by Paul Cude
"YOYO!" came the shouts of joy from a dozen or so scruffy looking human shaped youngsters. A young girl launched herself into his arms as if shot from a cannon, while the others surrounded him in a much more calm and concise manner. The show of affection lightened his dark and thoughtful mood. Giving some of them hugs, while tousling the hair of others, eventually he managed to get them all seated. Gathered round, most in their chairs, some sitting on table edges, the youngsters eagerly waited to hear what their mentor and saviour had to say.
For days, his thoughts had been centred on exactly this. Thinking about that fateful day when he'd rescued Flash from the pool of lava as he'd been passing, and then carted him off to London for an impromptu audience with the king himself. Part of him still couldn't believe that Flash hadn't died, and for that he was hugely grateful. But everything that had come out... the details about Flash's mission and the deadly threat the nagas presented... had bothered him ever since. It hadn't helped that he'd sworn an oath of secrecy to the king himself. Figuring others in his position would have at least told their partner, or in his case, wife, what had gone on, however he was a dragon of his word and once he'd uttered that oath, he wouldn't tell another soul about it all. Residing on the other side of the planet hadn't helped either. Had he been nearer, he could have talked to Flash, Peter, Tank or even the master mantra maker himself, about his worries. But as it was, communicating securely across that distance was difficult at best and in his humble opinion, not worth the risk just to settle any worries he had. So he'd come up with this... using the resources already available to him in a bid to soothe his mind, ease his worries and ultimately get one step ahead of the game. This rag tag bunch of dragons here, in this disused warehouse below a computer repair shop in one of the outlying suburbs of Perth, Australia, all owed their existence to him, in one way or another. Some had just left the nursery ring of their own accord (something supposedly forbidden, but was more common than those in charge thought) drifting along with absolutely no direction, doomed to a life of being an outcast and living in abject poverty. Others, well, let's just say they'd fallen in with the wrong crowd, but had been saved in the nick of time by Yoyo himself. Numerous times he'd called on their skills, but this time might actually be the most important of all. While their official training might well be regarded as incomplete, their actual training was nothing short of comprehensive, but with an added something many dragons miss out on: imagination! It seems hard to believe really, but it's true. All the practical and theoretical matters are dealt with fantastically well in each and every nursery ring, but the young dragonlings are never really encouraged to use their powers of invention, tapping into imaginations that are some of the most innovative on the planet. For Yoyo, that always seemed a tragedy. But these youngsters knew nothing of that limitation and had always been pushed to explore, expand and apply their imagination to everything about them, in particular their work.
So it was with them all gathered round, he outlined what he needed from them. Their expressions at first were a picture, perplexed, puzzled and genuinely downright stumped. But it only took a matter of moments for the first one of them to sprout an idea. This acted as a springboard for the next, and the next, and so on. Yoyo sat watching as his assembled band of misfit dragons, already on top of the task he'd assigned them, applied everything he'd ever taught them and so much more. Pride burned fiercely inside him. Getting up to leave, he knew all along that this visit had to be a flying one (never mind the fact that he'd walked here). Just as he was about to bid them all goodbye, two thoughts forced their way into his head. A good job they did... they were important.
"Oh... before I go. You know I told you they have to be designed and adapted for fully formed, one-size-fits-all, dragon physiques?"
"YES," they all replied at once.
"Please can you modify one so that it will fit a human shaped form? I think there's a good chance we might need it. One last thing. On top of what I've just asked of you, there's a very specific mantra I'd like you to find out about."
Their ears prickled like animals sensing prey.
"What do you need?" asked one of the younger ones, full of confidence.
Yoyo smiled at the thought of being that young, standing up in front of your peers, so self assured. Nothing seemed beyond this group.
"I need something that will detect the tiniest heat source amongst a thousand square miles of snow."
"How tiny?" a different one asked, his mind already working on the problem.
"Good question," replied Yoyo. "Simply put... I don't know exactly. But a pinprick of heat in that kind of environment would suffice."
Another collective intake of breath was their only response.
"I'll leave it in your capable hands."
Nodding agreement, goodbyes were said and they all got back to work.
Leaving the building the same way as he'd entered, Yoyo hoped that what he'd just asked for would never actually be required.
15 Back To Back Surprises
Smiling at the thought of being a taxi service for his friend, it had been a nice surprise to hear from her, that was for sure. On a normal Saturday though, they wouldn't have spoken to each other until after their respective battles had been completed. Locking his car, he walked over to the ordinary, red wooden door and thumped the brass knocker three times. A few moments passed before his sensitive hearing picked up the delicate sound of footsteps running down the stairs. With a click the door opened, and there in just her dressing gown stood Richie, yawning her head off, looking as though she'd just woken up.
"Hi Pete," she gurgled through a semi completed yawn. "Come on in."
