Alexander's Army

by Chris D'Lacey

  She started reaching into her jeans. Grimper saw the movement and shouted, “Hands on the table!”

  Josie squealed as though she might wet herself.

  “Hold your fire,” I barked. “Let’s see it, girl.”

  I nodded at Josie. Show me.

  She bravely teased my mobile from her pocket, pushing it across the table like a plate of food she couldn’t eat.

  I opened my inbox and found her text.

  Where r u? Called 2x when I got in frm drama. I worked out a bit of Dad’s msg {{smug}}. He crosswrds. They have rules. I think ‘New’ means change the letters of MEXICO, like …

  “COMIXE,” I said, reading aloud the word she’d written.

  She bit her lip. “It might be C O M I X with the e in front. Like eBook or even e colon comix.”

  Electronic comics. Wasn’t that the prize Alexander had offered me? My story on a virtual platform? But how could that have a link to Dad? “What about the second part? ‘Dragons abound’?”

  She glanced at Grimper and shuddered. “Don’t know.”

  “And Klimt brought you here because of this?”

  “I don’t know,” she squeaked again. A tear wet her cheek. “I just … got here somehow, like I was dreaming. They said you were coming and I should just wait. They did this to me as well.” She opened her top very slightly. To my horror, there was a single Mleptra on her chest. I’d never seen one outside the fluid tanks before. But it was definitely alive, radiating waves of color like fancy lights on a Christmas tree.

  Before I could speak again, more lights began to flash in the ceiling panels. A grinding alarm went off. The two men quickly closed ranks, panning every quarter of the room with their weapons.

  “Sir! Fall back, sir!” Dobbs yelled urgently, leveling his pistol at a panel to the right of Josie’s head. It was opening slowly. At the same time, both the room doors slammed as if a seriously angry poltergeist were present. Grimper panicked and fired at his door, creating a crown of blue light and a smell of scorched wood at the point of contact. I glanced at Josie. Her hands were half-raised. She hadn’t touched anything.

  Grimper hurried to his door and rattled it. “Locked, Sarge! Can’t move it!”

  And all the while, the panel continued to open, revealing one of the tanks and its contents.

  Dobbs stepped forward, taking closer aim. “What’s that?” he shouted, which was why I didn’t react as Josie did. I was looking for an object; she had seen a person.

  She screamed so loudly I was sure the wall of the tank would crack.

  Never, not even in my wildest reality shifts, had I expected to see what was in that tank. A semi-naked man, covered by so many glowing Mleptra that it looked as if they had replaced his skin and tattooed it every color of the rainbow. His eyes were closed, his wild brown hair streaming out into the fluid. Strands of Mleptral fibers were growing out of his fingers and toes, weaving around him in a sparkling web, as though he were encased in a cradle of wicker — or the branches of The Tree of Life.

  “Sir, do you want me to shoot?” cried Dobbs.

  I was too weak with shock to speak.

  “Sir, do you know this target?”

  “Yes,” I managed to say at last. I leaned across the desk and gripped Josie’s hand. “His name is Thomas Malone. He’s my father.”

  Once, a couple of years ago, I had come downstairs after doing my homework and found Mom and Josie huddled up on the sofa, practically drowning in scrunched-up tissues. They were watching a TV documentary called Long Lost Love, one of those tearjerker programs where people are reunited with relatives they’ve lost contact with. I watched the presenter say, Not only that, you thought your grandfather Bernard, was dead. But he isn’t and we’ve found him. He’s here tonight after thirty-two years … Mom and Josie howled like a pair of wolves as this creaky old man was wheeled onto the set. I had made vomiting noises and Josie had hurled a cushion at my head and told me I had no soul. But no cushions were being thrown in the Bulldog’s office. I looked at my father and started to shake uncontrollably. And though I cried no visible tears, I could feel myself dying from the inside out. It was him. No doubt about it. Thomas Stephen Malone. Missing, presumed dead, for three long years. Almost certainly here all the time. Not in New Mexico. Bound up instead by alien technology and some sort of failed experiment.

  All of it clothed in Klimt’s dark lies.

