by S. F. Said
A Shadow Guard pointed at Bazooka, who sat shivering on Professor Byzantine’s shoulder. ‘You cannot take that creature with you.’
‘But she accompanies me wherever I go,’ protested the Professor.
‘That creature will be quarantined,’ said the Shadow Guard. ‘If found to be dangerous, it will be destroyed.’ He reached for Bazooka. The little phoenix cowered away, her eyes cloudy with fear.
‘Baaa – Baaa – Baaa—’ she chittered.
The Shadow Guard seized her, and ripped her from Professor Byzantine’s shoulder. Bazooka screeched, spurting little jets of fire, but she couldn’t shake the Shadow Guard. She reached out for Professor Byzantine with her wings, and the Professor was reaching for her too . . .
‘Please, sir, I beg you!’ he cried. ‘Do not take her from me!’
But Bazooka was hauled away, out of sight, and the Shadow Guards remained emotionless behind their stealth armour.
‘Take off your clothes,’ they ordered.
Lucky shivered. It was bitterly cold in here.
‘Why should we?’ demanded Bixa.
‘Take off your clothes, and place them on the conveyor belt,’ said the Shadow Guard. ‘You and your possessions will be scanned separately. That way you cannot hide anything. Have you something to hide?’
‘No, no, no – of course not, sir,’ said Mystica. ‘Come along, Bixa, don’t make trouble!’
Bixa scowled, but said no more. Silently, they began to strip off their clothes.
It was humiliating. So humiliating. One by one, they removed their mirrorshades. They slid off their cloven hoof boots, to reveal their bare feet beneath.
Without his hooves, Lucky immediately felt clumsy and malcoordinated again. The floor was freezing under the soles of his feet, and it stung. His skin came up in gooseflesh as he removed his space traveller’s coat, his shirt, his trousers. He stood there in his underwear, feeling tiny with terror.
‘All your clothes, you Alien scum,’ said the Shadow Guard.
Lucky lowered his eyes as he stripped completely. He didn’t want to see his friends humiliated. Didn’t want them to see him humiliated, either. Because he was a Human, and here were Humans, treating him the way they routinely treated the Axxa.
It disgusted him. Even the word ‘Alien’ was beginning to sicken him. They’re Axxa, he thought. The People of the Stars. Why can’t anyone call them that? Why always Alien and Devil and Scum? Especially when the Shadow Guards must have known the truth that was now so clear to see: that without their clothes, Axxa bodies were exactly the same as Human bodies. The only difference was in the eyes.
He felt ashamed to be Human – and he felt ashamed of his own body. He hated it. Small, weak, useless. He hoped no one was looking at him.
‘So that’s the ass I’ve been kicking all this time?’ whispered Bixa in his ear. ‘Not bad!’
And he couldn’t help it: a little smile crept up on his face.
But it only lasted a moment. Because the Shadow Guards were making them surrender everything, even Mystica’s big golden rings. Bixa had hidden her needles somewhere deep in her hair, so she didn’t lose those, but everything else was taken away.
‘The horns,’ a Shadow Guard said. ‘The males: take down your hair.’
The Captain bristled. ‘But these horns – they’re part of our faith. We wear them to remind us of the stars—’
‘You can forget about the stars,’ said the Shadow Guard. ‘Take them down.’
Mystica came up behind Lucky, and tended to his horns. He felt the threads unravelling, the braids being undone, the velvet coming off. He saw it happen to the Professor, the Captain, Frollix – all of them, stripped of the majestic horns they were so proud of, until their hair hung long and loose and lank.
Frollix looked so much smaller without them. He seemed to shrink before the Shadow Guards, as he had on Leo Five. Professor Byzantine’s head had hung low since they’d taken Bazooka. He stood not ramrod straight as normal, but hunched and stooped, even his whiskers drooping. Only Captain Nox was unbowed, standing up to his full height, exuding an authority that even the Shadow Guards couldn’t quell – as if he had faced things far worse than Shadow Guards in his time.
