Jones 6

24

Jones had had a sleepless night and, on his mother’s suggestion, joined her in her office: she had a mountain of correspondence to sort through and they both needed the company. He would have liked to talk to Roosha as well but she was out like a light and it would have been unfair - and unwise - to wake her.

Jones looked at his wristcom again. Still blank. He couldn’t understand why Chen hadn’t contacted him but, although he was worried, he had infinite faith in his friend’s ability to look after himself. Jones finally admitted to himself, not without a measure of guilt, that Chen wasn’t his biggest worry at the moment and that he had relegated his closest friend to second place behind someone he had barely known for a day.

Jones watched his anxious mother as she put her desk in order. Twenty-four hours before he would have been thrilled to see her in her luxurious office surrounded by the trappings of power. Now the vastness of it just drew attention to her vulnerability and made her look small and fragile. Looking at the clock, she frowned. Still no word from the compound hospital. She turned to face her son and watched him as he sat in her large black leather chair and swivelled absently from side to side. Pale from lack of sleep, he had dark patches under his eyes and was struggling to focus in front of him on the multiscreen on the wall.

Typing in Julie’s name yet again he explored the list of options and clicked on a file named 'gorilla.vid' He smiled as he watched her laughing face appear. The clip had been filmed at her birthday party and, laughing, she was pretending to struggle from the grip of a gorillagram. It had been taken at home when she was on leave and'Colonel Jones' had been one of the few people that she had chosen to send it to.

Jones clicked on 'medal.vid' next and saw her standing next to him in the ceremonial chamber. He was probably contravening countless security regulations, but if looking at it helped her son cope then his mother was past caring. In hindsight, she couldn’t believe she had sanctioned the evening out, let alone suggested it. A court martial and dismissal would be no worse than she deserved.

He clicked on the "Present Whereabouts" box and watched the Intensive Care medic as she checked the monitors next to Julie’s bed. It had been touch and go whether Julie survived the night and a great risk had been taken in disturbing her to transfer her to the hospital wing in the Presidential Compound. On balance it was considered safer than leaving her in a public building and an unmarked hovervehicle had arrived at the city hospital in the early hours of the morning to whisk her away under armed guard. Jones clicked the mouse and swivelled round to face his mother.

"Mum. The red flag’s gone from the screen. She’s out of High Level Critical. You’ve got to let me go now!"

"Look, dear, I’m still not sure that it would be a good idea. You’ll only distress yourself."

"Please!" She looked at her son and read him clearly. He needed to go.

"Very well, but you mustn’t abuse my influence here. If the medics say ‘no’ then don’t make it awkward for them, just come away again - I’m trusting you to handle it sensitively, and I’m sure you will. Be prepared for the fact she’ll hardly be looking her best, let alone be able to talk to you". She checked the clock again. Julie’s parents would be here in an hour’s time and she was the one who had to face them, not something she was looking forward to. "If you are going, you’d better do it now. Her mother and father will be here soon."

Jones walked over to the hospital wing. He knocked quietly on the ward door and was met by a masked nurse.

"Cadet Jones? We’ve just been told to expect you. You can have five minutes. Under no circumstances must you try to wake her. Please refrain from touching her as well. I have to warn you that you may find what you see distressing." The nurse put a hand on Jones’s shoulder and showed him into a small room packed with instruments. A maze of tubes and wires were attached to the small, pale body on the bed and the only sound was an asthmatic hiss of air as it was fed into a mask over Julie’s face.

The nurse entered with a sponge and a small kidney dish of water. She began to dab Julie’s arms gently. Jones watched with longing and looked pleadingly at the nurse.

"May I, miss?" he whispered. The nurse hesitated for a second and then nodded, smiling. She tied a mask onto Jones's face and handed him the small metal dish. Watching him for a minute or so, she tapped his arm and circled her face with her hands. Jones nodded, squeezing the sponge and dabbing Julie’s cheeks and forehead ever so gently. He was aching to rip off his mask and kiss her pale, fragile face, to hold her in his arms. He wanted to lie there with her, to feel her warmth and gently stroke her hair as she slept. It wasn’t the desire he had felt in the club that fed this craving but a kind of tenderness he had never felt before. He held her limp hand and placed it very gently on the bed cover.

Handing the dish back to the nurse he thanked her.

"I think that probably did more for me than her, miss, but I really appreciate it. Thank you. Will she be OK?" The nurse removed her mask, sat down and indicated a chair opposite her.

“I’m sorry, it’s really too early to say." She hesitated and examined his anxious face. “Look, to be brutally honest with you, I can’t really discuss her case with anyone else until I have seen her parents. It wouldn’t be fair."