  Dobbs shouted, “Grab the girl, sir! We’ll cover yer.”

  “Drop your weapons,” I muttered timidly. “The mission’s over. Everything’s over.”

  “Michael, I’m frightened.” Josie was trembling, her throat almost wholly constricted by fear. Her eyes were like pools of shining mercury. So much pain in that one expression.

  I leapt over the desk and got her out of the chair. “Drop your weapons,” I barked again.

  “Sir, request clarification!” yelled Dobbs. He took a shot at a beeping alarm. It kept on beeping.

  I pressed Josie’s head to my chest and said, “We can’t win. We have to give up.”

  Dobbs looked at Grimper, who said, “Not an option, sir. We fight to the last. Them were yer primary orders.”

  Alexander’s orders, maybe.

  “We’re trapped,” I said, trying to reason with them. “Surrender and no one gets hurt.”

  There was a momentary pause. Dobbs checked his gun. “Is that a confirmation, sir? You want us to initiate surrender protocol?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  His eye lines twitched. Both men were fully in the Tommy phase now. He nodded at Grimper, who briskly saluted.

  “Been a pleasure servin’ wiv you, sir,” said Grimper.

  And I thought he was going to lay down his arms, but as I took my eye off him to hug Josie tighter, I suddenly saw a blue light flickering in her hair.

  When I looked up, Grimper had already fired. Light was streaming out of his pistol but hitting some kind of protective force field, shimmering violet around me and Josie. Dobbs also took aim and fired. The result was the same. More glowing violet. Only, this time, I noticed a small link back to the single Mleptra on Josie’s chest. Somehow, the creature was absorbing the shots and at the same time shielding us from harm.

  With a bang, the doors flew open. Chantelle and Mulrooney burst in. There was no battle, no exchange of fire. They simply shot the men before they could turn, using similar high-tech weapons. Dobbs exploded in front of my eyes, his body dissolving in a splash of mauve light as if he really was nothing more than a drawing. Just before he vanished, the ghostly shape of a Tommy soldier floated in the air where his head had been. It popped like a bubble — and he was gone.

  The same fate befell Grimper, but with one important difference. Just before Chantelle zapped him, he had managed to pull a grenade from his jacket. It had barely left his hand when he was vaporized. Somehow, though, the grenade stayed live and tumbled under the Bulldog’s desk.

  “Get down!” I yelled, pulling Josie away.

  Chantelle had seen it, but was too far back to do anything. I thought we were dead. Even with the Mleptran force field around us, the blast would surely rip a hole in the craft and we’d drown in a tide of cold seawater. But Mulrooney, still bruised from his brush with Alexander, had his own ideas about the grenade. Bravely, he put out his hand and used his power to draw it toward him. I could see what he was trying to do. If the grenade reached his hand in time, he could stop the mechanism and avoid a disaster.

  But the seconds were ticking and I knew he wouldn’t make it.

  BANG! The grenade exploded in midair, just feet from his outstretched palm. He was lifted off the floor and thrown against the wall. Chantelle was carried sideways by the blast. Josie and I were rocked, but not harmed. Most importantly, the tank wasn’t touched. In fact, nothing in the room suffered physical damage, but it was going to need a really good dustpan and brush to deal with the aftermath of the blast.

  A strange winter had descended on the Bulldog’s office.

&n
bsp; The air was filled with paper streamers.

  Josie gave a little gasp when she saw them. “Hhh! Are we in heaven?”

  Only if angels let off party poppers when someone walks through the pearly gates. I touched her cheek and ran to Mulrooney. He was alive but hurt, struggling to stand.

  “What happened? Where did all this come from?” He pulled a strand of crinkly paper from his hair.

  “Another universe.” I raised a guilty hand.

  He high-fived it, despite his discomfort. “You are one weird Talen. You okay?”

  “Could be better.” I gestured at the tank.

  He winced as his gaze drifted over it. “They showed you at last.”

  “How long have you known?”

  He took a shuddering breath. “We were sworn to secrecy a long time ago. Thomas was my friend. I want you to know that.”

  I nodded but couldn’t speak.

