Resistance is Futile

by Jenny T. Colgan

  ‘Oh,’ said the PM. Then, ‘Oh.’

  Connie drew closer to Luke.

  ‘It’s going to be all right,’ she said defiantly. ‘Luke’s spoken to them. The people are going to save him, because he saved them. It’s going to be okay.’

  The noise could be heard coming up the ancient wooden staircase; a pounding of feet. Everyone turned around, and the security men leapt forward to the door.

  Connie smiled.

  ‘It’s them. It’s definitely them.’

  The security guards opened the door to Pol standing there, out of breath, shaking.

  ‘They’re back,’ he said. ‘They’re back online. They have something to say.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  SCIF control was bristling in anticipation, the air felt static.

  As soon as Luke stepped into the room, silence fell, and everyone stopped.

  The PM smiled encouragingly, although for once nobody was looking at him.

  ‘I do hope this works out for us all.’

  ‘So they can chop you up in a lab,’ whispered Connie to Luke. ‘Not bloody likely. But don’t tell him that.’

  The scientists couldn’t help themselves. Their mouths had dropped open.

  They all left their screens and their monitoring stations and crowded around. Everywhere Connie could hear, ‘Well, he looks human’ and ‘Do you think he assimilates?’ and ‘Has he got two hearts?’ and she could see a couple of nervous hands reaching out to touch him, and a wall of eyes staring, all monitors and readouts forgotten. Luke had a profoundly uncomfortable expression on his face as the whispering reached a fever-pitch.

  Nigel stepped forward.

  ‘Keep your hands off and step back,’ he ordered, and for once Connie was entirely grateful for his brusque manner and tone of voice as the astronomers and astrophysicists backed up a little – even though many of them had only dreamed of getting into this game as children for the possibility – for the very reason of the thing standing in front of them.

  One or two were dabbing their eyes.

  ‘You’re from another galaxy?’ said D’mon, sounding hoarse. ‘Really?’

  ‘No,’ said Luke. ‘Same galaxy, different solar system. We’re practically neighbours.’

  ‘Is that why we look the same?’

  ‘No.’

  More people got bolder, the voices moved to a clamour and the hands started to stretch out again, but over it all Pol turned up the noise of the speaker so they could hear the now-familiar crumping noise again, feel the heavy weight of pressure in the air.

  ‘O n e,’ came the voice.

  ‘Sssh, everyone,’ said Anyali. ‘Be quiet.’

  The room stiffened. Connie shut her eyes.

  ‘One has received his message. It has been discussed with the seniority.’

  There was a long delay.

  ‘To have him back on our planet would be de-stabilising.’

  Connie squeezed Luke’s hand fiercely.

  ‘We do not wish to bring him home.’

  The room erupted in cheers and applause. Connie threw her arms around Luke. The Prime Minister was beaming and shaking hands. Everyone came rushing over now to Luke to say hello, or introduce themselves, or to talk about their personal field of study and why he should come and work with them first. The noise levels were tremendous.

  ‘No chopping him up!’ Connie was saying exuberantly, and Luke was smiling gently, and trying to deal with the fuss as he was positively engulfed in chatter and good wishes.

  Pol was trying to get everyone’s attention amid the happy hubbub.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Hey!’

  Nobody was listening to him.

  ‘Hey!’ he said again. ‘HEY!’

  Anyali was the first to turn round. Nigel saw her doing so, her face turning solemn, her hand going up.

  And as if in slow motion Connie herself turned, lost in the throng of Luke’s well-wishers and curious scientists; she had dropped his hand as he was mobbed and now, as everyone babbled and cheered, she caught, gradually, Anyali’s and then Nigel’s face, as happy relief turned grave, and she followed their line of sight until she saw Pol’s face, and the fact that he was frantically mouthing something and waving his arms to try and get everyone to settle down, but it was incredibly difficult to hear and she felt once more as if she was underwater with everything coming up round her ears, even as she felt backwards for Luke, who was not there when she reached for him, and forwards, where Nigel and Anyali were converging on Pol’s screens which had not stopped, which she could see, still peak peak peaked and, penetrating her slowed down senses, the crump crump crump of the background noise still went on… and finally, she surfaced, and could hear again, and now all she could hear was Pol, and he was shouting as loudly as he could, ‘IT ISN’T FINISHED! PEOPLE, THEY HAVEN’T FINISHED! SHUT UP!’ and gradually the people turned, one after another, and their mouths started to close and the noise levels came down, until all that could be heard was Pol’s breathing, harsh and puffing, and the crackling air, and the hiss of the speakers as they came back to life.

  ‘We do not wish to bring him back,’ said the voice; once again gentle, unthreatening, neutral.

  ‘He is too dangerous. You must kill him on your planet. You will kill him at nightfall. We do not suggest drowning as a suitable method. You will kill him outside where we can observe. Then we shall leave without further harm. And this will be over.’

