Cusp switched his attention to Zeke.
“Then will you try once more? In the spirit of scientific research?”
Zeke sat up.
“I already speak Hesperian. Still, no harm in having another go.”
He stood up and crossed to the orb. He stared into its deep glossy sheen. Thoughts raced across his brain. Here was a machine over one-point-eight billion years old and built by an alien intelligence. An invention that downloaded an extinct language into his subconscious. For a moment he fancied the room was swaying.
“Are you sure?” Cusp asked, placing his hand on Zeke’s back.
“Totally.”
Zeke removed Cusp’s hand for the man’s own safety. He placed his index finger at the start of the carvings and began the journey. As his finger moved upwards and inwards, he began to feel the orb’s pull, as though his finger was stuck to its surface.
Nearer and nearer to the pole. Nearer and nearer. Nearer and…
…The banquet, the people, the very building around him blew away like smoke on the wind. Zeke glanced around.
Oh, not here again.
He was on the lower slope of a vast mountain. The same landscape from his dream about the rag creature, the dishevelled remains of Professor Tiberius Magma. The sun was high in the sky. A vast plain ran away to the southern horizon. Above him the mountain’s almost perfect cone merged into a heat haze.
I’m standing on a volcano.
Somewhere a voice whispered gchiii. Yes!
Only Martian volcanoes grow this big. Something to do with no tectonic plates.
Gchii.
Am I on Olympus Mons?
Hthrah. That was a no.
A distant sound of scrambling on stones disturbed his concentration. There, down below, the shape that was once human was crawling towards him. Zeke clenched his jaw.
Professor Magma. You are dead and this is a dream. So I will not fear you. There’s no point.
Gfahh shi hthrah ksk. He’s not dead!
A sensation like an ice cube sliding down the spine threw Zeke into a violent shiver.
Who’s saying that? He shouted to the deserted mountainside. His words echoed on the dry air.
Mchx-dthfkii.
Zeke frowned. Always that couplet. Always that phrase without meaning in English. What sort of word has no translation? And then he got it. Mchx-dthfki wasn’t a word. It was a name!
“What did you say?”
It was Ptolemy Cusp at his side. Zeke was back in Biosphere One.
“It doesn’t work,” Zeke said hastily. “Lutz is right. This orb is defunct.”
Cusp stood away, visibly disappointed. He clicked his fingers.
“Don’t snap your fingers at me. I’m not the hired help,” Isla said sulkily. Her leader remained silent. Isla closed the lid on the orb of language and disappeared into the depths of the chamber.
“I’m guessing no one wants to try the shrinking orb?” Cusp asked in her absence.
Zeke and his two companions shook their heads vigorously. Cusp raised the case lid, revealing the reddish Orb of Can-Do.
“You needn’t worry. This one hasn’t worked either.”
Isla the Incisor reappeared in the candlelight, struggling under the weight of something wrapped in an old sheet. She placed it in front of the two cases and pulled back the cover.
Zeke gasped. Trixie cooed. Fitch’s eyes bulged in their sockets. A third orb! This thing was bigger than the other two, about the size of a medicine ball. It was a dull black, the colour of nothingness. Zeke stretched out a hand.
“Be careful!” Isla cried.
Lutz whipped a finger to her lips and shushed Isla angrily. Zeke smiled at Isla. Of all the people seated around the table, perhaps she alone was a true friend. He pressed his palm against the orb, noticing it was neither hot nor cold. He had the impression of an illusion, like one of Scuff Barnum’s hologames. A ripple of blues, reds and yellow shimmered briefly across its surface.
“Hmm, that’s the best response we’ve had so far,” Ptolemy said thoughtfully.
As the boxed closed on the last orb, Zeke turned back to his schoolmates, catching the merest flicker in Trixie’s eyes.
And the briefest of winks from Fitch.
Come here.
Fitch’s voice was inside his head.
Come here, but act normal.
Zeke had never experienced telepathic talk so clearly and powerfully. He wondered if the fact that he could hear Fitch’s thoughts meant he still had some psychic skills. If only!
