Seven Steps to the Sun (24 page)

'Look,' said John, tapping Mike on the arm. Down in the valley he could see a man making his way up towards them. Mike moved John out of the way and swung the sights onto the oncoming man. The sun above him seemed uncannily bright, blinding him with lights. He looked down the barrel of the gun. The figure climbing towards them seemed to be coloured black. Mike looked with great intensity at the Negro coming up towards him. The sunlight was obscuring his vision. In sudden horror he realized the sun was above the line of the sights, the blinding light he saw was coming up the barrel of the gun. Mike started to fight, he had to remain conscious, but the tiny darts of brilliant light pierced his eyeballs and his brain. The gun slipped from his hands and the darkness of unconsciousness overtook him.

The first thing Mike felt when he regained consciousness was a firm hand pressed hard into his. The hard wooden floor of the hut was now replaced by a soft mattress. He opened an eye. His hand was held by a very competent black one which he realized, when he looked into the semi-darkness, was attached to Pete.

'You got here in time,' said Mike, through a dry throat.

'Man, I never thought you were coming back,' said Pete, giving his friend's hand a gentle squeeze. 'How do you feel?'

'Rather like coming to after a week's drunk. Isn't there any light in this place?'

'Sure,' said Pete, leaving the room. Mike tried hard to figure out where they were. Pete came back with two men in white coats and a very pretty nurse.

'Well, Mr Jerome, how do you feel?' said one of the white-coated men.

'Lousy, and who are you?' Mike said, as the man peered through a light into his eyes.

'Dr Robinson.'

'How long have I been here?'

'Hmmm, Mr Jerome,' said the doctor, still looking.

'What is it?'

'Nothing. You were admitted here at about two thirty this afternoon.'

'To where?' asked Mike trying to sit up. It was then that he saw the bottom of his leg encased in plaster.

'University College Hospital,' said the doctor, taking his pulse. Mike looked at Pete. The hut in the Italian Alps slipped into the back of his mind, as the reality of the accident came back to him.

'You're a very healthy specimen. I'll be back to see you tomorrow,' said the doctor, leaving.

'Doctor, two rather urgent matters. I've got a terrible headache and I'm hungry,' said Mike.

Pete looked at him and smiled and gave a thumbs up behind his back as he went out with the doctor. Mike could hear a discussion going on outside the door.

'They're going to lay on food and coffee. The nurse said it would be tea, so I guess you might get cocoa,' said Pete, coming in and closing the door.

'I suppose you asked for a steak and the nurse said it would be lamb, so you guess I might get a soft boiled egg. You know I hate soft boiled eggs,' he said, mimicking Pete.

'If you weren't an invalid, I'd push you downstairs for the worry you've caused me,' said Pete, taking a chair and sitting down by the head of the bed.

'How long have you been here?'

'I got to your flat around seven and they told me you'd had an accident. Man, I was really worried when I found you unconscious. You know they said there was nothing to do but to wait until the internal swelling of the old head had gone down.'

'What happened there?' asked Mike, pointing at the plaster on his right leg.

'I don't really know. I think they said you got your leg broken. What the hell were you doing walking in front of an oncoming car?'

Mike put his hand out and touched Pete's shoulder. 'In future, I'm going to study the Highway Code before I cross any roads when I'm just back from abroad.'

'It'll be a little more than that, I'll knock your brains out if I see you crossing a road without looking.'

'Don't think you'll do much good. They found corporal punishment at school never helped me remember anything. Are you working this evening?' asked Mike.

'Yes, when they throw me out.'

'How long will they keep me here?'

'I should think they'll let you know tomorrow.'

'Why a private room?'

'They put you here and were going to move you once they had space in a general ward. I told them to leave you here,' said Pete with a twinkle.

'You think I'll get a bit of crumpet. I like the thought but there are a couple of minor points,' Mike said, looking down at his leg.

'Why do you always think that men should do all the work? Man, I'm going to take you in hand. Always let the woman do the hard work.'

'Did they find anything else wrong with me?'

