Dylan

Today's the day. Yes. Today. Valentine's Day. Could it be more appropriate?

Well, not if she says "no", it wouldn't. That wouldn't be very appropriate at all, would it? You idiot. Turned down on Valentine's Day.

But COULD she say "no"? Surely not. Not on Valentine's Day.

Of course she could if she didn't bloody want to. And she should – you don't want to go out with someone because they don't want to ruin the day.

Oh, sigh. Ho-hum. Bored now. Just want to get it over with.

No! Not bored! Scared out of my sodding mind! Jump up and down. Slap your face. Wash your face.

Wait, no, don't just wash your face. Have a shower. Use a million of your mother's tiny bottles of shampoo. And shave! Not that there's much to shave, but every little helps. Damn, if only Clearasil worked faster.

Shower shower shower. Come on. Think what you're going to say.

"Ffion, I fancy you."

No! Nobody says "fancy" in a serious conversation.

"Ffion, I think I'm in love with you."

Argh, far too strong. What's halfway between "fancy" and "love"?

"Ffion, I find you very attractive, and I think you've got a damned decent personality. And impeccable taste in bags. Love the colour."

Yes, that's probably the one. Can't say that, though. Obviously.

Should probably have breakfast. Nothing that stinks, though. A banana, maybe. They smell nice. Oh, God, what if she hates bananas? Right, skip breakfast. Brush your teeth, though. And do a bloody good job of it too.

Right. Let's think. Can't just dive straight into it. Got to build up to it.

"Ffion, can we talk?"

Right. That's good. Only one answer, really.

"Of course we can, Dylan."

God, what if she says we can't? She won't. No. As long as you say it in a serious tone of voice, she'll know it's important.

So. You take her to one side ... and if her friends follow ... Well, tough for them, they'll just have to be there too.

"I quite like you, Ffion. Quite a lot, actually."

It sounds crap. And that makes it sound unplanned! Only an idiot would PLAN to say that. Oh, bugger, you can't say that.

"Since it's Valentine's Day –"

You should have got her a card! Too late now. Unless you make one ... You CAN'T BLOODY MAKE ONE, you retard. What would you use? Pages ripped from your homework diary.

Dammit, your gums are bleeding. Don't worry, there's ... three hours to go before school.

Wait, three hours? You're up too early, you idiot. Damned stress kept you awake.

Right. Clear head. You could do it via ... No, not via e-mail. You tool. No successful relationship EVER started online.

Maybe you could talk to her mate first. Whatsername – Stephanie. Get some advice. Or find one of the boys who already have girlfriends. See what they did. Hmm, can you really imagine Dan Simmons or Phillip Jones talking about their emotions, though? Okay, scrap that idea.

Right, get dressed, and make sure your clothes are clean and ironed.

Ironed? Really? Will she notice? Maybe she'd prefer someone with a more laid back, baggy attitude. Although her dad's a lawyer ... But then, your dad's a vet, and look at what that says about you.

Headache now. Glass of water. Aren't you meant to have eight glasses of water a day? You don't drink enough. Probably why you're covered in spots. And why you're so pale.

Did you shave? Yes, you did, don't panic. Shit, what if she likes stubble? Well, bum-fluff's hardly stubble, mate.

Alright, you can't make her a card, but maybe you can get her a gift. Flowers or chocolates. At six in the morning? Tesco's is probably open. But you can't go to Tesco's before school. There must be some rule.

Should you really do this today? Yes! Of course you should. Fool. If you don't do it today, you'll never do it.

You've fancied her for, like, three years, though. That's ... 20% of your life.

Don't start on the maths. That's probably the most unattractive thing ever. Apart from your skin and, more recently, your bleeding gums.

Right. Clear your head. Forget everything for a moment. Let's get some perspective.

Open the curtains. Look out – sunny or raining?

Dear God – is that a spaceship?

Jesus. Sodding aliens. And they bloody WOULD choose Valentine's Day.

In the bath.

Tonedeaf: Part 4

Good Morning, here are today’s headlines. The clean-up operation is in its thirty-first day since the Meteor Shower. Efforts across the city are said to be going well with communities pulling together to clear neighbourhoods of the devastation left in the wake of the shower. A memorial will take place for the astronauts of the Falcon later this day; the Space Programme gave a press conference last week commending the crew posthumously for their efforts. Psychologists from the University of Avian One are still studying the effect of the disaster on the survivors. Of particular interest is the phenomenon that saw many people try to escape the city by climbing the Perimeter Wall. Global Harmonics today will be reduced due to technical difficulties – expect interrupted service throughout the d—

Adept Erith tapped the side of the Amplifier and adjusted the tone control as the signal spluttered.

“Leave it.” Brother Pica muttered irritably.

Erith jumped. Brother Pica was standing in the doorway of his nest, he was frowning. “Come. We have work to do in the fields.”

Erith tidied his habit and followed the Brother out of the nest and down the central corridor of the Monastery towards the gardens.

This was the third week of his mentorship under Brother Pica. The decision to partner him with the strictest Brother hadn’t come as a surprise to Erith. He lacked structure, perception and most worryingly, faith. Apparently.

He believed in the Gods, which was important, but he still asked questions, which was bad. Brother Pica’s reputation as a stern taskmaster, however, was an understatement. His knowledge of the Texts was flawless and he expected the same standards from all of the Adepts.
“Today we’ll be covering the word of the Gods on the law of the land.” Pica instructed as Erith followed close to the Brother’s heels. “Maybe working with the earth and seeing the truth of their wisdom in the most elemental of tasks will strengthen your floundering faith.”

“Yes, Brother.” Erith responded mechanically.

Outside, Pica found him a hoe and a basket and led him out into the gardens. The grounds of the Monastery were divided into different sections, ornamental, kitchen and economic.

