The BETA Agency

by Maxwell Coffie

  “There’s one more,” I said.

  Imp nodded, and swung some weapon around from his back. It was a sniper blaster.

  “Hey,” I cried. “How come you get a blaster?”

  Imp ignored me. He leapt onto the nearest tree, and effortlessly climbed up the branches. Then, he came to a stop and took aim into the trees. I followed his line of vision, and noticed a faint light in the distance. If that was a bot, I thought, then it was rather far off. Could he really hit it all the way from—?

  Bang! The light in the distance died.

  Guess he could.

  “Oh!” Kay cried, lifting his massive arms. “That was meta cosmic, doe! Put it up!”

  Imp jumped down, and met Kay. They bumped the back of their fists twice, and I sighed. Third time this week they’d had to save me.

  Session complete. Simulator shutting down, a mechanical voice announced.

  The bots, and the trees, and the night sky disintegrated with an explosion of brilliant pixels. Soon, we were standing in a universe of infinite white.

  “Thanks guys,” I mumbled.

  “Ey, it’s all chill, sweet,” Kay said, with a smile. “You’ll get used to it.”

  Imp nodded.

  I looked down at my bleeding palms. “And I hate your simulator, by the way. It’s virtual for Light’s sake; it shouldn’t hurt.”

  They called it the Absolute Simulator. Supposedly, it was the only of its kind anywhere. I hoped so. I abhorred it.

  Kay laughed. “Yeah, that’s ABBY for you. Took me a while to chill with it, but you know what?” He grinned. “I think it’s way meta this way: every training session a fight for your life, every moment on the brink of death? Way cosmic.”

  Imp nodded again.

  “No,” I corrected him. “Way stupid.”

  A round door appeared in the white, and rotated open. Po stepped in. She looked annoyed.

  “I attacked,” I cried, before she could begin her snide remarks. “You saw. Nothing happened. And this stupid thing wasn’t any help.” I flung the knife to the ground. “At least I stood a chance the last few times when I had my blasters with me.”

  “No, you didn’t,” she snapped. “And you won’t out on the field either. Not if you don’t get your head out of your rump, and do what I muckin’ tell you. You want to know why I took your precious blasters away? Because they’re useless pieces of muck, that’s why. Most enemies you’ll face in our line of work can outpace your trigger finger and, those that can’t, will either deflect your blasts or be too heavily armoured for you to make a dent. And even if you did have a blaster heavy enough to pierce their telekinetic shields and reinforced armour, they could and would rip your lungs out before you got the chance to aim and fire, making close combat not only the better way, but the only way when you’re not a sniper. Are you a sniper? Are you? Because unless you can bring a man down from over a throw away like Imp here, I suggest you shut the bleak up and take my mucking instructions. Learn to use your blade. A well-fuelled blade will cut through anything. Don’t you dare call it a knife ever again. You’re just displaying your ignorance. Stop thinking like an enforcer. And stop fighting like a bleedin’ normal. You’re a beta for muck’s sake.” She paused to glare. “Fight like you have a pair.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence.

  “Woah Po,” Kay finally whispered. “Cold. You need to breeze, sweet.”

  “No, she’s right,” I said. “King could be back any day now. I’m not making any progress, and the last thing I want is to be a burden on the field, or have King realize that I’m not who he thinks I am.”

  “Oh, he’ll know,” Po said, icily. “No way he’s going to be fooled by...” She gave me a once over. “…This.”

  Kay frowned. “Stop it, Po.”

  Po narrowed her eyes, but she didn’t say anything else cruel. Instead, she turned on her heel, and walked away. “Lunch is on the table,” she called over her shoulder. “Except for you, Everglade. The Director wants to see you.”

  CHAPTER 32

  I opened the door, and stepped into the gloomy, gothic inspired office.

  “Director? You asked to see me?”

  The chair swivelled around, and the Director gestured for me to take a seat. I took the chair across the desk from her.

