As I negotiated the now lime green corridors on the Sister Ship, I met a willowy young mother, Monica and her two-year-old son. Her boy was so cute with Mediterranean features, olive complexion, wide brown eyes and a tumble of dark curls. Dr Mario’s, Minna had told me. Poor Liesel, the blonde, I mean, Monica, had won that battle.
The morning warmed but the atmosphere between Dad and Mr B remained frosty.
‘I’ll drive us to the Olgas,’ Mr B said.
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea, if you’re tired and had no sleep?’ Dad asked as he chucked a bag of peanuts in the back of the Rover.
‘What? Was Fahrer Fox again?’ Liesel spat cheesy globs all over me. ‘What, exactly did you do, with Fox?’ She looked at me.
I glanced down in shame. ‘Sorry, it just sort of…happened.’
Her limbs jerked like pigeons startled by the proverbial cat. ‘You are familiar with ISF principles and procedures.’ She paced the tight kitchen space. ‘Oh, shoot! Now what are we going to do?’
‘Yes, Sir!’ I gazed beyond his seat to the monitors. One, in particular, caught my attention; the lines of navigation plotting a direct course for the Pilgrim Planet. Holding his headrest, I leaned over and breathing down his muscular neck said, ‘What are you doing, Sir?’Read more "Out of the Chocolate Box (16)"
Would this be where an alien space craft might land unnoticed? Young people go missing? A cockroach called Boris lurking in a cave just around the corner?
And where young 17-year-old Minna begins her unwilling mission in the war against Boris?
‘But what is IT?’ I hovered above my seat. ‘If I knew what IT was, maybe I could help you.’ Cool drops of sweat gathered on my forehead ready for a panic party. Stay calm, Holly. Stay calm. It’s just another one of Fahrer’s anxiety attacks.Read more "Out of the Chocolate Box (15)"
At the mouth of Walpa gorge, Kata Tjuta, we dumped our baggage under a tree, and then advanced up and into the gorge. The heat and flies evaporated as the dank shadows of the gorge’s walls towered over us.Read more "The T-Team With Mr B (14)"
Last Friday, no different from every other Friday, Clarke, the robot streamed Queen through the quadraphonic amplified speakers, and we clapped, stomping our feet in the air to the beat. Nathan screwed up his dark face and mimed the chords on his air guitar:
‘Another one bites the dust! Doof! Doof!’ Liesel whooped while I raised my hands to cheer.