Ways of the Doomed

by McPartlin, Moira;

  ‘Native,’ she shrieked. The violence in her voice spooked me.

  Ishbel entered the room wiping her hands from her task.

  ‘Look! Look at his hair.’ She pushed me from her knee and roughed my hair with cruel hands.

  ‘What’s wrong with it? It’s shiny and healthy,’ the native said.

  I could feel my lip tremble; I started to bawl and I shrank towards Ishbel. What had I done wrong? My mother had been absent for weeks and now she was back she was angry with me.

  ‘Look, can’t you see girl?’ I remember Ma crying. Their voices in whispers.

  Ishbel grabbed hold of my bare shoulders in her rough hands. She stared at my hair. She took me with her as she walked to the open window and closed it. It was as if she had to protect me from something evil that was about to enter our lives and steal me away. She looked calm but her hands were damp with sweat on my skin. I thought I felt a small tremble in them but that might have been my own sobs.

  ‘His hair is turning bronze,’ my mother whispered through her tears. ‘Oh lass, what have you done?’

  Ishbel shook her head. ‘It was the sunshine. It’s bleached his hair.’ She pulled the towel round me saying, ‘Sorry Kathleen.’ I’m sure she had called my mother Kathleen because I had been shocked she had a name other than Ma.

  ‘Has anyone seen him? Anyone commented?’ she hissed. She paced the floor like a guard at a gate.

  ‘No, but I was going to take him with me to the cooperative tomorrow. Thank the Lord you noticed in time.’

  ‘Thank the Lord? We must dye it.’

  Ishbel looked shocked. ‘It will fade in no time.’

  ‘If anyone comes to the house they would notice,’ she whispered.

  I must have been crying. Great hard hurting sobs pounded in my throat and chest. My mother would have taken my hand wiped my tears and hugged me close, told me not to worry, I’m sure, before she delivered her warning.

  ‘From now on,’ she said, ‘you must stay out of the sun – always. It is not good for you. Do you understand?’

  I probably just nodded through my stuttering sobs. But I didn’t understand.

  ‘It’s not good for your hair,’ she told me and then she said something like, ‘One day you’ll understand.’

  And now that day had come and I understood why for years every time the sun shone, which wasn’t often, I was bundled into the house, or had a hat slammed on my head before its harmful rays could damage my hair – or bring out the native pigment. Ishbel didn’t dye my hair, she shaved it. Hair dye was a banned substance after all. She convinced me it was the new pirate fashion and gave me a bandana to wear, and because I believed everything she told me, I played along. Now the mirror and my memories sealed the deal. How could I have been so blinkered?

  There was a movement in my sleep quarters. I thought it might be Scud but it was Davie.

  ‘Don’t you ever knock?’ I couldn’t help it.

  He never knocked, never announced his presence – just arrived. He glowered at me.

  ‘Don’t give me your teenage insolence boy or I’ll knock your head off the door jamb.’

  Even as he said this he was giving me his searching inspection look, that before today, I never understood. Even though the mirror had just shown me my face, I was sure ‘native’ was now tattooed on my brow. Had my appearance changed to show the new wisdom, the learned knowledge of my DNA? That was daft; he couldn’t possibly see that in the piercing glance. I sat on my bed and signalled for him to take a seat.

  ‘Have you found the bird?’

  ‘No, not yet,’ I said, then added, ‘but I am sure I heard one.’ The fact he was here again asking this question meant it mattered.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘By the south shore,’ I continued. ‘I went down to a little cove – to the toilet. And I heard one in a clump of green plants that only seem to grow there. I’ll go back tomorrow and not make so much noise. I’m sure I can find one.’ My zeal was overplayed but what the hey. ‘I have a small camera here. I can take images if I find it.’ I held up my communicator plug-in.

  My grandfather snapped his fingers at me. ‘Let me see that.’

  I handed it over. ‘It was a present from my father. It’s just a plug-in.’

  ‘What about your standard communicator?’

  I considered lying but I knew that wouldn’t work. ‘It plugs into that.’ Oldies could be so maddening. ‘It’s been adapted but it doesn’t work here.’ I didn’t let on it had a radio.

  He looked around the room and said almost to himself. ‘We should have checked this before you entered the secure zone.’

  The truth was the plug-in didn’t work in the penitentiary, but I hadn’t tried it outside on the island. What a fool. I could have tried to call Ishbel.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he said as he threw the plug-in on the bed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You can’t go out tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Important visitors are coming and you must remain in your quarters until they’ve gone.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘That’s none of your concern.’

  ‘Can I meet them?’

  ‘Did you not hear what I said? Stay in your quarters.’

  ‘When are they coming?’

  ‘Thirteen hundred hours, so make sure you are in your quarters and nowhere near the library. I don’t want them pestered by a small boy.’

  I stood on my toes and grew tall at this but his smirk told me he was deliberately goading me so I shut up. He left me then, alone with a long night ahead filled with thoughts of planning. How could I hack Davie’s computer? How I could find out who this visitor was. How would Scud react when told him I had found Him?

