Lethal Planet (18 page)

‘Not
where
,’ Brandon said. ‘But
when
! This wormhole will take you thousands of years into the future, coming out just on the other side of Jupiter at around the same time as the
Majestic
turns up in this solar system.’

Jason was now an expert at reading between the lines of Brandon’s grandiose statements. ‘
Around
the same time?’

‘Well, okay, within a few decades either side, but what’s a few decades when you can stride across the aeons?’

Jason shook his head. It pained him to say it, but: ‘I can’t go. I can’t leave you here alone.’

Brandon gave a wry smile. ‘And I can’t force you to stay. I don’t need you here anymore, Jase, but the rest of humanity does. You need to lead them through the tough years of starting over again here on Earth. You need to show them how to milk the chickens!’

Jason laughed. Then he turned and wiped a tear from his eye.

He was about to leave home to return home.

24—
MEMORIAL

And that’s almost it. That’s my story, from when I left New York for Corroza, to when I came back to London. The last thing Brandon said to me as I boarded
Discord
was, ‘I’ll see you back on here on Earth; back where it all began.’

I wanted to believe him, so I played it cool and blasted off without looking back. I left the black and white Earth behind me, threaded my way through the asteroids, swung around the dark side of Jupiter (passing through the wormhole there like it was just a bump on the road) and returned to find a completely different Earth in front of me.

A
green and blue
Earth.

My heart was racing as I set a course back for London. The asteroid field was no longer there. The dust layer was no longer there. Earth was rotating so that England was just coming out of the shadows and into the sun, and all I could see was green and orange fields and a cold blue sea.

There were fish leaping out of the water as I skimmed across the English Channel—strange alien fish that Brandon must have created and left to breed. There were green sheep grazing on the South Downs, and flocks of brightly coloured birds in the skies over London.

And there was the
Majestic
, lying on its side on the South Bank of the Thames. So I hadn’t arrived too early. The only question was, how late was I to the party?

London was still a ruin, but most of the Westminster and Camden had been cleared of rubble, and I could see people walking and cycling up and down The Mall. Livestock was grazing in Hyde Park, greenhouses filled Regent’s Park, and new buildings had sprung up on the sites of old landmarks: Albert Hall was now sports stadium (I could see a five-a-side football match in progress—zelfs versus balaks, of course) and Camden Market was now home to lots of small, well-spaced-out canal-side cottages.

People waved as I flew overhead, but I didn’t stop. It was almost too much to take in at once. I swooped over Regent’s park and over the fields beyond—fields that I had planted thousands of years ago, and which had now spread from Hampstead Heath as far as Muswell Hill.

I landed
Discord
in the same spot I had blasted off from, less than an hour ago by my watch. The air was crisp and chill when I stepped outside, and there were rust-coloured leaves piled on the grass. It was autumn.

Not knowing where to go first, I just meandered over to my bench and flopped down, pulling the zip of my spacesuit and letting the fresh breeze cool me.

And then I waited.

I didn’t have to wait long. Two people were coming up the hill. It looked like a woman and child. I didn’t recognise them from the human crew of the
Majestic
. That is, I didn’t recognise them until they got closer …

The woman was about thirty; small and skinny, with long, wild hair. She was wearing a corduroy skirt and a black leather jacket.

And black plastic-framed specs.

‘Hey, Bro,’ Kat said when she got to the top of the hill. She, too, plopped down on the bench, out of breath from the climb. ‘Well you sure took your time getting here!’

I didn’t know what to say. I made some kind of honking choking sound and hugged my sister close. When I finally found my voice, all I could say was, ‘How long?’

‘Since we arrived? Twenty years! But I always knew you’d come. Brandon said you were on your way.’

I could hardly believe it. ‘Brandon’s here?’

Kat nodded. ‘I’ll take you to him. If you think you’re ready. Oh but first, here’s someone else I’d like you to meet.’

The little kid had finally scrambled up the hill. He had Kat’s eyes and a cheeky smile.

‘Hi,’ I said. ‘So, what’s your name?’

‘Brandon Junior,’ the boy said.

I gave Kat a look, but she just smiled. ‘Brandon Junior? Well, um, is your daddy around?’

‘Hey,’ someone said in an American accent, and I turned to see a tall guy with red hair and a bomber jacket come running up the hill. ‘I’m Vince.’

He held out his right hand, while scooping Brandon Junior up in his left arm.

‘Vince?’ I stammered. ‘Do I know you?’

‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘I was only ten when we all went to Corroza. My parents were engineers on the
Majestic
. I think I said hi to you once when we passed in the corridor, just before we all went into suspended animation.’

I was having a tough time processing this information. It was almost like listening to Brandon’s technobabble. Vince kept talking to fill the silence:

‘I’m an engineer now, too: I helped build the plumbing system we have in Camden Village. It was made with parts salvaged from the ship. It’s not like we’ll ever want to fly anywhere again in it. Oh, but I’m waffling. It’s good to meet you properly, Captain!’

Kat stood up and took Vince’s arm, and suddenly I could see that the three of them were a happy family.

‘We’re getting married,’ Kat said. ‘Tomorrow, if possible. We promised to wait for you, Jason, and now you’re finally here we can’t wait any longer!’

* * *

By the time we had walked down the hill, I was talking to Kat as if I had never been away, and chatting happily with Vince like he was my best friend in the world. Kat was telling me about her role on the New Earth State, a job which involved mediating disputes between all the settlers. She was a confident woman now, and it wasn’t hard to imagine the respect she commanded in the community.

‘There’s an empty seat at the Round Table in St. Paul’s, Jason,’ she said. ‘It’s had your name on it since we arrived here.’

