Hunters: A Trilogy (24 page)

Dead centre, and right on top of the engine, was the small metal box with its glowing glass lid. The same device from the dream, the one George had done his vanishing trick with. Its blue glass lid was gently pulsing in time to the rhythm of the huge engine. This in its own right was really quite a sight to see, the whole unit was like a work of art, beautifully designed and with only one obvious purpose – that of propulsion and of power making.

The engine unit amazed him and he was even more interested when Mike showed him the fuel tank that lay under the floor in the back of the Spear. It consisted of a single, see-through container filled with water.

‘Water…’ Ken was amazed, ‘just water, how in the hell does that work?’ he said, in disbelief. He looked at Mike uncertainly. All the things George had said tumbled back into his head. He already knew the answer to his own question, but needed to hear someone else confirm his thoughts.

Mike said that he wasn’t really sure. He knew it only took water and recycled itself so efficiently that the same tank would last for days, used until every tiny drop of hydrogen had been squeezed out. He also said that all the oxygen was also used in the process. ‘There’s apparently nothing more to it than that!’ he said, smiling as he shrugged his shoulders. ‘We have to find a water supply every now and then, she sucks up more go-go juice and then we’re good to go again. Crazy, isn’t it, eh?’

He walked back to the front of the Spear and looked down at the engine again. ‘The best part, the very best part,’ he said, ‘is that there isn’t one tiny atom of pollution, not one!’ He paused, before saying: ‘Actually, I was bluffing the other day when I saw the silver box, I’ve already been taught all this stuff by George, but he asked me to play along when he first showed it to you because he was worried about how you would react – he thought it would be better if I acted sort of cool about it…’

Ken shook his head and murmured: ‘No wonder Red and his buddies didn’t want this to be developed – it would have put those pricks out of business overnight, that’s for sure!’

He also hoped that it was the only thing Mike had been cool about. He needed his friend to be straight with him and didn’t imagine that he had much more room left for any further surprises or half-truths in his overcrowded mind.

‘True, very true indeed!’ Mike answered. ‘And it’s all down to that little silver box, that and some very clever plumbing is all that’s needed to power anything.’

They looked at each other and once again both men shook their heads. It seemed as though they had been doing a lot of head-shaking lately. Secretly, Ken knew that there was going to be more than a fair chance of them doing plenty more.

With both of the Spears packed and checked, Mike gave him an intensive half-hour familiarisation course on all the controls within the vehicles. Once they were satisfied that Ken had grasped all the basics and would be capable of handling the beast on his own, they stopped for a break.

As the two men wandered over towards the dark-windowed office, to see if there was any coffee going, they were joined by George.

The old man was carrying one of the shiny trays and it had the ubiquitous coffee pot on board. As he saw them walking towards him, he placed the tray down and turned to the men with a smile. ‘So, Kenneth, how are you progressing with things?’ he asked. ‘Has Michael shown you around, do you understand everything – have you seen enough, my boy?’

Ken had the feeling that if he’d said ‘No’ then the old man would have merely replied with something along the lines of: “Don’t worry, old chap, you will soon pick it up…” Guessing that he should just take the easy way out instead, Ken said, ‘Yeah, Mike’s done us proud, I think I’m just about getting there, thanks!’

That pleased George; with a nod he slurped back his coffee. ‘Excellent, well done, well done the both of you!’ he said, almost dancing a jig in his sandals.

It was times like this when Ken sometimes considered the fact that George might well be a little bit crazy, perhaps. Just a tadge, you know...completely-fucking-cuckoo? He smiled to himself at the thought. ‘Well, at least the old guy’s in good company!’ Mike saw the grin and winked at him.

George coughed and then hurriedly excused himself, two minutes later he returned with their medical pack slung across his bony shoulder, his slight build making the pack appear bigger than it really was. He dumped it on the floor and apologised for forgetting it. ‘That wouldn’t do at all, would it, boys? Not at all...’ he said, looking at them sincerely.

