Ellie looked around at the graves and the rolling countryside beneath them. On a hill at the far end of the island, the largest Van De Graaf generator on the planet crackled, its sparks brushing against the lowest of the clouds.
‘The tea shop’s pretty good.’
‘Better in my day.’
‘You’re paying then. Grab us a table.’
Lucy was lying. It was exactly the polite lie Quantum would have used and, in realizing that, she knew why Lucy was lying. Ellie smiled, kissed her cheek and said ‘Rescue Moira for us.’
Ellie Danger, Girl Daredevil, ran off, a streak of red leather and energy dancing through the gravestones. Lucy Tachyon, Queen of Time, watched her go, remembered how it had felt to hear everything she’d said, remembered forcing a smile when she’d seen the scars on her older self’s arm and the immensely embarrassing conversation about her future sex life that she remembered looking forward to having.
She turned and looked at Niles Quantum’s grave, as fresh as the memory of when he’d found her. The flattened ruins of Edinburgh had been abandoned by everyone but the last few, desperate rescue teams and Quantum had been amongst them. He’d found her huddled around the body of her father for warmth. He’d sat and talked with her, quietly explained what death meant and why it was not to be feared, told her the things she’d needed to hear, and finally carried her back to his tent. He was a giant angel, kind and funny and honest and brilliant and she’d told him, that first night, that she wished she could be just like him.
He’d looked at her for a long time and then told her to be careful what she wished for, because wishes had power, especially for little girls. Then he’d pulled a coin out of her right ear, a chocolate bar out of her left and let her sleep.
She thought about what she knew was coming, and what she knew had passed. She thought about the leather flight jacket and the plane that went with it, that in two days’ time, Ellie would find out had been willed to her. She thought about Moira, beautiful, lost Moira, and for the first time, had an inkling of how she could be saved.
‘Dangerous.’ Professor Lucy Tachyon, Queen of Time, laughed as she said it, dusted herself off, took one last look around the past and smiled. There was a crackle of blue energy, the sound of a huge clock ticking, a tachyon SNAP! and she stepped back into tomorrow.
Father’s Day
Francesca Terminiello
‘Do you want to make a card for your daddy?’
The mid-morning sun gleamed off Mrs Fairbright’s glasses and illuminated every strand of her yellow hair. She smelled of flowers and coffee.
‘Okay,’ said Molly, her fingers curled round a chubby black crayon.
Mrs Fairbright smiled and brought out a piece of royal blue card, carefully folded it down the middle and ran her thumb along the crease.
‘Now, here’s a stencil.’ She produced a plastic template with a man-shaped hole and placed it over the card. ‘Let’s draw around the inside and you can start to make it look like Daddy.’
Tongue thrust between her lips, Molly carefully traced the shape.
‘Well done, Molly, that looks fantastic,’ said Mrs Fairbright. She rose from the tiny chair and her body creaked back up to full height. ‘I’m just going to help Daniel. I’ll be back soon.’
Molly stared at the outline, fingers already reaching for the pot of crayons. What colour should his hair be? Yellow, that was a nice, happy colour, like Mrs Fairbright’s. Molly had brown curls like Mummy; perhaps Daddy should have bright yellow hair. She began hatching lines in all directions around the head. Wax built up in a thick halo, muddled with the black that was already there. Molly inspected the rest of the table: a pot of PVA glue that smelled like old fish, coloured tissue paper cut into small squares, a bowl of sequins the colours of jewels. Her nose almost touched the paper as she daubed some glue onto the face, and carefully chose from the selection. Two bright pink eyes shone back at her from the card and Molly smiled. It looked pretty.
She bent over the low table and continued to work.
‘Oh that is fantastic,’ gushed Mrs Fairbright, as she always did about everything. She placed a hand on Molly’s back. ‘Now, what does Daddy like? Does he like football? Racing cars?’ The teacher showed Molly a paper plate of printed shapes: black and white footballs, cars, spades.
Molly stared.
