by Matt Doyle
"I thought I'd find you here," he says with a smile. "Did you enjoy the match?"
"She's going to hate me," I whimper. "Look." I hold up my left hand to show the skin graft covering my Offland Barcode Tattoo. "She's going to think that I turned my back on our people, and she's going to hate me, and she just won't … she won't …" I stammer, then burst into tears as I wail, "She won't want to speak to me. She'll tell me to leave and I'll never really understand what happened. And what if she feels bad too? If she tells me to go then I won't be able to tell her that it's OK."
"Hey," he says, pulling me in close. "It's OK. Everything will be fine Meera, I promise. And if she's upset about the tattoo, then I'll just explain that adoption was the only way I could keep you safe."
I let myself collapse into him, my tears soaking his shirt while he strokes my hair. He has kept me safe, and adopting me meant that I could have most of the same rights as a Colonist, I get that. But will she?
After a moment, he sighs and says, "I'm sorry Meera, but we're gonna have to head out to the main arena. You and Dorian are up next, that's why I was looking for you."
I wipe my eyes and look up at him, my brow furrowing in confusion. "I thought we were third on?"
"You were," he nods, "but they've had to change things up a bit. Hey though, it does mean that you get it all done with quicker. That's a good thing, right?"
I can't think of a suitable response. Instead I take a deep breath and stand-up, accidentally catching a glimpse of my reflection in the viewing window in the process. I must look so different now to how I did back then. Fahrn probably doesn't remember me anyway. At least Jeanine's make-up hasn't run. I would have hated to ruin that, she worked so hard on me.
"OK," I say, steeling myself as best I can. "Let's go."
DOWNLOADABLE CONTENT: AN INTERVIEW WITH FINN MCCOURT
The video fades in on one of the SFWC Interviewers looking down at the viewers through the lens of his handheld camera. The footage isn't quite as clear as the rest of the day’s interviews, but it is quite apparent that the camera is still high end. He glances to the left of the screen, most likely checking that the record light is flashing, then stands up and positions the camera in front of himself as though he were taking a selfie.
"Right, OK. Hi, I'm Gaz Davis and I'm currently outside the E(E)SFC, where we're awaiting the arrival of Quadro Regional Qualifier, Finn McCourt. Now, Finn qualified strongly, pretty much storming through his opponents until he ran headlong into a long, back and forth battle in his final match with …" He trails off as he glances to his left, then looks back to the camera with an excited smile as he says, "I think that's him."
With that, the camera pans around to show the entrance to the arena car park. Despite the jolting of the image as Gaz dashes forward, it's clear that a limo has pulled in through the main gates and stopped, blocking the entrance for any other potential visitors. As the image stabilises, Finn McCourt steps out. He waves the limo on and removes his shades, folding the arms and placing them in the left breast pocket of his suit, then starts walking towards the main building wearing an expression as serious as his attire as the camera follows from the side.
“Finn! Finn McCourt!”
He nods but keeps moving, not quite acknowledging the camera.
“Finn, my name is-wow you walk fast-that's not my name obviously but..."
Finn stops in front of him and glances back, raising a curious eyebrow.
"Sorry. I'm Gaz Davis and I'm here on behalf of the Spark Form World Championships. You’ve drawn the defending champion John Forrester in the first round and I'm sure our viewers all want to know if you have any comments for your opponent?”
For a moment, Finn stands motionless, leaving an awkward silence hanging in the air. After a few seconds he turns his back to the building and starts to gaze out towards the city, stroking his stubble thoughtfully. The camera moves behind him, trying to catch what he may be looking at and momentarily allowing the glare from the sun to obscure the shot but quickly settling into silhouetting him in the middle of the frame. As he moves his hands to his pockets, it becomes apparent that he is simply looking up towards the skyline.
