The vision burst and Russell laughed as if he had just come to the end of a big-dipper ride. 'Spooky,' he said and looked at his watch. 'I don't know what that was all about, but it took twenty minutes.' Once again, the room was bright, hot and stuffy, and the memory of his nightmarish vision soon withered into obscurity. 'If I hurry,' he said, 'I'll be at Trevor's by eight; just like I promised.'
He didn't usually talk to himself, but found the sound of his voice reassuring. 'I must have eaten something bad,' he said, 'or perhaps I need some salt like they keep telling us on the radio.' He jumped to his feet and reached for his water bottle, half the water went down his throat, the rest he poured over his head.
He opened a tap in the shower. It gurgled and spluttered but no water ran out, not even a drip. It didn't bother Russell, he could shower when he arrived at Trevor's. His brother had his own water well so he wasn't affected by the water rationing. Russell wiped the sweat from his body with a towel and changed into a light tracksuit.
After locking his dojo securely, he stepped off the pavement and crossed the busy road, dodging hooting traffic as if it was a game. Safely across, he entered a large public park and broke into a run.
A young man dressed in sporty tee shirt and shorts jogged on the path ahead. The path was long and steep but Russell's long stride soon had him trotting beside the stranger.
'Come on, man, race you to the top,' said Russell.
The jogger leant forward, lifted his knees, and sprinted. His feet pumped up and down in a clumsy, inefficient manner. Russell breathed easily and slowed his pace to allow the jogger the pleasure of winning. When they reached the hill top, the jogger gasped for breath and huge sweaty patches soiled his immaculate tee shirt.
'Good race, thanks,' said Russell. He gave the young man an encouraging pat on his shoulder, left the path, and sped off across the dry and dusty grass towards a distant line of trees.
He passed a long fenced-off section and noticed a drowsy group of donkeys grazing on the other side. Their necks, ears and tails hung with fatigue, exhausted after so many weeks of hot dry weather.
'Had a hard day, fellows?' called Russell, waving his arm in salute as he trotted past.
The narrow dirt track twisted between prickly gorse and tall bushes until it led up a steep hill into a barren wooded area. The warm summer evening lingered on. Sunlight flashed and twinkled through the trees causing Russell to blink and shade his eyes.
Without warning, a large man blocked his way.
'That's far enough,' growled the man. 'Give me your wallet.'
Jogging on the spot and smiling, Russell assessed the tall stout stranger. He was dressed in frayed baggy jeans and stained vest. Broad hairy shoulders bulged with muscle and a well-fed stomach bulged with fat. He had a broken nose, cauliflower ears, and short-cropped hair the same length as the stubble on his chin.
'Stop prancing about and give me your wallet,' he repeated.
'Why should I?' asked Russell.
'Because if you don't, me and me mate will break every bone in your body and hang you over a branch to dry.'
Two huge Alsatian dogs dragged a new man into view. The dogs strained on chain leashes, gnashing and snarling, their eyes fixed on Russell, eager to tear him apart. The new man dug his heels into the ground and, by sheer size and weight, held the animals at bay.
'Worried now, ain't you?' said the first man, not taking his eyes away from Russell's bouncing figure.
'My name is Russell,' he said, trying to sound natural. 'I live around here and I've used this path ever since I was a boy. I don't think we've met before.'
'Hey, Bert,' he called. 'We've got a smart arse here, looks like we're going to have a lynching party.' His cold green eyes never left Russell as he spoke, and he pushed his mangled face close into Russell's. 'If you want to know, you ain't seen us because me and Bert are specialists. We move about from place to place, a quick grab or two and move on, and we don't mess about with little old ladies and sissy girls, do we, Bert?'
'Not likely, Alf. They go to the cops and cry their little eyes out. Gets us into trouble they do.'
'Yeah, but not tough boys like you, eh, sport?' said Alf, prodding Russell in the chest with a gnarled finger. 'Tough guys like you are too proud to snitch.'
'A good plan,' admitted Russell, still smiling. 'I like your strategy even though it won't work with me. I'd really love to stop and chat with you guys,' he stopped jogging and let his body relax, 'but I really am in rather a hurry. And before anything else happens, I have to inform you that I have a black belt in five different disciplines of martial arts.'
'Well excuse me,' said Alf, mimicking Trevor's upper-class accent. 'You've got me shaking in me boots.'
'Yeah, me too,' said Bert, 'shaking in me boots.' He burst out laughing so hard he almost lost grip of the Alsatians.
