Chaos Theories Collection

by Moody, David

  ‘Shh...’ Rob hissed at him. ‘This is important.’

  The politician paused again, just long enough for the mass of assembled photographers to fire off another volley of camera flashes and for a hundred reporters to ask countless variations on the same question at the exact same time. The defenceless spokesman lifted his hands in protest, attempting to restore some order.

  ‘Although there has been no direct communication with the occupants,’ he continued, ‘the vessel has so far obeyed our every instruction and is currently holding its position some fifty miles off the coast of the UK. An international air force is currently patrolling the skies around the region, and a number of warships from several states are also en route. At this stage we have no reason to believe the ship and its occupants are hostile, but no unnecessary risks are being taken.’

  Rob looked around for reassurance from his brother again. ‘If they were going to blow the shit out of us, they’d have done it already, wouldn’t they?’

  Tom shrugged his shoulders. ‘Who knows? Thing is, if they are here to take over the planet or wipe us all out, I don’t suppose there’s a fat lot we can do about it. We should find out where we go to sign up for the resistance.’

  ‘You’re kidding me?’

  ‘Of course I am, you dick.’

  ‘Anyway, they won’t try anything like that,’ Rob said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Were you not listening? They were broadcasting a distress signal. Why would they have done that if they were going to attack? You’re right, if they’d wanted to they’d probably have already levelled the planet by now.’

  ‘You’re so bloody naïve,’ Tom said, getting up and crossing to the window again. ‘Did you not see Alien? That started with them answering a distress call.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s a movie, you prick. This is real life.’

  Tom looked down into the village, no longer interested in anything either his brother or the government spokesman had to say. Neither of them were doing anything to calm his unease.

  The sun peeked out through a gap in the thinning clouds, as if checking whether it was safe to come out yet. Down in the streets of Thatcham, more people had emerged from where they’d been sheltering from the torrential rain or the aliens or both. It seemed a little calmer out there now. A train pulled away from the village’s small station, the traffic was beginning to move freely again, and there were several small groups of cagoule-wearing people gathering in bunches by the sea wall. The reality of an alien invasion – if that was what this was – had so far proved very different to all those movies Tom had seen. He kept thinking about stories like War of the Worlds and god-awful films like Independence Day. Any minute now, he thought, and the war machines will appear on the horizon. Huge metal-legged striders will march across the land, crushing everything in their path and killing thousands with their deadly weapons. By this time tomorrow, he decided, there’ll probably be nothing left of any of us. He felt genuinely afraid. Helpless. He felt like he had the day he’d taken the phone call about Mum and Dad’s accident.

  ‘I think you’re wrong about Dad,’ Rob said suddenly. ‘He’d have loved this. He’d have been right in his element. I don’t think we’ve got anything to worry about, Tom.’

  ‘I’ll remind you of that when we’re both in one of their slave labour camps, okay?’

  ‘Fair enough. But here’s the deal, if we don’t end up in a slave labour camp – which we won’t – then you have to start lightening up, okay? You’re in a good place now. You’ve got Siobhan, you’ve got your house, and thanks to Mum and Dad you’ve got more than enough cash to keep you going for a good while yet. Apart from the fact we might have just been invaded by aliens, your life is good!’

  2

  The routine of living in the village frequently felt as predictable as Tom’s pre-Thatcham life had been. He’d just replaced strategy meetings, targets, brainstorming and the like with more convivial alternatives: long walks, runs, and regular Friday evening drinking sessions.

  Siobhan arrived just before half-past seven. Tom watched her from the window. He thought her extraordinarily beautiful. She was just short of his height, with shoulder-length blonde hair, steely blue-grey eyes, and the kind of body he’d only dared fantasise about previously. He didn’t know what she saw in him.

  She let herself in. ‘Hello, you,’ she said as she entered the living room. She walked towards him and kissed him gently on the lips, then hugged him. He kissed her neck, nudging away the strap of her top and nibbling her shoulder. ‘Easy tiger,’ she whispered. ‘You know what that does to me.’

  ‘That’s why I do it.’

  He pulled her down onto the sofa with him, wrapping his legs around her so she couldn’t escape.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Rob moaned as he walked past. ‘Get a room.’

  ‘This is my room,’ Tom reminded him. ‘Come to think of it, they’re all my rooms.’

  Rob shook his head and switched the TV back on. It hadn’t long been off. Siobhan immediately disentangled herself from Tom and turned around to watch.

  ‘Anything happened?’ she asked.

  ‘What, apart from the alien invasion?’ Rob answered sarcastically.

  ‘You know what I mean. Anything happened since then?’

  ‘Not a lot as far I can see. I still can’t get my head around any of it. Did you see that thing...?’

  ‘I was at work. There was only me and Mona in the office. It was dark because of the storm, then it went even darker and I didn’t think much of it. Then Mo saw that everyone outside was looking up. We went out front and watched it fly over. Scary as hell. Amazing, though.’

  ‘I watched it from here. It was incredible. Your dickhead of a boyfriend was out running, weren’t you, Tom?’

  Siobhan looked around when he didn’t reply. She thought he was watching TV, but he was staring at her, transfixed by the shape of her long legs, their shadows visible through her light summer dress.

  ‘Put your tongue away,’ she said. ‘Perv.’

  The doorbell rang and Rob went to answer it. When Siobhan remained standing in front of the TV, Tom got up and walked over. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and felt her leaning back into him.

  ‘Love you, you know,’ he whispered.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You okay?’

  She scowled and looked at him over her shoulder. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

  ‘All this going on,’ he said, gesturing at the TV.

  ‘Not a lot any of us can do about it, is there?’

  ‘No, but that’s not the point. Things have changed today, Siobhan. Can’t you feel it?’

  ‘Yes, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing, is it?’

  ‘Bloody hell, how many science-fiction movies have you sat here and watched with me? How many of them turned out well for mankind once the aliens arrived?’

  ‘You’re always looking on the downside,’ she said, turning around and looking at him with concern.

  ‘I’m not, I’m just—’

  ‘You are. How many of those films ended up with people winning against the odds?’

  She had a point. ‘But aren’t you worried?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course I am. We all are. But what can we do? We can all spend the rest of our lives hiding under the kitchen table, or we can get on with things as normal and hope everything works out for the best.’

  ‘I know, but—’

  ‘But nothing. Lighten up, sweetheart. You’re always worrying about something. Stop!’

  She toyed with a strand of his hair, then gently ran her fingers down the side of his face. She looked up when Rob returned.

  ‘Are you two coming? James is here.’

  ‘There in a second,’ Tom replied. He went to move but Siobhan kept hold of him a moment longer. She stared into his eyes, and he felt uncomfortable, foolish even.

  ‘Everything’s going to be all right. Believe me?’

  ‘I believe you.’


  ‘Good. Early night, tonight, okay? Just you and me.’

  ‘Sounds perfect.’

  ✽✽✽

  The Badger’s Sett was often busy on Friday evenings, particularly in summer, but never like this. The place was heaving with unfamiliar faces, and Tom had to fight just to get in through the door. It seemed that every tent-dwelling holidaymaker staying anywhere near the village had chosen the security of bricks and mortar and alcohol over their flimsy canvas walls tonight. The large-screen TVs dotted around the bar were clearly another factor. Groups of people were gathered around each of them, mouths hanging open, watching events unfold with continued disbelief.

  John Tipper, running up and down behind the bar, looked exhausted – red faced and flustered but still grinning like a fool. He loved his pub, loved being the centre of attention, and more than anything, he loved the positive cash flow of a bumper night like this. His wife Betty had just shut the kitchen early, having run out of most of the dishes on her simple bar food menu.

  John looked up as Tom and the others approached the bar, and nodded to let them know he’d clocked them. As Tom and the others were such reliable regulars, he often had their drinks waiting for them. Not tonight.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ James complained, ‘I’ve come out for some peace and quiet. This is a joke.’

  ‘Want to go somewhere else?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Like where? There is nowhere else.’

  Siobhan noticed a family in the corner who’d just started collecting up their things. They were obviously holidaymakers – she could tell in an instant that they weren’t local. Living in Thatcham helped you develop a sixth sense when it came down to differentiating us from them. That thought stuck in her head as she made a beeline for the table to claim it before anyone else. Tonight the non-locals were no longer the only invaders. In fact, tonight they didn’t feel like outsiders at all.

  James and Rob followed Siobhan, abandoning Tom at the bar. As he waited for John to serve him, Tom watched Siobhan collect the vacating family’s dirty glasses, plates and cutlery and take them through to the kitchen. She’d even been known to help out behind the bar before now, though she much preferred drinking to serving. There were aspects of village life Tom still struggled to get his head around. The concept of helping out and doing something for nothing for the benefit of someone else just wouldn’t have worked where he’d come from. He recalled a particularly offensive ex-colleague who used to regularly tell him: Don’t ever feed a beggar, they’ll eat your fucking arm. Things were different here in Thatcham. Stepping away from his old life had allowed Tom to appreciate just how intense and, ultimately, unimportant it had all been.

  ‘How the devil are you?’ John asked – his standard greeting – when he finally got around to serving Tom. He neatly rolled up the sleeves of his sweat-soaked check shirt, adjusted his glasses and smoothed back his thinning white hair.

  ‘Excellent, thanks,’ Tom said – his standard reply.

  ‘Glad to hear it. The usual?’

  ‘Of course. Bit busy tonight, John.’

  ‘Just a little. I’ll tell you something, Thomas, these aliens are more than welcome to drop in every Friday afternoon if they’re going to do this for my profits.’

  ‘Just as long as it’s not last orders for all of us, eh?’

  John forced a grin at Tom’s pathetic comment. Then his face dropped. ‘You don’t think it will be, do you?’

  ‘Don’t know. Not sure yet,’ Tom replied, suddenly more serious. The moment reminded him of a scene from the beginning of The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy: Ford Prefect ordering six pints of bitter ‘and quickly please, the world’s about to end.’

  ‘You worried?’ John asked.

  ‘Yep. You?’

  ‘Likewise,’ he said, passing Tom the last of his drinks. ‘Glad to hear someone else keeping things in perspective.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Some folks seem to be getting carried away. You know Barry Yates from Kemberton Boats, him and his mates were talking about sailing out there.’

  ‘Bloody idiots.’

  ‘That’s what I said. I told him this is serious. Some people just don’t get it. They’ll get themselves killed.’

  ‘More fool them,’ Tom said as he handed John his cash. ‘I’ll reserve judgement until I’m sure we’re not being invaded or anything like that.’

  John’s expression changed. Momentarily deep in thought, he’d allowed his permanently grinning landlord persona to drop. A shout for service from further up the bar brought him back to reality.

  ‘Got to get on,’ he said, handing Tom his change. ‘Punters to serve, profit to make.’

  ‘Something strong please, John,’ he heard Phil Yates, another local, say. Tom glanced back at the others and managed to catch James’ eye through the mass of people filling the pub. James came over to help with the drinks, weaving through the crowds.

  ‘Cheers mate,’ Tom said, handing him two pints. ‘Listen, I hope you don’t mind me saying, you look bloody terrible.’

  ‘I feel bloody terrible,’ he replied as they worked their way back to the table.

  ‘Baby keeping you awake?’

  ‘She’s keeping me awake, the rest of the kids awake, the missus awake...’

  ‘That bad, eh?’

  ‘That bad.’ James sighed as he sat down. ‘And now we’ve got bloody aliens to deal with as well. I tell you, mate, I’ve had enough.’

