by Steve Voake
‘How?’ asked Sam.
‘Well, for example, there’s a huge department that operates deep in the oceans to remove poisonous toxins from the water. They run breeding programmes to restore the numbers of fish that have reached dangerously low levels and introduce predators to feed on other predators that have become too successful.’
Sam was amazed and also a little sceptical, but he had learned that he could no longer take anything for granted. ‘But surely the world can do that for itself,’ he said. ‘That’s what nature’s all about, isn’t it? Natural selection and all that. We learned about it in science.’
‘Well, yes and no,’ replied Skipper. ‘That’s what it used to be about. Your world used to run itself much more than it does now and it needed much less maintenance. But in the last hundred years or so, everything has changed. Now our secret forces have to operate round the clock just to stop the whole place from self-destructing.’
‘Why?’ asked Sam. ‘What’s changed?’
‘Your people have,’ said Skipper. ‘They’ve become greedier. Well, no, that’s not strictly true. They were probably always this greedy, but now they’ve developed the tools that allow them to plunder and poison the Earth to their heart’s desire. They’re killing it in the process, but for the most part they don’t even realise it.’
Sam looked dubious. ‘Sounds a bit far-fetched. If all this is true, how come I’ve never heard of these secret forces?’
‘Because, Sammy boy,’ said Skipper, winking and tapping the side of her nose, ‘they’re secret.’
‘Oh,’ said Sam. ‘Right.’
Skipper smiled. ‘I know it’s difficult to understand.’ She looked thoughtful for a moment and then suddenly brightened. ‘I’ve got an idea,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘Think of yourself as a flea on a dog.’
‘Must I?’ Sam asked.
‘Seriously – think of the dog as the world on which the flea lives. Inside the dog’s bloodstream is a whole other world where white blood cells fight with viruses and bacteria, where every second there is a battle between opposing forces to decide whether the flea’s world – the dog – survives or is destroyed. But the flea has no knowledge of this world within a world. It exists in a place beyond the flea’s understanding.’
‘So you’re saying that this world – Aurobon – is like the bloodstream of my world? It’s hidden from Earth but still part of it?’
‘Sort of, although it’s a bit more complicated than that. But yes – the two worlds are linked and – like the dog and the world inside it – they depend upon each other for their survival. And that’s also why the insects we fly here are so huge. Their eggs are harvested from your world and so the scale of things is different.’ She paused for a moment as if considering something. Finally she said: ‘I think I’ll leave it to Firebrand to explain about your size. I got a bit confused when he tried to tell me about that one.’
‘I know the feeling,’ said Sam. ‘But what about the war?’
‘Right,’ Skipper replied, ‘history lesson now. About fifteen years ago, fly populations on Earth had been going absolutely crazy with the huge rubbish tips that were being created and a change in the climate that brought milder winters and hotter summers. Flies have always been an important factor in the spread of disease and it became a priority to try and control their numbers. But at the same time it was recognised that flies had an important role to play both in clearing away dead material and as food for other creatures higher up the food chain. So a way had to be found to control them without killing them all off.’
‘What did they do? Build a big fly swat?’
Skipper smiled. ‘Well, biologically speaking, yes. Remember what I told you back at the factory, about them interrupting the development of the fly larvae so that they could pilot the adult creatures?’
‘How could I forget?’ replied Sam. ‘I went swimming with them.’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Skipper. She giggled at the memory. ‘So you did. Anyway, Odoursin and Firebrand were part of the team that developed the first Insect Pilot Programme. Until then, operations had concentrated on trying to curb the flies’ breeding capabilities, with mixed results. The success of the pilot programme meant that they could now go on the offensive.’
‘You mean they put pilots in flies to attack other flies?’
‘Not exactly. The first Pilot Programme used wasps. Not only were they fast and manoeuvrable, but they already had built-in systems which made them excellent hunters. Once they were piloted, their kill rate immediately increased a hundredfold and squadrons could be deployed in high-population areas much more quickly.’