"I understand."

"Sorry”. She showed him to the door and watched him walk away. Her com buzzed and she answered it. “Intensive Care, Nurse Whitney speaking. Mrs. Braithwaite? Yes, your daughter is here. She’s as comfortable as can be expected. I’m sorry, I can’t go into detail. It might be more satisfactory to discuss it face to face. I will ask the sentry to bring you over."

25

After going for a walk round the parade square to collect his thoughts, Jones went back to his mother’s office and knocked on the door.

“Come in!” She had changed and was now sat at her desk in full uniform, waiting, ready for the worst. She had the expression of a small animal about to be devoured by a fox.

"It’ll be ok, mum. They seem really nice people, you said so yourself. Julie thinks the sun shines out of your briefcase and her parents are really grateful for all you have done for her." He paused.

"Look, mum, you didn’t shoot Julie.”

"No, but you four going out was my idea and what really adds to the mess is that you’re implicated in all of this”. She pressed a button on her desk, leant over and spoke into it. "Hospital Wing, Intensive Care". She picked up the handset.

"Nurse Whitney? Colonel Jones. Are the parents there yet? Are they taking their full hour? Good. How about the patient? Are you sure? That’s incredible!" She put the phone down and leant back, smiling.

"Nurse Whitney said that Julie is off the critical list altogether, now. She started to pick up at about the time you went in." She grinned. "The nurse said you weren’t to read too much into that, dear, and it’s probably just coincidence!"

"That's it mum, shatter my illusions!" He laughed and went round to the other side of the desk and gave her a big hug.

"May I point out, Cadet Jones," said his mother, "that a dim view is taken of senior officers who fraternise with juniors. If anyone were to walk through that door at the moment a colonel cuddling a cadet would not be considered terribly professional, especially as you are in uniform!" She looked him up and down. "So why did you wear it?”

"It made me feel better."

"Snap." She tutted, straightened his collar and adjusted his tie. "Mind you, there’s no need to look as if you were dressed by a visually impaired gorilla."

"And your fluffy slippers, Colonel? Are they now de rigour?"

"Oh, my goodness, thank you!" She got up from her desk to go to her cloakroom and patted his cheek on the way. "And don’t worry. The worst is over!"

Jones was half way across the parade ground and paused. What did his mother mean by "implicated?" There were pieces slotting together in the complicated puzzle called His Life and he didn’t like the way it was turning out. If someone had the box lid with the picture on he wasn’t sure he wanted to see it.

"Over here! This is where you are staying, this massive stone building in front of your eyes!"

He looked up and noticed a wild, dishevelled figure in a dressing gown on a balcony. The wild, dishevelled figure was waving at him. Two soldiers had noticed her too and thought for one disillusioned second that she was talking to them. They seemed quite disappointed when they noticed that she was shouting to Jones.

"How is she? Have you heard from Chen?"

"She"s OK and I’m afraid he probably isn’t. Get dressed and I’ll tell you all about it."

Jones knocked on Roosha’s door and heard a muffled "come in!" She was nowhere to be seen.

"Roosha, where are you?"

"Sorry, I’m in the bathroom. Still no message from Chen?”

"Uh huh."

"Sorry, is that a yes or a no?"

"It's a no. Roosha, I can’t communicate through a ten centimetre thick mahogany door so I’ll wait until you come out." When she appeared Jones was staring at the wallpaper. "I've found out about the decor, Roosha. My mother chose it and had it done as a surprise!"

"It was certainly that, alright. One of the biggest flipping surprises I’ve ever had in my life. It’s a good job I’ve never mentioned it to her then, isn’t it?" Jones watched Roosha as she did up her boots and belted her combat trousers. If his mother had thought that girlie pink was suitable before, there was little chance of her thinking it now.

"Fancy some tea, Jones?" She went to the tasseled bell pull by the marble fireplace, gave it a hefty tug and spoke into the intercom. "Tea for two, Davenport!"

"So what’s wrong with the kettle?"

“Oh, come on, Jones, we’ll be back on FS sodding Six in a few days time; if a girl can’t have a bit of style here, where can she? Anyway, Davenport idolises me so I’m doing him a favour giving him a chance to have an ogle at me."

"Combat trousers? Very alluring." Poor Davenport came blundering through the door. Running errands for Roosha had become a full-time occupation and Jones could feel nothing but pity for him as he battled with the heavy door, struggled with the tray and coped stoically with Roosha’s imperious indifference. Jones watched Davenport blush as he scurried out of the door. Jones was aghast. "How about a 'thank you', Roosha?"