  Chapter Thirty

  The heavy afternoon light shone through the windows of the little tower office, illuminating the motes of dust on the air, where a small group had gathered, heads bowed, intense and serious.

  The general cleared his throat and spoke first, with some restraint.

  ‘Should he be hung? Isn’t that the penalty for high treason? Was in my day.’

  ‘Who’s going to do that?’ said the admiral. ‘We have good soldiers but they are still soldiers. Hanging is what the bad guys do. We don’t loop ropes over scaffolds.’

  ‘Complicated too,’ said Kathy. ‘It involves equipment and who knows what? And it’s barbarism.’

  ‘Oh, this is barbarism,’ said the Prime Minister, and people shuffled respectfully.

  Eventually the rear-admiral found his voice.

  ‘I think we need to consider that we are not killing a person here,’ he said. ‘This isn’t a person. It’s a thing. A very different thing. Like a cockroach, or a seal.’

  ‘That’s another point against hanging,’ said someone else. ‘What if he can’t be hung?’

  Silence fell.

  ‘No drowning,’ mused the PM. ‘What do you think they meant by that?’

  People shook their head.

  ‘Your weirdo squad doesn’t know, do they?’ said Anyali to Nigel.

  Nigel shrugged. ‘I’m not sure we’re past the stage of getting anything sensible out of them.’

  ‘What if bullets pass right through him?’

  ‘I think he’s definitely matter,’ said Nigel.

  ‘Well,’ said the general finally. ‘I’d like to see it dodge a nine-millimetre, jacketed hollow-point. And we have plenty of them. Better for the men too.’

  ‘I can’t believe we’re actually going to do this,’ said the PM, shaking his head.

  Kathy spoke up.

  ‘We are and we will,’ she said. ‘And you will be saving your people – you will be saving the world, and they will never even realise.’

  The PM shook his head. ‘And they’ll go back to slagging me off for all those other things I did.’

  ‘Yes, well, you did do them,’ thought Nigel, but he didn’t say it out loud.

  Connie was half walking, half being dragged down the corridor in a fit of exceptional rage.

  They were being separated. Luke was being marched in the direction of the sluice room. Connie was being sent back to the common room with the others. She was still shouting.

  ‘WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SAY?’

  Luke had a puzzled exp
ression on his face.

  ‘WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SAY TO THEM TO MAKE THEM CHANGE THEIR MINDS? WHAT ON EARTH DID YOU DO?’

  ‘I told them what I thought.’

  ‘You should have told them what Malik told you to tell them. How much you respected their work and how you begged for leniency and how you made everything all right and you asked for your freedom so you could stay! THAT’S WHAT YOU WERE MEANT TO DO!’

  ‘But how could I beg?’ said Luke. “How could I make a special case for me, when so many live in oppression?’

  Connie kicked the wall as she passed. It hurt.

  ‘I KNOW what you said,’ she hollered. ‘I know EXACTLY what you said. You said, “Hey everyone, if things aren’t fair, everyone leave their homes and tear down those walls. Make things right.” I know you. That’s what you believe, isn’t it? That’s what you did! Of COURSE they bloody want you dead!’

  Luke lowered his head.

  ‘You get one chance – ONE LAST CHANCE – and you throw it away on letting them think you’re starting some kind of a fricking revolution!

  ‘You can’t kick people in the teeth and beg a favour! Who the hell – who the hell do you think you are? I’m not going out with fricking Mahatma Gandhi. How could you do this to me? To yourself? To all of us?’

  Luke gazed at her, his eyes gentle.

  ‘I did what I thought was right, Hair. I think it was right. And I thought they would understand that.’

  ‘It was NOT RIGHT.’

  ‘Please,’ he said. So far his calm had been unnerving. For the first time he voice took on a shakier timbre. ‘Please come here. Please come and be with me.’

  ‘For some STUPID, stupid, stupid-bloody-stupid, shitty, STUPID bloody thing you did! After everything we did! After everything we risked!’

  ‘Oi!’

  They had reached the fork in the corridor outside the lift. Nigel’s sidekick Brian was trying to pull Connie away.

  ‘I can’t have you two screaming like you’re on Jeremy Kyle, awright? Give it up. It’s time to go.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Connie in high fire, not even looking at him. ‘I don’t want to be where he is.’

  ‘Good,’ said Brian. ‘You go back to the rest. You,’ he said, indicating Luke. ‘That way with him. Don’t try anything funny.’

  ‘He won’t try anything at all,’ said Connie bitterly, and she turned and walked to the left after Brian, and did not look behind her.

  ‘I will come for you,’ said Luke.

  ‘It’ll be too late,’ she hissed.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Nigel walked out on the immaculately tended cloisters which belonged to the college where the mathematicians had been billeted.

