by Eliza Green
‘It won’t work, my dear,’ said a smiling Anton. ‘My thoughts are none of your business.’
She regained her composure with a few slow breaths. ‘Why did you kill her, Anton? Why did you kill Elise?’
He shrugged. ‘Why not?’ He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. ‘The question is why did I take so long to do it?’
Arianna shivered. The room was cold, but this... entity pretending to be Anton chilled her. ‘I don’t understand. You loved Elise and you love Pierre. How could you have let this happen?’
‘HE loved her, and that was the point, really.’ Anton stood up and stretched. ‘God, I hate these chairs. No back support. And what in God’s name am I wearing?’ He plucked at the plain cream trousers and top.
‘A tunic set. We wear them for modesty, Anton.’
‘Oh, please call me by MY name, not his.’
‘And what would that be?’ said Arianna.
‘Benedict.’ He flashed her a cold smile.
‘Benedict?’ said Stephen.
‘It meant nothing to me either.’
‘Benedict. I apologise,’ said Arianna. The split personality was a worry and the name new. She hadn’t spoken to Anton since the day of the explosion. Now she worried for the real Anton trapped inside. ‘Can I please speak to Anton?’
Benedict waved his hand. ‘No visitors. And the politeness is nauseating: “I apologise”, “please”’—he mimicked Arianna’s voice—‘Have we devolved into trained monkeys?’
While Benedict rambled on, Arianna probed his thoughts.
‘I told you no!’ said Benedict.
She pushed against what she assumed was Benedict’s attempts to block her. Anton peered around the edges of the murky greens, greys and purples. She reached for him. ‘Don’t be afraid. I can protect you.’
She inched closer to his light, but it disappeared. She thought she heard him ask, ‘Where’s Elise?’ Anton’s presence was weak but she could feel him.
‘I’m positive he saw me, Stephen,’ said Arianna. ‘He knew I was trying to get him out.’
‘I said, get out of my head!’
A strong force rocked her and broke the mind connection a second time. Arianna stumbled backwards until she hit the wall. Her face grazed the rough surface. The pain forced her eyes closed and she slid down to the floor.
She not only sensed Benedict’s rage. She could feel it. ‘Bitch, I told you to mind your own business.’
A few moments of silence prompted Arianna to open her eyes. She jerked back from Benedict who stood over her. His proximity forced her knees up to her chest.
‘Here, let me see.’ His voice was calm now. He tugged at her hands, but Arianna resisted. When he wouldn’t stop clawing at her, she gave in. Benedict grabbed her wrists and knelt down in front of her. He winced with pain. ‘I can see why Anton is attracted to you. You’re strong.’
A shiver crept up her spine as Benedict, in Anton’s body, ran his finger over the cut on her face. He was too close. Benedict smiled and climbed to his feet. He pulled her up—with great difficulty, she noticed.
‘Are you injured?’ she said.
Benedict gave no reply.
After Stephen had fled the core of District Three with the bomb, she’d asked Anton if he’d lost his mind. He had replied with a nod. Her biggest regret was leaving him alone with Elise while she turned one room into a medical bay. Pierre and Leon had gone after Stephen.
She squirmed under Benedict’s softer gaze. There was still a cruel edge to his smile. She tried to break through Benedict’s mind but it had become hard and impenetrable. She promised to fill Stephen in on what happened, but not before she’d exhausted all possibilities.
‘Anton, are you in there? Benedict, let me speak to him.’ Her voice cracked under his scrutiny.
‘He’s here. I’m here.’ Benedict grinned. ‘We’re both here.’
‘Let me speak to him.’
‘Speak away. Ask your questions.’ He kept hold of her hand.
‘Anton, how are you feeling?’
‘Fine, just fine. Thanks for asking.’
Benedict’s grip on her hand tightened as she said, ‘Step back. Let me speak to him.’
‘Have I told you how lovely you look this evening? Translucent, like wet paper.’ Benedict whistled a strange tune as he grabbed for her other hand. Arianna kept it from him which only made him angry.
‘Give it to me.’
She complied, trusting that Anton would not allow Benedict to harm her.
