Steven had not been into the computer room all day.
It was now the eleventh of January and the year had begun so quietly that he could really have no cause for complaint. A routine check each morning and evening did produce the occasional request for help here or there, but nothing startling or urgent. That was the order of things.
And now this! The screen above the Brick had ‘GO TO THE SPACESHIP’ reeling upwards and disappearing off the top in obvious agitation. Then it appeared at the foot of the screen, scrolling faster and faster.
‘Thought it was too good to last,’ said Steven. ‘Whatever it is, I hope it is less frantic than their last effort.’
Jacob was downstairs in the sitting room, finishing his homework. He had the room to himself.
‘I’m off for a walk,’ said Steven, looking in at the door as he passed. ‘How’s the homework going?’
Jacob looked up from his book and said hastily, ‘There’s not much left to do. I can finish it off later.’
The assumption, of course, was that he would be going to the spaceship. There must have been a summons. Perhaps there would be another adventure. That was Jacob’s view – very different from his father’s!
A brisk walk through the cool, dark evening brought them to Highgate Cemetery and to their ship once more.
They looked around warily when they reached the Friese-Greene obelisk. Steven did not believe in using a shield for himself unless it had some proper purpose. Self-protection involved extra work, and could be a nuisance. All that was required in the quiet of Swains Lane was to be reasonably circumspect.
There wasn’t a soul in sight.
Their presence was known to the fox, scrabbling in the soil beneath a nearby angel, digging up a small carcase he had buried there the previous night. Dry twigs and dead branches gave him perfect camouflage. What little noise he made was imperceptible. He paused and froze, ears pricked to listen, his myopic eyes assuring him that the intruders were not in close range. He sniffed the air warily, and then, satisfied that there was no immediate danger, returned to his work.
Steven too was content that all was safe. He took out his ruler and unfolded it.
Jacob, as usual, tried very hard to be aware of what was happening as they shrank into the vessel but, as on other occasions, he could not manage it. First they were outside; then they were inside. And, in between, something was lost.
‘Well?’ said Steven, addressing the communicator brusquely.
You were expected earlier. There is much to tell.
‘We are listening,’ said Steven, leaving the controls and returning to the sofa, where Jacob was eagerly waiting.
Vateelin made a grave mistake. It will affect all of you.
‘Us?’ said Steven, not sure who was included in this ‘all’.
You who have children, children of Ormingat.
‘In what way?’ said Steven sharply. He did not like the sound of this.
Later. First you must understand the gravity. You reported that Vateelin left his torn coat on the hospital bed when he took his son. That was a seriously misguided action on his part.
‘Was it?’ asked Steven innocently, as if he had attached little importance to this single sentence in his brief report. He was wishing now that he had not put it there at all. He glowered at Jacob, who pretended not to notice.
The communicator did not answer directly, but its next words were revealing.
Now there is a woman of Earth who believes that the boy Tonitheen was telling truth when he told her that he flew here in a spaceship. Before the coat was left, she believed that it was all childish imagination.
‘And now?’ said Steven.
She has addressed a foolish remark to a reporter.
‘Yes?’ said Steven tersely.
She gave a cryptic answer to a question. When asked if she could shed light on the disappearance of Vateelin and Tonitheen, she said, ‘Starlight, perhaps.’ The reporter was told no more, but that one phrase was enough to set his imagination working. Unfortunately.
Steven nodded, appreciating that the words could just as easily have been ignored. He was about to speak when the cube resumed, in a tone that could perhaps be interpreted as pompous.
You were right to direct our attention to Earth’s newspapers. Copies of all relevant papers have been sent to our agents in York. Their daughter, you remember, was born there.
That statement froze both father and son. Steven was only too aware of the perils that might lie ahead. Jacob was stunned to think that he was not the only young Ormingatrig on this Earth. This was a question he had never thought to ask. He gave his father a look of deep resentment as he realized that this was yet another mind-fenced area. He had come to understand the rules of that particular game. And he did not like it.