  The pub was loud, too loud. The noise levels, coupled with a reluctance to give James opportunity to moan about the miseries of family life, meant there was little conversation. The afternoon’s events cast a dark cloud, but just being here helped. The familiar chaos of the place was strangely reassuring.

  Tom looked up from his beer, noticing that both Rob and Siobhan were glued to the TV screen on the wall opposite. The same syndicated shot of the alien ship still dominated the news as it had all evening, only the lighting and the number of boats floating in its vast shadow seemed to have changed. As the sun had set, the sky on the horizon had turned a searing yellow-orange, making the ship look impossibly dark in contrast. It remained fixed in position: a featureless shadow which seemed almost to be sucking in the light from around it. Only occasional searchlights from the flotilla below disturbed the inky black, rippling across the hull and down the endless length of the titanic machine. The intense blue-white light at the back of the ship, Tom realised, had been extinguished. I guess that means they’re stopping, he thought.

  ‘Unbelievable, isn’t it,’ Rob said. No one answered, but he continued regardless. ‘Don’t know about you lot, but I’m still having trouble getting my head around all of this. We’ll be talking about this day for years to come. Everyone will remember where they were and what they were doing when the aliens came. I know I will.’

  ‘Me too,’ James agreed. ‘Christ, our little one will grow up never having known any different. Imagine that.’

  Tom couldn’t. It still felt like too bizarre a concept. Were the occupants of that ship explorers or an invading force? His mind wandered back to history lessons he’d struggled through many years earlier at school. Sir Frances Drake, Christopher Columbus, Vasco De Gama... there were many more. History had never been his strongest subject; he remembered little more than the explorer’s names and the fact that the history books always seemed more sympathetic to the discoverer than the discovered. When he started to think about colonization, and the impact of these invading forces on the indigenous populations of hitherto unknown countries, he began to feel uneasy. You can dress it up however you like, he thought, but is there really any difference between an explorer and an invader?

  Tom made himself focus on what everyone else was talking about, but that was inevitably the aliens too. He was beginning to wonder if they’d ever be able to talk about anything else.

  ✽✽✽

  The strange night evaporated with unexpected speed, faster even than their normal Friday sessions. It seeme
d that Siobhan had forgotten her offer of an early night. She was happy to stay where they were and to keep drinking until John called last orders and kicked them all out. Tom knew there was little chance of that happening. On nights like this – and whilst this was the first time aliens had been involved, there had been plenty of nights like this before – John tended to stay open as long as he was able. As long as there was no trouble or complaints, the local police were generally happy to turn a blind eye. In fact, Sergeant Phipps and several of his officers would no doubt be in here themselves before long, drinking with the rest.

  After being wedged into the corner and trapped for much of the evening, Tom took advantage of Rob finally going to the bar to duck out for a quick toilet break. He wasn’t the only person in the small restroom. Ken Trentham was standing at the urinal furthest from the door, holding himself with one hand and leaning up the wall with the other, wearing the same dirty grey overcoat he wore every day from the hottest day of summer to the depths of winter. Tom slipped into the nearest cubicle and cringed as the door creaked shut, hoping he hadn’t been noticed. People generally avoided old Ken if they could help it.

  Ken was still leaning against the wall and, judging by the noise, still pissing, when Tom emerged. Tom caught Ken’s eye in the mirror, nodded and then looked down again quickly as he washed his hands, hoping that would be the end of it. It wasn’t.

  ‘What’s all this about then?’ the older man asked. On the few occasions Tom had come across him before, Ken was usually shouting, spitting, or starting fights. He seemed unexpectedly lucid tonight, no sign of his usual volatility.

  ‘What?’ Tom replied

  Ken shook his hands then ran his fingers through his greasy grey hair. He was blocking Tom’s way out. ‘These alien things, what they doing here?’

  ‘I don’t know. You’re better off asking someone else. I don’t know anything about them.’

  ‘That’s the thing though,’ Ken said, becoming animated and pointing his finger wildly, beginning to wind himself up. ‘No one knows anything. We’re all in the shit together, ain’t we.’