Battle for Earth (16 page)

Alf had called a meeting—he, Clara, Johnny and Bentley were in the strategy room on deck 14. “I believe the time has come,” said the android, “to look for a new, better-hidden base for the
Spirit of London
when on Earth. We must search for potential sites, or create a new one, as a matter of urgency.”

“I rather think there are other priorities,” said Clara. “Like whether Louise is OK.”

“Alf has already requested I attempt to make contact,” said Sol.

“Good,” said Clara. “So what's wrong with London anyway?”

“I believe,” said Alf, “that with the renewed Krun activity it is important to be nearer to Johnny in Halader House.” Johnny was a hundred percent certain that the real reason was that Alf didn't want Clara to fold the Gherkin away into hyperspace.

“It takes two minutes to fly to Halader House,” said Clara. “Surely, with all this ‘renewed Krun activity,' it's more important than ever to be in London?”

“We also know,” said the android, not to be deflected, “that the Krun have identified the
Spirit of London
's regular location.” That was true, Johnny thought. When Nicky, in his guise of General Nymac, had cloned Johnny, it was to Stevens he'd turned to train up Johnny's double. One day, the clone had actually come aboard and pretended to be Johnny. “Another reason,” Alf went on, “why we need a new landing site—probably underground.”

“Look,” said Clara, “I'm not stupid. I know you've all been talking about this behind my back. The real reason is that you don't want me to fold, but I'm better now. I've proved it. I folded us off Mars and nothing bad happened. That stuff in the thought chamber … it wasn't true. Don't you see I can keep folding? I'm cured.”

“Master Johnny—some help, please.”

Clara and Alf both turned to him, waiting for an answer.
Johnny took a deep breath. “OK,” he said. “Clara—you must remember how scared you were by the thought chamber? By the Klein fold.”

“But I'm better now.”

“Just because you folded once … it doesn't mean you're cured. Alf's right. We do need a new place for the ship.”

“Thank you, Master Johnny,” said the android.

“Typical,” said Clara. “I knew you'd side with him. You never let me make my own decisions.” She crossed her arms and looked away.

“I'm not siding with anyone,” said Johnny. He hated the way his sister wouldn't even look at him. “If you'd let me finish, I was going to say that Alf's right in the long run, but I can't think of any massive unexplored underground caves between London and Essex, so we'll have to build one. And we can't do that from up here.”

“Master Johnny,” said Alf, “I hope you are not suggesting—”

“Alf,” said Johnny, cutting in. “What choice do we have? We're not going to stop the Krun from up here, and Clara does seem OK.”

Now the android crossed his arms and looked away. Johnny felt terrible. He stroked the Old English sheepdog's fur underneath his collar and at least Bentley responded by rubbing a wet nose into his chest.

Alf had insisted on accompanying Clara in the
Bakerloo
and looking after her during the simultaneous fold. Of course, Clara was furious at the very thought, saying more than once, “I'm not a little girl anymore.” For Johnny, it was a relief to have them both off the ship. He was watching them now on the viewscreen, using the
Bakerloo
's cameras. Clara was sitting on a little brick wall that bordered the plaza in which the Gherkin
stood. Beyond her, the London skyline was reflected in the beautiful diamond-patterned windows while, at the foot of the building, workers were walking in and out underneath the massive entrance, made from a giant “M” above a matching “W.” Johnny liked to think it stood for “Mackintosh” above the stars of Cassiopeia.

Clara turned toward the camera and said, “Ready when you are.” Beside her Alf gritted his teeth and gave the agreed signal—raising his bowler hat.

“OK,” Johnny replied. “Sol—count us down from three.”

Immediately the ship said, “Three …” the gravity generators on the bridge were turned off and Johnny floated into the air. “Two …” the Plican's tank glowed with a strange blue light. “One …” The creature pushed itself out of its cramped compartment into the main cylinder. “Now.”

Johnny couldn't keep watching the screen because it flew toward and through him and then away into the distance. He felt as if he was falling at incredible speed toward London. At the last moment he was jerked upward and the ship's hull snapped back into position around him. His stomach took a few seconds to catch up, but somehow he managed not to be sick.

Floating in the artificial zero G of the ship, Johnny stared again at the viewscreen. It was as though there were now two London Gherkins, superimposed but not quite in the right place—like the ghosting of a weak TV signal. Sol turned the gravity on and Johnny fell into his chair. When he looked again, the
Spirit of London
's outline was razor sharp against a beautiful blue sky.

“Hello, Clara,” said Sol.

Johnny spun the chair around and nearly jumped. His sister had unfolded onto the bridge right beside the Plican's tank.

“I feel so much better,” she said, grinning from ear to ear.

A few seconds later, a disgruntled Alf stepped out of the elevators saying, “Miss Clara—you must only fold when absolutely necessary.”

