Michael shepherded Russell down to the street door with a number of heavy prods to his lower back every time Russell slowed, spoke, gestured or veered – which was often.
Before he knew it Russell was out on Tooley Street taking in the familiar sounds of traffic and bustle. It was reassuringly familiar and for a second he forgot about everything that had just happened. He thought of Meg, she would be back from her lunch soon and within an hour another aerobics class was due to begin. He wheeled around:
‘I have obligat–’ His three new pals were out on the street with him and looked extraordinarily incongruous – even for London, but they were being ignored by the passers-by. ‘Why’s no one paying you any attention?’
‘Light perception filter: a selective misdirection, sleight-of-hand if you will,’ replied Michael, nonchalantly. ‘Regarding your obligations: Meg is currently on a tube passing through Wembley on her way home and as for your class – by the time it is due to commence they’ll either be dead or preoccupied by various bits of shit hitting various bits of fan.’
Russell was aghast to hear this and was about to demand an explanation when he received more prods to his lower back. ‘This way,’ commanded Michael, ‘check out your new motor!’ Russell was pushed unceremoniously along the street to a waiting blinged-up open-top Bentley. It was crimson with cream leather seats. ‘Ma’am.’ Michael opened one of the rear doors for the woman. ‘Open the other door for Mr. Waterstone, would you, Russell?’ he added. Russell complied and in stepped the tomcat, eyeing Russell with menace. Michael opened the front passenger door and hopped in. Russell stared at them all.
‘Get in!’ growled the tall woman. It was the first time he’d heard her voice. Deep and loud it was the voice of authority, one that would clearly brook no dissension. So Russell got in. Michael fussed over this-and-that and mentioned a few aspects of the car’s controls to Russell. He explained the satnav and indicated their destination, Whitehall. He then instructed him to drive.
But Russell was still attempting to digest the spider’s words from earlier. It sounded like some impending catastrophe was about to befall London, or maybe the whole world. Michael’s voice interrupted his thoughts:
‘Drive, Russell!’
Shaking his head, Russell used the ignition key he had been given and the car purred into life; it rolled slowly into the busy street.
‘Watch the cyclists!!’ Michael shouted. Russell, more used to driving a Fiat500 around London, was finding the long-wheel-base Bentley somewhat cumbersome. One of the cyclists that Russell had only narrowly missed gave an aggressive multi-faceted hand gesture towards the Bentley. ‘Try it!!’ Michael yelled back.
Stopping at the first set of red lights Russell turned around to face the woman who was seated behind Michael. ‘Why do you need to take military action at this stage? Why not talk to the Sponsors, maybe negotiate a deal or something. Is there some sort of cosmic rule that says extra-terrestrials can’t live here?’
The woman leaned forwards: ‘Drive.’
‘What!?’ replied Russell.
‘The lights have turned green!’ shouted Michael.
‘Oh.’ Russell sent the whale of a car trundling along towards the next set of lights. As he was forced to stop at these he tried to engage the woman again, but Michael pre-empted him.
‘The Sponsors have been extracting heavy metals from the Earth’s core,’ he said, by way of justification for war.
‘Mr. Waterstone is livid,’ added the woman, in a voice dripping with foreboding.
Russell glanced over his other shoulder to view the cat but it was studying the various sights and sounds of London with interest. It did not appear to be engaged in the conversation.
‘Green!!’ barked Michael again.
Russell sighed and followed the satnav directions onto Southwark Street eventually crossing the Thames via Blackfriars bridge. On the north side he drove along the tree-lined Victoria Embankment. It was another pleasant summer’s day in London with mostly unbroken blue skies overhead, but big cumulus clouds were beginning to tower in the west.
‘How many deaths are you anticipating?’ Russell asked bluntly, glancing to his left. There was a pause and he anticipated not getting an answer, but Michael eventually had a stab at it:
‘Difficult to say. It all depends on what the Sentinel does.’
‘The Sentinel?’
‘Yep, their big mother ship. It is currently parked around Jupiter, but it will be turning up overhead soon enough.’
‘Good God!’ said Russell. He pulled up at a set of lights near the Houses of Parliament and glanced back at the tomcat. It noticed him looking and began to assume that aggressive stance again. Russell turned away. The spider leaned across him and pointed right.