February 11th
Three Days Before the Aliens
“Why do they include the purple ones?” asked Trenavass Taffa of the planet Byllk. He was holding a packet of Starburst.
“Pardon?” asked Laoren. She was tucking into a tuna sandwich.
“The green ones are of exceptional quality,” said Trenavass. “And the red and orange ones are good complements. But the purple ones are severely lacking.”
They were on a beach. Laoren had needed to hide Trenavass for the day, and this place was nice and private.
“A lot of people like the purple ones,” said Laoren.
“But why should the rest of us be made to suffer?” asked Trenavass. “Why not sell the purple ones separately?”
“Some company tried selling orange sweets separately,” said Laoren. “I don’t think they sold very well. They’re not around any more, anyway.”
“Of course not,” said Trenavass. “What’s the point in the orange ones if not to supplement the green ones?”
He ate another green Starbust, as though to prove a point.
“Have you got sweets on your planet?” asked Laoren.
“Not like these,” he said. “We have ranges of frozen liquids, which are sweetened.”
“We have something similar,” said Laoren.
“The range of food on this planet is quite something.”
He picked a banana from the picnic box, and studied it suspiciously.
“You remove the covering, do you not?” he asked.
“Yes,” smiled Laoren.
He did so, and ate the fruit.
“What shall we do tomorrow?” he asked. “Is the house free?”
“I’m afraid not. I was thinking of going further afield tomorrow. Somewhere where privacy’s not as important.”
-10001-
February 12th
Two Days Before the Aliens
The crowds were extraordinarily loud. Trenavass flinched each time the sound got louder.
Laoren had explained that this was a football stadium. A small number of people played a game while millions of people took sides. And several thousand of those people were here, watching it in this huge construction.
She’d explained that he’d probably get away with being in public in this case. She’d painted his pale-blue skin to match the colours of one of the teams – red and white – and his navy hair had been left as it was. He wore gloves to hide his second thumbs, and as for his nose, Laoren had assured him that anyone looking closely enough to realise that it didn’t look like a human nose would assume it was a deformity.
All seemed well, then. But the noise scared him. It wasn’t just the sound itself – these people seemed angry. And if they weren’t angry, the other side was. Laoren assured him that few were genuinely aggressive, but that didn’t help.
Trenavass shrunk back into his seat, sipping his bottled water, and closed his eyes.
-10001-
February 13th
One Day Before the Aliens
For their last full day together, Trenavass and Laoren were able to take advantage of the house. Greg had lectures, Mel was out as usual, and Jeremy had agreed that he’d be better off elsewhere.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” said Laoren. “It hadn’t occurred to me how alien the situation must seem.”
“I should have known about it,” said Trenavass. “I should have studied harder. You have no way of knowing what I know of human experience.”
He was silent after that. He looked far away – deep in thought. Eventually, he spoke, and for the first time, sounded less than confident.
“I wonder whether I could ...” he said quietly.
Laoren smiled encouragingly.
“Something I’ve learned about Earth culture.” He coughed. “Could you show me how to draw?”
Laoren seemed surprised.
“Of course,” she said. She reached for her bag, retrieving a pad of lined paper and a pencil case. “I’d have thought drawing would exist on all planets.” She hoped she didn’t sound insulting.
“We ... no, we don’t draw,” said Trenavass. “Some people ...” He looked thoughtful. He seemed to come to a decisison. “No. No drawing on Byllk.”
And so, they spent the rest of the afternoon drawing. Laoren would be the first to admit she wasn’t the world’s best artist, but she was quite good at faces, and talked him through the human face. Afterwards, she had a go at drawing Trenavass’s face, and he tried to emulate her. His attempts got full marks for effort, but he could barely control a pencil, let alone emulate Laoren’s drawing. His faces seemed abstract to say the least.
The rest of the day was spent alternating between hiding and drawing. And that night, they settled down to sleep.
“Your last night here,” said Laoren.
“Indeed,” said Trenavass. A slight hint of regret in his tone.
“It’s been a pleasure having you.”
“You’ve been an excellent host.”
The next day, the aliens arrived.
Monday, 14 May 2007
Sunday, 13 May 2007
Symbiosis - Conversion part 1
2543 (9-1st-6) New Calendar - Prima Centurai
Pain racked her body again, and A4386A cried out, pulling against the restraints that strapped her to the bed. She felt dizzy and nauseous in equal parts; her stomach churned, and made her mind race. Was she dying? Was this what death felt like? She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to be here anymore, in this cold white room that hurt her eyes, and showed her only herself in the mirrors if she looked the wrong way, pale and shaking and drenched in sweat, eyes wide and wild. She wanted to...feel…better again. She wanted the clenched feeling in her stomach and the burning feeling around her heart to go away. She wanted to return to work.
But most of all, A4386A wanted to stop thinking. Especially as she didn’t understand what she was thinking, and that confused her more. She wanted it all to go away. She didn’t want to die.
“It’s fear,” a deep voice said gently beside her. “That’s what you’re feeling. You’re afraid.”
A4386A twisted her head to the side and saw the enormous man sitting there, looking at her. Her mind felt muddled, and she found that she wanted more information.
“Who - ?”
“My name is Baroth,” the giant said, his voice low and rumbling. “I’m here to help you.” Oddly, A4386A found herself comforted by that.
A desire for knowledge filled her again.
“Fear?” she croaked, her voice barely louder than a whisper. He nodded, and tenderly brushed her forehead with the back of one massive hand. “It hurts,” she managed.
“Yes, it does that.”
“I don’t…” she trailed off, and then cried out as another wave of pain hit her, heaving on the straps. They didn’t break. “I don’t want it anymore!” she said desperately. “I want to go back to work! I want it to go away!”
“You want?” Baroth asked. He seemed to ponder it as he laid a cold gel pack across her forehead, soothing the pain inside. “Do you want anything else?”
“What? I – work, I want to work…”
“No, no,” Baroth murmured, and reached out and held her hand. “I know that. This is going to be hard, worker, but I need you to try and think, okay?”
Confusion filled her. He wanted her to think? But she couldn’t, she was a worker. The need to explain filled her.
“But – I can’t. I – ”
“Yes you can, worker. You are right now, you just don’t understand it.” Baroth squeezed her hand as her body rebelled again, every nerve on fire, and she screamed. He paused for a second to ensure she had fully subsided before continuing.
“You asked me who I was,” he said gently. “Did you want to know the answer?”
“Y-yes…”
“Okay,” he murmured. “So, you want to go to work, and you wanted to know my name. What else do you want?”
A4386A thought. Want? What else did she want? She wanted to go back to work. She didn’t want to be here any more, in this room and strapped to this bed. She didn’t want to hurt any more. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t understand.
“It hurts,” she whispered again. Baroth squeezed her hand.
“Do you want the pain to go away?” he asked.
“Yes!”
“Good! What else?”
“I don’t know!”
He sighed, and ran his free hand through his hair. “Alright,” he said. “What don’t you want? Can you tell me that?”
“I don’t want to die,” A4386A whispered.
“No,” Baroth said wearily. “No, nor do I.”
“I want to know why,” A4386A managed, her teeth gritted. “I want – I want to know why I hurt. And why…and what’s happening to me. And why I’m scared. And I want to speak. Only I don’t know why.”