He put her hand on his shoulder and held the other in the air. Then he grabbed her waist and moved her around. ‘Have you ever danced before, my dear?’ He limped as though he was in pain.
Arianna stumbled at first, but soon picked up the rhythm. ‘Is this what you do where you’re from?’
‘Yes, it’s called a waltz. It’s been so long since I’ve danced with the opposite sex. But now that I have a younger man’s body—’ Benedict twirled her. ‘One–two–three; one–two–three... Isn’t this better than asking your boring questions?’
‘I still want to talk to Anton,’ she said softly. Benedict squeezed her wrist. She tried to reclaim it, but he was too strong for her.
‘In a little while,’ he muttered. ‘I’m enjoying this too much.’ He spun her around too fast causing Arianna to stumble. ‘Lighten up, my dear. You Indigenes are far too serious, with your jaded stories and meditation. Do you know how bored I am? What I wouldn’t give for some entertainment...’
Stephen broke the mind connection with Arianna. He was too furious to continue. ‘Why didn’t Pierre stop you?’
‘He had no idea what I’d planned to do.’
‘Exactly. He failed to do his job.’
‘He misses Elise. It’s hard for him.’
‘That’s no excuse Ari. It’s hard for all of us. This district is falling apart. Gabriel’s doing his best, but he’s not the elder. Pierre needs to start taking responsibility again.’ He strode to the door.
‘Where are you going?’ Arianna raced him to the door and grabbed his shoulder before he opened it.
He shrugged her off and pulled it open. ‘To see Pierre. I’m going to knock some sense into him.’
5
A tickle in her throat caught Laura O’Halloran by surprise. She coughed into her fist. Her lungs itched and she dug her fingernails into a soft spot below her ribs, but to no relief.
It had been three weeks since the explosion on Exilon 5 that had resulted in Elise’s death and Anton’s incarceration. She, Bill and Jenny had stayed on for a few days. Amidst all the chaos, it had felt wrong to just up and leave. That’s when the cough had first appeared. Laura had put the irritation down to the impurities from the blast. She’d become accustomed to the controlled purity of the oxygen gel masks and environmentally controlled spaces. But neither Jenny nor Bill developed a similar cough. And after a few days back on Earth, the cough had got worse.
Laura’s splutters echoed around the room on Level Five. Intermittent beeping filled any remaining silence. The fit let up and she thought about her, Bill and Jenny’s return to Earth. No one had stopped them at the docking station in New London. On the ship home, they’d worked through what would happen when they arrived home.
‘It would have made more sense for the military to detain us on Exilon 5,’ Bill had said.
‘So why didn’t they?’ said Laura.
‘We’ve just spent time with the Indigenes. Maybe the government wants us free to establish new connections that they can exploit.’
That idea had made sense to her. They’d sided with the World Government’s secret race. But the weight of keeping their secrets became heavier the deeper they got.
‘Do you think the government might consider a truce with the Indigenes?’ said Jenny.
Bill shrugged. ‘It’s about as likely as them making Charles Deighton accountable for his crimes.’
‘We don’t know if he sent the bomb with Anton,’ said Jenny.
But Laura had agreed with Bill, that Deighton was the front runner for that stunt. The CEO’s behaviour was borderline psychotic. What they didn’t know was if the ploy had the backing of the World Government’s board.
No one waited for them when they arrived back on Earth. That hadn’t surprised Laura, given their discussion. They said their goodbyes to Jenny, who returned Earth with a renewed sense of purpose, and to look for work.
‘I’ve only ever been a pilot or a mother. It’s time to try something new,’ said Jenny. ‘If the Indigenes can survive appalling treatment at the hands of humans, then I can put up with a little blackballing. I’ll find something else to do. I just need to figure out what.’ She turned to Bill. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.’
Bill nodded. ‘You’ll be the first on my list.’
They promised to meet up again, but Laura had no idea when that might be.
Back in her booth on Level Five, she stared at her monitor as a list of documents continued to pool on her screen. Her eyes came into focus, turning the turning the blocks of black ink into names and numbers. Another tickle started in her lungs. She covered her mouth and coughed. She massaged the front of her neck.