"Oh no, Jones. That would demean me in his eyes and make him disappointed in me!"

"First time I’ve heard that one. Right, can we get down to business?" Jones paused and sat forward on his seat. "Roosha, there’s a pattern appearing which has, I am sure, been as obvious to you as it has to me, but I now feel I have confront it.”

"You mean the attempts on your life? And you think Julie’s shooting is part of this catalogue of calamities?"

“Don’t you?" Roosha gave the faintest of shrugs and watched silently as Jones got out his organiser and began speaking. “What are you doing, Jones, writing your memoirs?"

"Practically. I’m listing the events up until now”.

"Of the trip? Should make interesting reading."

"And before, Roosha, way before. I want to get to the bottom of this, Basically, I want to know why. I reckon my mother knows more than she’s prepared to let on. She said I was 'implicated' in Julie’s near-death experience and that hasn’t made me feel any better, let me tell you." He buried his head in his hands and stared at the floor. He groaned as he moved his head from side to side.

"Look, just stay away from me, Roosha. I’m a walking liability to anybody who comes into contact with me. You must curse the day you met me!” Roosha sat next to him, yanked his hands away and took his face in her hands.

“Don’t you ever, ever, ever dare say that to me again! I am in this with you, Jones, and that is that." Kissing his forehead she grimaced at him and bared her teeth. "Defy me and you die!"

"What can I say?"

"Well, if all you can come out with is a load of spineless twaddle then it’s probably best to say nothing at all. Now, where’s that tea?"

26

Jones knew his next port of call. He looked up the site policy on visiting the Secure Unit and made his appointment with the guardroom. Surrendering his ID pass, he followed the guard to a locked gate. He was just about to go in when his wristcom went.

"Sorry. Do you mind if I answer it?" The guard grunted and sauntered off to talk to his friend in the sentry box. Jones could see them looking over towards him. He turned away.

"Hello, mum." he looked back. The guard seemed happy enough. He listened to his mother as she gave him the latest. "They're not pressing charges, mum? That’s great! They don’t seem like the sort who want blood; they know how much you’ve done for her.” He listened as she explained how relieved Julie’s parents were. Apparently they already had plans for both her and her compensation money. His mother laughed. It was the first time he had heard that for a while. “And Julie, mum?" he looked over to the guard. He was beginning to look bored. “Mum, that’s fantastic! Look, I’ll catch up with you. Love you!”

The guard led him down some dark concrete steps infested with moss and damp. Jones waited in a bare, caged room while the guard collected his charge. The naked bulb cast a harsh light. In the corner were bags of cement and black rubber buckets. It seemed that even the Presidential compound had its forgotten places.

Jones wasn’t quite prepared for what he saw. Justin looked even more like a muscle-bound thug. Jones wasn’t one to typecast anyone so he was going to reserve judgment until he had talked to him. Justin's head was shaved and he wore mascara and eyeliner. He also had a vast collection of rings on his fists. Jones looked at the ‘W’ shaped scars on the knuckles and could feel his love for humanity being strained to breaking point. Justin leant back in his chair and sneered at Jones.

"So who’s smellin’ of roses, Jonesy, boy? Nice smart uniform, shiny medal and a mummy runnin’ around after the President. Very nice.” He leant forward and stared into Jones’s eyes. " 'Owever, you’ve had a few mishaps along the way ‘aven’t you, Sunshine? Charmed life though, make no mistake." He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in Jones’s face.

“Well, what have we escaped so far? A welding torch, an explosion and then a bullet, not to mention that nasty smack on the noddle.” He looked at Jones ominously. “So sorry about that." He sat back with his hands behind his head and looked down his nose at Jones.

Shame about that girl Julie Braithwaite, Jonesy; it must be hard to live with the fact that she stopped one for you. Apparently the car is still just recognisable as a car if you look at it from the right angle."

"Pardon?"

"The car. You know, red, four wheels, an engine and four naive plonkers inside, that kind of thing." Justin tilted his head to one side and smiled. "Ah, didn’t mummy tell you? Perhaps she didn’t want her little boy to worry needlessly. Quite a bang, apparently. A little dicky bird told me it was in case you got out of the club in one piece; you know, a precautionary measure." He leant forward again. "Then there’s your mate..." Jones could feign indifference no longer.

"What? You know where Chen is?" Justin glanced at the clock on the wall and looked thoughtful.

"So sorry, Mr. Jones, consultation over.” Justin tossed his head in the general direction of the armed guard. "Make another appointment with the girl on the desk, please." Jones watched him as he left. His back rippled under the shabby vest, making the 'WHISPER' on his shoulder sway this way and that.

