This book demonstrates why I read Indie books and have enjoyed doing so immensely. Yes, some self-published books don’t deserve to see the light of day, but this isn’t one of those. Far from it. It was exciting and it had mystery.

The Masquerade Crew

Eliza Green had me from page one. Her creative world-building constructed a panoramic view of the consequences of two worlds colliding where both sides want to win, neither trusting the other. Will good conquer evil?

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Becoming Human

Book 1 in the Exilon 5 Series

Eliza Green

The moral right of the author has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this e-book publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Please purchase subsequent copies if you wish to share it with others. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Editor and Proofreader: Averill Buchanan

Editor (2017 Update): Andrew Lowe

Cover Design: Design for Writers

Fourth edition. Updated 2017, rewritten from 2012 original.

Version 4.0 Kindle Edition

Copyright © 2012 Eliza Green

Table of Contents

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

Acknowledgements

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About the Author

Prologue

They watched the multiple independent re-entry vehicles approach in the night sky, illuminated by a string of bright lights along their exteriors. The AI system guided the vehicles along a predetermined trajectory towards the planet. The next succession, fired from the nearest planet’s surface, was already on its way to Exilon 5. The race wouldn’t live long enough to witness their arrival.

The multi-launch command came from the Zodiac 117B ship which hovered in the great expanse above Exilon 5. The super heavy-lift vehicles, tightly packed with as many cluster bombs as possible, contained terraforming chemicals. Solid-fuel engine rockets drove the expendable vehicles towards the atmosphere where their outer shrouds would separate away and burn up. With just one chance to get the rockets there safely, force fields protected the shrouds to prevent the payload from early destruction. The bombs would alter the atmosphere. A successful strike would result in many unavoidable deaths.

The MIRVs, specifically designed to make light work of the atmospheric layer, tore through space towards the planet. When the terraforming process was over, others could begin the next phase of the operation.

The race huddled together, unsure what the lights were or where they had originated from. Some of their young continued to chase each other, oblivious to the danger above them. Those with stronger empathic abilities picked up on the mood of the adults and clung to them for protection.

Distant rumbling filled the skies as thousands of MIRVs burned bright upon entry. They resembled stars, except they were growing in size. There was no immediate sanctuary for the race, no place for them to hide in the desolate open. So they watched and waited. Some had already sought refuge in the tunnels beneath the surface. Others remained above ground. Their silence was punctuated by the sound of heavy breathing and bare feet scuffling across the earth as their young continued to chase each other.

The AI system deactivated the force fields around each launch vehicle and the outer shrouds fell away piece by piece. A flimsy wire mesh remained to protect the payload. Shiny chemical-filled spheres jostled about inside their last housing, eager to break loose with every twist of hot metal. As the mesh cage disintegrated, several spheres broke free, clashing together and cracking open on impact. Hot liquids and inert gases leached out from their containers and quickly merged. The liquid toxins dropped to the earth like rain. The gases, slightly heavier than the atmosphere, sank more slowly. As more bombs broke free, the payload leached out of tiny fissures that had appeared in their design. A thick gas cloud lingered just below the skyline, waiting.

Few moved as the lights neared them. They sensed the immediate change in the air. The young lost their enthusiasm for the chasing game.

The first drops of acid rain hit their faces and burned their skin. The air transformed into static as the terraforming chemicals disrupted the electrons around them. The statically charged air nipped at their skin.

Dropping to their knees, they picked up handfuls of soggy earth and smeared it over their faces, their chests, their arms and legs, to lessen the effects of the static. The acid rain-sodden ground only aggravated their condition. The adults’ screams pierced the contaminated air. Hot, salty tears fell from their inflamed eyes. The young, equally afflicted, struggled to stay on their feet. Shiny spheres dropped to the earth in bundles, splitting apart and unleashing their gases just before impact. The chemicals worked silently on the races’ breathing, forcing several of them to the ground.

Broken pieces from the cluster bombs rained down as the last of the mesh cages melted away. Unbroken bombs transformed into mini projectiles, destroying anything they touched. The liquid chemicals sprayed upwards and out, falling like a gentle mist.

With heavy legs and weak bodies, they staggered towards the tunnels for protection. Some crawled with young on their backs, exhausted from the effort of breathing.

New lights appeared in the skies, brighter and bigger than the ones before. These were not MIRVs designed to break apart. These did not carry explosives. Their sole purpose was to ignite the gases and permanently alter the atmosphere. Their impact was controlled, their explosions timed. Little remained in the aftermath, and whatever had survived would not last for long.

The controllers aboard the Zodiac 117B monitored the MIRVs’ trajectory closely. They reported to unseen people about the even dispersion of gases across the sky. The liquid that had seeped into the soil would correct the pH balance so the terrain would accept plants and trees at a faster rate.

Everything had happened exactly as planned. It would be a while before they could inhabit the planet, but for now, Stage One was complete. They would make time to celebrate properly when they arrived back on Earth.

1

April 2163

In the heart of New London, Bill Taggart sat alone in Cantaloupe restaurant at a table by the window. Exhausted after a long day, he devoured his steak and chips. Cantaloupe was his favourite restaurant and the best New London had to offer. It was not one of the more affordable establishments on Exilon 5, which used real—not replicated—ingredients to make its old-fashioned fare. Since the World Government—his bosses and the biggest powerhouse on Earth—was picking up the tab, he made sure to indulge as often as possible. The World Government, an organisation made up of twelve global leaders, had been set up after the collapse of the United Nations in 2078.

Bill picked up his coffee mug, his fourth refill. His hands trembled as the rim neared his lips; the caffeine only made his tremors worse. He took a sip and returned the mug to the table. He interlocked his trembling fingers. The caffeine wasn’t the real reason for his nerves.

He played with the rest of his food while he watched the crowds on the streets outside, pushing past each other, not stopping to appreciate they were the lucky ones on Exilon 5, or New Earth. Old Earth, located thirty light years away was dilapidated, bloated at the seams and toxic to anyone who needed to breathe. But here on Exilon 5, the planet deemed to be a fresh start for the human race, people were falling into old, dangerous habits. The World Government was working on ways to transfer the entire population of twenty billion over the next twenty years. It was 2163 and barely a fraction of that number had been transferred so far. Their targets were too ambitious for a planet with insufficient resources.

Exilon 5 needed more cities. The numbers stood at just six: New Delhi, London, New York, Taiyuan, Vienna and Copenhagen. The World Government had strived to keep the most familiar parts of Earth’s urban centres so that people would adapt quickly to their new lives. The first batch of transfers had included doctors, engineers and teachers to help set up industries before the rest of the population transferred. If the World Government was serious about transferring all inhabitants of Earth, then Exilon 5 needed more cities, more housing, more of everything.

Bill had an ulterior motive for choosing Cantaloupe that day. It was the reason for his nervous disposition. His skin still prickled with the residual energy in the air from the static charge emitted by the alien race. The children referred to them as ‘Shadow People’. He knew them by another name: Indigenes. He’d been waiting a long time to come face-to-face with one of them; two years to be exact. He was working as an Investigator for the World Government’s International Task Force division. But he was using the mission as a cover to find out the whereabouts of his wife, Isla.

He took another sip of coffee. The caffeine jolted his heart into more feverish action, but its effects weren’t as strong or his heartbeat as fast as before. His hands shook like a city junkie’s. But there were worse people than junkies to fear out there. An old enemy—Larry Hunt—sprung to mind that caused him to touch the spot where he had been knifed. The new cities needed to be policed better, but to his mind, there were other reasons that made it dangerous to live on Exilon 5. The residents were being fed half-truths about their new home.

A pain gripped him as he remembered Isla with her rosy cheeks, waist-long brown hair and dimpled smile. She was the strongest woman he knew, and a less cynical version of him. She was the reason he got out of bed in the morning. Her disappearance was also the reason he struggled to get out of bed. Without her, he was a shadow of his former self. He owed it to her to continue in his search. A part of him suspected she was already dead. But he had to know for sure.

Isla, I promise you. I won’t give up.

Remembering their life together was difficult for him. Since her disappearance, he couldn’t recall when he’d last felt like smiling. He was a realist by nature. Isla had been the optimistic one, the antidote that smoothed out his rougher edges.

‘Turn that frown upside down,’ she had said to him one evening when he was in one of his moods. She had been sitting on one end of the sofa with her legs curled underneath her, reading a tome on the history of Earth.

Strands of her waist-long hair fell forwards and she flicked them behind her. She unfurled her legs and placed her feet on the floor.

Bill sat in silence on the other end of the sofa. He didn’t react to the cliché.

‘We’re here for a long time, not a good time.’

Cliché number two usually snapped him out of it, although not always.

‘The grass is usually greener on the other side.’

The last one caught his attention. He turned, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘Isn’t it, “the grass is always greener”?’

She stuck her tongue out at him. ‘I was just checking to see if you were listening.’

He laughed, noticing her long legs for the first time that evening. ‘It’s hard not to. Any more special anecdotes up your sleeve?’

Isla slid over to sit directly beside him. She gathered up the ends of her hair and tickled his face. ‘Not today, but it’s working. I can already feel the seismic shift in your pessimistic mood.’

Bill gazed at her soft face, and at her hair that seemed to tangle at the hint of movement. It had taken her many years to grow it out, and often he’d wondered if it was worth the daily maintenance.

‘Have you ever thought about cutting your hair?’ he said.

‘No. It makes me feel feminine. It’s also where my strength lies, like Samson.’ She gathered up a bunch of hair and studied the split-ends. ‘It’s taken me so long to grow it. I guess it would feel like I had lost a part of me.’ Isla let go of the hair and swept it behind her. She settled into the soft sofa and pulled her feet back underneath her, staring at the imitation fire that never needed stoking.

‘Do you ever wear it down for work?’

‘Are you serious?’

Isla worked for the military outfit of the International Task Force. It wouldn’t have been practical.

‘Knowing what we do about the situation on Earth, is there really any point in living on this planet?’ said Bill. ‘Wouldn’t it just be easier to end things?’

‘Termination?’ She stared at him, her blue eyes filled with pity. Or disappointment; he hadn’t been entirely sure. ‘Never! Life is for living. I’m not here to exist and neither are you. Why would you even consider that?’

Bill shook his head. ‘Hypothetical, love. Not for me but for others. Things aren’t getting any better here.’

He stood up and walked to the window, his eyes struggling to see anything of significance in the murky day. It was 3pm and the outside was void of life other than human. The forecast was for worse to come. ‘This is no life for any of us, Isla. Look at where we live now. The planet. See the pain in peoples’ eyes, or lack of. Why exist for this kind of life?’

She joined him and rubbed his back gently, staring out at the congested landscape that was crammed with tall apartment buildings and a thick grey fog that never lifted. ‘There’s a better life on Exilon 5, I’ve told you. It’s magical. What Earth used to look and feel like. Why do you think I read so many history books? It won’t be long before I travel there on assignment and I can’t wait.’

He turned towards her, cupping her face in his hands. ‘I wish I could join you.’

She held his wrists. ‘Me, too. But we’re working to make it safer. It won’t be long before everyone can live there without a constant fear of death hanging over them.’

Bill leaned in and kissed her, savouring every moment.

If he had known that their life together would have been cut short, he’d have hidden her somewhere safe. The “somewhere safe” had been a wild concoction in his head, an afterthought after Isla’s disappearance, or death; he still wasn’t sure. He was still searching for the truth. He would have given anything to spend the rest of his life on Exilon 5 with Isla, to feel her arms around him again, to see that smile that was only meant for him.

The smell of fresh bread wafting from Cantaloupe’s kitchen filled Bill’s nose and interrupted his thoughts. He thumbed a tear from his eye. He sat up straight and tried to remember why he was there. With so many others around him, he struggled to focus on what mattered.

Cantaloupe restaurant, with its trademark red-and-white chequered cloth-covered tables, was filled to capacity for the dinner-time rush. He watched as over-friendly servers took new orders and well-off patrons settled their bills at the counter with a brief scan of their identity chips. Several children protested loudly at their parents’ suggestion that they try real vegetables, but calmed down after the promise of ice cream. It chilled him to think that one or more of the Indigenes had been here in this very restaurant, so close to children and right under his nose. Normally nocturnal creatures, the Indigenes’ appearance during daytime hours marked a change in behaviour for them. They were becoming bolder and riskier in their choices.

Bill knew Cantaloupe intimately, having been there several times, but today, he studied the finer details of its layout. While it killed him to be so close to where Indigenes had been, he had to put himself in their shoes to try to understand their motives.

Why choose this place? Are they hunting for their next victim?

He rubbed the lingering static from his arm; it was stronger outside, a sign that one of them had recently been in the area. World Government intel given to the ITF had reported that an Indigene was on the verge of making contact with a human. At just forty-five, Bill was considered young to lead such an important mission—with humans living a century and a half, anyone under sixty was considered young—but his ability to do the job well had won him the role.

The ITF didn’t know the main reason he needed to be on Exilon 5: to get close to the race he suspected to have killed his wife.

He polished off the last of his steak and ordered a light beer. The alcohol soothed the fiery edges of his nerves. He glanced at the time projection on the wall: it read 6:30pm. At the counter, he scanned his identity chip and charged the meal to his World Government account.

On the walk home to his ITF-issued apartment, Bill tilted his head upwards and let the sun warm his naturally aged skin. Around him, people chatted noisily, drawing in the sweet, clean air. There was no need for gel breathing masks that were mandatory on Earth, where the air was poisonous and long-term exposure carried a risk of lung failure. Since replacement organs weren’t cheap, gel masks and oxygen canisters were the only solution. Under the sun’s warmth, it was easy to forget Earth. But it was where he had met Isla. Earth would always be a part of him as long as Isla was still in his heart.

He arrived at his apartment block in the New Westminster area just as a man dropped a chair from a window above to the side alley below. The overpowering smell in the side alley was from more than just unwanted furniture. He picked up a couple of rubbish bags that had been left out on the pavement in front of his block and tossed them into the alley. The cleaning autobots weren’t scheduled for a few days.

A waft of rotting food and disinfectant forced him to pinch the end of his nose. He hurried inside the block as fast as he could. Scheduled rubbish collections were one of the World Government’s ill-thought-out plans to help keep some of the old systems of Earth and smooth the transition to the new planet. While there were many positives about the new planet, the six cities were overcrowded and had already become derelict in parts. Humans had only been occupying the planet for a short twenty-five years.

His apartment overlooked Belgrave Square Gardens, a close replica of the same gardens once seen in London on Earth. Green open spaces had been one of the main requests on the Exilon 5 transferees’ “wish list”.

Bill unlocked the front door and scanned the layout of his apartment for signs of disturbance. His day-job was to draw out enemies into the open, but on occasion they would try to seek him out.

The apartment was sparsely decorated and thick with dust. Personal items were locked away in a suitcase in his bedroom. He examined the dusty surfaces closely; an informant had once told him that it would be easier to spot when things had been moved in a dusty apartment. Old circular imprints from legs of chairs remained hidden, telling him none of the furniture had been moved. He drifted into his bedroom to check on his suitcase hidden in the wardrobe.

He had contemplated getting a second apartment, a place that the World Government and ITF knew nothing about, like the one on Earth he and Isla owned in Nottingham. But the stress of keeping one apartment hidden from them was enough.

Back in the living room a brief flash of light caught his attention. The Light Box—a virtual information system that contained programmable artificial intelligence—shimmered on the wall above his three-seater sofa. He hadn’t bothered to activate the virtual avatar that came as standard, and he’d only ever used the security and secretarial facilities, and the twenty-four-hour news feed. So the flash of light meant that the ITF were watching him again. But they didn’t know that he’d already located some of their bugging devices: two in the base of the table lamps, one inside a disused cupboard in the kitchen and one underneath his bed. And those were just the ones he could find. He had no idea of the levels of surveillance they were carrying out on him, their best investigator. He stopped short of saluting the air. Many times, he had fantasised about settling in one place, but as life became more complicated it seemed like less of an option. Born in Edinburgh, he hadn’t set foot in Scotland for several years, and he didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

Bill sat down on the sofa, pulled his digital pad, or DPad, out of his bag and placed it on the glass table in front of him. He was suddenly reminded of the effort to convince Daphne Gilchrist, the Earth Security Centre’s CEO, to put him on the current mission. The World Government was in charge, and the ESC handled international security matters for them. While initially Gilchrist had been against his involvement because of what she had reasoned to be his inexperience, something—or someone—had changed her mind. The ITF handled the grunt work for the ESC—investigations, arrests, policing—and nothing ever happened without Gilchrist’s say-so.

Bill stood up and studied his face in the Light Box’s virtual façade. He pulled at the skin around his tired eyes, noting how old his naturally ageing face was looking. He ruffled his hair; dark-brown with dotted flecks of grey. The signs of age could be reversed with a little genetic modification.

Isla had once told him that no matter what advances were made in age alteration, it was important that he was always able to recognise himself in the mirror. He hadn’t given too much thought to it over the years, but the advice seemed more pertinent now that she was gone. Memories of her tore at his chest and he looked away from the screen, refusing to allow whoever was watching him to share his private moment.

In the kitchen, Bill filled his coffee pot with water, then added fresh granules to the machine and brewed some coffee the old-fashioned way. A delicious aroma filled the room as the black liquid streamed into the pot. He licked his lips. He knew his addiction was becoming a problem, and for some reason the coffee didn’t taste as good when he was taking Actigen, pills that allowed him to skip sleep. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed a decent night’s sleep—two years, since Isla’s disappearance—and tonight would be no exception. The Indigene’s meeting was anticipated for the following morning and, if World Government intel was correct, it would occur in the hour after dawn. What worried him most was the way the Indigenes, unable to survive in the temperatures on the surface, had figured out a way to surface safely.

The coffee pot finally sizzled and Bill filled his favourite “I heart Boston” mug to the brim; Isla had bought it for him in an antique shop a few years back. He ran a finger over the cracked rim and examined the heart design; the red colour had largely faded where he had rested his fingers most frequently. He believed that the mug helped to focus his mind; or maybe it was just the coffee. Whatever the reason, it was an important link to his past and he vowed never to part with it.

Adding cream substitute and artificial sugar to his steaming coffee, he settled on the sofa again. He placed his DPad on one knee while he balanced the mug on the other. He resumed his review of the government’s files on the alien race.

The problem of the indigenous race was not an easy one to solve. With the conditions that prevailed on Earth there were only two options for humans: move to the new planet or die on the old one. The Indigenes were preventing full human integration into society, and he had long suspected they were responsible for Isla’s disappearance. Too many things didn’t add up. Now he would make them pay for that mistake.

2

With a dry mouth and feeling colder than normal, Stephen pondered the decision he was about to make. It would be the first time the Indigenes had tried anything like this. Exposing his fragile skin to the Exilon 5 sun could come at a hefty price. He could almost feel his translucent skin blister at the very thought of it: an uncomfortable build-up of heat that would begin in the pit of his stomach then spread to the rest of his body.

Is that what it will be like when Indigenes burn?

He had never stayed in the sun long enough to find out.

Stephen paced the length of District Three’s laboratory. Previous attempts to make contact with Surface Creatures—the Indigenes’ name for the race that lived above ground—had always been at night when the darkness could give them protection. If this mission was a success, it could change the very essence of how the Indigenes lived. Everything had to go according to plan. He needed to get the information quickly, before a Surface Creature noticed him in their world.

Shadow People.

It was what the Surface Creatures’ offspring called the Indigenes. The name was right, he felt, because some of his kind hunted more than just animals in retaliation for what the surface dwellers had done to their race. He understood the reasons that fuelled the predatory motives of those who could not forget the past. In weaker moments, he considered joining them on their nightly hunts. After the land explosions, and with so few of the Indigenes surviving the blasts, he cared little for their children. Stephen had been friends with Anton since they were young Evolvers, but Anton was not scarred by events of the past. Stephen had witnessed the land explosions and the early changes to their society; changes that had later killed his parents. But Anton, born after the initial horror, was not consumed by feelings of revenge like some of the others. Like he was, on occasion.

The district tunnels that ran underneath Exilon 5’s surface had preserved what was left of their species, giving them a chance to start again.

Stephen tried on the artificial skin designed by Anton, but it felt strange to him; an additional layer that weighed almost nothing. Changing his appearance bothered him but he needed to blend in if he was to carry out his mission successfully. He brushed his fingers against his face and the delicate silicone yielded to his gentle touch. How could something so fragile feel so heavy? He was not ashamed of his appearance, and was proud to be a unique member of a great society. But it was necessary to change, for them; the physical differences were too great.

The Surface Creatures had controlled life on Exilon 5 for too long. What happened the following day could shift the power back into the Indigenes’ hands.

He had been close to them before; so close he could feel the heat from their warm-blooded bodies. His hatred of them made his blood temperature rise, but not as high as theirs. They never reacted well to his presence. His body emitted a static electricity that irritated them. The Surface Creatures could withstand the sun’s strength; their skin was less transparent and capable of dealing with fluctuations in temperature, something Stephen’s body would not allow. The silicone skin was designed as much to protect his natural skin as to disguise those differences.

The Indigenes carried different abilities. Anton’s skill was manipulating technology; in particular, the technology that belonged to the Surface Creatures. He had discovered an alternative use for their silicone skin. Surface-Creature literature declared its main use, in its original state, was to make deep-sea diving suits lighter, while other materials protected the wearer from the effects of abnormal pressures. Anton had found a way to alter the molecular structure of the silicone to make the artificial skin lightweight and wafer-thin, and with the ability to cool upon touch. He had also added pigmentation so that it resembled the Surface Creatures’ opaque appearance. While the skin worked well, there were still obvious flaws; the uneven density didn’t allow natural light to penetrate it. There would be a degree of anonymity, but how much Anton couldn’t say.

Stephen and Anton had been a pair of curious Evolvers back when the Surface Creatures had begun to occupy Exilon 5. They had watched from a distance while large cranes removed pallets of materials from smaller spacecraft. A piercing screech had filled the air as their equipment drilled downwards. Fires, from burning materials, released noxious gases. The sound of yelling filled the void the drills left when they weren’t running. To the relief of all in the districts, the Surface Creatures had not drilled down far enough to discover the beating heart of the planet. Central Council had not been able to guess how many Surface Creatures had arrived that day or now lived on Exilon 5; only that the numbers were far greater than their own population. For the Indigene race, which had existed for ten thousand years, this was the first species to arrive on Exilon 5 and attempt to take over the planet.

Stephen focused his mind on the current task and grabbed an air filtration device from the table. In another tunnel not far from the laboratory, he touched the rock face made of insignia, with its ability to trap cocoons of surface air in its wall. The rock vibrated in response. He set up a device powered by the amplifying strength of gamma rock in front of the wall. The device drew a single cocoon of air from the wall and stretched it until it was large enough for Stephen to stand inside.

He drew in a deep breath from District Three’s strictly controlled atmosphere and opened his hand. The air filtration device came in three pieces, clear in colour. He fitted the two smaller pieces into his nasal cavities and the third larger piece at the back of his throat. He pushed through the cocoon until he was inside.

The first breath of contaminated air burned his lungs and he waited for the single-charge micro filter to restrict the flow of oxygen to his lungs. When the device caught up to his air requirements, he exited the cocoon and carefully removed it. He remembered Anton’s warning about the one-hour time limit. He could swap a depleted device for a new one, but not without risking contamination to his lungs. Anton’s team was working on a better, rechargeable version using the body’s kinetic energy, but it would be months before it would be ready for production.

Stephen leaned against the wall and tried to think of what advantages he had over the Surface Creatures, things that would guarantee his safety the following day: speed, strength. As far as intellect went, the Indigenes fared better, but the Surface Creatures had a better understanding of cunning and deception that put him at a disadvantage. He pushed away from the wall and paced the length of the tunnel. What else could he use? His vision?

An Indigene’s vision worked best in low levels of light; it allowed them to make sense of the dark. It was why they preferred the surface at night; the tactic they had used early on in their need to find out more about the Surface Creatures.

Stephen recalled one night mission, ordered by Central Council, when three of them had surfaced, dressed in cheap costumes and without the silicone skin to protect their identity.

They had approached the city border for New London and wandered the streets looking for willing individuals to question. They spotted seven of them—all children—standing outside a replication terminal building. Stephen had caught the smell of alcohol long before they were close enough to smell it on their breath. They stopped a short distance from the children.

The atmosphere changed as whispers replaced the loud chatter. The boys had been curious about the three oddly dressed strangers, but Stephen sensed an underlying lack of trust. Being this close to them had left him feeling skittish and unable to speak. What did he want to say exactly? Your parents are murderers and you will grow up to be one, too. Not exactly the best way to get them talking.

To his relief, one of the other Indigenes spoke first. The innocent enquiries and retorts were bandied back and forth until the other two Indigenes changed tack, asking questions that were more personal. The boys whispered to each other, but the Indigenes’ sharp hearing allowed them to pick up everything they said.

‘Who the fuck are these losers?’

‘I know. I’m losing me buzz.’

‘I’m bored.’

‘C’mon, let’s show these clowns what dirt tastes like.’

‘Yeah!’

‘I wanna go home.’

‘Stay where you are, Jason. Everybody’s stayin’ put.’

‘D’ya think they’re some kind o’ military?’

‘Dunno. They’re not wearing uniforms.’

‘Don’t wanna to get into no trouble.’

‘Don’t be an idiot, Jason. Do as I say.’

‘Seven against three. Easy.’

The children surrounded them, forcing Stephen to take a step back. It was an irrational thing to do—he was stronger and faster—but the way they circled him had put him on edge.

They attacked, arms flailing and legs kicking, fuelled by a mixture of alcohol and stupidity. Before the boys’ punches could reach them, Stephen bolted, and the other Indigenes had the good sense to follow. They listened from a safe distance.

‘Where’d they go?’

‘What the fuck?’

‘It’s like them Shadow People I keep hearing ‘bout.’

‘Don’t be an idiot. That’s just legend. A story to scare the little kiddies so they don’t fall ‘sleep.’

‘No, I heard them people’s real. They hunt late at night and they eat kids and adults if they sleep. Sometimes they catch them out here.’

‘That doesn’t even make sense, Jason. We’re out here ev’ry night, and I haven’t seen no Shadow People.’

‘Well what’dya call them people just here then?’

‘Fucking losers.’

It was the first time Stephen had heard the term “Shadow People” and Central Council had no idea who among their race was hunting Surface Creatures in such a brutal way. No matter what rumours existed about the Indigenes and their way of life, they had to be more careful. They needed a better plan.

It was at the next council meeting that Stephen had presented his own plan to District Three’s Council elders, Pierre and Elise. He put forward a bolder, more daring strategy that would mean surfacing during the day. Pierre had seen the logic in his plan while Elise, Pierre’s wife, had not.

But Stephen had a target in mind: a boy he’d been watching for a while who was not aggressive like the earlier targets, and was always alone. He explained to the elders how he planned to use the boy’s natural curiosity to gain his trust. Pierre’s faith in him had swung the votes of the representatives.

Even though the idea of being close to the Surface Creatures made his skin crawl, Stephen had worked hard to mimic their movements. He had no choice: he had to immerse himself in their lives. The target must not become suspicious.

He took out a box and rummaged through the items that had been ‘acquired’ from the Surface Creatures over the past few months. He fished out a thumb-sized digital recorder that Anton had stolen from a female’s bag; the tiny recorder measuring the size of his thumbnail.

He moved to an adjoining room off the tunnel where he’d tested the air filtration device. It was a square area with a metal table in the centre, flanked by two chairs. A soft hue illuminated the white walls, the light feeding through a shaft linked to tiny solar-powered discs embedded into the wasteland above. He placed the tiny recorder on the floor, near one of the table legs, then waved his hand over the device and the first of the recordings began.

A high-resolution 3D image of the restaurant burst out of the device, filling the otherwise plain room with a low light. The wall’s surface bounced the images back into the room. Stephen watched through pale Indigene eyes as Cantaloupe restaurant came into focus. It felt foreign to him to sit in a place where people served you food. Stephen had never eaten anything he hadn’t killed himself, but the decline of the primoris—a native animal on Exilon 5—had forced their race to seek alternatives to a raw-meat diet that was rich in iron. Animal hunting satisfied a primal urge but was no longer necessary to survive; a synthesised protein substitute kept them alive. The animals the Surface Creatures had brought with them tasted strange; the composition of their blood was different. In the end, the taste of warm blood and fresh meat from the new animals was enough to suppress their desires, even if it didn’t satisfy their hunger.

Stephen took a seat at the table and aligned his body to mirror one half of a Surface-Creature couple, immersing himself into their timeline as they ate. It was unnatural for him to sit; he preferred to stand. He gripped the steel edges of the chair and studied the recording, observing the way they used their hands to gesture. He listened intently to their conversation. When he watched the Surface Creatures through recordings like this, he could be clinical in his observations; no hate, or panic or fear to get in his way. His lips moved in perfect synchronicity with theirs. Their hands danced, almost as if they were conducting a musical score. He picked up the pattern easily enough. He had replayed the scenario so often he could recite every movement by heart. But he planned to watch it right up to the break of dawn, when he would finally leave for the surface.

Anton had recorded the scene a month ago. Even in his disguise, he thought the Surface Creatures had noticed him, but nobody approached other than the female attendant who’d asked if he was ready to order. A lone male in his forties sitting by the window had watched him for a while before returning to his private solitude.

The recording looped, and he looked beyond the couple eating dinner. A much older male sat to his right.

How long can the Surface Creatures live?

The oldest living Indigene on record was one hundred and ninety-eight. He knew their species’ bodies were the same—one heart, one liver, two kidneys and one brain—but there were still fundamental differences between them. The Indigenes’ bodies and minds didn’t suffer deterioration because all their cells could regenerate. An injury that could take weeks to heal in a Surface Creature would only take minutes in an Indigene’s body. Having studied their physical composition, he discovered that the cells in their brains and spinal column possessed no regenerative ability. Instead, the Surface Creatures relied on the production of synthetic cells to combat brain injuries, old age and paralysis. Disease was uncommon among the Indigenes, because it was impossible for an infected cell to manipulate a healthy one when the body was already expelling it.

