Wednesday, 23 May 2007
ASBO-Boy - And a new day begins... Part 1
Saturday 12th November 2016
The second Vue jumped them all into the garden of Malady’s house Squeeze shouted himself hoarse demanding to be taken back. They’d left Nia with the Elementals, this was unacceptable. He was forced to watch the others reunited with their families while he pleaded with Vue to take him back. Nobody listened, they were too busy hugging and kissing and promising each other that they’d never let each other out of their sight. He knew it was useless, but the person he most wanted to be sharing these sentiments with was in the hands of the authorities. Bark had his brother; Malady had her parents; Vue had the Other known as Core – once a girl, now a mountain of stone. They could hear her quaking footfalls in the distance. Vue hung around for as long as he needed to recover from the last enormous jump, then he was gone. He just sat without a word on top of the garden shed watching the police helicopters as they circled her head uselessly and then vanished.
That night Squeeze went to bed early, foregoing the celebrations. After the ordeal in the bunker he was spent. That night he dreamed of the sea, and for the first time the feeling of having a blanket of water around him was a comfort. The following morning should have been filled with dread and anger but all of his frustration seemed to have gone. Things were different now. He was going to get Nia back and he was going to put his abilities to practical use.
He swung his feet off the bed and stood up. Around him the others were spread happily across their bunks, all apart from one curtained corner of the room around Flicker’s bed. Squeeze drifted over and pulled back the curtain. Within he found Flicker asleep. It was the first time he’d seen her totally still. Lying next to her, torso on the bed with the rest in a chair was Gwen.
In the garden he found Bark, who, while looking more like a man than ever before was also looking more like a tree. Small branches were poking out of his skin-suit and were beginning to sprout leaves. Squeeze tested himself by stretching his arm out as far as it would go. It touched the far end of the garden. Was it Nia? Malady? The radiation or a combination of the three, he couldn’t know, but they had all changed, one way or the other. They were more powerful, it was as if something within them had been turned on, like a tap twisted all the way.
“Good morning,” Bark muttered, his voice like a rasp against wood. He sounded surprisingly chipper, all things considered.
“Isn’t it?” Squeeze replied with a cheeriness he hadn’t realised he was capable of.
“Someone’s changed his tune. You feeling alright?” Bark said with a forced chuckle.
Squeeze smiled. “Yeah, I’ve just come to a conclusion about things. I know what I want now and it took seeing her again for me to figure that out.”
“The girl in the purple? Is she, like, ‘The One’?”
“She’s a friend. The first girl I kissed. And only, in fact.”
“I’d rather forget the first girl I kissed. Blue light disco at Cinders. Grim stuff mate.”
They laughed together. It felt bright and clear. “Well. Flicker’s still asleep, Malady didn’t stop crying, Arc-Light has stopped talking and Gwen has gone all maternal. Quite a turbulent twenty-hours all in all.”
Bark nodded. “And yeah – Vue and The Colossus of Pati have swanned off somewhere. I think he said he was going to keep her in Singleton Park until he figures out what to do with her. What do you do with a girl who’s ‘filled out’ and turned to stone, eh? Imagine that conversation; ‘Do I look fat in this?’, ‘Er, well, um – look over there! A squirrel!’.” He paused and they both laughed. “I was thinking of going back to the Sandfields and working stuff out there. I could help people. My brother needs an extra pair of hands to get things done.”
“Looking like that?”
“What? Black? What are you trying to say?” They laughed again.
“Nah – I’m thinking you should stick around, that’s all, with people who accept you for who you are.” Squeeze smiled. “You know, a tree.”
Bark nodded. “And do what?”
“Well, the way I see it, there’s a balance that needs addressing. Everyone thinks we’re the bad guys. That’s wrong. If the Elementals can help people, then so can we.”
“We’ll be like a modern-day gang of outlaws. Robbing from the rich and all that.”
“I’m sure you’d love that but we can’t just start stealing things. We want to build a reputation.”
“Sounds good. Only one problem – we’re wanted criminals.”
“You’re really going to let that stop you?”
“No – but it might put off the others, bearing in mind the palava that went on at Dyfatty. Malady’s just a kid, we’re living in someone’s basement, Flicker’s out for the count. It’s a bit too soon.”
“It’s never too soon to do the right thing.” There was a pause before they both burst into peals of laughter. “You know what I mean.” Bark nodded, he did know what Squeeze meant and as cheesy as it sounded, he was right.
The second Vue jumped them all into the garden of Malady’s house Squeeze shouted himself hoarse demanding to be taken back. They’d left Nia with the Elementals, this was unacceptable. He was forced to watch the others reunited with their families while he pleaded with Vue to take him back. Nobody listened, they were too busy hugging and kissing and promising each other that they’d never let each other out of their sight. He knew it was useless, but the person he most wanted to be sharing these sentiments with was in the hands of the authorities. Bark had his brother; Malady had her parents; Vue had the Other known as Core – once a girl, now a mountain of stone. They could hear her quaking footfalls in the distance. Vue hung around for as long as he needed to recover from the last enormous jump, then he was gone. He just sat without a word on top of the garden shed watching the police helicopters as they circled her head uselessly and then vanished.
That night Squeeze went to bed early, foregoing the celebrations. After the ordeal in the bunker he was spent. That night he dreamed of the sea, and for the first time the feeling of having a blanket of water around him was a comfort. The following morning should have been filled with dread and anger but all of his frustration seemed to have gone. Things were different now. He was going to get Nia back and he was going to put his abilities to practical use.
He swung his feet off the bed and stood up. Around him the others were spread happily across their bunks, all apart from one curtained corner of the room around Flicker’s bed. Squeeze drifted over and pulled back the curtain. Within he found Flicker asleep. It was the first time he’d seen her totally still. Lying next to her, torso on the bed with the rest in a chair was Gwen.
In the garden he found Bark, who, while looking more like a man than ever before was also looking more like a tree. Small branches were poking out of his skin-suit and were beginning to sprout leaves. Squeeze tested himself by stretching his arm out as far as it would go. It touched the far end of the garden. Was it Nia? Malady? The radiation or a combination of the three, he couldn’t know, but they had all changed, one way or the other. They were more powerful, it was as if something within them had been turned on, like a tap twisted all the way.
“Good morning,” Bark muttered, his voice like a rasp against wood. He sounded surprisingly chipper, all things considered.
“Isn’t it?” Squeeze replied with a cheeriness he hadn’t realised he was capable of.
“Someone’s changed his tune. You feeling alright?” Bark said with a forced chuckle.
Squeeze smiled. “Yeah, I’ve just come to a conclusion about things. I know what I want now and it took seeing her again for me to figure that out.”
“The girl in the purple? Is she, like, ‘The One’?”
“She’s a friend. The first girl I kissed. And only, in fact.”
“I’d rather forget the first girl I kissed. Blue light disco at Cinders. Grim stuff mate.”
They laughed together. It felt bright and clear. “Well. Flicker’s still asleep, Malady didn’t stop crying, Arc-Light has stopped talking and Gwen has gone all maternal. Quite a turbulent twenty-hours all in all.”
Bark nodded. “And yeah – Vue and The Colossus of Pati have swanned off somewhere. I think he said he was going to keep her in Singleton Park until he figures out what to do with her. What do you do with a girl who’s ‘filled out’ and turned to stone, eh? Imagine that conversation; ‘Do I look fat in this?’, ‘Er, well, um – look over there! A squirrel!’.” He paused and they both laughed. “I was thinking of going back to the Sandfields and working stuff out there. I could help people. My brother needs an extra pair of hands to get things done.”
