Screams of horror and outrage added to the confusion as people crawled over the wounded to reach the exits. The smell of searing flesh permeated the chamber as the Visitors fired into the helpless crowd again.
“Good God,” Fotheringay said. He had never expected anything like this. He had hoped to maintain order by cooperating with the Visitors. Now he watched them cut down innocent people in the House of Lords itself.
“Please,” he cried. “Please stop this slaughter.”
But the Visitors continued firing until nothing in the gallery moved. Through it all, Fotheringay saw with mounting horror, Smythe-Walmsley watched with absolutely no expression on his ruddy face at all.
Chapter 30
Robert and Ian and the punk IRA members were at Westminster Abbey quite early. Robert was excited; today he would board an alien spacecraft, the only way he could be sure he would be safe from Gabriella’s violent madness.
A crowd was already gathering, in spite of the fact that there were almost three hours before the ceremony. An area was roped off on the east to prevent the press of the crowd from spilling onto the grounds of the Houses of Parliament. It was quite a warm day, the sun shining brightly, unusual weather, and there would doubtless be an enormous crowd very soon. The numbers were already well over a thousand, gathering by the west doorway to the cathedral, where the ceremony would begin.
Of course, only a few hundred dignitaries
would be allowed inside the church. The rest would see them enter, and an announcer would describe the burial service over a public address system.
Ian and Robert stood in the shadow of the fourteenth-century building, their young punk charges roaming about through the crowd.
“They think they’re doing something very dangerous,” Robert said. “If only they knew we have the sanction of Medea herself.”
“Most of them would probably be relieved,” Ian replied. “After all, the majority of these lads are only along to cadge a free meal. They don’t really want to see action against the Visitors.” “Why don’t you tell them the truth, then?” “Because they tend to be quite unpredictable. There’s no way of knowing how they would react. One of them might take it into his head to give up his shiftless ways and become a hero. That would be the end of us, I’m afraid.”
“I suppose it would,” said Robert. “At least it would be the end of you, old thing.”
“I’d have to seek sanctuary on the Mother Ship along with you, if that happened.”
“I should like that very much, Ian. Then I could play whist with you, or we could discuss literature, if that’s too dull for you.”
“Very funny.”
“Quite.”
“You won’t be so nasty once they’ve taken you aboard,” Ian said. “It’s really just your nerves, isn’t it? I don’t recall that you were ever quite so catty in the past.”
“I shall be greatly relieved to be somewhere Gabriella can’t get at me.”
“Yes.”
There seemed little to add, and so both men looked about. They passed through the grim crowd as if they were a part of it, there to enjoy the spectacle ... or to protest against the desecration of a national shrine, as many had come to do.
Ian didn’t expect the Visitors to take demonstrations against them lightly.
“How do you suppose they’ll do it?” Robert asked.
“Do what? Control this mob?” The crowd had doubled in size since they had arrived. Every minute, hundreds poured in from Smith Street on the west, Millbank on the east, Victoria and Peter streets on the north and south, respectively. There were ominous rumblings from many pockets of the huge mass of humanity as it swelled in the broiling sun.
“No, no, Ian,” replied an exasperated Robert. “I’m talking about the Visitors taking me aboard. How in the world do you think they’ll manage it?”
“For God’s sake, man, keep your voice down,” Ian cautioned. “If anyone hears you talking about joining the Visitors, this crowd could tear you limb from limb.”
“Sorry.” Robert realized how foolish he had been, talking so loudly about such a thing. “In my eagerness to escape Gabriella, I fail to see the immediate danger, it seems.”
“Well, if you don’t shut up, you won’t need to escape her, old boy. We’ll die here on the grounds of Westminster.”
Nearly whispering now, Robert said, “You never did answer my question.”
“What was it again?” Ian asked, nodding at a weatherbeaten old fellow who held a sign saying, “Visitors out of England.”
“How are they going to take me to the Mother Ship without people knowing?”
“I don’t know, but Medea said it would be arranged, didn’t she? You’ll have to trust her now, won’t you?”
Robert, detecting the irritation in Ian’s voice, said nothing more on the subject. He was very nervous about what was to become of him. After all, it wasn’t every day that one left the planet of one’s birth and took up residence in an alien spacecraft over a mile in diameter floating over London.
The crimson uniforms of Visitors formed a solid line around the entire Abbey. With their laser pistols at the ready, they stood shoulder to shoulder against the incoming sea of humanity. Their human masks were so lifelike that it was difficult to believe that they were reptilian monsters from a planet orbiting the star Sirius, many
light-years away from the Earth.
There were representatives of the British Armed Forces as well, but they seemed to have been deployed as an afterthought, their numbers tiny next to the aliens’, all unarmed at that.
The crowd stirred. Something was happening. They turned away from the sun to get a better look at a motorcade proceeding up Victoria Street.
Chapter 31
The crowd was disappointed that it was not the Queen. Not yet, at least. She would undoubtedly be the last of the dignitaries to arrive, after the various Members of the Houses of Parliament, Lords and Commons; the military, all branches of the services; the archbishop; the Royal Family; and lastly, Her Majesty.