  I hadn’t seen the Director in a week. She did not look as young as I remembered. Perhaps, it was because her appearance was less surprising to me. Or maybe, it was because I knew now that she was suffering from a peculiar pituitary disorder—a side effect of her beta status. No one on the team knew her age. They just knew that she was old. Very old.

  “Herb?” she offered, pouring herself a steaming cup.

  I politely declined.

  After she’d taken a sip, she asked, “How are you doing?”

  “Uh, fine.”

  “And how are you getting along with the team?”

  “Fine. Sort of. Kay Witti and I have been swapping music.”

  “Oh? What kind?”

  “He’s been giving me some rhymestone, and I’ve been showing him blue matter, a little scarlet matter. You listen to music?”

  “Classical.”

  “Yeah, that makes sense,” I said. “He likes to talk about movies too. He’s fun. Smart. For a teenager. Still a little hard to understand him though, with all that lingo. Wish he would stop calling every woman ‘sweet’ too.”

  “He reserves it for those he deems attractive.”

  “Oh.” I stopped. “Then I guess I’m a little flattered. A little.”

  “How about the rest of the team?”

  “Imp hasn’t said a word since he introduced himself to me.”

  “The mouth is a carnal organ in Sprite culture. Speech is reserved for a spouse.”

  “I know that, but really, who amongst them still observes the vow of silence? I know more than a few Sprites in this city who can never shut up, and they don’t feel the need to wrap their lips either.”

  “Imp is conservative.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “And Li-Ann?”

  My smile was taut. “Oh, you mean the perpetually sarcastic lady with the judging eyes and frosty demeanour? She’s a delight.”

  “She tells me that you do not take your training seriously enough.”

  “Three times this week I’ve been thrown into a virtual simulator with giant machines that can literally fry me where I stand, and she thinks I’m not taking this seriously enough?”

  “How trained do you feel?”

  “Um…fairly trained,” I lied. “I’d feel better if someone would put a blaster back in my hand.”

  “You will have a blaster again in due time, if you so choose. For now though, we would rather break your over-reliance on long-range weaponry.”

  “Okay.”

  “To facilitate that, I am assigning you a research mission in the K’har world.”

  I raised my brows. “I may have exaggerated that last bit about how trained I feel.”

  The Director clapped her hands, and her windows tinted black. A three-dimensional rendering flickered to life above her desk: a physical map of the desert world. The rendering zoomed down into the heart of the world, into the capital city of K’hashar.”

  An image of a greying K’har man with a scar across his right eye flickered above the desk, and started to rotate.

  “Tomorrow, you will travel to the city of K’hashar to meet with this man,” the Director said. “His name is R’miah K’ashtaphar Haseph, and he is one of our informants. He has information that could shed some light on the Puppeteer’s recent activities.”

  I shifted closer to the edge of my seat. “The Puppeteer? Really?”

  “Do not get overexcited. Often the information is a shot in the dark,” she said. “But someone still needs to be there to collect it. We cannot risk remote communication. You will stay the night so pack a bag.”

  I blinked. “Stay the night? I-I have a dependent.”

  “So? Find
a babysitter.”

  Babysitter? She’s obviously never met Kattie, I thought. But, I nodded.

  “Good. Have you read the file I gave you?”

  She was talking about the file on Fey Watters she’d electronically mailed me at the beginning of the week. “Still reading it,” I said. “It’s a long file.”

  “You need to know it.”

  “Yes, you’ve established that.”

  “No, you need to know it,” she insisted, folding her arms. “I just received word from King. He is rounding up his fieldwork. He will return soon.”

  I felt my mouth go dry. “How soon?”

  “I am not certain. But certainly by the end of the week, he will be here.”

  “Muck,” I said.

  “I concur. I suggest you invest more time studying the file. I am sure you are aware, that if at any point he believes you to be an imposter, there is always the possibility that he will attempt to kill you.”

  Now, my throat was dry too. “The thought has crossed my mind.”

