But as to the white-faced snarling man, she had no doubt. Daddy. Her real daddy, not Professor Harrison, who she had only come to call Daddy since her real father died in the accident.
She zoomed in on the photo until the wide-eyed face occupied the screen. But if Daddy had died, then how did the photo get on this phone? And why did he look so angry? Professor Harrison, had given her Agent Blanchard’s phone after it had proved useless. Why did he say it was useless? She struggled to remember everything that had happened after all the excitement of Sarina and Nathan appearing out of thin air in the café at the lab building. Then she remembered. Nathan had brought the phone back through the portal from the other world. She remembered the adults discussing the phone and Professor Harrison had suggested the insides of the phone must have been damaged when it travelled through the portal.
But no one had thought to look at the photos stored in the phone. Only Lena, when she had started to play with her new toy. She didn’t even know who had taken the picture—no one else she recognised appeared in any of them—but there was one thing she did know: the photo was recent. Daddy hadn’t died. He was alive, in a forest somewhere, and she had to find him.
She wondered why he looked so strange in the photo; so different to the other photos she knew him from. Perhaps Professor Harrison would know?
Lena imagined showing the phone to her acting-daddy and his reaction. She pulled the phone in tight to her chest. Professor Harrison would take the phone away from her, and they would all tell her she was mistaken, and that her father had lost his life in the accident five years ago when she was a baby. They’d say her mind was playing tricks on her. They might even take her to a doctor.
But she could see that it was Daddy in the photo—and anyway, the phone was hers now.
Lena sneaked another look at the precious photo, and an idea slipped into her head. A very good idea. One she was sure both daddies would be proud of. She would be scientific about the photo. Professor Harrison would like that. She would become a detective, and track down who took the photo and where.
She frowned. How could she do that, without giving anything away? She was never going to show the phone to anyone again, or they would take Daddy away from her. She would have to be very clever with her idea. But still ... how would she find out more? She gazed around her room, thinking hard, and found the answer staring her in the face. A yellow helmet on a shelf across from her bed.
The yellow-hat Intensifiers were invented by Professor Harrison to try to help the Dreamer Kids strengthen their rem-power. The one on her shelf was a mock-up that the Professor had given her to play with once they had the real ones built. Lena had even used one to help Sarina try to rescue Nathan—but the hat wasn’t the answer she was pleased to find. It was what the hat helped you to do better when you wore it.
Dream power.
She would use her dream powers, just like Sarina did, to find where Daddy was. Professor Harrison had already told her she was almost as powerful as Sarina when it came to manipulating rem, and Sarina was much older than her. She wouldn’t need the silly yellow hat. But this time she’d avoid any contact with that ugly bird-man, even though Nathan had told her that he and Sarina had taken care of that thing.
She was convinced Daddy was alive. How else could he appear in a photo? Wherever he was, she was certain he would respond to her dreams. Lena pushed the phone under her pillow and lay down on the bed. She would begin tonight.
~ 3 ~
Moonies
The Parkes Observatory, New South Wales, Australia (known locally as ‘The Dish’)
Dr. Ashley Green stared at the screen and rubbed her eyes for the third time. The figures still didn’t make sense, no matter which way she sliced and diced them. She yawned and stretched, swivelled her chair away from the array of monitors and rolled across to the phone. She glanced at her watch: past ten on a Friday night, no wonder the place was deserted. But she knew one person who would still be at work—and buried deep in his own obsession, taking full advantage of unfettered access to all the resources. Friday nights were quiet nights at most observatories, and she was willing to bet that TJ was still at his post over at one of Australia’s biggest observatories: the Australian Astronomical Observatory in Coonabarabran, almost 300km away.
She grinned as she picked up the phone. Most of her European colleagues thought The Parkes observatory and Australian Astronomical Observatory were on each other’s doorstep. In Australian terms, that was true—most Aussies wouldn’t blink an eye at driving the 280-odd kilometres separating the two observatories, which was more-or-less a local trip—but that same distance would almost get you from London to Paris, cities that were hardly the best of friends.
