2015 Young Explorer's Adventure Guide Read online

  She swallowed.

  “And this, I believe, is the actual location of the third artifact.” She tapped a final key. A third green light appeared.

  Everyone started talking at once. Theodor silenced them with a wave of his hand. He stared at the display.

  On the eastern coast of Pugnus, on a separate continent and an entire ocean away from the underwater site, blinked the third green light.

  Theodor turned to Cassie. “Explain.”

  “It involves tectonic plate theory-” she began.

  “I know the theory. What’s the relevance?”

  Cassie tapped a key. The midoceanic trench between Pugnus and Manus glowed yellow.

  “That trench is a divergent boundary,” Cassie said, “where new crust is being formed, pushing Manus and Pugnus further apart every year. But that also means that sometime in the past, they looked like this.” The plates began to shift. The two large continents moved closer until the fist of Pugnus slipped into the open hand of Manus like a piece in a puzzle. Someone gasped, as the third green light on Pugnus aligned itself over the red light offshore of Manus.

  Theodor nodded. “You’re saying the Wormers originally placed the three artifacts as the diagrams show, but the missing one moved relative to the other two as the continents separated.”

  Xu shook his head. “Cassie...”

  Cassie sighed. “I know. The time frame is...difficult to believe.”

  “How old are the artifacts if your theory is true?” Theodor asked.

  Xu answered. “At least as old as the core sample from the deposit site, which formed as the trench started to spread. Cassie, what was the isotopic clock dating on the sample?”

  Cassie hesitated. “Its age was thirty, uh...” She swallowed. “...million years.”

  The eruption of exclamations made Cassie want to slink from the room. Theodor again waved for silence.

  In desperation, Cassie turned to Will Epps. “We know that these ships are at least ten thousand years old. But couldn’t they be much older?”

  Several people squirmed. Their situation was bad enough without being reminded that they were relying on alien technology at least a hundred centuries old.

  Will shrugged. “There’s so much self-healing nano-tech, we can’t estimate their age accurately.”

  “So any Wormer technology could be much older as well, right?” Cassie asked.

  “But thirty million years...” Xu shook his head, as did others. Cassie was losing them.

  She turned to Theodor.

  “Captain, it all fits. It explains why the Chadorans have never found the artifact. Why our sub didn’t see it. Why Wormers placed two artifacts on mountains, but supposedly put the third underwater. They didn’t. They put it on land too.”

  “Can’t we scan for the artifact?” Trask said.

  “The other two don’t show on scanners,” Epps said. “They’re shielded somehow.”

  “So the third artifact could be where the Chadorans say it is,” Trask replied.

  Cassie sat back, feeling defeated. Then something struck her.

  “Both artifacts I saw are located over berkelium deposits, yet neither site appears on the mineral scans. The artifacts shield the berkelium too.”

  “So?” Theodor said.

  “We detected berkelium at the underwater site. That means nothing’s shielding it. The third artifact isn’t there.”

  Trask started to protest, but Theodor raised a hand. “I agree with Dr. Morant. It fits.” He stood up. “Cassie, I’ll give you the same lead time. Take a hopper down now.”

  Cassie was already sprinting for the door.

  …………………………

  On a mountain plateau, across an ocean from where they had first landed on Griphus, Cassie and Davey stood, arms around each other’s waist.

  “So you saved me, the team, the entire ship,” Davey said, “and made one of the most important discoveries in history. Not a bad day.”

  Cassie grinned. “Actually, the toughest part was convincing Cha-kay to fly in the hopper. Now she wants a world tour.”

  Beside them, happiness lighting her face, Cha-kay gazed at a huge glowing yellow sphere hovering above the ground.

  The third artifact.

  With one difference. A beam of energy shone from the sphere into the sky. The beam had begun the moment Cassie had touched the sphere.

  Cassie’s per-comm beeped. It was Theodor. “Dr. Morant, all three artifacts now appear on scanners, all beaming to the same point in space –”

  “A new wormhole,” Cassie interrupted.

  Pause. “How’d you know?” Theodor asked.

  Cassie grinned. “I’m good at puzzles, sir.”

