‘Thank you, sir. Sorry about that but, as I’m sure you realise, there are very many people who would like to see us stopped. I’m sure you understand.’
‘Of course, and may I congratulate you on your thoroughness, gentlemen. Good-day.’
As Victor walked by they stopped him again.
‘Aren’t you forgetting something, sir?’
Victor turned. I had wondered about some sort of password, and if that was what they wanted now we were sunk. He decided to let them lead the situation.
‘Leave it in the car, sir?’ asked the first man after a pause. ‘Here, borrow mine.’
The security man reached inside his jacket and pulled out, not a gun as Victor expected, but a baseball catcher’s glove. He smiled and handed it over.
‘I dare say I won’t make it up there today.’
Victor slapped his own forehead with the ball of his hand.
‘Mind like a string bag. I must have left it at home. Imagine, coming to an Earthcrossers meet and forgetting my catcher’s glove!’
They all laughed with him dutifully; the first guard said:
‘Have a good time, sir. Earthstrike is at 14:32.’
He thanked them both and hopped into the waiting Land Rover before they changed their minds. He looked at the catcher’s glove uneasily. What on earth were they up to?
The Land Rover dropped him at the east entrance to the hill-fort. He could see about fifty people milling around, all wearing steel helmets. A large tent had been set up in the centre of the fort and it bristled with aerials and a large satellite dish. Farther up the hill was a radar scanner that revolved slowly. He had expected to see a large telescope or something, but no such apparatus seemed to have been set up.
‘Name?’
Victor turned to see a small man staring up at him. He was holding a clipboard and wearing a steel helmet and seemed to be taking full advantage of his limited authority.
Victor attempted a bluff.
That’s me there,’ he said, pointing at a name at the bottom of the list.
‘Mr Continued Overleaf, are you?’
‘Above that,’ Victor countered hurriedly.
‘Mrs Trotswell?’
‘Oh, er, no. Ceres. Augustus Ceres.’
The small man consulted his list carefully, running a steel ballpoint pen down the row of names.
‘No one of that name here,’ he said slowly, looking at Victor suspiciously.
‘I’m from Berwick-upon-Tweed,’ explained Victor. ‘Late entry. I don’t suppose the news filtered through. Dr Mьller said I could drop in any time.’
The small man jumped.
‘Mьller? There’s no one here of that name. You must mean Dr Cassiopeia.’ He winked and smiled broadly. ‘Okay. Now,’ he added, consulting his list and looking round the fort, ‘we’re a bit thin on the outer perimeter. You can take station 63. Do you have a glove? Good. What about a helmet? Never mind. Here, take mine; I’ll get another from stores. Earthstrike at 14:32. Good-day.’
Victor took the helmet and wandered off in the direction that the small man had indicated.
‘Hear that, Thursday?’ he hissed. ‘Dr Cassiopeia.’
‘I heard it,’ I replied. ‘We’re seeing what we’ve got on him.’
Bowden was already contacting Finisterre, who was waiting back at the LiteraTec office for just such a call.
Victor filled his briar pipe and was walking towards station 63 when a man in a Barbour jacket nearly marched straight into him. He recognised Dr Mьller’s face from the mugshot immediately. Victor raised his hat, apologised and walked on.
‘Wait!’ yelled Mьller. Victor turned. Mьller raised an eyebrow and stared at him.
‘Haven’t I seen your face somewhere else?’
‘No, it’s always been right here on the front of my head,’ replied Victor, attempting to make light of the situation. Mьller simply stared at him with a blank expression as Victor carried on filling his pipe.
‘I’ve seen you somewhere before,’ continued Mьller, but Victor was not so easily shaken.
‘I don’t think so,’ he announced, offering his hand. ‘Ceres,’ he added. ‘Berwick-upon-Tweed spiral arm.’
‘Berwick-upon-Tweed, eh?’ said Mьller. ‘Then you know my good friend and colleague Professor Barnes?’
‘Never heard of him,’ announced Victor, guessing that Mьller was suspicious. Mьller smiled and looked at his watch. ‘Earthstrike in seven minutes, Mr Ceres. Perhaps you’d better take your station.’
Victor lit his pipe, smiled and walked off in the direction he had been given earlier. There was a stake in the ground marked 63, and he stood around feeling slightly stupid. All the other Earthcrossers had donned their helmets and were scanning the sky to the west. Victor looked around and caught the eye of an attractive woman of about his own age a half-dozen paces away at 62.
‘Hello!’ he said cheerfully, tipping his helmet.
The woman fluttered her eyelashes demurely.
‘All well?’ she asked.
‘Top hole!’ returned Victor elegantly, then added quickly: ‘Actually, not. This is my first time.’
The lady smiled at him and waved her catcher’s glove.
‘Nothing to it. Catch away from the body and keep your eyes sharp. We may get a lot or none at all, and if you
Victor stared at her.
‘You mean, we aim to
The lady laughed a delicious laugh.
‘No, no, silly—! They’re called
She caught his eye and smiled. Victor smiled back. She carried on: ‘If we witness an Earthstrike today, it will be the first predicted strike in Europe to be successful. Imagine catching a meteorite! The rubble made during the creation of the universe over four and a half billion years ago! It’s like an orphan finally coming home!’
‘Very… poetic,’ responded Victor slowly as I started talking in his ear by way of the wire.
‘There’s no one listed anywhere by the name of Dr Cassiopeia,’ I told him. ‘For goodness’ sake don’t let him out of your sight!’
‘I won’t,’ replied Victor, looking around for Mьller.
‘Pardon?’ asked the lady at 62, who had being eyeing him up and not staring at the sky at all.
‘I won’t, er, drop one if I catch one,’ he replied hurriedly.
The Tannoy announced the Earthstrike in two minutes. There was a murmur from the expectant crowd.
‘Good luck!’ said the lady, giving him a broad wink and staring up into the cloudless sky.
There was a voice from close behind Victor.
‘I
He turned to see the very unwelcome face of Dr Mьller staring at him. A little farther on stood a burly security guard, hand at the ready in his breast pocket.
‘You’re SpecOps. LiteraTec. Victor Analogy, isn’t it?’
‘No, the name’s Dr Augustus Ceres, Berwick-upon-Tweed.’ Victor laughed nervously and added: ‘What sort of a name is Victor Analogy?’
Mьller beckoned to the henchman, who advanced on Victor drawing his automatic. He looked like the sort of person who was itching to use it.
‘I’m sorry, my friend,’ said Mьller kindly, ‘but that’s not really good enough. If you
