Ten Little Aliens Page 22

  ‘He’s wearing his webset,’ the Doctor observes.

  ‘Angels put it there,’ whispers Roba. His eyes look fearfully up at us. He ignores the Doctor. It’s us he responds to.

  ‘Showed me things in my head,’ he says.

  ‘What things?’ asks the Doctor slowly, like Roba doesn’t speak the language.

  ‘What are you bothering to ask him for?’ We tap the metal band clamped round his sweaty head with our gun. ‘Fix up his set. Let’s see in his head.’

  He fiddles with the metal band. We breathe in sharply, close our eyes. Roba’s here with us.

  Only he’s someone else, and he’s back in the control room.

  We realise we’re seeing the place as it was before we came.

  Our skin starts to crawl.

  ‘Everyone,’ we snap into our wrist-comm, and yell inside our heads. Tune in to Roba. I think you’ll want to see this.’

  Switch to Roba’s viewpoint. Select section 13 on page 219

  6

  Polly

  We were uneasy, here alone with Shade in the gloom of the passage. Oh, we’re scared to death as well - whatever we find out there it can only be bad - but this feeling of uneasiness is something separate. It’s our first time alone with Shade since we talked together about his past. Except we’re not alone any more. Our head’s like a revolving door with all these people going in and out any time they choose.

  We wonder if Shade feels awkward too. We could probably look inside and see, but it doesn’t feel right to even try.

  He looks at us. ‘You haven’t told anyone, have you,’ he Says. ‘About any of it. Not even your friends.’ He’s not asking a question. It’s a statement. And he’s right, of course.

  ‘Maybe there’s more important things to talk about right now than your guilty conscience,’ we say.

  He thinks this over for a while as we go. Looks almost wounded.

  ‘Besides,’ we add. ‘I keep secrets.’

  ‘So do I,’ he whispers. ‘Keep them for so long, I can’t ever let go of them.’

  We break off our march, look into his eyes. They seem to glow in sympathy with the mossy ceiling. ‘You should see your face; we tell him. The skin is barely marked, looks baby soft. ‘It’s like nothing ever happened.’

  He bites his lip. ‘It happened.’ He places a finger on the outline of Lindey’s palmscreen, visible through our grimy yellow suit above the hip. ‘It’s all there.’

  We turn away from him, unzip the front of the spacesuit, pull out the tiny computer. Then we hand it to him.

  ‘Gone?’ he whispers, staring at the display. ‘You wiped it.’

  Then he looks at us. So many guys have looked at us that way over the bar in the Inferno at the end of the night.

  They’re tired, and all the possibilities of the night have flounced out in mini-skirts and high heels in someone else’s arms. They’ve cried on our shoulder and when we give them the right answers they want to take us home and get them through the night. The Florence Nightingale of Covent Garden, the girls used to call us. Except in the morning, those poor lost lambs would only want us to get them a cup of tea and shut the door on our way out.

  We don’t know what to say. Yeah, we wiped every last scrap of evidence - by accident, not because we’re on your side.

  Yeah, you’re a cheating hypocrite who pulled strings to get himself a second chance. Yeah, you never meant to get those people killed, you just panicked, but they’re dead anyway now and are you going to blame yourself forever?

  He could be hearing all this. Looking in our head. We try to think hard of a penny-farthing like the Doctor did, but it’s no good, it just falls to pieces. A pink elephant appears out of nowhere behind the wreckage. We like that. Think of pink elephants, pink elephants...

  ‘It’s wiped,’ we agree. ‘OK, so it’s not like it never happened.

  You’ll see to that, by never letting it happen again.’

  ‘It’s happening now,’ Shade says. ‘Happening to all of us...

  Denni wants us all dead.’

  ‘You won’t... be like before. You’re not running away. ‘We squeeze his arm, just a touch. ‘You’re coming after Denni.

  And you’re looking after me. I don’t think you’d run out on me.’

  We’re saying all the right things. He’s quiet. Maybe working out how much of this night is left, whether we’ll see another morning.

