by Eliza Green
Caroline slowly walked back to where Serena lay and held her hand once more. But then she caught the look on Anton’s face—a look of genuine terror. It wasn’t long before she understood why. Deighton suddenly looped his spindly arm around her neck and squeezed tight. She gasped for air, trying to pull Deighton’s arm away but he was surprisingly strong for his age. She called out for help, but not much sound came out. Anton wrestled with his restraints, but couldn’t free himself. Meanwhile, Serena stared impassively at the ceiling, her mind still working out her new brain synapses, and entirely living up to her name.
Caroline tugged at Deighton’s sleeve, her efforts to escape becoming weaker and weaker.
‘Shush, dear. Best not to talk,’ said Deighton, his voice strange, excited and calm at the same time. He held his arm tightly around her neck until she felt nothing.
Deighton let the doctor’s body drop to the floor and grinned. He always felt good after he’d given into one of his urges. He looked up and locked eyes with Anton.
‘You’re not the only one with a temper,’ he said, excitement glinting in his eyes.
Deighton ruffled up his hair and opened up the first few buttons on his shirt. Then he pulled his jacket askew. Serena continued to lie there, indifferent to what was going on around her. He unclasped the restraints that held her in place.
Then he called for help, help to protect him against the unfinished prototype that had just killed Dr Caroline Finnegan.
Chapter 24
September 2163, Exilon 5
Stephen’s private dwelling was bathed in its usual blue light. It was night and the gamma rock inside the light shaft amplified the indigo glow of the double moons. He tossed and turned in his bed, wondering if sleep would ever come. Nothing gave him comfort anymore. The gentle blue light usually helped him to sleep, but since he’d returned from Earth he’d found it irritating and strangely stimulating.
At night, the pain in his head was more of a dull ache—still annoying, but a relief from the searing stabs of pain he experienced during the day. In the daytime the pain was debilitating, making it difficult for him to function normally around others. He’d discovered, quite by accident, that the soundproofing qualities of omicron rock took the edge off the pain, but he couldn’t spend all his time enclosed in omicron. His reaction to the environment in which he lived was also changing just as rapidly as his mind: the gamma rock in the tranquillity caves used to glow like embers, but now it had lost its radiance, and the omicron emitted a vibration that played with his eyesight, creating multi-coloured patterns and streams on the edges of his field of vision.
His dreams continued too. They were crystal clear, even if their meaning or their source wasn’t. He had abandoned the idea that the visions were somehow connected to Anton; but he knew they weren’t his own memories either. For the first time since his arrival back on Exilon 5, Stephen admitted to himself that there was something seriously wrong with him. He could feel the changes occurring deep within. His personality had changed—he’d become more aggressive—and he had developed a new ability to see other Indigene’s moods as colours. What Elise had said, that the changes he was experiencing were natural and connected to his survival, didn’t make sense to him. It felt to him as if he was being controlled by someone else—by someone aggressive and eager to push him over the edge. He’d considered talking to Pierre about it but changed his mind—no explanation was going to make it stop.
The murmur of voices in the circular area beneath his dwelling distracted him. He tried to tune into the conversations; he couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was rushed, excited. Then the voices faded away.
Stephen slowly got up from his mattress on the floor, battling the throbbing pain that hit him when he stood upright, and opened the door. It was unusually quiet in the northern quadrant. Then he heard several voices drift down the left tunnel and could detect the rapidly changing moods that accompanied them: excitement, panic, elation, concern, confusion—a range of emotions that didn’t seem to belong together. Stephen set off in the direction of the voices, struggling against the pain in his head that constantly threatened to overwhelm him.
With each step draining his energy, he slowly followed the voices and moods in the tunnel that eventually led him to a large open space in the heart of the south quadrant where a large group had gathered. He stood at the back, enchanted by the bright glow that surrounded each Indigene, a glow that changed colour with their emotions: rust red, yellow ochre, sky blue. Stephen craned his neck to see more but the crowd in front were gathered tightly around the central interest.
Stephen angrily clutched the side of his head as another stab of pain attacked him. He was driven instinctively towards the cause of the commotion, but he wasn’t sure he could trust his instincts any more. With the pain washing over him in waves, he pushed forward, trying to find a gap in the tightly packed group. He prodded and poked at Indigenes until someone yielded their position and let him through. Auras transformed from bright yellows to angry reds as Stephen kept moving towards the centre of the room, where the concentration of colour was at its strongest.
Suddenly everything went quiet. He could no longer hear the thoughts of those around him. The colours merged to form a long tunnel that seemed to guide him towards the middle of the room. As Stephen got closer, he could pick out specific thoughts: Pierre struggling to make sense of the situation and swinging between elation and disbelief; Leon, usually calm and controlled, was emitting a piercing shriek. It was too much for Stephen to bear and he shot his hands over his ears to block out the noise. He could see Elise but not sense her; she had closed herself off to him. He had never felt so alone.
‘Somebody fetch Stephen immediately,’ Pierre shouted.
Stephen heard that clearly; the noises around him began to normalise. His heart was pounding in his chest. Nobody seemed aware that he was there, in the room. He thought he knew what was going on, but he couldn’t latch on to the right signature to confirm it. He’d only believe it when he saw him with his own eyes.
