Battle for Earth (13 page)

“Master Johnny—you will be detected. Whatever is going on?”

“Alf,” shouted Johnny, his head screaming as he shared the little black London cab's hurt. “Open the shuttle bay doors—it's an emergency.”

He couldn't concentrate. He hoped Sol would guide them home. For a minute, the
Bakerloo
felt like it was disintegrating around them. Finally, they entered the ship and skidded to a halt along the deck.

“Alf—help,” he said into his microphone. “And Sol—get us out of here.” He couldn't even turn his head to see if Clara was OK.

For what felt like hours after Alf had taken Clara to sickbay, Johnny had sat trapped rigid and awkward, inside his skintight casing within the
Bakerloo
. Extracting his sister from her own vile cocoon while keeping her rising fever under control was proving far from easy. Effectively paralyzed, Johnny remained behind, able only to talk and listen as, all the while, the cramp in his muscles grew worse. Periodically, Alf's voice came through Johnny's helmet, apologizing for the time it was taking, but that Clara did appear to be all right, while Johnny kept hearing the deep growling voice of the Krun Queen, as though he couldn't shut out her horrific memory. Johnny kept assuring the android that he was fine, saying he didn't mind the wait and was just glad his sister would be OK. He knew how close to death he'd come and, yet again, Clara had been the one to save him. He also sensed a little of what it had cost her to create the fold, remembering just how much the image in the thought chamber had terrified her.

The Plican hadn't folded them straight home. In their present state, neither Johnny nor Clara was able to go into the gel pods, but that wasn't the main reason. While they'd been underneath the Martian pyramids Sol had detected a five-strong fleet leaving the Olympus Mons crater. She was now following the Krun Hunter-Killers from a discreet distance, hoping to discover their intended destination once the aliens
neared Earth. If the Krun still had a base there, they had to find and destroy it once and for all. He thought about that jester's hat in the river of blood, and of the juggler being led away in Trafalgar Square. It was obvious now. The men in suits hadn't been plain-clothes police—they were Krun, disguised using DNA showers. There had been no news reports because there were no witnesses—the Krun had taken them too. He suspected they were even behind the tourists being removed from outside the Gherkin. All to be turned into food to nourish the Krun Queen so she could breed more of the vile aliens. If nobody stopped them, there'd soon be enough Krun to take over Earth.

Finally Alf returned to the shuttle bay and, with great difficulty and repeatedly bashing Johnny's helmet against the roof and sides of the
Bakerloo
, extracted him and carried his rigid body into the elevators and up to sickbay. Clara waited until the android had degunked enough of the helmet for Johnny to see out of. She looked even paler than usual, her forehead glistening with perspiration and her eyes thick with the oily blackness. She rubbed her arms to restore the circulation and smiled sadly at Johnny, before waving goodbye, saying she was going to the garden deck. Johnny was unable to wave back.

Alf was finding it awkward to remove the cocoon—it had solidified with one leg and one arm forward, so Johnny's body wouldn't lie flat. Happily Sol intervened, creating an antigravity harness which the android fastened around Johnny's middle to hold him floating above the bed. It made it far easier for Alf to cut off the Krun skin at a molecular level, using a specially adapted nanoscale scalpel. The android sliced the very last piece away from underneath Johnny's chin, just as the Krun ships were reaching high Earth orbit. Finally Johnny could remove the helmet and extricate himself from the spacesuit. Alf told him that enzymes within the Queen's
saliva were designed to begin the digestion process long before anything reached the stomach and the suit had saved his life.

He ached all over, with a terrible stiffness in every muscle he knew and plenty he didn't—it was far worse than after any soccer match, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Slowly and awkwardly he made his way along the corridor, up the elevator and onto the bridge.

“Hello, Johnny,” said Sol, the words coming from everywhere as lights blinked on her voice screen.

“Nice of you to join us,” said Kovac, who was hovering nearby.

“Hi, Sol,” said Johnny, walking stiffly toward the captain's chair at the center. “Progress report—do you have a fix on the Krun base?”