The lone male sitting by the window looked familiar to him, even though he was sure he’d never seen him before. A sudden feeling of contempt for the male forced him to concentrate on his doppelganger’s meal to regain a little control.

The recording looped for the third time and, right on cue, a female came to the table and filled their glasses with water. He’d read somewhere that Surface Creatures’ bodies contained sixty per cent water, although they didn’t always drink it in its purest form. The same female handed a beer to the male by the window. The alcohol reminded him of the children they’d encountered not that long ago. While the Indigenes could drink water, it didn’t “quench” their thirst as it seemed to do for the Surface Creatures. In the beginning when the Surface Creatures first relocated to the planet, they had brought their own water with them. What little they did find on Exilon 5 they had been able to multiply by adding a chemical compound.

How could a less intelligent race such as the Surface Creatures successfully destroy so many Indigenes? It was almost as if they had prior knowledge of the Indigenes’ existence.

He continued to watch the recording, allowing the scene to loop a fourth time until the images were ingrained in his long-term memory. He watched their movements and their familiar ease with one another, but refused to acknowledge the similarities that existed between each race. There were plenty of differences, too; like the speed at which both species moved. The Indigenes regularly conversed in thought alone; words weren’t always necessary to convey a message. Stephen was not used to speaking aloud and he would have to learn how to slow down his speech if he was going to converse successfully with a child. He loosened his stiff shoulders and turned off the recording. There was one last thing he needed: a set of lenses that would protect his retinas from the harmful daytime sun. Anton had a few left over from his time on the surface.

Stephen stood up, scraping the chair’s metal legs on the stone floor, and rummaged through the box once more. He fished out a mirror and pushed the table in one smooth motion towards the wall. He placed the mirror on the table and used the wall to prop it up. With a clarity of vision he wasn’t used to, he examined his strange image, distorted by the silicone skin. He practised his eye movements, his speech and his hand gestures, finding it difficult to contort his face into their unusual expressions. He kept rehearsing until the movements felt a little less obvious and more natural. He reminded himself he would only have to act the part for a short while.

This will be easy.

So why was he nervous about the trip the next day? Maybe it was because his family had died unnecessarily so the Surface Creatures could live. Every fibre of his body screamed at him to stay.

But he had to go. Central Council needed answers. The time for waiting, the time for hiding, was over.

3

That evening, Bill took a call from Daphne Gilchrist, the CEO of the Earth Security Centre. Gilchrist was difficult, but not as bad as Charles Deighton, the CEO of the World Government. Bill had met Deighton twice, before Isla had been sent to Exilon 5 on a mission, and it was clear there was something seriously wrong with him.

‘Are you all set, Bill? I don’t want anything to go wrong tomorrow,’ said Gilchrist. There was an edge to her voice.

‘I’m ready, and so is my team.’

‘What are your plans?’

‘To observe the Indigene and see what it does.’

‘That means no interference from you or your team.’

‘I understand that.’

There was a brief silence before she spoke again. ‘Are you sure you’re up to this? I am aware of your... situation.’

‘I wouldn’t have pushed for the role if I wasn’t up to it. What happened... Well, it was a long time ago now.’

‘Yes, but these things have a habit of rearing their heads at the wrong time. I know the... problem you have with the Indigenes.’

‘Not all of them,’ he said a little too quickly. ‘I mean, I don’t know them. I’m interested in them in the same way the World Government is.’ As soon as he’d said the words, he knew how meaningless they were.

‘Look, Bill. I’m not going to sugar-coat it for you. This could be a turning point in the investigation or an all-out disaster. Whatever happens, I need to know I can count on you to keep it together.’

Bill’s pulse thrummed in his throat. ‘Yes, you can.’

‘Good. And remember why we picked you. It was because of your success with Hunt. Deighton’s expectations are high.’

Larry Hunt. Hearing his name made his shoulder throb. Even while he was incarcerated, the man just wouldn’t go away. To say the World Government was regretting their involvement with the most successful man in the food replication business was an understatement. The government had a lot to lose, but also plenty to gain from their majority stake in Hunt Technologies, a company that controlled seventy per cent of the food replication market.

‘Understood.’

Gilchrist clicked off.

Bill took his DPad and pulled up Larry Hunt’s photo. Staring back at him was the criminal he’d helped to put behind bars. Hunt was an ordinary-looking man, nothing special, but then most of the serious criminals looked like family men with nothing to hide. Bill had expected Hunt to seek retaliation for his involvement in bringing him to justice, but he hadn’t been ready for how he had felt afterwards.

The catch seemed too easy, almost like he’d been set up to succeed. When Hunt Technologies had released their latest food replication model, the Replica 2500, the ESC had ordered Bill to intervene. The hundreds of businesses that bought the model were touting it as a fake.

Daphne Gilchrist had ordered him to a meeting. When he arrived, she handed him a list of numbers.

‘What do you see?’ Her expression was cold, her mouth set in a tight line.

Bill scanned the information. He recognised the format of prices against amounts. ‘Shares.’

‘Exactly. We think Mr Hunt has been pulling a stroke, overvaluing his stocks to gain a better share of the replication market. Naturally, the World Government board members are upset at this revelation. If the Replica 2500 isn’t genuine, the company’s value will drop into negative equity. That’s a loss nobody wants.’

Bill looked up at her. ‘You want me to profile him?’

Gilchrist locked her cold eyes on Bill. ‘I want you to take the son of a bitch down.’

Bill had spent months trying to get inside the head of the man who had dominated the food replication world for an aeon. Slowly, he established patterns in Hunt’s carefully orchestrated, yet sometimes erratic, behaviour. More importantly, he’d identified who Hunt relied on and who would have access to personal information: his secretary.

He called Hunt Technologies to arrange a business meeting with her. When they met, he tried to be smooth, maybe flirt a little. Hunt’s secretary was attractive enough, but not his type and far too young at only twenty-five. While they spoke, he caught her stealing glances at the clock. It was then he knew that Hunt’s people had been coached.

Bill concentrated his efforts on others who Hunt’s secretary may have been connected with. He began tailing lower-level workers out on their lunch breaks. At one of the food replication terminals, he had chatted with an employee and feigned interest in working for Hunt Technologies. He casually steered the topic around to Hunt’s secretary, asking whether he would better his chances if he spoke to her directly.

‘Nobody gets to see Theresa without an appointment. Even her boyfriend has to take a number,’ said the male employee. He thumbed over at a skinny twentysomething man sitting at another table, hunched over his lunch.

‘What section does her boyfriend work in?’

‘Storage.’

He had found his way in; why he hadn’t considered the secretary’s boyfriend, he didn’t know. Maybe it was because he couldn’t picture the moderately attractive girl with the grim smile making time for anyone other than Hunt.

In the end, the boyfriend had been of little help, perhaps even a little scared of Theresa. But a colleague of the skinny boy had no loyalty to anyone in particular, and a little bribe helped loosen his lips.

Bill recalled his only encounter with a couple of Hunt’s henchmen shortly after his indictment. He’d tried to shake his pursuers as they chased him through London’s dark streets, but they had cornered him. One of the men had grabbed his arms so roughly he almost dislocated Bill’s shoulder. The other produced an antique knife from his pocket, the blade gleaming in the overhead street light. Bill sucked in a sharp breath as the knife-wielding man stepped forward and plunged the blade into the soft area of his left shoulder. The blinding hot pain disarmed him instantly.

A fucking antique knife. There were easier ways to kill him. The attack came with a verbal warning attached.

‘Hunt wants you to remember this.’

Bill touched the area where the knife had penetrated his skin. Although it was fully repaired with no sign of a scar, he remembered exactly how it had felt when the blade tore through his muscle and poked out the other side.

Thinking about that night sent a shiver through him. He picked up the DPad with shaky hands. The tremors were worse. His stomach felt sick, but his body was buzzing with caffeine-induced adrenaline. He wished for it all to be over so he could get his answers.

Bill combed through the dozens of files the World Government held on the Indigenes. So far, the information was limited. An earthy scent of old coffee hit his nose and his craving kicked in. He prayed that the following day would give him a lead—any information at all—on what exactly had happened to his wife.

There were so many files to choose from, but the one about the government’s capture of a young Indigene always caught his attention. The young alien had not lived long after the capture because of its inability to survive in the same conditions as humans. Bill found interesting details about an atmosphere-controlled containment unit in facilities on the outskirts of New London. The unit had yet to receive its first prisoner.

While Gilchrist certainly wasn’t as bad as Deighton, he was concerned by the close working relationship she had with the CEO of the World Government.

‘Apprehend the subject, but make sure it’s alive,’ Gilchrist had said at the last briefing. ‘And make sure those idiots we assigned you don’t go off half-cocked.’

What Bill had requested from the World Government was Special Forces. What they stuck him with was Armoured Division, minus the heavy artillery. ‘Divide and Conquer’ was their motto. Yes, he would make sure to keep the alien alive. When he had finished torturing it, the World Government, the ESC—or whoever wanted it—could do what they liked.

Memories of his wife were clearer, more vivid than usual. Maybe it was because he was using the mug she had given him, or because he was inching closer to the truth about her disappearance. When his mind wasn’t occupied with work, he gave every spare thought he had to Isla. He trawled through his past memories, looking for clues about why she’d disappeared. The government had been helpful enough in the beginning, but it didn’t take long for them to stop looking for her.

The World Government, the powerhouse in Washington DC, was in charge of all Earth’s business. The charcoal-grey borders that surrounded the slick black windows gave their offices a foreboding yet unique look. Majestic height and angular lines towered effortlessly above the other buildings that surrounded it, leaving smaller constructions to cower in its icy shade. The building stretched for miles into the low-lying, steely skies around Washington DC, punching neat holes into layers of atmosphere as it searched for a way out of the restrictive cityscape. In the face of all that magnificence, the building was a ruse, a decoy for something greater. The real World Government offices lay deep below the surface, protected by force fields that formed graduating rings, each more impenetrable than the one above it. The building represented what the World Government stood for on Earth: hope and order, power and impenetrability.

