And the World Changes

by A M Kirk

  Janette had been remembering some of the other dark moments of her life: John’s horrible death and the plunging depression following it; her own parents’ death not long after that; the moments in her career when she felt like just throwing it all up and clearing out – and all of those times Mark had been there, unknowingly helping her to maintain equilibrium. Mark, even though he had no idea of it, had been her support. She wished she could tell some of this to Carrie, but the gag was too tight around her mouth and all she could manage would be incoherent meaningless sounds, so it was pointless trying.

  She watched in puzzlement as Carrie abruptly started to bump and shuffle her chair in the direction of the wooden table by the wall. What on earth could she be up to? Carrie clearly had some purpose in mind.

  “Come on, Marky, come back,” she formed the thought clearly in her mind. “If ever we needed magic, it’s now!”

  **********

  Suddenly Mark’s lungs sucked in a great gasp of air. His chest rose like a bellows and slowly the air was released. His eyes opened and he took in his surroundings. He saw and smelt Miller’s gun lying in the dirt. His hearing has cleared up totally and he was instantly aware of the rooks settling down in their nests in the trees to eastern side of the barn, and he registered the faint scampered tracks of a small creature on the dirty ground. He shivered in the evening air but his body readjusted quickly and then he no longer felt cold. He heard engine sounds from the distant town. The gave him an idea. He carefully sat up, still clearing his throat. Slowly he levered himself to his feet, feeling life return to his limbs. Life… and more than life. He understands now that as he has journeyed towards the truth he has been approaching some inner well-spring of energy. And there is knowledge he can reach into, knowledge like a furious roaring waterfall all around him.

  His imagination was all he needed to tap into this raging power.

  **********

  In the darkening little room adjacent to Logan’s bedroom Janette and Carrie look up from their separate positions and exchange meaningful glances. They somehow know, and are thinking the same thought: he’s alive! He’s on his way now!

  Each feels hope rise suddenly within.

  Carrie balances herself precariously and levers herself against the table corner. As she falls back to her sitting position she smiles as much as the gag will permit. It’s worked. The phone bleeps on and is ready for action.

  Okay, she thinks, I’m bound and gagged but my phone’s now working. What now, Einstein? What the hell do I do now?

  **********

  Jacqueline was astonished when her husband’s head lifted from the dining room table where it had been slumped this half hour. Little Sally was still sleeping peacefully in her cot and Jacqueline had muted the home-cine sound so as not to disturb either husband or daughter.

  “Jackie?”

  “How are you feeling now?”

  “Jackie. Something’s happened. I feel it. I sense it.” He was rising from the table with a vigour Jackie hadn’t seen for some months. “Something incredible.”

  “What? What is it?” She was following his movements with concern as he strode into the hall.

  “I don’t know!” He came back in, holding his jacket. He grinned. “I don’t know! But I have to go to Stirling. Right now. It’s… I just have to.”

  “But Chris – “

  He hugged her a crushing hug, grabbed his phone and keys from the table and was heading for the door.

  “Trust me,” he said, “what is happening now is going to change everything.”

  “What on earth do you mean?” replied Jackie with gentle skepticism.

  Chris laughed. “It’s all right. I’ll call you later.”

  And he was gone.

  **********

  Mark stretched, almost languidly, feeling a strange new kind of strength flowing through every particle of his flesh and bones. He picked up the gun and tucked it into the belt behind his back – but he did not think he would find a use for it. He opened the barn door and stepped outside. There was flurry of drowsy disturbed activity from the rook colony but they quickly settled down when no threat was apparent. The evening was cool now and clouding over from the south.

  He thought about his mother and Carrie. He knew where they were. Carrie’s phone was like a beacon for him. It was logged on to its server network and Mark could imaginatively plug into and access every particle of the information it contains. This was part of what the Soros had enabled him to do.

  He turned towards the town in the near distance. There, he knew, he would find what he needed. Mark lengthened his stride and eased into a gentle jog as he reached the small C-class road.

  The clothes and shoes newly bought for him that afternoon were not chosen for their athletics suitability. Nevertheless Mark covered the three kilometers in less than twenty minutes and slowed as he approached the town centre with its shops, open coffee bars, pubs and small gatherings of local youths. The time was nine o’clock and it was still not fully dark. His bedraggled figure walked with apparent confidence down the High Street.

  “An camping gear shop is what I want,” he muttered to himself, and it was not long before he had located one.

  Mark only had to pass his hand over the lock and it opened, the alarm rendered useless. Inside, he changed into warmer clothing. He rejected the more American-style rugged checked shirts in favour of a t-shirt and a fleecy garment. Trail boots and waterproofs came off the racks. A rucksack was found in which he put a torch, batteries, some camping gear, supplies of dried, easy-cook food, and the General’s gun. All the while he munched some high-calorie snacks.

  He left the shop but ensured no one saw him and he used his power to re-lock the door.

