Six

by M. M. Vaughan

  “She’s at a swimming thing,” said Parker. “She doesn’t wear her glasses in the water, so she can’t answer my call.” He was hardly aware of Michael holding his arm and examining his wrist.

  “I knew it wasn’t just a twin thing,” mumbled Michael to himself. “I knew it.”

  “Do you know where she is?” Brendan asked.

  Parker shook his head.

  “And you have no idea who this Solomon Gladstone is?”

  Parker shook his head again. “I’ve never heard of him.”

  Brendan looked away. He removed his hat to reveal his thinning silvery-blond hair and rubbed his face in thought.

  “You’re going to tell someone, aren’t you?” asked Parker.

  Brendan turned back again but didn’t say anything.

  Parker leaned forward. His red eyes were wide and pleading. “You can’t do that. Please. You promised!”

  Brendan nodded slowly. “I know I did, son. But if this is true, then . . .”

  “True? You don’t believe me?”

  “I’m not saying that,” said Brendan, choosing his words carefully. “It’s just not something you hear every day.”

  “My dad wouldn’t lie.”

  “No, of course. I’m not saying that.” Brendan thought for a moment. “Okay. So let’s say it’s true . . .”

  “It is.”

  “And your dad has been taken somewhere and you’ve got nobody at home. No family to look after you. Then what am I supposed to do: leave two kids on their own?”

  “They could stay at my house,” said Michael.

  “Your parents are going to ask questions,” said Brendan.

  “They don’t have to know. They could stay in the tree house,” said Michael.

  “Really?” asked Parker.

  Michael shrugged. “It’s not like they’re ever home anyway. What do you think, Brendan?”

  Another pause. Longer this time. Parker felt like he was going to explode with frustration.

  “I have to go find Solomon! My dad needs help. Just leave me back at my house if you don’t believe me. I’ll work something out.”

  Brendan shook his head and turned around. He started the car.

  “We’re going to your house,” called Brendan as he pulled back out onto the road. “You can get what you need for you and your sister for a few days. You have a key?” He looked up at the rearview mirror. Parker nodded.

  “Keep trying your sister. Tell her I’ll pick her up from school when she gets back.”

  Parker nodded again.

  “I’ll help you as much as I can. And I won’t say anything. But if nothing’s happened in a few days, you’re going to have to report it to the police.”

  “Okay,” said Parker. His eyes began to fill up with tears again.

  “It’ll be all right, son,” said Brendan, looking at Parker’s reflection in the mirror. “We’ll find him.”

  “I’ll look up . . . Oh. My cell phone’s out of battery. Brendan, can we use your phone?” asked Michael.

  Without taking his eyes off the road, Brendan leaned over to the passenger seat and picked up what looked like a gray brick.

  Michael took it and turned it over in his hand in horror. “When did you get this? 1965?”

  “It does everything I need it to do,” said Brendan.

  “Does it have the Internet?” asked Michael. He pressed down randomly on some of the thick rubber buttons.

  Parker sighed. “I don’t think they had the Internet in the sixties.”

  Michael shook his head in disbelief and handed the phone back to Brendan. “We’ll have to wait till we get mine back.”

  Deflated, both boys leaned back in their seats. They spent the rest of the journey to Parker’s house in silence, with Parker trying Emma on Effie at regular intervals while Michael stared at Parker’s wrist.

  * * * * * *

  “What is that?” asked Brendan.

  “I can’t leave her,” said Parker as he ushered Polly up his driveway. “Is it okay?”

  Michael laughed and then stopped abruptly as he realized nobody else was finding the situation amusing. He shrugged apologetically. “It’s a white pig.”

  Brendan sighed. “Come on then. It can sit in the back with the two of you. Give me that.”

  Brendan took the bulging backpack from Parker and put it in the trunk as Michael and Parker wrestled Polly up onto the backseat.

  “Is your sister still not answering?” asked Brendan as he sat back in the driver’s seat and closed his door.

