Maid of Thuro

by John Lane, Denis Hughes

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Alien Contact; Space Opera

Synopsis

The arrival of a party of aliens from a distant world would arouse mixed feelings in the mind of any human witness involved. But if the strangers prove to be the advance party of a gigantic global migration scheme most human beings would almost certainly be afraid. Hardly surprising, therefore, that Mike and Jay, caught up in the mesh of just such a situation, were two very frightened people. But they were also on the brink of the most fantastic adventure ever woven around the lives of ordinary mortal beings...

Release date: October 27, 2016

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 101

Sample

The grey of late afternoon was spreading over the moors when the snow, seasonable enough in all conscience, came down again in weird little flurries of wind-driven mist. Since noon there had been none worth speaking of, but the sky was full of it now; by morning the already-deep drifts would be twice as bad. And the biting cold of the north wind swept over the dales with a moaning, fretful whisper. No more desolate country could be found than these moors in winter. Long valleys, high, moulded billows of ground, small angry streams, mile on mile of heather and bracken, wind-cropped grass, lone houses where they were least expected. But there were many who loved them for their grandeur, for their very loneliness, for the spell they cast on the mind and the illusion of freedom they brought to normal life. Snug beneath their mantle of snow, the moors seemed to brood with an air of eternal patience, waiting for heaven knew what, keeping their secrets with the closeness of a miser.

And this afternoon they were destined to take to their solitude a secret more strange than any previous one.

No human eye witnessed the coming of the Things; only the moors themselves looked on through a veil of falling snow. Nor were they likely to give up their secret. Instead the snow hid it more and more completely, deeper and deeper under the cold-warm cloak of its fall.

The Things were small, no bigger than an average dinner plate. In colour, visible only for a fraction of a second as they flashed to earth in the grey afternoon, they were yellow or gold, flattened and circular in shape, rather like the discs used in a clay-pigeon trap, only larger.

They landed in the deep snow of a ten foot drift, throwing up six little spurts of white particles in a neat pattern. Then the snow rapidly filled in the hollows their landing had made and there was nothing to indicate they had ever arrived. Nothing visible or logical or reasonable, that is.

And no living soul saw them come.…

But thinly against the background whine of the wind came the dismal howl of a dog from not far away. The ominous cry rose and fell jerkily, hideously, increasing to a pitch when the mournful animal whimpered itself into terrified silence. Tail tucked between its legs, it slunk into its kennel in the lee of a low-roofed barn, hiding its head.

Perhaps the dog had more perception than its human masters. Certainly not one of the six people at the farm gave heed. They heard the howls of the dog, undoubtedly, and some might have given it a passing thought, cursing it perhaps, or wondering vaguely why it was kicking up such a hideous row. But they were too busy bickering and sniping at one another to bother further. This was, after all, a Family Affair, the annual gathering of the tribe, and therefore the only chance available at which to say all the clever things, the hurtful things, the keen-edged witticisms thought up during the past twelve months.

Of the four men and two women who sat in the enormous kitchen-living-room of the farm only one of the women seemed vaguely ill at ease when she heard the dog. But then Jay had always been considered a bit “odd.” Bertha, Cousin Bertha, had once said that she wouldn’t be in the least surprised if the girl didn’t indulge in spiritualism or some such rubbish. As a matter of fact Jay did nothing of the kind, but there were times when she had to admit to herself that she sensed things long before other people even began to think about them. But she never spoke of her sensitive indications, least of all among the Family. Being the youngest she was treated as the baby, which did nothing to enhance her self-confidence in their company. And now the bleak prospect of yet another Christmas spent in this place loomed drearily before her. If it hadn’t been for the fact that she would shortly have someone to back her up and take her side in the annual display of friction she would have engineered an excuse and refused Cousin Bertha’s invitation.

And the dog went on howling for what seemed a very long time to Jay.

She didn’t like it, but said nothing. Arthur was doing all the talking at the moment, and his voice droned on and on with many repetitions. It was not really worth listening to, but the essence of it was that they were all together again, the Family was intact, and able, now, to follow its usual course of discussion.

Bertha, who had heard her husband say the same things for a good many years running, stifled a yawn and bent down to pick up another crumpet from the plate in front of the fire. What a mercy, she thought, that this only happens once a year. She buttered the crumpet carefully, thinking of all kinds of incongruous things as she stared into the flames. Certainly she did not give much thought to what Arthur was saying.

Dale, Arthur’s son, fidgeted with a cup and saucer, glancing swiftly and often at Jay. What a peach of a girl she’d turned into, he decided. She looked up and met his eyes for an instant. He flushed, nearly spilling his tea. But then a fellow couldn’t help it when a girl like Jay looked at him. He frowned, avoiding her for a whole minute. It dawned on him that he was building castles in the air, but she wasn’t a very close relation really, and even first cousins could marry, couldn’t they? When he’d passed his exams and done something to justify himself, well … a chap didn’t get what he wanted unless he jolly well charged in, did he?

