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

two feared dead, etc, etc. But I knew you were all right. I just knew it. Boy, I’m glad to hear your voice.”
“Carrie – “ He was about to tell her about it all when an almost tangible fear, invaded the call box. Images, very fast but very vivid, flooded his mind.
Printed circuits and CPUs; electrons moving and being moved at the speed of light; information flowing; an alien face, indescribable, looking up from programming at a console, horribly certain; cold space and a satellite turning on an axis; Carrie’s phone line, connected to a larger network; everything connected to the larger network; someone, an American army officer, jumping up from his console deep inside a mountain and shouting angrily; and the satellite, turning, turning.
“Carrie! I have to go! I’ll call you later!”
He flung the phone down, lunged out of the door.
“Mum! Mu – um!” His shouts shattered the peace of the street.
Across the road, tearing the door open. “Mum!”
His mother’s slim form moves fast at the top of the stairs. She knows. She has grabbed the little bags containing all their worldly goods. She has presence of mind and she is racing down the stairs to join him. She pauses at the foot for two seconds, for though she knows destruction is imminent she cannot let the other people in the bed and breakfast house die.
Mark has stopped at the street door, holding it open. His face is wide-eyed with panic. “Come ON!”
She shouts one word: “FIRE!” and smashes the glass alarm at her side. The alarm sounds and voices are heard, but Janette is away and out, and the two are running, running.
Twenty-five metres.
Behind them puzzled residents are emerging from the b & b.
Fifty metres now.
They had parked the car a couple of streets away and they run to it now. They bend breathlessly, wheezing over the bonnet. Three minutes have passed and behind them, behind the houses of a couple of streets a gas main ignites and a family’s livelihood is blown in pieces through the air. The explosion rocks Janette and Mark and makes them move again. They get into the car. Janette flings the bags into the back seat. Chunks of stone, wood and plaster begin to land. The car drives quickly away and inside it Janette and Mark are shivering with terror.

**********

Courage is what comes after fear. You cannot have courage unless you first face fear. It is the power that makes the human get up and keep going; it overrides the emotions and speaks with calm, clear logic, and it says what must be done. Sometimes running away is what must be done.
Mark and Janette fled for an hour. They spoke little in that time, except for swearing occasionally to express shocked disbelief. Janette had no idea where she was aiming the car and didn’t care, just as long as it was away from back there.
But quarter of an hour after leaving Crieff, as they sped out of the little village of St Fillans on the shore of Loch Earn, they did not notice the battered Jeep that emerged from a lay-by and began to follow at a discreet distance.

**********

Clear skies and a setting sun as the car sped down the long straight road that leads to the little settlement of Bridge of Orchy, which consists of a railway station, a tiny garage selling both petrol and hydrogen fuel, a handful of houses and a hotel. After that, nothing until Glen Coe except the bleak hypnotic expanse of Rannoch Moor, mile after mile of undulating peat bog, stream and lochan. The unfenced road was the only security for the campers and caravans, the coaches and cars that traversed it by the hundred daily in the summer.
The car slowed on the approach to the settlement – it hardly deserves the name of village – and pulled in to the hotel car park. Only one space remained, recently vacated by a group who had just had dinner in the hotel and were ready to move on. Janette reversed the car into the space. Just in case a quick getaway was required.
“Where are we?“ asked Mark. “I know there was sign back there, but –“
“A place called Bridge of Orchy. Out there’s the Orchy – that’s the name of the river – and behind that corner you come to the bridge. Bridge of Orchy.”
They sat in silence for a while, still too numbed by what had happened.
“You’ve been here before then?” Mark asked.
Janette nodded. “With your father. We used to visit the Highlands quite a lot.”
A massive slope rose steeply in front of them. Its upper reaches were beautifully lit by sun. “What’s that hill?” asked Mark.
“Ben Dorain.”
“Oh. Have you been up it?”
“No. But your dad had.”
“Oh.”
Suddenly Mark yawned, a huge, jaw-cracking, tonsil-shaking mouth-opener. “I’m tired,” he remarked, superfluously.
“We need a good rest,” replied his mother. “You in particular. Dare we check into this hotel?”
“I don’t know.”
Janette drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “You’re tired and I’m starving. Let’s risk it. We can pay cash. Get the bags, will you? A change of clothes might be in order.”
They went inside.
A hundred euros secured them a twin bedded room. Although the hotel was busy, most travellers were on a tight budget and were accommodated at the attached bunkhouse. The rooms in the hotel itself were pricey, it being the high season, but Janette did not want to compromise. Paying cash ensured that no electronic record of the transaction would be transmitted anywhere. Anything electronic Janette now viewed with extreme suspicion. There was no knowing just what the Soros could be doing to keep tabs on them.
A meal, a shower, and a plod up to their room were all Mark could manage. He could not even undress before collapsing on his bed and falling straightaway asleep. Janette covered him with a quilt, and then she too went to bed, still wondering if they shouldn’t just call the police.

