by Steve Voake
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I am honoured by Your Excellency’s kind invitation to come and speak here today.’
Odoursin acknowledged her thanks with a wave of his bony hand and then signalled for her to continue.
‘As I am sure you are all aware,’ she went on, ‘there are many parasitic creatures which are capable of influencing the behaviour of the animals in which they live.’
There were nods from around the table; a sign, thought Alya, that Council members had actually read their briefing notes before the start of the meeting.
‘We have known for some time that many of Earth’s human population are infected by the toxoplasma gondii parasite – the same worm which causes rats to alter their behaviour and be eaten by cats. We know that this worm already affects human behaviour to some extent, making them more reckless and more likely to die in road accidents, for example. But what we didn’t know was how the worm does it. How does this tiny worm make rats and humans do the things it wants them to do?’
Alya paused for a few moments to give everyone a chance to voice any questions that might have arisen from her explanation, but when the room remained silent she decided to press on.
‘The process has always remained a mystery to us. At least, that is, until now. But while I was investigating some of the worm’s brain tissue in the laboratory, I discovered that it shares a crucial piece of neurological equipment with both rats and humans. The impulse translator – the part of the brain that turns thought into action – is exactly the same in all three creatures.’
Alya waited for some kind of positive reaction to this new information, but apart from Martock – who was nodding approvingly – she saw only blank stares.
‘Miss Blin,’ said Odoursin coldly, ‘I am sure that in scientific circles this is all very exciting, but I am not sure how it advances our particular cause.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Alya said. ‘I’m not explaining this very well. Perhaps we can look at it in another way.’ There followed a brief, uncomfortable silence punctuated by the occasional awkward cough and a shuffling of papers as she thought for a moment or two. Then she pressed her hands together and smiled.
‘All right. Let’s try this. Imagine that the impulse translators are like play scripts which tell the characters how to behave. The worm carries a script which contains instructions for the way its host should act. When the worm arrives at its destination, it simply substitutes its own script – the impulse translator – for that of its host – and the host’s behaviour changes, directed by what is written in the new script. To put it simply, this microscopic worm has the ability to find its way into the human brain and alter the way it thinks.’
Odoursin, who up until this point had elected to listen to proceedings in silence, now stared at Alya and she noticed with some trepidation how fiercely his eyes burned.
‘Miss Blin,’ he said gravely.
‘Yes,Your Excellency?’
‘Are you suggesting that we are able to rewrite this script in any way we choose? That we can make humans see whatever we want them to see?’
Alya nodded. ‘I am certain of it,’ she said.
A sudden hush fell over the room as, slowly and deliberately, Odoursin got to his feet.
‘In that case,’ he said, ‘let us begin.’
Thirteen
‘I think that must be it,’ said Skipper, pointing to a reddish-pink clump of cloud up ahead of them. Sam could see that the cloud was moving, rotating slowly in an anti-clockwise direction while seeming to fold in upon itself; lying there among the other clouds it appeared beautiful and strange, like a rose in winter.
‘Are you sure?’ Sam asked, throttling back on the engines and leaning forward to get a better view.
‘No,’ Skipper replied, ‘but we’re in the right area and I can’t see another one, can you?’
Sam peered through the screen and scanned the surrounding clouds.
‘I guess not,’ he said.
Nudging the joystick forward slightly, he flew underneath the coloured clouds and then banked the insect around to get a better view. It certainly looked like a fabric gap. He remembered from his previous experience in this world that there were several gaps in the fabric of the universe which allowed travellers to pass quickly between Earth and Aurobon. Although these main gaps were now closely guarded by Vermian robber flies, Sam knew that beyond them were thousands more, each one a passageway to a different location on the Earth’s surface.
According to Brindle, Vermian robber flies had been seen operating in this area on several occasions, disappearing into the characteristic swirl of clouds over a period of several weeks. Upon their return, they always flew more slowly and closer to the ground. The observers had concluded two things from this: 1) that they were probably laden with eggs harvested from robber flies on Earth and 2) that they were using a fabric gap which led to an area of North America where robber flies were plentiful.