Without pausing to wonder what this sudden request might mean, Zeke stepped back to the far end of the table. He stopped beside Trixie.
“Wait, what are you up to?” Ptolemy demanded.
“Zeke, don’t go with them,” Isla cried out, leaping to her feet.
Trixie Cutter grabbed hold of Zeke and Fitch by the forearms.
“Let the troublemakers go,” Lutz remarked with an expression of disdain.
“Thanks for having us. Must do it again. Sometime never,” Trixie shrieked.
Her eyes flared as bright as the noon sun. The adults covered their faces, dazzled. The light faded. The students were gone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Back at the MUV
Trixie heaved them between worlds. Zeke tensed. What was that noise, that singing? It sounded like the crystalline pitch of a soprano. The emptiness between atoms ebbed. Dark shapes formed into boulders. Stars lit up and glittered overhead. Phobos was setting in the east. Trixie collapsed to her knees, exhausted.
“Phew! I’ve never gone so far, let alone hauling two rejects like you.”
Neither reject responded. Trixie looked up and the let out a cry. What was once the MUV was now a twisted, melted lump of black steel. Even their mountain bikes on the back were crushed into scrap.
“The Failsafe,” Zeke said simply.
Fitch cast an anxious eye over his shoulder.
“There it is!” he hollered.
Zeke spun on his heels. The Failsafe towered among the real boulders, identifiable by the dull pulses of light circulating its surface. All three students froze. But the ancient device remained still. Zeke took a deep breath and crept closer.
“Be careful!” Fitch hissed.
“It’s dormant,” Zeke hissed back.
“Like, asleep?” Trixie asked, standing up.
“Kind of, recharging its batteries, I’d guess.”
Fitch balled his hands into fists.
“Let’s get out of here, at the speed of light!”
“How?” Trixie said, gesturing towards the wreckage of the MUV.
Fitch thought for a moment.
“Well, our next port of call is this Beagle Research Station. Can you translocate us there?”
Trixie glared at him.
“After that last trip? I’m shattered.”
Fitch thought some more.
“And I’ve never translocated. We’d as likely end up inside the walls.”
Fitch and Trixie turned their attention to Zeke.
“Hey, no way. I’m just a beginner,” he protested.
“A useless beginner with no powers,” Trixie sneered.
Fitch walked up and clapped both hands on Zeke’s shoulders.
“That’s not true, Trixie, and you know it. Zeke has been having a teensy-weensy problem, but maybe it’s time to move on.”
“Wh-What do you mean?” Zeke stuttered.
Fitch locked his eyes on Zeke. Tiny sparks sizzled deep inside his retinas.
He’s hypnotising me, Zeke thought. That’s it! He’s been messing with my mind ever since he got here!
This abrupt jolt of clarity floated away as Fitch spoke softly.
“That’s all true, but only because you needed help. You see Zeke, when I read your thoughts and memories, important things loom out of your subconscious.
Things that you’ve buried deep. Things you want to forget.”
“What on Mars are you on about?”
Zeke said.
“I see you in the Infinity Trap. The Star Dome, the seats, some sort of observatory. I see that arrogant man speaking to you. Slipping his nasty little words into your head.”
Zeke began to struggle in Fitch’s embrace. Fitch grasped him tighter.
“What was it he said to you, Zeke? That your father was quick enough to dump you?”
Zeke’s mouth dropped. Fitch was right. How he’d tried to forget Magma’s spiteful jibe.
“It was as if he injected you with a drop of venom, like my… well… Anyway, he undermined the faith you had in your father. The very thing that brought you to Mars in the first place. And that little doubt has been chipping away at your confidence for months.”
“That’s why I’ve lost my powers?” Zeke asked in a perplexed tone.
Fitch smiled. Not one of his usual icy smiles but a flash of heartfelt warmth.
“Absolutely. A loss of faith equalled a loss of confidence. It’s psychological. But consider yourself healed now. You are a psychic. You are a Mariner. You can do it.”
Zeke felt a surge of energy building in his chest.
