Grinny

by Nicholas Fisk

  ‘She’s the first,’ Beth said – and now tears started from her eyes, yet she was not truly crying. ‘She softens us up, she pretends she’s human, she’s made like a human, but she’s not, she’s a robot machine, evil … and the others, they’re out there telling her what to do, there’s a rod of light they send down from space – Bunny saw it, it’s all true! – and Lisa’s here to get us ready for when they come …’

  ‘And when they come?’ Lisa prompted.

  ‘It will all be over and no use, everyone will be their slaves, we’ll just go round like zombies doing whatever they tell us! And they’ll kill the old people, even when they’re not all that old! They’ll kill anyone who’s ill or old or not what they want!’

  Banjo, in a daze, said, ‘Hang about! Look, you talked about an offer from an international recording company, that’s what all this is about, isn’t it? Well, isn’t it?’

  Nobody paid him any heed. The golden tassels went slap … slap … slap, richly and softly. ‘Well, go on, Beth!’ Lisa encouraged. But Beth could not. She let herself fall into a crouched heap at Timothy’s feet.

  Mac was the first to speak. He lifted his strained face to Lisa and said, ‘Beth’s got it all wrong, hasn’t she? What she’s been saying is lies … Isn’t it?’ It was more an appeal than a question.

  Lisa gave her low, pleasant laugh. ‘Oh, you know better than that, Mac! Lies? Of course she’s not lying! You remember Grinny, don’t you?’

  Mac nodded miserably.

  ‘Well, first there was Grinny, Now there’s me. You remember me!’

  As she spoke the words, Mac’s face clouded. He shook his head, trying to clear his brain. When he looked at Lisa again, his expression was mild and cheerful. ‘Of course I remember you,’ he said. ‘You’re Lisa Treadgold. You invited us here. It’s nice …’

  Lisa laughed. ‘You see, Beth!’ she said. ‘It’s up one minute, down the next. I work their minds like puppets on strings. They’re all my puppets. Everyone but you. You, young people – and a few others: a few flukes, the very few people who don’t fall under my spell; who resist my fatal charm.’ She made a charming little self-mocking face. ‘This time, even most of the children are bewitched, Beth. They join the Junior Rollers, don’t they? Last time we deliberately left the children out of it. This time, we haven’t bothered. So lots of them are in it. Right up to their little necks. They believe. They obey. They’re ready for the Great Day, Beth! But not you. And not Banjo – at least, not often. Poor Banjo. Poor anybody who tries to resist! Because the Great Day’s almost here, Beth! Just about to dawn!’

  Beth was crying now. Her muffled voice said, ‘Why, why? Why can’t you leave us alone?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly, Beth! You know why. Nothing has changed. Our own world is finished. We must have a new home. Earth will do very nicely. Earth is perfect for our purpose. And so are you earthlings! What marvellous servants you’ll make!’

  ‘I know what you lot are like,’ Beth said indistinctly. ‘Robot pigs! Foul, filthy, horrible machines! I can just imagine –’

  ‘No you can’t, Beth,’ Lisa said. ‘You can’t imagine us at all. But we can imagine you! We can do it so well that I’m here, in human form, worshipped by millions of humans just like you! Lovely Lisa Treadgold!’

  She pirouetted like a mannequin so that the folds of her skirt lightly brushed Beth’s bowed head. Then – ‘Oh, chocolates!’ she said. ‘Do have one, Beth. No? Well, offer them to the others. You won’t? Then I will. Mac, a chocolate. That’s right. Timothy, a chocolate. No, take one. Take it and eat it. There’s a good, sensible boy. You’ll be obedient, won’t you, Timothy? And you too, Miss Bishop. Or may I call you Fanny? Yes, take the nice chocolate. Now unwrap it and pop it in your mouth. Oh dear, why do you female humans use lipstick? Answer me, Fanny.’

  ‘To make ourselves attractive,’ Fanny said, speaking like a machine.

  ‘Well, it doesn’t work. But never mind, you won’t have to worry about “looking attractive” in the future. Nothing but Decency, Discipline and Dedication. Banjo, eat your chocolate.’

  He swore and threw the silver-wrapped chocolate at her. She touched it with her toe and said, ‘Now, now, Banjo. Eat your chocolate. Or I will crush your other hand.’

  She did not bother to see if he obeyed her. She walked to a bell-pull, a long embroidered strap in the corner near the door, and pulled it. Bunny obeyed the call and hurried into the room. ‘Yes, Miss Treadgold?’