Her colleagues continued to work, despite her interruptions, people she’d been too scared to approach before her trip to Exilon 5. Just half of the twenty-four booths were occupied—a dip in numbers. But one colleague caught her eye, the woman from booth sixteen who’d given her the micro file. Her disappearance had left Laura to worry for her safety. She’d heard rumours her entire family had been killed. A new woman returned, glassy-eyed and compliant.
Laura turned away as another cough hit, this one bringing up bile. The acidic taste reminded her of the liquid Stephen had given her to treat her seasonal depression. She hadn’t thought too hard about what his ‘remedy’ contained and had knocked back the revolting liquid with a taste of metal. For so long she’d wished for a normal life, one free of the insanity a lack of natural light brought her.
Laura had watched with a mix of excitement and scepticism as Stephen prepared the vial of liquid in one laboratory in District Three. It contained microscopic nanoids and specific copies of his genetic code to swap out her faulty genes.
‘We’ve never tried this with a regular human—altering genes, fixing serotonin receptors,’ Stephen had said. ‘I don’t know if the effects will be temporary or permanent.’
Laura tried not to think about the tiny nanoids in her body. Her silence prompted Stephen to explain further.
‘The nanoids in the liquid are small enough to be absorbed in the bloodstream. Some nanoids will work their way up and across the blood/brain barrier to the serotonin receptors in your brain. If needed, they’ll deliver an extra copy of the p11 gene that fixes depression, to the nucleus accumbens. The others will swap out any faulty genes and replace it with copies of mine. The code fix is just an extra precaution, in case the nanoids can’t fix the faults in your brain.’
Laura must have looked confused because he added, ‘Put simply, you lack the natural ability to produce serotonin on your own, which is why you take vitamin D. The nanoids will either increase the number of receptor sites that can actively receive serotonin, or remove any blockade preventing the serotonin from reaching these receptor sites.’
‘The Vitamin D no longer does anything,’ said Laura.
‘Deficiency in humans is linked to neuropsychiatric disorders such as schizophrenia. By taking the vitamin in its purest form, you’re maintaining the brain’s equilibrium. But its effects are short term. You need a permanent solution.’
At Stephen’s insistence, Laura returned to the medical facilities to rest and woke seven hours later to find him stood over her.
‘How do you feel?’ said Stephen.
She sat up. ‘No different.’ She had accepted she might always suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder. The World Government would not invest in a cure.
‘Would you like a tour of the district?’
Laura hesitated. The district still reeled from Elise’s death and she didn’t want to intrude.
‘We held Elise’s funeral a few hours ago. Now I’m looking for a new distraction. Besides, it’s part of your recovery. Please.’
Laura got to her feet. ‘Where are Bill and Jenny?’
‘Bill just learned about his wife’s death. Jenny is helping Arianna to prepare a ceremonial table. He’ll need to grieve properly.’
‘I need to go to him...’
Stephen stopped her. ‘Soon. He needs time to process it.’
Laura nodded and followed Stephen as he showed her the solar energy conduit that provided their district with power. Much of their equipment had been built out of raw materials left over from the building projects on the surface.
‘The gamma rock amplifies the solar power.’
Laura caught herself staring at Stephen’s translucent skin and yellow-flecked eyes that looked right through her. On Earth, in her apartment, he had worn artificial skin and brown contact lenses and had looked almost human.
Along the way, Stephen introduced her to the Indigenes they encountered. She didn’t need telepathy to sense their uneasiness. Telepathy! She switched to thoughts of her mother’s cat.
‘Don’t worry, I’m keeping them out of your head,’ said Stephen, smiling. ‘It’s the least I can do after what you did for me—for all of us.’
That startled Laura. How did he know?
‘You forced the image of the cat on me, as though you needed me to see it,’ he said. ‘I can’t read human’s thoughts too well. Your brainwaves are incompatible with ours.’
They passed through areas with accommodation, and large spaces with alcoves. Several young sat on the floor. Laura stopped to watch a class in progress. The young looked up at her.
