Wraith

by Shane Smithers

  ‘Shut up. You can talk,’ said Aureole, pointing to his striped pyjama pants that were way too long.

  ‘Grandad was a tall man. I’m still growing. Besides, the elastic’s gone,’ James replied, gripping the pants in a bunch with his cuffed hand and trying to lift the legs with his free one.

  Sleep came quickly, but it was restless for James. The lounge was a fraction too small, so he couldn’t stretch out comfortably. His dreams turned into nightmares where he was falling off Big Ben and his parents were yelling, ‘We told you, you couldn’t fly.’

  FIFTY-THREE

  Welkin Palace, Nebulosity

  Nimbus’s thoughts kept seesawing between Aureole and the SAFFIRE. He wished Aureole had been more like her mother than like him. And he wondered whether it really was coincidental for the SAFFIRE to have fallen through the cloud and onto a passing ship? A dull ache was beginning to take hold behind his eyes as he contemplated all this.

  He walked from the balcony back into his office. The carved ice walls were glowing amber, as they always did at this time of day, and lightning was intermittently illuminating the translucent dome above. Nimbus turned his gaze toward the door, expecting Kawasaki any moment and, as if by telepathy, Kawasaki appeared on the threshold.

  The doctor crossed the floor and stood before the Empyrean’s desk. Dark rings and puffy bags made Kawasaki’s eyes look sunken and tired. His clothes appeared to have been worn for several consecutive days and, oddly, he wasn’t wearing any shoes.

  Nimbus ignored all of this, and didn’t even wait for the doctor to complete the customary bow, saying, ‘There is an informer among us, Doctor, and I want him – or her – found.’ He may have been calm when talking to Cirro some hours ago, but now he was ready to erupt like Mount Vesuvius. ‘Who knew of the SAFFIRE, Doctor?’ he growled. His own reflection in his desk told him his hair had turned blood red.

  ‘Me, you, Your Excellency, Cirro, and a handful of scientists at the laboratory,’ said Kawasaki without hesitation. ‘And Aureole . . . and James,’ he added as an afterthought.

  ‘Forget the children,’ said Nimbus, waving a dismissive hand in the air. ‘One of your scientists has betrayed us.’

  ‘That can’t be, Your Excellency,’ said Kawasaki, shaking his head vehemently. ‘Everyone has been thoroughly checked. We used the most advanced screening system on the planet. Nobody could have circumvented it, I assure you.’

  ‘Well somebody has,’ Nimbus roared, causing the doctor to take an step backwards. ‘If a nineteen-year-old Archipelagien boy can hack into MAL and help a fifteen-year-old girl steal a classified prototype cloud hopper . . .’ Nimbus took a breath to calm down.

  ‘Yes, quite,’ said Kawasaki, his cheeks starting to redden. He was twisting a sheaf of papers around and around as he spoke.

  The Empyrean strode over to the doctor until his face was only inches away. ‘I want you to personally check and re-check each and every employee in the entire complex.

  Do I make myself clear?’

  Kawasaki didn’t flinch from this barrage, but simply said, ‘Yes, Your Excellency.’

  Nimbus took a few steps back and adjusted the collar on his long shaggy coat. Regaining his composure, he said, ‘I will send my personal guards to assist you.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Excellency,’ said Kawasaki.

  Nimbus glared at the doctor for a few seconds and then said, ‘That is all.’

  ‘Not quite, Your Excellency,’ said Kawasaki, holding up the papers that looked the worse for wear. ‘I’ve been doing some calculations, and it seems there was an error’

  ‘What sort of error?’ said Nimbus. He could almost feel his hair starting to flare red again.

  ‘The SAFFIRE is not as stable as I first thought. It wasn’t designed for low altitudes. It’s only a matter of time before . . .’ Kawasaki paused with an involuntary gulp.

  ‘Yes? Before what?’

  ‘Before it explodes.’

  Nimbus stood as still as a statue, unblinking.

  ‘The CO2 levels at low altitudes or rich carbon deposits on the ocean floor . . .’ began Kawasaki.

  ‘How bad?’

  ‘If it’s at the bottom of the ocean, it will cause a massive tsunami, killing millions.’

