The Hollow Planet - part one

The sun peeking through her window cautioned Gwenn to get on schedule. She appreciated that she would be slightly late this morning, as it had become the norm for her on these troubled days. It was so much harder to be motivated anymore. Nevertheless, she, a tall, wiry, kid, gulped some orange juice, ate a bite off a bagel, then took up her backpack and left out the door. Gwenn was ready to challenge the world one more time.

Dawn always came to the suburban neighborhood known as Sandburg, after sweeping over the mountains, across the woods and down into the valley where Sandburg nestled, snug and safe, seemingly; and then the daylight went beyond and burst over the city of tall buildings and early stirring traffic, continuing on its route around the globe. The homes of Sandburg were most of a century old, the citizens a mix of lifelong elderly residents and young families, come to escape stifling city life. 8123 Willow Green Street is where the Wrenns, Dan and Jenna, and Gwenn lived, until the adult Wrenns were gone and the child was persuaded to stay with elderly Velma Bloom, a few houses down.

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Gwenn agreed to assist Velma for board, because it kept her near her now empty home.

Velma was a marvelous old woman. Her temper was even and she tried to keep active through long days of enforced inaction and no visitors. There were just a few drawbacks, for Gwenn, living here. There was one inescapable annoyance on leaving home for school: It was always seeing Wilfred Combs, her father’s associate, whom she despised. He would be spying at her from a tiny window, high up and across the street. And it happened every morning. Her pink bike with fat tires was never quick enough to outrun his prying eyes. Friends of Combs seemed always to be around, though none ever spoke to her or seemed aware of her at all, as she pedaled toward the campus. By the time the staid brick of the building marked her view she was into a different frame of mind.

Sandburg Middle School was for her quiet and dull, all but when she first arrived there. Without fail, every morning, by the time she tethered her bike in the rack, Tyler Meekem always roared up on his black racing bike, a shiny new thing, that had some noisemakers on the tires. “Hey, you hag,” he would invariably say, planting himself in her path. He would pull her hair, given the opportunity. Gwenn would shoulder her way by, muttering “You bully. Just you wait.”

Being perpetually late, she always dropped into her seat a moment or two after the bell rang. Mr. Greenlow would frown, but never once did he say anything. She suspected he directed to her a bit of sympathy, without being overt about it. She did well in her studies and the homework she handed in was meticulous. Greenlow believed in well-organized recess periods, keeping the children fully occupied, with games, such as

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volleyball or basketball. The children were so thoroughly orchestrated, throughout the day, that their only time for socializing came with the noon lunch break. Gwenn’s two friends in that period were bus riders and so lived much too far away for after school fraternizing.

The friends, Ophelia and Queen, were fond of asking questions about her private life and she shared a great deal with them. She had tried to clean up the tale of how Dad had passed away, but both girls had already heard the joking references to the incident from their own families, as it had been a big news item of the day. Both had been careful to not laugh in Gwenn’s face, which was lucky for them, friends or no, as they well knew from previous experiences. Today, the friends discussed boys and Gwenn mentioned how she detested Tyler Meekem. “Oh, I think he’s cute,” Queen protested.

“He’s going to be less cute, once I take care of him,” she responded, angrily. She had the thought, I don’t enjoy fighting. Really don’t. Just - lately - it seems to be the thing to do.

“But, he is being so nice, when I pass him in the hall,” Queen said.

“He’s a jerk. He pulls my hair.” Gwenn self righteously retorted.

“Well,” Queen said, conciliatory in tone, “I will be careful around him. I don’t really like him, anyway.”

They mentioned other boys and, then, lunchtime ended and they returned to class. The remainder of school was business as usual. It was after the children were let out for the day, and Gwenn found herself in the same segment of the hall as Tyler, something

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noteworthy occurred.

“Hey, you hag.”

Those words were the first clue she had that her nemesis happened to be anywhere nearby. She tried keeping her head down and ignoring the taunt, but Tyler was not having it. He said, “What’s the idea, talking about me behind my back?”

She tried to keep moving, but the tall, gangly, Tyler put a hand to her shoulder, from behind, and pushed. She instantly let her backpack drop to the floor and turned on her tormenter. Her advance, so sudden and so fierce, unnerved the boy. He quailed before the onslaught, as Gwenn punched him, two times, and landed a final body blow that sent him against the tiled wall. From there he crumpled to the tiled floor. “You’ll be sorry,” he whined, his face contorted and tearful.

“Well - You had it coming.”

Gwenn continued to hold out her fists and that is how the Principle, Mrs. Olive Dabney, found her moments later. She restrained Gwenn, holding her wrists, horrified. “Why are you rough-housing in here?” she demanded, looking repeatedly from one to the other.

“He shoved me,” Gwenn shouted. “He is always bullying me.”

She looked around for corroboration, but every student who had witnessed the fight’s beginning had gone their way and left the building.

Still clutching Gwenn’s wrists, Mrs. Dabney said, “You are suspended, the two of you.”