‘They’re called Evolvers,’ said Stephen.
They sat perfectly, eerily still.
As she stood there, she missed something: panic, anxiety—usual symptoms of her seasonal depression.
She grabbed Stephen’s arm. ‘How long have I been here?’
‘Twenty-four hours. Why?’
Laura smiled in the darkened space. ‘No reason.’
The remedy worked.
A new cough jolted Laura out of her thoughts. She got up and marched to the H2O replication machine on the back wall. The woman in booth five followed her. A motivational message had been pinned next to the machine. ‘A quick worker is a happy worker.’
She didn’t agree as she grabbed a cone-shaped cup and filled it with replicated water. She took a drink, ignoring the woman who watched her.
‘Is everything okay?’ said Booth Five. ‘You look... upset.’
Laura turned to face the skinny woman with a gaunt face who looked more like a supervisor than a worker.
‘I was just thinking about my mother.’
Laura drained the cup. Then she refilled it and drank that too.
‘Oh? How is she doing? I hear she suffered a setback.’
‘Fine, fine.’
‘Good. Broken backs can be really tricky to heal.’ The woman folded her arms. ‘It never quite fuses the way it should.’
The ESC hadn’t queried her mother’s fake second fall as much as they had the genuine first one. She and Callum Preston, the teenage computer whiz, had finally settled on a fresh break of semi-healed vertebrae, which sounded more plausible and got her time off work. She hadn’t spoken to Callum since her return. It was possible Gilchrist had already got the boy to divulge their plans.
Laura coughed again.
‘You should get that checked out. Might be contagious,’ said Booth Five.
‘It’s nothing.’
‘Are you sure? Coughs aren’t common. Were you away recently?’
‘Nowhere special.’ A blush stained her cheeks.
The woman uncrossed her arms and plucked a fresh cup from the dispenser.
Laura needed to leave. ‘But good suggestion. I’ll talk to my mother�
��s doctor.’ She walked away.
Back in her seat, Laura kept her eyes on her monitor. The woman from booth five passed her and sat down. She resisted the urge to look across from her, at the woman from booth sixteen. Did the ESC know about the micro file? Did they know Laura had seen its contents?
She glanced up. There sat a gormless Sixteen, evidence that the World Government could make any problem disappear.
To her relief, the woman from booth five lost interest in her. Laura’s cough worsened as the day went on. She took ten bathroom breaks over two hours to cough in private.
But for all her unsanctioned breaks in the place where work took precedence, nobody stopped her.
6
Bill Taggart sat at the kitchen table in his private Nottingham apartment and read half a dozen internal memos he’d sourced from a contact since returning from Exilon 5. He was out of touch with plans for the transfer programme.
He gazed out the window, free of the stacked boxes filled with Isla’s things. Last night he’d gone through her stuff.
He kept just three things. The first a six-inch-tall glass obelisk preserved with a native Exilon 5 flower from Isla’s funeral that sat on his mantelpiece. The flower with a sweet, peppery scent had been Isla’s favourite. The second, the personal letter she’d written to him. The third, her dog tags he’d used to decode her other letters.
Bill rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on the memos stored in an encrypted location on his DPad. The memos had been circulated to staff in the Earth Security Centre and the International Task Force offices, but so far, he hadn’t seen any from the World Government. Had the government—or Charles Deighton—known about his trip to Exilon 5 with Laura and Jenny? Then there was his trip to Magadan to meet Harvey Buchanan and the car chase that had almost ended his and Laura’s life.
Not a word.
Harvey Buchanan may not have advertised his connection with the World Government, but Bill was sure it existed.
He checked the time and turned off his DPad. Simon Shaw had called him in to the London office, the first face-to-face meeting since his return. He picked up his mug of coffee and shuddered as the caffeine gave him a kick. He removed the sound disruptor from the front of the Light Box hardware unit and prised up a loose floorboard hidden beneath his rug. Stephen’s communication stone sat in a small strongbox. He placed the disruptor down and picked up the cold, black stone with a concentric ring design that was useless while he was on Earth.
