by Matt Doyle
“I thought she might have. So what brings you round this end?”
“I was looking for the observation area. I heard that Fahrn's match was first on now and I, um, I wanted to watch. But I got lost.”
“Oh? Did you know Fahrn or were you scoping her out for the semis?”
“No. I mean, I met her before. A long time ago. I wanted to … I wanted to speak to her.”
John smiles and lets out a small giggle. “Well don’t be offended if she gives you the brush off. I don't think she's ever out of character, at least while she’s in the arena. Anyway, let’s see,” he continues, pointing back the way he came. “The quickest way there from here would be to head back that way, turn right at the end, then take the first left and the first left again.”
I lift my head and look where his hand is pointing. “Right, left, left. OK.” I make an effort to make eye contact. “Thank you.”
“Not a problem at all. And you don’t need to be so nervous, you’ll be fine,” he says, giving me a playful pat, just below the shoulder. He blinks. “Anyway, I’m gonna go and rest up for my match. Good luck tonight. With Dorian and Fahrn.”
There’s a natural bounce in his step as he walks quickly to the other end of the corridor, pausing just long enough to say, “Laters,” while giving me a quick salute, then turning the corner.
It’s strange. When he touched me, I could have sworn he paused for a moment. His face changed too. He looked confused, I think? No, I’m just being paranoid again. I better head back before I get myself any more lost.
DOWNLOADABLE CONTENT: AN INTERVIEW WITH FAHRN STARCHASER
We fade in on a shot of a crutch resting on the floor. The camera quickly pans out to a side shot of Fahrn Starchaser leaning casually against a plain wall, her head down, arms crossed and eyes closed. After a few seconds of silence she sighs, opens her eyes and looks to the camera. “Progress. It’s the one thing humans are supposed to strive for. It’s what Science Fiction promised us. Real life though? It failed to deliver.”
“I mean, come on,” she continues, her head moving in synch with her arms. “You’ve all seen the latest batch of planetary exploration clips. All that top quality grainy footage of the same old crew exploring the latest dust ball. Have you noticed how tired they all look now?”
She relaxes her arms, and tilts her head with a smile. “And can you blame them? Look at it objectively. How far have we really come as a species? How much have we really changed over the last thousand years or so? Where is the progress? Where’s all the crazy shit we came up with in the films and books? Hell, when we built the Renard-Parsons System in the early twenty-two-hundreds, it was designed to be the jumping off point for Faster Than Light and Matter Shifts. It was supposed to take us forward, but it didn’t.”
Fahrn laughs and rests her head back against the wall. “Rather than reaching out to whatever’s out there, our brave travellers are exploring the galactic equivalent of what, the next town? And why is that? It’s because we, as a species, decided that progress is less important than spreading our own in-fighting to a bigger playground,” she continues, the anger slowly building in her voice. “We decided to say ‘fuck working together, we’ll just take our toys and leave’. Believe me kids, all those pretty words they teach you in school are lies. Hope? No. The Colonies were built on conflict and incomplete tech.”
Fahrn’s sneer dissolves into a lop-sided smile as she taps her knee prosthetic, letting three dull, metallic thuds ring out before she continues. “Med-Tech. We’ve had some winners there, right? All those diseases we’ve cured, all those innovations in pain relief?” She shakes her head. “No. Virtually every potential medical advancement of the last two centuries remains unfinished because we’d rather pour governmental funds into finding new ways to blow shit up.”
“Sustainable power supplies,” she grunts as she pushes herself off the wall, “efficient food supplies, environmentally sound land travel. All basic things that our ancestors spent their lives trying to create. Sure, they came up short, but they left us in a good place. They left us the foundations to build something special, yet every single thing they set out to achieve is still just on the horizon, just out of reach. But hey, that’s cool, ‘cause the next big gaming system’s out next week, so we’re all pretty much sorted, right?”
Fahrn turns suddenly, slamming her hands hard against the wall as she hunches over, her back to the camera. “They say that we’re living in an enlightened era, that this is the golden age of humankind.” She spits. “Enlightened, huh? Right now, you all probably hate me. But that’s OK. That’s fine ‘cause I fucking despise you.”
The camera moves back around to the side and we see that tears have welled up in Fahrn’s eyes. After a few drawn out seconds of silence, she turns again and drops to a sitting position, her back resting against the wall and head facing back up to the ceiling. “I’ve heard all the theories about me,” she says quietly. “About how I’m so full of anger because I’m bitter about being born in the great black beyond on a ship full of delusional scum that think they’re worth more than they are. I don’t understand the hopes and dreams of good, honest, hardworking colonial citizens, because all I am is a worthless, port hopping, anarchist. Yeah,” she says with a smirk, finally wiping the tears from her eyes. “Me and every other Offlander gets to play Devil in disguise because we didn’t have the common decency to be born in a Colony.”
The camera zooms in on Fahrn’s face now as she takes a deep breath and lets out an audible sigh. “It’s true, I am bitter. But not about where I was born. I’m bitter because deep down, each and every one of you knows that everything I’ve said tonight is true, but because of who I am, not one of you is gonna do anything about it. I’m living in a world that everyone else is fucking up and I hate that, I really, really fucking hate it. But hey, that’s way things work, and I gotta make a living. I gotta find my own progress. Tonight Slade Fury, that means beating you. It is what it is.”
