by Paul Cude
Kitty and the other female Resistance fighter shared a look of resignation, but were determined, however helpless the situation, to follow the example of their friends. Before they had a chance, the basement door disintegrated in a blast so loud it knocked them off their feet. By the time they got back up, half a dozen uniformed Nazis had burst into the room, all pointing their Walther P38's at them.
Kitty looked bereft, heartbroken. Only a few minutes earlier things had apparently been going so well, and now here she was, captured by the people she feared, loathed and hated the most. Scared at the thought of what they would do to her, it didn't stop her asking.
"Who the hell are you?" she challenged, terrified by everything that surrounded her.
Earth, cigarette back in her hand from somewhere, smiled evilly, smoke pouring from both her nostrils, which was something of an irony really, given exactly what she was. Padding over to Kitty in her bare feet, she grabbed her by the chin and looked her straight in the eyes, a despicable snarl on her face.
"My name is Earth, and I'm your worst nightmare!"
Kitty, trembling by now, tried frantically to find a retort. But before she could do so, a blinding blue light, followed by an uncomfortable tingling, burned in and around her jaw. Earth smiled as Kitty struggled against the pain, before the darkness finally consumed her.
10 Breaking News
It drove him mad, the pomposity of it all. Dressing up, the coming in, the words to begin the meeting, the feast... oh, he didn't mind the feast, he was a dragon for goodness' sake, and they aren't exactly renowned for turning down food. Plus, of course, he hadn't had anything to eat for the last seven days. But the rest of it was outdated and unnecessary.
'In that respect,' he mused, 'we could learn so much from our wingless charges on the surface.'
Starting pretty much as normal, the council assembly had now nearly reached the end of the feast, the mood of which had been lively, despite the tragedy of a week ago and the ongoing hunt for survivors and bodies. Most councillors had totally forgotten about everything outside the chamber, with the tone from the sombre worldwide gatherings that morning having been totally turned on its head. All but the king it seemed. Not wanting to tell them either piece of news, he knew that he had little choice. If he didn't tell them today and they found out about it, there was a chance they could have him removed, and given the importance and significance of the white dragon (he couldn't bear to call him Tim) showing up at this time, he felt it his duty to see through whatever fate was going to throw his way. Over the last few days he'd come round to thinking that his destiny was in some way intertwined with that of the white dragon detailed in the ancient prophecy. Reaching forward, he clutched the last charcoal and jam doughnut from a pile that had originally been two feet high, flipped it into the air with his index finger and opening his jaws wide, allowed it to sail in, the tiniest of satisfied burps echoing around the back of his throat. Savouring the sweet taste and crunching the last remaining chunks of charcoal, he stood, grabbed the two empty silver plates in front of him and crashed them together, before announcing,
"The time for merriment is over. Please be seated."
And so against the backdrop of crackling fires, spitting lava and an overpowering smell of roasted meats, they started. Reports of dead being found, dragon and human alike, kicked off the business end of the meeting. Status updates were read out on the repairs going on above ground across the globe, and tales of just how much difference it made having laminium ball teams from across the planet helping out the emergency dragon search and rescue units. For the most part, it was all pretty depressing. Trying to listen, in all honesty he struggled. No doubt the other councillors had got their nightly four hours of sleep, but he hadn't had that much in the past week, and he was weary, exhausted, drop dead tired. As he watched the spitting and hissing lava wiggle its way down the nearest marble pillar, transfixed by its colour, movement, and in particular the heat and steam that it gave off, slowly his eyelids began to close.
At that very moment, Councillor D'Zone stood up and announced that he had something to say. It was a break from protocol; he should have either waited for his turn, had he booked a place in the order of things, or until the end of the session for any other business. But given his reputation as a solid, dependable and hardworking councillor, whatever he had to say was important. Instantly, the king became alert, along with all the councillors in the room.
"With everything that has transpired over the last week across the planet, I propose we withdraw any and all efforts to send a force of dragons to Antarctica. Even before this worldwide catastrophe, it made little or no sense to do so, but now, with the human and dragon bodies still being recovered, with infrastructure the world over, both dragon and human, in need of repair and overhaul, and with the threat from whoever committed this heinous crime still hanging over us, now is not the time to consign forces anywhere, least of all Antarctica. Given how important, and indeed how obvious, to any dragon, this decision is, I say we vote here and now, the old fashioned way, and get this one topic over and done with."
Echoing murmurs of, "Here, here," reverberated around the ancient room.
Councillor Rosebloom looked on, more than a little agitated, as even his cronies nodded in agreement with D'Zone's proposal. So far he hadn't had a chance to convey to them just how vital it was that the force was dispatched to Antarctica. How could he? Frustration boiled up inside him, because as far as he was aware, the bombs weren't supposed to have gone off now; it was all supposed to have happened after the force had left for the South Pole. It was all coming apart and he didn't know what to do.
