Part 19 (1/2)

Wednesday, May 7th 1997

The exact sequence of events of the previous night was still confusing, and the newsrooms were still a.s.similating what had happened.

Lord Greyhaven and the Home Secretary had gone aboard the Martian s.h.i.+p. Some unconfirmed reports suggested that another two people, a man and a woman, had also been taken aboard. It was around then the attack on the Martian s.h.i.+p had taken place. A group of soldiers had opened fire with mortars, some of these had fallen short and caused panic in the crowd. Al this time the Martian s.h.i.+p had remained immobile, and apparently it hadn't been damaged in the attack. Later, a statement from the Ministry of Defence said that the soldiers firing on the s.h.i.+p had been acting against direct orders, and had not been part of the force sent to the Square to contain the crowd.

Supporting this official line, the main body of soldiers moved in on those firing at the s.h.i.+p. Some civilians - reports varied, but probably only a handful - were caught in the crossfire. This had caused a stampede, limited looting and a couple of power failures. The rebel soldiers had commandeered an a.s.sault helicopter. When it was sent against the Martian vessel, it was finally provoked into opening fire. Some sort of energy ray destroyed the helicopter that had locked on to the alien craft, and then the Martian moved a little way into Whitehall to demolish an office building with the same weapon. The soldiers had commandeered the office block to launch their attack on the Martians.

Within half an hour, the s.p.a.cecraft had returned to its position. The fighting was already over by ten o'clock and the third Martian Proclamation: 'PEOPLE OF THE UNITED KINGDOM. YOUR ASTRONAUTS COMMITTED A TERRIBLE CRIME, THROUGH.

THEIR IGNORANCE. THIS SHOULD NOT BE THE WAY OUR RACES FIRST MEET. LET US PUT TODAY.

BEHIND US, AND WORK TOGETHER. WE HAVE MUCH TO OFFER ONE ANOTHER. YOUR FELLOW.

HUMAN CLANS ABANDONED YOU, YET YOU FOUGHT FOR YOUR BELIEFS. THIS WE RESPECT. WE.

HAVE TALKED TO YOUR LORD GREYHAVEN, HE IS A BRAVE, BOLD MAN. LET US LIVE IN PEACE, PEOPLE OF THE UNITED KINGDOM AND OF MARS. '.

Tensions on the ground had noticeably lessened by the time Lord Greyhaven and the Home Secretary emerged, broad grins on their faces.

Greyhaven, surrounded by the world's television cameras explained that there had been a terrible misunderstanding, but he and Staines had quickly come to an arrangement with the Martians. There were many exciting opportunities ahead. The few thousand people stil in the Square cheered him as he made his way from the area.

Every paper led with a full page photograph of the alien s.h.i.+p hovering over London. There wasn't a great deal more variation in the headlines. 'We are not alone' was used by a couple of them. The Mail had 'UFOria'. The Telegraph had 'ET Our Friends, But The EU Are Not'. The Independent printed the declaration of peaceful intent in full. The Mirror had 'Mars: Planet of Peace'. Only The Times seemed to remember the Mars 97 with 'Britons on Mars, Martians in Britain'.

They weren't looking at what was happening in the rest of London or in Was.h.i.+ngton. News of the Prime Minister's a.s.sa.s.sination came too late for the papers. Before anyone had time to take in the tragic news, a press statement announced that evidence had been uncovered by MI5 of a conspiracy underway to overthrow the entire British political system and to kill the Prime Minister. Members of Parliament and other figures were arrested, some service chiefs had been suspended from duty. The conspiracy went deep into the civil service, the armed forces and both Houses of Parliaments. Many prominent people were involved, a number of whom were still at large.

Under the circ.u.mstances, it had been agreed to dissolve Parliament, pending a full investigation.

Any other day, the greatest const.i.tutional crisis since the Restoration would have dominated the headlines and thrown the country into panic, perhaps even civil war. Today, though, people were too busy rejoicing that the Martians were here and that they had come in peace to even notice.

It was light at six o'clock.

The police would tell you that at that time, London's streets are almost empty. The street sweepers and delivery men haven't quite started work, the trains haven't started arriving. Taxi drivers sit dozing in their ranks. In the big hotels, the kitchen staff are gearing up for breakfast, but the foreign night porter is still on duty and only a handful of the guests have received their alarm cal s. Cafes and markets are beginning to open, but they don't have customers.

69.This morning something was different, and it took a moment to work out what it was. It's like breathing: you do it all the time, of course, but every so often you're sitting down, relaxing, reading perhaps, and you become conscious of it. You feel every inhalation rus.h.i.+ng through the hair in your nostrils, you feel it easing down your throat and inflating your lungs. You breathe out, acutely aware of your diaphragm contracting. For a while you forget how to breathe without thinking about it. In moments like that, you visualise all the other things your body does without telling you. The blood pumping around your brain, the skin cells you're shedding, the food that's slowly being turned into s.h.i.+t in your stomach, and then you think about the chemicals flas.h.i.+ng and winking in your brain that make you what you are. You sit there, wondering if you'l ever be able to concentrate on anything else again, or whether the steady rhythms of your body that have been there al your life will keep you in a hypnotic trance forever. Two minutes later, you've forgotten all about it again, and turned back to your book or television.

