Battle for Earth (18 page)

“C'mon, Castle Dudbury,” shouted Mr. Davenport. “You're all warmed up now. Get at them right out of the blocks.” They did just that. Only a couple of minutes into the game, Ashvin, out on the right wing, played the ball low and hard into Johnny's feet on the edge of the Notts penalty area. Johnny shaped to control it, but at the last minute dummied and peeled away into the box, leaving his stripe-shirted marker flatfooted. The ball ran through to Dave, who laid it perfectly into Johnny's path. The Notts goalkeeper rushed off his line to narrow the angle and started to spread himself, diving too early. Johnny's first touch surprised the keeper, dinking the ball over the sprawling body with the outside of his left foot without even breaking his stride.

“Oh, bravo,” Dr. Carrington shouted again.

Johnny looked for Clara, but couldn't see her anywhere around the field. Then, as he ran back toward the touchline for the restart, he heard her shouting, “Good goal, Johnny.” She was bound to be making herself ill again with all this folding—he didn't understand her.

For the most part, the first half was comfortable and the referee had already checked his watch when Johnny slid into a crunching tackle near the center circle and came away with
the ball. Under pressure from three striped West Bridgford players, he had no option but to pass back to Naresh Choudhary, Micky's center-half partner, who panicked and played a backpass without looking, teeing an opposition forward up perfectly: one-one and all their good work was undone. The rest of the team looked really heavy-legged. Having sat out the last game, Johnny knew he would have to take charge and drive them forward.

It wasn't easy. Boosted by the goal right before the interval, the team from Notts kicked off the second half full of belief. Johnny had to be everywhere, making tackle after tackle to break up the incessant attacks. Winning the ball for the umpteenth time, he played it straight out to Ashvin on the right wing and then sprinted as hard as he could to make the overlap. Johnny took the marker away, allowing Ash to cut inside and slip past another defender, who hauled him down by holding onto his shirt. It was a free kick right on the edge of the penalty box. Johnny ran over to collect the ball and placed it just in front of a divot, as the West Bridgford goalie organized his wall.

Without the five-a-side field on the
Spirit of London
, he hadn't practiced properly for ages, but the offense was in an almost identical position to this time last year, when Johnny had scored direct from a free kick to win the Essex Schools Cup. He pictured that day in his mind, visualizing how he'd struck the ball. The referee checked his watch and ran into the penalty box, blowing for the kick to be taken.

Johnny took four steps backward and looked at the corner of the goal where he would be aiming. Then he focused on the back of the soccerball, running forward and striking it with his instep, trying to impart as much topspin and curl as he could manage. The ball cleared the wall. It looked as though it would keep rising and end up over the crossbar too, but at the very last second it dipped and bent, striking the top of the post and
carrying on into the net. It was two-one, with less than five minutes to go.

Those minutes seemed to last forever. Gritty defending was the order of the day. Twice Micky threw his body in the way of powerful shots and Ashvin cleared off the line when a goal looked certain. With a minute left, the Notts winger swung yet another corner into the penalty area. Johnny shouted his name and ran to meet the ball to head clear. He jumped, but then choked as his collar tightened around his neck—the player he'd been marking had grabbed his shirt and was holding on for all he was worth. The ball sailed over Johnny's head and dropped to a striped forward, who controlled it first time before hammering it into the roof of the net. The referee blew his whistle for the goal and three more times to indicate it was all over—they'd failed to qualify. Most of the team sank to their knees. Seeing Clara leading Bentley toward the row of poplar trees by the edge of the playing fields, Johnny followed. He shouted after her and she turned to face him, eyes jet black and her forehead glistening with perspiration. Close up, her arm that was holding the dog's lead looked strangely transparent—like the Plican.

“Are you OK?” he asked. She was frightening him.

“I'm going home,” said Clara, “and don't try to stop me.”

“Hold on a minute,” said Johnny. “I'll come with you.” Clara was freaking him out. He looked over his shoulder for any sign of the doctor or Miss Harutunian.

“Go to your meeting,” she said. “That's what you want, isn't it?”

“Of course not,” he was saying, but his sister had folded away, taking Bentley with her.

Johnny's wristcom was in the changing rooms. He ran toward the pavilion, overtaking his teammates who were trudging disconsolately away from the fields.

“Unlucky, Johnny,” someone shouted after him. “Shame you missed that header.”

Far more worried about his sister, he didn't bother replying. He reached the changing rooms first and strapped on the wristcom, but everyone else was coming in through the doors. Johnny ran outside for some privacy and tried to raise Alf.

“Have you found anything interesting out, Master Johnny?” asked the android.

“What? No—I've not been at Halader House.”

“It is very important we follow up every line of inquiry.”

“Alf, listen to me. There's nothing to follow up,” said Johnny. “Is Clara there?” He could hear the android asking Sol for his sister's whereabouts.

“Miss Clara is on the garden deck. We appear to be experiencing some problems—I have to go now. Make sure you perform a thorough check of the children's home.”

“Alf,” Johnny shouted, but the android must have closed the link.

