Margery and Dennis strode along a barely perceptible sheep path. Dennis led the way. In one hand he held a walking staff, in the other a compass. His boots squelched on the sodden grass and his hood flapped in the restless wind. He glanced at his compass, squinted through the mist, and squished along the path until he reached a stream.
Margery trembled. She felt frozen and vulnerable. Wide-open spaces always gave her the creeps, especially in dense fog when she couldn't see where she was going. Her imagination began to stir, overwhelming her. Perhaps they headed for a cliff edge and would stumble over. Perhaps they headed for a bog that would suck them down. Perhaps a wild animal would savage and eat them. She huddled up behind Dennis, absorbing his courage.
'I do believe we're lost,' said Dennis. 'Can't see a damned thing in this mist, must have missed a turning somewhere.'
'But you said you recognised the path,' said Margery.
'I don't remember this stream, do you? We'd better retrace our footsteps, no need to worry, I'll soon pick up the right track.'
'We can't turn back. You'll never find the path. I knew I didn't recognise where we are. You're hopeless, Dennis, I can't trust you for anything. We're miles from civilisation. Nobody knows we're here. Nobody will search for us. I can't move. I shan't move.'
Margery felt Dennis' arm around her shoulder. It did little to stifle her fear.
'It'll be getting dark in a few hours,' said Dennis. 'Perhaps we should find shelter and make camp?'
'No! I can't stay out here all-night, I'm cold, I'm wet, I'll die of exposure. Try the Satellite-Navigator again, I want to get back to camp.'
'No point trying, Margery, it'll be ages before they send up new satellites. They all malfunctioned, don't you know.'
'Yes, Dennis, I haven't forgotten, I'm not as scatterbrained as you. My mind isn't going yet.'
'Solar flares,' said Dennis, 'that's what the media say. Strange business, don't suppose we'll ever know what really happened. The sea level subsided two metres, don't you know.'
'Yes, Dennis, I haven't forgotten that either. I really don't care just now, right at this moment the only thing I care about is…'
'Hello there!'
A shadowy figure waded towards them across the stream, his boots and gaitered calves under water, his canvas poncho heavy with damp. A callused hand poked through a slit, ready for shaking. 'I know what's YOUR problem,' he said, 'you're lost. Tell me if I'm right.'
Dennis took his hand, clasped it firmly, and shook it as if he would never let go. 'I say,' he said, pumping the hand, 'you're just the chap we need. Where the blazes have you come from?'
'Now then, Sir,' said the man, patting his nose, which was about the only feature seen beneath his big baggy shroud. 'I am a Romany. Call me a gypsy if you like. I have travelled all over the world and can't seem to settle anywhere. Sometimes I am a tinker, other times I am a fortune-teller, today, I am a humble shepherd keeping an eye on the bosses sheep.'
'We're lost,' said Margery, almost fainting with relief. 'Thank God you found us, do you know your way around here. Do you know where we are?'
'Now don't you go-getting yourself all alarmed, Madam, I'll see you safe and sound. You two follow me and I'll soon have you on the right track again, you see if I don't.'
The shepherd set off, his crouched figure limping so fast Margery and Dennis had trouble keeping up, more than once he faded into the mist and had to stop until they caught sight of him again.
Two hours past, a showery squall banished the mist and they made their way towards a hard sandstone ridge. Reaching it, Dennis stepping up from the marshland, stamped mud off his boots, and turned to give his wife a hand.
'I recognise where we are now,' he said, pushing his compass into a soaking wet anorak pocket.
'I've recognised our surroundings for the last twenty minutes,' said Margery. 'I was waiting to see how long it took you.'
Dennis regarded his spouse with wonder. 'Perhaps you should go in front. All these rocks and hills look the same to me.'
Margery dropped Dennis' hand. 'Not likely, you're so tall and broad you make a very efficient windbreaker. I'll just snuggle on behind. Where's our little friend?'
'Vanished for good,' said Dennis, peering in all directions. 'Didn't even get to say thanks. Most peculiar, never would have believed it possible.'
