Ellie turned to him. ‘A game?’
He nodded. ‘Hmmm. Yes of course, a game; a war game to be precise. Although…’ he looked at the mess of dead candy-bars and jelly beans, ‘…this does look really quite childish. It’s actually quite embarrassing.’
Ellie made a face. ‘This is horrible. All these things were alive…and they were what?…forced to kill each other, because of a game?’
‘Not forced. They really wanted to kill each other,’ replied Shelby. ‘Of course that’s a behaviour pattern you have to engineer in, otherwise,’ he smiled, ‘you’re not going to get much of a fight out of them, are you now?’
Jez nudged one of the dead Sugar-Beanies with her foot. A thin, child-like arm flopped lifelessly to one side and a short sword clattered from the grasp of its mitten-like hand, onto the ground.
‘I think I'm going to be sick,’ muttered Ellie.
‘You said his turn.’ Jez looked at him. ‘Someone else? Who’s that? Not your pet monkey, Frasier?’
Shelby shook his head. ‘No, obviously not Frasier.’ He grimaced, clearly angry with himself for letting something slip. He sighed, sensing they were going to pester him with further questions. ‘I play against my colleague.’
‘Another technician?’ said Ellie. ‘Another one of your maintenance team?’
‘Yes.'
'Well?' Jez hunched her shoulders. 'Where the hell are the others, anyway? We've only seen other products so far.'
Ellie nodded. 'You said earlier there was a team of twelve of you?'
Shelby froze. His brow knotted for a moment. 'You asked who I was playing war games with?
He just skipped that other question.
'He's called Graham. Although he like to call himself Gray. I think he thinks that sounds cooler. Hmmm, he's an annoying idiot, by the way. I’m almost certain he’s not taking our war games seriously anymore. Almost certain.’
'So is this Gray around?' asked Jez. 'Nearby? Can we meet him too?'
Shelby curled his lip. 'You won't like him. He's a complete moron.'
Jez had a barrage of questions about 'Gray'. Clearly she was encouraged that Shelby wasn't the only male specimen on the facility. But Ellie was quiet. Wondering why Shelby seemed so reluctant to talk about the others.
CHAPTER 10
Deacon touched the rewind icon on the floating holographic display projected from the tablet. The footage of Harvest City's port - it's main thoroughfare - ran quickly backwards. He stopped it and then studied the still, grainy image.
The data-cam carried a wide angled image of the busy avenue, looking down on traders and their stalls; passengers, tourists and freighter crews squeezing past each other going about their business buying in necessities and luxuries. This particular cam had been covering the section of the thoroughfare where he and his hitman had been waiting for those girls. The hitman's name was Karl. Deacon had finally bothered to ask them their first names now that it looked like their contracts might need to be extended a few more weeks.
He paused the video.
This one, Karl, the ex-marine seemed to be the most competent of the two. Deacon narrowed his eyes as he touched an icon on the hovering display and the video ran forward.
Hundreds of heads began bobbing once again, a lazy river of foot traffic compressed into a slow moving choke-point as the thoroughfare narrowed between the supporting struts of a vast bulkhead. Slow movement from everyone, pressing impatiently and irritably past each other. But then - there it was again - the flicker of someone moving quickly down the left hand side of the main passage, pressed up against the wall at the rear of the stalls on that side.
The two girls.
On the video, Deacon could see himself on the other side of the thoroughfare and the river of people. There was his reaction, as he caught a glimpse of the girls trying to sneak past him, his gun was already out and he was calling across the heads of the people to catch Karl's attention.
The girls were sprinting along that narrow space between the rear of the stalls and the large sloping wall, racing towards Karl, hurrying to catch that freight barge that was waiting for them.
How the hell does he not see them coming towards him?
Deacon raised his hand to the floating video, pinched a section of the flickering holographic image between his fingers and splayed them. The image spread and magnified.
There were the girls, running towards the man. There was Karl, gun ready, waiting for them. Even looking in their direction! Doing nothing. Thirty yards, twenty. Then the girls both stopped dead in their tracks as they finally noticed him ahead of them.
