Battle for Earth (20 page)

Even from behind, Johnny recognized the outline of the tall, thin Phasmeer with its antennae fully erect—he'd known as soon as he'd seen the ridiculous slippers it had always insisted on wearing. Standing atop the Senate Platform, before the watching multitude, was the traitor Chancellor Gronack.

“Are you happy to be ruled by nothing more than a simple robot?” demanded the Phasmeer, squeaking in Universal.

With one voice, the crowd bayed, “No!”

“The Emperor has taken you for fools—taken you all for
granted,” shrieked Gronack. Johnny could see Ophia's eyes were open and aware and that her spine snaked and squirmed as if searching for the body it was meant to fit. As the scene widened, Johnny saw that, as well as the scattered, floating Hundra and other airborne beings in the crowd, one familiar four-winged, two-headed alien reporter was hovering in the air directly above the Phasmeer—Z'habar Z'habar Estagog was commentating on the scene.

“Here on the historic Senate Platform,” said one of the heads before the second added, “
Scene of the Terran Johnny Mackintosh's murder of the Regent.
” “A dreadful day …
terrible
… we are once again, exclusively live for the Milky Way News Network—
the number one Vermalcast of all the news, all the time, from all across the galaxy
—bringing you history in the making.
Aeons of Imperial rule are being swept aside
. Chancellor Gronack is addressing the expectant crowd.”

“Bram Khari is no longer worthy to rule,” Gronack said in its weedy Phasmeer voice. “See how he has abandoned his galaxy for this foolhardy campaign against our peaceful neighbors. The Andromedans are not your enemy. The real foe was the old man—for man he was—in the Imperial Palace.” Some of the crowd gasped at the Phasmeer's blatant heresy—most had been brought up to believe the Emperor was a god. “Well, I have news for our absent Emperor—it's time for change.” The crowd roared its approval. “There is a new power on Melania—a power that will dominate the galaxy in ways never before dreamed of. Perhaps the wingless among you yearn to fly?”

Watching from behind Gronack, it was as if a searchlight had fallen upon the vast crowd, beaming out from the former Chancellor itself. Those aliens it fell upon rose into the air, climbing higher and higher in rapture. A chant began, swelling among the masses: “Gro-nack, Gro-nack, Gro-nack, Gro-nack …”

The Phasmeer raised its long arms to silence them. “But what I give,” it went on, “always remember I can take away.”

The beam of light cut off as if the ex-Chancellor had thrown a switch. Those aliens high in the sky fell, quicker than they would have on Earth due to the stronger Melanian gravity. There were some screams but, after a brief pause, most of the crowd roared their approval at this demonstration of might. Gronack dominated the multitude in a way Johnny would never have thought possible. The Phasmeer's speech was building to a crescendo. “It's time for change—no longer will we have to tolerate the views of those who think differently from us. It's time for change—any who resist Melanian rule will bow before us or see their star systems destroyed. It's time for change—why should we look after those too weak to care for themselves? Only the fittest will survive. What is it time for?”

“Change,” roared the crowd.

“What is it time for?” demanded Gronack again.

“Change,” came the reply, even louder this time.

“What is it time for?” asked the Phasmeer a third time, its thin arms held aloft and its robes now a deep purple, like a three-meter-tall regal butterfly.

“Change!” clamored the crowd.

The view swept around to show Gronack face on. Johnny let out a gasp—the picture wobbled, but then came back into focus. Welded onto one half of the Phasmeer's long narrow face was a mask, blacker than space itself. From the place where the ex-Chancellor's eye had been covered, shone a beam of intense white light so bright it looked almost solid. This was Nicky's mask, the means by which the Nameless One had controlled Johnny's brother for ten long years—the mask that had lain beside the frozen body in the snow.

Johnny felt as if he was swinging inexorably into the searchlight shining out from the mask—something he was
desperate to avoid. He knew the hatred that lurked behind the light—the Nameless One himself, the most terrible power in the universe. Johnny waved his arms all across the crystal plinth, but a force like a powerful magnet held his face in a vice, unable to turn away from the chamber.

The beam fell on Johnny and burned like the heat of a thousand suns. He screamed in pain and grabbed the sides of the dome to stop himself falling. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the rage he felt frying his brain. Something was happening to the thought chamber. Johnny could feel the whole structure begin to vibrate. He didn't want to look, but sensed waves rippling across the solid transparent top.

The dome rocked on its foundations; the vibrations running through it grew bigger and bigger. Johnny had to see for himself, but immediately wished he hadn't. A face filled the chamber, dark and terrible, staring back at his own from behind a black mask that covered every part of it except the eyes, like pits, even darker than Clara's had become. The only detail was a single bright star painted onto one side. Any moment now the top of the dome would crack and either Johnny would be sucked inside or the Nameless One would be standing on Titan beside him. There would be nowhere to run.

One of the Monks flew between Johnny and the face within the dome. Another swooped down, and then another and another. Although there had hardly been any room for one, so close was Johnny's nose to the vibrating shell of the chamber, they seemed to fit easily in the gap. As the fifth Monk arrived, its cloak billowing in a nonexistent breeze, the waves crossing the transparent dome lessened and, by the time a few more of the creatures had arrived, the ripples had vanished altogether. The Nameless One appeared farther away, standing beside a dancing blue fire, his gaze less potent than before. A couple more Monks joined the blockade and Johnny felt the wall they
created strengthen and solidify. The Nameless One lifted a hood over his masked face and turned away. When the next scarlet figure flew to the group beside Johnny, the link closed and only a swirling mist remained within the dome.