But Lucky could not imagine anything worse. He felt totally helpless and naked. And the only disguise he had left now was a flimsy pair of contact lenses.
‘Enter the inspection chamber,’ a Shadow Guard commanded. ‘The old ones first: walk through the double doors.’
Captain Nox, Mystica and the Professor went forward together. They walked arm in arm through the double doors, which closed behind them with a silent swish.
‘W-what happens in there?’ said Frollix, shivering.
‘Full body inspection,’ said the Shadow Guard.
They waited. One minute passed. Two. Then the word CLEAR came up on the doors.
‘You two,’ the Shadow Guard told Frollix and Bixa. ‘Your turn now. Go in.’
They went through together, leaving Lucky alone. Why can’t I go with them? he wondered. Why did they leave me on my own till the end? Maybe because they know I’m a fake Axxa, they’re just waiting—
No! Don’t think like that! Think about all the hours you’ve spent with the Professor, practising for this moment. Think about Bixa. Think about anything except the panic that’s clawing at your chest . . .
But still it was rising, simmering, smouldering inside him. He could taste sulphur at the back of his throat, just waiting to flare up, to shine and burn and give him away—
‘Your turn now,’ called the Shadow Guard at last.
Lucky fought down the fear, and walked through the double doors. They closed behind him, sealing him into a shallow chamber, alone.
Then tiny metal probes filled the chamber: probes like spiders, with needle-sharp legs. Before he could move, they swarmed all over him, spidery legs clicking as they scurried across his skin. It was vile, but he couldn’t stop it. He had to endure it, somehow.
‘Keep walking,’ came a voice, ‘with your hands in the air.’
He put his hands up, and walked forward. His skin was crawling with spiders, all over – front and back, up and down – spiders’ legs scuttling across his face, his nose, his eyes.
The taste of sulphur was in his mouth now; he was just a moment from flaring into flame . . .
No! Think of Bixa, only Bixa –
– and hold on –
– hold on –
– hold on –
– and then, suddenly, the spiders were gone. The doors opened before him, and he staggered out the other side.
The Sunfire crew were all there. They were shivering, but unharmed. They were retrieving their clothes from the conveyor belt, pulling on their hooves, braiding their hair into horns before a full-length mirror on the wall.
Lucky joined them, gasping.
Have I really done it? he thought.
Nothing bad happened. I kept the power down. I didn’t burn . . .
I’ve done it! We’re going to get away with it! We’re going to get through the Wall!
Relief coursed through his body, cool and sweet. He started to dress, smiling secretly to himself – but then he noticed Bixa staring at him with undisguised horror. She was motioning frantically at his eyes.
He glanced into the mirror. His reflection looked back at him, completely normal. What was she trying to tell him?
And then he understood.
Normal. His eyes looked normal.
The probe had taken his contact lenses, and now his Human eyes were exposed.
No! He reached for his mirrorshades, hoping against hope to get there in time –
– but one of the Shadow Guards was already stalking up to him. A probe was in his hands, the telltale contact lenses in its grip. ‘Fake lenses? A Human disguised as an Alien?’ The other Shadow Guards all turned to stare at Lucky. ‘Scan his brain.’
Bixa bristled. Frollix’s massive fists clenched. Captain Nox took a step forwar
d, towering over them all.
‘The boy is with us,’ he said. ‘He is our apprentice. We will answer for him, and—’
And suddenly every cannon in the room was pointing at Nox’s head.
‘Ozymandias,’ said Mystica quietly. ‘We can do nothing at this moment in time. The present belongs to them. Only the future remains open.’
She was right. The little crew of Axxa were totally surrounded. They were powerless to help.
Slowly, the Captain held up his hands, and backed away.
One of the Shadow Guards reached out to Lucky’s face. Fingers of darkness came towards him. Towards his eyes. His pupils.
‘No – please!’ begged Lucky.
