Johnny Mackintosh and the Spirit of London (12 page)

What followed was a rollercoaster ride, but without seatbelts and not seeing where you were going. Inside the tunnel was like being in a washing machine, as they all crashed into each other and the walls, which at least were a little elastic, for what seemed like forever. And then it stopped as suddenly as it had begun. They had gravity. The bow-legged brown alien had rolled itself into a little ball, revealing a set of porcupine-style quills along its back. Clara had banged her forehead and a lump was already beginning to swell up. Johnny was impressed. He'd only met his sister a little while before but she was clearly made of stern stuff. He'd expected her to start crying but she just turned to him in her battered school uniform and said, “What now, do you think?”

Johnny shrugged and looked in the direction of the Dauphin who had got to its feet—it looked like it only had two—and was dusting itself off, while the little bow-legged servant unfurled and started to fuss around it, straightening out the metallic robes.

“Er, excuse me,” said Clara. There was no reply.

“Excuse me, Your Highness,” Johnny tried, hoping that might get a response.

The brown alien looked around. “How dare you address the Dauphin directly? And you a barbarian. Just because you speak Universal does not give you the right. You will speak when you are spoken to and not before.”

“I'm sorry,” said Johnny. “But what's Universal? And do you know what's happening—where we are?”

“Speak when you are spoken to. Didn't you hear me?” said the four-legged creature.

“Johnny,” said Clara. “What did it say? How can you understand it?”

“It was that thing—the big floating ball. It did something to me,” said Johnny, but before he could finish a flap in the skin of the tunnel opened above their heads and a triangular white face peered in through the gap. “Captain—I'm in,” it shouted over its shoulder.

A second face appeared. It looked humanoid—and male—with very dark brown and weathered skin, and a patch covering its right eye, next to a deep scar that ran from top to bottom down his face. He scanned the tunnel and his eyes fell upon the tall alien. “Your Highness,” he said. “We picked up the imperial distress beacon, but I had no idea it was from you.”

“Captain Valdour,” replied the Dauphin. “Of all the blundering buffoons charging to my rescue it would have to be you.”

“Your Highness?” asked Valdour.

The Dauphin's robes had changed color to a bright scarlet. “There was no distress signal. I was on my way to tell that upstart Nymac that his war is futile and he had better retreat before I blast him and his ships all the way back to Andromeda.”

There was a loud crash and the tunnel vibrated backward and forward, throwing its inhabitants off their various feet.

“Get me out of here NOW,” ordered the Dauphin, with what Johnny thought was an unfortunately high-pitched squeak. Everyone stood up nervously.

“Of course, Your Highness—if you would care to climb this,” said Captain Valdour, lowering what looked unmistakably like a stepladder down toward them.

“I would care to do no such thing,” said the Dauphin. “Send a gravity assist immediately, before I have your head.”

Another bang sounded above them and the four occupants of the tunnel were again flung to the floor. Valdour, still peering through the hole, said, “You may not have noticed but we are experiencing some difficulties. It is not possible to communicate with my ship's brain at this time. Your Highness has the
option of staying there or climbing out and walking to the bridge.”

“The indignity of it,” chuntered the Dauphin, starting to climb the stepladder. The others followed suit, emerging onto the outer wall of the tunnel and sliding down into the heart of what looked like a very chaotic junkyard, about the size of a school gym. Johnny wondered if he was ever going to see the type of gleaming hi-tech spaceship he'd always imagined. A tiny hundra, only a few centimeters wide, was floating close to him.

“Follow me,” said Valdour, turning on his heels and leading them forward. “We must re-establish communications or we cannot fold and the ship will be destroyed.”

Johnny squeezed Clara's hand. He didn't know what “fold” meant but it didn't sound like good news.

“We cannot fold?” asked the Dauphin. “Then we must surrender.”

“Your Highness,” replied Valdour. “This ship was born to fight. She has lived her life well. I will not disgrace her by surrendering now.”

“Are you mad?” said the Dauphin. “I order you to surrender the ship … at once.”

“We can argue over the chain of command on my ship, Your Highness,” said Valdour, “but as you see the point is moot.” They had just arrived in a circular chamber that was unmistakably the bridge. The doors weren't designed for anyone much taller than a human and the Dauphin had to stoop to get inside. Valdour was pointing to a wrecked console in front of them. “Our link to the brain has been destroyed—she has shut down. Without entering a command code we can neither free my plican nor fight back.” As he said the word “plican,” Captain Valdour pointed toward something that was shaped like a hotair balloon at the top of a cylindrical floor-to-ceiling tank in the very center of the room. “My crew are trying their best,” he
continued, indicating two more white triangular-faced aliens busy in front of some instruments, “but for now we are becalmed and at the Andromedans' mercy.”

“Well order them to try harder,” squeaked the Dauphin.

“As I said,” replied Valdour, “they are doing their best.”

No one was paying them any attention so Johnny let go of Clara's hand and began to wander around the bridge—it looked badly damaged. Steam was rising through vents in the floor and almost all the control stations were blackened from electrical fires. The only thing that appeared to be working was a giant viewscreen at the front, on which an enormous and sinister-looking vessel, jet black, was approaching. Against the background of deep space it was difficult to make out its exact shape, but Johnny would have bet all the money he had left that it was bristling with weapons. The little alien had curled back into a ball. Clara walked forward to the tank in the center and peered up at the strange balloon-like creature inside. Johnny took out the battered games console from his pocket—it was worth a try. After all, he'd designed it to communicate with a computer, which was a type of brain, but when he tried to switch it on nothing happened—it wouldn't be surprising if it had broken when he'd thrown it. “Please work,” he muttered to the little handheld console. He pressed the on button again and this time it sprang into life. Deftly Johnny's fingers programmed the handset to do what he'd had lots of practice getting it to do—to search for a signal.