Baroth stared at her, and she trembled. He seemed unsure of what to say for a moment.
“You’re changing,” he said at last. “You’re slowly starting to experience emotions again, but unfortunately you’re starting with the full pantheon of negative emotions. You won’t hurt for long,” he added, placing his free hand on the gel pack on her forehead, “and you’ll be happy soon. I’m going to make sure of that.”
“Why am I changing?” she asked.
“Because you’re needed,” he said simply. It confused her, and thinking about it too hard made her feel nauseous, so she stopped. “We need you. Can you remember your name?”
“A4386A,” she answered.
“No, your name. From before you became a worker.”
“No!” She felt an odd sensation around her heart, and her breathing became shorter. “I don’t want it! I don’t want to remember.”
“Ah.” Baroth squeezed her hand tightly. “Okay. I will have to go now, but I’ll come back soon. Do you want me to come back?”
“I don’t want you to leave,” she whimpered.
“I’m sorry,” he said, standing up to his full considerable height. “But I’ll tell you what – I’ll come back sooner if you can do something for me.”
“What?” she asked desperately.
“Practise thinking for me,” he said. “About things you want, and things you don’t want. And try and work out the differences between the things you’re feeling. Will you do that?”
She nodded fervently, and Baroth smiled at her. Carefully, he pulled his hand free from her grip, and made his way to the door. At the doorway he turned back.
“Oh – and try to remember your name. Nothing else,” he said as she began to protest. “Just your name.” And then he left, leaving her to Think.
Pain racked her body again, and A4386A cried out, pulling against the restraints that strapped her to the bed. She felt dizzy and nauseous in equal parts; her stomach churned, and made her mind race. Was she dying? Was this what death felt like? She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to be here anymore, in this cold white room that hurt her eyes, and showed her only herself in the mirrors if she looked the wrong way, pale and shaking and drenched in sweat, eyes wide and wild. She wanted to...feel…better again. She wanted the clenched feeling in her stomach and the burning feeling around her heart to go away. She wanted to return to work.
But most of all, A4386A wanted to stop thinking. Especially as she didn’t understand what she was thinking, and that confused her more. She wanted it all to go away. She didn’t want to die.
“It’s fear,” a deep voice said gently beside her. “That’s what you’re feeling. You’re afraid.”
A4386A twisted her head to the side and saw the enormous man sitting there, looking at her. Her mind felt muddled, and she found that she wanted more information.
“Who - ?”
“My name is Baroth,” the giant said, his voice low and rumbling. “I’m here to help you.” Oddly, A4386A found herself comforted by that.
A desire for knowledge filled her again.
“Fear?” she croaked, her voice barely louder than a whisper. He nodded, and tenderly brushed her forehead with the back of one massive hand. “It hurts,” she managed.
“Yes, it does that.”
“I don’t…” she trailed off, and then cried out as another wave of pain hit her, heaving on the straps. They didn’t break. “I don’t want it anymore!” she said desperately. “I want to go back to work! I want it to go away!”
“You want?” Baroth asked. He seemed to ponder it as he laid a cold gel pack across her forehead, soothing the pain inside. “Do you want anything else?”
“What? I – work, I want to work…”
“No, no,” Baroth murmured, and reached out and held her hand. “I know that. This is going to be hard, worker, but I need you to try and think, okay?”
Confusion filled her. He wanted her to think? But she couldn’t, she was a worker. The need to explain filled her.
“But – I can’t. I – ”
“Yes you can, worker. You are right now, you just don’t understand it.” Baroth squeezed her hand as her body rebelled again, every nerve on fire, and she screamed. He paused for a second to ensure she had fully subsided before continuing.
“You asked me who I was,” he said gently. “Did you want to know the answer?”
“Y-yes…”
“Okay,” he murmured. “So, you want to go to work, and you wanted to know my name. What else do you want?”
A4386A thought. Want? What else did she want? She wanted to go back to work. She didn’t want to be here any more, in this room and strapped to this bed. She didn’t want to hurt any more. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t understand.
“It hurts,” she whispered again. Baroth squeezed her hand.
“Do you want the pain to go away?” he asked.
“Yes!”
“Good! What else?”
“I don’t know!”
He sighed, and ran his free hand through his hair. “Alright,” he said. “What don’t you want? Can you tell me that?”
“I don’t want to die,” A4386A whispered.
“No,” Baroth said wearily. “No, nor do I.”
“I want to know why,” A4386A managed, her teeth gritted. “I want – I want to know why I hurt. And why…and what’s happening to me. And why I’m scared. And I want to speak. Only I don’t know why.”
Baroth stared at her, and she trembled. He seemed unsure of what to say for a moment.
“You’re changing,” he said at last. “You’re slowly starting to experience emotions again, but unfortunately you’re starting with the full pantheon of negative emotions. You won’t hurt for long,” he added, placing his free hand on the gel pack on her forehead, “and you’ll be happy soon. I’m going to make sure of that.”
“Why am I changing?” she asked.
“Because you’re needed,” he said simply. It confused her, and thinking about it too hard made her feel nauseous, so she stopped. “We need you. Can you remember your name?”
“A4386A,” she answered.
“No, your name. From before you became a worker.”
“No!” She felt an odd sensation around her heart, and her breathing became shorter. “I don’t want it! I don’t want to remember.”
“Ah.” Baroth squeezed her hand tightly. “Okay. I will have to go now, but I’ll come back soon. Do you want me to come back?”
“I don’t want you to leave,” she whimpered.
“I’m sorry,” he said, standing up to his full considerable height. “But I’ll tell you what – I’ll come back sooner if you can do something for me.”
“What?” she asked desperately.
“Practise thinking for me,” he said. “About things you want, and things you don’t want. And try and work out the differences between the things you’re feeling. Will you do that?”
She nodded fervently, and Baroth smiled at her. Carefully, he pulled his hand free from her grip, and made his way to the door. At the doorway he turned back.
“Oh – and try to remember your name. Nothing else,” he said as she began to protest. “Just your name.” And then he left, leaving her to Think.
Symbiosis - The Worker
2543 (25-4th-5) New Calendar - Prima Centurai
“Supervisior?”
The woman turned around and stretched her mouth upwards at A4386A.
“Yes?” she asked.
“I believe I am malfunctioning,” A4386A reported. “My muscles appear to be going into spasm, and I fell unconscious twice this morning. Yet my health monitor reports me to be healthy.” She considered this. “It may also be malfunctioning,” she concluded.
The supervisor nodded.
“That is unusual,” she agreed. “What is your name, worker?”
“A4386A.”
“No, worker, your name.”
“I…don’t understand,” A4386A answered, confused.
The supervisor looked at her for a moment. “Very well A4386A,” she said. “You will go to the Sector 32a medlab now, and report to medtech Inge.”
“Understood,” A4386A responded, and left.
It was a medlab she hadn’t been to before, so she had to follow the signs. It was below-ground, it seemed, however; after the first two flights of stairs she had to stop and rest as her body shuddered with exertion, leaving her breathless and light-headed. Eventually she found the neatly marked door at the end of a narrow, empty corridor, dimly illuminated and poorly heated, although she welcomed the cool air. It would need fixing, she thought. Later. Unsteadily, she pressed the lock-pad and the door clanked open. As she stepped inside it closed behind her, and she faintly heard it lock.
