"Dad, what the hell?"
Even as she said it she realised what his plan was. She powered down, taking as much heat as she could out of the engines and they sat, waiting. A fourth screen that sat where both she and dad could see it had a count of the remaining gamers on it. They waited, tense, watching as the number slowly dropped. Occasional flashes and explosions would reach them and send shards of light in through the viewport. Slowly, the explosions became further and further apart and the number took what seemed like an age to change.
Eventually, the readout flashed and changed to two. Them and one other.
"You ready Ally?"
She nodded, and powered up. She could feel the sweat on her neck and palms and realised that she really needed the toilet. She never felt like this, but then, this was a big game. She felt the sticks come alive beneath her hands and the nerves vanished. She throttled gently forward, creeping slowly as more and more of the zone appeared in her screens.
"Any plans dad?"
She realised she was whispering. He looked up at her and she saw a rare smile on his face.
"I thought you'd probably fly the shit out of this thing and while you're doing that, I'll shoot anything I can see."
She grinned back, a fierce wide smile. She slammed the power down and they jumped forward, emerging from the safety of the moon. She imagined she could hear the viewers, millions of miles away, suddenly shouting at their T.V.s and leaping up with cheers. She spotted him almost immediately, a two man-er that she didn't recognise, hovering close to the planet. They came about, as low as she could, riding the atmosphere towards where the other ship waited. Again she began to feel the drag of gravity tugging at the Vale as she struggled to keep it on course.
"Steady Ally, c'mon."
She grunted, leaning her weight back on the sticks. Their opponent had already turned and was trying to match them, coming low with the sun behind him. Dad's voice suddenly burst out, loud and excited.
"Ally, you wanna try a wheelie?"
She laughed, surprised that he would suggest it, but excited at the same time. She let her hands relax and the gravity pulled harder against the ship, pulling the heavy engines at the back down towards the planet. She wiggled the sticks, making it look like she was failing to keep the Vale on course. As they'd hoped, their opponent relaxed, lifting away from the atmosphere and heading into space. She slammed the rear breaks on and the ship tipped, the engines dragging downwards as the nose popped up. For a few brief moments, the other craft was directly above them and dad fired two shots, both crashing into it. Ally didn't see what damage had been done, as she leant on the power and prayed. The Vale shuddered, screaming as she asked the impossible from it. Slowly, the ship began to move, emerging from the haze of the planet's atmosphere and then finally escaping altogether and rushing into space. As they hurtled towards the stars, she could see the two man-er spinning idly, engines fried.
"Wooooooo! Oh my god, we did it dad, oh my god!"
He leapt from his seat and rushed to wrap his arms around her, face plastered with a huge grin. They hugged, and for a few brief moments, she had dad back again, all of him.
Winning didn't mean all that much. They got some serious credits, which meant they could add a few bits to the Vale, soup her up some more. It also meant they could afford some better food, at least for a few weeks. The main win though was that they got the next game off, so it would be two full weeks before they'd have to come out. They still had to serve, so it wasn't a holiday, but she'd take fixing engines over the game any day. However much she liked flying, she never forgot how easy it was for something to go wrong, and for her or dad to get hurt.
She pulled the Vale around, heading for their home ship which hung on the far side of the moon. Of course the other great thing about winning was avoiding the long walk.
That thought brought her back to the present. She grinned wryly, despite the pain in her feet and the dust clogging her nose and eyes and ears. Winning that game had been huge, not just for their reputation, but also their relationship. Although only ten, she'd known that dad wasn't who he had been. The memories she had of him when Mum had been alive told her so. After they won, he didn't exactly become Mr Cheerful, but things slowly changed. He wanted to talk about stuff, about the ship, about Ally, about the other slaves on the home ship. He talked to her about how she felt and about the changes she was going through. Looking back at it now, and understanding the pain he had been in, she thought he did a pretty good job of being the mum as well.
Chapter Two
She twisted her head from side to side, feeling her neck crack. Her eyes were drawn to thin slits to keep out the dust, but even so they were watering constantly. The column had slowed as the day came to a close, the sun now all but gone behind the mountains. Next to her dad stumbled and she reached out, grabbing his arm to steady him. He looked across, a wan smile playing across his face and she returned it, trying hard to give him some of her strength. She squinted ahead of the column and could just about make out the port, beginning to emerge from the dust. Another couple of hours and they'd be there.
The slaves always struggled by this point in the walk. She resisted the urge to spit again as she thought about dad and how much this cost him. Life was divided into three simple parts. One was the game, which she'd be happily rid of, if it wasn't the only time she got to fly. The second was the time spent on the Homeship, fixing and maintaining the engine. The last part was this walk, three long days out of most weeks, and the one thing she truly dreaded. No one really understood why it happened. The Homeships landed next to the city, taking turns to descend to the colossal mooring station. Here they would refuel, take on food and water, and drop off the gamers to begin their hike to the port. During the walk, the Homeships would make the same journey to release their ships and any supplies they may have won for their endeavours in the game.
