Johnny Mackintosh and the Spirit of London (19 page)

“There's no lift,” Johnny said sheepishly, out into the empty space.

“Lift?” the voice came back, only it had changed pitch and this time it was much, much higher. “Computing …”

“It's what you stand in … to go up a building,” said Johnny.

“Lifts are inappropriate for antigravity propulsion,” said the sourceless voice, sounding different once again. “Enter, Johnny Mackintosh.”

Antigravity propulsion? Johnny liked the sound of that. He closed his eyes and stepped forward. Nothing happened. Johnny opened one eye. He was simply floating in mid-air.

“State destination,” said the disembodied voice, now sounding a little like one of the news readers on the BBC.

“Er …” it didn't take long for Johnny to think where to go. “Bridge!” Instantly he was whooshing upward, very quickly, all the way to the very top of the ship. The “lift” stopped, leaving Johnny floating again. He stepped gingerly out onto solid ground. It was beautiful. It was the perfect bridge. It was the perfect spaceship.

“Welcome,” said the voice, this time a young woman's, friendly and fun. “You like that one?” asked the voice. “I sense it. I will stop there, Johnny Mackintosh.”

“Just call me Johnny,” said Johnny, walking slowly forward, turning round and round as he did to stare at the fascinating instrument panels on the surrounding walls. He was heading toward the very center of the bridge where, just in front of the empty plican tank, there was a single captain's chair. He thought of Cheybora and wondered what his ship would be called.

“Hello, Johnny,” said the woman's voice. Johnny noticed lights on a large, curved display flash as the words were spoken. “Thank you,” the voice continued and, as it spoke the two words, two more patterns of light flickered over the screen.

“For what?” Johnny replied. He sat down in the chair, placing the doughnut-shaped container on the floor next to him.

“For giving me form,” said the voice. “For giving me a part of your soul, to merge with my own. We are bonded forever.”

Johnny nodded. He knew it was true. The ship was a part of him. It was almost an extension of him. “What's your name?” he asked.

“I don't know,” said the voice. “I don't have one yet. Tell me, what am I? I find this structure pleasing—you chose well.”

“You're the Gherkin,” said Johnny, “in London.”

“Computing …” said the voice, as the lights flashed on the curved display next to the main viewscreen before Johnny. “Gherkin—carnivorous semi-sentient reptile of Procyon Seven; feeling of light-headedness induced by prolonged exposure to the trandetion on Arcturus Prime; vegetable preserved in acid on Sol Three; coming of age ceremony of the Rhanean Kavan. Computing …” said the voice again. “London—art form popular throughout the second epoch of the Varagon Hegemony; high-ranking city of Sol Three. Likelihood 98.7% Thank you, Johnny,” the voice continued. “I am a preserved vegetable from Sol Three. Is that your homeworld? Is a gherkin your favorite food?”

“No,” said Johnny, feeling himself going red. “
A
gherkin's nothing. You're
the
Gherkin. It's a beautiful building in London—this really big city near where I'm from.”

“A beautiful building in London of Sol Three,” came the voice.

“It's called Earth. You'd call it Terra,” said Johnny. “It's the third planet, so I guess Sol's what you call the Sun?”

“Do you miss Earth, Johnny?” asked the voice, rich and comforting. Johnny nodded. Being in space was great, but he was a long way from home. “Then I shall always remind you of home,” said the voice. “I shall take the name ‘Spirit of
London.' The spirit of your people … of this city. But you can call me ‘Sol' for short. The symmetry is pleasing. Do you like it?”

“It's a great name,” said Johnny. “Pleased to meet you, Sol.”

“And I am pleased to meet you, Johnny,” Sol replied.

Although Johnny felt he could have spent hours with Sol, he left the cornicula worm on board and went back down the antigrav lift to find Bram and Gronack waiting for him. Bram seemed pleased to be distracted from the Chancellor's affairs of state.

“So how did you like Sol?” Bram asked as Johnny approached them. “Did you two get along?”

“How do you know her name?” Johnny asked.

“I am Emperor of the Galaxy,” Bram replied. “I know everything.” Johnny could have sworn Bram had winked at him.

“I don't know how you put up with this questioning child,” said Gronack. “Your Divine Imperial Majesty. Please can we go now? I will freeze my antennae off if we remain any longer.”

“We wouldn't want that, would we, Johnny?” the Emperor replied, “though it will be necessary for you to spend a little more time with this ‘questioning child' yourself. Johnny,” said Bram Khari, turning to him. “Tomorrow morning I would like you to accompany the Chancellor to the university where you will teach it English. Will that be all right?” Johnny nodded grimly—after the Emperor had given him such a magnificent spaceship he knew he couldn't refuse. Gronack's robes, however, changed color to such a vivid red it looked as though it might explode. “Uh-uh,” said Bram to the irate phasmeer. “No more papers will be signed unless this is done.” With that he turned and started to walk away, retracing his steps toward the portal, his cloak billowing behind him in the wind and the rain.
A little confused by the new task he'd been given, Johnny took one last look at the Spirit of London—he couldn't wait to tell Clara about her—before running to catch the Emperor up. Sulking, the Chancellor hung behind for a while, scrawling furious notes on the unsigned imperial papers.

