Sister Ships and Alastair - Chapter 1

1. Fun With Big Chief I-Spy

The sun was warm on his back, despite the cool of the morning. The shadows of the buildings - Woolworth's, the Co-op, Lloyd's - were still long on the brickwork. An occasional tramp or early morning cleaner ambled past. The Council seating had been made to last rather than to provide a positive bum-to-seat experience. The cheeks of Ant’s backside were lightly refrigerated through sitting on what was effectively a large seat-shaped lump of cast iron.
The I-Spy Book of Spacecraft, the most recent book on space travel he had been able to get from the library, had been written in 1969 by someone calling himself 'Big Chief I-Spy', though Ant doubted that this was the name he had been christened with. Big Chief I-Spy had rather optimistically included a set of tick boxes readers could fill in if they saw any of the spacecraft mentioned.
His dad was late. The clock on the Italianate Church had already struck nine. Mum had dropped him off over an hour ago. Her new boyfriend, who drove a Mercedes, had offered to buy him a cappuccino at the expensive new Caffè Hyperactivo over the road. Reasoning that his dad might see him, Ant had refused. There was always an expression of crestfallen emptiness in his dad's eyes whenever anyone with money bought anything for Ant that his dad would normally tell him was too expensive.
Someone seemed to be hammering at something somewhere in the distance. He tried to ignore the sound, and concentrated instead on the Soviet Vostok space capsule in the book. Perhaps to confuse NASA, the Soviets had written 'BOCTOK' down the side of it instead of VOSTOK. It had supposedly been the first manned craft to fly in space. On April 12, 1961, said the book, Soviet cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin blasted into the record books in Vostok 1. To Ant, who knew that the first voyage to Alpha Centauri had been made in 1951, it was laughable. The Soviet space capsule looked like a pepper shaker with a rocket where the filler hole should have been. The Apollo capsule on page 30 looked like its salt-shaking equivalent.
Space had not only been explored to a far greater extent than almost anyone on Earth suspected - it had been colonized, by shadowy government agencies of whose existence the present-day Presidents and Prime Ministers of the United States, Russia and Britain knew nothing. Now, those colonies in space had revolted, seeking independence, and a secret war was being fought out in the stars.
The Vostok flew once round the Earth, announced Big Chief I-Spy's I-Spy Book of Spacecraft, before returning its two tonne re-entry capsule to Engels in the Russian Soviet Federal Socialist Republic. Ant felt like scribbling the tonnage of a Revere-class cruiser in the margin -
He could hear a tiny voice, like a pixie yelling from the bottom of a well. "EARTH CALLING ANT! COME IN ANT!"
He looked up. Someone was banging on the window of the Caffè Hyperactivo.
"VINCENT ANTHONY STEVENS! THIS IS THE VOICE OF GOD! LOOK UP AND NOTICE THE FUNNY BLACK PEOPLE YELLING AT YOU FROM OVER THE ROAD!"
The embarrassment was devastating. Someone had seen him waiting in vain for his father. "...Cleo?"
"THERE'S NO USE TALKING, I CAN'T HEAR YOU, NIMROD! FOR GOD'S SAKE SHUT YOUR MOUTH, YOU LOOK LIKE A FISH BREATHING! I AM SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF MY VOICE IN HERE!"
Cleo and her entire extended family were standing in the café window, banging, making faces and waving. Behind them, the café staff were trying desperately to quieten them down. Ant sprang into action, gathering up his rucksack full of physics books and hoisting it hastily onto his shoulder. The café window erupted in a silent cheer, and Cleo's family sat down en masse.
Entering the café, trying to ignore the glares of the other diners, Ant looked at Cleo's family in bemusement. Cleo's father, who always wore a polo shirt round the house, was wearing a suit. Cleo's mother, who was never normally seen outside jogging bottoms, was wearing not only a gigantic polka-dot dress, but also a gigantic polka-dot hat. And every other member of the family, Cleo included, was dressed to kill.
"Did someone die?" said Ant.
The Shakespeare family doubled up in laughter at Ant's expense. "We're going to church", said Cleo's mother gently. "We go to the Christ-Centred Pentecostal Good News Church of God the Redeemer every Sunday. And so should you", she added with mock sternness.