“Tell him,” Fitch called out to Trixie.
She gave Fitch a withering look and turned to face Zeke.
“If I must! Okay. You and I translocated out of the Infinity Trap. As I understand it, we travelled between dimensions, from an artificial time-space membrane back to our real one. Mariners can translocate across the galaxy, but no one has ever before shifted between parallel universes. It’s supposed to be impossible.”
Zeke tried to take it all in. Not only could he translocate, he’d also notched up an incredible psychic feat. Without even trying! Then he remembered Magma’s spiteful remark concerning his father. He faltered.
“But Magma had a point.” Zeke said.
Fitch drew himself to his full height.
“We don’t know the circumstances leading to your dad’s disappearance. But we do know he went on some kind of vital mission—”
“The Flying Dutchman Project.”
“Exactly. I don’t believe for one minute he was happy to leave your mother, and you not even born yet. And obviously he didn’t mean to vanish. Something happened.”
The sadness at the back of Zeke’s mind evaporated.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
He sauntered back to the destroyed car. Luckily their backpacks were where they’d left them, on the ground beyond the twisted shell. He threw his pack over his shoulder and tossed the others to Fitch and Trixie.
“Boys!” Trixie wailed, pointing at the Failsafe.
The light pulses were gathering momentum.
“It’s waking up! Quick!” Zeke cried.
All three huddled together. Zeke flung both arms around his companions. He closed his eyes and imagined the Beagle Research Station. He conjured up his last recollection of the building, a long, airtight, single-story prefab, fading into the howling sandstorm. The picture in his mind grew stronger.
The voice of the Failsafe pierced the chilly Martian night. “Gshdruu sffaa tpttrriti.” Target located!
“It’s moving!” Fitch shouted.
Zeke resisted the urge to look. He had to focus on the task.
He muttered the mariners’ mantra under his breath. “Gravity, magnetism and thought are the sacred forces of the universe. Of these three thought is the most powerful.”
A throbbing noise began to intensify. The Failsafe was firing up its heat ray.
“Now Earthworm, now!” Trixie said.
The Research Station seemed so real Zeke could almost reach out and touch it. Clinging onto the others he took one step nearer.
ZAAAAAAAAAP!
But the killing machine was too late. The Martian landscape, the sky, the whole planet were gone. They were falling through a nowhere. And there was the singing again. Zeke listened intently. No, not singing, ringing! Like a trillion glasses of water with a trillion fingers rubbing the rims. The music of electrons and protons. A harmony beyond human perception.
Zeke felt the ground thickening underfoot. He’d done it! A thrill electrified his body. He was psychic again! The ordeal was over.
They found themselves standing in a quite different part of Mariners Valley. And there, rising before them, was the outline of the abandoned Beagle Research Station.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Midnight at the
Beagle Research Station
“Wait!” Zeke hollered.
Fitch and Trixie were clambering down towards the shadow of the abandoned building. They turned around, their eyes reflecting the radiance of the Milky Way overhead.
“What?” Fitch snapped.
“We’d better wait till morning.” Zeke explained. “It’ll be pitch black in there and the place is bursting with junk. We’ll end up with bruised heads and scratched thighs. It’ll be dangerous.”
Fitch peered at him suspiciously. Zeke suspected Fitch was rifling through his brain.
“You’re scared,” the moon boy began. “You…you think it’s haunted!”
Trixie cackled, adopted a ghoulish expression and began lumbering around in monster fashion.
“Oooooh, little Zekey frightened of Martian ghosties,” she said in a deep voice.
“Alright, yes, I saw something in there. Something moving.”
Fitch thought for a moment.
“You saw a trick of the light, nothing more. Still it might be better to wait till morning. We haven’t a Martian clue what this Gshnodaa looks like. I don’t want to miss it.”
“And I’m all done in,” Trixie said. “Hey, come to think of it, why aren’t you tired Zippo? You’ve translocated much further than me.”
Zeke shrugged his shoulders.
“Zeke has potential. Real potential,” Fitch remarked quietly, and started back up the slope. Zeke blushed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Fitch really was on his side.
