The scene terrified Professor Maurice Masterson. The middle of July and England's green and pleasant lands were parched and dry like the southern Mediterranean. Everything was dead. Night-time temperatures sank below freezing, day-time temperatures rose above thirty degrees. Woodland fires flourished, water rationing was reduced to one hour per day, youngsters were kept home from school, and the elderly were dying of dehydration and heat stroke.
The professor stood at his office window and scowled. He straightened his bow tie, took a large white handkerchief from his tweed-suit trouser pocket, and mopped his brow.
'What can I do?' he shouted, and waved his fist at the cloudless sky.
Skirting his tidy desk, he rambled across to a large glass display-cabinet and scowled at his many trophies. Those were the days, he thought, captain of the rugby team, captain of the cricket team, and twice Olympic gold-medallist in fencing. I was a young man then, he thought. Now I'm old and useless.
His old discarded cricket bat leaned against the cabinet side. He picked it up, felt its weight and wondered what he could smash.
He laid the bat on the desk, picked up a felt-tip pen and marched to the corner where his training equipment stood. He wasn't an artist, but the caricature he drew on the punchball was unmistakable.
'Now look here, Mr High and Mighty out-of-space alien fart face,' said the professor through clenched teeth. 'Come to bully us, have you?' He replaced the pen on his desk and swaggered back with his bat. 'Come down here and face me like a man, you yellow-livered coward.' He prodded the punchball alien face, setting it rocking. 'You dastardly fiend…you pirate of the universe…you thieving heathen…you extraterrestrial freak… I'll teach you a lesson…'
The bat whistled through the air with all the force a seasoned cricket captain could muster. With a mighty twang, the alien head snapped off, rocketed across the room, and crashed through the window.
One of his personal bodyguards burst in from an adjoining room.
'It's okay, James,' said the professor. 'It's only me letting off steam again. Put your gun away and tell George to get the mini ready– 'm going out.'
~*~
Russell Cloud parried Professor Maurice's sword and delivered a potentially lethal thrust to his chest.
'Touché!' acknowledged the professor.
'Your actions are mechanical, your movement is clumsy, and your mind is elsewhere,' said Russell. 'You haven't managed to deliver a single strike tonight.'
'You talk too much,' said the professor. 'Don't forget, it was me who taught you to fence. I could beat you blindfolded, with my legs tied together, and carrying my grandmother piggyback.'
'Come on, Professor,' said Russell. 'Your mind's not on it tonight. Suppose you tell me what's up?'
'Nothing,' said the professor, 'except for this damned heat.' He lunged forward for the kill.
Russell parried and drew the professor in so their heads almost touched.
'I shouldn't have come here today,' whispered the professor. 'I have a problem; the whole world has a problem.'
'Do you want to talk about it?'
'I can't …it's driving me nuts, but I can't.'
'Trust me. You obviously haven't come here to sword fight. I can keep a secret, I promise.'
The professor pushed Russell away and made ready for a new attack.
'You and your brother are a pair of wasters,' said the professor, letting his frustration show again. 'I wouldn't trust you to look after my ballpoint pen. Your brother was the best physics pupil I ever had. He was the best pupil the university ever had. And what does he do now? Play with model aeroplanes.'
'Well, yes, something like that,' admitted Russell. 'Although "flying-saucers" might be closer to the mark.'
'Flying-saucers?' repeated the professor, momentarily impressed. 'Codswallop! The boy's crazy. Scientists have been working on those things for years without success. Why doesn't he join them in America where they have the resources, know-how, and facilities? I'll tell you why: because he's an ass.'
Russell smiled and placed his hand on the professor's shoulder.
'And you're no better,' continued the professor, prodding Russell with his sword. 'Why don't you do something with your life? We need men like you. Become a bodyguard. Join the army. Join the police. Get a job. Do something …'
'Would you like to meet Trevor again?' asked Russell. 'How long has it been since you saw him last, two …three years? He has a place where we can talk in complete privacy.'
