Ashley leaned forward and stared at the small girl on the screen, hardly daring to breathe. “What about her idea? Could that work?”
“Out of my league with that one. All those mind-power experiments are behind closed doors these days. We’d need a serious lowering of all weapons for anyone to share that info. Just sayin’.”
But if it didn’t work, what would? She was riveted to the image, watching the poor girl’s chest heave as she sobbed. “Well she’s got my vote.”
“Yeah, but you’re a softy. This is TV, remember? Most people will figure it’s just some new reality show and ignore it.”
And there you would have it, she thought. Two universes smashed together and dying, and no one could see the solution because they couldn’t tell reality from reality TV. What an epitaph for the human race. ‘Homo Sapiens was here, voted the girl off the show, chucked away their lives.’
“Wait.” The girl—Sarina. Better to give her a name, she thought. Anyone that brave deserved a personal epitaph. Sarina was pulling herself together and staring at the camera with red-rimmed eyes. She looked angry. She reached out of view and pulled a blank canvas onto the easel.
Her voice was strident from the TV as she started to sketch again. “Mr Tabernacle, this is what we need to tell kids around the world: here’s your new reality.” She was working hard on the canvas, but Ashley couldn’t see what it was, the back of the girl’s head had obscured the view. She turned back around, eyes fiery. “Unless you join in, unless you put up your hand and say: ‘Yes, I’m like her too, and I want to help’, then tomorrow we might not have any more mums, dads, sisters, brothers, grandparents, cousins, friends”—she moved to one side and revealed a simple, but powerful sketch of a heartbroken family, their heads hung in shame, holding hands—“Unless we try, we will never know.” She slid to one side, causing the picture to jerk up and down as someone realigned the camera. She picked up an orange pastel and moved fast across the canvas, then moved away, her wet-cheeked face partially off-camera. The picture she’d drawn was a simple sad face—the reverse of the well-known smiley-face icon.
“Will you help me?”
There was silence as the camera zoomed in on the sad face.
~~~
Sarina stared at the screen, and then around at the small group of people watching her. They seemed to be stunned. Quiet. Quentin Tabernacle spoke off-screen to someone, his voice muted. She leaned across and twisted the computer tablet away from the canvas and back to face her, ignoring Nathan’s protests. “Mr Tabernacle.” He looked up and tapped something on the desk in front of him.
“Yes?”
“It’s no use, Mr Tabernacle. No one will believe us. We have good in our hearts. When these kids get together, when the people with good hearts get together, there will be no more weapons. No more stupid science projects hidden behind high walls and down in bunkers. I promise you, if we survive this, I will dedicate my life to it. I was taught to believe art is for everyone, no matter how rich or poor, just like joy and love. Science should be the same—it should be for everyone’s benefit, not someone’s destruction. Or everyone’s destruction.” She wiped a tear. “But it’s no use. Doesn’t matter how much I practise this, it’s never going to work. If I could persuade a few kids to help me save the world, then maybe we could save it forever. But I can’t.” The tears fell and she got up and rushed past Nathan, knocking the tripod over. In a blur of tears, she found the handle to the truck’s sliding door, wrenched it open, and ran out into the heavy rain.
~~~
“Whoa.” Nathan let out a huge breath. He looked behind him at Professor Harrison. “Should I go—”
Harrison shook his head. “Let her do it by herself. She’s been through a lot, but she might need some space.” He glanced outside. “Though I’m sure her mother wouldn’t want her out in this rain.”
“Nathan, are you there? Nathan Goldberg? If you are there, please come around to the camera as soon as possible.” Quentin Tabernacle’s voice issued from the remote speaker mounted near the easels.
Nathan scrambled around and readjusted the screen. “What is it, sir? Did the connection hold out?”
“Oh yes, it most certainly did, right up to and including that last moment. Do you have a television monitor there?”
Nathan nodded.