  ‘Lemon juice, Bunny. And tea for my visitors. They need refreshment. I have been telling them the new facts of life. Do I need to tell you, too, Bunny, or have you guessed?’

  Bunny went red, then white, and said, ‘Invasion. You’re invading. Very soon.’

  ‘Quite right, Bunny. Continue to listen at the keyhole, if you wish. Or if you prefer, join our little party. But refreshments first.’

  Bunny left. Lisa turned to Banjo. She stared at him. He flinched; unwrapped his chocolate; and put it in his mouth. He looked like a whipped dog.

  ‘Good,’ Lisa said. Then she took the silver wrapping from his fingers, crumpled it, thrust it into her mouth and swallowed it.

  She wiped her fingers, very deliberately, on the lapel of Banjo’s jacket.

  DEATH WITH A ‘D’

  ‘Yum, yum,’ Lisa Treadgold said. ‘Lovely chocolate. I’ll have one more, I think.’

  She picked up another of the expensive chocolates, glittering in its silver foil, and neatly threw it into her mouth, foil and all. Then she chewed vigorously and swallowed. ‘Don’t look so amazed,’ she said. ‘I haven’t got taste buds, have I, Beth? Machines don’t need them. Machines cannot taste. I am a machine –’

  ‘Then why –’ Banjo began.

  ‘Why eat and drink, you were going to ask? Well, there are two reasons. First, I am a public figure and if everyone else around me eats and drinks, so must I. But second – and more important – I am largely an electrical machine.’

  ‘We’ll kill you somehow,’ Beth snarled. ‘We did it with electricity last time, when you were Grinny. We’ll do it again!’

  ‘Not with electricity,’ Lisa said, smiling down at Beth. ‘Not this time! We learned our lesson from the Grinny affair. Mistake number one – sending me into a family. Families are so close-knit, so observant, so clever. You learned far too much about me far too quickly, Beth!

  ‘And mistake number two – when I was Grinny, I relied on an outside supply of electricity for my delicate little insides. Oh, I can laugh now, but it was terrifying at the time! And you children found out, and used electricity to frighten me to death. Literally, to death! Ah, Bunny, there’s a good girl, pour tea for everyone. I’ll have my lemon.’

  She took a large slice of lemon and held it up for everyone to see: then thrust the slice between her perfect teeth. The teeth closed. Lemon juice spurted and dribbled from the smiling mouth. She swallowed and the lemon was gone. ‘Not sweet, not sour,’ she said. ‘Nothing. Yet your poor mouths twitch and pucker! But then, you’re only animals. While I am a perfect machine, with none of your weaknesses. Watch …’

  She took another slice of lemon and held it to her eyes. She smiled, opened her eyes wide and squeezed. The juice flooded her eyes and ran down her cheeks. ‘Wipe my face, Bunny,’ she ordered. Bunny obeyed. ‘You see, I’m superhuman,’ Lisa said. ‘It’s very pleasant for me.’

  ‘We’ll kill you somehow,’ Beth said.

  Timothy, groping his way through the fog in his mind, said, ‘Electricity … Your eating and drinking … Beth asked me questions …’

  ‘She’s got a battery inside her,’ Beth said. ‘Her own battery. Mr Wells explained but I don’t really understand.’

  ‘Clever Mr Wells!’ Lisa said. ‘He was right, of course. I am a walking power station! But on a very miniature, low-power scale, naturally. Timothy! Wake up and explain how I work! Lemon juice is – come on, Timothy! – lemon juice is…?’

  ‘The electrolyte,’ Timothy mumbled. ‘Like acid. Well, i
t is an acid. And the silver foil on the chocolates is the cathode or anode –’

  ‘And my charcoal biscuits are the other half,’ Lisa said sweetly. ‘But what about the chocolates, Timothy? Why chocolates? And sugar?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ Timothy said sullenly. ‘Don’t care.’

  ‘The chocolates make the cases for my charming little batteries,’ Lisa said. ‘Bees use wax to make cells: I use the fats and solids in chocolates to make battery cases. You see, I’ve a chemicals factory in here too!’ She tapped her stomach and smiled. ‘What’s sugar for, Timothy?’

  ‘Energy,’ Timothy muttered.

  ‘And alcohol?’

  ‘Energy.’

  ‘So there you are! Now you all know the secrets of my diet! Sugar-and-alcohol interactions, with some fats and solids thrown in, on the biological side; and a nice, simple battery, always re-making itself, on the electrical side. What more could anyone want?’

  ‘I want you dead,’ Beth said.

  Banjo said, ‘All right, Miss Treadgold, you’re a great little package, a terrific product. And you’re going to conquer the world. But why give us all this advance information? Why tell us anything at all?’