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And in short order, the disgraced students were ordered to keep away, until the next Monday. By the time they retrieved their bikes from the stand, they were the only students in sight. Tyler kept his distance and waited until Gwenn’s pink bike with the fat tires was well out of the way before moving in to pull out his racing bike. She looked around at the boy after she had the bike seat under her, preparatory to riding away. “You should not have shoved me,” she said quietly.

Fiddling with his bike, Tyler muttered, barely audibly, “Shouldn’t talk behind my back.”

Contrite, of a sudden, Gwenn told him, “I know. I’m sorry. But you pick on me, every single day and it makes me mad.”

“I was talking to Queen,” he said. “She told me she likes me and we could be friends. I told her I like - you. That’s when she told me you were talking about me. I’m sorry. I just -”

“You like me? Why do you pull my hair and call me a hag?”

Tyler shrugged. “I don’t know.”

She pushed on a pedal and coasted her bike near the still timorous boy. “Which direction do you live from here?”

“I go up Pinedale Street,” he answered. “You live at 8123 Willow Green. I could ride along with you if you let me.”

He bent over each bike wheel, disabling the noisemakers. Then he sat on the

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narrow seat, prepared to take off. He looked at her, quizzically. Disappointed at her lack of response, he pushed a pedal and was rolling, turning to his own route home.

“I don’t mind,” Gwenn said hastily.

He made a small circle, then came back to align his wheels with hers. They rode slowly, speaking as they traveled of small issues: things they like; how each spends their nonschool time; where they would like to be, come summer vacation. And then they came before Gwenn’s family home. “Here we are,” Tyler announced.

“Except I don’t live here, just now,” she replied, sadly.

“Sure you do. I have ridden by in my Dad’s car and have seen you there, lots of times,” he insisted. “You aren’t trying to fool me?”

“This is where I grew up. But, when Dad was killed, they moved me a few doors down. I stay with Miss Bloom.”

“Well,” the boy insisted further, “somebody is here. I see lights high in the attic window, when my Dad and I pass here, late nights.”

Gwen said, frowning. “The house is supposed to be empty. Couldn’t you be mistaken?”

“I know what I’ve been seeing,” he replied. “The light I see is generally behind the window near the end.”

“Dad built a laboratory in there. He required solitude, he insisted, anytime I showed any interest. I’ve never even seen it. I wouldn’t want somebody else to be in there.”

“You‘ve no idea who it is?” Tyler said’

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“I intend to find out,” she stated flatly.

Tyler said, “I wish I could stay longer. I have my chores to do before my Mom and Dad get home from their store.”

“Okay,” Gwenn said, still frowning over the information she had received. They said a quick goodbye and he raced off at a dangerous pace, disappearing up the street in moments.

She put away the bike and went inside to say “Hi” to Miss Bloom. The sweet woman greeted Gwenn with a smile and let her know there were cookies and milk in the kitchen. She was hungry. The cookies were oatmeal, with chocolate bits inside. Her favorite. She liked dunking them in the milk. As she finished off a last bite and wiped away dribbled milk, she found herself considering what to make of the light on at night in her father’s laboratory. If she hurried her homework, she might just have time to have a look in there for herself. She grabbed up her backpack and went to her room for a spell. When she came out she checked with Miss Bloom before going outside.

In the gathering dusk, she ran down the sidewalk and hopped up the steps of her family‘s house. After managing the key she slipped inside, pushing the door to as quietly as possible. Having not thought to bring a flashlight, she went in the gloom to the stairs, confidently, because she had been there and up and down them all of her life. She was about to take a first step up when a light went on at the landing where the stairs made a turn. The spark of fear she first felt gave way to angry despair when the bulk of Wilfred Combs filled the aura from the bulb, and he slowly descended the stairs. He paused

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before the bristling youngster, blocking the way. His great body filled her vision with an authority that kept her from questioning its authenticity. “My dear child,” he said sternly, “the keeping of the house has been entrusted to me. I cannot allow even you to enter until the terms of my commission have been altered. Please turn around and leave without fussing. I will greatly appreciate the cooperation.”

Gwenn was too disgusted to argue. She left and returned to Miss Bloom’s house, where hunger took over and she made up two nice salads, reheated last night’s soup, and they had their dinner. She was too upset to later sit with Miss Bloom as she usually did for at least an hour. After cleaning up the table and dishes she excused herself and took to her room with the book, Little Women, which she had nearly finished the night before. She sometimes fantasized herself as Jo in the novel, the strong, the tomboy, the best of the sisters. On this stressful evening, her thoughts and her emotions were melded at a level so deep that she merely stared at the page without seeing a thing. From that prolonged interlude, she emerged, with no notion of time, just gradually becoming aware and focusing on the book long enough to close it for tonight. As she did so she came to a conclusion that she would return to her home, despite Wilfred Combs, and climb those stairs this very night.

She passed Miss Bloom, sitting contentedly in her chair, rocking and humming lightly over a ball of yarn, and slipped by her into the dark evening. Sure enough, there was a light in Dad’s window. She tried for a moment to understand what kind of hold Combs had had on her Dad, but nothing added up. She supposed that one day she would

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find out, but for now, getting inside was the single issue to consider. This time, she came back inside the house carrying a tiny flashlight.