Steven weighed up carefully how much he needed to tell Jacob. And, as usual, he wanted to tell him as little as possible. There were many things best left unsaid.
‘I’m not happy with all this, Javayl ban,’ he said slowly. He smiled as he pronounced Jacob’s special name, but it was a rueful smile.
Jacob was barely listening to him. These agents in York had a daughter.
‘If they begin to worry about the child in York,’ Steven went on, ‘and whether she is likely to betray our secrets, they might decide to recall the whole family. Though I am not at all sure how they would manage it.’
‘What if they don’t want to go?’ said Jacob. ‘They must have lived here a long time. How old is their daughter?’
This line of questioning made Steven feel uncomfortable. Who knew where it might lead?
‘She is a year or so younger than you.’
‘I was born here,’ said Jacob thoughtfully.
‘But she is pure Ormingat,’ said Steven hastily, not wanting his son to guess his own fears. ‘Bred in the bone, as they say.’
Jacob said nothing more. But he thought sadly, What is bred in my bones? Who am I? Once again it seemed as if his father were belittling him. I am less than Ormingatrig. I am also less than human.
Steven saw the sadness in his son’s face and said, ‘Let’s not worry about it yet. We’ll see what else the communicator has to say.’
He looked towards the silent cube expectantly.
It glowed white. Take out no more time. Time is important.
The white glow was a short, sharp warning. Now the cube turned green again. The York family will go. You will intervene and correct the mechanism that controls their departure. They will leave Earth on the twenty-fourth of this month. They will be informed of this on the seventeenth. Their entry to the ship should be on the twentieth. That will give sufficient time for proper preparation.
It was less than three weeks since Vateelin and Tonitheen had made their hasty exit from the planet. It had been hectic and fraught with danger. This was an experience the Ormingatriga would clearly prefer not to repeat.
‘Change the dock?’ said Steven in horror. ‘That has never, ever been done before. There is no override. I would have thought you would have some other way of recalling agents.’
No other way has ever been needed. This is the first premature recall in the whole of our history. You must see to the override. On you we depend.
‘It can’t be done,’ Steven repeated. It was one thing to manage the path of a spaceship from one Earth base to another. To change the schedule for a ship’s propulsion into orbit was something altogether different.
It will be done. See to it now.
How well they knew Steven! He contradicted, he grumbled, but all the time his mind was working out ways of overriding the clock.
Go.
There was a shiver of air in the ship as the door divided. Steven and Jacob were drawn towards it. They had been dismissed.
As they walked back home, Jacob’s first question was, thankfully, an easy one.
‘What clock is it that you have to change?’ he said.
‘There is a clock in the base of every ship – remember the clock in ours? Each clock is set to its own time. For a ship to return to Ormingat, its time must be fixed at the outset – the globules fall into place along the arrow, and when they are all in line, a firing takes place that is more or less like the action of a rocket in one of Earth’s spaceships, but much more concentrated.’
‘So is our clock set too?’ asked Jacob, the thought taking shape before Steven had time to fence it. ‘Then you will have to go? And what about me?’
‘It’s set for years from now,’ said his father with a conviction he did not really feel. ‘We don’t even need to think about it.’
They walked on for a while in silence.
‘And will you be able to alter the clock in York?’ said Jacob. He looked at his own watch. It was ten minutes to eight.
‘I might,’ said Steven, looking sour. ‘I probably will. But why can’t they let me alone? I am supposed to deflect attention. I do that remarkably well.’
‘You do everything well, Dad,’ said Jacob.
‘I probably do,’ said Steven, as stating a simple fact. ‘More’s the pity! A willing horse gets all the work.’
Jacob laughed, releasing nervous energy. ‘I’d hardly call you that!’ he said.
‘It depends on what you mean by “willing”,’ said Steven, grinning. ‘I didn’t say I was happy about it!’