The phone ID-screen showed who she was calling: Thomas James Thomas. Every time she saw that it made her laugh. No wonder TJ used his initials—those years of classroom sniggers whenever ‘Thomas Thomas’ was yelled sarcastically from a roll-call must have hurt.
The phone answered. “Yo?” Yep, that was TJ alright. No fancy ‘Professor Thomas’ for him.
“TJ.”
“Ash! Wassup? I might have guessed you’d still be at work on a Friday night.”
She smiled. He must have seen ‘The Dish’ pop up on his caller ID.
“TJ, have you been tracking the moon over there?”
“Stupid question, Ash. We track everything!”
“No, I mean, have you been tracking the moon recently?”
“Well no, but you guys at the Dish don’t do anything else, do you?”
“Ha ha, very funny.” TJ was teasing her about The Dish’s most famous assignment: when they had worked with NASA to track the very first landing on the moon. Ever since then, anyone working at the Parkes Observatory was often referred to as a ‘Moonie’. “But this is strange. I’ve been researching changes in the moonscape—”
“See. I rest my case.”
“Shut up, TJ, or I’ll make your face look like the moonscape the next time I see you. Now listen to me. I need your help.” There was silence. “Thank you. As I was saying, I’ve been tracking changes in the moonscape, and I picked up some aberrations from the surface that don’t make any sense.”
“You want me to take a look?”
“Wait until you hear the full story. What I finally worked out was that the aberrations weren’t from the moonscape changing. They are from changes in the moon’s orbit.”
“So what? The moon’s orbit changes from time-to-time anyway—you moonies should know that, of all people. Or don’t you remember the supermoon from school?”
Ashley sighed. “Yes, of course I know that. But that’s what’s strange. The supermoon phenomenon only happens because the moon’s elliptical orbit brings it closer to the Earth—which is not the same thing as a change in the base orbit, Mr Clever Clogs, who has obviously forgotten his own schooling. Those fractional changes are well documented and occur in obvious patterns. My moonscape program was already programmed to take that into account, Professor Thomas Thomas—”
“Ouch.”
“Think nothing of it. But as you probably know”—she couldn’t resist a sarcastic tone—“our equipment here is Jurassic compared to yours. Would you mind just a tiny bit if you could double-check my data?”
“Sure, Ash, send it right over.” TJ’s voice had dropped the humour. “Will you be there for a little while yet?”
“Surely the great TJ will have this analysed, tabulated and corroborated on the fancy new machinery in no time at all? Yes, of course, I’ll be here. Give me a moment and I’ll drop the files in the box.” She paused. “And thanks. From one moonie to another.” She waited for the laugh from the other end, and hung up. TJ was just as much a moonie as she was, but he’d been head-hunted from The Dish to the high-tech AAO a couple of years back. She opened the file folder and dragged all her data over to TJ’s drive, knowing he’d see the pop up notification as soon as they copied.
She stood, stretched again and walked to the wi
ndow, where she could see the silhouette of the Dish itself, contrasted quite brilliantly—and coincidentally, she thought—by the rising moon, which as usual looked far bigger when close to the earth’s surface.
She’d been standing there two minutes when the phone rang.
“TJ. That was fast.”
“I couldn’t resist your challenge. Anyway, our equipment here uses real electricity you know, not steam.”
“Next time I see you, that moonscape cosmetic surgery is guaranteed.”
“You’ll forget all about that in a moment: I’ve looked at your data and you are right, it is strange. It’s only a few hundred kilometres, but the moon has pulled its orbit a little closer to us. Which is odd, since we usually expect it to be moving further away.”
“Exactly what my old steam-pump equipment told me, TJ, so what’s new?”