Deacon paused again. Frowned. Why the hell isn't he doing anything? Has he not seen them?
He resumed watching the video, once again expanding it with a hand gesture. He zoomed in so much that the image was starting to pixellate. It looked like one of the girls was waving her hands at…Karl. Signalling something to him. Then he noticed Karl slowly, subtly, nod and lower his weapon, just a fraction. A sign that they could pass him by.
And they did. The girls squeezed past him and carried on up the way.
Deacon cursed under his breath.
A moment later, the echoing babble of traders and customers was interrupted by the sharp crack of gunfire; Deacon's gun. Instantly the river of people cowered and dropped down to the ground. Deacon watched himself picking his way hurriedly through the cringing carpet of people, firing his gun again at the fleeing girls. Sparks flying off the wall near their heads.
He paused the video file once again.
Karl was finally stirring to life, now aiming his gun at the girls as they fled away from him. But quite clearly aiming high.
'Well…bloody well,' Deacon uttered under his breath. 'So, Karl, it seems as though somebody else is paying your wage.'
He sat back in his gel-chair and sighed. He touched the play icon again. Right there on the video, Karl fired at them and missed. Appallingly bad marksmanship for an ex-marine, for such an expensive freelancer.
That makes sense of one or two things.
There'd been that earlier incident, at the ruins of the abandoned colony outpost the day before, hadn't there? Again, those girls had somehow managed to get right past him. Yet, he'd been rather clever, hadn't he? Making a last ditch effort to chase out of the ruins after them. To clamber heroically onto the loading ramp of that rescue shuttle just as it began to lift off, only to let go a couple of seconds later and tumble heavily to the ground.
All of that above-and-beyond-the-call-of-duty charade had looked rather convincing to Deacon at the time.
'You devious bastard,' he whispered.
Good God, it would be tempting to amble over to the TravelCube hotel where his hired guns had rented cubes, kick in the door to Karl's, put his gun to the man's head and spread his brains up the wall. But then there'd be only short-lived satisfaction in doing that.
Like scratching an itch. It would achieve nothing.
Far better to actually take the traitorous fool alive, interrogate the double-playing bastard and find out who, other than The Administration, was paying his wages.
Then, of course…kill him.
Deacon could order the other hired gun to help him arrest Karl. But what if he too was on someone else's payroll? He decided it was probably prudent to be patient. Wait a few more days. There was a Colonial Marine ship on its way at full speed to this system. Pretty soon he was going to have several hundred heavily armed and highly trained marines at his disposal.
Even then, it might make sense to play dumb. Let Karl think he'd gotten away with it. A little play-acting. Smile at the guy, let him know that he was rather impressed by his zeal and initiative and that he'd recommend a bonus after this job was done. Not that difficult a play-act for him. Right up to this very moment he'd been considering recommending just that. If Deacon hadn't decided to once more review the port's digicam files this evening, he'd still be thinking the man deserved a pay rise.
Yes. Why not play along for now?
br /> Perhaps the man would drop his guard a little. Perhaps Karl might relax, get a touch careless. Might even, unintentionally, point Deacon towards whoever it was wanted Ellie Quin to escape Harpers Reach so badly.
An unsettling thought came to him just then.
What if it's The Awoken?
Those bloodthirsty cultist fanatics were a disturbing enough prospect with their vest bombs and their overwhelming desire to die as martyrs in very public and very crowded places. But if they were involved with Mason and his project somehow?
God help us all if they ever get their hands on something like Ellie Quin.
OMNIPEDIA:
[Human Universe open source digital encyclopaedia]
Article: The Legend Of Ellie Quin > Rebornist Church and The Awoken
Leading up to The Event that would at least for a few decades, make Ellie Quin a household name, The Administration was struggling to keep order in Human Space. It is a matter of record that there were at least seven complete systems that had risen up against them; a total of fifty three worlds. With three of those systems The Administration had simply chosen to lock down their system-link Gateways and bottle them up; with the others, they had sent their colonial marines in to reimpose order. One thing all of these systems had in common was a strong presence of The Rebornist Church.