  “Good. Do you have any last questions?”

  “Um, yes.” I hesitated. “If you don’t mind my asking: why did the real Fey Watters leave the Beta division?”

  The Director stirred her drink idly, her mouth a grim line. “It is not in my place to say,” she finally said. “During your mission, ask Po. Perhaps, she will answer you.”

  I doubted it. “I’ll try,” I said, standing up. “Am I excused? I have some reading to do.”

  “You are dismissed.”

  CHAPTER 33

  I had no idea where the Beta Division base was.

  Each morning that I was scheduled for training, the same taxi would come pick me up outside my apartment building. It would take me along the same route, to the same lonely tunnel around the market district, and the road would swallow me into the same concrete bunker. At the end of the bunker, there was a door that led to a platform, and a transportation pod. The transportation pod would weave through a labyrinth of tunnels, finally slowing to a stop at a second platform. The door at the end of this platform would open up to the Beta base.

  When I wanted to exit the base, I would return to the second platform, and take the same pod further into the tunnels. It would stop at a third platform, where I would ride a lift to the surface: the lower deck of the Crystal Lake Bridge.

  Ten throws: that was the distance between the Crystal Lake bridge and the market district. And somewhere between those two locations, lost in an incredible underground maze of winding passages, was my new workplace. Every time I returned to the surface, I marvelled.

  I took a taxi home—one that I actually had to pay for.

  Home felt empty when I got there. It had felt this way for the past few days. Kattie was busier than usual, because her end-of-term exams were coming up. I sighed and collapsed into the living room sofa. DEB switched on the screen, and I watched hoverball interviews for about half an hour. A little after midnight, I heard the door open and close.

  I sat up just in time to see Kattie trying to sneak into her room.

  “Hey, hey,” I called. “Can you stop to say hello at least?”

  Slowly, she turned around. I noticed that my sister wasn’t dressed like a corvus any longer. She was wearing a regular blouse, and a pair of denims. Also, she was wearing a cap.

  “What’s with the cap?” I asked. “You hate caps.”

  “New fad. I thought I’d try something new,” she said, not looking at me.

  I frowned. “Come here.”

  She came over to me, and I took off her hat. I gasped.

  ‘Black-blood scum’ it said, right across her forehead in black, permanent ink.

  “What the bleak?” I whispered, feeling an intense fury tightening my chest. “Who did this to you?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Who did this to you, Kattie?”

  “This is why I wanted to slip past unnoticed,” she sighed. “A few of my classmates were teasing me, and they got a little carried away. Don’t overreact, Arra.”

  “Don’t overreact?” I cried. “Don’t overreact? Are you kidding me? I’m going to force feed the little mucks the marker they used to do this.”

  “It’s okay,” Kattie said. “People fear what they cannot understand.”

  “Don’t make excuses for them, Kattie,” I said, fuming. “I’m calling your principal. I’m going to have the brats who did this expelled, if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “You could,” she said, calmly. “But then, what would it yield exactly? All it would really prove is that we can be riled by ignorance.”

  “I can,” I grumbled.

  “Let it go,” she said. “There’s ethanol in the med-aid kit. I’ll just wipe it off. And anyway, they might be right.”

  “Who might be right?”

  “Those who did this to me.”

  I stopped, at a loss for words. “Why would you say that?” I finally breathed.

  “Black-bloodedness is genetic, is it not?” she said. “If you’re black-blood, then maybe I am too.” She paused. “It would certainly explain why I cannot seem to process emotions.”

  I cupped her face in my hands. “First of all,” I said, “the term is beta not black-blood. Cut me, and I’ll bleed red, won’t I?”

  “Well, the term isn’t literal.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s a stupid term,” I said, fiercely. “Secondly, there is nothing wrong with you. You’re just…laid-back.”

  Kattie blinked. “Now, you’re just treating me like an idiot.”

