Johnny Mackintosh and the Spirit of London (25 page)

He shouted over to the winged dinosaur. “Time's up, Ptery—I think you've won.”

Ptery was shaking his head from side to side. “I not win. Girl here bring more,” he screeched, and unfurled his left wing to point to another of the bone-crested flyers who was just dropping off another creature with a bony plate and parrot beak but this time no horns.

“Wait!” shouted Johnny as the female pteradon turned away. She stopped. He turned back to Ptery and said, “There's a prize for the best boy and the best girl. You two stay here.” He was relieved there weren't any other pteradons inside that he should send away. He didn't think he could have condemned them to their deaths, even though there wouldn't have been room for
more than just the two—the place was already teeming with life. Ptery took off and wheeled triumphantly around the walls of the chamber, screeching loudly. Johnny stayed and watched until Sol had closed up the gaping hole in her side and then he hurried over to the lifts.

As he stepped out onto the bridge he heard Sol calmly saying “Impact in five minutes.”

“Everything OK?” he asked, looking at the screens and taking in the enormous, slowly rotating rock, getting ever bigger and closer. He walked across the bridge and sat down in the captain's chair.

Clara was standing by the plican's tank, stroking the clear surface, while the creature inside pulsated through all the colors of the rainbow. Clara herself was simply white. She nodded at Johnny, before asking “How's your dinodeck?”

“Mad,” said Johnny. “Just like Noah's Ark.”

Clara smiled. “They'll call it Johnny's Ark … if they don't all eat each other first.”

“I'm just waiting for when you set them loose,” squeaked Chancellor Gronack. “I'm not sure they'll get on too well with other Terrans. Madness if you ask me, not that anyone ever does.”

“Impact in four minutes,” said Sol.

Johnny was glad of the interruption. To be honest he'd not given any thought about what to do with the dinosaurs that were now settling into their temporary home. It would have to wait. Johnny touched the control pad by his chair and three large oval compartments rose out of the floor behind him. “I think the rest of you should go to the gel pods,” he said. “It could get a little rough.”

The Chancellor didn't need asking twice. It hurried to the back of the bridge, where one of the units opened up and it disappeared into the orange gloop inside. The other two stayed
where they were. “The plican's really stressed,” said Clara. “I'll stay out here with it.”

“And I would not possibly miss this for the world,” said Alf, “if you will pardon the expression. What an opportunity.”

It was impact in three minutes … two minutes … one minute … thirty seconds. Johnny felt the ship begin to shake. “You OK, Sol?” he asked.

“Thank you for asking—I am fine and looking forward to the challenge,” replied the ship, without a hint of nerves, before continuing the countdown. “Ten … nine … engines at maximum … six … five … four … tachyon buffer disengaged … one … zero.”

The bridge flooded with white light. The ship shook violently and a deep grumbling roar became louder and louder. Johnny felt himself getting heavier as he was forced down into his chair. The whiteness changed to pink. The sides of the ship seemed to suddenly stretch away from him and disappear into nothingness. And then there was silence. He could see it. He could see how they were moving. It wasn't forward or backward, left or right, up or down. It was movement at right angles to all of them and they were traveling very, very fast, though the view beneath him stayed the same. It was the Earth, but seen as though through the wrong end of a telescope. As Johnny watched, he saw the continents drift apart like in a time-lapse film. It was definitely becoming recognizable. The silence was finally broken by an ear-splitting crack, the ship shook again, a wave of pink flickered around Johnny and then the walls of the ship rushed back into their right positions.

“Sol,” shouted Johnny. “Status report.”

“All systems within normal parameters,” replied Sol. “At least all those that were normal before.”

Johnny heard a “wow” from Clara behind him. He looked across to Alf and was pleased to see he, too, was functioning
normally and smiling broadly.

“Worth staying out of the gel pods for that, Master Johnny,” he said, even more enthusiastically than normal.

“Your attention, Johnny,” said Sol.

“What is it?” Johnny asked.

“I have an incoming transmission for you,” replied the ship.