“John Forrester. Just one name on a long list of competitors from the Quadro Regionals to take home the big prize. That’s all you are John. A statistic. I’m not knocking you for it, when I’ve finished here I’m gonna be a mark on that self-same list. The difference is, I know that I’m only supposed to get my fifteen minutes whereas you seem to think that you deserve something more. And so, here you are, clinging tightly to a spotlight that’s long overdue to move on.”
The camera moves forward and circles back around to the side allowing us to see Finn’s face. Without the shades, the green of his eyes almost seems to glow in the sunlight. He looks lost in his thoughts until the shadow of a passing bird moves across his face causing him to blink and snapping him out of his internal machinations. Even so, he still remains gazing out towards the sky as he speaks.
“Success. It’s an addiction John. One that all of us want, but none of us want to kick. You want to keep hold of the spotlight John?" he asks, turning his gaze towards the camera. "Earn it.”
Without another word, he turns and walks away, leaving the camera to watch him walk into the arena as we fade to black.
FAHRN - 14:35
My head was still spinning when Sean collared me on the way past his office. I should really be with Maria right now, but he was so insistent that I need to come and speak with him. If he wasn't running the tournament this year I would have politely sworn at him and headed back to my changing room.
"… Let Miss Grace know that Fahrn is meeting with us and that she will be along shortly," he instructs some young lackey that he summoned into the room with a click of his fingers.
Sean is sending the message because I said that Maria would worry about me. I would be grateful if I didn't have a sudden feeling that I'm not going to enjoy this meeting. The man sat next to Sean is Day Rawley. I know him well enough to say hello to should I choose to. I just don't choose to, not any more. Day is a good man, don't get me wrong, we just had a bit of a disagreement a few years back and I've never really forgiven him. Even though he was right. Him being here has sobered me up Surge-wise though. I'll have to remember to forget to thank him for that.
"She'll be hungry," I say, not taking my eyes off my co-guest. "Escort her to the food hall and keep an eye on her. If Slade Fury's already there she'll probably want to sit with him."
The chosen dogsbody looks to Sean for approval and gets it in the form of a curt nod, then scurries from the room wearing a slightly miffed expression. We've not had trouble at a tournament for a long time now, but I still don't trust the vast majority of the staff here, no matter how many times the heads assure me that the incident was a one-off. If that were guaranteed, Day would be out of a job.
"So," I say with an irritated tap on the desk. I leave a silence rather than bring my sentence to a natural end because I want to make it clear that I don't like being ambushed like this.
Sean clears his throat. "I apologise for bringing you in like this, it just seemed that as you were walking by anyway, we may as well get this done. To be honest, with all the issues we're having with Connor Ford's match, you'd be doing me a favour if you don't storm out like I think you're about to."
"Fine," I growl through gritted teeth.
"Now Fahrn," Day replies, absently stroking his immaculately trimmed, greying goatee, "don't be like that. This is about something positive, something that you want. Or used to at least."
I tilt my head slightly, my eyes shifting from glare to curious. There's only one thing he can be talking about. Day is the head of the Offland Civil Rights movement. He's been campaigning for better treatment for Offlanders since I was starting out as a Merc. In truth, he's a good fit for it. He's non-threatening, dresses like an upper-middle-class Colonist and remains calm no matter what's thrown at him, all the while keeping his barc
ode proudly on display. When I started making waves in Spark Forming, I approached him to see if I could help with the campaigns, maybe be used an example of an Offlander fitting in and gaining some mild celebrity. He turned me down. I wound people up too much apparently. He said that my name value would be detrimental to the cause because I was so hated. I argued that it meant I was good at my job and that I was just playing a role, but he stuck to his guns.
"My presence in the media would be too combustible. That's what you said Day, you said I'm too much of a bitch to be of any use to the cause."
"I said you were combustible, yes," he replies with a relaxed smile, "but I never called you a bitch. In fact, as I remember it, I praised your achievements and said that under different circumstances you would have been a welcome addition to the team."
"So what's changed?"