‘Hold still,’ commanded the Shadow Guard. He leaned forward. The fingers of darkness filled Lucky’s vision – touching the surface of his eyeball . . .
He couldn’t bear to have the darkness enter his eyes – to watch as it came inside his head – no way! No! No!
He jerked his head back—
‘Move one more time,’ said the Shadow Guard, ‘and we kill you.’
Lucky stood there, helpless, and let it happen. There was no choice. He tried not to watch the fingers reaching for his eyes, and focused instead on his friends, in the background. He could see them shaking in fear as the dark shadow touched the surface of his eye –
– he felt it entering his eyeball –
– felt huge pressure, reaching back, through his optic nerve, towards his brain –
– reaching right into his brain –
– he saw the sparkle as bright images were ripped out of his brain – as his thoughts and dreams and feelings were pulled from a place deep inside him, streaming up into the darkness –
– and his fingertips started to shine as his self-control finally broke; his hands began to glow as all hope of escape slipped away –
– he screamed in horror –
and
slumped
to
the
ground
unconscious
Chapter Twenty-One
It was the scent that woke Lucky. The scent of chocolate brownies baking.
He stretched out, and opened his eyes. They stung; everything looked blurry. But he could see the outline of someone leaning over him, gently mopping his brow.
He shut his eyes again, relaxed, and smiled. That home-baked smell was unmistakable.
He must be back on Phoenix, in his mother’s apartment. The whole thing must’ve been a dream.
He breathed in the smell of home. He inhaled long, deep lungfuls, and thought about all the things he was going to tell her, all the things they were going to do.
‘Hello, my boy,’ said a voice above him. A woman’s voice.
But not his mother’s voice.
Lucky opened his eyes in shock. A woman in an apron was wiping his brow –
– and she was not his mother.
She looked kindly but stern, with steely blonde hair. She seemed familiar, and so did his surroundings. He was lying on a leather couch in a dark wood-panelled room. There were blinds over the windows; a grand mahogany desk.
In his mind flashed up an image he’d seen on countless vidscreens. The face of the President, addressing the galaxy from her office.
This is it, he realized. The office of the President. And this woman standing over me . . .
‘You’re President Thorntree?’ he said.
‘That’s right,’ said the President. She smiled, showing a set of polished white teeth. ‘Welcome, Lucky. You’ve come a long way.’
‘How do you know my name?’
‘We know everything about you,’ she said. ‘At least, we know everything in your brain.’
Scan his brain.
He sat bolt upright. It all came back to him, crystal clear and sharp as a needle. The brainscan. The Shadow Guards. The Sunfire crew, trying to help . . .
‘Where are they?’ he gasped. ‘What have you done with my friends?’
‘They are perfectly safe,’ said the President.
Lucky didn’t believe her. What kind of trouble had he got them into? He prayed they were still OK.
‘Now try to relax,’ said the President. ‘I know you’re scared of my government, and my agents – and you have every reason, after that tragic incident with your mother. But you must believe me: we mean you no harm.’
Her words burned into him. He could hardly answer. ‘Then why did they . . . why did she . . .?’ He couldn’t bring himself to say the word ‘die’ out loud. Not when he’d believed for one wonderful moment that it had never happened.
The President’s face clouded with pain, and she reached down to wipe his brow again. ‘I am so sorry that you had to witness such a thing. It must have been appalling for you.’ She looked at him with deep concern in her eyes. ‘Your mother was a remarkable woman. The way she raised you, on her own all those years: she did a wonderful job. But she never told you the truth. Not about who she was, or who you were – not about anything.’
‘That’s not true!’ bristled Lucky.
‘Really?’ said the President, very softly. ‘Did you know she was a Shadow Guard?’
Lucky stared at her in shocked silence. It couldn’t be true.
‘Where do you think she learned to fight so well?’ said the President. ‘And how do you imagine she knew so much about the Aliens? She was brilliant: one of our top agents. A soldier through and through.’
