Battle for Earth (15 page)

“Sol?” he asked.

“Master Johnny—excellent. You are awake. How do you feel?” Alf, not the ship, had responded.

“Orange,” Johnny replied. “What happened? Where are we?”

“We are, at least I hope, on the seabed. I do not think I could take another fall down the trench. Kovac has calculated our position as 8724.209 meters below the surface. You may have noticed I placed you in a gel pod. It seemed a wise precaution—the same applied to Bentley and Miss Clara.”

“But they're OK?” Johnny asked.

“You all appear to be making full recoveries,” said the android, “your sister especially so. I have concluded that being exposed to such sudden, extreme cold, your bodies shut down and have, effectively, rebooted.”

“What about Sol?” Johnny asked.

“It sounds as though you are ready to see for yourself,” Alf replied. “The emergency bulkheads are holding, but Sol herself is … not herself. I hope you will be able to help her. I shall drain the pod manually.”

The orange goo oozed from the chamber, but there was no familiar trunk to vacuum the remains off Johnny. Covered in orange gunk and still lightly inflated, he stood up, opened the door and stepped onto the bridge. The ship's clear walls showed the view outside—black as space, only without the stars. It was terrible to think of all those kilometers of water pressing down on them.

“Aha—come to thank your heroic savior, have you?” said Kovac. The computer's casing was pitted and marked, but glowed with pride as he spoke.

“Thanks,” said Johnny. He sat down in his chair and began checking which systems were still working. There weren't many, but at least, if the gyroscopes were to be believed, the
Spirit of London
had settled vertically upright on the ocean floor.

“Is that all?” asked Kovac. “I risk everything to go into that water not once, not twice, but three times to save your skins, and all you can say is, ‘Thanks'?”

Johnny couldn't help smiling. “Kovac,” he said, “you were absolutely incredible. Without you, we'd be dead. Thank you.”

“Yes, I was incredible, wasn't I? You know, I rather surprised myself and that's no easy task. When I pushed you up—”

“Kovac,” said Johnny again, “what would be even more incredible would be for you to think of how we might get out of here … quietly.”

“Sadly,” said Alf, “the Plican does look in rather a bad way.”

Johnny spun around to examine the tank. He could see straight through half the creature's body. He knew very little about the being that propelled his ship through space, but was sure that becoming part transparent couldn't be a good thing. “We need Clara,” he said simply.

Alf was standing beside the chair, holding his bowler hat which he was twiddling around and around very quickly between his fingers. “I really do not think it is a good idea to ask your sister to fold us out of here,” said the android, looking at the floor rather than directly at Johnny. “Clara has only just recovered—such an act could bring about a relapse.”

“Relax, Alf,” said Johnny. “Clara's not going to be doing any folding, but she can help make the Plican better. I'm sure of it.”

“Let us hope so,” the android replied. “If that is the case, I shall begin draining her chamber.”

Johnny's checks showed that most of the ship's systems were in emergency hibernation mode. Life support was functioning, which was reassuring, and there was background power in some areas. It was as if Colonel Hartman's charges had knocked Sol out and she needed some sort of stimulus to awake. It had to have been a very lucky shot from the Corporation's submarine, but even so it was a little frightening. He remembered a few months ago, when the Regent's forces had threatened to stop the
Spirit of London
leaving Melania,
they'd released hyperspatial gravimetric charges as a warning. It was obvious where the Colonel had acquired them and her other alien technology—presumably as payment for testifying against Johnny at his trial.

One of the gel pods opened and out onto the bridge, blinking and rubbing the remaining orange goo out of her eyes, stepped Clara. Once it had gone, they looked reassuringly back to their normal pale blue with silver flecks. She smiled and said, “Hi, everyone.” Then she caught sight of the cylindrical tank, and added, “Oh, the poor Plican,” and rushed over.

“Is there anything you can do?” Johnny asked.

His sister had placed her hands on the tank and was studying the strange, multidimensional creature. “I think so,” she said. “It's a matter of coaxing it back into our space, but I'll have to be gentle. It could take a while.” She looked around the bridge and into the blackness outside. “Are we OK down here?” she asked.

