James rubbed the back of his neck. Expensive? Was he going to get into trouble for interfering with their cloud machine? It hadn’t been his fault. The thing had sucked him in. He took a few moments to respond. ‘Um . . . I flew up to take a look,’ he finally said. ‘It was humming, and then this vortex opened up and started pulling me in. I couldn’t get away.’ He swallowed, trying not to think about that part for too long. ‘I really didn’t mean to go inside. I thought it was just a normal cloud. Honestly.’
Dr Kawasaki wrinkled his brow slightly. ‘So what happened to your craft? We didn’t find any wreckage on the ground. Was somebody else with you?’
James shook his head. ‘No, Sir. Nobody was with me. I didn’t have a craft.’
‘Then how did you fly up?’
‘I used my VPR.’
‘VPR?’
‘Darren, my friend, made it for me. He’s pretty good at making things. It let me fly higher and faster than normal.’
‘Do you mean a jet pack?’
James shook his head. ‘No. Um . . .’ How could he explain it to the doctor? ‘It’s a device that works using two aerosol cans.’
‘Aerosol cans? You can’t fly using aerosol cans.’ Kawasaki was clearly growing impatient. He leaned across and placed a hand on James’s shoulder. ‘Now, James, tell me the truth. How did you get up there? You’re not going to get into trouble. We just need to know, so we can make sure that type of thing doesn’t happen again. Having Agrariens wind up in our machinery is not good for many reasons, the first being that it’s incredibly dangerous.’
‘Sir, I’m telling you the truth.’ James tried to keep his tone level. ‘I can levitate, move around, change direction and stuff, like, you know, flying.’ The doctor looked a little surprised when James jumped up and said, ‘Here, I’ll show you.’
James took a deep breath and slowly released it. He wouldn’t try anything fancy, just levitate up and back down. Just levitate up and back down . . . Come on. Up! he yelled in his head. Up! His chest tightened. What was happening? Why wasn’t he moving? He screwed his eyes shut. Concentrate.
Kawasaki heaved a sigh. ‘James, sit down, please.’ He sounded fed up.
‘No. I can fly!’ James’ eyes shot open, and he glared at the doctor, insistent. ‘I can fly.’
‘James,’ said Kawasaki, standing up. ‘I’m trying to help you.’
James backed away, feeling the panic rising, choking him. ‘I don’t know what’s happening. This isn’t real. None of this is real.’ It had to be some sort of nightmare. Suddenly, he felt faint. He put a hand on the back of the chair to steady himself.
‘All I want is the truth,’ said Kawasaki, reaching to put a hand on James.
James shrugged off the doctor, and pushed his chair away. It toppled and clanged against the metal floor, but he didn’t care. It surprised him how furious he had suddenly become. This was not like him at all. But he’d been through so much lately. And he certainly didn’t like being called a liar, on top of it all.
‘I don’t know what’s happened. But I flew. Without a plane or a jet pack. I flew.’ He could feel tears welling in his eyes. He fought to keep them back, but they came anyway. ‘Besides, why shouldn’t I be able to fly?’ he said, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. ‘Because I’m an Agrarien? Until yesterday, I’d never even heard of Agrariens or Azuriens. If there are people who can walk on clouds, and you’re one of them, why can’t you believe that I can fly? You, of all people, should believe me.’
Kawasaki eyed him for what seemed like ages, and James was ready for him to call for back-up, or whatever doctors did when they wanted a patient taken away. But, finally, he said, calmly, ‘I see your point.’
‘I’m not l . . . What? What did you say?’ said James.
‘I see your point,’ repeated Kawasaki. ‘But,’ he said, raising a finger, ‘I am a scientist. And scientists don’t just accept what they’re told, now do they?’
‘No, I guess they don’t,’ said James slowly, wondering if this was a trick.
‘That’s right. Scientists need proof. They need to test things.’ James nodded. He’d learned enough about science to know that was right. ‘So,’ continued Kawasaki, ‘let’s just say, for the moment, that what you’ve said is true.’ He raised his finger again when James went to butt in. ‘That you could fly before you arrived here and now you can’t.’ Kawasaki stopped and ran his fingers through his goatee, looking thoughtful. ‘I may know a possible cause.’ The doctor sounded genuine.