She ascended the steps, slowly, cautiously, getting by the midway landing, enough to conclude, based on the slant of light at the top, that Dad’s door hung open. Pausing to watch the light, to listen for the slightest noise, feeling fear in the pit of her stomach, she barely could breathe.

Fully ten minutes passed before the precious girl felt she could move again. Resolutely she came up near the top before something happened in the laboratory. It was a scurrying sound, of movement behind the door and then it slammed shut. That action set Gwenn in motion. She rushed her father‘s door, suddenly enraged that she might once again be denied.

Unable to make the knob turn, she began to pound and shout: “I’m Gwenn Wrenn and I live here. This is my house. Open this door.”

She assaulted the impassive portal for several minutes until exhaustion made her quit. Defeat, combined with grief, overwhelming her will to move, whether to go or remain, caused the child to wilt to her knees. She wept, moaning, wondering why her family had been swept away, like so much trash.

In the end, Gwenn had to leave there, but she vowed to return as many times as it took to get some proper answers.

The following morning, she awakened more than a few minutes late, wan and tired. She sipped milk then worked shelling a boiled egg. As she stuffed the egg into her mouth, THE HOLLOW PLANET - CHAPTER ONE 10

in three bites, she was making up new plans to get inside her home, despite the roadblocks being placed by the hated Mr. Combs. After eating, she said, “Goodbye, Miss Bloom. Do you need anything?”

“No, dear,” Miss Bloom replied, likely thinking Gwenn was on her way to school, for Gwenn had withheld the information of her suspension, wishing to prevent the dear from worrying about her.

Gwen hugged Miss Bloom, putting her cheek to hers and then bounced out to carry through with her plans. It was a surprise of big proportions when she discovered Tyler Meekem near the house, sitting on his bike, propping himself up by one foot. “I hoped you would come out,” he said. “It gets lonely being at home by myself all the time.”

It was a nice surprise, Gwenn decided. She approached his posing self, going slowly, in a manner she considered ladylike. “Do you want to just hang around and talk, or would you rather take a short ride?” she said.

“Talk, I guess.” He swung his other foot over and pushed the bike away from the street. He propped it up with the kickstand. “I wasn’t sure if you would like seeing me again since I got you suspended.”

“It was both our fault,” she answered simply. “So,” she went on, “Your parents have a store?”

“It’s a small one. They can’t afford to hire any help. They have to work it themselves and that’s why I am home alone so often.”

Gwenn privately thought perhaps hurt and resentment from being neglected might

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have had a triggering effect that made him pick on her every morning. Not that she was educated enough or old enough to know such a thing for sure.

“I don’t have anyone my age near my street,” she said. “Listen. Are you able to keep some secrets if I tell you some?”

Tyler looked as though he were beginning to second think his presence here this morning. “I don’t think I know you well enough for that,” he stammered.

She laughed at him. “Silly. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I am trying to get into Dad’s laboratory. They won’t let me in. I plan to keep on trying until I find out what Mr. Combs is doing in there.”

“That’s your secret?” Tyler looked relieved. “But it’s your house. Why won’t he let you go in?”

Gwenn thought that her new friend was beginning to crave the answer also.

“Yesterday, after school, Mr. Combs blocked my way and told me he was in charge. Last night I went back. I got all the way to the door but somebody slammed it in my face. No matter how I beat on it and hollered, they paid me no mind.”

“That’s pretty rotten. I wish I was big enough to make them let you in.” Tyler was angry for her. “It‘s your house.”

Gwenn had her arms crossed and she was thinking hard. “But there may be a way you can help me get in, if we can just think of something.”

“Well,” he said, “if I went in first and got them to chase me, maybe that would leave the way clear for you.”

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She brightened, for a moment. But, became solemn, thinking ahead. “That might work. Except, if it’s Mr. Combs he won’t run. He’s not built for running. Instead, he will block the way.”

Tyler was not ready to give up. “But we have to get him out of there. What if I told him a story? Gave him a reason to leave?”

She had a sudden inspiration. “It’s a dirty trick,” she said, half under her breath.

“What? What’s a dirty trick?” Tyler said. “Tell me.”

“You run up there, all scared, out of breath. You tell old Mr. Combs I was run over by a bus, riding my bike.” She laughed, remembering how that man laughed while telling her about Dad.

“That is a dirty trick,” he replied.

“Maybe it is. Let me tell you how he reported Dad’s death to me.”

She led Tyler to the garden, where the youngsters sat on a white bench, beside a bed of pale blue flowers, where they could watch a few birds flitting about in the shrubs, where the increasingly intense sun’s rays were blocked.

Her gaze centered on her folded hands as she organized her thoughts. The girl spoke quietly, but raw emotion seethed like an angry river beneath her words, transporting them with force, against Tyler‘s ears.

“School was just over and I came straight home. I was putting away my bike when a shadow behind me made me aware a large person was approaching. I felt something darker than the shadow pass through me, even before I turned. Mr. Combs had come to

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stand over me and I was a little frightened. I could read pity in his solemn eyes and grimly pursed mouth. We had never spoken before because he always went straight to Dad’s laboratory without looking about. I am sure he was friendly with my Mom because she was often Dad‘s helper. I just wanted to slip past him and avoid the grimness. ’My dear,’ he began, ’I am extremely sad; it is my duty to inform you of the death of your father.’

