by Steve Voake
‘Quite so,’ said Firebrand. ‘Exactly that. And as far as we can understand it, a new physical body formed around your essence as you approached Aurobon – a bit like a photograph developing in a darkroom. Somehow, someone – maybe the Olumnus – managed to change the image for a while, but basically your body was identical to the one you left behind, only smaller because of its new environment.’
‘So if I’m not dead,’ said Sam, ‘then what am I?’
‘Good question,’ said Firebrand. ‘Your Earth body is, at this moment, lying in the intensive-care unit of Queen’s Hospital. Heard of it?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ said Sam, finding it almost impossible to believe what he was hearing.
‘You were flown there by helicopter and have remained in a coma ever since,’ Firebrand continued. ‘It seems the doctors don’t hold out much hope for you.’
Skipper squeezed Sam’s hand again. ‘What do they know?’ she said dismissively.
‘Now, I’ll be honest with you, Sam. Although we’ve been able to move between Aurobon and Earth for generations, none of us has ever had experience of anything like this. As far as I’m aware, no one from your world has ever strayed into ours before. It was never thought possible, at least not that a person could be in both worlds at the same time. We have watched people die in your world many times, seen their strings finally break and their bodies fade to dust. But we’ve been watching you up there, in your hospital bed, breathing through all those tubes. And here’s the thing: you don’t look like those others did. Not at all.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Sam.
‘Usually when separation occurs – when the string is cut – the body gives up. The life goes out of it and it withers away to nothing.’
He paused for a moment, as if trying to make sense of what he had seen.
‘But in yours, the life force is still strong. Despite Odoursin’s best efforts, it seems that there is an even greater power somehow keeping your Earth body alive.’
Sam shook his head. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said at last. ‘What are you saying?’
Firebrand leant closer and, when he spoke, the words came like sunshine after a storm.
‘I’m saying that the doctors are wrong, Sam. I’m saying that your body is still alive, it wants you back and that is where you belong. But first we have some unfinished business. Let us not forget the words of the prophecy: “The Dreamwalker’s Child shall rise up against the Darkness.”’
Firebrand paused and then nodded.
‘And so you shall, Sam. We will begin our preparations immediately. But if the prophecy is correct, then your role in any attack against Vermia must be a key one. And for that, I think, you are going to need some training.’
Before Sam could ask any questions, Firebrand leant forward and pressed a button on his desk. ‘Mr Palmer will be requiring his room now, Sanderson.’
The long white corridor seemed to go on for miles and after a while the blank, featureless walls made Sam feel quite dizzy. His feet were aching by the time they finally came to a halt, but they didn’t appear to have arrived anywhere in particular. The corridor continued on in both directions.
‘Your room, sir,’ said Sanderson. A slight, dignified inclination of the head gave the impression that serving others was a lifetime’s ambition he had been lucky enough to achieve.
Sam looked at the smooth, creamy walls and then back at the silver-haired Sanderson, impeccably dressed in a black suit with trouser creases you could cut your fingers on.
‘Hmm,’ said Sam. ‘OK.’
He looked again. Nope. No door. There was an uncomfortable silence. ‘And the room is… where exactly?’
Sanderson looked at Sam, looked at the corridor wall, looked back at Sam. A confused expression momentarily clouded his face, but then realisation dawned and the expression evaporated.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, ‘my mistake. I’d forgotten you were a new arrival.’ He touched the wall with a white-gloved hand. ‘It’s simply a matter of voice activation,’ he explained, ‘to ensure extra security. Just say your name to gain entry.’
Sam raised his eyebrows and looked doubtfully at the wall, then stole a sideways glance at Sanderson to see if he was serious. Apparently so. Sanderson did not look the sort to indulge in practical jokes. A white glove gestured in the direction of the wall.
‘Please.’
Sam cleared his throat. ‘Sam,’ he said.
Nothing happened.
Sanderson tilted his head to one side and whispered from the corner of his mouth, ‘If I might suggest your full name, sir.’