‘Wow,’ said Sam, impressed. ‘Attack of the Killer Wasps!’
‘Something like that,’ said Skipper. ‘Anyway, they also flew protection missions around newly hatched queens to ensure that more nests were created in the summer. If you think that each queen is worth anything up to ten thousand new wasps, you can see what the advantages of such a strategy are. The result was a huge increase in wasp populations, which took out literally millions of flies and kept the numbers down to manageable levels.’
‘That’s incredible,’ said Sam. ‘So what went wrong?’
‘Well, Odoursin was a big player in the whole Insect Pilot Programme. He and Firebrand were both brilliant fliers by all accounts, but Odoursin was the one who always took the biggest risks. Apparently he once flew into a can of Coke and did ten circuits inside while the guy was still holding it, just for a dare. He flew out just as the fella was taking a swig and ricocheted off his top lip. Pilots still talk about it in the mess. But then, just as it seemed as though they were winning the battle, tragedy struck.’
Skipper chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully.
‘Go on,’ said Sam.
‘Odoursin had a younger brother who dreamed of becoming a pilot just like him,’ Skipper continued. ‘So on the boy’s birthday, Odoursin smuggled him into the cockpit of his wasp and took him for what was supposed to be a routine flight.’ She paused. ‘Only it wasn’t.’
‘Why?’ asked Sam. ‘What happened?’
‘They were supposed to be hunting down a swarm of flies on a domestic compost heap somewhere in England. Nothing dangerous, just taking out a few egg-laying females to keep numbers down. But Odoursin wanted to make it more exciting for his little brother; he wanted to give him a day to remember. So instead of just doing the mission and returning to base, he flew in through an open window and took him on a tour of a nearby house. Against all safety regulations, of course, but that was Odoursin all over. Always taking risks.’
A faint smile appeared on Skipper’s lips and Sam guessed why. It was, after all, exactly the kind of thing that she would have done.
‘Everything was fine until he got to the kitchen, but as he banked the wasp round to go back the way he had come, a woman shut the door and zapped him with a can of fly spray. That was it, of course. He lost control of the aircraft and crashed it into the gas ring of the cooker. The whole thing burst into flames and Odoursin was horribly burnt. His brother was killed instantly.’
‘How did Odoursin get out?’
‘Well, normal procedure in the event of a crash is for the search-and-rescue teams to go in and retrieve the pilots. But then normal procedure is for all missions to be flown outside apart from in exceptional circumstances, in which case search-and-rescue teams go into the building prior to the mission taking place.’
‘Who are the rescue teams?’ Sam asked.
‘Ant squadrons,’ said Skipper. ‘Just like the ones in the factory, except ours are black and a bit smaller. Whenever an aircraft goes down, a homing beacon is activated and the nearest squadron moves in to retrieve the aircraft and rescue the pilot.’
‘Oh, I’ve seen that!’ Sam shouted excitedly. ‘I’ve seen ants pulling a dead butterfly along the pavement! Was that a search-and-rescue team then?’
‘Unlikely,’ said Skipper. ‘We don’t tend to pilot butterflies. Very pretty and all that, but
dreadful to fly. They’re all over the place.’
‘So what were the ants doing then?’
‘Probably just ordinary ants dragging a dead butterfly home for tea,’ said Skipper. ‘That’s the beauty of our secret operations, you see. Everything we do looks perfectly normal.’
‘You’ve certainly thought this through,’ said Sam.
‘Nothing to do with me,’ said Skipper. ‘I just fly the things. Anyway, picture the scene: Odoursin escapes from the burning wreckage, horribly injured, and there he is, a tiny speck on top of the cooker, watching this woman pick up the charred remains of the wasp with his little brother inside it and put it in the bin. That was the moment he turned.’
‘What happened to him?’