‘You choose what you think he’d like,’ said Mrs Fairbright, before leaving once more to help Amelie who had spilt glue on her clothes.
Molly was completely absorbed by the task. She cut, glued, scribbled and sprinkled, until finally Mrs Fairbright picked the card up, beaming with pleasure.
‘That is fantastic, Molly, well done!’ She shook off the excess glitter and held the card up as she turned so the rest of the children could see. Slack-jawed, they stared at the spangled colourful man who adorned the front of the card. ‘Tell us about your daddy, Molly, what is he like?’
A jolt of energy shot through Molly’s body. Mrs Fairbright’s stare and the attention of all those faces, all at once, seemed to freeze her in place. Rather than blush she focused on the picture. What could she tell them about this man? Who was he? Molly had never known, Mummy never spoke of him, so she could just make it up. Right here, right now, she would decide who her daddy was, what he was like. It was a declaration, no longer her imagination.
If she said it now, in front of all these people, it would be real.
Molly took an audible breath. Mrs Fairbright, brows raised, nodded encouragement.
‘My daddy,’ said Molly, still looking at the picture ‘is very clever.’
‘Yes,’ continued Mrs Fairbright ‘and what does he do?’ She looked at the other children, then back to Molly, her smile always in place.
‘He’s . . .’ Molly’s mind spun through all the professions she could think of: doctor, fireman, policeman, astronaut ‘... a pirate.’
Mrs Fairbright’s smile flickered for an instant.
‘A pirate? Do you mean he’s a pilot?’
Molly wasn’t sure what a pilot was. She frowned.
Mrs Fairbright tried a different tactic.
‘What does Daddy like to do?’
Molly wasn’t exactly sure what a grown man would like to do, so she pondered her own favourite activities, then added a few she thought sounded about right.
‘He likes running... and jumping and skipping and mountain climbing and football.’
‘That’s just lovely.’ Mrs Fairbright beamed at her.
That night, as Molly lay in bed, she cuddled Tansy, her favourite doll, and twisted the woollen hair between her fingers. In her mind she went through everything about her daddy that had been left out, everything Mrs Fairbright hadn’t asked her.
He was good at dancing.
He was clean.
He smelled of flowers.
He would sing when Mummy was sad.
She thought about Mummy a moment. What would Mummy like him to be? Mummy hated washing up, so he’d have to be good at that. She liked to watch Eastenders so he’d have to know everything about that too.
He had to be kind.
And buy lots of chocolate
And wine. Mummy liked wine.
And he would never say bad words.
Molly continued to add to her list, her fingers working and twisting Tansy’s hair, until her eyes closed.
Alex switched off the TV, just as the tom-tom beats pounded out and the aerial view of the twisting Thames slid across the screen. She yawned and stood, shuffling into the kitchen in slippered feet, mug and plate in one hand. The lives of the characters were always so tumultuous. They never seemed to show the boring bits, but then Alex supposed that just wouldn’t make good television. Better the drama happened to them than her. She just wanted her bed.
In the corner of the kitchen she spotted Molly’s bag, unzipped and stuffed full of that day’s drawings from pre-school. Alex sighed as she started to rifle through the bag and stack up her daughter’s prodigious efforts.
Earlier that afternoon Julie had picked Molly up as usual and when Alex had finished her shift and gone to collect her she had kissed and hugged the little girl, fresh in her pyjamas, ready for the drive home. Sometimes Molly would talk about what she had done that day, but today she had fallen asleep almost before the car had left Julie’s road.
Alex went through the pile of pictures: a car, a sort of Rorschach collection of splodges, a fairy and some flowers. Another took some turning before she worked out it was a dinosaur.
Then she felt the edges of a card. Oops, I’m not meant to see this yet.
Alex grinned. She couldn’t help but think of Molly’s earnest little face when she handed her the card. A cloud of glitter tumbled through the air, some small pieces trickled to the bottom of the rucksack and dusted the floor. The card was thick with glue and decoration. Alex was scared to knock some of it off and handled it gingerly. She wondered what occasion this was for. Mother’s Day had already been, so had Easter, her birthday was in January and Christmas was months away.