“Looking like that?”
“What? Black? What are you trying to say?” They laughed again.
“Nah – I’m thinking you should stick around, that’s all, with people who accept you for who you are.” Squeeze smiled. “You know, a tree.”
Bark nodded. “And do what?”
“Well, the way I see it, there’s a balance that needs addressing. Everyone thinks we’re the bad guys. That’s wrong. If the Elementals can help people, then so can we.”
“We’ll be like a modern-day gang of outlaws. Robbing from the rich and all that.”
“I’m sure you’d love that but we can’t just start stealing things. We want to build a reputation.”
“Sounds good. Only one problem – we’re wanted criminals.”
“You’re really going to let that stop you?”
“No – but it might put off the others, bearing in mind the palava that went on at Dyfatty. Malady’s just a kid, we’re living in someone’s basement, Flicker’s out for the count. It’s a bit too soon.”
“It’s never too soon to do the right thing.” There was a pause before they both burst into peals of laughter. “You know what I mean.” Bark nodded, he did know what Squeeze meant and as cheesy as it sounded, he was right.
And As They Talk, They Become The Closest Of Friends
Sunset dropped onto the roof, and caused Lunar Mist to jump – higher than most, thanks to his superhuman abilities.
“We haven’t met in broad daylight before,” said Sunset cheerfully.
“I don’t do much daytime hero stuff,” said Lunar Mist. “Only in extreme cases.”
“Really?” said Sunset. “I love daytime patrols.”
“Do you ever get any sleep?”
“I find I don’t need much,” said Sunset. Before Lunar Mist could say a thing, she turned suddenly. “But aliens! How cool is that? We’ve got to go and see them.”
“No!” said Lunar Mist, and for once, Sunset was taken aback. “That’s the last thing we can do.”
“Why?” asked Sunset, confused.
“Aliens have landed,” he said. “Proper, real, genuine aliens. From space. This isn’t local news, this is worldwide. We can’t go down there, all powers ablazing, or even non-ablazing. We’re blunt instruments – overblown vigilantes. If we start assuming authority over anything that’s a bit out there …”
“You’re right,” said Sunset thoughtfully.
“If there’s a war, we’ll fight,” said Lunar Mist. “But for the time being, we have to assume they’re diplomats.”
“So what do we do?”
Lunar Mist shrugged.
“I’ve got the day off work,” he said. “I’m going to hunt down opportunistic looters, taking advantage of the chaos.”
“Nice one,” said Sunset. “I think I’ll do the same.”
“Let me know how it goes,” said Lunar Mist.
“I’ll text you.” She laughed. “Bet it’s just you and me, though, wandering through empty streets. I can’t imagine anyone doing anything right now, apart from sitting in front of their TVs.”
-10001-
Meanwhile, in Brecon, Mr Spencer was running. He’d cut his speed down somewhat – a concession, since Geoff was running with him.
“I can … get back to … the car … if you like …” breathed Geoff.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Mr Spencer. “I’ll run a bit extra later, that’s all.”
“How long are … you going to keep … this up?”
And for the first time since he’d started running, Mr Spencer gave an honest answer.
“A week.”
“Only a week?” asked Geoff, surprised.
“That’s all that’s left.”
“And then … you’re done?”
“And then I’m done.”
“What happens then?”
“The world will be worth living in again.”
-10001-
Two weeks later, Geoff received a phone call. It was Mr Spencer. They’d exchanged phone numbers back in Brecon, but Geoff hadn’t expected a call so soon.
“Where are you?” asked Mr Spencer.
“Searching Newport at the moment.”
“Fancy meeting up later?”
“Great!” said Geoff, surprised. “I’ll be here all day.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
And, four hours later, they were in a fast food restaurant. Mr Spencer still had his suit and briefcase.
Finally, Mr Spencer told Geoff the whole story, from beginning to end. The fact that he’d had to run to save his wife’s life, the device in the briefcase that tapped into his DNA, his wife’s insistence that he shouldn’t tell anyone why he was doing it until he’d finished – everything.
“So,” said Geoff. “Why not run around the local neighbourhood, and go home for tea and such?”
“To get my face in as many newspapers as possible,” said Mr Spencer. He smiled. “Of course not. But I needed to motivate myself. If I’d stayed at home, it would have been harder and harder every day to say goodbye and to run for twelve hours. I needed to get used to hardship. Not to mention that my wife did all she could to stop me as it was – I think I’d have given up fairly quickly if she’d done that every day for six years.”
“Still seems a bit daft to me.”
Mr Spencer chuckled. “Anyway, I’ve brought a gift for you,” he said. “It should help with your quest.”
“What is it?”
Mr Spencer opened the briefcase. Inside was a pair of thick sunglasses, which had a thin wire running into a device built into the case itself.
“Put these on,” he said, and Geoff obeyed.
“Oh, wow,” said Geoff. Suddenly, wherever he looked, people’s bodies were tinted red – and only their bodies.
“Thought you’d need to see the heads clearly,” said Mr Spencer. “Now, hold this.” He handed him a thin, wand-shaped device, with two buttons along the side. “Point it at me, and press the button.”
Geoff obeyed again, and immediately, Mr Spencer’s body was tinted green.
“Point it at people who aren’t your mystery girl,” said Mr Spencer. “It’ll save you having to check the same people multiple times. The second button resets people to red, by the way, in case you make a mistake.”
Geoff was stunned. He looked around the restaurant, clicking everyone in sight. They all turned green.
“How can it remember all these people?” he asked.
“Scans their DNA and converts it into digital information.”
“How does that work?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” admitted Mr Spencer. “But the device originally did so to my own DNA, so it was a simple matter to adapt the original device.”
“Hang on,” said Geoff. “If you could adapt this device, why not change it to accept any DNA at all?”
“Mainly because I couldn’t be sure it’d work,” he said. “But even if I could – can you think of anyone who runs for twelve hours a day?”
“You could get a bunch of mates to do it in shifts,” said Geoff. “Plenty of charitable people around. Honestly, you should use your head more.” He spotted a gang of children outside, and he eagerly clicked them all green. “Anyway, can this really store everyone in the world?”
“Sadly not,” said Mr Spencer. “It’s got an SD card of two gigabytes in it at the moment, and that’ll store half a million people. As soon as you’ve reached the limit, additional strangers won’t show up as red any more. The green ones will still be green, though, so it’ll still be useful.”
“That’s a shame,” said Geoff.
“But I’ve added an adapter that means you can have several SD cards in at the same time,” said Mr Spencer. “And I’m trying to develop cards with bigger capacities, so by the time you fill all the spaces, you’ll be ready for more.” He smiled. “You’ll have to buy additional cards yourself in the meantime, I’m afraid.”
“Does it need charging?” asked Geoff.
“It no longer requires you to run, if that’s what you mean,” said Mr Spencer. “And it doesn’t need to be inserted into your nervous system either. There’s a steel bracelet inside, and if you wear it, walking will charge the system. I’d recommend power walking, personally.”
Geoff sighed. “You’re such a sadist. Power walking to clock half a million people?” But he was grinning broadly.
To show his appreciation, Geoff paid for a slap-up meal, and the two men were finally able to relax – for both of them, it felt like the first time in years.
“So,” said Mr Spencer. “What about these aliens, eh?”
“We haven’t met in broad daylight before,” said Sunset cheerfully.