“We’ll start with the economic section,” Pica said as they walked through the busy kitchen garden. They came to an ancient wall, half reclaimed by nature with a large gate set into it. On the other side was the field where they grew wheat and barley to be sold in the city on their rare visits.

“The Gods told us that the land is the key to maintaining the heavens. Without it, the sky doesn’t exist and it is necessary to separate the Gods from people. That said, its maintenance is uppermost in their regard. The ground must be tilled and worked to produce fruit as it supports Gods and People alike.”

Erith listened. He knew all of this, it wasn’t like he was an idiot – he just had issues with elements of the Texts which the others seemed to take for granted. They didn’t seem to realise that this had nothing to do with his faith. As far as he was concerned the Gods existed and that was that. The problem he had was that the texts were written by people not the Gods, and, therefore must have imperfections.

“Ah! But the Gods were speaking through the individuals who wrote the Texts.” He was constantly rebuked. Largely speaking he kept his mouth shut these days, it wasn’t worth bothering with an argument. The older Brothers though interpreted his reticence as proof of his stupidity.

“We’ll begin with the Dictates of Seed. As we know, the Gods were born of eggs, just like their earthly replications – birds. Seeds, like eggs, are the origins of life. So, seeds are sacred and have an inherent right to be planted and become life. To control life is to commit the greatest of sins. This is why we reject technology beyond that which is necessary to maintain the harmony. These free thinkers, with their good intentions of controlling nature will doubtlessly burn in the Last War.”

“Yes, Brother.”

Erith looked back at the Monastery of Chimes, so called because its cone-like structure channelled the wind through it creating an approximation of the Great Harmony.

“Next to the Dictate to Live in Harmony, the Dictate of Seed is the most important of our fundamental social rules. This is why you are going to plant an entire crop of barley by hand, by your self.”

Erith sighed. He had a feeling something like this was going to happen. “Until you learn that ‘Living in Harmony’ doesn’t just include gluing your ears to the Amplifier from the city, you will be made to perform menial tasks so that you understand the severity of your undertaking.” The Brother continued, without breathing. Erith began to scatter seeds from the basket, combing over the soil with the hoe. He wondered whether Brother Pica realised that he spoke in monologues.

The wind began to pick up and it became harder to scatter the seeds. Erith’s habit began to flap and a nasty draft threatened to expose him. He looked up and saw that Brother Pica, normally the picture of habit perfection was struggling too.

The wind got stronger and stronger, and a thunderous sound from above was swelling, getting closer. The Amplifiers scattered around the field, normally pumping out gentle Harmonic tones, began to spit and curse with static.

A shadow was approaching, sweeping across the fields towards them – Pica and Erith looked up and saw a great winged creature approaching. It was as big as the monastery and had long silver wings growing from a sleek curved body. Arms grew from its underbelly, extending out like fingers. As it got closer it slowed down and gently began to lower itself down onto the field.

Brother Pica was staring agape at the beast before him. “The Chariot!” He shouted, prophetically.

The image came into Erith’s mind instantly. The Great Vessel that would deliver to earth the messenger of the Gods. The Herald.

A black hole appeared on the underbelly of the beast. Behind him, Erith heard the other Brothers and Adepts pouring through the gate into the field.

Footsteps were distinctly audible over the noise as a figure appeared in the hole. Underneath its feet, steps appeared. The light revealed a tall human figure swathed in a technicolour cloak. A hood was pulled over its head; the whole thing covered in a coat of coloured feathers.

The figure approached the assembled Monks and stood before them, a clear foot taller than even the tallest Brother.

I am the Herald. I believe you know what I want.

Erith blinked and looked around, uncertain whether or not what he thought had happened had actually happened. The Herald spoke in pure Harmony - it was like feeling, tasting, smelling and feeling words all at once.

Brother Pica stammered forward, “Yu-yes – come with me. I will show you the way.”

Splendid.

The figure strode forward and past the assembled Monks, who had to almost leap out of its way. Erith was stunned. It was true – the Texts were actually correct. There was no question of it.

“While the doubtful till the land, the Herald will arrive to awaken the faithful.” He muttered under his breath. As the other Brothers and Adepts followed the Herald and Brother Pica, Erith was left wondering exactly how the Herald planned to ‘awaken the faithful’.

**

Ten minutes twenty, twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, twenty four –

The sweat was beginning to gather on Kay’s forehead. Her body was knotted with concentration as she sat, crossed legged in the darkness. Her thoughts began to blur and she found counting increasingly difficult, she clenched her teeth and forced her mind to pinpoint the numbers as they rattled on.

- thirty seven, thirty eight, thirty nine, forty, forty one, forty two, forty three, forty –

As her consciousness swirled about her, Kay switched on and her foot shot forward and kicked the door in front of her. In a sudden the Harmony flooded back into the room and she found herself on her back gasping for breath. She began to laugh and stood up, grabbed the towel next to her and wiped herself down.

Sipping from a bottle of water she walked into the next room, out of the padded ‘sound-proof’ chamber she’d created in her pantry. She looked out of the window and saw the city. Ten minutes and forty four seconds. It was a new record for her, but it still wasn’t good enough. She needed to be able to last longer if she was going to stand any chance with what had to be done.

She’d never considered herself religious, but there were things you just took for granted. The dependence on the Harmony was just part of life – wasn’t it? Were would we be without it? Rang the glorious slogans adorning every other street corner. If her brother could live without it, then why couldn’t she? Besides, there were things she was beginning to question. The shootings at the Perimeter Wall. What had driven so many people to actually try and escape? Even to her, the thought was difficult to consider.

She turned from the window and sat at her desk. Laid out before her were photos and news clippings. These were all of the missing people – lists of their families, contact details, notes. A vast, methodical network of people. For the past weeks she’d been moonlighting as her brother’s secretary, using his name as a means of asking them questions. When was the last time you saw your daughter? How was she then? How did she feel?

Throughout, one name recurred over and over. One friend seemed to link most of these youths. Mac a’Denu. She knew in an instant that she'd found their dealer, the one who supplied them all with Din. Now she had to find him, because he might be the key she needed to develop a resistance to the Harmony.

**

Jon stepped down into the down straw building. He was carrying two bowls of soup. Within, Amplifiers were set up around two beds in the centre of the room. Light streamed through tiny slit windows around the room, blocking the sight of the trees beyond. Jon took a deep breath and smiled.

“Good morning Captain,” Jon said.

Captain Neor Nithes stood up from his bed and backed away from the door. Jon set down the bowls within the Amplifier circle and then stepped back. In the other bed was the comatose woman. Captain Nithes was protecting her like a mother bear and her cub.

“What’s that?”

“Broth – soup. I’m afraid the people here have nothing more exciting.”

Captain Nithes picked the bowls up tentatively. He sniffed them.

“They aren’t poisoned – well, they have Din in them, but in your position that’s a good thing, it’ll help you adjust.” Jon stammered. Captain Nithes took a deep breath as he sat down next to the woman. Jon wondered what had become of his social skills.

“Where are we?” Captain Nithes asked quietly, turning his attention to the woman.

“Well, we’re about fifteen miles from Avian One. Beyond that, it’s hard to say. It’s just the Wilderness.” Jon shrugged. Nithes was spooning soup into the woman’s mouth. “What’s her name?”

Captain Nithes gave Jon a cool side-long gaze. The man was about fifteen years older than Jon, but he seemed an entire generation older. He was part of the generation that looked to the stars, he was one of the first people into space. The good Captain held himself differently – he was a man who didn’t slouch, he was reserved and calm.

“Chordata Diomedea, or Cho, to her friends.”

“Very pretty.” Jon replied glibly. Neor was still spooning broth into her mouth steadily. “How is she?”

“Still in a coma. The shock after the crash…” He stopped for a second, “The silence was astonishing. I can’t remember carrying her through the forest.”

“We found the shuttle. We’ve brought back the other bodies, so they can be buried when you’ve both recovered.”

“Bodies? Those people were my friends.”

“Sorry.” Jon looked away, quietly he edged his way towards the door.

“She isn’t going to wake up.” Captain Nithes said clearly, but without looking around. Jon looked down and backed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

**

Jon tapped on the door and Sol opened it. “How are they?”

“Captain Nithes is as stoic as ever and his friend is, well she’s in a coma.” Jon replied, stepping into the Harmonic Outpost.

The Outpost was filled with Amplifiers and consoles displaying different signals being picked up from different directions. Walter was sitting in the centre of the room surrounded by all the machinery. At their feet, snakes and coils of wires linked the computers to the receivers outside.
“Look, I can’t stay – this place is giving me a headache. I was wondering whether it would be possible to return to the pyramids in the hills.”

"Forget the pyramids. We’ve found something.” Sol replied, excitedly. “A strange sound has cropped up. Just recently – since the Meteor Shower, in fact.” Sol looked away sheepishly.

Walter turned around, “We heard about you on the Harmony – your discovery, that is.”

“Yes, well. Someone else discovered the sound, I was just able to go down and dig it up.” Jon replied.

“Yes, but that’s the point. Those ruins underground wouldn’t have been found without you.” Walter said.

“Nothing’s stopping you from investigating this.”

Walter spun around and smiled, “Of course. But you’re quite welcome to come along.”

**

“Mac?”

“Who’s asking?” The surly man countered. He was sitting at the bar of the Feathered Crown. Kay hopped up on the stool next to him and ordered two drinks.

“Does it matter?”

“No, I suppose not.”

Kay kept her voice low, she felt incredibly stupid. “I’m wondering whether you can help me?”

“You haven’t done this before, have you?” Asked the drunk Mac.

“Er, no.”

“I should think not – why would a pretty girl like you be interested in what I’ve got, eh?”

“Look – I just need some Noise – you get me?” Kay stumbled over the slang, blushing. Mac laughed. “Be quiet, will you?” She hissed, terrified that someone might guess what she was doing and report her.

“You really are green, aren’t you?” Mac chuckled, “Look lady, you seem nice, so I’ll give you some free advice. Walk out of this bar and don’t come back. It’s over. Go home.”

“What do you mean?”

“Crack down. Sources have dried up. The game’s over.” Mac replied, belching.

“Look. I know you’ve got what I want. All I need is a little bit – I’ve got money.”

“I don’t doubt it, but you don’t seem to understand. I’m not in the business any more.”

Kay knocked back her drink. It seemed she had a choice. She could either press him further or walk out of the bar now with her dignity and reputation in tact. Thoughts of her brothers came into her mind. She necked the second drink and raised her finger.

“Listen to me. I know you’ve got what I want and I’m not leaving until I get it.” She was about to launch into a tirade when she heard a sound. The patrons of the bar looked to the windows – they’d all heard it too.

“Well, that’s my cue to leave.” Mac muttered, downing the last of his drink. “It was nice meeting you. See you in another life, eh?”

Kay got up to follow him as the windows exploded.

**

The doors to the Catacombs swung open and the Herald strode through and down the dusty staircase. Behind him, the Brothers of the Monastery followed. Erith squeezed his way through his brother Adepts and tried to keep Pica in sight. The crowd was buzzing with chatter. Harmonic waves seemed to flow from the Herald. It was like he was on fire and they could feel the heat emanating from him. Erith shook his head and woke up from the trance they seemed to be walking under. It was strange, no one was blinking, no one was looking around. They were talking, but no one seemed to be able to look away from the Herald.