What a horrid, spotted youth Cousin Arthur has reared, thought Jay. But her attention did not rest for more than an instant on Dale. In the background the dog was howling; and Arthur was lumbering on with his self-imposed task of welcoming them all—if welcome was the right term.

“We should all be damned thankful to be alive and able to have a get-together like this,” said Arthur. “Does the world of good, what! None of us perfect, you know; and I’ll warrant there isn’t one of you hasn’t thought of something to say during the weekend.

“That’s not all, either. Jay’s landed us with another prospective member of the Family.”

Jay sat up stiffly, bristling with sudden instinct.

Arthur went on: “Got engaged, I’m told. Hope the feller’s not a fool, that’s all!”

“He’s not, I assure you,” murmured Jay in an icy voice. She couldn’t help it; there was some element of acid that seemed to scald these yearly gatherings and turn them sour.

Dale swallowed a piece of unmasticated crumpet, choked, and spilt his tea all over his trousers.

“Damn fool!” grunted Arthur.

“Don’t blame the lad,” said his wife quickly. “Dale, dear, you’d better go and sponge it off before it stains.”

“Yes, mother.” He scuttled out, moving like a crab.

Arthur blew hard through his squire’s moustache, raking the others with a wintery gaze. Even Peter, Jay’s elder brother, quailed a little. And plump, middle-aged Mark, bald and comfortable, avoided the glance altogether by the simple process of shutting his eyes.

If Jay hadn’t been so troubled by something that was always just beyond the fringe of her consciousness, she might had been amused at the scene. Instead she was troubled, and the Family became a nuisance, an irritation that was taking half her mind off the howling dog and the sinister shadow that crossed and recrossed her mind.

Dale returned, apologetic and confused. Uncle Mark eyed him pityingly. Peter, watching him, wondered what the hell use he would be if and when he entered the Family Business—as he was bound to do if Arthur had his way. And it annoyed Peter to think that Arthur probably would have his way. Especially, if Bertha had anything to do with it. Since Peter and his sister, Jay, had everything at their fingertips it would, of course, fall to them to guide this spotty-faced weakling through the intricacies of racehorse training. He didn’t look as if he could ride a donkey at the moment!

But Arthur was saying: “Your young man’s damned late, Jay! Shockin’ bad manners!”

She forced a smile, knowing only too well that Mike was late. “Doesn’t it occur to you,” she said, “that he might have been delayed by the snow. Your roads aren’t so good, Arthur, and this is a godforsaken place at the best of times. Thank heaven I only come here once a year.”

“Gratitude, jay, please!” gasped Bertha, still buttering crumpets. “Why, I’ve never heard such rudeness before!”

Jay sighed. “Sorry,” she said.

Plump Mark chuckled from the depths of his armchair. “No, you’re not, girl!” he whispered. “Why should you be? You know we only get together to pick one another to pieces in front of everyone. It wouldn’t be Christmassy if we didn’t!”

Jay decided it was best to say nothing. She was not in the best of tempers; nor was her brain as keen as it might have been. That damned dog!

“What’s the matter with Prince?” said Bertha querulously. “I’m sure he doesn’t often make that noise.”

Peter grinned across at Jay, winking. “Sensitive creatures, dogs,” he murmured. “Old Prince knows we’re at it already; he’s commiserating with us in his own soulful way. Any more tea, Bertha?”

Bertha eyed him askance for a second, then smiled in her sweetest manner. “It’s so nice to have you with us,” she said, taking his cup. “One wonders what it would be like if you were here all the year round.”

“Heaven forbid!”

Arthur coughed loudly, turning to Jay. “This young man of yours,” he began again, “what’s he like, m’dear? You owe us a hint or two, I think. You know how we dislike any changes in the Family without a proper consultation.”

Jay felt the anger rising within her. “I really don’t see what business it is of yours,” she said. “Mike is no part of the family, and when we’re married I’ll take good care to see that he stays that way.”

Arthur glared balefully. Mark sniggered behind his hand. Dale felt and looked miserable. She was such a smasher! But he’d have to face it, he supposed; she wasn’t for him.

“I don’t think,” said Arthur carefully, “that you’re being entirely fair to the Family, Jay.”

“Leave her alone,” put in Peter briskly. “I know Mike; he’s one of the best.”

“But he’s late!” grunted Arthur. “And being late for anything is shockin’ bad manners.”

Peter said: “I rather feel that good manners don’t run in the Family, Arthur. Who are we to criticise another?”

Jay couldn’t stand it any longer. That queer sense of impending disaster was growing in her mind. If only she could name it! Or see far enough ahead to glimpse what form the trouble would take. Suppose Mike …? No, she mustn’t think of things like that.

The dog stopped howling on a final and penetrating whine that jarred her nerves and compelled her to get up and leave the warmth of the room.

The others watched her in critical silence, all save Mark who lowered his right eyelid as she passed him.

Mike was late, she kept thinking. He should have arrived for lunch, and here it wa. . .