The Loop: Chapter 6
"I feel like there's a whole world out there I never knew about." said Ghost.
After River had slapped him on the back, and he'd stopped coughing, he'd want to say that they must be joking, but then he remembered he'd arrived in a time-travelling spaceship, so the existence of a special unit to combat extra-terrestrial threat should hardly come as a surprise. It's not like he could claim such a thing wasn't possible anymore.
"That's very much how I felt, when I joined." said Bambera, who was lounging on the armrest of one of the sofas. "Back when he was Captain Crichton, he came to see me. I was thinking about giving it all up. I wanted to be a part of what you do (did- sorry), but they said there were Rules and Reasons about women and there was nothing I could do about it. Fortunately for everyone, Crichton got wind of the problem and I was offered a place here. That's the advantage of a unit that doesn't officially exist; it doesn't have to follow official rules." She smiled.
"Two days ago, I was in the future." said Ghost. Bambera had given him a copy of The Sun, dated July 16, 1995. He was glad he didn't have to think much about getting the months right. He tried to think about what he would have been doing, what he was doing out there in the world.
"Well, you're on your own there, I'm afraid. Other dimensions, yes, but I've not experienced Timeslip myself. They tell me it wears off after a few days, like altitude sickness. Humans are very adaptable."
"I was just doing a job, and now everyone's dead... Except they're not. They're probably still in primary school. I'm still in primary school."
Her expression softened. "We've all lost friends here. Good men and women. We fight the good fight. We make terrible sacrifices. We do terrible things. We go on. It can't be the first time it's happened?"
Ghost looked out onto the lawn, watching River turn a cartwheel and flop onto the grass. "No. Just the first time I died with them, went back in time and joined a unit I didn't know existed that fights aliens." He said, sighing. "I appreciate getting the chance to do something. I need something to put my back against."
She smiled. "You should get some rest. You need to be on the range tomorrow, nine o'clock sharp."
He nodded. "Yes ma'am." He looked back out of the window and finally realised what had been bothering him for the last ten minutes. "Why is there a police box on the lawn?"
The next day was a complicated series of tests and exercises designed to assess whether he really was who he claimed to be and if he was suitable material to defend Britain against unknown space monsters. First thing in the morning he'd arrived early at the range, which looked like a normal shooting range, where a tiny, elderly lady in a bright pink dress with matching hat, had told him just to do his best, but she would be taking notes.
She smiled benignly at him and then proceeded to ask a rapid fire series of questions, fixing him with a beady stare that seemed to be focused somewhere just in the middle of his brain. There was a selection of guns laid out on the table beside her that ranged from the common or garden MP5 to what Ghost eventually recognised as the fabled Welcheroot. She watched him dissemble and assemble the weapons she passed him, looking increasingly displeased.
Eventually, after his head was ringing from the barrage of questions, she seemed satisfied and hobbled away, only to be replaced by a thin, black man with long dreadlocks who wanted to see Ghost pick out his favourite weapons and fire them at a variety of bewilderingly shaped targets, some of which appeared to have tentacles.
After that they taken him into a paddock beside the range and shown him a large oblong box, perfectly smooth and so black the light seemed to plunge into it. They'd given him a camera, and a notebook and said to write brief report. So Ghost had looked at it, prodded it, photographed it, poked it with a stick, sniffed it, measured it, tried to lift it up and it still did nothing. He was tempted to give it a sharp kick, but suspected that would lose him points. He wrote it all down, and gave it to the lady in pink at the gate who'd snorted disapprovingly before handing him back to the man with dreadlocks, apparently called Graham, and who lead him to a door.
"You don't get no gun for this one mate, you're on your own." He laughed. "We'll be watching from upstairs. Try not to get yourself killed." He grinned and held the door open, gesturing at Ghost to go through.
Ghost peered into the darkness. Beyond the door there was nothing. "What's in there?" he asked.
"That's the surprise!" said Graham, laughing manically.
"What've I got to lose?" Said Ghost, and stepped through the door.
The lights came on. He was in a large, concrete arena lit by banks of floodlights. Compared to the warm summer outside, it was cold enough to make him shiver. His breath condensed in the air in front of him. There were stacks of crates haphazardly piled around him, and bits of broken wood and metal all over the floor. It looked like warehouse that had been abandoned.
He ducked behind one of the piles, and peered gingerly out. The rest of the warehouse floor appeared to be empty. Moving swiftly, he sprinted across to the stack of wooden crates closest to the wall. At least then he could be sure nothing was sneaking up behind him. For a brief moment of paranoia, he wondered if it was something to do with the crates, if they were some weird wooden alien enemy, but closer inspection showed them just to be crates, all of which were nailed shut, half covered in a dusty old piece of tarpaulin.