27

Back in his room, Jones was busy with his tablet: the jigsaw was looking grimmer and grimmer. How did Justin know about so much? He was obviously getting communication with the outside world somehow. Were the guards involved? While he was pondering, his wristcom vibrated. An official voice addressed him.

“Cadet Jones? You are wanted in the President’s office immediately. A car is waiting outside your building."

"Can I bring a friend?"

"No. You come alone." A knock on his door. Oh, heck… No.... not now. He clipped on his tie and opened the door.

"Sorry, Roosha. I’ve got to dash. I’ve been summoned by the President. I’ll report back. Seeya!" Looking down the stairwell she watched him disappear, reappear and then run out of the door. Grunting, she walked back to her ice-cream tub and her multiscreen. She could hear what was now very familiar theme tune wafting through her open door. If this was yet another repeat of "Vets in Trouble" she was going to scream.

Jones sat nervously in the reception area outside the President’s office. His mind raced. Should he have asked permission before seeing Justin? Had Julie’s parents changed their minds about being so charitable? Had Roosha done something unmentionable? The receptionist looked out from behind his big desk, a receiver attached to his ear. He paused, looked into the distance for a second and then smiled at Jones.

"Would you follow me now please, Cadet Jones?” The receptionist opened the vast shiny door and walked with Jones across the dark red carpet towards the President’s large Eighteenth century walnut and gilt desk. Indicating a chair in front of it, the President asked him to sit down. He leaned over the gigantic surface and smiled.

"Tea, Cadet Jones?"

"Yes please, Mr. President."

"Tea for two please, Hodgkins!" It arrived two minutes later and the President watched as his receptionist closed the door on his way out. As soon as they were alone the President swooped up the tray and scuttled over to a small coffee table under a large oil painting of George Washington. For some reason, the combination of the President struggling with a tea tray, the tiny coffee table and the gigantic picture of George Washington on his horse made Jones laugh. He immediately clapped his hand over his mouth and went red.

"Sorry", said the President, "Have I missed something?"

"No, sir".

"Yes I have. Go on, Jones. Tell me!” Jones explained.

“Sorry, Sir."

"Sorry, my sweet arse! It is ludicrous but only one per cent of the population would have found it so." He saw Jones’s expression and punched his arm.

"Hey, you with the long face, that’s a good thing! Shows you’re aware, got a sense of humour." The President poured a cup and peered into it. “Heck, that Hodgkins is an A1 administrator but his tea sucks big time. Do you fancy a tin?" The President went round the back of his desk, opened one of the drawers and came back with two ice cold drink cans.

"There we are, young man. Only thing that keeps me going, sometimes!” He pulled the seal, drained the can and tossed it effortlessly across the vast room where it landed in the bin by his desk. “Basketball First Team, Yale; Intercontinental University Cup winners, 2046. My finest hour!" He paused. "Yep, it probably was my finest hour."

"But you’re President, sir - doesn’t that count?" Jones stared at the man next to him who was now in his shirtsleeves. The President looked serious.

"It's a real honour being a President, Jones, don’t get me wrong, but there’s an awful lot of garbage, too." He looked Jones in the eye. "It takes a certain kind of person. When we find that person, we need to look after them and in your case I’m afraid we don’t seem to have done a very good job. The fact you’re sat there drinking that can and not floating round space in a zillion pieces is more down to luck than judgment. We sent Blake up to keep an eye on you, but even he couldn’t supervise you twenty-four seven!"

"President, Mr. President?" As soon as he said it, Jones realised how ludicrous it sounded. "Me?" The President nodded.

"Sure. One day. I’ll explain how and why in a minute, but, yes, you are going to be President one day. Is that too much to take in one go?"

"Er, yes, sir. It’s not a fantasy I’ve ever explored before."

"Well, you’d better start exploring it now, boy, because from now on it’s real and it’s going to affect your whole sweet life!" Jones was incredulous.

"But-"

"If I tell you rest of the story, Jones, a lot of things will fall into place." The President scratched his head and gathered his thoughts. "That time you got arrested for attempted burglary of Judge Dooza's house with Justin? Whisper were behind that. They staged the whole thing to discredit you, to give you a guilty little secret when you became president. That way they could blackmail you when you were in power." The President chuckled. "You didn’t really think that he’d have a badly alarmed house, did you? That was priceless!" He looked at the bewildered boy next to him. "Sorry, son. No offence meant."

