Who Goes Home?

by Sylvia Waugh

  Once outside the building, the lack of a coat clearly made Vateelin shiver.

  ‘Serves him right,’ said Steven.

  Then Jacob saw an ambulance coming down the drive, its headlamps illuminating the flakes of snow. ‘They’re going to get run over,’ he said anxiously. ‘That wouldn’t serve them right!’

  ‘They’ve got more sense than that,’ said Steven. ‘And if they haven’t there’s nothing I can do about it. In fact, I’m worse than useless. That ambulance driver won’t even notice them if he mows them down. And it’s too late now to withdraw or modify the shield.’

  So Jacob gave a sigh of relief as he saw Vateelin haul his son back out of harm. After the ambulance had passed them by, in total ignorance of their presence, they crossed to the corner of the car park near the gates where, on the ground, a distinct radiance could be seen against the white of the snow.

  ‘And he’ll think that was all his own work!’ said Steven. ‘They all do.’

  ‘Have they no powers then?’ said Jacob, thinking not only of Vateelin but of all the other agents he had seen.

  ‘Limited,’ said Steven. ‘Some have more than others, but not one of them could really do what the Brick does.’

  Jacob had thoughts about that boy. Thomas/Tonitheen . . . ‘He’s like me,’ he said. ‘A boy with an Ormingat father.’

  ‘Not really,’ said Steven. He was still concentrating closely on the father and son as they went hand in hand towards the spaceship. His answer to his own son was less than thoughtful. ‘That boy had an Ormingat mother too. He is pure-bred. He was even born on Ormingat.’

  Steven did not see his son’s eyes glisten. To be described as ‘pure-bred’ seemed in that instant something very different from his situation, and very enviable. I want to be . . . he thought, and did not know how to complete the sentence.

  The man and boy shrank into the glow of the ship.

  ‘Thank goodness that’s over,’ said Steven. ‘I’ll get the report done tomorrow and that, hopefully, will be the end of it.’

  ‘You won’t forget to tell about the coat,’ said Jacob.

  ‘I won’t forget to tell about the coat,’ said Steven heavily. ‘Now get yourself to bed and go to sleep.’

  Jacob paused a moment at the door, sorely tempted to speak. There was one final thought he was held back from uttering. Would his own father ever return to Ormingat? Who decides who goes home?

  CHAPTER 11

  * * *

  Inside Vateelin’s Spaceship

  The spaceship shot up into the sky above the hospital. The rush to leave Earth’s orbit was so great that father and son found themselves clinging to each other on the floor beneath the sofa in the Earth side of the ship.

  ‘We should have been strapped in,’ gasped Vateelin, holding on tight to Tonitheen and pressing his elbows into the base of the ship in an earnest effort at least to stay in one place till the turbulence was over. ‘Not long,’ he breathed, ‘not long. A few seconds, that’s all.’

  But a few seconds of that force can feel like an eternity. Tonitheen was still Earth child and terrified. He dug his fingers into Vateelin’s arms and clenched his eyes shut. Please God help us!

  Then a calm came over the ship as it escaped the gravity of Earth. Vateelin and Tonitheen soon found that they were able to sit upright. This was no Earth spaceship. There was no question of floating about once the escape had been made. Each Ormingat ship had its own internal gravity: up was up and down was down.

  They recovered enough to rise from the floor and sit on the sofa. The ship seemed very still.

  ‘We’ve stopped moving,’ said Tonitheen anxiously.

  ‘We haven’t,’ said his father. ‘We are still accelerating, but so smoothly you can’t feel it.’

  Vateelin and Tonitheen, sitting side by side on the long sofa, did not look like parent and child. The slight, slim boy was dark-haired with eyes like jet. His father was fair and well built. Over the next three years, as they journeyed home, they would slowly regain their Ormingat features and the Earth genes would be gradually withdrawn. It was a process that had already begun.

  ‘You must be tired, Tonitheen ban. Now it is time for us to sleep.’