'You blithering idiot. There is no such place, I don't fully trust my own highly secured environment.'
'You're forgetting how clever my brother is. A mosquito couldn't get into his den if it wasn't welcome. Come and see at least. Give your bodyguards the rest of the day off. Let me be your bodyguard until we get back here.'
The professor grunted his consent and they set off through the parkland in silence–followed at a discrete distance by two dedicated bodyguards.
~*~
'In there we can talk,' said Russell, pointing to the Cloud. 'If Trevor lets you in.'
The professor stopped and stared, his back erect, chin up, hands adjusting his bow tie. 'What do we have here?'
'Trevor and I call it the Cloud, It's a flying egg.'
'I haven't come all this way for the sake of my health,' grumbled the professor. 'If this is a waste of time I'll have you thrown in a prison cell for a month.'
They stepped away from the trees and into the clearing where the Cloud hovered. As they approached, the porthole opened and Trevor jumped out.
'Russell,' said Trevor. 'You know what we agreed on. No strangers. Who is that?'
'Don't you recognise him?' said Russell, drawing closer. 'He's an old friend of yours. He works part-time for the government now and needs to talk to us in private. Can we come in?'
'Gosh, yes, the professor,' said Trevor. He ran forward and took his old tutor's hand in both of his own, his face shone with pleasure. Then he turned to Russell. 'You know it's against my policy to let anybody in. This is our secret, how can it remain a secret if we start inviting guests to tea?'
'What is this magnificent object?' asked the professor, staring at the opaque bubble with professional interest. 'I've never seen anything like it.'
A dog barked in the distance.
'Somebody's prowling about,' said Trevor. 'Did anybody follow you here? Never mind, forget my bad manners, Professor, come on, let's get inside.'
'Is it okay?' asked Russell, nodding towards the porthole.
'Yes, yes. I've adjusted it now; but let me go in first to configure the computer. I'll call when it's clear. Come on, let's hurry.'
Bushes rustled in the distance and the dog barked again.
'Come on in,' called Trevor. 'It should be fine now.'
Russell stood aside and the professor bound up the narrow ramp. As he passed through the open port, his hair stood on end and sparks flashed around his jerking body. 'Damn it,' he managed to scream before fainting. With a cobweb of purple static electricity dancing and crackling though his clothes, the professor fell in a heap and lay prostrate.
'Oops!' said Trevor. 'I must have adjusted it the wrong way.'
~*~
With a groan, the professor opened his eyes and wondered where he was. He laid on a comfortable bed, in a plush and peaceful bedroom–a bedroom he had never seen before. After a moment, he remembered. Closing his eyes again he made a mental examination of his body; every muscle and joint ached, and a faint smell of singed hair and burnt clothes tugged at his nostrils.
'Where are you two jerks?' he screamed, sitting up so fast he nearly fainted again. 'Where am I? I'll break your skulls into a mush. I'll… I'll…'
Russell skittered in. 'Ah, welcome back with the living. You've been out for almost eight minutes. How do you feel?'
'I feel like murdering you, that's how I feel. The moment I'm back on my feet I'm going to knock your head off. I only wish I had my cricket bat with me.'
'Well, if it's any consolation, I know exactly how you feel, and so does Trevor. But if you can get to your feet, come with me, there's something I think would interest you. Here, take my arm.'
The professor trembled to his feet and threw a wild swing with his right fist. Russell caught the feeble punch and lifted the professor's arm around his shoulder. Without further protest, the professor let himself be hoisted out of the room.
They crossed a broad landing and hobbled down a shallow flight of stairs.
'Is this your house?' asked the professor in a weak voice. 'Very pleasant, and it'll be my pleasure to send a bulldozer through it as soon as I get out of here.' He shook his head and glanced at is watch. 'Eight minutes? Did you say I've been unconscious for eight minutes? More like twenty-eight. I must get in touch with my people before they miss me–they're supposed to know where I am at all times, and if I don't send them a message every…'
Russell threw open a door and the professor stopped speaking mid-sentence.