“What’s new is that I will happily verify your data. What’s more interesting is what we do with it. I think there are two questions: One; is this an aberration, or in other words a new variance on the orbital inconsistencies already mapped, and if so where does that come from; and the second question is do we share the data, or just watch and wait, so we don’t make fools of ourselves?”
“That’s three questions. And it’s my discovery, so forget about the ‘we’ you so casually throw around. But if you want to commit some of your modern electricity to it ... then I’m all for the last option. We watch, track it more specifically, then if there is an obvious pattern, we’d better get the rest of the world onto my discovery. With your name credited.”
TJ sniggered down the phone. “Sure thing, Ash. I’ll have the boys generate a bit more power for you. But seriously, I’ll set up micro-tracking in a protected file you’ll be able to access from there too. Anyway, why would the Great TJ want to be named alongside a moonie for discovering some meaningless new shake of the moon’s orbit?”
“Oh, shut up.” She hung up and walked back to the window to peer up at the night sky. Meaningless? Maybe. Strange? Definitely.
~~~
Much later that same day on the other side of the world—already the next day in Australia—Sarina yawned, and leaned into her mother’s arm. She’d travelled home from London to meet her mother and attend an evening workshop for young artists. She’d left Rona to do her own thing back in London, and arranged to pick her up at the train station the next day.
Not long after her thirteenth birthday, Sarina had been invited to be one of the workshop assistants, whose role was to help the other young students refine their work. She’d accepted some weeks ago, seeing it as another chance to practice the leadership skills she’d need when she got into Sir Drysdale’s program. But not even Drysdale’s damning assessment could dampen her delight at helping young kids and watching them jump for joy when their creativity sparked.
She’d prepared well, knowing in advance tonight’s topic would be nature and beauty, and had filled her notebook with sketches of her own, noting when something struck her, and why.
But the notebook was gone. Rona and she had revisited the café later in the day, but the owner had shaken her head. “No, dear. Nothing like that handed in.”
She had a suspicion that the man reading the newspaper had taken it—but why? She shook the thought free. Apart from losing her sketches, it wasn’t that important, and hadn’t made any difference to the evening’s activities. Which had been rewarding.
She’d been helping a younger boy, who’d decided to attempt a watercolour rendition of a dark and sombre marshland. She’d asked him why.
“Cos it’s cool and scary.” At first he’d been reluctant to accept her help, but when he realised she was only asking questions and not telling him what to do, he relaxed. “I like scary shows on TV. And scary books.” He looked glum. “But this looks like a dark mess.”
“Try standing back. What do you see?”
Together they moved back from the easel.
“It’s too black.”
She nodded. “Maybe. But what’s missing?”
He looked at her and shrugged. “Dunno. Some different colours?”
She smiled at him. “Don’t worry about the painting. Think about what you’re trying to say. Why is this a scary place?”
He brightened. “Cos it would be freaky to go in there.”
“Why?”
He screwed up his face. “Might be something in there that bites off your arm? Or sucks your face off.”
She grimaced. The boy had a darker imagination than she did. “Yikes. That does sound scary. So in these books and TV shows that you like, do they just show scenes of scary places? What happens exactly?” She was trying to get him to figure out his own problem.
He turned around and gawked at her. “Nah, of course not. There’s a scary place, but then a kid or something comes along and—” A strange expression came over him.
She raised her eyebrows. “And?”
“There’s nothing in my painting that needs to be scared, is there?”
She grinned. He was on the right track. “There you go. Your painting is good actually, really good. From the point of view of showing a dark scary place. But how do you know when something is scary?”
He grinned back at her. “When something is being scared.”
“So what could you add to your painting that would show that there is something scary going on? Make sure it’s something from nature.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Whoa. I could paint like a pretty flower or something growing out of the marsh and then behind it some flesh-eating plant like that Venus flytrap thing could be rising up without the flower knowing.” Now his eyes were bright. He looked at Sarina. “Is that what you mean?”
