by S. K. Holder
Connor was escorted from his room in the compound by a soldier with metallic-coloured hair and eyes so pale, they looked white. He didn’t speak and his lips were pursed so tight, Connor started to think he might be a droid. The unnamed soldier took him to a set of doors set in an alcove. The soldier put his face up to a biometric plate in the alcove’s arch. The doors snapped apart shortly after.
They marched up an aisle with tall chairs on either side. The floor had been laid with interlocking marble and wood tiles. Specks of gold and silver illuminated the dark blue walls. Spotlights in the ceiling made the room appear fathomless.
The soldier who had escorted him vanished during his walk up the aisle. Connor didn’t see where he went. All he saw was what lay ahead.
Garis Kyson stood at the end of the aisle with his eyes fixed on him. His arms were clasped behind his back. He stood in front of a colossal screen, bordered by an arc of evenly spaced steel columns.
Lin sat in a chair on the other side of the columns, facing the screen. She had changed into a regular fleet uniform. Her hair spilled down her shoulders, revealing a maze of tattoos.
Connor’s heart quickened at the sight of Riv trussed between two soldiers. One of the soldiers was Brett; the other was a woman with shorn hair. Each of them clutched Riv’s arms. She growled when she saw Connor approaching and tried to struggle free. Her plait had unraveled, leaving her hair hanging over her face. Her eyes glinted with hatred and malice.
He reached the steel columns and stood to face the commander.
‘What’s happened?’ he said. He could have done without knowing. He wanted to get back home before the alien planet stripped him of his sanity. He had no plans to return to this harsh oppressive world.
No matter what happened.
‘I’m glad to see you looking so well,’ said Garis, smiling. He remained on the other side of the column. ‘Our young Peltarck cadet thought it would be fun to give you and Erard a little sleeping draught. She confessed to it. Do you still have your flask?’
Keeping his eyes on Garis, Connor took the flask from his pack and placed it in Brett’s free hand. The commander had assumed a congenial manner and his smile seemed less forced than when he had met him onboard the carrier. Despite his welcoming demeanor, Connor hadn’t forgotten that no one had teleported him to safety when the Echoes attacked the carrier. It could have been unintentional or it could have been a calculated move to get rid of him. He would never know.
Brett popped the lid off the flask. He held the lid to his nose. ‘You drank all of it?’
‘Yes,’ said Connor.
Brett’s nostrils flared. ‘Erard had been on the Baya Mountain peak when he drained his flask,’ he glared at the commander. ‘A drop from such a height could have killed him. What shall I do with her?’
Riv spat on the ground and sent her elbow into Brett’s chest. Brett seized her arm and jerked it away with such force it struck the side of her head.
‘Lock her up,’ said Garis, ‘and then we’ll decide. We’ll need to question every−’ he paused and gazed at Lin. The indigo blood rushed to his cheeks. ‘I doubt if she acted alone.’
Connor had a feeling he knew what Garis was going to say. They would need to question every Peltarck in the fleet and Lin was likely to be among them. The fact that she didn’t stand in Garis’s presence led him to believe they were friends or of a similar rank. The commander had not looked at Lin with spite or accusation, rather with embarrassment. Little did they know that Riv wasn’t the only guilty one among them. Brett’s ‘sleeping draught’ had knocked him out cold. It if wasn’t for Brett Delsen, he would have never been on board the carrier to have drunk from the flask. He wondered what the commander would say if he told them.
‘Protocol,’ guessed the Authoritative Voice. Connor thought the voice could be right.
‘She’ll have a trial won’t she?’ said Lin. She raised her chin as if to show her pride had somehow been hurt by Riv’s act of treason.
‘Yes she’ll have a hearing,’ said Garis. He waved his hand at Brett and the other soldier. ‘Leave us.’
Brett and the other soldier led a struggling, hissing Riv from the room.
Connor watched them take her. So Riv was among the Peltarcks who hated Citizens. He should have known. She hadn’t bowed when she had met him at the lake. But had she really meant him any harm? She had saved him from the lizards. If she had truly wanted to hurt him, she could have pushed him back into the river and returned to the battle without anyone knowing.
‘Riv told me you knew Issturo was beneath Jolrin Lake,’ said Garis, ‘and yet he had been down there for years. So how is it you saw him fall in?’