Skipper shrugged. ‘He decided that all the things he believed in – the importance of Earth and the need to protect its people from themselves – were nothing but a lie. He became bitter, full of hatred. You see, the one person whom he loved more than anything in the world had been killed by the very things he had spent years trying to protect. From that moment on, Odoursin turned his back on trying to preserve human life. He decided that your world was too good for the people who lived there.’
‘Us, you mean?’
Skipper nodded. ‘He vowed to rid the Earth of all human life for the good of the environment. He was a powerful, persuasive man with many followers. Over the next few years he secretly built up an army of people from both inside and outside the organisation who were excited by the idea of ridding the world of its human parasites. Odoursin promised his followers a new world order. They were the chosen ones who would safeguard the Earth’s resources and become its proper guardians.
‘After months of planning, his forces struck during the night and many of those loyal to the President of Vahlzi were killed as they slept. But the President’s remaining forces recovered quickly and under Firebrand’s command they fought back with great courage, forcing Odoursin to retreat into the east through Mazria. It was during this withdrawal that my village was destroyed. I was the only survivor.’
Sam thought for a moment of all those lives lost, all that death and destruction resulting from the simple act of one woman with a can of fly spray. ‘Incredible,’ he said. ‘What happened next?’
‘Once his army had overrun Mazria, Odoursin transported thousands of prisoners east to remodel the city of Kilvus. The skills learned by many of his followers during their time in Vahlzi, together with the huge numbers of prisoners forced to work for nothing, meant that the new city of Vermia was built very quickly. Odoursin then used the experience gained from his work on the Insect Programme to begin one of his own. But instead of wasps, he concentrated on biting insects, which he hoped would eventually provide him with the means to wipe out the people on Earth.’
Sam nodded as his mind began to make links between the different bits of information. ‘Hence the mosquitoes,’ he said.
‘Hence the mosquitoes. But Odoursin used horseflies as his main reconnaissance craft as they were fast, manoeuvrable and excellent at finding and tracking human subjects. His observations of recent events on Earth have led him to believe that an ancient prophecy is about to be fulfilled. The reports all indicate that he is on the verge of a major breakthrough with a new and terrible disease. If this information is correct, then he may be about to achieve his ambitions.’
Sam frowned. ‘But where do I fit into all this?’
‘Odoursin originally believed that he needed to bring you to Aurobon so that the prophecy could be fulfilled and he would be victorious. But his Council saw things differently; they wanted you dead. And from the way those ants went after us in the factory, I’d say things have changed and that Odoursin wants you dead too. Along with the rest of them, he now believes that you pose a serious threat to Vermia’s plans.’ Skipper winked. ‘And that’s what we believe too. Which is why I came to get you.’ She shook her head and smiled. ‘You know Sam, you are one important individual. How does it feel to be so popular?’
Sam frowned. ‘But why do they think I could possibly be a threat? I just don’t get it.’
He waited for Skipper’s answer, but she had stopped smiling and was staring over his shoulder.
‘What?’ said Sam.
Something was wrong.
Suddenly there was a rustling sound behind him and without warning Skipper sprang forward like a wildcat. As she leapt into the air, Sam felt the wind from her foot as it kicked past his ear and there was a loud smack followed by a shriek, as whatever she had connected with fell backwards out of the tree.
Branches snapped and cracked, there was a dull thud from below and then Skipper was up and kicking back from the tree trunk, spinning round through 180 degrees to face a new threat. Sam watched in horror as the glowing yellow eyes of marsh dogs began to appear all around the platform, gripping onto the bark with their razor-sharp claws. He stood momentarily frozen in terror as Skipper scissor-kicked three more of them back into the darkness.
‘Come on, Sam,’ she yelled. ‘I need some help here!’
Taking a deep breath, he turned to face one of the dark shapes climbing over the lip of the platform. He drew his leg back but before he could deliver a kick his foot was seized from behind and he fell flat on his face. He reached out to grab hold of the woven branches beneath him, but the grip on his foot was too strong and his fingers scrabbled helplessly as he was dragged back towards the edge.