With a quick glance over his shoulder at the king, in return receiving an almost imperceptible nod to carry on, Councillor D'Zone pronounced,
"All those in favour of cancelling the mission to Antarctica, raise their left wings now."
Every dragon in the room did, including the king who wasn't even obliged to vote. What was noticeable though, was that Rosebloom was incredibly slow in raising his wing, almost as if he was just following suit. The king hadn't missed this, no not at all.
"Motion carried unanimously," bellowed Councillor D'Zone. "Thank you very much for indulging me."
Some of the other dragons applauded, others nodded in appreciation.
Giddy with excitement inside, the king sat outwardly stony faced. For him, it was one less thing to worry about, and could now stop the master mantra maker moving forward with his plan to construct a fake ring and have a second vote that way. Any way you looked at it, it was good news, especially as he'd had no idea D'Zone was going to do it. He was, however, jolly glad he had.
Fires reached their dying embers as the council ploughed through some of their normal business. It wasn't anywhere near the usual volume, with their efforts mainly focused on the ongoing disaster that had transpired from the laminium bombs. Once again, the king struggled to stay awake, despite maintaining a façade of thoughtfulness.
Councillor Rosebloom wrapped things up on the ongoing topic of graffiti in urban areas throughout the dragon kingdom, with South America and India having been hit particularly hard. This moved nicely into any other business. Just as it looked to all and sundry that the session was going to come to a close early, the king breathed out a huge stream of fire to attract everybody's attention.
"I have some information to pass on to you regarding the terrorist events of last week," he announced.
Simultaneously, the councillors started chatting, mainly about a possible lead in tracking down those responsible.
"BEFORE you all get worked up," the king declared, "this has nothing to do with catching the perpetrators of this villainous act, but I regard its importance as being equally valuable."
That had their undivided attention.
"The bomb that exploded in Salisbridge, Southern England, the one that was thwarted, had some rather unexpected consequences."
Rosebloom was all ears.
One of the
councillors made to ask a question, but the king held up his hand to cut him off.
"At the time, it was thought that no one had been caught up in the blast. This opinion has since been revised. Two individuals were struck by the explosion. How they survived... we're not sure, and is still being looked into. Anyhow, the result of being caught in the blast, combined with whatever magic saved them, has produced some very serious side effects. First, the young female dragon who tried desperately to save herself and the human she was with (he didn't feel it necessary to go into graphic detail about what they were doing there in the first place) has lost all her dragon abilities and has been rendered entirely human."
A collective intake of breath from all the dragons listening ran around the room.
"As far as we can tell, this is irreversible."
All the councillors sitting in front of him were wriggling around like a class full of reception children all needing a wee, eager to ask a question. Ignoring them, he continued.
"While I'm sure you all have many questions, you will need to hear the entire story before you pass judgement. The human that was with our young dragon nearly died in the incident. How he didn't, who knows? Not us, that's for sure. But that's not the most remarkable thing about it all. On regaining consciousness, the doctors discovered the human in question had inherited the young female dragon's powers and abilities, and in essence had completely transformed into one of us."
Instead of an intake of breath, this time it was the sound of collective whispers that rang around the room.
The king continued.
"Our best scientists do not know how all this has come about, but are working around the clock to try and find out. Our historians assure us that something like this is totally unprecedented in the entire history of our race."
The king paused to let his words sink in.
"Unfortunately, I still haven't reached the most remarkable part. The human hasn't just transformed into any old dragon, or taken on the form of the female dragon with him. It would appear, and I can personally confirm this, that the 'human dragon', call it what you will, is entirely WHITE in colour."
Arms and wings flailed as the room erupted. Every shade of flame possible crackled from mouths and nostrils. No one could hear themselves think. Giving it thirty seconds or so, the king once again smashed the silver plates in front of him together, causing the room to fall silent.
"Now I have told you everything there is to know, and I promise to keep you updated if the situation changes. I'm sure you're all aware of just how important these developments are, and should all be in no doubt about the security implications around these events. Under no circumstances are you to reveal any of this to anyone outside this room. There's too much at stake with everything currently going on. I really can't think of much more to add..." At this point there was much more arm waving and fidgeting. He knew what they wanted to say, "... except to discuss how we deal with the stricken young female who has lost all her abilities."
And so it started, pretty much as the king figured it would. Determined to use what little influence he still wielded to help Peter's young friend, from the outset he feared that it would not be enough.
Four hours later... it was all over. The councillors had all filed out, with Rosebloom smugly leading the way. One or two had stopped to chat briefly with the king, but now he sat alone, not even the burning embers of the fire for company. He'd tried, God knows he'd tried, using up almost every favour owed to him in the process. But in the end, it had all proved fruitless. He'd lost and knew the cost to him would prove dear. Peter would undoubtedly be devastated, and rightly so. But it was well and truly out of his hands now. THE DECISION HAD BEEN MADE!