"It's not the Christ-Centred Pentecostal Church any more", said Cleo's father. "It's the Ecumenical Rainbow Faith Church of the Army of Jesus. They changed the sign again last week."
Ant was amazed. "You're Christians?"
"I'm afraid so", said Cleo, with an embarrassment apparently even huger than Ant's. "Despite the best efforts of a scientific education, my father still believes in a big bearded man on a cloud." She looked around herself and added in a whisper: "I think we'd better keep it down now. The waitress just came over and told us to be quiet in Polish."
"I can be quiet in Polish", said Ant. The Shakespeare family laughed dutifully; Ant was a guest of the family, and his jokes had to be laughed at. Encouraged, Ant continued. "I can be quiet in a number of languages.". He pursed his lips and screwed up his eyes for several seconds. "That was Persian", he said.
Cleo's father stared at Ant for one long moment, then collapsed in hysterics - specifically in Jamaican hysterics, which were far louder than ordinary hysterics.
Besides her Sunday best, Cleo was also wearing a watch set into a bangle in the shape of a double-headed serpent. A coiled serpent also framed the watch face. The whole thing reflected light in an expensive way that suggested silver rather than chrome.
"Isn't it great?" said Cleo, noticing Ant's interest. She held up her wrist and shook it so that the bangles chattered like magpies. "It's a present from my beautiful parents for trying hard in my Applied Science homework."
Ant, who had never received any interest in his school performance short of being docked pocket money for fighting, looked at the watch and said: "It's very nice."
"Hello Ant", said Tamora, Cleo's sister. Ant's teeth ground together involuntarily as she added: "So you just happened to be here, did you, Ant? At the same time Cleo was."
"Yes", said Ant. "A mind-boggling coincidence, what with us living in the same town and all, but true, Tammie."
"I'll believe you", said Tamora. "Thousands wouldn't. My name's not Tammie", she added.
"I know", said Ant.
"How can you be a Christian and a trade unionist at the same time, dad?" said Cleo sulkily. "Where are your socialist principles? Religion is the opiate of the people. The top three girls in school all have parents who are practising atheists. Statistically, you are stunting my educational growth."
Cleo's father shrugged. "Break your leg and you'll find out opiates are wonderful things. Besides, I can't believe that something as complex as a human being can exist for no reason."
"Yes, and that reason is Darwinian evolution", said Cleo. "Darwin -"
Cleo stopped unaccountably dead in mid-sentence.
"Darwinian Evolution is Cleopatra's religion at the moment", said Cleo's mother.
"Ecumenical Rainbow Darwinian Evolution", corrected Cleo's dad.
Cleo would normally never have tolerated being called Cleopatra, but her attention was elsewhere. She was staring out of the café window at the other side of the street.
"What is it?" said Mrs. Shakespeare.
"Oh my god", said Cleo. "Oh my god. You give people advice, and they throw it into the wind and throw up after it."
Ant followed Cleo's gaze.
"Oh, my", he said. "Oh lordy, but that is wrong."
Two black-suited, black-tied, white-shirted figures wearing opaque black sunglasses were approaching the café. Each wore a smart black hat. One seemed to be male, one female; their hair, however, had been slicked back so fiercely that they appeared almost identical.
They entered the café. Every pair of eyes inside the building and out was fixed on them, apart from Ant's and Cleo's, which were intently examining the lino.
"Do you know these people?" whispered Cleo's mother. "Are they churchgoers?"
One of the figures raised its hand in a salute. The little and index fingers of its hand were sticking out of a half-clenched fist.
"Respect."
"Big ups", said the other figure, "from the posse of where we originate."
Cleo's father sat in bemusement, then weakly raised a hand and parted his fingers in a Vulcan greeting.
"Ah...live long and prosper?"
The two figures looked at one another. Then, one bent down to Cleo and whispered:
"You told us no-one ever actually did that."
Cleo hissed back through the corner of her mouth: "WHAT in the name of FLIPPING HECK are you DOING?"
"Following instructions", said the man, clearly hurt. "Absorbing the culture of the last twenty years." He slid out a DVD case from the inside pocket of his jacket. The cover read The Blues Brothers.
"We've also been reading Mixmag", said the woman.