‘I didn’t see him fall in,’ he said, at once, recalling Issturo’s warning. ‘I thought I heard noise coming from the water.’
‘You had never met him before, so how did you know his name or his status? You gave that information to Riv, didn’t you?’
Connor didn’t know how to explain it. It would have been easy for him to say that Riv had lied. He didn’t owe her anything after what she had done.
Lin interjected. ‘Connor didn’t know anyone was trapped beneath the lake until we turned on the shelter’s surveillance. It had been deactivated years ago. Riv didn’t think the noise coming from the lake would be enough for us to bring him out. I relayed the information to you after the surveillance was turned back on not before. Connor had informed her of what he heard, that was all.’
Garis raised his eyebrows. His lips constricted in an angry snarl. ‘Next time I suggest you get your facts right and not presume to know the actions we will take concerning the welfare of our own race. I don’t know what to believe regarding Issturo’s rescue from the lake, but you are a hero today, Connor, at least in the eyes of three Citizens.’
A hero? Connor wasn’t certain he had heard right. How could he be a hero. He had been running scared since he landed on the planet.
‘You saved Issturo from the lake. You also, as I understand it, fought to save Brett’s son’s life and you came to my defence on board the carrier.’ He searched Connor’s face. ‘There is a soldier in there somewhere I’m sure.’
Connor didn’t know what to say. He had never thought of himself as a hero in any sense. He had acted without thinking. He went over the recent feats he had accomplished since being on Pyridian. He guessed he was a hero even if he hadn’t set out to be. He found himself staring in admiration at the insignias on Garis’s uniform. He looked over at Lin, who was smiling at him. She also had several medals of honour attached to her uniform.
‘What about the battle?’ asked Connor.
‘There are always battles on Pyridian,’ Garis replied. ‘And we always win.’
‘I guess it helps if you’ve got a readily available supply of aliens to kill,’ said Connor. He hardly noticed the change in Garis’s expression. He turned to Lin. In his short time on Pyridian, he had learned something of paramount importance – and it had to do with his brother.
‘Can I speak with you alone?’ he asked.
‘You can speak freely in front of Commander Garis, Connor,’ said Lin. ‘He was the one who sent me to Narrigh to find you. He knows as much as I do about your exile.’
Connor gazed at the both of them. ‘Which is?’
‘That you, your brother, mother and uncle were sent to Earth seven years ago on the orders of the Presidential Elite following the assassination of your father, Eron,’ said Garis. ‘Your genetic make-up is temporarily altered outside the Andromeda galaxy due to the absence of a mineral called Zichronite, which is found within our galaxy’s atmosphere and our planet’s core. We believe the mineral is prevalent in other galaxies, but not in the Milky Way galaxy where your Earth resides. You have a nano-chip in your leg which is undetectable on Earth. In Odisiris, it is used to track your every move. It won’t show up on any electronic image display on Earth.’
‘Luke’s the Lord Chancellor of Odisiris, isn’t he?’ He should have known.
This journey wasn’t about him. No one was after his gift. His gift was inconsequential, almost like a grain in a desert. Garis had told him that a Vice-Chancellor ruled in his father’s place. But Issturo’s remark was even more telling: “I’m curious to see how the planet thrives without a successor.’
‘Yes,’ said Garis.
Connor stared over Garis’s shoulder at the screen. A straight-lined maze had flashed up on the monitor before the hologram grid appeared. He had seen it before, on the inside cover of The Plague of Pyridian gaming guide he had fished out of the bin in Ted Carthy’s office. What he thought was a meaningless doodle was an aerial view of Hiburild.
‘We need to get you home,’ said Lin, shooting Garis a wary glance. She rose to her feet. ‘We can’t delay any further. Come.’ She placed an arm around his shoulder. She led him to where Garis stood on the other side of the columns.
Connor looked down to see a purple halo around his feet. He attempted to step out of it.
‘I have more questions?’
Lin placed her hands firmly on his shoulders, holding him steady. ‘You won’t get them here,’ she said. ‘You need to give us the date and time you wish to return to Earth.’ Her eyes probed his. ‘Think carefully.’
