Steven did not sleep. He did not even nod. His eyes were on the screen, waiting for the moment of departure. Though what that would tell him goodness knows. He tried to see inside the ship, but that power was gone. All his abilities seemed to be diminishing. The picture on the screen was what the Brick chose to show him. No amount of manipulation would change the image.
The graveyard was barely discernible. The sky above it was dark with a hint of orange at its horizons from the streetlamps and the distant lights of London. Steven tried from time to time to change the image, to home in on the railings, to redirect the viewer. But it was of no avail. The machine was well and truly locked.
At two o’clock precisely, he saw exactly what he had been looking for: a spark of light came out of the grave like a soul ascending and whizzed off into the sky.
Now, surely now, the Brick would communicate. There must be things to tell.
The screen went blank.
It stayed blank for thirty minutes.
Steven pushed the lever and tried speaking to it again. ‘What is happening? I need to know what is happening!’
Nothing.
‘Who is inside the spaceship?’
Silence.
‘What is my function now?’
YOU HAVE NO FUNCTION
It was a relief to see words appear on the screen. Even words as icy as these. They were, after all, a real answer to his question. The subject was open to argument, or so it seemed.
‘Everyone has a function. I am here and I am alive.’
The reply to this remark was no reply at all. Within seconds, words appeared on the screen that hit him as if he had been struck a real and very heavy blow.
YOUR SON IS SAFE. WE SHALL CARE FOR HIM
Steven sat back in his chair and felt shivers run from head to foot. What did this mean? He knew what it might mean, but what it might mean was impossible. Surely it was impossible?
He ran down the stairs to Jacob’s room, flung open the door, and shut his eyes in a swift prayer that his son would be lying sound asleep in bed. He wasn’t. The bedclothes were ruffled as after a nightmare. Gasping, Steven raced back up to the computer room.
‘Where is my son?’ he demanded of the Brick. ‘What do you know of him?’
JAVAYL IS SAFE WITH US. HE IS OUR MOST TREASURED TRAVELLER
‘In the spaceship?’ said Steven, his voice a harsh whisper.
JAVAYL TRAVELS TO ORMINGAT. THERE WILL HIS HOME BE
‘His home is here on Earth,’ said Steven angrily. ‘Return him to us at once.’
WE DO NOT HAVE THE TECHNOLOGY
‘Return to me command of the system,’ said Steven. ‘I shall produce the technology.’
TOO FAR AWAY. OUT OF RANGE
Another thought came to Steven. ‘Did my son go with you from choice? Did he want to go?’
The Brick paused a long time, its screen not dead but simply pearl grey.
‘Come on,’ said Steven. ‘I deserve an answer.’
HE IS AN ACCIDENTAL TRAVELLER. THE DOORS SEALED AND COULD NOT BE OPENED. NO CRUELTY IS MEANT. IF WE KNEW HOW TO RETURN HIM TO YOU WE WOULD
‘What am I to tell Lydia?’ said Steven, looking down desperately at his own hands. ‘What am I to tell her?’
The screen cleared and in a short while another message scrolled into view.
YOUR SON HAS ABSCONDED. YOU KNOW NOT WHERE. THAT IS ALL THE EARTHLING NEEDS TO KNOW. THAT IS ALL SHE MUST EVER BE TOLD. BE LOYAL TO ORMINGAT IN THIS IF NOTHING ELSE
Angrily, Steven rammed the screen down into the base behind the Brick. ‘I was talking to myself, object, not to you,’ he said harshly. ‘If I am no longer Ormingatrig I am no longer subject to your commands.’
To say that he never had been subject to anyone’s commands would, at this point, be less than kind. The poor man was at his wits’ end. His troubles were manifold. He had lost his son. He would have, somehow, to help his wife through this loss. And, suddenly feeling close to Matthew, he was also aware of having lost his own special place in the universe. Even if he managed to become fully committed to Earth, he would only ever be Earthling by adoption.
I have made a mess of everything, he thought. Entesh, Argule. I do not know how to cope with this.
Eventually, after sitting slumped in his chair for at least another two hours, he got up and resolutely left the room without a further glance towards the Brick.
I shall tell Lydia everything.
On his way downstairs Steven looked once more into Jacob’s room, hoping against hope to find his son safe in his own bed. This time his gaze wandered from the empty bed to the rest of the room.
Jacob’s clothes of the day before were neatly folded on the usual chair. His trainers were on the floor beside them. Hanging on the inside of the door was his dressing gown. So what was he wearing? A full change of clothing? A different pair of shoes?
Steven pulled back the sheets and lifted the pillow.
His pyjamas aren’t here.
Has he gone out into the night wearing only his pyjamas?
He sat down on the side of Jacob’s bed, gripping the mattress with each hand as if trying desperately to find something to hold on to.
It’s no use. I shall tell Lydia everything. We’ll have to work it out together.
He slipped into the room where she was still sleeping.
‘Lydia,’ he said, in a loud whisper. ‘Wake up, Lydia. There are things we need to talk about. Terrible things, and – oh, I am so sorry!’
Lydia sat up and swept her hair out of her eyes. She yawned as she made the effort to shake off sleep. ‘What is it?’ she said. ‘What time is it? It can’t be morning already.’
‘No, my love,’ said Steven, taking her hand gently in his. ‘It is not five o’clock yet. But you must wake up and listen. I have so much to tell you and I hardly know how to begin.’