by S. K. Holder
He watched the police officers leave through the double doors before he returned to his brother.
He perched on the edge of Luke’s bed. He didn’t like the number of drips and tubes hooked up to his brother. One of the tubes contained blood. The sight of the pack of crimson fluid hanging from the IV pole made him nauseous. The doctor had said he would need a minimum of two blood transfusions.
Because of the nature of his injuries, the hospital staff were keen to get Luke into a private room as quickly as possible. Several hours had passed, a room had yet to be found and the commotion surrounding Luke’s admission to the emergency department had died down.
Connor didn’t know if it had something to do with the drugs being pumped through Luke’s body or whether he had suffered an undiagnosed blow to the head, but his brother claimed to have no memory of who shot him.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Groggy,’ Luke whispered. ‘Head hurts.’
‘And you really can’t remember anything?’
Luke shook his head. ‘I don’t even remember going to Tridan Entertainment.’
Connor peered through a slit in the curtains. Satisfied there was no one close enough to hear, he gave Luke a short summary of what had happened to him since he had followed Luke to Tridan Entertainment.
He barely touched on any of the details, but by the time he’d finished telling Luke about Ted Carthy, Beth Croswell and Pyridian, he was choking back tears. He struggled to control his emotions in front of the brother he had never seen shed a tear.
‘I’m sorry bro,’ said Luke. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about. You should get the doctors to take a look at you too − while you’re here.’
They heard the fast patter of feet. The curtains were swept back and their mum rushed in. She launched herself between them. Luke managed a smile. She kissed him and held his hand. She wrapped one arm around Connor’s shoulder, pulling him close.
‘I’ve been so worried,’ she said. She was breathless and her eyes were red and puffy. ‘So-so very frightened for you both.’ She gulped back her sobs. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. The police told me that you were shot by a crazed gunman.’
‘From what the police tell me,’ said Luke. ‘I don’t remember.’
She glanced down at Luke’s leg. ‘We’ll get the doctor to have another look at you. I’ll ask them to do a brain scan.’ She squeezed his hand and turned to Connor. We need to talk to the police. Riley’s dad said you can spend the night at their house. He’s coming to pick you up. I’m going to stay here with Luke.’ She went chasing after a doctor who had walked by.
Luke’s eyes fluttered shut. Connor knew he was slipping away again. The amount of drugs they had given him were clearly making him drowsy. He touched his arm. ‘Luke?’
His brother had fallen asleep. He hoped his memory loss was temporary. Their mum was relieved they were safe. He didn’t want to break that sense of security by telling her their lives were in danger.
Who knew how many races from the other worlds walked the Earth. He was beginning to think that no planet was safe for them.
He left his brother’s cubicle and exited the ward. His mum stood in the corridor talking to a doctor. She didn’t see him.
Further down, Riley sat on one of the benches. He stood up when he saw Connor approaching.
‘Is Luke okay? Your mum told my dad that someone from Tridan Entertainment tried to kill him,’ said Riley. ‘And that they also killed your uncle. Is that true?’
Riley looked as if he hadn’t had much sleep himself. His eyes were red and his face drawn.
Connor nodded. He couldn’t face Riley right now. He gazed down the corridor, at its pale walls and vacant chairs. A nurse, holding a clipboard, came barging out of a side door. An elderly woman in a blue gown tottered by with her walking frame. He took in the converging freckles on his friend’s face.
Everyone looked different to him now.
He felt as if he had been reborn. You couldn’t tell a Citizen by the colour of their eyes, or their skin, or the way they dressed.
‘Did the gunman take you hostage?’
‘No,’ whispered Connor, his mind on other matters. His plans to return to Tridan Entertainment that night to retrieve the rucksack were dashed. It was likely the police had already found it.
‘Then where have you been? Your mum said you were sick.’
Connor didn’t want to elaborate. What his mum said was partly true: he had been sick. ‘Where’s your dad?’
‘Getting drinks. Did you find anything out about the games?’
‘Yeah something.’