'No, but they will, have no fear.'

'Good evening, I've brought you something to eat,' said a nurse, putting her tray down.

'I told you—eggs and cocoa,' said Pete, inspecting the food.

'Bloody marvellous.'

'Here are your pills, to be taken after you've eaten,' said the nurse, leaving two blue and orange capsules and an aspirin on the tray.

'They obviously want to starve me,' he said, bashing his spoon into the top of his egg.

'I'll bring you something in tomorrow. Anything in particular?'

'Salami and a nice bottle of wine,' said Mike, sniffing the liquid in the cup. 'Would you like to try it?'

'No, if I collapse when I get home, then I'm in trouble. If you do it here, at least they can bring you back.'

Mike took a sip and decided he liked it. He was glad that Pete was growing restless, as it meant he'd begun to get over the shock of the accident.

'You'd better be off,' he said.

'Yes, I'm going,' said Pete, picking up his jacket. 'I'll be back some time late afternoon tomorrow. Is there anything else you need?'

'Yes, could you drop into the flat, get my typewriter and in the right-hand desk drawer you'll find paper and ribbons.'

'Salami, wine, typewriter, paper and ribbons,' repeated Pete.

'Yes, and the most important part of the list is my writing material.'

'Mike, can't you give it a rest just for a few days? You can't go on working at this pressure.'

'Yes. Yes. We'll be away on holiday before you know it, but I must get something down as it could be big, big television.'

'All right, but this is the last project. You realize the reason you're here is because you're too tired to know which direction the traffic comes from.'

'Yes, sir.' Mike gave Pete a salute.

'See you tomorrow, and don't be bad.'

'I thought you wanted me to be good—rest and relax.'

'Sure, but you can't do without entertainment,' said Pete, with a twinkle, and nipped through the door before any missiles flew his way. Mike shook his head, picked up the pills and swallowed them.

He lay on his many pillows and began to think about his strange dream. He pressed the button by his bed.

'Yes?' asked the nurse, poking her head round the door.

'Could you find me today's paper?' Mike asked. 'I really think you should be going to sleep.'

'At the moment all I can think of is a paper. I promise to go to sleep if I see a newspaper.'

'All right.'

The nurse soon reappeared with a copy of the Daily Mirror, and took away his tray. Mike looked carefully for the date June 6th, 1969.

Three days later he was allowed to go home. Sam, Pete and Mike struggled to the lift. Mike's peg leg made getting up to the flat a real pantomime.

'It's lucky it's not Friday the thirteenth,' said Mike, putting one leg into the lift, 'otherwise, I'm sure we'd have a few more interesting problems.'

'Yes, Mr Jerome,' said the sweating doorman, closing the lift doors.

In the flat Mike explored the living-room. 'Pete, what's missing?'

'Sue. I got in touch with her and told her to get all her stuff out of here. So, along she comes in high dudgeon and removes most of her and some of your stuff. I then got some paint and a painter, hey presto,' said Pete.

'Looks better,' Mike said appreciatively. 'Let's have a drink.'

Pete was delving in Mike's bag of things from the hospital.

'Hey, Mike, you must get new boots, these are in a terrible state,' he said holding them up.

'You're right.' The well worn boots looked as though he had tramped miles in them. He wondered whether he had. 'I can buy some at that shop in the King's Road, but I shan't need them yet.'

'By the way, could you find me some new typewriter ribbons this afternoon? I'm on my last one.' He opened his machine and put it on his desk.

'I'll make a deal with you, I'll get the ribbons if I can read what you've written,' said Pete, lounging in a chair with his drink.

'As soon as I've finished, O.K.? This is going to be a humdinger of a programme.'

'What's it about?'

'Science fiction.'

'Who are you going to show it to?'

'Abe Leinstein.'

'I didn't know he was interested in science fiction.'

'He will be after he's read my pilot script.'

'Well, let's hope so.' Pete got up and went to the door. 'I'll be in tomorrow when I wake up. Remember the doc says you're not to go out for a few days.'

