Part 19 (2/2)

'Everyone is,' Christian said, finis.h.i.+ng off his fried egg.

'I like that Lord Greyhaven, though. I think he'd make a good Prime Minister.'

'You're not worried about the curfew affecting business?'

She smiled as she chewed, her mouth was full. 'I'n't he bold? I don't just work nights. I'm in what they call a recession-proof industry. Whatever happens I'll be OK.' She had a tiny bruise on her temple, scars on her wrists, and underneath that T-s.h.i.+rt he could see her ribs. Christian wanted to hold her, to take her little body and give her a hug. If he could just take her home, give her a bath and a comfortable bed to sleep in she'd be safe. But that was what she wanted silly old men like him to think, wasn't it?

'I'm sure you wil ,' he replied, getting up.

'Thanks for breakfast.'

'Thanks for talking to me.'

By seven o'clock, the phone lines of the j.a.panese Emba.s.sy on Piccadil y were jammed. Across London, all the emba.s.sies were fielding calls from worried tourists. At any given time, there were tens of thousands of j.a.panese in the United Kingdom, seeing the sights of London, Stratford, Bath and York. None of them wanted to be in a country occupied by a hostile alien lifeform. Most of these tourists were middle-aged, rich and respectable, the remainder were the children of rich businessmen. Either way, there were many powerful people at home scrutinising the actions of the emba.s.sy. The beleaguered staff were fortunate that the phone system had crashed last night - the London exchanges could only deal with local calls.

The emba.s.sy staff were quite busy enough trying to establish what the situation in Britain actually was. Tokyo had demanded clarification as to who was in charge, whether the situation was stable, whether Britain was still honouring treaties and trade agreements.

Mr f.u.kuyama and his wife had been among the first to arrive in person at the emba.s.sy. They were keen to leave the country. Before he had retired, Mr f.u.kuyama had worked in the local tax office, so he was used to a steady stream of phone calls from irate people. He volunteered his services to help take the calls from his fellow tourists.

The emba.s.sy staff gratefully agreed. They were trying to charter a fleet of aircraft to get their citizens out, but then so were al the other emba.s.sies, and for the moment at least the airports remained completely closed. A dozen j.a.panese film crews were in Britain - most of these were now within the emba.s.sy itself.

It was unusual for Eve to be a bystander in a television studio, it felt odd to be standing behind a television camera.

It was a little after eight o'clock. Lord Edward Greyhaven, the Prime Minister of Great Britain, was sitting at a desk in front of a bookcase full of fake books, in a BBC studio, recording an address that would be broadcast that morning and at intervals throughout the day. First he recounted the events of the previous night, how a group a soldiers and politicians had attempted to attack the Martian s.h.i.+p. The Provisional Government had been established because they were now in a new era: the existence of real live Martians presented an opportunity that the old system would have been slow to take advantage of. He explained the benefits of co-operation with the Martians and how alien technology would help Britain and eventual y the world.

'Politicians often promised jam tomorrow if only we'd make sacrifices today. The time has come, if you'll pardon the expression, to feast on Martian jam. I am pleased to announce that thanks to the savings that the simplification of government al ows, my first act as Prime Minister is to cut both VAT and income tax by five percent. We shal be building new factories in the depressed areas of the North East and Wales, with many more to come. We were promised a more prosperous future - well, it's 1997 and high time that we had the future. Welcome to the prosperous today. Thank you.'

The director was beaming. 'Excellent, Lord Greyhaven, excellent.'

Edward stood, unclipping the mike and tucking his speech back into his Wallace and Gromit ringbinder. 'That should calm things down a bit.'

'And we're real y cutting income tax?'

'That was Xznaal's suggestion, yes.'

'But how do we balance public spending and all that sort of thing?' Staines asked, unafraid to hide his past life as a junior treasury spokesman.

'Xznaal said that he could. He says he also knows ways to reduce pol ution and unemployment, traffic congestion and global warming.'

'Crikey. I suppose as well as al those s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps and holograms and other gadgets, the Martians have also had millions of years to perfect chartered accountancy.'

Greyhaven smiled forgivingly. 'That must be it. What is the state of the nation, Staines?'

71.'Things are a little more subdued than we thought, Teddy. Problems at the ports, of course, but they are logistical ones: thousands of people with nowhere to go. We've promised full compensation to holidaymakers and tour operators. We'll need to do something about repatriating foreigners.'

'Will you indeed?' Eve asked archly. She hadn't known the Home Secretary long, but already had a well-developed sense of hostility towards him.

'Only if they want to go, Eve,' Edward said hurriedly, brus.h.i.+ng her cheek with his hand. 'David, I'll need to talk to you later about tracking down the Doctor and Christian - one o'clock?'

The Home Secretary nodded.

'The Doctor?' Eve said. 'Mid-thirties, dresses like he's read too much d.i.c.kens?'

Greyhaven turned to her. 'The very fellow.'

'I saw him at the s.p.a.ce Museum, he thought he recognised me. I'll keep an eye out for him. So what's on your agenda, then?' Eve asked.

'I am in meetings with Lord Xznaal for much of the rest of the day, that's why I'm recording my message now.'

'So I won't be seeing much of you?'

He brushed her cheek. 'I promised you the first American interview with the new Prime Minister.'

'You know that everyone wants to see Xznaal, too. Where's the meeting, Downing Street?'

'The Tower of London. Xznaal has taken a s.h.i.+ne to it and so the Martians wil be based there. We've called in some refrigeration engineers to adjust the climate for them. A simple process, apparently, and the Tower will be fully converted in three days.'

'Mars is a cold world,' Staines informed her.

'Yes,' she said, trying to match its coolness. She turned to Edward. 'Any chance of a talk to Xznaal?'

'I think that might be counterproductive for the moment. If Staines' reaction is typical then the public might react unfavourably towards our new allies. Let's just wait until things have settled down a little bit.'

Greyhaven had described the Martians as large reptilian creatures. They sounded quite palatable - fifty years of science fiction B-movies and corny TV series had prepared the way. They might look a bit like Klingons, but they didn't act like them - Klingons didn't help cut tax and set up trade agreements.

'I think you might be right - but people want to know all about them. What about their history and their culture?

Never mind al that fuss about the Martian fossil last year. Everyone said that that was the greatest scientific discovery of the century. Guess that'll teach people to wait until the end of the century next time.'

'This certainly knocks what the Americans found into a c.o.c.ked hat,' Staines simpered, smiling knowingly at Eve.

She grimaced back at him.

Greyhaven nodded to her. 'I think you are right. I'll check with Xznaal, and try to set up a meeting between the two of you. A doc.u.mentary about their history will help people to understand the Martians better.'

Eve tried to stay calm as she was handed another world exclusive.

By nine o'clock, the breakfast television and radio programmes were drawing to a close. The news editors had been careful not to do anything that might lead to accusations that they had instilled panic in the population. They concentrated on the awe-inspiring prospect of a peaceful alliance with a hitherto unknown race. Reports about the political situation were downplayed in favour of more offbeat coverage: UFO cranks, science fiction writers and comedians got a great deal more airtime than const.i.tutional lawyers, politicians or police chiefs. In the national interest, no-one asked where the Queen had got to - only she had the power to dissolve Parliament and to confirm the appointment of a Prime Minister.

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