'Well if you want to know,' snarled Alf, 'me and Bert here are prize fighters, and we eat wimps like you for breakfast. Now, give me your damned wallet.' A long-bladed knife appeared in his right hand and sunlight flashed from the clean steel as he waved it in front of Russell's nose. He stretched his left hand out for the wallet.
What happened next mystified Alf. He suddenly found himself lying on his back, winded. Rising onto one elbow, he noticed in bewilderment that Russell now held his knife. He watched the tall slim boy gauge the knife's weight and balance. With a fluid motion, the boy hurled it away. Not wanting to lose his precious knife, Alf followed its flight. It turned twice in the air and struck a tree trunk with a solid thud, its point buried deep into the hard wood.
'Set the dogs on him, Bert,' he gasped.
Russell bent down on one knee and waited for the animals. The dogs skidded to a stop when they reached him, barked ferociously, gnashed their teeth, and sprayed blobs of saliva like irrigation hoses.
'You handsome fellows don't really want to eat me,' cooed Russell. 'I bet you've already eaten and your tummies are good and full.'
This wasn't the reaction the Alsatians were used to, and the confused dogs growled suspiciously.
'What fine looking dogs you are. How's about you and I being friends? I bet you'd like your ears scratched?'
The Alsatians cocked their heads sideways, lifted their ears, and frowned. Russell's pacifying tone had the dogs spellbound and they took comfort in his calm voice. They eased their noses forward and sniffed his outstretched hand–then lunged with open jaws to bite it off.
Russell snatched his hand back. Sharp teeth scraped the back of his fingers and he winced. The dogs' jaws snapped shut with a loud bang. Before the dogs had time to realise his fingers were still attached to his hand, Russell leaped to his feet.
'Stand off, Chums,' commanded Bert. The dogs grew rigid. Only their brutish heads and ravenous eyes followed Russell as he backed away. 'I'll teach you to mess with me dogs,' shouted Bert, running forward and drawing his own knife.
Russell told himself to stay calm. He felt sure he could handle the thugs, but the dogs were an interesting problem. Dogs as large as ponies were about to molest him and he wondered if this was the meaning of his vision. He shook his head to clear it, but the vision had been vivid and his confidence was shaken.
This was the first time a real situation had confronted him, the first time he would make use of his martial arts in a real fight. He was used to pain. Black eyes and broken bones were all part of his life, and during his years of training and competitive fights, he'd broken his nose twice and both arms and left leg below the knee once. But on those occasions, medical help had been close at hand and referees had jumped in to stop fights if they became too injurious. For the first time in his life, Russell was in fatal danger–and the prospect made him tingle with excitement.
Of the five martial arts Russell mastered, he preferred aikido, and his body softened into a composed stance. 'The way of harmonious spirit,' he muttered as Bert charged towards him like an angry bull. Such a graceful art, he thought, such little effort required.
Bert lunged with his knife, his bulky body charged with brute power. He drove the knifepoint at Russell's right shoulder. In an instant, Russell's shoulder swayed aside and an effortless side-stepping counter sent Bert's feet lifting off the ground. He flew through the air and flapped his tattooed arms like an overweight turkey with clipped wings, landing with a strangled squawk on top of Alf. The thugs cursed and untangled themselves in time to see Russell weigh and balance Bert's knife. Again the knife turned twice before thudding into the tree trunk, landing so close to Alf's knife the handles vibrated against each other with a sound like a neurotic woodpecker.
'Kill,' shouted Bert, and the Alsatians sprang forward.
'No. Call them off,' screamed Russell, dashing for the nearest tree. He grabbed a branch above his head and swung his feet up like a trapeze artist. The biggest of the dogs bounced up, caught Russell's jacket, and hung by his teeth. The combined weight was too much for the dry branch and it snapped with a loud crack. Russell fell backwards and landed on top of the dog, he heard air wheeze from its lungs like a violent sneeze and hoped the animal was stunned.
The second dog lurched forward with its shiny white teeth aimed at Russell's thigh. Russell still held the branch and pushed it into the dog's jaws. With his free hand he gathered the dogs' chains and wrapped them tightly around the branch.
'Well, it's been nice talking to you gentlemen,' said Russell as he turned to sprint away. 'But I really must be getting along, perhaps we can have a friendlier chat another day, and by the way, I don't carry a wallet. Bye.'
Alf stuck his boot out and Russell tripped. His nose and forehead splattered against a tree tunk and he only managed to stay on his feet by holding onto the tree. With blood spouting from his nose and stars blurring his vision, he spun to face his aggressors.