Johnny turned to look at Clara behind him.

“Well … answer it I suppose.” Clara shrugged.

“Put it through,” said Johnny, turning forward. “On screen.”

The view in front of them dissolved into the head and shoulders of a woman in a blue toga. “This is Terran Control to Khari vessel. That was quite an entrance.” Johnny couldn't think of anything to say but the woman continued, “And you're a day early. Prepare for descent. We're sending a fighter squadron guard of honor to escort you to your landing site.”

Ten sleek, highly armed fighters were flying in formation around the Spirit of London. Sol had just reminded Johnny that she had no shields, when a transmission appeared on the comm screen. “This is Squadron Leader Gold Circle. We've been instructed to give you the grand tour,” said the figure on the viewscreen, his face masked by an ornate golden visor.

“Er … OK … thanks,” replied Johnny. On the main viewscreen he could see the long curve of a continent he recognized beneath him—they were flying over Australia.

“If you don't mind me asking, Sir,” said the squadron leader, “what happened to your ship?”

“Oh that,” Johnny replied nervously. “We ran into … a spot of bother.”

“So I see, Sir,” said the squadron leader. “A good job your transponder's still working. Unfolding that close we could have blown you out of orbit.”

“Er … that wouldn't have been good,” said Johnny.

“Just as well we were expecting your signature, Sir,” said the squadron leader.

“Er … right,” said Johnny. “Spirit of London out.” Before he had a full conversation with anyone he wanted to know a little more about what was happening. “Sol—have you found out when this is yet?” There was ice below them on the viewscreen now—either the Arctic or the Antarctic.

“Computing … we are currently 39,461.462 78 years behind Galactic Standard Time,” the ship replied.

“But how did that happen?” asked Johnny, before swiveling the chair round to face Alf and saying, “I thought you said something about conservation of time?”

“I fear, Master Johnny,” said Alf, “that by bringing the dinosaurs on board we have caused significant temporal drag. The equilibrium is now restored without us reaching our time-line.”

“I didn't think,” said Johnny.

“Evidently not,” squeaked the voice of the Chancellor, who had just emerged from its gel pod. Johnny didn't even smile at the orange residue around its twitching antennae. Gronack walked forward, taking in the images on the viewscreen, and continued, “Am I to understand that by playing the hero you have marooned us in the past forever?”

“It's OK,” said Clara from behind Johnny. “It does look lots better than before, and none of us realized …”

“You don't think so, do you?” interrupted Gronack, the orange goo starting to drip to the floor. “What's the point of having this animated calculator here if he keeps his mouth shut when it matters?”

“Alf didn't know,” snapped Johnny. “He'd have said … wouldn't you … Alf?” Alf was fiddling with his bowler hat.

“You couldn't have left them to die out,” said Clara, leaving the plican's tank and moving round next to Johnny's chair.

“They were meant to die out,” said the Chancellor. “They didn't matter.”

“What do you mean
they
didn't matter?” asked Clara. “What makes them so different from you?”

“I would have thought that was obvious,” said the Chancellor.

“Alf,” said Johnny. “Did you really know we wouldn't get home?”

“Oh have I done the wrong thing, Master Johnny?” said Alf, refusing to make eye contact. “It would have been wrong for me to question the Captain.”

“What?” said Johnny. “It's not like that. We all have a say.”

“If only it were true,” said the Chancellor. “Although if you observe the screen you will notice our predicament is perhaps not as bad as first appeared.”

Johnny, Clara and Alf looked at the display which was now showing them flying over a circular piece of land that appeared very like the Imperial Palace on Melania. As Johnny fixed his eyes on the image, he saw it was surrounded on all sides by giant walls of water which for some reason weren't crashing down on top of it. The circumference was marked by red lights that pulsed around the boundary of land and ocean. Like the Imperial Palace, he could see concentric circles of land and water and, reaching out from the center, there was another enormous tower, lined with those same pulsating red lights.

