And the World Changes by A M Kirk (classic books for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

They arrived by letter, by phone, on the Net, usually two or three a month. The most frequent source was, of course, the Human Freedom League, and their stated aims were to oppose any dealings with the Soros whatsoever, for they claimed that the aliens’ sole intention was world domination and the extermination of the human race.
The League were clever. So far they had eluded capture, even on the Supernet, which was pretty hard to do. All leads ended up blind alleys. The Supernet boffins at the Ministry of Defence and the Criminal Intelligence Service tore their hair out trying to unravel the complex weave of trails the League created on the Net every time they sent a message.
But so far the threats had been without substance.
The little convoy sped along the M80, the main route north out of Glasgow towards the central belt. Elsewhere even bigger wheels were turning, for Miller had been busy on the phone. He had passed the suspicion that the Soros might be up to something on to his immediate superior, the General Officer Commanding Scotland, Andrew Talbot, who in turn alerted the Head of NATO, and the US Defence Commander, General Locke. British Armed Forces were placed on status Bikini Gamma Green, military code for red alert. The cars were speeding past the Bishopbriggs off-ramp before Miller had finished his calls. Traffic was light at six o’clock this early Monday evening.
“The Prime Minister will be informed, of course…” General Miller was saying.
“I’m relieved you’re taking this all so seriously,” admitted Mark. “I was quite worried you’d treat me as a crank.”
Miller smiled, a hard, thin crease in his rugged face. “I thought you were, at first – who wouldn’t? You have to be sceptical in our position. But a number of things had already disposed me to give you a hearing with an open mind. I’m not a stupid man. I wouldn’t have been appointed to my job if I couldn’t interpret little details. When the Soros told me about you, it didn’t sound quite right. It struck me as curious that the Soros would be so interested in a fifteen-year old boy and his mother. But I’ve had doubts for a while. We all have, who have had any dealings with them. They never let us see them face-to-face, for instance. We still don’t know what they look like. That is not the behaviour of a trusting species. They could, you see, have simply showed us pictures.
“The presence of another ship has long been suspected. It occurred to us at an early stage that the ship called The Museum would be too small to convey a group of Soros across the galaxy. How could it contain enough fuel, supplies and so on? No, there had to be another, more powerful ship and the one we know about was just a landing craft. We’ve been worried for a long time about that.
“It had not escaped our notice either that some of our satellites were not behaving quite as they should. There were other, even sillier, things that made me wonder sometimes. For example, not far from where they landed a little burn comes down off the Hills. It’s called the Burn of Sorrows. I wondered if they had simply pinched that name from a map and were, as you say, playing some kind of game with us all. So, no, Mark, I could not dismiss you as a crank and after what I’ve seen today, with your little magical act…”
Mark nodded.
Lucas interrupted abruptly. “Something up ahead, sir.” He was gesturing to the motorway verge just ahead of them and to the left. He immediately began issuing commands into his lapel radio. They were approaching the ramp that led off the motorway and into the small backroads and little commuter towns dotting the countryside north-east of Glasgow. The SAS man instantly had an automatic pistol in his hand.
Before Mark could make out what was happening up ahead, suddenly the bonnet of the car in front was rising up. The ground was erupting beneath it. Mark saw the first car seem to fly up and backwards into the air. Then the General’s car passed under the first car, and was engulfed in smoke as its suspension struggled to carry it over the destroyed road surface. The leading car was about to land on them! Captain Lucas ducked instinctively as they narrowly missed being crushed by it as it crashed to earth and exploded in gouts of flame only a metre or so behind them.
But the ground was too churned up; the tarmac had been smashed and it was raining down on them. Great chunks battered the armoured roof, and sent splinter lines along the bullet-proof glass of the windows. The back seat passengers automatically covered their heads. Lucas fought for control but could not avoid the pit in the motorway and the Jaguar smashed to a halt. Air-bags exploded from several points and, once the car was motionless, quickly subsided.
The second bodyguard turned to the General. “Keep down, sir. Seems they’ve got a rocket launcher, “ he said. He looked across at Captain Lucas. Lucas nodded to him. “Let’s go,” said the bodyguard. “General – you and the boy stay put.”
Lucas and the bodyguard opened their side doors simultaneously, pushing the limp remains of the air-bags away, guns at the ready.
The smoke was clearing.
