The Terminus (11 page)

But Gary’s
thoughts were elsewhere: a tiny cell, a girl from the future, their lips
touching… he had to get back to her soon or he’d crack up!
Then
they’d
solve the mystery of the Terminus together. Curse God the Man and Redfor for
even suggesting she’d agreed to sacrifice herself for the cause. The whole lot
of them deserved to rot in hell for letting Beetie get dragged away.

“Pure bloody
silk...”

“Oh, shut up,
Mike! I’m not in the mood. Gotta think this one out. We give the tablet to
Arthry and hope he’s some sensible suggestion for getting Beetie out of that
bloody place. Before she forgets who she is.
Someone
in the Retreat must
have knowledge
about the Hatcheries. They can’t have wiped out
everyone’s memories. Perhaps if a whole bunch of us gets onto a shuttle bus we
could burst out at the other end… SAS style!”

“Game for
anything Gary as long as there’s no giant rats involved. Then I’ll give my
red-headed angel-girl back her hairgrip and tell her she’s just saved the
world. Think she’ll come on a date with me afterwards?”

“’Spect she’ll
call the flipping trick cyclists if you carry on using language like
‘angel-girl
’
!”

“Uh?”

“Trick
cyclists! Psychiatrists! They’d rush you into a high security ward!”

“No kidding,
Gary! She gave me the ‘look’. You can tell.”

“You with zero
experience?”

The train was
pulling into Bond Street station.

“Now for the
Jubilee line, northbound,” Gary said.

Mike followed
him to a familiar platform, both pairs of time-specs ready and set to precisely
the same time point after Beetie’s capture in June, 2213. Mike held on tightly
to the Pentatron case as they stood awaiting the arrival of the next train.

“You do realise this boy from the
past – the one who calls himself Gary – is out to destroy you and all your
happiness, Belinda?”

“Yes, Chairman.”

“Everything
you have here would vanish because of him.”

“Yes.”

“When you were
in the Retreat did he get close to you? Kiss you?”

“What’s the
Retreat, Chairman?”

“Where you met
Gary. Recall
him
and you’ll remember the Retreat and the cell you
shared. Arthry’s told me what went on between you two.”

“Who’s
Arthry?”

Arthry? The
Retreat? Beetie hadn’t a clue what the Chairman was talking about. These things
registered nothing, but the boy was different. She secretly thanked the man for
reminding her he was called Gary. She
did
remember their ‘kiss’... and
it was because of this she had to hide the truth. Even if the Chairman
threatened to kill her, she’d keep this one thing – the memory of him – locked
away at any cost.

“Did the boy
kiss you, I asked?” There was anger in the Chairman’s voice.

“What does
kiss
mean?” Beetie asked in the flat tone of an unbrained surfacer.

A smile
distorted the ugly face of the Chairman, revealing the true size of his teeth.

“One day I’ll
show you, Belinda, my dear, as long as you always tell the truth. Remember the
boy who seems to have got stuck in your beautiful little head only exists to
serve us both. That’s his pitiful purpose for remaining alive. Soon everything
will be ready so you might as well forget him. He’ll be wiped from the face of
the Earth as Arthry and the Retreat have been erased from your mind.”

Beetie stared
at the Chairman and gave him a hollow smile and from then on she hated him with
a passion as strong as her love for Gary.

“A poem for a
good girl, eh? You know, this poetry I read to you will soon come true. I
promise. So close your gorgeous eyes, Belinda, and listen:

“
Shall I
compare thee to a summer’s day?Thou art more temperate and lovely
…”

Beetie closed
her eyes and let the caressing words flow through her mind as she clung to an
image of a boy from the past.
He
would be her summer’s day. If not,
she’d arrange for death to take what was left of her fragile life.

***

“Jump!”
shouted Gary as the train doors slid shut. Putting on the time-specs in sync,
they landed on the empty track of a long-abandoned platform. In the dim light,
the yawning black entrance to the tunnel seemed to challenge them to take just
one step closer. Gary remembered the rats… whilst Mike just thought about them.

“Pitch black!
Shit, you might have told me! I’d have gone back for a torch if I’d known.
Could’ve returned to the hockey…”

“No need for a
torch, Mike. Only the ability to count.
I’ll
do that!”

“Don’t have to
rub it in! I
can
count to a hundred, mate!”

Gary always
came top in maths and Mike was invariably somewhere close to bottom; the
reverse in English, as Mike constantly reminded his friend.

The only sound
was of their footsteps on gravel. Gary counted in his head as the darkness swallowed
them.

“Bloody awful
smell!” whispered Mike.

“Shhh!” Gary
didn’t want to muddle up the numbers. “Must be hereabouts,” he whispered after
another hundred paces. He stopped, reached out into the darkness, made contact
with the cold, damp wall and patted until it gave a hollow sound.

