"I like a drink as much as the next man, but I don't know how you can get through that lot at breakfast," Irvine said, without taking his gaze away from the clouds.
Fallow slapped his belly. "Constitution of a horse, old chap." When the vodka arrived, he brushed the plastic glass to one side and gulped it straight from the bottle.
"Steady on, eh?" Irvine allowed himself a glance of distaste.
"But what if it isn't going to be sorted out in a few days?" Fallow drummed his fingers anxiously on the tray. "You know, we have no idea what's going on, so how can we say? A sudden announcement that all air traffic is going to be grounded indefinitely doesn't exactly fill one with confidence, if you know what I mean. Now that sounds serious."
"We were lucky to get the last flight out."
"I mean, the country could be on its knees in days! How will business survive?" His startled expression suggested he had only just grasped the implications of his train of thought. "Never mind your bog-standard business traveller who has to get around for meetings-they can muddle through with a few netcasts and conference calls in the short term. But what about import-export? The whole of the global economy relies on-"
"You don't have to tell me, Justin."
"You can sit there being sniffy about it, but have you thought about what it means-?"
"It means we won't be able to get any bananas in the shops for a while and international mail will be a bastard. Thank God for the Internet."
"I still think there's more to it than you think. To take such a drastic step… Trouble is, you can't trust those bastards in the Government to tell you anything important, whatever political stripe they are. Look at the mad cow thing. It's a wonder we're not all running around goggle-eyed, slavering at the mouth."
"You obviously didn't look in the mirror last night-"
"This isn't funny. Go on, tell me why you're so calm. What could cause something like this?"
"Let me see, Justin." Irvine began counting off his fingers. "An impending strike by all international air traffic control which we haven't been told about for fear it causes a panic. You know how much pressure they've been under recently with the increase in the volume of flights. Or some virus has been loaded into the ATC system software. Or the Global Positioning Satellite has been hit by a meteorite so all the pilots are flying blind. Or all those intermittent power failures we've had recently have made it too risky until they find the cause. Or they've finally discovered that design glitch that's had planes dropping out of the skies like flies over the last few years."
"I'd rather we didn't talk about this now, Colin."
"Well, you started it."
Justin sucked on his lower lip like a petulant schoolboy and then began to line up the miniature bottles in opposing forces. "I suppose all the trolley dollies are worried they might be out of work," he mused.
A crackle over the Tannoy heralded an announcement. "This is your captain speaking. We anticipate arrival in Gatwick on schedule in twenty minutes. There may be a slight delay on the-" There was a sudden pause, a muffled voice in the background, and then the Tannoy snapped off.
Fallow looked up suspiciously. "Now what's going on?"
"Will you calm down? Just because you're afraid of the worst happening doesn't mean it's going to."
"And just because you're not afraid doesn't mean it isn't." Fallow shifted in his seat uncomfortably, then glanced up and down the aisle.
What he saw baffled him at first. It was as if a ripple was moving down the plane towards him. The faces of the passengers looking out of the starboard side were changing, the blank expressions of people watching nothing in particular shedding one after the other as if choreographed. In that first fleeting instant of confusion, Fallow tried to read those countenances: was it shock, dismay, wonder? Was it horror?
And then he abruptly thought he should be searching for the source of whatever emotion it was, but before he had time to look, the plane banked wildly and dropped; his stomach was left behind and for one moment he thought he was going to vomit. But then the fear took over and it was as if his body were locked in stasis as he gripped the armrests until his knuckles were white. He forced his head into his lap. Screams filled the air, but they were distant, as though coming at him through water, and then he was obliquely aware he was screaming himself.
The plane was plummeting down so sharply vibrations were juddering through the whole fuselage; when it banked again at the last minute, the evasive action was so extreme Fallow feared the wings would be torn off. Then, bizarrely, the plane was soaring up at an angle that was just as acute. Fallow was pressed back into his seat until he felt he was on the verge of blacking out.
"It can't take much more of this punishment," he choked.
Just as he was about to prepare himself for the whole plane coming apart in midair, it levelled off. Fallow burst out laughing in hysterical relief, then raged, "What the fuck was that all about?"
Irvine pitched forward and threw up over the back of the seat in front; he tried to get his hand up to his mouth, but that only splattered the vomit over a wider area. Fallow cursed in disgust, but the trembling that racked his body didn't allow him to say any more.
One of the stewardesses bolted from the cabin, leaving the door swinging so Fallow could see the array of instrumentation blinking away. She pushed her way up to a window, then exclaimed, "My God! He was right!"
The whole planeload turned as one. Fallow looked passed Irvine's white, shaking face into the vast expanse of blue sky. The snowy clouds rolled and fluffed like meringue, but beyond that he could see nothing. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a shadow moving across the field of white. At first he wondered if they had narrowly avoided a collision with another plane, but the shadow seemed too long and thin; it appeared to have a life of its own. There was a sound like a jet taking off and then the colour of the clouds transformed to red and gold. A belch of black smoke was driven past the window.
Fallow rammed Irvine back in his seat and craned his neck to search the sky. Beside and slightly below the plane, flying fast enough to pass it with apparent ease, was something which conjured images from books he had read in the nursery. Part of it resembed a bird and part a serpent: scales glinted like metal in the morning sun on a body that rippled with both power and sinuous agility, while enormous wings lazily stroked the air. Colours shimmered across its surface as the light danced: reds, golds and greens, so that it resembled some vast, brass robot imagined by a Victorian fantasist. Boned ridges and horns rimmed its skull above red eyes; one swivelled and fixed on Fallow. A second later the creature roared, its mouth wide, and belched fire; it seemed more a natural display, like a peacock's plumage, than an attack, but all the passengers drew back from the window as one. Then, with a twist that defied its size, it snaked up and over the top of the fuselage and down the other side.
Shock and fear swept through the plane, but it dissipated at speed. Instead, everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Fallow looked around and was astonished to see that faces that had earlier been scarred with cynicism or bland with dull routine were suddenly alight; to a man or woman, they all looked like children. Even the stewardesses were smiling.
Then the atmosphere was broken by a cry from the aft: "Look! There's another one!"
In the distance, Fallow saw a second creature dipping in and out of the clouds as if it were skimming the surface of the sea.
Fallow slumped back in his seat and looked at Irvine coldly. "Everything will be back to normal in a few days," he mocked in a singsong, playground voice.
May 2, 11 a.m.; Dounreay Nuclear Power Station, Scotland: