Chapter 1: Amber Warning

 

I was falling through endless night. 

I really wanted to stop falling but I could not.

A flash of blue was seared into my retina and my head throbbed and I felt sick.  Why?  How had I got like this? And if I had been falling for so long why hadn’t I hit anything yet? 

What could I remember?  Oh, yes.  Something about danger… a warning?  A blue warning?  No, not blue… 

*  *  *

When the most D-DG (that’s Drop-Dead Gorgeous) girl in Stapleforth school began telling me how much she admired my work as an amateur journalist, alarm bells should have started ringing.  Then I would have begun an orderly evacuation to a place of safety, just like they tell you to do in a fire drill…

Anyway, I didn’t do the sensible thing.  Any tinkling bells I dimly heard I put down to the background music of my… well let’s call it infatuation (look it up if you have to) because it was not really a mature enough emotion to be called love, which is a word I think is grossly overused today (and doesn’t saying that make me sound so mature… I wish!).  So, I was fourteen and I was infatuated… all right: hopelessly infatuated with the D-DG in question, whose name, by the way, was Amber Cavendish. 

Amber was also fourteen but had the poise and self-possession of somebody five (possibly ten) years older.  She was in addition (by overwhelming agreement) seriously hot!  If that wasn’t enough she was an Einstein in the science lab, a Shakespeare in literature class and an Amazon on the sports field.  I, on the other hand, was plain unprepossessing Tom Mallory who was (by the agreement of those who could be bothered to express an opinion) bearable if taken in small doses.  Unlike Amber I was an occasional test-tube breaker in the lab, a tabloid writer in the lit class and a “came in fourth again” on the track.

I’d only really begun seriously noticing girls in the last year or so, and thinking maybe it would be interesting, sort of, to get to know some of them a bit better... you know?  And then Amber came to Stapleforth and I was lost.  Why?  Well apart from her physical hotness and brilliance, she didn’t spend all her time on her phone texting and she wore this chunky multi-function diver’s watch, which not many girls did, which suggested (to me at least) that she’d done lots of exciting things.  She was different, right?

Yet despite her numerous plus points, so far Amber had appeared oddly boyfriend-proof.  Several of my more confident contemporaries, and quite a few senior boys, had launched themselves at her only to bounce off what you might call the Cavendish emotional shield.  There were even stories circulating of a couple of girls who also had a thing for Amber and hoped she might secretly be gay, but they had no better luck.  Amber was friendly enough and obviously she was a star to the teachers and a boost to Stapleforth’s academic ratings, being a sure thing for Oxbridge, but there was a kind of distance about her.  It was not actual arrogance but something that set her apart from the rest of us lesser beings, which only made her seem more desirable.  Many times had I looked on her from afar (by which I mean the other side of the classroom) and dreamed of what would never be…

Then came the day when my world had been turned on its head.  Until ten minutes earlier I wasn’t sure Amber even knew I existed and now here she was telling me that not only did she know that I lived and breathed, but actually approved of the fact!

We were in the office of The Gazer, which is Stapleforth’s school newspaper.  I sat at a computer terminal trying to look as though I was in charge and not just a junior reporter while Amber perched on the edge of the desk idly swinging her legs (such amazing legs!) in a way I’d never seen her do before while we talked.  Actually she did most of the talking while I burbled semi-intelligible replies in between grinning foolishly and trying not to stare at her bare knees.

Yes, I know that makes me seem like an idiot, and right then I suppose I was.  But then if I hadn’t been I wouldn’t have had the most amazing adventure of my life, etc, etc… see above.

‘That was a good article you wrote on the Science Museum trip,’ Amber said.  ‘You took the trouble to get all the facts right.  I hate careless reporting, don’t you?’

‘Oh… yes, hate it,’ I agreed, feeling that this was not the time to mention that I’d copied half of it from the handouts they’d given us. 

‘And your photos were well chosen and neatly composed.’

‘Er… well, you know, I try my best...’

‘That’s why I thought you might be interested in doing a feature on my Father.  He has a new invention that he’s going to be demonstrating in a few days’ time.  It would be an exclusive for The Gazer.’

Amber got at least half her impressive IQ from her Professor father, who had been a sort of celebrity scientist until a few years ago, one of a handful who had achieved a popular profile.  His field was some highly specialised branch of physics.

