Deirdre Chen: Saviour of the Multiverse

Chapter 5

Deirdre 

Energy Level: 5

Manea drove Deirdre out to an abandoned factory. No Tibetan monastery or alien swamp for her training, nope, she was going to train in a derelict building that used to make bed springs. She had spent the summer playing here with Cassie, having sword fights with broken bits of wood and making tyre fires, then watching with a sense of accomplishment as they ran over to the nearby park to see the black smoke rising high above the trees. It was a lot of fun. What wasn’t fun was coming home with a blackened face and trying to convince her angry dad that she hadn’t nicked his lighter.
  Deirdre stood in front of a small room tucked away in the corner of the factory. Her dad said every factory had a room like that, where they stick the weirdo who no one talks to. Manea had told her that she would get to smash the rooms’ window - educational vandalism, Deirdre loved it! But before she would get to do that, she was giving her a lecture using over enthusiastic hand waving.
  “Now the reason Ehutu thinks it’s impossible to teach you, is because the armour is voice activated, using a set of commands spoken in an ancient alien language.” Deirdre already knew two languages, so she thought it couldn’t do any harm to learn a third. “The problem is that the language was written by a species with three mouths, which meant they could use longer words.” Deirdre shrugged her shoulders, causing Manea to grin. “No big deal huh? Try this on for size; ‘Shawanabliaupuconsta (*tongue clicks*)majawayaluputtrotmirsamabawathacolliputishysh’.”
  “You’re making it up!” Deirdre blurted.
  “Need a little help?”
Deirdre nodded ‘yes’ to her. Manea reached into her pocket and pulled out a slab of purple metal. It looked like an iPhone without a screen. She slid her finger in a pattern across its surface. The slab leapt from her hand as it flipped and unfolded. It feathered and stretched, it was inches from hitting the floor, but with one flap of newly formed wings, it soared triumphantly. It nosedived, before gently landing on Manea’s shoulder, with feet that had sprung out of the bottom. A bobbly, grinning head sprang out of the top.
  “Di, meet Nyctimene.” Nyctimene made its wing into something resembling a fist and tapped his little, iron chest.
  “*Burp!*” The dirty, little bird bot burped a gassy ball of green gas! It lingered in the air for a few seconds, swilling around like a serpent, forming into “Shawa-”. Nyctimene finished the job with a few more belches, the word was broken up into manageable chunks.
  “That’s not even the worst burp it can do. I’ll show you that later. Now, I know you’re excited to learn this word Di, but words can be hollow. Like, ‘No mother, I’m not ignoring you, I’ve just been too busy to call.’” She pointed to the burp cloud. Deirdre could see the clouds flashing a violent blue, as if there were tiny lightning storms within them.
  “Especially when you’re fleeing or letting The Gauntlet teleport you here, there and everywhere. Oh sure, Hit and Run is an effective tactic against a bigger and more powerful enemy, but you’re all run and no hit. For words to have true meaning. You have to stand your ground and take Mengo on”. A look came over Manea that frightened Deirdre. She was suddenly, like, strict and that. Deirdre’s feet shifted uncomfortably on the spot; the thought of standing her ground against Mengo had her in a cold sweat.
  “I’m just a kid,” Deirdre said.
Manea saw that she was anxious and softened up a little.     
  “But a child’s imagination is a powerful thing. It can turn a sandbox into a vast desert, a garden into a dense jungle and a bathtub into a great ocean.”
  “Like when I was five, I did a poo in the bath and imagined it was a submarine,” Deirdre replied.
  Manea heaved.
  “Something like that.” She heaved a second time before moving behind Deirdre. “Speaking of the ocean, imagine you’re a mighty cliff face. Tiny in comparison, but when the two clash, it’s the sea that breaks, just like this window is about to do.” Manea rested her hand on Deirdre’s shoulder, a move her Mum used to make when she saw Deirdre was doubting herself. It was a simple gesture, but one that carried a lot of power. The image of her mother filled her mind like warm soothing water. Deirdre had to subtly wipe a tear away with her sleeve.
She focused on the window.
  “Shawa-Nablia.”
  “NablEEa,” Manea interrupted.
  “Upuconsta,” Deirdre clicked her tongue twice.
  “Three tongue clicks.”
  “Do I have to do them tongue clicks?”
  “The tongue clicks prime the particle ripper in The Gauntlet, so yes.”
  “Majawaya.”
  “Not, Maja – WAY-a. Maj – AW-aya.” This carried on for way too long, until Deirdre managed to pronounce it right, but the window was in one piece.
  “Remember the feeling Di. Close your eyes, imagine your feet sinking into the ground, your skin becoming solid rock. Now say it.”
  Deirdre could feel her body drawing the life force of the multiverse and channelling it through The Gauntlet.
It was lovely.
  “Shawanabliaupuconsta (*tongue clicks*)majawayaluputtrotmirsamabawathacolliputishysh.’”
  She got it bang on! There was a ‘whoosh!’ and the shattering of glass. When Deirdre opened her eyes, she gawped at the floor. The window wasn’t just in tiny shards, it had been reduced to crystalline dust. 
#
Traffic, bad traffic. The motorway looked like someone had been playing Tetris with a blindfold. Manea was nervously glancing at her watch. She took off her bracelet to scratch her wrist, exposing a flashing blue light under her skin.
  “What’s that?” Deirdre asked, pointing to it like a gormless toddler.
  “Gosh, this is rather dire. You’re going to be late for school. I’m going to be late for my meeting too.” Manea either didn’t hear her or it was her species equivalent of a deformity that is rude to point out, so Deirdre didn’t ask again.
  “You can learn how to change the gears to pass the time.”
  “Mate, I done this with my Dad when I was eight.” Deirdre knew she was being rude, but it was a pretty lame suggestion. Is using the word ‘Lame’ lame now? In the sense that ‘Lame’ is ableist language? Sorry to go off on a tangent but I’m just trying to be a more socially conscious narrator.
  “Go over it again, that’s how you learn,” Manea replied, relentlessly breezy.
  “Fine.” Deirdre placed her hand on the stick, with a sassy pout of her lips to convey how stupid she thought this was. “Left and up to first. Then down to second, up, right, then straight up to third gear. Down to fourth, up, right then up again to fifth. Down to reverse.” Manea grabbed Deirdre’s hand, and with a grin that made her look like the cheekiest monkey in the jungle said:
  “and then left to infinity.”
  When Manea shifted the gear, the other vehicles that were in front blurred like stars from the view of a warp drive, space vessel. Only, this was a warp speed car.
The vehicle became so thin, that it could squeeze between the others. Deirdre felt like her skin was being pushed to the back of her head.