Slipping past her, he continued up the narrow staircase and into the living room. Shaking his head, he had but one thought. 'Same old Richie.' "Mess" didn't do the room justice. Clothes, books, magazines were strewn everywhere. A tiny part of him deep within the back of his mind chuckled.
'You always fantasised about being with her, but this side of her would drive you crazy. You'd never be able to put up with it,' mocked the little voice. It was right of course, and deep down he knew however hard he tried, he would never be able to change her. She would always be... Richie, whether dragon or human.
"Make yourself at home," she stated, striding past him, heading for her bedroom. "I'm just going to get kitted up and then I'll be ready to go."
Pleased to see the plaster casts had been removed from her wrist and ankle, he noted that her other injuries appeared to be healing nicely. Briefly he wondered why she was heading that way, when most of her kit seemed to be scattered around the living room... the floor, the sofa, lying indiscriminately across her computer. Moving across to the sofa, he considered sitting down, but thought better of it after inspecting the mass of magazines and books covering the suede sofa he recalled from past visits, all the time resisting the tremendous urge he had to tidy things up. Instead, he chose to wander over to the only uncluttered part of the room, a stunning glass display cabinet full to the brim with trophies of one sort or another, all of which Richie had picked up during her lacrosse playing career. Of course most were individual awards, but, to his surprise, there were team ones as well. Wondering why they hadn't been on display at the sports club, he supposed it was just as well given what had happened recently with the bomb blast. As all this circled his brain, he heard his friend enter the room behind him. Vowing to ask about the trophies, he turned, only to be greeted by a very surprising and awkward sight. There, rifling through a huge pile of washing (at least he hoped it was a pile of washing) was Richie, dressed only in her knickers and nothing else. He didn't know where to look. As if things couldn't get any more awkward, she started talking to him about the hockey match he was due to play in later.
"So, who are you playing today Pete?"
"Ummm... Bournemouth I think," he mumbled, looking up at the ceiling, around the walls, anywhere but in the direction of his friend, who was showing off more of herself than he cared to see at
the moment.
"Are they any good?" she enquired.
Swallowing nervously, his mind running away with some very powerful, and not entirely appropriate thoughts, all the time still looking away, he replied,
"Yeah... they're pretty good. Second in the league if I remember rightly."
"So tough game today then," she added, still not having found the item of clothing she was looking for.
Almost drowning in everything running through his mind, one single image came to his rescue, as if thrown and caught like a lifeline... JANICE!
"Probably," he declared, able to focus a bit more. "But they seem to be one of those teams that don't travel so well, so here's hoping."
Scattering even more clothes on the floor, Richie appeared to have at least found some of the kit she was looking for. Straightening up, she turned to walk back into the bedroom. Having noticed her turn around out of the corner of his eye, his chronic awkwardness receded somewhat, enough anyway for him to turn round fully and look at his friend. What he witnessed knocked his socks off. Having assumed that nothing else could surprise him today more than seeing his best friend semi-naked for the first time in his entire life, he found he was wrong, very wrong.
As she strode away from him, back into her bedroom, his eidetic memory grasped every last detail of what he'd just witnessed.
'It just can't be,' he thought. Moving round the sofa, with one hand he swept away enough magazines to enable him to sit down. Head in hands, he went over and over what he'd just seen, barely able to comprehend it. Impossible, and yet he'd seen it with his own eyes from only a few feet away. An underlying feeling of sadness washed over him. Of course he'd known all about the injuries she'd sustained and just how hard the doctors had worked to restore her to full health, and the toll the side effects of the alea had taken on her body. Given all this, the scar tissue should have come as no surprise, but it had. There was more than he could have believed possible, more than he thought anyone could have survived. But that wasn't the unbelievable part. Why had nobody else noticed what it had formed? Why had Richie not noticed? Perhaps she had, and thought nothing of it. Or perhaps, given that she was about to become fully human in only a matter of days now, she had more important things on her mind. Perhaps she refused to look at that part of her body because it was all too painful or had just chosen subconsciously to block the whole thing out. In any case, it changed everything. How, he didn't know yet. But it did.
Just then she walked back into the room, fully clothed in her lacrosse gear, kit bag in one hand, two sticks in the other. Grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl on the wooden sideboard as she passed, she turned to face him.
"Ready?" she enquired.
Nodding, his mind whirling with thoughts of what he'd seen, he followed her down the narrow staircase and out to the car on their way to a local school that had offered up their facilities on a temporary basis to the hockey and lacrosse sections of the sports club, wondering how best to proceed. Once again, the fate of the dragon kingdom might well rest with him.
16 Surprising Resistance
Mumbling a few inaudible words as she tossed and turned, sweat pouring off her in the underground cellar, warmed by the lava, guarded by a contingent of nagas, Earth's body might well have been in the present, but her mind was most certainly stuck in the past.