Cleo made a come-hither gesture with a finger. When the woman bent her ear to listen, Cleo hissed into it: "In the shop where you bought that movie from the nineteen-eighties, did you see another movie from the nineteen nineties called Men In Black, in which sinister men wearing black ties and sunglasses are the secret representatives of aliens from another planet?"
The man looked at the woman. She shook her head. He turned back to Cleo and shook his head.
"Are we incorrectly dressed?" said the woman. "I have to admit the film made little sense."
Lieutenant Turpin and Lieutenant Farthing looked ridiculous, but it was easy to see how they might not have realized the fact. They were, after all, used to wearing grubby and threadbare flight uniforms, and to breathing the lead-free air of Gondolin, a smaller world orbiting a very different sun. They were citizens of the United States of the Zodiac, a set of rebel colonies in space that fiercely protected its independence from its mother countries, Britain and America - and here on Earth, they stuck out like sore thumbs on an octopus.
"Aren't you going to introduce us, Cleopatra?" said Mr. Shakespeare.
"This is my elder brother", said Ant quickly, despite Cleo's eyes flaring angrily as she mouthed NO! STOP DIGGING NOW! "And his girlfriend." This time it was Lieutenant Farthing's eyes that bounced out of her head. She threw Ant a look that promised vengeance.
"We're from out of town", explained the man.
"Where are you from?" said Mrs. Shakespeare.
The man's eyes bulged with geographical effort.
"The Orkney Islands", he said finally.
"Oh really", said Mr. Shakespeare. "Letitia and myself once went on a walking holiday in Orkney."
The man beamed at Mr. Shakespeare as if the act of ceasing to beam might cause his brain to stop functioning.
"It was very nice", said Mr. Shakespeare.
"It is very nice", said the man. "The sea is very nice. The way it surrounds the islands on all sides."
"Mr. Turpin", said Cleo in a strained voice. "Miss Farthing. What are you here for?"
"We're just hanging", said Lieutenant Turpin.
"With our peeps in the hood", clarified Lieutenant Farthing.
"I thought your name was Stevens, Ant", said Mr. Shakespeare.
"My brother kept my mother's maiden name", said Ant.
"Digging deeper and down", said Cleo. "Gosh, is that an unexploded bomb under your shovel, or is it just another sewer pipe?"
"Would any of you like a cappuccino?" said Mrs. Shakespeare.
Turpin's face contorted as if he were being strangled by an invisible man. Cleo nodded at him sharply.
"...Yes?" he managed.
"I believe I would also like a cup of Chino", nodded Farthing.
Mrs. Shakespeare reached for her purse. "Decaffeinated?"
"No", said Lieutenant Turpin. "It's just the way I'm sitting."
"Skinny?"
Turpin locked his eyes on Cleo with the expression of a man who is absolutely sure he is right.
"My name", said Cleo hotly, "is not Skinny."
"Do you want skimmed milk", explaind Mrs. Shakespeare, as patiently as the situation allowed.
"No, just the Chino, thanks."
"It's very rare for someone to take their mother's maiden name", said Mr. Shakespeare.
"My brother doesn't get on with my father", said Ant.
"Oh, really? That sounds terrible", said Lieutenant Turpin. "Why is that, exactly?"
"YOU'RE MY BROTHER", hissed Ant.
"I'm joking, of course, haha", said Turpin. "It's quite simple. My father and I belong to two rival dance styles."
"Tell me you didn't get out Breakdance Two: Electric Boogaloo too", said Cleo.
Lieutenant Turpin reddened and cleared his throat. "I am a pure breakdancer, whereas my father has strayed away from the true path. He" - he lowered his voice dramatically - "does robotics."
"I can do robotics", said Mr. Shakespeare brightly.
"You can so not do robotics, dad."
"You don't sound Scottish", said Tamora to Lieutenant Turpin.
"Do I need to be?" said Turpin.
"If you come from Orkney, I believe so."
"He was resettled in Orkney", said Ant. "On a witness protection programme", he added desperately.
"Yes", said Turpin. "That is true."
The conversation died like the wind in the sails of a becalmed galleon.
Mr. Shakespeare unwisely broke the silence.