“I don’t do much daytime hero stuff,” said Lunar Mist. “Only in extreme cases.”
“Really?” said Sunset. “I love daytime patrols.”
“Do you ever get any sleep?”
“I find I don’t need much,” said Sunset. Before Lunar Mist could say a thing, she turned suddenly. “But aliens! How cool is that? We’ve got to go and see them.”
“No!” said Lunar Mist, and for once, Sunset was taken aback. “That’s the last thing we can do.”
“Why?” asked Sunset, confused.
“Aliens have landed,” he said. “Proper, real, genuine aliens. From space. This isn’t local news, this is worldwide. We can’t go down there, all powers ablazing, or even non-ablazing. We’re blunt instruments – overblown vigilantes. If we start assuming authority over anything that’s a bit out there …”
“You’re right,” said Sunset thoughtfully.
“If there’s a war, we’ll fight,” said Lunar Mist. “But for the time being, we have to assume they’re diplomats.”
“So what do we do?”
Lunar Mist shrugged.
“I’ve got the day off work,” he said. “I’m going to hunt down opportunistic looters, taking advantage of the chaos.”
“Nice one,” said Sunset. “I think I’ll do the same.”
“Let me know how it goes,” said Lunar Mist.
“I’ll text you.” She laughed. “Bet it’s just you and me, though, wandering through empty streets. I can’t imagine anyone doing anything right now, apart from sitting in front of their TVs.”
-10001-
Meanwhile, in Brecon, Mr Spencer was running. He’d cut his speed down somewhat – a concession, since Geoff was running with him.
“I can … get back to … the car … if you like …” breathed Geoff.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Mr Spencer. “I’ll run a bit extra later, that’s all.”
“How long are … you going to keep … this up?”
And for the first time since he’d started running, Mr Spencer gave an honest answer.
“A week.”
“Only a week?” asked Geoff, surprised.
“That’s all that’s left.”
“And then … you’re done?”
“And then I’m done.”
“What happens then?”
“The world will be worth living in again.”
-10001-
Two weeks later, Geoff received a phone call. It was Mr Spencer. They’d exchanged phone numbers back in Brecon, but Geoff hadn’t expected a call so soon.
“Where are you?” asked Mr Spencer.
“Searching Newport at the moment.”
“Fancy meeting up later?”
“Great!” said Geoff, surprised. “I’ll be here all day.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
And, four hours later, they were in a fast food restaurant. Mr Spencer still had his suit and briefcase.
Finally, Mr Spencer told Geoff the whole story, from beginning to end. The fact that he’d had to run to save his wife’s life, the device in the briefcase that tapped into his DNA, his wife’s insistence that he shouldn’t tell anyone why he was doing it until he’d finished – everything.
“So,” said Geoff. “Why not run around the local neighbourhood, and go home for tea and such?”
“To get my face in as many newspapers as possible,” said Mr Spencer. He smiled. “Of course not. But I needed to motivate myself. If I’d stayed at home, it would have been harder and harder every day to say goodbye and to run for twelve hours. I needed to get used to hardship. Not to mention that my wife did all she could to stop me as it was – I think I’d have given up fairly quickly if she’d done that every day for six years.”
“Still seems a bit daft to me.”
Mr Spencer chuckled. “Anyway, I’ve brought a gift for you,” he said. “It should help with your quest.”
“What is it?”
Mr Spencer opened the briefcase. Inside was a pair of thick sunglasses, which had a thin wire running into a device built into the case itself.
“Put these on,” he said, and Geoff obeyed.
“Oh, wow,” said Geoff. Suddenly, wherever he looked, people’s bodies were tinted red – and only their bodies.
“Thought you’d need to see the heads clearly,” said Mr Spencer. “Now, hold this.” He handed him a thin, wand-shaped device, with two buttons along the side. “Point it at me, and press the button.”
Geoff obeyed again, and immediately, Mr Spencer’s body was tinted green.
“Point it at people who aren’t your mystery girl,” said Mr Spencer. “It’ll save you having to check the same people multiple times. The second button resets people to red, by the way, in case you make a mistake.”
Geoff was stunned. He looked around the restaurant, clicking everyone in sight. They all turned green.
“How can it remember all these people?” he asked.
“Scans their DNA and converts it into digital information.”
“How does that work?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” admitted Mr Spencer. “But the device originally did so to my own DNA, so it was a simple matter to adapt the original device.”
“Hang on,” said Geoff. “If you could adapt this device, why not change it to accept any DNA at all?”
“Mainly because I couldn’t be sure it’d work,” he said. “But even if I could – can you think of anyone who runs for twelve hours a day?”
“You could get a bunch of mates to do it in shifts,” said Geoff. “Plenty of charitable people around. Honestly, you should use your head more.” He spotted a gang of children outside, and he eagerly clicked them all green. “Anyway, can this really store everyone in the world?”
“Sadly not,” said Mr Spencer. “It’s got an SD card of two gigabytes in it at the moment, and that’ll store half a million people. As soon as you’ve reached the limit, additional strangers won’t show up as red any more. The green ones will still be green, though, so it’ll still be useful.”
“That’s a shame,” said Geoff.
“But I’ve added an adapter that means you can have several SD cards in at the same time,” said Mr Spencer. “And I’m trying to develop cards with bigger capacities, so by the time you fill all the spaces, you’ll be ready for more.” He smiled. “You’ll have to buy additional cards yourself in the meantime, I’m afraid.”
“Does it need charging?” asked Geoff.
“It no longer requires you to run, if that’s what you mean,” said Mr Spencer. “And it doesn’t need to be inserted into your nervous system either. There’s a steel bracelet inside, and if you wear it, walking will charge the system. I’d recommend power walking, personally.”
Geoff sighed. “You’re such a sadist. Power walking to clock half a million people?” But he was grinning broadly.
To show his appreciation, Geoff paid for a slap-up meal, and the two men were finally able to relax – for both of them, it felt like the first time in years.
“So,” said Mr Spencer. “What about these aliens, eh?”
Aliens Have Landed: Part 1
The first suggestion that Laoren had that something was amiss was that Melinda was in. Mel was never in. Laoren frowned.
“What’s kept you inside today?” she asked.
“You haven’t seen!” exclaimed Mel excitedly. “Come in!”
She walked into the living room, where Greg – fully dressed already– was bouncing in his seat, watching the television.
“Aliens have landed, Laoren,” Mel explained. “So exciting!”
Laoren’s stomach sank. Had the media somehow found out about Trenavass?
But no. There were lots of these aliens. But they did look familiar – they were quite clearly the same species as Trenavass himself.
“Shame I had my monthly night out last week,” said Mel. “This is worth celebrating.”
“I’m surprised you’ve allowed it to disrupt the morning’s schedule, let alone anything else,” said Greg. Mel threw a cushion at him.
Laoren ignored them. She was watching the news intently.
“One of the aliens has approached the Prime Minister,” the reporter was saying. “However, there have been severe communication problems, and the government is trying to get hold of some linguistic specialists to decipher their unusual grasp of the English language.”
“Bugger this,” said Greg. “I’m off to the pub. No point in celebrating history in my living room.”
“I’d better head off too,” said Mel. “I’ve got plans.”
Laoren was secretly glad. She needed to speak to Trenavass urgently, and as soon as her housemates had left, she dragged him into the living room – ensuring that the curtains were closed first.
“Ah,” said Trenavass.
“Ah?” asked Laoren.