“I frankly
don’t like this smell, Gary,” continued Mike. “Reminds me of dead mice. Our cat
used to catch them. Till she lost her teeth. She’d leave them about the place
as presents. Usually we’d only discover the dead mice when they began to stink.
My dad once found one in the…”

“
Please
shut up, Mike!”

“Sorry, boss!
Sometimes I forget how not to talk. D’you realise talking’s the one thing that
separates Homo sapiens from…”

Mike’s prattle
was cut short when the door to the Retreat swung open, bathing the tunnel in
yellow light.

“Wow!”

“Maybe
I
should take the tablet, Mike… and do the talking for a change. I’m trusted
here… assuming we’ve got the timing right.”

Gary relieved
Mike of the case and led the way into the Retreat. The door slammed shut behind
them. Mike remained uncharacteristically quiet as the boys slowly walked the
length of the corridor, watchful of Retreaters who glanced up from computer
screens, their faces blank. Gary felt uncomfortable. They halted outside the
door marked ‘R31267’.
He nodded at Mike, knocked
and entered. Arthry, seated at his desk, swivelled round and smiled at them.

“I’ve got
the…” Gary began, but stopped abruptly. Someone lurked in the corner of the
room. Half-turning, he saw it was Blinker. If it hadn’t been for Arthry’s
knife, he’d have smashed the other boy’s face in for what he did to Beetie. He
gritted his teeth and glanced down with uncertainty at the Pentatron case.

“As I was
saying,
he’s
here,” Blinker carried on, as if Gary and Mike’s entrance
had been an irritating interruption to his flow of words.

“Okay!”
exclaimed Arthry. “Just a minute...”

Arthry so
rarely smiled. That alone seemed wrong. Gary was aware of the door reopening
behind him and of Blinker leaving the room.

“Have you any
idea what that bastard did to Beetie?” Gary asked, jerking a thumb at the open
door. “Why is he still here?”

“At last...
the Pentatron tablet!” exclaimed Arthry, ignoring Gary’s questions. “God said
we’d be able to rely on you. Who’s your friend in Redfor’s suit? Also sent by
God... or a hanger-on?”

“Oh, most
definitely sent by God!” Mike answered unaware of Gary’s escalating unease.
“God searched the whole world for someone with the necessary skills and cool
demeanour (Mike, an incorrigible logophile, loved the word). Couldn’t have made
a better choice, could he, Gary?”

Stony silence
from Gary now locked in an eye-to-eye mental tussle with Arthry. He was trying
to read the face of the man whom Beetie so trusted but felt only Arthry’s
spear-thrust gaze tearing through his defences. Neither took any notice of
Mike’s monologue.

Someone
entered the room. Gary didn’t look round.

“Not been
properly introduced to God yet, have you, Gary?”

The boy
turned. A repugnant little man with a big head, large eyes and buck teeth,
grinned at him. He wore a long, grey coat over his tracksuit.

“Hello, Gary!”

Gary,
speechless, stayed rooted to the spot.

“Aren’t you
gonna introduce me to your friend? I can see he’s not my pal Redfor, despite
the suit. Ha ha ha!”

Teeth’s
guffaws hammered at Gary’s brain like machine-gun fire.

“Michael
Bellini,” Mike replied, offering his hand which the little man only looked at.
“Pleased to meet you, God. Gary’s told me everything.”

Mike withdrew
his hand. “Suit yourself then!” he muttered.

“Interesting,”
observed Teeth, “since Gary knows next to nothing about me... or indeed
anything. So... are you gonna give us the Pentatron Tablet or not, Gary?”

Gary glanced
at Mike. “But
this
isn’t God! Can’t be!” he whispered.

Frowning, Mike
shrugged his shoulders. Gary turned to face Arthry, the Pentatron case safely
flat against his chest.

“Oh Gary! At
last you and your partner in crime get to meet the one and only true God! Hand
it over, there’s a good boy!” the big man said, standing and reaching for the
case.

Gary backed
away. Something was seriously wrong.

“Where’ve they
taken her?” he demanded. Arthry just laughed. “
You’re
not the Arthry
Beetie trusted,” Gary blurted, “and
this
goofy monster… whoever
he
is he’s bloody-well not God!” He glanced sideways at Teeth whose teeth were now
bared in a mocking grimace.

“Everything’s
going fine, Gary. She’s cooperating perfectly, and with
that
…” He nodded
at the case. “With the Pentatron tablet the two of us can move on! She’s so
looking forward to the next stage, is Belinda.”

Without
warning, he grabbed Gary’s arm. Gary wrenched himself free, swiping at the
man’s hideous face with the case which sprang open. Something flew out, but
Gary no longer cared, his mind full of thoughts of what had happened, or might
happen, to Beetie.

“RUN!”
he yelled at Mike as Teeth reeled sideways and Arthry sprang forwards to catch
the Pentatron tablet. Another swish with the now empty case caught Blinker on
the nose. Gary and Mike ran from the room, hitting out at those who looked up
whilst they fled along the narrow corridor to entrance of the Retreat. The door
swung open automatically, snapping shut behind them as they disappeared into
the tunnel enveloped by blackness and deathly silence.