"I, um, hear there's a lot of secrecy in these witness protection programmes." Despite a tremor in his voice that indicated he knew this was terribly, terribly wrong, he nevertheless continued: "It sounds very interesting. Tell us about it."
"I can't", said Mr. Turpin helplessly. "It's a secret."
At that moment, all conversation became inaudible as a deafening roar shook the plates on the tables and a massive shadow closed across the sun. Man-high letters scrolled across the café window, stencilled on corrugated steel with the enigmatic word: HUOLINTAKESKUS. Despite herself, Cleo yelped in fear and ducked under the table.
"Is there a planet Huolintakeskus?" she said to Turpin and Farthing.
"No", said Ant with weary resignation. "But there is a Finnish international shipping company Huolintakeskus who write their name on the side of their containers."
Pneumatic brakes spat, and a black and evil-smelling cloud of diesel fumes drifted in through the café doors. Ant attempted unsuccessfully to merge with his surroundings.
"Hey", said Mr. Shakespeare. "Is that your dad, Ant?"
Outside, someone was arguing with a traffic warden. One of the waitresses marched out to add her own voice to the argument. The argument appeared to be coming inside.
"- BUT I'VE GOT A DELIVERY TO MAKE -"
"- I'm sorry, you can't park an articulated lorry here whether you're making a delivery or not -"
"CO KONTYNUUJE TUTAJ??" demanded the waitress.
"I'd better go", said Ant.
Ant's dad poked his head in through the doors.
"DOUGIE!" said Mr. Shakespeare. "WAZZZUUPPP!!!"
"Dad, people don't say WAZZZUUPPP any more. In fact, I suspect even Americans only ever did it in Budweiser commercials -"
Mr. Shakespeare turned and winked at Cleo. "Check out THESE moves, daughter of mine."
He rose from his seat in a series of fluid yet mechanical jerks, moved across the room to Ant's dad, and offered his hand for shaking with the clumsiness of a robot. Mr. Stevens stared at the hand as if its owner were a lunatic. On Mr. Shakespeare's face was now written the sheer terror of a man who has suddenly realized he has committed a social faux pas of awesome magnitude. However, he had now begun the faux pas, and therefore had to finish it. Continuing the same series of stumbling, shuffling steps, he walked out through the café door into the street and carried on walking, robotically.
"Mr. Shakespeare sometimes gets like that", said Ant. "It's a medical condition."
"He's had it his whole life", said Mrs. Shakespeare grimly.
"Oh." Mr. Stevens shook his head to clear it. "Well, I'm outside." Conscious of the presence of the traffic warden, he added: "Heck of a coincidence you just happening to be here not waiting for me at all. Want a lift?"
The traffic warden folded his arms. "If you do not move on in the next ten seconds, you will get a ticket."
"JEST TEN WASZ SAMOCHÓD CIĘŽAROWY???"
Ant grimaced at the Shakespeares. "See you later." He hurried out of the café with his rucksack of books.
"Well, I have to say, you really don't get on with your father at all", said Mrs. Shakespeare to Lieutenant Turpin. "He never even gave you a look."
"There's a terrible feud between us", said Turpin.
"I cannot believe you people", said Cleo. "The Blues Brothers represents modern European society about as much as Return of the Jedi represents life on other planets."
"Return of the Jedi is actually surprisingly accurate", cautioned Turpin.
"Apart from the Ewoks", said Farthing.
"Ewoks!" chortled Turpin. "The very idea!"
"I mean, you could see they were just cleverly trained monkeys", said Farthing.
"Monkeys don't make tree villages or ride motorcycles", said Cleo coldly.
"They don't?" said Lieutenant Turpin blankly.
"They were very little people in furry suits."
Turpin clicked his fingers in sudden realization. "Little people!"
Farthing nodded. "Furry suits."
"Of course, it's obvious now she says it." Lieutenant Turpin patted Cleo's hand on the table. "You see, that's why we need you. You're the expert."
"What do you need me for today?"
"We're on a mission."
"From God?" said Cleo with mean untrusting eyes.
"Higher up. From Commodore Drummond's commander's commander. The head of the US Zed. President Mathews."
"Gosh, I'm impressed", said Cleo, who wasn't. "What are you here to do?"
"Find out whether we and Earth are about to go to war."