by Iain Benson
Xia pointed at the display. “Where is it?”
London searched out the shape of the UK. “Zoom in here,” he said pointing.
The globe expanded like a parachutist realising his backpack has his packed lunch in it instead of a parachute. As it expanded, London saw the grey jumbled stain that was the city one of his male ancestors had been named after. Snaking through it like the opening credits of a soap opera was the Thames. Where the Thames intersected the centre of the circle formed by the M25, London pointed, and the map zoomed in again.
“Stop,” London said. He could see the football stadium near his campus. “There. We can land in Arsenal’s car-park.”
“Got it,” said Xia.
The display switched back to what was actually outside the ship, which looked very similar to the earlier sequence as the ground came rushing towards them like a pavement to a drunk. There are very few places in London where people look up. If they had, there would have been a lot of people whose belief in UFOs would have instantly changed.
There is one place where people sometimes look up: a football stadium. As the Arsenal goalkeeper launched a kick up high into the Saturday afternoon air, sixty thousand faces watched the ball arc into the sky, but only fifty-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight faces didn’t watch it come back down again. Two people couldn’t care less about floating space craft with electric glowing engines pulsating, a doughnut of blue energy barely controlled by a ring around the centre of the sleek lined craft. They were more concerned about the match.
Inside London looked at the display. “I don’t think we can land there,” said London. “It looks like Spurs are winning, and they wouldn’t appreciate the game being called off.”
The car-park was also full.
“Where can we set down?” Xia asked. “Before Wishbone sends everything he has at us?”
London thought. He knew the area quite well, what with working there.
“Biddestone Park,” London said. “I eat sandwiches there when the weather is suitable.”
Nearly sixty thousand faces turned as one to watch Vera’s craft move away over the stand. A Spurs player had the presence of mind to put them even further ahead whilst the Arsenal goalkeeper was standing with his mouth open. Sadly, nobody believed him, and the referee restarted the game with a drop ball.
Just over the traffic lights on Holloway Road they set the speed camera off as they took the tops off the trees screening the park. Xia brought Vera’s ship down in the middle of the park, squashing two park benches and the rear left landing gear landed in the sandpit. Keyes and Rivers insisted on being the professional soldiers, taking up covering points. The mothers with their toddlers at the swings and roundabouts watched in interest as London, Xia and Vera came down the ramp. Vera was looking like the large black man with a fashionable hat again.
London led them across and out of the park. “Anybody want a burger?”
“As tempting as this sounds,” Vera said. “I would prefer to be pursuing the mission with alacrity.”
They crossed the road. It was suddenly filled with unusually stationary traffic. True to form, there were a group of soldiers outside the tube station.
“Head shots only,” Rivers said to Keyes, using the hand gestures professional soldiers use. This looked odd whilst crouching in dark fatigues outside Costa. Bemused cappuccino drinkers watched on. At the building site across the road, the scaffolders paused in their tightening of scaffold to watch. Just about anything was more interesting than scaffolding.
Short bursts of blue energy crossed the distance between Costa and Holloway tube station. Knowing that soldiers would now be converging on the area, they moved quickly, trotting under the bridge. London paused to put his loose change in a homeless man’s cup.
“Those pound coins have been to another planet,” London said.
“Cheers,” the man replied. As London left earshot, he added: “Weirdo.”
They were probably going to be on the news later, given the number of people recording them stripping a soldier down to his naked torso. London was secretly pleased at the lack of genitalia. It made him feel somehow more macho than the heavily muscled, perfect physique of the soldiers. The soldier was also a lot heavier than expected, but Vera came up and lifted the body as though it was a duvet. Like a duvet, they still struggled to remove the cover, getting it stuck around the soldier’s ankles.
“You can’t leave them there,” said a retired health and safety executive walking his dog. “Someone will trip over them.”
The soldiers were moved to the side of the tube station, propped up against the wall. A passenger leaving the tube station, looking at his phone, tossed a couple of pound at them. London led them around the corner to the side entrance of the Metropolitan University.
“Afternoon, George,” said London as they went through to the foyer. It was a fairly small room used mainly by the staff. There was a small desk; behind which was sitting a rotund security guard in a peaked cap watching CCTV feeds on three small monitors. London noticed Vera’s shadow didn’t match Vera’s shape.
“Afternoon Mr London,” said George. “You’ve not been around for a few weeks.”
“I was abducted by aliens, travelled the universe, fought extra-terrestrials, got ejected into space and helped steal a space ship.”
“That explains that then, Mr London,” George replied.
“Is X in?”
“Difficult to say, sir,” said George. “He arrived three days ago, and I’ve not seen him leave, so quite possibly.”
It wasn’t unusual for X to get engrossed in what he was doing, lose track of time, and have to be rescued with strong tea and digestives.
London led the group through double doors. There was a lift to the left and stairs to the right. The stairs were utilitarian, bare concrete with black painted metal handrails on both sides worn smooth by countless hands. London chose the stairs, they were only going down one flight and the lifts were glacially slow. London also distrusted them due to the one time they’d been a portal to Hell.
