The Distant Home (14 page)

It was morning on Middle Street, and Middle Street was absolutely average no longer.

People who lived in Middle Street were lifting curtains, peering through venetian blinds, checking early morning newscasts, and staring at the front pages of newspapers.

People in Middle Street were telling each other that there had always been something strange about the Harrisons, that Jim Harrison had always been a bit too clever for his own good, and that Mrs Harrison had always seemed, well, a little foreign for their tastes. And as for that Bobby Harrison, well Mrs Soames from up the road’s cousin who was a pastor from out of state had once said that a little exorcism might just slow Bobby down a little (mind you, that was after three-year-old Bobby’s tricycle had collided with the pastor’s new car).

And as for Sally Harrison, who had always gone around looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, as for that young miss who had seemed to do so well at school, and win the prizes every year, well it was all a bit too much like cheating for their taste, her being a monster from outer space and all, having unnatural advantages, and probably being a robot with a computer inside. And she should by rights be made to give all the school prizes back.

Middle Street was in as near to an uproar as it had ever come in its entire history.

Fifty yards from the Harrison house at the telephone junction box, the phone technician tapping the phone sat listening on his headphones. Agent Soulos stood by, shaving with a battery razor, his mobile phone in his other hand.

Opposite the house, near a network TV van, Agent Forbes sat in her car, drinking coffee from a polystyrene foam cup, watching the film crews and still photographers and reporters mill around. Forbes noticed with some satisfaction that the creep reporter from the Five Network had a very puffy look around his face that morning.

Forbes detested reporters. They were always trying to find out other people’s secrets. She idly wondered whether the reporter would like a pair of black eyes to go with his fat lip.

The TV reporter was doing a stand-up to camera, even though his fat lip gave his voice a kind of mushy quality. His network did not care. He was the hero of the hour, having been punched out only last night by Girl From Outer Space’s Earth-Dad.

‘No sign of life here this morning at the home of the Girl From Outer Space,’ the reporter was saying, when the Harrison door opened, and Jim came out to collect the newspaper and milk from the front step.

The media rushed toward him in a human wave attack. They were shouting, screaming, waving to get his attention. There was a babble of voices talking over each other. ‘Mr Harrison! Look this way please! Jim! Smile! What can you tell us about the space girl? How is she this morning? What are the authorities doing?’

Jim jumped back inside the house and slammed the door in their faces.

‘As you can see, Mr Harrison is still not cooperating with the media,’ said the reporter to the TV camera. ‘It is still Middle Street, Street of Silence.’

Maria and Kate were watching the reporter on the portable television in their kitchen when Jim came in with the milk and newspaper. Jim began to unroll the newspaper.

‘There’s been no sign of the girl since she mysteriously disappeared from the hospital more than twelve hours ago,’ the reporter continued.

Jim spread the newspaper on the kitchen bench. Staring up at him was a photo of Sally in her best outfit. Above the photo was the headline, GIRL FROM SPACE?

‘Where’d they get that photo?’ Jim said.

Maria’s face went very still, and her voice had a flat, angry metallic ring. ‘That’s what she wore to Cyril Flannery’s birthday party last year.’

The phone began to ring. Jim snatched it up. ‘I’m not talking to the press!’ he yelled.

‘Looks like you’re talking to them a lot,’ said Mr Flannery. Mr Flannery was at his breakfast table with Mrs Flannery and Cyril. ‘What’s this I read in the paper?’

At first Jim was so agitated that he did not recognize his boss’s voice. ‘Who is this?’

Flannery was not taking that from any lowly employee. ‘You know who it is!’ he yelled. He looked at his wife. ‘Pretending he doesn’t know who it is!’

In Middle Street the phone technician looked up at Agent Soulos. ‘Live one! Won’t give his name!’

Soulos eagerly slammed on the spare earphones. ‘You think we want this kind of publicity?’ Soulos heard Flannery say.

‘If you’re all that worried about publicity ask Cyril who sold the photo to the press!’ said Jim.

‘Don’t try and change the subject. I’m running this show. I say what goes!’

Soulos had his mobile phone to his mouth. ‘Forbes? We got his controller on the line. We’re tracing it now!’

‘I run a tight ship, you hear me?’ Flannery was shouting. ‘What are the clients going to say when they see this?’

‘Forbes?’ said Soulos into his mobile phone. ‘The controller’s talking about “clients”, probably code for foreign powers!’

Forbes started her car. The media reporters were onto it immediately. ‘Spook’s going somewhere! Spook’s onto something!’ they yelled, and split up, heading for their vehicles.

