by S. J. Higbee
“Doesn’t give her the right to sell off Elsbeth’s belongings and pocket the creds – sliming little thief! She can work it all off and pay me back, is what she can do!”
George sighed, again. “I’m not dancing up that dead end with you. Life’s too short. Just know the sike reckons she’s near breaking point.”
“And since when do head-meds have all the answers?”
George’s voice was sharp, “He was right on target about Elsbeth. Therefore I suggest that this time around, you listen.” And with that, he left.
Probably wants to bang his head against the nearest wall and chew his fingers down to the bones. Working for Daddy Bear would certainly have me slithering down that alley.
Judging by the stinking smoke wafting under my nose, Norman was puffing away on his cigar. “You can open your eyes, now. There’s just the two of us, Lizbeth.”
I kept them closed.
“You certainly have stirred up old George. But then, you seem to have a knack for getting people to see things through your lens,” Norman’s voice sounded closer as he evidently sat in one of the chairs.
Holed heavens, when is he going to quit staling my air?
“For what it’s worth – I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
Just as well I was lying down otherwise, I’d have fallen over with shock.
The General was actually apologising, “I hadn’t meant to damage the prodding thing. I’d forgotten just how brittle that modcrete rubbish is. Just knocked it off the shelf to give you a bit of a fright. Make you understand how I was feeling…”
It sounded so reasonable. But I recalled the look on his face the nanosec before he shoved Wynn’s statue to the ground and realised this was just a wordwind to get his own way. Again.
“Fine.” I could hear him getting up. “Hug your petty miseries to your scrawny chest. See if I prodding care!”
Ah, the loving Daddy Bear we all know! The bitterness in Jessica’s tone reflected my own feelings far too closely.
After Norman stormed out, I kept my eyes shut, my head spinning while I tried to think how to escape this vile mess. Until I heard a hesitant clearing of the throat. “Miss Norman? I’m your new medic, Dr Sunborn. I’ve come to treat your bruises…”
No point in lying here and suffering just for the sake of it, Lizzy. Might as well let the man smear the stuff on…
So I did.
It was a shock when I saw myself in Elsbeth’s mega-mirrors. Norman’s ring must have caught my cheekbone when he slapped me, as it left an ugly scab and the whole cheek was swollen and purple, while I sported a magnificent black eye. My mouth was also split in the corner. But the most painful injuries were where he’d grabbed my upper arms, which were also purple and blue.
I itched for a shower, but the medic was concerned to shift the bruising as fast as possible – which meant being slathered in bruise-kleer. While lying in a hospital gown basted like oven-ready roast meat, Jessica was busy word smacking me for running out’ve the stuff and not replenishing my personal supply. Truth to tell, though, even if I’d had a couple of tubes the previous evening, I don’t think I was sane-brained enough to apply them. With all the emotional fallout, I hadn’t realised just how much damage Norman had done.
Of course, leaving my room was out of the question while I still looked like something spat out of a black hole. Not that I really cared. Because every time I looked up – there was Wynn’s statue in pieces on the shelf. So for the first couple of days, I spent my time curled up in bed, staring at the ceiling or sleeping. Indeed, I slept right through the day and most of the night, which was probably a good thing because I’d been working flat-out in Procurement for what seemed like forever.
Despite the medic’s best efforts, the bruising took a whole week to fully fade, as he kept having to explain to an aggravated Norman. What I hadn’t expected were the steady stream of visitors. Of course, the guards turned them away. But on the third day, Diana and Axil got through, chiefly because Diana pulled a hysterical fit.
I could hear the commotion through the door-com, which one of the folks on guard duty thoughtfully left Open, so people could send their good wishes to me.
“I’ve got to see her! You don’t understand. She keeps Procurement going,” Diana’s voice got steadily louder. “And if Procurement goes down, we run out of weapons and our people start dying!”
I’d fully expected the guards to mumble something about ‘jobsworth’. But instead, the door hissed open and in walked Diana and Axil. I hadn’t had a chance to cover up my bruising, still turning dramatic shades of puce. Diana’s welcoming smile froze as she put her hands up to her mouth. Axil looked grim.