This faith - some would argue, 'cult' - first began on a planet in the Primary system; a neighbour of Old Earth. A planet called Mars. Theological archivists have argued over whether the Rebornist Church was an offshoot of one of the main Abrahmic religions; Christianity or Islam. It had many things in common with these old faiths, the principle similarity being a belief that a final prophet would return to humankind, steer it away from damnation and towards salvation.
The Rebornist Church, although a faith that preached peace and humility, was also associated with a militant, fanatical sub-sect known as The Awoken. The Awoken, often described as a loose franchise of terrorist cells with no clear hierarchy, did however have a singular goal. To 'prepare the way' for their prophet. What precisely that goal actually meant was never entirely clear and open to interpretation by each individual cell. The most common interpretation of that goal was active resistance to The Administration. Thus…in the years leading up to The Event, with The Rebornist Church attracting more and more followers and the increasing numbers of disenfranchised young men and women joining the ranks of The Awoken, The Administration's military was stretched dangerously thin, fighting a war with terrorists across many systems and across many worlds.
The Event, of course, changed absolutely everything, but it is unclear whether at that point in history, The Administration was beginning to lose control of its 'war on terror'.
User Comment > FaithBurger
God's name is used to justify anything. The killing of millions. The glassing of whole worlds.
The burning of witches. Is it God's Will that all this crud happens?
User Comment > giggleGirl109
BURGER, U ARE AN IDIOT! IT IS NOT FOR US TO QUESTION HIS WILL! How can you possibly understand why OUR God wants sumthing to happen?!? Nothing is random. It is all GOD's WILL!
User Comment > 7777 jollyjimm7777
Anyone want to buy a secondhand head-genie? Only one user. Still in pristine condition. Can send via system mail.
CHAPTER 11
'What's he like?'
'Graham?' Shelby shrugged. 'I imagine to females he might be appealing in a low-brow way I suppose. If you like something that's managed to drag itself halfway up the evolutionary ladder between Frasier and me.'
The artificial sun was just setting in the central biome, slowly drifting down the lowest triangular panel behind a distant line of projected mountain peaks. The rest of the sky was a smooth gradient from light salmon pink along the horizon rising up towards a deep night blue at the top of the dome. The air was cozy and full of the chirruping of nocturnal insects.
They were sitting at a round table in a central plaza; a mosaic of different coloured floor tiles still radiating warmth from the day's sun. Frasier emerged from a doorway nearby, shuffling out on bowlegs and tired feet with a tray full of drinks in his hands.
'Your usual,' he said placing a tall tumbler of something pink and frothy with a straw in front of Shelby. 'SoyoCandy protein shake.'
He handed Jez and Ellie a glass of red fizzy liquid each. 'We don't have Spartans here. But this is as close an approximation as I could manage.'
'Thank you,' said Ellie.
'Yeah, thanks monkey,' said Jez.
Frasier sighed, shook his head. 'I'll go and prepare dinner.' He headed back the way he'd come.
'Sounds like you and this Graham don't get on very well,' said Ellie.
'I know he must have an Upper-Dip creditation in genetic scripting. He wouldn't have been employed as a technician here otherwise, hmmm. But…he can be such a tiresome, irritating pleb.'
Jez cocked her head. 'Pleb?'
'Short for plebian. Old Earth language called latin.' Shelby rolled his eyes in a way that suggested he was preparing himself to explain what latin was.
'Uh-uh,' Jez replied disinterestedly.
'He's a knucklehead. An oik. A chav. A jock. A fratboy to use a few more Old Earth synonyms. Using a more contemporary vernacular; a complete dittohead.'
'Dittohead,' Ellie smiled. 'We use that term on Harper's Reach.'
As soon as she'd said that, Ellie realised she'd been careless telling him where they'd come from. She felt her cheeks warm and wandered if they were blotching. Shelby seemed not to have heard her.
'Honestly,' he continued, 'he has no respect for the science, nor the state-of-the-art laboratory facilities we have at our disposal here.' Shelby shook his head and fluttered his eyelids. 'Its utterly wasted on someone like him!'