Margery switched her wooden staff to her left hand and pushed her hood back with her right hand. 'It has stopped raining,' she said, 'you can pull your hood back if you like.'
Dennis sniffed the cold air and gazed at the distant, misty hills. The Falklands reminded him of the Yorkshire moors on a bad day: barren, desolate and weather-beaten. Large seagulls circled in the sky, hanging on the wind, and Dennis wondered if they felt the cold, or if they played in the air currents and enjoyed life whatever the weather.
'Well don't just stand there,' said Margery. 'Either take your hood off or get moving. I really must get out of these wet clothes and warm myself.'
'I sometimes wish I was a seagull,' said Dennis. 'Look how graceful they are and how skilfully they fly.'
'Dennis, instead of studying chemistry and mineralogy, why didn't you become a ballet dancer?'
'With my spindly legs? Ha-ha. Oh no, my legs are made for walking, don't you know.'
'So you keep telling me, Dennis. Could you give me a little demonstration, towards our camp maybe?'
They set off again. A fresh squall howled across the moor, rudely pushing and shoving them. 'What do you think it's like in the summer?' asked Dennis, shouting to make himself heard.
'The rain is five degrees warmer, otherwise the same. I detest this place.'
'Ah, yes, it's certainly wild and unspoilt. Are you keeping up all right?'
'What? I can't hear you.'
'Are you keeping up?'
'Yes, don't stop.'
The squall eased and a low white sun broke through the grey clouds, blessing their surroundings with vivid colour. Dennis loosened his hood and pulled it off.
'We've found some unparalleled cultures,' he said. 'We may never know the reason behind those strange global events, but they caused some curious effects with nature. I'm excited about our fungi samples, they're unique; and those mosquito brains show a most peculiar tendency.'
'Yes, Dennis, and the sooner we complete our studies the sooner we can finish your new brain drug and get back to England.'
'Think of it, Margery, a drug to aid the slow at learning, to accelerate brainwaves and induce harmonic operation. No more depression, violence, Alzheimer's disease, or low intelligence. It'll revolutionise brain surgery.'
'Yes, Dennis, I think we'll test it on you first.'
'Ha-ha, you're playing games with me. You are my precious dove, don't you know.'
'Thank you, Dennis.'
They walked on in silence, stepping nimbly over moss and stone and tufty grass. Twenty minutes later, they reached the rough dirt track where their adapted Land Rover waited.
'I'll put the samples away in the fridge, Margery, then I'll put the kettle on. You change into something dry and warm.'
Warm air soon toasted their cold feet and steaming mugs of tea warmed their frozen hands. Comfortable and safe, they smiled at each other. Margery reached across the narrow table and stroked Dennis' cheek, then found a map and spread it between them.
'Two more areas to explore,' she said, pointing with her pencil, 'up across this range here, and down along the fjord over here.'
'Another couple of weeks?'
'Yes,' said Margery. 'That should do it. Then we can return to our container-laboratory at Stanley, thank goodness. Only another two weeks, can we hang on?'
Dennis opened the fridge and studied its contents. 'We're out of milk and cheese, but there's plenty of meat and fish.' He opened another cupboard. 'Plenty of tinned food and rice too, but we're almost out of vegetables and fruit. Shall we drive back to Stanley for supplies?'
'What? Are you turning soft in your old age? I'd rather finish our explorations here as soon as possible and get back to our experiments. I'm fine, really. And if we don't find what we want on this Godforsaken island, then let's try somewhere warmer next, the Caribbean maybe.'
A new rain-squall dashed against the windscreen, and the Land Rover shivered.
'Perhaps we should leave,' said Dennis. 'This place gives me the creeps.'
'Gives you the creeps? How do you think I feel? We're totally isolated from the world–supposing a real storm breaks, how safe are we?'
Dennis found his notebook and scribbled formulae. 'I think I have enough samples, we've plenty of specimens to work on, we don't necessarily have to explore those last areas.'
'It's up to you. It's your brain drug. Personally, I've had enough of this place.' Margery paused, gathering her thoughts. 'Dennis?' she said.