The car behind had swerved to a stop just behind. Beyond, cars behind it were slowing and coming to a halt. Secret service men were pointing guns at the twenty-foot grass verge. One was emerging from the back seat with a particularly lethal-looking piece of kit - a state of the art laser-sighted thermal rifle.
“We’re in good hands,” said the General. “We’ll let the men do their job. It’s what they’re trained for and they’re very, very good, especially Lucas. We’ll soon be out of here.”
Mark was too surprised and scared to reply, and hunched up in the corner of his seat.
Gunfire sounded outside. Then a second explosion rocked the car on its springs and threatened to turn it right over. Both were sent flying into one corner. The General swore viciously and Mark cried out as he was crushed under the impact. Then the car righted itself again with a sickening bang.
Something else hit the car. A red smear appeared on the side window. Mark did not see it, but Miller’s eyes widened a little in shock.
He carried a pistol in a holster at his side. He undid the fastener now and took out the weapon.
Debris struck the roof again, and there was the sound of gunfire mixed with shouting, unidentifiable voices; somebody yelled out and there was another huge explosion. The Jaguar this time jolted forward.
More smoke, then it cleared slightly, and cars were burning now, the terrible acrid smell choking and disorientating.
The General peered out of the window, and Mark peered over his shoulder. He knew Lucas was dead. A tall figure was approaching the car. It held some kind of long cylinder in its hand. The figure wore a black suit and dark glasses. It was Johns raising the rocket launcher.
Miller raised his pistol but was jostled as Mark pushed to the window. Johns saw Mark’s wild white face appear at the window beside the face of the traitor, Miller. The young face took him by surprise. He had not expected to see the boy here. The boy’s face also registered recognition. A momentary feeling of enormous doubt surged through Johns. But it was too late. His finger had pressed the electronic firing button.
The rocket launcher flared, and there was a sound like the air was being ripped apart - but no rocket left the device; a ball of searing yellow flame issued from the launcher’s tip and suddenly swallowed Johns. The explosion jolted the Jaguar.
Mark opened his eyes and saw that nothing remained where the attacker had stood.
Misfire! thought the General: a million to one chance. The General was aware of someone shouting beside him: “Oh my God! Oh my God!” – a long, drawn-out wail.
It was Mark - recoiling from what he himself had caused.
General Miller took control. He undid seat belts and tried to force open the doors, but they were jammed tight, the door panels buckled into place. “Give me room, Mark, I have to kick the door open!” he yelled.
Then Mark seemed to come to himself. “Right,” he said.
And he took control.
He touched the door, imagined what he wanted it to do and it not only opened – it flew away from the car, as if torn from its hinges by some enormous invisible giant and tossed away as if it were no heavier than tin foil.
Somehow they managed to struggle out of the battered Jaguar. Smoke from the burning cars swirled around them, and the stink of it filled their nostrils. Holding their breath, they staggered towards the raised verge. Here they could breathe and look back on the wreckage.
The bodies on the motorway were unrecognisable. Mark had to look away. He was filled with horror at what he had seen happen to Johns, and he knew with absolute clarity that he himself had caused the rocket launcher to explode. The confidence he had found on waking up in the hospital earlier that day, and which had strengthened when he tried his new-found power, evaporated away now like mist off a meadow.
People were emerging from cars further down the motorway and on the opposite side. Some, with more presence of mind than curiosity, perhaps, were trying to use their mobile phones to call the police, fire, ambulance. Mark saw them put their phones to their ears, then shake them and look at them, frowns on faces.
Of the people in the three cars, however, none except Mark and General Miller remained alive. Mark was in the grip of fear; so much adrenaline was pumping through his system he could hardly stand upright. He was conscious now of a rushing sound in his ears and the sounds of vehicle horns and shouting voices were muffled.
Others now arrived on the scene. The shocked, the curious, the genuine givers of help. The smell of burning rubber and leaking petrol filled the air.
Mark had that far away look. The General saw the onset of emotional shock but events had not stopped. A car was speeding along the hard shoulder of the opposite carriageway. There was no flashing light, and something about it advertised danger. Miller saw it too.
“I think we had better get out of here,” he said. “We are rather too exposed for my liking. Let’s get over this way. Come on.”
The car, a white Rover, braked to a halt. Doors opened and men in dark suits and dark glasses started to get out. Their hands held weapons, and there was no doubt about their intentions. Mark dimly recognised one of them, however, as the other man involved in the kidnapping of his mother.
“We need to move – now!”