The Catacombs hadn’t been opened in an age. Some of the Brothers had lit lanterns and torches. The strange orange glow danced over the walls illuminating passages of text carved straight into the wall. Erith squinted – it was all from the Book of Prophecies. It talked of the Awakening and how the faithful would be saved from the Last War. Erith shuddered.

The staircase opened out into a large bowled chamber. The lights were swallowed by the darkness as the group of Monks crossed a stone bridge. Before them was a central column, below was darkness. Erith looked over the edge and thought he saw round objects in the gloom.

The Herald strode up to the column. As he approached it he emitted a strange, low sound. The Monks kept their distance and watched. Brother Pica loomed closer than anyone else. Erith watched as the column shook, dust and dirt was loosened from above, a crack of light appeared and grew as the column rose into the ceiling. Like everyone else, Erith leaned forwards to get a closer look. The herald stretched out his hand and for the first time they could see his marbled blue skin as it hovered above a jewelled egg, sitting in a gold nest and bathed in light.

The Herald lowered his hand and touched the egg and an unholy scream filled the chamber.

Cracks of light appeared in the ceiling as the room shook, the Monks all fell to the ground, their hands covering their ears. The light from above revealed the contents in the pit beneath the bridge. A sea of pearly shelled eggs.

**

Neor leaped to the edge of the circle. Cho was sitting bolt upright and screaming at the top of her lungs. All around the Harmony was going crazy, the Amplifiers peaking and cracking under the strain.

Even with his hands clamped over his ears, Neor could still feel the scream tearing into his head. Through watering eyes, he watched as Cho sat up from the bed and began to walk, zombie-like towards the door. She passed out of the range of the Amplifiers as Neor darted forward to stop her. When he looked up again, she was gone. Bracing himself, he grabbed one of the Amplifiers, tore it out of the ground and kicked down the door. Outside, he was surrounded by trees, a wall of greenery pressing in on him. Delirious, he pushed on, stumbling through the dirt towards the blurry shape of Cho up ahead.

She was entering a clearing – other figures were appearing from the forest, crowding her. She was still screaming. Neor knew that she would stop if only he could get close, but he was slipping. The Harmony was weakening and all he could hear was the scream. His knees buckled and he fell to the dirt. - -

**

The off-road beast skidded through the undergrowth. Walter was driving, with Sol in the passenger seat. Jon sat behind, trying to hold on to his lunch.

Then they heard it – in the distance, an explosion. Walter slammed on the breaks and they came to a stop. There was silence, followed by the sound of birds fleeing the canopy together in fright.

“Do you hear something?” Sol asked, he could hear a distant whine growing in intensity. Walter shook his head. Sol looked back to ask Jon – but Jon was on the back seat fitting, his legs and arms spasming erratically.

Sol immediately jumped in the back and held him down. The whine was growing into a throbbing screech, louder and louder with every second.

“How far away are we?” Sol shouted.

“Not far.” Walter replied, he jerked the beast into gear and then floored the throttle.

**

The heavy steel door groaned open, its hinges rusted and worn. Walter stumbled through the gap, followed by Sol who was supporting his brother. When they were all in, Walter slammed the door shut.

"I'm fine - I'm fine," Jon muttered feverishly. Sol ignored him and wiped his brow with his sleeve. "Bollocks you are." He replied under his breath.

"Where are we?" Jon asked, teeth chattering.

"One of the many bunkers littered throught these hills. They're Harmony-proof - which is why we haven't done much exploration. Most people at the camp sleep better with the Amplifiers whispering in the dark. It's in these places that you truly come to understand what Silence really is." Walter said, striking a match and holding it to a lamp. Safely lit, the lamp cast its dim light on the steel walls. They were in a tunnel that looked like it extended into the hills.

"Come on, we'd better get moving." Walter said, brandishing an Harmonic Display. The line was steady - but every fifth second it flickered.

They got up and started to move. The tunnel seemed to go on for ever. Jon recovered and became more perky as the Silence became more pronounced. By contrast, Sol and walter only got more anxious.

The tunnel eventually led them to a low room, lined with lockers. Beyond that were bunk rooms, storage facilities and kitchens. Further in they came to a tiered control room with a bank of monitors on the far wall.

"I don't recognise any of this technology." Walter muttered. "It must be ancient."

"If only it were that straightforward. Some of this looks far more advanced than our technology." Jon commented, running his finger along a dusty panel.

"All designed to work without the Harmony." Sol mused.

"I have a sneaking suspicion these people, whoever they were, had nothing to do with the Harmony."

"Sounds unthinkable. Do you think they were alien?" Sol asked.

Jon turned to him in the low light. "Nope."

He pointed to an empty box, it was partially decayed but it was clear that it had once contained food. On it was a picture of a smiling man with bright red hair and a white face.

"Looks pretty alien to me." Sol muttered.

They pressed on into the complex, "This place must have a purpose." Walter kept saying, leading them onwards. Eventually, there was only one door left. On it were strange letters, like the ones on the foundation stone of the natural history museum.

"Main Silo - What do you suppose that means?" Walter asked aloud.

They opened the stiff, steel door with effort and it swung open to reveal a tall, cylindrical chamber that towered above them and carried on going below them, deep into the earth.

"Wow" Jon said, under his breath. Before them was a ship; a tall, elegant vessel the likes of which none of them had ever seen. They walked along the walkway which hugged the wall and stroked the cool surface. It was in perfect condition - around them, it seemed, the cleaning systems were still operating, sucking out the dust and purifying the air.

Walter led them down to a bank of consoles built into the wall.

"I thought you knew bits and pieces of this ancient language," Jon mused aloud.

"We've only been able to translate what we've found. We never found any military handbooks." Walter said, sitting down in front of the console. "It says that there are over forty million unread emails."

"Look at this," Sol was pointing at a door built into the wall.