  The passage forks into two snaking tunnels, and we recognise one of our little cairns. We lead Shade down that path.

  ‘You knew Denni well?’ In our minds we can hear the bouncers calling for the swingers to drink up and do their swinging outside in the street.

  ‘We were together for a time,’ Shade admits. ‘I could never work out what it was she saw in me. I guess since my face got me noticed, hanging with me marked her out too. She liked being talked about.’ He gives a nervous laugh. ‘A woman of mystery, that’s Denni. No one could work out what someone who looked as good as her saw in a guy with a burnt-out face.’

  The lights have come up, and oh dear, he’s laying this on a bit thick ‘Woman of mystery is right,’ we say, avoiding the wallowing stuff. He smiles at us suddenly. It’s not like he’s not gorgeous now. We think for a moment of how the two of them might’ve been together. Just for a moment. ‘Why would she do something like this? How could she?’

  ‘I can’t believe it. That she’d turn on us all like this. I mean, she always had problems with Haunt...” Shade shakes his head. ‘And I guess she always had ambition and a whole load of attitude too. But to do all this...’

  ‘It’s evil,’ we whisper.

  ‘Her temper was evil, sometimes,’ he says cautiously. ‘But

  her... I can’t believe this of her.’

  We thought he wanted us to take his arm and face up to the chill and the drizzle outside together, but now... he’s thinking about Denni all the more. He looks upset, eyes darting about in all directions, like he’s picturing the things they used to do and trying his hardest not to.

  We should maybe tell him about the pink elephants, but we can’t say we’re not tempted to try to see his thoughts properly for ourself. Something sweeter, all together safer than this miserable world of tunnels and fleas and seaweed and death and...

  We move through a narrower section of the passage together and Shade’s arm brushes against ours, closer than it needs do.

  I wonder if we’re saying goodnight, or else maybe walking out together. The night big and black above us, the stars bright and close enough to touch.

  Like a chaperone, the face of the Doctor swims into our view, unbidden. He’s saying something about Haunt.

  Something we should know.

  To witness these events from Shade’s viewpoint, select section 21 on page 231

  To switch to Haunt’s viewpoint, select section 9 on page 209

  7

  Polly

  We walk along beside Shade in silence, listening to the way we take three steps for each of his. Whatever he thinks, and whatever we say out loud, we can believe this of Denni. She’s in the Army, for God’s sake. What woman wants to join the Army? Wants to go around shooting people or whatever?

  Women like Haunt. Case rested.

  Denni sounds like a real cow.

  We suddenly twig that Haunt might’ve heard what we were thinking, and we blush. A pink elephant comes to our rescue.

  But Haunt’s not listening.

  She’s screaming in our ears. Desperate. Scared.

  Her words are shot through with the dead grey pallor of the angels. ‘Do all you can. Work together. Keep the neural network open. That’s an order.’

  The voice cuts off. Our head goes silent, the unsettling silence you get when some background noise you didn’t even know was there suddenly switches itself off.

  ‘Doctor!’ we scream out loud.

  ‘I’m still here, my child,’ he says, his voice strained. We can hear strange undertones, like he’s talking to someone
else at the same time. ‘Marshal Haunt ran on ahead, we saw someone...’

  ‘Denni?’ we ask.

  Shade starts to say something. We shake our head, shush him as we try to listen.

  ‘It seems highly likely, yes,’ says the Doctor. ‘I was too far away to see clearly.’

  ‘Is Haunt dead?’

  A pause. ‘I’m afraid I can no longer detect her in the neural network.’

  ‘Haunt’s dead,’ rasps Shade. He looks lost.

  ‘What about everyone else?’ we say. We’re thinking of Ben.

  ‘They are well. I am keeping a close watch on everyone. Be careful, my dear. I shall be back in touch soon.’

  His voice ebbs away in our head.

  Shade looks as if he might start crying. We go to him, open our arms. Hold him, as he holds us back, shaking softly.