A4386A’s first thought was that she’d made a mistake in her navigation. The room she now stood in was large and bare, and contained only one bed at one end and one chair in the middle. One wall was mirrored; the others were clinically white, with no distinguishing features. A speaker grill was nestled into one corner of the ceiling. No one was around.
She considered the situation. Presumably, this was the wrong room, but she was sure she had followed the signs correctly. A mistake in the signs, perhaps? Although that was very unlikely, she thought. She wondered at it, shivering, and then wondered at the fact that she was wondering. Had she done that before? Was that a question?
She felt faint again, and was just sinking to the floor when another door opened at the other end of the room, and a tall medtech Symbiote stepped inside. He stretched out his arms towards her, his fingers long and triple-jointed, and he laid his hands on her shoulders.
“Good afternoon,” he stated calmly. A4386A believed him. “I am medtech Inge. What is your name?”
“A4386A,” she answered. “I am malfunctioning.”
“Yes,” the medtech sighed. “So I see. I am sorry.”
“Sorry?” she asked, confused. He looked at her hard.
“Confusion already. Interesting,” Inge muttered, apparently to himself. He glanced at the bed. “Well, make yourself comfortable,” he said, motioning her towards it. “This is going to be a difficult few weeks.”
“Supervisior?”
The woman turned around and stretched her mouth upwards at A4386A.
“Yes?” she asked.
“I believe I am malfunctioning,” A4386A reported. “My muscles appear to be going into spasm, and I fell unconscious twice this morning. Yet my health monitor reports me to be healthy.” She considered this. “It may also be malfunctioning,” she concluded.
The supervisor nodded.
“That is unusual,” she agreed. “What is your name, worker?”
“A4386A.”
“No, worker, your name.”
“I…don’t understand,” A4386A answered, confused.
The supervisor looked at her for a moment. “Very well A4386A,” she said. “You will go to the Sector 32a medlab now, and report to medtech Inge.”
“Understood,” A4386A responded, and left.
It was a medlab she hadn’t been to before, so she had to follow the signs. It was below-ground, it seemed, however; after the first two flights of stairs she had to stop and rest as her body shuddered with exertion, leaving her breathless and light-headed. Eventually she found the neatly marked door at the end of a narrow, empty corridor, dimly illuminated and poorly heated, although she welcomed the cool air. It would need fixing, she thought. Later. Unsteadily, she pressed the lock-pad and the door clanked open. As she stepped inside it closed behind her, and she faintly heard it lock.
A4386A’s first thought was that she’d made a mistake in her navigation. The room she now stood in was large and bare, and contained only one bed at one end and one chair in the middle. One wall was mirrored; the others were clinically white, with no distinguishing features. A speaker grill was nestled into one corner of the ceiling. No one was around.
She considered the situation. Presumably, this was the wrong room, but she was sure she had followed the signs correctly. A mistake in the signs, perhaps? Although that was very unlikely, she thought. She wondered at it, shivering, and then wondered at the fact that she was wondering. Had she done that before? Was that a question?
She felt faint again, and was just sinking to the floor when another door opened at the other end of the room, and a tall medtech Symbiote stepped inside. He stretched out his arms towards her, his fingers long and triple-jointed, and he laid his hands on her shoulders.
“Good afternoon,” he stated calmly. A4386A believed him. “I am medtech Inge. What is your name?”
“A4386A,” she answered. “I am malfunctioning.”
“Yes,” the medtech sighed. “So I see. I am sorry.”
“Sorry?” she asked, confused. He looked at her hard.
“Confusion already. Interesting,” Inge muttered, apparently to himself. He glanced at the bed. “Well, make yourself comfortable,” he said, motioning her towards it. “This is going to be a difficult few weeks.”
Symbiosis - 2
2543 (17-4th-5) New Calendar - Prima Centurai
“…and then he says, ‘the problem with you, honey, is that you think anyone with a chipped nail needs demoting,’ and I said, ‘well, goes with the job, you know?’ Of course, the problem with him is that he’s jealous of the job, I mean, the man works in Worker Feed Storage, you know? I mean, someone has to do it and all, but really, it’s hardly Elite is it, you know? And I’m not saying everyone should be demoted, I’m just saying that there should be another level between Elite and worker…”
Over the years, Calin had managed to develop a highly sophisticated system of only imagining killing Lall, instead of actually doing it. It was taxing, but deeply rewarding, and she had even managed to find a way of working at the same time.
“…and then he says I’m being Elitist! I’m like, yeah I’m Elitist you retard, do you see me fixing pipes? And then he calls me stupid! You know? Me! When he thinks that ‘flammable’ and ‘inflammable’ are the same thing! And he wears green shoes! I mean…”
Calin imagined demonstrating Lall’s inflammability.
“…so now we apparently need this big Talk or something, but I don’t want to miss the show at the Fennorim embassy tonight, so I told him – ”
“You should go now, then,” Calin interrupted. “I can cover for you, it’s no problem.”
“Really?” Lall turned around from her monitor, smiling dopily. “Excellent! Oh, Calin, you’re such a good friend! Now we just need to find you a mate…”
Calin liked her imagination.
Lall bounced out of the office. Calin waited for half a minute, then carefully closed the door and thumbed the lock shut.
“Time for some real work,” she muttered. The holo-com link beside her flickered into life. “Hi, Adan. Am I clear to go in?”
“Yes,” Adan’s holographic image responded. “I can guarantee you half an hour tonight. Extra news from Inge though, that might help you – he thinks she’s quite young.”
“How young is young?” Calin asked rolling her eyes. “That’s quite the margin.”
“Twenties? Thirties? Practically a child, poor thing.” Adan’s image looked downcast, and in spite of herself Calin felt for him.
“We’ll get her out, Adan,” she murmured awkwardly. Sympathy wasn’t natural for her. His hologram smiled briefly at her, and flickered out. Sighing, Calin hooked the Records Database back up with her implant, and added the age cap.
Cases flickered across her mind’s eye as the implant searched for every parameter she had given it. It had been hard work at first, but by now she had finally learned to ignore the section for each case that contained the reasons for demotion. Instead, Calin was left staring at numbers and faces, most names now deleted; ages and wasted ability ratings. Her implant clicked and whirred quietly in her ear, wiling away the possibilities. Wearily, Calin rubbed her eyes. Was there still a point to this, she wondered? At first she’d been more worried about the prospect of rehabilitating this girl, but after almost two years of searching for that one single needle in the vast haystack of Prima Centurai’s workers, Calin was beginning to despair of ever actually finding her in the meantime. And all the reports coming in…
Time was running out.
The implant beeped suddenly, making her jump. Thirty case summaries were neatly lined up on the screen before her, all within the specifications. She stared at them.
“That suddenly?” Calin demanded. She almost felt cheated that there was no fanfare. Quickly, she downloaded them directly into her implant, disconnected from the database and re-opened the holo-com link.
“Calin?” Adan seemed surprised. “Is everything okay?”
“Call a meeting,” she answered. “Do it now. I have the short list.”
“You – what? Seriously?”
“No, I just thought I’d open this risky and illegal channel to play a practical joke of the wittiest proportions on you,” Calin snapped. “Call the meeting! Now!”
Adan’s image vanished, and Calin stood abruptly. Finding the saviour of the Lesser Races, eh? she thought. She headed for the bar.