I crouched on the bed, feeling ashamed and stupid. “Hallo! It’s lovely to see you. Though, as you see, I really need to shiny my skills up on the BalanceJoust.”
Diana took one of my hands, her eyes brimming. “Oh, sweeting! I’m so sorry.”
I swallowed, but the lump in my throat just got larger. “I’m solid. Really I am. Getting the best care. It’s… my statue… It got broken, you see…”
“And so did you.” Diana’s smile was a mirthless twist of her lips. “Oh… I’ve brought you some chocs. And the others all send their love. Especially Riona, who wants you to know that she tried to get into to see you yesterday, but the guards said you were asleep. And Finley says can you please hurry up and get better because his wife wants to see him before she forgets what he looks like.”
We dutifully laughed too much.
Except Axil, who was still gazing at my face and shoulders. “Nex’ time that proddin’ avatar gets too fond’ve knockin’ you ‘round, you go fer his proddin’ eyes.”
He knows it was Norman and he’s furious. I shrugged, then winced. “It doesn’t matter. It’ll heal. But my statue – that got broken and…” To my horror, I started weeping, again. I scrubbed at my face with the sheet. “The man who made it for me saved my life and those of my friends…” I launched into the story of how we wet-witted teens found ourselves wandering the lower levels of a space station flooded with a bunch of desperate and angry fugees. And how this good-looking blonde-haired man appeared and saved us from murder as the gang chasing us vowed to rip us apart. Telling the tale steadied me and felt surprisingly good.
While Diana was exclaiming about how romantic it was, Axil wandered across to the statue. “Modcrete?” He cut right across Diana’s chatter.
I nodded.
“Funny ol’ stuff. Proddin’ strong, but gotta habit’ve splinterin’. Got tubfuls’ve the stuff Downstairs.” He picked up the broken hand, which looked even more fragile in his huge paws. “Boy that did this got the look’ve you, right ’nuff. Cept you’re lookin’ a whole lot happier, back then.”
I blinked. I am?
“Reckon we can track down some’ve the zilchers that use it. Fix it for you. Want us ter try?”
“Oh… Yes please. I would be… so grateful.” My stupid eyes were overflowing, again.
They left soon after, Axil taking my statue wrapped up in a pink satin sheet.
They were my only visitors that week. However, there was a steady stream of flowers, chocs, and soft toys – the word had somehow got around that I was fond of teddy bears. Elsbeth’s room was big, but we were soon running out of places to put all these presents. I had a suspicion that a bunch of them were from Norman. Until I saw his reaction, when he visited again after Axil and Diana had been to see me.
He scowled. “What’s all this?” In my dead daughter’s bedroom.
“They’re Get Well presents, sir.” Dr Sunborn seemed surprised that the General couldn’t figure it out for himself.
I was lying on the mega-sofa, watching them from under my lashes.
His slit-eyed glare could’ve scorched the sun. “For Elizabeth?”
Nah. For Mickey Prodding Mouse… I stifled a snort of amusement at Jessica’s input.
“Yes.” Sunborn beamed, for once sure of himself. “Aren’t people kind?”
And twenty minutes later, a couple of his black-clad Shadows clumped into the room, scooped up all my presents and took them off. I didn’t see any more during the rest of the week.
CHAPTER TWENTY
After Axil and Diana’s visit, I started trawling through Elsbeth’s journals. As Jessica pointed out, while dealing with Norman, I needed more Intel. And Rick clearly felt it was important I got to see this stuff – or else, why would he have embedded her journals in the workdesk where I was bound to find it? And although I’d tried to continue working, the Workdesk responded with a message, “Put your feet up, Beautiful. Doc’s orders are to have complete rest. No more homework for you, anytime soon.”
If I couldn’t work, then listening to Elsbeth’s files was the only other option as Jessica’s constant nagging about them meant I wouldn’t get any peace, otherwise. Though I nearly gave up. Elsbeth didn’t do terse and to the point. Partly because she was often madder than a space-spooked cat while dictating her journal entries. Initially, it was fun to watch her cursing the General to the other side of the galaxy and back again. But the novelty soon lost its charm after hearing the same rant for the nth time. As I skipped through these entries, trying to find something that didn’t make her sound like the spoilt P’s Princess I’d initially pegged her for, I began to wonder whether this was such a good idea after all.