‘What I don’t understand,’ said Sam, ‘is why they are still harvesting the robber fly eggs from Earth. Can’t they produce their own now that they’ve got the adult insects?’
‘Probably,’ said Skipper. ‘But I guess that at the start of their campaign they were doing both to ensure maximum production. Their factories would have been at full stretch because they wanted to saturate the skies over Vahlzi with robber flies. And unfortunately for us, those tactics proved extremely successful.’
As they began their final approach towards the fabric gap, the intercom suddenly crackled into life.
‘Hey, Grinx you old dog – how did I know I’d find you up here when the rest of the damn world is grounded? The rest of ’em ain’t got no backbone. But you and me, buddy – we don’t let a bit of snow keep us from doing what we do best now, do we?’
Sam looked at Skipper and saw that she was wearing an ‘Oh no’ kind of expression.
‘Who was that?’ he asked, easing off on the throttle so that they slowed their approach toward the darkening red cloud.
‘Sounds like Grinxy’s got a little friend,’ said Skipper. ‘Who’d have thought?’ She suddenly pointed through the screen at a small black dot in the sky up ahead. ‘And look – there he is.’
Sam watched as the dot grew bigger and realised that it was a robber fly just as the intercom came alive again.
‘Hey, Grinx,’ said the voice. ‘Ain’t ya talkin’ to me today, buddy? It’s me, Norzun.’
‘Norzun?’ mouthed Skipper, who, despite the danger, seemed to find this quite amusing.
Sam flipped the switch on the intercom and, deepening his voice into quite a passable impression of Grinx, said, ‘Hey, buddy. How ya doin’?’
Skipper put her hand up to her mouth to suppress a laugh and Sam saw that she was clearly delighted by this turn of events. She was obviously not going to let the fact that this guy Norzun was piloting a fearsome killing machine interfere with her enjoyment of the situation.
‘I’m doin’ fine,’ came the reply. ‘Listen, what do you say we make a detour over Vahlzi and kill a few of the scumbags on our way home?’
‘Love to,’ said Sam, ‘but the thing is I’m a bit low on fuel. I probably should be getting back.’
He flipped the intercom off again and turned to Skipper.
‘What do you reckon? Shall we try and take him?’
Skipper looked doubtful. ‘Up to you, but remember you’re not familiar with all the weapon systems on this thing. It pains me to say it, but I think we might do better to cut and run.’
‘You OK, Grinx?’ came the voice again. It sounded more guarded this time. Uncertain.
‘Yeah, no worries,’ said Sam. He could see that Norzun’s robber fly was looming large up ahead now, approaching them at considerable speed.
‘You sound different,’ said Norzun.
‘Just tired I guess,’ said Sam. ‘It’s been a long day.’
There was a long pause. When Norzun’s voice finally came back on air there was a hard, suspicious edge to it.<
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‘Who the hell am I talking to?’ he hissed. ‘You ain’t Grinx.’
Sam looked at Skipper and gestured towards the intercom switch with an open hand.
‘Your turn, I think.’
Skipper pulled her restraint buckle tight and leaned in toward the intercom. She gave Sam a wry smile and then flipped the switch.
‘Hello, Norzun,’ she said. ‘This is the tooth fairy speaking. I’m afraid I’m a bit short on my quota this week, so I’ve decided to come and collect all yours at once. Hope that’s OK with you.’
Sam slammed the stick back and pulled full throttle just as Norzun’s voice came back on the intercom, swearing and screaming threats at them across the airwaves. Skipper gave a friendly little wave as they flew within a few metres of Norzun’s cockpit, his hard, pale face glaring angrily at them through the screen, and then with engines howling they scorched up through the crimson clouds and into the heart of the fabric gap.
‘He didn’t look too happy about that,’ said Sam, gripping the joystick firmly as the insect began to bump and shake in the turbulent atmosphere. ‘Do you think we lost him?’