  “The comic store,” he said, gripping my arm. “The fire. Couldn’t get to you in time. I’m sorry.”

  I nodded again. He had gold flecks everywhere. The complete ring of truth. He might have been UNICORNE through and through, but I’d always felt he was on my side.

  Unlike Amadeus Klimt. I heard the sound of clapping over his voice. He was in the room, with the Bulldog right behind him. “Another fine display of your power, Michael, though as usual, you left it rather late.”

  “Get well,” I said to Mulrooney. I patted his shoulder and picked up his gun.

  “Michael, no!”

  But he was too pained to stop me.

  I ran back to Josie with the gun at arm’s length. I grabbed her hand and moved her behind me. “One step closer and I’ll melt your wires.”

  Wisely, Klimt stopped walking.

  “Put the gun down,” the Bulldog said gruffly.

  “That includes you.” I kept him in my sights as he walked to his chair.

  He dusted the paper strips off his seat and sat down, throwing me a scornful look. “Your bravado is deeply misplaced. Thanks to you, I have lost a son, and UNICORNE has failed to recover a remarkable Talen. I’m not in the mood to be trifled with. Disarm him, please.”

  Something touched the back of my head. It felt horribly like the barrel of Chantelle’s pistol.

  “Pour moi. Merci.”

  She pushed my head forward an inch.

  I had no choice but to give up my gun.

  “You leave him alone!” Josie said, storming forward, all her drama training coming to the fore. She banged her fists on the desk and squared up to the Bulldog. “Who are you? Why have you brought us here? What have you done to my dad?” Before he could answer, she had turned on Klimt. “And you’re not even a proper doctor!”

  “Klimt, get her out,” the Bulldog said.

  Klimt nodded at Chantelle.

  “Hey, Josie?” she said.

  “What?!” Josie whipped around and gave Chantelle the full-on, ten-year-old, don’t-mess-with-me STARE.

  “Why don’t we go and get ice cream?”

  In the circumstances, this seemed a bizarre thing to say. But as soon as Josie muttered, “Can we have strawberry?” I knew it was a pre-prepared glamouring suggestion.

  “Mon préféré,” said Chantelle. “Oh, allow me.” She parted Josie’s top just enough to be able to remove the Mleptra.

  Josie reached out and stroked it. “What is it?”

  “A source of wonder,” Chantelle said. And she took Josie’s hand and led her out, handing the creature to Klimt as she passed. I wasn’t happy about letting them take her, but deep down, I was sure she wouldn’t be harmed. It was one less complication to have her out of the way.

  Mulrooney was on his feet by now, winded and clutching his ribs. He hobbled over to Klimt and exchanged a few words. To my horror, I watched Klimt crush the Mleptra and let the juice fall into Mulrooney’s hand. It was blue, like the stuff I’d seen Klimt drink. Mulrooney swallowed what he could of it. He grimaced, but immediately stood more erect. He nodded at me and walked out of the room as if he’d suffered nothing but a minor bump.

  Shaken, I went and stood by the tank, with my father floating eerily beside me. Staying as calm as I could, I said, “I’m learning to control my reality shifts. Next time I do it, neither of you will exist in this universe if you don’t tell me everything I want to know.”

  The Bulldog took an impatient breath. He rocked in his chair and gave me a never-work-with-children-or-animals look.

  “WELL?” I roared.

  Klimt took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands clean of the alien tissue. He hitched up a trouser leg and perched himself on a corner of the desk. “Once again, we need to talk about your loyalty, Michael. Twice you have severely disappointed us. You knew what had happened to Alexander’s men, yet you led them against us. Why?”

  “Why do you think?” I waved toward the tank. “How long has he been like this?”

  “His body was placed in the care of the Mleptra shortly after he returned from New Mexico.”

  “He never went to New Mexico.”

  “And what makes you say that?”

  “The message he left for Liam Nolan. The code that Josie cracked. What does COMIXE mean?”