‘Really?’ said James, feeling the tightness in his chest ease a little.
‘See that bracelet you’re wearing?’
James glanced at his wrist. ‘The hospital ID tag thingy?’
‘That’s not just an ID tag. It’s called a harmonising bracelet.’
‘Yeah, Primary Agent Cirro told me. It makes me in tune with the cloud, so that I don’t fall through.’ ‘You think it might be interfering with my ability?’
‘Quite possibly.’
James went to pry off the bracelet. He wanted it gone, immediately. He couldn’t imagine not being able to fly anymore. It would be like ripping his heart out.
‘You won’t be able to get it off,’ said Kawasaki. ‘It’s genetically locked. Only an Azurien can remove it.’ James held out his wrist to the doctor, but Kawasaki shook his head. ‘We need to take some precautions before we do that. It’s a long way down to the Ocean. Don’t want you ending up as fish food.’
‘But we’re in a metal room,’ protested James. ‘I can’t fall through metal.’
‘Without that bracelet on, yes, you can.’ Kawasaki didn’t look like he was joking. ‘We’ll need laboratory conditions where I can run a few tests.’
‘Tests?’ repeated James, frowning. ‘What type of tests?’ ‘Don’t worry,’ said Kawasaki, smiling. ‘I won’t be taking your brain out or anything like that.’
James’ eyes widened. ‘What?’
FIFTEEN
Research Facility, General Hospital, Nebulosity
A few hours later, James was standing in a soundproof glass cubicle about a metre in width, while Dr Kawasaki adjusted settings on his simulator a short distance away. Cirro, following the Empyrean’s orders, stood beside the doctor, not at all happy with the situation. Kawasaki, though a genius in several scientific fields, often allowed his curiosity to cloud his judgement. That made him impulsive and unpredictable, two traits a primary agent could not afford to be.
‘Just a few more minutes,’ said Kawasaki through a microphone that relayed his words to James.
Cirro switched off the microphone and turned to the doctor. ‘Are you absolutely sure this is safe?’
Kawasaki nodded confidently. ‘Perfectly safe. The booth will replicate the conditions of terra firma precisely.’
Cirro eyed the booth. ‘We cannot afford to lose him,’ he said. ‘Think of the repercussions. Besides, if he is a spy . . .’
‘A spy?’ scoffed Kawasaki. ‘He’s only a child.’
‘It would not be the first time,’ growled Cirro. Kawasaki flicked the microphone back on. ‘Cirro’s going to remove your harmonising bracelet. Then, when you’re ready, you can begin.’
Cirro shot the doctor a look of annoyance and then walked over to the cubicle. Kawasaki better be right, otherwise we are going to have a second major incident on our hands, all within a month, he thought. And who needs that amount of stress?
~
Even though the cubicle was transparent, James was feeling claustrophobic. Cirro looked apprehensive as he removed James’s bracelet, making James feel even more nervous than before. But James hadn’t fallen through the floor and everything appeared to be nice and solid. Still, it didn’t ease the knot in his stomach. What if the bracelet wasn’t the cause of his inability to fly? What if he’d just lost it? It was just gone . . .
He took a deep breath, released it slowly. Please, let me still be able to fly, he said silently to no one in particular. He tilted back his head
and closed his eyes, pretended it was just another day under Darren’s practice regime. Nothing to it.
When James did eventually open his eyes, it was to look down to see the gaping stares of the primary agent and the doctor.
‘My god,’ whispered Kawasaki. ‘He can fly.’
Cirro was speechless.
James hovered a couple of metres off the floor and then, feeling he had proved his point, made an unceremonious crash landing, ending up in a twisted heap on the cubicle floor. ‘Landings aren’t too good,’ he said with a groan, his head squished between one of his legs and the side glass.
Welkin Palace, Nebulosity
Primary Agent Cirro bowed and waited for a signal from the Empyrean, inviting him to speak. However, Nimbus was pacing back and forth behind his desk, lost in thought, and it took a polite cough from Cirro to bring the Empyrean round.