Mike went through the contents of the pack with a practised ease. Although both men were trained medics, it was Mike who had the leading edge in that particular field; it was the same sort of ‘magic’ he possessed when it came to electro-mechanical items. He simply had that thing. ‘All good,’ he reported, ‘it should be enough to keep us alive until we get better help,’ He raised his eyebrows as he addressed the next question in George’s direction.

‘We will get better help if the worst comes to the worst, won’t we, George?’

‘Almost definitely,’ was the unequivocal reply he received. ‘But first, I think the time has come whereby I should finish with the last remnants of my sorry tale, our recent but sad history. I should tell you about the events that have led us to here on the eve of our final goodbye.’ George said, and ushered them into the office.

Ken blinked at the sound of those words, ‘…our final goodbye?’ Dragging him away from those arcane thoughts, the old man explained how Red had escaped with the Light Maker and also a box containing some of the hydrogen fuel-cell devices. The latter were of no importance as without the full specification, the full share of the technology, they were worse than useless.

George frowned. ‘Anyhow, what would he do with them on this barren planet, this desert upon which he now wanders with his band of robe-wearing murderers?’ he asked, with a grimace. He then told them how the Light Maker was a singularly different problem altogether, this was because the men, well, Red at least, knew how to initiate its momentously destructive power. Unbelievably, George then told them that Red knew how to switch on the device.

Ken decided right then that there was definitely more to this tale than he was being told, but his thoughts were interrupted by George saying that Red had also told them that he wanted two things, demands they were not able to accommodate for many reasons. The main one being the fact it had been decided – after the storm – that the parallel was to be left alone, those who had survived would repopulate and that given time the globe would heal itself.

‘Time is a wonderful thing!’ George commented.

Mike looked unsure about this bit. ‘What is it that Red wants, and why can’t we give it to him?’ he asked.

Ken hoped that his friend’s unease was genuine because he wasn’t able to figure out what their enemy wanted, either. What was left to want? The memories of the ruined airbase and piles of green dust were still very fresh in his mind. The answer they received was a stunningly simple one.

‘He wants to be one of us – he wants to be jumped over to this time, this dimension. He wants to have a position of power, and most of all he wants us to abandon this parallel. He does not want us to try and fix things, he thinks he can make us leave it in the grasp of fate so that he can escape and live his life in luxury, happily living out his days in some other parallel of his choosing!’ The grey head shook once again in disbelief. ‘A very simple request if you are as deranged as he is, I suppose?’ he added, looking at them in dismay. ‘We sent our most experienced negotiator to speak with Red. Valentino is more than four hundred years old – in your terms – and is the most able on our Team of planetary problem-solvers. He reported back to us that Red and his gang will not negotiate, there is no alternative to their demands and it is all or nothing with them!’

He paused, closing his eyes and sitting in silence for a while. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he continued. ‘Valentino said that Red was like a wall and that he would not listen to any logic whatsoever. He told Valentino that he has showed the Hyenas how to make another device – exactly how they have managed to do that, we have no idea...’ George’s eyes sparked in fury.

Ken saw the anger bursting forth once more, the menacing fury.

‘Here’s Grandma again,’ he thought.

The old man gave a low snarl. ‘That bastard even threatened Valentino! He showed him one of…’ George stumbled momentarily, sitting there and shaking his head in anger and disbelief. Then, after breathing deeply for a few seconds, he recomposed himself, and continued with a hiss. ‘Red showed him one of Jonathon’s amputated fingers – he pointed it at Valentino like a pistol!’ he said, choking on his emotions.

Mike exclaimed, ‘Jesus, this guy doesn’t want much does he, the prick?’ His eyes gleamed, the Australian was incredulous.

George shook his head in exasperation, saying: ‘That, my dear boy, is precisely why we are here! We cannot accommodate any of his demands whatsoever. Firstly, we have tried everything to pacify these two-faced murderers, and still they will not listen!’ He spat the words out. ‘And secondly, no-one can cross to another parallel for an indefinite period of time, very few people can accept the surgery needed to facilitate this, and Red is not one of them! You yourselves are very near to the limit.’