'Yes.'
'Did you notice anything out of the ordinary with that funny little shepherd?'
Dennis nodded. 'Most peculiar, never would have believed it possible.'
'What?'
'Well, where did he come from, where did he go? He must have been eighty years old but blowed if I could keep up with him.'
'Yes, that too,' said Margery, 'but that isn't what I mean–I think he was a ghost.'
'Good Lord, do you?'
'Yes. Didn't you notice how he kept walking through things? We dodged around rocks and boulders while he passed straight through. That's the reason we kept losing him and had trouble keeping up.'
'Ah. I was hoping you hadn't noticed. Most peculiar, never would have believed it possible.'
'Another thing,' said Margery as hairs on the back of her neck tingled and rose, 'how did he know which direction to lead us? How did he know where our Land Rover was parked?'
A sudden gust twirled itself round the Land Rover, searching the windows and doors for an entrance. In rage, wailing and howling, it grabbed the roof rack and tried to rip it off, then, with an extra surge, flung itself against the car, rocking it like a crib.
'I don't like this,' said Margery, catching her pencil before it rolled off the table. 'I'm frightened.'
Finding no hold, the gust lingered a moment then slid away in despair. It soared across the moor, moaning into the distance. Margery followed its path as it flattened grass and lifted water from streams and puddles. It fell into a crevice, spinning, then broke loose and climbed into the lofty mountains beyond.
Margery's gaze lingered in the high reaches. She squinted, then reached under her seat for her binoculars. 'My goodness,' she said. 'Dennis, quick, take a look at this.'
Dennis fumbled for his binoculars, lifted them to his eyes, and focused on a strange shape soaring towards them in the sky.
'What is it?' asked Margery.
'It's an egg, Margery.'
'Yes, Dennis, I can see it resembles an egg, I'm not going blind yet, but it's the size of a barn. Doesn't that seem in the least bit strange to you–what is it?'
'It's moving extremely fast, that's what it is. I don't like the look of this, Margery, I don't like the look of this at all.'
Margery slid under the table. 'Well don't just sit there, drive us away, my God–hurry!'
'I don't think that would do us much good. The thing has stopped now, right beside us, and there's a little ramp opening underneath. Come and look, Margery, we're about to be visited by aliens.'
'I don't want to see any aliens, drive us away, drive us away.'
Dennis bent down under the table and put his hand on Margery's shoulder. Then, when he felt her fear, he slid down beside her and covered her body with his own. 'They'll go away,' he whispered. 'Just stay calm and quiet, pretend nobody's home.'
They heard footsteps rustling through the grass and then a tap on the window. Margery wanted to scream but stifled it to a faint whine.
'Mother? Father? Are you in there?'
'Russell?' Dennis banged his head under the table as he struggled to climb up. 'Russell, is that you?'
'Hi, Pop,' said Russell, cupping his eyes against the window and peering through. 'Where's Mother?'
'You've frightened the living daylights out of her. She's hiding under the table.'
'Oh, sorry about that. I said to Trevor we should call you on the Zip-Linq, but he wanted to surprise you.'
'Well, you certainly succeeded in that.'
Margery clambered to her feet and threw the car door open. 'You stupid boys,' she shouted. 'Always playing pranks. When are you ever going to grow up?'
'Sorry, Mother.'
'How did you find us? Oh, never mind, give me a hug–before I punch you.'
She jumped to the ground, reached up, and threw her arms around Russell's shoulders. 'What have you boys been up to, what is this... thing?'
'Come inside and see, Mother. We've brought a special friend along who wants to talk to you both. He's a professor at a university in London. It was he who located you.'
Dennis patted Russell's shoulder as he wandered past towards the egg. 'Marvellous, marvellous, is it safe?'
'It's called the "Cloud", Father, like our name. Don't stand out here in this disgusting weather, go on in, Trevor's waiting inside, up the stairs.'
'I can't meet anybody like this,' said Margery. 'I haven't showered for a fortnight and my hair is a total mess.'