"Cryo Storage." Walter translated the text on the door. Tentatively, he pushed the door open. they were greeted by the wail of the Klaxon.

"Well, there's your sound." Jon said, stepping into the next chamber. "And that's my professional opinion." The other two ignored him. They were standing in a cylindrical space like the 'silo' But in this room the walls were covered in man-sized glass tubes, built into the wall.

"A distress signal." Walter said, flipping the switch on the control panel. "Set to go off and transmit to all other stations." The sound died away and the flashing red lights ceased.

"Who's in distress though - there's nobody here." Sol muttered, looking around - all the tubes were empty.

"Want a bet?" Asked Jon, pointing down to the floor, fifty feet below. One of the tubes was occupied.

"Walter - what does 'Thawing in Progress' mean?" Sol asked in a small, distant voice. The other two didn't answer, they were too busy staring at the shape emerging from the glass tube.

The Fifth Housemate: Part 2

"Is Mel in?" asked Laoren, entering the living room.

"Course not," said Greg. "Can't imagine how she does it. We weren't back until at least four last night, and she's still out by nine."

"Jeremy still asleep, I take it?"

"He won't be up for a few days," laughed Greg. "Anyway, I'm lecture-bound, and I want to pick up some alka-seltzer on the way. T'ra!"

As soon as Greg closed the door behind him, Laoren dashed back to her bedroom.

"You can come out," she said.

Trenavass climbed out from under the bed, still wearing his spacesuit.

"I've been thinking about this," she said.

"About what?"

"How we keep you secret." She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. "I've written up a schedule. Look, Mel doesn't spend much time in the house anyway, between lectures, societies and parties. Greg tends to be out between eleven and four, and then again between five and ten, between lectures and work."

Trenavass examined the page.

"The problem is Jeremy," said Laoren. "He can do most of his work from home, he isn't in any societies, and he keeps himself to himself. In short, he spends most of his time in the house."

"I don't understand this diagram," said Trenavass. "I can only speak your language – I can't read it."

"Right," said Laoren. "Okay, I'll explain it to you later, and you can write it out in your own language."

"Thankyou."

"Anyway, I think we have to face the possibility," said Laoren, breathing in deeply, "That we're going to have to tell Jeremy you're here."

-10001-

An hour later, Trenavass had amassed a stack of papers, full of diagrams to help him in everyday life. Laoren was fascinated by the symbol he used, and particularly the maps he drew – remarkably, he'd memorised every detail of the house that he'd been able to see the night before, despite having spent only a few seconds in a darkened hallway. With Laoren's help, he'd also managed to calculate exactly where everything was in the house.

During this time, Trenavass had relaxed considerably. He was less stiff, less awkward. After they'd finished, he decided that it was time to remove his helmet.

"As you can imagine, I don't look like you," he said.

"Well, no. I expect you don't."

"So ... just be prepared."

"Trenavass," sighed Laoren. "We have a planet full of different species. From apes to insects, they're all very different. Not to mention that fifty years of hard sci-fi has, I daresay, prepared the entire human reace for alien contact."

Trenavass paused. "Right," he said eventually.

He reached for the clips on the sides of his helmet, undid them, and the helmet came apart in two pieces.

Laoren was surprised at how human he looked. His skin was tinted a light blue, but it merely made him look cold. His mouth looked absolutely human, and the only thing remarkable about his eyes was that his pupils were larger than human ones. The most dramatic differences were his nose – very flat, and his nostrils seemed to have eyelids – and his hair, which was thick and a very dark navy.

He placed his helmet down on the bed, and inhaled deeply. He smiled.

"They were right," he said. "This planet's atmosphere is disgusting."

Laoren laughed.

"So," he said. "How do I look? From a human point of view, that is."

"You look more human than plenty of locals," Laoren replied. "Certainly more so than Michael Jackson."

"Who?"

"Human celebrity," explained Laoren. "Famous for having a lot of surgery."

Then, Trenavass took off his gloves. Laoren gasped. Each of his fingers had an extra joint, making them look remarkably long. But that wasn't the most dramatic difference.

"You have two thumbs," she said.

"Yes."

"Wow."

Looking closer, it wasn't just that he had two thumbs. The entire hand was symmetrical. Where she'd have expected a little finger, there was another index finger, with another middle finger where there should have been a ring finger. This made his hands look incredibly powerful, and certainly the most alien thing about him.

"Alright, that's very different," Laoren said. "You might want to keep your gloves on when you meet Jeremy."

-10001-

"He's an alien," said Jeremy.

"Yes," said Laoren.

"A proper, no-messing, alien."

"That's right."

"Not one of your mates in make-up?"

"You should see his hands."

They were in the living room. Trenavass was sat on a bean bag, a bizarre sight indeed.

"Prove it, then," said Jeremy. "Where's your spaceship?"

Laoren nudged Jeremy in the ribs.

"Recharging," said Trenavass, meekly.

"Anyway," said Laoren. "He won't be here long – he'll be meeting world leaders and stuff later this week. We just need to keep him safe until then."

"Right." Jeremy turned back towards Trenavass. "Do you ... use a toilet?"

"I do," said Trenavass softly.

"And can you use human ones?"

"Certainly."

"Okay." Jeremy paused, thinking. "Do you need to eat?"

"I have slowed my metabolism down for the journey," said Trenavass. "But food would certainly be appreciated."

"And what do you eat?"

"Fruit and vegetables should be alight," said Trenavass. "As long as they're ... is it 'organic'?"

"Makes sense," said Laoren.

Jeremy muttered something about the expense.

"I'm sure we can stretch a few extra pennies for organic meals for our extra-terrestial visitor," said Laoren.

"There are provisions in my ship," said Trenavass. "If necessary, I can wait until then."

"Certainly not," said Laoren. "You're a guest in this house, and you'll be fed."