  “No,” said Parker. “I think she’s swimming all afternoon.”

  “Keep trying.”

  * * * * * *

  Parker and Michael left Brendan to deal with Polly and rushed inside Michael’s house.

  “I’m just glad his name isn’t John Smith,” said Michael as he ran over to his computer and turned it on.

  Parker nodded in agreement and sat down at the neighboring computer. He turned it on.

  “Come on, come on,” urged Parker as the screen came to life.

  Michael was already typing. “S-o-l-u—”

  “O,” corrected Parker. “Solomon is S-o-l-o-m-o-n.”

  Parker pulled up the Internet search engine on his computer and typed in the full name too.

  The room was silent as they both scanned each page of results in turn, looking for anything that might be relevant. There was nothing about anybody named Solomon Gladstone, except a single profile of a teenager in South Africa.

  “Do you think that’s him?” asked Michael. They were both looking at the same page.

  “It can’t be,” said Parker. “It says he’s fourteen.”

  Parker bookmarked the page and began the search again. This time, he added NY after the name. Still nothing.

  “I’ll try searching for ‘six, New York,’  ” said Michael. “Hmm . . . That’s not going to work. 570,000,000 results.”

  Parker winced.

  “Wait! I know!” said Parker. He was already typing. “Solomon. Gladstone. Avecto.”

  “What’s Avecto?”

  “The company my dad works for,” said Parker. “I got it!”

  Michael searched using the same words, as Parker clicked on the link.

  “Cassandra’s Army?” asked Parker as the page loaded up. “What’s that?”

  Michael was staring at the same page. “  ‘The truth nobody wants to hear,’  ” he said, reading the slogan at the top.

  Parker scrolled down the page of hundreds of forum entries. He read out some of the post headlines, mostly to himself as Michael was already looking at the same thing.

  “  ‘Lizards are running our government,’  ” read Parker. “  ‘Anybody else found their cat has been fitted with a recording device?’  ”

  “  ‘Tinfoil does prevent alien abduction. Confirmed,’  ” continued Michael.

  “Who are these people?” asked Parker as he scrolled down. He was getting the feeling that this was not going to be providing him with any of the answers he needed.

  “They’re all nuts,” said Michael. “It’s a conspiracy forum. Who’s Cassandra?”

  Parker continued to scroll down as he answered Michael. “From Greek mythology. She’s the one who always told the truth and nobody believed her.”

  “Wow. Weird,” said Michael. “Okay. This isn’t going to work. Let’s search for something else.”

  Parker shook his head. “I want to find what it says about Solomon. There has to be something if it came up in the search.”

  He scrolled down farther.

  All new models of microwaves fitted with timed detonators.

  Reality shows are vehicles for government mind-control program.

  All twelve-year-olds have superpowers for one year only. Worldwide cover-up!

  Flood in Philippines was deliberate! Hollywood to blame!!!

  Utopian planet called SIX being constructed by Avecto Enterprises. Funded by the elite.

>   “Got it!” shouted Parker. Michael spun his chair around as Parker followed the link to the post. Parker bit his lip as they both began to read.

  There is a planet called SIX being prepared for the elite to escape to when Earth’s natural resources run out.

  THIS IS 100 PERCENT TRUE!!!

  Parker dropped his head in disappointment. “Oh no.”

  “It gets better,” said Michael.

  Parker could barely bring himself to read on.

  It is being built by a company called Avecto Enterprises. (Look them up here. They say they are a telecommunications company. This is NOT TRUE.) It is being funded by the US government and other individual investors and countries in the West. Other countries definitely involved: United Kingdom, Austria, New Zealand, Ireland, Greece, Canada, Norway, Germany, France, Italy.

  Billions of dollars have been sent to SIX. Funding has increased heavily in the last five years. I believe this is because they are planning to leave Earth soon.

  READ THE NEWS!

  Why do you think there are recessions happening? Where do you think all the money has disappeared to?