…yellow or blue, perhaps? But then I’d need other shoes because the blue ones… Biting back one of Elsbeth’s curses, I continued scrolling.
…crud-sucking spawnling! Where does he get off humiliating me like that in front of everyone? Mother was right – he’s just a sliming piece of sh— Three more goes and I’ll shut the wretched thing down. There’s probably nothing here, anyhow. Just Jessica’s paranoia twanging…
…cleavage is maybe a bit much. Don’t want to give Daddy Bear anymore ammo—
And then I found it. The slight blur on the footage, as well as the crazily canted views, made me realise that Elsbeth wasn’t sitting at her workdesk – she was photo-tabbing this stuff. I couldn’t see her and peering at the dimly lit room, I didn’t at first notice the girl hunched on the edge of the bed. When Elsbeth spoke, she sounded breathless and afraid.
“Hallo there. What’s your name?”
The view rocks slightly as Elsbeth approaches. Her hand comes into view, as she stretches out and touches the girl on the shoulder. The little girl jerks with a grunt and stares up at Elsbeth with blank eyes. A trail of drool trickles down her chin from her half-open mouth.
Flaming Mercury! Chilly disbelief crawled up my spine as I recognised the young girl’s face peering at me through the desk-screen.
Elsbeth sucks in a sobbing breath, which momentarily jerks her tabcam out of focus. “Hallo,” she repeats.
She must’ve had some warning, because if I’d found myself staring back at my ten-year-old self, they’d be scraping me off the floor for sure.
The girl’s tongue protrudes. “Eh…” Her face suddenly lights up into a grin.
That smile sharpened the resemblance between Elsbeth and the child. I shivered.
Her hand streaks out and closes around a brooch Elsbeth must be wearing. The tab refocuses on the child’s chewed fingernails and scabbed tooth marks across her knuckles.
Elsbeth’s hand comes into view – her immaculately manicured fingers prising the bloody-bitten ones away. “No. Sorry, sweeting. You can’t have it.”
The child’s face droops, before she opens her mouth and sucks in a breath.
I tensed, waiting for the noise. However, Elsbeth clearly hadn’t spent much time around babies or small children, or she would’ve known what was coming as soon as the little girl stopped grinning.
“Ah!” The child lunges towards Elsbeth.
Who gabbles, “Prod a black hole! Shh… It’s prone. Don’t yell, there’s a good… Look – here! Have this, instead. It won’t hurt and it’s so much prettier.”
The view of the wailing child jinks as Elsbeth fidgets. A sparkling necklace drips from her fingers as she offers it to the child, whose noise ceases abruptly as she reaches for it with the greedy delight of a baby. Tears still trickling down her cheeks, the little girl’s face creases into an ecstatic smile as she coos over her new present. Elsbeth gently mops her face with a clean nosewipe.
I shut it off, feeling queasy.
In the next entry, Elsbeth wasn’t discussing clothes. “Sliming dregger! I can’t believe it – he wasn’t even a littlest bit sorry. Just angry that I’d found out about her and trying to cross-question me about who’d told—”
I froze the entry. What were you thinking – rushing straight to Norman to confront him with this? And they say we’re alike? Because I couldn’t think of any scenario where I would take such a discovery and immediately dump it into Norman’s lap. Maybe eventually, I’d decide it was the strategic thing to do. But Elsbeth hadn’t given herself enough time to think through all the consequences for herself, or the poor soul who’d slipped her the info-nugget in the first place.
I jabbed at the Play button.
“…told him he could swan-dive into a supermassive hole before I’m telling him my sources.”
Her face twists in fury. “She’s a clone! He admitted it – like it was nothing. Gave me a lot of stale air about how he needed to secure his succession for the sake of the Pees. As if I’m about to put on a sodding uniform and become a generalissimo apparent.” Her sneer makes her look far too like Norman. “There’s times when Daddy Bear needs a reality check. He was talking as if he was royalty, instead of some two-bit thug that’s managed to persuade a bunch of other thugs to join him. He’s a—
I decided to save my ears from yet more cursing and FF’d through that bit to where she looked calmer.