‘Oh. Right,’ Sam replied, ‘of course.’ There was a pause as once again he mentally prepared himself to speak to a wall. ‘Sam Palmer,’ he said.
Immediately a blue rectangular line appeared, glowed once and then disappeared along with the rectangle of wall inside it.
‘Oh, I get it,’ said Sam, suddenly understanding, ‘that’s like the cellular-restructuring beams, the ones they use to make the doors on insects and stuff.’
‘I believe the technology has some similarities, sir,’ agreed Sanderson. ‘Shall we?’
They walked through the newly formed doorway into a light, open room with a long, curving window at the far end. Part of the window had been opened to allow access to a balcony. Sam felt the heat of the afternoon wafting through and watched a group of three wasps come in to land on the airstrip in front of them.
The floor was covered in a thick white carpet and to his left Sam noticed that a blue uniform of some kind had been laid out on the bed. On the floor beneath it was a pair of shiny black boots.
‘I assumed you would be tired after your long journey,’ Sanderson explained, ‘so I have taken the liberty of drawing a hot bath and will arrange for some food to be sent up presently.’
Sam glimpsed a brightly lit bathroom through a half-open door to his right. He realised that he hadn’t washed for days and felt a pleasant tingle of anticipation as he pictured himself sinking happily into the warm water.
‘I hope everything will be to your liking, sir,’ said Sanderson, ‘but if there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to call me on this.’ He indicated a small metal grille on the wall with a red button beneath it.
‘Great, thank you,’ said Sam, still slightly stunned by the luxury of his new surroundings.
‘I will wake you at six-thirty tomorrow for breakfast at seven,’ said Sanderson. ‘I have taken the liberty of laying out your flying suit for the morning.’
Sam looked across at the clothes on the bed. ‘Flying suit?’ he said.
‘Of course,’ said Sanderson. ‘Your training starts tomorrow.’
Much later, Sam opened his eyes and realised two things: one, that he had fallen asleep in the bath and two, that the water had gone cold. Clambering out, he towelled himself dry and pulled on a warm robe that had been left for him on the radiator. His shoulder wound still hurt, but it was healing up nicely and the warm water had definitely helped to ease his aches and pains.
He padded out of the bathroom onto the thick white carpet and spotted a plate of sandwiches on the table. Realising how hungry he was, he bit into one and discovered that it was filled with a deliciously smoky cheese. He wolfed it down and then, picking up another one, he wandered out onto the balcony and looked out across the airfield. Although it was still quite warm, the sun had gone down and a gentle breeze blew in from the west. He had obviously been asleep for some time. A solitary wasp took off from the far side of the airstrip, its low hum fading as it rose above the perimeter fence and turned away towards the distant mountains.
Sam thought about all the things that Firebrand had told him, about the prophecy, the threat to the Earth, the accident. About him being a balloon that had floated into the wrong room. He thought of his mother and father, watching over his broken body in a world that was now lost to him, a world that had once seemed so permanent and secure. ‘Don’t give up on me,’ he whispered i
nto the darkness. ‘Please don’t give up.’
Then he turned and walked back inside, carefully closing the window behind him.
Twenty-four
Sam stood on the edge of the long swimming pool and peered down into its blue depths. The crisp new uniform that he had put on so proudly that morning, with its yellow and black stripes on the cuffs and shiny silver buttons, was now hanging on a peg in the changing rooms. Instead he wore a green T-shirt and a pair of grey cotton shorts which came down to his knees.
‘Looks inviting, don’t it?’
The young man standing next to him was about eighteen, with closely cropped black hair and an easy smile. He was tall and rangy and looked as though he could run like a whippet.
‘Hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you seem awful small to be a pilot. Maybe you should’ve ate up them vegetables when your mum told you to.’
Sam looked at the row of men standing along the side of the pool and realised that he was the youngest and shortest person there by a considerable margin.
The man had a point.