"Let's look at the facts. One, your friend Justin was in Whisper and, so it seems, was Judge Dooza, the guy who owns - sorry, owned - the house. Two: on further investigation, it transpired that Dooza and Justin had been planning that little 'break in' for a while. Point number three, Dooza was also your 'judge'. By the way, Jones, you’ll be pleased to know that we’ve stopped those instant tele-trials because of the unfairness of your case. We’ve nailed Dooza now, though... He's been cleaning money for Whisper for years and we trailed his accounts."

"Anyway, Whisper knew we couldn’t intervene and save you: it would have been all over the news.” The President waved his arm in the air. “Headline… President Elect given special treatment... President Elect above the law... President Elect eats babies. Heck, if there’s one thing a President Elect needs it’s a low profile.” He pondered a second and landed a ball of paper in a golf trophy on the far side of the room.

“It was worth trying to maintain a little secrecy then because only a few of Whisper knew about you, but now every darned gang from the Eastern Mafia to the Mother’s Union seems to know. It seems that the only person who didn’t know was you. I’m afraid it had to stay that way because we didn’t want you acting different and sticking out in a crowd. The trumped-up criminal conviction also made it harder to look out for your safety and Whisper knew that. It was a stitch-up from the start."

"Sir, I’m still not completely clear. Do you really mean to say that I am the President-Elect?"

"I sure do, boy! We took samples of your DNA when you were a baby and genetically you are the most sound specimen we have come across: top notch Presidential material, in fact." He leant over. "You see, Jones, some parents volunteered to have their children tested and some were approached. Your parents were approached. We knew their genes came pretty close already, but together... wow! You were streets ahead. Selecting a President nowadays is a bit like Cinderella; it just so happened that the glass slipper fitted you and no one else."

"How about all the campaigning and voting?"

"Oh, that quaint old custom. That won’t happen next time. Let’s face it, it’s a pretty unreliable way of choosing a leader: just one look at the Twentieth Century will tell you that. Even during the run-up to my appointment, all the democracy bit was very much a ceremonial gesture for old times' sake."

"How about Mesh, sir? Where does he fit into all this?"

"Good question. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He got a bit too close to a lady called Captain Morrison on board FS6 – remember her?” Jones nodded.

“Anyway,” continued the President, draining another can, “She took a shine to Mesh and Whisper got to know about it. Now, as you know, a liaison between an officer and a member of the other ranks is not good for security, so Mesh and Captain Morrison were in the soft and smelly all right and Whisper blackmailed Mesh, pure and simple. Mesh knew that if he didn’t do some serious harm to you, Whisper would squeal about him and Captain Morrison."

"Despite what you might think, Jones, he was a very good NCO and he knew his stuff. His job was his life and he dreaded being drummed out of the service. Despite being a bully, he never wanted to hurt you, Jones. He was under pressure to do something terrible to you, so he made your life hell to try and get you apply for a transfer, to go and be someone else’s problem so he didn’t have to do anything drastic”.

“Whisper decided they wanted you removed from the running, somehow. You see, the second-best choice for the next president has distant Whisper connections and to have her in power would be brilliant for the gangsters.”

“Blimey, sir, she’s welcome to it!”

“It’s not that straight forward, Jones. If you don’t do it, we are legally bound to offer it to the girl.” Jones sighed, gave the slightest nods and looked into the distance.

“Where is Mesh now, sir?" The President shrugged.

“Rumour has it that Whisper still reckon he’s promising material and they’re training him.” He got up and stared out of the window.

"Well, son... I guess that’s the end of today’s history lesson." He turned round, walked to Jones and shook his hand. "Keep it all under your hat, Jones. Your mother obviously knows about it so talk it over with her. She’s put up with a lot recently and it’ll do her good. Seeya!” As Jones turned the handle on the door he heard a guffaw and saw the President wave frantically out of the window.

“Howdy, Desmond! Say, Jones, come over to the palace sometime if you have five minutes. That kid still wants to thrash the hide off you at pinball. You’d better practice too. He’s darned good!"

28

When Jones left the office, his mother was waiting outside at the wheel of a hover car.

“Hello, dear. Have you had your little chat with the President?” So, Jones thought, she did know about it. He couldn’t make up his mind on this one. Was she a hero for keeping it quiet for so long and protecting him at great cost to herself, or was she sneaky and underhand for not telling him about it? It was as if she hadn’t trusted him.

“I know what you’re thinking dear, and I’m sorry. I couldn’t have done right for doing wrong. Do you fancy a drive? We could talk."