  The college had been shut, everyone sent away. It had been deemed private and hidden enough that they were unlikely to be seen by a distant tractor – the problem with the open fields – or one hundred astrophysicists (Mullard). They also could not block what the Keplerians could see, even though they weren’t sure how much that was. At any rate, they ruled out anything with tree cover.

  They weren’t sure of course, but it made sense – considering the risks of getting it wrong – to make it as straightforward as possible.

  He walked on the grass. This was strictly forbidden, but he didn’t feel it mattered much any more. He had sent Robinson the porter home. Everywhere the sun reflected off the high windows, the lengthening shadows on the bright rich lawn, the soft stone, the distant traffic noise sounding far away, and even that wouldn’t matter when they closed the road. A college: high-walled, barred, private. Something so ancient that it had seen civil wars, religious persecution, bloody kings come and go, and it had stood as a beacon for humanity and civilisation everywhere, a haven where people could come from all around the world and pursue the broadening of human knowledge, of human experience. Nearby, an apple had fallen on Newton’s head. Today – well, that was quite different. Not exactly a step forward.

  His phone rang.

  ‘Sorry to ask, darling,’ said Annabel, ‘but do you know if you’ll be home tonight? Only, it’s my turn to host book group…’

  ‘Book group?’ said Nigel, rubbing his eyes.

  ‘Oh, yes! And I think almost everyone finished the book this month. Well, someone is bound to…’

  Her voice trailed off.

  ‘So I just wondered if you’d be home…’

  Nigel closed his eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I’ll be home. Later. After dark.’

  ‘Oh good,’ said Annabel. ‘You can come and say hello to everyone. They do like seeing you. I’ll get some extra nibbles. Then maybe when they’ve gone…’

  Her voice turned low.

  Nigel nodded. Nibbles. Book group. Home. Suddenly, nothing had ever sounded so good.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, and hung up the phone.

  He stopped next to a repaired piece of cloister wall, already marked and scruffy, the brickwork coming loose.

  It would have to do.

  Connie was sobbing passionately on Evelyn’s lap, soaking her black jeans. Evelyn stroked her head thoughtfully and didn’t offer platitudes, for which Connie was profoundly grateful.

  ‘How could he do this to us?’ she howled. ‘He could have fixed it, I know he could have. He could have done it.’

  ‘You can never tell what’s going on in anyone else’s head,’ said Evelyn.

  ‘Because he’s an alien.’

  ‘Everyone is an alien,’ said Evelyn. ‘Everyone. When Pansy left me she kept her façade up for months. Came home every night. We ate together. Planned holidays together. Lived our lives. And all the time behind that face was an alien: a robot. Someone who was madly in love with an undergraduate called Electra. Who thought of, she told me later, nobody else. Who filled her brain and her hopes and her dreams and her every waking moment, apparently, even as she was shelling peas with me.

  ‘Everyone is an alien. And even when you are in love with someone, even when you think you know them better than you know yourself; even when you think you know everything about them and they you, and you live in each other’s souls.

  ‘Even then you know nothing about them at all.’

  This was the longest speech Connie had ever heard Evelyn make. Her tears began to slow.

  ‘And now,’ said Evelyn. ‘It is nearly dinner time. Do you think they’ll remember to feed us? Maybe starvation is their way of dealing with us.’

  Connie sat up.

  ‘But if everyone is strange and unknowable and alien and totally weird…’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘TOTALLY,’ said Arnold. ‘What?’ he said as they looked at him. ‘I know stuff.’

  Connie managed a weak half-smile.

  ‘Then what’s the point? What’s the point of falling in love? What’s the point of love at all? Why is it all so complicated?’

  Evelyn shrugged.

  ‘I think love might be like mathematics in the end,’ she said. ‘It is not simple or complicated in itself. It simply is.’

  ‘You’re banging again.’

  Brian was exasperated.

  Connie had washed her face but she still looked pretty wiped out.

  ‘I need to go back in with Luke.’

  Brian shook his head.

  ‘Sorry. I’ve been told now. He sees nobody and talks to nobody. In case he tries to bust out, or take a hostage, or do something.’

  ‘It’s his last day,’ said Connie. ‘Surely he needs someone by him?’

  ‘They’re talking about sending a priest.’

  ‘A priest?’ said Connie. ‘Get me Nigel, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘He’s busy.’

  ‘Get me Nigel. NIGEL!’ Connie screamed down the corridor. ‘NIGEL!’

  ‘Cor, you really are a redhead, aren’t you?’

  ‘SHUT UP! NIGEL! NIGEL!’

  The others took up the chant. ‘NIGEL! NIGEL NIGEL!’

  Brian heaved a sigh and turned on his walkie-talkie.

/>   Eventually Nigel came down before Connie went absolutely hoarse. His chin was covered in thick, dark stubble and his eyes were tired. He looked, Connie realised, just like a person, not the awful enemy they had built him up to be.