The Jamie Drake Equation Page 9

  “Jamie!”

  I hear Hayley and my teachers calling me back, then the sound of Dad’s voice crashing through the speakers.

  “Jamie, are you OK?”

  But I keep on running – out of the hall and past the empty classrooms, out through the door and across the playground, out of the school gates and down the street – not stopping until I finally run out of breath.

  I can’t stop myself from crying as I stare up into the clear blue sky. Through my tears, I see the sun shining down uncaringly. According to Mrs Solomon, the light that’s now hitting my eyes left the surface of the sun eight minutes and twenty seconds ago. That was probably when Dad was showing off his yo-yo tricks on the ISS. Before I told him he should just stay in space if he was having so much fun up there. What’s the point of him coming home if he’s not planning to stay?

  I feel my mobile phone vibrating in my pocket, the muffled sound of Buzz’s voice calling out to me. I pull it out to see the golden spiral on the home screen spinning frantically.

  “Jamie!” Buzz’s voice sounds almost anxious. “There’s a storm coming.”

  With a hollow laugh, I hold the phone up to the bright blue sky.

  “Don’t be stupid,” I say. “There’s not a cloud in sight.”

  But before Buzz can speak again, my mobile phone starts ringing.

  I look down at the caller display and see three letters there.

  DAD

  With a fresh surge of fury, I stab my finger against the power button. The ringtone cuts out as the screen fades to black.

  19

  “So this is where you’ve got to.”

  Granddad’s hands rest on my shoulders as I sit on the back wall, my school shoes scuffing the flower heads as I stare across the meadow to the foot of Beacon Hill.

  “The school have been on the phone. Your mum’s worried sick. She’s out in the car with Charlie looking for you now. We’ve all been calling your mobile.”

  Shaking his hands from my shoulders, I swing myself down from the wall.

  “I switched my phone off,” I tell him, quickly wiping my eyes so he can’t see that I’ve been crying. “I just needed some time to think.”

  “Oh, Jamie lad,” Granddad says, his voice softening as his big arms envelop me in a bear hug. His sticky T-shirt smells of porridge and stale cigarettes. “Come into the barn and let’s have a proper chat.”

  * * *

  Sitting on an upturned beer crate, I look around at the chaos that clutters the barn, most of the space filled with the wreckage of Granddad’s rock star past. Towering amplifiers and monitors line the walls, each one stencilled with the DEATH PANDA logo. Leaning against these are electric guitars of every size, shape and colour, while leads and cables snake across the sticky floor. A flame-red drum kit is set up against the far wall, a cartoon panda bursting out of the front of the large bass drum.

  “This used to be our rehearsal space when the band was still together,” Granddad says as he strides across the floor. “But since the band broke up it’s become a bit of a dumping ground. That’s why I let your mum work on her new sculpture in here, to brighten the place up. Plus she couldn’t fit it up the stairs to the attic.”

  He points across the room to where four separate columns of glass and steel rise at least three metres high. The tall curving shapes seem to twist and curl together, their coloured glass filling the room with light.

  Before Charlie was born, I remember Dad taking me to watch Mum work at her studio. I remember her face fixed in concentration as she conjured strange creatures out of the glass, their shapes changing from whichever angle you looked. I remember Mum and Dad laughing together as I tried to guess what animal each sculpture was supposed to be – a rabbit, a pony, a unicorn, a dragon – their laughs getting louder as my guesses got more ridiculous. And now I don’t know if I’ll ever hear them laugh together again.

  Sitting down on the drum stool, Granddad picks up an electric guitar and with his bandaged hand kerrangs out an unamplified chord.

  “I played this guitar at the Monsters of Rock festival back in ’82,” he reminisces. “That was where I met your grandma for the first time. We were together for twenty-five years until she left with that bloody American drummer.”

  For a second Granddad just sits there with a faraway look in his eyes, his left hand stroking the neck of his guitar. Then he looks at me, the lines of his wrinkled face creasing into a frown.

  “I heard you talking to your mum about the divorce yesterday.”