“…and then he says, ‘the problem with you, honey, is that you think anyone with a chipped nail needs demoting,’ and I said, ‘well, goes with the job, you know?’ Of course, the problem with him is that he’s jealous of the job, I mean, the man works in Worker Feed Storage, you know? I mean, someone has to do it and all, but really, it’s hardly Elite is it, you know? And I’m not saying everyone should be demoted, I’m just saying that there should be another level between Elite and worker…”
Over the years, Calin had managed to develop a highly sophisticated system of only imagining killing Lall, instead of actually doing it. It was taxing, but deeply rewarding, and she had even managed to find a way of working at the same time.
“…and then he says I’m being Elitist! I’m like, yeah I’m Elitist you retard, do you see me fixing pipes? And then he calls me stupid! You know? Me! When he thinks that ‘flammable’ and ‘inflammable’ are the same thing! And he wears green shoes! I mean…”
Calin imagined demonstrating Lall’s inflammability.
“…so now we apparently need this big Talk or something, but I don’t want to miss the show at the Fennorim embassy tonight, so I told him – ”
“You should go now, then,” Calin interrupted. “I can cover for you, it’s no problem.”
“Really?” Lall turned around from her monitor, smiling dopily. “Excellent! Oh, Calin, you’re such a good friend! Now we just need to find you a mate…”
Calin liked her imagination.
Lall bounced out of the office. Calin waited for half a minute, then carefully closed the door and thumbed the lock shut.
“Time for some real work,” she muttered. The holo-com link beside her flickered into life. “Hi, Adan. Am I clear to go in?”
“Yes,” Adan’s holographic image responded. “I can guarantee you half an hour tonight. Extra news from Inge though, that might help you – he thinks she’s quite young.”
“How young is young?” Calin asked rolling her eyes. “That’s quite the margin.”
“Twenties? Thirties? Practically a child, poor thing.” Adan’s image looked downcast, and in spite of herself Calin felt for him.
“We’ll get her out, Adan,” she murmured awkwardly. Sympathy wasn’t natural for her. His hologram smiled briefly at her, and flickered out. Sighing, Calin hooked the Records Database back up with her implant, and added the age cap.
Cases flickered across her mind’s eye as the implant searched for every parameter she had given it. It had been hard work at first, but by now she had finally learned to ignore the section for each case that contained the reasons for demotion. Instead, Calin was left staring at numbers and faces, most names now deleted; ages and wasted ability ratings. Her implant clicked and whirred quietly in her ear, wiling away the possibilities. Wearily, Calin rubbed her eyes. Was there still a point to this, she wondered? At first she’d been more worried about the prospect of rehabilitating this girl, but after almost two years of searching for that one single needle in the vast haystack of Prima Centurai’s workers, Calin was beginning to despair of ever actually finding her in the meantime. And all the reports coming in…
Time was running out.
The implant beeped suddenly, making her jump. Thirty case summaries were neatly lined up on the screen before her, all within the specifications. She stared at them.
“That suddenly?” Calin demanded. She almost felt cheated that there was no fanfare. Quickly, she downloaded them directly into her implant, disconnected from the database and re-opened the holo-com link.
“Calin?” Adan seemed surprised. “Is everything okay?”
“Call a meeting,” she answered. “Do it now. I have the short list.”
“You – what? Seriously?”
“No, I just thought I’d open this risky and illegal channel to play a practical joke of the wittiest proportions on you,” Calin snapped. “Call the meeting! Now!”
Adan’s image vanished, and Calin stood abruptly. Finding the saviour of the Lesser Races, eh? she thought. She headed for the bar.
Saturday, 12 May 2007
Symbiosis - 1
2541 New Calendar - Prima Centurai
There was a silence in the small room, broken only by the occasional shuffle of twelve people trying very hard not to look at each other. The walls ran with condensation unpleasantly, leaving the air stale and damp-seeming. The single illuminative panel in the ceiling flickered slightly. One man, a nervous-seeming forty year old with the pampered look of someone who had eaten well their whole life coughed loudly and abruptly, making several others jump.
He twisted his hands awkwardly, realising that with all eyes now on him he would have to be the first to talk.
“Er…” he offered, clearing his throat properly. “And this…information…you say it came from…?”
“The Dreamer, yes,” a tall, smooth sounding medtech responded calmly, his elongated hands folded neatly in his lap. He looked distinguished. “I scarcely need to impress upon you all the importance it therefore carries.”
A girl stirred beside him. “How exactly can we…’free’ a worker, anyway?” she asked quietly. She looked at a large, thick-set man opposite her. “Baroth? Do you have any idea?”
‘Baroth’ ran a massive hand through his shaggy hair wearily. “No,” he said. “No I don’t. Believe me, the process of actually – ha, ‘trapping’ them, I suppose – is thorough. Very thorough,” he added, looking around at them all. “Reversing the process has never even been attempted. It may not be possible.”
“And certainly cruel,” the nervous well-fed man muttered.
“Adan,” the girl snorted; but he ignored her and pressed on.
“Think about it. ‘The damaged one,’ Inge said, so in all likelihood she’s been demoted. So she’s probably got a major trauma in her life that right now she’s unaffected by. If we free her…” He trailed off, looking at the assembled people. None caught his eye.
“There’s more at stake than moralising about the ethics of this,” Baroth said eventually. There were general murmurs of assent.
“It may not be so bad a trauma anyway,” the girl said quietly. Her usually breezy air of confidence had been replaced by something suspiciously akin to shame. They all looked at her. “We don’t only demote cases of severe emotional damage. We demote almost all cases of any damage. It’s not something that’s well known outside of the Forum, but…well…” She smiled bitterly. “Out of sight, out of mind. No more angst. No more imperfection.”
“Calin, you didn’t mention this before…” Baroth began accusingly, folding his bear-like arms. She shrugged.
“You’ve still not told us exactly what you do in the demotion process,” Calin retorted. “We all have things we don’t want to share.”
“Okay.” Someone else leaned forward, a Fennorim Symbiote, and placed his webbed hands on the table. “Time we started sharing, then, and time we started focusing. We may not have time to do either soon. What exactly happens to these workers?”
Baroth sighed. “To all intents and purposes, we remove their capacity for emotion and identity. They can’t feel anger, injustice, grief, emotional pain or panic at all, and their ability to fear is severely limited. They can’t feel any extreme of happiness, but they do experience contentment and a limited amount of pride. All biological desires are either eliminated or catered for as necessary. All they want to do is work for their society. As long as they do, they are content.”
“Why leave fear?” the nervous man asked. “And pride? In any capacity?”
“Because without fear they wouldn’t understand the consequences of not working,” Inge the medtech broke in, his voice oily. “And the pride is so that they can be content and do the best job they can. A person can’t actually function without any emotions at all.”
“How is this process achieved?” the Fennorim interrupted. “Is it a chemical process?”
“Partly,” Baroth answered. “We use various substances in the workers’ feeds to inhibit the release of different chemicals and hormones by their brains. But we also use psychological conditioning when they’re first converted to help them shut down their own minds. It can seem a very attractive prospect to feel no pain. Most accept it willingly. And famously of course, we don’t allow them to dream either. Again, it’s a partly chemically controlled procedure, but most of the work is done by the Dreamer.”
“So it’s not quite as simple as taking them off the drugs, then,” Calin sighed.