“Miss Clara, take as much time as you need,” said Alf. “We have life support and emergency power. I daresay Kovac will be more than happy to visit the galley and furnish you with rations as necessary.”

“You do, do you?” said the quantum computer in the corner.

Alf went on, “We are perfectly safe.”

“Then what's that?” asked Johnny, pointing between his sister and the android to beyond the hull, where the biggest eye he'd ever seen was staring back at him. It blinked and disappeared.

“What's what?” Clara asked, turning to where he'd pointed.

“It was out there,” said Johnny. “Something was watching us.”

“Master Johnny—are you certain you have fully recovered from your ordeal. No one would think any less of …” Alf stopped talking as something scraped along the ship's hull.

Everyone held their breath.

“There!” shouted Clara, pointing behind Johnny. He spun around but there was nothing.

“Oh my goodness,” said Alf, staring transfixed in another direction again.

This time everyone saw the eye staring back.

“There's another,” said Clara.

Johnny looked to his side and spotted a slightly smaller, milkier eye just beyond the windows of the bridge. Then, as all three of them watched in horror, more gigantic eyes emerged from the gloom, along with the faintest outlines of massive, writhing bodies.

“What are they?” Clara whispered.

As if to answer her question, something long and thick slid across the ship's hull—a gigantic tentacle with suckers bigger than dinner plates. Another joined it, and another, planting themselves very firmly on the outside of the ship.

“Giant squid,” Johnny whispered, though he'd never heard of any
this
big. The bridge began to sway, as the massive animals bashed the ship, sending her one way then the other.

“This is not good,” said Alf.

They lurched alarmingly as if the
Spirit of London
herself were about to topple over, but then she was pulled upright again.

“They're playing with us,” said Johnny. “Like a cat that's caught a mouse and knows it can't get away.”

“One is inside the ship,” shouted Alf, staring at a console. “What do we do?”

“The bulkheads will keep it out of here,” said Johnny hopefully. “Clara—the Plican.”

Clara tore herself away from the scene outside and got to work, but then the ship tilted again. They were rocked first one way and then the other, back and forth, each time going further and further. With no artificial gravity, Alf was the only
one who could stay on his feet, standing at what looked a very unlikely angle. Johnny was clinging to the Plican's tank, but Clara was sliding from one side of the bridge to the other.

“Alf,” Johnny shouted, “put Clara in the chair.”

The next time Clara slid by, the android caught her and heaved her into the captain's chair at the center of the bridge. Quickly she strapped herself in. This time, though, the
Spirit of London
teetered, balancing along her bottom edge one hundred and eighty meters below, but didn't return to her center. She had passed the point of no return. There was a deathly groan from within as the stresses on the spaceship grew and, very slowly at first, she began to topple.

Not even Alf could stand up through this—he and Johnny were flung toward the far wall while poor Clara was left hanging. They reached the near horizontal. Johnny was sure he was done for and braced for impact but, in the nick of time, air bags inflated from the inner walls. There was an almighty bang as spaceship struck seabed. Johnny bounced and then settled again. Water ran out of the elevator shaft and sloshed over him. Thankfully there wasn't much—it appeared the bulkheads were still sound. Johnny breathed a sigh of relief.

Far above him, dangling from the chair, Clara said, “Will somebody
please
get me out of here?”

Alf was already on his feet. Kovac hovered partway up, oblivious to everyone's discomfort. Then another giant eye appeared outside the hull. Next moment, the suckers had returned and, due to their efforts, the ship began to roll across the ocean floor.

“I … don't … like … this,” said Clara spinning in the chair at the center of the bridge.

Johnny knew what she meant. He felt like a hamster inside one of those clear plastic balls being rolled across a very bumpy carpet.

He knew it was down to him to act. Johnny forced his arms into the gaps between the cushions to reach through to the inner hull. Just outside was another of the massive inhuman eyes, staring in. The ship rolled backward, but he didn't let go. He thought about all the atoms there must be between his hands and didn't even have to close his eyes to picture the electrons they contained. He started them moving, while staring at the giant squid just a few meters away as the electricity flowed backward and forward between his fingers. The current started small, but doubled in size every time it bounced from one hand to another. For a second the ship stopped rolling and settled. Johnny let the sparks fly. Outside, through the airbags, the ocean was lit up, as if by one lightning strike after another and another. Unexpectedly, in the midst of it all, Johnny saw ruined buildings dotted around the sea floor, ancient and majestic. He also saw more giant squid than he would have believed possible, but none could stay clinging to the hull.