“Negative, Johnny,” replied the ship. “The Krun fleet is dispersing to five separate projected destinations.”

Five bases—it was worse than Johnny had feared. “Whereabouts?” he asked.

“One near the South Pole, one in the Mediterranean and three in the western hemisphere, latitudes 38.04738219 south, 12.35813 west …”

“Stop, Sol,” said Johnny. “Give me names … countries.”

“Antarctica is the only relevant landmass. I believe the Krun Hunter-Killers are subaquatic—the remaining four flight paths are anticipated to finish within the Earth's oceans. The fleet has now separated.”

“Follow the closest,” said Johnny. “Whichever's easiest.”

“I am capable of shadowing any Krun vessel with ease,” the ship replied.

“Sorry, Sol—I meant just pick one.”

“No offense taken, Johnny,” said the ship. “We are now on a heading for the region of the Atlantic Ocean known as the Bermuda Rise.”

The
Spirit of London
burst through a thick layer of cloud. Far below, the needled black cylinder that marked one of the Krun vessels was only just above the ocean waves.

“Will you be OK underwater?” Johnny asked the ship.

“It is simply another fluid, albeit slightly denser than the atmosphere I am currently traveling through, and containing more obstacles. I do not anticipate any propulsion problems—however, I will not be able to remain shielded.”

“Had anyone asked me,” said Kovac, “though evidently that would be far too much to expect, the more obvious choice would have been the Mediterranean. Projected splashdown is close to the signal from Louise's wristcom.”

“Obvious, but less efficient,” Sol replied, noticeably colder than usual. “My selection affords the opportunity to monitor the three Atlantic splashdown sites. I have messaged Louise informing her of the incoming Krun vessel. With her help, we may identify four out of five.”

Johnny couldn't help thinking there was something to what Kovac had said. Louise was resourceful, but there wasn't much she could do if a Krun HK landed nearby and he had to admit he was worried. He'd hate her to be captured and processed into the Queen's next meal. But there could be no going back now. They were approaching the water frighteningly quickly. Johnny couldn't help it—he grabbed the arms of his chair and braced for impact but, as they broke the surface and continued below, there wasn't the slightest sensation. Somewhere in Johnny's head he sensed the ship's disappointment in his lack of faith in her.

“Sorry, Sol,” he mumbled out loud, before snapping back to the matter at hand. “Distance to the Krun ship?” he asked.

“Computing … 7.0710608 kilometers, approximately,” Sol replied. “I have detected another vessel in pursuit.”

“Another spaceship?” Johnny asked. “Can you identify?”

“I believe it is a submarine of Earth origin,” said the ship, “although some of the technology is extremely advanced.”

“On screen,” said Johnny.

He hadn't been sure what to expect, but was stunned by the image that appeared—like a giant stingray with a beautifully streamlined, wide thin body and capable of keeping pace with the Krun spaceship just a little further beyond. He was dumbfounded. “No way is that from Earth,” he said.

“The submarine carries no governmental insignia and is running near silent,” Sol replied. “However, I have analyzed all audio communication and determined the commanding officer. She is speaking English.”

“Can I listen?” he asked.

“It is possible to generate a live feed,” Sol replied. “Relaying …
I'll show them whose jurisdiction it is now. Prepare the depth charges
.”

Johnny choked. He'd recognize that voice anywhere. It was Colonel Hartman.

“Are you all right, Johnny?” the ship asked, turning off the feed.

“Fine … thanks … I think,” said Johnny, coughing.

“The Krun ship is charging weapons,” said Sol. “Should I intervene?”

“Er …” It was an impossible choice and with no time to decide. Step in and they'd be forced to give themselves away, losing what could be their one chance to follow the Krun. Do nothing and a crew of humans, even if it was the Corporation's people, would almost certainly die. “No,” said Johnny. The Krun ship fired and the giant artificial ray was lit up by an eerie green halo. “Yes!” shouted Johnny, instantly changing his mind. He couldn't let this happen. The next moment it was as though a solid wall of water had been shot from the
Spirit of London
, slamming into the black vessel, disabling its weapons.