“We may not even be able to,” Inge said quietly. “As Baroth pointed out earlier, this has never been done before. The chemicals used may be highly habit forming. Withdrawal can be very dangerous. Their effects may also be permanent in some way.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. “No,” Adan said. “It has to be possible.”
“Adan,” Inge sighed, “I’m just being realistic here.”
“No, Adan’s right,” Calin said. “The Dreamer told you to do this, Inge. It must be possible.”
There was another murmur around the assembled beings. It was an encouraging point.
“Yes,” Baroth said decisively. “You’re right. This will be hard, but it is possible.”
“How will we find her?” Calin asked. “There are what, six or seven hundred million workers here? Any ideas?”
“’She can think,’” Baroth said. “Those were the Dreamer’s words according to Inge. She also described her as damaged. So let’s assume that Adan is right, and she’s a Demotee. Calin, you and I need to look for any worker psychographs that suggested unusually high intelligence, analytical skill and emotional capacity. Level 9 or 10 intellects, female only. We’ll start with the last ten years and see what we can find. Inge, is there any way for you to get more out of the Dreamer?”
“It’s unlikely,” Inge said flatly. “She only has brief moments of anything approaching lucidity. I’ll be on the lookout, of course, and I could try suggesting likely names to her if you find any, but I wouldn’t bank on any more help from her.”
“Adan, we need you to keep covering our tracks as much as possible,” Baroth continued. “The last thing we need is for the Forum to learn of this. Everyone else, keep monitoring the political situation. If the Benoi truly stop attending the Symbiosis, we’re facing into a Pandora’s Box of trouble.”
“I meet with them next week,” the Fennorim interjected. “It’s possible I may have us an ally there.”
“Let’s hope so,” Calin muttered. “We’re all screwed without them.”
“What happens when we find her?” Adan asked. “Do we have a plan for that yet?”
“We’ll ease her off the narcotics first,” Inge answered calmly. “That’ll help to limit the possibility of withdrawal, and its effects. The psychological aspect I’ll have to leave entirely in your hands, Baroth. It’s outside my field of expertise.”
“We’ll leave her working while we do it,” Baroth said. “To take her out of the system we’ll need somewhere to keep her, and the less we draw attention to ourselves the better. Adan, you’ll have to assign one of us as her section supervisor so that when any changes start to occur we can remove her.”
He sighed heavily, and leaned back in his chair. It creaked beneath his massive frame. “Does anyone have anything else to add?”
“Just one thing for Groma,” Adan said, glancing at the Fennorim. “The Mincol supplies of vitruvium are already down to half, but that’s obviously classified. I thought you might need to know it as an ambassador though.”
The Symbiote dipped his scaled head. “Thank you.”
“Already half?” Calin asked, startled. “I thought they would be fine for at least two years yet?”
“That was our optimistic estimate,” Adan answered glumly. “This was the pessimistic one. It’s unfortunately also been the accurate one.”
“Alright,” Baroth said, standing awkwardly beneath the low ceiling. “Meeting adjourned. Let’s find ourselves a worker, children.”
There was a silence in the small room, broken only by the occasional shuffle of twelve people trying very hard not to look at each other. The walls ran with condensation unpleasantly, leaving the air stale and damp-seeming. The single illuminative panel in the ceiling flickered slightly. One man, a nervous-seeming forty year old with the pampered look of someone who had eaten well their whole life coughed loudly and abruptly, making several others jump.
He twisted his hands awkwardly, realising that with all eyes now on him he would have to be the first to talk.
“Er…” he offered, clearing his throat properly. “And this…information…you say it came from…?”
“The Dreamer, yes,” a tall, smooth sounding medtech responded calmly, his elongated hands folded neatly in his lap. He looked distinguished. “I scarcely need to impress upon you all the importance it therefore carries.”
A girl stirred beside him. “How exactly can we…’free’ a worker, anyway?” she asked quietly. She looked at a large, thick-set man opposite her. “Baroth? Do you have any idea?”
‘Baroth’ ran a massive hand through his shaggy hair wearily. “No,” he said. “No I don’t. Believe me, the process of actually – ha, ‘trapping’ them, I suppose – is thorough. Very thorough,” he added, looking around at them all. “Reversing the process has never even been attempted. It may not be possible.”
“And certainly cruel,” the nervous well-fed man muttered.
“Adan,” the girl snorted; but he ignored her and pressed on.
“Think about it. ‘The damaged one,’ Inge said, so in all likelihood she’s been demoted. So she’s probably got a major trauma in her life that right now she’s unaffected by. If we free her…” He trailed off, looking at the assembled people. None caught his eye.
“There’s more at stake than moralising about the ethics of this,” Baroth said eventually. There were general murmurs of assent.
“It may not be so bad a trauma anyway,” the girl said quietly. Her usually breezy air of confidence had been replaced by something suspiciously akin to shame. They all looked at her. “We don’t only demote cases of severe emotional damage. We demote almost all cases of any damage. It’s not something that’s well known outside of the Forum, but…well…” She smiled bitterly. “Out of sight, out of mind. No more angst. No more imperfection.”
“Calin, you didn’t mention this before…” Baroth began accusingly, folding his bear-like arms. She shrugged.
“You’ve still not told us exactly what you do in the demotion process,” Calin retorted. “We all have things we don’t want to share.”
“Okay.” Someone else leaned forward, a Fennorim Symbiote, and placed his webbed hands on the table. “Time we started sharing, then, and time we started focusing. We may not have time to do either soon. What exactly happens to these workers?”
Baroth sighed. “To all intents and purposes, we remove their capacity for emotion and identity. They can’t feel anger, injustice, grief, emotional pain or panic at all, and their ability to fear is severely limited. They can’t feel any extreme of happiness, but they do experience contentment and a limited amount of pride. All biological desires are either eliminated or catered for as necessary. All they want to do is work for their society. As long as they do, they are content.”
“Why leave fear?” the nervous man asked. “And pride? In any capacity?”
“Because without fear they wouldn’t understand the consequences of not working,” Inge the medtech broke in, his voice oily. “And the pride is so that they can be content and do the best job they can. A person can’t actually function without any emotions at all.”
“How is this process achieved?” the Fennorim interrupted. “Is it a chemical process?”
“Partly,” Baroth answered. “We use various substances in the workers’ feeds to inhibit the release of different chemicals and hormones by their brains. But we also use psychological conditioning when they’re first converted to help them shut down their own minds. It can seem a very attractive prospect to feel no pain. Most accept it willingly. And famously of course, we don’t allow them to dream either. Again, it’s a partly chemically controlled procedure, but most of the work is done by the Dreamer.”
“So it’s not quite as simple as taking them off the drugs, then,” Calin sighed.
“We may not even be able to,” Inge said quietly. “As Baroth pointed out earlier, this has never been done before. The chemicals used may be highly habit forming. Withdrawal can be very dangerous. Their effects may also be permanent in some way.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. “No,” Adan said. “It has to be possible.”
“Adan,” Inge sighed, “I’m just being realistic here.”
“No, Adan’s right,” Calin said. “The Dreamer told you to do this, Inge. It must be possible.”
There was another murmur around the assembled beings. It was an encouraging point.
“Yes,” Baroth said decisively. “You’re right. This will be hard, but it is possible.”
