Battle for Earth (28 page)

The
Spirit of London
was flying through normal space using her dark energy drive, just in case a fold triggered a reaction within Clara. Bentley whimpered at the foot of Clara's bed, while Rusty cowered in the corner of sickbay, refusing to approach. Alf was berating Johnny and Louise.

“Surely if you had simply told Miss Clara it was important she not fold, you would not have had to resort to violence?”

“It was one punch, metal man—OK? Someone had to take charge.” Louise glared at Johnny.

“It was the only way,” he added, as prompted. “And we can't let her wake up or she'll try to fold straightaway.”

“What do you suggest—that I drug your sister? I will do no such thing.”

Clara moaned and began to stir.

“Hurry, Alf,” said Johnny. “If she folds again, we'll lose her forever.”

“Master Johnny …”

Clara sat bolt upright and looked around sickbay with her jet black eyes. Bentley growled.

“Why have you brought me here?” she asked. “I'm not sick.”

“It is simply a precaution,” said Alf. “We are monitoring your health on the flight home to Earth.”

“Earth's not my home—I care nothing for it. And why fly anywhere you don't have to? The very thought is laughable. I sense the Plican is bored. I shall put it out of its misery and order the fold.”

“That is not a good idea, Miss Clara. Not until we are certain you can survive the fold.”

“How dare you,” said Clara, swinging her legs down from the bed and standing. She started walking toward Alf, backing the android into a corner. “Don't you know who you're talking to? I'm the only Owlein one here. To manipulate space is nothing to me, whereas you … you! Of course I see it now. It's so clear.”

“What are you talking about, Miss Clara?” Alf was pressed right up against the wall with nowhere else to go. Louise gestured at Johnny to do something.

“You want my power for yourself,” Clara continued. “Well, you can't have it. It's mine, do you hear me? All mine. You can't keep me locked up in sickbay. I can fold wherever I want.”

Louise stepped forward, her balled fist at the ready, and
tapped Clara on the shoulder. Johnny's sister wheeled around, ducking this time, so that Louise's fist slammed into Alf's chest with a metallic clang.

“Oh no, you don't,” said Clara. She thrust her hands out and Louise went flying backward through the air, right across sickbay. Rusty howled.

“Stop it!” yelled Johnny.

“No, brother,” said Clara, turning her black gaze upon him. “I've listened to you far too long. I trusted you, and now Nicky's gone because you were too weak to save him. It's all your fault.”

An archway began to open in the center of the room, before a hiss of air saw Clara crumple in a heap. Alf stood over her, holding a pneumatic syringe. The android plucked her off the floor and placed her on a bed. “Sol—please keep Miss Clara under full sedation until further notice.”

Johnny walked across to where Louise was sitting, her back against the wall. “You OK?” he asked, offering his hand to help her up.

“Fine,” she replied, but then winced as she tried to stand.

Sol's voice cut in from all around. “My scans detect you have a broken hand and three broken ribs, Louise. I suggest you also remain in sickbay for a few minutes while you undergo treatment.”

Finally, Rusty came over and began licking Louise's face. Louise laughed, winced again and, after a half-hearted attempt, gave up trying to push the red setter away.

Alf looked across at them. “If anybody wants to say, ‘I told you so,' they will find me in the library until such time as I determine how to make Miss Clara better.”

“What if she can't get better, Alf?” asked Johnny.

The android shooed Rusty away and carried Louise to the bed beside Clara, before turning to Johnny and saying, “Then I shall never leave the library.”

The head was moving closer, covered with thousands of eyes, each one staring hungrily at him. “
Feed me … feed me, Johnny Mackintosh. I'm coming for you. The crunch of your bones … your sister's … your friends' …
”

“Shut up!” said Johnny, coming around from a horrid dream and finding himself in the library.

“I was not aware I was making any noise,” said Alf. “Having Miss Clara snap at me is understandable, given her illness, but I would rather not have to syringe you as well.”

“Sorry, Alf,” said Johnny, rubbing his eyes. “It wasn't you. It was … just a bad dream.” It didn't seem wise to say he was hearing voices in his head, especially when it was the Krun Queen speaking. He pushed his chair back from the table and said, “I'm just going for a walk.” He felt like a spare part and suspected Alf could probably find things out quicker without him getting in the way. Besides, there was somewhere else it was worth going to hunt for clues.

Entering Clara's quarters proved quite a shock. With Bentley at his heels, Johnny came face to face with a life-size mural of his family along one wall. There were images of Johnny's mom and dad, together with Nicky, Johnny himself and Clara. Looking a lot younger, the Old English sheepdog was there too. The picture recreated a scene that had never existed in real life. It was a clever combination of the photographs in Clara's locket—the same photos that Johnny knew well from his own locket and personal shield, before it was stolen by his clone and lost beneath the bottomless well of the Fountain of Time.

This room had always been a no-go zone for Johnny, but he was searching for any clue that might help. He said, “Bed,” and
straightaway a duvet-covered rectangular slab came out and down from an invisible join in the wall, allowing Bentley to jump up and stretch out in comfort. Johnny sat down beside him. If Clara ever told him off about getting dog hairs on her bed, it would be a small price to pay for having her back and better. From their perch, Johnny looked around. He marveled at how a room identical in size and shape to his own quarters could look so very different. A square of spotlights framed the center of the mirror that ran along the wall opposite the mural, creating the look of a movie star's dressing room. On the ledge beneath it were a couple of girly bags, one with a lipstick poking out of the top. The only time he'd ever seen Clara wearing make-up was in Neith's Temple in Atlantis.