  I slump down further in my makeshift seat, burying my head in my hands. All the anger that I felt when I was standing on stage in front of Dad on that huge projector screen has faded away. All that’s left now is the pain.

  “I don’t know why they’re splitting up,” I say, the words almost catching in my throat. “I don’t know who’s to blame. I’ve waited so long for Dad to come home and now Mum says we can’t be together any more. Why can’t they just work things out and stay together?”

  Granddad absent-mindedly strums his guitar, the unamplified notes ringing out a melancholy tune.

  “Sometimes things just don’t work out. Bands, marriages, record deals. People change and people move on. Your mum has put her life on hold for a long time to help your dad achieve his dreams, moving you from country to country and almost giving up on her career. Don’t you think it’s time that she has the chance to shine?”

  “Can’t she do that with Dad?”

  Granddad shakes his head.

  “It’s not for me to say, Jamie. You really need to talk to your mum and dad. Together.”

  “But I can’t,” I say, fighting back my tears.

  “I know,” Granddad sighs, resting his guitar against the amp as he gets up from the drum stool. He walks across the barn to rest his hand on my shoulder. “Not yet. There’s enough going on with your dad’s spacewalk tomorrow. But you need to remember, Jamie, your mum and dad love you and Charlie and that won’t ever change.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering the last time I saw Dad properly. He was in quarantine at the spaceport in Kazakhstan, waiting for the Soyuz rocket to blast off for the International Space Station. Before launch, astronauts have to stay away from any potential sources of germs so they don’t end up getting sick in space. So the last time I saw Dad face to face he was behind a sealed glass window, Dad holding up his hand to mine as he said goodbye. The same way he does now at the end of every video call.

  Sitting on the upturned crate, I feel the weight of all my worries pushing me down – just like the g-forces on Dad when he blasted off into space. I’ve got an alien on my phone and I don’t know what’s going to happen when Dad gets home. I just wish he was back right now.

  20

  Nestled on the sofa in between Mum and Granddad, I stare at the TV screen. The picture is frozen, showing a blank blue screen as Hayley talks on the phone to Mission Control. I glance over at the clock on the wall. It’s just past eight – time for Dad to set off on his spacewalk to the Lux Aeterna launch platform. My birthday cards are all lined up on the mantelpiece, but I’m saving opening my presents until Dad has completed his mission.

  Charlie bounces up and down on Mum’s knee.

  “Where’s Daddy?” she asks for what seems like the millionth time.

  “He’ll be there soon,” Mum says, tilting her head towards mine with a smile and giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  She was so mad at me when she got back home yesterday, but then Granddad said I’d been worrying so much about Dad’s spacewalk that the live link had got too much for me and that was why I’d run out of school. Mum calmed down a bit after that, telling me there was no need to worry. She said that Dad has been training for this mission for years and he knows exactly what to do.

  I glance down at my silent mobile, the phone still switched off. I wish I could switch off too.

  Then Charlie screams excitedly as the blue screen disappears
and is replaced with what looks like a handwritten sign. The picture is slightly blurry at first, but as this shifts into focus I can read the words written there.

  Happy Birthday, Jamie!

  The world is watching Dad’s every move on this mega-important mission, but he’s still found time to show he’s thinking of me. My fingers tighten around my mobile phone. Right now, I just wish I could call Dad and take back what I said yesterday, but I don’t think he’s free to pick up the phone.

  On the sofa Mum gives me a hug, then Dad’s astronaut glove lifts the sign out of shot and we all gasp as the darkness of space fills the screen.

  It’s the blackest black I’ve ever seen, the inky darkness studded with thousands of stars. And in the centre of the TV screen I can see the silver outline of the Lux Aeterna launch platform, its spiral of petal-like panels facing out into the void.

  Dad’s voice crackles out of the TV speakers.

  “Mission Control, this is Commander Drake. I’m clear of the ISS now and have visual on the Lux Aeterna platform. Request permission to engage the AMMU propulsion system to begin my ascent to its orbit.”