  “It means nothing,” he said, brushing a speck of dust off his trousers. “The message was meaningless — though I agree, your sister has a powerful intellect. She might even be of use to us one day.” I started with the threats again, but he raised his voice and spoke right over me. “Do not concern yourself about Josie. She will leave here remembering nothing. It is a pity you allowed her to become involved. We had no choice but to bring her in once we read her … creative text. Fortunately, she spoke of it to no one but you.” He raised a finger to cut me off again. “The only reason we put her in the room was to calm you down and bring you to your senses. We suspected you were preparing an attack when the override code was put into the elevator. Your attempted coup was deeply misguided. You are lucky to be alive.”

  “You’re lying. That message has to mean something. It was hidden in an envelope in Dad’s old study.”

  “Located behind The Tree of Life painting, which Freya successfully guided you to.”

  I switched my gaze between them. “How did you know?”

  “Because we planted it there,” said the Bulldog.

  “You must improve your security,” said Klimt. “It was a simple matter for Agent Mulrooney to break into your home when the house was empty and place the envelope behind the print. And before you ask, yes, it was your father’s handwriting. We have many samples — and Chantelle is very skilled in the art of forgery. After that, it was simply a case of imprinting the image of The Tree of Life in Freya’s mind. She led you to it and you did the rest.”

  “You mean, you wanted me to take the message to Nolan? Why?”

  Klimt folded his arms, dusting an arc of the floor with his shoe. “Well, there we have our dilemma. Do we trust you with this information or not?”

  I reached sideways and touched the wall of the tank, watching the Mleptral fibers pulse.

  The Bulldog said, “I let you see your father as a gesture of faith. A final gesture, Michael. Klimt, show him the photograph.”

  Klimt pulled a tablet computer from his jacket. He showed me a picture of Liam Nolan with a woman.

  “Is that —?”

  “Candy Streetham, yes. The journalist who was keen to investigate your previous mission. Chantelle has been tracing her movements. It would seem that Ms. Streetham has started to research your father’s disappearance. We are concerned that Dr. Nolan might be passing information to her. We set you up with the message to test his reaction, knowing that you would … inflame the situation. He knows we believe that Thomas is alive. Despite being your father’s doctor and confidant, he might be suffering a crisis of conscience and wanting to speak about what he knows, or thinks he knows. That is something we cannot tolerate.”

  “Has he seen the tank?”

  “No.”

&nbs
p; “And has he spoken to Candy since …?”

  “No,” Klimt said, “but we are watching him, of course. His loyalty, for now, is still intact. He did, after all, restrain you when ordered.”

  Hmph. The less said about that, the better. “Will you tell me what happened with Dad? How did he end up like this, covered by hundreds of alien creatures?” One of them lifted off Dad’s shin and reattached itself to the corresponding hip. “What planet are these things from?”

  “This planet,” the Bulldog said.

  I laughed. “You expect me to believe that?”

  The Bulldog sighed. “Klimt, this is —”

  “The first time we met,” I said angrily, over him, “you were wearing contact lenses with gold-colored specks to make me think you were telling the truth.” I gave him a knowing look.

  He sat back slowly, blowing air down his nose like a weary horse. He smiled at me, knowing I’d scored a point.

  “The director is speaking the truth,” Klimt said. “The beings were found on an artifact your father brought back from New Mexico. They were microscopic then, engaged in what is known as a symbiotic relationship with their host. They grew in culture until they reached the size you see here. They are a hivelike organism with extraordinary healing properties. We still have much to learn about them.”

  “You crushed one. Why?”

  “It was a cell, Michael. One small cog in a very big wheel. Mulrooney’s need was greater than the hive’s. The energy required to protect you and Josie had also weakened it. It was almost dead. Terminating it carried no real consequence.”

  “Is that what they’re doing? Healing Dad? What’s wrong with him? Why is he in the tank?”

  Klimt pushed himself away from the desk. He came to stand beside me, facing the tank. As he peered through the membranous wall, I thought I saw sorrow in his eyes again. Was it possible Dad had installed some kind of emotional coding in the android? Something that made him at least partially human? Lacing his perfect fingers, he said, “He complained of dizziness on the mission. A fever. Unexpected hallucinations. We brought him home in a private aircraft that the civil authorities could not trace. This, of course, was one of the details that first gave rise to the idea he was missing.”