"So," said Jeremy. "Are we telling Greg and Mel?"

"As if," said Laoren. "Greg would have told the world in a second, and I don't think Mel's kept a secret in her life."

"Won't they be annoyed we didn't tell them?"

"We're sheltering an alien astronaut, Jeremy," said Laoren. "This is hardly a uni project. Secrecy's of the utmost importance."

"And it's only for a few more days?"

"That's right," said Trenavass. "In four more days, I'll be gone."

The Sun and the Moon

Peter crossed the room towards his fellow workers, filling a cup with water from the nearby cooler.

Angharad was reading a magazine.

"It's got an article on those superheroes," she said. "Theories of who they might be."

"Anyone interesting?" asked Dave.

"Celebrities mostly. Reality TV drop-outs from the area."

"Rubbish."

Peter peered over the pages, and saw that they'd included some photos. A blurry, long-distance shot of Sunset, and a close-up of Lunar Mist jumping from one building to another. He couldn't understand how Sunset managed to avoid the paparazzi so much better than Lunar Mist.

"I see they haven't mentioned the Hoodie," said Angharad.

"As if he counts!" scoffed Sarah. "Spelling a nickname with capitals is hardly grounds for official superhero status."

"Otherwise I'd have trademarked The Technician a long time ago," said Dave. "For the time being, I need to get my utility belt built first."

They all laughed.

"I doubt we'd know who they were," said Sarah. "I mean, there are about two hundred thousand people in this city. What are the odds that we'd know them?"

"They'd probably look tired all the time," said Angharad.

"Sarah DOES look tired all –" started Dave, before being hit on the arm.

"I don't think I know anyone who'd call themselves Lunar Mist either," said Angharad.

"Might be a double bluff," said Dave. "I use things like 'Brookside' as passwords, since no-one would associate those things with me."

"They must have jobs," said Sarah thoughtfully. "They must have a fair bit of cash to afford those costumes."

"We've never seen Sunset close up," said Angharad. "She might have a budget costume."

"You think Sunset's a girl?" asked Peter, piping in for the first time.

"With a name like 'Sunset'?" said Angharad. "It's not particularly masculine, is it?"

"It's ... androgynous, I'd have said," said Peter.

"Maybe you're right," said Angharad. "Suppose we'll never know."

She turned to the next page.

"Oh, have you seen this?" she said. "They're building a new Amazon warehouse in the city."

-10001-

Peter arrived at home, and locked the door. He had a quick shower, and changed into his pale green costume. Ensuring that his helmet was on safely, and that his boots were nice and comfortable, he opened a window, and jumped to the top of the block of flats opposite.

He hit the ground running, and didn't stop. The further from his own flat he could get, the better. He jumped deftly from rooftop to rooftop, hiding behind landmarks and trees as best he could.

It wasn't long until he could see the city centre. He jumped onto the rooftop of the Pavilion Theatre, and paused for a breath. He was fond of the theatre, because the border alongside provided plenty of cover to hide him from the public.

"Hello, there," said a voice from behind him.

Peter froze. Should he look behind him, or jump away? He decided that, since he was in-costume, he could always escape if need be. He turned around.

"You must be Lunar Mist."

Peter's eyes widened behind his visor. Standing opposite him was a figure in a rich firey costume – red boots becoming an orange unitard with yellow gloves, with a headpiece featuring a simple sun design. Peter examined the figure.

"You're female," he said.

"I suppose I am," said Sunset. "Didn't you know?"

"I've never seen you close up."

"Well, 'Sunset' is hardly the most masculine name, is it?"

"It's ... androgynous, I'd have said," said Peter.

"Anyway, nice to meet you, Lunar Mist," said Sunset, holding out her hand.

Peter shook it.

"How did you find me?" he asked.

"Waited for you," she said. "You've been spotted on this rooftop several times."

She sat down cross-legged, and invited Peter to do the same.

"To be honest, I thought you were female until I saw a close-up photo," she said.

"Why?" asked Peter, surprised.

"The name, again," said Sunset. "'Lunar Mist'? Quite girly."

"It's an anagr- Never mind."

"I assumed you'd named yourself after the car."

"I'm quite sure they named the car after me."

A silence.

"Alright," said Sunset, her voice less self-assured. "I'll be honest. I needed to talk to someone."

"Why so?"

"I'm a superhero. A bloody superhero. With a costume and powers and everything."

"Right."

"And I can't tell anyone. And I can't call anyone for help. I don't have any back-up. And then people like this Hoodie guy turn up and make the whole thing a joke."

"Not a fan, then?" asked Peter.

"I hate him," said Sunset. "Cocky little so-and-so. And I must say, I've always admired you."

"Me?" Peter was genuinely shocked. "Lunar Mist? The superhero that gets it wrong?"

"I don't think you've 'gotten it wrong'."

"Let's see. Fluffed up attacking a drugs ring, that was my first attempt at heroics. Failed to prosecute a petty thief because a superhero's eye-witness report was deemed untrustwothy. Lost my gloves in the river, saving a young girl, and later had to buy them back on-line. And recently, allowed high-quality photographs of myself to be published in a major magazine."

"A major magazine that thinks you're a celebrity," pointed out Sunset. "People love you, Lunar Mist. Can I call you just Mist?"

"If you like."

"People want to be like you. Film companies are going mental trying to find a loophole that means they don't need permission to make a film about you. You managed to start a superhero career in a world that knows far more than they used to."

"Not as well as you have, though," said Lunar Mist.

"I'm just better at hiding my mistakes," said Sunset. "You know, I modelled myself after you? It's why I avoided using a primary colour for the main part of my costume."

"Really?" Peter shook his head slowly. "That's so nerdy."

"Oh, shut up."

They sat in silence again for some moments.