  “Hmm. Anyway, Earth’s sending a second wormship. We’ll all have the option of returning home or exploring the wormhole. Once again, good work, Morant.” Theodor signed off.

  “You didn’t mention your theory,” Davey said.

  “That the wormhole leads to the Wormers’ home world? Just a hunch.”

  “Explain it to me then.”

  Cassie nodded at the sphere. “I think the artifacts were a puzzle – and the wormhole the prize.”

  “For us or the Chadorans?”

  “For us. Another bread crumb in the trail the Wormers left us.” She shrugged and laughed. “It just fits.”

  Davey nodded. “So what about you? Back to Earth or through the wormhole?”

  “Wormhole,” she said.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Okay, that surprised me.”

  Cassie grinned. “Hey, if the Wormers liked puzzles, they couldn’t have been that bad.” She stared at the artifact. “Besides, we solved their puzzle, saved ourselves, became heroes to the Chadorans...” Her eyes followed the beam up towards the heavens.

  “Maybe we fit out here after all,” she said softly.

  When Mama Went to Dumfries

  Wendy Lambert

  Wendy Lambert writes fantasy and science fiction and is a graduate of the 2013 Odyssey Writing Workshop. Her stories appear in Necrology Shorts and in the prose and poetry collection, In the Shimmering. She works as a school librarian and lives in Utah with her husband, children, and a menagerie of pets. Too often, she reminisces of past trips and daydreams of future adventures to far away places hoping to get lost in museums or ancient ruins.

  Crabby old Constable Duncan came during supper to arrest papa. Papa had ordered Kenna to stop poking at the last chunk of tattie in her stew and eat it. And it was as she’d feared. As soon as Kenna had swallowed that tattie, Papa had sent her straight up to bed. It wasn’t fair that Rory got to stay up. At thirteen, Rory was just three years older and a mere head taller than she. But when Papa threatened to give her a skelping, Kenna had scurried up the worn ladder, blackened by scores of dirty handprints.

  This past fortnight, she’d flung herself across the tattered and patched quilt and rolled the length and width of the bed as if she were a prized swine wallowing in a cool bath of mud. A swine without all its pen mates. Mama had taken her sisters along with baby brother to visit Auntie in Dumfries. No elbows to disturb her blissful sleep. Yet, Kenna could not be expected to sleep when words pricklier than a hill of thistle were being swapped below.

  “I’m not saying I wished for him to go, but Finlay was a bum. He was always wandering away leaving my sheep to fend for themselves. Did ya check the Black Bull?” Papa asked.

  “Do ya think I’d have come an hour’s horse ride if Finlay was to be found in a pub?”

  “Maybe he’s at St. Andrews Kirk, repenting of his ways?”

  “Do na be acting this way, Nevin. Ya know why I’m suspicious.”

  “Guthrie’s death was an accident. My name was cleared.”

  “There’s still a cloud of doubt in the minds of the villagers –”

  “It was an accident . . . I got a new machine –”

  “Ya refused to respond to the birds I sent. And now ye’re not answering straight. It makes ya seem guilty. Finla
y’s missus already thinks ya’ve done him in – that your sheep are grazing over his grave.”

  “My papa dinna do anything!” Rory yelled.

  Papa waved Rory to silence and stroked his moustaches the way he did when the gears were working in his head. “I’ve lost three sheep these past few days to a wolf or something. Perhaps it ate Finlay too.”

  “Wolves haven’t been seen in these parts for more than a decade.”

  “Well, something’s getting them. Quite unnaturally, too. Flesh and innards are picked clean. All that’s left is a pile of wool and cracked bone.”

  “So that’s why the herd’s within a stone’s throw of your house. Ya should’ve asked for help hunting the beast.”

  Papa scoffed. “The other farmers thought I was off my head and would na help. It’ll surely come hunting again tonight. Old Rufus is guarding them–”

  “Ye’re dodging the issue. I’ve come about Finlay. His missus says he’d been herding yer sheep at the top of the hill. She’d brought him a basket of supper. Found the sheep and his crook, but no Finlay. That was four days ago.”