"Nothing yet," Sean says, emphasising the 'yet' more than he probably intended. "But we do have something lined up that may interest you. An opportunity. One that would mean you could help the equal rights movement and make some extra money as well."
I turn to Sean, opening my hand to prompt him to continue.
"As you know, a large part of our success comes from picking up on certain trends in the wider community. As it is, you've been successful because of the general hatred of Offlanders than ran through the Colonies. Now, I'm not saying that you've gotten to where you are purely because of that. While others could have filled the same role, the main reason you rose to the position you're in is because you understand how this all works. You have a good mind for PR and you're committed to the character. On top of that, you know how to make yourself relatable to the general populace, which is great, because things are changing."
"You keep up with the news?" Day asks, and I nod. "Good, then you know that in the last two years, the number of court judgements that have ruled in favour of Offlanders have risen by nearly sixty per cent. Laws have been changing in our favour too. Small ones, but laws nonetheless. We're finally beginning to win the fight Fahrn."
"The popular view has been changing since that riot in Quadro a few years back," says Sean, causing me to grit my teeth again. "I mean, a riot just because someone saw an Offlander in the city centre. Most of the people involved didn't even know who the person was, they just wanted an excuse to go nuts. Even the usual pro-repression tabloids said it was a step too far."
My eyes have dropped to the desk, my fingers curling under my hands like talons. They probably think I'm angry because of what happened. History it may be, but every Offlander gets a little tetchy about that one. I'm not angry because there was a riot though, I'm angry because of how it really started.
"The latest polls," Sean continues, mercifully halting my dwelling on the past, "show that public opinion is swaying sufficiently that a positive Offland character would likely go down well. So …"
" … It won't work," I interrupt, seeing where this is going. "I've pissed a lot of people off out there. There's no way I could step into a role like that."
"You'd be surprised. Have a look at this," Sean replies, pushing a small wad of papers towards me. "Page four."
I flick to page four and have a skim through the text. It's a summary of the results of some poll or survey of Spark Form fans.
"Cool, entertaining, talented. All words that fans have used to describe you."
"I particularly like the one that described you as … now, what was it? A bad ass that always delivers on the field and has a clear masochistic streak when it comes to the fans," Day laughs.
It's odd seeing myself described in generally positive terms. I'm used to being public enemy number one, I almost pride myself on it. I guess that's part of the reason that I rile people up so much. Part of me feels at home being hated, and right now that part is screaming at me that this is some sort of bad dream. Knowing that makes me feel stupid. What kind of person feels threatened by the possibility that some strangers don't hate them?
I sigh and push myself to my feet, passing the papers back to Sean. "Maria will be wondering where I am." I walk to the door intending to leave, but something stops me. I look back over my shoulder and say, "I still think that I've pushed things too far to make it work."
"I think you're wrong," Sean replies. "I mean, sure, we couldn’t just wheel you out there tomorrow and expect the fans to cheer you for no reason, but there are ways to make sure that they’re all on board. We have something in mind, if you're interested."
There was no doubt in Sean’s voice. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t doubt it though, he rose to his position by being very good at saying the right thing at the right time. Day on the other hand is too honest, and so I look to him to gauge his reaction to all of this. He smiles and gives me a slow nod. He knows I’m considering it and he’s happy about that, which means that he’s also certain it would work. He wouldn’t do anything to damage his campaigns so for him to consider bringing me in, he would need to be sure that I won’t be a liability. Either that or Sean has swindled him. I rub my eyes and let my hand come to rest on my forehead. "Can you e-mail me an outline?" I say with a sigh.
"Of course. If we're going to do it though, it needs to be tomorrow. You'll see why when you read it. Don't worry about deciding tonight, let me know when you come in tomorrow."
“OK,” I reply. “Can I ask you something though?”
“Sure.”
“The new show gear. Was that a way to butter me up before you spoke to me?”
Sean blinks then lets out a short, bemused laugh. “Yes.”