The thugs laughed so hard they found it impossible to stand up. Russell prodded his nose. He didn't think it was damaged, but his injured self-esteem craved retaliation. The rabid Alsatians strained against their chains and drew closer, tripping and stumbling in their eagerness to reach him. Russell bunched his muscles and clenched his fist so hard the joints cracked. The martial arts were for self-defence he reminded himself, not for aggression. He swallowed his anger and ran.
'Come back here, you skinny runt,' called Alf. 'We'll meet again all right and when we do I'll bash your dimwit brains out.'
'Yeah, me too,' said Bert.
Russell hurried on through the woods with a salty mixture of blood and sweat in his mouth, but the bleeding stopped as quickly as it started, and his injured pride eased. I did well, he consoled himself. I mostly managed to stay calm.
He glanced over his shoulder. Neither the thugs nor their dogs followed so he slowed to a comfortable pace and breathed deeply. This part of the woods was relatively unspoiled by human activity, and he felt Mother Nature's gentle spirit reach out to ease his soul. Birds sang above, crickets chirped below, and the rhythmic pat-pat of his feet sounded like a gentle heartbeat. He sighed; life wasn't so bad after all.
All too soon, the path came to a high-wire fence and split off in two directions. Russell turned right, carried on for another hundred metres then stopped in front of a padlocked gate. He unlocked the gate, closed it behind him, and snapped the padlock back in place. He was on his parent's property now, the extensive estate surrounding the Cloud's mansion, and set off along a barely perceptible path.
The narrow path wound its way down a steep cliff, skirted a large, dried-out pond, passed a few rundown outhouses and ended at a dirt-track road. His parents' stately house stood to the left, visible through the trees, but Russell turned right knowing his brother would be busy playing with his experiments under deeper forest cover.
Earlier in the day, Trevor had phoned him and babbled about the 'crowning result of his experiment', and how Russell had to be there at eight-o-clock sharp 'to witness the outcome–one way or the other!' Russell had grown accustomed to his brother's crazy experiments. Not all of them were successful, in fact, most of them were a miserable flop and Russell's job was to pat him on the back and wish him better luck next time.
For months now, his brother Trevor had spent every waking hour constructing a hideous, egg-shaped–something or the other. He never clarified his experiments until finished and working. If they worked, he'd sleep, eat, and play with them a few days until a new project popped to mind. If they didn’t work, he'd sleep, eat, and walk around with his hands in his pockets until a new project popped to mind. All in all, Trevor wasn’t the most talkative person in the world. Not that Russell minded, he didn't understand a quarter of Trevor's explanations anyway.
Trevor's greatest achievement so far was a communication device he called a 'Zip-linq'. The Zip-linq was no larger than a memory-stick Russell plugged into his computer. The Zip-Linq came equipped with various coloured buttons for various obscure operations, and was designed to clip onto a zip. Trevor had flapped his arms and dribbled with excitement as he praised the Zip-Linq's qualities. 'It utilises a completely new technology,' he had ranted, 'making it undetectable and able to communicate over extreme distances, even to the moon.' Russell took his word for it, but he couldn't see the point. As far as Russell could make out, it did the same as an ordinary walkie-talkie.
This latest experiment of Trevor's had taken far longer than any other. Russell had watched with much merriment as Trevor erected a wire frame as large as a cowshed, covered the frame with fine wire until it looked like a rusty old scouring pad, and finally packed it in crinkly kitchen foil so it resembled a gigantic baked potato. What met Russell now as he plunged into the clearing made him skid to a stop and rub his eyes in disbelief.
In the baked potato's place, stood a huge majestic egg as white and luminescent as a fluffy summer cloud.
Russell crept forward and placed both hands on the shell. The texture resembled satin, or velvet, or smooth silk, but something beneath the surface resisted his prodding like solid iron. It was neither hot nor cold, but reflected his hand's temperature like polystyrene foam.
He rapped his knuckles against the peculiar surface then smacked it hard with his flat hand; either way, no echo or sound bounced back. Fascinated, he walked around the entire circumference searching for joins or marks–and found none. Without doubt, the object was as dead and lifeless as a giant, solidified, marshmallow.
'Hallo, Trevor, where are you?' he called, then cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted into the woods. 'Trevor. Where are you?'
'I'm inside,' came a reply from somewhere within the egg. 'Hang on a minute and I'll open the porthole for you.'
Low down towards the egg's curved belly, an elongated hole appeared. A narrow ramp reached out to touch the ground. 'Come on in,' said Trevor, beckoning from inside the doorway.