The TV reporter was still on his live feed to the newsroom. He looked off, saw the other reporters running, and turned to camera. ‘Got some action here, I’ll call back in!’

Meanwhile Flannery was still screaming down the phone at Jim. ‘You put a lid on this, you stop this lunatic publicity, or don’t come to work!’

Cyril was hopping up and down with excitement. He loved it when his father was angry, it was always a total gross-out, and he could never get angry at Cyril because Mum would not let him. He was so excited at Mr Flannery’s yelling at Jim, that he felt like joining in. He leant in and shouted into the phone, ‘Don’t come to work Sunday, don’t bother coming in Monday, Harrison!’ It was something Dad liked to say a lot.

Soulos heard the new voice on the line. ‘Forbes? There’s two of them. One’s got a weird squeaky voice!’ At that moment, the technician looked up at Soulos and gave him a thumbs-up sign. He was scribbling down an address and name. ‘We got it!’ yelled Agent Soulos. ‘We got the controller’s address!’

The dark car slid in to the kerb. Soulos tore off the earphones, grabbed the paper with the name and address from the technician, and jumped into the car beside Forbes. She gunned the car’s engine and they roared away, with media cars and vans following lemming-like behind.

All night through, the TV screen in Mrs Webster’s living room had been filled with the rushing red images. Bobby, sleeping on the settee had occasionally woken in the night, seen the red streaks on the screen, heard the low gabbling sounds, and then slept again.

Now they stopped. The screen went blank.

Sally’s eyes left the screen for the first time in hours. She felt as if her mind had just had an enormous meal. She was filled with information.

The first words that she spoke were in a foreign language, one which she had never heard before last night but that she now spoke and understood as perfectly as if she had used it from birth.

When Sally spoke, Bobby and Mrs Webster were sitting on the settee. Bobby was eating cereal and Mrs Webster was just watching. When the alien sounds came out of her mouth, they both stared. Bobby looked horrified, but tears of pleasure sprang to Mrs Webster’s eyes.

‘What’s wrong, sis?’ said Bobby, alarmed.

Mrs Webster smiled. ‘To hear you speak the Imperial language,’ she said. ‘And me the first to hear you. I’ll remember this always.’ And to Bobby, she said, ‘It’s all right. Sally’s just speaking the language we speak between the stars.’

‘Can she still talk human?’ said Bobby.

And when Sally smiled, it was not like the Sally he had known the day before. This was a new Sally, older, wiser. ‘Of course I can,’ the new Sally said, and even her voice sounded different; it was as he imagined the voice of someone who had lived for centuries while staying young might sound.

Meanwhile, over Middle Street, the sky was turning a sulphurous yellow, cracking and rumbling as it had on the day that Bobby and Sally were born. It was as if Middle Street were again in the middle of a dry electrical storm.

Sally was standing now, facing Bobby and Mrs Webster. ‘I’ve seen the evidence,’ she was saying. ‘I … Bobby, I do have to go away when the starship comes.’

Bobby just looked at her without speaking. He could not think of anything to say. He was about to lose his sister so she could serve some Empire he knew nothing about. He felt empty inside; he wanted to howl like a little kid.

‘Bobby, I’ve seen what the Ursoids do to planets. I’ve seen what they’ll do to this planet if I don’t get off it.’

Suddenly the dishwasher in the kitchen was beeping madly. Its tone rose, and become a constant scream. ‘They’re close,’ Mrs Webster said, and moved for the phone. She punched in a single preprogrammed number that would connect her to the Harrison house, but all she got was an engaged tone. She broke the connection and tried again.

In the Harrison house, Jim was still on the phone to Mr Flannery. ‘Look, Mr Flannery, I’ll try and fix it but you have to understand this was none of our doing … Sure, Mr Flannery, sure.’

He hung up looking whipped. Maria was looking at him a trifle sadly. ‘Is this my husband who hit the reporter last night?’

‘The reporter can’t fire me,’ Jim said in an ashamed voice. ‘The mortgage is only half paid, Maria.’

‘It’s just that you’re so brave with everyone else and so …’

‘Wimpy with Flannery,’ Jim finished it for her. ‘Yeah.’

The phone rang again. Jim snatched it up. ‘Yes!’ he said.

Mrs Webster’s familiar voice yelled down the line to him. ‘Get over here fast! Back door!’ Then she hung up.

Jim turned to Maria and Kate. ‘We have to join the others. Now.’

