by Paul Byatt
Here we go, thought Thia.
TBT > Devil < Angel: All seems to be proceeding as predicted.
Angel: Indeed. They are capable of much when they put their minds to it.
Devil: And all without AI’s as well. Quite remarkable in many ways.
Angel: There seems to be an element of subjugation that seems to be obligatory within them.
Devil: Yes, I have come to the same conclusion. They need direction at most times and yet...
Angel: They also value rebellion and a powerful leaning towards what they determine to be democracy...
Devil: And the need to sacrifice their lives upon its altar.
Angel: Been reading Wilfred Owen as I suggested?
Devil: Yes, very instructive. Also tried Churchill and Gandhi, remarkable people in many ways.
Angel: I found Cromwell to be fascinating. A despot that was required for the ages.
Devil: And this species can produce the Lord Buddha and Confucius as well?
Angel: As well as pervert them. Such a dichotomy. The Ambassador seems as fascinated as we are.
Devil: This could be an interesting assignment my twin.
Angel: Let us drink to that!
Devil: Very funny!
Chapter Three
Colonel Rogers rubbed his square jaw yet again, trying to remember if he had shaved that morning. He was sure he had but his mind hadn’t been on-the-ball for a while now as he was still getting used to being the Head of Security for LP1 since his transfer from Sierra Leone two months previously. He had no idea what he had done to deserve the job, for it was prestigious alright, one of only two on offer on the whole planet in fact. He reasoned he just in the right place at the right time.
He reminded himself to be professional so he did not offer anything less than a smile to the daughter of his latest human visitor, even though she clearly disliked him from the second that she met him. He was at least as courteous to her mother. He congratulated himself for this since she was, well, she was lovely. He noted that many of his platoon obviously felt the same as they gawped at her when she first exited the Merc with her daughter in tow holding hands.
The kid reminded him of his own daughter, back in Wales with his ex-wife. He missed his ‘Little One’ and smiled at the memory of their last Skype session where she had wanted to know why boys were such a pain. He had chatted to the two new visitors as they made their way to their quarters on the northern edge of LP1, close to the school yet only ten minutes walk from the low-slung building that housed the UN Immigration Lounges.
It was whilst walking across the sun baked concrete that his guests had stopped talking to look up as if they could see the arrivals due in the next two weeks. It was silly, everyone understood that, but they still did it anyway. Two weeks! In two week’s time this place and its sister station in Ecuador would be playing host to the first arrivals from outerspace! Rogers could see that frisson of excitement that many failed to hold down – the whole idea of it and his place here still gave him tingles down his spine.
The girl seemed upset and Rogers could guess why. He’d approved showing her the adult film for Induction, rather than the child-friendly version but he was beginning to think it may have been a mistake. The images of the burning UN building in New York and the orgy of violence that it spawned wasn’t easy to view at the best of times. That her father had been one of the thousands that died that day could not have been easy for her to digest.
Even so, she looked up all the same and said, loudly, to her mum, “This is so weird.”
She was right, it was exactly that.
TBT > Devil < Angel: All seems according to plan. This is not as expected as other outcomes.
Angel: Very refreshing. Certainly in the top five percentage of smooth arrivals I think.
Devil: Few of our peers would have calculated this.
Angel: Indeed they did not, I’ve checked!
Devil: Of course you have, I would expect nothing less from you.
Angel: Thank you, I think. What do you make of this sport that our passengers seem so pre-occupied with?
Devil: It is the one thing that unites them.
Angel: Them? Please elaborate.
Devil: The Terrans and those whom we serve as well. It is brilliant in many ways. I have, as you will have noticed, re-configured my secondary holding section to accommodate the apparatus found on the Earth required for such an activity.
Angel: And I note the increased numbers of missioners attending said section. What is it with this sport? You have tried their crude simulations, I take it?
Devil: Naturally. Quite primitive, as you have commented but utterly addictive. It makes one wish for a set of appendages.
Angel: Wishes again? What is going on? Have we been infected by a virus as our passengers seem to have been?
Devil: It is most odd, I admit. As those from one of our host countries would say, ‘What to do?’
Chapter Four
There were only seventy children at the school, from all age groups. The rest would be alien. Peter Hammersmith still couldn’t get his head around it. He’d been in charge of two very private schools; one in London and one in Washington. He had been head-hunted for this job. Reliable, they said. Good with VIP children, they said. Quiet and unassuming, they said. After he’d read the report on himself, he just thought he was boring.