  Chapter Twenty

  I woke to the sound of an approaching Transport, jumped from bed, tumbled over the clothes Scud would later tidy and ran to the window. Davie had said thirteen hundred hours – they were early, really early. The day was already beginning to lighten. No rain as far as I could see. A crayola of purple streaked the eastern horizon and out of that purple pizzazz emerged a black speck almost like a mosquito flying low, sliced in half by the line of the horizon. It grew in size until fully formed, maintaining its course towards my window. There was no pull-up to the helipad, there was no reduction in speed. It was coming too fast to stop. The cliff face reflected in those two bug eyes of the front screen – it was going to crash.

  ‘Suicide mission!’ I screamed as I hurled myself across the room, ducked and cowered, arms over head. But nothing happened. When I lowered my arms I heard the whirring, the slow beat of the engine. When would I learn? I peeled myself from the floor and peeped out of the window, like a child hiding behind hands, wanting and yet not wanting to see. And there it was, just as before, hovering metres from my cell. It dropped its nose in a bow, then raised and levelled so that the two bug eyes looked at me blankly, and yet behind them I knew there was hope. If it wasn’t Ishbel then it was someone else who knew my situation, not just on this island or in this prison but in this room. As the Transport drew back its full body came into view showing off full regalia of heavy armoury and decoration; the insignia was almost identical to Ishbel’s but more elaborate, ringed with a red and gold border transforming it into a shield.

  The Transport rose out of sight, its engine growling overhead until it touched down and cut. Would he be waiting for her as he had the night of my arrival? I tried to picture the scene: Ishbel leaving the craft, walking towards him as if she walked on glass, on tiptoes. I had to find out why she was here.

  Breakfast was brought by a guard I’d never seen before. He was young with a similar appearance to Ridgeway; he might have been Bas too although it wasn’t so obvious.

  ‘Where’s Scud?’

  ‘The prisoners are confined in their cells today,’ he snubbed.

  As he closed the door I
heard a buzzer sound. I tried to open it but it was locked with no way to force it. I hammered until my knuckles almost bled.

  ‘Open the door!’ I screamed. ‘Open the door right now.’ But there was no sound from the corridor. It was pretty hopeless. What an idiot – I should have been prepared and nipped out when the guard came in at first. I kicked the door. ‘Open, open, OPEN.’ All it returned was a sore foot.

  The dot on the wall gloated. ‘What the snaf are you laughing at?’ I spat as I threw a pillow at it.

  The tears were oh so close, but because this time the pain was physical, I could work them off by pacing the floor. The starburst glass still patterned the window, and I rubbed my hand over the rough surface wishing it would rip the skin to make it bleed. After a while my breathing eased and I reconciled myself to captivity. There was nothing else to do so I ate breakfast and settled to work.

  The genetics articles available in FuB were as useful as an umbrella in an ash cloud. Beastie didn’t even bother to restrict access, it just turned up blank. I read reports on corncrakes, but that lasted ten milliseconds because it was soooo boring. The room was a mess. Scud wasn’t coming to tidy today so I sorted through some of the clothes strewn on the floor. Ishbel’s pebble fell from one pocket. It was cool in my ravished hands. The indent she had worn down with her homesickness took my thumb as if it belonged. If I rubbed it hard enough and made a wish, would that make her come? Aeons must have passed in the stillness of my cell and then from nowhere a cold dread attacked me. What if the Transport was not Ishbel’s but the Military come to claim me for their own purposes? What if my grandfather had denounced me or what if they knew of my heritage? What if they were experimenting on me?

  What if, what if, what if? All these questions buzzed round my head like a fire cracker set loose in an empty oil drum. I threw the pebble across the room; it bounced off the window, and almost knocked me out on its return. The dot on the wall looked on disapprovingly.

  ‘What?’ I hissed at it.

  The same guard returned at noon to collect the breakfast tray and leave me lunch. When I tried to juke round him he was ready, blocked me and backed out of the room, tray in one hand, baton in the other.

  ‘Oh so that’s the way it’s to be? Batter me into confinement.’

  ‘I’m only following orders,’ he barked as he closed and locked me in.

  ‘Oh yeah? Well remind him I’m not a prisoner!’ I roared at the closed door.

  After an hour the food lay uneaten. No way were they going to tamper with my genes. Despite my rumbling belly I must have drifted off to sleep because the click of the door jolted me back to the living, but I was too far from it to try another escape round the guard. Except it wasn’t the guard. It was Davie. At last. I was so relieved to see him I forgot to be angry.

  ‘Come with me,’ he growled. I ran to the mirror, checked my appearance for stray freckles, eye tints, that sort of thing, then grabbed my holdall.

  ‘Leave that and hurry boy.’

  ‘But…?’

  ‘You’re not leaving with them. Just hurry or I’ll lock you in again.’

  The holdall went hurtling across the room but no way was I being locked up again so I hid my disappointment behind a teenage pout.

  His face was red and his breath stank of something sour.

