Star Blaze (32 page)

To make matters worse, in the snow-covered garden Clara and Alf had placed a selection of intriguing and beautifully wrapped presents under the branches of the fir tree, while some
of Sol's repair drones had built a magnificent snowman and were now in the process of carving a circular dining table and matching curved benches from an enormous and curiously non-melting block of ice, on which tomorrow's dinner would be served.

Sol told Johnny that Kovac's carrying case had been finished, with a little help from Clara, so he took the lift to the engineering deck where it was waiting, all the time wondering how he was going to buy anyone anything for Christmas.

“A present for Kovac,” said Clara, as she held out a clear container into which Kovac's casing could be slipped, before the open end was folded over and sealed shut. “It looks like a smaller rectangle inside a bigger one,” she said, which was exactly what Johnny thought, until she added, “but this is simply the three-dimensional shadow of the four-dimensional container,” which hadn't occurred to him at all. “It means Kovac can be here, on board, but also there, in Halader House, at the same time—it's brilliant.”

“I'll take your word for it,” he said, picking up the box and inserting a regular PC which Sol had handily supplied as a replacement.

The only hope was that he'd left his money at Halader House so he went directly to the foot of the ship and out through the revolving doors, across the deserted little square, up a few steps and into the waiting
Bakerloo
. In no time at all, the shuttle was coming to a halt in the snow-covered carpark of Castle Dudbury Railway Station, lit by a watery low sun.

Johnny went straight to his room. Again, everything had been tidied and cleaned. Again, the cardboard box with his parents' things lay in the corner waste bin, topped by a punctured football Johnny had kept for ages as a souvenir of a hat-trick he scored for his junior school team. He didn't mind so much about the ball, but rescued the box, putting it on his bed with
Kovac's container while he looked for a pen. There were several, neatly lined up in one of his drawers—Johnny took one and wrote “DO NOT THROW AWAY” on the side of the box in very big letters.

The problem with having such an orderly room was that there were very few places the money could actually be. After Johnny had searched all of them at least three times, he had to admit defeat and sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, wondering what he was going to do.

Half an hour passed. The shops would probably start shutting fairly soon. Though even if he found the money, Johnny didn't know what he'd buy for anyone. He searched the room twice more, opening every cupboard and drawer and checking the pockets of all his trousers just in case, but there was still nothing. Back on the bed, Johnny picked up the box of his parents' stuff. He was absolutely positive the money wasn't there, but it was the only place he hadn't looked.

Opening the box, he quickly saw there was a total absence of notes or pound coins, but as he held his dad's battered geologist's journal in his hands, he had an idea. Rummaging through for more, he also found a faded burgundy portable chess set (with only one white pawn missing, which he replaced with a small metal peg) and, getting really desperate, an old gyroscope. There was even a ball of string—he could use some of that to start the gyroscope spinning. These would be his presents—the journal for Clara, the chess set for Sol and the gyroscope for Alf. Kovac was getting his four-dimensional casing anyway. Johnny stood up and bagged his goodies, before walking past the trapdoor to the corner of the room and retrieving the football from the bin for Bentley's present.

Relieved to have solved the Christmas dilemma, Johnny was far too careless on his way to see Kovac. Just as he was about to open the door, who should step out into the corridor but Mr. Wilkins.

The huge cook cast his beady eyes over the bag Johnny was carrying and said, “Throwing more stuff out, Johnny? That's the spirit.”

Nonplussed, Johnny stood there, his hand placed incriminatingly on the door handle, without replying.

“Can you pop by the kitchens when you've done that?” asked the cook. “Could do with some help with the sprouts for tomorrow.”

“OK,” said Johnny uncertainly, with no intention of doing any such thing.

“Thanks, sonny,” said Mr. Wilkins, before setting off again down the corridor, whistling a Christmas song as he went.

Johnny wished it could be Christmas every day if it meant the cook wouldn't shout at him. Quickly, he slipped into the computer room. Kovac was beside himself with excitement as Johnny prepared to place him into Clara's four-dimensional hyperbox.

“Happy Christmas!” he said, before sliding the quantum computer into the casing and sealing it shut.

It was an age before Kovac replied—so much so that Johnny thought something must have gone wrong—but finally the computer said, “I think I'm going to enjoy this.” The casing lit up as Kovac spoke.

As a bonus, Johnny found some plain brown parcel paper in the corner of the room, which he added to his bag—it would be better than nothing. Then, with the replacement PC wired up and working, he slipped out of the children's home weighed down with Kovac and all his gifts. For the first time he could remember, he was actually looking forward to a Christmas Day.

Johnny's Christmas treat to himself was a long lie-in. When he finally awoke, it was to the sound of Christmas carols being
piped into his quarters. A familiar voice from the ledge in front of the mirror said, “How can I be expected to think with that racket in the background? Is this a spaceship or a holiday camp? At least at Ben Halader House I had some peace and quiet.”

Johnny made a mental note to find somewhere other than his quarters to keep Kovac. “Happy Christmas, Sol,” he said sleepily, sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes.

“Happy Christmas, Johnny,” the ship replied. “You'll be pleased to know that Alf is already in the galley, preparing a special lunch, and has insisted no one needs to help him at all—you're to have a complete day off.”

