Chapter 6
George handed the fifty pound note to Daryl, the manager of The Rising Sun. It was a note we'd pulled out at random from the briefcase before we dropped it off in Oliver's flat on the way over. It was the nearest of our homes to where we'd come from. When we took the note, we made sure to delve deep into the briefcase, avoiding the notes that formed the top layer of many. It was the most random of notes.
Daryl hummed. "Not often you see these flying around," He commented. "Especially not with arts students."
He lifted up the note towards the brightest light of the bar and squinted his eyes. He examined it thoroughly as he always did when money was passed. He was a paranoid old git, but one with a keen eye for dodgy cash.
"So what was that? Two 'Obgolblins and two gin-and-tonic?" He popped open the cash register and began to sort some change. He'd accepted the money. I exhaled and ran my fingers through my hair.
"Yeah please." George said to Daryl. He threw a subtle, positive thumb towards Kiani and Oliver, sitting in our usual spot. Their reactions couldn't be placed.
When Daryl had passed back our change and drinks, we took everything back to the table with a joyful Douglas bouncing by our side as if there was nothing to be concerned about. Back in our seats, our postures were not so laid back, but we hunched forward so that our voices could be lowered and yet still heard.
Oliver was beyond belief. "Guys," He whispered, barely restraining from shouting. "We're rich! We're fucking rich!"
"What good is being rich if we can't do anything with it?" George countered.
I responded, "But we can. Just not all at the same time. We keep it as a rainy-day fund. Pretend it's just a charitable donation from some senile old relative."
"We drip it in small and steady." George considered.
"But there's so much of it," Kiani added. "How much do we drip? Fifty-grand every month?"
George was trying hard to take it all logically. "We can't do that. Maybe a couple hundred pounds at a time. Even then…" He groaned. "Something isn't right about this."
"Like what?" Oliver asked.
"We've just been given – or are about to be given – two million quid with no contract and no source. Let's be true to ourselves: We're fuck all. I'm not saying we won't be someday, but, honestly, we're just students."
"Well, they never wanted us," Oliver said. "They wanted Amy."
"Funny," Kiani chuckled bitterly. "How easy it was for us to become involved in such a private conversation…"
"Yeah, that's right," George muttered. "And what was that thing they waved over our heads?"
I recalled the small metal object in question. It had been waved over their heads, and not my own. The answer seemed relatively easy. "Maybe they were checking for Yeerks."
"Yeerks…" George hummed. "Do we really believe that?"
"They wouldn't give us money over a story, right?" Kiani asked.
"You know what that would mean, though?" Oliver said. Then he looked around, quick glances at the small number of The Riser's current roster. They were none the wiser, all doing with their drinks what we weren't: drinking them.
"No way," Kiani said with a dismissive hand wave. "It's bloody stupid! Aliens? Here? Really?"
"Bert and Isaac said that they do all the things people normally do," I replied. "Maybe they go out and get plastered, too."
"That's one hell of a job," Oliver commented, having turned back around. "Do they get paid to sit around getting pissed?"
"Do they even get paid?" I asked.
George rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't get what they want us to do."
"Stop the Yeerks," Oliver replied. "Find out which ones they are here, and make them spill their pints."
I felt something hairy brush my side. Douglas dug his snout under my hand, demanding attention. With that, and Oliver's words, I had a quick thought. Could Douglas smell one? Could he smell a Yeerk? He always came over to us, and we were clean…
No. I wouldn't even try. Not until… "Training," I uttered. "What do you think this training will be?"
"James Bond training," Oliver said, and it almost sounded like a serious response. "They said we'd be spying."
"But not killing." George added.
"We're going through an alien invasion and we're not allowed to give 'em a good kicking?!" Oliver huffed.
"Jesus, Oli…" Kiani sighed.
"What?"
"This is serious!" She hissed.
The door to the pub opened. It didn't deter them from engaging in a small petty argument about Oliver's attitude, but the person who walked through caught my attention.
"Guys, guys…" I whispered, tapping Kiani on the arm.
"What's he doing here?" George grumbled.
Derek pulled at his collar and waddled over to the bar. He began to order his ale, casting one or two glances our way.
"Spying on the spies?" Oliver questioned.
"He's not doing a very good job at it," George said. "He keeps looking at us."
"Maybe we did something wrong." I offered.
Derek was handed his drink, and we awaited his action. It quickly became clear that he was no longer in a scouting role. He walked over, sipping at his drink while he did. He still looked like a creepy fuck.
"Clear some space, would ya?" He said when he neared.
George and Oliver moved their seats apart while Derek dragged a spare one over. He dropped down with a pained groan and made a point of ruffling his coat and moaning about the cold.
Not one of us had a response to his ill-placed grumblings. With that in mind, he dropped the trivialities and leaned forward. "We musn't meet in public places like this."
We all blinked at each other. George said, "You came over to us."
"This will be the only time," He replied, relieving his pint glass of another gulp of ale. "I'm just here to check up on you. Not often you're informed of an alien invasion. So tell me, how are you?"