'Go on in, Mother. You can shower in my apartment before you meet the professor. He's tucked away in the control room so you won't bump into him. Anyway, you look great.'
Margery stood at the bottom of the little ramp and hesitated. She clasped an armload of clean clothes into her chest, then stepped forward until her head poked just inside the strange object. Deciding it was no worse than boarding an aeroplane, she climbed all the way in. A flight of metal stairs led up to a broad landing where Trevor stood waiting.
He welcomed his mother with a peck on her cheek.
'Up the next flight of stairs to my apartment,' said Russell, following up behind.
Margery ran up the broad carpeted stairs hardly noticing the works of art hanging there, even though most were 'borrowed' from their mansion in London.
Russell ushered her into his apartment and closed the door.
'You're safe now, Mother,' he said.
Margery puffed, caught her breath, and took in her surroundings. 'This is pure luxury,' she said, collapsing into a deep blue armchair. 'Is this what you two do with our money?'
'Partly,' said Russell. 'But you mustn't worry, it's all for a good cause. Me and Trevor saved the world with this.'
'Oh, I'm not condemning you, Russell, you don't need to make silly jokes, there's no shortage of capital. Actually, I'm mighty pleased you came along. Where's the bathroom? I better clean up.'
She locked herself in the plush bathroom, turned on the shower, and let the water flow hot and fierce. Where the water came from, and where it went to, she couldn't guess, but she hummed and sighed until the rejuvenating torrents had thoroughly rinsed away her aches and cares.
Dennis reached the hallway and nodded to his eldest son Trevor. 'I presume this is another of your inventions?' he said. 'Rather more ambitious than some of your other efforts, don't you think?'
'Yes, Father. This is my best invention so far. Are you still frightened of heights?'
'So-so, why do you ask?'
'Come into the control room and I'll introduce you to the professor.' He threw the door behind him wide open and stood aside. 'Take a look at the control room.'
There was no room–only a few pieces of furniture floating high above the ground. A man dressed in a tweed suit stood up from a floating settee and walked across thin air to meet them.
'My name is Professor Morris Masterson,' he said, 'and I reacted precisely like you when I first saw this room. Yes, it is a room, but the walls are invisible.' He shook Dennis' hand. 'I'm so pleased to meet the parents of such gifted boys, come and sit beside me on the settee, you won't fall, I promise.'
'Come on, Father.' Trevor pushed from behind. 'You'll soon get used to it.'
Dennis made a dash for the settee and threw himself down. He took a moment to compose his nerves, then turned to the Professor. 'Please excuse my bad manners, Professor. My name is Dennis Cloud.'
'Give yourself a moment,' said the professor. 'Can't say I like this confounded free as a bird procedure either. But once you're acclimatised, it's a stupendous sensation.'
'I was just saying to Margery I would like to fly like a seagull, or was it a crow? Anyway, I think I'll pass on that now. Why are you carrying that football, Trevor?'
Trevor dropped the ball and it drifted to a position close to his left shoulder. 'Father, we haven't seen each other for many months, and some strange things have happened to us during that time. This is Aidme, which stands for: Artificial Intelligence-Directly Mind Embedded. He's not from this planet, Father. I found him on the outskirts of the universe, abandoned in a giant alien spaceship we call the Hollywood.'
Dennis studied Trevor's face, then the professor's, and found no sign of jest. 'Well now, Son, most peculiar, yes, most peculiar, but I believe you, don't doubt you for a moment. There have been some odd goings-on here too these last few days. Not a drop of rain anywhere in the world, and all electronics wiped out.'
'Yes, Father, we know. That's what the professor wants to talk about.'
'Does he now?' Dennis shot a glance at the professor. 'Can't imagine why, it's none of our doing.'
'I'll explain everything shortly,' said the professor.
'Well, Son,' said Dennis, turning back to Trevor, 'congratulations. You and I have an awful lot to discuss, but better not let your mother in here, she's terrified of heights.'
Russell called down to announce lunch was ready and the men made their way up to his apartment. Margery stood just inside the door and smiled sweetly as Russell introduced the professor. Professor Maurice Masterson took Margery's hand and kissed her fingers.