  ‘Nallytan, Vateelin mesht,’ said the boy drowsily, automatically using the only Ormingat phrase he really knew. So much had happened, and there had been no time to absorb it all. He curled up in one corner of the sofa.

  The lights on the walls of the ship grew dim. Then father and son both slept.

  They were awakened when the lights grew bright again, extra bright, and the communication cube glowed spectral green.

  Awake, awake, awake! This is emergency. Leave now sleep.

  Vateelin opened his eyes and yawned and stretched as if he had been asleep for a week, which is not surprising considering that he had in fact slept for a fortnight.

  ‘What do you want?’ he said. ‘What is it? It can’t be time to wake up yet. Otherwise I would feel more rested.’

  Wake up, Vateelin. Wake up, Tonitheen. Information is required.

  Tonitheen stared at the green cube and then tugged at his father’s sleeve. Vateelin was still wearing the shirt in which he had entered the ship. It was dry now and in the warmth of the ship he had long ceased to shiver.

  The cube changed from green to yellow. It is necessary to discuss your clothing.

  ‘We needed to become part of the ship again before we could have the energy to refresh ourselves and change,’ said Vateelin. ‘You know how swift our departure was. We are still recovering.’

  It is necessary to make understanding of your lack of coat.

  It took Vateelin no more than a second to make sense of this. ‘I left my coat on the hospital bed,’ he said. ‘We of Ormingat have no wish to create difficulties for people on Earth. It was to indicate that my son had not been stolen from the hospital by some stranger.’

  Sometimes difficulties are unavoidable. You may have betrayed us.

  ‘Besides,’ added Vateelin thoughtlessly, ‘I could not go allowing Stella to believe that harm had come to Thomas.’

  The cube turned a deeper yellow and began to vibrate.

  Say more about Stella. Say more about Stella Dalrymple.

  That was a surprise. Of course, Vateelin knew he would have to explain that when he and his son were living on Earth in the village of Belthorp their next-door neighbour, Stella Dalrymple, had become their closest friend, a second mother to Tonitheen, whom she knew as Thomas. The journals Thomas had kept bore Stella’s name on nearly every page: these, in microform, would be passed on after they arrived in Ormingat. They had been Tonitheen’s work on Earth, written daily and conscientiously from the age of six.

  Yet the machine already knew Stella’s surname without being told. Where had the information come from? What else did the machine know?

  To question would do no good. Vateelin understood the ways of the communicator. So, wearily, he provided some answers.

  ‘Stella Dalrymple was our best friend on Earth for five whole years. She cared for us. She looked after Thomas. She is a widow with no children of her own.’

  Tonitheen, moved by his father’s words, felt tears stinging his eyes. Leaving his beloved Stella had been very, very painful.

  ‘You are upsetting my son,’ said Vateelin sharply. ‘To leave the coat was surely a minor infringement.’

  It is now essential that Ormingat children be removed. Children are danger.

  Vateelin did not understand what the machine meant. Ormingat children? ‘My son has been removed from Earth. He is here with me now,’ he said.

  There are on Earth two other children of Ormingat entwining. You have made clear the danger of their situation.

  This was the first Vateelin had heard of the ‘other children’. He had thought that his son was the only Ormingatrig child ever to visit Earth.

  ‘Who are these children?’ he said. ‘I was told that my son was the youngest ever to leave Ormingat and come to Earth.’
/>
  No untruth was told. The other children, older than your child, were born on Earth and entwined with Ormingat by their parents. That is why Tonitheen was sent to Earth – to provide control. Now we know that children can betray.

  Vateelin thought of the stories his son had told to Stella, of their flight to Earth in a spaceship the size of a golf ball, their diminishing to enter it and their increasing on leaving it. To allow the child to tell these stories had been a calculated risk.

  ‘No one ever believed him,’ Vateelin protested. ‘They simply thought that he had a vivid imagination. No one can accept as truth any story they believe to be completely impossible.’