  ‘Who’s going to get us out of this now?’ he whispers, and we want to say the Doctor will, we’re sure he will. But in the blackness, straining to catch the murmuring presence of the others as they creep along dark passageways, we can’t imagine ever getting out.

  We cling to Shade and we feel no bigger or better than the fleas that leap and skip about us.

  If you have not yet witnessed Marshal Haunt’s severance from the network, review section 11 on page 215.

  Then return here and select another viewpoint

  To witness these events again from Shade’s viewpoint, select section 8 on page 207

  To continue in Polly’s viewpoint, select section 12 on page 217

  8

  Shade

  We peer ahead into the darkness, our ears full of the crump, crump, crump of our feet on the stony ground, and straining to catch the first whispers of anything that might be lurking ahead of us, licking its lips at our approach.

  When Haunt screams it nearly deafens us.

  She’s lodged somewhere deep in our head, we feel a stab of pain behind our eyes, stony fingers clawing at - no, inside -

  our shoulder.

  ‘Do all you can,’ she yells. ‘Work together. Keep the neural network open. That’s an order.’

  And every trace of her is gone.

  ‘Doctor!’ Polly yells. Even right in my ears, the scream feels muted in comparison. We stagger back a few paces, still reeling from the power, the pain of Haunt’s presence.

  I’m still here, my child,’ says the Doctor. ‘Marshal Haunt ran on ahead, we saw someone...’

  ‘Denni?’ asks Polly.

  ‘What’s happened to her,’ we start to say, but Polly shakes her head, fiercely. Her long hair splays about over her face.

  We hear another voice inside us. Our own voice: jinx.

  Haunt made a fool of us in front of the whole academy, dressed us up in a combat suit so she could dress us down.

  Shoot us down. And didn’t we wish her dead? Didn’t we stare down at the vidphone and think about calling in friends and favours that would make Haunt disappear from our life forever? She must’ve known we could do that, but she didn’t care. She knew that when it came to it, we just wouldn’t have the guts.

  We told Polly all this was our fault.

  ‘It seems highly likely, yes,’ says the Doctor. It takes us a few scared seconds to realise he’s saying Haunt must’ve chased after Denni. ‘I was too far away to see clearly.’

  ‘Is Haunt dead?’

  A breathless pause. ‘I’m afraid I can no longer detect her in the neural network.’

  ‘Haunt’s dead.’ We can barely bring ourselves to say the words.

  ‘What about everyone else?’ Polly says.

  It’s only a matter of time, we think. If Haunt’s dead, with all she’s lived through... how can the likes of us go on hoping for miracles?

  The Doctor gives her a kindly answer, and says how he’ll be in touch. Will it be him next, shouting and screaming in our head as the angels close in on him, as the Schirr come stealthily for him out of the shadows?

  Polly’s looking at us. She looks like she might burst into tears. She holds out her arms to me. We shamble over and clutch her close to us.

  ‘Who’s going to get us out of this now?’ we whisper. Our face is clear, unmarked, like the past never happened, like we’ve never fought our own battles before.

  And Polly has nothing to say to us.

  If you have not yet witnessed Marshal Haunt’s severance from the network, review section 11 on page 215.

  Then return here and select another viewpoint

  To continue in Shade’s viewpoint, select section 24 on page 237

  To witness these events again from Polly’s viewpoint, select section 7 on page 206

  To switch to Roba’s viewpoint, select section 22 on page 234

  - then return here

  9

  Haunt

  We trudge about in the dark, playing out this stupid sick game. We can feel Schirr here. Out in the darkness.

  The Doctor holds us up. He feels useless, we don’t need to try to spy on his head to get that signal. We have to keep stopping for him to rest.

  We’re back thinking about Ashman. listening to the Doctor’s old-man-breathing here in the chilly darkness brings us crashing back to Toronto. Nothing else to do while he catches breath but look back. Try to warm ourselves round that inner image. Maybe others are looking in. Let them.

  After the Schirr blast, we came round in the shattered data office an hour or so later, woken by the sound of screaming.