'Mrs Cloud, you look enchanting.' He escorted her to the table, held her chair and waited while she sat, then motioned for the others to follow.
Dennis sat beside Margery. She sniffed, wrinkled her nose, and whispered in his ear. 'I think you need a shower.'
'As soon as we've eaten,' promised Dennis, eyeing the selection of small food bowls scattered around the table.
'Just a simple serving,' said Russell. 'Call it Tapas if you like–Spanish finger food.'
The professor preferred not to use his fingers. 'Could I please have a knife and fork,' he said, 'and I expect your parents would also appreciate proper utensils.'
'Yes, thank you,' said Margery, 'and napkins too, please.'
'Beer or wine?' asked Russell, placing a good supply of each on the table.
Margery and Dennis served themselves good portions of food, and a few mouthfuls of wine soon relaxed the atmosphere, the howling wind and freezing rain forgotten.
'This is all very pleasant,' said Margery, sipping her wine. 'I understand it was you, Professor, who sought this visit.'
'Yes, madam, I hope to solicit your help.'
'Really? How intriguing.'
'I've already complimented your husband on your sons' brilliance,' said the professor, folding his napkin and pushing his plate away, 'but in all truth they're a pair of ninnies.'
Margery's smile vanished. Her fork slipped from her hand and clattered onto her plate. 'I beg your pardon, Professor, but you have a strange way of seeking help. I'm afraid you're going the wrong way about it.'
'Madam, I understand your reaction, but nonetheless I repeat my statement. These two boys are brilliant, but their brilliance makes them absent-minded ninnies.'
'Well, they've inherited that from their father, he doesn't own a morsel of common sense.'
'I say, Margery, I rather resent that remark. My ancestors are known for their eccentricity, not lack of common sense. I'm sorry, Professor, but I think we're unable to help, we're rather occupied with an important project and time is of the essence.'
'I'm not deliberately attempting to be offensive,' said the professor. 'Please don't turn me down yet. Give me half a chance and I'll qualify my statement.'
'Ninnies?' said Margery, recovering her fork.
'If it makes you feel better, I consider myself a complete ninny too. The dire situation in which we find ourselves is due partly to my own foolishness.'
Trevor and Russell bowed their heads like two students caught reading comics during lessons. They glanced sideways at each other and Russell grinned. Trevor kicked him under the table and they both started to snigger.
'Need I say more?' asked the professor.
'Tell us what you have to say,' said Margery. 'Our boys are not as immature as they make out–and what dire situation do we find ourselves in?'
The professor rested a hand on Trevor's shoulder. 'Your brilliant sons saved our planet from an invasion of aliens.'
'Aliens?'
'Yes, madam, aliens. The aliens were stealing water from our planet like arrogant thieves, siphoning it off and constructing a massive iceberg in the outer atmosphere. Your brilliant "ninny" sons, together with two American astronauts, and this wonderful Cloud machine, and that Aidme object hovering on Trevor's shoulder, gave the aliens a bloody nose and sent them back to their own planet empty-handed. The ninny part was that we transported the iceberg back to Earth before testing it.'
'Which means it was more than distilled water?'
'Correct, Margery. The aliens added a chemical to the iceberg which our scientists have failed to analyse.'
Dennis placed his cutlery beside his plate and sat erect. 'It isn't possible to "not" analyse a chemical. There is no such thing as a "new" chemical.'
'Our scientists,' said the professor with a sneer, 'are as competent as a bunch of five-year-olds. We obtained a sample, but it turned bright pink and the temperature rose to one hundred and sixty degrees before the "so-called" scientists even had a chance to scratch their numskull heads. We tossed the sample into a volcano in Iceland and the damned thing erupted.'
Margery sighed. 'Men are so stupid. You think you know it all and dash ahead without thinking. Didn't it occur to you the iceberg could be polluted?'
The brothers sank their heads again and the professor fiddled with his bow tie. 'What's done is done, Madam. What I'm trying to ask, in my own clumsy way, is whether you will help us.'