“Don't be such a bore, Alf,” she replied. “It's quick, it's fun and I don't have to scare myself half to death by standing in that thing.”

“That thing is a very luxurious antigravity shaft,” the android replied.

“Enough—both of you,” yelled Johnny. “We have more important things to worry about, like stopping the Krun.”

“Yet you insist on ignoring one of the few pieces of evidence we have,” said Kovac, who lifted off the floor and floated across.

“What are you talking about?” asked Johnny.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” replied the quantum computer. “I have persistently informed you that somebody at Halader House is eavesdropping on both the Krun and the Corporation, yet you choose not to investigate.”

“Not this again,” said Johnny. “There's nothing to investigate.”

“Are you quite certain, Master Johnny?” asked Alf. “If Kovac believes it to be important …”

“Look,” said Johnny. “There's no reason me even being at Halader House anymore. Bram's gone and the Tolimi went with him—the Wormholes are pointless. It's much better for me to be here.”

“I don't know,” said Clara. “I thought there was something funny about the place.”

“Now who's siding with everyone else?” said Johnny, exasperated. “OK—first step, Halader House. Let's get it out of the way.”

“I have received an SMS,” said Sol. “It's from Louise, requesting you go to Santorini.”

“Now that's a much better idea,” said Johnny. “We can take the
Piccadilly
.”

“As Miss Clara did remind us,” said Alf, “Halader House is only two minutes away by shuttle. Surely it is more efficient to go there first?”

Johnny threw his hands up in the air in despair and said, “Sol—tell her we're coming. It'll just take a few minutes.”

Johnny had snuck into Halader House hoping not to be spotted, but glancing down the main corridor that looked near impossible. He stopped just in time to hear Miss Harutunian explaining to his school friends Dave and Ash that he wasn't around right now, but that she wanted to show them something down in the basement. He wondered what on Earth they were thinking of, returning to the scene of their crime, but then he saw Mr. Davenport, the soccer coach, was standing the other side of the main doors checking his watch. Following suit, Johnny saw the date on his wristcom. He hadn't thought—it was the day of the big tournament.

Normally he loved soccer as much if not more than anything, but right now it was something he could do without. He was considering simply slipping away and out the back door, when the thought was cemented by the arrival of the next person to walk in through the main entrance. Tall and balding, with only a few hairs combed across his pale scalp and with round steel-framed spectacles, it was Dr. Carrington. He shuffled in wearing a long raincoat and carrying a leather case. As Johnny crouched at the corner of the stairs, he heard the doctor greet the red-haired social worker who, very apologetically indeed, especially with the doctor having come all this way from Tunguska, explained again that Johnny was nowhere to be found.

It was definitely time to go. Johnny backed away, desperate to stay out of sight, when a voice behind him boomed,
“Sneaking out the way you came in are you, sonny? I don't think so.”

A thick hand was placed in the small of Johnny's back as Mr. Wilkins pushed him forward into the open. He could feel the hairs of the cook's bushy beard tickling the back of his neck—it wasn't pleasant. He was guided toward the little gathering in front of the main doors.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” said the cook.

“Jonathan—good to see you, yes … very good,” said Dr. Carrington as Johnny was pushed center stage. “Miss Harutunian here told me you'd gone missing. I was worried. Missing … yes.”

“Er … hi,” said Johnny, desperately wishing he was anywhere else. The only reason Dr. Carrington could have for coming here was to perform tests on Johnny, which were very unlikely to be pleasant. Right now, a few soccer matches sounded a far better option. “I'm sorry if you've come a long way, but I have this really big soccer tournament I can't miss. I was just going to get my uniform.”

“Johnny's our star player,” said Ash. Johnny wanted to kick him. He needed the doctor to think he was as ordinary as possible. Outside, Mr. Davenport had caught sight of them all and was tapping his watch, urging them to hurry.

“How very interesting … indeed,” said Dr. Carrington. “A chance to witness your sporting prowess at first hand … first hand, yes. Why don't we go to the match, Miss Harutunian?” he asked.

“Well, Johnny,” said his social worker, a slight twinkle in her eye. “You heard the good doctor—go get your shoes.”

Behind, Mr. Wilkins growled with annoyance. Johnny turned and ran up the stairs, trying to put as much distance between him and the strange group in the hallway as possible. At the end of the corridor he climbed the spiral staircase,
pulled down his trapdoor and flung himself onto the bed. He raised the wristcom to his mouth and began trying to explain what was happening.

“Master Johnny—we do not have time for this,” came Alf's voice in his ear. “You are meant to be checking for a hidden surveillance network, not going out to play with your friends.”

“Alf—it's not like that. It isn't up to me,” said Johnny.

“I like watching Johnny's soccer,” he heard Clara say in the background. “I think I'll go—I'll bring Bentley.”