'My God! You crazy people,' gasped the professor, managing to stop himself falling to the ground fifteen metres below.
Outside, three metres away, floating in mid-air, Trevor sat at his desk. A massive grandfather clock floated beyond the desk, and a sofa and two comfy reclining chairs floated in front.
'It's quite safe,' said the two brothers in unison.
Russell stepped through the door and strolled across the open space to stand beside his brother at the desk. 'Come on, Professor, try it,' he encouraged.
'What is it, glass?' asked the professor, searching for a reflection or mark that would give it away. He tapped one foot across the threshold, and felt something solid. Hanging on to the doorframe with both hands, he stepped onto the invisible floor and cursed.
'My God! You crazy people,' he repeated, feeling giddy from the height. He released the doorframe and, forgetting to breathe, shuffled across to the desk. Behind him, the door floated in empty space, the rest of the Cloud had vanished.
'I… Is there an edge we can fall off?' stammered the professor.
'We're standing inside a room, Professor,' said Russell, 'but the walls, floor, and ceiling are all invisible. Show him, Trevor.'
With the touch of his keyboard, drab grey walls sprang into existence. With the next touch, they disappeared again.
'Neat, eh, Professor?' said Trevor.
'Yes,' agreed the professor, still hardly daring to breathe. 'My heartiest congratulations, and my deepest apologies for all those unkind words. I assume we're still inside your contraption. I'm not sure what you have here, but it's obviously something monumental. Why, this is simply spectacular.'
'Look down there,' said Trevor, pointing to the ground beneath their feet. 'A man just broke into your caravan, Russell, and another is on watch outside.'
'They look too well dressed to be thieves,' said Russell. 'Who are they? What are they looking for?'
'That's easy,' replied the professor. 'They're looking for me. They're my bodyguards and I expect they're worried about me. I was supposed to send them a message four minutes ago.' He tapped a short message into his mobile phone and pressed the send button.
'I'm afraid they won't get that message,' said Trevor. 'Nothing comes in or goes out unless I let it. Here, borrow my phone.'
The professor snatched the mobile phone and tapped again. He looked down as the message peeped on his bodyguard's phone. The bodyguard opened the caravan door and called to his companion. They read the coded message, nodded, and sat down on the caravan step, satisfied for the moment all was well. One of them lifted the phone to his ear and spoke.
'He'll be asking for a trace,' said the professor with a smile, 'and checking who owns the phone. That won't be a problem, they know I am in the Cloud brothers' company, but they'll certainly wonder where we're hiding.'
A flock of crows flew into the Cloud's side. Six birds dropped to the ground, landing at the bodyguards' feet. The surprised bodyguards looked skywards and scratched their heads.
The professor ducked. 'They've seen us,' he said.
'No, they can't see us, we're invisible; not only to eyesight but also to any instrument. But the birds were something I hadn't thought about. Shall we take you back to your office?' asked Trevor.
'In this?'
'Yes. It'll be its maiden flight–in honour of you.'
'I'll have some explaining to do when I suddenly turn up back at my office, but it'll do them good; keep them guessing; keep them on their toes. Come on then.'
'Look now,' said Russell, pointing below.
His two thugs blundered into the clearing, Alf leading and Bert holding the Alsatians back.
'He's going to ask for their wallets,' chuckled Russell. 'This could be interesting.'
The bodyguards drew guns, but the dogs had obviously been trained to recognise weapons and leaped at their wrists.
Bert threw the guns into the bushes and tied his dogs to the caravan. The men faced each other a moment, measuring and estimating what they were up against. A fight was brewing and none of them wanted to back down.
'Art of the trade versus brute force,' said the professor. 'My boys will win. I'll give you four-to-one odds, one hundred pounds down.'
'You're on,' said Russell. 'Don't underestimate those thugs, they've been in a fight or two.'