“ … I must insist that you surrender the ship,” said the Dauphin in the background.

Text appeared on the screen in front of Johnny. He read it three times before it sank in. It spelled out, “I am Cheybora.”

Holding out the handset he approached the captain and the Dauphin, who were still arguing as the little hundra circled them excitedly. “Who's Cheybora?” Johnny asked, hoping to get the attention of one of them.

“ … Your Highness. Even if I could I would never give such a dishonorable order,” said Valdour. “Better to die in glory on the battlefield than in an Andromedan slave mine.”

“How dare you disobey me,” squeaked the Dauphin. “Treason!”

The ship lurched as it was hit again, flinging everyone to the floor. Johnny was first to his feet and said, with lots more urgency this time, “Excuse me but who's Cheybora?”

“Silence, barbarian,” said the Dauphin.

“Be quiet,” snapped Valdour.

“Thank you,” said the Dauphin.

“I meant you, Your Highness,” Valdour said to the Dauphin though gritted teeth. Looking straight at Johnny, he asked, “What did you say, child?”

“Er … who's Cheybora?” repeated Johnny quietly. Captain Valdour looked very frightening when he stared at you.

“Cheybora's my ship—that's her name.” said the captain. “How would you know that?”

“I can talk to her on my console,” said Johnny, holding up his little device. “What should I say?”

To Johnny's relief, Valdour seemed to understand. “Tell her we need to fold,” said Valdour. “At once. Can you do that?” Johnny nodded and started inputting the message. Valdour continued, “They'd have destroyed us by now if they'd wanted to. They must be about to board.”

Johnny typed in “must fold now,” although he had no idea what it meant.

“Really?” was the reply that scrolled across his screen, followed by, “I only obey my captain. You'll need a command code.”

“What's the command code?” Johnny asked Valdour.

“3 1 4 1 5 9 authorization Emperor BK1,” shouted Valdour as metallic clunks rang out from the hull above their heads. “Quickly, they'll be aboard any minute.”

Johnny frantically typed it in, hoping he'd not made any mistakes. The viewscreen was completely filled by the other ship now. As he keyed in the final character the tank next to Clara in the middle of the bridge started pulsating with blue light. An invisible barrier that had been holding the creature in the uppermost section was removed and it dropped through, opening out to reveal eight tentacles. It was like an octopus that had been scrunched up before. All of a sudden they were rushing straight for the other ship, only they passed through it. A sharp turn and stars flashed before Johnny's eyes. He dimly heard someone gasp in wonder before his world went black and he collapsed onto the floor of the bridge.

“Wake up, Johnny, please wake up.” Clara's voice gradually became louder and clearer. Johnny tried to lift his head, but was sick. “Johnny,” pleaded Clara again. Though he felt terrible he tried opening his eyes—the bridge was bathed in an intense blue light. To his surprise everyone else who'd been on the bridge seemed to be unconscious apart from Clara. The little hundra looked somewhat deflated, and had settled on top of a smoking, battered terminal, while the octopus-like creature Valdour had called a plican was curled up like a hot-air balloon again, with its tentacles retracted.

Johnny opened his mouth to speak, but just retched instead. There was nothing left to come out. “The captain,” he just managed to say, pointing in Valdour's direction. Clara understood and moved over to Captain Valdour, gingerly tapping him on the shoulder.

A hand darted out and grabbed Clara's arm and Valdour leapt to his feet, knocking her over. With all his strength, Johnny forced himself off the floor as Valdour hovered menacingly over Clara, but instead of striking her he picked her up in
his muscly arms, looked into her eyes and said, “Forgive me, little one. It was the fold. I am deeply sorry if I injured you … and ashamed I was not the first to rise. Your recovery belies your stature.”

“Johnny,” Clara said anxiously, not taking her eyes off Captain Valdour's scarred face.

It seemed the tiny hundra wasn't translating. “It's OK, Clara,” Johnny groaned. “He's not going to hurt you.”

“Are you sure?” Clara asked, her arms out in front of her so the captain wouldn't get any closer.

Captain Valdour put Clara down and turned to Johnny. “Does the little one not understand me?” he asked.

“No,” Johnny replied. “She can't speak your language.”

“Yet I understand when you speak to her,” said Valdour, perplexed.

“It's a long story,” Johnny replied. “I don't really understand it myself. What's the fold?” he asked, walking across to Valdour and Clara.

“The plican, there in the tank,” said Valdour gesturing across to it, “can fold space. We have crossed a vast distance instantaneously but, as you surmised, it is not pleasant.”

“My sister—the little one—loved it,” said Johnny. “And before, when we were on the other spaceship.”

“The little one?” scoffed Clara, but she went quiet. Valdour had turned back to her and was studying her face carefully.

“She is unusual to feel that,” he said, turning toward Johnny. “Folding is so traumatic it can even be fatal. It is only ever done like that, without protection, in extreme emergency. I fear the Dauphin will be most displeased,” he said, looking at the spindly figure still unconscious on the floor and smiling so that his scarred face looked even more grotesque. “Normally we would be in protective gel. I must thank you,” Valdour continued. “I cannot comprehend that device of yours, but you
saved us all. I owe you my life and I don't even know your name.”

“It was nothing,” said Johnny, looking awkwardly at the floor. “This is my sister Clara and I'm Johnny Mackintosh. I've just always been good with computers.”

Valdour laughed a deep hearty laugh: “A computer, Johnny Mackintosh? Cheybora is hardly some glorified calculator. Yes electricity flows through her circuits, but she is alive.”