Out on the floor, it was silent. Crouching down, he picked up a thick metal rod. He wasn't going to be caught without a weapon if they tried to sneak up on him. He thought of the targets with the tentacles and shuddered. He looked around, assessing his surroundings. The walls were concrete and there appeared to be no windows. He couldn't see higher than the ring of floodlights, but he suspected there was an observation deck somewhere above him.
Okay. They want to see me do something. He had been weary from the day's exercises, but now he was wide awake. This was what he had been missing: the challenge, the blood pumping through his veins, the excitement of the unknown danger. He felt focussed for the first time since his resurrection. Bring on the tentacle monsters! He grinned to himself, and then he heard it.
It was not a human sound. It was a faint whine, just on the edge of hearing, but it sounded mechanical. He peered out from his hiding place.
On the far side of the floor was the most bizarre sight: a sort of giant pepper mill, gliding across the concrete. Ghost immediately had a bad feeling; there was something sinister about it. Perhaps it was the way that it moved almost silently, or the odd venting that covered what Ghost immediately thought of as the head, or the strange plunger that was protruding from the front of its carapace. He shivered. The head spun round, obviously searching for something. Searching for me, he thought, suppressing the giddy rush of fear, but how?
He thought of an idea. Bending down again, he picked up a large piece of stone that was lying against the crate. He hefted it in his fist. The head spun again, and the long metal arm attached to it moved up and down. Is that how it sees? He wondered. He waited until it had spun away and then he lobbed the stone high, over its head.
It hit the ground about fifteen feet away, clattering and skipping across the floor. The head spun round.
"INTRUDERS." Ghost jumped at the rasping, metallic voice. He realised it was coming from the thing. "INTRUDERS WILL BE EXTERMINATED." It spat the syllables out with a harsh, stuttering effect.
Exterminated. That's not good! Thought Ghost. He jumped as a laser fired from the robot, blasting out of its arm and exploding the stone into smithereens. Oh bloody hell! That's really not good! He'd used lasers as designators, but this was a genuine laser weapon. Ghost suddenly felt excited and frightened at the same time. This was getting interesting. The robot looked at the concrete where the stone had bounced and then its head spun, stopping and pointing exactly towards Ghost's hiding place. It began to glide towards him.
"EXTERMINATE. EXTERMINATE."
Ghost thought quickly. It was reacting to sight and sound. Blind it. He thought. How? Think! He ran a few scenarios through his mind: he could get close to it and jump on, but then he remembered about the bear defence that had been installed in one of the army vans on an exercise in a Canadian forest where a flicked switch could race several thousands of volts through the shell of the vehicle. He didn't know what a laser-firing pepper pot might have hidden up its sleeve.
His hand brushed the tarpaulin and then suddenly he had a plan. In one swift movement, he threw the metal bar at the robot and pulled the tarpaulin free. As it turned to follow the trajectory of the bar he leapt over the crate and started running, but it hadn't been fooled and the eyestalk quickly turned back, fixing him with a beady blue stare.
"EXTERMINATE."
He leapt, rolling with the landing. The laser hit the ground a fraction of a second behind him as he scrambled to his feet and threw the tarp blindly at it.
"EXTERMINATE"
He dived behind the next stack of crates and peered out to see if he'd been successful. The tarp had landed partly on it, and it was hanging precariously over the stalk. The robot swung it back and forth, attempting to dislodge it. Picking up a rusty spanner, Ghost sprinted back grabbing the tarpaulin and twisting putting all his weight into pulling it towards him whilst kicking out with his right foot at the laser. He heard a satisfying crunch as the laser arm bent but then eyestalk started to swing round against the force he was putting on it and he started to lose his balance.
"EXTERMINATE" The robot screamed and suddenly sprayed a cloud of white gas from where the laser arm had connected. Ghost leapt back, but the body of the robot swung towards him and the jet hit him on the leg, instantly rendering it numb. He stumbled back and then fell, hard on his hip, barely managing to break his fall. He saw the robot spin round towards him, blindly firing jets of gas, the tarpaulin slipping dangerously from the end of the eyestalk.
He started to crawl, desperately away, trailing his numb leg behind him uselessly, but the cold numbness was spreading, up through his leg and into his stomach. I'm going to die again. He thought as it became more difficult to breath. He wanted to laugh, but it came out as a wheezy splutter. He couldn't move his chest. He tried to remember the chemical weapons training he'd had, but it was useless. He was totally immobilised, the pressure in his chest blocking out anything else. The last thing he remembered before it went back was the robot, morphing into the face of Shepherd and then there was nothing.