  The cube reverted to its original green.

  Not every mind on Earth is completely closed.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Vateelin impatiently.

  Stella Dalrymple now believes that the stories your son told her are true. The coat you so carelessly left was matched with a torn strip found on the wheels of the vehicle that nearly killed you. This woman has clearly been able to put the facts together and reach conclusions that should have been beyond her understanding. She should never have believed those stories. Without the mystery of the coat, she never would have done. They were too incredible. You leave us the task of dealing with her.

  Tonitheen heard these words and shivered. What did ‘dealing with her’ involve?

  ‘I love Stella,’ he cried, ‘and no one must hurt her.’

  CHAPTER 12

  * * *

  Go to the Spaceship

  Steven had not been into the computer room all day.

  It was now the eleventh of January and the year had begun so quietly that he could really have no cause for complaint. A routine check each morning and evening did produce the occasional request for help here or there, but nothing startling or urgent. That was the order of things.

  And now this! The screen above the Brick had ‘GO TO THE SPACESHIP’ reeling upwards and disappearing off the top in obvious agitation. Then it appeared at the foot of the screen, scrolling faster and faster.

  ‘Thought it was too good to last,’ said Steven. ‘Whatever it is, I hope it is less frantic than their last effort.’

  Jacob was downstairs in the sitting room, finishing his homework. He had the room to himself.

  ‘I’m off for a walk,’ said Steven, looking in at the door as he passed. ‘How’s the homework going?’

  Jacob looked up from his book and said hastily, ‘There’s not much left to do. I can finish it off later.’

  The assumption, of course, was that he would be going to the spaceship. There must have been a summons. Perhaps there would be another adventure. That was Jacob’s view – very different from his father’s!

  A brisk walk through the cool, dark evening brought them to Highgate Cemetery and to their ship once more.

  They looked around warily when they reached the Friese-Greene obelisk. Steven did not believe in using a shield for himself unless it had some proper purpose. Self-protection involved extra work, and could be a nuisance. All that was required in the quiet of Swains Lane was to be reasonably circumspect.

  There wasn’t a soul in sight.

  Their presence was known to the fox, scrabbling in the soil beneath a nearby angel, digging up a small carcase he had buried there the previous night. Dry twigs and dead branches gave him perfect camouflage. What little noise he made was imperceptible. He paused and froze, ears pricked to listen, his myopic eyes assuring him that the intruders were not in close range. He sniffed the air warily, and then, satisfied that there was no immediate danger, returned to his work.

  Steven too was content that all was safe. He took out his ruler and unfolded it.

  Jacob, as usual, tried very hard to be aware of what was happening as they shrank into the vessel but, as on other occasions, he could not manage it. First they were outside; then they were inside. And, in between, something was lost.

  ‘Well?’ said Steven, addressing the communicator brusquely.

  You were expected earlier. There is much to tell.

  ‘We are listening,’ said Steven, leaving the controls and returning to the sofa, where Jacob was eagerly waiting.

  Vateelin made a grave mistake. It will affect all of you.

  ‘Us?’ said Steven, not sure who was included in this ‘all’.

  You who have children, children of Ormingat.

  ‘In what way?’ said Steven sharply. He did not like the sound of this.

  Later. First you must understand the gravity. You reported that Vateelin left his torn coat on the hospital bed when he took his son. That was a seriously misguided action on his part.

  ‘Was it?’ asked Steven innocently, as if he had attached little importance to this single sentence in his brief report. He was wishing now that he had not put it there at all. He glowered at Jacob, who pretended not to notice.

  The communicator did not answer directly, but its next words were revealing.

  Now there is a woman of Earth who believes that the boy Tonitheen was telling truth when he told her that he flew here in a spaceship. Before the coat was left, she believed that it was all childish imagination.

  ‘And now?’ said Steven.

  She has addressed a foolish remark to a reporter.