Outside, the sulphurous yellow sky rumbled and cracked. The neighbourhood dogs howled and whimpered to get indoors.

Nothing moved on Middle Street. Then there was a crackling sound. Sparks seemed to be coming out of the surface of the roadway itself. The sparks grew and coalesced and then, where a moment before there had been nothing, two figures stood.

Two little old ladies stood there. They were dressed alike in old-fashioned black clothes, and they wore little wire-rimmed spectacles with black lenses and old black poke bonnets and each carried a black umbrella. They looked like the little old ladies from hell. The Ursoid scouts had arrived.

Maria and Kate stood ready by the back door while Jim checked that all the appliances were off. ‘Where are the keys? Where the heck are those keys? I put them somewhere, oh, in my pocket, right. Have you got everything? Are we ready to go? Is the stove off, did I switch the electric blankets on, did you turn them off?’ He was acting as he did when they went away on trips. Everything had to be checked four times until he was satisfied.

Outside, the Ursoids were marching toward the Harrison front door.

In the kitchen, the phone rang. Jim picked it up. ‘Move!’ yelled Mrs Webster’s voice before he had a chance to speak.

He dropped the phone and ran for the door. As the back door slammed shut, the Ursoids were coming down the front path.

Mrs Webster, Bobby and Sally were watching them on the microwave oven door. They saw the two old ladies dressed in black hesitate. The lawn sprinkler was still on and they seemed unwilling to be sprayed by it. One of them lifted her umbrella, and pointed it at the hose where it met the tap. A flash, a sizzling sound, and the hose was cut. The flow of water from the lawn sprinkler died, and the two black-clad figures continued their march on the door, carefully avoiding puddles.

‘They’re just old ladies,’ protested Bobby.

‘Just?’ said Mrs Webster. ‘No such thing.’

‘I didn’t mean you,’ said Bobby.

The old ladies had reached the front door. They did not knock, and they did not ring the bell. One of them simply punched the door. With a crash it fell down into the front hall. The black-clad old ladies walked into the Harrison house over the demolished door, scarcely changing step.

The back door of Mrs Webster’s house opened, and Maria and Kate rushed in, followed by Jim.

‘What’s happening?’ said Kate.

‘Bad guys are here,’ said Mrs Webster.

‘Real bad guys!’ said Bobby. ‘Ursoid warriors disguised as old ladies!’

‘Bobby, this is no time for silly jokes,’ said Maria. ‘What’s really happening?’

‘Explain later,’ said Mrs Webster, moving swiftly to her stove, throwing the rotisserie switch, then setting the cooking controls to a particular combination. Suddenly Mrs Webster’s house was surrounded by a shimmering glow. She turned to the others. ‘I’ve got the force field in place, they can’t get in for a while, even with energy swords.’

The other adults were staring at her as if she had gone crazy.

‘Let me explain,’ said Bobby. ‘Sally here is a Princess of the Galaxy and she’s been hiding here on Earth from the Ursoid invaders for the last twelve years. I know she’s my twin, but inside she’s kind of made of energy like Mrs Webster who’s really a Marine Master Sergeant from the Galactic Fleet…’

Jim had heard enough. ‘Bobby, your mother’s already warned you about making silly jokes. We’re all under stress here and if you go on with this for one second you’ll be grounded for a month!’

‘Dad, if the Ursoids destroy the planet, that’s going to be kind of irrelevant, don’t you think?’

‘That’s it! You’re grounded for a month!’

‘Why don’t we all go into the living room and discuss this?’ said Mrs Webster.

‘The thing is, Dad,’ Bobby explained as they all crowded into Mrs Webster’s living room, ‘those two old ladies who just punched our front door in—’

‘They what?’ yelled Jim. ‘I’m phoning the police!’

‘Not a good idea,’ snapped Mrs Webster. ‘The police wouldn’t stand a chance against them. They’re agents from the Ursoid Confederacy. The advance guard, there’ll be more coming. We have a starship on the way to get the Princess off this planet.’

‘When you say “princess”, you don’t mean our Sally, I hope?’ Maria said, looking hard at Mrs Webster.

‘Yes, she does.’ Bobby was itching to explain.

‘She’s not a princess and she’s not leaving any planet!’ Maria yelled, making her stance on the matter clear.

Jim decided to apply the voice of reason. There was no sense in getting angry about what was obviously an old lady’s fantasies. After all, Mrs Webster must have had a big shock yesterday, seeing Sally hit by that car. ‘Mrs Webster, none of this sounds very, well, sane. We’ve all had a very big day, there may be aspects of Sally’s medical condition that need investigation but…’ and then he snapped. Suddenly he was shouting at the top of his voice. ‘WHY IS EVERYONE ACTING SO CRAZY?’