‘Dunno,’ said Skipper. ‘Let’s find out.’ She flicked a switch marked ‘Rear View’ and immediately a coloured projection lit up in the top centre of the cockpit canopy. In the middle of it, and growing larger every second, were the grotesque features of a robber fly in hot pursuit.
‘I think that’s a “no”,’ said Skipper.
‘Dammit!’
Sam’s fingers tightened on the throttle so that his knuckles strained white beneath his skin and the engines protested loudly over the sound of the wind. In the distance he could see the tunnel of red cloud funnelling them down through strings of scarlet vapour towards two further spinning masses of cloud, each coloured a deep orange, spiralling in towards a central vortex like the eyes of small hurricanes.
‘Which one?’ Sam shouted above the noise from the engines. ‘Left or right?’
Skipper looked up at the screen and saw that it was starting to fill up with robber fly.
‘Left!’ she shouted. ‘Go left!’
Sam felt the drag on the motors as powerful forces from the spinning clouds began to act upon the insect, pulling it downwards.
‘Left it is,’ he said. Then he thrust the joystick forward and sent them hurtling into the dark vortex like a speck of dust in a tornado.
When he thought about it later, all Sam could remember was that it was rather like falling through a dark tunnel with trains roaring past on either side of you, except that at the same time the tunnel was spinning around so fast that you couldn’t tell which way was up and which way was down. Small specks of light – which at first Sam thought must be stars – blurred into silver lines as they accelerated at fantastic speed, spinning themselves into glittering threads before suddenly disappearing again as the world returned to black once more.
And then with a whoosh of air and a flash of bright light, Sam found himself flying beneath the cool green leaves of a maple tree in the heat of a summer afternoon.
Fourteen
Realising that they were flying dangerously fast between the branches, Sam quickly put the wings into reverse and landed neatly on an emerald-green leaf.
‘Where are we?’ he asked. ‘Have we come through to the right place?’ He looked out of the cockpit window and saw to his surprise that the tree was growing from the middle of a concrete pavement. Surrounding it on all sides were busy roads jammed with traffic. Shops and skyscrapers towered above them and the streets were crammed with thousands of huge, jostling pedestrians. The roar of the fabric gap had been replaced by complex layers of sound typical of a large city: people shouting, car horns blaring, engines revving and, from somewhere above them, the incongruous music of birdsong.
‘What do you want,’ asked Skipper, ‘the good news or the bad?’
Sam turned to her and raised an eyebrow.
‘Go on. Put me out of my misery.’
‘Well, the good news is I think we lost Norzun somewhere on the way through.’
‘And the bad news?’
Skipper looked sheepish.
‘The bad news is I think maybe we should have taken a right.’
Sam watched as a bus opened its doors below them with a hiss, spilling its chattering passengers out onto the warm pavement.
‘Oh,’ he said.
‘ “Oh” is right,’ said Skipper, watching the bus drive off again. ‘Not quite what I was expecting, to be honest.’
‘Where should we be, then?’
‘Ideally, a field somewhere in the middle of Kansas.’
Sam shrugged. ‘Well that’s OK isn’t it?’ He pointed to the display. ‘We’ve got plenty of fuel.’
‘I admire your optimism, Sam,’ said Skipper, ‘but however much fuel we’ve got, something tells me it’s not going to be enough.’
‘What makes you so sure?’ asked Sam.
‘That,’ said Skipper.
Sam followed her gaze to a large poster on the side of a shop, where a young girl was smiling and holding up a can of fizzy drink. Above it, in large, black letters were a string of words that he could not read. But there was definitely something about them that he recognised.
‘Oh brilliant,’ he said. ‘Nice one, Skipper.’
Skipper turned to him and put her hands together in front of her chest. Then she smiled and bowed graciously. ‘Welcome to Japan,’ she said.