"I'm going to come here again," said Sunset. "I'll try to call round the same time every evening. Nice to be able to talk, even for a moment, as though being a superhero is anything approaching normal."

"Cool," said Peter. He examined her costume as she crossed to the side of the building, ready to leave. "By the way, I like your costume."

"Thanks!" said Sunset. "It's a budget one!"

The Hitchhiker and the Lady in Orange

Finally, a car pulled over next to Kev. Kev gratefully climbed into the passenger seat, placing his heavy back-pack on the back seat. He folded his sign – a big piece of cardboard reading "Salisbury".

"Thanks, mate," he said gratefully.

"No problem," said the driver amicably, a chubby man in his thirties, with thinning blonde hair and narrow glasses. "I'm Geoff, by the way."

"Kev."

Geoff put the car into gear, and took off again. Back on the road.

"Used to hitch-hike a bit myself," said Geoff. "Back in my student days."

"I'm quite new to the whole thing," admitted Kev. "My girlfriend got me into it – we went camping in Europe last year."

"Yeah? That's nice," said Geoff. "Different attitudes on the continent, I find."

"True," said Kev. "Anyway, I've got the bug now. I'm hoping to make it all the way to Land's End."

"Oh, excellent," said Geoff. He grinned broadly. "An adventurer! I like you already."

"Is that why you did it?" asked Kev. "In your student days, I mean."

"Oh, yeah," said Geoff warmly. "Mind you, didn't know what I was looking for. But that comes with time, doesn't it?"

"So they say," said Kev. "Course, I reckon I've found what I was looking for. Couple of years ago, when I met my girlfriend."

"That's lovely."

"So now we have combined adventures. A year off before settling down in the world of mortgages and wedding plans."

"A fine way of thinking," said Geoff. "Wish I'd done more in my youth, truth be told. Think it's affected me now."

"What do you mean?" asked Kev.

"Well, after getting my degree, I found a job straight away. Quiet office thing. Worked hard, arrived early, stayed late, took my work home with me. Didn't have time to meet anyone – didn't know anyone I didn't work with. But that suited me at the time. Since then, got a few promotions under my belt. I'm a manager now. And I've run out of places to go. No more positions going, unless someone leaves."

"You're unhappy in your job?"

"Oh, no," said Geoff. "I love it. Plenty of responsibility, and it's less work for more money." He smiled. "But now, it's not about work any more. I know what I'm looking for."

"Aha," said Kev. "You've got a goal? An ambition."

"Something like that."

"I think that's half the battle, really. My dad lost his job in the seventies, and he became an empty shell for such a long time. Then, a few years ago, he discovered the internet. Made a fortune selling stuff on eBay."

"Good for him!" Geoff grinned.

"So, what was yours?"

Geoff inhaled deeply, full of satisfaction.

"It was four years ago. I found myself on a bus. This man, he turns to me, and he says, 'you know you're dreaming, don't you?'. Now, I never could control my dreams, but I realised I must be dreaming, 'cause nobody would say that if I wasn't. So I nodded my agreement, and he said, 'you can do anything here'. And I asked him what he meant. He told me to name something impossible, and I said, 'make a rollercoaster appear in that field'. He looks out the window, and out of nowhere, there's this rollercoaster. Actually, it was one of those waltzer things, but in my dream it was called a rollercoast. Anyway, he tells me to look in the front, and there's this woman wearing an orange dress. I can only see the back of her head. Suddenly, the bus stops, and she gets off. I run after her, the door of the bus almost closes on me. But I get out, and I can't see where she is, but somehow I know she's headed forwards. I run, and I've never run this fast, and I get to this plain wooden door. Can't remember if it was part of a building or something. I walk in, and there's this beautiful hall, full of candles and flowing drapes. And in the middle, she's there, the lady in orange. I walk up to her, but it's like she gets further away the closer I get. This music starts – something by Ella Fitzgerald. I think it was Dream a Little Dream. Ha, I just got that. Anyway, I take this woman's hand, and she dances with me. She seems darker close up – what's the PC word for 'half-caste'? Anyway, we dance, and even though she's got this flowing dress on, it doesn't get in the way. We dance for the duration of the song, but it feels like hours. And then I finally take a good look at her face."

It took Kev a moment to realise that Geoff wasn't going to continue.

"And?" he asked. "Who was she?"

"Dunno," said Geoff. "I'd never seen her before. Still, it gave me a purpose, didn't it?"

"Did it?"

"I'm going to find her, that lady," said Geoff.

There was a pause.

"Right," said Kev.

"Don't say it like that," said Geoff. "I know she's out there somewhere. It's just hard, you know? Meeting someone on a bus – she could be from anywhere."

"So ..." said Kev. "How are you trying to find her?"

"Driving on weekends," said Geoff. "Like now. I've never been to this neighbourhood before. I was actually headed for Chippenham, but seeing you on the road – well, that could've been a sign."

And, as he said this, Geoff slowed down, and parked the car.

"Here we are. Salisbury. Hope you get to Land's End."

"Thanks," said Kev, climbing out of the car. "Hope you find your lady in orange."

Geoff smiled, and started the engine.

"I will."

The Fifth Housemate: Part 1

"As if you can drink more than me!" scoffed Melinda. "I've had at least eight pints tonight, and how many have you had?"

"I've been mixing," said Greg. "It's not the quantity, it's the variety."

"And you don't half take your time drinking them. A sip here, a sip there. Everyone knows drinking quickly's harder."

"You have a carb-rich diet, though. Most of what you drink gets absorbed by the pasta."

"Only one way to determine the winner," said Jeremy, ever the peacekeeper. "Competition time! Come on, hand over the cash, I'm choosing the drinks ..."