Connor had once thought that he needed to go back to the beginning to learn about his past, that his future depended on it. He had wanted to return to the time in which he had followed Luke out of the house on his way to Tridan Entertainment. He imagined catching up with him and telling him about his time on Pyridian. He had pictured his brother’s shocked face when he caught him out. Luke couldn’t conceal the truth from him then. To return to that day was fruitless. He had been selfish and reckless when he should have been cautious and attentive. The danger wasn’t on Pyridian or Narrigh. The danger was on Earth. They were not the only ones, he thought with a growing sense of dread. There were other races from other worlds on Earth.
The reason why he had found himself in Pyridian was because he had been trying to work out how he came to be in Narrigh. Travelling back in time wouldn’t solve the mystery.
It seemed he had a mission of his own to complete, which would only unravel if he travelled back in time. He had returned from Narrigh on the same date and the same time he had left. He had been away for weeks. But time had been reset. It would also mean that the person or persons responsible for sending him to Narrigh would believe they had failed and will have tried again, which they had with The Plague of Pyridian.
If Garis sent him back to the day and time he left Earth for Pyridian, the same person would think they had failed a second time. They wouldn’t stop trying until they got what they wanted: Luke.
He handed Lin his provisions pack. ‘I don’t want to travel back in time or forward. Just send me back to the present day.’
‘You’ve made the right choice,’ said Lin ‘Just be careful and tell your brother.’
THIRTY-SIX
Ted Carthy pushed past Professor Hatleman to get through the door of his house.
He staggered into the first entrance he came across. It took him into the living room. He flopped onto the sofa wheezing and coughing as if he had a bad case of asthma.
The professor had given him a glass of water in the car, most of which he slopped all over himself, the professor and the car seat.
He hadn’t wanted to go to the professor’s house. He had wanted to go to the police station or somewhere teeming with lots of people and security, such as a bank or an airport. Steve Lepton would know where the professor lived. What if he was brazen enough to show up on his doorstep with his gun?
Professor Hatleman and his driver had ignored Ted’s pleas to stop the car and before he knew it, they had arrived at his home in West London. Now he felt too tired and wretched to move. He hoped the professor was trained in CPR. He would need it soon enough.
‘Murder,’ he managed to splutter. ‘Kane. We need to call the police.’ He saw an old style telephone sitting on a round mahogany pedestal table. It had a clunky handset and a gold-plated dial. He pointed to it, his tongue lax in his throat.
The professor ignored him. He had freed his hair from its ponytail. He wore a black suit: a shirt with a high collar and a silk tie. Ted wondered if he had come from a funeral. It would explain his sombre mood. The professor hardly said a word in the car. In fact, he began to think the professor had been embarrassed by his earlier conduct. What with his screaming, wheezing and crying on the ride over. Professor Hatleman had an air of an English aristocrat about him. Ted had never once seen him flustered. He was extremely composed at all times. He had suspected the professor didn’t know what to do in such circumstances, so he thought he better not react at all. For the most part of the journey, he acted as if Ted didn’t exist.
‘Can I get you something to drink?’ asked the professor.
‘Water,’ Ted croaked. The wheezing had died down and he was able to catch his breath. He stared out of the window which looked on to the street. Through the net curtains he saw the movement of car lights. It made him more anxious.
The professor strode to the window. He drew the rich tapestry curtains shut. ‘There, is that better?’
Ted nodded.
The professor reached inside his pocket and took out a square handkerchief. He handed it to Ted.
Ted smothered his face in the handkerchief to soak up his sweat and tears. He then used it to blow his nose.
The professor left the room, switching on the main light as he went.
Ted let out a sob of relief. He was lucky to have survived. He would never have thought in million years that his career in Tridan Entertainment would take such a perilous turn. He didn’t want to think about Luke. He was more likely dead than alive. He guessed it was the end of Tridan Entertainment. The company would never recover from the scandal.
He squeezed a tear from his eye and gave a loud sniff. He stared around the living room. Who knew the professor was so old-fashioned! He felt as if he had stepped back in time. The living room was bedecked with vintage 19th century furniture. An Oriental rug lay in the centre of the floor. The room was furnished with fine upholstered chairs, cherry wood tables, cabinets and a bureau. An oil painting hung above the mantelpiece. It was a portrait of a man who looked like a younger version of the professor, with the exception of his eyes which were unequal shades of blue. The man in the portrait wore a silk waistcoat and tailored jacket with wide frilly silk cuffs. Ted thought he might be the professor’s distant relative who had lived in the 19th century and left him his West London townhouse in his will.