  THE MONEY IS BEING SENT OVER TO SIX!!!!

  Avecto Enterprises is run by Warren Bowveld. He is the one responsible for sourcing investment. The head of the program itself was a man called Solomon Gladstone. He disappeared three years ago.

  When I tried to find out who replaced him, THEY TRIED TO KILL ME.

  SPREAD THE WORD. KNOWLEDGE IS POWER.

  Source: My dad worked for Avecto.

  * * * * * *

  “I’ll search again,” said Michael.

  “We can’t ignore that!” said Parker.

  “Yes, we can.”

  “No, we can’t. I know it’s crazy, but he says his name. And the company my dad works for.”

  “You really think your dad’s been taken to another planet?”

  “No, of course not. I’m just saying he knows about Solomon Gladstone. He might know where I can find him.”

  Parker clicked on the name of the person who had posted it. “Anteater,” muttered Parker. “What kind of a name is that?”

  “The name of a lunatic,” replied Michael.

  “Wow,” said Parker, staring at Anteater’s profile. On it was a list of his posts—all 2,623 of them.

  “They all say the same thing,” said Parker, scrolling down.

  “E-mail address?”

  Parker shook his head. “Nothing.” He went back to the original post. “I’ll leave him a message. What shall I write?”

  “You need help.”

  Parker frowned.

  “Okay, okay. Just ask him to e-mail you. Hold on . . .”

  Michael picked up a pen and scrawled down an e-mail address. “Use this,” he said. He slid the piece of paper over to Parker. “It’s untraceable.”

  Parker nodded and began to write.

  URGENT! Please contact me. I need more information. E-mail me at donteventhinkabouttryingtotracethis@grapevine.com.

  “Is that enough?”

  Michael shrugged. “Probably. Maybe just add a line about believing him or something. Lie.”

  Parker nodded. He turned back to his computer to write, when a familiar sensation ran up his arm.

  “Emma!” said Parker, turning his wrist to look down.

  Michael looked impressed. “So cool,” he muttered as Parker pressed down on her light.

  Emma?

  Parker! What happened to Dad?

  Parker froze. How do you know?

  They sent police to the swimming tournament to get me. They said Dad’s been in an accident.

  Parker felt himself turn pale. Do not go with them, Emma.

  He turned to Michael. “They’re trying to take Emma. Get Brendan.”

  Who’s that? asked Emma.

  I’m with Michael. Listen. Do not go anywhere with them, okay? They’re lying. Just get away from them. We’ll come get you.

  What?

  Dad was right about those men yesterday. He’s been kidnapped. Get away from them now.

  Emma was silent.

  Emma! Did you hear me? I said whatever you do, do not go with them.

  There was no response. Parker flipped his wrist around to check that the light was still on.

  Emma?

  When Emma finally replied, her voice was barely more than a whisper.

  It’s too late, Parker. I already did.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  All his life Parker had been told to get an adult when help was needed. Being bullied? Tell a teacher. Lost? Find a policeman. He had been programmed to think, from day one, that everything—from feeling unwell to opening an oven door—required the help of a responsible adult. It had been a while since he’d needed to ask for adult assistance with oven-opening, but for the big things he had always had his father to turn to. Until now. Now, for the first time in his life, there was no adult to take charge of the situation. Brendan would help—and he was grateful for that—but how long would that help last? And anyway, Brendan could only help with what Parker told him he needed to do. That required a plan.

  Emma. Listen to me.

  Parker, I’m scared.

  Don’t be scared. I’m going to come and get you. I just need to know where you are. Look around you. What do you see?

  Parker waited.

  There’s not much. We’re driving past fields.

  There must be something.

  A barn. And a house.

  Come on, Emma.

  That’s it!

  Keep looking. Did the men say anything to you? Do you know where you’re being taken?

  No. They freaked out when they realized I was deaf, and then they started arguing with each other. I couldn’t lip-read what they were saying.

