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

  President Fox looked around. “Now where is our young hacker? I hope he hasn’t got lost on his tour.”

  The door opened again, and a man spoke. “He’s here, Mr President.” One of the other black-suited men ushered Nathan in, and closed the door. He walked up to join them, grinning from ear-to-ear.

  “This place is too cool! They’ve got listening devices for their listening devices. You wouldn’t believe how many ... oh.” He stopped and blushed when he noticed President Fox glaring at him with his hands on his hips. “Oh, sorry, sir, ah, Mr President, I, ah ...” He looked at the floor.

  The President let out a huge guffaw, and slapped Nathan on the back. “Nathan! I thought you were the practical joker? I’m pulling your leg—you’ve done nothing wrong.” He held out his hand. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, son.” Nathan looked up with a sheepish grin, and shook the President’s hand. “Where are your parents, son? They’re welcome too—did I not make that clear? I can have someone collect them from your hotel.”

  Nathan looked embarrassed. “They’re not here. I, ah, have TV parents. It’s a long story.”

  The President shrugged. “No matter. You must be hungry. I’ll let the First Lady know she can join us. Rachel, will you introduce yourself to Nathan and show everyone to their place?”

  “What’s for dinner?” Nathan whispered to Sarina on the way to their seats.

  “Your favourite,” President Fox called across from the other side of the table, pulling his chair out and sitting down, “pizza. Authentic Italian style.”

  For the second time in as many minutes, Nathan was speechless.

  The First Lady appeared, made her introductions and sat next to her husband, at which point the feast began, and the animated conversations continued through to dessert.

  “So, Sarina,” the President said, finishing his last mouthful of orange cheesecake, “I have a question for you.”

  She looked at him blankly. Who would refuse the President? “Um, okay. I think.”

  He smiled and leaned forward on his elbows. “After our recent ... situation ... I’ve started a small research team committed to studying and fostering the progressive education of super-creatives. Dreamer Kids, in other words, but my people wanted to use some other fancy names.”

  “That’s great.” She gave him a smile, and waited.

  “I’ll cut to the chase: we need help. I need a personal adviser. Someone smart, savvy and in-tune with the unique needs of these Dreamer Kids. I’d like you to take the job.”

  Nathan gasped and slapped his hand to his mouth. He shot her an apologetic glance. “Sorry.”

  She felt the hot flush rise to her cheeks. “Thank you, Mr President, but—”

  He waved his hand. “You need to think about it. Of course—”

  “No, I don’t need to think about it. I’m just worried you’ll take my refusal as an insult, which it isn’t.” She smiled and held his gaze. “It’s a wonderful offer, and I thank you for it.” She felt her mother’s hand on her arm, as if to say, ‘Sarina, don’t be silly, say yes’, but she knew what she needed to say. “I know what I want to do. I want to go back home. I want to be with my mum. I want to be an artist. I want to teach kids how to express themselves through art. Deep down I believe when they do that, they learn about themselves and they no longer need to do destructive things like bullying and name-calling just to feel good. Which reminds me. I made a promise to kids around the world if they could help me save our universe, then I’d stop the development of weapons, and make everyone work together. It was a big promise and one I really care about.” She regarded him for a moment. “Will you be the first? Lead by example?”

  Nathan almost spat out his drink, and out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Agent Blanchard exchanging a look of surprise with Professor Harrison, but she kept her gaze squarely on the man deep in thought in front of her.

  “I see why you are able to rally a world of kids so easily, Sarina. I’m obviously not the only one with considerable persuasion skills.” He steepled his hands together and studied her. “And if I don’t?”

  “Then you’ll be the most unpopular man on the planet in the eyes of any kid—starting with your own daughter by the looks of it.” She flicked her eyes at Rachel, who sat next to the First Lady, with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed and a fierce expression on her face.

  “Daddy,” the girl said. “You have to agree. No one refuses the Orange Witch.”

  They all laughed politely and waited for The World’s Most Powerful Man to answer.

  He nodded and broke out into an all-American smile worthy of any camera angle. “Then I guess I have to take up your challenge. What President could refuse an offer to become the most popular man on the planet? Especially when the gauntlet is thrown down by the infamous Orange Witch. Miss Metcalfe, I believe I have met my match.” He smiled at her, nodding, and applauded, as did everyone else.

  The applause died down and Nathan cleared his throat. “Ah, Mr President, um, if there’s anything I can do for you, you know you only have to ask?”

  President Fox gave Nathan a deadpan look, and the entire table hushed. “Why I do have a project for you to assist with, as a matter of fact.”

  “You do?” Nathan licked his lips nervously.

