winds.
They came to a halt at the edge of the trail, where it opened out to the fields surrounding the township. Paolo had to shout to be heard, even though he was barely an arm’s length from his friend.
Paolo gripped the tree next to him. “I THINK WE MUST WAIT. IF WE TRY TO CROSS NOW, WE WILL BE SWEPT AWAY.”
Andreas nodded and pointed to the sky. He made a sweeping motion with his finger, across the menacing clouds. Paolo looked up. Andreas was right. The storm clouds might blow over if they waited. He looked back at Andreas and signalled his understanding. His clothes were soaked and his teeth chattered from the cold rain. He tightened his grip and watched the wind whip the forest and the township.
By the time the wind blew itself out enough for them to continue, the light was fading. Andreas glanced up, then back at Paolo. “If I stand here any longer, I will become a pillar of watery aches and pains. I think it safe for us to walk. If we move fast enough, we will make some heat, and perhaps the remaining breeze will dry us.”
They were halfway across the fields when the wind dropped to nothing. “That is better,” Paolo said. “Have you ever seen the likes of this before?”
Andreas shook his head. “No. And I suspect neither has anyone else in our township. This is new, and I know not what to do.”
They approached the outskirts of the township and already Paolo could see people had emerged from their dwellings and were surveying the damage. The field was strewn with branches, leaves and broken pieces of wood, tiles and metals picked up by the winds. He sighed. “We need our scientist. He would explain it, I am sure.”
Andreas smiled. “Nathan? Aye, that is true. But he and Sarina are safe in their own world now. This we must battle for ourselves.” He looked at the cottages either side of them as they made their way through the township. “We must begin a program of construction, to protect the buildings. We can start with some underground shelters. We will be of no use to anyone if we continue to be injured by flying debris.”
“What if the storms keep getting worse?”
“Now you are sounding like a soothsayer, Paolo. These are simply new weather patterns”—he frowned—“though the likes of them I do not understand.” He stopped and turned. “We must learn more if we are to survive.”
“There is one here who may know more than we do ...” Paolo trailed off, knowing he was mentioning the unmentionable.
Andreas’s brow creased tighter. “You would ask Makthryg? He would seek to use any knowledge he has to his own profit, I fear. No, there is no benefit to be had there.” Andreas fell silent and gazed around.
Paolo saw the pain written on his friend’s face. “Andreas ... I have an idea.”
The man looked squarely at Paolo. “Then put words to it. As long as it does not involve Makthryg.”
In a way, it had involved Makthryg. Or the thought of him. The idea had sprung into his head when he remembered how Nathan and Sarina had used their scientific methods, as he thought they called them, to plan the defeat of the sorcerer. “I will construct some instruments to monitor and measure these storms. Perhaps if we know more about them and document the direction, wind strengths, their frequency, and the amount of rainfall, we might use that knowledge to our advantage?” He looked at Andreas hesitantly.
Andreas smiled and nodded. He slapped Paolo on the back. “I think we have no need of Nathan. We have our master scientist right here. Yes, Paolo, let us do this.” He looked around at the townsmen and women, some of whom were picking up rubbish from the street, while others nailed storm shutters back into place. “But let us not alarm anyone. If they suspect we also believe this to be a much bigger problem, then it will only feed the soothsayers.”
Paolo studied his friend’s face. No matter what he said, it was obvious from Andreas’s expression that he already thought it to be a much bigger problem.
Much bigger.
~ 10 ~
Smacker Meets Knuckles
“Yes!” Nathan took his hands off the keyboard and punched his fists into the air.
Then he sat back in his chair and watched the busy screen race through a series of code prompts, and scroll through pages of routines.
The Prof had not yet made an appearance—which he thought was a tiny bit strange, since he more or less lived in the place—and he hadn’t returned Nathan’s message, so he had decided to do a little research of his own. Hacker style.
Unnerved by the blackmail note he’d discovered on the Prof’s machine that day, he had avoided any more accidental spying and had logged on to a different computer in the lab. He’d had a sleepless night wondering if the threat to the Dreamer Kids was real, or if he had made it seem much bigger in his mind than it really was, so he’d got down to work and started to dig around.
And what he’d found was alarming.
First, there was a reason for Professor Harrison’s absence. A well-hidden parliamentary committee had been commissioned to investigate what surely must have been leaked: a covert project to develop children with advanced mind powers. The Prof had been summoned to the committee to be questioned about his research program. Nathan scoffed. ‘Advanced Mind Powers’! What were they thinking? Comic-book superheroes with x-ray vision? He could just imagine Quentin Tubert
ackle—or was it Tabernacle? he couldn’t remember—and his TV panel discussion show, Private Intelligence, tackling the subject, no doubt with some Very Important Politicians on to provide Suitable Public Comment. Telepaths who could read politicians’ minds? He grinned. They wouldn’t find much there. He’d met Quentin in person once, when he had visited his old school way back, and he knew the man didn’t suffer fools gladly. He turned out to be a part-time inventor, and he’d struck up quite a conversation with Nathan about typical scientific myths the public thought were true, such as the supposed fact that there really was a dark side of the moon. They’d carried their conversation on to a hilarious email discussion where they had sent each other further examples of unfounded and entertaining ‘truths’. Which reminded him: this was the second time old Tabberjabber had been in his thoughts today, the first being when he’d glanced up at the moon, which was super-bright. He’d wondered if it was because it was in one of its supermoon phases, and he’d smiled at the thought that the dark side would therefore be super dark.
But there was a dark side to this committee thing: people were suspicious and frightened of what they didn’t know—all the more if it meant someone else had what they didn’t. He’d read enough science fiction to know that if public opinion got out of hand, anyone who was suspected of having advanced mind powers would be singled out. Not good.
He smiled at the thought of the Prof being grilled by some numpty on a committee. Not only would the Prof run rings around them, there was no way he’d ever let on to his project. The Prof had friends in very high places who would make sure it never got out. Other than the blackmail message, that didn’t concern him.
But he’d made an alarming discovery.
There was a public movement against kids with special mind powers. How they had got hold of the information, he had no idea, but there was already a heavily visited—but private and anonymous—online group mobilising people across the world to protest against such science. They were already demanding that any humans in possession of such powers be identified. When he’d first discovered their website, it had sent a cold shiver through him. But now, watching his lines of code race past the screen, he smiled and nodded to himself. The site he’d found might have been well-secured and private ... but Nathan was studying encryption. And he’d just hacked into the group’s admin section.
The Dreamer Chronicles Trilogy Boxed Set Vol I - III: A Sci-Fi Parallel Universe Adventure (The Dreamer Chronicles - Science Fiction For Kids And Adults) Page 71