At the beginning of his career, his twenty-year-old self had been impressed by the mottled-blue granite floors and the walls with precious jewels dripping from the lighting fixtures. He realised later that the place was designed to be aesthetically appealing to impress the potential recruits that sought out work there. Large advertising screens dressed the walls and promoted too-good-to-be-true career opportunities. But at the time, the decision for Bill to join their organisation had been a no-brainer. There wasn’t any other place like it on Earth.

Early on, his need for excitement had pulled him in a different direction, towards something his job in the public documents section had not provided. He sought out another path, one that would satisfy his wanderlust. The ESC’s military training programme ticked all the boxes, in particular the job of Special Operations agent.

It was where he’d first met his wife. Isla had been one of his instructors, and she’d spend her time teaching self-defence skills to men stronger than her. Bill desperately wanted to ask her out but it was frowned upon.

‘It’s less about brute force and more about negotiation,’ she had said to the all-male class.

They laughed at her suggestion, but she earned their respect when she broke up a fight between two men the following day using only words.

Bill recalled very little about the class work—Isla’s gentle Scottish accent gave him butterflies—and he had to rely on notes to catch up on his studies at home. Isla’s hair had been shorter back then, hanging just below her shoulders. Her warm blue eyes sparkled and her face was as soft as her smile. She was the complete opposite of him, and he’d wanted her.

Bill’s natural flair for reading people had earned him a place as a Special Operations agent. The ESC tried to send him to India to complete his training; something he vehemently resisted. He enlisted Isla’s help in getting them to change their minds.

‘What can I do to help?’ she said, looking sceptical.

‘I need to stay in the UK. My parents are here and I’m all they have.’ He hated lying to her but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her behind. Both his parents had died in a Maglev train accident years earlier.

‘I’ll see what I can do.’ She smiled at him in a way that almost made him break the instructor–pupil rule.

When he had been assigned to the International Task Force in London, he was sure of two things: that she had helped, and that he loved her. A month after he graduated, they began dating. Soon after, she asked to meet his parents. She punched him on the arm when he’d handed her an urn with their ashes still inside.

The ache was always so debilitating when he remembered the happier times with Isla. He distracted himself by resting his face and hands on the cold window. He stared at Belgrave Square Gardens through a fog his breath had created. An automated vehicle pulled up outside and several children and a woman—presumably their teacher—alighted from the vehicle’s left side. The children screamed excitedly as they bolted for the swings in the park. The teacher yelled after them to come back but they were running free and wild.

He thought about Isla’s love of children, and the window fogged up more as his breathing became laboured. She had always been open about her desire to have children, but he hadn’t been as keen as her. He didn’t think Earth was the right environment to bring up children and had promised to think about it again when they transferred to Exilon 5. Now Isla was gone and suddenly he wanted a child: her child, a little version of her to make him laugh the way she always could. But Exilon 5 was no safer than Earth as long as the Indigenes existed. They had taken from him the one person he cared about the most.

‘Forgive them, Bill.’ Isla was in his head.

‘Forgiveness is earned,’ he said out loud. If it came down to it, would he really grant it to the Indigenes?

He buried his nose in the transcripts from the previous week’s surveillance operation, his heart hardening as his eyes stopped at the detail about the male Indigene’s attempts to make contact with a boy in the square opposite his apartment. The mother had reacted quickly and the boy was led away. His team reported how the same Indigene had watched a different boy for a while, a skinny lad with black hair.

Bill noted that their attempts to surface were always at the same hour, just after sunrise. The expectation was that the Indigene would try to make contact again the following day.

This time Bill would be ready.

4

Eight-year-old Ben Watson waited for the next automated bus to arrive, watching with interest as the stranger walked towards him and sat beside him on the bench. He glanced at his unusual appearance, wondering where he was from. He ran through the list of countries he knew from his school lessons. There were the six cities on Exilon 5 and, other than the obvious ones on faraway Earth, he struggled to think of more. Geography class was so boring. He and his best friend, Peter preferred to send digital notes to each other instead.

Syria and Nepal popped into his head. He remembered them from his classic Earth adventure series on the Light Box. In one episode, the criminals had escaped from prison and were running from the law and had ended up in both locations. But the criminals from his stories were meaner-looking and had facial scars. He wondered if the stranger was a spy. He couldn’t see any visible scarring, so maybe he was a spy for the allies.

Ben could barely contain his excitement. A real life spy, right here in the middle of New London! A grin transformed his face, and his mood.

The man glanced in his direction. Ben met his eyes and looked away. You weren’t supposed to look at a spy. They were undercover.

The man was dressed in musty old clothes: a long brown coat with matching hat, like the ones the old detectives used to wear in the antique comic books he collected. He thought all spies wore black ninja outfits. But maybe that was what made a good spy—when he didn’t look like one.

The man glanced off to the side and Ben noticed his skin: patchy and pale in places. He sat on his hands to keep his excitement under control. The movement attracted the man’s attention. Ben didn’t dare look at him. The stranger could be anyone, working for the government, or sent by his mum. He wasn’t supposed to be out alone, and out of habit he checked over his shoulder.

Thinking of his interfering mother annoyed him. He’d heard her complain to friends that he was just like his father: always somewhere else, never where she wanted him to be. She called his actions “getting into trouble”. He preferred to call it “going on an adventure”. Ben dreamed of becoming an actor so he could live the life of his adventure-story heroes: dodging bullets, getting into trouble, travelling to places like Syria and Nepal. The closest he came to that was his Saturday trips around New London, while his mother slept in late. Anywhere was better than home, waiting for her wake up after another late-night session on the Light Box.

Ben slipped his small backpack off his shoulders and perched it on his lap. He pulled open the flap and peered inside. The night before, he’d packed enough supplies to cover his entire trip. He pulled out his DPad and checked where he was. His avatar had loaded it with a map covering a five-mile radius of the area; he didn’t expect to get further than that. When his mother wasn’t hogging the Light Box, he would ask his avatar to come up with interesting plans. And if his mother asked, Ben had taught it to lie about his whereabouts. But lately, she’d stopped asking, which suited him just fine. She had said to a friend that a lack of male presence in the house had made her only son “wilful and difficult to manage’. Ben hadn’t understood exactly what that meant, but there were certain things he had to do without her. She was a girl, and girls didn’t always understand.

He’d packed a compass this time. Last week had been a bust. He’d walked around for hours, almost forgot what bus to take. Peter had loaned him the compass for a couple of weeks in exchange for some of his antique comics. It had been a good trade. Ben had already read those stories a hundred times. The compass went well with his real life adventure stories. Peter had told him to check how the compass pointed to his house so if he got lost, he could find his way back. He wondered whether Peter might consider a permanent trade on the compass for a few more comic books. Or, he could simply tell him he’d lost it. He would decide later.

The sight of his strawberry jam sandwiches and a carton of juice in his backpack made him hungry. A sharp chill ran the length of his spine when he realised the man was watching him. He clutched the bag tighter, worried the spy was after his compass.

‘Hello,’ said the man. ‘What’s your name?’

Ben’s defences went up. ‘What’s yours?’

‘My name’s Stephen. Forgive me for staring but I don’t live up here and I have never been this close to your kind. I have only read about you or seen photos. Can you tell me what you are?’

Ben’s brow creased. He looked around for any sign of his mother. ‘I’m English. And this is New London.’ He sucked in a deep breath but the butterflies wouldn’t settle. ‘Are you from Syria or Nepal? I didn’t know they spoke English like us.’

Stephen shook his head. ‘Neither place. I live here, just like you. I just don’t live in this city.’

They both sat perfectly still, an eerie silence building between them. Stephen spoke again.

‘Forgive me. I should rephrase my original question. What do you call yourself?’

‘I suppose you mean my name,’ said Ben, a little confused. If he really was a spy, he should have known that. ‘Do you know my mum?’

‘Who is your mother?’

‘Diane Watson.’

‘I don’t know anyone by that name.’

Ben nodded, satisfied with the answer. Stephen looked trustworthy enough. ‘My name’s Ben. Pleased to meet you.’ He thrust out a small hand towards Stephen who hesitated before accepting it. Stephen’s cold skin surprised him and he pulled his hand away. The stranger did the same but more gently, rubbing the back of his hand where Ben’s small fingers had rested.

‘Your hand is warm. Warmer than I’d expected, to be honest,’ said Stephen.

‘I was going to say yours is quite cold!’ Ben relaxed a little.

‘I guess there are some notable differences between us.’

Ben stared up at the stranger. He had so many questions, but he didn’t know where to start. ‘Why is your hand so cold?’

‘It has always been this temperature. This is quite normal for me. Why is yours so warm?’

‘Everybody’s hands are warm. You’re the one that’s different!’

Stephen nodded. ‘I wonder what else is different about us?’

Ben could tell he and Stephen would become friends. But he would need to relax a bit before he met the rest of the gang. He wondered who Stephen would like better, Peter or his avatar.

Stephen shifted in the seat. Ben worried his new friend was thinking about leaving. ‘Why is your skin colour so strange? I mean, your neck is really pale, but your face is brown.’ He reached out to touch a visible patch on Stephen’s neck. Stephen pushed his hand away.

‘I wear a covering because my skin is unable to tolerate the strong rays of the sun. The covering is patchy in places and produces inconsistent results. My skin is the colour you see on my neck. Can you tell me why yours is so much darker in colour?’

Ben smiled. ‘My teacher says it’s because I have mel... melon in my skin. It helps turn my skin to brown.’ He held up his arm to examine his olive complexion. ‘You should know that already, because that’s the kind of thing grown-ups know. But maybe you don’t ‘cause it looks like you never tan!’

They both sat in silence as an engine-red automated bus pulled up to the kerb. Several people alighted from the back while a queue disappeared into the front. There was a series of beeps as passengers scanned their identity chips on the touchpad to the left of the computer-guided navigation system. Neither of them made a move to board the bus.