Just then they heard the tap of lazy footsteps approaching.
'Speak of the devil,' Shelby sighed.
A raucous piercing whistle echoed around the deserted village. 'Yo! Shelbs! Honey…I'm ho-ome!'
Shelby tutted and rolled his eyes again.
Through a stone archway, throttled by creeping ivy, Graham emerged onto the plaza.
Jez lowered her drink as she lowered her jaw. 'Freg-me,' she whispered. 'He's….'
Ellie nodded slowly. Gorgeous. Not just sopa-dram handsome, not just holo billboard gorgeous. He looked implausible. Like one of the computer generated heroes in the games Ted liked to play. He ambled casually towards them wearing sandals that made a flip-flap sound as he walked, shorts that frayed just below his knees and a loose pink vest top that hung artfully from his muscular, tanned shoulders.
But that perfect body - already a flashing green go-go-go light for Jez - was just the pedestal on which was perched the most beautifully attractive head Ellie thought she'd ever seen in person. A lean, tanned, sculpted face that could easily be used to launch any advertising campaign, split with a bright and welcoming smile. All topped off with a long mop of tousled ash-blonde hair. A perfect blend of pretty boy and masculine demigod.
'Shelbs, doobie, there you are, my man!'
God. Ellie found herself shuffling in her chair, absently straightening her shoulders and arching her spine. Just like Jez had once taught her ('gives you a longer looking neck and pertier jahoobies').
'Sorry I'm late, man…got sidetracked.'
God, even the way he speaks is fregging perfect. Easy, mid-toned; not too high, not too deep, a good-natured drawl that made each word sound like a lyric.
Graham paused a dozen yards short. His smile turned to a wolfish grin and he wagged a chiding finger at Shelby. 'You're a dirty donkey, Shelbs!' He chuckled. 'Good for you! Sheeez, never thought you'd get round to growing yourself a coupla bed babes!'
Shelby stiffened and curled a lip at that. 'Oh, please.'
Graham checked Jez out and nodded tacit approval. He looked at Ellie and pursed his lips thoughtfully. 'Made some real interesting design choices. But, seriously? Mother let you make them this life-
like?'
'Oh, good grief! They are not products! They're people. Guests.'
His eyes rounded. 'Real…people…?'
'Oh, I'm definitely for real,' purred Jez. She leant forward in her chair and extended a hand. 'I'm Jez, by the way.'
Inwardly Ellie sighed and gave up trying to look attractive. Jez was already deploying her A Game, which of course rendered any flirting strategy Ellie might come up with rather pointless.
He stepped forward and grasped her hand gently, turned it over in his and studied it for a moment. 'Yeah, you must be for real. Shelbs would have designed far more practical hands. Definitely no long nails.'
He grinned at her. 'Hey, Jez. I'm Gray.'
'Pleased to make your acquaintance, Gray.'
Oh, for crud-sake. Ellie found herself eye-rolling like Shelby. Jez never speaks like that.
Gray let her hand go and acknowledged Ellie. He offered her his hand. 'Hi, and who are you?'
She cleared her throat, held his hand lightly. 'Ellie.'
'Good to meet you too, Ellie.' He flashed a bright grin at her, then came round the table, slapped Shelby affectionately on the shoulder and slumped down casually into one of the chairs.
'Sheeez, Shelby, it must be, like, months since we last shared a beer!' He winked at him. 'Or even a milkshake.'
'Seven weeks and six days to be precise. But that's not important. Aren't you curious as to why we have visitors?'
Gray nodded. 'Sure man…that was my very next question.'
'We got ditched here,' said Jez. 'We got totally humped by some freight ship jockeys who-'
Ellie stepped in quickly in case Jez blurted out too much. 'We paid for tickets to Gateway, but they cheated us and dropped us here.'
Gray shrugged. 'Gateway? Why? You girls running from something?' Ellie stiffened in her seat. What? Why did he just say that? For a moment she wondered whether they had 'fugitives from the law' stamped on their foreheads then she realised he was being flippant.
'Running from total boredom more like,' she replied quickly. 'We just want to see more of Human Space.'