“But he didn’t seem truly sad, even as he attempted to squeeze out a tear.

“’The way he died,’ he said, ‘was an accident that could have easily been avoided. As you know, your father had a way of becoming oblivious to all else, when having certain deep conversations. He was clumsy besides. He - Dan - had been walking beside me, on Elm Street, and we were discussing a secret project, when he stepped off the curb, right in front of a pizza delivery truck. He was thrown by the force of the crash onto the display trampoline before Fun World. Your father sank with the canvass and on the rebound got flung from there into a bounce house and he was slammed from floor to ceiling, repeatedly, (here the pompous man’s composure cracked and he nearly smiled. After that the remainder of the narration produced in his diaphragm repeated upheavals that almost broke free in the form of uncontrolled laughter) until the trajectory sent him onto the roof of the same truck that struck him in the first place. Then he slid off and went down an open manhole. Extreme rains from the night before had caused a vortex within the sewer tunnel, that washed his body completely away.’ By this, the final, point of the narration, Combs produced a tissue to wipe at his eyes. He said in conclusion, ‘His last uttered word was, ‘Oops.’’ And then he tried to hide his face.

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“I felt a sudden rage that caused me to kick his shin. Then I ran away to escape his awful presence.

“I had never liked Mr. Combs in the first place. Now, I detested him. I hid whenever I even suspected he might come around. But, on being moved from my own home, to live with Velma Bloom, it actually placed me nearer the man than before. I often confided in the darkness, to no one at all, the often recurring fear, that it could be this same vile being who had caused my mother to vanish, weeks earlier. It was a fear which I had whispered to Dad, on several occasions, but he always smiled and said, affirmatively, ‘Wilfred is our friend.’

“I always quieted from accusing the man, in deference to my Dad. But nothing I saw or heard lessened that fear. One day it occurred to me to ask of myself the question, ‘Do you think Mr. Combs gave Dad a push off the curb?’ And I answered myself, ‘Maybe.’

“It was a shock to be so thinking, and a revelation I could not deny. Because I knew there never could be proof, I tried to dismiss it as a notion, but it became a truth that was lodged deeply in my heart. And I now believed my parents both were murdered, that Mr. Combs is the culprit.”

On hearing the story, Tyler conceded, “He deserves this prank.”

“I know. Now, look. After I hide near the porch, all you have to do is tell him, and once he gets down the street, you can give him the truth and run, or, just take off without saying a word. Then get on your bike and go home.” She stared at her friend, expectantly.

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“How about it?”

It was obvious Tyler entertained second thoughts. He said he was trying to think of something else. After almost ten minutes, he made up his mind. He breathed deeply before speaking. “Go find your place to hide,” he said resignedly.

Gwenn felt she could easily hug her friend. “Thank you,” she cried gratefully.

After pushing the key into his hand, she slipped away and hid near the porch. Crouching, listening, she could not be certain what Tyler was doing, until his feet scuffed on the porch. At first, he pounded on the door and waited. He pounded a second time. She heard the key striking near the keyhole, but the door was opened, at that point. She could hear the voice of Wilfred Combs. “Who are you? Can I help you?”

“Oh, Mr. Combs. My friend, Gwenn sent me. She fell off her bike when a truck brushed too close. She can’t get up off the street. She said only you could help.”

“Oh, my. Yes. Go on and lead the way.”

Gwenn heard Tyler’s quick steps and his feet descending the steps. Then the door slammed behind him. Tyler’s feet quit moving. “Hey,” he shouted.

He ran back to again pound on the door. At that point, one of the unnamed minions swept a branch aside and stared down at poor Gwenn. He shook his head at her and then waited for her to move away from the house. Seeing Gwenn’s plight, Tyler joined her and they walked back to his parked bike.

Gwenn did not feel defeated at all. She merely needed a better plan. “Come with me to get a drink,” she said. “I will introduce you to Miss Bloom.”

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She challenged Tyler and they raced to the door. Gwenn pushed into the home, with her friend at her heels. Inside the staid old room, she halted, on finding Miss Bloom napping in her chair. Gwenn removed a teacup from the dear lady’s lap. She motioned to Tyler to come back outside. They pedaled to the sandwich shop a few streets over, to buy sodas. Then, balancing on their bikes, taking drinks, the friends made a picture no one in their school could ever have composed, in the wildest of schemes. The friends simply rode, after that, for nearly two hours, circling the same blocks, endlessly.

The days of suspension were days of bonding, for likely lifelong friends. She met him every day, and, though getting inside her house was the predominant topic for discussion, they got to know one another’s habits, their likes, and fears.

On Monday, when Gwenn slipped her bike into the rack, she heard a voice behind her. “Hey, you -”

Tyler blocked her path, the way he always had in the past. This time he smiled, as he finished the sentence. “-nice person.”

The black bike’s noisemakers had not been re-activated, thus allowing him to approach, unheard. “May I walk you to class?”

“Don’t be silly,” Gwenn replied. “We are late, as usual. There is no time for that.”