“…got him to tell me her name. It’s Violet, apparently.”
What! How come one of my names is in there? Surely, none of this bilgescum is spattering my way? But sick dread in my belly told me otherwise.
“I asked him how come the cloning failed.” Elsbeth bit her lip and her gaze drifted as she was clearly thinking it through.
I shivered. For the first time, I recognised the physical likeness between us. And after the shock of seeing that witless clone, it wasn’t comforting.
“And that was the only time he really wriggled. Mentioned that it was an illegal procedure. But…” She waves dismissively. “…that’s a load of stale air. A bunch of Earth-made laws haven’t stopped people cloning humans since forever. That mad scientist even managed to create a new human species, for Mercury’s sake.” Elsbeth’s grin is sharp enough to shave dark matter. “I’ll soon find out. Got that DNA sample to a significant someone who’ll soon be able to tell me if Daddy’s telling the truth.”
I wanted to shake her. She was clearly bright and resourceful, so why did she behave so recklessly? And how did Norman feel about his hot-tempered, impulsive daughter discovering this shoddy secret?
I needed to find out. But not right now. And even Jessica’s long rant about my cowardice didn’t change my mind. I was still trying to haul myself out of a supermassive black hole after Wynn’s statue got broken and needed to feel more solid before facing this stinking dross. Jessica was just getting going, again when I was rescued.
“Hi, beautiful,” the workdesk’s baritone rumbled, “sorry to break in on your sweet self – but there’s a priority call for you.”
I flipped it open on audio to find Diana stuttering with exhausted apologies. She was mega-sorry for disturbing me, she knew she strictly speaking wasn’t s’posed to, but she was desperate. There was another rush order for torpedoes to equip the ships patrolling the Python Asteroid Belt. She knew I’d processed the last order, so maybe I could push through a repeat rec at warp speed before our people started dying?
I immediately agreed, asking her to forward me a file of other imminent orders to process. It was
a relief to be dealing with order numbers, ship-killing missiles and their confirmation codes – anything, in fact, rather than coping with the faulty copy of my dead half-sister…
*
On the fourth day of my confinement, Norman swept into the room with a trolleybot behind him. Number Two slipped in behind, his face a mask.
Something is off, here. George isn’t prone with this.
“Don’t you go turning away from me this time, Lizbeth. I’ve got something here that I know will cheer you up.” With a dramatic gesture, Norman whisked the rainbow coloured cloth off the object.
It was Wynn’s sculpture of me. Except it wasn’t. Made of polished marble, it was a bot-crafted copy. The stupid mechie had even smoothed out the chisel-marks that were part of Wynn’s style.
The General was frowning. “Your tongue got flushed out’ve the airlock, girl? A bit of gratitude would be appreciated.”
I stared at him, not quite believing that he’d got it so wrong. “I’m not remotely grateful, as it happens. Wynn worked on my statue with his own two hands. It was a l-link,” my voice wobbled, “with him. The only one I had left.” I waved in the direction of the sodding thing. “This has nothing to do with Wynn. He never worked with marble – he couldn’t afford to. Take it away. I don’t want it.”
“I told you, William,” George muttered, shaking his head.
“You girls – always determined to make a supernova out of a sunspot!” Norman sucked in a noisy breath, before trying to sound reasonable, “Look, I’m truly sorry that the original was damaged. But this… it’s a far more valuable piece of work. Better crafted, too.”
I fought down the fury threatening to rip through me at his casual dismissal of Wynn’s talent. I had to stay calm. Crossing the room, I flung open Elsbeth’s wardrobe and began scooping up the dresses Fina had altered or made for me. “Tell you what, Father. You seemed upset at losing Elsbeth’s fine dresses. But, don’t you worry yourself about them. Here.” Turning, I dumped them on the trolleybot beside the marble statue. “You needn’t fret anymore. More dresses. True, Elsbeth never got to wear them. Come to think of it – she didn’t even see these creations. But, hey, they’re in much better taste and they suit me so much more than those other over-decorated rags I got rid of.”