‘And?’
Connor studied Riley’s untamed hairline before meeting his gaze. ‘They’re just games, Riley. They’re not real. It was a mind warp. There are no Citizens. I made it up. I’m sorry. I guess I got carried away.’
Riley gave a sympathetic nod. He laid his hand on Connor’s shoulder. ‘That’s okay. I’m sorry you didn’t get to know your uncle.’
Connor shrugged off Riley’s hand. He found it hard to grieve for an uncle he never knew. It was unfair that he had been robbed from any sort of relationship with him. If he wanted to learn about Kane Brailey and his dad, he would have to ask his mum. He wasn’t sure she would be willing to dredge up a past that she had kept secret for so long. A part of him, resented having to broach the subject with her at all. He had a strong feeling she would deny everything, dismiss him as Luke had done. There was someone else out there who knew as much as Connor did, if not more. He didn’t know if he was an enemy or a friend. He squeezed the Worral Stone in his pocket. But wherever Professor Hatleman was he would find him.
FORTY-ONE
He had left the box out. He scolded himself for being so careless and rushed to stow it away. His fingers caught the top of the crushed wooden lid. The contents of the box fell onto the table: one in a silent flutter, the other in a noisy clatter. He gathered them both in his hands, running his fingers over the ink-stained plastic cover which held a yellowing newspaper article. He then lifted the toughened glass tablet. This one he held for longer, stroking away the dust on it with his finger. He held it under the table lamp. The light made the letters appear. He cast his eyes over the first words, ‘10th January 2326’. A meaningless date, he thought wearily, still he read on:
“Today, we are saddened to announce the tragic passing of Dr Mathieus Valaia. The physicist was renowned for his work in electromagnetic radiation and his advances in nanotechnology. He also created the most advanced time machine the millennium has ever seen. Ironically, the one invention that had the potential to save our dying planet was the very device that killed the greatest technologist of our time...”
There was a knock at the door. He placed the table in the box and shut the lid. ‘Yes?’ he called.
His housekeeper, Merith, popped her head around the drawing room door. ‘He’s here.’
‘Then send him in.’ He didn’t like to keep such an important guest waiting in the hall like a potential employee. He had removed his brown contact lenses for the occasion. He didn’t want to startle someone who had only ever seen him with his natural eye colour.
‘Come through,’ said the housekeeper opening the door wider.
The Maker struggled to rise. He had spent hours sitting in his favourite chair and his legs had gone quite numb.
Osaphar walked in and held his hand up to gesture that he should stay seated.
The Maker took the pressure off his legs once again and reached for a drink. He clamped his lips to the glass and took a paltry sip of the brown liquid. He found it hard to meet Osaphar’s gaze. The room had turned quite cold in his presence.
Osaphar Kulane’s face was tight with frustration. He appeared uncomfortable in his starch shirt and cotton trousers and he declined the drink and tea offered, in favour of chewing on his own tongue. He kept stroking the palm of his right hand as if the caress would restore his Status Mark and make him whole again.
<
br /> ‘The worlds are becoming murky, Osaphar,’ said The Maker.
Osaphar clasped his hands in his lap and rocked forward. ‘Is that why you summoned me here, Mathieus? To tell me what you already know. The worlds are murky because you made them that way. I think deep down, you take pleasure in the chaos you have created. How many times have we spoken of this?’
Too many times to remember, thought The Maker, or to care. The worlds were slipping from his control and not for the first time. ‘Do you have any news from Narrigh?’
‘You know the answer to that question and you do not need to send for me to ask it. We have not found Skelos Dorm or the missing Shard. The Dal-Carrion are decreasing at a steady rate. If anything had changed, you would have been the first to know.’
The Maker had not heard Osaphar’s reply. He nodded all the same. He took a mouthful of his drink as he tried to work up the courage for what he was about to say. ‘Kane Brailey is dead.’
Osaphar grunted in disbelief. ‘How?’