She smiled. “Yes. And try using an acrylic or an oil for the flower, so it really looks bright and alive, and different to the background.” She leaned closer to him, and briefly looked around to make sure no one else could hear before she whispered to him. “And make the thing behind it really scary.”
The boy’s eyes widened more and he couldn’t contain his glee. “Cool. Thanks, Miss.” He reached for his brush.
She walked off, smiling.
At the end of the workshop, the boy had come up to her, and held up his canvas. “Miss. Miss. What do you think?”
She looked at the picture. A bright orange, orchid-like flower stood in the foreground in stark contrast to the dark marshland it grew from. Behind it, in monochromatic greys, black and some white highlights, reached an ugly and menacing-looking plant. A mouth-like protuberance was open and about to bear down on the pretty little flower. She shivered and looked at the boy. “That is scary! Brilliant.”
The boy grinned. “Couldn’t have done it without your help. Thanks.” He ran off clutching his work, and handed it to a proud mother who looked over at Sarina and smiled.
Sarina’s mother walked over. She had a strange, distant expression on her face. “He seemed happy. Did you tell him to paint that orchid?”
“No. He came up with that scary stuff all by himself. Very imaginative.”
Her mother nodded slowly, then opened her mouth as if to say something, then thought better of it.
“What?”
Her mother shook her head. “Not important.” She smiled at Sarina. “Shall we go? You look tired.”
Sarina nodded. “Long day, Mum.” But it had been good to get out and escape from her own reality for a while. They waved goodbye to the workshop organiser and walked out into the fresh evening air. She took a deep breath and looked up into the clear night sky. “Wow. Look at the moon, Mum. It’s huge!”
Her mother looked up and nodded.
Sarina felt a tingle down her spine. “Do you think it looks ... much bigger than normal?”
Her mother laughed. “Science really isn’t your favourite subject, is it? Don’t you kids get taught anything? The moon only looks bigger when it’s closer to the horizon, that’s all. When I was young, we were made to measure it at first rise, then again when
it was high in the sky. One looks about three times bigger than the other, but there is absolutely no difference, I can assure you. It’s just an optical illusion. No different to you painting something with perspective really.”
Sarina wasn’t listening. Her mother had invoked the evil thing: science. Why did science always come back to haunt her? Why did magical things like the moon appearing to be enormous have to be reduced to mere ‘science’? As far as she could see, all scientists wanted to do was to take the fun out of anything. She peered at the moon again. Wouldn’t Nathan say it looked bigger than normal? She made a note to ask him, though no doubt he would calmly recite some nugget of scientific explanation from his famous great-great-grandfather. Bah!
~ 4 ~
TV Parents
Unbeknownst to Sarina, Nathan was anything but calmly reciting words of scientific wisdom.
“Drat and double drat! This thing is utter rubbish!” He thumped the desk, not that it helped speed the computer up any. “Come on, you stupid machine!” He slumped back into the chair and watched the spinning icon on his father’s computer, which gave no indication how much more thinking time the outdated machine needed to complete its onerous task.
Nathan looked at the time. 8:30pm. Which meant he’d been working for an hour trying to run a simple encryption routine. Well maybe it was simple for a computer built after the beginning of the century ... but his father’s? Nope. His parents spent more money on upgrading their TV than almost anything else in the house—and as for a new computer? He could hear his dad’s voice right now: ‘And Nathan, what do you suppose your mother and I would do with such a device?’ He sighed and ran his hands through his hair—then stopped mid-stroke with his hand on his head.
He leaned forward and cancelled the current operation, which he had to admit, was satisfying and frustrating at the same time. Frustrating because he’d already spent an hour waiting for the stupid thing to finish the job, and now he would have to start again, but satisfying because he’d just thought of a much faster way to get it done.
The Dreamer Chronicles Trilogy Boxed Set Vol I - III: A Sci-Fi Parallel Universe Adventure (The Dreamer Chronicles - Science Fiction For Kids And Adults) Page 68