Star Blaze (17 page)

Johnny looked away. He felt that his eyes would betray him, that Nicky would be able to peer inside them and see through to Clara. He just nodded and pretended to be distracted by the view. They were descending with ocean on one side and land, together with some massive lakes, on the other, with the space elevator apparently on the boundary. Perhaps Nicky had built a secret base just out to sea? Then they were engulfed in wispy cotton wool clouds, before emerging, definitively above dry land, over a huge city, a gleaming tower of silver directly below, reaching skyward through concentric squares. Johnny braced himself as the space elevator looked to be about to collide with a wide metal spike protruding upward, but they passed through as though it were simply a hologram. The walls became solid and, soon after the cabin settled, a bell chimed and the doors opened.

They stepped into a wood-paneled corridor, matching the
lift design and his brother pushed Johnny forward through a concealed door that led into a spacious bathroom of white marble. Nicky turned on a chrome tap, picked up a couple of small white towels from a pile of crisply ironed ones and set to work wiping the blood off Johnny's face.

“That's better,” said Nicky, scrubbing hard at the final few splodges. Johnny felt like a little boy who'd got mucky playing football outside. “Couldn't have you walking the streets looking like that,” his brother went on.

Together they examined Johnny's reflection in a large dark-framed mirror. There were still a few bloodstains on his top, but at least he'd stopped bleeding. He was having to breathe through his mouth and his throat was still sore, so he walked over to a drinking fountain in the corner of the bathroom and took a few glugs of water. “Where are we?” he asked.

“I'll show you,” his brother replied, leading the way out of the bathroom and opening another door a little way along which led into the most amazing office Johnny had ever seen. He'd always thought Mrs. Irvine's was posh, but now it seemed plain and tiny in comparison with the high, painted ceiling and the enormous room that must have been in the very corner of the skyscraper. Giant, upward-pointing triangular windows looked out in two directions. “Welcome to New York,” said Nicky, as he made a sweeping gesture to the view before them.

Nicky sat down, resting his legs upon a vast, leather-topped desk while Johnny walked across the shiny black stone floor to gaze out of one of the massive windows. Unless he could persuade Nicky to accept help, Nymac would take him over and all this could soon be gone. He was much higher than even Sol's bridge when she was in the middle of London and could see that New York had many more skyscrapers to admire. Below, about a quarter of the way down toward street level, gleaming metal eagles protruded from the building's skin, as if to ward off
unwanted guests. Much further down, yellow matchbox cars wove through the traffic on a busy main road.

“Is this the Empire State Building?” Johnny asked. It was the only skyscraper in New York he'd heard of.

Nicky smiled. “The Empire State's over there,” he said, standing and pointing out of one of the windows to an even taller building, lit up in the evening twilight to show a garish red body with a green top. “That's the biggest, but this is the most beautiful. We're in the Chrysler Building—Nymac owns the top few floors. The only downside is that, from here, we can't actually see the Chrysler Building.”

Johnny surprised himself and laughed. “Is it as cool as the Gherkin?” he asked.

“That steel and glass monstrosity you've modeled your ship on?” said Nicky. “Must be a bummer to hide when you're on Earth. Nymac's pulling his … my hair out trying to locate your landing site.” Nicky raised his hand to stop his brother saying anything, not realizing Johnny had no intention of letting the secret out. “I cannot trust myself to keep it from him. What if he's here now, lurking inside me? Sometimes I wonder if I'm not simply his puppet, dangling on a string.” Nicky gazed out of the window, deep in thought, but then shook himself. He turned to Johnny and forced his frown into a smile. “Ignore me—where was I? Yes, the Chrysler Building,” Nicky went on. “It's the tallest brick structure in the world. One day I might turn it into a ship. I imagine it would not look out of place on Melania, when we land, ready to take over.”

“I don't get you,” said Johnny. “Why do you have to rule anything?”

Nicky's feet slid to the floor with a thud and he clutched his head. “Nymac is stirring, little bro'. You need to go back to the elevator—get out of here.”

Johnny hesitated. The lights on his wristcom were steadfastly
green and there was nothing shining from the mask on his brother's face.

