by Moody, David
Tom wanted to resist, but it was inevitable. He wanted to stay awake and keep fucking, but the sleep was unstoppable.
‘You have no stamina, Tom Winter,’ she said, giggling, nudging him playfully to keep him awake.
‘It’s your fault,’ he replied, still drifting. ‘You wear me out.’
It might have been a minute later when she next spoke, it might have been hours. Tom couldn’t tell, and he couldn’t focus enough to see the clock. Siobhan was spread-eagled, one leg wedged between his, lying half on the bed and half on top of him.
‘Question for you,’ she said.
‘Too tired,’ he mumbled, fighting sleep again.
‘If you had chance to travel to the aliens’ planet, would you go?’
‘It’s never gonna happen.’
‘It might.’
‘Return trip or one way?’
‘One way.’
‘You coming too?’
‘No.’
‘Then I don’t want to go.’
‘Soft bugger. Okay then, what about a round trip?’
‘Same question – you coming too?’
‘Forget about me, this is hypothetical.’
‘Doesn’t matter. I can’t forget about you.’
She thumped his chest. ‘Just answer the question.’
‘I’d like to go, of course I would, but not if it means spending years away from you. And I’m not being a soft bugger, I’m being honest. I miss you when I don’t see you for more than a day. Hated it when you went on that course in July. I couldn’t be away from you for years, I just couldn’t...’
Siobhan looked up and watched his eyelids flicker.
‘I think you’d answer differently if there was a real chance of going. I don’t think you’d be able to say no. I don’t think anyone would. Anyway, maybe they’d let us both go, imagine that. Sounds romantic, doesn’t it... travelling across the universe together... being so far from home and the only person I know for millions of miles in every direction is you. Doesn’t sound too bad, eh?’
She nudged him again but he didn’t reply. He was asleep.
15
It became almost impossible not to keep learning about the aliens. The media’s fascination with them and the public’s appetite for news remained undiminished. If anything, the demand for new information continued to increase virtually by the day. Even the long-standing stalwarts of the TV schedules – the soap operas, the endless reality TV and talentless talent shows – were soon forced to give way to coverage of the visitors. Those people living in and around Drayton were fortunate to have an unusually large number of aliens on their doorstep. Most other places had to make do with the TV and with hastily arranged travelling road-shows and public appearances. It was almost as if some of the visitors had gone on tour, such was the demand to see them.
Sitting alone in his living room, watching yet another documentary as he waited for a film to start, Tom felt like he was learning about the aliens by osmosis. He had only a passing interest in them compared to most people, and yet he seemed to find out more and more each day without even trying. It was the contrast between their world and ours which intrigued him more than the aliens themselves.
Tom couldn’t match the rabid curiosity some people showed, but being out of step with the majority was something he was becoming used to. He never could understand religion, for example. Billions of people around the world prayed regularly to whichever particular deity they chose to put their faith in, and yet to him it was all little more than unfounded superstition, as ridiculous as looking for fairies at the bottom of the garden or not walking under ladders.
He’d first become aware of this gulf between him and everyone else earlier in the year, and at the time it had threatened to bring his fledgling relationship with Siobhan to an abrupt end. They’d driven to Cardiff to see a band. He’d paid a fortune for tickets, and the venue had been some soulless, warehouse-like place originally designed for trade exhibitions and sporting events, not the mass consumption of music. He’d hated every second of the concert, and yet everyone else – Siobhan included – had been in raptures. Tens of thousands of people were on their feet, cheering, singing and applauding, lifted by the atmosphere and the music. And then there was Tom. Sitting down. Bored shitless. Wishing he was anywhere else.
Siobhan had given him hell when they’d got back to Thatcham. But what would have been worse, he’d argued at the time, pretending to enjoy myself and not being honest? I can’t lie, he’d said. I can’t pretend to be something I’m not. You could have at least tried, she’d told him.