  ‘There will be two main classes of human slaves,’ Lisa replied. For once she was not smiling. ‘First, those who don’t understand – who just obey us like robots; who work till they drop or must be disposed of. They will form the main body. Say, ninety-nine per cent.

  ‘Second, those who do understand us. Just a little. People like you, Banjo. And you, Beth – people still very young. You will serve us more intelligently, more sensitively, than the mass. Because you will report on the mass and help us to use them efficiently.’

  ‘You mean, we’ll be your spies?’ Banjo said. ‘Your informers? Your Gestapo?’

  ‘That’s it precisely,’ Lisa said, ‘You’ll tell us how to put the pressure on your fellow humans. Tell us what really hurts them, what really frightens them. You’ll tell us the shortcuts; save us wasting time on crude methods – pain, terror, grief.’ Now she was smiling again. Banjo, shocked into silence, was white-faced and silent.

  ‘I’d never do that,’ Beth said. ‘Never. Whatever you did to me.’

  ‘Oh, I think you would,’ Lisa said. ‘I’m sure you could be persuaded. Not just by doing painful things to you – simple physical tortures. Although we wouldn’t mind trying that … No, I was thinking of rather more subtle ways. Suppose, for example, that by obeying us, you could keep your own family alive? And by disobeying us, you would condemn them to death?’

  Beth’s head dropped. Her shoulders began to shake.

  ‘There you are, you see,’ Lisa smiled, pointing at Beth. ‘She understands. She’s a sensible girl. And you Banjo – and you Mac and you Timothy – you’re going to be sensible and understanding. Like dear Bunny, who’s always good and obedient, aren’t you Bunny? Yes, you’re all going to be good as from now on. D.D.D., remember! Death begins with a D, doesn’t it? You’ll do what you’re told. You’ll be good. Or you’ll die.

  She smiled charmingly: then said, ‘There’s a Roller Rally tomorrow. You will all be there, cheering and waving. You will also be there to remember the faces and names of those who aren’t cheering and waving. You understand. You do? Good. Bunny, get rid of them, they bore me; then exercise the dogs. Oh, and give them their tickets for the big show. The final show!’

  She smiled warmly and was gone.

  Bunny handed them a sealed brown envelope. ‘Tickets,’ she said. She was trembling and so damp with hopelessness that she seemed to be dissolving.

  ‘Now you’d better go,’ she said. They went.

  THE CRUSH

  28th September

  It was not a big Roller Rally. Nowadays, the major rallies took the form of TV programmes, watched by whole nations. This was more of a curtain-raiser to an important Lisa Treadgold TV show to be held tomorrow evening. Yet, though today’s Rally was a local affair, pretty well everyone in the town and surrounding villages lined the streets. They smiled vaguely and waved their R.O.L. wavers. Many wore Roller boaters with R.O.L. ribbons round them. The girls looked cute in them.

  Antiroll was there too.

  Beth, leader of Antiroll, was near despair. This was to have been her chance to show Lisa Treadgold that there were still people strong enough to defy and resist: people like Mac, Bunny, Timothy, Banjo and the Antiroll children, who would shout ‘No!’ even until the last moment before They came, the beings from out there, the beings who had created Lisa. ‘We know the worst now,’ Beth told the Antirolls the evening before. ‘Lisa has told us everything. But we’re not just giving in, are we? We’re not, are we?’

  ‘No,’ said Timothy bleakly. ‘No,’ said Mac uncertainly. ‘No,’ said the others avoiding Beth’s burning eyes. ‘So it’s agreed we’ll meet at the drinking fountain tomorrow?’ ‘We’ll be there,’ they all said uneasily.

  But they weren’t there. Banjo wasn’t there. Beth was told he had been seen tuning his banjo with the Roller Dixielanders. Timothy stood beside her, busily writing nothings in his reporter’s notebook, biting his lip, pretending not to hear her when she talked to him. Mac stood a dozen paces away in the thick of a crowd of mildly cheerful people waiting for the big parade to come into view. The Antirollers – Mona, Darren, Fi and Peter, Asha and Ram – stood in a group on the other side of the road, making faces and shrugging shoulders to explain that it was impossible for them to cross the road, they were very sorry but –

  Matthew and Melinda H, Beth saw, had not even turned up.

  Beth seethed and tried to think of something to do to bring the Antirolls into action. Bunny – surely Bunny wouldn’t let her down? But as she came to the boil, the sound of the Dixieland band was heard and the crowds lining the street began to surge and sway and buzz. The Roller Rally had started. The parade was on its way.