They pulled out thermal sleeping bags from their packs, sought out the least uncomfortable patch of rubble and settled down.
“A thousand miles from the nearest tub of face scrub,” Trixie grumbled, pulling the hood of the sleeping bag over her blonde locks.
“Tomorrow will be quite some day,” Fitch said mostly to himself, and flashed Zeke one of his wolfish looks. A sensation fluttered through Zeke’s ribcage. Fear. Fitch saw the look on Zeke’s face and fished inside his pack.
“That brilliant mind of yours needs occupying. How about this?”
Fitch tossed him a book.
It was a frayed, leather-bound journal. Embossed on the cover were the words ‘Beagle UK Research Station Logbook. Year 2089’. It was the diary kept by a team of British scientists, some of first ever astronauts to land on Mars. Zeke found it at the station while sheltering from a sandstorm three months before.
“Hey, how did you get—” Zeke cried.
“I, ahem, borrowed it from you room. After all, it might come in handy.”
Fitch yawned and disappeared into his bag.
“Goodnight,” Zeke said, a little grumpily, only to be answered by snores.
He lay back onto the gravel and studied the stars. He traced some of his favourite constellations, Cassiopeia, Orion, Cygnus. He realised he was far too excited to sleep. Three words kept repeating in his head, I’m psychic again! It was the best news he’d had in ages. Better than winning the Martian Lottery, the Trans-Solar Sweepstake and Jupiter Bingo all in one go. In fact, it was better than owning all the money in the galaxy. He couldn’t wait to tell—an image of Pin-Mei flashed through his imagination. Sadness drenched his mood like a bucket of cold water.
Zeke sat up. He needed to take his mind off, well, everything. As they were in the middle of Martian nowhere, the journal seemed the only option.
A chill seeped into Zeke’s bones as he opened the first page, and shone his torch down a list of handwritten names. Here he was, alone in the crushing silence of the Martian night, looking at ink that had dried one hundred and seventy
years before. He shivered.
Mission Leader: Doctor Tom Ganister. Geologist
Medical Officer: Doctor Jed Wiley. Physician, Psychologist
Harry Silverman. Lab Technician, IT support (and a helluva cook!!!)
Doctor Veronica Skye. Meteorologist, volcanologist
Clyde Wheeler. Transportation Engineer
Doctor Claire Welt. Terraform Researcher
Prof. Madeline Willow. Agriculturalist, hydroponics
Zeke flicked through the pages, some torn, some stained, many completely ripped out. During his previous, unhappy stay at the station, he’d read a few entries. Gripping stuff! The team had dug up an orb. From the journal’s description it sounded like the Orb of Words.
The team had been astonished. Twenty-first century man believed life had never existed on the ‘Big Pumpkin’. Eighty years of exploration, first by robots and later by astronauts, failed to find any organic traces. So this was probably the first ever discovery of Hesperian technology. The team had no idea of the danger they were in.
Zeke opened the book at a random page.
Aug 3rd
Wheeler’s gone! Vanished! The airlock registered an exit. Burns went out to investigate, fearing the worst, only to return with an impossible report. Footprints! Footprints and no body! Wheeler hadn’t taken a pressure-suit and the footprints were bare soles. But no body! Silverman said the trail just peters out. Where is he?
Doctor Tom Ganister
The hairs on Zeke’s neck tingled. Back in 2089, seventy years before the Martian atmosphere became breathable, leaving the station meant certain death. Without an air suit, Wheeler must have passed out in twenty seconds and died within five minutes.
Aug 5th
The whole team has the jitters. Willow thinks she heard scratching on the exterior wall of her room last night. Woke the entire station screaming. She’s been acting strangely all day.
The rest of this page was torn out.
Aug 6th
Terrible team meeting. Lots of shouting. They all insist on leaving for Base Camp at once. Total disregard for my authority as Mission Leader. Thank God Veronica supported me. Nevertheless the others have issued an ultimatum. They are taking the buggies back to Base tomorrow, with or without us.
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