Nimbus turned his head. ‘Primary Agent,’ he sighed. There were dark circles beginning to show under his eyes.
Cirro wondered how much sleep the Empyrean was having of late. The top job was not something he envied. ‘Your Excellency,’ he said respectfully.
‘How are the tests going on our young visitor?’
‘Very well, Your Excellency. They should be completed very soon.’
Nimbus stopped pacing. ‘Very soon?’ The look on the Empyrean’s face told Cirro that that was not what he had wanted to hear. ‘It has already been a week, Primary Agent. Surely Kawasaki has all the information he needs.’
‘He is being quite rigorous, Your Excellency.’
‘I am sure he is, but at what cost to the boy? He almost died in that ASU, and now we have him stuck in a laboratory. This cannot be good for the boy’s health.’
Cirro felt confident that James was in no danger. He had remarkable resilience for someone of his age. ‘The doctor is carefully monitoring his physical health,’ he assured the Empyrean.
‘And his mental health? Is Kawasaki taking that into consideration?’
‘He is, Your Excellency. James has had several sessions with the hospital counsellor; they seem satisfied with his present mental state. And every test carried out so far has been done with James’s consent.’
Nimbus gave a brief nod of satisfaction and moved on to another question. ‘Has Kawasaki supplied you with any theories as to how the boy can fly?’
‘He believes there is a slight genetic difference between James and normal Agrariens – perhaps a mutation of some sort. This difference may have produced his ability.’
Nimbus’s eyebrows pulled together. ‘A slight genetic difference,’ he repeated loudly. ‘I think I could have worked that out myself, Primary Agent – without all the expensive tests.’
Cirro knew the Empyrean was critical of Kawasaki’s work of late, especially after the recent disaster, which Cirro did not believe was the doctor’s fault. ‘Your Excellency, with all due respect,’ he said, ‘we cannot leave this to guesswork; a complete DNA profile is needed. The doctor should then be able to isolate the genes and . . .’
With a wave of his hand, Nimbus silenced him. ‘What about your investigation, Primary Agent? Where are the boy’s parents?’
Cirro cleared his throat. ‘My agents are still trying to locate them,’ he said, prepared for the annoyed look Nimbus shot him.
‘How hard can it be to find two Agrariens?’ growled Nimbus. ‘We have the most advanced tracking technology on the planet.’
Cirro thought it best not to remind the Empyrean that there were 7.2 billion Agrariens on the planet, and that even with the best technology it was like finding a fly in a hailstorm – two flies, in this case. ‘It appears they recently took a trip to New Zealand on business and have not returned to their Kurrajong residence. My agents interviewed the manager of the Auckland hotel, who informed them that the Lockes only stayed one night and then were suddenly called away to London. No forwarding address was left.’
Nimbus started pacing again, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘Does that not seem strange? Who do they work for? What line of business is it?’
Cirro hesitated. He never liked not knowing all the answers, especially when it was the Empyrean asking the questions. ‘There have been difficulties gaining access to certain information,’ he said after a moment.
‘Oh?’ said Nimbus, sounding surprised.
‘They work for a small shipping company called Akwatronics. I have not been able to find out exactly what the company’s imports and exports are . . .’
Nimbus stopped pacing and raised an eyebrow. ‘Suspicious goods?’
‘It is a possibility,’ said Cirro. ‘It is such a small company, it could easily slip under the Australian Government’s radar.’
Nimbus sat down in his chair and drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘It all sounds very unusual. Has the boy said anything that might shed some light on all this?’
‘Nothing. I guess if the parents were involved in illegal trade, they would not necessarily tell their teenage son.’
‘What have you told him?’
‘The truth,’ said Cirro matter-of-factly. ‘That we are still trying to contact his parents. Though I doubt he believes me. Every day he asks when he will see them again.’
‘Does he have any other relatives?
Cirro nodded. ‘A grandmother in South Australia.’ ‘Should she be contacted?’
‘No, Your Excellency. I think we should hold off a little longer. At least until all the tests are finished.’
