Дэвид Уоллес - Island of Fog and Death

Gus shrugged. “Probably it used a form optimised to get out onto the island. Long and thin. That would support the hypothesis of Amanda’s dragon having been buried, but now having found a way out that is small.”

“The north cliff,” said Peri. “The cliff face broke away nearly three weeks ago. That may have exposed an opening into a cave. That’s where Chen died – he must have been checking out the cliff face.”

Peri rubbed her eyes, realising just how tired she was. “Let’s stick with Tash for the moment,” she said. “How did he get into our space-time? And how did he come to be your companion?”

“He was able to manifest here, in our space-time, with great difficulty and by the expenditure of a huge amount of energy. I don’t know how exactly. He tried to tell me once but our language has no words for the concepts involved.”

“Why is he your dog now?”

“I’m not his dog,” Tash broke in. “I’m his prisoner.”

“His upkeep was entrusted to me, a long time ago,” said Gus, with a smile at the dog. “Let us leave it at that for now.”

“And why does he glow?” asked Peri. “No, wait, why do I glow? Is it the same reason?”

“Ah, I am sorry, but you are risking another lecture on physics,” said Gus. “Everything in the universe is made of ‘stuff’.” His fingers actually traced the quotes in the air. “Here in our space-time, we have a reasonable grasp of the stuff of the universe, good enough for almost all practical purposes. You know – things are made from molecules, which are made from atoms, which are made from sub-atomic particles like electrons, which in turn are made from sub-sub-atomic stuff that we label ‘quarks’, and the like.

“Naturally, for anything to exist in other space-times, it too is made up of ‘stuff’. Think of this as an exotic version of ‘stuff’, capable of existing in those exotic space-times. Stuff can cross over, between space-times, but there is a process – something akin to a particle interaction – involved. The faint glow that is sometimes visible to those capable of seeing it is caused by a residue of radiation from that process. You see a glow from Tash, and Tash can see a glow from you, because both of you contain both normal and exotic matter, and both of you are capable of seeing the exotic radiation.”

“You can’t see it?” she asked.

“It would have to be very energetic before I could see it. Tash is sensitive. He saw you the moment you walked into the room this morning. My exotic capabilities are limited. Standard humans cannot see it all.”

“Then…” Peri’s voice trailed off as she considered what Gus was saying. The white haired old man was watching her, expectantly, and she realised he was waiting for her to work it out. Which she just had.

“You are telling me that I’m not – what did you just call it – a ‘standard human’?”

Gus replied by way of a shrug.

“That’s ridiculous,” Peri snapped.

“Is it?” Gus replied. “How did you know there was something in the boat before Steve did? And what about saving Troy? Have you had any other strange visions? Any other premonitions of danger?”

Shanghai , Peri thought. The old woman, talking nonsense about a blue goddess. But she stayed silent, because another thought struck her. Li knew. Somehow, she knew. And drew me into this weirdness because of it.

Her train of thought was cut short by the sound of a helicopter. She looked longingly at the bed, but rest would have to wait.

“Come on,” she said. “We have work to do.”

Out in the village, the first Dauphin helicopter had disgorged some policemen in dark blue, armed with MP7 machine guns and Sig automatic pistols. While two of them trotted over to the police station where a bewildered constable was watching, the others set about blocking the road down to the ferry. A handful of men in black battledress had also arrived, and they set about unloading cases and crates, to set up a command post in front of the police station.

As soon as the first Dauphin took off again, four others touched down briefly, one by one, and disembarked more black-clad troops. The last to leave circled out to sea to overfly the island.

Peri arrived in the middle of all this activity, with Gus and Tash in tow. She saw that Steve and Troy had their heads in the tailgate of a black Range Rover, and were outfitting themselves with body armour and assault rifles.

“I thought Special Forces used MP5s,” she said.

“We used to,” said Steve, “But they’re a bit elderly, and we’ve been switching over to these.” He showed her his rifle.

“Mm. Looks American,” she said.

“Canadian, but based on a Colt design. It’s a C8 carbine, and it’s very good indeed.”

“When we go back over, do I get one?”

Steve looked horrified. “First, you’re not going over there again, and second, hell no! If gave a civilian a full automatic assault rifle, I’d be drummed out of the Navy!”

She shrugged. “Fair enough. I’ll just swap this dinky little thing…” She placed the Sig P230 she had been carrying in the back of the car, and pointed to a bigger pistol nestling in a foam inset in a metal case. “… for one of them. That okay?”

“A P226? Not on your life! I’m telling you, you’re staying here until the island has been cleared!”

“Not your call, Steve.” She picked up a P226 and a spare magazine.

“We still need to talk,” he snapped.

She huffed. “About?”

“Who are you, really? And don’t give me the same crap cover story all over again.”

She wasn’t sure what to say. So she played for time. “What’s crap about my story, then?”

“How did you know – twice now – that something nasty was just about to happen? Also, you react ultra-fast and for someone who said she’d never handled a gun before, you seem to be remarkably good.”

“You won’t believe me,” she said.

“Try me,” he answered.

“OK, pay close attention, because I’m only going to say this once,” she whispered, and looked all round as if to make sure nobody was close enough to overhear. She leaned closer, and whispered, “Every word I said was true. As for explaining what happened out there? I. Have. No. Fucking. Clue.”

She stepped back.

“You were right. I won’t believe you.”

Peri shrugged and walked away.

She distinctly heard, “Damn that bloody woman!” as she made for the command post. She fished out her Sectera phone and called Tommy in London as she walked.

“Hi, Peri,” came Tommy’s greeting down the line.

“Hey Mr T,” She replied. “What news on the medics?”

“They should be with you in thirty minutes max,” he assured her. “Anythin’ else croppin’ up?”

“I have a daft question for you.”

“Try me.”

“Who’s actually in charge of all this?”

“Ah.” He said nothing for a while. Then he asked, “Why? Are you plannin’ to do somethin’ stupid?”

“You know me too well. I think the macho military are going to try to protect this weak and feeble woman. I don’t need protecting. So when they go all old-fashioned chivalry on me, I aim to get all Empowered Woman on their arses.”

“Hence your question. What you’re really askin’ me is, ‘Can I be in charge?’ Am I right?”

“Like I said, you know me too well,” she laughed. “So what’s the answer?”

“Good ol’ British compromise,” he said. “I’m the event manager and I coordinate , and I facilitate but I don’t direct . The military response is led by the military operational commander. I’m guessin’ you’re walkin’ in his direction right now, am I right? The medical response is led by the medical leader. You can work out the rest, I’m sure.”