  ‘What do you mean, if?’ said Nimbus, fishing to see how much Kawasaki knew about the SAFFIRE’s whereabouts.

  ‘We can’t be sure . . .’

  Nimbus cut Kawasaki off. ‘And if it is not at the bottom of the ocean?’

  ‘If it’s in the lower atmosphere, it will go off like an atomic bomb, potentially vaporizing an entire city,’ responded Kawasaki, his voice growing weaker and weaker. ‘Or, erasing a small island nation.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘A couple of days. A week at the very best. I need to run more calculations, to be sure. There are colour changes it will go through, indicating how much time is left.’

  Nimbus turned away, gazed out of the large window behind his desk, saw his faint reflection looking back at him. The only remaining colour in his face resided in the tips of his beard. ‘Doctor, my son and daughter are out there, looking for it. They may be close to it.’ He turned back to Kawasaki. ‘How can we stop this event from happening?’

  Lyndoch, South Australia

  James woke with a start at the sound of voices on the radio and the smell of fresh toast. His head felt groggy and his back hurt. He sat up with a groan and was just in time to see Aureole, who was back in her freshly cleaned clothes, wander into the kitchen. She didn’t have her sunglasses on.

  ‘Aureole,’ he whispered, but she didn’t hear him, and by the time he reached the kitchen she’d already dropped into the nearest chair, towelling her wet hair with her eyes closed. Gran was sitting opposite her, regarding her with curiosity.

  ‘Toast?’ Gran said to her a moment later.

  Aureole’s eyes shot open. ‘Um, yes please,’ she said, averting her gaze as she fumbled for her sunglasses. ‘Aurora is such a pretty name,’ said Gran.

  ‘Oh Gran, it’s Aureole, not Aurora,’ said James from the doorway. ‘Aurora isn’t even a name.’

  Aureole blushed. ‘Actually, Aurora was my mother’s name.’

  ‘Oh, I . . . Ahh.’ It was James’s turn to feel embarrassed.

  Gran put a plate of buttered toast on the table. ‘Did you sleep well?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, fine thanks,’ James lied. He felt a bigger mess than when they had arrived.

  Aureole pointed to the bathroom and said, ‘Your clothes are ready. Unless, of course, you like your new look.’ She looked him up and down. ‘Personally, I think it suits you. Don’t you, Gran?’

  ‘Quite charming, dear.’

  Aureole pointed at James’s almost black feet and screwed up her nose. ‘Gran also found some old joggers for you to wear.’

  James made a quick face at her and headed for the bathroom, re-emerged twenty minutes later, feeling like a new man. ‘Where’s Gran?’ he said, looking around.

  ‘She has gone to the shops to get some more milk,’ said Aureole. She held out a plate of cold burnt toast. ‘Here, take one. Gran asked me to make some more. I have never made toast before,’ she said.

  ‘So I see,’ said James, rifling through and finding the least blackened piece. He scraped off the burnt bits. ‘I still don’t understand why my parents sent a postcard instead of calling . . . could you pass the butter?’

  Aureole pushed the butter toward him. ‘I don’t know, maybe they caught laryngitis.’ she said.

  James raised a sharp eyebrow. ‘What, both of them?’ ‘It’s possible. Unlikely, I admit, but there could be a logical explanation . . .’ Aureole held up an open jar. ‘Want some of this black stuff?’

  ‘Yeah, thanks. It’s called Vegemite.’

  Aureole paused while James took a bite and then said, ‘No offence to your parents, but I think we have more important issues to discuss at the moment.’ He kept chewing, waiting for her to mention the SAFFIRE. ‘Like, why
did we ditch into the Adelaide River?’ she continued.

  James nearly gagged on his toast. ‘What?’ Why would she bring that up now? ‘Flying’s not as easy as it looks, you know.’

  ‘I’m not saying it is. But there must be a reason why you could carry me and then you couldn’t. If we can find out what it is and fix it . . .’

  ‘You make me sound like some sort of machine.’

  ‘Just think of all the benefits there are in being able to carry someone else with you.’

  ‘It’s taken me ages to get this good. How am I supposed to . . .’

  Aureole leaned in close and said with a smile, ‘I think I can help.’