From the other side of the door glass, as they approached, Ophelia’s face was visibly shocked to see the two walking up together, matching steps, talking civilly together. Later, at lunch break, she asked Gwenn about it and Queen looked on with narrowed eyes, jealously. “We are friends, now,” Gwenn said, dismissively.

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Ophelia gave Queen a few furtive looks and she continued to question about Tyler, until Queen said, “Oh - Talk about something else.”

So they talked about the coming summer break until it became time to return to the classroom.

A short time later, as she sat listening to Mr. Greenlow speak on behalf of endangered monarch butterflies, a sudden thought pushed all other considerations out of her mind. She knew exactly how to get into Dad’s study. It was so simple, she berated herself because she had not already considered it. She hoped Tyler would want to ride home beside her after school. She idly daydreamed, until Mr. Greenlow gave her a stern look, before asking her to repeat a few of the facts the class had been going over. She admitted she could not. “You normally are a very good student,” he said. “I’m not penalizing you, this time. Incidentally, the homework you handed in last was outstanding.”

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CHAPTER TWO

Respect for her teacher had Gwenn concentrating very hard for the time remaining but she was first out the door when the bell sounded. She had the pink bike out and stood beside it, waiting for Tyler to come. She saw Queen and Ophelia marching to the bus line, giving her dirty stares. She stood proudly, pretending to ignore until they were eclipsed by the building. When at last Tyler showed himself, he was parting company with some friends who also were bus riders. After that, his eyes were for her only.

“Tyler, you’ve got to come with me. I know how to get inside my house. Dad constantly moved lots of stuff into his attic. He never did allow me in there, but he had some kind of secret project he was working on. He told me it was dangerous.”

“Somebody up there may be carrying on his work,” said Tyler. “Now I want in just to see what that is.”

“Wait. Listen. The basement has a garage in it, so parts for his projects could be brought in by truck.”

“But that makes it a lot farther to carry it.”

“Dad had a special dumbwaiter built, to get it straight up there, with no carrying at all.”

“What,” said Tyler, “is a dumbwaiter?”

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She explained that it was an elevator that could lift items all the way into the attic. “And it’s big enough to ride in.”

“Well I’m ready to go,” Tyler said.

He rode in a great circle and came to a stop at her side.

They were a little reckless while getting there, causing one car to swerve and another to honk a warning. When they arrived at Gwenn’s temporary home, they put their bikes near the house and then walked to the Wrenn’s house. Gwenn’s key was a master key. It unlocked the outside doors, including the one for the garage. Gwenn was cautious, ushering Tyler in. “I never was allowed to go in here,” she said. “So I think that is why I didn’t remember to try it before.”

They went past Dad’s car that gleamed even in the dim light they traveled by. Gwenn produced her small flashlight and lighted their way to the dumbwaiter at the center of the wall, behind the car. It was big and it was rugged and its cabinet was open for loading or boarding. Tyler removed from its deck a wooden box that held some small electric parts, to make the space comfortable for riding in. They would have to go up, one at a time. “Who goes first?” he said.

“Me, of course. If somebody is at the top they wouldn’t know you. Then, it could get dangerous.”

He stepped back. She was right, of course. Except - “It could get dangerous for you since they don’t want you there.”

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But Gwenn was all smiles. Climbing easily in, she crouched and reached out to push the top button. “If I don’t send it back down,“ she instructed, “wait about three minutes from now and press the bottom button. Or, if you are smart, run.”

The button got pressed and the dumbwaiter began its ascent through a long dark shaft. It lumbered slowly and smoothly and it passed an opening on the second floor before continuing on and coming to rest inside the attic. She sat still after it stopped, listening for any activity around Dad’s project. Finally, she climbed out of the box and sent it back down. She waited for Tyler. After a few minutes his ride became still at the top and he scrambled out. Their eyes swept the room beyond the unloading dock. He looked to Gwenn for guidance.

The space before them was empty but for a long sliding door that must open into the lab. As they passed through they saw and studied her father’s project in silence for a bit. Tyler finally asked. “What do you think it is?”

In the middle of the floor was a chamber that could lock airtight, with smooth surfaces all around and a circular port at the rear center. But for the port and a control pad, the chamber was empty. Adjoining the structure was a computer, with a fifty-nine-inch monitor. Inside the screen, they saw tiny depictions of beings, moving, on a strange city’s street. They looked almost human, but were a bit distorted. On the shelf, in front of the computer keyboard, lay a loose-leaf volume, bearing the title, “Pi Planet.”

Gwenn grabbed it up and opened it. “That’s the title of the novel my dad wrote,” she said, opening the cover to have a look.

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What she held was a book of scientific equations and long technical paragraphs that made no sense to her at all. But, there were some words at the beginning that told everything she needed to know. She dropped the book and studied the monitor in earnest, now that she knew what she was expected to see. “It’s - It’s - real. He’s created an entire world and we are viewing it in there.”

“If this real,” Tyler, cried, amazed - “Then that chamber could be a transport between there and here.”