Stephen trusted his instincts that told him the black-haired boy he’d spotted a week ago was the one to approach. Even though the child seemed harmless enough, Stephen shifted uncomfortably at his proximity to him. It was important that Ben trust him. His natural curiosity could give Central Council the answers they needed. He planned to take advantage of his curiosity, even if it meant pushing away the overwhelming desire to leave.

He risked everything, being out in the open, but he hadn’t even begun to explore the differences between their species yet. He could tell the complexity of the questions were more than Ben could handle. Intellectually, the Surface Creature’s children were less advanced than their Evolvers, but he needed to press on. He hadn’t studied how to talk to the younger ones, only the older Surface Creatures. He realised his mistake in not doing so. He had assumed the conversation would be the same.

The passengers on the automated bus stared through the window at him. Stephen wrapped his coat tighter around him and pulled the lip of his fedora downwards. He touched the eliminator in his pocket that absorbed the static his body naturally emitted. It was obvious just how necessary the disguise was. His proximity to so many Surface Creatures terrified him, even though he had the ability to outrun all of them.

He battled the constant urge to flee but he couldn’t run; a part of him needed to know what they were. He was drawn to the child for reasons he couldn’t explain, and this mission was too important to all the Indigenes. He had to stay. The automated bus moved off, and Stephen relaxed as the danger temporarily passed.

He no longer recognised the place he sat in. So much had been altered in the last thirty years; the Indigenes’ living environs and the raised platforms where the Central Council had once stood to speak to the population were gone. He could no longer pinpoint the exact areas where he used to play or where the dome-shaped buildings had once been. It was as if they had never existed and the Surface Creatures had always lived there. Beyond the city borders in the great outlying expanse and beneath the surface, it was a different story. There lay the real planet, the one that the Indigenes were attuned to.

He checked his air and chastised himself for wasting precious minutes lamenting a past life that no longer existed, that they would never get back. He needed to get the conversation back on track and get Ben talking some more. He pondered his next question. Would the boy have been so willing and open if he knew what he was or how dangerous he could be?

But Ben beat him to it.

‘Why don’t you have any hair?’

Considering some of the photos he had seen, Stephen hadn’t expected that to be an obvious difference. ‘I don’t need it where I am from.’

The child swung his little legs on the bench then leaned forward to look at Stephen’s eyes. ‘Your eyes are funny-looking. Can you see like we can?’

While the child was too young to understand the complexity of the answers, he possessed a certain level of astuteness. Stephen needed to take a few calculated risks so he opted for the truth. ‘I am capable of seeing in the dark. I’m wearing protective lenses so that the sun doesn’t damage my eyes. They’re unable to tolerate the bright light.’

Ben nodded but didn’t show any adverse reaction. Stephen’s assumptions were right: the boy was eager, but his ability to understand or retain information hadn’t fully developed yet.

‘Are you cold?’ said Ben.

It was an unusual question. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because you’ve been shivering for the last two minutes. I was just wondering if you were cold.’

‘Actually, the opposite. I am too warm.’

‘How come?’ The child reached over to touch Stephen’s hand. His first instinct was to pull his hand away but he allowed him to make contact.

‘My body does not react well to this environment. I don’t know how to regulate my core temperature here. I live within an entirely different atmosphere.’

‘Why? Where do you live? New Taiyuan? I hear that’s hot. It’s not that hot here, you know. It’s only going to get to twenty degrees today.’

It was reasonable to think Stephen lived in a hotter climate. His blood would have been thinner, making it harder for the body to insulate properly in a colder place. But the opposite was happening: his core temperature was heating up while his extremities remained cold.

‘That wouldn’t explain your pale skin though.’

‘No, it would not,’ said Stephen. ‘And no, I do not live in New Taiyuan. I told you, I live here.’

Ben leaned back into the contours of the bench and swung his legs. Stephen crossed his legs from right to left and rested his hands on his knee; a pre-rehearsed move. He wondered whether it would be better to regroup and organise another meeting. When he checked the time again, his priorities changed.

‘I have to leave. I need to be somewhere else.’ He made a move to stand up.

‘No! I don’t want you to go.’ Ben folded his arms. ‘I want you to stay here. You don’t have my permission to go.’

‘I’m afraid I will be late for another engagement if I stay.’

‘But I want you to stay here.’ Ben’s lip quivered and for a moment it looked like he might cry.

The boy’s reaction was a good sign. It meant he would be open to meeting up a second time. Whether Stephen could bring himself to show up again was another matter.

‘Could we meet again, but somewhere else?’ said Stephen, keeping a close eye on the Surface Creatures that had gathered at the bus stop. It was far too exposed here.

Ben gave him a gap-toothed grin. ‘Where?’

‘A place not too far from here. Belgrave Square Gardens. Do you know it?’

He nodded. ‘I go there on my own sometimes. I like to play on the swings and monkey-bars.’

Stephen suggested they meet the following Saturday at the bench near the large tree in the gardens. It should be sheltered enough there. He tipped his hat to the boy—another practised move—and departed.

Ben watched Stephen leave, noticing how he moved quicker than everyone else. He’d said some funny things about his eyes and skin and other stuff that he didn’t really understand. He started to plan his secret trip for the following Saturday. His mum would probably sleep in again so he didn’t see a problem with getting out of the house unnoticed. If he needed to, he would lie and say he was going to play with Peter. Pete would cover for him if he promised to give him some toys in exchange for his silence.

He decided not to tell Pete about Stephen yet. He wanted to keep his new friend a secret for a while longer. But his avatar would need to know so he could lie to Ben’s mother. His mother was oblivious to the fact he’d bypassed the child protection features on the Light Box and disabled his avatar’s ethical setting.

It was only seven thirty and Ben didn’t feel like going home just yet. He boarded a bus to Belgrave Square Gardens and decided to check out the place Stephen had suggested they meet. He was caught off-guard this time. Next week he would prepare better questions.

5

Laura O’Halloran hurried across the road towards the nearest replication terminal for lunch, one of many located close to the Earth Security Centre, in Sydney. She waited for the first set of doors to open, then stepped into the cavernous core, along with fifty or so others. The doors closed behind them and they huddled together in front of a second set. When the harmful Earth air inside the core was decontaminated, the second doors opened. She pushed forwards into the environmentally controlled terminal and removed the gel mask from her face. She tugged at the Velcro strips that covered the zipped part of her grey ESC uniform. Her fine blonde hair fused with the strip and she tugged it loose. The tight feeling around her neck lessened as she loosened the top section.

A heady mix of lavender and stale body odour lingered like the unpleasant air outside. She held her breath, keen not to taste the air as she joined the queue of people waiting to use one of the replication machines. A hunched-over woman stood in front of her. Laura placed her age somewhere in the hundreds, given her posture: a side effect from overuse of the genetic manipulation clinics. A large sweaty man pressed up against her back in the confined space and she let out the breath she was holding. There was no escape from the toxins, inside or out, crawling over her thin, pale body like a snake looking for warmth. People watched her, as they normally did when she wore her ESC uniform.

The queue inside the narrow corridor moved forward briskly. Efficiency and speed had to be the norm in a world crammed with twenty billion people. The woman in front of her selected a beef stew and a glass of water. Laura ordered a chicken sandwich and a Coke. The woman eyed her choice.

‘Don’t order that, dear. There’s something wrong with the chicken replica. Looks and tastes like solidified porridge. Quite disgusting.’ Her nose wrinkled.

‘What’s good?’ said Laura.

‘Anything except the chicken. Larry, who runs this place, says they’re trying to get replacements for some of the particle cards but the companies are adamant there’s nothing wrong with them. Going to have to fix the graphic cards too, he says. They’re years old now and don’t work properly. Have you seen how unappetising some of the choices look? Should take those foods off the menu, if you ask me.’

‘Thanks.’ Laura changed her order to lamb slices with potato cakes and mint jelly. The woman nodded her approval as she collected her food from the base of the machine.

The line progressed steadily towards the pay station.

She had felt eyes on her the moment she walked into the replication terminal, but now one set was burning a hole in the back of her skull. She turned around and saw a man in his early forties, with slicked-back hair and a beard, looking straight at her. His jeans were secured with an old belt that kept them from slipping off his beanpole-shaped body. She had seen many like him before; the city was filled with a range of junkies from druggies to tech overloaders. His eyes were wild, unsettling.

If wasn’t the first time she’d been challenged in public.

‘Can I help you?’

‘You lot over there think you’re so fucking great.’

‘Is there something you want to say to me?’ She braced herself for a verbal attack; she was largely immune to the abuse her uniform attracted.

‘My mother is in debt because of you. Owes your crowd a ton of money. She can’t sleep ‘cause she’s expecting your lot to break down her door and arrest her.’ The man wagged his finger in her direction. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

‘You need to take it up with the World Government. I work at the ESC.’

Laura worked on Level Four of the ESC—Document Control and Storage—where she spent too many hours filing away information about tax matters. In other sections, workers checked, processed and filed traffic violations and countless transactions that the inhabitants of Earth had charged to their accounts. ESC had nothing to do with setting taxes or chasing down tax-evaders. That was the World Government’s job.

‘Same fucking thing if you ask me,’ said the man, leaving his place in the queue and walking over to her. He pointed his finger at her face.

Laura shrank back. She smelled his putrid breath, and could see the track marks on the druggie’s right arm as he used it to block her path.

The man’s finger was now inches from her. ‘You lot are all the same. Sucking the life out of innocent people like me and my family. You make me sick.’

The large man behind her stepped forward, and placed a hand on the junkie’s chest. ‘Looks like you’re queue-jumping and we don’t tolerate that in here. So either you go back in line or I throw you out the door. Your choice. If you’re lucky, I might leave one of your bones unbroken when I slam you into the pavement.’

The junkie backed off and rejoined the queue, his eyes still seething with hatred.

‘Thanks,’ said Laura, releasing a breath. The man grunted once in response.

At the pay station, she scanned her identity chip. Her legs shook as she entered the common eating room, still a little shocked by her confrontation.

The room was square with no chairs and standing room only. She found a not so quiet—but much coveted—spot by the window. She ate her lunch, hoping the junkie wouldn’t bother her again.

