Johnny Mackintosh and the Spirit of London (31 page)

“You're coming with me,” shouted Mestor from beneath him, tugging at Johnny with all his might, and at last Johnny felt his fingertips slide to the very lip of the ledge … and then off. Mestor had finally let go with the effort of pulling Johnny down with him, and they were both falling … only they weren't. The tower wasn't crumbling any more. Everything seemed to have stopped, apart from the dinosaurs flying ever nearer and Clara and Bram, who were still making their way around the ledge toward Johnny. He looked at the Diaquant he was still holding in his right arm. She opened her eyes—for a moment they shone pure silver, before that faded and they became the clearest, palest blue he'd ever seen. She smiled at him and
Johnny smiled back. He looked below to see Mestor frozen in midfall beneath him.

Clara shouted, “In there Ptery,” to the bigger of the two creatures who was just able to fit into the shaft, with his wings fully outstretched and beating, allowing Johnny to grasp a leg with his left hand. As Ptery rose up out of the tower, Clara took hold of his other leg while Bram was lifted upward by Donna. Johnny looked down. For an instant longer, Mestor remained frozen in time before the spell was broken. He stared disbelievingly at Johnny as he fell away from them into the depths of the collapsing tower. “How?” Clara asked, as Ptery strained to lift them toward the waiting Spirit of London.

“It was her … the Diaquant,” said Johnny, nodding to the creature, eyes now closed again, that he was still holding in his right arm. “She did something.” Johnny looked above his head at the leathery wings beating slowly. “Thanks Ptery,” he shouted upward.

“You welcome,” said the dinosaur. “You no heavy now. Easy fly. Take you home soon. Then fishing.”

Johnny guessed the Diaquant might have something to do with their unexpected lightness. He'd been a little worried that they might not make it up to the ship, but when he thought about it he'd held the Diaquant one-handed for a long time now without getting tired. “OK,” he shouted back. “Just get us home and then you can fish all you want.”

They were making good progress, which was just as well because when Johnny looked beyond the ship he spotted a few golden shapes in the far distance. Some Atlantean fighters were coming their way. And they were closing very fast. As Donna, carrying Bram, swooped into the top of the dinodeck ahead of them, an energy beam from the nearest ship grazed the side of the Spirit of London. Ptery carried them into the ship, lowering them onto the rock near the center. As he did so the
outer hull sealed behind them and everyone was thrown backward by a sudden movement.

“What's happening?” Johnny shouted.

“I'm sorry, Johnny,” replied Sol's calm voice. “My shields are still inoperative and immediate evasive action was required. Welcome aboard.”

“Thanks,” said Johnny as the rumble of a huge explosion came from just outside the ship.

“That was close,” said Bram. “Let's get to the bridge.”

Johnny and Clara nodded. Johnny turned to Ptery, who had a hungry gleam in his eye and the smell of saltwater on his breath. He patted him on his bony crested head. “Sorry Ptery,” he said. “No fishing just yet.” Bram, Clara and Johnny, still carrying the Diaquant, left the disappointed pteradons and hurried into the antigrav lifts.

They stepped out to see both Alf and Chancellor Gronack at weapons stations either side of the bridge, trying to fend off the Atlantean fighters. Clara ran straight across to the plican's tank in the center. “The poor thing,” she said. “It's exhausted. It must have folded the ship out of the wave.”

“That is correct,” said Sol. “I was unable to take off so requested the fold. I am pleased the plican survived the trauma. I would not have liked to be severed from it.”

A dazzling flash of light on the viewscreen in front of them preceded another sudden change of direction, throwing everybody apart from Alf to the floor.

“We're all going to die,” squeaked the Chancellor. “And it's your fault.” It was looking accusingly at Johnny, who was making for his captain's chair. Gronack continued, “I tried to have this stupid ship get away before it was too late, but the thing refused.”

“We're not going to die,” replied Johnny tersely. “Sol will get us out of here.”

“Computing …” said Sol. “Probability of survival is 3.725 783%. Without my shields it only takes one direct hit.”