“Don't wait for him,” shouted Nicky, steadying himself by holding onto the desk.

“Let Bram help you,” said Johnny, walking around to be beside his brother. “He could get that mask off.”

“Weren't you listening? I don't want Khari's help. We can do this together … you and me. Just not now … not yet. The Nameless One … I can feel him. He is coming. Go, Johnny … now!”

The white star began to flicker on and off and Johnny saw the lights around his wrist beginning to turn red. He looked at his brother and saw tears rolling down Nicky's exposed cheek. Johnny could feel his own eyes watering.

“Please,” said Nicky. “I got you back here but I can't stop him. Save yourself.”

After a moment more, Johnny nodded, turned and ran out of the door. He sprinted to the lift and was relieved to see that beside it was a button pointing down that might take him to safety, as well as one that went up, presumably to the platform in the sky. The doors opened immediately. Johnny pressed the very bottom of a few circular knobs, the doors closed and, to his relief, he felt the cabin begin to descend.

Johnny's ears popped. He was sure he was moving quickly, but it still seemed to be taking forever to reach the ground floor. He hoped his brother, possibly already Nymac again, wouldn't stop it before he could get away. Finally the lift came to a halt. Johnny squeezed through the slowly opening doors into a wood-paneled hallway. All around, other lifts chimed as their doors opened, business men and women (with the familiar appearance of those he saw around the Gherkin in London) stepping in and out. Few paid Johnny any attention. The sight of a thirteen year old in the middle of the Chrysler Building was
so unusual as to render him near invisible. Their surprised comments were all directed toward the elevator he'd come from, which was apparently always out of order.

He knew he had to get out, and quickly, but the way into the wider lobby was blocked by a burly security guard in an old-fashioned, dark blue uniform with a peaked cap. The guard was standing beside one of two modern glass barriers out of keeping with their surroundings.

There was nothing for it. Johnny ran and hurdled the clear gate.

“Hey you! Come back here,” shouted the man in the cap.

Johnny kept going. More guards moved from behind a counter to block his path, but Johnny dropped onto the shiny brown marble floor and slid beneath their grasping fingers and between two thick pillars. Keeping his momentum, he got to his feet and ran toward the right-hand of a pair of revolving doors that led, he hoped, into the busy street and away from Nicky, or Nymac, or the Nameless One, or whoever it was he should be running from.

Outside, Johnny turned right, began to run and then stopped as he heard someone calling his name above the noise of the traffic.

“Johnny?” A small woman in a navy-blue trouser suit with shoulder-length red hair, was standing on the pavement a little further up. He couldn't believe it—it was Miss Harutunian, his social worker from Halader House. Johnny turned and sped in the opposite direction. He heard shouts of, “Wait! Come back …” tailing off behind him as he ran out into the road, ignoring the horns from hundreds of cars, before turning right down another street, underneath an overhanging building and keeping going for all he was worth, dodging shoppers and a man in a Father Christmas outfit. He passed beneath a bridge where crowds of people were heading through giant doors into a building on the
right—Johnny followed, trying to lose himself in the throng.

As soon as he was inside, he stopped running and slowed to the pace of everyone around him, letting himself be carried along down a wide slope and through more doors. The flow quickened, taking him under a huge American flag and out into a spectacular chamber. The crowd hurried on, but Johnny forced his way to the side and paused for a second, mouth wide open, gulping down the air that his lungs were crying out for. All being well, Clara would have been able to bring Sol back to London safely. He had no idea whether or not the wristcom would work at such long range, but he lifted the device to his mouth and spoke anyway.

“Johnny to the
Spirit of London
 … come in … over.”

He strained, listening for a reply, but in the bustle around him it was difficult to hear properly. Johnny tried again, repeating the same message. He turned the volume on his earpiece up to maximum, but there was only static. It was as desperate as calling International Rescue in
Thunderbirds
, but he tried once more with a different message.

“It's me again. If you're receiving this, please come and get me. I'm in New York—long story. Just left the Chrysler Building—that's a really tall skyscraper. Now I'm in a huge hall. It looks like … it's a train station. But a lot bigger than Castle Dudbury … or even Liverpool Street. There's a gold clock … four faces … over a round information desk in the middle, massive windows and …” Johnny looked up, “… and there's this bluey green ceiling—it's full of stars. Hope you're getting this … over.”