That particular argument, he remembered, had been over pretty quickly. Regardless of how he’d behaved, Siobhan had still enjoyed herself, and the fact they’d been able to deal with their disagreements actually left them both feeling surprisingly reassured about the strength of their relationship. He remembered another night, even earlier in their romance, when another mistake had had unexpectedly positive results. They’d only been out together a few times, and both were unsure as to how things were going to work out. Tom pulled out all the stops, arranging to pick Siobhan up and take her to The Black Swan, the most expensive restaurant within a hundred miles; a Michelin-starred gastropub with spectacular ocean views. He’d gone the whole hog – flowers, new suit, keeping his plans secret... he’d thought of every detail. Except one. In all his restaurant research, he’d only checked reviews, not news, and after booking the table several weeks in advance, he’d managed to completely miss the fact that the restaurant had been gutted in a fire the weekend before their date. He hadn’t known anything until he’d pulled up outside the burned out shell of a place.
Tom had been devastated. Siobhan just laughed. ‘When we’re out together, what are you thinking about?’ she asked him.
‘You,’ he said, side-stepping the most obvious answer, because they hadn’t yet made love.
‘I’m the same. I’m thinking about you. So it wouldn’t matter if we were at the best restaurant in the country or some greasy spoon café where half the customers walk away with food poisoning, it’s you I’m interested in, not the dinner.’
They’d made love in the car, there and then in the deserted car park of the restaurant, their first time together, and had followed it up with a quick drive to Drayton and a visit to McDonalds.
Happy accidents. A lack of planning. Chaos. Life was never completely prescriptive, and that was part of the issue Tom had with what he’d learned about the aliens’ culture. Much of their lives, it seemed, were pre-planned to a frightening extent.
The programme on TV was recapping the basics, yet again.
‘Alien families,’ the narrator intoned over stock footage, ‘are considerably larger than an average human’s. Multiple generations live together under the same roof, siblings raising their own children alongside each other’s, all under the collective auspices of parents, grandparents and, frequently, great-grandparents.’
The very idea of that made Tom feel stifled. He still missed his parents desperately, but even if they’d still been alive, there was no way he’d want to live with them. Siobhan felt much the same about her folks, not that she saw very much of them.
The aliens had two sexes (he hadn’t needed a TV programme to tell him that – it was obvious). Promiscuity was unheard of. Aliens were free to choose a partner of either sex and from any background. Once the relationship had been given the blessing of the eldest member of both families, they were married. Perhaps the most bizarre fact Tom had discovered, was that whenever the aliens bred, there was a two-way exchange of genetic material. The upshot of this biological quirk was that, over time, both partners would gradually assume some of the physical characteristics of the other. There remained subtle differences (otherwise they’d long ago have become a race of clones), and yet it had resulted in there being a lack of any strong physical variation throughout the entire race. There were no ‘black’ or ‘white’ aliens, just ‘aliens’.
Tom found anot
her aspect of their lifestyles particularly disturbing, and yet it appeared eminently sensible too. The TV programme explained that once their preliminary schooling had been completed, the aliens were genetically assessed. Their anticipated potential strengths, weaknesses and intelligence levels were matched against the predicted future social, moral and educational needs to decide their ideal vocation. In essence, therefore, it was their biological and emotional profile which dictated the path their lives would take, not any personal choice on the part of the individual. Tom found that idea abhorrent. The TV presenter continued to enthuse. But it was the next thing he said which disturbed Tom the most.
‘Having developed an incredible understanding of the minutia of how their minds and bodies develop,’ he explained, ‘the aliens are, incredibly, able to calculate their approximate date of death.’
All the future-planning in the world wouldn’t have helped Mum and Dad, he thought as the presenter droned on. Some things are beyond anyone’s control.
16
On an otherwise unremarkable Wednesday evening, Rob returned from university unannounced. He’d been due to stay away all week, but sudden changes of plan like this were not uncommon.
