Battle for Earth (25 page)

Above his head, Johnny brought his right hand behind his left and pressed a button on his wristcom. He really hoped it was the right one.

“Time to die,” said Stevens, but a noise from behind distracted him. The Imperial Starfighter's engines were firing up.

Johnny grabbed the professor's hand, pulled him backward and leapt off the platform.

Going over the side, Johnny took a last lungful of air and hoped Professor Bond had done the same. For a second, he wondered if he'd leapt far enough to clear the plethora of force fields that Nicky had once told him surrounded the space elevator platform. Then the cold hit him and there could be no question. If he could have cried out he would, but no sound carried in the vacuum of space.

Johnny's eyeballs felt as if they were on fire and, through them, he watched the professor drift agonizingly slowly away, the Australian's mouth open in a silent scream. Below, the blue and white swirls of planet Earth dominated the view while, off to the side, Johnny saw the Imperial Starfighter that he'd launched moments earlier with the wristcom. They could still be saved. His numbing fingers responded, using the device again to pilot the Starfighter toward Professor Bond, capturing the Australian and sealing him safely inside.

Johnny's mouth was vibrating as the water on his tongue began to bubble. Something told him that was why his eyes hurt too, as the liquid in them must be boiling away into space. He was struggling to see anything now, so closed them, but it didn't take the spiking pain away. The simplest thing was surely to fold himself inside the Starfighter and out of danger. In his mind's eye he pictured the space between him and the sleek vessel curve and bend and, the very next moment he was
right outside the cockpit. He subtly altered the slope, so he could simply slide into the pilot's seat, but at the last second he bounced off the boundary of the ship and somersaulted away into the distance.

Fighting the pain, he opened his eyes, but it made no difference. He was completely blind. As the freezing vacuum seemed to strip away the layers of Johnny's brain, he remembered all the knowledge of spaceship design that had been implanted there, and despaired. His fighter was very nearly the most advanced offensive machine in the galaxy, equipped with all manner of defensive countermeasures—one was that each Starfighter included a barrier built individually by the Emperor himself to prevent folding in or out. It meant no one could take over the ship in a battle, but neither could Johnny access the cockpit now.

The pain in his chest suggested his insides were beginning to bubble away and he knew it was almost the end. It would all be so much easier if he simply let go and accepted his fate, the last Mackintosh, leaving the galaxy to others to look after. Yet he knew that was a lie—that he was kidding himself. Somewhere, trapped in a pocket of hyperspace, Clara Mackintosh was also falling. While Johnny would be dead in seconds, his sister was doomed to fall forever, outside of time. He had to save her, yet even as the determination gripped him, he felt his brain shutting down. Time was running out. Concentrating on just one thing, it became obvious he didn't need eyes or fingers to operate the wristcom—the electronics inside it would obey him.

It was so hard to focus with every fiber of his body now screaming in agony, but he forced himself to direct the electrons within the device and, at these temperatures, they met so little resistance it was easy. Suddenly Johnny was warm, and the pain of the transition, rising three hundred degrees
in a fraction of a second, was more unbearable than the cold. With his final thought, he asked the Starfighter to take them home.

“If he wasn't so ill, I'd kill him for leaving me in Australia.” The voice sounded faraway and muffled, as if listening to it underwater, but Johnny guessed it was Louise.

“I think Master Johnny may be able to hear you,” said Alf.

“Welcome back, Johnny. When flying through space in the future, I recommend you stick to traveling inside me.” Even muffled, Johnny would have recognized Sol's reassuring tones anywhere.

He tried to open his eyes, but it made no difference. There was only blackness and blindness. Fear that he would never see again gripped him. He cried out and felt his insides burn as they took in air.

“Best not speak yet, Master Johnny,” said Alf. “Your body has been damaged … rather significantly.”

Johnny didn't like that pause. He felt a soft hand take hold of his—it must be Louise's—and instinctively turned in her direction. “The professor?” he asked, as his chest once more felt on fire.

“David's fine,” Louise replied. “He said you didn't follow his advice.”

Johnny must have looked as confused as he felt, because Alf carried on, “I believe that Professor Bond instructed you not to hold your breath in a vacuum. It seems that you did not listen to him, much as you never appear to listen to me.”

Johnny groaned and it hurt.

“You are experiencing pain, Master Johnny, because your lungs ruptured, given they were full of air which, in a vacuum, expanded. Your eardrums also burst and you are
suffering from hypoxia-induced blindness. You can consider yourself fortunate that, had you remained in space a further 2.718 281 828 seconds longer, your blood would have begun to boil and … and I would have lost you as well as Miss Clara, and …”

Alf burst into tears and Louise gave Johnny's hand another squeeze. She said, “What metal man here is saying is you have the bends—pretty badly too—so it'll be a few days yet till you're better.”

“Days?” said Johnny, weakly.

“Look on the bright side,” she replied. “At least you can't see yourself. There's sunburn and there's sunburn, but your face and hands are something else.”

“The professor?” Johnny asked again.

“I told you David's fine,” said Louise. “I spoke to him this morning—we gave him a wristcom. Alf took him back to Sydney once you were stable—he said he needed to get back as you'd given him so many ideas to work on. He wanted to thank you when you woke up, but we had to put you into a coma.”

“A coma?” said Johnny weakly.