“No thanks. Not if I’m going to get shot at or blown up." His mother looked into the distance. He could see that tears were welling. He felt terrible. That was the first time he had seen her cry since the morning he was taken from his home and taken to the transporter and it was his fault. Again. She had been through hell in the last two days and it had taken a comment from him to make her cry. He climbed into the passenger seat.

“Sorry mum.” He looked at her at the wheel and realised he was now seeing yet another side of her he didn’t know about. Suddenly smiling mischievously, she revved the engine and gripped the wheel, hotching up and down in her seat so that the car bounced around on its cushion of air. Relieved at his own smile, she looked at him with damp eyes and stroked his face. Laughing now she realised her son wasn't going to condemn her for the rest of her life, Colonel Jones slalomed the little vehicle between the armoured cars and gunship bubblejets on the parade ground. He was still puzzled. "Where are we going, mum?"

"Where your father and I used to take you when you were little." They drove through the city and into the large expanses of farmland which encircled the giant, sprawling metropolis like the gilded rim of a large grey dinner plate. Pointing the nose of the hovercar up a steep incline, Jones’s mother drove on until they reached a flat area at the top of a hill above the city. She switched off the engine and they waited until the hovercar sank to the ground.

Jones listened. It was quiet, very quiet. Getting out, they sat on the grass and watched the smoke as it hung above the industrial wastelands below them. Up here it was different: the air was cleaner and there were trees and rocks, and when Jones lay down on his front on the grass he could watch the insects in their own sheltered little world as they crawled around and went on their business. How wonderful to be so small and insignificant, so hidden that one’s precious life was a secret from all but the other little insects immediately around you. He was becoming more and more like a butterfly on display in a museum, a butterfly plucked from its natural environment and pinned to a mounting board for all to see.

Opening a hatch at the back of the car, Jones’s mother lifted out a hamper. She watched him as he delved in and she could tell by his face that they were still his favourite things, even after all this time. There was the odd silly, nostalgic surprise hidden in a napkin and each time Jones took one out, the still calm was broken by a "Heck, they don’t still make these, do they?" and raucous laughter.

Hours later, when they had walked and talked, they packed up the luggage compartment and took one last look at the setting sun before getting into the car. Checking the back door was shut, Jones glanced on the back seat through the glass.

"Mum, how long has Mr. Mint been there?" he reached in and took his bear from the seat. The faded green toy looked familiar, felt familiar and even still smelt of his damp bedroom in the towerblock.

"I've had him around ever since you left. He sleeps in my office drawer and comes out at night to sort my paperwork so it’s all done by the morning."

"You wish! He doesn’t do a very good job of it, does he?"

"Cheeky boy!" She gently took the bear from him and tweaked its crooked ear straight. "When I left the flats, do you know the sum total of my possessions, how much I walked out with? Two photos, the contents of your Special Drawer and Mr. Mint." She gave a pretend sigh. "I suppose you want him back now. Anyway, Mr. Mint might not want you back, going off and abandoning him like that!"

They drove down the hill and glided through the back streets of New Town. Passing the block where they’d once lived, they saw a badly-mended doll’s pram carefully parked next to the entrance with a grubby plastic baby in it. Jones looked at it and asked his mother to stop the car. Hesitating, he got out and tucked Mr. Mint next to the doll. He looked towards his mother and she nodded.

Getting back in, Jones felt a great peace and even his tears felt comfortable now that a spirit had been laid to rest. Neither of them smiled or joked about it. They both just knew, silently, that today’s ritual was now complete and another chapter had finally closed.

29

When he got back, Jones found a note under his door. He looked at the careful, deliberate capital letters that wended their hesitant way across the scrap of paper.

DEAR JONES SORRY I WAS RUDE TO YOU I AM JUST FED UP I KNOW WHERE YOU CAN FIND YOUR CHEN I KNOW WHERE HE IS COME AND SEE ME JUSTIN

Was this a trick? Even if it was, what did he have to lose? He was about to knock on Roosha's door but decided that he was on his own on this one. He phoned the guardroom and he heard the primeval crackle of an ancient device on the other end.

Guardroom. Corporal Anderson speaking".

"Is it too late to visit Justin?"

"We have a restricted list of people who can visit outside hours. May I have your name, please?"

"Cadet Jones." Jones was happy to wait as long as possible 'til he used the title 'President Elect' and decided that now definitely wasn’t the time or place: indeed, he couldn’t think of a surer way of getting the guard’s back up. His dream bubble soon burst.

"Sorry, Cadet. There are two people who aren’t allowed to see him at all. One of them is Harley from down the corridor and the other one is you".

"Thank you for your trouble".

"Don't mention it, cadet." The phone clunked down at the other end and Jones was left hanging on with the only the obstinate, inflexible purr of a dead phone for company.

