by Mark Morris
Me, Max and Portia all nodded.
"And I just... dropped back," Dyl said, "started walking behind slug boy here. And then I just went up behind it, swung the branch round and... WHAM! Right on the top of its head. It didn't suspect a thing."
"And he went down, yeah?" said Max.
"Oh yeah," said Dyl. "Went down like a ton of bricks."
"So what did you do then?" asked Portia.
"Andy grabbed its arms and Igrabbed its legs and we carried it up to the castle," said Dyl. "At first the others found it hard to believe it was a slug, but we persuaded them to let us bring it down here. We put it in this cell and sat and watched it. As soon as it came round, they knew."
"It changed?" said Max.
"Oh yeah," said Dyl. "Opened its eyes and WHOOMPH! Just like that. One second it was Cal, the next it was throwing itself around, spitting sparks like a Roman candle."
"But it can't get out?" said Portia nervously.
"Wel l... obviously not," said Dyl.
"But I thought they were, like, really powerful," she said.
"Well, they're strong, yeah," said Dyl. "Stronger than us. But they haven't got special powers or anything. They can't pass thru solid objects."
Portia looked at the Cal alien as if it was some weird and exotic creature-which in a way it was, I suppose.
"How come it's changed back into a human?" she asked.
"Westey thinks it does it to make us uncomfortable," said Dyl. He turned to the alien and raised his voice. "Not that it does. What-ever it looks like, we know it's still a slug."
"Has it spoken since you put it in here?" I asked.
"Off and on. Westey comes down every day to try and speak to it, but it hasn't said much to him. It basically just tries to mess with your head. The main thing it says is that we're making a big mistake and it means us no harm." He snorted, his face turning ugly and mean again for a second. "That's probably what it said to Cal before it ate him."
"What do you feed it?" asked Portia, still looking at the Cal thing with fascination.
Dyl looked at her as tho she was being annoying. "It's not a pet rabbit," he said.
"Nah, man, it's a fair enough question," said Max. "Anything we find out about these things has gotta be good, yeah?"
Dyl shrugged and said, "I suppose," but he didn't seem as tho he really believed it. "We're not starving it if that's what you think. We just bring it normal food, but it doesn't eat much. We've asked it what it wants, but it just keeps saying, `I'm like you,' so we give it what we're eating. I mean, what else can we do? It's not like we're torturing it or anything."
"So what else have you found out about it?" I asked.
"Not much," said Dyl. "It hasn't told us what it is, or where it comes from, or what the blue lightning is. Westey took some samples from it-blood, hair, that sort of stuff, and tested them as best he could in the school lab. As far as he could tell, when the slug was in human form, it was just... human. I mean, we can't analyze its DNA or anything, but Westey said it looks as tho the slugs can take in whatever they absorb and just sort of... become that thing. On the outside, at least. Which means they can shrink whatever the body part of themselves is down to something really tiny, to fit inside th e... disguise or whatever."
Max was nodding. `But if the disguise gets damaged, then it affects the aliens too, right? I mean, if the disguise only gets damaged a little bit then they can change back to their real selves straightaway. But if the disguise gets damaged a lot it takes a while for the thing in side to recover. It's like the disguise is a kind of... vehicle for them. Like a stolen car, yeah? They crash that car, and if there's not much damage, they walk away. But if they smash that car up real bad then maybe they get knocked out for a bit, real shaken up, you know, and they can't get out straightaway."
"That's good," Dyl said. "I like it."
"I'm not sure how it helps us, tho," I said. `I mean, sorry to... 11
"P**s on my parade?" said Max.
I smiled. "Something like that."
"Yeah," he said, "I know what you mean." He stared at the alien. "So, what are you gonna do with it?"
"I don't know," Dyl said. "It's not up to me."
"Why didn't you tell us about this before?" I asked.
"Westey told me not to," Dyl said, looking embarrassed. "He said the fewer people who know about this the better. He said some people might not approve."
"Does Dad know?" I asked.
Dylan shook his head.
"Who does?" asked Max.
