Muggles Bereaved

by Vernon C Moyse

  “It is also a Cemetery in North Hollywood California. In fact there are several cemeteries or crematoria, another in Birmingham, Alabama and one in St Louis Missouri.”

  “So where would The Needful One, The Prince of Darkness hang out?” asked Lim.

  “St Louis for sure,” joked Carnegie, “along with the other black-hearted freaks.” He was blunt and bluff and would not comprehend British issues of political correctness and racism. Louis was shocked.

  “But is there anything significant about any of those places?” asked Lim.

  “There is!” said Tracy. She was staring at her cellphone, “I quote: ‘The Hollywood cemetery has a special section called the ‘Portal of the Folded Wings Shrine to Aviation’ that is the final resting place for a number of aviation pioneers — barnstormers and, daredevils’.”

  “According to the bible,” said Jim, “The devil is a fallen angel and how would an angel fall? With folded wings.” He shrugged apologetically thinking his argument too tenuous, though intended as a strong support for Tracy.

  “Ordinarily,” said Newton, I would think all of this a fantasy. But with your Companionship’s record of divination, I think not. It is my inclination to suppose that The Needful One now resides in a cemetery in California. We have to go there. Carnegie, how do we achieve it?”

  “My plane can be here at Cardington within the hour. And if Louis can get these young folk passports and visas, we can be on our way.”

  “He will need to get documents for me too,” said Newton. “I never travel.”

  “Why,” queried Lim, can we not simply step into the portal at Cotton End and out again somewhere in California?”

  “I fear that UK portals are blocked from international travel. Wing Commander Anderson was advised of this by the Cotton End Harbourmaster,” said Louis, “I think the block is The Needful One’s doing. Why or how, is anyone’s guess. I must get passports and flight plans sorted.” He hurried away.

  Now you too may have supposed that everyone would simply toddle down to the portal at Cotton End and transport instantly to a portal in the USA. That they did not is not an inconsistency, nor the act of The Needful One. It could be the result of one of those creases in Space-Time that I warned you about. The world flip-flacked into a world of limited portal access in which no intercontinental transport was possible. This may have been a convenience in which the British Aerospace industry gained an opportunity to showboat one of its new space shuttles. But no-one suspected BAE of being capable of interfering with Space-Time. Not then. In the days following the arrival of The Needful One, it is fair to assume that everyone suspects everyone else of being involved in a conspiracy that excludes only them.

  “Now,” said Newton, “You tell me that The Needful One is a shapeshifter. It means we must devise a stratagem for keeping him in view, if and when we find him.”

  “Spray him day-glo orange,” suggested Tracy, abandoning her usual down-to-earth commentary, “and incorporate pepper spray in with the pigment. That should keep him hopping around.”

  “Make it radioactive and luminous, too,” added Jim, “he could become like a gas and being luminous would help.”

  “Well we can try that,” said Newton, “perhaps your people can organise that Carnegie.” He was now wary of dismissing any suggestions from the Companionship.

  “I will get people at Carnegie Mellon onto it. I endowed that darned University and I will challenge them to come up with the best sprays and trackers science can produce.” Carnegie stepped aside and spoke urgently into his phone.

  “This will not be without danger,” said Newton looking at the young faces before him. But what do we know about the weapons at the disposal of The Needful One.”

  “Absolutely nothing,” said Lim. “He fled as soon as he was released from the saucer, but we have at least one weapon that may be useful. Jim’s ability to throw out a cloak that encompasses an entire human being, and even large artifacts. I can tell you, if he had not drawn back that cloak he threw at me I would be imprisoned inside it to this very moment. It appears to be as filmy and yet as strong as a material we have been experimenting with at school. It is called graphene.”

  Newton smiled; “Do you know the properties of graphene?” he went on without waiting for answer. “Graphene is an allotrope of carbon in the structure of a plane of sp2 bonded atoms with a molecule bond length of 0.142 nanometres. It is the thinnest compound known to man at one atom thick and the lightest material known with 1 square meter coming in at around 0.77 milligrams More importantly, it is the strongest compound discovered at between 100-300 times as strong as steel and with a tensile stiffness of 150,000,000 psi. If that cannot hold a demon, nothing can.” No-one realised that Newton was just quoting from a Social Media Encyclopaedia.

  “This may have been other than carbon based,” said Lim, “it had a silvery sheen and a translucence. If there was a compound like graphene, but based on silicon, that would be it.”

  “There are other elements that can be inserted into a similar kind of near two-dimensional lattice and one of them is indeed silicon formed into silicene. But yet stronger materials may be possible using other elements. I would like to examine this material exuded by friend Jim as soon as possible. It is amazing to think that such materials with immense strength may actually weigh less than 12 milligrams for a sheet sized 4 metres by 4 metres. The Needful One may get an unbreakable silver prison with an enclosure weighing no more than 4 human hairs. As to his own powers, if biblical accounts are correct, he is limited to using God’s people to bring about wars and famines on the land, He may not have any direct powers at all. Possessing them would run counter to the bargain he struck with The Almighty. What other powers do you people have?”