“Thanks,” he replied. “Is Clara up?”

“Clara is on deck 18 in the garden.”

Gently, Johnny took hold of Bentley's head, nuzzled his nose against the Old English sheepdog's and said, “Wake up, Bents. It's Christmas.” Throwing on some clothes he walked to the door which swished open.

Bentley skipped through and Johnny was about to follow when a voice from the ledge on the other side of his quarters said, “What about me?”

Johnny stopped. “As it's Christmas,” he said. “If you
promise
not to annoy anyone, I suppose you can come too.”

Bentley ran out of the lift shaft first, followed by Johnny carrying Kovac. A snowball flew past, missing the end of his nose by a fraction. Clara frowned, deeply disappointed, but before she could fire again Johnny said, “Truce! I've got Kovac.”

He carried the computer over to beside the decorated pine tree, all the time scanning the ground for ammunition for a quick counterattack, but there weren't any snowball-shaped clumps nearby. Under the tree, Clara and Alf's parcels had been joined by the presents Johnny had wrapped the night before, tying them up using some of the white string.

“Nice paper, by the way,” said Clara.

Johnny felt his face start to go red, but then realized his sister actually meant it.

Though they were both eager to start opening presents straightaway, they decided to just have each other's until Alf joined them with dinner. Clara handed hers to Johnny first. It was heavy and rectangular and felt like a book, which was a little disappointing as Johnny didn't have a lot of time for reading nowadays. That was until he opened it. Although it was, indeed, a book, it was unlike any Johnny had ever seen before. The title was
Set Pieces: Winning through Freekicks and Corners
by Stuart Mackay, the former manager of one of those smaller teams who'd done far better in the Premier League than they had any right to expect. Johnny had expected to see diagrams accompanied by explanations of what each player did, which would have been great, but what he found was even better. Where there were pictures, they somehow came out of the page in true, miniature 3D, while the images weren't static—they actually showed the set piece taking place step-by-step.

“Is it OK?” asked Clara. “I'm getting loads better at dimensional manipulation and this was a great way to practice.”

“It's brilliant,” said Johnny. “Absolutely brilliant. The only problem is I can't show it to Mr. Davenport or anyone in the team.”

Clara laughed.

In comparison, Johnny's present to his sister suddenly felt even more rubbish, but there was nothing for it. He picked it out of the pile and handed over the brown package.

Clara undid the white string binding it and the parcel paper fell away. She held the battered, hardback notebook in her hand and, very carefully, opened a few pages. “Is this what I think it is?” she asked, looking at Johnny. Her eyes were watering.

“It's Dad's,” Johnny replied. “Some trip he made to Russia. I
hope it's OK—I didn't have any money and …”

Before Johnny could continue a mane of blond hair covered his face and Clara flung her arms around him. “It's more than OK,” she said. “It's the best present ever.”

The circular ice table had the five stars of Cassiopeia carved into where Johnny should sit and Clara's Starmark of the Plough for her position. Between them sat Alf, whose place was marked by the Emperor's diamond-shaped Melanian constellation, Portia. Johnny wondered if the lure of the food (carried in by one of Sol's repair drones which had been decorated to look like a sled) would overcome the uncomfortable look of the seats for Bentley, but he needn't have worried. The sheepdog was first into position, his tongue hanging out and salivating over the delicious feast well before Johnny sat down and discovered the ice benches were heated, soft when you sat on them and hugely comfy as they molded themselves around your bottom.

Sol had gone above and beyond the call of duty by creating a groove at the fifth and final position, into which Kovac's new casing fitted perfectly. Once everyone was seated, Sol announced, “Happy Christmas!” and it started to snow again, the giant flakes cleverly missing all the food. Crackers were soon being pulled, Bentley gripping them in his mouth, and even Kovac ended up with a paper crown perched on the top of his case, while telling bad Christmas jokes adapted from supposedly funny web pages.

Alf lifted the lid on the upside-down silver bowl at the center of the table, to reveal an enormous bronzed turkey, surrounded by balls of stuffing and chipolata sausages, and said, “Dinner is served.”

Soon everyone was tucking into the bird, together with roast and mashed potatoes, steaming blue Magule tips (a delicacy
from the planet Naverene that Clara and Alf were keen on), roast parsnips coated in cheese, minted carrots, purple broccoli and, of course, the Brussels sprouts. If Johnny had found his thirty pounds, he'd have happily bet every penny that Alf's were a million times tastier than the ones Mr. Wilkins would be cooking at Halader House. There was bread sauce and gravy and Johnny had never eaten such crispy roast spuds. Alf looked especially pleased to hear this and explained that he had fanned them to increase the surface area exposed to the fat. Johnny and Clara both laughed.

Everyone was so full after the first course that they decided to take a break and open a few more presents before pudding. Bentley tore straight into his, little pieces of wrapping paper flying into the air and joining the snow. Clara had bought the sheepdog a pair of reindeer antlers that she took great delight in placing on his head, while Alf's present was even funnier—a soft doll in the form of treacherous Chancellor Gronack. Bentley growled and immediately started chewing his present, before Johnny distracted him by helping unwrap the old football. The dog absolutely loved it, though no one else had enough energy to join in and chase the ball around the snow-covered garden.