“It seems I’ve made a mistake,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m so sorry,” said Trenavass. “But I lied to you. I’m not an explorer, or a scientist, or an ambassador from my planet. In fact, I wasn’t meant to come here at all. My spaceship is stolen. And my suit wasn’t just intended to hide myself from humans – it’s a disguise.”
Laoren simply stared at him.
“I’m very sorry,” he said.
“Then … who are you?” breathed Laoren. She took a step back. “Are you a criminal?”
“Oh, not at all,” said Trenavass. “A criminal able to speak English this well? Certainly not.” He straightened up to his full height. “I’m a prince.”
“What?!”
“Of quite an important country, in fact. But I didn’t like it there, and I thought I could find a way to live on this planet instead.”
“What?” exclaimed Laoren. “You came here rather than remain a prince in your own world?”
“Yes,” said Trenavass simply.
“And these other aliens. They’re here to find you?”
“Yes.”
“To take you home.”
“To arrest me,” said Trenavass. “Having stolen a ship and fled the planet, I actually AM a criminal now, technically. And being a prince, that means I’ve committed treason.”
“I see,” said Laoren, her head spinning
“My maths were wrong. It should have taken them a week to find that the ship was missing, and even with their faster ships, they shouldn’t have been able to find me until tomorrow at the earliest.” He put his hand to his forehead. “Unless they checked early, or knew for certain I’d come to Earth …”
The reporter suddenly looked extremely alert.
“We’ve just received further information,” she said. “Apparently, a second ship has landed in a secondary school, its location so far undisclosed …”
Laoren turned to Trenavass.
“Why would they go …”
But she didn’t need to finish. The colour had drained from Trenavass’s face, his eyes wide. He snapped out of it, but still he seemed scared.
“Another lie, I’m afraid,” he said. “I told you my ship needed to recharge. That wasn’t true either. I merely needed an excuse to hide here before there was any chance of their arrival.”
“You didn’t need assylum, then?”
“I did,” he said. “But I’d hoped to move on before anyone arrived.”
“And what’s that got to do with the school?”
“That’s where I sent it,” said Trenavass. “That’s where the spaceship’s hidden.”
-10001-
Children surrounded the Byllkwyr, keeping their distance, but nonetheless locking them in. Most of the aliens were bulky and heavily built – security guards and policemen – but a few were smaller. These were the technicians, pilots and experts.
One such expert, his helmet removed, approached the crowds.
“We are Byllkwyr,” he said. “Hopelijk, we not here for very long will be. We zoeken because a spacecraft cloaked, and as soon as we finding, we will only leave your education venture.”
The kids stared in silence.
“We someone wishes our around this school will lead,” he continued. “We some volunteers our want rapidly and efficiently accompany.”
There was some confusion, until one girl realised what they wanted. She stepped forward.
“I greet you in the name of Earth,” she said clearly. “My name is Ffion, and I volunteer to lead you around this school.”
The Byllkydd seemed to follow her speech, and nodded.
“We three others us at you want connect,” he said, slowly and clearly. Seeing the girl frown, he repeated himself, holding up three of his six fingers. “Three others.”
Ffion looked around, seeing her friends Stacey, Stephanie and Karen behind her.
“What do you think?” she asked softly.
“These guys are a bit creepy,” said Stephanie in a stage whisper.
“Know what you mean,” said Stacey. “Don’t know if you can trust blue people.”
The interpretor turned to one of the policemen and spoke in Byllkeg.
“[The two girls are of limited intelligence and therefore of limited use,]” he said.
“[They will be administered an Apathy Dart,]” said the policeman. He pulled out a dart gun, and shot Stephanie in the shoulder, then Stacey in the leg.
The playground went insane. Kids started running around like headless chickens. Stephanie and Stacey, meanwhile, calmly walked away, their most recent memories already fading.
“[You shouldn't have done that,]” sighed the interpretor. “[They are unfamiliar with our technology. Remember, we're like aliens to these people.]”
He turned towards the children again.
“Not panic!” he blared. “We are very sad. The child is safe. The dart is not dangerous.” He was speaking clearly, using short sentences.
Most of the kids settled down, but were still clearly anxious.
“Please don’t do that again,” said Ffion, firmly but humbly.
“We are very sad,” repeated the interpretor.
Ffion turned to Karen, who held up her thumb.
“Karen and I will still accompany you,” she said.
“So will I,” said a small voice from behind them. They looked behind them. It was Elizabeth Norris, a girl a few years older than them.
“We are grateful,” said the alien. “We need more only one.”
“I’ll do it.”
Dylan stepped forwards.
“What do we do?”
“What’s kept you inside today?” she asked.
“You haven’t seen!” exclaimed Mel excitedly. “Come in!”
She walked into the living room, where Greg – fully dressed already– was bouncing in his seat, watching the television.
“Aliens have landed, Laoren,” Mel explained. “So exciting!”
Laoren’s stomach sank. Had the media somehow found out about Trenavass?
But no. There were lots of these aliens. But they did look familiar – they were quite clearly the same species as Trenavass himself.
“Shame I had my monthly night out last week,” said Mel. “This is worth celebrating.”
“I’m surprised you’ve allowed it to disrupt the morning’s schedule, let alone anything else,” said Greg. Mel threw a cushion at him.
Laoren ignored them. She was watching the news intently.
“One of the aliens has approached the Prime Minister,” the reporter was saying. “However, there have been severe communication problems, and the government is trying to get hold of some linguistic specialists to decipher their unusual grasp of the English language.”
“Bugger this,” said Greg. “I’m off to the pub. No point in celebrating history in my living room.”
“I’d better head off too,” said Mel. “I’ve got plans.”
Laoren was secretly glad. She needed to speak to Trenavass urgently, and as soon as her housemates had left, she dragged him into the living room – ensuring that the curtains were closed first.
“Ah,” said Trenavass.
“Ah?” asked Laoren.
“It seems I’ve made a mistake,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m so sorry,” said Trenavass. “But I lied to you. I’m not an explorer, or a scientist, or an ambassador from my planet. In fact, I wasn’t meant to come here at all. My spaceship is stolen. And my suit wasn’t just intended to hide myself from humans – it’s a disguise.”
Laoren simply stared at him.
“I’m very sorry,” he said.
“Then … who are you?” breathed Laoren. She took a step back. “Are you a criminal?”
“Oh, not at all,” said Trenavass. “A criminal able to speak English this well? Certainly not.” He straightened up to his full height. “I’m a prince.”
“What?!”
“Of quite an important country, in fact. But I didn’t like it there, and I thought I could find a way to live on this planet instead.”
“What?” exclaimed Laoren. “You came here rather than remain a prince in your own world?”
“Yes,” said Trenavass simply.
“And these other aliens. They’re here to find you?”
“Yes.”
“To take you home.”
“To arrest me,” said Trenavass. “Having stolen a ship and fled the planet, I actually AM a criminal now, technically. And being a prince, that means I’ve committed treason.”
“I see,” said Laoren, her head spinning
“My maths were wrong. It should have taken them a week to find that the ship was missing, and even with their faster ships, they shouldn’t have been able to find me until tomorrow at the earliest.” He put his hand to his forehead. “Unless they checked early, or knew for certain I’d come to Earth …”
The reporter suddenly looked extremely alert.
“We’ve just received further information,” she said. “Apparently, a second ship has landed in a secondary school, its location so far undisclosed …”
Laoren turned to Trenavass.
“Why would they go …”
But she didn’t need to finish. The colour had drained from Trenavass’s face, his eyes wide. He snapped out of it, but still he seemed scared.