**********

Mark dreamed.
A door slid upwards on the Soros space ship, the Museum. Warning signals were sounding faintly in the cavernous reception area and amber lights were flashing and this was to alert the human staff in their Thunderbirds uniforms that the Soros leader was about to appear. But the workers had all gone home and only a Duty Officer remained at the desk. The signals meant that the Duty Officer would contact the site’s military Commanding Officer, General Aaron Miller, using the Soros designed communication device on the desk.
“Inform the General that the Leader is on his way. Anteroom one,” said the DO softly into the mouthpiece.
“Roger that,” replied the General’s aide-de-camp. “I’ll pass that along. The General’s already on his way as planned.”
In a few moments the General’s car arrived at the foot of the metal ramp in front of the Museum. Part of his job was to act as liaison officer between the Soros and the rest of the planet, and the procedures and protocols had been developed over the years. The Soros would not leave their space ship, for reasons of safety. They maintained that the slightest tear in one of their suits could result in contamination of the suit’s environment by Earth’s atmosphere, and vice versa. It had not been overlooked by Earth scientists that the Soros could introduce some possibly damaging bacteria or viruses into Earth’s air with potentially catastrophic effects. The Soros always stressed that this risk of infection was extremely small, but neither side, it seemed, wanted to take unnecessary risks. Obviously this led to problems in conducting a dialogue.
In his dream Mark saw the leader of the Soros, distinguished by nothing other than a simple red band round the upper right arm of his suit, emerge from the inner confines of the ship and take a seat at a large round table situated in one of the partitioned areas off the main Reception Area. The room’s walls were subtly padded, giving an impression of complete safety. The Soros was about the same height as the average human but, as he (or she, or it – there was no way to tell) moved, the bulky suit conveyed the impression of massive strength tightly controlled. There was no clumsy slowness in his movements either and Mark wondered if the suit somehow gave power to the wearer. The helmet seemed to be made of the same metal as the space ship, and while it gleamed dully in the soft light it gave no reflection. It was fronted by an opaque visor that showed absolutely nothing of the creature within. The effect of this was disconcerting. The leader was alone, but Mark sensed that cameras were watching everything.
The General and his aides arrived and took their seats facing the Soros leader. Miller was a small, compact man, and wore his immaculately tailored uniform with elegance. He took off his cap to reveal short greying hair and his eyes appeared to show a sharp light of intelligence as he took a seat and observed the Soros Leader opposite him. No attempt was made to shake hands. Miller gave the impression of calm authority and a readiness to cope with any eventuality. He was one of those individuals whose age could be anywhere from forty to sixty.
Mark felt light like an intruding, eavesdropping ghost, adrift in the room, unfettered by gravity.
Consoles like computer keyboards appeared in the table’s surface. The Soros, who had, Mark noticed, a thinly gloved three-fingered hand, typed his message which was then transformed into a deep, male voice that came from a set of synthvox speakers mounted in the table. It reminded Mark, comically, of a voice from a very old film he had once seen – “The Lion King”. It’s the great circle of life…
How are you General Miller? I trust I find you well.
“Yes, thank you, very well. Is there anything in particular we can do for you this evening?”
It is rather a question of what I can do for you, said the voice from the speakers. It seemed to Mark that he was also hearing it beamed directly inside his head.
He watched as a holographic display appeared on the table top, then resolved itself into a three-dimensional photograph. Mark drew closer. It was an aerial photograph, taken by a satellite.
We are carrying out some routine surveys of this area, General Miller, as you know, and this morning as the satellite we were using at the time passed overhead, it photographed this event.
Mark recognised his home, seen from above. The photo changed, as the Soros leader pushed buttons to make it zoom in and show successive frames. Two figures appeared, obviously running – Mark and his mother. As one picture succeeded another, Mark watched himself get into the car. The Soros made the image backtrack and zoomed in further, to show the look of complete panic on both their faces.
We were aware of the explosion, of course – our sensors picked it up and once we had established that we were not in