‘It isn’t the vegetables so much,’ replied Sam, ‘it’s more to do with how long I’ve actually been eating them. I’m still at school, you know.’ He thought for a moment. ‘At least, I was…’
‘Well, I ain’t wet or nothing, so I guess I ain’t been swimmin’,’ said the man, with a look of mock disbelief on his face, ‘but I think my ears still got stuffed up with water, cos I’m damn sure you jus’ said you was still at school.’
‘That’s right,’ said Sam. ‘I am.’
The man made a big show of sticking his little finger in one ear, wiggling it about and then thumping it with his palm to remove imaginary water.
‘Say that again?’
‘I’m still at school,’ Sam repeated, unable to stop himself from smiling at the pantomime being performed in front of him.
The man stopped, raised his eyebrows and looked Sam up and down, like a farmer who can’t decide whether to buy a horse.
‘Well now,’ he said at last, ‘either they’re getting desperate or you must be one hell of a flier.’ He scratched the back of his head and then nudged the man standing next to him, a stocky, muscular youth of a similar age who had been on the receiving end of a similar haircut to his friend.
‘Did you hear that, Zip?’ he said. ‘This one’s still at school.’
Zip nodded and gave a slow, relaxed smile. He struck Sam as someone who would remain fairly calm even if his shorts caught on fire. ‘Age doesn’t matter,’ he said, and tapped the side of his head. ‘It’s wisdom that counts.’
He stepped forward and offered his hand to Sam, who shook it and said, ‘Sam Palmer. I just arrived yesterday.’
‘Good to meet you, Sam. My name’s Zip and this here’s Mump.’
Mump nodded and grinned like a child, showing a mouthful of sparkly white teeth.
‘So how come you’ve just joined the programme? I know we’re the newest squad on the base, but we’ve been training a few weeks already.’
Sam thought about the secret briefing he’d attended earlier that morning, thought about the imminent attack that was planned against Vermian airbases and realised that these young pilots were still unaware of the dangers that lay ahead. So he just shrugged and said, ‘All I know is I have to take this evacuation drill today and then I’m on something called dual-flight training tomorrow.’
‘Ah, OK,’ said Zip, seeming to understand. ‘They must have you in mind for something pretty soon. That’s why you’re getting a crash course in the basics.’
Mump sniggered. ‘Crash course,’ he said. ‘You got that right.’
At that moment an abrupt order was shouted from the far end of the pool. Everyone snapped to attention – shoulders back, eyes straight ahead – and Sam turned to see a short, powerfully built man with close-cropped red hair step up to the water’s edge and bang the tiled floor with a long, gold-topped cane. Sam noticed he walked with a slight limp.
‘That’s Brindle,’ whispered Zip, ‘survival expert and official nutcase. He was shot down over the forest and got his leg blown off in a minefield. Sort of thing that would set a bloke back a bit, you might think. But not Brindle. When the ants picked him up he was busy carving himself a new leg out of a tree stump. Give him another week and he’d have been attacking them with a machete made out of twigs.’
‘Just look at him,’ said Mump. ‘I’d surrender. No question.’
Sam looked at Brindle, with his small hard eyes and short bristling red hair. ‘Me too,’ he said.
Next to Brindle was a high metal tower with a set of steps leading up at the back. At the top of the tower was a metal box in the shape of a wasp’s head, with glass screens where the eyes would normally have been. There were gaps at the side and through them Sam could just make out a single seat of battered brown leather. A length of steel track – not unlike the rails of a rollercoaster – sloped steeply down from the front of the tower into the pool, where it continued all the way to the bottom before finally straightening out again.
‘All right, now listen up,’ Brindle shouted. ‘If you pay attention to every word I say and follow my instructions to the letter, then you will not get hurt.
Do you understand?’
‘Sir, yes sir!’ everyone roared back.
Sam jumped at the unexpected volume of the reply, then recovered and quickly stood to attention, staring straight ahead and watching the early-morning sunlight dapple the water with bright intricate patterns.