“Then it must not be switched on, or you would not be asking me that question. Please have someone turn it on—any channel. I’ll switch the feed to you as well—this is what they will see. Here.” He looked down and tapped a button and the picture on the tablet swapped out. Agent Blanchard was already up and had punched the remote for the truck’s TV at the end of the aisle.
The images changed every few seconds. Some in daylight, some not. Every one of them featured people. People from around the world, in all types of dress, and in all types of weather. Some images were blurry, perhaps pulled from security camera or Closed-Circuit TV streams; others crystal-clear, where news cameramen captured them on outside broadcasts. Some wobbly, streamed from a mobile phone. Most of the images had at least one child in them, a few had hundreds, a couple had what must have been thousands gathered at junior sporting events.
But they all showed the same thing.
Almost everyone was holding up a picture, drawn on anything to hand—paper; cardboard boxes; bed-sheets; some good, some not, but all immediately recognisable.
They stood in silence, holding them up to the cameras for all to see.
Each was a faithful replica of Sarina’s sad smiley-face.
~ 70 ~
In The White House
The men gathered in the Oval Office early in the morning, and watched the images pass across the TV screen. The chiselled-looking man with silvery hair who sat behind the huge desk, tapped his pencil on the paper in front of him. “She’s quite something, isn’t she, Williams?”
“She certainly is, Mr President. Shall I have her brought to you?” The man who spoke stood on the other side of the desk. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, a crisp white shirt that looked brand new, and a muted dark-blue tie.
“Good Lord, no,” President Fox said. “We’d start a world war if we stepped in now. No, she’s the one with the power to bring us all together. Have you discovered the project she belongs to?”
“Yes, Mr President. It’s a little known offshoot of some early research by a”—he consulted some papers in his hand—“a Doctor Rosen, and now run by two Professors: Professor Kingsley Harrison and Professor Theodore Malden. Strangely the latter is marked as deceased, though my men tell me he is alive and kicking.”
“Do we have a man on the ground?”
The man in the black suit shook his head, then gave a wry smile. “Yes and no. You remember Bill Blanchard? He was in the White House Security deployment for a while.”
President Fox nodded. “A wily character. Didn’t say much, but knew a lot.”
“That’s him. Well this Harrison recruited him quite some time ago, and he’s had everything nailed down—including not letting any of his former colleagues know what he was working on.”
“Then how do we know all this now?”
The man smiled and tilted his head. “Well noted, sir. It’s actually down to Blanchard himself throwing one of the UK’s snitches from the Consortium to the media. We got hold of this Minister Denning and ... well, he talked. Let’s leave it at that. Apparently the girl is right when she says the Consortium were after the collider device, but she knows more than us if she says it is now destroyed. Also, one of the Consortium’s top agents pursuing them, The Shadow, is reported to be missing in action.”
President Fox slowly shook his head. “Impressive. One more thing, Williams.”
“Yes, Mr President?”
“What is the latest regarding the Moon and our troubles?”
The man hesitated. “It’s not good sir. The termination of all shipping by sea has tensions running high. I’d say we don’t have long before someone does something silly.�
�
“How long?”
“A day or so, sir.”
“And the Moon?”
“Mr President, all low-lying areas with any population were evacuated two days ago. However the remaining infrastructure is being battered and destroyed by wild tides and super-sized waves. And as you can see for yourself, sir”—he pointed to the window—“our own weather is severely affected. More to the point, sir, we are getting intelligence suggesting what the girl says is correct: there is a major flaw in our local universe that is the cause of all of this. One of my men picked up surveillance out of Australia from one of their big observatories—a couple of their people have already independently verified the data supporting her claims.”
“And they haven’t told us?”
“Actually, sir, their findings are with SSERVI right now.”
The President nodded slowly and chewed the top of his pencil. “Williams.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Dispatch this request to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff—he can confirm directly with me: he is to have the Joint Chiefs of Staff contact this girl and her Professors, and give them our assistance. I will take care of our friends in Russia and China, the Vice President will call all the NATO heads, I want full cooperation. Anything they ask for.”