He gave a start when the door creaked open. A girl of about twelve walked in dressed in a cotton nightdress down to her ankles. Her feet were bare and her hair was tied back in a fat plait. He gawked at her. He didn’t know the professor had children. A wife yes. He had never set eyes on the woman, but the professor wore a wedding ring on his left hand.
They both stared at each other. Ted thought he could stare her out of the room. To his dismay, she moved further in.
‘I’m Amelia,’ she said.
Ted nodded. He must have looked a sight with his red nose and watery eyes. He needn’t talk to her. There was no one around to witness the fact that he wasn’t good with children and frankly didn’t have time for them unless they could do something useful for him.
‘Shouldn’t you be in bed?’ he asked. The younger they were, the less he found he had in common with them. Here he was in the midst of a crisis and the kid was rooted in front of him with her hand stuck out like a rod.
She lowered her hand. ‘I was waiting for my uncle to come home. Have you been crying?’
His niece. That made sense. She was probably just visiting. Her mother might have been visiting too. He had arrived in a house filled with people, so there were lots of witnesses if Steve were to come knocking, or potentially more victims, depending on which way you looked at it.
‘Your mum around?’ he asked.
Amelia settled herself into a green upholst
ered chair. ‘No.’ She flicked her hair over her shoulder. ‘What’s your name?’
Ted stuffed the handkerchief up his shirt sleeve and leaned back in the sofa. His name was none of her business. It made sense that her mother wasn’t around. It explained why she stayed up late asking him silly questions.
He heard footsteps in the hallway. A housekeeper walked in carrying a china tea set and a tall coffee pot. She was a stout woman with toffee-blonde hair, enormous eyes and a florid complexion. She wore a pale green uniform. She set the tray down on the table without acknowledging Ted at all.
She glowered at the girl. ‘What are you doing in here?’ she snapped.
Amelia’s hands slid behind her back as if she were hiding something. ‘I was bored in my room.’
‘Bored!’ The housekeeper scoffed. ‘It’s past your bedtime. Does your uncle know you’re up?’
Amelia hitched up one shoulder. ‘I don’t know. Why don’t you run and ask him?’
The woman’s lips tightened. ‘Up to your room now,’ she said in a stern voice. ‘I mean it. And don’t think I won’t tell your uncle of your insolent behaviour you little−’
‘Please to meet you,’ said the girl, giving him a small curtesy.
‘Yeah,’ said Ted, with a nod. He wanted them both out. He stared at the tray. The smell of steaming coffee made him feel giddy. The housekeeper had gone to the trouble of adding a plate of scones, and a pot of jam, butter, and cream to the tray.
She marched Amelia out of the room by the shoulder, her eyes burning a hole in the child’s back. She closed the door behind her.
Ted tried picking up a china cup. His hands shook so much, he had to set it down again before he broke it. Why hadn’t the housekeeper greeted him? He wasn’t invisible. More importantly, what was taking the professor so long? Surely the housekeeper could fetch his water. He guessed it would be quicker for him to call the police. He started to reach into his pocket for his phone, and then stopped himself. It wouldn’t just be Steve who would be in trouble with the police though would it? He had been with Connor when he had disappeared. He had blackmailed Luke. He had placed a virus on one of the games. He swallowed. He had cloned Professor Hatleman’s thumbprint to access the supercomputer and broke into the vault on the seventh floor. Professor Hatleman didn’t need to know of his involvement. The police would discover it through their high-tech investigations. Knowing his luck, he and Steve Lepton would wind up sharing a prison cell. He slapped his forehead, suddenly remembering that he had not checked Connor’s bag for his own key card and that little piece of paper on which he had written his telephone number. If he made the call, the police would think he did so in a bid to cover his own tracks. They would want to know why he had fled the scene. He could see himself ranting and gesticulating like a lunatic, tripping over his own tongue, concocting a myriad of lies to get himself off. No doubt, the police would lap it all up as they drew out their handcuffs and read him his rights.