A bright red tractor was rumbling up the muddy farm track at the bottom of the hill. If I was correct, the track was once the busy Highgate Road, and buried under the grass somewhere were the ruins of my favourite pizza takeaway,
Al Porcinos
.

The tractor was being driven by an old black man with shaggy white hair. A zelf woman sat beside him. She was in her sixties too, but still elegant despite her faded shirt, jeans and rubber wellies. They both looked vaguely familiar.

‘Need a lift?’ Lieutenant Hewson said.

I reached up to take his hand and he pulled me up into the tractor cab. Hewson and Rana, Brandon’s aunt, fussed over me like I was their long lost son … or maybe their dog. ‘Let’s go see Brandon,’ I managed to say eventually.

‘Well, Brandon will wait for you,’ Rana said. ‘But Doo will be keen to know you’re back, if she doesn’t already. We pass by her house on the way to Bran, though, so let’s go!’

Kat and her family waved us off, and the tractor trundled up Highgate Road, past the site of Highgate Academy—our old school, that we had blown up shortly after the first meteor strikes hit London. A bunch of balaks had died that day, and I felt a bit guilty about it now. But that was when we were all at war, and the balaks were fighting under the orders of their vicious old king.

‘I guess there’s no Resistance anymore?’ I said to Rana.

She shook her head. ‘And no MI Zero either. Me and Richard’—she patted Hewson’s arm—‘are farmers now.’

‘You should come meet our chickens,’ Hewson said. ‘You won’t believe what they can do.’

‘Oh I think I can,’ I said.

The tractor had pulled up outside the
Rubik’s Cube
, me and Brandon’s old home-made house. It was still standing, then, except someone had planted flowers in the front garden, and painted the whole thing bright white, with blue window frames. I hopped down from the tractor and, after promising to visit Hewson and Rana later, walked up the path to the
Cube’s
front door.

It opened before I had a chance to knock. I was greeted by a massive balak with a wide grin on his face. He picked me up and gave me a rib-cracking hug.

‘Put me down, Grok!’ I wailed. When he dropped me, I took a step back to get a good look at the grown-up king of the balaks. The last time I had seen him, he had been asleep in a cot, with a dummy in his mouth. ‘You look good, Your Majesty.’

Grok waved away my words. ‘I’m not the king anymore,’ he said. ‘I abdicated as soon as I could. We have a republic here now!’

‘Oh really?’ I said, trying to recall how republics worked. ‘So does that mean we have a President now?’

‘Yep,’ Grok said. ‘Me!’

I laughed, and Grok invited me in for a beer. I was halfway through the hall when I stopped dead in my tracks. This time I wasn’t surprised or shocked: as Doo came down the stairs, she looked exactly how I had imagined her. She was older, bigger, and more muscular, but her wave of green hair softened her features and sealed the deal for me.

‘Say hello to the new Mayor of London,’ Grok said to me.

I dropped to my knees in front of her.

‘Marry me?’ I said.

‘I was going to ask you that,’ Doo replied.

* * *

We walked through the cast iron gates and strolled hand in hand down the quiet overgrown paths. Life had returned in abundance to the meteor crater, and everywhere we looked there were all different kinds of alien flowers, and also native plants like holly and … well, you’d have to ask a plant expert.

In the far corner of the cemetery was a familiar sight: the marble mausoleum that concealed the entrance to Brandon’s mother’s secret laboratory. The tomb must have been rebuilt, probably by Brandon himself. It also stood a monument to Brandon’s
real
mother, Paran, whose name was inscribed on the door. Just to one side of the larger tomb was a smaller, newer grave that belonged to Gem.

This was where it had all began, when the meteors started falling over London, and Kat had the bright idea of hiding in the secret chambers under the graveyard. Then Brandon had turned up … and life was never the same again.

I picked some nice-looking flowers—dandelions or something—and placed them in front of Gem’s grave.

‘I never knew her,’ Doo said as she watched me brush away the leaves from around the headstone.

‘She would have liked you,’ I said. ‘She was smart like you, tough like you … and almost as good looking.’

Doo kissed me and went to sit on the steps of the mausoleum, while I wandered around the leafy clearing. I was looking for something I didn’t want to find. I wasn’t even really looking that hard—just glancing at the names on the graves out of the corner of my eye. But I was looking, nevertheless.

I strolled down a corridor of dark evergreen trees. There was only one person’s story I had yet to catch up with.

‘Brandon, where are you?’ I said under my breath.

I’m here
, said a voice on the wind.

I stopped and looked around. A blue squirrel ran up a nearby tree. Some birds were eating berries in the branches above. But there was nobody else about.

‘Where?’ I said, as I kept on walking.

Here. There. Everywhere. I’m in the trees, Jason. In the ground, and in the animals. I joined my mind with the bionoids when my body was too old to go on. I joined my mind with the Earth and everything in it. If you let me in, I can be part of you, too.

I turned a corner and there it was: a small weathered stone tangled in ivy.

Brandon Walker

1998-3825

“Back where it all began”

I sat down and leaned against the grave. ‘Of course you can come in,’ I said to him. ‘Any time you want.’

Rob May studied English at Lancaster University and is the illustrator for the education websites, Super Maths World and Super Science World. He is the author of
Dragon Killer
,
Roll the Bones
and
Sirensbane
, a series of fantasy thrillers featuring Kal Moonheart—adventurer, gambler and thief.

Rob’s other works include the
Alien Disaster Trilogy
, a science fiction adventure, and
Girl Under the Gun,
a modern thriller. He lives in Warwickshire, England.

ROBERTWILLIAMMAY.COM