“Ouch,” said a female voice. “What have I missed?” It was Sol. The main lights came back on and gravity and the bridge's orientation were deftly restored, with Clara now sitting calmly at the very center of the deck and Johnny sprawled on the floor at her feet.

“That's much better,” said Johnny's sister. He looked beyond her and saw the Plican had become substantial again—as healthy as ever.

“Is everybody all right?” asked Sol. “Rather a lot appears to have been going on.”

“We're fine if you are,” Johnny replied. “Please can we fold … now.”

A tentacle again slid along the outside of the hull—the squid were returning and Sol didn't need telling twice. A blue light pulsed at the top of the Plican's tank and the creature fell
through into the main compartment, unfurling eight tentacles of its own. The rocky wall of an ocean trench came rushing toward and then through Johnny. He was pulled another way, and crossed a barrier between water and air. Then came a jerk upward at great speed into the blackness of space. Finally it was ninety degrees in another direction again. The
Spirit of London
's hull flew through him and settled into its right place.

The Moon hung bold and bright nearby, dominating the view. Johnny's stomach, though, felt as if it was still on the ocean floor. The horrible thought of all the salt water he'd swallowed over the last few hours returned to him—he simply couldn't help it and was sick all over the deck.

“Are you OK?” asked Clara, walking across with a pitying look in her eyes, but careful to stop far enough away to keep her toes out of trouble.

Johnny nodded, but then was sick one more time.

Politely ignoring this, Clara added, “Your eyes go all silver when you do that thing with electricity—just like Mum's.”

Johnny had never known—he'd seen it in his sister, but not in himself.

“The Plican folded before I was able to vent the water and additional debris,” said Sol. “It did appear a good time to leave. If you have no objections, I would like to discharge the detritus.”

“Give me a minute,” said Johnny, getting to his feet and walking across to reboot Alf.

It turned out that, as well as containing around a quarter of a million cubic meters of seawater, there were several very long tentacles now lying at the foot of the ship. They must have been severed when the
Spirit of London
folded but, try as he might, Johnny struggled to feel much sympathy for their previous owners.

He decided it would be a terrible waste to simply send all that water out of an airlock, so they hovered above a crater near the Moon's South Pole and released the unwanted cargo there. The Sun's rays never penetrated to the foot of the one
he'd picked, meaning the water would freeze and stay frozen. There were other ice-filled reservoirs like this, clustered around the satellite's poles. One day, when humanity was ready to take that step further out, their water would be an invaluable resource for a lunar colony. They might even enjoy the deep-frozen squid and it would be funny hearing the scientists argue over where it could possibly have come from.

Although the
Spirit of London
was largely self-cleaning and despite Alf's best additional efforts, it would be a while before the combined smell of salt water and squid went or they became used to it. The garden would have to be completely regrown. The shuttles on deck 2 had been turned upside down and even the statue of the silver alien on deck zero had been washed all the way across from the bottom of the elevators to the main entrance. It took a gravity assist from Sol to return it to its original position.

They had to hope the Emperor's shield generators, somehow still in the
Piccadilly,
remained undamaged, and deposited them as instructed at the two stable points where the Earth's and Moon's gravitational fields canceled out. All the ferrying around and cleaning up took time, but Johnny knew they couldn't put off forever the moment when a decision had to be made. The
Spirit of London
had only been able to stand in the heart of the City thanks to a complex simultaneous fold. At the exact instant the Plican brought the ship out of orbit, Clara (who always had to travel to Earth in advance by shuttlecraft) would send the original Gherkin building into the hyperspace niche she had built for it. Unless his sister began folding again, they would need to find a new place to land and some hitherto unthought-of way of having two identical and very distinctive 180-meter-tall skyscrapers at different places without anyone noticing.