  Along the street was an autoteller. He stretched out his power to disable its camera and over-rode its computer system to enable him to “borrow” a couple of hundred euros. You never knew, he thought, he might need some cash for a meal or a room, and he would pay it back as soon as he could. He didn’t like stealing, but needs must!

  Down a side street he found a fast Honda motorcycle, a 200cc. Not too powerful to be a monster to control, but not too feeble to lack speed. The fact that he had never actually been on a motorbike before did not cause him concern. He had ridden a friend’s trail bike and another friend’s quad on several occasions and the principles had to be much the same, he reasoned. A pass of the hand and the central locking opened right up. A hand on the steering column and the ignition fired, and a little tug was all that was needed to overcome the steering lock. Another theft, and another property owner he would one day have to make it up to.

  Through Kilsyth and up the narrow road that leads past Berryhill and Denny Muir, over Carron Bridge and a stop at the old inn there. As he sauntered through the inn door, he could have passed for a walker just coming off the hills. The fact that his clothes were brand new and unstained was not noticed.

  He looked old enough – just – to order a beer, but contented himself with bottled water. He felt he had time, so he ordered a toasted sandwich and ate it in silence, in the open lounge area, from which he heard raucous laughter issuing now and then from the bar. Apart from the waitress who brought his drink and toasted sandwich, nobody paid him any attention. After he had eaten, he sat back to enjoy what pleasure he could glean from the feeling of being, for the moment at least, warm, safe and full, and in the proximity of people who seemed to be enjoying normal lives.

  In the foyer Mark found a public net-phone. He stood with his back to the wall as he picked up the receiver. He could watch the entrance and see what was happening in the bar at the same time.

  Holding the receiver lightly in his hand he channelled his thoughts. Circuits opened and closed; electrons moved; through miles of fibre optic and then through the air, currents flowed. In Logan’s former flat, in the spare room, in Carrie’s pocket the mobile phone buzzed softly.

  Although they could not speak
each saw the excitement leap into the other’s faces as Janette and Carrie’s eyes met. Both knew it had to be Mark. But, as the mobile was still wedged virtually inaccessibly in Carrie’s jeans pocket, there was nothing they could do. They could not use the phone to communicate.

  And Mark knew there was nothing they could do, but that did not worry him. The call had been enough. It was intended to let them know he was on the way.

  **********

  Keeping on the single track road that passed beside Loch Coulter Reservoir, Mark drove the bike carefully, light on full beam for most of the way. It was eleven thirty and the night sky, though still not fully dark, was becoming overcast. Through plantations of conifers, and round nasty little bends, the road led him until he had to circle round the Polmaise Castle estate and enter Cambusbarron. This once small settlement had grown in recent years, spreading up the hillside to its south. Touch was only a couple of kilometres further on, and Stirling a few kilometres in the other direction.

  He half expected further trouble from the agents of the League, but none came. The well-lit main street was quiet this Monday night.

  He drove the motorbike slowly, with the utmost caution into Stirling from the western approach and doing no more than twenty kilometres an hour, motored through the brightly lit streets, scanning, reaching out and searching with his new power. Carrie and his mother were close, very close.

  He turned up Princes Street, a narrow steep road that led eventually to the castle’s heights, and knew he was closer than ever. But as the bike puttered to a stop at the top of the street, a flicker of concern crossed his face.

  A police car, unmarked but wearing its blue flashing light, cruised to a stop in the street beside a darkened tenement doorway.

  Mark sat back in a more relaxed posture on the motorbike’s imitation leather seat.

  A single figure sat in the police car and made no effort to get out. It seemed to be waiting.

  Mark smiled to himself. What was about to happen was insanely dangerous, he well knew. A more sensible approach would be to alert the army, alert Allied Command, and let them deal with what was in that flat. For Mark knew what was awaiting him up those tenement stairs. He knew the danger he, Carrie and his mother and, indeed, all of Scotland were now in. But he could deal with it. Of that he was certain. There was not a scrap of doubt in his mind now. He got off the bike and walked in a relaxed manner over to the police car.

  The electric window lowered as he approached.

  “Hello, Mark. I figured you’d happen along. Are you all right?”

  “Mr Roberts. Why the blue light on an otherwise unmarked car?”

  “In case we get into a hot pursuit situation, you know the kind of thing.”

  Mark nodded. “Okay. You know about General Miller.”

  “Yes. How did you escape?”

  “I’ll tell you later. I actually figured I’d see you here.”

  “I had to come.”

  “I know. I called Carrie after she switched on her mobile phone. I reckoned that should give your police tracking machines enough of a signal to locate her.”

  “Well, it worked. Clever boy. We can locate any mobile phone as long as it’s switched on, but not always accurately. Your call helped us out.”

  “You’re alone?” asked Mark.

  “I … was not sure how much of an audience you wanted so, yes, I came alone. Do we need any back-up?”

  Mark grinned. A hand passed through his hair. “No. I don’t suppose we do, really. There is just one little problem.”

