Battle for Earth (23 page)

“OK,” he said. “I know you're right, but I hate the thought of dealing with Colonel Hartman.”

“Why ever would we want to do that, Master Johnny?” asked Alf. “I know things are desperate, but there are limits.” Relief washed over Johnny. The android continued, “I have been following the progress of a certain David Bond, an Australian rocket scientist who, with a few nudges in the right direction, might be able to design humanity's first Starfighters.”

“And you know this guy how?” asked Johnny.

“When I attempt the crossword,” said Alf, “there are other parts of the newspaper I read.”

Under cover of night, Johnny landed his Imperial Starfighter in a hidden niche between two of the large white sail-like domes that formed the roof of the Sydney Opera House. There was just about room for one, tightly squeezed passenger and Louise had insisted on coming too. She said she needed to do something to stop herself thinking about Peter, and Johnny had hardly felt in a position to refuse. Louise said she didn't blame Johnny for what had happened, but that didn't stop him feeling responsible for leading the Krun straight to the cave.

Johnny helped her out of the cramped cockpit from which she'd taken an Imperial blaster. He tried to argue that there was no need, but Louise said that, after the Krun had killed Peter, she was more than happy to shoot back. Together they surveyed the landing site. The ship was well hidden but, in the unlikely event of someone climbing the roof and stumbling across it, he hoped they'd decide Australia's premier arts venue was displaying a striking piece of modern sculpture.

It was surprisingly dark within the little crevice. Johnny was used to many different night skies across the galaxy, but it was the first time he'd had the chance to see Earth's southern stars. Some were familiar, yet different. He pointed out the constellation Leo the lion, which here in the southern sky hung upside down. Then he found Alpha Centauri. Being four light years away, the light shining from the Sun's nearest neighbors (a triple star system) was four years old and gave no hint of the supernova that had ripped the system apart. Johnny wondered out loud what would happen in three and a bit years' time when the glare of the supernova and its devastating gamma rays reached Earth. Bram's shields had to hold.

Careful not to be seen, they climbed over the tiles out of the dip to the top of one of the roofs. Louise stopped for a moment to admire the lights of the city and the enormous span of the harbor bridge. “We should have come in the
Spirit of London
,” she said. “She'd look gorgeous here.”

Of course she was right. The ship would have made a spectacular addition to the harbor skyline, her lights sparkling in the water. “Somehow I think people might have noticed,” said Johnny, smiling.

They slid down the roof, past the main entrance and began the short journey to the reassuringly named Kings Cross, which proved quite different from the London original. Professor Bond had an apartment here, at the very top of a modern
building with views toward the harbor bridge. Guided by Sol over the wristcoms, they found it easily and slipped into a deserted neighboring alley so they could use the antigrav harnesses unseen.

According to the professor's online diary, he was a very busy man and wouldn't be home this evening, but Johnny had the idea of leaving a very unusual calling card—one that would grab the rocket designer's attention. He didn't expect it would be easy for most kids his age to make an appointment.

They settled softly on the roof terrace. The lights inside the apartment were all off. Louise was happy to stay outside and admire the view so Johnny entered alone. There was an alarm but it was simple to circumvent by sensing the currents and fields inside and leading them on a slight detour, ensuring the flow bypassed the lock mechanism as he turned the handle. Once safely through, he released his control and the currents returned to normal.

The apartment might have belonged to an older man on the opposite side of the world, but even in the glare of his flashlight Johnny felt instantly at home. Three walls of the enormous open-plan living room were covered in framed space pictures—giant photographs from Hubble and others. The fourth wall had several pictures of the same man, sporting wild gray hair like Einstein's, with various dogs at different stages of his life. The younger Bond had started with a red setter, then a West Highland terrier, a collie and even an Afghan hound. In front of the photos was a life-size sculpture of the red setter. Beside it, in one corner, stood a giant model of the Saturn V rocket that had first taken mankind to the Moon. Sweeping his flashlight beam along the wall, Johnny also picked out a space shuttle, a Bussard ramjet, an old Blue Streak, the Skylon space plane and others he didn't recognize. Some looked far more advanced and he guessed these were the professor's own prototypes. One
long thin craft, built from several modules that looked as if they could separate, appeared designed for deep-space exploration—encircling the central core were living quarters, which rotated when he touched them. It was a clever way of creating gravity when spending months in a zero-G environment. Another, spherical, ship looked highly maneuverable. The room was an Aladdin's cave and Johnny could have spent all night there, but what he really wanted to see was Professor Bond's computer. Happily the study proved to be through the next set of doors.

Even though no one was home, Johnny crept as quietly as possible and, as he switched the computer on, he pressed the mute button. The professor did have a password, but for someone as skilled at hacking as Johnny it was child's play to find a back door. Quickly he had administrator access and was in his element. Alf had apparently been following Bond's progress for quite some time and, although nothing had been published, enough whispers had leaked out to know that the professor had stumbled upon something very special indeed, codenamed “Project Sirius.” These were the files Johnny was after—the ones he would inspect and amend. Although he knew a fair amount about spaceship design (it had been his favorite subject at the Imperial University), before coming here he'd used the DINHATS (Direct Intra-Neural Hyper-Accelerated Transfer System) on the
Spirit of London
to bring himself fully up to speed. It had to be done, but Louise had giggled at the sight of Johnny seated under what appeared to be a giant hairdryer.