  With a burst of static, we hear Mission Control’s reply on the radio.

  “Copy that, Dan. Please ensure the Light Swarm probes are safely stowed before engaging propulsion system.”

  The picture on the screen shifts as Dad looks down and his helmet-cam shows the square silver case that’s strapped to his spacesuit. Inside this are the Light Swarm probes, all ready to begin their one-hundred-and-eight-trillion-kilometre journey to Tau Ceti.

  “All present and correct,” Dad says, a slight buzz on his words as they echo across space. “I just hope we get some air miles with these probes as they’re taking a pretty big trip.”

  Next to me, Mum laughs at Dad’s cheesy joke. Then I hear the smile in the voice of Mission Control’s reply.

  “Negative, Dan. No air miles, but they’ll be flying first class with your help. Permission granted to engage propulsion system.”

  “Engaging primary thrusters.”

  The picture on the screen bobs slightly as we hear the whoosh of the propulsion system. At first I don’t think it can be working properly as the distant shape of the launch platform remains fixed in the centre of the TV screen, but then I realise as the seconds tick by that this is growing ever so slightly larger against the background of stars. This change is so gradual that it feels to me like Dad is almost frozen in space, but then the spiral panels start to glint as the launch platform moves into sunlight and I can tell that Dad is closer now.

  In the background I can hear a strange humming sound. I look down at my mobile phone, but it’s still switched off – I’ve got enough to worry about at the moment without Buzz piping up. But the buzzing noise from the TV is now a constant drone as Dad’s helmet tilts and I see for the first time the sleek silver module at the base of the launch platform. Dad’s final destination.

  I glance across at Hayley, who’s standing watching with a look of concentration on her face.

  “What’s that buzzing noise?” I ask her.

  Hayley smiles reassuringly.

  “That’s just the sound of the fan circulating oxygen through your dad’s suit. Don’t worry, Jamie – everything’s going to plan.”

  “That’s a relief,” says Granddad, fiddling with his ear. “I thought this hearing aid was playing up again.”

  Then Dad’s voice crackles over the radio.

  “I’ve got visual on the HabZone airlock. Estimated rendezvous in approximately twelve minutes.”

  “Copy that, Dan. All systems’ diagnostics are green – looking good for rendezvous.”

  I can see the circular airlock at the end of the HabZone module, its porthole window staring back at me like a tiny silver face surrounded by the darkness of space.

  Mum’s holding my hand tightly now, Charlie sitting absolutely still on her knee. As we listen to the sound of Dad’s breathing over the radio and watch the Lux Aeterna launch platform slowly fill the screen, we all just stare at the TV, spellbound.

  Once Dad gets inside the launch platform module, he’ll perform the final checks on the Light Swarm probes. Each tiny spacecraft will be slid into the delivery system that will propel them into position, ready for Dad to press the button that will fire the Lux Aeterna laser and launch them to the stars.

  Dad’s voice comes over the radio again.

  “Rendezvous in five minutes.”

  He’s closing in on the airlock now, the petal-like shapes of the launch platform’s solar panels disappearing from view as the HabZone module fills the screen entirely. I catch a glimpse of Dad’s face reflected in its silvered surface, his astronaut’s helmet framed by the blue of the world below.

  My heart thumps in my chest. Dad’s on top of the world and I feel so proud.

  His voice crackles out of the speaker again.

  “Engaging retro thrusters.”

  I hear another whooshing sound – two quick blasts followed by a softer swooshing noise, the picture on the screen tilting as Dad’s spacesuit brakes kick in to slow his approach. But as the airlock door fills the screen, the voice of Mission Control crackles from the speaker.

  “Mission abort. Repeat. Mission abort. Initiate emergency protocols for shelter in event of systems failure.”

  Charlie turns towards Mum with a puzzled frown.

  “What’s a ‘mer-jen-sea’?”

  From the TV speaker comes a burst of static and then we hear Dad’s reply.