She turned it over.
HAPPY FATHERS DAY read printed words pasted across the page.
Alex froze. Her mind momentarily raced through wild possibilities, lurching from one to the next. They all pointed to the same thing: Craig had contacted their daughter, he was in Molly’s life.
She felt her heart thud as she studied the picture. Her skin was hot. The image was a sparkling gingerbread man, that was the only way she could describe it. Molly had put in a lot of time and effort with this one, it was obvious from the amount of detail and variety. The other pictures were disposable, things she churned out and forgot instantly, but this was something very important to her.
Guilt clawed at Alex. Maybe she should have explained more. She’d decided to wait until Molly was older, unable to explain to a four year old that her daddy didn’t want anything to do with her or her mummy. She couldn’t think of a way to say it that didn’t make her sound wronged. Craig wasn’t a bad person, just useless at relationships. They had only been together for a couple of months when Alex became pregnant. After she told him he’d become more and more withdrawn, until eventually she realised he wasn’t going to stay.
She’d been angry, and hurt, but in the end she knew it was for the best. She couldn’t bring herself to get rid of the baby, though. She didn’t know when she would get another chance to have a child.
By the time Molly was born Craig had moved towns, Alex lost all contact with him and was actually relieved he wanted no part in Molly’s life. This made her feel guilty more than anything, but a large part of her was proud, proud to take all of the responsibility for Molly’s care and upbringing, to show the world that she could do this on her own.
Since Craig there had been one or two dates, but none had been serious. Alex knew it wasn’t because she was a single mother or anything like that, she just hadn’t felt anything for them. She would grow old single, it wouldn’t matter. She would be free, and she would get all the love she needed from Molly.
She opened the card
‘Love Molly xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx’ covered the interior. Alex sighed and sagged as she considered: if Craig had spoken to Molly she wouldn’t have been able to keep it to herself. All the children must have done these, why would Molly sit out and refuse? It was an activity like any other. She smiled, stacked the pictures neatly and put them in a drawer, before carefully returning the Father’s Day card to the bag. She would hate Molly to think she had found something secret.
‘Mummy?’ said Molly, poking at her Cheerios.
‘Yes darling?’ Alex called as she stood before the living room mirror and busily scraped up her hair.
‘When is Father’s Day?’
‘Erm, I’m not sure.’
She grabbed her phone off the mantelpiece, hair held up with the other hand, and thumbed the search into Google. After she had told Molly the date the little girl replied:
‘Is that today?’
‘No, it’s tomorrow. Come on, eat up quick, we’ll be late for Julie.’
Mrs Fairbright gathered the children together, coated and booted with bags by their sides as they sat, legs crossed and fidgeting, in the story corner.
‘Make sure you remember to give your daddies their cards everybody... Oh, look, here come your mummies and daddies now!’
The door opened and parents entered the room, arms outstretched. One by one the children were summoned by Mrs Fairbright to dive into the waiting embraces. Molly watched as some of the fathers were given their cards, and she only smiled at their smiles. My daddy will be really pleased with his card too.
Soon enough, though, Julie appeared. She smiled, and beckoned with an outstretched hand, several shopping bags and her keys dangled from the other.
‘Come on then, poppet.’
In the car Molly sulked. She really had thought her daddy would collect her that afternoon. She pulled Tansy out of her bag and started to twiddle her hair.
‘Everything alright, Molly?’
Julie’s eyes, wrinkled at the corners, studied Molly through the rear-view mirror.
‘Yes.’
Julie was quiet for a few seconds. Molly thought for a moment that she understood.
‘Good, we’ve got fish fingers for tea when we get in.’ She cranked the handbrake as she pulled over. ‘I just need to stop at the post office first. You wait here, I won’t be long.’