He suddenly needed someone to talk to. Going into the corridor he could hear the muffled applause and canned laughter of a chat show. He knocked and heard the pad of bare feet on the carpet. The door clicked open and Roosha’s eye appeared at the crack. She looked Jones up and down and let him in. Unsteady on her feet, she collapsed on the sofa and glowered at him with studied boredom. She was surrounded by dirty dishes and an assortment of food wrappers. A lemonade bottle was jammed between the back cushions and had leaked all over the floral print.

"Has your orderly seen this, Roosha?"

"'Course," said Roosha flicking the remote, "but she hasn’t done anything about it yet, the lazy cow!" Jones stared at her, amazed. Roosha could be abrupt, but never one for insults. Her friend's patience suddenly snapped and he snatched the remote from her hand and threw it on the floor.

"Now look here, Roosha! You could have backed out of this trip. I’m sure the last couple of days have been tedious for you, but, in case you haven’t noticed, one or two teensy things have been happening which some of us have been trying to sort out!" He stepped back and winced as Roosha turned on him.

"Like our nice day out with mummy, for example. Had a nice time, did we? Did she take her little boy somewhere nice?" Jones was gobsmacked: this wasn’t the Roosha he knew.

"Actually, yes. She was great to be with, undemanding and very thoughtful." Roosha got up close and prodded Jones in the chest.

"Just you listen Jones, I’ve been very thoughtful, in fact thinking is the only darned thing I’ve been allowed to do all day, stuck in this, this cross between a floral tissue box and a barn!" She wobbled back and put a bare foot in her half-eaten pasta on the floor. Jones laughed. He knew it was a bad idea at the time, but he couldn’t help it.

"DON'T YOU DARE LAUGH AT ME!" A well-aimed fist caught him in the eye and he reeled back into the fireplace. Picking himself up he felt his face. Boy, did it hurt. He dragged himself up again and examined his wound in the large gilt mirror above the mantelpiece. He could see Roosha in the reflection as she whimpered and backed off.

She shook and pawed frantically at her face with blind panic. As Jones approached her, she suddenly felt sick with fear. The only other person she had ever hit like that was a lecherous prison guard and the woman had ended up in intensive care for three days. Seeking refuge on the other side of the dining table, Roosha sat down and stared at him, waiting.

Jones staggered over to her and sat at the other side of the table. He slowly extended an open palm. Ever so hesitantly Roosha put her hand in it and watched as he looked down and gently put his other hand on top. Bending down he kissed her raw, red knuckles.

"I'm sorry, Roosha."

"Jones, I'm sorry, I’m so, so sorry! Don’t be nice to me, I can’t bear it when you’re so nice and I’m so horrible!" She took his hand, pressed the palm to her lips and pressed his fingers to her face. Jones smelt her breath, stood up and went to the pasta plate in the floor. Picking it up he put it to his nose. Nope, it wasn’t that. Taking up the lemonade bottle he passed it by his face. That was it.

"Roosha, was this in your fridge?"

"No. I’d run out so I told Davenport to bring me some."

"Was the seal intact?"

"Yes, I think so. Why?" Jones murmured and went over to the pile of crisp wrappers by the sofa. Finding what her was looking for, he held the top up to the light and examined it; there was a tiny needle hole through the top.

"Your drink was spiked, Roosha. A good dose of Daisychain by the looks of it. The lads around the tower block used to take it before they went out to make themselves more aggressive and eager for a punch-up. I think our friend the butler was just getting his own back. Does that make you feel better about socking me?" Roosha sighed and collapsed on the sofa.

"I'm not sure "better" is the word I’m looking for, Jones, but thanks." She tossed the lemonade bottle in the bin. "And what about Davenport?"

"Well, I reckon all three of us can put today down to experience. Tell you what, how about you and me going off tomorrow... just you and me and a driver? See you tomorrow at nine." Walking towards the door he picked a half dried-on strand of spaghetti off the table. "Do you feel OK, now Roosha?"

"Yes thanks and, before you say anything, I do know where the dishwasher is."

"Top Girl. Tomorrow, then?"

"Tomorrow, then. Goodnight Jones, and thank you."

"What for?"

"Oh, you know... Everything, I guess."

30

The next day, Jones waited for Roosha in the parade ground. He was never too proud to steal a good idea and he had the hamper at his feet and directions to the hilltop where his mother had taken him the day before. The President had caught wind of the trip from his driver and suggested that Jones borrowed a Bubblejet and pilot. Jones was just looking at his watch when he heard a distant chopping sound. The smudge in the sky got closer and, two minutes later, a four-seater Terrier Bubblejet touched down in the middle of the parade ground.