“Tell me about it,” said Louise. “You're not much fun when you're zonked out. I ended up learning relativity theory in the DINHATS, just to pass the time. But now you're awake—”

“If you two have quite finished,” said Alf, “I do need to work on manufacturing some artificial lungs for you, Master Johnny. In turn, you have to work on getting better. The best way to do that is more sleep.” As Alf pressed the pneumatic syringe against Johnny's neck it was almost a relief to slip away into a deep, pain-free nothingness.

There was the scent of vinegar in Johnny's nostrils and soothing breath on his eyelids. He dared to open them and the first thing
he saw was a great mass of purple. As he squinted, struggling to focus, Princess Zeta, daughter of Zola, lifted her head away from his face and stood, hands on hips. Her mane of purple hair was blowing in a strong sea breeze, but Johnny knew it was her and not the wind that had cured his blindness.

With his eyes working again, everything looked so beautiful. Two blue suns, one many times larger than the other, were setting together, simultaneously sinking into a calm ocean, their twin search beams lighting the water and illuminating Zeta as she stood on a grassy mound. A flash of light in front of her face was quickly extinguished as Zeta's forked tongue shot from her mouth, capturing the Phosphoric Sulafly that had flown too close, and reeling it back inside to be devoured.

“Want one?” she asked, before the tongue flicked out again, lightning fast, and a second flicker of light was extinguished.

“No thanks—you have it,” said Johnny. It still hurt to speak, but he couldn't help smiling.

“It is not only your eyes and ears that ailed you,” said Zeta. “I sense your insides are broken.”

“It's my lungs,” Johnny replied. “They're ruptured. But you can heal them, can't you?” He'd experienced the princess's miraculous healing gifts many times before.

Zeta frowned and sat down, looking out over the ocean, patting the ground beside her for Johnny to join her. Darkness was falling quickly and the stars in the sky above Novolis, Zeta and Erin's home planet, began to twinkle. First out was a kite-shaped cross made up of four points of light at its edges, tonight with a small moon right at its center—Zeta's Starmark. Off to one side shone three stars above the ocean that Johnny knew were the top of a hexagon and were King Erin's Starmark. “It's not that simple,” she said.

“Erin?” Johnny asked, looking around for evidence of the
boy king. He instantly regretted twisting his body as his chest howled with pain.

“My brother the King would forbid it, but in the waking world he has left Novolis.”

“The waking world?” said Johnny, wincing, unclear what Zeta meant.

“We are dreamwalking,” she replied, “and, far from here, Erin's power is insufficient to stop you from entering. I hate to see you suffer, but it would dishonor my brother to heal you.” She took hold of Johnny's hand.

“Why?” he asked, turning to look at the princess. “What's it to do with him?”

Zeta's catlike eyes met his. “Because I have to reach inside you,” she replied. “Because I have to do this.” Zeta was leaning in toward him. Her mouth was moving closer to Johnny's. It happened so quickly he didn't know what to do. Her lips pressed against his—they were softer than they looked. He felt her tongue in his mouth. He felt it pass his, sliding down his throat. Where moments before his insides burned, now the fire was quelled. Johnny realized he'd closed his eyes. He opened them to find himself in the
Spirit of London
's sickbay, with Bentley curled at the foot of the bed and Louise gripping his hand.

“Stop!” she shouted. “He's awake.”

“Sol,” said Alf, “please increase the anesthetic so I can continue with the procedure.”

“No,” said Johnny. “What's going on? What procedure?” He found he could speak without it hurting.

“There is no time to waste, Master Johnny. I am about to remove your lungs and replace them with a bioengineered substitute.” The android pointed to what looked like two pristine pieces of coral on a nearby table. “Sol—more anesthetic, please.”

“No,” said Johnny again. “I'm healed—I can see and my lungs are fine … never better.” To prove it, Johnny risked a long, deep inhale, but Alf was not to be put off easily.

“Nonsense,” said the android. “I scanned you thirty minutes ago and they had deteriorated to such a degree they could no longer keep you alive. Even without anesthetic, within the next few seconds you will pass out due to a lack of oxygen, but I would rather it did not come to that.”

The doors to sickbay swished open and in flew Kovac, who announced, “I have something to report.”

Johnny ignored the quantum computer, saying to Alf, “Well, I'm happy to wait.”

“Johnny—are you sure?” asked Louise.

Before he could answer Alf said, “Master Johnny is suffering from hypoxia, a lack of oxygen to the brain that creates a temporary euphoric state. Hence he mistakenly believes he is perfectly well.”

“Sol—scan me again,” said Johnny.

“If nobody's interested in the news I flew half the length of this idiotically laid out excuse-for-a-spaceship to report, I suppose I might as well leave you all to your petty arguments. It's not as though anyone ever listens to a word I say anyway.”

“What is it, Kovac?” asked Johnny.

Alf threw his hands up in the air. “We do not have time for yet more interruptions. You might die, Master Johnny, and even though that does not seem to bother you in the slightest, I am simply not prepared to let that happen.” The android reached forward with a pneumatic syringe, but froze at the sound of Bentley growling.

Kovac took advantage of the pause to say, “One newspaper in which this moronic mechanoid doesn't attempt the crossword is the
Sydney Morning Herald.
I suspect you'll be very interested in an article from today's edition.” The inside
page of a newspaper was instantly projected in midair above Johnny's bed. It was clear from the headline where they were meant to be looking.