  “Everything’s fine here.” Dad’s breathing sounds slightly laboured as he reaches out to turn the airlock handle. “All systems normal. Mission Control, can you elaborate?”

  “Urgent warning received from the Space Weather Centre in Colorado. They’re reporting an X-class solar flare heading straight towards the Earth.”

  The voice of Mission Control usually sounds so calm, but as these words echo across space I’m sure I can hear a note of panic.

  I look across to Hayley for reassurance, but all the colour seems to have suddenly drained from her face as she stares at the TV screen.

  Dad is now trying to open the airlock’s hatch, his bulky astronaut gloves grappling with the release handle.

  “Do we have an ETA on that solar flare?” he asks, grunting out the words as he turns the handle clockwise.

  “Negative. The NASA ACE satellite has been completely destroyed by the flare. You need to get inside the HabZone now!”

  “What’s going on?” Mum says, casting a panicked look in Hayley’s direction as Charlie fidgets on her lap.

  “It’s a solar storm,” Hayley replies, her gaze still fixed to the television. “A bad one. An X-class solar flare is an eruption of super-heated particles from the Sun’s upper atmosphere, travelling towards Earth at almost the speed of light.”

  I grip my mobile phone tightly in my hand. Buzz said there was a storm coming, but I didn’t listen…

  On the TV screen, the airlock hatch starts to swing open.

  “Copy that, Mission Control. Initiating emergency—”

  Then the picture freezes, Dad’s voice suddenly silenced and replaced by a dead dial tone.

  Charlie wails.

  “Where’s Daddy?”

  As Mum hugs her tight, I turn towards Hayley, our family liaison now frantically tapping at her mobile phone.

  “Dad’s going to be OK,” I say, raising my voice above the sound of Charlie’s crying. “He can just take shelter until the storm passes, can’t he?”

  Hayley looks up from her phone, her features set in a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t fool me at all.

  “That’s what Mission Control has told him to do. Your dad will follow emergency protocols until the impact of the solar flare is known.”

  “I’m sure everything will be OK,” Granddad says, resting his hand on my shoulder. “Your dad’s trained for situations like this.”

  I look up at the TV screen, its frozen picture still showing the airlock door star
ting to open, but with Dad stuck outside in the vacuum of space. I remember exactly what he said when Aaron asked his stupid question yesterday: “Space is a dangerous place.” Then the frozen image starts to break up, disintegrating in an avalanche of pixels before being replaced by a blank blue screen.

  I feel a wave of nausea rising up in my throat, my stomach tumbling over and over as though I’m the one falling through space. Shaking Granddad’s hand from my shoulder, I push myself up off the sofa.

  “I feel sick. I need to get some fresh air.”

  Pressing my thumb against the power button on my phone, I head for the door. Behind me I can hear Hayley talking to Mission Control while Mum tries to comfort Charlie. Running through the kitchen, I push the back door open, bright sunlight hitting my face as I step out into the garden.

  Fighting to keep my breakfast down, I feel my phone vibrating in my hand. On the mobile screen the golden spiral spins and I hear Buzz’s voice rise into the cloudless sky.

  “The storm is here.”

  A shiver runs down my spine.

  “How do you know?” I ask, holding up the phone as I stare at the sky. The sun looks just the same as it does every day – no sign of any solar storm – just gentle warmth shining down on my face.

  “Your eyes only see a tiny fraction of the true light from your star,” Buzz replies. “Less than a thousandth of one per cent of the full spectrum of rays that shine down on your planet every day. But we are the Hi’ive and can see all the brightness that surrounds you.”

  On the screen of my phone a picture of the sky above me appears – the yellow-white sun suspended in a bright blue sky. But then I gasp as the sky on the screen suddenly comes alive with a kaleidoscope of colours. I see crimson and green streaks shooting in every direction, spirals of pink and orange eddying across the horizon. Purple haloes spot the screen as these colours twist into strange new shapes. It’s like when you rub your eyes when they’re closed – colours bursting across my vision. But my eyes are wide open now. The sky is ablaze – burning with a rainbow of fire.