Later that evening, Johnny was sitting on the cushions at the low table in his quarters, enjoying a kanefor smoothie Alf had been only too happy to make for him when asked. He'd been shattered after coming back through the waterfall, but had managed not to pass out, unlike the Chancellor, who had been carried away while still unconscious by several mannigles (the bow-legged creatures that also looked after the Regent and the Dauphin). Johnny couldn't wait for Clara to return so he'd be able to tell her all about the Spirit of London. He'd already told Alf, but the android was always so excitable it was hard to know whether he was more pleased you'd enjoyed his treacle sponge or had your own spaceship. Finally Clara came bursting through the door, holding out a black drum in front of her.

“Where've you been?” Johnny asked.

“It's been amazing, Johnny,” said Clara. “You've got to see this.”

“I've got something really exciting to show you too,” Johnny replied. “Bet it's better that yours.”

“No way,” said Clara, placing the drum on the table. “This is the best thing ever.”

“My my, Miss Clara,” said Alf, squatting down by the table and peering closely at the object on it. “Is that what I think it is?” Clara nodded, a massive smile all over her face. “Well that is as exciting as Johnny's news,” Alf continued.

Johnny was dumbfounded. How could something in a box Clara had brought back be anything like the same as getting
your own spaceship? Alf had no sense of proportion. “OK then,” said Johnny. “Open it. Let's see what you've got.”

“I can't open it,” said Clara. “It could fold anywhere.”

“Fold? You mean it's a plican?” Johnny asked.

“I can show you, though,” said Clara, “if we make it darker—it's sleeping. Blinds down,” she said to the room and the red glow from Arros was shut out as a black line moved down the window in response to Clara's order.

“Lights—dim,” said Johnny, and the three of them found themselves in near pitch black, crouching around the table. Clara leaned over to the drum and pressed a combination of little buttons on its side. The black exterior of the drum became transparent, revealing a little white balloon floating in clear fluid inside. “Wow,” said Johnny.

“Isn't it beautiful?” said Clara.

Johnny stared at the flaps of uneven skin, through which the tentacles were visible, curled up inside the plican's body. Clara had a strange idea of what was and wasn't pretty. “Why's it white?” he asked.

“The plican lifecycle goes through many colors,” said Alf “but I have never seen a white one—is it newborn?”

“It's less than three weeks old,” said Clara. “It was born the day we arrived.”

“It must be the first new plican for twenty years,” said Alf. “No offense, Miss Clara, but I am surprised the guardians let you remove it from the hall. You must have asked very nicely.”

“It was really odd,” Clara said. “I didn't ask anything at all. I just wanted to see it. Then a messenger came from Bram with an Imperial Decree saying I must take it.”

“An Imperial Decree?” said Alf. “My word—whatever is going on?”

“I told them—the guardians—that I didn't want to take it,” said Clara. “That they should look after it, but they said I had
no choice. It is beautiful isn't it?”

Clara reminded Johnny of how a proud big sister might look when she got to hold her parents' new baby, though he couldn't help thinking the plican looked squashed in. “Why didn't they give you a bigger tank?” he asked. “It must be really cramped in there.”

“Of course it's cramped,” said Clara, exasperated. “I thought you liked spaceship design lessons.”

“I do,” said Johnny. “I've really been paying attention.”

“Not to the design of the plican tank,” said Clara. “It has a small separate chamber like this precisely so it can't uncurl its tentacles. If it did we could end up folded anywhere … probably dead in deep space.”

Now she mentioned it, Johnny did recall something about that, but he said, “You can't expect me to remember everything.” Clara rolled her eyes. Johnny continued, “But I do know why you've got it.”

“Oh of course, Master Johnny,” said Alf. “You must be right.”

“What?” asked Clara. “What is it?” She looked from Johnny to Alf and back to Johnny again. It was his turn to smile.

“Because I've got a spaceship,” said Johnny. “Your plican must be meant to come with us. It's our folder.”

“A spaceship?” gasped Clara.

“And they work best when the ship and plican are both young,” said Johnny, “so they can mature together—you see I
was
paying attention.”

“That's brilliant,” said Clara. “Where is it? What's it like?” Can I see it?'

“It's a she! Bram's taking us both—and you Alf,” Johnny said, turning to the android. “Tomorrow afternoon. He made me promise not to tell you where she is. I think he wants it to be a surprise.”

“Oh but this is brilliant,” said Clara. “We can go back to Earth
—to the Proteus Institute—maybe they'll be OK.”

“We have to try,” said Johnny. “And then I can take you to see Mum. Maybe we can help her? Sol's bound to have all sorts of medical stuff we can use.”

“Sol?” asked Clara.

“The Spirit of London,” said Johnny. “She's beautiful. Better than any of the ships we've seen in lessons.”

“What's it … what's she like?” Clara asked, and Johnny proceeded to tell Clara everything about the ship.