  Once again, the representatives of humanity were equating The Needful One to a male offspring of a biblical God.

  The Companions explained again about Lim’s ability to levitate and how that had saved Tracy’s life. Lim then described the scything of inanimate objects. Tracy felt a bit left out and she hesitantly described her facility for weight loss.

  “I asked,” said Newton, “Because of a lesson from Robinson Crusoe. When you are stranded and in trouble, first take stock of all your possessions and capabilities. It seems that your powers are the most likely to be effective in confronting the Needful One and Louis and Carnegie’s men can deliver enormous conventional firepower just to distract attention. Even a demon might experience the need to duck when a heavy calibre shell whistles by his ear, I suggest. Now let us prepare for a our long flight.”

  As Newton and Carnegie exited, Jim spoke, “Typical,” he said, “Newton quotes from an online encyclopaedia, asks us about powers described to him at school, pats us on the back and leaves us with the problem. Priceless, having a genius like that on board.”

  The flight to America was to be much shorter than Newton predicted. But it did not take place until the early hours of the next morning.

  Chapter Thirteen – Spaced Out to California

  They were woken in the small hours by Louis gently shaking a shoulder. “Time to go,” he said, “and this will be a real treat.” It was still dark and they showered sleepily and donned fresh blues. A small valise was provided to each traveller. It held spare clothing, toilet requisites and passport and visa. Lim and Jim gained their first electric razor which was presently unnecessary and Tracy was supplied with a lady shave which she promptly dropped in the bin. They were teenagers not bearded freaks, she reasoned. Of the three of them, Lim, was typically Chinese and almost devoid of facial hair, Tracy had not yet entered the “must shave my armpits and legs” exit from childhood and Jim had just a hint of gingery fluff to contend with. The joys of razor rash were still distant.

  They were led out into a twilight world and across what seemed like acres of tarmac to the distant shape of an aircraft. Jim, an inveterate airplane modeller recognised the long dark shape first.

  “As I live and breath...” a phrase borrow
ed from his father’s lexicon, “... a Skylon!” The surprise was a bit theatrical for he had known from the previous evening that they would take a Skylon flight. Nevertheless it was still exciting.

  “Well spotted,” said Louis. “We decided against using Mr Carnegie’s plane when a Skylon with Sabre 4 engines can get us to California in well under two hours. This one is called The Helen Sharman, named after the UK’s first astronaut.”

  Tracy perked up, freeing her hand from a purloined blanket to punch the air in a ‘yeah to feminism’. It mattered more to Jim that the UK now had a credible space program based around Skylon shuttles. All previous manned space exploits had used American and Russian launch vehicles.

  Tracy said, “Where is Mr Carnegie?”

  “He’s going back with his plane. He has an office and fifty staff on board and lots of business issues to attend to. But he has promised us unlimited financial and material support. And we will be in constant touch with him.”

  “California in under two hours?” Lim did some calculations, “that is over 3000 miles per hour.”

  “Well, yes, I understated the performance somewhat,” said Louis, “I normally do that for security reasons, but since you all have watches, I can tell you that we will arrive in under an hour from departure. The Sabre 4 RocRamFans are impressive beasts. You can Oogle for the public account. But on this flight we will maintain total communications silence and that includes the internet. We have detected what we might call a web stain spreading out of California with a veritable Tsunami of worms and malware rushing before it.”

  “The Needful One?” though spoken by Jim, it was the thought in every mind.

  “It seems probable,” said Louis, “and that devil must be very confident as we can triangulate sources from GCHQ at RAF Cleave in Cornwall.”

  “So you already know that our guess as to his whereabouts was pretty accurate,” said Lim

  “Guess?” queried Jim, “answer to prayer, maybe.” As a convert, Jim had become the more fervent of the Companions. He now used prayer a lot. But he had discerned that you did not always get the answer or result you wanted. You just had to wait and trust. And sometimes, for very logical reasons, it was a seemingly interminable wait.

  They reached the long, cylindrical craft with its tapering nose and marvelled at the sleek grey skin of tiberyllium, the titanium-beryllium alloy that could resist the infernal temperatures of Mach 11 flight and the even higher temperatures of a re-entry from space. The boys marvelled at the sleek shape, but Tracy couldn’t wait to get on board and out of the chilly morning air. Planes were planes. Even the colours weren’t as varied as those of cars. She was not even impressed that a huge amount of graphene was incorporated into the build.

  “It’s tiberyllium over graphene,” said Louis, clearly still one of the boys. “But the really stunning feature is a magneto-repulsive force field that keeps hot air an inch away from contact with the skin at all times.” Realising that his enthusiasm had carried him too far, he added cheerfully, “now I really shall have to kill you. Meantime do not mention a word of that to your Russian agent in King’s Lynn. He may only be a drug dealer but he’d love to make a bit on the side by peddling our secrets.”

  “Why didn’t you include ‘Chinese agents’,” asked Lim.

