Free Beyond the Shroud by V M Jones

microcomputer we had taken with us into Karazan: a prototype, the only one of its kind. On its tiny keyboard, on keys the size of grains of rice, I’d input the command that catapulted us back from Karazan: Alt Control Q. It was a lifeline, a passport back to our own dimension … and it was here, in Q’s hand, in the computer room at Quested Court.
    Hannah was alone in Karazan, with no way of getting back again.

    â€˜My clothes — have you still got them?’
    At the sound of my voice, a tiny smile appeared on Q’s face, but his eyes were far, far away. ‘I beg your pardon, dear boy?’
    â€˜My gear — the stuff I wore to Karazan,’ I repeated impatiently. ‘Have you still got it, or did you chuck it all out?’
    â€˜I — of course we still have it. But …’
    â€˜Where is it?’ I looked up at the clock on the computer room wall. ‘I reckon it’ll take me maybe … five minutes to put it all on. In six minutes — five and a half if I’m quick — I’ll be there.’
    Q was still staring at me as blankly as if I was speaking a foreign language. I didn’t have time to waste. She’d been gone nearly twenty-four hours … time enough for anything to have happened. I turned and ran out of the computer room … along the passage … up the stairs, two at a time.
    â€˜Hey — Adam! Adam — wait up!’ Without slowing down, I glanced over my shoulder. Richard was halfway up the stairs, arms pumping, face a scowl of determination. Behind him puffed Jamie, already puce in the face. Hot on his heels, Kenta … and Gen bringing up the rear. Something in their faces made me slow and stop. I stood there on the landing, arms folded, looking down at them. They stopped too, staring up at me … and on every face, the exact same look.
    I opened my mouth to say: ‘What is it?’ To say: ‘Forget it.’ To say: ‘One person will attract less attention than five — especially three with pink skin and blond hair. Especially one who looks like Gen.’ But there wasn’t time to argue. What’s more, there wasn’t any point.
    So instead, I found myself grinning back down at my four friends like a prize idiot. ‘OK then — have it your way! But quick — we have to hurry!’

    Nanny was struggling with the buckle of Richard’s broad leather belt. ‘Well, I declare, you have grown,’ she was muttering. ‘I might just need to put another hole in this …’
    â€˜Yes, grown fatter,’ teased Gen, rapidly braiding her hair into a tawny rope in front of the mirror.
    â€˜This isn’t fat, it’s muscle,’ Richard retorted. ‘And you should stop preening. Typical girl — any mention of going anywhere, and it’s “Ooh, my hair!” and “What shall I wear?”, whether it’s a desperate rescue mission or a trip to the mall …’
    The door opened and Q stood there, looking at us. The dazed look was gone. His blue eyes were bright and piercing behind his specs — fresh smears made me wonder whether he’d tried to clean them on the way up the stairs.
    â€˜I’m not going to argue with you,’ he said quietly. ‘As you know, I’m not a practical man. I was annoyed with myself last time for not thinking of your pale skins, and how they’d stand out in Karazan.’ For a second, he looked almost embarrassed. ‘I thought — too late, of course — that I should have provided something to darken you up … make you look less conspicuous. But I looked into it, and came up with this.’ He walked over to the top drawer of the dresser, opened it, and produced a small bottle, holding it up for us to see. ‘Tyrotemp, used by theatrical companies, I believe. Based on the natural skin-darkening enzyme tyrosinase … guaranteed to last a week, then fade completely. I