They stared at one another, with widening comprehension. The fictional world of Pi had become real. Gwenn knew almost instantly she just had to enter her Dad’s world. Impulsively she went into the chamber and activated the mechanism that shut it tight. There was a touch screen, with instructions. All she had to do was move the screen image with a finger and punch the green go button.

“No,” Tyler was pleading, watching her manipulate the screen and reach for the button. “Don’t do that.”

At the same instant, as she was reaching for the button, she saw Wilfred Combs come into the room, using his authoritative voice to say, “Here. Who’s in here?”

As Combs’ eyes discovered Gwenn inside the transport chamber, her finger touched the button and she went topsy turvy and her vision sent spinning. In a short instant her feet were on the street she had seen in the monitor. She fully expected Mr. Combs to appear beside her, to bring her home, until she realized that his first priority would have to be the removal of Tyler from the laboratory - Thus, giving minutes to hide,

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for it was all but certain he would come for her. So she thought. As she surveyed the buildings, there appeared a row of restaurants down a cross street. Her steps carried her midway down that block before she made the decision to go inside an establishment. She only now caught close up views of the natives and was shocked to discover they were a race of Birdpeople, for all had beaks on their faces and many had overt bird features on the arms, legs, feet, and rear ends. Feeling timid, she entered the restaurant.

This eatery was aged and dingy, but it appeared to be clean, with extremely high walls. She found herself ducking, when a flying, low swooping woman, who had long, black, somewhat angelic wings and straight black hair, passed too near. Her face wore what might be described as a falcon’s beak. Her feathered legs ended in boot shod feet. She came down to Gwenn’s table and smiled, holding her order tablet and a pencil. “What will it be, sweetie?” she asked.

“What are your sandwiches like?”

“We have pulled prok and BLQ, hot. Then there are cold cuts.”

“What’s a prok?” Gwenn wondered aloud.

The woman placed her hands on her hips and gave the youngster a wondering stare. “It’s the animal, barbequed, and the meat torn to shreds, with a pickle on a bun.”

“Maybe I will try a BLQ, instead,” she timorously replied.

She shyly huddled, in wondering silence, as the waitress fluttered here and there and other patrons with beaks waited to receive their food or were already eating theirs. When her BLQ came, she felt somewhat squeamish as she lifted the bun a bit, to see what

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she had actually asked for. There was an odd tomato, a chunk of lettuce and a flat slab of unidentifiable meat. She ate it anyway. Her offer to pay, using United States currency, was met by confusion, then forgiven. “Can’t refuse a hungry child,” the cashier said.

As she went back on the street, Gwenn heard a train whistle. She recalled that Dad’s novel had begun with a train ride to ‘Pythonville.’ She wondered if she ought to go to Pythonville. It was too bad that she had read just the first couple of pages and likely never was to know.

She had no time to think it through before a large man in charcoal grey accosted her. “You must be their child: Gwenn.” he said.

She regarded the man warily. “How did you know my name?”

This one had no bird traits. His eyes were like black liquid, but for a penetrating gleam emanating at the center. “Come with me, ma’am.”

He appeared in Gwenn’s estimation to be a kind of cyborg; certainly not a natural human person. He made her walk to a vehicle that was parked directly on the sidewalk.

Gwenn wished more than anything in the world that she had read her Dad’s book. Her age was the excuse: that his usage of language had made many passages too hard to understand; she had to choose between deciphering the book and keeping up with her schoolwork. She thought, now, that she could have managed it, somehow.

Escorted into the vehicle, which proved to be an SUV size drone, Gwenn began to panic. Once she left this locale, her chance of returning to Earth would seem much less certain. She did not want to finish out her life in this strange place.

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It was an official vehicle the man forced her into, judged by the insignia painted on the sides. Inside were a borg driver and two more borgs, dressed in the same gray as the first borg. The first borg took his seat next to the driver, who immediately caused the vessel to lift off. The drone danced upon the air, following signals that sent it beyond this little burg, to a village of tall stone buildings, with the gloom of age all over the spires and roofs. The drone swooshed down a narrow lane, all the way to a final structure, before settling on the street paving. When the first man exited with Gwenn the vehicle instantly took off, as though it were called to another mission.

Everything about the brooding stone building they approached fed her fear, rendering her incapable of resistance. The foyer that they entered was dark; they moved on to the dim light of a hallway, the floor of which made the shoes on their feet click at every step. They continued through the whole older building, until they reached a brand new door that opened to an obviously recently added wing. Gwenn was ushered inside a room that greatly resembled Dad’s room in his attic. The chamber was a virtual copy, with the accompanying computer and monitor.

The man, it turned out, had a name. He said he was Issak Spyng. And he truly was a cyborg. Along with being a scientist, he was also head of the government. He explained how he had gotten his knowledge of Earth when Gwenn’s mother appeared on the street; a strange new species. He had extracted from Jenna knowledge of Dan Wrenn‘s science. Crucial elements were missing. “What do you know about these things?” he said, indicating the contraption before them. “It’s a portal to your space and it’s about eight-

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tenths completed. I have been able to access the technology, just to that point.”

Her reply, tinged with sarcasm, was an indicator her self confidence was returning. “I’m a kid. I don’t work on these things.”

