The BETA Agency

by Maxwell Coffie

  “Everything is connected, Kattie. I can feel it. This guy, Pyrate Ellios, he has his hands in too many biscuit tins at the same time.” I mused for a few moments. “What was the name of his company again?”

  “NeoChem labs.”

  “Yeah, what’s their deal?”

  Kattie did her thing. “They’re a rather ordinary pharmaceutical firm,” she announced, as she read her screen. “They’ve got the basics covered: antibiotics, antipyretics, analgesics, antiseptics…”

  “I don’t know what half of those are.”

  “Wait,” she said.

  I waited as she read some more, and then looked up, eyes sparkling. “Five years ago, they fought to get the Aurora Pharmaceutical Council on board with a new legislation that would make exceptions towards some classes of performance enhancement drugs.”

  I stared blankly at her.

  “Essentially, they wanted the government to legalize doping.”

  “How old are you?”

  “And that’s not all,” Kattie said. “Did you know that it was NeoChem Labs that bought out Syfron?”

  “What? Syfron, as in the ‘Syfron Experiments’ Syfron? ‘Pumped little children full of experimental greywater’ Syfron? Turned people into bloody black-bloods Syfron?”

  She handed me her cell-comm, and I read the blocks of text on her screen. “How did we not already know this?”

  “It was not a public acquisition. NeoChem bought out their assets privately. You would have to read around to learn about it.”

  I sat back, shocked.

  There was silence for a bit, before Kattie said, “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  “I know what it means Kattie. I know what all of it means. I just…I need a moment.”

  Perhaps Kattie did not fully appreciate how huge the implications of our findings were. If our assumptions were right, then we were sitting on a bomb; a colossal, future-warping, destroy-jobs-and-ruin-lives bleak of a muck-bomb.

  “I need to make a call,” I finally said, and got out of the transporter. I called Reeth Crawer.

  It rang for a bit. And then: “Bloody bleak, Everglade,” he answered. “What is it?”

  “I forgot how charming you are, Crawer.”

  “What do want?”

  “Just calling to say hi, you know? How’re you doing?”

  “Fine.”

  “The family?”

  “Fine.”

  “The job?”

  He hesitated. “How do you know I got my job back?” He raised his voice. “Please do not tell me you’re calling to ask for a favour. That door is closed on you. Closed, locked, and bound with muckin’ chains.”

  “What, I can’t call just to say hi? Light, Crawer, you’re a real rump hole, you know that? In fact, I am offended. I am offended that you think I can’t call you for any other reason other than a favour.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “Nothing! I wanted to make sure you were fine!”

  “I’m fine!”

  “Good!”

  “Good!”

  Pause.

  “I do need to ask you for a favour though,” I said.

  “Aw, go to bleak, Everglade.”

  “I’m sorry. This is very important. It’s about the Ripper case.”

  “I don’t even want to hear those words, Everglade. Never again. My head is down. I’m just trying to do about ten quiet years over here and retire in peace.”

  “Come on, you don’t mean that.”

  “The muck else would I mean?”

  “You’ve got to leave a legacy, Crawer.”

  “Muck legacy!”

  “I have new leads,” I said. “Fantastic leads. Just hear me out.”

  “Goodbye, Everglade.”

  “It’s about the Syfron Experiments,” I blurted out.

  Silence.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, and I sighed with relief.

  “I think somebody was trying to repeat the experiments, Crawer. And I think the Ripper’s victims were killed to eliminate the trail.”

  “And you know this how?”

  I told him a little bit about my work with the Agency—as much as I thought I was allowed to anyway. I let him know that the Ripper was dead, but that he had left a notebook behind. I explained how the notebook had led me to the Royal Health Centre, and then listed all the pieces of the puzzle Kattie and I had discovered. I made my case as convincingly as I could.

  “Let me make sure I understand you,” Crawer finally said, after cutting me off. “You think that this Pyrate Ellios repeated the Syfron experiments in order to create a super hoverball player, and then placed him in the worst team in the league so that he could buy the team cheap and sell it for high profits later. At the same time, he made a deal with an international assassin to kill off a bunch of nobodies that were somehow connected with said experiments in exchange for putting said assassin in the clinical trial that his own company sponsors?”

  I thought about it. “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, that about covers it.”

  “Are you high?”

  “You need to look into Pyrate Ellios and his company,” I said. “I’d bet my last credit that you’ll find every one of the Ripper victims somewhere in their records.”

  “I need a warrant to do that.”

  “Didn’t you hear all the things I just told you?”

  “You mean all the circumstantial stuff? I can’t get a warrant on that muck. And I’m not sticking my neck out for you again. You want me to go down that road, you better get me something more concrete, or don’t bother calling back.”

  I let out a cry of frustration.

  “Everglade,” Crawer said, his tone gentler. “Look, the only reason I’m even listening to you is because I know how good a detective you are. I also know you’re the one who got me my job back.”

  I sighed. “You know?”

  “I know. The last time we met, you said you had a ‘government thing’. Nobody would give me back my job after such a nuclear muck-up unless there were strings being pulled. And I’m grateful to you, don’t get me wrong. But I have to follow procedure. You get me something good to go after Mister Ellios, and I’ll go after it like a drug hound. But until then, I can’t help you.”