  ‘Yes?’ said Steven tersely.

  She gave a cryptic answer to a question. When asked if she could shed light on the disappearance of Vateelin and Tonitheen, she said, ‘Starlight, perhaps.’ The reporter was told no more, but that one phrase was enough to set his imagination working. Unfortunately.

  Steven nodded, appreciating that the words could just as easily have been ignored. He was about to speak when the cube resumed, in a tone that could perhaps be interpreted as pompous.

  You were right to direct our attention to Earth’s newspapers. Copies of all relevant papers have been sent to our agents in York. Their daughter, you remember, was born there.

  That statement froze both father and son. Steven was only too aware of the perils that might lie ahead. Jacob was stunned to think that he was not the only young Ormingatrig on this Earth. This was a question he had never thought to ask. He gave his father a look of deep resentment as he realized that this was yet another mind-fenced area. He had come to understand the rules of that particular game. And he did not like it.

  Steven weighed up carefully how much he needed to tell Jacob. And, as usual, he wanted to tell him as little as possible. There were many things best left unsaid.

  ‘I’m not happy with all this, Javayl ban,’ he said slowly. He smiled as he pronounced Jacob’s special name, but it was a rueful smile.

  Jacob was barely listening to him. These agents in York had a daughter.

  ‘If they begin to worry about the child in York,’ Steven went on, ‘and whether she is likely to betray our secrets, they might decide to recall the whole family. Though I am not at all sure how they would manage it.’

  ‘What if they don’t want to go?’ said Jacob. ‘They must have lived here a long time. How old is their daughter?’

  This line of questioning made Steven feel uncomfortable. Who knew where it might lead?

  ‘She is a year or so younger than you.’

  ‘I was born here,’ said Jacob thoughtfully.

  ‘But she is pure Ormingat,’ said Steven hastily, not wanting his son to guess his own fears. ‘Bred in the bone, as they say.’

  Jacob said nothing more. But he thought sadly, What is bred in my bones? Who am I? Once again it seemed as if his father were belittling him. I am less than Ormingatrig. I am also less than human.

  Steven saw the sadness in his son’s face and said, ‘Let’s not worry about it yet. We’ll see what else the communicator has to say.’

  He looked towards the silent cube expectantly.

  It glowed white. Take out no more time. Time is important.

  The white glow was a short, sharp warning. Now the cube turned green again. The York family will go. You will intervene and correct
the mechanism that controls their departure. They will leave Earth on the twenty-fourth of this month. They will be informed of this on the seventeenth. Their entry to the ship should be on the twentieth. That will give sufficient time for proper preparation.

  It was less than three weeks since Vateelin and Tonitheen had made their hasty exit from the planet. It had been hectic and fraught with danger. This was an experience the Ormingatriga would clearly prefer not to repeat.

  ‘Change the dock?’ said Steven in horror. ‘That has never, ever been done before. There is no override. I would have thought you would have some other way of recalling agents.’

  No other way has ever been needed. This is the first premature recall in the whole of our history. You must see to the override. On you we depend.

  ‘It can’t be done,’ Steven repeated. It was one thing to manage the path of a spaceship from one Earth base to another. To change the schedule for a ship’s propulsion into orbit was something altogether different.

  It will be done. See to it now.

  How well they knew Steven! He contradicted, he grumbled, but all the time his mind was working out ways of overriding the clock.

  Go.

  There was a shiver of air in the ship as the door divided. Steven and Jacob were drawn towards it. They had been dismissed.

  As they walked back home, Jacob’s first question was, thankfully, an easy one.

  ‘What clock is it that you have to change?’ he said.

  ‘There is a clock in the base of every ship – remember the clock in ours? Each clock is set to its own time. For a ship to return to Ormingat, its time must be fixed at the outset – the globules fall into place along the arrow, and when they are all in line, a firing takes place that is more or less like the action of a rocket in one of Earth’s spaceships, but much more concentrated.’