“Another lie, I’m afraid,” he said. “I told you my ship needed to recharge. That wasn’t true either. I merely needed an excuse to hide here before there was any chance of their arrival.”
“You didn’t need assylum, then?”
“I did,” he said. “But I’d hoped to move on before anyone arrived.”
“And what’s that got to do with the school?”
“That’s where I sent it,” said Trenavass. “That’s where the spaceship’s hidden.”
-10001-
Children surrounded the Byllkwyr, keeping their distance, but nonetheless locking them in. Most of the aliens were bulky and heavily built – security guards and policemen – but a few were smaller. These were the technicians, pilots and experts.
One such expert, his helmet removed, approached the crowds.
“We are Byllkwyr,” he said. “Hopelijk, we not here for very long will be. We zoeken because a spacecraft cloaked, and as soon as we finding, we will only leave your education venture.”
The kids stared in silence.
“We someone wishes our around this school will lead,” he continued. “We some volunteers our want rapidly and efficiently accompany.”
There was some confusion, until one girl realised what they wanted. She stepped forward.
“I greet you in the name of Earth,” she said clearly. “My name is Ffion, and I volunteer to lead you around this school.”
The Byllkydd seemed to follow her speech, and nodded.
“We three others us at you want connect,” he said, slowly and clearly. Seeing the girl frown, he repeated himself, holding up three of his six fingers. “Three others.”
Ffion looked around, seeing her friends Stacey, Stephanie and Karen behind her.
“What do you think?” she asked softly.
“These guys are a bit creepy,” said Stephanie in a stage whisper.
“Know what you mean,” said Stacey. “Don’t know if you can trust blue people.”
The interpretor turned to one of the policemen and spoke in Byllkeg.
“[The two girls are of limited intelligence and therefore of limited use,]” he said.
“[They will be administered an Apathy Dart,]
The playground went insane. Kids started running around like headless chickens. Stephanie and Stacey, meanwhile, calmly walked away, their most recent memories already fading.
“[You shouldn't have done that,]
He turned towards the children again.
“Not panic!” he blared. “We are very sad. The child is safe. The dart is not dangerous.” He was speaking clearly, using short sentences.
Most of the kids settled down, but were still clearly anxious.
“Please don’t do that again,” said Ffion, firmly but humbly.
“We are very sad,” repeated the interpretor.
Ffion turned to Karen, who held up her thumb.
“Karen and I will still accompany you,” she said.
“So will I,” said a small voice from behind them. They looked behind them. It was Elizabeth Norris, a girl a few years older than them.
“We are grateful,” said the alien. “We need more only one.”
“I’ll do it.”
Dylan stepped forwards.
“What do we do?”
Therapy: Part 1
Noise. Light. Blink. What? Voices. Pain. Smooth. Bed. Bed? White. Speed. Where? Dad. What? Where? Noise. So. Much. Noise.
Garbled nonsense. Gibberish. Makes no sense. Unbearable pain. Hostile environment? No, safe environment. Unfriendly, but necessary.
I’m in a hospital. Yes, that’s right. Have I been here before? I can’t remember. Then why am I here now? What’s going on? I’m in pain. I must have been in an accident. Am I bleeding? I can’t tell. My head hurts. I hurt all over, but my head really hurts. Can I move? Should I try? Might be dangerous.
Where am I? What’s going on? Where’s my Daddy?
-10001-
“Your name is Therapy.” A calm, soothing voice. “But your real name is Felicity Goodman.”
I turned to look at the man beside me. He was wearing a thick, padded outfit with steel reinforcements along the joints. His face was hidden by a cloth mask. He looked a bit like a ninja.
“Did you know that?” he asked gently.
“My name’s Felicity Goodman,” I croaked. “I know that.”
“Excellent.” He inhaled deeply. “I’m afraid you’ve suffered some injuries to your hippocampus. That’s a part of the brain, and it deals with episodic memory.”
“Hippocampus …” I said. Had I heard that word before? Seems familiar somehow.
“In short, you’re suffering from retrograde amnesia.” He said the last two words slowly and clearly. Wanting me to remember them, maybe. “As you’re no doubt aware, you’ve lost a significant portion of your memories. The further back in time we go, the more you ought to be able to remember. The ones nearest to the accident, you may never recover.”
He paused for a moment. Giving me time to think, maybe. But I preferred it when he spoke, and eventually, he started to speak again.
“Can you remember your family?” he asked.
“My father,” I said. “I want him.”
“Great,” said the stranger. “He’ll be coming to see you later today.”
“Why not now?”
“Because you’re a special case,” he explained. “You see, I told you earlier you had two names. And only two people know this. You and I.”
-10001-
I opened my eyes and looked around. The masked man was still beside me.
“What happened?” I asked.
“You fell asleep,” he said. “Only natural, after the trauma. But I don’t have much time left, so I’ll need to bring you up to speed quite quickly.”
“Right.”
“Okay, here are the basics. You’re thirty-two years old, and a lecturer in the local university.”
Wow. A lecturer! I could remember the start of secondary school – starting GCSEs. GCSEs hadn’t been around long. I wondered if they even existed any more.
“In your spare time, you are a counsellor,” he said. “This may be a bit tricky. You see, you’re a costumed counsellor.” He chuckled. “So I suppose I’m technically doing your job now.”
I didn’t quite understand. A costumed counsellor? Did I do children’s parties? The man must have seen my confusion.
“You see, you used to be a superhero,” he said. “Called yourself Grey Matter. You once told me that you found this quite embarassing. Either way, you eventually retired from superheroics, mostly to focus on writing. You’ve authored three text books, by the way.”
“Wow,” I managed. This was so much to take in. I could just about remember being fifteen, and now, seventeen years later, I’m a lecturer, an author, and apparently, a former superhero. I latched onto this. “Hang on. I was a superhero?”
“That’s right.”
“A real superhero?”
“Oh, of course.” He sounded embarassed. “You can’t remember the superhero arrival.”
And so we took a break from learning about my life, and I learned how the world came to be introduced to superheroes.
-10001-
From the Wikipedia article on superheroes in the UK:
Origin
The term “superhero” originated in American comic books, although stories of superheroes crossed over into many media in the mid- to late-twentieth century.[citation needed]
The first use of the term to describe genuine superheroes was in March of 2000, in Tony Blair’s famous speech in Bristol, where he proclaimed that “[Britain is] a nation that has known its fair share of fear. I myself was born in 1953, a child of the Cold War era. Today is not a day for soundbites, but know this – I will not allow this country to become a fight between terrorists and superheroes. Every day, I thank God that so many of the people affected by the Millennium Bug Virus have chosen to fight for good rather than turn to a life of crime, but that is not to say that I approve of vigilantes.”
History
The bulk of modern superheroes were created after a terrorist attack at midnight on the night of 31st of December, 1999. An unidentified group attacked a high number of resevoirs and dams in the United Kingdom.
The resevoirs were poisoned with a substance known as the Millennium Bug Virus. It is unkown whether the terrorists fully understood the effect of the substance. The number of deaths related to the incident was relatively small, with only two hundred and four fatalities reported nationwide. It is estimated that this is roughly the same number as the amount of civilians who developed superhuman powers after the incident[1].
This section may require cleanup to meet Wikipedia’s quality standards.