“It’s starting,” Robert said, seeing that his time of departure was drawing near. “It’s incredible, but the bloody thing is starting.”
“Yes, it is,” a young man standing next to him said bitterly. “What’s become of our country, when a travesty of our customs can go on like this, with the sanction of the heads of all our institutions?”
“Shush, man,” Robert said fearfully, “or those Visitors will hear you.”
“And do I give a damn if they do,” the man
said. “I’ve had enough of their tyranny.”
“Here, here,” another fellow said, this one wearing the cap of a common laborer. “They’ve bullied us long enough.”
“Taking control of everything, they are,” said yet another person, this one a woman. “They’ve made slaves of us.”
“Not only of us, but of the entire human race.” The first man forced his words angrily from between clenched teeth. “Oh, they’ve tried to fool us, to make us think that they’re our friends, and you hear the bloody politicians claiming that we’ve got to bend to their will because they’re so much wiser than we. But are they any wiser than the Nazis, or the Soviets, or any other oppressors in the history of this world?”
“My dear fellow,” Robert said, “this isn’t Hyde Park, you know. Those aliens are armed to the fangs.”
The motorcade had stopped just outside the west doorway, and a squadron of Visitors ushered Lord Smythe-Walmsley out of the first limousine. Smythe-Walmsley appeared to be confused. Media representatives from both television networks, and from America and other nations, tried to reach him with their microphones, but they were roughly shoved out of the way by the guards.
Smythe-Walmsley disappeared inside the cathedral.
Next, Fotheringay and two other Lords emerged from the second limousine. They walked in stately fashion along the red carpet, between two gilded ropes separating them from the masses.
“Traitors!”
someone in the crowd shouted.
Fotheringay showed no emotion. He marched into the Abbey with his two companions, doubtless glad to be away from the crowd who hated him so.
Next, a number of high military officials entered. Robert had little interest in them, and knew none of their names. He had always considered the military as a waste of tax monies, little more than a lot of children in costume, pretending to be defenders of a nation that had long since lost its armed might.
Those posturing fools in their braid and swagger sticks passed by, lost in the darkness of the arched doorway. The crowd was still as they waited for the archbishop and the Royal Family.
Suddenly the bright sun was blotted out. It wasn’t a cloud, but a vast circular shape. Everyone looked up to see the London Mother Ship, immense almost beyond belief, hovering over Westminster Abbey like a presentiment of doom.
“They’ve anticipated trouble,” Ian said. “They’ll brook no nonsense here today.”
Skyfighters emerged from the curved side of the enormous ship, swooping round the spires of the ancient cathedral as if they were sent from heaven itself. But they were not angels—they were instruments of death.
Robert felt a twinge of guilt as he watched them soar and bank, patrolling the helpless crowd of outraged Englishmen and Englishwomen who watched their birthright being sold out before their very eyes. But what were the rulers of England to do? There was no way to fight the alien invaders. They had already conquered Britain physically ... it remained to see if they could beat her emotionally. If they could break her spirit, make her crawl before them.
There was no doubt that this ceremony, defiling one of England’s most cherished traditions, was all about that very thing. But it didn’t appear to be working.
Would they fire into the crowd? Robert couldn’t believe that they would. After all, he was here, and so was Ian. The Visitors needed them, didn’t they? With a chill, he realized that the aliens might not see it that way. They knew that the resistance was little more than a joke, now that HQ had been destroyed. What did they need Ian for now? And if they didn’t need Ian, where did that leave Robert?
Surely they would reward loyalty. But how could he be certain of that? These were not human beings, blessed with human ideals and emotions. They were beings from another planet.
Aliens.
Now that he was about to meet them face-to-face, the full import of that word struck home. How could he leave the Earth, the world of his birth? How could he leave London, for that matter? He had spent his entire life in the old city. How could he adapt to life with creatures who weren’t even human, much less British?
But it was too late for such thoughts, he chided himself as the last of the motorcade disgorged its occupants. Strangely, he saw neither the archbishop nor any of the Royal Family. They should have been here by now.
A man spoke over the public address system.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice reverberating across the grounds, “I regret to inform you that the Queen will not be able to attend the burial service of Kaspar this morning.”
Chapter 32
The spokesman for the Queen waited for the chaos to die down. When the crowd was somewhat calmed, he continued.
“Her Majesty has sent a message on behalf of the entire Royal Family, stating that, and I quote, ‘This ceremony is not in the best interest of our great country. Though the Houses of Parliament have seen fit to approve the interment of Kaspar, We cannot agree in all conscience to do the same.’ ”
Another roar of approbation rose from the crowd.
“ ‘Britain finds herself powerless to stand before the interstellar giant who has brought her to her knees, but she will not bow before the conqueror. The bodies of a people may be enslaved by tyranny, but never the hearts and minds of the people.’ ”
Ian and Robert looked at one another in dismay. It was clear that the hurricane of human voices swirling around them meant that the crowd could not be contained for much longer. The Visitors drew their lasers.
