by Sean Cullen
Hamish X felt a slight wave of nausea. He reached out and braced himself against the edge of the worktable. The nausea passed quickly. Noor touched his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Hamish X nodded. Parveen grasped Noor’s hand excitedly. “See? It works.”
Noor nodded. “By changing the wavelength of the pulse we were able to adjust it to make it less harmful to you and more harmful to the Grey Agents.”
“Now we have a new weapon. The first we’ve developed together.” Parveen’s chest puffed with pride. “I did the circuitry but Noor was able to alter the pulse generator and make it more compact. She’s very clever.”
Hamish X smiled and gripped his shoulder. “She would have to be. She’s your sister.”
Parveen blushed. Noor kissed her brother’s cheek. “No need for that!” Parveen wiped his cheek with his hand. Noor laughed and pinched his other cheek. “You’re such a little old man.”
Hamish X watched as she teased him and felt a swell of joy. How wonderful for Parveen not to be alone in the world any more. Now the little boy had someone to belong with. Hamish X had no such luck. He sensed a wave of sadness threatening to sweep over him and so changed the subject. “Hey, are you all ready for the wedding?”
“Yes,” Parveen nodded. “Of course. We have made a wonderful gift for Mrs. Francis and Mr. Kipling. It’s—”
Noor clamped a hand over Parveen’s mouth. “It’s a surprise is what it is, little brother.”
Hamish X laughed. He headed for the door, calling over his shoulder, “See you in the park then. I’ll take the red light more seriously next time.”
He stepped through the door and left them bent over, heads together, examining the inert robot.
Chapter 17
Hamish X headed across the courtyard to the elevator. There was a crowd of children waiting for the next car. He didn’t feel like being the centre of attention any more today. He decided to take the stairs.
His quarters were three levels above. For a normal child without the benefit of Hamish X’s augmented footwear that would be a lot of stairs. Hamish X was bitterly aware that he was not a normal child. He wasn’t really a child at all. He concentrated on his boots, feeling them respond with a trickle of power. He began to run.
He took the stairs three at a time and he still wasn’t going all out. He probably could have leapt from level to level if he really wished to, but he didn’t want to attract any more notice. He flashed by other children on the stairs, their astonished faces blurring by as he jumped over or sped around them. As he fell into the rhythm of the climb he felt the familiar joy that came from using the boots. The power surged through his legs, lifting him up, up, up. The wind whistling past his ears, the stunned faces of the children he passed, the pounding of the soles on the stone all served to lift his spirits.
For the first time in a long time, Hamish X laughed. He laughed because it had suddenly dawned on him that he was free. The ODA could not reach him. He laughed because he was young and powerful and alive. He laughed because he realized that even though he might never find his mother and never be a normal child like everyone else, he was alive—and when you are alive, all things are possible.
After only a minute he reached his goal, the residential level. He felt almost disappointed that the trip was over. “It doesn’t have to be,” he hooted to himself and turned back down the stairs. He ran all the way to the bottom and back again, his boots leaving a trail of blue fire. He arrived at the residential level again, having hardly broken a sweat. He was tempted to run back down to the bottom and up once more, just for fun, but he stopped himself. The wedding would be starting soon and he had to get ready. He let the power flow away, feeling the sense of loss he always felt at the end of a boot-driven episode. He allowed himself to feel a little sad at the absence of the Voice before heading to his quarters.
When he pushed open the door and entered the kitchen, the George raccoon was standing in the middle of the floor, waiting for him.
“Hamish X,” George said, “the King wishes to see you.”
His happiness drained away. “Now? I’ve been waiting to see him for weeks. Tell him I’m getting ready for the wedding and I’ll see him afterwards.”
“He has attached an urgent tag to this communication. That means immediately.”
Hamish X snorted. “Weeks of ignoring me and now it’s ‘urgent.’”
“No need to be peevish.” The George raccoon sounded wounded.
“Don’t pretend I hurt your feelings. You’re a computer.”
“Now, that did hurt my feelings.” The creature stuck its nose in the air and waddled off.
Hamish X shrugged. He went into his bedroom. He decided to get dressed for the wedding and then go to see the King. Let him wait for a while. See how he likes it.
The George raccoon had put out his wedding suit. The tailors had decided to give him something in keeping with his name. On the bed was a formal Highland Scottish outfit. There was a beautiful kilt in red tartan shot through with yellow and green. A white shirt with a ruffled front lay beside the kilt. Draped over the back of a chair at the foot of the bed was a black velvet jacket. The jacket was edged at the waist and adorned with polished, diamond-shaped silver buttons.
At first Hamish X had turned up his nose at the outfit, but when he’d tried it on he grudgingly changed his mind. The kilt was the ideal garment for wearing with the strange boots. When he wore trousers he was forced to slit the pant legs and install zippers to facilitate the bulky footwear. The kilt was easy to put on over the boots, and as an added bonus, movement was easy, not to mention the fact that a kilt was naturally ventilated.