Siobhan was watching TV while Tom dozed on the sofa, having gorged himself on too much dinner. His swollen gut ached, he’d eaten so much. Rob let himself in and poked his head around the living room door.
‘You two okay?’ he said, and it was immediately obvious that something was different. He looked a little uncomfortable. Nervous, perhaps.
‘You on your own?’ Siobhan asked, thinking that at long last he might have managed to find himself a girlfriend. She’d tried to set him up with several of her friends recently, but he’d shown little interest. He favoured the occasional one night stand to long-term commitment, and steadfastly refused to talk about how he spent his evenings when he was back in his university digs.
‘Actually no,’ he replied. ‘I’ve got someone here with me.’
She nudged Tom, who’d only been half-listening, and he groaned with effort as he sat up. Rob entered the room and then, several steps behind, an alien followed, ducking down to get through the doorway.
‘Jesus,’ Tom said under his breath.
‘This is Jall. He’s a friend of mine,’ Rob explained. The tall, gangly figure next to him stood upright, the top of his head almost scraping the ceiling. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind if I brought him back for a drink.’
‘No, not at all...’ Tom said as he got up and walked towards them, trying to work out whether he did mind or not. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say, how he was supposed to react.
‘You okay?’ Rob asked, immediately picking up on his older brother’s understandable surprise.
‘Fine,’ he answered quickly. ‘A bit spaced out, that’s all. Sorry, I’m being rude... come in, please.’
The alien held out his hand. Tom hesitated for the briefest of moments and then shook it. The visitor’s flesh felt almost too warm, unnaturally so. His spindly fingers seemed to wrap themselves around Tom’s hand, touching him in all the wrong places.
‘I hope you don’t mind my being here,’ the alien said, his diction perfect. ‘Your brother said you wouldn’t, but I’ll leave if you’d rather...’
‘No, no,’ Tom said hurriedly, worried that his reticence might have caused offence. ‘You’ve taken me by surprise, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting...’
‘Someone like me to walk into your house?’
‘Something like that,’ he mumbled, not knowing what he was trying to say. Truth was, he could barely think straight. It had been one thing when he’d spoken to the alien in Drayton the other day, but this felt entirely different. There was an alien – a living, breathing creature from the other side of the universe – standing in the middle of his living room. It was an unexpected collision between the ordinary and the incredible, and it was hard to take it all in.
‘This is my brother, Tom,’ Rob said, dealing with the introductions which Tom was too tongue-tied to handle.
‘Believe me, this is as awkward for me as it is for you,’ the alien said.
‘Oh, it’s not awkward,’ Tom said apologetically. ‘I was talking to another one of your people in Drayton the other day.’
‘One of your people,’ Rob repeated. ‘Bloody hell, Tom, we’re not in the 1950’s. You sound borderline racist.’
‘Believe me, I’ve heard far worse,’ the alien said.
‘This is Siobhan,’ Rob continued. ‘Tom’s girlfriend. She’s far too good for him.’
When Siobhan didn’t say anything, Tom looked around to see if she was still there. She was. She mouthed a couple of words, but no noise came out. Instead she just grinned, staring at the new arrival like a star-struck teenager.
‘Close your mouth, sweetheart,’ he whispered. ‘You’re catching flies.’
‘What? Oh... sorry. I didn’t mean to... I just...’
The alien took another few steps forward and reached out his hand again. She took it – slowly, hesitantly, respectfully – then shook it lightly. Tom almost expected her to curtsy.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Siobhan,’ he said.
‘And I can’t believe I’m meeting you,’ she replied.
‘Well isn’t this nice,’ Rob said, bemused by the sudden awkwardness of the moment.
As the host – no matter how surprised he was – Tom forced himself to do something to try and break the ice. He gestured further into the room. ‘Go on through,’ he said. ‘Can I get anyone a drink?’
‘I’ll have a beer,’ Rob immediately replied.
‘Beer,’ Siobhan said also, still staring at the alien.