Some said it kept the gamers young, the old and infirm dying during the walk. Others thought it was simply the Lords' way of reminding the gamers who was boss; as if they needed it. She could understand that one. Most of the slaves had menial, repetitive existences, weighed down by lives spent in servitude, but the gamers tasted so much more. Their weekly brush with death made them more alert, more alive. Perhaps without the will-sapping drudgery of the long walk, they would be more tempted to rise up, or run away. Maybe. Or maybe The Lords were just evil and liked to cause pain. She understood that one as well, and thought it just as likely.
She looked up and down the line, seeing some familiar faces amongst the strangers. Up ahead walked a couple, heads down and holding hands, with a baby strapped to the man's back. She had ridden like that once, blissfully oblivious to the world around her. It hadn't lasted long though, her ignorance. When mum had gone, it had been up to her to take over and fly the Vale.
She could still remember her first flight. She'd been sat on dad's knees, feet not yet able to reach the pedals, but her hands had been wrapped tight around the steering sticks. She'd been in Mum's flight suit, the body scrunched up so they could fix the helmet properly. Mum had been gone for a couple of years by then and Dads' mourning time was coming to an end. They were gonna have to game again and she needed to be able to help.
It was odd how the Lords, so utterly alien in their manner and attitude towards humans, were so compassionate when it came to death. She did wonder whether there was some other motivation. Maybe people who lost their loved ones in the game didn't make for good entertainment, if they flew too soon after, or maybe they were too often tempted to turn their guns on the Lords. It never did any good, but those kinds of things couldn't look good back on Earth and would be hard to explain. Earthers, whether they were humans or from the other planets within the Lords' domain, all believed that the gamers were volunteers, workers and soldiers from out here on the edge. The idea that they were slaves, forced into it solely for entertainment was never even considered. Slaves or not though, they were always given mourning time. The fact that
dad had Alicia to look after meant that he got a couple of years, time to get her ready for when they would be forced back to the games.
Of course, she hadn't known that when she was six. She had only known that she was finally getting the chance to fly the Vale. She had watched him do it again and again and knew that she could too, even better than him.
They were planet side, taking off from the slave port and heading out over the desert. Once they were airborne, he guided her hands onto the sticks, then slowly let go. She felt the ship beneath her, a huge weight made light by the action of the joysticks. She gently pulled them to one side and felt it move, registering even the smallest of touches. Through the thin viewport far in front she could just make out the horizon slowly tilt. She was breathless, the excitement bubbling up and she grinned, turning around to smile at dad. He grinned back, then suddenly grabbed the sticks as the ship followed her movements and slewed to one side. He righted it and she giggled, turning back and wrapping her hands around them again.
"Remember Ally, ignore the viewport, use the screens."
He'd said this a hundred times in the last few weeks since they'd begun the lessons. She'd found it odd, but sitting here now, she could understand why. The viewport gave her a tiny slit, through which she could make out almost nothing. Below it and considerably nearer were three screens, two showing the forward view from either side of the nose and the third looking backwards. Now, as she let her eyes relax and slipped into peripheral vision, she felt that she could see everything, the screens giving not only the view but also information. She knew exactly how far from the ground she was, and the movement of each wing tip. She knew how fast she was going and the faint fluctuations in speed caused by the slight changes in pressure on the sticks. The data should have overloaded her young senses, but just as she had from the very first lesson, she lapped it up, revelling in a feeling of total control. The ship felt alive beneath her and she began to experiment, rolling it first one way and then the other. She lifted the nose and they soared upwards, the stars now filling the screens, then abruptly downward so that the grey desert floor rushed to meet them.
"Easy girl!"
She laughed at him and leant into the sticks, nearly toppling off his knees. They came up and round in a tight curve until the Vale, nearly entirely on its side, was hurtling above the desert, only metres up.
At the time it had seemed entirely normal to her that she could pilot so effortlessly. It felt like playing, only easier. Dad had been so proud and, although she hadn't realised at the time, shocked. As she got older and began to see the world around her, she understood how unusual it was. When they viewed movies from Earth, she saw kids her age playing with dolls and chasing one another. That was the first time that she realised how different life was for her and the people around her.
She wanted to fly forever, but eventually they landed, dad squeezing her shoulder, tears in his eyes.
"That was quite something Alicia, your mum would have been proud."
She'd shrugged, not getting how much it meant to him to say that. But that had been the beginning. A couple of months later they were back in the game, only now, she was flying.
Her eyes refocused as the memory faded, alighting again on the child carried sleeping through the dark of the evening. She wondered how long he'd have before being dragged into the fray, how long his innocence would last.
It would start when he reached five. She could remember the pain of branding, but only as an abstract thing. Dad had still been reeling from mum's death and barely complained when she'd been dragged away by two old, cowled slaves. She had seen it happen again and again since then, children taken away and returned hours later with the twisting, alien characters now seared, red and raw, onto their shoulders. She remembered better the itching that never seemed to end, the constant need to scratch and the bleeding that inevitably accompanied it.