The Corporation's submarine had survived the Krun attack and, from out of its sides, came a spread of a dozen twinkling balls—in the gloom it was hard to tell what they were. Then flashes of light in quick succession flared around the black Krun cylinder. Cracks began appearing along the needled ship's hull. Johnny couldn't believe Colonel Hartman's sub could cause so much damage—maybe it was a delayed reaction from his own firing? The tail of the black ship broke away, filling the water with a cloud of green specks that seemed to move as one.

“What is that?” asked Johnny. “Magnify those green bits.”

The viewscreen homed in on a school of familiar-looking half-human, half-alien amphibians, kicking out with their webbed feet and swimming in formation away into the ocean depths.

Nearer at hand there was a blinding flash, then another and another, the last one so close it felt like it was right on the bridge. Johnny felt an incredible force pressing him back in his chair and making it impossible to breathe. The
Spirit of London
shuddered and then she nosedived.

“Sol!” Johnny shouted. “Are you OK? What happened?”

The ship's voice was far slower and deeper than normal. “Hyperspatial gravimetric charges,” she said. “I have lost propulsion.”

“I don't believe it,” said Kovac. “Finally I'm given the ability to move and I'm going to die before there's any chance to use it.”

“Shut up—nobody's going to die,” snapped Johnny. “Sol—fold us out of here—into orbit.” If the dark energy drive wasn't working there were many places Johnny would rather be while repairing it than at the bottom of the ocean.

“It's all very well you saying that,” said Kovac, “but I estimate the probability of everyone on board dying as 98.947%.”

The
Spirit of London
was heading directly into an undersea
cliff face, seemingly powerless to change direction. Johnny gripped the arms of his chair. There was a horrible crunch that reverberated all down the spine of the ship, before she rebounded off the rock wall, spiraling down into what must be some sort of trench. Outside the water was quickly becoming black as night.

“Unable … to … fold,” said Sol, extremely slowly. “Plican incapacitated … by … hyperspatial … charges … Shutting … down.”

Johnny spun around in his chair to see the central tank. The ship was right—the strange creature's body was even more scrunched up than normal and parts of it had become transparent.'

“Master Johnny—thank goodness,” said Alf, crawling out of the elevator shaft. “Whatever is going on?”

“Everything's offline,” Johnny shouted. “Sol's hurt—the Plican too. Have you seen Clara and Bentley?”

“No … and we are taking on water.”

“What?” Johnny couldn't believe it.

“Considering there must have been a hull breach, might I suggest emergency bulkheads?” said Kovac. “My probability for survival requires following an optimal strategy.”

“No,” shouted Johnny. “Not till we know where the others are. We're not cutting them off.” A trickle of water ran out of the elevator shaft and across the bridge. Johnny exchanged a nervous glance with Alf. They both knew the quantum computer had a point, but neither was prepared to take that most drastic of steps.

Alf spoke first. “Now might be an appropriate time to tell you I cannot swim.”

Johnny grimaced and raised his wristcom to his mouth. “Clara—can you hear me? Are you OK?” There was no reply. It couldn't get any worse. He went over to the elevator shaft and
peered inside. The water level was hard to gauge as there was a swell moving up and down the center of the ship, but it looked well over halfway and rising, even as he watched. He knew there must be air pockets still scattered throughout the
Spirit of London
—he had to hope. “I'm going in,” he said to Alf. If only he'd still been wearing his spacesuit there'd have been a far better chance of reaching Clara. Johnny was a rubbish swimmer and wasn't sure how long he'd be able to hold his breath, but it was the only option left to him. “If the water level reaches deck 40, put the bulkheads across. Save yourself and Sol and try to stop the Krun—that's an order.”

“You're not leaving me up here with this dozy tin can of a ship and her dithering mechanoid sidekick, are you?” said Kovac.

Johnny wanted to throw something at the computer. “Kovac, I'd love to take you with me, but …” A thought struck him. “Kovac—I'd love to take you. You're coming with me. Water's just another fluid—you must be able to fly through that too.”

“Salt water might corrode my casing.”