Looking at Ken, he said, ‘That is why you do not feel quite so well from time to time, Kenneth. Michael is coping better, but I think that is an unexpected benefit from the medical treatment he received whilst being at death’s door.’ Shrugging, he continued, saying: ‘No, it doesn’t work like that at all! One can be manipulated for a few
moments
in extreme circumstances, but, move across indefinitely – never!’ He looked helpless and angry at the same time.

Face twisting with emotion, he said, ‘Thirdly, we, the designers of this whole catastrophe, and all of the over-watching systems, those who have been with this dilemma from its conception, we have a responsibility to see this through! We have removed billions of intelligent life forms so that the greater good may prevail. All of this we have done in order for this tiny blue planet to once again flower in the way it was meant to!’

His love of the subject shone through the very fibre of his being, Ken saw it leaping from every one of his pores – George gleamed with passion.

‘We will never leave this parallel to its own devices, never!’ he said. ‘We will see this through and we will leave once it has been fully seeded and has been given the best chance of survival we can possible provide. Of that you can be absolutely certain!’ He slapped the glistening work surface so hard that the sharp cracking noise which his hand made as it hit the metal made them jump.

There was a long, silent pause during which the gathered men contemplated the terrible words that had spilled forth from the old man’s tightly drawn lips. Even George himself looked horrified. The sense of looming disaster was far from palatable in that moment. It choked them.

Softly-spoken words now hissed from George’s still quivering lips. ‘Red has stated that if we do not meet his demands, that if we do not agree to give him everything he desires, then he will detonate the device and we shall all lose! What he sees as his own win-win situation is actually a lost game, a game in which he is the only player, in which the only outcome will be failure for him!’

Pausing for breath, he inflated his skinny chest and said, ‘He is not aware of the dominating evidence, facts that quite clearly show that if we do not stop him, and stop him very shortly, then there will be no future for anyone. He is a fool who, unfortunately for us, is holding a device, one so powerful that, once initiated in its current unprotected state, will set fire to the heavens! The power of the device will destroy this parallel, and it will also rip the very fabric of space – this will unleash a black hole, and anything that remains will be sucked into oblivion!’ George cursed. ‘The stupid bastard, all he wants is for us to let him have his own way!’ His eyelids fluttered alarmingly and for one second, Ken thought the old man was going to faint. He was wrong.

George’s blazing eyes focused once more. ‘He was there when we showed them,’ he snapped. ‘He knows everything, and he also knows that we would have been able to make this work, he knew that! But he has not listened at all and he has willingly let the Darkness take him. Red is insane!’

His cold blue eyes pierced them.

‘You have to stop him, stop him by any means you can. Stop him and bring the Light Maker back to us!’ he said, vehemently.

George stood before them, quivering with anger. His tale ended there and then, the final words hanging like rotten fruit, waiting to be plucked by someone curiously mad enough to reach up and harvest them, someone who would be crazy enough to savour their bitter-sweet meanings. George stood in silence and looked at his graduates, standing there and waiting patiently for their unanimous thumbs up for a dish he had worked so hard upon, waiting for them to show their appreciation for such a fine feast – one that he had packed with the full flavours of horror and then marinated in the bitter spices of a dreadful reality.

Ken and Mike sat in quiet reflection, both dwelling upon the task that lay ahead. An unknown mission from which it appeared there was to be no turning away. All personal thoughts had long since been pushed to the back of their minds, certainly in Ken’s case. He wasn’t in a position to answer for Mike, but, by the expression on his friend’s face, it was obvious he felt the same way. His brow was furrowed and he seemed to be gazing at some far-off object.

It was a look that Ken had seen many times before, seen in the eyes of old comrades from days long past. An expression of intense contemplation, of realisation, an expression that only those who are about to go into harm’s way would recognise. Every fibre in their bodies screamed at them to run from the fire-breathing Dragon that beckoned from some distant horizon. But they would not run – running was never an option for men like them. No, instead, like automatons, they would don their armour, mount their trusty steeds and gallop towards their waiting foe, screaming like banshees as they rode towards their destiny. They were soldiers and they would go, they would fight for each other, fight the Dragon until the bitter end, together they would kill it, and their fear.