We fade to black.
FAHRN - 13:20
From the head shakes going on around me, I either touched a nerve or they’re pissed about the swearing again. Oh well. It’s their job to edit the videos, and it’s not like I don’t give them plenty of that to do each year.
My knee is itching again. The connectors all checked out fine after the last run of maintenance, so I’m pretty sure it isn’t static this time. It’s probably just the heat back here. Sweat and blood can do an amazing amount of damage to these things, and with the amount of med-ship visits I've needed as a result of both, I'm beginning to wonder if it's true what the fans say about me having acid running through my veins.
The irritation fades when I see Maria smiling at me from the back of the room though. She has a sprinters build hidden beneath her loose work shirt and leather jacket, but the only visible sign of her natural tone is where her jeans cling to her calves. She’s never been one for make-up either, not that she needs it. Her complexion is as perfect as I’ve ever seen on a person. When you factor in the short, shaggy hair, Maria fits the androgynous mould so well that most people think she’s male until she speaks then once she does, they always seem surprised at how gentle and softly spoken she is. It’s ridiculous that people still slot stereotypes together like that.
After six years together, I can tell how much she wants to rush over and give me a hug. Equally so though, after six years together she knows to wait for me to get to her, even if it is abundantly clear that doing so is going to be a little slower than I would like. Even so, when I do finally haul myself the length of the interview room, she greets me with not only the expected hug but an unexpected kiss as well.
“Feeling better?” she asks.
I shrug as best as I can with the crutch. “If we invested half as much into med-tech as we do into weapon research I’d have a knee that could support me twenty-four-seven. Instead,” I lift the crutch and give it a quick shake, “I get to lug this thing about with me every couple of months.”
Ah, so she's heard already. “I’m fine,” I sigh. “He didn’t upset me that much. Not really anyway.”
“Then why punch him?”
“The same reason I say the things I do,” I say, readjusting my bandana. “Someone has to play the bad guy.”
Maria nods. She understands how staying in character helps my marketability, she just thinks that I take it a little too far sometimes. I can’t really blame her for that. At my first championship, a few of the younger staff members took offence to one of my interviews. Rather than talk them down, I remained in character throughout the resulting argument. With my rep they didn't dare touch me, but once they realised Maria and I were together, they decided to take their frustrations out on her.
The three of them cornered her in one of the hallways. I don’t know what they planned to do, but Slade Fury happened to be walking by at just the right moment and stepped in. The way Maria tells it, he went ballistic. Well, verbally at least. All I know is I didn't see them there on day two, or at any other show since.
The truth is, we were lucky. If they had done anything to her, or if I’d been the one to walk in on them, things would have gotten really bad really quickly and I’d probably have done something I’d later regret. We’ve had Slade and his wife, Charla, around for dinner a few times since then. I like him. I think Maria does too, she just finds him a little overwhelming at times. All the brashness, the lack of volume control, it isn’t a character. Or if it is, he lives it twenty-four-seven. Charla must have the patience of a Saint. Or a hearing problem.
Maria offers her hand and I take it, letting her lead me from the interview room and into the main hallway. We walk in silence for a while but it’s not awkward. It’s the sort of silence that comes with being with someone that makes you feel like you don’t need to fill every second with sound. It feels like that moment just before you fall asleep, when everything seems to go quiet and your body just naturally relaxes. After years of dreading the memories that came flooding back during the long, silent periods that seemed to follow me on a daily basis, it’s a relief to be able to enjoy these moments now.
“So, did you find out why you and Slade are the opener now?” she asks, pointing to one of the digital posters. “I thought they wanted to start the tournament with Connor Ford?”
“They did,” I reply, as we stop to have a look. “But his opponent forgot her deck and had to go back to the hotel to get it. As far as anyone knows, she’s still not back yet and the staff can’t get hold of her, so they’re playing it safe by reshuffling the running order. You should hear Ford ranting up and down the halls about it. The poor girl’s in for a shock when she gets back. I don’t fancy her chances of advancing much now that he’s riled up either.”
“Do you think he can still go?” she asks.
“Well, he can still run his mouth, that’s for sure.”
Maria giggles and for a moment, I forget myself and smile. She says that my eyes soften when I smile, but that when Starchaser smiles it’s different somehow. It's strange to think that there'd be a difference, because Starchaser isn't really a character. I just took the side of me that wanted to speak out and gave it a name. I've had that sort-of second mode to myself for as long as I can remember. In a way, it's like a security blanket for me. When things got tough, I could always step back and let it take over, you know? Before I started Spark Forming, it pretty much carried me through everything. Until The Halo.
“You want to know if I think I can beat him,” I say, catching myself. Maria doesn’t reply, but smiles and waits patiently for me to continue.
Looking at the photo, he may be older but he’s still got the same feel as he always had. There’s a natural strength to him, and an unwavering air of confidence. He qualified strongly too, never giving in, even when he seemed to be on the verge of being eliminated.