'It'll take me all that time to produce this material,' said Mike, settling down to the typewriter.

He typed quickly, telling the story that led up to the first time change. He wanted to use that at the end of the pilot to trigger off the rest of the series. Mike stopped abruptly half-way down a page. He got up, found the clothes he'd been wearing at the time of the accident and searched for Professor Smitt's notes, but they'd gone. On his way back to the typewriter he hesitated and went into the bathroom. He looked at his glasses sitting on a shelf and again checked the contact lens container but it was empty. In his apparently secure world a disturbing discord still persisted. He shook himself resolutely and started to work again. He typed on, hour after hour, nothing penetrating his mind to disturb the flow onto the page. As he wrote, his character, a top-flight musician, began to sound more and more like Pete.

Suddenly he left his typewriter and stumped over to the telephone. He called Imperial College and London University asking whether they had a Professor Smitt on their staff. There was no one by that name. He tried the Cavendish Lab in Cambridge, but no one there had heard of him. Apparently there was no Smitt of his description connected to any university in this country, or of any standing at any university anywhere.

He checked next on the house in Harley Street, which turned out to be used by a number of different medical practices, including one of physiotherapists. Mike decided to go back when his leg was out of plaster for massage, which would give him the chance to look at the place for his story's accuracy. He worked on through the evening, past his bed time and well on into the night. It was four in the morning when he eventually finished the pilot. The rest of the presentation wouldn't take him much time so he rolled himself onto the sofa and immediately went to sleep.

Mike woke to the early morning sounds of rush hour. He got up and made his ungainly way into the kitchen and washed his face. He made himself a cup of coffee and staggered back into the living-room. At the typewriter he swore quietly to himself as Pete hadn't come back with his ribbons and the one he had in was now very tatty at the edges.

It was early in the afternoon when Pete at last turned up.

'Finished?' he asked, as he placed the ribbons proudly on the desk.

'Yes,' said Mike, pointing to a pile of paper.

'What time?'

'Late.'

'I bet,' said Pete, giving Mike a gentle prod in the back.

'You going to read it now?'

'Of course, but I must have coffee before I start this mammoth project.'

'If you're making it I'll have some.'

'Should you?'

'Don't know. I think I'll have it with milk this time round.'

Mike watched Pete settle down, then turned back to finish the last pages of his presentation. Hardly a word was spoken until Mike had finished his last page. He stood up and unsteadily made his way to an easy chair. Pete looked up and grinned.

'What do you think?' asked Mike, when Pete put the last page down.

'You never give me a chance to finish, do you.'

'No, I've been watching for too long and my nerves won't stand much more. What did you think of it?'

'Man, you know what I think of your work; it's great, absolutely great.'

'What do you want to do now.?'

'I want you to take it round to Abe on your way to work. Ask him to get on and read it, then let me know immediately what he thinks.' Mike took a file out of a drawer and put the presentation into it.

'But Abe won't read it, he'll probably just pass it on to the script department.'

'No, he won't. I'll have a word with his secretary.'

'You sure you're happy with what you've done? Wouldn't it be better to have a think about what you've written?'

'No, there'll be improvements but the most important part of this operation is to get the television boys interested, then I can set all my ideas in motion.'

Mike phoned Abe Leinstein before Pete went to work that evening. Abe was happy that he was out of hospital but not too happy about being pressured into reading a pilot. Mike wouldn't listen to all the old guff about all the television time being allotted, or even the fact that Abe was short of cash, as all the budgets for the current year had been approved. He saw Pete wince once or twice, as he hammered away for his pilot, extracting a promise from Abe that he would read it quickly.

The next few days were spent in returning everything back to normal. Pete took Mike to see the doctor, who seemed very pleased with his progress. They spent the weekend planning a holiday. Pete had a concert tour to do in America, but as soon as he returned they could go to Italy. Mike kept waiting for an opportunity to tell Pete a little about the origin of the television pilot but the time never seemed to be quite right, so the experiences began to fade and the only part of it that remained sharp was the idea for the series.