‘Umm… yes, that sounds great.’ 

‘The only thing is it will involve some travel.  We’ll have to be away from Fulchester for a day or so. Could you come this Friday evening and stay over to Sunday morning, if you’ve nothing else on?’

Two essays, French test revision and clearing the junk from the garage that I’d been promising my father I’d do for the last three weeks.

‘Uhh… no, I’m free.’

Amber smiled and my heart skipped several, probably unimportant, beats.  She handed me a card with her father’s name and address and, for some reason, a matrix bar code printed on it.  ‘You’ll have to show this at the gate to get in.  See you on Friday at seven, then.’

The door closed behind her, leaving only a waft of fragrant perfume in her wake, while I sat there in a happy daze marvelling at my luck.

Sammy Khan, a sixth-former, talented wordsmith and the actual editor of The Gazer, came in. 

‘Was that Amber Cavendish I saw leaving?’ he asked.

I swelled with self-importance.  ‘Yes.  She… uh, was just asking me to do a story on her father’s latest invention.  An exclusive, you know.’

He did not look as impressed as I’d hoped.  ‘You’re brave.  Prof Cavendish is crazy, you know that.  Don’t you know what happened at his last public demo?’ 

‘Uh… no, what?’

Sammy clicked his tongue reproachfully.  ‘Do your research, Tom!  You’ll never make a good reporter if you don’t do basic background research…’

The thing is, although I’ve never admitted it to Sammy who’s a great guy, I don’t particularly want to be a reporter.  I haven’t really got it straight yet what I want to be.  I only joined The Gazer to try to improve my school cool rating (which had been pretty low) and make myself seem a bit more interesting to people like… well, like Amber.  So call me cynical but it worked, right?

Anyway, I turned back to my laptop and hit the internet.

Did I wonder at that moment why I, an amateur reporter for a school paper, was being asked by the daughter of a noted scientist to an exclusive preview of his latest invention?  What about the national media or specialist scientific press that you’d think would be invited first? What was this invention and why did it involve travel?  All these were very good and sensible questions that I entirely failed to ask myself because I was not thinking at all sensibly at that moment.

A search on James Edward Cavendish came up with a huge number of references and articles, from which I extracted the following. 

He was forty-three years old and an F.R.S. (that’s Fellow of the Royal Society) plus an alphabet soup of other letters after his name representing a dozen other awards, qualifications and memberships of learned societies.  He worked on the higher peaks of theoretical physics so rarefied that mere mortals would need oxygen to get beyond base camp.  I read the title of one of his research papers three times and still had no idea what it was about.  There was also a list of about fifty books he’d written, ranging from the popular to the totally obscure.  But Cavendish was no slope-shouldered, lab-bound academic, also being a practical engineer, a qualified scuba diver and light aircraft pilot.  Photos of him showed a tall, wiry man with a leonine mane of greying hair, a determined chin and very sharp eyes.  The other half of Amber’s brainpower and an even higher proportion of her striking good looks obviously came from her mother, Professor Myra Russell, who was a big name in her own right in the field of zoology. 

The more I read, however, the more I began to suspect that childhood could not always have been easy for Amber.

The process of bringing Amber into the world seemed to have exhausted whatever romantic reserves her parents had started out with and now they had a pretty loose relationship, with her mother spending a lot of time abroad doing field research while Amber lived with her father.  Up until a couple of years ago Cavendish had been the undisputed star in his field and a popular if sometimes controversial celebrity intellectual.  Then things had started to go wrong.  There was a bitter argument over some scientific papers he had submitted for peer review, followed by a practical demonstration that had literally blown up in his face and singed the eyebrows of several reporters.  He’d lost his temper in a big way during a televised interview and insulted several of his fellow scientists.  There were rumours of him having a mental breakdown.  One reporter who went after him sniffing around for something sensational got a punch on the nose from Cavendish for his efforts.  It was around then that he dropped out of the public eye and moved here to Fulchester. 

And this was the man whose latest brainchild I’d so casually agreed to review.