Hamish X donned his wedding outfit and appraised himself in the mirror. He looked himself up and down and smiled. Somehow, he felt at home in this outfit, as if he had worn it before. Maybe, he thought, I have worn a kilt before. Hamish is a Scottish name … Maybe that’s where I came from originally. Maybe my family is still there. Maybe the seashore from my memories is there and my mother too …
He looked at the clock and realized he’d spent too long getting dressed. He grabbed the pocketknife from his dresser and tucked it into the top of his boot. Prepared, he dashed out of the room on his way to the Royal Terrace.
He got into the elevator, which was mercifully empty for once. As the doors closed he said, “Take me to the Royal Terrace, George.”
“Right away, Hamish X.” The doors closed and the elevator rose sharply. It passed through the ceiling of the residential level and stopped at the Royal Level.
Hamish X was expecting to be taken to the King’s study, but the George raccoon that greeted him led him down a corridor into a brightly lit room lined with grey metal lockers. One stood open. In it hung some gym shorts and a T-shirt.
“Put them on, please, and then go through that door,” the George raccoon instructed. “The King is waiting for you.”
The creature waddled out through the swinging door he had indicated.
Hamish X grumbled at having to take off his good suit and kilt, but he did as he was told. He stepped through the door and found himself in a brightly lit gymnasium. The hardwood floor gleamed golden in the warm light. At either end of the rectangular room was a basketball hoop and backboard.
“What are we doing here, George?” Hamish X looked about, bewildered.
“The King instructed me to bring you here. So I have.” The raccoon stepped back against the wall and went into sleep mode.
On the far side of the gymnasium a door opened. Into the room stepped a bizarre figure. It was shaped like a human being, with arms and legs, feet and hands, and a bulbous head, but its silver metallic skin gleamed in the light. Though it looked very heavy, it strode across the wooden floor with incredible grace and left no mark on the polished surface. Where its face should have been there was instead a mirrored visor that reflected the entire room in a stretched parody of itself. The hands and feet were sheathed in a black, rubbery coating. In its right h
and it held a brown sphere about the size of a small pumpkin.
Hamish X crouched, prepared to defend himself. “Who are you? What do you want?”
A strange sound emanated from the thing. It reached up with its left hand and jabbed a small button on the side of its head. The visor whisked open to reveal the pale, smiling face of King Liam. “It’s me, of course! My, you look a little tense. Haven’t you ever seen a basketball before?”
Chapter 18
The King winked and spun the basketball, for indeed that was what the brown sphere was, holding it on the tip of one rubber-coated finger and watching it revolve like a leathery planet.50 He tossed the ball into the air, caught it, and then launched it towards the basket at the far end of the gym. The ball sailed unerringly in a perfect arc. It fell into the hoop with a whiffing sound as it passed through the twine netting.
“Amazing,” Hamish X said, reaching out to touch the polished silver surface of the suit.
“Yes!” The King laughed, pumping his fist. “Three points. Oh, you mean the suit. Nice, isn’t it?’ He spun slowly, allowing Hamish X to see the suit in its entirety. “George and I built it a little while ago. I am not well, as you know. The disease is slowly eroding my physical strength and coordination. I have always been weaker than all the other children. It’s all because I was …” His face darkened, as if he remembered something bad. “Regardless, it has forced me to develop in other ways …” He tapped the side of the helmet with a rubber finger. “But I always wanted to know what it would be like to run and jump and play like a normal child. So …” He held out his arms and sprang into the air, did a back flip, and landed lightly on his feet.
Hamish X’s mouth fell open in awe. “That’s incredible.”
“Now that you’ve come along, I finally have a worthy opponent. Shall we play a little one-on-one? To twenty? You and your boots versus me and my suit.”
Hamish X smiled and shrugged. “I’ll try to take it easy on you.”
“Oh, please don’t.”
King Liam smiled behind the visor and bounded out to the centre of the court. Hamish X took up position opposite. A George raccoon took the ball in its palms and, checking that the opponents were ready, threw it straight up into the air. Hamish X and the King sprang up, striving for the ball. Hamish X brushed it with his fingers but the King clamped his hands onto it and hauled it down.
Hamish X spread his arms wide to block the King’s path but Liam laughed and jumped right over him, bounding once, twice, and then slamming the ball through the hoop.
“Two for me!” The King clapped his hands together and trotted back to his own side of centre.
Hamish X gaped in amazement. No one had ever beaten him so handily in a physical contest. He went and picked up the ball. The King crouched and waited.
“I’ll try to take it easy on you,” Liam said sweetly.
Hamish X scowled. Gritting his teeth, he called up the power of his boots. He felt a surge of energy. As he bounced the ball he blurred straight at the King, stopping and spinning around him. Before Liam could even move, Hamish X had darted straight in at the opposite basket and launched himself into the air, spinning like a helicopter and delicately rolling the ball off his fingers and into the basket. He landed in a crouch and smiled at his opponent.
King Liam smiled back. “This is going to be fun.”
For the next hour they played, the score crawling slowly upward. The speed of the game was incredible, and had anyone been there to see, they would have called it the greatest one-one-one battle in the history of basketball. Unfortunately, the only spectator was George the raccoon. Being an artificial intelligence, he wasn’t a huge fan of sport and so remained unmoved by all the amazing dribbling, slamming, and blocking.