If only he could find the professor's files, but they didn't appear to be anywhere on the system. He scanned the hard drive every way he could think of, even down to DOS and then machine code, but either Johnny was looking at the wrong computer or the Australian was impressively security conscious.

A hand touched Johnny on the shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin. “Only me,” said Louise, who'd clearly enjoyed startling him. “It was freezing outside—forgot it's winter here. How's it going?”

Johnny, his heartbeat returning to normal, said, “Not well—the files I need aren't here. Maybe he's hidden them around the flat?”

“What are we looking for?” Louise asked.

“Hard to say,” Johnny replied. “Flash drive, disks, memory card, external hard drive—could be anything.” Briefly they swept the study with the flashlight, but Johnny knew what they were after was unlikely to be in the same room as the computer. Moving next door he said, “It's about something called Project Sirius, so I reckon the files will be hidden in something spacey—let's check the models.”

“Look—it's Rusty,” said Louise, with eyes only for the sculpted dog. “I didn't notice her before.” She walked across to the red setter and stroked its fiberglass body. The dog's mouth fell open and there was a flash drive, propped behind its teeth. “Bingo,” she said, smiling. “Very spacey, that.”

“Absolutely,” said Johnny, grinning too. “Didn't you know Sirius is the dog star?”

Inserting the new drive, the computer was suddenly transformed. The self-extracting archive took only seconds to bring up detailed plans for how the beautiful deep-space explorer he'd seen in the other room would be constructed. Assembling the modules would take place in Earth orbit and the ship was propelled by something labeled an Alcubierre Drive, a crude but very clever way of warping space so there was more of it behind the ship than in front—meaning the speed of light barrier didn't apply. Given the professor had no idea about the existence of Plicans, he'd compensated very well. More amazingly still, everything was powered by a
miniature black hole that formed the core of the ship. The plan was far more ambitious than any other spaceflight program in history, involving a six-month return journey to Sirius, the brightest start in the night sky. If the Krun could be stopped, a mission like this would mean the dawning of a new age for humanity—Johnny almost envied the astronauts who would be on board.

Immediately beneath the mission title he inserted the line: “Professor Bond—if you approve of my edits, meet me at midnight tomorrow outside the Opera House. Your friendly neighborhood hacker, Johnny M.” Then he set to work correcting the equations, adding several new ones and improving the design. He hoped that some of the Australian's theories could be adapted for use in the fleet of spacefighters Earth would need in the battle to come. At the very end of the document, where the professor gave detailed specifications for the Project Sirius shuttles (highly maneuverable smaller craft attached to the exterior of the command vehicle), Johnny inserted a design that he hoped would be suitable. It was a cross between the professor's shuttles and his own Starfighter, which was simply too advanced to be copied directly. Louise looked over his shoulder as he added the finishing touches.

“Up here, quickly,” shouted a voice. Several pairs of footsteps could be heard running up the stairs and lights within the apartment were being turned on. “The alarm came from the roof terrace.”

Johnny looked at Louise, who was staring toward the doorway, horrified. He pushed himself out of the chair and shouted, “Run!”

They were too late. Half a dozen police swarmed into the study, followed by an out-of-breath aging professor with a mane of wild gray hair. Johnny recognized him immediately from the wall of photographs.

“It's just kids,” said one of the policemen.

Professor Bond ignored him, hardly glancing at Johnny and Louise. He rushed straight to the console and began scrolling through Johnny's changes. “Not the files … my life's work … my beautiful ship.” Appearing broken, he lifted his head toward Johnny and said, “What have you done?”

Johnny tried to convey with a look that everything was OK, that he had built rather than destroyed, but the inconsolable professor slumped into the chair in front of his computer, wailing. The police stepped forward. Louise stood rooted to the spot. Johnny put an arm around her to start her moving forward and switched the antigrav harness on as the officers grasped at thin air. Landing on the other side of the policemen, they ran into and across the brightly lit living room.

Behind, one of the police shouted, “We have 'em cornered—there's no way out from the roof.”

Johnny opened the door onto the terrace. He checked Louise's harness was powered up as they ran to the edge and jumped over, disappearing laughing into the Sydney night.

To say the visit to Professor Bond hadn't gone as Johnny planned was an understatement. Louise said not to worry—that it would be fine—but he moped for much of the following day while she'd dragged him around Bondi, killing time before the hoped-for midnight rendezvous that Johnny was very doubtful would now happen. Here there was no obvious sign of Krun activity, but as Johnny watched the youth of Australia having fun he heard the deep voice of the Krun Queen, screaming at him to kill them and bring her a feast.

“Johnny—what are you doing?” Louise asked, while grabbing his arm and forcing it down so that the Imperial blaster she'd taken from the cockpit and which he was now holding, pointed down at the sand.