“How will we find her?” Calin asked. “There are what, six or seven hundred million workers here? Any ideas?”
“’She can think,’” Baroth said. “Those were the Dreamer’s words according to Inge. She also described her as damaged. So let’s assume that Adan is right, and she’s a Demotee. Calin, you and I need to look for any worker psychographs that suggested unusually high intelligence, analytical skill and emotional capacity. Level 9 or 10 intellects, female only. We’ll start with the last ten years and see what we can find. Inge, is there any way for you to get more out of the Dreamer?”
“It’s unlikely,” Inge said flatly. “She only has brief moments of anything approaching lucidity. I’ll be on the lookout, of course, and I could try suggesting likely names to her if you find any, but I wouldn’t bank on any more help from her.”
“Adan, we need you to keep covering our tracks as much as possible,” Baroth continued. “The last thing we need is for the Forum to learn of this. Everyone else, keep monitoring the political situation. If the Benoi truly stop attending the Symbiosis, we’re facing into a Pandora’s Box of trouble.”
“I meet with them next week,” the Fennorim interjected. “It’s possible I may have us an ally there.”
“Let’s hope so,” Calin muttered. “We’re all screwed without them.”
“What happens when we find her?” Adan asked. “Do we have a plan for that yet?”
“We’ll ease her off the narcotics first,” Inge answered calmly. “That’ll help to limit the possibility of withdrawal, and its effects. The psychological aspect I’ll have to leave entirely in your hands, Baroth. It’s outside my field of expertise.”
“We’ll leave her working while we do it,” Baroth said. “To take her out of the system we’ll need somewhere to keep her, and the less we draw attention to ourselves the better. Adan, you’ll have to assign one of us as her section supervisor so that when any changes start to occur we can remove her.”
He sighed heavily, and leaned back in his chair. It creaked beneath his massive frame. “Does anyone have anything else to add?”
“Just one thing for Groma,” Adan said, glancing at the Fennorim. “The Mincol supplies of vitruvium are already down to half, but that’s obviously classified. I thought you might need to know it as an ambassador though.”
The Symbiote dipped his scaled head. “Thank you.”
“Already half?” Calin asked, startled. “I thought they would be fine for at least two years yet?”
“That was our optimistic estimate,” Adan answered glumly. “This was the pessimistic one. It’s unfortunately also been the accurate one.”
“Alright,” Baroth said, standing awkwardly beneath the low ceiling. “Meeting adjourned. Let’s find ourselves a worker, children.”
Friday, 11 May 2007
ASBO-Boy: A Vue to kill: Part 6
“So.” Elixir began, hovering next to Squeeze, “How do you know Siren then?”
Squeeze watched Beacon moving steadily through the narrow space up ahead. Elixir was uncomfortably close and seemed to be looking at him with bug-eyed curiosity.
“I knew her in school.” He replied, wondering exactly where this line of enquiry was going. “Really?” She asked, her voice rising. Her cool demeanour was doing nothing to hide her chattering teeth. “Yes.” He continued, trying to concentrate on watching Beacon in case he tried something.
“You seem quite keen on each other, if you don’t mind me saying.” Elixir said. He did mind – but that didn’t stop her. “Very keen. She seems to have that effect on people. I wonder if it has anything to do with her power.”
“I knew her before that.” Damn! He cursed himself – Keep your mouth shut!
“Really? She’s very pretty, isn’t she? She’s managed to snare up Beacon and Swelter quite quickly. Maybe she’s a hormonal catalyst.” It was clear that this little barbed jibe wasn’t aimed at him. Beacon’s step faltered a little and Elixir’s small victory was assured. “Well, they’ll have to keep their hands off her if she’s involved with you. Even if you are a criminal.”
“We aren’t involved,” Squeeze retorted, glad that the darkness was hiding his red neck and cheeks. It would have been perfect had his voice not chosen that exact moment to squeak. He could hear her smirk.
“Excellent. Not a problem then.” Elixir replied cheerily as she overtook him to walk next to Beacon. They were saved from any more indignity as the cavern opened up. A soft breeze lapped their cheeks from somewhere. They emerged in a low room, partially collapsed at one end. Elixir kneeled down in the gloom and drew her hand across the floor. “The water is stronger here. We’re close to the source.”
Beacon nodded. Squeeze looked around, beaming - they were saved! Now was the time to keep his eyes open though, if Beacon thought they were safe he might decide to make a move. Flag-boy seemed to be pre-occupied though.
Elixir coughed. “I think the radiation is starting to kick in.”
“The further we get away from Siren and the little girl, the more we’ll be affected.” Beacon agreed.
“Where are we, exactly? This doesn’t really look like the basement of a block of flats.” Elixir muttered.
“That’s because it isn’t.” Beacon replied, examining the wall. They were in some kind of store room. There were towers of rusting containers piled around haphazardly. Running along the floor, disappearing into the rubble was a trough and in the distance running water could be heard.
“SA3?” Elixir read the bold white letters on the wall which seemed to jump out at them from the darkness. “Does it mean the postcode?” Beacon shrugged and walked up some steps to a reinforced steel door, it didn’t take long for steroid-boy to rip it off its hinges. Squeeze looked up at the containers and ran his fingers against the rust. These weren’t just barrels, they were reinforced too.
Beacon led them out of the room and into a long corridor. Old fashioned strip lights that were popular in schools flcikered above them. A network of pipes and metalwork was exposed on the walls and on the ceiling. “This is a bunker.” Beacon muttered, pondering aloud, “For what though?” An answer wasn’t forthcoming as they advanced through the tunnels. They passed other ominous doors with SA2, SA6, and nearly all the other post-codes in South Wales. Ultimately the tunnels led them to a large central hall where there were banks of dusty old computers and a set of double doors that led out into the light. Elixir moved briskly towards the doors and ignored everything else, but Beacon hung back and examined the desks and the piles of dusty paper. There seemed to be endless reams of charts and progress reports. On the wall behind them was an enormous picture of Swansea broken down by grid into different sections.
“Come on,” Elixir’s voice echoed from the door, but Squeeze and Beacon seemed unwilling to move. Squeeze had a bad feeling about the whole building and wanted nothing more than to leave. That and he was beginning to feel very sick from the radiation.
“I don’t think we’re in Dyfatty any more,” Beacon muttered. Squeeze thought about the spider’s web of tunnels. They’d probably walked about half a mile from where they’d left the girls. Squeeze wanted to go and get them but he knew the other two would do whatever they could to stop him.
There was a fizz of activity, then a gradual hum – slowly a crescendo of sound began to swell around them. In a flash of light all the computers flickered to life. “What did you do?” Beacon demanded. “Nothing!” Squeeze replied helplessly, wondering whether he had done anything. Behind them the enormous screen burst to life and above it a clock began to tick feverishly again. It read 2:04 – Friday the fourth of July 2014, the date of the Battle of Dyfatty. “Let’s get out.” Beacon turned to Elixir, but she was gone. Squeeze frowned – where could sh-
Vue appeared in front of Beacon. “Lost something?” He stammered before punching him. Beacon reeled back onto a desk of computers. Arc-Light appeared at the other end of the room and burst into light as she covered the space between them in a single bound. Beacon sat up – Vue was shaking his wrist in pain – there was another flash and Beacon was thrown backwards in a cloud of smoke. Arc-Light clapped her hands with a flourish of victory. “You’re alive!” She laughed brightly, awkwardly resisting the temptation to hug him,“Where are the others?”
