“Nomi gave me a long and well-rehearsed speech on the subject. The short version: a team of eight contestant enters a subterranean labyrinth where they face a number of tests of mind and body. The entrance fee is rather high, but we do have enough to cover it. Teams who beat the challenge are given ‘their heart’s greatest wish’, which is obviously the fragment in our case.”
Annie was thrilled. “Great! Let’s do it!”
“Fools rush in,” cautioned Lorna Costa. “How dangerous are these tests, captain?”
“If Nomi is to be believed, not very, and we can leave at any time, with the only penalty being a new reputation for cowardice.”
“You suspect that she may not be trustworthy?” asked Rivers.
“There’s been something evasive about her from the start. I may have a partial explanation, though. I checked the electronic encyclopaedia we got from the Ramirans. It seems that the Zakazashi is a televised event, and that ratings have been falling for years. The minister for entertainment has apparently made revamping the challenge a priority of hers.”
“That minister’s name wouldn’t happen to be Nomi, by any chance?” asked Barbara.
“Got it in one. I can see why she’d want us taking part – aliens must get good ratings. Still, she surely wouldn’t be putting forward the Gataran fragment as a prize if she thought there was any chance of us winning it. She said that she’d have to pull some serious strings to make it happen, though I’m willing to bet those strings have been pulled already.”
“Do you think she’s planning to cheat, then?”
“Perhaps … but more likely, she just doesn’t rate our chances. Traditionally, teams consist of four men and four women, though that rule’s being waived for us. Robots aren’t allowed, though. Nor any other artificial aid. That’s going to mean any team we put forward will be short of muscle power, especially compared to Matans. Nomi did assure me that it’s athleticism that’s required, though, not brute strength.”
“That’s where our resident badass comes in,” said Annie. “Bala could probably win the game by herself.”
The Nigerian frowned, but said nothing.
“If we decide to try this, it’ll be on a strictly voluntary basis,” Hunter noted. “I won’t order anyone to take part. After all, I certainly won’t be going. We need volunteers with extraordinary mental and physical abilities – I have neither. I’d like an early show of hands to see whether we can field a full eight-woman team. Who’d be willing to do it?”
Annie’s hand was in the air before Hunter had even finished her question. The captain had to smile at the young woman’s enthusiasm – she was leaning forward in her chair like an eager schoolgirl.
“It’s not a race, Annie.”
“Fools rush in, like Lorna said,” noted the technician with a wink. “I qualify.”
Others were raising their hands at a more measured pace. Hunter counted ten in total; already more than enough, and a few women were absent from the meeting.
Sandra Rivers had been the last to volunteer. “Clearly a risky situation, with many unknowns,” she said, “but we appear to lack alternatives.”
Hunter gave a sharp nod. “I’m inclined to agree. If there are no objections, I’ll inform Nomi that it’s game on…”
II
Abuja, Nigeria, 14th November, 2135
Balafama Abayomi was not a little girl any more, but she still felt a powerful surge of fear when called before her father.
Barely fourteen years old, she was already pushing six feet in height. She was no beanpole either, toned muscles already filling out her frame. She towered over the other girls in her class; most of the boys, too.
At one time, the man seated at the desk before her would have stood taller still than she. But Babatunde Abayomi seldom stood for long these days. Her father’s Spinocerebellar Ataxia was in its early stages, but his legs had already begun to betray him. His hands were somewhat better, but Bala could see them trembling slightly as he worked his computer.
As yet, he hadn’t acknowledged her presence at all. She was old enough to recognise when psychology was being employed against her, but that recognition did little to dilute the effect.
Come on, she scolded herself. He’s a sick old man. He can’t even raise his voice! You’ve nothing to be frightened of …
But frightened she was. Her father’s true power had never been in his body.
“It is a difficult thing for a parent to admit their child is a bully,” he said abruptly, his voice soft, slow and husky. “We have so many fears where our young are concerned. Some are justified, some are fanciful. When you and Essie were young, I found myself picturing a thousand terrible scenes in the dark hours of the night. Scenes where you were hurting, and I couldn’t help.”
He shifted his gaze up to meet hers. She looked away, wishing herself anywhere but here.
“Of course,” he went on, “Essie’s condition gave us extra cause for concern, but we were determined never to forget about you. The worst time, I recall, was when you started school. You were quiet, and prone to withdraw into yourself. How would you cope with the other children?
“Never once did it occur to me that you might be a giver, not a receiver, of misery.”
“I was only-”
The soft voice went on, increasing in neither volume nor passion. “Even when we first heard from your teachers that you had been fighting, we convinced ourselves that the blame lay elsewhere. It couldn’t be you who started it. Not our girl. But a time comes when a man must face cruel reality. You are a bully. You’ve sent many children home to their parents in tears. You’ve ignored the words of your mother and kept on abusing your strength. And today you assaulted a girl in a wheelchair.”
“I didn’t!”
His hazel eyes, so like her own, regarded her silently. He was daring her to lie.
“I only kicked her chair,” the girl said sullenly. “I never touched her.”
“You knocked her flat on her back, without provocation. She will require stitches for the gash on her head.”