The branders were mysterious, odd people. No one knew why you got chosen for the job, but it was thankless and everyone hated them. The slaves did everything on the Homeship, everything bar give out orders and decide where they went next. She had watched some at work; cleaning, cooking, even making the clothes that she wore, and had felt lucky. Despite the letters stamped on her back, she still got to fly, to soar through the emptiness and be free, for those brief moments. For the time between leaving the Homeship and when the shooting ended, she was innocent again, she was free. The other slaves never got that, never had that escape. She clung to that, the dust making her teeth crack as she ground them together.
Chapter Three
So much had changed in the last ten years. Not long after they'd won that first game, the Lords had decided things were getting stale. She'd heard that audience figures were dropping, back on earth, and they were worried the money would begin to dry up. Without the constant inflow of cash, the Lords would struggle to continue their constant fight to expand and conquer. Despite the never ending supply of expendable troops that the Lords seemed able to magically find, they needed to feed them and provide equipment, and this was where the Game was necessary. She was still sure that the Lords enjoyed the games, and liked watching the displays of skill provided by their captive humans. But the money mattered too, of that she had no doubt.
So, they'd changed the games. They'd begun by introducing teams. It wasn't a choice, and despite how bad an idea most of the gamers thought it was, there was no going back. The gamers on their Homeship were called together one day and spoken to by the Slave master in charge of them. He explained that from now on, one of them would be put in charge of a small team. That person would be called the Overseer and would be responsible for that team's next performance. She loved how they called it performance, as if it were all on a stage, all fake.
As time went by, the teams changed. Sometimes there would be just a couple of ships in each and it would feel not much different to before. Other times, the entire Homeship fleet would make a team and be battling other Homeships. Dad hated it, hated being reliant on someone else for the decisions that they made in a game. They still kept their heads above water, winning, or coming close, more times than they lost. The Lords also became more involved, giving strange, rambling messages to the gamers read by translator slaves and transmitted into their cockpits. She wasn't sure that they could speak at all. She still remembered the first time she had actually seen one of them up close. It was something she couldn't imagine ever forgetting, no matter how hard she tried or how much time passed.
A couple of weeks before she turned twelve, past winners of the game had been invited to a grand ball on the display deck of the Homeship. She had lived her entire life below decks, cleaning and fixing. She spent most of her life in the engines, tweaking and maintaining the gargantuan monstrosity that carried the craft through space. She had no idea what a grand ball was, only that it amused their Lord that they should be there. There were about twenty slaves from their ship that had won games in the past, but others came from other Homeships as well, and when she walked onto the deck, she gasped.
There were hundreds of gamers, all ill-at-ease and struggling in smart clothes they had never worn before. The deck was enormous, the ceiling high above them. Two of the walls were entirely see-through, the vast depths of space filling the view. The rest of the room was dimly lit by huge chandeliers that floated, buoyed up by tiny engines that set them bobbing gently. The main area of the floor was full of pilots and gunners, slaves all, but apparently free men and women for one night. She gripped dad's hand, utterly overwhelmed. It was only by looking at the faces of those around her and realising that they felt much the same that she was able to relax. They made slow progress through the crowds, greeting those they had met previously, on the long walks back to the port.
In the middle of the room, a huge circular bar was manned by other slaves, people she didn't recognise. The number of gamers on each home ship was tiny, a fraction of the total number who worked and lived there. They approached the bar and were handed g
lasses filled with dark, rich-looking syrup. She had spent her life drinking water and the first taste made her cough, the sweetness and texture overloading her senses. She managed to sip the rest without further mishap and felt floaty and slightly dizzy by the time it was finished. They were still stood near the bar, feeling awkward, though the drink was helping with that. Some of the other gamers were also beginning to relax and conversations were springing up. Dad got talking to a thin, tall man next to him, discussing the merits of various weaponry. Normally she'd have been interested, but tonight was so strange, so unusual, that she found herself slipping away, and into the crowds.
She drifted through the throng, picking out snippets of chatter as she went. Most of it was about how strange the whole evening was, how unexpected it was for the Lords to throw a party. She was puzzled by it as well, but didn't stop to join in. She unconsciously made her way to the far side of the room, where a stage sat. It was beautifully made, like everything else in the room, the rail carved from wood and painted a burnt gold colour. It thrust out from the wall and filled the corner where the window ended, sitting at least 2 metres from the floor. There was a wide gap between the edge of the crowd and the side of the stage, as if an invisible barrier kept them apart. She casually stepped free and into the space.
As she got nearer, she felt her head begin to throb slightly, like the beginnings of a headache. Blaming the drink she had just recently finished, she stepped yet nearer. Now the headache really took root, her eyes suddenly feeling like they were being pushed from her head. She felt nausea rise up, and swallowed repeatedly. She stopped and steadied herself, aware that the room was spinning. Clapping one hand over her mouth, she staggered back into the crowd, searching feverishly for somewhere quiet to be sick. It took a few steps to realise that the feelings were subsiding. Her head ached, but it was a dull, fading pain and the need to vomit was almost gone.
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