Vue stood over one of the computers and began to type. “Ignore him – he’s got his own plans,” she continued, “Lead me to the others. Quickly – we haven’t got long until the whole place comes down.”
Squeeze watched Beacon moving steadily through the narrow space up ahead. Elixir was uncomfortably close and seemed to be looking at him with bug-eyed curiosity.
“I knew her in school.” He replied, wondering exactly where this line of enquiry was going. “Really?” She asked, her voice rising. Her cool demeanour was doing nothing to hide her chattering teeth. “Yes.” He continued, trying to concentrate on watching Beacon in case he tried something.
“You seem quite keen on each other, if you don’t mind me saying.” Elixir said. He did mind – but that didn’t stop her. “Very keen. She seems to have that effect on people. I wonder if it has anything to do with her power.”
“I knew her before that.” Damn! He cursed himself – Keep your mouth shut!
“Really? She’s very pretty, isn’t she? She’s managed to snare up Beacon and Swelter quite quickly. Maybe she’s a hormonal catalyst.” It was clear that this little barbed jibe wasn’t aimed at him. Beacon’s step faltered a little and Elixir’s small victory was assured. “Well, they’ll have to keep their hands off her if she’s involved with you. Even if you are a criminal.”
“We aren’t involved,” Squeeze retorted, glad that the darkness was hiding his red neck and cheeks. It would have been perfect had his voice not chosen that exact moment to squeak. He could hear her smirk.
“Excellent. Not a problem then.” Elixir replied cheerily as she overtook him to walk next to Beacon. They were saved from any more indignity as the cavern opened up. A soft breeze lapped their cheeks from somewhere. They emerged in a low room, partially collapsed at one end. Elixir kneeled down in the gloom and drew her hand across the floor. “The water is stronger here. We’re close to the source.”
Beacon nodded. Squeeze looked around, beaming - they were saved! Now was the time to keep his eyes open though, if Beacon thought they were safe he might decide to make a move. Flag-boy seemed to be pre-occupied though.
Elixir coughed. “I think the radiation is starting to kick in.”
“The further we get away from Siren and the little girl, the more we’ll be affected.” Beacon agreed.
“Where are we, exactly? This doesn’t really look like the basement of a block of flats.” Elixir muttered.
“That’s because it isn’t.” Beacon replied, examining the wall. They were in some kind of store room. There were towers of rusting containers piled around haphazardly. Running along the floor, disappearing into the rubble was a trough and in the distance running water could be heard.
“SA3?” Elixir read the bold white letters on the wall which seemed to jump out at them from the darkness. “Does it mean the postcode?” Beacon shrugged and walked up some steps to a reinforced steel door, it didn’t take long for steroid-boy to rip it off its hinges. Squeeze looked up at the containers and ran his fingers against the rust. These weren’t just barrels, they were reinforced too.
Beacon led them out of the room and into a long corridor. Old fashioned strip lights that were popular in schools flcikered above them. A network of pipes and metalwork was exposed on the walls and on the ceiling. “This is a bunker.” Beacon muttered, pondering aloud, “For what though?” An answer wasn’t forthcoming as they advanced through the tunnels. They passed other ominous doors with SA2, SA6, and nearly all the other post-codes in South Wales. Ultimately the tunnels led them to a large central hall where there were banks of dusty old computers and a set of double doors that led out into the light. Elixir moved briskly towards the doors and ignored everything else, but Beacon hung back and examined the desks and the piles of dusty paper. There seemed to be endless reams of charts and progress reports. On the wall behind them was an enormous picture of Swansea broken down by grid into different sections.
“Come on,” Elixir’s voice echoed from the door, but Squeeze and Beacon seemed unwilling to move. Squeeze had a bad feeling about the whole building and wanted nothing more than to leave. That and he was beginning to feel very sick from the radiation.
“I don’t think we’re in Dyfatty any more,” Beacon muttered. Squeeze thought about the spider’s web of tunnels. They’d probably walked about half a mile from where they’d left the girls. Squeeze wanted to go and get them but he knew the other two would do whatever they could to stop him.
There was a fizz of activity, then a gradual hum – slowly a crescendo of sound began to swell around them. In a flash of light all the computers flickered to life. “What did you do?” Beacon demanded. “Nothing!” Squeeze replied helplessly, wondering whether he had done anything. Behind them the enormous screen burst to life and above it a clock began to tick feverishly again. It read 2:04 – Friday the fourth of July 2014, the date of the Battle of Dyfatty. “Let’s get out.” Beacon turned to Elixir, but she was gone. Squeeze frowned – where could sh-
Vue appeared in front of Beacon. “Lost something?” He stammered before punching him. Beacon reeled back onto a desk of computers. Arc-Light appeared at the other end of the room and burst into light as she covered the space between them in a single bound. Beacon sat up – Vue was shaking his wrist in pain – there was another flash and Beacon was thrown backwards in a cloud of smoke. Arc-Light clapped her hands with a flourish of victory. “You’re alive!” She laughed brightly, awkwardly resisting the temptation to hug him,“Where are the others?”
Vue stood over one of the computers and began to type. “Ignore him – he’s got his own plans,” she continued, “Lead me to the others. Quickly – we haven’t got long until the whole place comes down.”
ASBO-Boy: A Vue to Kill: Part 5
Arc-Light wiped her eyes and stretched her legs across the floor. The adults were watching the news from the Dyfatty quarantine zone, but she’d stopped listening hours ago. A bright red beam of sunlight was peeking through the curtains. It was dawn, they were all dead and it was her fault.
The adults were speaking in hushed whispers and had been keeping their own counsel. Gwen had locked herself in the basement with Vue and hadn’t come out. She remembered waking up and the distant, lucid voices in her sleep. Now she was hearing different whispers. The adults wanted to take them all away from Gwen. But there was nowhere to go. They’d be found, rounded up and locked away again. Once an ASBO, always an ASBO, was her mother’s pithy dogma. There was nowhere she could go where she’d be welcome now. Going back to Morriston was out of the question. But she was tall, she looked older than she was – maybe she could fake her age and find somewhere.
They were all dead and it was her fault. There was no way they could have survived this long in the radiation even with Malady firing on all cylinders. She didn’t even know them all that well. There been the time before she went undercover in Sandfields, where it had been Gwen, Malady and Flicker, but after the brainwashing treatment that seemed like an age ago. Malady was so young and Flicker so shy. The boys were just a mystery. Bark was nice enough, and at least he laughed, Squeeze was just bitter and he seemed to wear it like a mantle, as if everything was his fault. She was beginning to see how he felt.
“The Elementals haven’t made contact with HQ since late last night and hope is starting to fade for the young heroes.” The news reporter lamented over live footage of Dyfatty. “Once a quiet suburb, with trees and parks and hundreds of happy families – now a wasteland.” Ha! She thought, ‘quiet suburb?’ who did they honestly think would believe that? “We believe they went in to apprehend a rogue band of ASBO Others who managed to mount a brutal escape at Sandfields Borstal last week. Two officers and a guard are said to be critically ill in Singleton Hospital.”
“What?” She gasped, rushing over to the TV, “That never happened.” She felt a re-assuring hand on her shoulder.
