Invasion Of The Cat-People Part 24

Beside her, the navigator - and Nypp's twin, both third-litter - Tuq confirmed their trajectory. 'Bay eleven, engineer.'

Aall mewed. 'Prepare recompression.' She stabbed a b.u.t.ton on the communication's console near the command cushion. 'All crew. Observe respect. Queen Aysha's shuttle returns. Communications blackout now on-line. Queen's Guards to bay eleven. Engineer out.' Aall rolled off the cushion, and flicked her fur upright, straightening her tail.

She waved a paw at the comm's cushion. 'Jodi, you have the conn.'

A smooth-haired brown first-litter acknowledged and moved on to the command cushion.

Aall exited the bridge and walked towards bay eleven, down a short stairwell and pa.s.sed the mess hall. As she went by, the door-curtain swished aside as the Queen's Guard emerged, twitching their whiskers in deference to Aall. She followed them to the bay and waited for the green light to announce the return to oxygen and safe entry.

After a moment, there was a buzz and the voice of Tamora in bay control purred over the intercom: 'Shuttle returned safely. Atmosphere returned to bay.' The light flashed green and the door raised inwards.

Without hesitating to confirm the bay controller's statement, the Queen's Guard strode in, forming a neat flank on either side of the shuttle door. The door to the shuttle slid away and Chosan emerged, nodding almost imperceptibly to Aall. The Queen was fine - Lotuss had made no 188 attempts. Aall noted that all the Queen's Guards' rifle-blasters were primed. At a flick of her tail, their red charge lights were uniformly changed to green. Unless Chosan had swapped sides, everything was safe.

Queen Aysha was helped out of the shuttle by two of her guards and then the other Cat-People, including Lotuss at the rear, jumped out. Lotuss turned back and called into the shuttle, 'You can come out now. We're here.'

Aall twitched a whisker (but was glad to notice not one of the guard did likewise) in surprise as two aliens jumped out.

One, short, about Lotuss's height in fact, dressed in a baggy black jacket and checked trousers. The other was taller - but still shorter than any Cat-Person - with fair fur on its head. Both were clearly male but both - especially the smaller one - were by no means either idiotic or drugged as toms were on the ship or Feles, the litter-world.

'Anthropoid-toms,' muttered Chosan as she drew beside Aall. 'I'll explain later. Who has the bridge?'

'Jodi.'

'Excellent. Nypp and Tuq will be annoyed.'

Aall smiled back. 'I thought so.' She looked in the direction of Lotuss. 'Any problems?'

'Not at all. In fact,' Chosan put a paw on Aall's shoulder, 'we had a tragedy. We lost Jayde.'

Aall breathed deeply. 'Indeed. A sad loss to the Litters.

And especially Lotuss and her rebellious pride.'

Queen Aysha, having acknowledged her guard as befitted the occasion, had caught up with Chosan. Aall began to bow but Aysha spoke. 'Leave it, Aall. I want these two toms defleaed and brought to my chamber in twenty minutes.

Chosan, who can you leave on the bridge?'

Aall spoke up. 'Your Majesty . . .'

Aysha barely flicked her head but the message was clear.

She wanted Aall with her as well as Chosan.

Chosan licked her incisors. 'Jodi is there now. If we can keep Lotuss away, our only potential trouble is from Nypp and Tuq. However, their duties ought to keep them busy.'

189.

They pa.s.sed under the raised door, Chosan having to duck very slightly. 'These two toms are important.

Repulsive but important. Lotuss will seek to eliminate them even harder than she wants to kill me.' She called over her guard commander. 'Protect them, Nihmrod.'

'Your Majesty.'

'Could we not remove the problem of Lotuss now?' Aall asked.

Aysha smiled slightly. 'You underestimate martyrdom, Aall. Lotuss's direct supporters are few - the third-litter are merely grumbling. But destroy her and they'll rally, attach themselves to her first-and second-litter supporters.' Aysha flashed her eyes. 'But we'll set a trap that'll do the job for us - quickly, efficiently and without creating a martyr. A hero maybe, but we can live with that.'

Chosan hissed, 'Excellent, Your Majesty. When?'

Aysha shrugged. 'When do we invade this planet?'

'As soon as you give the word,' Aall said.

Aysha purred and licked a paw, then wiped her whiskers clean. 'Well, let's not bother restocking Lotuss's larder beyond the next few days.'

On their eventual return to London, Tim booked plane tickets for Sydney (she still could not understand how he could afford it for both of them) and then insisted on taking her shopping. 'A train ride's all very well, but arriving in Sydney looking like a reject from Mary Quant isn't going to enable you to hide in the crowd.' On impulse, he claimed, he took her to Austin Reed in Piccadilly and sat patiently flicking fashion magazines while Polly tried various jackets and skirts on. Eventually she chose the cut of a nice olive-green riding-jacket, pure wool of course, and a dark grey skirt that hung uncomfortably just below her knees. Polly preferred her own mini-skirt but she noticed that a majority of younger women were slightly more conservative in 1994.