“It was an accident.” Bala was surprised to find her voice catching. She experienced again the sudden lurch in her stomach that had greeted the sight of little Osa hitting the ground, of the blood spreading. She had wanted to take her actions back, or at least to say sorry.
But she hadn’t. Her friends had been watching.
“It was basketball.” Bala pushed away the guilt and drew a cloak of defiance about herself. “She can’t play, so she hadn’t any reason to be there. Someone could’ve tripped over her chair. She was distracting me anyway, she knows I don’t like her. We’ve told her not to hang around us. It’s her fault if she can’t even…”
Face set, eyes unwavering, Babatunde Abayomi slowly rotated his computer screen until it faced his daughter. It held the image of a young girl in a wheelchair.
Bala’s stomach lurched again. It was her sister, Essie, three years gone from the world.
“Father, I-”
Her voice faltered and failed. Tears ran down her suddenly anguished face. She thought she might be sick, wanted to lie down, wanted to run away and hide. But her father was speaking again, the soft, relentless voice somehow fiercer than the angriest roar.
“It is a wonderful thing, to have a fit, healthy body at your command. You are right to revel in it, for it will not last forever, as I have learned. But no feat of strength has ever made a person great, nor filled a father’s soul with love. I was proud to call Essie my daughter, because her mind was clear and her heart was true.
“Your body is stronger than hers. You would find your mind no weaker, if you troubled to use it. But your heart? It is dying. What love did you have for Essie, if you forget the lessons of her life so quickly?”
Bala shook her head in denial, wiped at her tears. She felt able to speak again but had no words to say.
For the first time, emotion crept into her father’s eyes. Anger and bitter disappointment.
“It may be that
you do not care in the slightest whether or not you have my approval, and my words are nothing but sea spray on the rocks, to be forgotten when the tide has gone out. Nonetheless, I shall tell you how you can make me proud to call you my daughter.
“In all things, put your heart first, your mind second, your body third.”
He leaned forward ever so slightly.
“Do you understand what I have said?”
Bala nodded. “I’m sorry. I’ll-”
Her father raised a trembling hand to stop her.
“Good,” he said. “Now kindly get out of my sight.”
* * *
Bala’s door chimed, as she knew it would sooner or later.
She rose from the bed. It wouldn’t do to greet her captain lying down.
“Come in.”
It was indeed Miriam Hunter who entered. It had been some time since she had visited Bala in her quarters. Two years, at least. The older woman looked about her, nodding slowly as her gaze swept over the tapestry, the framed diploma, the girlhood dolls lined up along one wall. She seemed pleased to find the room as she remembered it.
“I believe I know why you’re here, Captain.”
“Good.” Hunter regarded her thoughtfully. “You didn’t volunteer for the Zakazashi. Why not?”
“I … don’t particularly like to play other people’s games. I believe you did say that no-one would be ordered to take part.”
“Yes, and I stand by that. I’m not going to lie to you, though – our chances are going to be pretty small if you skip it. No-one else has your physical gifts” - Bala’s sigh was faint, but Hunter paused for long enough to show that she’d noticed it - “or even close, really. Lorna is ruled out because her artificial legs break the rules. Jackson would be game, but I really don’t want to risk her in anything this strenuous; another blow to the head could kill her. Given what’s at stake, I’ve got to ask you to reconsider. Or at least to explain why you seem so reluctant to lend us your strength – I think we’re entitled to know that much.”
“Is that all you want from me?” snapped Bala. “Strength?”
“Certainly not, but right now -”
“I’ve studied the sciences for over twenty years, worked fourteen-hour days, pushed the frontiers, won a place on this ship … am I only here as a thug, a brute to do the dirty work?”
Dawning comprehension lit Hunter’s face. “No,” she said softly.
“Captain, I have killed. Back on Mata I took the Legan pilot’s life. I didn’t mean to, I couldn’t have avoided it, but still … blood is on my hands. That is not the person I want to be.”
“And you would have gone from womb to grave without killing, if the universe was a just place. But it isn’t, Bala. It’s conspired against you once, and it might again.
“Conscience, morality, empathy … they can be curses, can’t they? I think about the lives lost on Mata too. My decisions, since the day I dreamt up this mission, have led us all to where we are now. Should I never make another decision again? No. Because freedom of choice is a hard-won right, and I refuse to waste it.”
The Nigerian managed a slight smile. She raised her hands in surrender. “You don’t need to go on, Captain. We both know I’ll say yes eventually, so why delay it? My crewmates need me; the curse of empathy, as you say.”
Hunter took a step closer, reached up to lay a hand on Bala’s shoulder. “Thank you. But let’s be clear on this. You’re going because of your brain. Anything you contribute with your body is a bonus.”
“Yes sir. I apologise for my sharpness just now.”
“If you ever catch me taking you for granted again, you can be as sharp as you want.”
* * *
The next few steps in Hunter’s recruitment mission went rather more smoothly.
Firstly, she appointed Sandra Rivers the leader of the team. The scientist wasn’t exactly a powerhouse, but she was young, reasonably fit, and intelligent even by the high standards of the Bona Dea’s crew. Hunter also hoped that giving her former rival this responsibility would eliminate any lingering bad blood between them.