At the bottom of the stairs, London went through the sliding doors marked with thirty different warning signs from Nuclear Contamination through Uneven Floors to Beware of Feral Hamsters. Beyond was a fairly long corridor with small glass walled offices off to the sides. Some had boxes, some had mazes containing rats, some had mazes with no rats, some had rats with no mazes and some looked to have neither rats nor mazes. London knew that these empty rooms were the most dangerous rooms of all.
Through another set of doors and they were in the largest room in the university. Nominally, it was a lecture theatre, but the last three students to have gone in hadn’t been seen again. There were rumours that they’d been transported to another dimension when they’d taken the cover off a mirror (or opened a wardrobe door, depending on the variant of the story). There was, to one side, both a covered mirror with an ornate frame and a plain wardrobe that quite possibly came from Ikea.
On either side of the door were crash-test dummies in various states of disrepair, one a mere head hanging from a coat rack. Across the room, tables formed a complicated looking maze. On the nearest table were several rat masks made of foam. The maze was lit by hanging fluorescent tubing units. Almost in shadow at the far side of the room was a DeLorean. London didn’t bother trying to solve the maze; it was easier to move the lightweight tables out of the way, although London did avoid any tables with doll parts on.
Keyes and Rivers eyed the room with suspicion.
“Don’t worry,” London told them.
“Is the room safe?” Keyes asked.
“Oh god, no,” said London. “If you touch the wrong thing your skeleton might dissolve. But I doubt there’re any of Wishbone’s soldiers here. They wouldn’t have made it to the second double doors.”
“Is this X dangerous?” Rivers asked.
“Not intentionally,” London told him. “Look, come and meet him. If anybody can trace the signal in t
his suit, it’s him.”
For a reason only known to himself X had painted the DeLorean with phosphorescent paint. The bonnet was up, and X was inside it. The engine was outside it, in pieces.
“Hello, X,” James said.
X’s head popped out of the engine space. He had a shock of white hair on the back of his head as though it was scared by the front. He was wearing reading glasses, had another pair on his head, a pair in his hand and a pair in his white lab coat pocket. London knew he didn’t actually need glasses.
“James!” X cried, affecting a Birmingham accent. “Is it Tuesday already?”
“I think it’s Saturday,” said London.
“Saturday?” X climbed out of the car. “Day or night?”
“Afternoon,” said London.
X saw the rest of the group. “Why is that big blue man wearing a furry creature on his head?”
London looked over at Vera. He looked like the big black man in a sharp suit to him. X obviously saw things as they were or was impervious to Bonbon’s telepathy. London suspected a combination of both.
“X, this is Vera and Bonbon, they’re aliens,” London introduced everybody.
X picked a mug half-filled with coffee and drank it in one gulp. It had been there so long, it had a green mould on the top that required a little chewing. “So, what brings you back so soon?” X asked, looking slightly puzzled.
“I’ve not been here for weeks, X,” said London. “I was accidentally abducted by aliens, and met these three.”
There was a snick noise followed by gasp. X walked over to Rivers, who had a metal cable wrapped around his arm, curling upwards towards his neck. With a click, the tight metal band retracted like a tape measure. Like a tape measure, it trapped Rivers’ finger, despite being nowhere near it.
“That’s pleasing,” said X. “It’s never worked before.”
“X, I need some help,” London said. He knew he had to keep the eccentric engineer on track.
“Do you need a new Wi-Fi belt, already?” X asked. “You can’t possibly have finished eating the last one.”
“No, I…”
“Oh, I know,” X said, taking off one pair of glasses and putting on another identical pair. “Take this bonsai.”
X thrust a small potted tree into London’s hands. He knew X well enough to ask: “What does it do?”
“Put it in the ground,” X said. “Pour about a litre of water on it, and it’ll grow back to its full size. I was developing it to help regrow the Amazon rainforest, but I can only get it to work with rowan, and that’s not much use.”
“Thanks,” London said, putting it back down on the table. “But I need you to trace a signal.”
“The last signal I traced for you led to that megalomaniac computer AI that was controlling the politicians,” said X. “That was fun. Where does this one lead?”
“That’s what I need to know,” London passed the blue uniform to X.
Behind them there was a hiss followed by a groan and a thud. London looked around; Keyes was unconscious on the floor.
“He’ll be all right,” X said. “It only kills slugs. I think.”
X took the uniform and looked at the complicated wiring inside it.
“Can you track any signal it gives off or receives?” London asked.
“This is a sub-quantum interactive device,” said X. “I wish it was a boson accepting communication open network, because I prefer bacon to squid.”
“Who doesn’t?” asked London.
“Give me a minute,” X said.
He pulled a calculator out of one pocket, tutting and pulling out in quick succession a Rubik cube, a halogen lightbulb, two compasses and a fake eye. Each one was tossed over his shoulder before he found what he wanted, which was his phone.
“Has anybody got a SQUID to USB adapter?” he asked. “No? Oh, wait, here’s one.”
X took everything over to his computer, plugged it in.
Xia and Vera crowded with London behind X as he loaded up Google Maps. He was whistling Black Sabbath’s Into the Void. Concentric rings appeared all over the map. There were thousands of them.
“That’s where all the soldiers must be,” said London. “There are an awful lot.”
“Oops,” said X. “I got the USB upside down, I’m forever doing that. I never get it right first time. I think it’s a design feature.”
Once it was inverted, all the rings disappeared to be replaced by one.
“Slough?” said London. “Wishbone’s secret lair is in Slough?”
“What’s Slough?” Xia asked.
“The largest industrial estate in Europe,” said London. “And that’s where they make Mars bars. I think.”
“What’s a Mars bar?” Vera asked.
X reached into a pocket and pulled one out; he threw it to the alien.
London noted down the address of Wishbone’s lair.
“Could you turn the USB over?” London asked. X obliged.
“There appears to be a lot of soldiers there,” said Xia.
“Yes,” London said. “It looks to be heavily fortified.”
“Kyson does not have enough soldiers to protect him from me,” Vera said.
“Who’s Kyson?” asked X.
“It’s Wishbone’s real name,” London explained. “Thanks, X. You’re a star.”
Keyes made a sound.
“He’s coming round,” Rivers said.
Keyes was groggy, but able to stand.
“We’ll be off,” London said to X.
“Don’t forget your tree!” X said, giving him the bonsai.
“Can we take these?” Keyes asked, pointing at the egg box containing five black eggs and a shell.
“Sure,” said X. “I think all the slugs have died now.”
Keyes closed the lid gingerly, and put it in his pouch.
As they were leaving, X looked puzzled. “Who’s Wishbone?”
They retraced their steps back up, saying farewell to George before entering the later afternoon sunshine. More soldiers had appeared, congregating around the tube station, scanning the crowd. London knew a different way back to the park, leading them the long way around.
Between them and the park was a large crowd taking photos. Everybody wanted a selfie with a spaceship. Nobody, however, wanted to risk getting a close-up due to the squadron of two hundred or so soldiers occupying the park.
And they were armed.
“Tricky,” said Rivers. “Thoughts, Sal?”
Keyes brought out a miniature telescope. “They’re armed. Automatic rifles, two grenade launchers and what looks like M134 mini-gun.”
“Ah,” said London. “That’s Schwarzenegger’s weapon of choice.”
“For good reason,” Keyes said.
“We will need alternate transportation,” Vera said.
“We’ll take the underground,” said London. “You’ll enjoy it.”
With so many soldiers at Holloway station, London led them to Highbury station, the low brick-fronted façade was open, waiting for the local football match to finish. A few disgruntled looking fans had made an early exit. London scanned his Oyster card to get through the turnstiles, and found Keyes and Rivers on the far side; he gave them a suspicious look. London passed his card back to Xia, who found the gates quite tricky to get through. Vera’s approach was to walk through them before London could pass the Oyster card to him. He hadn’t really been able to squeeze through the narrow gap. The tangled mess that had once been automated gates lay twisted in a heap on either side of a large gap in the barrier.
For an underground station, Highbury was rather open to the elements. A few dozen people were scattered around the platform. A sign said they had less than a minute to wait. London automatically translated that to two minutes. He kept an eye on the entrance to the platform, glancing back as the group waited on the platform taking.
“Why is this called an ‘underground’?” Vera asked. “It is not underground.”
�
��Large parts of it are,” said London. “We also call it the Tube.”
“I presume it is not a tube?” Vera asked.
“No,” said London.
Every single person on the platform was isolated from the world around them. London could see bulky clothing, coffee cups, earphones and smart phones. He doubted there was a sense left for anybody to notice the world around them. Despite this, as the tube approached, some sixth sense sensed it approaching, and they moved into position where the doors would open. London knew that these little knots were accurate to the millimetre, and joined the smallest group.
The etiquette for getting on the Tube is to ensure that those getting off the tube have no opportunity to do so. Vera and Xia bucked the trend by allowing people off. The other passengers were so shocked at this, that they almost took notice. Vera held Bonbon and hunched up inside the carriage. The fullness of the carriage was somewhere between rammed and crushed, which was defined by London Transport as ‘Light Traffic’, as there was enough space for people’s ribcages to move whilst they breathed.
After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, they plummeted into darkness before they pulled into St Pancreas.
“This is a very rapid transport system,” said Vera.
“We’re not there yet,” London said.
Seconds later after a few people got off and quite a lot more got on, they stopped again.
“Are we nearly there yet?” Vera asked.
“No,” said London. “This is Euston. We want Oxford Circus.”
“Is that a circus as in acrobats and clowns?” Xia asked.
“More like pickpockets and muggers,” said London.
Warren Street came and went, and they pulled into Oxford Circus.
“Are we here?” Vera asked.
“Yes,” London said.
Vera led the way as the doors opened. People who ordinarily would have ignored those getting off, found themselves stepping back and making space, puzzled looks on their faces at their own unusual behaviour.
“Which way do we go?” Vera asked.
London led the way down a white tiled corridor, past the buskers and the mobile carts selling phone cases, earrings and weekends at Butlins. Keyes and Rivers had vanished, doing their military thing.