  “He deserted his post, leaving my sheep to be eaten. If anything, I should be bringing charges against him. I’ve six mouths to feed. Each sheep gone is food out of their mouths. I’m still paying for my new dipping and shearing machine too.”

  “No one’s going to have sympathy for ya when Finlay’s gone missing . . . especially when five men heard yer threatening words not more than a month back.”

  “I’d sent him to Moffat to fetch supplies. Hours later I found him emptying my purse at the Black Bull. It was my money, ya see? I dinna mean no harm. Hired him back, dinna I?”

  “Finlay’s missus says ya lured him back to kill him.”

  Papa jumped out of his chair, sending it crashing to the floor. His face matched the color of his moustaches and thin hair. “He apologized and paid me back. Finlay was a worthless blootered, it’s true, but I dinna kill him!” Constable Duncan’s glare burned hot enough to send the kettle whistling. Papa set his chair right, but not before looking up at her. “Kenna . . . to bed.”

  Kenna dashed to the wardrobe, threw off her dress, and shimmied into her nightgown. She gave no thought to braiding her mass of tangled strawberry-colored locks. Just because she could, Kenna settled square in the middle of the bed and spread her arms and legs wide under the cover of the quilts. The drifting sounds of heated conversation and the bleat of sheep filled her head. No matter how tight she squeezed her eyes, sleep would not come.

  Rising to her knees, Kenna felt the wall above the bed for the lump of cork and tugged at it. As she always did, she smelled the fruitiness of it before clenching it in her palm and peering out the cork-sized hole in the wall. Constable Duncan had argued with Papa so long, the sun had sunk completely behind the hills. The constable’s horse whinnied as it stood tethered to the post just outside the front garden.

  The day’s rain choked the hills with a thick fog. A short distance beyond the front garden, the sheep stood, huddled together beside the barn, circled by Rufus. Kenna couldn’t see the sheep, but the yellow glow of Rufus’s eyes lit the fog, making his progress round the sheep easy to track. The squeak and metallic thump of Rufus’s paws could be heard between the shouts. He’d need a good oiling in the morning.

  “He dinna do anything. Ya can’t take him!” Rory shouted.

  Kenna poked the cork back into its hole and scrambled to the top of the ladder. She flattened herself against the floor and peered between the top rungs. Papa’s hands were in front of him, shackled. “Is this really necessary? I said I’d come peacefully.”

  “Can’t take any chances. If Finlay turns up or I do na find his body by sunset tomorrow, I’ll let ya go.” Constable Duncan gripped Papa’s coat and spread it round his shoulders. He reached for the door.

  “Ya take care of Kenna,” Papa said to Rory. “Send a bird to your Mama,” Papa said. “Do ya understand me, boy?”

  Rory nodded.

  Rufus’s bark split the night. The chorus of sheep cries joined the din of barking. Something had come for the sheep.

  “My sheep,” Papa said. “Let me go.”

  “Ya stay put. I’ll see what’s out there.” Constable Duncan pulled his electro-gun from his holster and slammed the door behind him.

  Kenna near slid down the ladder. Rory had Papa’s shotgun in hand and took a step behind him.

  “Stay here, Kenna.” Papa raised his bound wrists and pointed a finger at her. Rory followed after Papa.

  Kenna pressed her face up against the window. Papa and Rory raced through the garden of cabbages, turnips and tatties, carrots, and vines laden with peapods, and disappeared into the mists.

  Rufus barked and growled. Bursts of light rippled through the fog, illuminating nothing. Constable Duncan’s voice and strange high-pitched wails echoed about. The horse tied to the post whinnied and stamped its feet nervously. The sheep bleated. The shotgun cracked again, and again, and again. Then silence.

  Kenna’s breath fogged the glass. She wiped it away with her sleeve. Where were they? She opened the door and watched the swirling fog.

  “Papa?”

  When he didn’t answer, she tore into the night. There they stood, at the edge of the sheep pen, just staring as if struck. “Papa?” She ran to Papa and wiggled her way between his shackled wrists. Papa lifted her up and she curled her head into the crook of his neck.

  Papa carried her to the house. He clung to Kenna for many minutes, pacing back and forth upon the creaking floorboards. Then, at last, set her down.