Laoren quietly slipped out of the pub, after a quick excuse, and headed round the corner to the local park. Although she liked her housemates, they could be trying company at times. Even Jeremy, her closest friend of the group, was sometimes drawn into Mel's and Greg's banter.

She sat down on a bench, overlooking the playing field. She liked sitting here during the day, watching families, dog-walkers and joggers, but she loved how peaceful it was at night.

Spa-

Laoren frowned. Then remembered she'd had a bit to drink, and relaxed. She looked around at the trees, swaying in the gentle breeze. She rubbed her face, noting with some delight that she'd lost some sensitivity in her fingers.

Sometimes, she'd be able to get drunk enough to enjoy these nights out, but by and large, she wasn't that keen on drinking. She preferred the park to the pub, preferred walks to parties.

It began to rain lightly. Laoren smiled, and looked up into the sky. She liked the rain.

-ace-

There was something a bit unnerving about the park tonight. Laoren considered going back.

-ip.

No. What was that? Something in the corner of her eye.

-shi-

There. A black flash. Something near the trees. Laoren froze, keeping her eyes peeled, ignoring the rain that was now soaking her hair and clothes.

-pace-

There! Blinking in and out of existence. But surely ... The area was empty. How could something that large disappear so quickly?

-ship.

She stood up, and walked towards the area. No, there was nothing there.

Not even rain.

She walked closer. She could clearly see the woods behind, and the grass underneath. She could still feel the rain pouring down over her. But up above, several feet above her head height, the rain simply stopped, and bounced off. And then the shape shimmered again, blinking briefly into existence.

Spaceship.

Laoren's eyes widened, and she backed away.

At her eye level, she had an impression of a royal blue chamber, as a ramp descended from nowhere.

And down the ramp, walked a figure.

The figure wore a domed, cylindrical helmet of dark green, with seams down the sides and a narrow slit at eye level. They wore a firmly-padded suit, intricately designed in green and silver, and a thick navy cloak attached to the back.

The figure walked calmly towards Laoren, and held out a gloved hand.

"Good evening," said the voice – deep and gruff, with a trace of an asian accent. "My name is Trenavass Taffa."

Laoren stared. The so-called Trenavass Taffa looked down towards his outstretched hand.

"I learned that you ... hold and shake another's hand as a greeting. Is this not correct?"

"Sorry," said Laoren, snapping out of her trance at last. "Sorry, yes."

She took Trenavass's hand and shook it.

"That was rude of me," she said. "I'm really sorry."

"I think I see," said Trenavass, speaking slowly as though trying to understand some alien concept. "To refuse a hand-shake is ... not courteous?"

"No," said Laoren, blushing. "I'm afraid not."

"But you were ..." Trenavass clutched his chest. "You were taken by surprise. You've never seen a spaceship like this before."

"I've never seen any spaceship before," said Laoren reproachfully.

"I see," said Trenavass. "I was under the impression that your people had ... Wait. I apologise. I should have told you more about myself. Now I have been ... rood."

He removed a wooden device from his pocket; it was shaped like a figure of eight, and had two large white buttons on it – also made of wood. He pressed and held one of the buttons, and the ramp behind him raised again, becoming a part of the invisible spaceship, until it had disappeared from sight completely.

"I am from another planet," explained Trenavass. "I know it as Byllk, and it is part of a star system that you know as Alpha Centauri."

"You're an alien," said Laoren.

"That's right," said Trenavass.

"But you speak English."

"I learned," said Trenavass. "We managed to intercept satallite signals from your planet many years ago, and we've learned a lot about your culture. Indeed, it was a subject I was very keen to learn about, and I hope that my English is by now quite functional."

"How did you learn it?" asked Laoren, lost in this visitor's speech, oblivious to the rain.

"It is taught to some," he said. "Scientists, academics, even royalty – the alien language is considered highly sophisticated, far above our own native languages."

"So, hang on," said Laoren. "Are you the first? You say you've learned through satellite signals. Are you the first visitor from Alpha Centauri?"

"I believe so," said Trenavass. "We did not know whether our ships – or our bodies – would survive in Earth's atmosphere. By all reports, your atmosphere is quite similar to ours, but we have always feared your weakening ozone layer."

"Global warming ruins Earth tourism," grinned Laoren. "Journalists would go mad for that one."

"Anyway, I apologise for cutting this conversation short, but I'm afraid I have a problem," said Trenavass. "I need a place to stay while my spaceship recovers."

"Of course," said Laoren, excited. "I mean, I'd have to check with my housemates ..."

"Would it not be possible to keep things low-key?" asked Trenavass. "Although if you know that your housemates are to be trusted ..."

"You might be right," said Laoren, imagining trying to keep Mel and Greg quiet. "We'll work something out."

-10001-

Laoren unlocked her front door. She'd phoned Jeremy to let him know she was heading home. She entered, and turned on the lights. Trenavass followed.

"So, why are you here?" asked Laoren. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Gathering information," said Trenavass. "I wish to meet with Earth representatives later this ... this week."

Laoren passed the stairs, and opened the door to her room. They walked in.

"Why wait?"

"My spaceship must recover. I'd like to be able to leave immediately if any problems arise," he explained.

"How will it recover?" Laoren laughed. "I'm sorry. I'm full of questions."

"I understand," said Trenavass. "I was the same when I heard about your planet. I devoured all the information I could get. My spaceship, as it happens, can detect and absorb carbon emissions in the air, and convert them into fuel."

"That's incredible," said Laroen.

"Unfortunately, it does take time."

Laoren looked around the room.

"Do you sleep in a bed?"

"Of sorts," Trenavass grinned.

"You can have mine, then."

Laoren burrowed under her bed and found a sleeping bag, which she laid out on the floor. She found her pyjamas, and decided to head for the bathroom to get changed. By the time she got back, Trenavass was already in her bed, still wearing his suit.

Laoren didn't sleep much that night.