Battle for Earth (36 page)

Mrs. Irvine had almost walked into the wall before a hitherto invisible door opened noiselessly, revealing a wide corridor lined with the same pearly white material. A dreadful wailing filled the air, as if further along someone unseen was in immense pain—maybe even being tortured. Johnny hesitated.

“It's just Gilbey,” said Miss Harutunian, a gentleness in her voice that reassured him. “You'll see.”

“You say your sister is ill? I'm very sorry to hear that,” said Mrs. Irvine, heading into the corridor without breaking her stride. Johnny and Miss Harutunian followed. “Your mother left us with highly advanced medical facilities. Perhaps we can help?” Johnny had no idea how the Manager knew where the doors in the corridor lay, but she turned suddenly right and the wall opened again, the moaning becoming louder still.

There, in a room that looked very like the
Spirit of London
's sickbay, was the Halader House cook, Mr. Wilkins. Perched on a stool that looked far too small to take his weight, great rolls of flesh spilling over the waistband of his elasticized pants, the huge man had tears streaming down his flabby cheeks, into his beard. He was at the bedside of a tall, emaciated creature that must once have been covered in fur but was now largely bald, thin red skin lined with livered age spots showing through in many places. The thing didn't look long for this world,
or the one that it originally hailed from, and was only just recognizable. “A Pilosan,” said Johnny in surprise.

Miss Harutunian looked startled. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I've been to their homeworld,” he replied. “And nearly didn't get away.” The furry creatures fed telepathically on their prey, glorying in the misery of others. The crew of the
Spirit of London
had become so despondent they were nearly incapable of leaving.

“Then you understand Gilbey's treatment of you over the years,” said Mrs. Irvine.

Mr. Wilkins looked toward Johnny and howled even louder. The cook had always borne him an irrational hatred and there was absolutely nothing Johnny could think of that would excuse his years of suffering.

“Our poor cook,” the Manager went on, “is half-Pilosan. Marooned on Earth, his mother is dying.” The cook screamed as though his fingernails were being pulled out and even Johnny began to feel sorry for the half-bald creature on the bed. “To keep her alive, he lets her draw all his happiness away. Very occasionally, he takes it out on residents of the home to rebuild his strength.”

Somewhere in the back of Johnny's mind he wanted to protest, but the cook and his mother looked so miserable that he found himself sympathizing with their predicament.

“It's good to see your mother looking so well,” said Mrs. Irvine to the man who for years had been the bane of Johnny's life. “I presume the sense of doom brought on by the impending invasion has done her the power of good.” She sounded surprisingly chirpy.

“We've all had to be immunized,” Miss Harutunian whispered in Johnny's ear. “That's why he had to pick on you … sorry.” It explained a lot, but didn't make Johnny feel any better. In fact,
he felt suddenly exhausted. He'd not slept for what felt like days, and now all he wanted, more than anything in the world, was to cry himself to sleep in a corner and never have to wake up again.

“You see the capabilities we have here,” said the Manager, pointing to spare beds and the advanced screens on the walls. “I regret that I have never met your sister, but our facilities are at your disposal. We would welcome her here.”

“She's better off on the ship,” he said simply, fighting back a yawn. He had so many questions, but they would have to wait. Thinking about Clara strengthened him and the morose sensation that had settled like a blanket lifted. “I have to get back to her.”

“Surely you see she would be safer here?”

“Clara belongs on the
Spirit of London
,” said Johnny. “It's her home. And I belong with my sister.”

The Manager was about to protest, but out of the corner of his eye Johnny saw Miss Harutunian shake her head.

“Very well,” said Mrs. Irvine. She led them both out of the medical room into the corridor. Johnny's lethargy was now replaced by an urgent need to act. “Your whole life I have watched over you and I would rather you remained here, but it appears I cannot insist.” The Manager's owl-like eyes looked sadder than he had ever known. “May I ask how you come to have a spaceship? I wasn't aware that your parents had made such plans.”

“She was a gift,” Johnny replied.

“But from whom?”

There didn't seem any reason for him not to say. He wanted to reassure her that the
Spirit of London
was a good ship, that he was in the best hands he could be. “From the Emperor of the Galaxy,” he said.

The color drained from Mrs. Irvine's face. “Bram Khari?”
she asked slowly. He nodded, shocked that she could ever have heard the Emperor's name. “Do you think that's wise?” the Manager went on. “Have you never heard the expression, ‘Beware of Greeks bearing gifts'?”

Johnny had no idea what she meant. “Look, I'm sorry,” he said, “but I really do have to go.” Exhausted, he had to fight hard not to yawn again.

“If you must, Jonathan,” said Mrs. Irvine, looking far from pleased. “Katherine will show you a way out. Remember there is sanctuary here—I doubt even the approaching aliens would discover us. I hope our paths cross again.”

Johnny nodded. He wasn't sure if he was doing the right thing, but Clara needed him. Bentley needed him. He followed his red-haired social worker along the corridor.

Miss Harutunian stopped at a control panel and tapped the display. “Halader House is swarming with Corporation people,” she said. “We can't take the normal route out.”

“Through the basement?” Johnny asked and the American nodded. “Is there any way we can come out near the station entrance?”

“I suppose you're going to tell me next that the black cab that's sometimes parked there isn't any kind of normal taxi?” said Miss Harutunian. “You're full of surprises, Johnny.”

“I'm not the only one,” he replied.

She laughed, touched the screen again and a narrow cubicle opened up nearby in the corridor. “Phone booth,” she said, in response to his questioning look. “Sorry, it'll be a bit of a squeeze.”

“I can make my own way,” said Johnny. “You don't have to look after me.”

“I know that, Johnny,” she said, looking suddenly serious. “I'm coming with you.”