‘Upon my command you will enter the capsule and the safety officer will check that your harness is secure. The capsule will then be launched. Upon impact with the water the capsule will immediately turn upside down. Only when it is fully inverted and stationary should you attempt to release the harness and swim to the surface. Rescue divers will be on hand should you encounter any difficulties, but follow my instructions and they will not be necessary.’
‘Too right they won’t be necessary,’ hissed Mump out of the corner of his mouth, ‘cos I ain’t going anywhere near that damn thing.’ He grinned and winked in Sam’s direction.
There was a long pause, then the slow, steady tread of footsteps over tiles as Brindle’s boots echoed their way up the side of the pool towards them. Heads automatically turned to face the front.
‘Uh-oh,’ said Mump. ‘Now I gone and done it.’
Sam heard the boots pass behind him and then squeak once as Brindle swivelled around to look at Mump. Sam watched from the corner of his eye as the instructor leant his face in close.
‘Did you say something to me, boy?’ he said with quiet but unmistakable menace.
Mump swallowed so hard that the gulp was audible, but he followed it quickly with a shout of, ‘Sir, no sir!’
‘I’m sorry,’ said the instructor, ‘I didn’t quite catch that.’
‘Sir, no sir!’ shouted Mump again.
‘No. Well then, I must have been hearing things. Do you think I was hearing things, boy?’
‘Sir, yes sir.’ Here Mump glanced at the amazed face of the instructor and then quickly changed his mind, ‘I mean sir, no sir!’
Brindle leant back so that his boots squeaked again. He cocked his head on one side and stared at Mump as if contemplating something he had almost stepped in.
‘It seems to me, boy, that you don’t have an idea what to think. So I’m going to straighten out your mind a little with a nice cold wake-up call. Would you like that?’
It seemed for a moment that Mump wasn’t going to answer, but then finally his expression seemed to change to one of unbridled enthusiasm and he shouted, ‘Sir, I would love it, sir!’
The instructor seemed momentarily taken aback by the apparent glee with which Mump had reacted to his question, but quickly recovered and began to lead the way back towards the tower. Sam watched Mump follow and noticed how he almost skipped along behind as if he had been singled out for a special treat.
He stood beneath the tower wi
th his head back and mouth open, looking up at it. Zip sucked air through his teeth and Sam saw a look of concern cross his face.
‘Could be a bit of a problem here,’ he whispered at last.
‘Why?’ asked Sam.
‘Mump can’t swim.’
Sam could see that Mump was quite excited now, shifting his weight rapidly from foot to foot like a small child who has discovered that the toilet door is locked.
‘OK, ladies,’ bellowed Brindle, ‘listen up.’ He lifted his cane and brought it up to rest against Mump’s chest, which seemed to calm him a little. The hopping became less frantic.
‘What we have here is a brave volunteer who is going to show you all how it’s done.’ He turned to Mump. ‘Isn’t that right?’
Mump nodded furiously.
‘Good. What’s your name, son?’
‘Sir, my name’s Mump, sir.’
Brindle considered this for a moment. ‘Well that’s not your fault. Now this here’s your opportunity to be a shining example to your fellow fliers. You, Mump, are to be a beacon that lights the way so that all who witness it experience a perfect vision of how this thing should be done. What you are about to do is an honour and a privilege. How does that feel?’
Mump was beaming happily now. ‘Sir, it feels good, sir!’
‘Of course it does!’ Brindle pointed up the metal steps with his cane. ‘OK, son. Up you go.’
‘I thought you said he couldn’t swim?’ whispered Sam as Mump clambered unsteadily up the first few steps under Brindle’s watchful gaze.
‘He can’t,’ replied Zip. ‘Sinks like a stone every time.’
‘He looks pretty confident to me,’ said Sam.
‘That’s the trouble,’ said Zip. ‘Bags of enthusiasm, acres of self-belief, but no grasp of reality. The thing is, you see – as with everything else – he thinks he can swim.’
‘Oh,’ said Sam. He watched as Mump stepped cheerfully into the cockpit high above the water and allowed himself to be strapped in. ‘Oh dear.’