There was going to be a riot.
“The fool!’ Medea screamed. “The meddling idiot!”
Beverly came very close to snickering. It was only her fear that she might be reported for insubordination that made her remain silent. Still, she was very pleased to see Medea’s smugness shattered.
“So, the vestigial tribal leader of these barbarians would stand against our might, would she?” Medea railed. “She is about to learn just how powerful we are, whether she realizes it or not.”
“What will you do?” said Beverly.
“What will I do, indeed.” Medea ran her fingers over the blinking lights on the command console before her. “What will I do? I’ll teach these apes a lesson they’ll never forget.”
A hologram floated in the ship’s command center, showing thousands of people, fists raised, shouting their support of the Queen’s statement. Two guards took away the speaker who had read it to the crowd. He did not resist them, and he even managed to smile as they took away his microphone and removed him from the platform.
“These filthy beasts!” shrieked Medea. “They show their fangs when they are happy, like the lower animals they are. How dare they defy me? How dare any of them speak out against us?”
“But what can be done?” Beverly taunted.
“I’ll show you what can be done!” Medea turned on Beverly in fury, her black reptilian eyes blazing. “Do you think the words of this bejeweled human female can affect me?”
Beverly didn’t say so, but she thought that the Queen’s words had affected Medea quite a bit.
“They’ll learn to trifle with me,” Medea said. “I have something here that will make an impression on their primitive minds.”
She deftly touched a series of coloured lights on the console.
“Is that . . . ?” Beverly wasn’t sure what it was.
“Yes,” Medea said with malicious glee. “The tractor beam.”
The Visitors and skyfighters were firing into the crowd, blue bolts of energy searing through cloth, skin, and bones, killing people at random. Their laser beams swept through the swarming mass of humanity, trying to hold them at bay.
A man held the Union Jack aloft. It waved in the breeze, its colors brilliant in the midday sun. A cheer rose from the collective throat of the thousands as they began to surge towards the wall of Visitors.
Continuing their laser fire methodically, the red-clad aliens stood their ground. Dozens fell, but the enraged mass of human beings would not be denied. They pressed forward like one huge organism that hungered for justice more than life itself
The Visitors began to back towards the Abbey. Their ring of red uniforms tightened, shrinking back to where they could retreat no farther. The crowd kept coming towards them. In a moment they would be overpowered.
The front wave of spectators stepped over the bodies of their fallen comrades, trying to get at the Visitors. More men and women fell to their merciless laser fire. There was no stopping those behind them, though. They closed in on the aliens in hand-to-hand combat.
One Visitor after another was falling, crushed under the avalanche of outraged Londoners. Signs were used as bludgeons to strike down the hated reptiles. It looked as if the day had been won by humans for the first time since Britain had been invaded.
Suddenly Westminster Abbey was bathed in green light. The combatants on the ground looked up in astonishment to see a swirling emerald cone projecting from the center of the Mother Ship.
Robert felt curiously light, considering the press of human bodies on all sides of him. Smoke from where the lasers had hit their targets curled up and spiraled into the cone. Plants came uprooted from flower beds. Signs flew out of hands. Coattails lifted straight up.
People were lifted off their feet by some unknown force. Robert felt it happen to him, too. He groped around for something to cling to, to hold him down to Earth, but he could only find someone’s arm. The man he was attached to lifted off
the ground, and Robert let go of him in dismay.
If he could just sink his fingers into the Earth, perhaps he would not float away. But all around him, screaming people were ascending. Above him were the heels of shoes, flapping pants legs and skirts, as the rioting thousands fell upward into the green cone.
They spiraled like so many leaves in an autumn wind, those at the top no more than tiny specks as they were sucked into the belly of the Mother Ship.
Robert gaped in amazement as he passed the twin western towers of Westminster Abbey on his way up. He felt himself spinning around in ever-decreasing circles as he rose, and he suddenly realized the full irony of what was happening to him. Medea was as good as her word.
She was indeed taking him aboard the London Mother Ship.
Chapter 33
Seamus Patrick Kelly watched in astonishment as the television showed thousands of people rising into the air, consumed by the ravenous spacecraft hovering over Westminster Abbey. Far below the victims, the Thames curved like a silvery snake as a news team in a helicopter shot videotape of the tragedy.
In the past twenty-four hours, Kelly had seen the awesome sight a half dozen times or more. He could not accustom himself to it, no matter how many times he had seen it.
“Monstrous,” he whispered. “Bloody monstrous.”
All of his life he had hated the English and the symbols of their nation. They had oppressed his people, his ancestors . . . and now they were the oppressed. He took no pleasure in knowing that.
This time it wasn’t a single country that suffered, it was the whole world. The debacle at Westminster was only one of many such incidents in all the great cities of Earth.
He stood and looked out the window at the sea. Sir had not returned; most likely he never would. It was up to Kelly alone to decide when they would strike.
It had to be soon. The Visitors were no doubt congratulating themselves on the way they had handled the demonstrators at Westminster. In the flush of victory, they would not expect an attack.
V 13 - To Conquer the Throne Page 10