Even in the pitch black, the old, wooden, two storey barn seemed to stand out. Maybe because there were no clouds, the stars and the moon all shone brightly, or perhaps it was because, for as far as you could see, the land was all flat, mainly grass, with the odd field of crops mixed in and only a very few, solitary houses dotted around the landscape. Sneaking through the wooden fence, they hurried across the grass in the direction of the barn. No lights could be seen inside. Heavy panting alongside her jolted her back to the moment.
"I'm sure they're still following us," puffed Earth, running alongside the slim, overcoated woman. "How much further?"
"Not far," replied the latest in a number of new Resistance officers that Earth had got involved with, concentrating on controlling her breathing for fear of getting a stitch.
As they ran, the woman beside her offered out her hand. Rather reluctantly she took it. A small trickle of nausea dribbled down inside her as she did so.
They were a few miles outside the town of Bourges, south of Paris, and over the last twenty minutes or so, things had gone very wrong, or very right, depending on which way you looked at it. Earth had been passing the valuable information over for nearly a month now, and had turned up to their prearranged meeting dishevelled and scared, claiming that she was being followed, which was very much part of her normal routine. Right on cue, her contact had rushed her off through the streets of Bourges at first, and then out into the open countryside in the direction of the barn, the unofficial, and temporary, home of the local Resistance.
Heavy breathing from the pair of them was the only thing that could be heard for miles around. There was simply no other noise... NOTHING! After climbing through another fence and skipping around a disused chicken coop, they eventually made it to the barn. Both women looked back in the direction they'd come from, which showed no sign of any movement at all. So the Resistance officer turned and rapped on the door twice, and then three times more. Then they waited, still catching their breaths. Silently, above them, a head appeared through a tiny little gap in the wall.
"What are you doing back so early?" it enquired, agitated.
"There was a bit of a problem. Let us in... please!"
Muffled whispers echoed from inside the barn. Neither woman could make out what was being said. And then the sound of wood on wood from behind the door made them take a step back. As it inched open, a hand poked out and beckoned them inside. Both women stepped into the darkness of the barn's interior.
Half a dozen men and women appeared in front of them, some from behind hay bales, others skulking from the shadows. Knowing it was close now, she could feel her heart beat faster and faster, only moments away from another stunning victory.
"Who's this, and what's she doing here?" a voice barked from out of the darkness.
Her contact started to reply, but Earth cut her short, having already sent the signal.
"I'm here to put a stop to your so called... operations!" smirked Earth, pulling a cigarette out of her pocket and sliding it between her lips.
Just as Earth thought about bringing her power to the fore, the female Resistance officer, whose name she'd never bothered learning, did something both surprising and remarkable. Clutching a syringe she had dragged from her coat pocket, in one swift motion she pirouetted with the speed and grace of a ballet dancer and then stabbed the needle smack bang into the back of Earth's neck. Never in her life had Earth been so surprised. Instantly she crumpled to the hay scattered floor, trying to fight off the effects of the drug, trying to access all her magic. But it was too late and unconsciousness washed over her immediately.
That's all Earth could remember, but things in and around the barn had carried on.
"Good work," announced a deep male voice from deep within the darkness. "But it's time to go. The Nazis are already closing in on our location. Allsop!"
"Yes sir," replied Allsop.
"You're in charge of her. If she shows even the slightest sign of waking up... knock her out. And none of this... it's wrong to hit a girl nonsense. Understand?"
"Yes sir."
"Good man! Let's go. Everybody out. As we practised it!"
From the back of the room, hay bales were shifted out of the way very precisely, to reveal muddied steps leading down into the darkness. Two of the men went first, followed by two women, Allsop carrying his charge, and then the rest, with the last man (a captain) making sure the hay bales were firmly back in place. It was a squeeze to say the least, with all of them having to duck down. There were no lights, there didn't need to be. It was only really wide enough for one, and it only led to one place.
Accompanied by a dozen of his fi
nest men, they closed in on the shabby looking barn, pretty relaxed about the whole thing. Since her first operation, he'd accompanied 'Earth' as she liked to be known. On that occasion he'd been more than a little sceptical about having a woman in charge. But that had all changed with the results that had come, time after time. No other German unit had captured so many foreign spies. Their record was simply magnificent. And this operation, he knew, was just the next of many. They couldn't be beaten; in essence... they were unstoppable. Not knowing how she did it, ultimately he didn't care, he was only concerned with serving the Führer and leading his country to the victory they so deserved.
Pushing up his hat, he tugged at the collar of his uniform, proud of the pips there, disappointed by how constricted his throat always felt. Feeling the adrenaline pumping through him, his grip tightened on his trusty Luger. How much he loved that gun. A few months ago some pencil pusher had tried to insist that he swap it out for one of the new Walther things, but he wasn't having any of it. That weapon had saved his life on numerous occasions, taking many more in the process, and he wasn't giving it up for anything.