“Come on, Johnny,” said Mr. Davenport, joining him outside and carrying a string bag full of soccerballs. “Everyone else is changed. Best not to hang around—we're heading straight back.” Johnny nodded, ran in through the doors and quickly pulled on his clothes over his soccer uniform.

It took well over an hour to make the drive home to Castle Dudbury. Johnny sat on the back row of the minibus and saw that Miss Harutunian was as good as her word, following behind all the way in a black Mini. The mood on the journey back was very subdued. There were a few comments that the last-minute goal they conceded had been Johnny's fault, but he just sat in silence worrying about Clara. Mr. Davenport had
already dropped half the team off when he turned into Barnard Way and came to a halt at some traffic lights.

“I'll get out here,” said Johnny, rushing to the front and sliding open the door before anyone could stop him. By the time someone had pushed it shut, Mr. Davenport had missed the lights turning green and Johnny was halfway across the train station parking lot. He jumped into the
Bakerloo
and thought,
30 St. Mary Axe.
He used the camouflage mode that made it appear to anyone on the outside that the
Bakerloo
was an ordinary black taxi, with a cab driver in the front and a single passenger on the back seat.

As the shuttlecraft drove along Barnard Way, Johnny passed his social worker's black Mini going in the other direction, with Dr. Carrington in the front passenger seat pointing furiously forward. Soon Johnny found a side street with neither traffic nor CCTV cameras, thought,
Shields on,
and saw the
Bakerloo
vanish around him. A fraction of a second later, he was invisible too, soaring into the sky and heading toward London.

It was the end of the working day and the streets of the capital were busy, meaning the last mile of Johnny's journey took ten times as long as all the rest put together. He'd tried calling everyone on the
Spirit of London
from his wristcom, but communications had been cut. He finally reached St. Mary Axe, found somewhere to stop and leapt from the shuttle into the crowd of workers who were pouring out from underneath the giant “M” and “W.” Johnny used them as a shield, to avoid the glare of the blue-uniformed security guards and sneak through one of the four sets of revolving doors at the foot of the ship.

Something was badly wrong—the
Spirit of London
was full of people. “Sol!” he shouted out. “Are you OK? What's
happening?” A few of the people, all in suits, stared at Johnny and the ship didn't respond. Had Alf been right about the danger of staying in this spot? It was as if the whole of deck zero was swarming with Krun. Johnny vaulted a barrier and made for the elevators beside the statue of the silver alien. A hand tried to haul him back, but he wriggled free and leapt inside the antigrav shaft, shouting, “Bridge,” only to find himself sprawled on the floor of a proper elevator with several bemused faces looking down at him. The doors closed and one of them asked Johnny, “What floor?”

He couldn't reply and instead simply stared upward, dazed and confused. The truth dawned that for the very first time in his life he was inside the London Gherkin—the original building. What had happened to his spaceship?

By the time the doors opened again he was on his feet, to be met by a burly security guard in round glasses who grabbed hold of Johnny's shirt and pulled him out of the elevator.

“I have apprehended the intruder, over,” said the guard into a walkie-talkie.

“Good work, Colin,” said the voice on the other end.

“I am escorting the intruder along the tenth-floor corridor to the service elevator—no assistance required, over.”

“Very good, Colin,” the voice replied.

Gripping tightly onto the back of Johnny's shirt, Colin was pushing him forcibly along with Johnny in no mood to resist. They stopped and he was held against a wall while the guard pressed an elevator-call button.

“There's an easy way or a hard way to do this,” said Colin. “If you come quietly, we may not press charges.”

“Just get me out of here,” Johnny replied.

“Well, that sort of attitude's not going to help,” said Colin. “You should have thought of that before you came breaking and entering.”

“It was a mistake,” said Johnny. The elevator doors opened and he stepped straight inside.

“Let me see,” said the infuriating guard, enjoying Johnny's impatience to escape. “I suppose you saw this gigantic building in the center of London and thought it was where you live, did you?”

Johnny rolled his eyes.

Colin spoke into his walkie-talkie again. “The intruder is proving difficult. Is another van expected tonight, over?”

“One on its way now, Colin,” said the voice at the other end.

“
Come to me, Johnny,
” said a deep, earthy voice inside his head. “
I need live ones.
”

Johnny couldn't believe it—there may not have been Krun in the Gherkin, but the guards were actively helping feed the Queen, and he couldn't stop hearing her voice.

Finally the guard entered the elevator, allowing the doors to close. It took forever to reach the ground floor, but as soon as it did Johnny dropped his shoulder as if about to run one way and then sidestepped the guard to go the other. Within a flash Johnny was in the lobby—there was no way he was going to be put into one of those unmarked vans. He was through the revolving doors and out into the plaza even before Colin had turned and begun to give chase. Johnny forced his way between the bankers, crossed the little square and climbed into the
Bakerloo
. He gulped a few lungfuls of air and, from the safety of his shuttle, watched as half a dozen security guards fanned out from under the entrance in search of him. It was hard to believe the
Spirit of London
would have taken off without him, but it was the only possible explanation.

“Master Johnny, are you receiving me?” Alf's voice was coming through his hidden earpiece.

“Where are you?” Johnny asked, raising the wristcom to his mouth. “I just got caught inside the real Gherkin.”