  “Yes. But I’m not entirely sure you’re gonna like it.”

  “Ah. Okay. I guess I’ll do my best. Um, what’s it about?” Nathan looked for support around the table, but everyone looked the other way.

  President Fox cocked an eyebrow. “Anti-Gravity.”

  Sarina burst out into uncontrollable laughter, and soon everyone else had joined in, including the President, who had tears running down his face.

  Nothing could wipe the smile off Nathan’s face for the rest of the night.

  ~ 82 ~

  Persons Wanted

  Sarina stood back from the easel and surveyed her latest work. ‘A Moon of Hearts’, she thought it should be called; an abstract piece painted in thick acrylic—her first experiment trying to do what she’d advised the US President to do a few days ago: paint with your feelings, and not with your head.

  So far she liked it, and if nothing else, she would learn more techniques, but something had shifted since those crazy few days, and she was creating with a sense of self, and not from sheer determination.

  Although being determined helps, when the stupid acrylic glaze over your delicately painted three-dimensional hearts keeps drying out too quickly, and you have to work fast.

  There was a knock at the side door of the garage. Her mother and she had worked to convert one end of the garage into a full-time workshop, which was great for the holidays, and for those weekends when she was back home. She’d accepted Sir John Drysdale’s invitation—which was waiting in her letterbox when she got home—to return to the London School of Art, and she’d decided to put her previous opinion of him to one side. Maybe they had got off on the wrong foot, but one thing she did know: he would no longer intimidate her.

  But the return to London had been hollow for another painful reason. Rona. Life wasn’t the same without the optimistic and often brutally honest mentor and friend. She still found herself crying when she saw a young girl holding hands with a father, or saw them playing together. She wished she’d been able to save Professor Malden, for Lena’s sake. She hadn’t known him for long, but they had been thrown together in such chaos that she’d come to appreciate his genuine curiosity about everything. But try as hard as she might to remember him, the image still lingered: of him floating away from her in space.

  The second knock jolted her back to reality. “Huh?” She realised she’d fallen back into daydreaming about Rona, wondering if she and Paolo and the others were safe. Since the rift had gone, and Professor Malden was ... somewhere spread across space and time, none of them had been able to make any contact with the other world—

  The knock turned into a full-on bash. “Alright, alright! I’m coming!” She opened the door.


  “Hey!” Nathan stood there, grinning. “You lost in your art again? I heard you were home, so I dropped by. Testing a new super-board.” He pointed to an odd-looking skateboard tucked under one arm. “It’s not exactly a hover-board yet ... but you never know. One day. Anyway, are you going to just leave me standing out here, or what?”

  She stood back and let Nathan in. He threw the skateboard on the garage floor, pulled an envelope out of his back pocket, and thrust it at her. “You’ve got mail. It was in your box.”

  She ripped the envelope open. It was a postcard—or was it? She peered closer. It was a postcard, but made from a real photo. A stout man in ski gear, his arm around an equally stout woman—his wife she supposed—and a line-up of eight children, arranged in order of height. One long line of family, all beaming at the camera, against a snowy mountain backdrop. One of the eight children stood closer to the camera than the others—a girl. She held up a square of paper, on which was a large, bold smiley-face; smiling, of course.

  Sarina smiled and held the postcard out for Nathan to see. He peered down at the colourfully-clad figures and broke out in a grin. “What’s it say on the back?”

  She flipped it over.

  ‘To Brave Girl and Clever Boy. Incredible what you did. All family say thank you. For me now, no more ship. One day a man come give me money and new name for family, he tell me: “Take new life. Better this way.” Who am I for argument? My mother always say: “Any fish is good if it is on the hook”, so now we have new life in mountain. You remember of Petra, who remind me to you? Funny thing: she turn out to be this Dreamer Kid too. We say in Russia and I think you say too: All is well that ends well. My family salute you. Please send regards to wheelchair lady.’

  “Well.” Nathan had read the card over her shoulder. “He has a way with words, doesn’t he?”

  She nodded. “But you didn’t come here to deliver my mail, did you? What’s on your mind?”

  He looked sheepish. “That obvious, is it? Something’s still bothering me. I was just wondering. How did you know to ... you know? Make Malden whole again?”

  “I have this friend, who has an annoying habit of talking incessantly about his great-great-grandfather. It turns out his great-great-grandfather carried out some rather unauthorised experiments on a certain person’s great-aunts—”

  Nathan shifted and looked uncomfortable. “I’ve already said sorry, haven’t I? Not that it was my fault,” he grumbled.