"Me, Andy, Westey, Mr. and Mrs. Poole, Mr. and Mrs. McGrego r... Mrs. Mclntee, I suppose," said Dyl.
"So your group was keeping this secret from our group?" said Max. He shook his head. "Thanks a bunch, man. What did you think we were gonna do? Set it free or something?"
"No," said Dyl, looking REALLY embarrassed now. "It wasn't up to me. And I'm telling you NOW, aren't I?"
"Your dad should know about this," Max said.
"Yeah," I said. Dad could decide whether to tell the others, I thought.
"You said you wanted to talk to one," Dyl said to me. "That's why I brought you here. So you could."
Everyone looked at me. Suddenly I felt uncomfortable. "Yeah, I know, but if you lot have been talking to it and it hasn't said anything, why would it talk to me?" I said.
"Cos you're pretty?" said Max.
I blushed and said, "We probably all look the same to them."
"You could try," said Portia. "You never know."
I looked at the alien, the Cal thing. He (it) hadn't moved since we came in. He was still squatting there, still staring straight ahead. He looked as tho he was in a trance or something.
"Hello," I said, trying not to sound nervous. "Can I ask you some questions?"
The Cal thing said nothing. "See?" I said. "He won't talk to me."
`Just ask your questions," Max said.
I didn't want to be there. But I turned back to the alien and said, "I just wondered what you wanted. Here on Earth, I mean."
It sounded stupid put like that. There, I thought, I've asked. Now let's go.
But then the Cal thing raised its head. There wasn't anything weird or different about it (it didn't have hypnotic eyes or anything), but it gave me a shivery feeling all the same.
"To survive," it said. Its voice was quiet and raspy, like it needed a drink.
"Is that all?" I said.
The Cal thing seemed to think about my question. "What else is there?"
"But that's all WE want to do," I said. "We just want to survive and live in peace. But your lot keep trying to kill us. Why?"
The Cal thing stared at me and I stared back at it, trying not to look scared. "We become you," it said.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"We become you," it said again. "You thrive by subjugation. You destroy and consume. We become you, so we can survive."
"Bu t... why can't we all survive together?" I said. "Why can't we live in peace?"
"Yes," said the Cal thing. "Let's live in peace."
I was confused. I didn't know what to say. "Where are you from?" I said. "Are you from outer space?"
The Cal thing looked at me as if it didn't understand the question, or as if it was PRETENDING not to understand the ques-tion. Then it said, "Isn't this outer space?"
Dyl shook his head. "It's tying you in knots," he said. "It always does that. Messes with your head."
"Maybe it just doesn't understand," I said.
Dyl snorted, but he didn't say anything.
"This is Earth," I said. "It's our planet."
"Is it outer space?" the Cal thing asked again.
"It's IN space, yeah," I said.
"In space," the Cal thing said. "Is that where you're from?"
"I suppose so," I said. "I'm from Earth. From here. Where are you from?"
"In space," the Cal thing said. "We're all in space. That's where I'm from."
"But what's the name of your planet?" I said.
"Did you come on the lightning?" I asked.
"Did you?" it said.
"No," I said. "We were already here. We live here."
"We live here too," said the Cal thing.
"But where did you live before?" I asked.
"In space," said the Cal thing. "Like you."
"Did you make the flood come?" I said.
"The flood," the Cal thing repeated. It wasn't actually a question, but it said the word as if it had never heard it before.
"The water. Did you make the water come?"
"The water was already here," said the Cal thing. "The water has always been here. No water, no life."
Dyl was right. It was messing with my head, refusing to answer my questions properly. Or maybe it honestly and truly didn't understand.
"This is pointless," I said. "Let's go."
Dyl put his face up to the bars of the cage and said, "Shall we blow the candles out as we go, slug boy, and leave you in the dark?"
"Dyl," I said in a sharp voice, which I was glad to see was enough to make him look ashamed.
We left. Portia actually wiggled her fingers at the Cal thing in a little wave. I wasn't sure whether she meant it in a sarcastic way or not. No one said anything as we retraced our steps along the corridor and up the slippery steps.