I nod and leave the room. I should be happy about this I realise, but I'm not. If anything, I'm feeling oddly uneasy. It could be the last of the Surge working its way out of my system I guess. The mention of the riot in Quadro probably didn't help either. That brought back a lot of stuff that I'd rather keep locked up.
"Shit," I grunt.
There's only one way I'm gonna be able to calm down and think this through properly.
I need Maria with me.
JOHN FORRESTER - 14:47
Oh man, I almost wish I hadn't promised Carnival that I'd get back quickly now. I mean, I know I've met him a few times before, but to walk into the food hall and see Connor Ford just stood there really rams it home that I'm actually here. On a show. With my absolute favourite Spark Former ever. Sure, he threw a few insults at me over a dusty convention desk, but that was all just the standard banter that he was being paid to provide. Now he can abuse me for real!
"Conner!" I shout over to him as I bound across the room in a single-set-of-six-leaps that totally didn't include nearly tripping over a chair.
"That's Mr Ford to you, you arrogant little upstart," he growls in response, quickly shifting his eyes from their initial shock into the more familiar gloriously peeved glare. "I am in no mood to deal with any more cretins today, so unless you're about to tell me that you're going to concede defeat to me right now, I suggest you run back to that blasted Lopine of yours before I … "
"This is so awesome," I cut in before I can help myself.
Connor's face suddenly goes a very bright red, his mouth twisting into a rage filled sneer before launching into a very loud tirade. My first thought is that maybe I shouldn't have done that. My second thought is that, yeah, I totally should have. He's actually moaning about me, to me. How great is that? I can't even understand what he's saying any more, he's that annoyed.
"And wipe that bloody ridiculous smile off your face," I catch in between the swearing. Am I smiling? ‘Don't be silly John, of course you're smiling’, I answer myself. ‘He'll make it through the first round, you'll make it through the first round, and then tomorrow you'll beat him in the semis. Just imagine what he'll yell at you then.’
Nope, there's nothing else for it. I know it's gonna stop his ranting and raving, but I'm gonna have to hug him.
And so, just as he prods me in the chest, I fling myself forward and attach myself to him like a toddler that thought he'd lost his parents at the park then
found them standing by the swings.
Obviously not being used to such reactions, he splutters and struggles to pull his arm free from its current home sandwiched between the two of us, then with a heave and a grunt, pushes me back a few steps and storms off grumbling loudly about the lack of respect in the modern game.
"I love you Connor," I yell gleefully to his retreating back, and in return get treated to a well-trained middle finger thrown my way. His general hatred is so well matured that he didn't even need to turn around and check his aim.
"Well," I say to no one in particular as I return to the reality, "that was fun. Ooh, veggie burgers."
LANA DE LA CRUZ - 14:50
"I thought that I made it quite clear that...ah, you're back."
"How perceptive of you," I reply, storming over to what I've dubbed the 'comfier’ arm chair. I named it that because it's a loose-springed, lumpy, piece of crap but it's better than the other one in the room. That one's called the 'oh Hell no, Finn can have that one' arm chair. "How did the IV I wrote for you go down?"
"Absolutely fine," Finn replies, still skimming through his deck rather than looking at me.
"Glad to hear it. You didn't have to put up with Sean Carlston did you?"
"No, I worked with Gary Davis. He was perfectly satisfactory."
"Lucky you," I harrumph. "Sean was all over me the moment I got back. He..."
"Miss De La Cruz," he replies, finally putting his cards down long enough to look over to me with those soulless eyes of his. "I am trying to prepare for my match with John Forrester. If I can defeat him today, we will neither need to worry about how best to tackle him tomorrow nor have to rely too heavily on Hong Chan. And with all due respect, Mr Carlston's attitude towards you seems quite reasonable given the circumstances."
"We won't need to rely too heavily on Hong Chan," I mimic, ignoring that last jab. "Not jealous are we?"