“Thank goodness for that,” said Chancellor Gronack. “Civilization … I must prepare myself.” The phasmeer scuttled toward the lifts and left the bridge.

Johnny leaned forward in his chair. “Listen guys—you too, Sol,” he said. “I want you to know that if there's ever a time you think I'm being stupid … or haven't thought things through … you must tell me. I can't think of everything.”

“The Emperor trusted your instincts, Johnny,” said Alf, very seriously. “He was right. We may be trapped in the past but we saved your world's future. Do you not think your planet worth it? I will give an opinion if necessary, but you must learn to trust your instincts too.”

“I wish my instincts had been to save Earth
and
get us home,” said Johnny quietly.

Sol's voice boomed across the bridge. “I have an incoming transmission, Johnny,” she said.

“OK,” sighed Johnny. “On screen, let's see if we can find out what's going on.”

“This is Squadron Leader Gold Circle,” said the helmeted figure. “Sir—we're bringing you in … second island … follow my vector.” Johnny watched the screen that showed the fighter squadron peel away from them, heading down toward the circular island continent, before Sol followed suit. What was this space-faring culture on Earth from 40,000 years ago? He knew there had been evidence. Valdour's ship Cheybora had records of human physiology, and everyone seemed to know vaguely of the Terrans. Everyone except people on Earth.

They flew lower through the clouds and the details of the giant city became clearer. Huge canals cut across the land areas which were covered with white stone buildings, some with golden roofs, others glowing red. Numerous spaceships came past in the other direction: transports many times the size of the Spirit of London, small pleasure cruisers and more fighters like the ones escorting them. As instructed, Sol landed in the center of a circle formed by the ships from their escort squadron.

“Let's go and say hello,” said Johnny. Alf and Clara followed him to the lifts and down toward the main doors. Chancellor Gronack was already there waiting for them, its robes a rich purple.

“I hope you will leave this to me,” hissed the Chancellor. “Remember it is I who is expert in diplomatic procedure.”

“It's our planet, not yours,” said Clara determinedly.

“Tell me. Do the leaders of
your
planet normally listen to little boys and girls?” squeaked Gronack. “I shall go first.” Before anyone could stop it, the spindly phasmeer stepped into one set of revolving doors.

Johnny and Clara followed in their Melanian tunics with Alf behind them in his immaculate pinstriped suit. Johnny glanced
back for just a second. From the outside the Spirit of London was scorched and battered, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Either side of them stood a column of soldiers, all wearing gold helmets which covered their faces. Their uniforms were red, and each of them carried a range of weapons attached to their golden belts. The Chancellor's enormous legs were striding down the parade line and Johnny and the others practically had to run to keep up. The soldiers' faces looked out straight ahead and didn't follow their progress. At the end of the line was a huge arch of pulsating red stone, inscribed with strange hieroglyphics. Behind the arch stood a gray-haired man in bright blue robes holding a long staff in his left hand. He raised his right arm and shouted, “Halt” as they approached. “I, Mestor, High Priest to Neith, bid you welcome,” he said in Universal, bowing as he spoke.

“I Gronack, Chancellor of Melania, accept your welcome,” said Gronack, stepping forward and bowing.

“I was under the impression that Ketto of Nefried was Chancellor of Melania,” said Mestor. “I was also under the impression that the Senator was paying us a personal visit. Instead he sends imposters and Terran children in his place.”

“I can explain,” said Gronack, bowing again.

“I do not have time for explanations,” snapped Mestor. “We will not be taken for fools. The Arch of Lysentia will be your judge.”

“I can assure you I did not intend to cause offense,” said Gronack, its voice noticeably higher. “May I inquire as to the purpose of this arch?”

“To prove your fitness to seek audience with the Diaquant you must pass through the arch,” said Mestor. “Imposters will fail and shall be killed.” The guard of honor took this as their cue to form a semicircle around the Sprit of London's crew, with the arch on the other side.

The Chancellor looked at Johnny. “Well go on then,” it squeaked, taking a giant stride backward leaving Johnny at the front of the group.