‘He was murdered by one of our benefactors. A man called Steve Lepton. He hijacked my teleportation tech and used it for his own ends. He attempted to take Luke’s life also. It would seem our planet isn’t as safe for your future Lord Chancellor as I first thought. Our hijacker was a Peltarck who I was obliged to terminate.’
Osaphar lurched to his feet. ‘Where is he? I wish to see him at once.’
The Maker gestured for him to sit down. Quite frankly, he could do without the theatrics after the whole Ted Carthy debacle. His patience for the emotionally distressed was wearing thin. Though he understood it; Luke was the son Osaphar never had. ‘He’s being cared for by medics. He’ll live.
‘I retrieved all the teleportation devices with the exception of the one Luke had in his possession. Connor used it to go to Pyridian. He came back safely but he was seen by others.’ He took another sip of his drink. ‘And there’s something else. While on Pyridian he was able to locate the whereabouts of an elderly Citizen who had been missing for about eight years. He was found in an abandoned shelter beneath a lake. Connor claims he saw him fall in. Obviously he was lying. I believe the boy is one of the Gifted. If he masters this gift he could become very powerful indeed, but it will also cause him to constantly seek answers, like his father. Luke remembers his time in Narrigh. He knows he must be discreet. Their mother, in her grief has chosen to forget her life on your planet. Connor is fighting to remember. Once those dreams transcend to memories, who knows where they will lead him.’
Osaphar exhaled sharply. ‘I understand the dangers but not the lie.’
‘Lie?’ The Maker didn’t share every detail of his strategies with Osaphar, not until he had all the facts, which he rarely did. He didn’t like to upset his Citizen friend. And it didn’t take much to upset him these days.
‘You had me believe you were not responsible for Connor’s transport to Narrigh. You think no one can touch you. You’re fickle and naïve when it comes to matters of trust. You’ve failed to ensure the safety of the Brailey dynasty when you gave me your word that you would not.’
Osaphar was right. Sometimes arrogance and vanity got in the way of common sense. He had allowed himself to be manipulated by a Peltarck. The former Head of Production had impressed him with his business acumen and aptitude for software engineering. He had also flattered his work and drank in his every word, unlike some of the students and Tridan Entertainment employees who attended his lectures. Steve had not been exiled from Pyridian and had arrived on Earth without his knowledge; he had no idea how. He had sent a small squad from his taskforce to Steve Lepton’s home. There they had discovered an old photo of him with a shaven head bearing the Peltarck tattoos that symbolised his family name: blades and blood intertwined. It was a shame he didn’t keep him alive long enough to question him.
It looked as if Steve had waited years for the opportune moment to seek him out and use him as a vessel to go after the Braileys. Steve had been clever enough to bide his time and earn his trust, to impress him and prove his worth. The Maker had been blinded by the man’s charisma and his determination. And so he had allowed him entry into the secret circle of benefactors: a rare breed of individuals who accepted extraterritorial life and sought to control it.
When the Maker had returned home he had made little effort to try to find out how Connor and Luke had arrived in Narrigh. His mind was consumed with a hundred different things at once. And he was only one man. He had opened an investigation on the deportation ship procedures. Such an investigation would take months and he suspected it would yield little results. He could not hold the deportation crew responsible. He was the chief benefactor on Earth. The rest took their orders from him. He believed he was the only man on Earth who could execute teleportation, until he had discovered what Steve had done, what his great mind was capable of achieving with his ignorant assistance.
He hadn’t the foresight to consider that someone would harness his teleportation tech. He had never rigged it to work off-planet. Steve had done that. It looked as if the Peltarck had friends in high places.
As the conspiracy began to unravel, he had naturally turned his attention to the boys’ uncle. Steve had told him that it was Kane who came up with The Plague of Pyridian storyline. Suspecting Kane of treason, he had asked Steve to keep a watchful eye on the C.E.O. while he was away on business. Steve had manipulated him to such an extent that he had even encouraged the Peltarck to make corporate decisions without the C.E.O.’s consultation.