They flew high above green parks where trees foamed pink and white with cherry blossom, across the Sumida River lined with its boatyards and homeless shelters and across the Rainbow Bridge into the older part of the city where the streets were crowded and narrow. On every corner, bento stands were piled high with boxed lunches of sushi and pickles while behind the noodle stalls the women stood with their arms folded, smiling encouragement at the passing shoppers who stared hungrily into the saucepans full of fat, white noodles.
‘So what do we do now?’ Sam asked as they skimmed low above the heads of the people, all of whom were far too absorbed in their own lives to notice the small insect zipping through the air above them.
‘Well, I don’t know about you,’ said Skipper, ‘but I’m starving. Do you fancy getting something to eat?’
Sam felt the fly lift suddenly as they caught a warm air current rising up from the sun-baked pavements and he pushed the joystick forward a fraction to compensate.
‘What did you have in mind? A drive-thru, perhaps?’
‘No, but seriously,’ said Skipper, ‘we don’t need to order do we? We’re tiny, right? Even the smallest leftovers will keep us going for a month. So come on. Pick a venue and we’ll get stuck in to whatever’s on offer.’ She patted his arm. ‘It’ll be my treat.’
Sam flew down a side street where unlit neon signs advertised an assortment of small restaurants. Plastic replicas of items on the menu were displayed neatly in the windows.
‘You spoil me,’ he said. ‘You really do.’
They sat high on a shelf in a corner of the sushi bar, listening with amused interest to the deep, booming voices of the lunchtime customers. ‘Do you suppose we could understand them if they were speaking English?’ Sam asked.
‘I think the range is a bit low for our small ears,’ said Skipper. ‘We can’t really get the bass notes. Girls are probably the easiest to understand.’
‘That,’ said Sam, ‘is a matter of opinion.’
Skipper flicked a chunk of bread at his head.
‘Cheeky.’
Sam absently brushed the crumbs from his hair and looked across at Skipper. They had used the fly’s powerful jaws to scoop up some leftovers before parking up on the shelf and now she was leaning back against a chunk of fish with her feet dangling over the edge.
‘I’d forgotten about all that,’ he said. ‘I’d forgotten you used to fly all those missions on Earth before I ever came to Aurobon.’
‘I know,’ said Skipper. ‘It’s funny isn’t it? It all seems so
long ago. Like another life.’
Sam sat down next to her and watched the customers collecting their neat, colourful little packages of fish from the counter down below.
‘Do you wonder what happened to you?’ Sam asked. ‘In those four years, I mean?’
Skipper nodded. ‘Uh-huh.’
She stared at the picture of blue mountains and silver waterfalls which hung on the wall by the door.
‘I keep thinking that I must have somehow left Aurobon when you did. But whenever I try and picture what happened to me in that time, it just fades away. It’s impossible for me to remember anything about it. All I’ve got is this feeling that I’ve lost something. Do you feel that?’
‘All the time,’ said Sam. ‘And although I know I went back to my life on Earth, it already feels like someone else’s life. I’m not sure I even know the difference between what’s real and what’s a dream any more.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Skipper, ‘there is less difference than we think.’
Sam chewed at a piece of hard skin on the side of his fingernail and watched a smartly dressed Japanese businessman shake some soy sauce over his sushi. Sure, it all seemed real enough. But piloting a robber fly into a sushi bar and watching giant Japanese people eat their lunch from the edge of a shelf was rather a strange reality.
‘I wish I could remember,’ said Skipper, and there was sadness in her eyes, like clouds reflected in the ocean. ‘I wish I could remember what it is that I have lost.’
Sam shrugged. ‘Maybe we all lose something somewhere along the way,’ he said. ‘And maybe forgetting about it is the only way that we manage to keep going.’
‘Want some more?’ asked Skipper. ‘I’ve got heaps of the stuff.’
Sam swallowed another piece of fish and looked across at the piles of orange sushi stacked up on either side of her. Skipper puffed her stomach out and folded her hands across it like a walrus with a weight problem.
‘Go on,’ she said. ‘You know you want to.’