The large man entered the room and stood in a spot between her and the entrance to the corridor. When the junkie finally entered, his eyes searched the room, but he lost interest when he saw the hulking figure. For once, Laura was grateful for the packed conditions of the terminal.

She picked the fat off her lamb slices and gazed out at the dark, smog-filled day. It had been ten years since she’d seen the sun, when she was just twenty-six years old. Since then, the sun’s access to the Earth’s surface had diminished until it had been blocked by the clouds. There was a permanent chill in the air and she was used to wrapping up well.

Laura had once enjoyed sun and temperatures in Sydney that exceeded twenty-five degrees Celsius. But in the thirty years since her parents had emigrated from Dublin to Sydney and the sun had vanished, the temperatures barely surpassed ten degrees in high summer. Her golden hair no longer shone. Her previously sun-kissed complexion was now pale and pasty.

She wondered as she ate if she would ever see or feel the sun again. Exilon 5 had sunlight in abundance, and she dreamed of living there. But early selection was not a guarantee. The World Government’s transfer programme kept changing, and working at the Earth Security Centre didn’t seem to give her any special rights. Currently, the selection policy was a lottery, a change from the previous volunteer arrangement. But with only a small percentage of the population having transferred, she wasn’t sure how to play the numbers.

The city still carried evidence of the catalyst that had changed Earth’s atmospheric conditions. The current generation had blamed the habits of older generations, but had done little to stem the changes. Posters on walls announcing the arrival of the Go Green revolution were everywhere. The wind used to whip at their unglued edges. Now, the air was still but the posters remained, tatty and faded. Go Green was the World Government’s answer to counteracting global change. But as industries became self-sustainable, green energy had not become the cash cow they had hoped for.

At the turn of the twenty-second century, efforts to go green had surpassed all targets, just as the need to raise more funds for space exploration started to dominate the government’s agenda. The World Government and its twelve controlling members needed a quick way to raise cash and so they heavily taxed popular green energy. Businesses and industries suffered and only the strongest survived.

Laura stuck her fork in a piece of lamb and nibbled at it. The bland replicated food didn’t excite her taste buds. It was marginally worse than the food in the ESC cafeteria, but still edible.

Her appetite waned when she saw the junkie staring at her. She dropped her leftovers into one of the waste incinerators and headed for the exit.

She hated how people were quick to define her character by the uniform she wore. In many ways, the ESC was a great place to work, filled with admirable, hardworking people. She respected the Centre’s tireless efforts, not only to protect the Earth from unknown dangers but from people themselves.

The only chance she would have to move to Exilon 5 was if she pushed for a promotion; she’d heard that the higher levels had a better chance of being considered for the transfer programme. In ESC, the presence of the purple-uniformed workers on Level Five commanded instant respect.

Laura affixed her gel mask to her face. The frigid air hit her and she wrapped her coat up tight. She stepped out on the plain street, remembering when trees and plants used to grow in the city. It was sad to have seen the trees change from having plenty of leaves one year, to so few the next, until they had stopped growing altogether. She’d almost forgotten what flowers looked like. Wild animals had been the next to go, although the city had done well to hold on to some domesticated creatures. Humans were the only species flexible enough to adapt.

She approached the ESC building. It was surrounded by an invisible medium-level force field; her security chip allowed her access. The public area to the front—the newest and brightest section of the Centre—was the only part without an active force field. Walking past the atmosphere-controlled pond that was home to a few varieties of fish, she bounded up the crescent-shaped steps and into the former Anzac War Memorial building entrance. Recognisable by its pink granite exterior, it had remained largely unchanged since it was designed by C. Bruce Dellit and completed in 1934. The World Government had added the public section to the memorial building about fifty years ago, as part of its attempts to regenerate a declining city.

Inside, white granite covered the floor and part of the walls. Various sculptures and figure reliefs hugged the upper part, protected by a symphony of stars across the dome-shaped ceiling. The gold stars, one hundred and twenty in total, were a stark reminder of one of the many wars of the past, and the volunteers who had fought during a more primitive time. A Rayner Hoff sculpture named “Sacrifice” had once stood in the centre of the room. The sculpture, with its golden sun and fiery arms that blazed outwards with beauty and grace, had been relocated to the public foyer of the Security Centre. In its place was the turbo lift, linking to the underground levels.

Laura pressed her right thumb on the flat plate beside the turbo lift doors and waited for the system to read her security chip. Her clearance allowed her access to the first four levels below; the remaining six levels required an updated chip. The lift doors opened and within seconds she arrived at Level Four: Document Control and Storage.

She stepped out into the glass-covered foyer. The glass ceiling allowed her to see the workers on Level Three walking above her. When she looked below, to Level Five, the floor was opaque. She wondered if someone below was watching her.

Level Five, officially known as High Level Data Storage Facility, was where the World Government sent its high-security documents. The facility had been christened The Abyss because of the joke that sensitive information was often lost, never to be seen again.

Laura made her way towards Corridor Ten, to her office and workstation. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw a Level Five worker—a dark-haired woman—walking in the opposite direction. It was a rare sight on her floor.

‘Hello.’ The word came out croaky, not like her voice at all.

The woman glanced at her, nodded once but offered no reply. At first, a nervous Laura didn’t notice Daphne Gilchrist, the ESC’s CEO, emerge like a ghost from the wall and walk towards her.

‘Shit...’

Gilchrist wore a grey trouser suit, her stocky frame cleverly hidden by the feminine folds of the fabric. Her cobalt-blue eyes, framed by red hair, contained little emotion. Her faint smile was detectable only by the small crease on one side of her genetically altered face. She was in her late eighties, but looked no older than sixty-five.

She waved a scanner over Laura’s hand. ‘Laura O’Halloran.’ Gilchrist’s voice boomed loudly.

‘Yes?’

‘Why were you addressing a Level Five worker?’

‘I was saying hello.’

‘You know the rules. You are not cleared to talk to the higher levels.’ Gilchrist’s eyes were boring into her like the junkie’s eyes had done in the replication terminal; only her look was more subtle, and far more dangerous. She tapped her index finger on the top of the scanner in that way she always did when something was bothering her.

‘It was a mistake. I apologise.’

‘Consider this your only warning,’ said Gilchrist. ‘Get back to work.’ She turned back the way she had come and disappeared through the glass wall. Laura wondered if there was a hidden door with a room where the CEO observed all.

She carried on to Corridor Ten and pressed her chip on the security plate for the door at the end of the hall. Her full name, photo and title flashed up on the screen, along with the length of time she’d been absent.

She walked into the room and up the centre aisle. On either side, dozens of white workstations sat in neat rows: one hundred and twenty in total. Each row was divided into sections of six.

Janine, a co-worker, was the first to notice her. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Just had a run-in with Gilchrist.’

‘Over what?’ Her eyes widened.

The other workers had stopped what they were doing and were watching Laura closely. She reached her chair and grabbed the arm-rest just as her legs buckled.

‘I was caught talking to a Level Fiver.’

‘Shit! And she pulled you up on that?’ said Chris, another co-worker.

‘Came out of nowhere.’

‘Yeah, she does that. There are secret doors everywhere in this place.’

‘And some guy was abusive to me in the terminal.’

‘You can’t seem to catch a break today, can ya?’ Janine’s tone turned cocky.

‘Do you even have a sympathetic bone in your body?’ Chris said to Janine.

Her face reddened. ‘I’m just saying, I’m glad it wasn’t me. Laura can take it. She’s impenetrable. I’m a lot softer.’

Chris rolled his eyes.

Laura ignored Janine, the drama queen. She might have been emotionally stronger, but she was far from impenetrable.

She activated her workstation and the screen whirred into life. Thousands of documents awaited her, all from the inhabitants of Earth. Before the end of the day, there would be another one hundred thousand added to the list. Encrypted information sent electronically to the Security Centre contained thousands of layers of code that were stripped out before reaching Level Four. The workers had to sort the information before re-encrypting it and sending it for long-term storage in the supercomputer on Level Nine. Any classified material was to be redirected to Level Five.

While the supercomputer could handle the workload, the ESC considered document-sorting to be a lesson in character-building; it weeded out the workers who weren’t cut out for life there. There were thousands of workers on the outside waiting to take their place; people who had scored high on the aptitude test and were biding their time until a vacancy arose. Loyalty held no value when there were more people on Earth than available jobs. Laura had kept her job so far by not complaining.

She wished she’d asked the junkie what his name was, so she could see how much he owed and to whom he owed it. People who screamed publicly about family debts were usually careless with money, over-indulging in gambling, drug or tech addiction, unnecessary organ purchases or genetic manipulation treatments that were not covered by the World Government longevity programme. There were plenty of genuine debt cases, too, but she wondered if his mother’s debts had been caused by her son’s habit.

‘Are you still mad at me?’ Janine said to Laura.

She had already forgotten about it. ‘No, Janine, I’m not mad at you.’ She spoke as a parent might placate a child.

Janine refused to let it go. ‘Look, it’s not my fault you got into trouble at the terminal. What did you say to them, anyway, to go off on you?’

‘I never need to say anything to them. The sight of me is enough to set them off.’

‘I always wear my overcoat. I sweat like hell when I’m inside, but at least they can’t see my uniform. You should have done what I do.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ Laura gritted her teeth. She wanted to tell Janine to mind her own business but she needed a calm working environment.

‘Have you heard they’re running a lottery in Darlinghurst?’ said Chris.

‘Not Haymarket?’ Laura said. Her stomach dropped. Laura lived in a former shoe factory in the middle of the Haymarket district.

‘Not yet,’ said Chris. ‘Don’t know what made them pick Darlinghurst. Point Piper and Rose Bay, too.’ The transfer programme had switched to a lottery-based selection process because of the low number of volunteers who had made the initial move. Laura hadn’t been old enough to apply for the programme back then. ‘My mate says they’re going to focus on Perth after this.’

‘What? That’s it? Just three areas?’ Laura stood up and leaned on the table. ‘Did they say when they were coming back to Sydney?’

Chris held his hands up. ‘Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, alright? Look, you know how these things go—how often they change their mind? Right now, Australia is one of the countries they’re focusing on. You never know what might happen.’