Still Lucky refused to reply. Still he refused to believe it. But he couldn’t deny . . . that was exactly what his mother was like, though he’d learned it only at the end.
‘I know you’ve wondered about her secrets,’ said the President. She leaned in, and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘I can shed some light on those secrets. You see, your mother worked undercover. She travelled in the Alien worlds, learned their customs, knew their ways. But then something happened to her. She became a little . . . confused, shall we say. A little paranoid. She left the government’s service, and went into hiding. She had some information about the Aliens that we needed, but she refused to give it to us. She believed we wanted to hurt her, when we only wanted to talk. And that misjudgement caused her tragic death.’
‘But . . . she was right!’ he said at last, biting his lip. ‘They – they shot her – and then, when they finally caught me, they ripped my brainscan . . .’
The President smiled. ‘You were so scared of that, weren’t you? Well, see for yourself. Are you hurt?’
Lucky glowered at her, but her smile stayed totally fixed. It looked like it was painted on her face. ‘They ripped my thoughts out of my eyes,’ he said.
‘I know it stings a little – but honestly, think about it. Are you actually hurt?’
Lucky thought about it. He felt around his body. ‘No,’ he had to admit. ‘I guess not.’
‘Well, there you are,’ said the President, still smiling. ‘All that fuss over such a small thing. You were only scared of us because your mother filled you with fear. But I know that’s not how you really are. You are remarkably courageous.’
‘Yeah, right,’ he grunted.
‘Oh, but you are,’ said the President, in a silky voice. ‘You are so brave, and so resourceful: I am extremely impressed. From Phoenix, all the way to the Spacewall – you’ve crossed half the galaxy. You’ve overcome so many obstacles. Your story is amazing, and I must say, so is your brainscan. You have some interesting powers.’
Lucky’s eyes narrowed. ‘So you know? Is that why you were after me?’
‘Of course not,’ said the President. ‘We had no idea. But you’re not the first person in history to have powers. Spontaneous combustion, bioluminescence – these are well-documented phenomena. Whatever powers you have, our scientists will explain them. And there’s no reason why you can’t use them for the good of Humanity.’
She went over to her mahogany desk, and switched on the desk lamp. Her eyes glinted in the soft light. Lucky turned away from her. He
felt trapped. Whatever she said, he was a prisoner here, just as his father was a prisoner. And how was he ever going to find him now?
‘So what are you going to do, now you’ve got me?’ he said.
The President chuckled. ‘Lucky, nothing bad is going to happen to you. We had you in here, helpless all this time, and what did we do? We cleaned you up and made you comfortable. Oh – and I made you something to eat.’
From the desk, she passed him a plate heaped high with brownies. Chocolate fudge brownies. Just like the ones his mother used to make.
Just like the ones he’d pushed away.
‘Go ahead,’ said the President. ‘They’re for you.’
Lucky hesitated a moment – but then the smell was too tempting to resist, and he took one.
It was still warm, and the chocolate melted in his mouth.
It was perfect. Exactly like his mother’s home-baked brownies. Exactly the same smell, the same sweetness, the same freshly-baked sticky softness.
This can’t be real, he thought, can it?
He took another bite, just to make sure – then a bigger bite – and the President smiled.
‘You see?’ she said. ‘All we want to do is help.’
Lucky sat back and munched. The brownie gave him a sense of comfort that deepened with every bite. He was still suspicious, but if anything bad was going to happen here, surely it would have happened by now?
He finished the brownie, wiped his mouth, and took another from the plate. He was hungry, he realized. ‘OK,’ he said, between melting mouthfuls. ‘So what do you want from me?’
President Thorntree removed her apron. Underneath it was a formal suit. ‘Lucky, we know you’ve been searching for your father, and that you want to find him, more than anything. Well, that’s exactly what we want, too. We want you to find your father.’
‘Major Dashwood? You know him? Is he OK?’