Resevoirs Affected
See main article: Resevoirs Targetted By The Millennium Bug Virus
In England, these included all four resevoirs in the Avon area, Grafham Water in Cambridgeshire, two resevoirs in Cheshire, Drift Resevoir in Cornwall, two resevoirs in County Durham, six in Cumbria, thirteen in Derbyshire (including the Longdendale Chain), nine in Devon, Abberton Resevoir in Essex, Dowdeswell Resevoir in Gloucestershire, five resevoirs in Manchester, both resevoirs in Kent, ten in Lancashire, three in Leicestershire, three in London, eight in Northamptonshire, three in Northumberland, twelve in North Yorkshire, five in South Yorkshire, Eccup Resevoir in West Yorkshire, Farmoor Resevoir in Oxfordshire, Rutland Water in Rutland, two resevoirs in Somerset, six in Staffordshire, all twelve in Surrey, Draycote Water in Warwickshire, all nine in the West Midlands (including seven in Birmingham), Ardingly Resevoir in West Sussex and the Bittell Resevoirs (Upper and Lower) in Worcestershire.
In Scotland, these included Blackwater Resevoir near Kinlochleven, Loch Laggan and Loch Treig, Loch Quoich, all in the Highlands. Loch Thom in Inverclyde and Gryffe Resevoir in Renfrewshire were also affected, as were the Scottish Borders’ Megget and Talla Resevoirs.
In Wales, Anglesey’s Llyn Alaw and Llyn Cefni were attacked, as were Carmarthenshire’s Llyn Brianne and Usk Resevoir. All five lakes in Conwy were affected, as were five in Denbighshire. Six resevoirs in Gwynedd, four in Powys, as well as Swansea’s Cray resevoir and Swansea Bay barrage were also attacked.
The only resevoir attacked in Ireland was Northern Ireland’s Silent Valley Resevoir, which supplies most of the water for County Down, surrounding counties, and most of Belfast.
Interpretations
Traditional
The traditional view of superheroism is that when those gifted with powers see a need for improved crime prevention measures, they justify violent acts to bring about justice[2]. Some vigilantes see ethics and moral laws as superior to governmental laws and may believe that the ends justify the means.
Pseudo-superheroism
Pseudo-superheroism was recognised as a phenomenon as early as 2001[3], with ordinary civilians with no notable superhuman powers would wear costumes and behave as superheroes.
Cyber-superheroism
The term cyber-heroism was coined by Sir Menzies Campbell in 2006[4], referring to non-superpowered individuals who use technology for powers, such as weapons or suits. The term quickly grew in popularity, replacing the slang term techno-heroes. Some commentators have attributed this to the nature of cyber-superheroes, often spending great amounts of time on the internet, and usually using the internet to buy their gear in the first place[5].
-10001-
“So I was affected by this terrorist attack?” I said.
“That’s right,” said the man.
“And developed super-powers.”
“Yes, you did,” he said. “Specifically, telekinetic powers and mild empathy.”
“And you were affected too?”
He chuckled.
“I’m what we call a pseudo-superheroes. And traditional superheroes hate me for it.”
“I see,” I said. “Do I hate you?”
“Not as far as I know,” he laughed. “But you keep your cards close to your chest. Anyway, you became a superhero five years ago, and kept it up for around eighteen months. Then, two years ago, you put on a new suit, and became Therapy, the first costumed counsellor.”
“Would it be worth asking why a counsellor would need to be costumed?”
For a moment, I saw sadness in his eyes, but he quickly covered it up.
“It was the result of your research,” he said. “It contributed in no small part to your third book. You’re the expert, but from what I can recall, a lot of costumed supervillains are crying out for attention. Particularly the younger ones. They see superhumans as ‘cool’, and want to emulate them. Therapy therefore represented a cool superhero – after all, you could wow them with a party trick, like lifting a pencil. They might listen to Therapy where they would have ignored standard counselling. In this way, they can be rehabilitated, and the ones with powers can use them for good, and the ones without can find a new outlet for their desire to be a pseudo-superhero – like sports, for instance.”
He checked his watch.
“I have to go,” he said. “I’ll be back tomorrow to continue our discussion.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Your father will visit shortly, as will many friends and relatives. Relax, and don’t be embarassed if you can’t remember who some of them are. They’ll be warned beforehand that duration is what matters, and not how important they are to you.”
I smiled. I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but suddenly, it dawned on me that my life for the last fifteen years hadn’t been all about lectures, books and super-counselling.
“Wait,” I said, calling him back. “What’s your name?”
“Confidential,” he chuckled. “But people here know me as Ten Thousand And One.”
And with that, he left.
Garbled nonsense. Gibberish. Makes no sense. Unbearable pain. Hostile environment? No, safe environment. Unfriendly, but necessary.
I’m in a hospital. Yes, that’s right. Have I been here before? I can’t remember. Then why am I here now? What’s going on? I’m in pain. I must have been in an accident. Am I bleeding? I can’t tell. My head hurts. I hurt all over, but my head really hurts. Can I move? Should I try? Might be dangerous.
Where am I? What’s going on? Where’s my Daddy?
-10001-
“Your name is Therapy.” A calm, soothing voice. “But your real name is Felicity Goodman.”
I turned to look at the man beside me. He was wearing a thick, padded outfit with steel reinforcements along the joints. His face was hidden by a cloth mask. He looked a bit like a ninja.
“Did you know that?” he asked gently.
“My name’s Felicity Goodman,” I croaked. “I know that.”
“Excellent.” He inhaled deeply. “I’m afraid you’ve suffered some injuries to your hippocampus. That’s a part of the brain, and it deals with episodic memory.”
“Hippocampus …” I said. Had I heard that word before? Seems familiar somehow.
“In short, you’re suffering from retrograde amnesia.” He said the last two words slowly and clearly. Wanting me to remember them, maybe. “As you’re no doubt aware, you’ve lost a significant portion of your memories. The further back in time we go, the more you ought to be able to remember. The ones nearest to the accident, you may never recover.”
He paused for a moment. Giving me time to think, maybe. But I preferred it when he spoke, and eventually, he started to speak again.
“Can you remember your family?” he asked.
“My father,” I said. “I want him.”
“Great,” said the stranger. “He’ll be coming to see you later today.”
“Why not now?”
“Because you’re a special case,” he explained. “You see, I told you earlier you had two names. And only two people know this. You and I.”
-10001-
I opened my eyes and looked around. The masked man was still beside me.
“What happened?” I asked.
“You fell asleep,” he said. “Only natural, after the trauma. But I don’t have much time left, so I’ll need to bring you up to speed quite quickly.”
“Right.”
“Okay, here are the basics. You’re thirty-two years old, and a lecturer in the local university.”
Wow. A lecturer! I could remember the start of secondary school – starting GCSEs. GCSEs hadn’t been around long. I wondered if they even existed any more.
“In your spare time, you are a counsellor,” he said. “This may be a bit tricky. You see, you’re a costumed counsellor.” He chuckled. “So I suppose I’m technically doing your job now.”
I didn’t quite understand. A costumed counsellor? Did I do children’s parties? The man must have seen my confusion.
“You see, you used to be a superhero,” he said. “Called yourself Grey Matter. You once told me that you found this quite embarassing. Either way, you eventually retired from superheroics, mostly to focus on writing. You’ve authored three text books, by the way.”
“Wow,” I managed. This was so much to take in. I could just about remember being fifteen, and now, seventeen years later, I’m a lecturer, an author, and apparently, a former superhero. I latched onto this. “Hang on. I was a superhero?”
“That’s right.”
“A real superhero?”
“Oh, of course.” He sounded embarassed. “You can’t remember the superhero arrival.”