*  *  *

My parents were a lot easier about the prospect of my spending much of a weekend away covering the Cavendish story than I’d imagined.  Of course I didn’t mention the schoolwork backlog and promised I’d clear the garage on Sunday after I got back, which may have helped.  They were also better informed than I had been about our local ex-celebrity scientist.

‘James Cavendish was always on TV a while back,’ Mum said.  ‘Never short of an opinion on anything.  Didn’t matter if it was his speciality or not, or cared what anybody else thought about him either.  Always entertaining, though.’

‘What about those Royal Institution Christmas Lectures he did?’ said Dad, slipping into cosy reminiscence mode.  ‘I liked them.  Once he attached a whole row of people to that electrostatic generator and made their hair stand on end.  Then he blew up a solid bucket of ice with the same machine to show how much power it had.’  

‘And of course Myra Russell wrote and presented that big natural history series,’ Mum added.  ‘She did that very well.’

‘Remember when she smacked down that crocodile when it made a lunge for her?’ said Dad with a glint in his eye.  ‘You had to admire her nerve for keeping so cool.’

‘It wasn’t her nerve you were admiring when she wore that tight swimsuit for those scenes diving with a whale,’ Mum observed with a grin.  

By now I was feeling pretty inferior to the whole Cavendish family.  I mean I was just about holding my own at school, my father ran a driving school and my mother had a physiotherapy practice.  They couldn’t be more solid and respectable than they were, but they were not what you’d call exciting professions. On the other hand, at least my parents were still together, while, for all their brilliance, Amber’s were not.  Maybe she was secretly looking for a bit of comfort and companionship from somebody with a stable family life?  No?  Well, I could dream, couldn’t I?

*  *  *

Friday finally arrived.  I hurried home from school, showered and, more out of hope than necessity, shaved.  Afterwards I dabbed on some of the aftershave my Aunt Sandra had given me for Christmas that stung like hell but which I hoped smelled sophisticated.  I wasn’t sure about the right way to dress so I tried for smart-casual, with a jacket and open-necked shirt paired with my best jeans.  With laptop and camera charged and ready I slung my carefully pre-packed overnight bag across my shoulders and rode off to my fateful rendezvous.  

I know!  A cub reporter trying to impress the girl of his dreams should not arrive on a pedal bike, but I reckoned it was better than being dropped off by a parent or taking a bus.  I could just say I was a dedicated environmentalist travelling green, which might actually impress Amber.  Was she eco-conscious?  Of course, she had to be…

Professor Cavendish lived in Rawsleigh Woods, which occupied a slight hill at more exclusive end of Fulchester.  From the road all you could see of his house was its roof peeping over a high boundary wall topped by spiked railings.  The solid entrance gateway was guarded by security cameras.  By an outside mailbox a small brass nameplate read: Continuum House. 

I punched the call button on the gate intercom.  It was answered by a woman’s voice speaking with a gentle Scottish accent.  ‘Yes, who is it?’

‘Tom Mallory, to see Professor Cavendish,’ I said, trying to sound as though I called on famous people for interviews every week.  ‘Amber invited me.  I’ve got a card…’ I held it up to the intercom camera.  A laser lens underneath it twinkled as it scanned the barcode.

‘Oh yes, you’re expected, dear,’ said the voice. ‘Do come in…’

The gates swung open and I wheeled my bike through.

Continuum House was a large Georgian mansion with sash windows and a lot of tall chimneys, surrounded by lawns and thick belts of trees, with the end of a tennis court showing to one side.  Apparently there was money to be made from being both brilliant and controversial.

Feeling totally overawed and with my stomach tying itself in a knot, I parked my bike by the big main door and rang the bell. 

The door was opened by a comfortably plump, fiftyish lady, with greying hair and bright blue eyes.  ‘Come inside, Tom,’ she said with a friendly smile.  ‘I’m Ellen Whittle, Professor Cavendish’s housekeeper.  I’ve told Amber you’re here.  She’ll be through in a moment.’

The hallway was as imposing as the outside of the house with a double flight of stairs leading up to a large landing.  There were several framed photos on the walls which all had a common theme.  There was Professor Cavendish receiving the UNESCO Kalinga Prize, next to Cavendish shaking hands with the Prince of Wales, followed by Cavendish addressing a House of Parliament committee discussing scientific research policy.  Apparently he was not shy about his success.  Fortunately Ms Whittle’s welcoming, motherly presence had eased my nerves a little.  