“Anything, Mr President?”
President Fox fixed his gaze on the suited man. “Yes, anything. Before we have nothing left to give any more. And when that’s done, get me Blanchard on the line.”
~ 71 ~
Holy Rocket Blasters
Sarina sat in a bus shelter on the other side of the street from the truck. The rain bucketed down around her, making the fading evening light darker than usual. She watched Nathan jump out of the truck, a plastic bag held above his head against the rain, and look to each side, straining to see through the curtain of water. Then he looked straight ahead and saw her, and sprinted across the deserted road. She hoped this was not going to be another pep talk to try to talk her into doing it all over again. Only live. Drysdale was right—she didn’t have it in her. She was doomed to be a second-rate artist who reached an early plateau and painted pretty look-a-likes of famous artists’ work at run-down markets.
Nathan skidded to a halt. She held up her hands. “No, Nathan, I’m done. I can’t do it—doesn’t matter how much I practice. We’ll have to find another way. I’m sorry. Sorry for everyone.”
He stood in front of her, the raindrops pouring off the ridiculous plastic bag in rivulets. “You don’t have to practice again. It worked. Come on—quick. We’ve got to get cracking.”
It worked? What did he mean? She frowned. “Did Quentin Tabernacle say he wants to try again? Because I don’t. I can’t.”
Nathan tapped his foot in a paddle. “That’s what I’m telling you, Sarina—didn’t you listen? You don’t have to do it again. It worked. People all around the world”—he threw up his hands—“look, come with me. You’ll see.”
She got up and followed him through the rain and into the truck, where phones were ringing anywhere they could—not that anyone was answering. Both the professors were on separate calls; Agent Blanchard held a mobile phone to his ear, but all were looking up at the TV while they were in conversation. She wiped the rain from her face and followed Nathan’s finger. He had reached up and was tapping on the bottom of the TV screen. The sound was muted, but the news channel showed a stream of ever-changing images: copies of her sad smiley-face. A running headline commentary crawled along the bottom of the screen: Young Artist Prodigy Gains World Attention. Mass Movement Of Super-Kids To Heal Galactic Rift. Experts Agree—
She looked at Nathan. “Did you ... ?”
He nodded, grinning. “Yes. Taberbuckle sent it out live. That was no practice run.”
She scowled at him. “You could have told me!”
His face fell, and he let his arm drop from pointing to the TV. “I’ve seen you in action before. You’re at your best when it’s all coming out like it did; no rehearsal. I thought it would be our best chance.”
“Bah! You were worried I’d mess it up, so—”
“Sarina.” He looked at her, exasperated. “Don’t be mad. Be proud. No one could have done what you just did. Maybe no one alive. Apparently Dreamer Kids are already coming forward in their thousands. Dude ... you have to accept you pulled off something amazing.”
She stared at him for a moment, then sat down in a daze on the nearest stool as the enormity of what Nathan had just said sank in. “I did?”
“It was brilliant indeed,” Malden worked his way along the central aisle to them, and closed the sliding door on the way. “But now we have to get to the labs as soon as possible. We don’t have to be cloak-and-dagger anymore, and we need the computing power. We still have the small matter of an over-sized rem-focusing device to build.”
“Have you found the rift opening yet?” Nathan asked, settling himself into one of the chairs by the computer screens as the truck began to move.
Malden shook his head. “It’s proving tough to pin down—I suspect because we don’t have access to the data that—”
The cab door swung open, and Lena poked her head through. “Daddy?” Both Professors turned around.
“Yes?” they said in unison, and laughed.
“There’s an urgent call from an Observatory in Australia. The driver asked me to ask if you want him to put it through.”