The two women discussed the identities of the remaining team members at length. Rivers was, of course, happy with the inclusion of Bala, and suggested that she be complemented with quick, young women. Annie Grace and Iris Jones were thus added to the list, along with Kiaya Ferguson, who had produced unusually high scores in reflex tests back on Earth.
The sixth team member would be Hisano Ikeuchi. Hunter had found some television highlights of previous attempts at the Zakazashi amongst the cultural archive the Ramirans had given them; these showed that a good knowledge of the Matan language may prove important. The Japanese technician was by far the best of the crew in that area, with a seemingly effortless comprehension of both the written and spoken word.
The remaining two were less straightforward. Hunter knew who she wanted next, but it took quite some time to talk Rivers round.
Now she just had to persuade the woman in question.
* * *
“Oh, is that … I mean, I wonder if or not – erm, I mean, I mean whether or not – that’s wise, really? I’m not sure. I mean, do you think I can?”
Gypsy, seated on the edge of her bed and dressed all in orange, was taken aback by Hunter’s offer, judging by her mumbling incoherence. Her mother sat beside her, silent and watchful.
“You wouldn’t be doing it all by yourself; the Zakazashi’s a team game. The other women can handle physical stuff; I just want you there as our math expert.”
“Maths.”
“Judging by the old broadcasts I’ve been watching, having someone skilled with numbers is a must. There are a few choices on board who I’d rate a perfect ten in that area, but only one who’s worth an eleven. That’d be you. This is a tough challenge – only about one in twenty teams win, I understand – and we need a difference-maker.”
“Thank you. I’d like to help, but when it comes to new situations, I have … difficulties.”
Hunter nodded, trying her best to appear sympathetic. She had always considered empathy to be one of her greatest strengths as a leader, but Gypsy’s mentality was thoroughly alien to her. The mathematician seemed to be terrified of the whole universe and everything in it. Or everything except her bedroom and her mother, at any rate. Her monochromatic attire added a misleading touch of flamboyance to her appearance; her cloudy grey eyes, currently cast down to her slippers, were a far better indicator of her painfully introverted character. What went on behind them, the captain could only guess.
Perhaps I’m better off not knowing …
Hunter knelt before Gypsy, trying in vain to establish eye contact. “I’d tell the rest of the team to watch out for you. Nothing bad will happen.”
“Who else is going?” asked Alice Cumberland. Hunter ran through the confirmed names. As she did so, she noticed Gypsy’s slumped posture straighten ever so slightly, as though she’d received a minor electrical shock. Her eyes briefly shifted up to meet the captain’s, before darting back down.
“Oh, that sounds, erm, maybe I could, yes.” She paused a moment, cogitating. “Can my mother come too?”
“Of course. I’ve kept a place reserved especially for her. If she’s willing, that is.”
Hunter had expected Alice to agree at once, but the elder Cumberland looked at her daughter with a slight frown before responding. “Okay,” she said slowly. “If Gypsy wants me to.”
“You shouldn’t feel under any obligation to agree,” said the captain. “I realise that a mission on an alien world is a pretty intimidating prospect.”
Alice’s posture suddenly relaxed, as though she had come to a decision. She winked. “My family moved from Lancashire to Yorkshire when I were just a lass, Captain. This can’t be a bigger culture shock than that.”
Hunter didn’t understand the reference but offered the laugh she felt was expected. “What do you say then, Gypsy? Are you in?’ Gypsy still looked unsure, so she added, ‘No-one
else can do what you do.”
The mathematician nodded and managed a slight smile.
“Oh, go on then. I’ll do it, by golly. Yes.”
* * *
After showing the captain out, Alice returned to Gypsy’s room and stood over her daughter; hands on hips, feet shoulder width apart, it was a contemplative posture that the younger Cumberland knew well, having seen it directed at her since childhood.
“Well, Gypsophila Paniculata. What’re you thinking? What’re you feeling?”
“About going to the planet? Fine, I suppose…”
“That all?”
“Actually, it reminded me of back when the captain first visited us. Do you remember?”
“Course I do. First time meeting one of my idols. I were dead nervous.”
“Yes, I’d never heard of her, but you told me she was someone important, so I prepared a little speech saying what a great honour it was, and all that. Then she came in being all confident and American, and I got rattled and forgot my lines. I ended up trailing off and looking stupid, as usual.”
“But you agreed to come. I weren’t expecting that. Really brave, that were.”
Gypsy looked up at her mother. This was the only face she could endure to gaze upon for more than a second at a time; familiarity had destroyed the strange fear that gripped her when she made eye contact with anyone else.
What expression was she seeing right now? A slight frown, a sign of … thought? Worry?
“I’ll be okay, Mum. I get anxious when I have to leave my room, but I think I can handle it. And you’ll be there, anyway.”
“Are you sure you want me along? Hunter could easily find someone better. I’m not fit and I’m certainly not smart.”
“You are.”
“If there’s anyone else that’s going you want to spend time with, it’d be more fun without your old mum tagging along.”
She’s talking about Annie. She knows …
Dropping her gaze, Gypsy shrugged, pretending not to understand.
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