  I ran a hand through my hair, and down my face. “I understand,” I muttered. And an idea hit me. “I’ll get you something.”

  “Sure. Good bye, Everglade.”

  The line cut.

  I went back to the transporter.

  “Who were you talking to?” Kattie asked.

  “My old sergeant. He wants dirt on Pyrate Ellios. Real dirt.”

  “And we’re going to get it for him, I suppose.”

  I started the transporter. “You bet your sweet rump.”

  CHAPTER 64

  It was dark in the Warriors arena. The only illumination was from the spotlights in the ceiling, and every one of them was trained on the field—where he was training.

  I was sitting in the stands, hidden in the darkness, and from there I watched him play.

  His movements were fluid, like oil. He snaked across the hoverball grounds, smashing his bat against the balls from five pitching machines. His bat met a ball with every swing; the balls rocketed into the net every time. He thought he was alone. He was playing at full strength, holding nothing back, exploring the very limits of his power.

  His body started to blur as he moved. He was gliding faster, hitting harder. And now I could see it: the effects of the beta gene.

  I used my cell-comm to record a short video of his superhuman feats. Then, I took a deep breath and started down the stairs to the field. It wasn’t till I had stepped onto the field, and into the light, that the boy wonder noticed me.

  “Good evening, Chard Heller,” I said.

  He stopped moving immediately, sliding to a slow stop a few feet away. He looked scared at first. And then, suddenly, he didn’t.

  “How did you get in here?” he said. “The st
adium is closed for the night.”

  “I have my ways,” I said.

  He looked around, and settled his eyes back on me. “How long have you been watching me?”

  I didn’t answer. I walked to the players’ bench and picked up a pair of hoverblades.

  “What’s your name?” Heller asked.

  I ignored him. I shoved my feet into the hoverblades, tightened the fasteners, and glided over to him. “Can you turn off the pitching machines?” I asked him, because the machines were still hurtling hoverballs into the field.

  He eyed me for a moment, before yelling to the ceiling: “WALLY, turn off the pitchers.”

  Yes, Chard, the stadium A.I. responded, and the machines died with a combined whir.

  “Let’s say my name is Natherine Quin, and I write for Sports Press,” I said. “Let’s say I’m just looking for a taste of the new Crystal Lake Warriors.”

  “Are you?”

  “Let’s say that I am.”

  He inspected me from head to toe. “You don’t look like much of a player. You won’t enjoy this.”

  “Why don’t you let me worry about that?”

  He shrugged. “What’re we playing?”

  “Just some friendly one-on-one.” I smiled. “So no bats, no five second rule.” I pointed at the goal posts. “This one’s yours, and that one’s mine. Whoever scores thrice, wins. That okay?”

  Heller nodded.

  We hovered to the centre of the court, and crouched.

  “WALLY,” Heller called, “One centre ball please.”

  One centre ball, coming in 3…2…1… the A.I. said.

  A ball shot out of one of the pitching machines, rising high into the air. As the ball arced, I infused my leg muscles with a little mana. The ball came falling right towards us.

  We jumped.

  In spite of my cheating, Heller jumped higher, and stole the ball. He was barely back down, before he shot towards my goal. I gave chase.

  Catching up somewhat, I tried to swat the ball out of his hands. He kept it away, and threw me a small smile. Before I knew what was happening, he had circled me twice, and was rocketing out of my reach. He reached the net, and tossed it in.

  “Want to try that again?” Heller said, coming over. He looked amused.

  I smiled. “What do you think?”

  The next time that the pitcher fired a ball, I injected more mana into my jump. I snatched the ball and, with a little more mana, propelled myself towards his goal. I scored even before he could catch up with me.

  Heller looked surprised when I returned to centre field.

  “Now,” I said, with a wink, “are we going to play hoverball, or what?”

  Our speeds escalated in the next two plays: I scored again, and then Heller evened us out.

  “You’re not a journalist,” he panted, when he met me at centre field again.

  “What was your first clue?” I said.

  We played faster, harder, going way past the three-score limit. After fifteen moments of play, we had each scored 24 times. I felt drained, and I could see fatigue in his face and posture. But he was laughing, as he hovered over to centre field one more time.

  “One last game,” he begged. “Just one more.”

  The pitcher fired a ball. Heller got it this time. He shot towards my goal, and I shot after him. Then, to my disbelief, his body flickered away, covering a distance instantaneously. He knew how to flash flit. I flitted after him; once, twice, till I was in front of him. Then, I ducked in quickly and snatched the ball from his grasp. I flitted across the field, till I could comfortably toss the ball into his net.

  I’d won.

  I glided back over and sat next to him in the grass. We were both gasping for air.

  “You’re…” he panted. “You’re like me.”

  I rubbed the concealer off my cheek, so he could see my rubriq.

  He looked away. “It’s not any fun you know,” he said, his every word carefully chosen. “Playing with the others.”

  “Too easy?”