I realized she was looking me up and down searchingly.  ‘Now, are you quite sure you’re ready for all this, dear?’ she asked. 

‘Oh, you mean reporting on the demonstration?’ I said.  ‘Yes, thank you, I’ve got everything with me.’

She looked concerned.  ‘But are you ready for the journey?’

‘Oh, the journey,’ I said vaguely.  ‘Is it far?’  

Just then Amber appeared through a door in the back of the hall.

It was the first time I’d seen her out of school gear of some kind.  To my surprise she was wearing a one-piece long-sleeved blue jumpsuit with an elasticized waist band fitted with lots of Velcro-flap pockets and handy loops.  Her hair was now tightly combed back, curled up and pinned into a bun.  She was carrying bundles of blue and grey fabric under her arm together with a pair of Converse blue canvas sneakers similar to those she had on.

She flashed me a quick smile.  ‘Hallo, Tom.  You’re prompt, that’s good.’

‘Well I wouldn’t want to miss it, would I?’ I burbled back, grinning foolishly.

Miss Whittle was fixing her with a stern gaze.  ‘Amber, have you told him everything?’

‘Father said not to, Mrs W.  Anyway he probably wouldn’t have believed me if I had, but he’ll find out soon enough.’

‘You must explain the risks.’

‘You know they’re negligible.  We’ve done all those tests.  Everything will be fine.’

‘Even so, is he…. suitable?’

‘He’s the best I could get in the circumstances.  Father was very insistent.’  Amber handed me the bundle of clothes and sneakers.  ‘You’ll need to wear these. They should fit.’

‘Why do I need these?’ I asked.

‘They’re more practical, and they’ve been fireproofed.’

‘What?  Why?’

‘It’s just a precaution. You can change in there,’ she indicated the way to a downstairs bathroom.  ‘There’s a hanger for your clothes behind the door.  Then I’ll take you through to meet my Father and he’ll explain.’

I know!  How arrogant of her to presume I would simply do as I was told even after hearing I was only the best she could get “in the circumstances” (and just what did that mean anyway?)  My self-esteem and infatuation had taken a knock but I said nothing.  The fact remained that Amber, for some reason, wanted me here and I wanted to be where she was.  Besides, it now seemed that this demonstration might be dangerous which meant there was no way I could back out now.  

‘Okay,’ I said, trying to sound nonchalant. 

I took the clothes and went into the bathroom.  So much for my smart-casual look, I thought. 

The blue bundle was a jumpsuit of the same pattern Amber was wearing.  The grey bundle was a close-fitting once piece thermal base layer with elasticized cuffs at the wrists and neck and integral padded gripsock soles that covered everything except for my head and hands.  Apart from a fly flap it had a slightly comic panel round the back that could be opened up to allow full use of the toilet without having to peel the top half down.  I shrugged and put it on.  It was actually quite comfortable to wear, but why was it necessary?  Where were we going that required a special set of fireproof underwear?

Still with the jumpsuit and sneakers on it did not show except about the collar and as I examined myself in the mirror over the basin I decided I looked pretty good.  I was all kitted out for doing something dynamic and exciting.  But what?

Amber was waiting alone in the hall when I came out.  She led me back through the door she had used, along a corridor and out into the back garden.  Nestling amongst the trees on the far side of a large open square of lawn was a big green-painted steel portal frame building clad in corrugated panels.  It had large sliding double doors that were currently drawn shut and looked like a light aircraft hanger with an extension built onto one side.  Amber took me across the lawn and along a path to a smaller man-sized door set in the front of the extension. 

Inside was a workshop running from front to back which was partitioned off from the main body of the building.  Nearest the door were benches supporting several computer terminals linked by tangles of cables, while above them were shelves packed with assorted electronic components.  Further back, through a plastic strip curtain, I could see the bulky forms of what looked like heavy machine tools.

Seated at the computers were two men also dressed in blue jumpsuits and sneakers.  Professor Cavendish I recognised from his pictures.  The other was a younger man, perhaps thirty, tall, blonde and I suppose you’d have to admit, quite handsome.  Both men looked up as we came in.

