He had been out on his boat, staring into the clear blue sky and day-dreaming about possible suicide methods: somehow infect oneself with a lethal botulism, or lay oneself open to a fatal disease… but he suspected that at some point in the process one would begin spasming.
Could he purposefully allow himself to be pitched over the side when the boat yawed, and so drown — to all intents an accident…?
The next time he’d taken his yacht out, he’d tried to do this, and spasmed well before he got anywhere near the safety rail.
Then a few weeks later, while lying on the deck under the full might of the sun, he’d had his brainwave.
Rather than do something to kill oneself — perhaps the answer was simply to do nothing to stay alive?
So excited was he by the idea that he sat up and almost punched the air in elation.
He would board his boat with no provisions, no food or water, with his emergency radio left at home, lifebelts and safety jackets jettisoned; he would set the tiller and point the yacht east and simply… sail into the vast unknown.
He would starve to death — a protracted, painful death, no doubt — or the boat would find itself in a storm and, if he did nothing to steer it through, would capsize and take him with it. Surely then he would achieve his desire to end his life?
But always a niggling doubt remained: before he even set off, would he begin the involuntary spasming that would thwart his dreams of putting an end to himself?
His softscreen chimed, interrupting his reverie.
He answered the call. Lal’s sleek Indian face smiled out at him.
“I wonder if I might come up and see you, sir?”
“Is it really necessary, Lal? I was just about to leave.”
Lal’s smile widened. “If you could spare me just ten minutes, sir.”
Morwell sighed. “Very well. Ten minutes.” And it had better be good, he thought as he cut the connection.
A minute later Lal strode into the office and lounged in the seat across the desk from Morwell.
“You look, Lal, if you don’t mind the crudity, like a dog that’s learned how to fuck itself and suck its balls at the same time.”
Lal smiled. Morwell was sure his frequent vulgarisms offended the man’s deep-seated Hindu puritanism, but if so he didn’t let it show.
Lal said, “Did I ever tell you that I had a sister, sir?”
Morwell sighed. “No, Lal. No, you didn’t. And I don’t think I ever enquired, either.” Don’t tell me that you’re fucking her, he thought to himself, but refrained from asking.
“Ana,” Lal went on. “I was parted from her at the age of sixteen, when Paul Prentice found me in Kolkata.”
“That part of your life story, Lal, I am aware of.”
“We lived on Howrah station, and it was hard enough looking after oneself without taking into consideration a puling kid sister. I found Ana a millstone.” He paused. “I never said goodbye to her when Prentice enrolled me at the business school…”
Morwell smiled to himself and said, “With the greatest respect, Lal, why the hell are you telling me all this?”
“Because, sir, yesterday Ana tracked me down.”
“And should I be delighted that the Devi siblings are at last reunited?”
Lal smiled. “Not at all, sir. But I think you will be interested in what I have to tell you.”
“Go on, Lal,” Morwell said with heavy forbearance, “but make it quick, hm?”
“Very well.” Lal crossed his legs and leaned back even further in his seat. “After she’d shed her recriminations at the manner of my leaving, we shared a little history. I excused myself by saying that I’d not wanted to hurt her by telling her I was leaving — and that it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. I think she was mollified. She told me what she was doing these days — working at the Andhra Pradesh wilderness city as a production manager. She’s done very well for herself.”
Morwell interrupted. “And I’m delighted for her, Lal. But I don’t quite see…”
“She told me that she is also,” Lal said, “a representative of the Serene.”
Morwell stared at the Indian. He felt as if his innards had been scooped from his torso, stirred up and returned. “Go on.”
“We chatted for a couple of hours yesterday, and I met her again this morning. She told me what she does for the Serene — not that she knows exactly what that is. Every month she leaves India for various cities around the world. She travels aboard what she calls a Serene jet — though it is interesting that we have never detected the flight of one of these planes. For the past five years the cities visited, she has noticed, have always been those that are occupied by Serene obelisks. There is obviously some link, sir.”
Morwell nodded, his pulse racing. “Well done, Lal.”
The Indian smiled. “There is more. This morning she told me about an incident in Fujiyama, Japan, which occurred a few days ago. Apparently there was an attack by extraterrestrials opposed to the Serene. Many humans were killed, though Serene self-aware entities apparently restored them to life. My sister was one of these people, along with two other Serene representatives.” Lal smiled at this point. “She mentioned their names in passing, and later I checked their identities. I have all their information here, sir.” He held up a memory stick. “One is a citizen of Italy, the other of the UK.”
Morwell nodded, letting Lal’s information percolate slowly through his consciousness.
At last he said, “This might be the break we’ve been waiting for, Lal.”
“The discs?” asked the Indian.
Morwell laughed. “The discs indeed, my friend.”
“I was wondering, as I have arranged to see Ana tomorrow, might I have the honour of…”
“We need to plan this carefully, Lal — but yes, I see no reason why not.”
He sat back and stared out at the vista of Manhattan. Suddenly, life did not seem to be so lacking in purpose.
In fact, for the first time in years, Morwell felt optimistic.
CHAPTER TEN
SALLY AND GEOFF did not mention Mars for a couple of days after the meeting with Kathryn Kemp.
The softscreen brochure remained on the kitchen table, waiting to be either considered or discarded along with all the other detritus of family life: notices of local events, bills, flyers from Hannah’s school…
Sally went back to the surgery the day after seeing Kath, and Geoff worked in his study editing the shots he’d taken at the Fujiyama arboreal city.
At dinner that evening Hannah chatted about school, who was friends with whom, and what Miss Charles had said about the forthcoming Serene Party, marking the tenth anniversary of the alien’s arrival on Earth. Mars was not mentioned until after dinner when, Hannah tucked up in bed, Sally opened a bottle of red wine and they sat in the garden and enjoyed the clement summer evening. She said, “Have you…?”
He glanced at her. “Mars?”
“Sometimes I think we’re telepathic.” She reached out and took his hand. It was good to have him back.
“Well, I suppose we really should look at the brochure… I’ll fetch it.”
While he was in the kitchen, Sally refilled their glasses and looked around the garden. It was, she thought, idyllic, with the wisteria in bloom and filling the air with its heavy scent, and the roses banked against the cottage wall. She would miss the house, the garden, their friends in Wem and London, if they did agree to the move.
She laughed, and looked above the horizon at the faint red pin-prick that was the planet Mars.