  “They said they would make me famous. I thought that was what I wanted.” He paused. “But the fame hasn’t really started yet, and already, I miss enjoying the game.”

  “Who said they would make you famous, Chard?” I asked.

  He hesitated, and looked me up and down. “You’re an enforcer, aren’t you?”

  “If I was, would that change how this conversation is about to go?”

  Heller bit his bottom lip, and looked down. He looked a lot younger now that he was up close.

  I pulled a pen-sized black light out of my pocket and shined it onto his face.

  “If you’re looking for rubriq residue,” he said. “You won’t find any.”

  He was right. His skin was clear under the black light. “Whoever did this to you was good,” I muttered.

  “Did what to me?” he said, with little conviction. But, there was no fear in his voice either. No sadness. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You can’t prove anything. They made sure.”

  “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” I said.

  “Hoverball is my life,” he murmured.

  “I can tell. But right now,” I said, “that life is a lie. And when people learn what you are, you’ll go down in history as the most hated hoverball player of all time. Not because you’re a black-blood. Because you cheated. I know you don’t want that.”

  “How do you know what I want?” he said, barely above a whisper. “You don’t know me.”

  “I know you don’t want the video I shot of you tonight to leak onto the cyber-link,” I said.

  “You shot a video of me?”

  “Before I came down here.”

  “Meh, I wasn’t moving that fast.”

  I pointed at the darkness to our left. “My sister is also sitting in the sixth row. And she has a video of the match we just played. And an audio recording of our conversation.”

  “You’re bugged?”

  I shook my head. “Directional microphone.”

  “Damn, you’re good,” he muttered. But to my surprise, he seemed relieved, and a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I knew this short-cut to fame thing wouldn’t work. It felt…wrong…from the start.”

  “You expected to get caught.”

  He shook his head. “No. But I…I hoped.” He looked me in the eye. “I just want to go back home.”

  I cocked my head. “How old are you, Chard?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “Eighteen,” he said.

  I narrowed my eyes some more.

  “Sixteen,” he whispered.

  “Sixteen?”

  He bowed his head. “Fifteen,” he murmured.

  I nodded. “You look older than your age,” I admitted.

  “My name isn’t Chard Heller either,” he said. “It’s Tobbie CeMiles.”

  “Tobbie CeMiles,” I said, “I need you to tell me everything you know about the people who recruited you, and the procedure you went through. Eventually, I will find out about everything. And when I do, people will go to jail. But you don’t have to be one of those people. You’re a kid. You have your whole life ahead of you. I have contacts. I could get you a deal. You won’t have to do any time. Are you listening to me?”

  Chard nodded.

  “Good. Start talking.”

  Chard couldn’t look at me, when he began: “They told me it would fade away, the rubriq. They said it was only temporary.”

  “Who said, Chard?”

  “The learners.”

  Learners?

  “There were a lot of them,” he continued, “in lab coats, with clipboards. They kept saying they were going to make me the best. They ran a lot of tests on me, gave me a lot of weird coloured transfusions for weeks. I wanted to throw up almost all the time. And then, they stopped the transfusions, and I got monitored a lot. One day, I woke up, and I just felt…stronger. Faster. I could aim better, throw har
der. I had grown some rubriq, but they said it was just a side-effect of the drugs. They said it would disappear before game season began.”

  I was struggling to wrap my head around what I was hearing. “And your coach, Coach Gambull, did he know about this?”

  Chard nodded. “He’s the one who told me about the damn procedure.” He shook his head. “He’s such a rumphole. You know how excited I was, when he told me he wanted me on the starting line-up of the Warriors’ team? I was just some nobody kid in a small town, still agonizing over college applications and prom dates. I wasn’t the best by any standards. Why, I wasn’t even the right age. I was sure the orphanage wouldn’t agree to let me go, but then they did.”

  “You’re an orphan?” I interrupted.

  He shrugged. “Don’t make a big deal of it. I hate when people do that.”

  “Sorry.”

  He continued. “I followed Coach here to Crystal Lake. Then, about a week after we got here, he told me Warriors’ management had changed its mind.” Chard sneered. “Told me I wasn’t as good as he’d thought. Said the only way I could be good enough was if I was a part of some new performance enhancement procedure. So obviously, I said okay. I wasn’t going anywhere on my own, you know? With barely decent grades, and my average sporting abilities? Nah, I was doomed to be a box boy at some stupid department store.” He tugged at his hair. “But now, look at me. Light, I’m such an idiot.” He let out a deep, drawn out sigh; the implications of his situation were finally hitting him.

  “Is there anything else you know?” I asked. “Anything else you can tell me?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Like what?”

  “Like, the location of the facility you were at? Who was in charge?”

  “I don’t know where the labs are. I was blindfolded before being transferred.”

  I had expected that.

  “As for who was in charge...” His forehead creased in thought. Then, he lit up. “I remember this one time I was having a transfusion, when Coach and some learner came in to see me. They must’ve thought I was asleep because they started talking. Coach said something about how I was just the beginning, and then the learner started talking about making history—all thanks to some guy they kept calling their ‘mutual beneficiary’. I don’t know who that is though.”