“Johnny,” said Bram. “I have a squadron of fighters concealed in your asteroid belt. If I can contact them …”

Johnny nodded and Sol immediately said, “I am opening a channel. Tell them to be quick.”

Another explosion saw everyone flung across the bridge again. Sol's engines emitted a high-pitched scream as the ship changed direction. Johnny had never even heard them before. From the floor of the bridge Bram was communicating with a triangular-faced viasynth on the viewscreen. Johnny reached the chair and placed the Diaquant on it. She opened her eyes and said, “Thank you.”

“I got one,” shouted Alf, looking up for a moment from behind the console where he was standing. Johnny stepped in front of the viewscreen and saw an explosion where a moment before there'd been a golden fighter. Behind it the sky was getting darker, changing from its normal blue into the blackness of space.

“Melanian squadron located,” said Sol. “Our chances of survival have now increased to 3.962 743%.”

“But that's almost what they were before,” shrieked the Chancellor. It had moved forward to stand next to Johnny, towering over him, while Bram was now operating the weapons station.

“The ships are too remote to be of probable assistance,” Sol replied.

“Can't we fold out of here?” Johnny asked.

“No chance,” said Clara. “The last one wiped it out again.”

“Sol—how many ships are attacking us?” Johnny asked. He wished he hadn't. As Sol replied, the numbers kept increasing as more and more Atlantean fighters joined in the hunt. It was up to fifty before he said, “OK—I get the message.”

The Moon filled the viewscreen now, though as missiles rained down on them there was little time to admire it. Sol dived low over its surface but the Atlantean fighters were easily able to follow. “Hold on, everyone,” said the ship, before braking breathtakingly quickly and climbing, engines whining horribly, away from the surface. Johnny was knocked sideways on top of the Chancellor, and Clara ended up in a heap next to them. A couple of explosions flickered on the screen where Atlantean fighters hadn't changed direction in time and had crashed into the Moon's surface. Johnny moved across to look at Alf's scanner and saw the space around them was still constantly filling with more fighters moving in for the kill. Another blast shook the hull as Sol changed course again. Then another … then another.

“This is hopeless,” said the Chancellor. “We must surrender.”

Johnny was inclined to agree. There didn't seem any way out. Sol cut in with, “Surrender is not an option, Chancellor.”

“What do you mean ‘not an option'?” squeaked Gronack. “We can't go on like this.”

“You are correct,” Sol replied. “I anticipate our destruction in 42.537 32 seconds. The necessary missiles and mines have all been launched. The probability is 100%. It is a highly impressive attack pattern—I have been outmanoeuvered.”

The only sound was the whining of the engines as the ship swerved to evade a salvo of missles.

“But … there must be something you can do?” said Johnny.

“I am sorry I have let you down Johnny,” Sol replied.

“Of course you haven't,” he replied. “You've been great.”

“Impact in thirty seconds,” said Sol. The ship veered in yet another direction. Johnny steadied himself and looked at the screens. He could see what was happening—every avenue of escape was being closed off. They were surrounded, with all the fighters converging on them, forcing them into a tightly packed
minefield. There really was no way out. For what it was worth, Bram and Alf were still firing weapons, but however many fighters they shot down more took their place. Half the Atlantean fleet must be there.

“Sol—how long till my ships get here?” Bram asked, looking up from his console.

“Computing … they will reach this location in approximately 4 minutes 52.742 61 seconds,” answered Sol calmly.

Johnny walked back to where Clara was standing in front of the screen. “It's OK,” he said to her, though his stomach was tensing horribly and his heart was beating so loudly it was almost drowning out the engines.

“I know,” Clara replied. “I can feel it.” She looked defiantly into Johnny's eyes.

“Impact in ten seconds,” said Sol.

A nearby Atlantean fighter exploded in front of them. Sol flew right through the debris, which lit up the whole bridge.

“Nine …”

“Can't you fold the mines out of the way?” Johnny asked.

“It doesn't work like that,” said Clara. “I have to take a piece of space I'm in and move it somewhere else.”

“Eight …”

“I wish I could've learned to do it too,” said Johnny. “It must be amazing.”

