Battle for Earth (6 page)

While Johnny found school more than a little boring, especially since Alf had downloaded the entire National Curriculum directly into his brain (the android wanted to be sure Johnny wasn't missing any of his education), it was great to be able to play soccer with his friends. There was a time when decks 20 through 22 on the
Spirit of London
had been a five-a-side arena, but since a weapons upgrade a few months ago the field was no longer there. Johnny didn't miss it too much—Alf and
Clara were pretty rubbish opponents—but he had used the space to practice free kicks and corners and it was especially handy having Sol ping the ball straight back to him each time. Johnny was keen to retain his place as the school team's set-piece specialist.

So it was exciting when the bell rang for the end of double chemistry and Johnny could make his way out of Miss Hewitt's laboratory and down to the school playing fields for games, the final lesson of the day. They spent most of their time playing two-touch six-a-side within quite a small area. Mr. Davenport, their coach and PE teacher, was emphasizing the importance of close control and moving the ball quickly, with the qualifiers for the National Schools Trophy fast approaching. It was a good session and, as Johnny jogged in the early evening sunshine, warming down on the way to the changing rooms, he was joined on either side by Dave Spedding and Ashvin Gupta, his two best friends in the team.

“We've been thinking,” said Dave a little nervously.

“Not something Dave's especially used to,” Ashvin added.

Johnny had the feeling this was some kind of prepared speech.

“Why you never have us back to your place after school,” said Dave, cutting to the chase.

“Have you ever
been
to a children's home?” asked Johnny.

“Well, no,” said Dave, looking a little awkward.

“But that's kind of the point,” said Ash, who wasn't going to be put off quite so easily. “We could come back now … for tea.”

“If you'd ever eaten our cook's food, you wouldn't be saying that,” said Johnny.

“Cool—we'll get chips on the way,” said Ash.

Johnny had planned to check up on Clara and make sure she was OK, but he'd never had friends come back to Halader House. He also reminded himself that it was important to
spend more time there. He'd neglected the home to his cost a few months ago, allowing Nicky—or rather his alter ego Nymac—to clone him and have the double take Johnny's place. It was a very close call and Johnny had nearly been killed. He'd resolved from then on to make more regular appearances at the home, just in case. Having friends with him might also stop his social worker reraising the thorny question of maternal visits.

“You're on,” said Johnny, “but it definitely has to be fish and chips.”

As they walked through the main Halader House doors, reeking of vinegar, Johnny caught sight of Miss Harutunian smiling at him, but she didn't come over. He led Ash and Dave up the stairs and along the corridor and laughed at their reaction when they stopped in front of his very own spiral staircase.

“Very cool,” said Dave, admiring the official looking “No Entry” sign screwed into the trapdoor. “Where'd you get it?”

“In the basement,” Johnny replied. “I took it off some door down there.”

“What was behind it?” Ash asked, clearly hoping for an exciting mystery.

“I don't know, do I?” Johnny replied. “It was locked. I just thought the sign would look good up here. Come on.” He pulled down the trapdoor and led the way inside. The bedroom was messy, but not too bad and his two friends didn't bat an eyelid. Instead they were drawn straight to the space posters covering every square centimeter of the attic room's sloping walls.

“Where'd you get these?” Ash asked, particularly admiring the picture of Sagittarius A*, the black hole at the very center of the galaxy that Johnny had snapped himself. The others had been a Christmas present from Alf, reprinted from the android's memory circuits.

“You know … around,” said Johnny.

“Wow—this is all yours?” said Dave, as though amazed someone could have their own room. “It must be great not having people bossing you around … always telling you what to do.”

“I think I'd rather still have my parents,” said Johnny matter of factly.

“Yeah, but your dad was a murderer, wasn't he?” asked Dave. “Didn't he kill your brother or something?” He ignored Ash elbowing him in the ribs. “He in jail somewhere?”

“I don't see him anymore,” said Johnny. Dave or his parents must have read the story in the papers. Johnny didn't remember much about the night twelve years ago when the Krun had come to their house in Derby. He knew he'd been hidden under the bed with Bentley, and sometimes now he had the idea that he'd seen someone else there watching but not helping. The aliens had taken Nicky, faking his brother's murder and framing Johnny's parents. After they were found guilty, Johnny's dad had been taken away for a decade of Krun torture while his mom, pregnant with Clara and apparently traumatized by the shock of it all, had been imprisoned in St. Catharine's.

Twice, a year ago, Johnny had met his mom. Once, journeying into the distant past, he'd rescued her as Atlantis sank beneath the waves; the other time was in St. Catharine's Hospital when the Krun had killed his dad. Both times she'd been wonderful and seemed to care deeply for him. He just couldn't understand why she'd allowed the aliens to rip her family apart without lifting a finger to stop them.

Changing the subject, Ash asked, “What d'ya do up here, Johnny? Got any good games?”

Johnny spent so little time in Halader House nowadays that there wasn't much, but he did keep a handheld console in the
box under his bed, which also contained some of his dad's old stuff. Soon they were taking it in turns to play
Starfighter 3D
. Johnny got the top score, but the other two were pretty good. He couldn't help thinking they might make good pilots. After a while Johnny slipped out on the pretext of going to feed (the absent) Bentley, and called Sol on his wristcom, telling the ship that Bram would be coming to visit and making sure Clara was OK. She was still in sickbay, at Alf's insistence, but said she was feeling better and sounded bored out of her skull.