Tim paid for the clothes with something he called a store card - if they were there on impulse, how did he have one with him? Polly was amazed: everyone seemed to be using 190 little plastic rectangles to pay, lots of different colours and shapes. She was fascinated by them, and the bleeps and whirls that came out of the machines they pushed them through. 'The average computer in 1966 took up a room the size of this shop,' Tim laughed. 'The black magnetic strip here,' he pointed to the back of his store card, 'is the equivalent of that in basic terms. It reads, digests, feeds and correlates information in the blink of an eye.'

Polly gaped. She didn't ask how. She didn't want to know.

'If anyone asks,' said Tim, 'say you've been away for a while. That'll explain your ignorance. And I don't mean that unkindly.' He slipped his arm through hers and gently eased her closer as they walked.

Polly did not mind. She liked his company and protection.

'I could say I've been at the South Pole since 1986 if that would help.'

'Credit cards are a bit older than that, Polly, but it's a start.'

They walked up Regent Street. 'It's busier,' she said, looking up, around and across at everything, 'but basically recognizable. Oh. Hamleys never used to be here.' She looked towards Liberty. 'It was nearer Beak Street, I'm sure.'

'Probably,' said Tim. 'Even the greats cannot avoid expansion and commercialism. Ever been to Carnaby Street?'

Polly gripped his arm tighter. 'Have I ever? I practically lived on Carnaby Street. Bette and I used to go every Sat.u.r.day and buy heaps of kooky things. I mean . . .' She stopped walking, ignoring the curse of the couple behind who nearly collided with them. Tim carefully eased her into a shopfront - Gap for Kids. 'I . . . I can't go to Carnaby Street, Tim. I can't.'

'Why not, precious?'

Polly suddenly felt very small. Very frightened. All around her, people, wearing strange clothes, reading strange books, eating strange food, using strange plastic cards to buy things, tiny coins of decimal currency everywhere.

Noisy, dirty buses with doors at the front that opened by 191 themselves. Taxis that looked like hea.r.s.es. People with tiny earphones in their ears, surely deafening themselves with what pa.s.sed for music in 1994. 'I can't cope with that, Tim.

Please, don't let's go.'

'But there's a great shop there. Buy you the best tops in London.'

'But it'll look different. I've coped with Euston station, all that concrete. I've managed that awful underground with that grafti -'

'Graffiti.'

'Whatever. Gosh, Tim, I even don't mind Hamleys moving a few hundred feet. But Carnaby Street - that really represents 1966 to me. It was my life. What if I meet Bette, or Kitty or Brenda or -'

Tim grabbed her gesticulating hand before it made contact with one of the wary pedestrians trying to avoid this mad woman waving at them in Gap's doorway. 'Hold on, precious. Whoa. Who are Bette and Brenda and Chitty?'

Polly caught his eye. He was staring at her, his deep blue eyes twinkling, reflecting the smile his mouth was creased in. She had immediately relaxed, letting her arms fall limply down. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered.

'No probs. Now are Chitty or Brenda -'

'Kitty. Kitty, or Brenda or my cousin, Bette. I mean, they used to come every Sat.u.r.day. With me. To Carnaby Street, shopping. And if I see them, I'll still be young and they'll be . . .' She drew in a breath. 'Old.'

'Old. I see.' Tim shrugged. 'Fine. They'll quickly realize that you aren't you; after all, how couldn't you age like they have? If they are there, if they see you, if they think they recognize you, the most likely thing is that they'll put it down to a look-alike. Someone similar. No two people look identical, but some people can look surprisingly similar.

Believe me, it'll be fine.'

Believe me.

Two words, begging for trust. For acceptance. For. . .

belief.

192.

Tim took her firmly but gently by the hand and slowly moved her towards Beak Street. Seconds later they turned into Carnaby Street and Polly stopped. And stared. And then realized she had been holding her breath. As she let it go, it hit her. Her fears had, on one level, been totally ungrounded. And well founded on another. 'It's completely changed. Completely different. I don't recognize any of it.'

Tim frowned. 'Oh, c'mon, it's not that changed. A few shops, maybe, but -'

'No!' Polly put a hand to her forehead, as if she had been hit. 'No. Nothing is the same except the brickwork. I . . . I don't recognize anything at all.' She caressed the brickwork.

'The only thing that hasn't changed . . .' She shook her head.

She circled three hundred and sixty degrees, seeing Carnaby Street rotate around her, absorbing the sights and smells.

She caught glimpses down the side streets - Karen Millen was still there and, by the look of it, still selling the same fashions. Probably twenty times the price now; Tim had said on the train down how sixties fashions were back in vogue. 'OK, where's this fab shop of yours? If you're paying, I'm buying.'

'And Bette? Brenda? Chitty?'

'Kitty!' laughed Polly. 'If I see them, I'll cope. I'll be strong.'

Again, Tim took her hand and squeezed it. 'I know.'