The Braileys were high-profile exiles. They had to be taken care of somehow. He had given them Tridan Entertainment in name only. It had been a mistake to bring him into a company with a board of benefactors at its helm. Kane Brailey had been lazy. He had over-delegated and had barely taken the time to understand the game systems. This had led to resentment among the company’s senior management. Steve wasn’t the first shareholder to try to toss Kane Brailey from his C.E.O. chair, but their attempts at extracting him were less severe. Steve’s motives were two-fold: to head the gaming company and to seek extra-terrestrial alliances by using the Braileys as collateral.
‘I didn’t learn of Steve Lepton’s involvement until after I had spoken with you. I have to put my trust in others. You must understand I have few allies and fewer friends,’ the Maker replied. ‘You are the only one I can count on. I would clone you if I could.’ The remark was meant as a compliment. He watched Osaphar’s lips hitch into a snarl and realised his friend took insolence not praise from his words.
‘I am not one of your possessions,’ he hissed. ‘If you want me as a friend then I suggest you treat me with the respect I deserve.’ Osaphar rose from the chair and swiped the glass from his hand. He emptied the last of the Maker’s drink onto his exquisite Axminster hand-knotted rug. He set the empty glass on the coffee table, and then planted himself back in his chair.
‘I apologise. I never meant to offend you. I was simply trying to say you are a good and trusted friend which is why I need you to remain here for a while to act as Tridan Entertainment’s C.E.O. You once told me that you promised to protect Luke and Connor as if they were your own. Surely they are as dear to you as Eron once was.’
Osaphar gave him a wary glance. ‘I am fond of Luke. He reminds me of Eron and I see a little of myself in him when I was his age.’
The Maker smiled, pleased to see his friend look so wistful.
‘I know nothing of running a gaming company and I will not stay away from Worack for months at a time.’
‘You can bring her here.’ He said it knowing that Osaphar would never agree to it. He loved Worack Veros too much to lose her to another world. It was the only reason he abandoned his own planet in favour of hers; his role of benefactor was secondary.
Osaphar shook his head. ‘I fear it will be too much for her. She will struggle to adapt. She doesn’t understand a world without magic. I fear she will reveal herself. I fear I won’t be able to protect her.’
‘You fear she will cha
nge?’
Osaphar stared at the palm of his hand. The Maker didn’t reply. It was just as well that he would never agree to it. If Worack came to Earth, she could never return to Narrigh. She would see and know too much. And there was a chance she would welcome the power her magic had over earthlings and use it to gain power and control to rival his own.
‘Very well. I will stay two weeks. It is as much as I can spare.’
The Maker was convinced a habit of duty would force Osaphar’s hand and he would stay longer. ‘You have a military background and command respect Osaphar. You don’t need to know how to run a gaming company. You know how to lead. Our shareholders and investors are panicking. I don’t want them to pull out of funding our cybernetic projects. Kane sealed the negotiations on that one. They will look to someone to resume them and it can’t be me.’
Osaphar nodded. ‘A month then, no longer. Talking of cybernetics, how is the part-humanoid?’
‘Insufferable.’ He found Amelia so annoying that he wished he had left her in Narrigh. He would ask Osaphar to take her back to Narrigh with him when he departed, if he and his housekeeper, Merith, could endure her for that long. ‘I can’t take her anywhere for fear of what she might say. She has spent too much of her life around adults. She has deliberately avoided speaking of her uncle.’
‘You don’t think she knows where he is?’
‘I’m certain she doesn’t.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I don’t need to impress on you the importance of keeping the Braileys’ away from Tridan Entertainment while I locate the missing teleportation device. I don’t want it to fall into the wrong hands again. I have locked the rest away in a vault.’
‘Let me take care of the Braileys. Did you clean up at Tridan, and more importantly did you clean up on Pyridian?’
The Maker nodded. The Peltarck cadet, Riv, had been executed by a group of Citizen soldiers before she could stand trial. He suspected Brett was responsible for Riv’s untimely death. He would never be brought to justice, not for the murder of an Unmarked One.