“It's not like anything else,” said Clara. “It's as if you're part of everything—the whole cosmos.”

“I'd love that,” said Johnny. “Being part of space. I always wanted to go there, but folding it must be even better.”

“Seven …”

“I just wish we had more time,” said Johnny.

“There's as much time as you need,” said someone behind them.

Johnny and Clara wheeled round to see a young woman, dressed all in silver, get up from the captain's chair. She was
tall, with long blond hair and she was glowing—radiating a soft white light that filled the bridge.

“Who are you?” Johnny asked. “Where's the Diaquant?”

The woman laughed. “Johnny, I'm the Diaquant.”

“You? How?” said Johnny. “You're so … young.”

“Thank you,” the Diaquant replied, smiling broadly—the brilliant glow came from everywhere, including her bright silver eyes, but as Johnny watched those faded again to the same pale blue as before.

“What happened?” Clara asked. As Johnny and Clara looked around them everything else seemed to have stopped. Bram and Alf were frozen in front of their consoles while the Chancellor stood motionless next to Clara, a frightened look on its face and its robes pure white with terror. “How did you do this?”

“You did it in the tower, didn't you?” said Johnny. “You can stop time … how?”

“How can
you
will an electric circuit into life?” replied the Diaquant.

“I don't know,” said Johnny. “But that's different—it's nothing.”

“No—it's a small thing,” replied the Diaquant, as she walked across the bridge toward them. “A little acorn … but an oak tree can grow from it.”

“But it's not like this,” said Johnny, gesturing around the bridge, all frozen in time. “What about science … the laws of nature?”

“Anything is possible,” said the Diaquant. “You two don't belong here—I'm sending you home.”

“Home? To the future?” asked Clara.

“To the future. To your right time,” replied the Diaquant.

“Thank you,” said Johnny.

“You saved me,” said the Diaquant, “by telling me not to fight.
I have lived longer than you could possibly comprehend, but I can still learn new lessons.” The Diaquant looked more serious now. “I cannot thank you enough, but though it is wrong of me, I would like to ask something more of you—two things in fact.”

“Anything,” said Johnny.

“It won't be easy,” said the Diaquant.

“We'll do it, won't we?” said Johnny, looking at Clara, who nodded silently back.

“You're both so very young,” said the Diaquant, “so fragile … I wish there was another way.”

“We're old enough,” said Johnny. “We've proved that—what do you want us to do?”

“The human Michael Mackintosh,” said the Diaquant. “You must free him.”

“Dad?” Johnny asked, open-mouthed.

The Diaquant nodded. “I know you will find a way.”

“And the other thing?” Clara asked.

“Release your mother,” replied the Diaquant.

“But she's sick,” said Johnny. “She's in hospital.”

“She is trapped there,” said the Diaquant. “Your father will know what to do.”

“We'll do it,” said Clara. “We promise.” Johnny nodded.

“I know you will, Clara,” said the Diaquant, who knelt down stretching her hands out toward them both. “Let me hold you—just for a second,” she said tenderly.

Clara walked forward and the Diaquant wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in. Johnny followed. The Diaquant had closed her eyes but Johnny thought that, through the glow from her face, he could see a single tear glistening down her cheek. And as she touched him his whole body tingled with warmth. “Come with us,” he said to her.

The Diaquant opened her eyes, let go of him and looked straight at Johnny. “Everything is possible,” she said, “but great
power brings with it great responsibility. I will go with Bram Khari. He is a good man, much more than a man. The galaxy is in chaos—it needs him. It needs an Emperor.”

“What about Atlantis … the fighters,” asked Johnny

“The bombs they sent after you will destroy their own ships,” replied the Diaquant. “They are a cruel people. There should be no place for them.” For a moment Johnny thought the Diaquant seemed old and frail again. And then the look passed. She stood up. “I must leave now,” she said. “Before it becomes too hard.” She let go of Clara, walked stiffly over toward where Bram was standing statue-like at the console and they both vanished in a point of light.

“Six … five … four—countdown terminated,” said Sol. “I am no longer tracking missiles … or mines … or Atlantean fighters.”