Categories
The Euranian Knights

The Euranian Knights, C3: Waking and Sleeping

August 3, Present Day
Salt Lake City, Utah

A well-known fact is that anytime something excessively frightening or painful happens in a dream, anything shocking or harmful to the body, wakes the sleeper up. “Pinch me please!” is often excitedly uttered when it’s  hard for a person to believe such a thing is actually happening.

The last thing Gabe remembered was the XV-40’s cargo bay flying up away from him as he fell through the surprisingly comfortable air of Euraniah.

“Gabriel!” Mrs  Tinkrel interrupted the frenzy of his thoughts. “Gabriel, pick up your whiteboard and show the class how to simply write out velocity.”

As usual, Mrs. Tinkrel knew — or thought she knew — that Gabe could not correctly do what she asked. However, Gabe had seen the pilot write out something similar on his log. Gabe picked up his board and wrote out the following:

VD = heading: (degrees)°
VS = speed: (MPH)

Example: VDS = 23 N/E /540 mph

Mrs. Tinkrel had a look of stunned confusion.

“Mister Ledarskap, — she refused to call him Gabe, even though she knew his name was not Gabriel, it never had been — where did you learn that? That is not the proper way to write velocity.”

“Velocity is speed in a direction, Right? If you know the units you will use, then it can be expressed like this.” He pointed to the board, then went and sat down beside Caleb, turning the computer back around so that the camera faced them at their desk. They were doing their attendance together today.

Chat comments began coming in, like:

Nerd! he learn that from a plane driver? Right, u guys see that Geeze dude! youve got like, brains!

Gabe responded:

--I did learn that from a pilot. :>) The word’s “pilot” not “driver”

“Class!” Mrs. Tinkrel Snapped. She looked at the camera like she was talking to each student personally. “This ain’t Social Hour sweetie! Now — well uhm, class dismissed.” It was 2:23

“Gabe, honey?” Mrs. Ledarskap came in the room just then, as if she’d been listening for “Class Dismissed” She was carrying rouge in one hand and lime-coloured lipstick in the other. “Time for me to go over to Swendi’s.” Swendi was an entrepreneurial cosmetics saleswoman who made the most gaudy — even putrid — combinations of makeup. It was her who had sold the green lipstick to Gabe’s mom. Yet if you liked what she did, she actually did it remarkably well.

“Okay” Turning, Gabe saw that his mother had already applied the colour to her upper lip. “I’ll se you later. Uhm, can I go to Caleb’s tonight?  Got all my schooling done.”

“Yeah! Please Mrs. Ledarskap?” Looking down to avoid bursting into laughter, Caleb seconded the request.

“Well — Sure, if Caleb’s folks don’t mind.” She turned and left the room, applying the final layer of the lipstick.

“I need to tell you something. C’mon!” Gabe snatched up his notebook and dashed out of the house, with Caleb right at his heels.

Caleb’s house was across the street from Gabe’s, and before long the two boys had seized candy bars and dashed up to Caleb’s bedroom. While they munched on the Mounds, Caleb asked what was so urgent, and then Gabe told him about the dreams.

August 4, Present Day
Summre Citie, Euraniah
1:05 am Mountain Time (MT) / 11:05 Eastern United Standard Time (Euraniah, (EUST))

Gabe was lying on the ground, listening to a low whine in the distance. He turned to see the Hummingbird — the same one he fell out of — flying away from Euraniah into Amconasian lines.

“Gabe, what’s happening?”

“Caleb! Why, what —” Gabe tried to get up, but suddenly a sword was lowered to his throat.

“Get up”

Gabe stood, took Caleb’s hand and helped him up. For some reason, after they were both standing, they didn’t let go.

The guard in a bright red uniform led his captives toward the Gate, away from Lionheart Castle and the perpetual booming of the guns, toward a temporary airfield where a C-13 was “standing”.

“I think we’re dreaming this together. This is great, don’t you think?”

Gabe, still holding his best friend’s hand, looked slightly down at him and said, “Of all people who could appear in my dreams, if you’ll remember this, I would have picked you.”

The two sat side-by-side in the C-13 cargo bay. It was a small, musty plane with no practical purpose. Amconasia was so primitive when it came to technology of this level, especially compared to Euraniah, that this lame bird was among their best.

The ride was long, almost 300 miles. The captors gave the boys food and extended the bench into a cot. The captives were laid down and fell into a quiet, restful, not-quite sleep. They dared not truly sleep, because they had no idea what lay ahead.

“Gabe?” Caleb whispered to his friend.

“Hmm?”

“Who are you to these people?”

“I am an enemy” Gabe turned toward the center of the plane, away from Caleb. He, in turn, put his hand on Gabe’s shoulder. It was obvious that Gabe was extremely out of sorts. “Amconasia rebelled and left the kingdom. As king of Euraniah, I generate a perpetual state of being disliked.

“I think they’re going to take us to the AMCO, which is the Amconasian military Command Office. We’ll probably be tortured. If you want, I can wake you up.”

“No!”

August 4
Summre Citie, Euraniah
1:05 am MT/14:23 EUST

“Sir! Intelligence says that the king and a friend of his were captured by the Brute Force. I’ve already deployed the Panther Island Air Jockeys to track them.”

“Thanks Kintre. We have a Euranian intercept squadron from Escahn tracking the C-13 by radar. If anything turns up, keep me informed.”

“Sir, how many jets do we have reserved at Escahn?” Kintre was making a rescue briefing and he looked up from the massive screen table.

Flipping through the records, Hanuk responded: “Twelve, not counting what’s already in the air.”

Kintre and the massive guard assisting him went out of the room, out onto the rampart which had finally stopped being bombarded.

“Gerin, if they make it to AMCO, the King of Euraniah and this friend of his will be tortured. I want you to gather everyone together for a council meeting. We have to talk.”

“Sir,” Gerin’s voice was surprisingly high-pitched for a man who was six-foot seven. “Right away sir.” He clamped his fist over his iron breastplate and then walked down the rampart.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.