Bentley was gone. Invisible, much to Miss Harutunian's shock, Johnny had flown the
Bakerloo
alongside the dormer window of his attic bedroom. With the American screaming that it was too dangerous, he smashed his way into the room and searched under the bed and inside the wardrobe, then under the bed again. Had it not been for the stamping of footsteps in the corridor below and the clang of boots on the spiral staircase, he'd probably have remained, but the shouts from just beneath the trapdoor shook him from his torpor just in time and he jumped back into the taxi and away with gunfire ringing in his ears.

Miss Harutunian tried to appear sympathetic—he knew she was fond of Bentley—but she couldn't hide her excitement as the pair shot invisibly skyward, through the clouds to the place where the sky turned from blue to black, and beyond. They rendezvoused with the
Spirit of London
on the far side of the Moon.

Miss Harutunian laughed when she saw the ship before saying, “Of course … the Gherkin. She's beautiful, Johnny.” He tried to smile as they entered the shuttle bay, settling between a red double-decker bus and an Imperial Starfighter. “Wow,” she went on. “Just … wow.”

“She's a great ship,” said Johnny, “but the Krun have over a thousand. We can't stop them all.”

As they touched down, Sol greeted Johnny and his surprise guest with the news that Clara's condition had worsened. Nothing mattered to Johnny except to see his sister. He ran, Miss Harutunian struggling to keep up, to the elevator shaft where the new cabin was waiting. From there to sickbay.

The whites of Clara's eyes were all but gone, replaced by oily blackness as before. As Johnny gazed into them, holding his sister's hand and hoping for some kind of response, Louise asked, “Who's your friend?”

He tried to smile. “Sorry, this is Louise, Alf, Rusty and Kovac,” he said, nodding to each of them in turn. “The ship's Sol. Everyone—this is Miss Harutunian, my social worker.”

“Katherine, please,” she said.

“Was that wise, Master Johnny? We have urgent matters to attend to.”

“Relax, Alf,” said Johnny. “She knows about the Krun fleet. There's a group at Halader House that's been monitoring alien activity.” He looked upward and added, “As Kovac was telling us.”

The quantum computer's casing glowed bright, but for once he didn't speak.

“How is she?” Johnny asked, touching Clara's forehead. It burned his fingers and his instinct was to snatch his hand away, but he didn't recoil.

“I am trying,” said Alf, “but I fear she is worsening.”

Every so often, I'm sure she says, “St. Catharine's,” said Louise. “Wasn't that a Krun prison?” All of a sudden she looked much older and Johnny knew she was remembering her own imprisonment by the aliens, which she never spoke about.

“Where they held Mum,” he said, nodding. He looked down at Clara again, wishing he knew what to do. It shouldn't have come to this. If only he could have moved the Atlantean ships himself—he hated that he'd not learned to fold better.
“Remembering Mum healed her before,” he said. “Maybe she thinks it will again.”

“It was where I first met the doctor,” said Miss Harutunian, who was standing a little away from Clara's bedside. Johnny, Alf and Louise all looked at her. “There are others of us, in small cells around the world. We have a secret handshake,” she explained. “I don't get how the whole place disappeared, or how it's coming back.”

“What do you mean?” Johnny asked. “It's gone forever. There's no way it could ever come back.”

The social worker looked flustered. “Look, I'm sorry. I don't know anything,” she said, turning ever so slightly pink. “Not compared to you guys and this ship. Forget about it. I was just being stupid.”

Having ignored Kovac for so long, Johnny wasn't about to make the same mistake with Miss Harutunian. “I'd say you've proved yourself. We have impressive shielding so I don't know how you did it, but you found out there was something odd about the Gherkin, even if you didn't know what. And the Chrysler Building. I thought St. Catharine's … was sealed shut forever, but if you've discovered anything strange there, we need to check it out.” He'd hesitated because he was sure Clara had squeezed his hand when he named the hospital.

“It's gravitational waves,” said Miss Harutunian. “I probably shouldn't be telling you, but I don't want to keep secrets anymore. Those aliens are going to be here in not very long. If we can find your mum, and she's as powerful as you say, it has to help.”

“Mum's gone,” said Johnny. “St. Catharine's …” Clara squeezed his hand again, he was sure of it, “was a base for the Krun, the aliens who are invading. If they're breaking out of hyperspace and setting up a new front on Earth, we're in even more trouble. Let's go.”

“Master Johnny, you have only just returned. If I am correct, you have not slept in forty-eight hours. You need to rest, if only for a little while.”

“Sol,” said Johnny, “how long till the Krun reach Earth?”

“Computing … The first ship will arrive in 14 hours, 14 minutes and 21.36 seconds,” the ship replied.

“Sorry, Alf,” said Johnny, stifling a yawn. “No rest for the wicked.”

“If you do not sleep before the battle to come, you will have lost it before it has even begun.” The words didn't make Johnny feel any better.

“I'll come too,” said Louise. “Someone has to watch your back.” Her eyes swiveled unconsciously toward the red-haired American. “Give me a minute to drop Rusty with Bentley—I guess he's on the garden deck.”

Johnny looked at Louise, but couldn't bring himself to speak the words out loud. It was left to Sol to announce that, “Bentley is not aboard.”

“The Corporation has him,” said Miss Harutunian. “If it helps, I know where their headquarters are.”

Hope flickered in Johnny's chest, but he knew it would be wrong to act on it now. The Old English sheepdog was the single constant throughout his life, who had saved him on numerous occasions, but the fate of Earth itself hung in the balance with time running out. “When this is all over, we'll get him back,” he said. He tried to sound confident, but was far from sure any of them would survive the Krun invasion.