  James let out a cynical laugh. ‘You think you can do better than Kawasaki? He and his team worked with me day and night for weeks. I don’t see how you’re going to help me in a matter of hours.’

  Aureole continued smiling.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Lyndoch, South Australia

  James fiddled with his handcuff, thinking. He doubted very much that Aureole could improve his flying ability – she wasn’t a doctor or a scientist. But if he agreed to let her try, maybe she would answer a question that had been bugging him. ‘All right,’ he said with a sigh.

  ‘Good,’ said Aureole.

  ‘But first, I want you to tell me something,’ he continued.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Back at the hopper with Cirro, what was all that stuff about? Only the dead have seen the end of The War? You seemed really upset.’

  Aureole’s gaze dropped to the table. ‘I do not really want to talk about it.’

  ‘You can’t keep hiding everything from me. Eventually, you have to let me in.’

  There was silence for a second or two and then Aureole began slowly. ‘You probably don’t know this, but my mother was one of the scientists working on the SAFFIRE in its earlier stages.’ She paused, still looking at the table.

  James shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t know that,’ he said softly. He thought back to the photo of Aureole’s mum he’d seen at the Palace. He’d imagined her as a wife, a mother, but not as a scientist. She was a scientist; that was impressive.

  ‘About a year after her work started, there was . . . an . . . an accident.’ Aureole paused again and swallowed hard. She began fiddling with the frayed edge of the tablecloth. ‘Apparently she was working alone and mixed some chemicals incorrectly, and there was a small explosion. My father had made plans to have lunch with her that day . . . and when he found her . . .’ She swallowed again; her face looked strained, ‘She was very badly hurt and barely conscious. Father told me the last thing she said to him was, “Only the dead have seen the end of The War.” And then she . . . she died in his arms.’

  Aureole cleared her throat and wiped away a tear from her cheek. ‘I was only a baby, so I don’t know why she said it, and Father does not like to talk about it either.’ She shook her head, bewildered. After a moment’s reflection, she frowned and said, ‘What is really strange is how Batak knew what she said. It was never publicised. Unless Cirro was lying, but that is not like him.’

  James sat quietly, not knowing what to say. He was seeing a different side to Aureole. She wasn’t always as tough as she liked to make out. ‘Is that why you are so determined to find the SAFFIRE?’ he asked. ‘Because otherwise you think your mother would have died for nothing?’

  The front door opened before Aureole had time to answer. James shoved his cuffed hand into his jacket pocket just as his grandmother shuffled in, still wearing her nightie and pink bunny slippers.

  ‘You went down to the shops?’ said James.

  ‘I was out of milk,’ replied Gran.

  ‘But, Gran, you’re still wearing your nightie,’ said James.

  Gran looked down at her clothes and then let out a tiny laugh. ‘I was wondering why the shopkeeper was smiling. He never smiles.’

  ‘Why didn’t you stop her?’ said James, turning to Aureole.

  ‘I did not know,’ said Aureole with an apologetic wince. ‘I’m not up on old people’s fashion.’ Behind her sunglasses, her eyes looked a little red.

  After several cups of tea and a generous helping of shortbread biscuits, Aureole motioned for them to go outside.

  ‘Gran, we’re just going for a walk,’ said James, grabbing the last biscuit on his way out.

  ‘That’s a good idea. Show Aureole around. You know, they have a wine festival, here, every year. People come up from . . .’ James closed the door, his grandmother still nattering.

  As soon as they were outside James headed for the garage. He needed to remove the handcuff. It had already rubbed off most of the hair on his wrist and left a nasty red mark on his skin. And he didn’t want his grandmother spotting it and asking questions.

  ‘I wonder if Grandad’s old bench grinder still works,’ he said, pushing open the side door and pausing for a minute so his eyes could adjust to the soft light. His grandmother’s orange 1974 Datsun coupé was parked in the middle of the garage. She had bought it new, and its only modification was an electric motor that replaced the old combustion engine. James had ridden in it a couple of times, and it really did have some grunt.

  He finally spotted the grinder at the far end of the garage. Tossing away the cover, he flicked on the switch and watched the ancient machine roar to life. ‘Can you hold the other cuff?’ he asked Aureole, then moved his wrist close to the spinning wheel. A fan of bright orange sparks flew out, showering his bare arm. He jerked his hand back with a yelp. ‘That burns!’