In front of him, a marsh dog had successfully climbed onto the platform and now it growled menacingly, snapping its jaws together as it crouched low and crawled towards him. Feeling himself being pulled backwards with increasing speed, Sam made a desperate grab at a branch stub that was protruding through the platform. His fingers locked around it, stopping his slide with a sudden jolt, and he was rewarded by a startled yelp from behind as his assailant lost its grip and slid off into the darkness below.
Sam now hung with his legs dangling over the side, saved from falling only by the branch that he clung to. A sharp pain in his fingers made him gasp and he looked up to see that the creature on the platform was clawing at his hand in an effort to loosen his grip on the branch. Ignoring the pain, he squeezed his hand more tightly still. Then, summoning all his strength, he placed his other hand on the lip of the platform and swung his legs upwards and sideways like a gymnast on a horse. The momentum brought him onto the platform with such force that his snarling attacker was knocked clean off its feet. Sam just had time to register the shock and disbelief on the creature’s face before it crashed into the tree trunk, bounced once on the side of the platform and disappeared over the edge.
Sam glanced across at Skipper and saw that she was looking back at him approvingly. ‘Nice one,’ she said.
Then, without turning round, she added, ‘Down boy,’ thrust an elbow quickly backwards and the last of the marsh dogs went yowling over the edge into the darkness. She dusted her hands together as if she had just thrown a piece of rubbish into the bin. ‘Good dog,’ she said.
Sam was about to speak, but Skipper held up a hand and he stopped.
They both listened. A lone, eerie howl echoed through the forest, quickly joined by others. The hunters, it seemed, were gathering.
Sam shivered. The idea of staying the night here had suddenly lost its appeal.
‘I don’t know about you,’ said Skipper, ‘but I’m bored with kicking marsh dogs out of trees.’
Sam smiled in spite of the fear he felt inside. ‘I know what you mean,’ he said. ‘The fun’s gone out of it somehow.’
‘Shall we go then?’ Skipper suggested.
‘Yes,’ said Sam. ‘Let’s do that.’
They looked at each other and laughed nervously. Then they scrambled down the trunk and ran for their lives.
Twenty
Somewhere in his dreams, Sam became aware of a tugging sensation on his chest and awoke to find Skipper pulling his seat belt tight with one hand while piloting the fly with the other. He blinked, yawned and r
ubbed his eyes. There was a lightening of the sky away to the east and he could see that they were travelling at speed across the dry, sun-bleached plains.
‘There,’ said Skipper, giving a final yank on his seat belt, ‘that’s better.’
Sam looked down at the straps that pinned him firmly to his seat. ‘Should I be worried?’ he said.
‘Just a precautionary measure.’
Sam looked at her sideways and narrowed his eyes. ‘Against what, exactly?’
Skipper pushed forward on the joystick and Sam felt his stomach flip as they pitched forward and rapidly began to lose height. The humming of the insect’s wings became louder as they went into a steep dive.
‘The thing is,’ said Skipper, raising her voice slightly against the sound of the wings, ‘we need to fly low from now on to avoid detection. We’re only about ten minutes from the airbase and it would be really annoying if we got shot down.’
‘Annoying?’ said Sam. He noticed his voice was rather high and he fought to return it to its normal register. ‘Well, that’s one way of putting it.’ He rubbed his eyes with his hand. It was unsettling having people try to kill you all the time. Tiring too.
‘So this would be the airbase where Firebrand and his forces are anxiously awaiting our safe return, would it?’
‘It would,’ said Skipper.
‘In which case,’ said Sam, ‘why on Earth would they want to shoot us down?’
‘Because they won’t know it’s us,’ replied Skipper. ‘We can’t use the radio to identify ourselves because it’s code-locked onto Vermian frequencies. So all they’ll see is a whopping great horsefly zooming towards their airbase and their natural reaction will be to destroy it.’
Sam paused for a moment to digest this information. ‘Can I make a small suggestion?’ he offered, watching the dry, boulder-strewn landscape zip beneath the cockpit at an alarming speed.