Spyng’s eyes merely smoldered, now. He nodded sympathetically. “But your parents do. I will be open with you. I have means to extract all you know, about this project or any other thing, from the day you were born. At my discretion. You are a child. I don’t want to hurt you. Tell me all you can, about the science involved here.”

She folded her arms and looked away from Spyng and the contraption. “I can’t help you. I wouldn’t if I could.”

Spyng tried playing on her sympathy. “Your father created our world, simply because he could. We exist, now, but at some point it is his intent to abort this work. He knew how to bring us into the real dimension, where your universe resides, but stopped short when he could have taken the final step. Unless I get the secret, the choice is yours and of people like you, whether my world is to live or die.”

Moments later, Isaak Spyng seemed to be somewhat regretful, when he said, “What you are telling me about yourself is probably the truth. Unfortunately, there may rest in your subconscious clues picked up from your parents that even you could be unaware of.” He advanced on the girl, his movement calculated to herd her toward another door. “We can’t take your word. We will have to extract the clues, assuming such exist.”

Gwenn began to guess what had actually been the fate of her parents and she began to guess the same was about to be done to her. She could not allow herself to be pushed

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into that room. She had seen, among a number of objects, a metal rod, leaning in a corner. Catching her captor off guard, she went for the rod and grabbed it up. She wielded the rod, like a baseball player in the ninth inning, with the winning runs on base. “If you try to do that to me, this entire project will get beaten into rubble.”

“Be logical,” the cyborg said. “If you swing that instrument, I will capture you, whatever the consequences, and you will be tossed in a pen of animals that resemble a cross of alligator and rat. A voracious creature, that will tear you to shreds as you are dying.”

Gwenn held her ground. “I owe my parents and the world. Leave me. Go out through that door alone, if you value this project at all.”

Spyng’s eyes flared. They gleamed brightly as he stared and considered the options. In the end, he must have considered it a worthwhile trade; the precious project in exchange for temporary freedom for this child, who likely knew nothing helpful anyway. He retreated through the same doorway he would have forced her through, closing it behind him.

Gwenn instantly went back into the old part of the house. Instead of dashing out to the street to run, as Spyng surely expected of her, she began to search the rooms along the hall for a good hiding place. The first room she encountered was bare, but for an empty shelf high on the wall. The second door opened into an occupied space. She found herself confronted by a woman, one of the Birdpeople. The woman was stout; an obviously long time hard worker. Seeing such a girl ducking in a side door that way possibly stirred her

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maternal concern. “Here, child. What are you doing in here?”

Gwenn pushed the door to, before replying, “I escaped. I’m looking for a place to hide.”

The woman hunkered down, as though under attack from an unseen force. She stared at the girl while a gamut of emotions crossed her face. “If I let you stay here, and we are discovered - I can’t do it.”

“But it’s too late for me to pick another place. What am I going to do?”

The woman reconsidered a moment. Hers was obviously a compassionate nature, which gave her pause to seek options. “I am just staff here; cleaning and general maintenance,” she said. “But, my experience makes me know this old house better than anybody. Come. Follow me.”

She led Gwenn through another door that let them into a separate, very narrow, hallway, which had been designed to keep the domestics hidden and out of the way, in most circumstances. At the end was a door to the outside. “Now, if you choose to leave, go right ahead. There are trees and a river to your right. If you prefer to wait right here, I can give you a ride to my neighborhood and you can spend some time waiting on the borgs to give up looking.”

“You are very kind,” Gwenn began -

“I have tasks. We can talk later.”

The woman hurried back to her work.

Gwenn was no longer certain that a read of Dad’s book would have done her much

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good, as the characters she had thus far met appeared to be in the act of rebelling against his narrative. If they were to succeed in spilling over into the real world, she had no way of knowing the outcome, or what the final objective might be. She began to see it as her duty to thwart that aim by whatever means necessary, at the cost of her life, even. She made up her mind to accompany this woman, to rest, to gain time. But she would be coming back here with sabotage in mind.

She found some clean packing material against a wall and settled herself upon it, to wait. Inactivity and exhaustion robbed her of consciousness, until, later, when her benefactor awakened her. “Come,” the woman said. “I have a better place you can rest.”

It was already beyond the dusk when they seated themselves in the woman’s tattered seats and her battered drone struggled above the street. “What’s your name, child? I’m Clara Borng. You don’t look like other Pi people.”

“That’s because I’m from the Earth. I’m Gwenn Wrenn, daughter of Dan and Jenna Wrenn.”

Gwenn’s parents’ names lit a lamp in Clara‘s eyes. “I hear those names around the lab, where the borgs spend all of their working time. Those names are important, though I don’t know just why.” She was silent a long moment, looking to be debating herself and losing the argument. “Dear, I do know something,” she admitted. “I can tell you where they have hidden your mother. My sister is a nurse where she is staying.”

“For real?”

“Instead of going home I am taking you there right now.”

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They neared the edge of the village and came upon clusters of ramshackle homes. “Welcome to my borough,” Clara announced. “It is home for just Birdpeople, but the medical complex we control here is shared by the cyborgs because they recognize that Birdpeople are the finest of physicians.”