The difference was the traffic. The sound of cars was normal y there in the background. Not the noise of individual engines revving or vehicles whoos.h.i.+ng past with car radios blaring, but the flatter, more even sound of tyres against tarmac, a dull sound like rus.h.i.+ng wind that's always there in every town centre. The invisible cars that are forever somewhere in the distance. The sound that is somehow the same volume whatever the time of the day or night.

In London, more than any other city in Britain, it is ever-present. It pervades every shop, every house, every office.

There isn't a window that doesn't pulse, or a pavement that doesn't hum with the vibration. Even on the platform of a Tube station, deep underground, it's there. No-one ever notices unless they are by themselves, sitting in a park or waiting for a train that never comes.

But when it's not there, it's as though the city is holding its breath, or its heart has stopped beating.

There were sounds - burglar alarms that were still ringing, car alarms that hadn't yet run down. Every so often a police siren would wail past. Loudest of al was the birdsong.

A helicopter pa.s.sed overhead.

Alexander Christian ducked behind the police box, scanning the sky as it receded into the distance.

When he had finally broken cover, and walked down Whitehall, he realised that something was missing. It took a couple of seconds for him to register that it was the Martian s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p. If only it had al been a dream, he thought, before wondering where the s.h.i.+p was now.

The burnt-out sh.e.l.l of the police mobile HQ was the only remaining police or army vehicle in Trafalgar Square. The corpses had all been removed, but the ground was littered with patches of blood and spent cartridges. A copy of the Evening Standard blew past.

He wondered when Bambera had noticed that he'd gone. Her plan was that he would head to Windsor with a group of the UNIT boys. Christian preferred to stay in London. He'd never been one to run away from a fight.

He'd expected more troops on the ground, but he soon realised why the area was so deserted - the whole of Whitehall, the Square and the Strand had been sealed off, along with a few of the back streets. The manpower was concentrated on keeping people away from the area. Even so, it was short work to find a gap in the defences and make a way out. Within ten minutes, he was in Covent Garden.

There couldn't have been many, Alexander mused, who had stolen the petty cash box of the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce. It had about seventy pounds in it - a fortune twenty years ago, barely enough to live on now. He didn't have any jewellery or even a watch to barter with. He'd be able to buy food and travel around the Tube if it was operating, but not buy any new clothes or items of kit.

Apart from a couple of sugar cubes, he hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon at the Lethbridge-Stewart place, so the first order of business was breakfast. Covent Garden had gone upmarket since his day, but he still managed to find a greasy spoon cafe without too much difficulty. Radio One was playing the latest music - Christian hadn't been 'with it' twenty years ago, so it came as no surprise that the music now was louder and more unpleasant now than ever before. Two burly young men were discussing the form guide in their newspaper at one table, a young girl was sitting by herself at another. The proprietor was a lanky Greek chap, who took Christian's money and disappeared into the back to make his fry-up without saying a single word.

'You got a light?' the girl asked. She had an East End accent, long dyed-blonde hair that she kept loose.

He took out a match, and sat next to her. He lit her cigarette, then his own pipe. She wore a tiny cropped T-s.h.i.+rt that might have been sprayed on. It wasn't too difficult to work out what she did for a living. She was fourteen, fifteen at most.

'What were you doing last night?' he asked.

'Same as everyone else,' she said non-committally, 'watching the tel y and hoping Jeff Goldblum was around, know what I mean?'

He smiled, as if he did. 'The s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p's gone now.'

'It's over the Tower.'

'The Tower of London?'

'Yeah.' She dragged on her cigarette. 'D'ya want to buy me breakfast?'

'That's all I'll be buying,' he said.

'Fine.'

Christian went over to the counter and shouted through that he wanted another meal. The Greek emerged ten seconds later with both plates and took some more money from him.

The news was coming up, Christian listened out for it.

The girl sat there, taking her time over the bacon. 'What d'you think?' she asked.

70.The news bulletin came on - a group of MPs and senior army men had tried to launch a coup last night. This had been countered by loyal army units, and after fighting in the streets around Whitehall last night, most of the plotters had been arrested. Parliament had been suspended, and until the situation had stabilised, there was to be a Provisional Government led by Lord Edward Greyhaven. To prevent the escape of the remaining plotters, all ports and airports would be closed for two days. In the interests of law and order, the major cities would be under curfew during the hours of darkness for the next week or so. People should remain calm, and go to work as normal.

'They didn't even mention the Martian s.h.i.+p,' Christian laughed, unable to believe the gal of it.

'I'm scared,' the girl said, stubbing out her cigarette and pulling out another.