  We couldn’t swallow. Our head felt like someone was slamming it in a blast door.

  It took us a few minutes to realise the screaming was Ashman’s. In combat his voice had always rung with calm authority. In pain, he sounded like a hysterical woman. The noise was coming from outside the room. Most of the ceiling had fallen inside it.

  We wanted to help him. We tried to push ourself up. That’s when we found our arm was broken, and we joined our CO in the shrieking.

  ‘Haunt! Ashman shouted, when he heard the noise. ‘Haunt, are you all right? Can you move?’

  The concern for us in his voice left us stunned. We even forgot the pain for a few seconds. ‘I’ll live’

  ‘For God’s sake you’ve got to help me? Ashman moaned.

  ‘Get to me. For God’s sake get to me.’

  We crawled past the remnants of the data inputter, and the leering mask of the Schirr. Incredibly, the medikit was intact.

  And Ashman and us, we were both alive. Lucky.

  A slick of blood poured suddenly out of our mouth, over our chin and onto the floor.

  Bewildered, we checked our neck and found a jagged piece of metal sticking out there.

  Ashman was still screaming for help. But we knew that unless we helped ourself first we would both die.

  We ripped a length of charred material from the dead woman’s shattered leg. Gathered a handful of pills from the floor around the medical kit, tried to fathom them. Gave up and swallowed the lot.

  We didn’t dare pull out the piece of metal from our neck straight away. We didn’t know what else it might pull out. But we worked out the metal was probably from the back of the monitor housing, and just knowing that made us feel a bit better. Crazy. Ever since we were a child, we always felt we could handle anything as long as we understood it. Got it.

  Weren’t floundering about, out of our depth.

  ‘You’ll never fall in love, then! our mother used to tease us.

  There was a small hole in the ruined doorway. We wormed through. Ashman was lying in the corridor. His body was bent all wrongly. It looked like it was only his combat suit that was holding it together.

  His face was a sticky red-black where the blast had stripped his skin away. But he must still be able to see through the eye that hadn’t melted into the flesh, because he fell silent when he saw us. It was one of those stupid, slushy moments when you look at each other and you feel the electricity. Power there, between two people. Like in books. He started shaking, trembling for us as we crept towards him. He wanted us.


  Needed us. He would die without us. We could feel it, and we shivered.

  ‘Are. ..’It was tough to talk with the metal in our neck. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘You’re funny,’ he said. Like normal.

  We held out a handful of painkillers. He lunged for them like they were diamonds. But his hand was shaking too much to keep hold of them. They fell and scattered on the floor We picked up each one and tucked it inside his mouth. He moaned, like we were feeding him strawberries dipped in chocolate. He coughed pathetically as he tried to swallow them down. His eyes stared blankly at the metal stuck in our throat, but he said nothing.

  Finally, his shaking hand gestured to his comms unit, just out of reach. ‘More Schirr, they said,’ he muttered. His voice was hoarse. ‘Unit came down outside. Took most of us out.’

  ‘Did we beat them?

  ‘Don’t think so.’

  Neither of us said anything for a while. We listened to Ashman’s breathing grow gradually easier. Ours got worse.

  Throat felt like it was closing up. We coughed and felt something hot flood out the back of our nose. There was nothing to break the silence now. The shadows were thick and coal-black. One emergency light still flickered half-heartedly.

  We fixed up our neck as best we could. Lay down beside him, careful not to get too close. We wanted to but we knew somehow that would hurt us more.

  ‘They might come for us,’ we whispered.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Help.’

  A pause. ‘I thought you meant the Schirr:

  ‘No.’

  ‘If the Schirr won, they might want to get back down here,’

  Ashman said slowly. ‘Finish off whatever they wanted to do.’

  We didn’t answer. We felt so tongue-tied this close to him, seeing him so vulnerable.

  What could we say? Someone who’d been so strong, weak like an old man, catching his breath.

  Like the Doctor now, who can’t even make a crummy mile in the dark.