Howdy, Jones!" It was a voice from nowhere and it sounded familiar. He turned to see the President and Desmond on bikes.

"Good morning, Mr. President. Howdy, Desmond!"

"Well, Jones... I hope the weather holds. It's supposed to be OK until about six twenty-five."

"We'll be back by then, sir." The President shrugged and smiled. Sidling up to Jones he spoke under his breath.

"Sorry about the block on seeing Justin, Jones. We had intelligence he was going to kill you."

"He knew where Chen was, sir. He might know even more about it now."

"Possibly, Jones, possibly. But there again, I never know what I think about the idea of an afterlife."

"You mean-?"

"Afraid so. A chocolate bar was smuggled in to Justin. Here's the wrapper." Jones looked at it. The word 'WHISPER' was surrounded by clowns and the slogan 'Eat This And Have The Last Laugh!'

"It's not actually that much to laugh about, Jones. When you are chosen by Whisper and you get this delivered you kinda come to the conclusion that it’s a good idea to eat it. It’s quick, relatively painless and apparently you don’t know much about it, all of which has something to recommend it, I suppose.”

"And the alternatives?"

"Poor ol' Justin. He obviously felt those options weren’t in the running."

"So what had he done, sir?"

“Squealed, Jones. Cardinal sin as far as Whisper is concerned." He looked at Jones’s eye. "You OK, son? That’s quite a shiner you got there."

"I'm OK, Mr. President. Is it appropriate for me to ask what he said, sir?"

"I love your cute, ol’ fashioned way of talking, Jones. Reminds me of my grandma. Justin wasn’t actually that forthcoming, but he did tell us where Chen is. By all accounts, Chen is OK. At least, he was last night. We’ve picked him up on a satellite. He’s in Vegas".

"Las Vegas?"

"The same." The President turned to his son. "Desmond, go with Flying Sergeant Fischer to my office, would you? I left my sunglasses on the desk. Hodgkins will get them for you."

"I can go on my own, dad. I’ve done it before!"

"With Sergeant Fischer please, Desmond. If you’re good, he might tell you all about the time he captured a pirate space cruiser with a roll of tape an’ a monkey wrench."

"Ooh, yes, dad!" Jones was impressed too.

"Don't be, boy... gullibility is not a quality we like to encourage in a future President. Now, you’ve flown one of these, haven’t you, Jones?"

"Several times but only in space, sir."

"No problem. It has a compensator. It handles exactly the same in air as it does in space. Heck, even I can fly one!" The President watched his son and the sergeant disappear into the distance. He tapped out a number, took Jones’s hand and placed it on the digicom identity scanner.

"You know what, Jones? If I were to tap in my number like this... and hold your hand up to the scanner like this... this machine would now able to be accessed by you and you could just get in it and fly away. I ask you, what kind of security is that? It’s got 20k's worth of kilometres left in it, too, going by the fuel gauge."

"Twenty thousand kilometres, sir?" The President nodded.

"Uh huh. I reckon that’s more than enough to get someone as far as… say…. Las Vegas and back… just to pick an example outta the air, you understand?" The President looked over and waved at a girl in a summer frock and sandals. She had a floral bag over her arm. "Here's your friend, Jones. She looks real cute but she may find that garb a little inappropriate today. There’s some spare clothes in the locker at the back." The President took up his bike and wheeled it away, whistling. Roosha had held back and waited for the President to go. She came up and gave Jones her best smile.

"Good morning, Jones. I’m really looking forward to-" She stopped and gawped at his eye. "Hey, Jones, that’s a real shiner you’ve got there! Did the President notice it? I’m feeling a bit fragile myself."

"Surprise, surprise. Daisychain sticks around the system for quite a while. You look terrible!"

"Thank you, Jones."

"Don't mention it. Hop in!"

"What about the pilot?"

"Roosha, I’ve just had the biggest hints ever dropped on the head of Humanity. The President has practically told me to take this thing to Vegas and get Chen out." He looked at Roosha’s outfit. " I appreciate the effort Roosha, but I’m afraid you chose Girlie as a fashion statement at about the worst possible moment."

"So, we're going on an adventure?" Roosha’s face lit up. "That's 'Adventure' with a big, red capital 'A'? Jones nodded.

"Yeeeesss! Give me five minutes!” Jones watched her scramble down the ladder and disappear through the front door. Minutes later she was back in heavy-duty combat trousers and boots.

"Feel better, now Roosha?"

"You bet. Let’s party!"

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