The art-of-trade bodyguards sprung into action, peppering the thugs with short, sharp blows. If Bert felt pain, it didn't show. He raised his arm and swung his fist like a wooden mallet, thumping his bodyguard on the head. The bodyguard's eyes crossed, his legs turned to jelly, and he melted to the ground. Bert sat on him.
'Good grief,' said the professor. 'It's like an elephant sitting on a tiger.'
Bert made himself comfortable on the human cushion and watched how his partner faired. Alf crouched forward in a typical boxer's stance, protecting his head. The bodyguard pumped his fists but soon grew impatient. It was like hitting a punch-bag and just as ineffective. He pirouetted on one foot and aimed the other at Alf's stomach.
'That was a mistake,' said Russell.
Before the foot landed, Alf stepped forward and caught the bodyguard in a bear hug. He lifted the bodyguard off his feet and squeezed until the man's lungs peeped. With no apparent effort he raised the bodyguard above his head and pirouetted. Alf twirled for a whole minute, spinning the bodyguard like a helicopter blade. Then he dropped him.
The bodyguard swayed to his feet, threw a wild punch, and toppled over. He didn't try to get up again.
'Nice one, Alf,' said Bert. He climbed off his bodyguard and pulled the man to his feet.
'Yeah. Fought well though, didn't they?' said Alf, and helped the other bodyguard to his feet.
Trevor burst out laughing. 'They enjoyed it. They've had fun. Ha! Ha! Ha! Look at them, the best of friends.'
'Yes,' agreed Russell. 'There's a strange code of respect amongst those sort of people. Let's call it a draw, eh, Professor?'
'Blah! My boys were only playing. It was like two tigers sparing with an elephant and a gorilla. But I concede.'
They shook hands.
'Are you sure this contraption works?' said the professor.
Trevor nodded. 'Positive.'
'You'll have to fly low, can't have you causing a risk for aviation traffic. Do you have radar?'
'Um, no, not yet, I didn't think of that.'
'Of course you didn't, stupid question really. Now take me back to my office.'
'Where to?'
'You can drop me off on top of the department store in town, that's close enough.'
The Cloud shot sideways–straight through a high-voltage electricity line.
'Sorry,' muttered Trevor and jiggled his joysticks with more care. The scene around them flashed past, and although there was no sensation of movement within the Cloud, both Russell and the professor lost balance and tumbled to the invisible floor.
'Not so fast,' shouted the professor. He lay on his stomach and kicked himself around until he faced the direction of travel. With arms and legs spread-eagled, he knew now how superman must feel as he shot through the air. 'Higher,' he shouted. 'To your left, watch out for that block of flats.' He scrunched his eyes closed, covered them with his hands, and didn't dare opening them again until Trevor spoke.
'Here we are, Professor,' he said, 'all safe and sound. Flies like a dream, doesn't it?'
The professor peeked through his fingers and recognised the helicopter pad on the roof of the building above his office. Russell was already on his feet and bent to help the professor. 'Get your hands off me,' he barked, and wobbled to his feet unaided. He brushed himself down and straitened his bow tie. 'I can't have you two flying around in this thing. Go straight home and stay there until I decide what to do about this. Do you understand?'
Trevor and Russell glanced at each other. Russell cleared his throat. 'Before you go, professor, wasn't there something you wanted to get off your chest?'
'You two are certifiable crazy,' said the professor, checking his cufflinks. 'I don't see why I should tell you anything. But then again, I can't see why not. We both have a secret to keep, and you two are so crazy nobody would believe you even if they tortured you.' He adjusted his chain and pocket watch, and fastened the top button of his tweed jacket. 'Put the walls up, before I turn as crazy as you two.'
They appeared.
'Thank you. Feels much safer, don't you think?' Relieved at having a normal floor under his feet he paced up and down, and wondered how much he should tell them.
'A little over one year ago,' he began, 'reports started landing on my desk concerning irregular global weather conditions. Only short memos, you understand, but exceedingly urgent. Of course, there's been plenty of hysteria around this global warming phenomenon, but these new apprehensions were of a slightly different nature.'
He reached the wall and turned abruptly.