At first the two players traded baskets back and forth until the score stood at twelve–ten for the King. Hamish X had the speed and agility, but the King’s suit gave him superior strength and stamina. As a result, they were evenly matched. The game settled into a defensive battle. They ground each other down basket by basket.
They laughed and shouted at each other, enjoying the game and each other’s company. For a while, they weren’t Hamish X, the strange boy with the odd boots, lost and lonely in the world, and King Liam, weighed down with responsibility, sickly, careworn, and sad. They were just two boys playing a game.
Now they were deadlocked at eighteen apiece and neither could get the final basket. Hamish X sent a long skyhook arcing for the hoop but the King leapt up and slapped it away at the last possible second. He caught the ball in his hands and grinned at Hamish X through the faceplate of his helmet. Sweat dripped from his nose. His red hair was plastered to his forehead.
“Are you getting tired, Hamish X? Shall we call it a draw?”
Hamish X bent over with his hands on his knees. He was breathing heavily and his body was covered in sweat. He hated to admit it, but he’d never felt so hard-pressed to beat any opponent. He’d been pushed to his limits, but he also felt so alive and happy, all things but the game forgotten. “I think we should see who wins. Unless you need to rest.”
The King grinned again. “Not today!”
Liam pounded down the court, bouncing the ball as he came. Hamish X stood, watching him approach. He waited until the King was about to run him over then reached out and slapped the ball out of his hands, sending it bouncing towards the King’s basket. Laughing, Hamish X immediately sped after the ball.
He grabbed the ball and dribbled it twice. He heard the King’s footsteps thudding behind him. Revelling in his speed and strength, he called up a burst of power from his boots and leapt for the basket, holding the ball over his head. He felt pure exhilaration as he hammered it into the metal hoop with a tremendous force that drove the ball down to the ground and shattered the floorboards under the basket. Landing easily, he roared his triumph. He turned, arms raised, to celebrate his victory.
The King was lying face down on the floor. His limbs thrashed weakly. Hamish X rushed to his side and turned him over. Liam’s face in the frame of his helmet was flushed and sweaty.
“Are you all right?” Hamish X asked, levering the prone boy into a seated position.
“Oh, I’m fine,” he said weakly. “Just ran out of battery power, that’s all. This thing becomes a dead weight if it has no power.”
The George raccoon scurried over and pushed a button on the side of the suit. With a hiss, the entire device cracked open down the front, unfolding like a flower. The King, his green tunic and trousers soaked to the skin, pushed himself up out of the suit and took a deep breath. Hamish X grasped him by the arm and supported him as they walked carefully to a bench at the side of the gymnasium. Liam eased himself down and Hamish X sat beside him.
“So, you won the game. Well done.”
“It was hardly fair. I mean … you’re …”
“Sickly? Feeble? Oh, don’t look so uncomfortable. I’m used to it,” the King laughed. “Just don’t feel sorry for me. It’s the worst feeling when you see that look in someone’s eyes. ‘Poor little Liam.’ That makes me feel truly sick.”
“Sorry,” Hamish X said. “I don’t mean … Did you really bring me up here just to play a game of basketball?”
“I understand your impatience, Hamish X. I just want you to answer me one question.” The King picked up a chilled bottle of water, popped the cap, and drank a long swallow while Hamish X waited in frustration. Finally, Liam lowered the bottle and wiped his mouth. “Nothing tastes sweeter than water. Now, my question: Did you enjoy our game?”
Hamish X snorted. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“It has everything to do with everything. Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes. It was fun.”
“Good. You looked like you were having a very good time out there. I want you to realize how wonderful that is. These boots of yours have been a curse to you. They’ve ruled your life in a way, and while you were wearing them you were a pawn in whatever plan the ODA m
ight have for you. But now you are free. You can do anything you want. And you still have these amazing boots. I envy you.”
Hamish X sat for a moment thinking about what the King had said. He realized it was true. He looked down at the boots. With a flicker of a thought, he caused them to burn bright blue. With another flicker of a thought, he extinguished them again. He scanned his newly recovered memories, looking back on all the amazing things the boots had done. Now he truly controlled them. He looked at the King and smiled. “It is kind of cool, isn’t it?”
“Cool. Yes, very cool. You are free to come and go as you please. The Grey Agents can’t track you any more. Remember the bug you coughed up in that crazy dream?” Hamish X nodded. “That was our software turning off the tracking device.”
“That dream …”
“It wasn’t a dream, really. It was a virtual world created by a program we shunted into your brain. Fun, wasn’t it? I was able to walk and run, released from this afflicted body.” He looked wistfully at the inert suit of armour. “I would give anything to be free of this slow, wasting sickness. I devise any number of ways to circumvent it, the armour being only the latest. Alas, it’s all a waste of time. It will destroy me in the not so distant future.”
The King looked Hamish X in the eye, suddenly serious. “I have to admit something to you, Hamish X. I didn’t bring you here just to set you free and thwart the ODA. I confess that I was hoping I might glean something in the analysis of your amazing physiology that would give me a clue as to how to save myself from the disease. After all, it was the ODA who made me this way.”