You know that thing people say about the s**t hitting the fan? Well, when we opened the door of the Muniment Tower and stepped out into the courtyard that's pretty much what happened.
Sue was crossing the courtyard as we came out of the door and she saw us. "What have you lot been up to?" she said.
"Nothing," said Portia. She couldn't have looked more guilty if she'd tried.
"I thought this tower was inaccessible," Sue said. "A couple of days ago I suggested we could park the helicopter on top of it and was told there was no key."
"There wasn't," said Dyl. "We found it."
"Found it where?" asked Sue.
`Just..." I could see Dyl's mind had gone blank "... around," he said.
Sue looked at me, then at Max. "Max, what's going on?"
Max sighed, then said, "I swear, Sue, we only found out about this, like... 10 minutes ago. It wasn't our idea to keep it secret."
"Keep what secret? Show me," said Sue.
Uh-oh, I thought.
"You had no right to keep this from us!" Sue shouted.
Steve sighed and leaned back in his chair. In essence he agreed with her, but he wished she didn't have to approach every situation with all guns blazing. Why couldn't she be diplomatic now and again? Didn't she realize that antagonizing people only made them defensive, uncommunicative, resentful? Wouldn't she have had this instilled in her during her police training?
If so, she had forgotten it now, had long ago reverted to type. Exceptional circumstances, he supposed. Wasn't it often said that extreme situations tended to bring out the best and worst in people?
If that were true, what had he learned about himself these past six weeks? He guessed he'd turned out tougher, braver and more resourceful than he would ever have imagined. On the other hand, he had come to realize how much he craved a quiet life, a life filled with order and routine. The week or so since they had arrived at the castle had only underlined this fact. If he hadn't had to cope with the news of Jackie's death and provide emotional support for Abby, he would have been in his element here. Apart from an electricity supply the castle had pretty much everything Steve could want from life: private rooms with comfortable beds, a reasonable stock of provisions (despite shortages in some areas) and generally good company. There was even a gym where he and whoever wanted to join in could forget things for an hour with some circuit training or a game of football or badminton. Plus (glory of glories) there was a music room, to which Steve had been able to retreat at quiet moments to play the piano and guitar. In fact, he had appropriated the guitar to serenade Libby by candlelight, and on one occasion had sat with Abby, strumming away whilst softly singing Jackie's favorite songBurt Bacharach's "I Say A Little Prayer" (his ex-wife had particularly favored the Aretha Franklin version). That little singsong had reduced them both to floods of tears, but they had been good tears, or at least cathartic ones.
Although he had been half-expecting it, news of Jackie's death had hit Steve harder than he had let on. He and Jackie might have been estranged for a couple of years now, but that could never alter the fact there was a hell of a lot of history (mostly very good; mostly wonderful) between them, a vast and precious library of cherished memories. In essence he and Jackie had grown up together, had undertaken the journey from naive and idealistic teenagers to confident adults hand in hand. And not even the fact that they had eventually grown apart had sullied that too much. Their relationship since the breakup had certainly never been worse than civil, and indeed there had still been a great deal of affection between themwhich was precisely why, even after two years, Abby had still harbored hopes of a reconciliation between her parents.
Realizing his mind was wandering, he turned his thoughts back to the matter at hand. Sue had called the meeting (war conference) fifteen minutes before, after it had come to light that Brian West and his group had been secretly harboring an alien in the castle dungeons. Now twelve of the seventeen current inhabitants of the building were gathered around the long central table in the dining room. The only five not pres ent were the two youngest girls, Marcie and Victoria, Jean McGregor, who was keeping them occupied elsewhere, Adam, who was on top of the Watch Tower (the Muniment Tower's twin), undertaking his weekly maintenance routine on the helicopter, and no doubt up to his elbows in grease and muck, and Daphne Mclntee, who had simply opted out of the proceedings and was in her room.
The meeting had started badly-with Brian West and Sue going at each other hammer and tongs. Despite Steve's advice to her to play it cool, Sue had immediately all but accused Brian of consorting with the enemy and of recklessly endangering their lives.