'Well, yes, of course,' said Dennis. 'We're good at this sort of thing, don't you know. Won't take us long to sort it out. How do you feel about it, Margery, the decision is yours.'
Before she had time to answer, Russell broke in with his own thoughts. 'How did you manage to take a sample, we deposited the iceberg in the South Pole.'
'It wasn't easy,' said the professor. 'Our technology is reduced to the level of the last world war; but they managed in those primitive days, so we're not totally without resources. Two brave men risked their lives journeying under the South Pole's ice in a mini submarine borrowed from the maritime museum. They took a sample, but it became unstable even before it reached our hands.'
'Heavens above,' said Margery, shuddering at the thought of all that endless ice shutting the submarine off from fresh air. 'Those men deserve a medal. How does anyone dare that sort of thing?'
'They're trained for it, Margery,' said Dennis, 'it's amazing what you become accustomed to with time and patience, don't you know.'
'No, Dennis, I don't know. I've been married to you all these years and I'm still not accustomed to you.'
'But you are my precious dove.'
'Thank you, Dennis,'
Margery heaved a sigh. 'And how, Professor, do you propose we obtain a sample?'
Expecting the question, the professor nodded. 'On our way here today, we took a little detour and inspected the iceberg. I strongly recommend you undertake your experiments in the iceberg's close vicinity. I have taken the liberty to arrange transport with an icebreaker. Your container-laboratory can be chained to the deck, and we can outfit the ship with any other equipment you might need.'
'Oh,' said Dennis. 'I'm not good on boats, I suffer from seasickness.'
Russell slapped his knees. 'Hey, Father, haven't you come up with a decent travel-sickness pill? Perhaps you should develop one on your way down?'
'Be quiet,' said Margery. 'This isn't the time for flippancy. Professor, can't you fly us in a helicopter?'
'No, sorry, without radar and satellite navigation nothing can fly down that way. I'm sure your sons would gladly give you a lift in the Cloud, but then we'd have to explain the Cloud to the icebreaker crew, and that would never do, the Cloud has to remain top secret.'
'Ah, yes, righty-ho. I can understand that,' said Dennis, shrugging his shoulders. 'And you consider it too risky to bring a sample here?'
'It's impractical, dangerous, and out of the question.' Forgetting his social behaviour, the professor picked up a meatball with his fingers and popped it into his mouth. He licked his fingers and wiped his mouth with a serviette. 'I would ask you to consider this,' he said, munching the meatball. 'Most of the world's fresh water is stored within the South Pole's enormous quantity of ice. If all the ice was to melt, the sea level would rise by sixty metres.' Another meatball popped into his mouth.
'Yes, Professor,' said Dennis. 'But how likely is that?'
'It has started already. The ice surrounding our iceberg has melted, and the melted seawater is tepid and–pink.'
Dennis ran his fingers through his thinning hair and straightened his back. 'We have to do something about this, Margery. Damned nuisance really, but it shouldn't take long.'
'Well of course, we'll do all we can. How far is it?' asked Margery. 'How long will it take us to reach this iceberg?'
'Oh, three or four days,' said the professor. 'It depends on the weather and thickness of ice you'll have to break through.'
'How about this for an idea, Mother?' said Trevor, leaning forward. 'We'll follow in the Cloud. You won't see us because we'll be invisible. When you board the icebreaker, say you don't want to be disturbed and go to your container-laboratory on deck. I'll pick you up, then drop you off when the icebreaker arrives.'
'I'll tell you what,' said Margery, on a brighter note. 'We'll join the icebreaker, and if the weather's nice, we'll treat it as a cruise. Since our container-laboratory is with us, Dennis, you can use the time to work on your brain drug, it'll take your mind off seasickness. And if the weather turns bad, we'll take up your offer, Trevor, and join you in the Cloud.'
'Well spoken, my dear,' said Dennis, sliding his arm around her shoulder. 'That's everything settled then. You are my precious Dove, don't you know.'
'Thank you, Dennis.'