The touch made her think back. To one other person she a.s.sociated with Carnaby Street - a young man called Roger. They had gone out for a while, only half seriously, on his part at least. Polly's trouble was, she had fallen for him in a big way, but to Roger, Polly was just another brief fling. Oh, he had talked pa.s.sion, said all the right things.

Told her how he had never felt as relaxed or comfortable with anyone else.

They had spent happy days and nights walking around London, heading for the pictures, holding hands in the dark, so that no one else would know. No reason, just a silly pretence at furtiveness they both enjoyed. He had given her a flower once. She had kept it for a week and then pressed it 193 between the pages of Alice's Adventures Through the Alice's Adventures Through the Looking-Gla.s.s (And What She Found There) Looking-Gla.s.s (And What She Found There). Then, one day, walking down Carnaby Street, dipping in and out of the favourite shops they had dipped in and out of loads of times before, he took her hand and squeezed her fingers. He had smiled at her. 'This is silly,' he had said. 'I mean we like each other, but it's rather daft. We don't actually love each other, do we?'

'Don't we?'

'No. I mean you're almost twenty-one - lots to explore, see and do. I like being friends - good friends.' Roger had squeezed a bit harder. 'Hey, we'll always be friends, won't we? But I'm not looking for anything serious right now. I just don't want to be tied down - no, I don't mean tied down exactly, but responsible. Let's just have fun. As friends.'

And like a fool, Polly had nodded. 'Yeah. Sure, just friends.' Friends with Roger was better than no Roger. It had to be if that was all that was on offer. One minute it had been love all the way, the next it was gone just like that. No discussion, no time to think. Just a fait accompli fait accompli that she had to go along with because to argue might have cost her everything instead of just his love. She could not make him love her like she loved him. That would not be right. that she had to go along with because to argue might have cost her everything instead of just his love. She could not make him love her like she loved him. That would not be right.

A week later, shopping with Kitty (and feeling more than a bit lost without Roger) she had seen him with Lucy Miller.

Dipping in and out of the same shops. Laughing. Snogging, open-mouthed. In public. He had never done that with Polly. But, surely, he did not want a relationship. No responsibilities. What about responsibilities to your friends?

she had wanted to scream. That's what she would say after she had hit him. After she had stuffed that beautifully preserved flower down his throat.

Instead, Polly had just turned away as if she had seen nothing and said to Kitty that she was bored of being a debs'

delight, lazing around in dives like Carnaby Street. Yes, she would take that job boring old Uncle Charles had fixed for her. The Post Office Tower - that was new and hip. That 194 was really swinging. And she would be nearer Covent Garden, where Kitty worked. They could go there and see real life.

She did not need Roger. Only she did. He had been like a drug, she had needed her fix of him and she had never got over him. The way Tim squeezed her fingers right then, on that exact spot - that was all the reminder she needed.

That's why she had wanted to travel with the Doctor. And Ben. To get away from everything that places like Carnaby Street represented. 'Let's shop,' she said to Tim. 'And then, let's get that plane.'

Smiling he pulled her towards Muji and they went in.

Ten minutes, three blue roll-neck sweaters and something called a baseball jacket later they left, laughing, joking and without a care in the world. Polly could not think why she had not wanted to come here. With Tim. Roger was years ago. Weeks ago. It did not matter. He was probably old, wrinkled and boring now. Tim was fun, with a very large F.

'Hey!' A woman shouted. 'Hey, surely it isn't . . . it can't be . . .'

Polly froze. No! Surely she could not be right? No one could have recognized her! Yet, here was this woman, hurrying over.

'Ignore her.' Tim tried to pull her away, but Polly could not move. Would not move. This was it - someone who knew her in 1966 was about to get a shock. The woman stopped and stared, her mouth opening and shutting slowly, trying to form words.

'Is it . . . ? Are you . . . ?'

Can we help you?' Tim stood suddenly between them.

Polly thought he looked three inches taller. And broader.

The woman visibly blanched. 'I'm really sorry. It's just that your . . . friend looked like someone I knew years ago.

But that's daft. I mean -'

Polly carefully moved around Tim and asked the silliest, stupidest, most astonishingly dangerous question she could.

As soon as the words left her brain on their way to her mouth, little impulses of panic and regret tried to chase 195 them, overtake and close the mouth, sever the vocal cords - anything! 'What was her name?'

'Mich.e.l.le.' The woman started to go red with embarra.s.sment. 'Mich.e.l.le. She went to Spain years ago and I haven't seen her since.'

'My name's Polly. Polly Wright. I'm so sorry, but I've never seen you before in my life.'

The woman looked down to her feet. 'Sorry. I'm so sorry.

It's just that I never hear from Mich.e.l.le any more and I miss her. I thought, hoped, you were her, but you look like she did then. Twenty-eight years ago.' She looked up and smiled. 'You must think I'm very rude. And silly.'

Polly smiled back and touched her arm. 'Not at all.