11 SUB-jugate
Cold metal hatches slammed shut behind him, simultaneously evoking a tiny sliver of dread at being entombed, and a full on surge of adrenaline at the thought of what was to come. Passing a long line of saluting crew, he casually nodded back to each one, knowing that some would never see the cold light of day ever again. Finally, he reached the command centre. As he entered, the officers all stood, backs straight, uniforms crisp, all offering their best salutes. All except the helmsman, who remained at his station, ready to enact the orders he knew to be coming. Quickly he snapped off a salute, adding a firm, "At ease." The officers relaxed, just a little anyway, except perhaps the captain, who seemed more than a little anxious. It was he who spoke first.
"This is an unexpected surprise... Admiral."
A long, uncomfortable silence ensued as the admiral surveyed the group of officers. Perturbed at this unusual course of events, the captain started to open his mouth. As he did so, the admiral gave the officers either side of the captain an inconspicuous signal. From out of nowhere, faster than the eye could see, both officers drew blades and slit their captain's throat, before even a hint of sound had escaped him. A dumbfounded look of astonishment covered his face briefly as his body crumpled to the floor. An eruption of blood splashed his pristine white uniform as his mouth tried in vain to cry out for help. With the dying captain ignored like a child vying for attention, the others got on with their assigned tasks. In only a matter of minutes the engines had fired into life, with the helmsman having already plotted their destination. Three of the officers were dispatched to 'take care' of the four members of the crew that weren't part of the plan, or even part of the same race.
Twenty five minutes later, all five bodies were strewn across the floor of the captain's cabin, the fetid aroma of decaying flesh not quite in full swing. As the sub's crew gave their individual tasks their undivided attention, the black metal beast, in whose belly they sat, disappeared beneath the surface on its way to a most unlikely and most unofficial rendezvous.
12 A Messenger (Like None Other) Of Bad Tidings
His agents had sent a message to say that Peter was here, now. Not able to put it off any longer, here he was, about to break two hearts.
Not looking at the signs crisscrossing the walls of the busy hospital, instead he used the information in his eidetic memory, gleaned earlier from some of his high level guards. Nodding and smiling at the nurses as he casually strolled down the sparkling white corridors, his destination nearly in sight, he thought just how unfamiliar this part of the hospital was to him, well... not in his mind, but he'd never been here before. It had always been the extremely secret and covert part of the building, right in the very basement, that he'd visited, all but once. It felt odd to him to be in the main part of the hospital, amongst all the humans going about their daily lives. Every now and then he'd pick up on somebody talking about the global tragedy that he held himself responsible for. Part of him knew that it wasn't true and that he could have done little to prevent it. But deep down, another part felt responsible for all the lives lost and the heartache caused. Supposedly the most important and powerful being on the planet, he did, however, feel a long way short of that most of the time. Approaching his destination, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this nervous or afraid. This was most definitely a task he did not want to perform, but despite that, he willed himself on, knowing it was better all round to get it out in the open.
Turning sharp left, and skipping out of the way of an oncoming wheelchair with more speed and grace than anyone as old as he was had a right to, he walked solemnly towards the second door on the right, passing two innocuous patients, one male, the other female, sitting on a row of metallic chairs, both reading magazines. Nodding almost imperceptibly at both, he silently thanked them for the sterling job they were doing of keeping him safe while he was on the surface. Stepping up to the white door with a fire resistant glass pane in the middle of it, he knocked once, opened the door and flitted inside.
Perched halfway up Richie's hospital bed, the covers all dishevelled, magazines and books scattered haphazardly, Peter jumped to his feet on seeing the king. Moving all the junk off her bed, Richie sat up straight.
"Settle down... there's no need for all of that. It's not an i
nspection you know."
Smiling at the frail looking old man, Richie knew underneath that he was nothing of the sort.
"Sire," whispered Peter, approaching the king.
"What have I told you youngster?" the monarch replied.
"Sorry... George."
"That's better."
"Let me get you a chair," ventured Peter, rushing off into the far corner of the room, retrieving a high backed bright blue chair for the king to sit in."
"Thank you," said the king sitting down. "Hmmmm... this is comfortable. I like this chair very much. Do you think they'd allow me to take this and swap it for my throne?"
"I think that might be frowned upon Si... George," added Peter.
"Oh well," huffed the king. "So my dear," he said cheerfully addressing Richie, "how are you?"
"Getting better bit by bit," replied Richie softly.
"You still looked quite banged up, if you don't mind me saying so," stated the king, referring to the plaster on Richie's right wrist and her left ankle, as well as the fading purple mark down the left hand side of her face and the bruising around her eyes.