  “When I tell ya to stay put, ya stay . . . do ya understand?” His angry words clashed with his eyes as wide as the full moon and cheeks as pale as wool.

  “Aye, Papa.” Kenna scurried to the table and cleared away the plates. She set them into the basin and lifted the kettle of hot water hanging over the neglected fire and poured its contents into the basin. Kenna rushed to the fire and tossed two logs onto the flames. Not even Rory chided her when she near smothered the last of the flame.

  “What was that?” Rory asked. “It took four shots to bring it down . . . it . . . it ate him.”

  “Constable Duncan?” Kenna fingered a plate in the basin. “What ate him?”

  Rory shrugged. “Do na know. Stood on two legs and was taller than a man. It tossed balls like . . . like lightning. Its skin was black and shiny and it’s . . . mouth . . . .” He shivered and rubbed his arms. “Its mouth opened wide like a snake. It ate Constable Duncan, and then there was a grinding sound – like one of those songbirds makes with its gullet of rocks.”

  “Was it a gorilla?”

  Rory laughed. “No. They live in jungles or zoos or somewhere. Do na eat sheep and do na eat constables. Or at least I do na think so. . . . It took a bite of Rufus too.”

  “Is he okay?”

  Rory shook his head.

  Kenna’s eyes flooded with tears.

  Papa picked up the lamp and opened the door. He shook like leaves quaking in the autumn winds. Kenna had never seen such fear take hold of Papa, and it turned her own curiosity cold. Though she stood near the fire, a shiver raced up her spine.

  “Rory, come with me,” Papa said. “Kenna, ya stay put.”

  Papa held the lantern and Rory gripped the gun. They disappeared into the night. Upon the mantel, Mama’s clock ticked, marking each agonizing second. Footsteps at last thudded against the hard earthen path to the house.

  The chain linking Papa’s handcuffs dangled free, the cuffs still clamped around his wrists like too-tight bracelets. Papa held the lamp in one hand and in the other, a bulging burlap sack knotted closed at the top. Kenna flung the door open, staring at the sack Papa set beside the granite step.

  “What’s in the bag?” Kenna asked.

  “Never ya mind . . . to bed with ya both.”

  Kenna followed Rory up the ladder, glancing back to see Papa retrieve a bottle from the back of Mama’s cupboard. His hands shook as he gripped the bott
le and gulped down the amber liquid.

  “What’s in the bag?” Kenna whispered to Rory.

  “Ya do na wanna know.” Rory stretched out his suspenders, rolling them from his shoulders and disappearing behind a ragged blanket drawn across a rope and held by clothes pins.

  “But I do wanna know.”

  Rory’s boots thumped to the floor.

  “Rory.”

  He threw back the blanket, standing before her in his nightshirt. His eyes were wild in the half-light. “It’ll just scare ya.”

  “I’m already scared,” she whispered.

  Rory gave a thoughtful nod. “It’s what’s left of Constable Duncan.”

  Kenna gasped and covered her mouth.

  “Bones, all broken and stripped of flesh. And bits of clothes and boots . . . even his coat buttons.”

  “What’s Papa going to do now?”

  “I do na know.”

  Kenna crept from her bed to peer at Papa. He sat at the table, one hand propping his head up, the other held the bottle. He raised it to his lips, drinking courage.

  …………………………

  The sheep bleated and chickens squawked at not getting their breakfast at dawn. Even the cow bellowed, protesting the fullness of her udder. Kenna opened her eyes. Waves of morning light leaked from the two windows below, filling the loft with dim light.

  Kenna bolted upright. Rory was gone. She scrambled down the ladder. Papa’s bottle and chair were empty. She threw the door open. The sack and horse were gone too.

  Slipping her feet into mud-spattered boots, Kenna ran past the cabbages and carrots and vines laden with peapods, slowing as she approached the farmyard. A gelatinous sheen of yellow-green puddled over the ground. Kenna knelt, catching her reflection in its surface. She reached out a finger.

  “Do na be touching that!” Rory said.

  Kenna jerked her finger away and looked up at Rory holding a feed bucket. She scooted away from the puddle.

  “It’s the creature,” Rory said. “It turned to liquid when I shot it dead.”