Junkyard Speedball - Chapter four

Junkyard Speedball - Chapter four

This is the fourth part of an updated version of the novella, Junkyard Speedball — a symbiot story, which was first written a couple of years ago and introduces a couple of characters that subsequently play major roles in Van Hallam’s Hellsborough Chronicles, as well as providing some insight into the region of The Dark Peak known as the netherlands.

Gruizer

Mold awoke into darkness and immobility.

You're blindfolded and your hands and legs are bound, Kibble advised him, reviewing the heat pattern of Mold's doubled up frame. I've been held too, by some physical restraint.

Mold could feel movement and the dull throbbing of the drive engine.

Yes, we're airborne, Kibble confirmed, we're aboard the sportster. After she'd nobbled you, she dragged you to one side, chanted some more mumbo-jumbo and hey presto! The drive engines ignited and burnt those three that were coming up good. Good enough for them to limp off, anyway. Then she restrained you -- and me, lugged you on board and nursed this crate into the sky.

How long have we been up here?

Not long, only a few minutes.

Any idea where we're headed?

Nope, and I've found out nothing about her or her symbiot, they're as closed as they ever was.

My name is Willow, came the voice of the woman into their heads, I come from a settlement in the Wisewood, where exactly, you don't need to know.

Mold and Kibble were silent. Unsure of how to respond, but their thoughts were now open to her as her thoughts were open to them.

How, why… Started Mold, could we not communicate before?

Why should I have done? You were hostile, the whole area is hostile; it's madness down there after dark.

We followed you, that's all, we wouldn't have done you any harm.

I had no idea that that was true then and I don't know that now either, which is why you're still tied.

OK, fair enough. You're right, I'd have done the same in your boots. At least remove this blindfold.

Willow duly untied the blindfold and pulled Mold into a sitting position so he could see her the right way up. Now that he could see her and her headscarf had been removed, although dark, her auburn hair shone brightly and her electric blue eyes studied his intently. She wore a trench coat of the darkest grey, inlined with some sort of fur, probably synthetic, thought Mold.

No, flufftail, we breed them for their meat and fur, corrected Willow, the wool is tard, we breed them as well.

So If I can read you now, how come not before, queried Mold, what has changed?

Before I didn't want you to read me, that's all.

But no-one, synth or bio, can close off their thoughts, it can't be done.

Hah, Wood mystics can, laughed Willow, we remember skills that are long forgotten in the junkyard and even The Dark Peak. They are simple skills, but you are so used to reading and being read, that you perhaps no longer possess the intuition to control your brain not to broadcast. We do.

Mold nodded, although not really understanding the concept.

What about the chant, said Mold, the foreign tongue?

Woodspeak, the Wood mystic language, it helps with closing the mind, but also it is confusing and intimidating for you; whilst also reassuring to this poor gruizer. I also speak Ing, as I am now and a few other languages, they are useful for trading.

We will land now, said Willow, returning to the sportster's console. Mold, pleased by their talk had started to become confident, but now a glimmer of fear shot though his head.

What about us? He said mentally, Me and Kibble? What are your plans for us now?

Don't worry, Mold, Willow said, as she brought the sportster down to land near a few shacks that acted as the centre of the settlement of Firthwood.

We have known about you for a long time, before you even came to the junkyard. Although it was handy picking up a vehicle, my real task was to pick you up. The commissioner will be pleased, although maybe a little disappointed that you weren't a little harder to apprehend.

A long time? Who are you people?

Friends, Mold. The only friends you are likely to find in the netherlands, and I found you.

The commissioner was waiting at the door of the sportster when Willow opened it. Again they were unreadable to Mold and Kibble, and spoke in the mystical Wood tongue. Willow cut Mold free and pulled him to his feet, Kibble, now able to move, hopped onto his should and the two left the sportster. The commissioner, although not old, had an air of authority and motioned Mold to come with him into the nearest of the shacks.

If you know anyone else that you think might find this interesting, then please forward this email to them :)

I have launched a new series of diary entries that I call “Pip Rippon — Stranger in a Strange Land”, in which I describe my struggle to survive as an immigrant in Hellsborough and The Dark Peak, and how I make ¢hits, and how you can use my knowledge to make money in the off-world. I think you’ll enjoy it, check it out here: Stranger in a Strange Land.

In other news, Hellsborough Chronicles book one “Dark Peak” is now available on Kindle and paperback.

If you can leave a review of Dark Peak on Amazon, I'd be more than grateful.

Hellsborough Chronicles book two “Darker Peak” is now being worked on — look out for early releases.

Cheers, until next time,

Pip :)