‘This is Tom Mallory,’ Amber announced.  ‘Tom, this is my Father and this is Oliver Vance, his assistant.’

Vance frowned at me while Cavendish’s face lit up almost boyishly.

Stapleforth positively encourages old-fashioned good manners and at times like this a little formality helps.  ‘Good evening, Professor Cavendish,’ I said, stepping forward and holding out my hand.  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

‘Ah, so you’re the reporter,’ he replied, springing to his feet and shaking my hand with a crushing grip.  He was wearing round wire frame glasses and he blinked through them at me looking alarmingly like a predatory owl.  ‘This is going to be a unique privilege for you, young man.  Your article is going to make history. That’ll teach those hacks from the gutter-press a lesson!’

Cavendish finally let go of my hand, allowing me to massage some life back into it.  I then offered it to Vance.  ‘Good evening, Mr Vance.’

He stood and shook my hand as briefly and coldly as the Professor had been hearty.  ‘I suppose you’ve already been blabbing about this to all your friends,’ he said accusingly.

I blinked.  ‘Excuse me?’

‘He doesn’t know anything yet, Oliver,’ Amber said, ‘just as we agreed.’

‘I’ve made my views clear about this, Professor,’ Vance said, glaring at Cavendish.  ‘This boy will only be in the way.  We can document the trip perfectly well ourselves.’

‘This has got to be done properly, Oliver,’ said Cavendish.  ‘Besides I want an independent witness to prove that we can carry an entirely untrained passenger without any special preparation.  People have got to realize the scope of this advance.’  He chuckled as though enjoying a private joke.  ‘After all, it’s going to put everything that’s gone before it in the shade!’ 

‘But we don’t need him along to prove it,’ Vance persisted.  ‘Your fame is already guaranteed.  Let’s not take any unnecessary risks.’

‘There are no risks, Oliver,’ the Professor admonished.  ‘Don’t you agree all the tests have been perfect?  Do you think I would allow Amber to participate if there were any doubt?’

‘And you know my feelings on that matter as well,’ Vance said.  ‘It would be better if we went alone, this time at least.’

‘Amber has important functions to perform.’

‘But not vital ones.  And this boy has none.  It’s also unfair on him. I think Amber agrees with me.’

Amber chewed her lip unhappily.  ‘I got Tom here as I promised, Father.  But now he has to make up his own mind.  Oliver’s right.  We are taking a step into the unknown.  There’s still a small chance something might go wrong.  Tom may not want to do this.’

‘Of course he will!’ the Professor said incredulously.  ‘Who wouldn’t?’ 

Then they all began talking at once while I started at them stupidly.  I’d obviously got caught up in an argument that had been simmering for some time and although I was the subject of it I had no idea what it was actually about.  What was this “step in the unknown”?  Was it the same as the “trip” we were going on?  Why was I to be an “untrained passenger”? Well I’d had enough of being talked about as though I was a dumb stooge, Amber or no Amber. 

I took a deep breath: ‘Will you all please be quiet!’ I shouted.  I think I caught them all by surprise, especially Amber, because they actually shut up.  ‘Now can someone tell me what all this is about?  What’s this “demonstration” I’m meant to be covering?  Where have we got to go to?  If I don’t get some straight answers I’m leaving right now!’

I’m not sure if I would have done but drawing the line had the desired effect.

‘I suppose we have been expecting him to take a lot on trust,’ the Professor admitted with bad grace, the animation draining from his face.  ‘Show him the Eclipse, Amber, and ensure he understands what is expected of him.  We’ve got the flight profile to check.’  He turned back to his computer, apparently dismissing me from his thoughts.  Vance scowled at me again and then did the same.

‘And what’s the “Eclipse”?’ I asked Amber.

‘She’s what all this is about.  And she lives through here…’

Amber led me through a door in the partition wall into the building proper.  Now I could see it really was a hangar because there was a vehicle sitting in the middle of it.  But it was no light aircraft.  What it most closely resembled, and there was no other word for it, was something very like a classic UFO: a flying saucer.

‘This is the Eclipse,’ Amber said, with thrill of pride sneaking into her voice. ‘And tonight we’re going to fly it to the Moon and we want you be our reporter on the journey.’  She grinned.  ‘Well, I did promise you an exclusive.’