Harrison nodded. “Yes please, Lena.” He looked at Malden. “It must be the middle of the night there. I wonder what they want?” The phone extension on the bench next to him rang, and he picked it up. “Hello, this is Professor Kingsley Harrison. To whom am I speaking?” Pause. “Thank you, Doctor Green. She is remarkable. Now I assume you have something you think we need to know, or you wouldn’t be calling at this hour of your day?” Pause. “Yes, yes. I see.” Long pause. Professor Harrison’s expression became long-faced. “Thank you, Doctor Green, we are indebted to you. Will you send me that data-set?” Pause. “Yes, that is correct. Please include your direct line—I have a feeling we may need it.” Pause. “Yes, you too. Sarina’s recruitment of children with rem-manipulation abilities has given us the best chance we’ve had yet. Fingers crossed eh?” He put the receiver down and looked at them all.
Agent Blanchard slipped into the truck from the cab door and closed it behind him. “News, sir?”
Harrison nodded. Through her daze, Sarina could see a few beads of perspiration on his forehead. “Yes, both types. The good news is we can confirm the location of the rift opening—and when I say we, I mean the good folk in the Parkes Observatory in Australia, with thanks to Doctor Ashley Green in particular.”
“So what’s the bad news?” Nathan said, frowning.
The Professor looked at him evenly. “There’s a reason we were finding it difficult to locate the rift here. And that’s because it’s not. It’s in space—”
“Wow.” Nathan let out a low whistle.
Professor Harrison continued. “There is some minor good news to tack on to the bad news, however.”
“What could possibly be good news after that?” Sarina wondered at the ability of the man to be so matter-of-fact. She was still reeling from the whirlwind of news and the response to her plea for help.
He fixed his gaze on her. “For the next twenty-four hours, it will be quite close to the orbit of the International Space Station.”
“Then we can get close to it!” Malden wiped his hands across his hair, his eyes dancing bright.
“How?” Nathan screwed up his face. “I mean, holy rocket-blasters batman. Who’s gonna get us up there?”
The truck lurched to a halt, making them all reach out to steady themselves. “What’s going on?” Sarina looked at the perplexed faces around her.
The cab door opened and this time the driver himself poked his head in. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sirs ... and lady”—he winked at Sarina—“But I thought I’d better communicate this one meself, in case you thought i
t was a prank. There’s some American fella on the phone for Mr Blanchard. Claims to be the President of the United States.” He pulled his head back in and closed the door.
Everyone froze momentarily, then Agent Blanchard jumped to the door, looked back long enough at Professor Harrison to jerk his head to indicate he should follow, and wrenched the door open to leap through. Professor Harrison ran the length of the truck, forcing Nathan to whip his feet out of the way, and was through the door and closing it, but not before they heard Blanchard’s voice. “Mr President. It is a pleasure to speak with you again, sir. How may we—”
The door closed, leaving them dumbfounded. After a few moments, they heard the truck’s gears engage, and they rumbled off again.
Malden spoke first. “I do believe there is a cafeteria at the lab, is that correct? Or am I the only one hungry?”
Nathan broke out into a huge smile. “Pizza. What a great idea.”
Sarina shook her head slowly at Nathan.
~ 72 ~
Limited Seating
After some time, the truck’s cab door burst open and Professor Harrison jumped through, his face alive with energy. “Sarina, I don’t know what you did—well I do know what you did of course—but it’s caught the President’s attention somehow, and he and Blanchard actually know each other. It’s a long story, so I’ll cut it short: there’s a Soyuz Expedition already primed for take-off to transport some scientists up to the ISS to research the changes in the Solar System. It’s leaving in”—he consulted his watch—“fifteen hours, and we’re on it. We can be in Baikonur in about six or seven hours. Agent Blanchard has arranged a helicopter to pick us up, then we’ll take a private jet directly to the cosmodrome.” As if to emphasise his words, the truck swung into a U-turn without warning, and threw them all off to one side.
Nathan let out a loud whoop. “Baikonur? Whoa! Too cool! That’s the place where the first Sputnik was launched into space.”
And maybe the place where the last rocket will ever leave Earth, Sarina thought.
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 95