  Once Beth saw Banjo, strutting with the other musicians in blazers and boaters – once she saw his eyes flick towards her, recognize her and then guiltily switch away – once she had seen this, she saw nothing else of the parade. Her eyes were misted, filled with tears. ‘How could he,’ she said to Timothy. He pretended not to hear her. His face was fogged, his eyes clouded.

  The band played. The crowd cheered and waved. It was a terrific turnout, considering that Lisa Treadgold was not expected to be there.

  Suddenly the cheering raised its pitch and volume and became wildly enthusiastic. For Lisa was there, after all! Lisa in her Roller Rolls-Royce! Lisa radiant, beaming, skimming her plastic boater into the crowd – then putting on another, and another, as they were handed to her from the back of the car by Bunny.

  By Bunny! So Bunny, too, had given in.

  Laughter, cheers, skimming boaters bright in the sun! The music of the Dixielanders – ‘ROLLing along, singing a song, SIDE BY SIDE!’ The bright sky, the breeze lifting Lisa’s hair, ruffling and rippling her blue and gold dress! Small wonder that every face smiled, every voice cheered for Lisa!

  Every voice but Beth’s. She jumped up and down to make herself taller. ‘PIG!’ she yelled. ‘ROTTEN FILTHY MACHINE PIG!’

  Now the Roller Rolls-Royce was passing right in front of Beth. She made her final, frantic effort. ‘I’LL KILL YOU!’ she screeched. ‘KILL ROTTEN MACHINE PIG WOMAN! I HATE YOU, HATE YOU, I’LL TELL EVERYONE ABOUT YOU!’

  Lisa heard. She turned her lovely head and looked down on the jerking, yelling, tear-spraying face of Beth. She smiled her warm and lovely smile; raised her arm, honey-gold in the sun, to her head; and, as if giving a blessing, gently removed her boater hat and tossed it to Beth.

  People smiled loving approval and hushed their cheering for the moment. So they heard Lisa’s voice – her warm, understanding, gently mocking words – as she said, looking only into Beth’s eyes, ‘You wicked little thing! But you’re rather sweet!’

  Then Lisa’s gaze shifted to meet the eyes of those surrounding Beth. Lisa’s eyes smiled into their eyes. Her lips formed the words �
��You remember me!’

  And then some other, silent words.

  Bunny handed Lisa yet another boater – the Rolls-Royce slid on its triumphal way – and Lisa was gone. Beth was alone again in the crowd, blinded with her tears of rage and hopelessness.

  At first, the crowd took no notice of her.

  But then, very slowly, it began to move.

  They were nice people, kind people, ordinary people, in that section of the crowd. Once the excitement of Lisa Treadgold’s unexpected presence was over, their faces relaxed and became mildly excited, pleased and cheerful. ‘Didn’t she look lovely?’ ‘She picked us out specially, wasn’t that nice?’ ‘Oh, she’s a marvel, that Lisa, she’ll be the salvation of the country!’

  They nodded, chattered and beamed. Sometimes, they cheered the parade. Always, they moved, with little shufflings and shifts, bunching closer together.

  They were moving in on Beth.

  She felt the amiable, gentle, increasing pressure and an unreasonable terror gripped her. ‘Timothy!’ she cried. ‘Tim! Please! Tim, I want you!’ He raised his head from his reporter’s notebook and glanced at her, uninterestedly. He was perhaps two or three paces away. She struggled towards him, the terror growing in her. She pushed against plump bodies, thin bodies. ‘Excuse me! …’ she gasped. ‘Let me through, please … I’ve got to get to my brother … excuse me! …’

  The bodies did not yield.

  She began to push in earnest, elbowing and thrusting, digging into the tight-packed mass of bodies. ‘Please!’ she shouted, almost in the ears of a plump, short, grey-haired woman. ‘Please, I must get through.’

  The woman must have heard her: yet she looked down at Beth, gave a cosy smile and replied, ‘Yes, she was looking lovely, wasn’t she? Like always.’ She would not budge.

  Now Beth’s left arm was trapped between the bodies of two men. She pulled and jerked, trying to free her arm. The men knew what was happening. They had to know. Both looked down at Beth’s face. ‘Talk about “Side by side!” one of them grinned – and moved forward so that Beth’s arm was still more tightly trapped. The other man smiled pleasantly and placed his foot over Beth’s. When he shifted his weight as well, crushing Beth’s toes, she screamed – pulled and jerked with all her strength – and got her arm and foot free. But still the mass of bodies and smiling faces moved in on her.