The colours around him intensified, blinding him, and the pain worsened. Stephen stumbled and felt a strong hand grab his arm and help him to his feet. It was Pierre. He led him to the middle of the room.
Still Stephen could make nothing out; all he could see was a vivid swirl of colour. He twisted out of Pierre’s grasp and fell to his knees, clutching his head tightly.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ he heard Leon ask, a noticeable strain in his voice.
‘I don’t know,’ Pierre replied. ‘Stephen, talk to me.’
Stephen couldn’t speak. The powerful force he had feared all along had finally come to claim him. Just then, in his mind he saw a hand reach out towards him. He knew it was Elise. She was trying to guide him telepathically.
‘Listen to my voice. Concentrate on my voice, Stephen.’
Desperate for help, Stephen obeyed without question. ‘I can hear you, Elise.’
‘Let the force consume you. Don’t fight it. It’s a part of you.’
‘It’s unbearable. The pain is too strong.’
‘It will pass. I can see it. You’ll be okay. Trust me, Stephen.’
Stephen cradled his head in his hands, hot tears falling on his cheeks.
‘Concentrate,’ urged Elise.
He tried, but the agonising pain was sapping all his strength. It was worse than anything he’d ever felt. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain to reach its crescendo. He cried out in protest as faces flashed in front of him—Anton, Arianna, Elise. The dark pain moved forward, trying to envelop him. He braced himself for impact.
‘Almost there. I can see it now,’ said Elise.
What was Elise talking about? Her words of encouragement did little to relieve his agony. He tried to fight off the darkness, but it seemed to be everywhere. It pressed forward and transformed into a series of familiar faces. The faces changed and became distorted with rage. Stephen held his hands up to his face and crie
d. ‘No! Make it go away!’
He could feel Elise’s hand on his. ‘Hold on. I’m here.’
The faces snapped and snarled at him. He recoiled as far as he could but they were upon him, taunting him now. Then suddenly the blackness lost its density and shape. The pain trickled away until the pressure in his head subsided. An eerie calm replaced the anxiety he had felt for so long. His body felt light and without burden. Tentatively he opened his eyes. Everything had changed—he was back in control again and could see clearly.
‘Are you okay, Stephen?’ Pierre asked, the worry etched into his serene face.
‘I … I think so,’ Stephen said. He was breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. He looked around him. The colourful auras still surrounded the Indigenes but there was nothing threatening about them.
Elise stepped forward and helped him to his feet. ‘I knew you could do it,’ she said softly.
Stephen didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes were fixated on the figure that was standing behind her. Stephen reached out a hand, brushing aside the dark, murky colours that emanated from Anton, and smiled.
Anton stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘Hello, Stephen. They tell me I’ve been gone a long time. Did you miss me?’
Elise drew a deep breath, drained after witnessing Stephen’s transformation. The worst had passed, but she could see more—something that only revealed itself once the darkness had abated.
She was suspicious about Anton’s return—it had been too sudden and too convenient. She watched how they interacted with each other. On the surface, they appeared to be just the same, but she sensed a difference in their energy. Elise spotted Arianna standing at the edge of the crowd and noticed the look on her face. Arianna, too, was wary of this reconciliation and she could feel her straining to get inside Anton’s head.
Elise followed her. From what she could see, Anton’s mind appeared to be normal. But that was exactly the problem: where was the evidence of psychological trauma or scarring? Although Indigene brain cells could repair themselves, they couldn’t eliminate all traces of damage. Instinctively, Elise found herself backing off from Anton. He was calm—too calm— and she wasn’t sure if it was the real Anton that had returned.
Chapter 25
The journey to Exilon 5 seemed longer than the one Bill Taggart had made three months before. In other ways, too, the two trips couldn’t have been more different. This time, he was concerned for the Indigenes, and about Stephen in particular. He had to know for certain that Stephen had arrived home safely—he had arranged for him to get on the ship and felt responsible for his safe arrival—and to warn the Indigenes about the World Government’s interest in their second generation, as Isla had stated in her letters. But it was also a personal mission: he needed to know if his wife might still be alive, and if not, what had really happened to her.
Bill sat in the recreation room of the passenger ship with Laura O’Halloran and Jenny Waterson. Their plan to remain out of sight hadn’t worked too well; they had been kicked out of their sleeping quarters while the maintenance robots fixed the air conditioning. The white-walled recreation room was moderately busy, and the sound of animated conversation filled the air.
He removed his DPad from his bag and scrolled through the encrypted list of contacts. He would only use them as a last resort. He also checked his own location—the location of his replica chip: there he was, on the Outer Hebrides, off the west coast of Scotland. If the World Government were tracking him—which he was certain they were—that’s where they would think he was. Did they know about the decoy identity chips? He had no idea. Laura’s encounter with the camera at the ESC building suggested she was being watched, but there was no way to tell how much they might know.