I close my eyes and think for a moment, then take a deep breath and ask Starchaser what she thinks. “He’s Spark Form royalty,” she answers for me, “but any king can lose his crown.”
JOHN FORRESTER - 13:25
What an interesting day this is turning out to be. And it’s about to get even more interesting.
I give the door handle a slight jiggle and listen for the inevitable scrabbling in the room before entering.
One, two, three and open.
As expected, Carnival is sat at the other end of the room, back turned to the door with her nose in a book. Her long, rabbit-like ears run long enough to sway at hip level, their grey and blue stripes making them look like a pair of vintage knee high socks. Peering out from between them is her tail. It’s mostly grey like the rest of her body, but with a thick blue tip and is easily as long as the ears but fuller furred and far more wolf than rabbit. From this angle, she kinda looks like a giant stuffed toy.
It takes her a moment to realise that her beer bottle is shaking where she set it down in such a hurry. Her arm darts out and stops it moving, then goes back to holding the book again. I can’t see her face yet, but I can tell that that annoyed her by the sudden tensing of her shoulders and the force with which she grabbed the thing. She did regain her composure quickly though, so she’s obviously not ready to let up on the pretence just yet.
I’ve never been sure what she does that she doesn’t want me to see, but Carnival does like to give the impression of having just been casually sat there the whole time. It’s the same wherever we go. Arenas, hotels, even home. It’s like she wants me to think that she hasn’t even noticed my absence.
Without looking up, she starts to make her normal gentle growl of a greeting but cuts it halfway through, raises her head and briefly wrinkles her muzzle as she takes a sniff of the air, then places the book on her lap and cocks her head toward me, her eyes curious.
I smile. I knew she’d pick up on it, that nose of hers really is something else. “I know, it’s mad, right?” I say, pouring a cup of water from the cooler. “Looks like Emblem finally got another one out there. Nothing like you though, this one looks human.”
She rolls her eyes and snorts nonchalantly, then turns back to her book. I only just caught the subtle movement at the base of her ears. It wasn’t enough to shift any more than the base, but I wonder if that’s because she’s restraining herself. I think she’s trying to pick up on if there was any hidden tone in my voice, like maybe a hint of how I feel about there being another Spark Form like her out there. She doesn't need to worry, but it is kinda sweet that she does.
“It’s strange though,” I continue, sitting myself down in the seat directly opposite her. “I’m not sure why they’d want to make a human one at all, let alone send them here. And get this, she's one of the competitors too. The new girl, Laqueta. Weird, huh? Actually, when you think about it, that kinda makes sense. I mean, there are always rumours of match fixing and the draws being rigged, so maybe that’s what they’re doing. Whadda ya think?"
She drops her book to one hand and grabs the beer bottle again, giving me a courtesy nod and a vaguely disinterested grunt as she brings it up to her mouth, but pauses before drinking. Her eyes narrow and she takes a quick mouthful before putting the bottle down again, and gazing through me at nothing in particular. She taps her index finger against the table and gives another flick of her ears, this time letting the movement ripple all the way down.
She’s worried about something. I can probably guess what.
I get up and walk to her side, giving her right shoulder a gentle squeeze as I say, “Hey, it's cool. We'll just be extra careful this year.”
Her tail flicks gently against my leg and she rests her head against me, her eyes still far away. Carnival may act like I’m a fairly unimportant part of her life sometimes, but she always appreciates it when I pick up on when she does need me.
What concerns me now is that she’s not usually so easily spooked, even when it looks like we’re about to get caught. I can't really blame her though.
There's never been anyone else like her out there, at least not that we've noticed, so there must be so much going through her head right now. Questions, worries, and who knows what else. We’ve been pretty careful over the last few years, she knows that, and we both knew that Emblem probably had others like her somewhere. We just weren’t expecting to ever find one of them.
Really, this could be pure coincidence.
Or it could be pretty bad.
CONNOR FORD - 13:40
Starchaser. Yes, she’ll be the one. The whole thing has been set up far too bloody perfectly. Slade Fury doesn't stand a chance with her. And the rookies? Neither Djorkiev nor that Laqueta girl qualified strongly. No, Emblem want Starchaser in the final, and they want her against me or Forrester.
And that’s the money match, isn’t it? The returning legend and the defending champion, yes, you watch their ratings go through the roof for that one.
“Nothing else for it,” I grumble to myself, “I’ll just have to beat the bloody woman, won’t I?”
Ah, and speaking of a beating, here comes Slade Fury with that ridiculous beard of his. And that smile. Does the damnable thing never leave his face? No, I shall have to do something about that.
“You’re looking happy for someone who’s about to have their arse handed to them for the, what is it now, tenth straight year?”
“All part of the way I play my good sir, after all, what is Spark Forming without taking a few risks or giving one’s self over to the occasional bout of reckless abandon?” He booms, then lets out a laugh like it’s a perfectly natural way to end a sentence. Bloody pillock.
“Oh, spare me your moronic laughter and dubious sodding gaming philosophies," I sneer. "What the Hell do you think we’re here for if not victory? To the victor goes the spoils Fury, not the every-year-also-bloody-rans.”