  “Because you are the son of an RAF Wing Commander and you and your entire family back three generations check out as nothing more sinister than committed capitalists,” laughed Louis, “Jim, with a distant Irish connection to the King of Leinster, Diarmait MacMurchada, is more problematic.”

  “Oh thanks,” said Jim as they climbed the steps to the Skylon, “Just you try to arrest me and I’ll slime you with silicene cloaking and put a cherry on top!”

  “Don’t you dare fart inside my lovely Helen Sharman,” said Louis with a guffaw.

  They all laughed.

  “Seriously,” said Lim, “is there a Russian agent in King’s Lynn?”

  “I very much doubt it,” said Louis, “we have checked the drug dealer and he’s actually wanted by the Russian FSB.”

  “So why don’t you hand the death-dealing scumbag over to the FSB,” said Tracy

  “Can’t tell you,” said Louis, “but it will happen.”

  Inside the Skylon was like any other aircraft, though with fewer seats and all decked out as first class. There was no need of bed-converting seats as most flights were very short indeed. But there was provision for each passenger to have equipment installed for the various and sometimes nefarious purposes of the intelligence Community. There were just two seats on either side of a a central aisle wide enough to accommodate space-suited crewmen. Jim noticed that there were even spare suits and EVA suits at the far end of the aircraft.

  “This aircraft is equiipped for global flying,” said Louis, “ an actual shuttle would have a very different internal layout. A shuttle has to accommodate a large payload bay and so there is only space up front for 8 suited passengers. And there are three shuttle variants, the first with the big payload bay, the second with a smaller bay intended to facilitate operation as a flying space station and the third.”

  “the third being the one you can’t talk about,” said Lim.

  “Frankly, yes,” said Louis.

  “Boys!” said Tracy ”If I know boys it will be a very well kitted out flying stealth bomber.”

  “Gosh.” Was all Louis said.

  The take-off was slow and routine and the build up of speed was gradual owing to restrictions concerning sonic booms over land. But out over the sea and later at very high altitude, the Sabre engines pushed them to speeds in excess of Mach 12. Just how much in excess, Louis would not say.

  Newton who had been busy with his iPad since leaving the terminal and who had sat towards the rear of the cabin to air his concentration, now came forward.

  “With that slow acceleration and, presumably a slow descent and deceleration, we would have to travel at Mach 20 to achieve your estimated time of arrival,” he said.

  Louis groaned, “that is Top Secret information, but killing the Lucasian Professor of Mathematics is not an option, I guess. Just don’t spread the word.”

  “It can’t really be secret,” said Jim, “for a single shot entry to space at high orbit, this shuttle has to be capable of speeds in excess of orbital velocity and therefore more than 18,000 miles per hour.”

  “Your King Diarmit slip is showing, Jim,” said Louis.

  “But that really is public knowledge and simple enough to guess after the 10 launches to build a geo-stationary space station. Not as revealing as your slip about the magneto-repulsive thingummyjig.”

  ”I surrender,” said Louis, “I’m hollerin’ ‘nuff’.”

  “Just as well,” said Jim, “Now I don’t have to ask you to step outside, where its currently -65∘C,” he gestured to the back of seat display.

  “You boys,” said Tracy, not for the first time, “What you miss is that Louis is named ‘Louis’. Taking ‘u’ outside to -65∘C would transform him into Lois and he could then marry either one of you Supermen!”

  “Transforming a man into a woman at -65∘C would indeed be easy!” joked Lim.

  “Eh,” said Jim, “when did ‘marrying’ and ‘Louis’ first enter your head, Trace.”

  “Oh shut up,” was all that Tracy could manage, apart from a blush.

  Newton looked up from his iPad, “I am looking at local news stations in North Hollywood and finding that there are ongoing riots with many people shot dead...”

  “I thought there was no onboard internet,” said Lim.

  “There isn’t, “ said Louis grimly, “how do you do it, Professor?”

  “This Professor will profess not to know, having his own raft of secrets” said Newton, “But the unrest in North Hollywood centres on an area around Valhalla cemetery. And here’s the thing; there is a Valhalla cemetery in St Louis, Missouri which is also the epicentre of rioting with many people hurt.”

  “Both have Portals, I bet,�
� said Louis, “question is, how do we identify a portal entrance in a cemetery? You guys had better start praying for some enlightenment.”

  “Did all that last night,” said Lim.

  “And this morning,” said Jim.

  “My, my,” said Tracy, “you really are fit for a seminary. I guess I had better add my own fervent prayer so that ‘whenever two or three are gathered together’...”

  “King James bible, The Epistle according to St Matthew, Chapter 18, verse 20; For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” Newton pondered, “Did The Needful one write epistles? He hasn’t even written his own gospel, a bit of an oversight in one determined to outdo his brother.”

  Tracy roused herself. “Here you go again, ‘his’ instead of ‘it’s’. The needful One is a construct of anti-matter bleeding ideas from us. Do you suppose that it sees itself as needing Apostles? Its first manifestation was as a man in a black cotton robe. Unaccompanied.”