There was an announcement about the train on Track 21, drowning out any hope of a reply. Johnny waited, staring at the ceiling and spotting the shape of Orion the Hunter. Then he noticed a couple of people paying him a bit too much attention so turned away, joining a queue of people buying tickets from
behind old-fashioned golden-grilled windows. Of course it was possible that Miss Harutunian had followed him into the station—but he didn't think she'd seen enough to be certain it was him. Even so, for a moment he wondered about taking a train out of there. The sign above where he was queuing read “Hudson Line Departures,” and two of the trains on the list were going to Poughkeepsie, which sounded a very cool name. If he'd been able he'd have bought a ticket to there, but he had zero pounds let alone dollars in his pockets. At least standing in line was a way of blending in while he thought about what to do next.

“Going somewhere, Johnny?” whispered a woman's voice from behind, very close to his ear, as something cold and hard was pressed into the small of his back. If he'd had any dollars he'd have bet them all that it was a gun. Johnny felt what little blood he had left draining away from his face. “First rule of the game—don't break radio silence. Especially when you already know we've analyzed your radios. Very careless.” The woman tutted.

Johnny had recognized her voice as soon as she'd spoken. This was Colonel Bobbi Hartman, though it wasn't at all clear whose army she was a colonel in. She had, indeed, disabled his wristcom the time he'd encountered her before, back in London. Following a tip-off from Chancellor Gronack, she'd had Johnny and Clara drugged and taken to a room in the American Embassy, but Colonel Hartman had made it perfectly clear she didn't answer to anything so insignificant as a government. She was after alien technology and had been quite prepared to do whatever it took, including dissecting Johnny or his sister, to acquire it.

“Signaling to your ship, were you?” continued the woman. “If it's nearby, this time I promise we'll find it.”

“I told you before,” said Johnny in a low growl, still staring up at the departure board. “I don't have a ship.”

“Yet funny how you can suddenly materialize here in Manhattan without coming through immigration. How ever did you manage that?”

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” said Johnny, turning slowly around and standing eye-to-eye with the dark-haired colonel. “Listen to me. The Sun … Earth's in terrible danger—you've got to let me go.”

“I don't think you're in any position to make threats, Johnny.”

“It wasn't a threat,” he hissed, before feeling cold metal on the underside of his chin, forcing his head upward.

“Take a look above you, Johnny,” whispered Bobbi. “One of those stars yours?”

It had been Colonel Hartman who'd first identified Johnny's half-alien parentage, after ordering Dr. Carrington's DNA test. The colonel had gone on to ignore the “half” element of this, and was obsessed about discovering where in the galaxy Johnny was apparently “from.” Seeing as he felt a hundred percent human, didn't have the slightest idea about his mum's origins and Colonel Hartman would have been the last person in the world he'd have told had he known, Johnny answered, “How many times do I have to tell you? I'm
from
Earth—just like you. That's why I'm trying to save it.” A few people around them began to stare. The pistol disappeared from his chin and was quickly wedged in his stomach, but Colonel Hartman was starting to look a little uncomfortable. This gave Johnny an idea—he just had to hope she wanted to take him alive. He spoke again, much louder than before: “I'm not coming with you—I'm going back to Dad's.”

“What are you talking about?” whispered Colonel Hartman. “And keep your voice down, or else.”

“Or else, what?” This time Johnny was practically shouting. “You can't make me. You're not my real mum.”

One of the onlookers made a move forward, but was
intercepted by a big man wearing cleaner's overalls. Johnny hadn't expected Colonel Hartman to be working alone and was pleased to have sprung the man's cover. Quickly, he looked around. There were two more cleaners nearby, taking a very close interest in what was going on. Either this was the world's best kept train station or he had to assume they were hostile too. Johnny tried to back away, but Bobbi kept a tight grip around his waist, moving with him and digging her long fingernails into his side. Surprisingly strong, she was able to force him to stop. Very loudly again, he said, “I want to go to my dad's and you can't stop me.”