And so we took a break from learning about my life, and I learned how the world came to be introduced to superheroes.
-10001-
From the Wikipedia article on superheroes in the UK:
Origin
The term “superhero” originated in American comic books, although stories of superheroes crossed over into many media in the mid- to late-twentieth century.[citation needed]
The first use of the term to describe genuine superheroes was in March of 2000, in Tony Blair’s famous speech in Bristol, where he proclaimed that “[Britain is] a nation that has known its fair share of fear. I myself was born in 1953, a child of the Cold War era. Today is not a day for soundbites, but know this – I will not allow this country to become a fight between terrorists and superheroes. Every day, I thank God that so many of the people affected by the Millennium Bug Virus have chosen to fight for good rather than turn to a life of crime, but that is not to say that I approve of vigilantes.”
History
The bulk of modern superheroes were created after a terrorist attack at midnight on the night of 31st of December, 1999. An unidentified group attacked a high number of resevoirs and dams in the United Kingdom.
The resevoirs were poisoned with a substance known as the Millennium Bug Virus. It is unkown whether the terrorists fully understood the effect of the substance. The number of deaths related to the incident was relatively small, with only two hundred and four fatalities reported nationwide. It is estimated that this is roughly the same number as the amount of civilians who developed superhuman powers after the incident[1].
This section may require cleanup to meet Wikipedia’s quality standards.
Resevoirs Affected
See main article: Resevoirs Targetted By The Millennium Bug Virus
In England, these included all four resevoirs in the Avon area, Grafham Water in Cambridgeshire, two resevoirs in Cheshire, Drift Resevoir in Cornwall, two resevoirs in County Durham, six in Cumbria, thirteen in Derbyshire (including the Longdendale Chain), nine in Devon, Abberton Resevoir in Essex, Dowdeswell Resevoir in Gloucestershire, five resevoirs in Manchester, both resevoirs in Kent, ten in Lancashire, three in Leicestershire, three in London, eight in Northamptonshire, three in Northumberland, twelve in North Yorkshire, five in South Yorkshire, Eccup Resevoir in West Yorkshire, Farmoor Resevoir in Oxfordshire, Rutland Water in Rutland, two resevoirs in Somerset, six in Staffordshire, all twelve in Surrey, Draycote Water in Warwickshire, all nine in the West Midlands (including seven in Birmingham), Ardingly Resevoir in West Sussex and the Bittell Resevoirs (Upper and Lower) in Worcestershire.
In Scotland, these included Blackwater Resevoir near Kinlochleven, Loch Laggan and Loch Treig, Loch Quoich, all in the Highlands. Loch Thom in Inverclyde and Gryffe Resevoir in Renfrewshire were also affected, as were the Scottish Borders’ Megget and Talla Resevoirs.
In Wales, Anglesey’s Llyn Alaw and Llyn Cefni were attacked, as were Carmarthenshire’s Llyn Brianne and Usk Resevoir. All five lakes in Conwy were affected, as were five in Denbighshire. Six resevoirs in Gwynedd, four in Powys, as well as Swansea’s Cray resevoir and Swansea Bay barrage were also attacked.
The only resevoir attacked in Ireland was Northern Ireland’s Silent Valley Resevoir, which supplies most of the water for County Down, surrounding counties, and most of Belfast.
Interpretations
Traditional
The traditional view of superheroism is that when those gifted with powers see a need for improved crime prevention measures, they justify violent acts to bring about justice[2]. Some vigilantes see ethics and moral laws as superior to governmental laws and may believe that the ends justify the means.
Pseudo-superheroism
Pseudo-superheroism was recognised as a phenomenon as early as 2001[3], with ordinary civilians with no notable superhuman powers would wear costumes and behave as superheroes.
Cyber-superheroism
The term cyber-heroism was coined by Sir Menzies Campbell in 2006[4], referring to non-superpowered individuals who use technology for powers, such as weapons or suits. The term quickly grew in popularity, replacing the slang term techno-heroes. Some commentators have attributed this to the nature of cyber-superheroes, often spending great amounts of time on the internet, and usually using the internet to buy their gear in the first place[5].
-10001-
“So I was affected by this terrorist attack?” I said.
“That’s right,” said the man.
“And developed super-powers.”
“Yes, you did,” he said. “Specifically, telekinetic powers and mild empathy.”
“And you were affected too?”
He chuckled.
“I’m what we call a pseudo-superheroes. And traditional superheroes hate me for it.”
“I see,” I said. “Do I hate you?”
“Not as far as I know,” he laughed. “But you keep your cards close to your chest. Anyway, you became a superhero five years ago, and kept it up for around eighteen months. Then, two years ago, you put on a new suit, and became Therapy, the first costumed counsellor.”
“Would it be worth asking why a counsellor would need to be costumed?”
For a moment, I saw sadness in his eyes, but he quickly covered it up.
“It was the result of your research,” he said. “It contributed in no small part to your third book. You’re the expert, but from what I can recall, a lot of costumed supervillains are crying out for attention. Particularly the younger ones. They see superhumans as ‘cool’, and want to emulate them. Therapy therefore represented a cool superhero – after all, you could wow them with a party trick, like lifting a pencil. They might listen to Therapy where they would have ignored standard counselling. In this way, they can be rehabilitated, and the ones with powers can use them for good, and the ones without can find a new outlet for their desire to be a pseudo-superhero – like sports, for instance.”
He checked his watch.
“I have to go,” he said. “I’ll be back tomorrow to continue our discussion.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Your father will visit shortly, as will many friends and relatives. Relax, and don’t be embarassed if you can’t remember who some of them are. They’ll be warned beforehand that duration is what matters, and not how important they are to you.”
I smiled. I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but suddenly, it dawned on me that my life for the last fifteen years hadn’t been all about lectures, books and super-counselling.
“Wait,” I said, calling him back. “What’s your name?”
“Confidential,” he chuckled. “But people here know me as Ten Thousand And One.”
And with that, he left.
Tuesday, 22 May 2007
Map
A map of the world my story is going to be based on. Each number is a different country, and they are numbered in the order that I came up with them, which does not always indicate the importance of the place. These are names in progress, if the spelling annoys me, they may change at some point.
1. Callania
2. Aetyorthiri
3. Tygeriq
4. Setzenein
5. Arrozale
6. Koutuamaa
7. Silvetera
8. Genterare
9. Daiiroda
10. Maoniong
11. Walananang
Ambition: File #195,636
“Good day,” greeted Sophia. “And welcome to Ambition.”
Arthur adjusted his thick, round glasses. “I’m, um, not really sure how this works,” he said, in a quiet voice.
“Ah, a newbie,” said Sophia quietly. “Don’t worry, sir, we’ll sort you out.”
Sophia turned on the PC atop the posh glass counter, and after a moment, called up a database.
“Alright,” she said. “You're file number one-nine-five-six-three-six. What’s your name?”
“Arthur Pritchard,” said Arthur.
“And what’s your ambition?”
“Well, I don’t know if I should say, I want to try this, or …” he said.
“Let your inhibitions go,” said Sophia, smiling at the little man. “Imagine when you were a child – how easy it was to name your ambition?” She looked into the middle distance. “Fireman! Astronaut! Ballet dancer! Those clichés never truly leave us, do they? They evolve.”
“I’d like to be a writer,” said Arthur quietly.
“Oh, lovely!” said Sophia, making a note. “We’ve launched many successful writers. What medium? Novels, television …?”