  “Okay, sorry. But you’re still a good kid. You’re gentle, and reasonable, and kind. I couldn’t ask for much more.”

  “Other than actual emotions, you mean?”

  “Oh come on,” I sighed. “I’m trying here.”

  “Sorry. But the thing is: I’ve always been aware of the possibility. That we were black-blood, I mean.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Studies have proven the distinct correlation between the black-blood gene and the presentation of mental disorders.”

  Now she sounded like me. “Correlation. Any two things can have a correlation.”

  “Mammy fell sick,” Kattie continued. “Then your sleep disorders, and attempted suicide—“

  “Which never happened. Is anybody ever going to believe me when I say that?”

  “—Then my personality disorder,” she finished. “I knew there was a chance. Now that we know that you’re black-blooded, I could very well be as well.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” she said, and she put her cap back on. “It is what it is. At least I don’t have to persist with that ridiculous assimilation experiment. Friendship? I find it vastly overrated. I’m going to my room.” She walked away. “Good night.”

  I sighed, and rubbed my face down. I needed a drink.

  “Shouldn’t you be heading to bed too?” Evon asked me, as I poured myself a glass of wine. I turned, and she was sprawled across the living room sofa, gazing up at me with her limpid black eyes.

  “I’m not sleepy,” I said, walking up to her. “I haven’t been sleeping very well lately. The longest I’ve slept this week is three hours.” I sat next to her.

  “That doesn’t sound good. Your first mission is tomorrow.”

  “It’s alright,” I said. I took a sip of my wine. “I don’t feel tired anyway.”

  “Oh?”

  “Come to think of it,” I said, swirling my drink thoughtfully. “I hardly ever feel fatigued anymore. Whenever I get tired, I just eat something and give it a few hours, and I’m fine. You think it has anything to do with my being a black-blood?”

  Evon shrugged.

  “I should ask somebody about that,” I mumbled.

  “You think you’re ready to get back on the field though?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Other than these hallucinations I keep having of you, I feel fine. I’d like to feel useful again
.”

  She squeezed my leg, and I looked down at her green fingers curled around my knee cap. I was acutely aware of how tangible her touch felt now. Whatever delusion I was suffering, whatever psychosis this was, it was getting worse.

  “You didn’t answer me the first time,” she said, her eyes never more concerned. “Do you think you’re ready to get back out there?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I think so,” I lied.

  “Good,” she said. “Remember: no matter what, I’ll be here for you. You’re not alone, Arra.”

  I wasn’t alone. Except, I was.

  She smiled up at me. I smiled back, and took her hand.

  CHAPTER 34

  I had never been to the K’har world. I had only ever seen pictures and videos of the world on the screen: news pieces, documentaries, movie scenes. Often the K’har world was depicted as ancient, dusty, desolate; in the best case, it was mysterious.

  As Po and I rode through the streets of K’hashar, I gazed through the taxi window and saw that the city adhered to anything but my pre-conceived ideas. K’hashar was a modern city—not as modern as Crystal Lake, but certainly more beautiful.

  Crystal Lake was a jungle of concrete, and glass, and cold unfeeling whites, blues, and greys. The only thing that contributed any real colour to the city was the plethora of billboards and holographic advertisements, floating within and above the streets; their artificial lights were more an eyesore than adornment.

  K’hashar on the other hand was colourful in a natural, almost surreal way. The buildings had enormous windows, all of which had greenery swaying down from their ledges. Most buildings were tiled with softly coloured clay slabs: tans, baby blues, pastel reds. The streets were wide, and the pavements were generous. There seemed to be a perpetual breeze in K’hashar, and it teased the scarves and robes of pedestrians as they sauntered to their destinations.

  The K’hashar people themselves added an exotic air to the city; with their tall, spindly physiques, ebony-ivory striped skin, and soft blue eyes. Their hair was long and lustrous, male and female alike, and it allowed itself to be tossed about in the wind. A few of the K’har glanced our way before dismissing us with an infinite grace.