The car chase through Magadan still bothered him though. It seemed too orchestrated. Maybe that was the point—the World Government had been sending him a warning. Or perhaps it was something else. The ITF hadn’t checked in with him much. Deighton seemed more interested in Anton’s capture than in reassigning him. It was true that Bill knew too much. But surely he’d be more useful as an ally than an out-of-work operative? Something clicked in his mind and suddenly everything fell into place. Forgetting where he was, he smacked his hand against his forehead; Jenny and Laura looked up at him, their eyes wide with concern.
Bill smiled at the simplicity of it. Of course! He would be more useful as an ally—of the Indigenes. The World Government was allowing him free rein so they could learn more about the Indigenes. The car chase had been merely a stage act, to disguise their interest in him. He put the DPad back in his bag, placed his arms on the table and clasped his fingers together. He tapped the floor anxiously with his foot and smiled mysteriously at Laura and Jenny; he would fill them in later.
Just then, an infobot entered the room to announce that the food specials would be posted on the board in the next hour. Bill watched Jenny for a moment. She seemed to be relishing her first journey as a passenger on board the ship. Her eyes were hungrily taking in every sight and Bill felt a pang of jealousy. What he wouldn’t give to feel that excited about something again.
‘I can’t believe I’m here,’ Jenny said, unable to hide her excitement.
‘Trust me, the novelty will wear off quickly,’ Bill replied.
Laura sat quietly with her palms flat on the table and her head turned to the side, keeping a close eye on the infobot.
‘Have you travelled on the ship many times?’ Jenny asked.
‘Enough to know that I’m sick of it.’
‘Yeah, I can understand that. Doing the same thing over and over again can be a little monotonous.’ Jenny studied the area on her thumb where the replica chip had been inserted.
‘Is it bothering you?’ asked Bill.
‘What? No. There’s a slight tingling sensation, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, me too.’
It had been awkward for him to return to Magadan with Jenny in tow, especially after the car chase and attempted shooting on his first trip with Laura. He rehearsed many times what he was going to tell Harvey Buchanan before turning up with Jenny and another blank replica chip that he’d claimed not to have any more of. Bill pretended to be put out when Harvey strong-armed him into handing over another blank chip for Harvey’s associates to tinker with—but he’d come prepared to give another one away. Clearly they still didn’t know about having to ‘mark’ the chips with the host’s blood, otherwise they surely would have detained him.
Bill had a sudden flashback to the last time he was in a passenger ship recreation room when his abuse of coffee and Actigen pills had made him lose control. This time, he was more worried about Laura’s mental state. He wished he’d been more insistent that she travelled in stasis; then, perhaps, her quick changing moods, brought about by a severe lack of Vitamin D, would not have troubled her as much. In her hurry, she’d forgotten to pack enough supplies and the ship didn’t cater for emergencies beyond life-threatening ones. Bill was having trouble figuring out how to deal with her, and he was glad that Jenny was there to help.
‘How much longer is it?’ Laura said as softly as she could, turning her head to look at Bill. Her moods were swinging between irritability and melancholy, and got worse the longer she stayed off the Vitamin D. The shot of Actigen she’d taken instead only seemed to aggravate her current state of mind.
‘A few days,’ Bill said. It was the first thing he’d said to her in two days. She had deliberately stayed in her sleeping quarters to minimise her contact with him and Jenny. Every conversation seemed to turn into an argument; she’d told him she didn’t like it when she couldn’t control her outbursts when she was off her medication.
Laura’s cheeks flushed and her eyes flitted uneasily around the room. She stood up abruptly, attracting the other passengers’ attention. ‘I need to get back to the sleeping quarters.’
‘Sit down, Laura,’ Bill said softly. ‘It’ll be fine.’
Laura walked off.
&
nbsp; ‘Where’s she going?’ he hissed at Jenny. ‘The quarters are off limits. She needs to stay here.’
‘I’ll get her,’ Jenny said.
When she caught up with Laura she linked their arms and whispered something in her ear. Bill could see Laura’s shoulders relaxing and Jenny gently led her back to the table.
‘I … I can’t bear it when I’m like this,’ Laura explained. ‘It’s like a switch in my head keeps flicking back and forth. I need a distraction. I don’t know how else to control this.’ Her body twitched involuntarily in the chair.
‘Let me try something with her,’ Jenny said. She turned to Laura. ‘Have you tried meditation to deal with your seasonal depression?’
Laura shook her head, her blonde hair falling across her ashen face. In that moment, she looked helpless and Bill had to look away, unable to watch while Laura, usually so confident and in control, struggled to keep it together.
‘Perhaps we could try together,’ Jenny suggested, gently holding both Laura’s hands.
‘I’ll try anything that gives me back an ounce of control over this,’ Laura muttered.
‘Okay, I need you to relax first. Take a deep breath in. Hold it—and then let it out slowly. And again—’
Laura tried a few deep breaths but soon gave up. ‘Everything is so distracting, and not in a good way. I don’t know how to block it all out,’ she said, looking at the people at the next table who were playing virtual cards.
‘Just ignore them,’ said Jenny soothingly. ‘Close your eyes. You won’t notice them in a little while. I promise.’
Laura took some more deep breaths. This time her body began to relax and she loosened her grip on Jenny.
‘Good. Now, I want you to picture a place that makes you happy, a place that gives you comfort.’