said, “you got as far as one small step for. You were saying?”
“Shit.”
Pause. Crackle. “Um, you might care to rephrase that. Bear in mind, there’s two billion people watching this live back home.”
“Where the hell,” Theo asked, “is this?”
“Um. Mission Control to Alpha One, are you experiencing difficulties, over?”
Very carefully, Theo moved his head about ten degrees left. “This isn’t Earth.”
“No, Alpha One, that’s the point. Look, are you feeling OK? Any dizziness, nausea—?”
“Jesus Christ,” Theo yelled. “Get me out of here. Now.”
Two sharp crackles. “Alpha One, this is Mission Control, we’re having technical problems, so we’re signing off, we’ll get back to you soonest.” Crackle. Buzz. “What’s the matter with him, is he nuts or something? He’s fucking lost it, man, what do you mean, the mike’s still—?”
The voice cut off abruptly. Theo looked down at his legs, and saw that they were covered in silver-foil trousers, which made him feel as though he really belonged in an oven. The boots were also silver, and huge. His arms were covered in the same material, and both of them were visible. He lifted his left foot, and it seemed to want to rise up in the air and float away.
Mission Control, he thought. Oh God.
He stared at the red desert, which was nothing but sand dunes, as far as the eye could see. Very carefully he turned round and looked behind, and saw what was presumably his landing module. It didn’t inspire confidence; a silver and white box on four frail, shiny legs, like a spider made out of biscuit tins and cardboard. I’m supposed to fly all the way back to Earth in that, he told himself. Yeah, sure.
Something nudged his leg, which made him jump. Not, with hindsight, the most sensible reaction; he soared his own height off the ground and nearly flipped over before sinking slowly back down again. As he touched down, he saw a creature, squatting in the sand, looking at him.
The first thing he noticed was the eyes. There were eight of them, in two bunches of four, like shiny black grapes, and they were set in an upside-down pear-shaped head that tapered steeply to a point. The creature’s head was slightly larger than its body, which was supported by three stumpy legs and from which hung four long, spindly arms. What he could see of its skin was green; the rest was covered in what looked like dark blue cloth, and around its foot-long neck was something that looked disconcertingly like a fat, drooping bow tie. It raised a nine-fingered hand and waved at him.
Little green men. Bug-eyed monsters. Oh please.
He edged round until he was facing the pathetic-attempt-at-a-spaceship thing and took a long step towards it, only to find he wasn’t moving. He looked down and saw a thin green hand wrapped round his ankle.
In space, proverbially, no one can hear you scream. So that was all right.
At the third try, he managed to yank his leg free of the hand, but that only made matters worse; once loose from his anchor, he sailed swiftly and gracefully through the whatever-passed-for-air and collided, head first, with the lowered ramp of the spaceship. He must have hit it at just the right angle; the foot of the ramp bounced and lifted, and all he could do was watch as it swung upwards and latched itself shut, about ten feet off the ground, sealing the spaceship as tight as a can of beans.
You clown.
The voice was inside his head, not his helmet, so it wasn’t Mission Control. At first he assumed it was his inner voice, the one that had taken over the job of nagging him when his mother left home. But it didn’t sound like the voice, with which he was all too familiar. Not that it –
It’s all right. I’ve got a ladder. But you want to be a bit more careful.
That wasn’t right; because his inner voice didn’t have a ladder. He pushed himself up off the ground with his hands, sat up and looked back. The little green man was standing next to him, shaking his head.
I’m assuming you’ve got a key or an access code or something.
He stared. The little green man’s lips weren’t moving, mainly because he didn’t have any. Of course, for an entirely telepathic species that wouldn’t be an insuperable problem –
He concentrated harder than he’d ever done before, and thought, Are you talking to me?
Yes. And there’s no need to shout. Look, if you’ve locked