  “Thank you for interrupting. As I was saying, these experiments resulted in two things. One: both great-aunts were certified mad, having succumbed to frequent blackouts. Two: both of them extended their creative abilities considerably. One of them, Great-Aunt Samantha, had an amazing ability to recreate lifelike images in pastel of criminals on trial in court. The police at the time didn’t have computers, so quite incredibly”—she was enjoying the sarcasm now—“they wondered if it was possible to use a real-life human being to put together those persons-wanted posters. Aunt Samantha was one of their top artists. She could put together an accurate composite from a victim’s description better than anyone—”

  “I still don’t understand—”

  “Patience, Nathan. I’m getting to it. When we—Mum, Rona and I—researched my great-aunts’ madness, we found this out, and one thing stuck in my mind that Great-Aunt Samantha was supposed to have said when she was asked why her pictures were so much better than anyone else’s.”

  He looked at her blankly.

  “The eyes. She said it was all in the eyes. When I was looking at Makthryg and Valkrog, I could see the similarity there—but there was more, and it wasn’t until I remembered good old Great-Auntie Sam’s words that I realised.”

  “Well don’t keep me in suspense. What?”

  “Their eyes. I could see Lena in their eyes.”

  ~ 83 ~

  The Sting

  Immune to certain restrictions imposed in the physical universe—but not all—the slumbering beast, several thousand times the size of our sun, experienced the closure of the rift in the same way a human might be woken by an annoying mosquito bite on the ankle.

  Located some 6.27 light-years away from Earth, the entity would have to wait 6.27 years to experience the ‘orchid flash’, as it became known. The dying rift, however, took the instantaneous shortcut made possible by all wormholes, and by accident, metaphorically stung the creature.

  It opened what served for an eye, and lumbered around to try to discover the source of the annoyance, but the rift had already disappeared.

  Nonetheless, the beast was awake.

  And hungry.

  The Dreamer Chronicles

  Did you like this book?

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  Just click the link below and it will take you directly to the reviews page :)

  Thank you! Every review helps and encourages me to write more!

  http://RobertScanlon.com/MoonZeroReview

  THE DREAMER CHRONICLES NEWSLETTER

  Would you like advance notice when the next instalment in Sarina’s journey is released?

  If you’d like to follow Sarina and Nathan on their next adventure, and you would like advance notice when the next instalment in The Dreamer Chronicles is released, then all you need to do is join Robert’s Dreamer Chronicles Newsletter! Some lucky readers will even receive a Free Book, and Advance Copies of New Releases.

  Follow the link below and enter your email address (if you don’t have your own email address, then ask an adult to use theirs on your behalf. I promise not to send them loads of rubbish!).

  www.RobertScanlon.com/DreamerChronicles

  Have you read the other books in THE DREAMER CHRONICLES series yet?

  Sarina's Nightmare - THE DREAMER CHRONICLES BOOK I

  The first adventure in the Dreamer Chronicles is called 'Sarina's Nightmare'. If you haven't read it yet, then just follow the link below!

  Click here to read Sarina's Nightmare

  The Dream Killer - THE DREAMER CHRONICLES BOOK II

  The second adventure in the Dreamer Chronicles is called 'The Dream Killer'! If you haven't read it yet, then just follow the link below!

  Click here to read The Dream Killer

  Acknowledgments

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for finishing the book, I hope you enjoyed it! Writing a book is both fun and hard work—and you never know which of those you will encounter in the process. One thing I do know is that you most certainly need the help of people around you. Those who understand the crazy world you lock yourself up in, and why you disappear so quickly after meals, claiming some need to ‘get on with it’!

  Some of those people also willingly read the early versions, plough their way through all the typos (What? You’ve found some too? Please tell me!), and provide helpful feedback from a reader’s experience.

  Since they deserve acknowledgement of their hard work (which I hope had at least some fun stirred in), I shall do that here.

  As always, I must thank my loving wife, Gabrielle, whose eyes must have glazed over at the screen while doing a speed edit to meet an impending deadline. Your feedback was crucial and invaluable! My amazing daughter, Isabelle, who is so insightful as both a reader and excellent writer, and picks up on things adults conveniently gloss over.

  To Raymonde, my ever-supportive beta-reader, who will challenge my concepts of grammar and force me to research until we BOTH learn something ... a thousand thank-yous for your persistence and dedication to getting through the early versions.

  To my sister, Alison, who insists she is giving me honest feedback when she claims to only find a couple of typos: your encouragement and support is priceless.

  Finally, thanks to a long list of people who encourage, cajole and support anyone who attempts to write a book!

  ABOUT ROBERT SCANLON

  Born in Australia, Robert was whisked back to England where he spent his childhood. After many years c
omplaining 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.