‘I suppose I’d better explain,’ said Mrs Webster.

‘No,’ Sally said. ‘I’ll explain. I want to tell them myself.’ She spoke so firmly, so surely, so sanely, that instead of interrupting, her parents and her Aunt Kate sat down quietly and waited for her to begin.

* * *

While Sally explained things, the Flannerys were doing some explaining to Agents Forbes and Soulos.

Forbes was flashing the photos of Cyril handing the birthday presents to Mrs Webster. Forbes was saying, ‘We have photographic evidence linking you, so you just tell us everything about your connection with the Harrison family and there won’t be any trouble.’

‘I’m his boss,’ said Mr Flannery.

Soulos cracked his knuckles in a menacing way.

‘We already know he works for you. But who do you work for?’

‘I don’t work for anyone!’ Flannery yelled.

Soulos cracked his knuckles again.

‘I love the way you do that,’ Mrs Flannery said to Soulos. ‘So masculine.’

‘I don’t need that from you!’ Flannery screamed at her.

Forbes heard a noise at the window. There were press photographers outside, looking in and taking photos. Swiftly she moved to the window and pulled the curtains shut, then turned to Flannery. ‘You don’t work for anyone?’ she said. ‘That makes you … what? The principal controller? Right?’

‘You could put it that way!’ Flannery was so pink that Cyril thought he might explode. The idea was kind of yukky but interesting. It reminded Cyril of the time he exploded a frog in science class.

Forbes and Soulos were looking at each other. ‘I’ll just take a breath of fresh air,’ said Forbes, and she strolled out of the room. Soulos leant closer to the Flannerys, and said, very confidentially, ‘I wouldn’t mess with Forbes. She’s been known to use torture.’

‘Torture?’ Flannery quavered. ‘But she’s a woman. Isn’t it more normal for men to torture women? Not the other way around?’

‘Speak for yourself!’ said Mrs Flannery.

‘The women are worse than the men,’ Soulos whispered. ‘I’ve seen Forbes use electrodes in ways I wouldn’t want to describe in front of an innocent young lad.’

‘That’s okay,’ said Cyril, ‘I’m not so innocent, I tortured a dog once.’

‘Shut up, Cyril!’ Mrs Flannery said. ‘This gentleman’s from the government, he doesn’t want to know what happened to Old Dusty.’

Cyril was not to be shut up. ‘If you torture Dad can I watch?’

‘I said shut up!’ Mrs Flannery turned to Soulos with a kind of oily smile. ‘Whatever this is, it’s Harrison’s fault.’ She looked at Mr Flannery, who seemed to be getting pinker. ‘If Harrison’s black-mailing you into anything that this gentleman and the lady want to investigate, you tell them about it!’

‘That’s good advice, Mr Flannery,’ Soulos said. ‘The quicker you make a full confession the better.’

‘My wife’s right. Whatever it is, it’s Harrison’s fault,’ said Flannery. ‘What is it you want me to confess?’

‘I’d say that’s for you to judge,’ said Soulos, easing his shoulder holster into a more comfortable position.

‘Are you allowed to shoot Dad with that?’ said Cyril.

‘Well, yes I am, son,’ Soulos said. ‘Great kid you’ve got here,’ he added to Mrs Flannery with a wink.

Mrs Flannery seemed to enjoy being winked at, because she batted her eyelids in response.

‘How big an exit wound would a bullet like that make?’ Cyril inquired.

‘Oh, pretty big,’ Soulos said, using both hands to indicate a hole about the size of a dinner plate.

‘Wow! That big!’ Cyril’s eyes were wide with awe.

‘We’re allowed to use hollow point ammunition,’ Soulos told him with quiet pride. ‘Real man-stoppers.’

‘I’ll confess anything you want me to,’ said Flannery numbly. ‘You write it, I’ll sign it.’

‘That wouldn’t be fair, Mr Flannery,’ said Soulos. ‘You have to write it.’

Flannery seemed to be about to burst into tears, but at this point Forbes re-entered the room. She had not been taking a breath of fresh air, she had been searching the rest of the house.

In her hand she had a poster depicting a scaled, fanged, taloned monster from outer space dribbling steaming green slime as it devoured a voluptuous half-naked Earth maiden. ‘I found this piece of alien propaganda in the boy’s room,’ she said with disgust. ‘This place is a hotbed of subversion!’