  But they’re policemen? You’re in a patrol car?

  Emma’s voice went quiet again. No. It’s a normal car.

  Okay. But they’re wearing uniforms?

  Emma?

  No!

  Parker could tell by the high-pitched voice coming through Effie that Emma was crying.

  They had badges.

  Badges? Emma!

  They knew my name. They knew Dad’s name. Even my teachers believed them. You would have gone with them too, wouldn’t you?

  Parker had to admit she had a point. Fine, just—

  He was interrupted by Michael running back into the room. “Brendan’s waiting in the car.”

  Parker nodded and jumped up. We’re going to come get you. You just need to work out where you are. Do you see anything?

  Just houses. Nothing . . . wait! A dentist sign. It’s bright pink, in the shape of wings. It’s called . . . the Tooth Fairy.

  Parker ran back over to the computer.

  “What are you doing?” asked Michael.

  “Hold on . . . found it!” He searched frantically around the desk for something to write on. He picked up the thing nearest to him—a computer manual. He started to rip off the back cover.

  “Um. Parker. Don’t . . . ,” said Michael.

  Parker glared over as Michael ran to a drawer and pulled out a wad of fresh white paper. “Here. Use this.”

  Parker snatched the paper from him and grabbed a pen from a pen pot. He scribbled down the address, then folded the paper and stuffed it into his jacket pocket as he ran out of the room with Michael.

  * * * * * *

  As Brendan drove them in the direction of the dental practice, Emma began to be able to offer them more information. Parker wrote down everything she said while Michael relayed it all to Brendan.

  “They’re not far,” said Brendan. “We’re fifteen minutes behind them.”

  Michael turned to Parker. “What are we going to do when we get there?”

  Up until that point Michael had acted as if this was an elaborate game—a bit of an adventure. But now, for the first time, Parker saw fear in his eyes.

  “I don’t know,” admitted Parker. He didn’t. All he knew was that he had already l
ost his mum and his dad and he wasn’t going to lose his sister, too. But that, Parker knew, was neither Brendan nor Michael’s problem.

  “If you want to,” said Parker, “you can leave me there.”

  Brendan shook his head. “Don’t be silly.”

  Parker didn’t have a chance to thank him as he was interrupted by Emma’s voice.

  Shady Brook Lane, said Emma. Parker wrote it down and turned it to show Michael.

  We’re slowing down! We’re here!

  Where?

  It’s a house. Parker! Why are they taking me to a house?

  The mailbox, Emma! What’s the number on it?

  1420.

  Okay. Emma, calm down. This is what you’re going to do . . .

  * * * * * *

  Ideally, Effie would have been able to pick up on conversations happening around Emma. Were that possible, Emma, in a sense, would not have been deaf anymore. On the face of it, it seemed like a relatively easy problem to solve—certainly easier than inventing a thought-translating device—but it had turned out to be far more complex than their father had first imagined. Their father’s attempts at an ear-implanted microphone had been uncomfortable and confusing, mostly because the microphone was unable to distinguish between voices and ambient noise. The result was a constant stream of gibberish racing across the lens of Emma’s glasses, intermingled with whatever recognizable words the microphone picked up. Emma had hated it. She had found it too distracting and, anyway, as far as Emma was concerned, she did not need fixing. Effie was fine, and useful at home, but in the outside world Emma wore her badge of deafness with pride. She was unique and proud of it. Nobody Emma cared about had ever treated her like she had a disability, and she had never felt like she had one. So at her request the microphone had been discarded and the idea never pursued any further. This had never concerned Parker one way or another—right up until the moment his sister got kidnapped and he couldn’t hear what was going on.

  There was, however, a solution. By listening to a conversation—or lip-reading it, in Emma’s case—and consciously repeating what you saw or heard, preceded by the name of whoever was speaking—the person on the other line of Effie could follow what was happening. It was this that Parker asked Emma to do as Brendan raced to reach her.