‘And what about... Sorry, what was your name again?’
The alien looked at him. ‘Call me Jall. You wouldn’t be able to pronounce my full name.’
‘I can try.’
‘No, you misunderstand, you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it. We have certain inflexions and subtleties in our speech that you can’t detect, let alone recreate.’
‘Fair enough,’ Tom said, feeling strangely offended.
‘Names have been a nightmare,’ Rob said. ‘Apparently they’ve tried all the movie clichés like giving them numbers or using typical names. Didn’t work out.’
‘Why not?’
‘Twenty-three Johns, ten Stevens, and eight Michaels,’ the alien explained. ‘And when we tried numbers, everyone wanted to be number one.’
Tom laughed. The alien didn’t.
‘Some of them are using their position,’ Rob said. ‘The pilot, for example, calls himself Pilot. Others like Jall have chosen their own name.’
‘Why Jall?’ Siobhan asked.
‘It’s an approximation,’ the alien replied.
‘I like it,’ she told him.
‘So then, Jall, what can I get you to drink?’ Tom asked again.
‘Beer would be fine, thank you.’
‘Are you able to drink beer? I mean, are you...?’
‘I’m old enough, if that’s what you mean. I know you don’t allow your children to drink alcohol until they reach a certain age.’
‘I wasn’t thinking that. I just meant, are you okay with alcohol?’
‘I’ve drank plenty with your brother. It’s really not a problem.’
The supercilious tone of his voice was irritating. Tom couldn’t tell whether the alien was deliberately trying to annoy him. Give him the benefit of the doubt, he decided. He’s probably as nervous as I am. And why the hell am I so nervous?
‘And have you got any chocolate?’ Rob shouted after him as he went into the kitchen. ‘Jall’s a big fan of sweet stuff and we haven’t eaten yet.’
Tom fetched four beers and a couple of Mars bars from the fridge, then returned to the others who were now sitting out on the patio together. It was dark outside and cool, though not unpleasant. Tom heard Rob explaining to Siobhan that the alien’s metabolism was faster than that of a human, and that he often found being tra
pped indoors quite uncomfortable.
‘So where did you two first meet?’ he heard Siobhan ask. Christ, he thought, they’re not a couple. He fetched himself a chair (nice of them to think of me) and sat down next to her.
‘Jall was brought in to do some work with Phil and the economics team,’ Rob explained. ‘We got talking after a meeting a couple of days back and we hit it off. We had a great day yesterday. I showed him the sights.’
‘What sights?’ Tom asked. ‘There’s bugger all to see in Willsham.’
‘I had a good time,’ Jall said. ‘I’ve seen a lot.’
‘So you’re enjoying your time here?’ Siobhan asked. ‘Are you getting used to us yet?’
‘I wouldn’t say I’m enjoying it,’ he answered as he struggled to open his beer with long, slender fingers. Siobhan took the can from him, opened it, then passed it back. ‘Everyone has been very hospitable and accommodating,’ he continued, sniffing his drink then cautiously sipping it. ‘Everything’s adequate for now.’
Adequate? Just adequate? Tom thought, fuming. He continued to watch the visitor with a degree of childish satisfaction. As well as being unable to cope with ring-pulls, he also couldn’t get comfortable in his chair. His body was too long for his seat.
‘You’re looking forward to getting home, though, I’m sure,’ Siobhan said.
‘Of course I am,’ he replied without hesitation.
‘You must miss it.’
‘More than you can imagine. I knew we were going to be away for a long time, and we were prepared for that, but this trip is going to take far longer than any of us imagined. At least twice as long, in fact.’
‘So what exactly happened?’ Tom asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘To your ship? I can’t get my head around how something as huge and powerful as your ship could become irreparably damaged like that.’
‘Get your head around?’
‘Sorry, local expression. I meant I can’t understand it. You can see what I mean, can’t you?’
‘Of course. We were extracting ore in an asteroid field and were hit by debris from a collision.’