  “I think I can guess. I was at Allied Command half an hour ago. Our satellites have sweeping the area, scanning constantly for anything out of the ordinary in the area of the Soros ship. Half an hour ago we picked up a radiation trace. It’s the kind left behind when nasty stuff like uranium or plutonium is transported. Tell me I’m wrong, Mark. Tell me there’s not a something horrific about to explode up there.”

  “I wish I could. I really wish I could.”

  “Then if it’s some booby trap left by the League, I should call in the bomb disposal boys.”

  “Normally that would be fine idea. But now, I really don’t think we have the time. I kind of sense the bomb up there – it’s in the top flat, by the way, that room there – and it has a timer going. “

  “A timer?”

  “Yep.”

  “Set for… ?”

  “Oh… about fifteen minutes from now.”

  Roberts felt his insides turn to water. “Oh. That’s not so good, is it?” He thought of Jackie and Little Sally. The thought that he was never going to see them again almost overwhelmed him.

  “We’d better get going,” said Mark, shouldering the rucksack he had brought with him.

  Although he felt like running away, starting up the car and getting the hell away from there as fast as it could carry him, Roberts left the car, which locked itself up automatically, and followed Mark on barely stable legs up the dark stairwell of the tenement. He wished he could have just five more minutes to say decent goodbyes.

  Their footsteps echoed on the stone landings they passed. Madge Hartley heard them and peered from the fisheye security lens sunk in solid wooden door, but she was too late. The man and the boy had passed already to the top floor landing.

  Mark handed Roberts his rucksack. “Just stay here and hold that for me, will you, please?”

  “I can’t believe how polite you are given the fact that we may all be blown to kingdom come any minute now!”

  Mark smiled.

  “This doesn’t faze you at all, does it? Why the hell does this not faze you?”

  “Time for some more magic,” Mark said, turning away, and in a fluid movement stepped through the wall. Roberts dropped the rucksack and felt his knees go even weaker. He leaned against the wall behind him; his legs were threatening not to support him.

  Mark stepped in. The sensation of passing through solid matter was strange but not unpleasant, but his nerve endings seemed to jangle briefly. It was like being scrubbed all over, quickly, with a hard, dry sponge. The wall behind had left no trace of his passage. He had imagined an electro-magnetic field like a body-tight envelope surrounding him completely, shielding his body, and this field could part the molecules it came into contact with; he likened the experience to wading through thigh-deep water: as water would, the paintwork, the plaster, the bricks and mortar and the interior wallpaper parted in front of Mark and closed up again behind.

  He quickly surveyed the room. He noted the wires, the electro-magnet, the wardrobe door. The digital computer inside was booby-trapped too, he sensed, so that if he cut the wires, or negated the magnet, or simply stopped the timer the primer would fire anyway. With his mind he reached into the digital control. For an instant his courage almost failed him. Only a minute remained.

  Good God, he thought. What if I’m wrong about this? No – that cannot be. I walk through walls. I can bend the world to my will. I can do this too. I can do magic!

  He concentrated his life to the device. With his mind he explored its surfaces, every corner, every groove, every minute intricacy. The display counted down inexorably.

  The explosive will hurl the primer into the plutonium. The unstable particles of the plutonium will burst apart, energy will be released, the same kind of energy that fires the sun itself. The temperature will exceed a million degrees.

  Only seconds remained.

  I can do this! He focused his mind around the bomb, not just imagining it but literally seeing it with the utmost clarity, and with his mind he wrapped the plutonium in a sub-atomic shroud, a cover of particles so strange that they defied logical analysis. He imagined it, this magical suffocating blanket, and because these particles were what atoms themselves were made of, he could make this enveloping shroud around the device utterly –utterly - impenetrable. No atomic particles could escape this shell, so no radiation could escape.

  The digital display silently c
ame to zero.

  Zero.

  Mark felt the blast ignite in his mind. The sheer force of it, a million erupting volcanoes, made his mind reel for a millisecond then his strength took hold again – instantly – and snuffed the explosion and its causes out as if it were no more than a candle flame in a church. He made the material simply disappear, their particles separating off into some infinity of sub-atomic universes. Not a ripple of it showed or was felt in the everyday world so when Mark opened his eyes, he saw the untidy little room with the remains of the booby-trap devices, now useless, but all continuing to exist.

  For a moment he was reminded of General Miller’s dead face.

  The world still existed. He was still alive. He let out a long breath, leaned a trembling arm against the dirty wall and tried not to fall over.

  At last, after what seemed like a long time but was in fact less than a minute, he had pulled himself together sufficiently to let Roberts in and they quickly located Janette and Carrie in the adjacent room. It was the matter of moments to undo their gags and free their arms and legs from the ropes and tape that bound them.

  There were hugs and tears. Roberts looked on, smiling widely, still holding Mark’s rucksack, hardly able to believe he was still alive.

  25Monday Night

  Mark gave them water and energy bars from the rucksack supplies. Mark had supposed his mother and Carrie would be hungry and thirsty. They were. They also both had headaches, after-effects of the drugs they had been injected with.