Julie’s perfume lingered in the car. Molly twirled and twirled Tansy’s hair, staring out the window as rain began to patter on the glass. It made her feel very sleepy. Then a figure appeared, approaching Julie’s car with a bright, warm smile. He waved. Molly waved back. He started jumping, as high as he could, colours streaming all around him as he flew. Molly noticed that despite the rain he looked surprisingly well dressed, his brightly coloured clothes spotless, and his hair, although very yellow, with smudges of black here and there, stuck out in all directions. It made her giggle. When he saw her laughing the man pulled a funny face, and his pink eyes glittered. They looked pretty. He opened the driver’s door, got in the seat and turned back to Molly, pulling on the seatbelt with a click.
‘Ahoy there, little lady. What say we set sail for adventure?’
Molly giggled again, but said nothing. She held Tansy’s head over her mouth. The man reached out for the doll and Molly let him take her. She laughed with delight as he made the toy talk.
‘I say it’s an excellent plan, Daddy!’ squeaked Tansy.
‘Well shiver me timbers!’ said Daddy. He stared at Tansy, holding her at arm’s length. ‘You can join my crew, Tansy.’
‘How do you know her name?’ asked Molly, finding her voice through the laughter.
‘I’m your daddy, I know everything about you.’
He grinned, handed her back the doll, and started the engine.
The CompaniSIM, The Treasure, The Thief and Her Sister
C.J. Paget
Isabella Sauber understands the mansion’s security setup at a glance. She knows how the security firms think, she’s read their manuals of best practices, she knows just where to look to find the cameras and sensors. But her professional interest, and the alarm systems, are wasted here: There’s nothing left to steal. The interior of the great old house has been stripped bare, everything sold or repossessed. All that’s left are stacks of technology no-one wants any more: plastic modules of all shapes and sizes and styles, wired together in huddles of blinking, coloured lights.
Marcus-Sebastian leads her swiftly through the sanctuary’s echoing rooms, through huge French windows, and out into the building’s grounds. The gardens have fared better than the house itself, and are lush and blooming with all the colours of spring. An army of little crab-shaped robots clip hedges and weed flowerbeds. But some of these are clearly malfunctioning: they chase each other in circles or are, apparently, dancing.
Marcus-Sebastian turns his grey-dreadlocked head to examine her with tired, untrusting eyes. �
�They’re here,’ he says. ‘You have only to connect to the local network.’
Isabella thinks a command which activates implants in her brain and opens her cerebellum to the virtual world. A cheerful logon-chime bings in her mind’s ear and they are no longer alone. Now she sees wine gum-coloured dragons and pink elephants and glowing-eyed robots that chase each other in circles, or dance to unheard music, or hover over the crablike task-drones, guiding them through the work of clipping hedges or weeding flowerbeds. All of them are a little transparent, a polite convention so one can tell the virtual from the physical. Isabella is faintly alarmed to discover they have a coterie of fairies and kawaii aliens walking along with them. These are the pushy ones, the smart ones; they understand why she’s here. They jostle back and forth, images overlapping, all big cartoon eyes and smiles, doing their virtual best to look adorable.
‘Guys, could we have some privacy?’ says Marcus-Sebastian.
The mob breaks up, its members waving cheery goodbyes as they disperse through the garden. Isabella fights down a shudder: She’s always found virtual characters creepy but can’t let Marcus-Sebastian see that. ‘I see some are eager to find a new home?’ she says.
‘Companisims are made to provide companionship,’ says Marcus-Sebastian. ‘The need is coded deep within them. But I think some of them see how things are going. I’m supporting so many they only get one timeshared day online a month, and I can’t afford the processing time to do any better. I’m broke and it costs a lot to keep this many companisims running at any one time. I won’t be able to do it much longer.’
‘Would that be so bad?’ asks Isabella. ‘I mean they’ll still be there, just... asleep?’
‘How would you feel about sleep, if you might never wake up again?’
Isabella resists answering. She wants to tell the man he’s an idiot, to remind him that these are just advanced toys, cartoon characters no more real than the children’s fantasies they resemble. But he’s clearly too far gone in his delusions and shaking him out of them isn’t part of Isabella’s plan.
Tales of Eve Page 3