  ‘Here, put a cloth around it,’ said Aureole, picking up the rag he had thrown away.

  He wrapped the material tightly around his wrist, poking some of it under the metal cuff, and then tried again. There was thirty seconds of hideous grinding noise and then success! He rubbed his wrist gingerly. ‘Finally,’ he muttered.

  ‘It is a pity,’ said Aureole, throwing the cuffs in the bin on her way out. ‘I was beginning to like them.’

  They walked down the path, past Gran’s rose bushes and onto the deserted country street.

  ‘I think your ability to fly is not much different from my abilities as an Azurien,’ said Aureole.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said James, kicking a pebble along the footpath, absently.

  ‘I can change my state to suit my surroundings.’

  ‘You mean, like when you go blurry, or solid,’ said James. ‘Or change the colour of your hair?’

  ‘Yes. And I can do other things too.’

  James shot her an inquisitive look. ‘Like what?’

  ‘When we were on the roof, did you notice the fog?’

  James thought for a minute. ‘Yeah, it sort of just appeared.’ His eyes lit up. ‘You can make fog?’

  Aureole nodded. ‘I can manipulate water molecules.’

  James gave an impressive whistle. ‘Deadly.’

  Aureole stopped him just before they crossed at the end of the street. ‘I have not told you this to show off. I think you use similar methods to fly.’

  ‘Really?’

  Port Adelaide, South Australia

  Cirro sat in a bus shelter on a quiet back street. He hadn’t seen a bus all morning. His Supasmart Z was running hot. Eight hours decrypting and hacking was taking its toll on the minute unit. ‘That ought to do it,’ he said finally. He was in. He scrolled through the menu, clicked on the relevant file and then started a search. The police log listed a sighting under the heading James Locke Missing Person. He read on, grimaced when he reached the part about the unconscious man, resisting arrest, fleeing the scene of a crime . . . would the list ever end? Then he came to the description of James’s accomplice – it fitted Aureole to a T.

  ‘Stupid. Aureole, you should know better,’ he said under his breath.

  He continued searching through all the police databases. There were no clues as to where the children might have gone. He had just begun a search for any reference to the two men described by the dockworkers when his screen showed a
n incoming call.

  ‘Your Excellency,’ he answered, raising the phone to his ear. Hologram projecting might bring him unwanted attention, and he was trying to stay inconspicuous.

  Nimbus skipped over the normal greetings. ‘Primary Agent, you are hereby on Cumulo-Incus 6 alert.’

  ‘Cumulo-Incus 6?’ repeated Cirro. Cumulo-Incus was an interspecial incident alert and level six meant it was critical. The warning system only went to level seven.

  ‘I have just been in a lengthy meeting with Kawasaki, and he has informed me that the SAFFIRE is not stable at low altitudes.’ Nimbus paused. ‘If it detonates, it will annihilate the entire city.’

  ‘Detonates?!’

  ‘Some kind of chain reaction.’

  Cirro’s grip on his phone tightened. Now the SAFFIRE had become some sort of nuclear bomb? This was crazy. ‘I will alert the local authorities,’ he said hurriedly.

  ‘That is unwise, Primary Agent,’ said Nimbus. ‘They do not have the ability to deal with such an emergency.’

  Cirro disagreed. ‘They could start evacuating the city.’ ‘Primary Agent, they will not evacuate a city of 1.3 million people simply on your information,’ Nimbus responded. Cirro realised the Empyrean was right. Why would they listen to him? He had no authority down here. ‘Tactical Response will be leaving shortly,’ Nimbus continued.

  Cirro frowned. ‘They have not left yet?’

  ‘They have been delayed, waiting on some equipment from MAL.’

  Cirro sat up straight, clenched his jaw. ‘How much time do we have?’

  ‘Kawasaki is running more calculations, but he believes the SAFFIRE will remain stable for at least another 36 hours.’ Cirro’s pulse quickened; that wasn’t very long. ‘It will go through stages, turning from yellow to green to blue,’ continued Nimbus. ‘You must get to it before it turns blue.’