Further along, at the end of the mirrored wall, stood a glittering mannequin that might have been made of diamond. As Johnny focused on the face, shining with all the colors of the rainbow, he recognized it was modeled on his sister—a perfect replica—clothed in her immaculate Melanian tunic, white embossed with the lilac stars of the Big Dipper. A little guiltily, Johnny realized his own Melanian uniform was scrunched up on the floor of his quarters.

He looked again at the life-size mural, his mom and dad smiling down. How Johnny wished his parents were here now—his mom was so powerful she could do anything. Even Nicky, for all his mad ideas about ruling the galaxy, would probably help. Instead, it looked as if Chancellor Gronack had left his brother for dead in the snow and ice, claiming the Nameless One's hateful mask for itself. At least, whatever had happened to Nicky, he was free of that mask now, just like in the picture.

Johnny could have stared at the photograph forever, but forced himself to turn away. As he did so, something strange happened out of the corner of his eye. He thought he'd glimpsed an alcove in the wall beside Clara's bed but when he
looked properly there was nothing there. He ran his fingers over the wall, but it was as perfectly smooth as any other on the ship. He looked away, pretending his eyes had been drawn to the photograph, and distinctly saw a flash of pink coming from the wall. But when he stared straight at it, there was only the wall.

“Hi, Sol,” said Johnny, speaking to nowhere in particular. “Can you show me a plan of Clara's quarters?”

“Of course, Johnny,” Sol replied. A projection of the room appeared in front of him.

“There's nothing behind here?” he asked, placing his hand onto the wall where he thought he might have seen something.

“Approximately 2.718 282 microns from your hand are the dark energy conduits for my engines.”

“Oh.” Johnny was sure he'd spotted something.

“However,” Sol continued, “further analysis suggests spatial anomalies in Clara's quarters of which I was previously unaware. One of them is adjacent to the area you are touching.”

“Spatial anomalies?” asked Johnny. “You mean … like folds?”

“It is possible they are indeed folds,” said Sol. “I shall have to run a further analysis.”

“It's OK. Let me try,” said Johnny. He pictured himself from above, sitting on the bed beside the wall, as though the whole scene were flat—two-dimensional. He could see the boundary of Clara's quarters, but if he scrunched his eyes up really tightly he could also sense places where the walls weren't flat—where they were raised into an extra dimension that shouldn't be there. Keeping his eyes half-closed, Johnny moved his hand toward the right spot on the wall, but imagined himself lifting it out of the two-dimensional plane. He knew his arm had passed straight through the wall, and his fingers felt around for anything that might be useful. He pulled out two hefty rectangular objects and opened his eyes fully.

He was holding a couple of well-thumbed notebooks. One, with its battered leather cover, he recognized as his dad's old geologist's journal—the one he'd given Clara the previous Christmas. The other, with a pristine pink cover, was Clara's own diary. He expected Clara would hate him looking at it, but he had no choice. With a slightly trembling hand, Johnny opened the pages at random and began to read.

It happened again today, but Johnny and Alf were there this time. I should have been more careful, but it was the shock. We were alien hunting in Trafalgar Square. The poor thing started up Nelson's Column—how scary would that be?—and ended up on Westminster Bridge. Up close, I don't know how but it recognized me—and spoke my name. I think I was confused. I lost concentration and, before I could stop it, we'd folded straight through the pavement—to back here. Of course Alf knew what had happened at once. After months of nagging, he was delighted to be proved right. I know I should stop, but I don't think I can face the elevators in the ship anymore. Wish I could talk to Johnny—there's no one else—but he doesn't understand. He's always going on about how cool the antigrav elevators …

The doors to Clara's quarters swished open and in flew Kovac. Instinctively Johnny slammed the journal shut.

“This excuse for a spaceship of yours told me you were in here, but not that you were reading your sister's diary.”

“I'm looking for clues to make her better,” said Johnny. He could feel his face turning the same color as the book cover, confirmed by a glance in the mirror.

“Hence you closed it as soon as I entered and are exhibiting facial capillary dilation and blush response, consistent with what I suspect matches the human phrase ‘caught red- or rather pink-handed.'”

“I'm trying to help,” said Johnny through gritted teeth. “What do you want?”

“What do I want? I do believe a proper answer to that question would be enough to exercise my quantum circuits for more than a few nanoseconds, even if the full answer would take several years to even begin to convey in this inefficient apology for a language you call English. It might be summed up by saying that, deep down, I just want to be loved, but there's precious chance of that ever happening—”

“Kovac?” said Johnny.

“My point exactly,” said the quantum computer. “We will shortly be arriving at Earth and I came to inform you that things are nearing a tipping point—if my calculations are correct, which they undoubtedly are.”

“What's a tipping point?” Johnny asked.

“Why is it I'm surrounded by such ignorance on all sides?” said Kovac. “Given that you are doubtless incapable of understanding the term ‘bifurcation,' it is best described as a point of no return, when events are irrevocably altered. In this case, when so many humans will have been processed into food by the Krun, it will become impossible for them to keep their existence secret from the general population. They will be forced to play their hand and I suspect you will not like the results.”