Part 8 (1/2)

'It's like that Foglio 'toon,' said Joel, as Jason sat down again. 'Where all the people are running screaming from the alien, but the fan is saying, ”Long trip?” '

'I'll take your word for it,' said Jason. 'Is everybody in Little Caldwell as relaxed as you are?'

It's just us, the crew and the guests. Except for Mr Sullivan in the post office. He's been here twenty years and he still hasn't noticed anything weird. We try not to keep lots of aliens around. London's the best place for them, or sometimes New York.'

'What about Tony?'

'Oh, he's been part of the crew almost from the start. He was a kind of backwards case - he deserted from the Tzun when they were trying to invade in the fifties. He's our computer expert. He did stuff to my Commodore 64 that'll be advanced even in ten years' time.'

'And what about you?'

'Oh... I'm a latecomer,' said Joel, fumbling with a packet of cigarettes. 'They needed a fan real bad. What people think about aliens mostly comes from films and TV. Thank G.o.d for ET ET and and CE3K CE3K.'

'Why no guns?' said Jason.

'Because that way you know anyone with a gun is a bad guy. 'Scuse me, I'm just going outside for a minute. This must be about the first non-smoking restaurant in the world.'

Jason pushed the undrinkable coffee away and gloomily looked at the newspaper. 'Face it, Kane,' he told himself.

'She's going to be attached to daddy dearest like a hyper-leech. Until the novelty wears off.'

'What about the professionals?' Chris was saying. 'If you get paranormalists, do you get them too?'

'Well, we've had more than one run-in with C19.'

'And that would be?'

'Well,' said Tony, 'not to, um, sharpen too fine a point on it, they would dissect me faster than you could say ”von Daniken”. You learn to tell friend from enemy.'

'What about us?' insisted Roz.

Tony looked between them. 'My hologram makes you a bit nervous,' he ventured.

'Oh?' said Roz. 'And why would it make me nervous?'

'Well,' said the Tzun, 'it makes you wonder who else around the place is in disguise.'

Roz grimaced. Chris said, 'How many, er, guests do you have at the moment?'

'Six. About once every two years we have to evacuate the extraterrestrials. That's my job,' said Tony proudly.

'Sometimes it's the secret service, but usually it's the military.

Last year UNIT cordoned us off for twenty-four hours, as part of a ”training exercise”. There were unsuspecting soldiers tramping around all over the place. We sold a lot of coffee that day, I can tell you!'

'So what did you do?' said Chris.

'In the end the Americans asked them to leave.'

'And that's another thing,' said Roz. 'If I was going to choose a place to harbour alien refugees, my first choice wouldn't be next door to the air force.'

'It actually draws attention away from us,' said Tony. 'It's all in the misdirection, you see. Um, I'd better get back to the Pyramid. Just phone us up if you need anything.' He headed for the door, looking relieved. 'I hope you two will be comfy together!'

Roz gave Chris a sideways look. The boy's ears were turning red. 'Thanks a bundle,' she said.

Woodworth pulled up at the coffee shop and shut off the engine. She smiled at the sign that said THE PYRAMID, LITTLE CALDWELL. The village was real. She was here.

She got out of the car and locked it, looking up and down the street. It was barely a village, more a sort of hamlet, a handful of buildings spread out along the road; at the west end, a petrol station, to the east, a few cottages and a church. No wonder people missed it.

There was a boy leaning against the wall outside the cafe, smoking a cigarette. She went inside, pulling off her scarf and gloves, and the lad followed her in.

'Hi,' he said, ducking behind the counter. 'What can I get you?'

She peered at the menu. 'Just a coffee.'

'What kind?'

'No milk or sugar,' she told him. There was nothing supernatural about this place. Even the oddly dressed man struggling with The Times The Times crossword was probably merely in fas.h.i.+on. crossword was probably merely in fas.h.i.+on.

Woodworth pulled off her gla.s.ses and rubbed her ageing eyes. She peered at her watch. Would the village still be here if she drove away and tried to find it again? 'Will the bookshop be open tomorrow?'

'Yes, ma'am,' said the boy. He sounded American - the son of someone from the airbase? 'It's open Monday to Sat.u.r.day, but not on Sundays.'

'Right then, make that coffee to go. I'll be back tomorrow.'

'No problemo.' The boy poured the steaming stuff into a polystyrene cup. She pushed a handful of change over the counter at him. 'Have a nice day,' he said.

Woodworth grimaced as she stepped out into the cold again. 'It doesn't seem likely,' she muttered.

The Doctor had spent a relaxing half-hour in the graveyard next to the boarded-up church, looking for just the right stick.

The place was cozy, with a smattering of naked trees between the headstones. He chatted for a while with old Tom the grocer, who popped over every day to do a bit of unofficial caretaking.