The Eyre Affair (Thursday Next 1)

“Pardon?” asked the lady at B2, who had being eyeing him up and not staring at the sky at all.

“I won’t, er, drop one if I catch one,” he replied hurriedly.

The Tannoy announced the Earthstrike in two minutes. There was a murmur from the expectant crowd.

“Good luck!” said the lady, giving him a broad wink and staring up into the cloudless sky.

There was a voice from close behind Victor.

“I do remember you.”

He turned to see the very unwelcome face of Dr. Müller staring at him. A little farther on stood a burly security guard, hand at the ready in his breast pocket.

“You’re SpecOps. Litera Tec. Victor Analogy, isn’t it?”

“No, the name’s Dr. Augustus Ceres, Berwick-upon-Tweed.” Victor laughed nervously and added: “What sort of a name is Victor Analogy?”

Müller beckoned to the henchman, who advanced on Victor drawing his automatic. He looked like the sort of person who was itching to use it.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” said Müller kindly, “but that’s not really good enough. If you are Analogy, you’re clearly meddling. If, however, you turn out to be Dr. Ceres from Berwick-upon-Tweed, then you have my sincerest apologies.”

“Now wait a moment—” began Victor, but Müller interrupted.

“I’ll let your family know where to find the body,” he said magnanimously.

Victor glanced around for possible help but all the other Earthcrossers were staring at the sky.

“Shoot him.”

The henchman smiled, his finger tightening on the trigger. Victor winced as a high-pitched scream filled the air and a fortuitous incoming meteorite shattered on the henchman’s helmet. He collapsed like a sack of potatoes. The gun went off and put a neat hole in Victor’s baseball glove. Suddenly, the air was full of red-hot meteorites screaming to earth in a localized shower. The assembled Earthcrossers were thrown into confusion by the sudden violence and couldn’t quite make up their minds whether to avoid the meteorites or try to catch them. Müller fumbled in his jacket pocket for his own pistol as someone yelled “Yours!” close at hand. They both turned, but it was Victor who caught the small meteorite. It was about the size of a cricket ball and was still glowing red hot; he tossed it to Müller, who instinctively caught it. Sadly, he did not have a catcher’s glove. There was a hiss and a yelp as he dropped it, then a cry of pain as Victor took the opportunity to thump him on the jaw with a speed that belied his seventy-five years. Müller went down like a ninepin and Victor leaped on the dropped gun. He thrust it against Müller’s neck, dragged him to his feet and started to march him out of the hill-fort. The meteorite shower was easing up as he backed out, my voice in his earpiece telling him to go easy.

“It is Analogy, isn’t it?” said Müller.

“It is. SpecOps-27 and you’re under arrest.”

Victor, Bowden and I had got Müller as far as interview room 3 befo

re Braxton and Schitt realized who we had captured. Victor had barely asked Müller to confirm his name before the interview room door burst open. It was Schitt flanked by two SO-9 operatives. None of them looked like they had a sense of humor.

“My prisoner, Analogy.”

“My prisoner, Mr. Schitt, I think,” replied Victor firmly. “My collar, my jurisdiction; I am interviewing Dr. Müller about the Chuzzlewit theft.”

Jack Schitt looked at Commander Hicks, who was standing behind him. The commander sighed and cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry to say this, Victor, but the Goliath Corporation and their representative have been granted jurisdiction over SO-27 and SO-9 in Swindon. Withholding material from Acting SpecOps Commander Schitt may result in criminal proceedings for concealment of vital information pertinent to an ongoing inquiry. Do you understand what this means?”

“It means Schitt does what he pleases,” returned Victor.

“Relinquish your prisoner, Victor. The Goliath Corporation takes precedence.”

Victor stared at him hotly, then pushed his way out of the interview room.

“I’d like to stay,” I requested.

“No chance,” said Schitt. “An SO-27 security clearance is not permissible.”

“It’s as well, then,” I replied, “that I still hold an SO-5 badge.”