The Dog Who Saved the World. Ross Welford

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      Back in the dead-dark Dome, without warning, the curved metal band above my eyes glows a dazzling blue-white – a light that is so sharp it almost hurts. I squint and, as the brilliance fades away, shapes begin to form in front of me. Within seconds, long, thin poles become palm trees, and the dark floor turns white as it’s transformed before my eyes into a tropical beach.

      And I mean a real beach: not some corny yellow virtual-reality beach, with clunky graphics, viewed through a heavy headset. This is much, much more realistic than anything I’ve ever seen in any VR device.

      I let go of Ramzy’s hand and he says, ‘Whoaaaaa!’ – a long sigh of amazement.

      In front of us is the deckchair, and now, to either side of it, stretches a wide crescent of creamy-white sand, fringed with palm trees, leading down to a rippling turquoise ocean a few metres in front of us.

      I turn round 360 degrees. The illusion is perfect. I look up, and the blue sky has little clouds in it, and there’s a darker grey cloud on the horizon.

      Then I notice the sounds: the breeze; the scratching noise that palm leaves make in the wind; the breaking of the little waves; an old moped going past on a distant road. From behind me is the sound of tinny music. I turn, and there’s a shack selling drinks where the music is coming from. Behind the counter stands a grinning barman. I smile and lift my hand in greeting.

      He waves back. His movements are not at all jerky, although his arm becomes a little pixelated, and there’s a slightly dark outline around him.

      OK, I’m thinking. This is pretty good – no, it’s more than pretty good, it’s excellent but, you know …

      I don’t want to sound cynical and spoiled, but I mean, I have played virtual-reality games before. This is good, and definitely better than the one at Disney World, but … well, why the big secrecy?

      ‘It’s pretty good!’ I say out loud, looking around again.

      ‘Pretty good?’ shouts Dr Pretorius through the earpiece and it makes me jump. In just a few seconds, I’d almost forgotten that I was actually inside a large dark dome in Whitley Bay. ‘Pretty good? Is that the best you can do? Pretty good?’ Her normally deep voice has become a squeak.

      ‘I … I’m sorry. I mean, it’s excellent. It’s …’

      ‘Touch the sand! Go on – it won’t bite you! Touch the sand!’

      I hunker down, stretch my hand down into the sand and give a little squeal of amazement. You see, I know that under my feet is a half-metre-thick layer of tiny metal balls. But that’s not what I touch. Instead, I touch …

      Sand. At least, that is what it feels like.

      The grains trickle between my fingers. I gasp and hear Dr Pretorius’s throaty chuckle. ‘It’s better than “pretty good”, isn’t it?’

      I nod. ‘Yes. It … it’s perfect!’

      ‘Ha! Not quite, but thank you, anyway. Touch the sand again and feel it carefully.’

      I reach out and pick up another handful of sand. Ramzy does the same and says, ‘It’s … cold? Shouldn’t it be warmer from the sunshine?’

      ‘Hmph,’ she says, then there’s a rattling of the keyboard. ‘How is it now?’

      Suddenly the sand is warmer. ‘Not too warm?’ she asks, and I shake my head, stunned into silence.

      ‘What the …?’ I look over to Ramzy and his face is contorted in pure terror. ‘Georgie! Behind you!’

      I swing round and I scream. About five metres away, a scorpion the size of a coffee table is raising its huge pincers at me, its quivering tail arched over its back, and it’s advancing towards me.