“Man, what the
bleeding hell was that about?” asked Mike.

“Arthry’s been
with
them
all the time. With The Agenda! And Beetie so believed in him.
That bastard Redfor arranged for us to walk straight into a trap! There’s only
me and you and Beetie, now. We’ve gotta get to her. Stop the bastards from…” He
couldn’t think about the horrors in store for Beetie if they failed to rescue
the girl. “Back to

Gary
stopped in his tracks.

“Via the
hockey pitch, if you don’t mind, Gary.
After all
I’ve
done for
you
…”

“Shhh!”

Gary
held up his hand. He’d recognised the sound. A deep-throated chatter blended
with the noise of something large moving rapidly towards them over the gravel
and coming from the direction of the station.

“Gee-rats?
Holy Entrails!” croaked Mike.

Gary
didn’t reply. He chucked away the empty case. It hit the ground with an echoing
thud as he reached for his mag-stunner.

“You aim to
the right,” he whispered, “and I’ll take the ones on the left.”

“How big?”
questioned Mike, fumbling in his pocket for his own mag-stunner.

“Bloody
enormous!”

“Bugger! I
really do hate rats. Can’t we take the flipping specs off?”

“And risk
being hit by a tube train going at fifty miles an hour? Give me a dozy bunch of
gee-rats any day!”

“Don’t sound
dozy to me!”

The chattering
got louder by the second. The boys pressed themselves against the tunnel wall,
aimlessly pointing their mag-stunners at the void. Something moved ahead, black
against black. A jittery, jerky
movement,
and Gary’s
nose fell victim to the raw, reeking smell of rotting flesh as a waft of warm,
stale breath wisped through the cool of the tunnel. The mucous sniffle-snuffle
of large nostrils warned his ears of the rodents’ proximity before an
unblinking eye showed, and, pale against the blackness, two huge, yellowed
chisel teeth.

ZING!
’
The nostrils went still, but the eye was unchanged and the noise continued.
Other black shapes emerged from the gloom, more eyes, nostrils and chisel teeth
and the crescendo chatter gnawed at Gary’s
brain.

ZING! ZING!
ZING!
”

“MAKE A RUN
FOR IT, MIKE! REMOVE SPECS AS A LAST
RESORT!”

They turned
and fled but didn’t get far. Gary’s
foot hit a pot-hole. He stumbled and crashed to the ground, his already bruised
face slamming the gravel.

“AAARGH!”

He felt for
the specs. Still on and intact, thank God… and God’s technology!

“Gary?”

Mike’s voice
sounded distant.

“GO ON AHEAD, MIKE!
STANMORE SCIENTIFIC LABS… THE HATCHERIES! GET
BEETIE OUTA THE BLEEDING PLACE!”

But the
gee-rats’ crescendo had smothered Gary’s
cries. One loomed above the boy. He felt a clawed paw press down on his leg,
the heat of its foul breath like a hairdryer on the back of his neck. Droplets
sprayed from searching nostrils as the giant rat tried to figure out where to
begin chiselling at its cowering prey. A burst of light illuminated Mike’s
terrified face some ten metres away. The gee-rat pinning Gary
to the ground went quiet before slumping painfully onto his leg.

A dozen
zings
in rapid succession and the chattering ceased.

“Gary?”

Blinker?
Surely not! Gary
spat gravel from his mouth as he raised his head to see three silhouetted
figures against the open doorway to the Retreat. One approached, slowly.
Judging from size, shape and the nervous twitch it had to be that bastard,
Blinker.

“Gary?”
he repeated, his voice touched with concern.

Gary
pulled his leg free from a ton-weight of gee-rat which, being
limp,
he took to be dead and not just mag-stunned. He
scrambled backwards, searching the ground for his own mag-stunner from which
he’d parted company.

***

What did
the Chairman mean by ‘won’t be long now, Belinda’?

He never
explained anything to her and that bitch of a warden even less. Her name wasn’t
Belinda, she felt certain, although the Chairman took every opportunity to
remind her he wanted her to be called Belinda. But now there was another name
in her head… Gary. Gary
had called her by a different name, of this she was in no doubt, only, like
everything else, it had been erased. A vacuum had formed in her brain and was
gradually being filled by the Chairman with things of beauty: mellifluous lines
of poetry, computer screen images of an incredible paradise, time in her
private flower garden and pretty clothes. Every day, there were new clothes...
much to the warden’s annoyance!
Dresses, skirts, tops, pretty
underwear –
lots
of pretty underwear – stiletto-heeled shoes and hair
accessories.
As the vacuum was filled with these things, and as her
resistance against the pull of the Chairman weakened, she stubbornly held on to
the memory of a boy… the boy she’d been ordered to forget and who would soon be
rubbed from the face of the Earth and from her mind.