faun, then walked stiffly to his mother.
Dorothy clutched the body of her little daughter tightly to her, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her gaze flicked back and forth from her lifeless baby to her son. It was too much. Hysterically, she laughed and cried, then slipped once more into oblivion.
* * * *
A loud battering sound beat against her. She opened her eyes to see two men bursting through the front door. Both wore the uniform of Air Raid Wardens.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Petrie?” yelled one, his gaze roving the shattered room warily, obviously terrified there would be a further fall of rubble. She knew him—Mr. Hicks, the greengrocer. The other was unknown to her.
Dorothy spared them barely a glance, for from the chair came the plaintive wail of a hungry baby.
Aurora’s alive? Yet I was so sure....
Mr. Hicks went off for help after a while, and Dorothy tried to explain to the other man.
“If there was a German, madam,” said the warden, “we’ll get him, don’t you worry. He may have been a Good Samaritan, but he can’t go running around loose in London for long. For his own good, apart from anything else.”
“You don’t understand...,” she shouted in exasperation.
“Mummy, what was that silvery thing we saw?” interrupted Stevie.
“What? Oh...it must have been a...a barrage balloon that got shot and drifted down, dear. Yes, that’s it, a barrage balloon. Now, will you listen, Mr...?”
“Thompson. Just calm down, ducks. We’ll have to find you somewhere to live for the time being, but your roof can be fixed. You’re lucky you can all walk out of here.”
“Lucky? To walk? That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! Stephen hasn’t walked since he fell off a swing when he was two. He’s been paralyzed from the waist down ever since.”
Thompson stared, speechless. He had just opened his mouth to speak when a movement above caught his eye.
They both looked up in time to see a metallic spheroid drifting upward. It shrank to the size of a full Moon, then vanished in a brilliant blue, soundless explosion.
“Hydrogen, you know. It does that,” said Thompson.
* * * *
It was some time later that Dorothy Petrie realized in horror that the baby girl she held in her arms was not Aurora.
She was quite sure.
After all, a mother knows her own child.
Yet it was ridiculous. Of course the baby was Aurora! It had to be!
Over the years that followed, Dorothy never dared mention her knowledge to anyone, and after a while she convinced herself that the shock of all those strange and violent events must have done something to her mind.
The baby had to be Aurora.
Didn’t she?
ACT TWO
THE MUSICIAN
“Spare us a couple a bob, mate? Just enough for a cup of coffee?”
The girl couldn’t have been more than fifteen. Her face was thin and drawn—and dirty—yet she was pretty in a pale, elfin kind of way.
“You mean ten new pence, don’t you?” grinned Lefty. “Well, I was just going to the pub, as it happens. I’ll buy you a Coke, if you like, if we can get to the bar before they close.”
“Coke? Oh, wow! Yeah, all right, then. Why not?”
Five minutes later Lefty was gazing in awe as she downed a large gin and tonic in one swig.
“You’ll get me arrested,” he said. “Buying alcoholic drinks for minors.”
“I’m not a minor. Don’t you worry—I’m old enough.”
“Yeah, yeah, and I’m the Duke of Edinburgh. I just hope you can prove it if the Law comes snooping around.” He stuffed a wad of banknotes into his inside pocket.
“You’re a bit flush, aren’t you?” she asked, cocking her head.
“Just been paid for a job.”
“Oh yeah? What do you do then, this time of night? Burgle houses?”
“Ha, ha. No. During the day I’m self-unemployed. But I’m in a band—the Gas Giants, heard of us? We’ve been getting quite a few gigs in the evenings.”
“Funny name. No, I never heard of them. Why’re you called that?”
“Oh, some of the outer planets are called gas giants ’cause, well, they’re just big balls of gas. That’s us!” His white teeth shone. “No, it just sorta sounded right—we play “spacey” sort of music—one day we’ll show Pink Floyd and Hawkwind how it’s done—and ‘it’s a gas’. You know?”
“Not really. What do you play?”
“Bass guitar. I’m left-handed—they call me Lefty—and just to be really different I tune it E, B, G, D, like the top four strings on an ordinary guitar, only back to front. I can really leap around on it though!”
“If you say so. That stuff’s all Greek to me. I don’t know anything about music. Pop all sounds the same, and the stuff they play on Radio Three’s boring. Mind you, a boy took me to the Last Night of the Proms once.” Her face, which had been almost sullen, brightened. “Now that was great. Not the music so much—it didn’t mean much to me, really—but all those people, enjoying it together. I’ve never known anything like that. Except....”
“Except what?”
“I dunno. Something I seem to remember. But I can never seem to get a handle on it. You know what I mean?”
“I suppose. Well you must come to one of our gigs, then you’ll see what it’s all about.”
“Maybe. Can I have another drink?”
“Eh? Oh, right, sure.” He sneaked a glance at her unusually pale, almost violet eyes, set in dark hollows. He couldn’t quite figure her out. Under the grime she was really very good-looking, with her long, very blonde hair, but sort of remote. And she was so slim as to be almost twiggy. Perhaps she’s been ill? he wondered.
As he got up the barman shouted, “Last orders please, ladies and gents!” It was already 10:40 p.m.
“Better make it a double then,” said the girl with a grin.
“Do you think you oughta drink so much?”
“Habit,” she replied without apparent offence. “It doesn’t help, though. Neither does anything else I’ve tried. Once I thought acid was the answer, but....”
“What