Nimbus appeared bothered by Cirro’s reply. ‘I don’t want an interspecies scandal, Primary Agent. Running laboratory tests on a child might be misconstrued.’
Of course, Cirro did not need to be told this. He had been Primary Agent for over ten years, and before that, a top field agent in South America, Russia and France. He knew about scandals, he had dealt with enough of them in this job, one in particular involving Nimbus himself. But he simply replied with, ‘I understand, Your Excellency.’
Nimbus sat back in his chair, the alloy-material squeaking ever so softly under his shifting weight. ‘This boy needs our protection,’ he said, serious. ‘Can you imagine what would happen to him if his species knew he could fly?’
‘They would probably do laboratory tests on him,’ Cirro said pointedly.
Nimbus’s mouth twitched. Clearly he appreciated the primary agent’s candour. ‘The hypocrisy has not escaped me.’
‘I do agree, though,’ said Cirro. ‘He has ended up in our care, and we have a responsibility to keep him safe. At the moment he seems happy to stay here, but in time . . .’ Holding this child against his will, even if it was for his own good, could get them all in hot water.
Nimbus tugged thoughtfully on his goatee. ‘Yes, he may need some convincing.’
Research Facility, General Hospital, Nebulosity
Cirro appeared just as James was slipping his shirt back on after finishing another scan, this time an MRI.
‘The Empyrean has asked that you and the doctor come to Welkin Palace for dinner tonight,’ he said brightly.
James stopped, his head only part the way through his shirt opening. ‘Dinner,’ he repeated, his voice muffled by the shirt. He popped his head through and gazed at the Primary Agent intently. ‘At Welkin Palace? With the Empyrean?’
‘Yes, that is the idea,’ replied Cirro, smiling. ‘I think it is customary that when someone invites you to dinner they turn up as well.’
‘Why?’ ask James. ‘I mean, why would he invite me to dinner?’
‘The Empyrean would like to talk to you.’
James felt his stomach clench. ‘Am I in trouble?’
‘No,’ Cirro said assuredly. ‘No, it is nothing like that, just a friendly invite.’
James remembered his previous visit to meet the Empyrean. It had all gone pretty well. The Empyrean had been nice and, surprisingly, understanding. Only . . . James suddenly grimaced. ‘Is his daughter going to be there?’ She had made it perfectly clear that she didn’t like James, and, from
first impressions, he wasn’t sure that he liked her either.
Cirro couldn’t contain his laughter. ‘Do not worry,’ he said, patting James on the back, ‘she tends to lighten up after a while.’
SIXTEEN
Welkin Palace, Nebulosity
Dinner was held in one of the far wings of the Welkin Palace. As James and Cirro sat waiting for the Empyrean to arrive, James took the opportunity to look around. The room was cosier than the Empyrean’s office. The dining table could fit twenty and filled up most of the space. A purple glow came from the ice walls, and inside one particular wall there seemed to be a gentle cascade of water.
‘Your Excellency,’ said Cirro, suddenly standing up and bowing.
James jumped up and did a clumsy bow. He wasn’t used to all this formality. ‘Your Excellency,’ he repeated.
‘Sit down, gentlemen,’ said Nimbus, waving a hand. ‘Dinner will not be served for another half an hour, so how about some refreshments?’ He walked over to an ornately carved cabinet and produced three tall, narrow glasses and poured a transparent liquid into each. It turned dark blue, almost black, as it hit the bottom and then became clear again once it had settled. James watched in awe. Nimbus held out a drink for him and one for Cirro.
‘Thank you,’ they responded in unison.
Nimbus raised his glass. ‘To Nebulosity.’
‘To Nebulosity,’ they responded.
As James tilted the drink to his lips, the liquid turned dark again. He took a sip, looking cross-eyed at the glass. The liquid felt like a warm gentle breeze in his mouth.
‘What is this?’ he said, holding up his glass and watching tiny blue bubbles stream to the top.
Cirro responded pompously, as if at a wine tasting. ‘Its common name is Zephyr because of the sensation it gives one in one’s mouth.’
James took another sip. He loved it. ‘What’s in it?’
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