Next, long bony fingers attached to skeletal wrists reached out from underneath the scarlet robes, grabbing hold of Johnny's hands. An icy cold, like death, began spreading up his arms. Johnny was taken up into a cloud of the red beings, flying with them to the boundary of the golden lake.

The Monks opened their cloaks and, holding tightly onto Johnny, spiraled upward in tight circles, like birds catching a thermal. Despite the aching cold that now gripped his chest and numbed his forehead, he hoped they wouldn't let go. His clone had fallen into the lake of liquid chronons, never to return, and Johnny wasn't keen to experience the same dreadful fate. It looked as if all twenty-four Monks were in the group now, and they leveled off, creating a horseshoe shape vertically above the golden boundary with Johnny held in the middle of the formation, just as they'd done with Bram when Johnny had raced the Emperor around the lake.

The next thing he knew, instead of being perfectly still and flat, the edge of the lake was stretching and distorting, lifting into the sky all the way around, leaving only its very center unmoved. He wondered why the fluid didn't drain down the curving cone-shaped walls—was this one of the unusual properties of chronons? Then his perspective shifted and, as he viewed it now, the surface of the lake was still flat. But if he looked at it differently, he could force himself to see the cone shape. Again he thought about the space the lake occupied and it became flat. He could choose how to see it, like those skeleton cubes where the face nearest to you varied depending on how you made yourself view it.

The sides of the cone had curved in on themselves, almost
touching. The Monks at both ends of the horseshoe stepped effortlessly across the narrow gap in one small movement. From the perspective of the flat surface, they had folded the hundred meters or so all the way to the other side. Two more went across, every bit as easily, and then another pair and another. It was all very well, but what would happen when he was abandoned in midair on his own? He didn't have to wait long to find out.

He fell—not straight down but parallel to the golden cone-shaped edge. He flapped his arms and legs, the lake became flat and now he was falling vertically toward its center. Terrified, desperate not to be submerged forever beneath the surface of chronons, he tried to picture the cone again and his rate of descent slowed not far above its very apex. He leveled off and, incredibly, found himself falling
up
the other side of the lake, rising parallel to the wall of gold until he reached the top and rejoined the group of Owlessan Monks. He'd done it. He'd folded again. The Monks were trying to teach him how—he could see that, but he was far from sure he understood.

Two took his wrists and again the warmth of his body was overwhelmed as an icy cold engulfed him. Once more, the surface of the lake became a two-dimensional surface in a three-dimensional world—there was no other way to see it. The Monks were dispersing, flying off in all directions to the boundary and beyond. The two holding Johnny deposited him on the ground near the gateway back to Titan proper. They let go and he sank to the floor, rubbing his wrists to regain the circulation and bring the warmth his body needed. It wasn't working—it was probably wise to take a little break before attempting another fold. His teeth began to chatter. He felt as cold as when the
Spirit of London
had sunk to the ocean floor and he'd been forced to swim through the freezing water. Now his whole body was shaking. With difficulty, Johnny stood and
tried to walk toward his shuttle where it would be warm. He knew it wasn't far but, having staggered only a few paces, the ground seemed more inviting. In his head, the deep growl of the Krun Queen was telling him to give up. That he should simply lie down, curl himself into as tight a ball as he could and go to sleep.

When Johnny opened his eyes, it took several seconds to work out where he was and then a few more wondering how he'd arrived there. He was staring at the sickbay ceiling on board the
Spirit of London
. He sat up and all the blood rushed from his head, the room began to swim out of focus and there was barking coming from nearby. As Johnny lay down again, Bentley began licking his hand that was dangling over the side of the bed. Automatically he rubbed the Old English sheepdog's head.

“Sol,” said Johnny, “what am I doing in sickbay?”

“Hello, Johnny,” said the ship. “You have been recovering from acute hypothermia. I am pleased to report your vital signs are nearly back to normal.”

“But how did I get here?”

“Alf brought you to sickbay 79 hours, 14 minutes and 47.36 seconds ago.”

“What?” said Johnny, sitting bolt upright. This time he was able to stay in that position. “More than three days?”

“Affirmative, Johnny. Your condition was very serious.”

“Wow,” he said softly. “How did he find me?”

“I have informed Alf that you are awake and sitting up and he is en route to sickbay. You will be able to question him on the details shortly.”

The doors swished open and in rushed the android. “Oh, Master Johnny, what am I supposed to do with you? When I
found you unconscious like that I thought I'd lost you as well as your sister.”

The mention of Clara was like someone slapping Johnny in the face. “Well, I feel fine now,” he said. “I have to go back to the Fountain of Time and try again. I was learning how to fold. I did sort of see how it's done, but maybe you should come with me.”

“Oh, I am sorry, Master Johnny. That will not be possible straightaway.”

“What do you mean, ‘not possible'?” Johnny asked. He wasn't strong enough for another argument about the wisdom of trying to rescue Clara.

“What was I to do, given everything that is happening? I brought the
Spirit of London
back to Earth. We are in high polar orbit, surveying the planet for Krun activity. And there is an urgent message from Miss Louise—sent more than two days ago.”

Although Alf had only been doing what he thought best, Johnny was furious to have left Titan so quickly, without even attempting to rescue his sister first. He promised himself he would return to Saturn's largest moon as soon as he could, but now they were orbiting Earth it was impossible to ignore the Krun activity any longer. Several TV channels were showing pictures of the newly elected Secretary General of the United Nations—unmistakably a Krun in human form, smiling coldly into the world's cameras. According to the bulletins, abductions and cases of missing persons were on the rise across the globe. Johnny wanted to punch the screen when the alien promised the problem would soon be brought under control.