“It’s all right love. We know.” They all nodded at her sadly.
“No!” She spat, “This is wrong. We never injured anyone – that helicopter was unmanned. I didn’t hurt anybody!” Her protest was met with mute understanding but that only made her feel worse. She couldn’t understand their apathy – this accusation, this patent lie was insulting, it was disgusting. “I’ve stolen cars, I’ve been in fights – I deserved the ASBO I got. But I did not do that!” A flash of lightning jumped from the end of her finger at the television and the screen popped, emitting an acrid smoke. She looked down at the floor, which was now a foot below her feet and lowered herself to the ground. Angry and embarrassed she charged past the cowering adults and banged on the door to the basement. “Let me in!” She bellowed. Without waiting for an answer she zapped off the lock and charged down the stairs. Gwen looked up as Arc-Light stormed in, Vue was sitting up in bed and they were chatting.
“Yes?” Gwen asked while Arc-Light seethed.
“I want to go back.”
“Excellent, so does Vue.” Gwen replied. The boy smiled at her, the same impish grin that had teased her last night.
“Pardon?” Arc-Light stammered.
“There’s a catacomb beneath the Dyfatty Complex. Vue said it collapsed, just before you zapped him. He was trying to get to it.” Gwen replied reasonably. “He nearly succeeded.”
“If it wasn’t for you pesky kids,” Vue grinned, popping a grape into his mouth.
“So you want us to go back? Why ? It’s too dangerous.”
“You were all up for it a second ago…”
“Yes, but…”
“Well, first of all I want to know what’s in that catacomb,” Gwen counted on her fingers. Arc-Light wondered whether it was possible for her to be any more heartless. “And secondly – I don’t think the others are dead, so you’ll need to rescue them.” Gwen ate a grape and waited for Arc-Light to respond.
“Right. I still don’t get…” She paused, “Hang about – what’s a catacomb doing underneath Dyfatty?”
“Aha!” Gwen replied, “Well, whatever it was made Helix lose control of his powers. They discovered it, you see, the original Elementals.” Vue nodded and hopped off the bed. He jumped around the room a few times before yawning.
“Shall we go?”
Arc-Light shook her head, “No... I mean yes.” Vue strode out of the room and up the stairs. Arc-Light looked around the sad little base of operations they’d set up. The maps on the wall, the little camp beds and the piles of print-offs. Without the others it looked like a kid’s den. “Not much of a guerrilla hero outfit, were we?” Arc-Light asked. Gwen turned around – she was crying.
“You’ll have time yet,” she replied. Arc-Light gestured at the tears and Gwen shrugged them off, “Ignore me.” She said, “He just reminds me of my brother. You’ll get them all back safe now, wont you?” Arc-Light nodded.
“Good, good.” Gwen turned away, wringing her hands. Arc-Light walked quietly away leaving Gwen in the empty little room.
The adults were speaking in hushed whispers and had been keeping their own counsel. Gwen had locked herself in the basement with Vue and hadn’t come out. She remembered waking up and the distant, lucid voices in her sleep. Now she was hearing different whispers. The adults wanted to take them all away from Gwen. But there was nowhere to go. They’d be found, rounded up and locked away again. Once an ASBO, always an ASBO, was her mother’s pithy dogma. There was nowhere she could go where she’d be welcome now. Going back to Morriston was out of the question. But she was tall, she looked older than she was – maybe she could fake her age and find somewhere.
They were all dead and it was her fault. There was no way they could have survived this long in the radiation even with Malady firing on all cylinders. She didn’t even know them all that well. There been the time before she went undercover in Sandfields, where it had been Gwen, Malady and Flicker, but after the brainwashing treatment that seemed like an age ago. Malady was so young and Flicker so shy. The boys were just a mystery. Bark was nice enough, and at least he laughed, Squeeze was just bitter and he seemed to wear it like a mantle, as if everything was his fault. She was beginning to see how he felt.
“The Elementals haven’t made contact with HQ since late last night and hope is starting to fade for the young heroes.” The news reporter lamented over live footage of Dyfatty. “Once a quiet suburb, with trees and parks and hundreds of happy families – now a wasteland.” Ha! She thought, ‘quiet suburb?’ who did they honestly think would believe that? “We believe they went in to apprehend a rogue band of ASBO Others who managed to mount a brutal escape at Sandfields Borstal last week. Two officers and a guard are said to be critically ill in Singleton Hospital.”
“What?” She gasped, rushing over to the TV, “That never happened.” She felt a re-assuring hand on her shoulder.
“It’s all right love. We know.” They all nodded at her sadly.
“No!” She spat, “This is wrong. We never injured anyone – that helicopter was unmanned. I didn’t hurt anybody!” Her protest was met with mute understanding but that only made her feel worse. She couldn’t understand their apathy – this accusation, this patent lie was insulting, it was disgusting. “I’ve stolen cars, I’ve been in fights – I deserved the ASBO I got. But I did not do that!” A flash of lightning jumped from the end of her finger at the television and the screen popped, emitting an acrid smoke. She looked down at the floor, which was now a foot below her feet and lowered herself to the ground. Angry and embarrassed she charged past the cowering adults and banged on the door to the basement. “Let me in!” She bellowed. Without waiting for an answer she zapped off the lock and charged down the stairs. Gwen looked up as Arc-Light stormed in, Vue was sitting up in bed and they were chatting.
“Yes?” Gwen asked while Arc-Light seethed.
“I want to go back.”
“Excellent, so does Vue.” Gwen replied. The boy smiled at her, the same impish grin that had teased her last night.
“Pardon?” Arc-Light stammered.
“There’s a catacomb beneath the Dyfatty Complex. Vue said it collapsed, just before you zapped him. He was trying to get to it.” Gwen replied reasonably. “He nearly succeeded.”
“If it wasn’t for you pesky kids,” Vue grinned, popping a grape into his mouth.
“So you want us to go back? Why ? It’s too dangerous.”
“You were all up for it a second ago…”
“Yes, but…”
“Well, first of all I want to know what’s in that catacomb,” Gwen counted on her fingers. Arc-Light wondered whether it was possible for her to be any more heartless. “And secondly – I don’t think the others are dead, so you’ll need to rescue them.” Gwen ate a grape and waited for Arc-Light to respond.
“Right. I still don’t get…” She paused, “Hang about – what’s a catacomb doing underneath Dyfatty?”
“Aha!” Gwen replied, “Well, whatever it was made Helix lose control of his powers. They discovered it, you see, the original Elementals.” Vue nodded and hopped off the bed. He jumped around the room a few times before yawning.
“Shall we go?”
Arc-Light shook her head, “No... I mean yes.” Vue strode out of the room and up the stairs. Arc-Light looked around the sad little base of operations they’d set up. The maps on the wall, the little camp beds and the piles of print-offs. Without the others it looked like a kid’s den. “Not much of a guerrilla hero outfit, were we?” Arc-Light asked. Gwen turned around – she was crying.
“You’ll have time yet,” she replied. Arc-Light gestured at the tears and Gwen shrugged them off, “Ignore me.” She said, “He just reminds me of my brother. You’ll get them all back safe now, wont you?” Arc-Light nodded.
“Good, good.” Gwen turned away, wringing her hands. Arc-Light walked quietly away leaving Gwen in the empty little room.
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