Walking through an open doorway is normally done without physical discomfort, but as Russell stepped through this one he jolted in agony. An electric surge tore into his body. Sparks danced and crackled from his toes to his fingertips and out the top of his head.
'Yow!' he cried, sinking to his hands and knees in front of Trevor.
'Oh dear, did it hurt that much?' said Trevor, frowning. 'Must've been a bit off with my calculations. I'm afraid I haven't had a chance to test it properly yet.'
'Why didn't you warn me?' gasped Russell, his arms and legs shaking. 'It feels like I've swum across the English channel–towing the car ferry. I'm exhausted, shattered, done in…'
'If it's any consolation,' said Trevor, more interested in his own theories than his brother's discomfort, 'you won't feel anything the next time you go through. What happens is this; I tell the computer to expect a body mass of such and such, and as you come through, the computer takes an exact biochemical copy and remembers it for evermore. The closer I am with my initial calculations, the easier it is to come through first time.'
'But why didn't you warn me?'
'Well, yes, I'm sorry about that. But believe me, it would have been much worse if you came through hesitantly. And if I'd warned you, you might not have dared come through at all.' Trevor cupped his hand under Russell's arm and gave a little tug. 'Here, let me help you up. But what's this I see, blood all over your face and your tracksuit torn to bits? That isn't my doing. What's happened?'
Russell let his head drop. 'Oh nothing really,' he mumbled. 'I met a couple of guys walking their dogs and they asked to borrow some money. They were a bit disappointed when I told them I didn't have any, but they soon cheered up. They were laughing when I left them.'
'But where did the blood come from?'
'I was a bit clumsy and tripped, that's all.'
'You picked a fight with them, didn't you?' Trevor spread his legs and held his hands on his hips. 'You're eighteen years old, Russell. I told our parents I'd look after you while they're away. How can I look after you if you keep getting into fights? Come and lay down on the sofa until you regain your strength.'
Trevor propped his shoulder under his brother's trembling armpit and they staggered across to the sofa. Russell collapsed into a ball and put his head in his hands.
'I'll be all right in a minute,' he mumbled through his fingers. 'My head is spinning and I'm famished; do you have anything to eat and drink, do you have any salt?'
'I'll fix you something. Just you relax.'
For a long time, conversation was impossible. Russell gobbled cold chicken, cheese and pickle, cold ham, salad, coleslaw, pickled onions, crusty white bread, butter and jam. Followed by half a fruit cake, moist and heavy, apple pie and tinned custard. With everything washed down with four bottles of brown ale, Russell sighed, burped, rubbed his swollen tummy and smiled.
'I'm sorry it's only cold food,' apologised Trevor, shocked to see all his provisions devoured in one ferocious gulp. 'But as you can see, I don't have an oven in here yet.'
Russell looked up for the first time and glanced about. His smile vanished. 'Ah! That's revolting,' he said, gazing at living skin stretched all around them. The sun's last rays shone through, silhouetting an intricate map of pulsating arteries and veins. 'Well, I was impressed by the outside,' he said, 'but let's face it, the inside is disgusting. It feels like I'm sitting inside a giant chicken stomach with flashing Christmas tree lights hung all over the place. What's the point of this thing you've created–apart from nearly killing people when they enter?'
'Yes, I'll have to look into that,' mused Trevor. 'But can't you see what we've got here?'
Russell laughed. 'A giant hard-boiled dinosaur egg with the centre shovelled out?'
'Ha, ha. Very funny,' said Trevor. 'To start with, let's stop calling it an egg; an egg sounds so fragile.' He moved over to his desk and sat facing Russell, so excited he couldn't sit still. 'What we have here is a travel machine. We can go wherever we desire, anywhere, through the sky, under the ocean, even up in space. Can you imagine that, Russell, we can visit the moon if we want to.'
'Oh no. Not me. I don't want to go anywhere in this thing. How safe is it anyway? And look at the state of it in here, it's a shambles, a grungy mess, we can't live in here. No, no, just let me out.'
'Have another piece of cake,' said Trevor, pushing the last half under Russell's nose. 'Let me try to explain.' He leaned forward, placed both palms on his knees; and spoke softly, stressing each word. 'The shell of this machine is indestructible.'
'What do you mean by "indestructible"?' said Russell, licking his fingers.
'I mean impossible to destroy. It absorbs energy from anything and everything. If a force presses against it or tries to destroy it, the shell soaks up the energy and uses that same energy to strengthen itself.'
'Yeah, but how much energy can it absorb before all the wires melt?'