By the time he got back, Dave and Ash had had enough of the game and were itching for something else to do. “We have a plan,” said Dave, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Let's explore your basement—see what's behind the mystery door.”

“There's nothing there,” said Johnny. “And it's out of bounds.”

“Are you scared?” asked Dave.

“Of course I'm not scared,” Johnny replied. “It's just rubbish—there's nothing to see.”

“Definitely scared,” said Ash, nodding sagely at Dave.

“There isn't anything to be frightened of,” said Johnny. “All right—I'll show you.”

The other two smiled, but Johnny didn't mind. Checking the basement would hardly take long. Then he could say goodbye to his friends, show his face in the common room and take the
Bakerloo
back to the
Spirit of London
.

The wooden stairs to the basement were through a doorway right next to the common room. Johnny led the way, shining a flashlight taken from the box underneath his bed, while the other two made exaggerated shushing noises. In the gloom they took turns placing the beam underneath their chins, making the most gruesome faces they could to scare the others. The place smelt of damp and, apart from some old bookshelves and leftover rolls of beige carpet that matched the bland corridors,
there was nothing of any note. A new “No Entry” sign had been screwed onto a large cupboard built into the wall near a corner.

“What do you think's in there?” asked Dave, trying the handle, which was locked.

“Secret alien technology, I expect,” said Johnny for a laugh. “Probably taken from Roswell.”

“Let's find out, shall we?” said Ash. He rummaged through his pockets and, with a flourish, produced a metal hairgrip.

“As if,” said Johnny.

“Ye of little faith,” Ash replied. He knelt down and pushed it into the lock, wiggling it about.

“Should've brought the game with us,” said Dave. “We could be here be here for hours.”

There was a metallic click and Ashvin stood up smiling.

“Let's see if it was worth the effort,” said Johnny, walking forward and turning the handle. The door opened to reveal a dumping ground for old blankets and coats, plus a bucket, mop and two old brooms. “Definitely,” he added, as Ash and Dave's faces both fell. “Seen enough, boys?” Johnny asked.

Dave looked at his watch and said, “I should be getting back anyway. My mum'll kill me if I'm out too late.” When Ash elbowed him in the ribs, he added, “Sorry … I didn't mean …”

“Don't be daft,” said Johnny, laughing as he closed the cupboard door.

Ash was leading the way through the darkness toward the stairs when he stopped suddenly, causing Dave to bump into him and swear loudly. Ignoring him, Ash asked, “What's that noise?”

“I can't hear anything,” said Johnny.

“Shhh!” hissed Ashvin.

As they all quieted, Johnny noticed it too—the whining of some sort of motor. Next moment there was banging
coming from inside the broom cupboard. He shouted, “Hide!” and the three boys desperately dived for cover. The cupboard door opened and out stepped a huge, hulking shape. It reached upward and pressed something on the wall. Lights flickered on throughout the basement, revealing Johnny, Dave and Ash crouched beside an old bookcase as Mr. Wilkins glowered down at them, tears streaming down his bearded face.

“Manager's office … now,” said the cook.

Mr. Wilkins rapped hard on the wooden door and a woman's voice on the other side said, “Enter.” Johnny, Ash and Dave were pushed inside, the big cook following.

“Mr. Wilkins,” said Mrs. Irvine in her broad Glaswegian accent. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Wearing a tweed jacket, she was sitting behind a large wooden desk in front of a floor-to-ceiling window that looked across the parking lot to the train station. The desk was flanked either side by tall bookcases containing huge dusty tomes that no one could possibly want to read. Through her large, pointed glasses, the Manager surveyed the three of them standing in front of her.

“It's the boy, ma'am,” said the bearded cook. “Found him and his good-for-nothing friends in the basement.”

The Manager fixed her owl-like eyes on Johnny. He felt about a foot tall and wished the floor would open and swallow him up. “These are friends of yours from school, Jonathan?” she asked, indicating Dave and Ash.

“From soccer,” Johnny said, nodding.

To the other two Mrs. Irvine said, “Ben Halader House is a happy home.” She was the only person who always bothered to use the children's home's full name. “We have very few rules, but one is that our little basement should remain out of bounds.
You may leave, but remember, these are dangerous times and it bears no profit to be looking for trouble.”

Ashvin and Dave turned to go, Ash mouthing a silent “sorry” while Dave rolled his eyes to indicate that the Manager was clearly off her rocker. Once the door had closed behind the others, Mrs. Irvine turned to the cook and asked, “Are you all right, Mr. Wilkins?”

Johnny dared to look up from his trainers. Tear tracks glistened all the way down the big man's cheeks, disappearing into the bushy black beard.

“I'd been in … in the broom cupboard, ma'am. It was … upsetting.”

“Yes, of course,” replied the Manager. “Quite understandable. Perhaps you should leave too and sort yourself out. I'll deal with Jonathan.”

Johnny couldn't see what was understandable at all. The whole thing made no sense whatsoever and he'd very much like to know how the cook came to be stepping out of a deserted broom cupboard, but now probably wasn't the time to ask. Had he been buried under the coats? As Mr. Wilkins closed the office door behind him, Mrs. Irvine focused on Johnny again and said, “Well, Jonathan?”