Most of the parking spaces were clear, which made it possible to place the vehicle near the entrance. Clara urged Gwenn to follow her, as she climbed out and went toward the building. They approached the woman at the desk, where Clara was known for coming to visit with her sister. They were allowed to pass. “She is in a private room,” Clara said softly.

Gwenn scarcely dared believe her mother could be in such a place. Yet, based on all she had been through in just a few short hours, she prepared herself to be at least semi pleasantly surprised.

The room they entered was practically identical to any Earth-based hospital room. In the bed, a partially sheet-covered woman lay with her face turned to the window. Her hair was the correct color, if much shorter than Mother’s, likely due to the nurses keeping it cut. She and Clara reached out to the woman and coaxed her to face in their direction. By this time, Gwenn already knew. She had found her mother.

Jenna’s listless stare straight ahead was disturbing. Gwenn tenderly kissed her cheek. “Hi, Mom,” she whispered.

But for some slow breathing, Jenna budged not at all. Gwenn stared into the eyes

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for a long moment. And a remarkable thing happened. Two great teardrops formed in those eyes and they rolled down, to soak in the pillow. Gwenn kissed her again and said, “I will come and save you, Mom. I promise you.”

Jenna’s face seemed less haggard after that. Gwenn’s exhaustion and her inability to formulate anything she could further do, made her have to leave, for now. She gave Mom a little smile and a hug, before she turned away, to go with Clara.

“You would have been treated like her if you hadn‘t gotten away” Clara observed.

The girl knew it was so. She tossed a grateful look at her benefactor, hoping no ill would come to her for these selfless actions.

They rode down the next street to a row of buildings with darkened fronts and few lights burning inside. These structures were old, with much of the original architecture replaced by scrap lumber or simply boarded over. “I can feed you corn and potatoes, tonight,” Clara remarked, as they pulled in at her home.

“Real corn? Real potatoes? I thought maybe Earth’s food was unknown, here,” said Gwenn.

Clara’s indulgent smile was evident despite the beak for a mouth. Inside her home, they met an elderly Birdpeople male, who had been waiting, concerned that Clara was late. “This is my father, Dana. Pop, this is Gwenn. She will be staying here, for a time.”

Pop nodded, vigorously, while his entire body rocked in his chair. “Welcome. Welcome,” he cried, enthusiastically.

His beak was somewhat twisted. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot and there

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were great bags beneath them. “Welcome. Welcome,” he said again.

“Why don’t you rest in my soft chair, and I can get dinner together,” Clara suggested.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Welcome. Welcome,” Pop repeated.

Gwenn slept the night through, after dinner, in a bed full of soft feathers. Clara had lent her a long shirt to sleep in. In the morning, as she was dressing, there resounded a knocking at the door. Clara met a person who babbled quickly that their fighters had lost a battle and were driven back to the river. Then the person was gone. Gwenn figured him to be a news crier, such as places on Earth once had before there was electricity.

Clara gravely approached the girl, to see if she wanted breakfast. “I heard him, at the door,” Gwenn said.

“Yes,” Clara acknowledged. “There is an army, of rebel Birdpeople, at war with the borgs. It‘s grim. I don‘t know if the Birdpeople can hold out much longer.”

They ate and later Clara allowed Gwenn, at her insistence, to return to the borgs’ house. “Remember, not me nor anybody else can help you if you get caught in there.”

This morning there was an entire committee of borgs, bustling here and there, greatly excited. until Gwenn concluded that they had made some kind of breakthrough. She hid in the service areas and while she waited around all day, it became clear to her that she would need to remain inside the building this coming night to do her work of sabotage.

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An hour into the wait, Clara came to her, obviously crushed. Her arms dangled limply and the sponge she had been using dropped to the floor. She hugged Gwenn and the girl felt a hot cheek against hers as copious tears wet her face. “Our army was destroyed. That’s why they are celebrating,” the poor woman moaned.

At that moment, a door was flung open and Issak Spyng presented himself. His eyes went at first to Clara, but in surprise lighted on Gwenn. “I came to offer condolences. After all, we are not animals. But, on seeing that you have been harboring this girl, I have become less sympathetic. You are discharged from your service here. I will not make a charge against you, since you were, previous to this, a loyal employee. Begone, Clara Borng.”

Clara, bowed and broken in spirit, made herself absent, in a matter of moments. The borg eyed the cowering girl, his eyes flashing sparks out of the blackness. “Come to me, child.”

But Gwenn cowered against a cabinet, unwilling to cooperate. Spyng visibly softened as the borg came slowly forward and she began to sense his intent was not to harm her. “I have considered your position in this drama. I no longer believe your information is relevant to our research. I extend to you the offer of a personal armistice. I admire you. I would, in fact, take you into my protection.”

Gwenn defiantly confronted Spyng, saying, “After what you have done to my mother, I will never be your friend.”

“I can arrange to get her back to your world. Our transfer unit works very well now.

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It‘s partly the reason why I can make such an offer.”

“If you could accomplish that, I will do anything you say.” Gwenn did not trust the man, but she was willing to take any chance to rescue Mom.

“Good. Come with me.” He went the way he had come, not looking back to see if she followed.