There was an air of incredulity between us.
"We're okay…" Kiani replied warily.
"Good!" Derek said, following with a cough into a clenched fist.
He said nothing more, but continued to drink. I thought, at least, he'd have some information for us, or some tips, or… something.
"So…" Oliver uttered. "Uh…"
Kiani smiled to Derek and clasped her hands. "Good to see you, Derek!" She chirped. "Bye then!"
Derek didn't take the hint. He just stared at her.
"Have you actually come here for a reason?" George pressed.
"I'm-"He coughed again and inhaled loudly through his nose. "Here to answer your questions."
"Are you going to keep following us like a pathetic stalker?" George demanded.
"No," He replied. "What would be the point?"
George huffed. "Yeah. What would be the point…?"
Oliver was taking Derek a little more seriously. He sat forward and played with the nearest beermat. "How do we… you know, find them?"
"Who?" Derek asked.
Oliver looked around again. Like before, there was nobody within hearing range. "The Yeerks. How do we know who they are?"
"You can't. Not without careful, continuous observation." Derek replied.
Kiani had come around to tolerating his presence for the moment. "What do they do that's different?"
Derek finally placed down his drink, now that he was required to deal some serious information. "The Yeerks don't eat like us. They absorb nutrients in the presence of kandrona rays, which, because of a whole load of complicated chemical reactions, can't be done when they're inside of the host."
"So they leave the body." Kiani concluded.
Derek smirked. "Correct. Every three days, and they must go to specific locations. That's how you spot them."
"If they go to these places every three days." Oliver iterated.
"So we basically become Dereks." I said.
"We can all be Derek." Oliver added with a light-hearted grin.
"Only I can be Derek." Derek grumbled.
"You get what I mean, right?" I continued. "We just follow people around all the time until we find out?"
"Not just any people," Derek said. "We're not concerned about the ordinary people. Well, no, let me rephrase that… We are concerned with the freedom of humanity, but the lives of ordinary people will not help. We want you to find out about people in power. People of importance to military movement. Politicians."
"Jesus…" George gasped. "You're kidding."
"At what point today have I ever been kidding?"
We all shrugged or looked to the desk without an argument.
Derek continued, "I hate to jump the gun, because Bert and Isaac are the guys in charge, but I have a good idea of who you'll be after once your training is done. It's in London."
"Makes sense." Oliver interjected.
Derek cleared his throat, and then sniffled through a blocked nose. "The Prime Minister. The foreign secretary. The Queen. David Beckham."
"Wait, wait, wait…" Oliver stopped him with a chuckle. "We're spying on David Beckham. You're having us on!"
"I'm not." Derek replied.
"We're going to spy on the Queen," Kiani uttered. "The Queen. Her Majesty. We're going to spy on her, just so we know if she's secretly an alien invader. The Queen."
"Shit man…" Oliver whispered to nobody. "I'm going to spy on David Beckham…"
"Possibly," Derek said. "It's not certain, but expect to be following some very well-known people. We need to know where the Yeerk influence is being spread and how. We may also ask you to carry out some different tasks. Anything to slow the Yeerks down."
Slow them down? It brought up an important question in my mind. "So if we're going to slow them down, who's going to get rid of them? The Yeerks, I mean."
Derek looked to me with sunken, oafish eyes. "Don't ask me. Nobody knows yet. We're working on it."
That brought a sigh of discontent from everybody. Finally, it felt like the right time for us all to break into our drinks. We'd almost forgotten they'd existed. Now, we'd never let go.
"Have you got the same power we have?" Kiani asked of Derek.
He smiled. There were black gaps where some of his teeth used to be. "We all do."
We awaited him to add something to the statement. He did, eventually. His pint-less hand had been hidden beneath the table, but when he lifted it above the surface, it clearly was not Human. Dark, course fur covered it entirely, and his once dirty fingernails had been replaced with the claws of a dog. He pulled his sleeve down further to cover it, and dropped it back below the table.
"So instead of following me around like a creep," I said. "You could have followed me as a pigeon, or a seagull… You're a terrible spy."
He laughed, and it sounded painful. He adjusted in his chair and drank some more. His glass was nearly empty at this point, most of the contents making a home on his chin and clothing. "You think I didn't do that on purpose? Look, did I not prove a point? If you walk around after somebody in your own body, you're gonna get spotted. Now, if I was a pigeon, or a rat… Do you honestly think you would have gone to 18 Meadowmead Road if somebody unsuspicious gave you that note?"
"Probably not."
He waggled a finger in my direction. My answer was correct. "If you give them reason to suspect, they will scrutinise everything you leave behind. Stay hidden, and everything is a coincidence. Keep that in mind, and you'll have the easiest job in the world. Expose yourself, and we're all buggered."
He finished his drink and readjusted his jacket. He bid us farewell, and left us alone to contemplate. Nobody stayed long, and nobody said a word.