'That's the beauty of it,' said Trevor, and smiled with pride. 'There are no wires. Energy floats around on ultra-violet ions and laser beams. Do you remember that very fine mesh on the outside?'
'Yes, the whole thing looked like a giant scouring pad.'
'Precisely. Actually, it was an elaborate cobweb of extremely special filament wire, and when electricity first flowed along those delicate circuits, the wire evaporated into a kind of ion gas. From then on, and forever more, energy will flow along those same circuits–supporting themselves.'
'What do you mean, "forever more"? Can't you just turn it off?'
'I have created a magnetic continuum, a kind of cosmic sphere with a billion pathways along which energy flows. The circuit draws energy from the environment surrounding it: the sun, the wind, the warm earth, gravity, everything. It's a living thing, self protecting and programmed for life.'
'You're joking? I might not be as clever as you, but I know perpetual motion is impossible.'
'Of course, every idiot knows perpetual motion is impossible, but this isn't perpetual motion. I utilise the free energy around us. Understand this, dear brother, the planet we live on, the planet Earth, is one gigantic battery. It has stored the sun's energy for millions of years. The sun makes trees grow, trees turn into oil, oil turns into electricity, and electricity turns into light and heat in our homes. This machine of mine draws energy from the battery Earth, or the sun, or any other source whatever the form.'
'Yes, I see,' said Russell, scratching his head. 'But how do you use this energy?'
'If you jump on a trampoline, the springs absorb the energy and throw you back up into the air. My machine does the same. It's the same effect. Gravity pulls us down, I use that energy to push us up…we float in gravity–energy changing form.'
'Well I can certainly feel my energy returning,' said Russell, losing interest. He dropped to the floor and counted fifty press-ups.
'At this very moment we are floating in gravity,' continued Trevor, used to his brother's abundant vitality. 'While you were inspecting my machine before you came in, did you notice it's not resting on the ground but hovering a couple of centimetres above it? I can just as easily make it float two metres above the ground, or two hundred, or under the sea–or out in space...'
'Yeah, but not with me on board. How does it work…all this…stuff?'
Trevor puffed his cheeks and raised his eyebrows. 'We're discussing hyper-dimensional physics, what can I say? This ionised gas in the shell is a super conductor of electricity and causes a kind of rotating plasma which reacts to magnetic fields.'
Russell nodded his head, then shook it, then shrugged his shoulders.
'Plasma is made up of ions and electrons that are found in the sun, the stars, and fusion reactors…'
'Okay, okay. I believe you,' laughed Russell. 'Spare me any more details. How about calling your machine "The Cloud"? After all, our surname is "Cloud" and this creation of yours looks like a cloud from the outside. But you'll have to do something in here, you can't live in this.'
'I was hoping you'd help me fit it out. You're gifted when it comes to carpentry and decoration. I'll give you a free hand–anything you want. There's room for three floors in here, you can have the top floor all to yourself. Fit it out with a gym or dojo if you like, your own lounge and kitchen and bathroom–your very own apartment. I'll take the middle floor for my apartment and control room, and at the bottom here we could have stores and tools and a garage. And when it's all finished, we can go for trips, anywhere you like.'
'How can we go anywhere in the Cloud?' asked Russell. 'The military will shoot us to pieces before we get one hundred metres into the air.'
'You haven't been listening,' sighed Trevor. 'We're indestructible. Besides, nobody will be able to see us. I can make the Cloud invisible simply by reflecting an image on one side of what's on the other; it's like looking right through. And radar signals won't be reflected back, we soak up the energy and use it ourselves. We can go anywhere and nobody will know anything about us. Eh! What do think? Sounds exciting, doesn't it?'
Before answering, Russell drummed his fingers on his knees and pursed his lips. 'Well, I must admit,' he said, touching his bruised nose, 'nothing ever seems to happen in my life. Tell you what, I'll do the fitting out and have it looking like a palace in here. But let's not go anywhere just yet.'
'Good. That's settled then. I'll do the electrics and plumbing, plus a few other small details.'
Russell jumped to his feet, eager now to get started. 'I'll come back tomorrow with a caravan and park it outside next to yours. That way I can live here until we've finished. Come on, it's getting late, you better get back to your caravan and grab some sleep.'
At the porthole, Trevor hesitated and pulled back.
'Aha!' said Russell. 'You haven't been through it yourself yet, have you? How long have you been in here?'
'I've been in here since this morning when I turned the Cloud on.'
'And you say I'll feel nothing this time when I go through?'
'That's my theory. You go, I'll stay here a while longer.'
'Oh no you don't,' said Russell, lifting his brother under one arm. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and darted through the port.