Positively old and ancient by today's standards, the terminal was the only way to access and search the old stock system that was still occasionally used. Normally it was powered on all the time, but luckily for him it was off. Again, he was counting down the seconds, hoping against hope that he could do what was required in record time. And he did. Twenty three minutes it had taken him to fit two circuit boards and an internal USB adapter, also cutting out part of the back plate of the case, making it look as though it hadn't been tampered with. As he tackled the installation of a new hard drive under a massive pile of wiring covered with dust an inch thick, he was sure no one would stumble across his little addition in a million years, not unless they were specifically looking for it. As he wandered back to his workshop, relief and sweat poured off him in equal amounts. Now all he had to do was act normally and go about his daily routine.
'What's done is done,' he thought to himself, and tried really hard to forget about the little black box counting down, not a million miles away.
Six months ago that had all happened and was now nothing more than a distant memory as he sat in his swivel chair, tiny screwdriver in hand, trying very hard to lever out a stubborn power supply unit. Suddenly his mobile phone vibrated on his desk, causing it to scuttle about like a drunken crab. Looking around to make sure nobody had noticed, phones were supposed to be switched off at all times, something most workers here ignored, though he might get into trouble if caught. Leaving the computer where it was, he picked up his phone and scrolled through the menu to look at the new text. It was from an unknown number and simply said:
'Now is a great time for a vacation. Check out the latest deals to European destinations on our website. Occasionally we have cheap breaks to Madrid... watch this space.'
It was a text he'd dreaded seeing. Everything came flooding back. Having stopped gambling, he'd moved into a slightly better, but not flashy, new flat. But he still drank, every night... to forget. To forget what he'd done. But now he remembered... he remembered everything. And soon, an offer of a trip to Madrid would appear on that website, and he'd have to take it up, knowing that whatever happened here was now well and truly beyond his control. He got back to work... secretly terrified.
18
The Chance of Escaping... Absolute Zero
Wheezing and spluttering echoes bounced off the reflective white surfaces everywhere as the huge bag of tortured bones slept, if that's what you could call it. To anyone watching, it would have looked more like a self induced nightmare rather than sleep brought on by exhaustion. Throughout it all, the raggedy old dragon wailed, muttered, screamed and stammered, sometimes names, places and events, occasionally curses, some of them in the ancient dragon language, but always ending in the same way... BETRAYAL!
Fredric Bluewillow, Peter's grandfather, pulled taut the chains holding him against his will and the wall of ice as he listened to the old dragon for what seemed like the millionth time... and perhaps it was. The brutality of this place was like nothing he'd ever imagined. Not in his worst nightmares could he ever have pictured or dreamed that such a place existed... but it did, and he was trapped here, escape not even a distant possibility. Years, no decades, had passed, of that he was sure. How he hadn't gone insane, he didn't really know. But that was the question wasn't it? Was he still sane, or did he just think that he was? Talk about too much time on your hands... all these questions, and the more he pondered, the more confused he became. Spending the last, what he assumed was about an hour, exercising, he preferred to do that every time 'Bag o' Bones' really started having a bad time of it in his sleep, often asking himself why, sometimes refusing to admit the real reason, dwelling on it for so long that nothing but the truth mattered now. The real reason he was so uncomfortable was because it could have been him over there now. But for a twist of fate, and a swift promotion to become George's new partner after everything that had gone on during the clear up operation after Troydenn's defeat, he could have been that miserable bag of bones, wailing and moaning, begging to be put out of his misery. After all, he had been scheduled to be on that fateful mission, escorting the prisoners to that icy hellhole in Antarctica... the same hellhole that he assumed he now sat in. Every time the horrific noises started, all he could think about was that it could have been him; he could have been here centuries instead of just decades.
'Just decades...' he smiled to himself. If nothing else, he'd maintained his sense of humour. At times, that was all that seemed to keep him going, that and the memories. Memories of his friend... George. In many ways they'd been like brothers, inseparable for the most part, but with very different personalities. His first instinct had always been to fight, not for the joy of it, or the glory... nothing like that. He'd always fought for others... against injustice. For those that couldn't stand up for themselves, his first instinct to step in, put himself in harm's way and defeat the perceived evil. That was far from George's way. By no means a coward, the exact opposite in fact, he'd always sought diplomacy first, stepping in harm's way with little or no thought for himself, but always looking to distract, to think things through, to find a non violent solution. On this, the two dragons always disagreed, and often argued vehemently, each sticking to their own point of view. Memories of those arguments, the long evenings disseminating those very different viewpoints, meant so much and helped him on the odd occasion when his sanity started to slip away, in this bleak desert of white. Desert... there was a word. If he did dream, it was of deserts and... the sun, oh how he missed the sun. To feel its warm kiss one last time he'd give everything he had.
And then there was his grandson... Peter! Barely a moment passed when he didn't wonder what he was doing, whether he was even still alive. Having been stranded here for so long, he had no idea what state the dragon kingdom was in, if it even still existed in the same form at all. Having received no information... nothing. Clearly everything going on here led him to believe some kind of attack had either happened or was in the planning, with the questions asked of him when tortured all the same... all strategic... even after all this time. Decades had passed and they were still asking the same questions... and foolishly or not, he still refused to answer, up until recently, anyway. To him, it was a matter of... PRIDE! There was simply no way he would betray his king, his friend, his grandson and his way of life. Thoughts of Peter brought tears to his eyes, tears that instantly started to freeze as they left the surface of his retinas and slipped onto his skin. Anger welled up inside him at being deprived of the company of his grandson for so long. Deep down, he'd known for nearly the entire time that he'd been held captive here that someone had betrayed him. The way he'd been ambushed and so cleverly taken... it could only have been that.
Who? Well, that was the million dollar question, wasn't it? He knew it wasn't George. That much he was certain of. Their friendship was a bond that knew no bounds, a friendship forged by flame, flying and from fighting back to back, side by side. But who could have betrayed him, and was that particular dragon still somewhere at large, able to do more harm, especially to his friend... the king? These questions haunted him by the hour. During his torture, that... weasel of a jailer would scream at him that it was all over, that the dragon kingdom had been burnt to the ground... every last one of them dead. The king, the council... his family! This was the hardest part for him. At first he'd reacted, screaming and raging against the impossible bonds that held him in place. Cursing, he described in intimate detail exactly what he'd do to the jailer. In his mind anyway. Knowing they were trying to find a weakness, one which they could exploit, he'd been trained by the best, having learnt not to react under the pain of torture or the heart wrenching agony of those words, but it had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. However, he'd done it and survived. Not just once, but on hundreds, if not thousands of occasions over the course of decades. At first the jailer and the other shadowy visitors that he could feel shrouded in darkness had thought that he'd break... but he hadn't, and in that, the tables had been turned. Although the violence and the scale of the torture increased, he'd known that by some small measure... he'd won. He, Fredric Bluewillow, had beaten them. They could keep him imprisoned until the end of time, but he'd got his victory and that kept him going. Every minute he failed to react, to answer any of their questions, was a victory, not just for him, but for George, for Peter, for every good, honest and decent free dragon across the globe.