  As I stepped into the library behind him I placed my hand on my thrumming throat to quell the beat. The table set in the middle of the room shone with gold goblets and half empty silver platters of food – it was a banquet of medieval proportions. Glass carafes of red and clear beverage were organised at one end; the carafe of red was almost done. Standing behind the table was a tall man with warm grey eyes and hair so blond his pink scalp shone through. He wore a uniform, similar to the one worn by Ma and Pa but with adaptations: the badges were in the wrong place and carried the same insignia as the Transport, shield and all. Despite these changes there was something familiar about the man. His features were perfect, like someone from a movie-caster – all the best bits assembled into the creation of a beautiful being. As we entered the room he moved to greet us. His brimming confidence infected me but Davie bristled, poking me in the arm, urging me forward. The man’s eyes and smile welcomed me.

  ‘Sorlie,’ he said, chummy-like. Did I know him? Someone from the Base, perhaps. ‘I’m Merj,’ he said in a rolling purr. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.’

  ‘Pleasure,’ I echoed.

  He shook my hand, his grip applying the correct pressure, not too limp, not too earnest. ‘I have heard so much about you from Ishbel,’ he continued before stepping aside to post sentry by my winged chair. And then I saw her, standing by the other side of the chair, Ishbel – alive. I wanted to rush forward but her eyes flashed no, her face masked, expressionless.

  ‘Hello Sorlie.’ Her voice was dull, mechanical.

  When I remained by the door Merj moved again and beckoned me into the room. I saw Ishbel’s eyes soften into a smile even though her mouth remained grim. She looked younger, fresher, as if the death of my parents had released her. Her uniform bore the same regal insignia as Merj who now leaned towards her and brushed some invisible particle from her shoulder. They smiled to each other. At first I experienced a stab of jealousy, but something was wrong, charged. Ishbel’s arms were folded across her chest in defensive mode. The tension in the room crackled.

  Slouched in the winged chair was a figure so tiny I hadn’t noticed him at first. An almost religious type smothered in a large brown cloak, head bent forward as if in prayer; an ornate Hebridean hood was pulled over his head so all I could see were small withered hands spotted with liver marks and gnarled knuckles of age.

  Davie coughed roughly at my side, grabbed my arm and tried to push me further into the room, but my feet rooted to the floor.

  ‘Our esteemed visitor wishes to meet you Sorlie,’ he said in a wily voice.

  I glanced at Ishbel and she nodded for me to step forward. One withered hand lifted off the lap and like an idiot I just stared at it and then at the shoes of fine leather – a banned substance – on the feet of this esteemed visitor. Like my grandfather, this person flaunted the rules. Davie hacked again and nudged my back.

  ‘May I present my grandson…’

  ‘I know who he is.’

  I was taken aback by the feminine strength and sharp tone of the voice from under the hood. Davie took a step back as if he’d been slapped but recovered quickly to stab me with his finger again.

  I now took the hand offered to me and bowed. It was as light as a silk handkerchief but the dry palm was rough as if it had been used to manual labour. I felt that if I squeezed it too tightly it would crumble like the charcoal left behind in my father’s beach fire, turned to dust to blow to the wind.

  ‘Enchanté,’ I said. I heard a small tinkle laugh.

  The hand tightened its grip and the figure shuffled in the seat to move forward. A sweet perfume of lavender rose in the air and I gulped back the memory of Ma. A polite cough from under the hood signalled that the visitor was about to speak, then my grandfather yanked me back and the cough from within the cloak rattled and gained momentum and racked its way through the frail body. Ishbel crouched down and Merj offered a handkerchief; they seemed quite a team. Davie propelled me towards the library door. I struggled against the roughness of his grip.

  ‘Wait!’ Merj stepped forward and pushed Davie’s hand away. ‘This is not finished, old man.’ I dared not look at Davie. He must have been raging, but he was outnumbered. Merj led me back to the sitting figure who had now recovered herself. She straightened and pulled back the hood that had obscured her face. The red hair had faded and was woven through with grey; her green eyes that had been so bright and clear in the hologram were now yellowed and weak. Her skin was clear with few blemishes but lines crinkled around the eyes mapping years of mirth, and yet there was a pinch to her mouth as if t
hat laughter was not always true. When she smiled I saw she was enjoying my scrutiny. Her smile showed me teeth grey with age but strong like Ishbel’s. As I looked to Ishbel now, the old woman tugged my hand to draw my gaze back to her. Davie was right behind me and pulled me back from her grasp. Her fingers fluttered in some ‘no matter’ dance.

  ‘We saw you from the window Sorlie,’ she said. ‘How are your quarters? Is the old man taking good care of you?’

  ‘The boy wants for nothing.’ There was a pressure in his grasp that no one else seemed to notice.

  ‘Are you here to take me back?’

  ‘Sadly no.’ She looked towards Davie and smiled sweetly but her voice held no regret. ‘Your grandfather was expecting someone else. My good friends in the Noiri had an unfortunate accident and asked me to deliver some specials to your grandfather.’

  ‘A set-up more likely,’ Davie said.

  ‘Your grandfather always was paranoid,’ she said. ‘But I don’t suppose he would have been too happy to miss his wine delivery.’

  ‘Don’t talk of me in third person. You tricked me.’

  Vanora sighed as if he were a child. ‘It was a lovely opportunity to visit you and Sorlie.’