'How much do you two know about global warming?' he asked. 'Never mind, I'll explain briefly. The sun warms up Earth's surface, and infra-red radiation cools it down. It's a fine balance, and to keep the climate warm and habitable these temperatures are regulated by gases in the atmosphere; mostly water vapour and carbon dioxide.'
The brothers nodded.
'All this hysteria around global warming is based on increased levels of carbon dioxide, caused by fossil fuel burning and such nonsense. I must admit, when I saw these reports my first reaction was to screw them up and throw them into the waste bin.'
He paused.
'Now then, of these two gases–water vapour and carbon dioxide–water vapour is by far the most significant. Eighty-five percent of the earth's natural greenhouse effect is due to water vapour.'
The brothers nodded again and waited.
'These new reports were not concerned with increased levels of carbon dioxide, they were concerned with decreased levels of water vapour.'
The professor resumed walking the floor, gathering his thoughts.
'Well, what could I do? I authorised a certain amount of funding expecting nothing more to come from it. But three weeks later, a new report took me totally by surprise.'
The professor indicated the sofa and waited for the brothers to sit. He cleared his throat and said, 'The next report stated that our water vapour was being siphoned off by extra-terrestrial aliens.'
Russell burst out laughing. The professor's serious expression only made his fit worse. Unable to control himself he doubled up, slapped his knees, and howled.
'I'm sorry,' spluttered Russell, blowing his nose. 'I can see it wasn't meant to be a joke. Please go on.'
'Oh, it's all right,' said the professor. 'My first reaction was the same. Unfortunately, it doesn't end there. We pinpointed the aliens with our telescopes and their existence is indisputable. They ignore all communications, and recklessly–I can see the folly of my decision now–I voted in favour of sending a NASA space shuttle to investigate. We sent the Wayfarer.'
The professor lowered his eyes. When he looked up again they sparkled with moisture. 'The two crew members on board are close friends of mine.' His fist clenched in anger. 'Nobody understands what happened, but as the space shuttle approached the aliens–it disappeared. Vanished without a trace…'
'When did this happen?' asked Trevor.
The professor opened his fists and sighed. 'Four days ago.'
'I'm sorry,' commiserated Russell. 'I really hope no harm has come to your friends.'
The professor shrugged in agreement.
'I suppose,' said Russell, 'this explains why everything is so dry and hot. If anybody other than you had told this story, I wouldn't have believed it.'
'It had to happen sooner or later,' said Trevor. 'It's extremely egoistic to imagine we're the only inhabited planet in the universe. Do you know how the water vapour is being syphoned, professor?'
'The scientists are working on it. They say the alien's method of removing moisture from Earth is similar to that used by a de-humidifier. But time is running out. Soon the whole planet will look like the Gobi Desert.'
'Can't you simply blast them with an atom bomb or something?' said Trevor.
'It's been suggested, and a missile is in preparation, but don't you suppose the missile will vanish as easily as the space shuttle?' The professor stood and adjusted his bow tie. 'Now you know it all. If you will excuse me, I have other important things to attend to.'
Trevor opened a desk draw, found what he was looking for, and held a neat ornament in the palm of his hand. 'This is a "Zip-Linq",' he said, handing it to the professor.
'A Zip-Linq,' repeated the professor, turning the trivial object in his fingers. 'What am I supposed to do with it?'
'It's a communication device. Press the blue button and we'll be in direct contact with each other. It's my own design so it's quite secure, nobody else has the technology to eavesdrop. Just clip it onto a zip.'
'My tweed-suit uses buttons.'
'Well then, put it on your key-ring.'
'Thank you,' said the professor, slipping it into his trouser pocket. 'One last word before I leave. I cannot stress enough the importance of secrecy. I have divulged this information because I know I can trust you, and because you are two of the cleverest, "craziest" individuals on this planet. Who knows, perhaps you will come up with something? Any suggestion could be helpful. I for one, for the first time in my life, am totally gob-smacked. I am at a total loss. Good day, gentlemen.'