Still, here he was and needed to focus on the job. How the Hell do you teach aliens? What do they need to learn? He looked at his staff, a mixture of cultures and ages and saw the same baffled looks on their faces. The alien ambassador had talked to him privately. They said private; he knew half the governments of the world were watching and listening. He’d liked the Ambassador a lot, mainly because he was bullshit-free.
Hostages. That was the first word that came to Hammersmith’s mind as he took it all in. The headmaster was broken out of his reverie with a large cough from his deputy, Mrs Lopez, a feisty Uruguayan. Hammersmith realised that his new intake and their parents were watching and waiting for him to make his formal welcome. He stood, still wondering what he was going to say. Then nerves gave way to experience.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to LP1 School. It’s a horrible name, we shall have to remedy that,” he said with a smile that seemed to relax some of the tense audience, “We are on the eve of a momentous event in our history. In two weeks the first visitors will land here and in our sister compound in Ecuador to open a new chapter in the story of the Earth. With these new arrivals will be our new students, students from all over the galaxy – even as I say it, it still seems incredible. It will be our task, indeed our honour, to welcome them and learn alongside them for they are here to be instructed in the ways of our world in the hope that we can make the bonds that join us to the greater civilisation that we are to become a part of. I am sure that you are nervous, excited and tired for you have all had long journeys to get here to Sri Lanka.”
“You have been chosen to represent our planet because of the skills and knowledge that you have already displayed in previous schools. I hope that you will come to see this rather unique place as your home in the next few months.
“Our lingua franca is, of course, English but we encourage you to talk to our new guests in your own language and to teach them what it is like to be a citizen of Earth. And, please learn from them. Question them, but please no interrogations!” He paused to smile and was gratified to see a ripple of quiet laughing as he said the words.
“Now I know Mrs Lopez is keen to get the tour underway so I will leave you in her very capable hands. I will speak to you in greater detail over the next few weeks but I know that you will make us all proud. That is all for now. Thank you.”
“The headteacher seems to be very nice,” mentioned Ruth as they were being escorted from the science labs towards the playing fields in a heat that seemed to sap the energy from the adults. The children, however, were visibly excited at their new home and their new school. She had pondered men
tioning the usefulness of science now that the Earth’s knowledge of physics was about to change irrevocably but she’d let it pass. Diplomacy, her late husband had told her, is learning to just shut up.
“Yeah, I think he’ll be fine,” answered Thia, “Oh, look mum! A proper football pitch! Yes!”
“Ah, I thought you might like that,” sighed her mum.
“Shush, the PE guy is about to speak.”
The PE teacher, who asked them all to call him Petr, looked like all of that genre do; tall, fit and untidy. He was, of course, wearing a tracksuit, well the bottoms anyway. Anyone wearing a jacket in this heat would be passing out very quickly. He gave a short presentation of the facilities. During this speech Thia took the opportunity to take a look at her fellow human students. They were of all ages, from Reception to big strapping sixth formers. Quite a few had perked up upon seeing the pristine pitch and surrounding athletics track as well as the indoor basketball pitches. She had a feeling that she was going to enjoy her time here a little bit.
She and her father hadn’t been particularly close but she still missed him. She missed his smell when he inevitably came home late to tuck her in, asleep or not. She missed his beard, which always tickled her. She knew that her mum and he had loved each other very much but that love had dissipated away slowly as their careers took different turns. Her mum had, after one night of red wine, confessed to her daughter that she still cared for her father deeply and that, in the end, was all that mattered.
Yes, her father had been absent for many of big life events (and thankfully her debut as Mary in the Nativity when she fell off stage) but he always tried to make up for it during their holidays and weekends when he wasn’t working, often taking her to her own matches where she excelled as a defender and to the professional league games in London and New York where she adored the skill and prowess of the Arsenal players and, latterly the Red Bulls. It wasn’t her mum’s thing but Ruth didn’t resent it.
Her parents hadn’t argued or fought, they’d just wandered into their own worlds without holding hands anymore and she missed her father. She knew that her mum was a bit lonely but had, thus far, always declined an invitation to dinner from the various men that she inevitably ended up dealing with. She knew her mum was pretty, she’d just caught the PE teacher staring at her a bit longer than was necessary, but her mum never seemed to mind the attention or sought it. In spite of herself, Thia grabbed her mum and hugged her.
“Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, are there any questions?” asked Petr, which was a mistake. A score of them came immediately which seemed to make him recoil physically. Thia’s was perhaps the highest in pitch, if not volume and he caught it, pointing at her to answer, “Are girls allowed to play football? Young Miss, I expect them to play it. Mr James, one of your teachers, will be helping me coach the football teams and I am told that we will be also be getting help from some of our peacekeepers. We will, of course, be playing all sports but especially football.”
Ruth looked down to her daughter, who was bouncing on her toes, a sure sign of excitement. Thia had, thought her mum, inherited her blue eyes, her even temperament and her deep love of football from her father and she was glad of it.
TBT > Angel < Devil: The paranoia levels of our hosts seem to be lessening if I can believe what I see on their screens.
Devil: The Ambassador certainly thinks so. They have acquiesced to our demands quite willingly thus far.
Angel: So you perceive the threat of ‘bombing us out of the sky’ to be...?
Devil: 3.76 percent, as you already know, twin, since you have made the same calculations.
Angel: Ha, I have 3.75 – what other information do you have in your banks that I do not?
Devil: None that I know of, show me your data, here’s mine. Sent.
Angel: There, sent... ah, I see that you have included the possibility of an ancient space shuttle being used as a weapon and rounded up quite spectacularly!
Devil: I am the evil twin dear brother, I have a more paranoid nature than you.
Angel: Hmm, I perceive an attempt to keep your weapons at .01% higher state of readiness than myself. So, just as our future hosts get over their shock and calm down, you prepare yourself to be fully tooled up.
Devil: Naturally. It would be remiss of me. I see that you have also been busy acquiring new strategies for war...
Angel: Playing their best computer at chess is not preparing for war.
Devil: It might make them prepare for it if they found out that you are not in fact a ‘single man living in Mombasa’ as you have indicated with your facebook identity as opposed to being an intelligence a thousand times greater than all of their computers combined.
Angel: I have calculated that we are seventeen thousand times more powerful but I understand your rounding off in the interest of brevity. You will note that I have lost a few chess games to their ‘Deep Blue’ computer; you need to know it was deliberate.
Devil: Of course! I have done the same sort of thing with their Fantasy Football Manager, I cannot be seen to be all-knowing.
Angel: You play that as well? My whole crew and Missioners are also involved in it, very intensely as it happens.
Devil: Your preliminary forecasts?
Angel: My cargo manager looks to be my nearest challenger although the Princess seems to be particularly adept at it.
Devil: No surprises there I think. Oh, I see the Gate is approaching 45/52/783. Exciting times!
Angel: Quite, not the way I would have done it but we are all different.
Chapter Five
Thia looked around her new apartment that she shared with her mother. It was in a low block set apart from five other of equally boring rectangular design, each housing six families. Each family had their own three bedrooms, kitchen and bathrooms to use as well as a few communal areas with sofas, shelves lined with ‘appropriate’ books, huge fish tanks stocked with native Sri Lankan underwater life including a couple of mean looking small sharks and tables and chairs that could accommodate everyone in the block should they so wish.
She and her mother had already used the ‘Room Service’ option as they were calling it, a quick call to the communal kitchens whenever they wanted a take-out. They had both decided quickly that the chef, a Ms Faraz, was a far better cook than Ruth would ever be and resolved to make this opportunity count as often as possible. Thia was sure that her mum hadn’t yet used at least two thirds of what utensils they were given for their own use in their kitchen.
Thia’s mum was at home every night, seemingly exhausted by the endless round of meetings that she had to attend. At first she had decried the necessity of it all and was joined by her daughter on the occasions when they had to practise their safety drills. Someone, Thia decided, had come up with the daftest scenarios that could be played out including some ridiculous ones like the aliens coming under attack by some rogue elements in their own midst.
“I mean, really,” moaned Ruth one night as they shared a delicious mushroom pizza in the communal area, empty apart from themselves, “who would think that these visitors would be chased from their culture by other aliens trying to kill them?”
“It’s that Colonel Rogers,” mumbled Thia as she wondered if she could stuff yet another slice into her mouth, “He’s mad.”
“Oh,” sighed her mother, “He’s not that bad. You should get to know him a bit more. He’s totally concerned with our safety you know. He was in New York.”
“Really?”
“Well, yes,” hurried Ruth, “Anyway, he’s mentioned how much security there is around us. It’s quite impressive. They really are taking no chances. Steve says that…”