Free The Remarkables (The Remarkable Owen Johnson, part 1) by A. D. Elliott Page A

pointed at the ‘p’ in a circle that he had drawn. “This symbol is the insignia of a secret sector of the military that was once known as ‘The Remarkables’.”
    “Why the ‘p’ then?” Owen asked. “Surely an ‘r’ would make more sense?”
    “Only to your generation,” Mrs Argyle replied with a shake of her head.
    “Not just his generation, to be fair sis,” Ken chimed in.
    “Nevertheless,” Mrs Argyle continued, “i t isn’t a ‘p’; it’s the Greek letter ‘rho’.”
    “I still say an ‘r’ would have made more sense, what with us not being Greek and all,” Owen said, slightly offended by Mrs Argyle’s sweeping criticism of his age group.
    Mrs Argyle ignored him. “‘Rho’ also signifies a number of other things in the fields of maths and physics that were rather fitting for it being chosen,” Mrs Argyle almost smiled. “Plus I like the shape. But what it symbolised when it was first created, alas it does not anymore.”
    “That’s an understatement,” said Ken.
    “Quite,” Mrs Argyle agreed. “Once it stood for freedom, and the fight against tyranny. Now it is used by those with similar ideology to those that had been fought against all those years ago.”
    “Who are you talking about?” Owen asked. “Who was being fought and by whom?”
    “Those being fought against were the Nazis and their allies,” Ken explained, “and amongst those who did the fighting are in front of you now.”
    “You fought in World War Two ?” Owen asked, staring at the siblings and trying to work out how old they must have been to be a part of the war. “How’s that possible? You don’t look old enough.”
    Ken smiled. “My dear boy, you really must accept that appearances mean diddly-squat where you’re in the company of our kind.”
    “You have powers too?” Owen asked, and remembering the strange sound of water earlier, added : “You made that water appear outside?”
    Still smiling, Ken walked up to Owen and held his righ t hand in front of Owen’s face. He brought his thumb and forefinger together, the tips pointed at Owen, an almost unperceivable luminescence surrounding them. He then brought them slightly apart and from the space between them emerged a jet of cold water, which Ken directed at Owen’s face, who brought up his hands to deflect the cold spray.
    Laughing, Ken closed his fingers and the water ceased. “Yes, Owen; I made the water appear.”
    Mrs Argyle threw Owen a towel which he used to wipe his dripping wet face. Conversely, Owen noticed that Ken’s hands were completely dry. “Nice demo,” Owen said sardonically. Ken bowed in thanks. “How do you do it? And how do I do what I do?”
    “It’s fairly simple, but requires a bit of a back story,” Ken said, “and my storytelling skills are somewh at improved on a full stomach. So what say you go and get the grub in, and then we’ll have enough sustenance to talk into the wee hours and see if we can clear a few things up for you?
    “Plus it’ll give me the chance to sort out some transport for us and Myrtle tomorrow.”
    Owen made Ken promise that he wouldn’t hold back on any information, to which he agreed. He also suggested that Owen use the shower on board to wash the remainder of the blood from his hair.
     
    It took over five minutes for Owen to remove all of the clots that were matted in his hair, along with the thin film of dust that had ingrained itself in his hands. As the water sprinkled down on him from the shower head, he couldn’t help but wonder if the water supply was of Ken’s own making. As soon as this thought entered his head, he decided he’d been washing for long enough and stepped out to dry himself before getting dressed.
    The t-shirt he had put on whilst on the train was already dirty from their journey across the stream, so Ken provided him with a faded black t-shirt with what looked like a prism with beams of light going through it on the front. It fitted Owen well so he