“Novels, yes,” said Arthur.
“And have you got anything written?”
“I’ve written a few short stories.” Arthur scratched his thick ginger moustache nervously. “I’ve brought a few with me if you’d like to take a look …”
“I’d like to make copies if you wouldn’t mind,” said Sophia. “But you’d better hang on to the originals.”
Arthur handed over his small bundle of papers, and Sophia scanned them into her computer.
“Now, do you understand how this works?” Sophia asked.
“Not really. My friend said something about points and …”
“It’s quite simple,” said Sophia, after Arthur had trailed off completely. “All our members earn points for helping out other members. The more points they have, the higher they climb our priority list.”
“I think I see …”
“The most useful members, therefore, are the most likely to be helped.”
“Ah.”
“But you’re in a great position,” she continued, smiling encouragingly. “Established members jump at the chance to help out new members, because they bring such a range of new opportunities. It’d be easier to help you get an interview with a publisher’s, for instance, than to increase the profile of a writer who’s been here for years.”
Arthur smiled, not entirely following the system.
“In summary, for your first few weeks – if not months – you’ll get plenty of help. After that, you’ll need to help others to boost your profile. Now, if I can take a few details …”
-10001-
Week One
“Good morning, Mr Pritchard. It’s Henry Smith speaking, from Random House Publishing. I’d like to offer you a tentative contract for this coming autumn’s release schedule.”
-10001-
Week Two
Felicity Goodman pointed once again to the flipchart.
“Sixty-eight per cent of the work is editing and re-draughting,” she said. “But a strong first draught is essential. So let’s start with a brainstorming session.”
-10001-
Week Three
A parcel arrived at Arthur’s house. A free trial of a professional text editing program. “Care of Dennis Freeman.”
-10001-
Week Four
“Hello, there. This is Kathy Smitham. An … anonymous party has booked one of our rooms for you for a week’s time. Although the time can be rearranged for convenience. Lovely countryside hotel, with excellent views. Very inspiring.”
-10001-
Autumn
“Arthur Pritchard’s debut novel, ‘The Secret Library’, stands out as a bold, experimental piece that has much to offer to readers of any age. One can but hope that this is merely the first of many installments demonstrating Pritchard’s surreal grasp of modern lifestyles and sensitive approach to the subject matter.”
-- Review by Megan Norris.
-10001-
Arthur walked into the tall, glass building, his head held high.
“Good morning, Sophia,” he greeted.
“Good morning, Mr Pritchard,” said Sophia.
“Thought I’d call in to thank you for the help,” he said, holding a copy of his newly-published book.
“I just filled in the form, Mr Pritchard,” said Sophia with a grin. “I don’t help people personally.”
“It’s a great feeling, this,” said Arthur, once again indicating his book. “To think that, less eight months ago, all I had was a handful of short stories.” He paused. “So … how many new members are there?”
“Plenty,” said Sophia. “One girl came in today wanting to climb Everest.”
“Ambitious!” said Arthur.
“That’s the name of the game.”
“You know,” said Arthur thoughfully. “I’ve got a friend in Nepal. I could find out if he could offer the girl a place to stay. Base of operations, as it were.”
“Good thinking,” said Sophia. She tapped away at the computer. “I’ve forwarded her details to you. She’d be thrilled to hear from you, I’m sure.”
Arthur adjusted his thick, round glasses. “I’m, um, not really sure how this works,” he said, in a quiet voice.
“Ah, a newbie,” said Sophia quietly. “Don’t worry, sir, we’ll sort you out.”
Sophia turned on the PC atop the posh glass counter, and after a moment, called up a database.
“Alright,” she said. “You're file number one-nine-five-six-three-six. What’s your name?”
“Arthur Pritchard,” said Arthur.
“And what’s your ambition?”
“Well, I don’t know if I should say, I want to try this, or …” he said.
“Let your inhibitions go,” said Sophia, smiling at the little man. “Imagine when you were a child – how easy it was to name your ambition?” She looked into the middle distance. “Fireman! Astronaut! Ballet dancer! Those clichés never truly leave us, do they? They evolve.”
“I’d like to be a writer,” said Arthur quietly.
“Oh, lovely!” said Sophia, making a note. “We’ve launched many successful writers. What medium? Novels, television …?”
“Novels, yes,” said Arthur.
“And have you got anything written?”
“I’ve written a few short stories.” Arthur scratched his thick ginger moustache nervously. “I’ve brought a few with me if you’d like to take a look …”
“I’d like to make copies if you wouldn’t mind,” said Sophia. “But you’d better hang on to the originals.”
Arthur handed over his small bundle of papers, and Sophia scanned them into her computer.
“Now, do you understand how this works?” Sophia asked.
“Not really. My friend said something about points and …”
“It’s quite simple,” said Sophia, after Arthur had trailed off completely. “All our members earn points for helping out other members. The more points they have, the higher they climb our priority list.”
“I think I see …”
“The most useful members, therefore, are the most likely to be helped.”
“Ah.”
“But you’re in a great position,” she continued, smiling encouragingly. “Established members jump at the chance to help out new members, because they bring such a range of new opportunities. It’d be easier to help you get an interview with a publisher’s, for instance, than to increase the profile of a writer who’s been here for years.”
Arthur smiled, not entirely following the system.
“In summary, for your first few weeks – if not months – you’ll get plenty of help. After that, you’ll need to help others to boost your profile. Now, if I can take a few details …”
-10001-
Week One
“Good morning, Mr Pritchard. It’s Henry Smith speaking, from Random House Publishing. I’d like to offer you a tentative contract for this coming autumn’s release schedule.”
-10001-
Week Two
Felicity Goodman pointed once again to the flipchart.
“Sixty-eight per cent of the work is editing and re-draughting,” she said. “But a strong first draught is essential. So let’s start with a brainstorming session.”
-10001-
Week Three
A parcel arrived at Arthur’s house. A free trial of a professional text editing program. “Care of Dennis Freeman.”
-10001-
Week Four
“Hello, there. This is Kathy Smitham. An … anonymous party has booked one of our rooms for you for a week’s time. Although the time can be rearranged for convenience. Lovely countryside hotel, with excellent views. Very inspiring.”
-10001-
Autumn
“Arthur Pritchard’s debut novel, ‘The Secret Library’, stands out as a bold, experimental piece that has much to offer to readers of any age. One can but hope that this is merely the first of many installments demonstrating Pritchard’s surreal grasp of modern lifestyles and sensitive approach to the subject matter.”
-- Review by Megan Norris.
-10001-
Arthur walked into the tall, glass building, his head held high.
“Good morning, Sophia,” he greeted.
“Good morning, Mr Pritchard,” said Sophia.
“Thought I’d call in to thank you for the help,” he said, holding a copy of his newly-published book.
“I just filled in the form, Mr Pritchard,” said Sophia with a grin. “I don’t help people personally.”
“It’s a great feeling, this,” said Arthur, once again indicating his book. “To think that, less eight months ago, all I had was a handful of short stories.” He paused. “So … how many new members are there?”
“Plenty,” said Sophia. “One girl came in today wanting to climb Everest.”
“Ambitious!” said Arthur.
“That’s the name of the game.”
“You know,” said Arthur thoughfully. “I’ve got a friend in Nepal. I could find out if he could offer the girl a place to stay. Base of operations, as it were.”
“Good thinking,” said Sophia. She tapped away at the computer. “I’ve forwarded her details to you. She’d be thrilled to hear from you, I’m sure.”
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