Brian, inevitably, had snapped back in his customary pompous and blustering manner, and for the first few minutes it appeared that the discussion was destined to degenerate into a slanging match between accuser and accused.
To Steve's surprise it was Joe Poole who eventually waded in to break-up the combatants. Joe was a slight man, maybe three or four years older than Steve, and was well liked by everybody. He was quiet and easygoing, albeit with a sharp, occasionally laconic, sense of humor. Following Sue's latest outburst, he raised his hand and calmly asked, "Sorry for being a bit thick, but can I get it clear exactly what you're angry about, Sue? Is it that the slug is there at all, or just the fact that you weren't told about it?"
Sue turned on him. She made Steve think of a savage dog which wasn't fussy who it bit, but would simply go for whichever moving target was closest.
"Both," she snapped. "That thing is bloody dangerous. If it got out it would kill all of us, probably starting with the kids. Is that what you want?"
Alex McGregor scowled. "Don't be bloody daft, girl."
"That thing is locked up," Moira Poole said. She was a tough, sinewy Irishwoman with strikingly pale eyes. "It can't get out."
"How do you know that?" said Sue. "That thing down there isn't human. How do you know it hasn't got... acid saliva or something? How do you know it can't melt metal? How do you know it's not strong enough to smash through those bars?"
"It hasn't so far," said Joe reasonably.
"Maybe it's just waiting," suggested Max. "Biding its time."
"What for?" said Brian witheringly. "No, if that thing could escape it would have done so by now"
"How did you know the cell would be strong enough to hold it in the first place?" asked Steve.
Brian pushed his lips out pugnaciously, making his mustache bristle. "We felt it a risk worth taking. We took suitable precautions."
"Such as?" demanded Sue.
"For the first forty-eight hours we had people armed
with gas bombs watching the creature day and night."
"Forty-eight hours? You need someone watching that thing all the time. You can't get complacent with these bastards."
"You could be right, girl," Alex McGregor conceded. "And now that you're here mebbe we can arrange that."
Brian tutted. "I'm sure it's not necessary. The young lady is scaremongering. The creature can't get out"
"What I was saying before," Max muttered, "about that thing biding its time..."
"Go on, Max," encouraged Libby.
"Yeah, well, it's just... what I was going to say is... that thing can change shape, right?"
"Right," said Steve.
"So what's to stop it changing into something small--a cockroach or a fly, say-and getting out like that? Maybe it's just waiting for the right thing to come along."
"That's..." Brian began, then lapsed into silence. It was clear the possibility hadn't occurred to him.
"You see?" said Sue. "You see how f-um, effing stupid you've been?"
Portia rolled her eyes. "Oh, puh-lease. Don't hold back on my account. It's not as though I haven't heard it all before."
There was a ripple of laughter around the room, a momen tary release of tension. Taking advantage of the lull, Steve said mildly, "You haven't explained why you kept this from us."
Moira Poole crossed her amps and glared at her husband. "I said we should tell them, didn't I? I said it would blow up in our faces if we started keeping secrets from one another."
Joe sighed. "You did, Em." He looked across the table-at Sue, Steve, Libby and Max. "All I can do is say sorry," he said. "We should have told you. It was wrong of us not to."
"So why didn't you?" demanded Sue.
Joe glanced at Brian. "Well, far be it from me to cast aspersions, but Brian here thought it might muddy the waters. Too many cooks and all that."
Brian West sighed as if he was finding the whole affair tiresome. "I've made a significant amount of headway with our guest," he said. "You might say the two of us have established something of a rapport."
"So basically you didn't want anyone muscling in on your love affair?" said Sue contemptuously.
Brian reacted as if stung. "Don't be so bloody puerile! The reason I didn't tell you was because I didn't want to deal with the kind of ludicrous tripe I'm hearing now. For your information, not that I expect you to display the slightest interest in anything that doesn't involve blowing what you perceive as the enemy into little pieces, I've discovered what I consider to be some fascinating, not to say potentially useful, facts about our visitors."