Laura sat back down, defeated. She resumed her review of the documents in front of her with a heavy heart. Earth was no place—no way—to live. In a place where free thinking was discouraged and technology ruled, it was getting harder to enjoy life.

She had been enthusiastic in the beginning, when she had started her role at the Centre three years ago. She had seen it as an honour to work at the second most prestigious organisation on Earth, behind the World Government. Three years on and she’d seen many people come and go. Promotional opportunities were few and far between and she was tired of being just another forgettable statistic. She’d wondered, during her darkest days, if she should stay at ESC. But it was her—and her mother’s—best chance to relocate to Exilon 5. She had to stick it out.

New documents pooled on the screen in front of her. One of them listed names for non-payment of taxes. The first was a Mrs Annette Billings of Toronto, Canada. Seventy-six years old; she had failed to pay her outstanding tax following receipt of a new heart. It was her first violation. She had complained that she was waiting on eye replacements and had not seen the reminders. A note sat beside her name: Has received goods. First Warning Issued. She had paid her arrears within the extra time allotted.

There were seven hundred other entries on the list, all with similar stories. The seventeenth name was highlighted in red: Mr Robert Fennell, originally from Wales but now residing in Tokyo. Fifty-eight years old. Failure to pay apartment taxes. Issued with second warning. No further failures will be tolerated. According to the file, he had promptly paid the outstanding balances, including arrears.

There was no hope for her if she remained a Level Four employee, permanently under the radar. She had to do something to make ESC notice her. It wasn’t just a dream to move to Exilon 5. It was a clawing, incessant tick in her mind; a painful, desperate longing.

She was sick and Exilon 5 was the cure.

6

Early on Saturday morning, Galen Thompson rushed around his tiny apartment in Richmond, Virginia, as he got himself ready for work. He navigated around the furniture that was jammed tightly into the three hundred-square-foot box he called home on Earth. All he needed were his shoes, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember where he’d left them.

His communication device shrilled in his ear as soon as he moved into the bedroom. Galen activated the earpiece and spoke into the microphone that protruded like a thin wire from the side of his face.

‘Hello?’

‘Galen. It’s me.’

‘I’m a little busy now, Dad. Can this wait until later?’

‘Are you alone?’

‘I’m at home and I don’t really have time to talk. Shit!’ Galen bent down to rub the pain out of his big toe.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing. I just kicked the bed, that’s all.’ He got down on all fours and searched under the bed for his shoes. They weren’t there. He got up and checked the living room again. His father was silent. ‘Dad, I’m in the middle of something. What do you need?’

‘Are you on your way to work?’

‘Yes, and I’ll be late if I don’t find my damn shoes. The train’s leaving in ten minutes.’ The silence stretched between questions. Galen knew what was on his father’s mind.

‘If you don’t say it now, I’m hanging up.’

‘Your mother and I were talking...’

He could guess the rest: conspiracies, double agents, secrets, lies. It was present and accounted for in all of their conversations.

‘I know what you’re going to ask and no, I haven’t found any evidence of suspicious activity.’

‘Tell me, how well do you know your overseer?’

Galen worked as an Air and Space controller out of the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta (HJA) docking station. A former airport, it was the largest in the world at the beginning of the twenty-first century. The defunct airports had become the ideal locations to convert into docking stations. Seventy-five in total had been built on Earth.

‘Stuart?’ Galen laughed. ‘Well enough to know he’s not mixed up in anything like you’re suggesting.’

‘Okay, maybe not him, but the others.’

He felt around for his shoes under the sofa. His hand touched one, then the other. He pulled them out. ‘Well, I don’t know all of them. Only the ones on my shift.’ He graduated from Air and Space Control Academy at thirty-one and, for the last two years, he had been a trainee at the HJA docking station.

‘Who do you know?’

‘Maria, Paddy. Why?’ Galen pulled his shoes on, still not remembering having taken them off twenty-four hours earlier. The last thing he could recall was heading straight for the bedroom to sleep for a solid eighteen hours. He didn’t even remember undressing, but he had been naked on awaking that morning.

‘Your mother says the ESC is showing an interest in your docking station, that’s why. She seems to think it might be connected to a higher-level matter. ESC is storing secret files in another part of the building. She doesn’t have access to them. And she has no clue which of your colleagues is drawing their attention.’

His mother worked on Level Five in the ESC.

‘Looking at them for what, exactly?’

His father sighed. ‘I don’t know. Tampering with records, she says. Something to do with the transfer programme. It’s still early days, but we can’t ignore any leads. We’ve been waiting too long to expose the ESC and World Government for what they are.’

Galen considered Paddy, his eighty-three-year-old Irish colleague. While his bark was worse than his bite, he couldn’t imagine him being involved in anything illegal. Then there was Maria, his Argentinian co-worker whose positivity and gentle nature were not obvious traits of a double agent. After years of ignorant bliss, his father’s paranoia was finally rubbing off on him.

Time was getting on. ‘Dad, I have to go.’

‘Fine, I’ll call you later.’ His father clicked off.

Galen glanced in the hall mirror and grabbed a comb from the hall table drawer. He ran the metal teeth through his unruly black hair. He should have got up earlier, given himself time to get ready. He pushed his hair back from his thin face and out of his closely set green eyes. He touched his hooked nose and, not for the first time, considered altering it at one of the genetic manipulation clinics. But his mother would never forgive the changing of a genetic trait passed down from her side of the family. His older brother had inherited the perfect Thompson genes: sandy hair, blue eyes and a perfectly oval face. Galen had been a quiet skinny teenager, the polar opposite to his sibling’s extroverted and popular persona. By the time Galen had reached his twenties, he had grown out of his awkward phase. Although he had gained bulk in his body, he still hadn’t developed the height or popularity of his handsome older brother.

With a quick stroke of his hand, Galen smoothed the creases out of his taupe uniform. He ran into the kitchen and grabbed a bagel from the replication machine. He took a bite out of the tasteless dough and looked around his loaned apartment. His home, his replicated food machine and the uniform he wore all belonged to the World Government. Very few people owned property unless they were the filthy-rich proprietors of subsidiary organisations.

He was grateful to be one of the lucky ones in finding a good place to live. A decent-sized apartment was difficult to come by, let alone one you didn’t have to share, but not when you worked for Air and Space Industries: a World Government subsidiary. Outside, hundreds of similar buildings lined the streets, all tall and narrow with dark, minimalistic, Japanese-style designs. The buildings stood unified like soldiers, while their foundations tunnelled deep into the Earth.

There were many rules to renting but some were stranger than most.

Only one visitor at any given time.

Children are not permitted to live in this block. Families were mostly restricted to one of the “child friendly” neighbourhoods. Galen and his brother had grown up in one of those in Boston, a place that packed families in so tightly, accidents and murders were common. It was usually over the little things, too, like hanging washing ten centimetres over the boundary line of a neighbour’s tiny yard.

You are not permitted to personalise the apartment’s interior. His father had thumbed his nose at this, and said the first rule was the government’s way of restricting movement and keeping an eye on the possible “free thinkers” in society.

Galen finished off his bagel. His father’s call still nagged at him. While he had grown up overhearing his parents’ theories on the World Government’s supposed plans, he’d been mostly kept away from the discussions. It had all begun when his grandfather had died in suspicious circumstances at a World Government-owned facility five years ago.

‘Workplace accident,’ said his dad, reading the top line of his own father’s death certificate. ‘Can you believe it? My father was one of the most conscientious employees at that shipbuilding company. Hell, he even designed the damn machine they say killed him. I just can’t believe it.’

The mystery surrounding his grandfather’s death still haunted Galen’s parents, but it had grown into a bigger conspiracy and cover-up involving the World Government and ESC. The interest in Galen’s docking station was the ESC’s latest obsession.

An alarm sounding in the distance broke Galen out of his thoughts. Still tired, he pulled open his apartment door. It might be another week before he’d see the inside of his apartment again. He popped an Actigen into his mouth; it would allow him to skip sleep for a few days. His body shuddered as the pill coated each fibre in an adrenaline-laced liquid. Employees at the docking station were encouraged to take the drug, even though there were legal limits on how long they could keep workers from adequate rest and recovery. The rules were often bent when Actigen was used.

He found a seat on-board the Maglev train, which was capable of speeds up to nearly eight hundred miles per hour. The journey between Richmond and HJA would take an hour.

His mother’s concerns over the ESC troubled him. She worked in a high level of the ESC and was privy to information others weren’t. There usually wasn’t any smoke without fire. Why was ESC so interested in the HJA docking station?

The train whined as the carriages levitated above the tracks. Galen saw nothing inside the dark tunnel except for the advertisements that ran the length of its walls. At first glance, the ads appeared to be static, but on closer inspection, they moved at the same speed as the train, which gave the illusion it was the carriage that was motionless.

He thought more about his co-workers, not convinced that any of them were involved in anything illegal. But ESC rarely showed so much interest in something—or someone—if there wasn’t more to the story.

Ten minutes before the train arrived at its destination, his earpiece vibrated. He answered it.

‘Galen. Is that you?’

‘Who else?’

‘Are you on a secure line?’

‘I’m on the train.’

‘Give me your identity code.’

Galen held his left thumb over the communication device and waited for the inbuilt scanner to check his ID. He heard a tiny beep.

‘Satisfied?’

Galen heard a soft click on the line. His father had secured it from his end.

‘Never. I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now.’ His dad, an engineer, had applied to work at the same company his father had been employed by since his suspicious death. To say his dad was paranoid was an understatement.

‘Your mother and I need you to find out what memos the ESC has sent to the docking station. It should tell us who they’re looking at. Pay attention to your colleagues, in particular your overseer. He must know something. Report back as soon as you can.’

‘I don’t understand. Is this to do with the stuff with granddad?’

‘No. We think it’s connected to something else, something higher level. We’ve waited a long time for the ESC to trip up, to show us their true hand. They’re hiding something. The memos are a start.’

‘Can you tell me what I’m supposed to be looking for?’

‘We don’t know. The memos were sent over an encrypted channel. All we know is they were sent to your docking station. Often it’s in the guise of a letter, a warning. We want to know what’s got them rattled, that’s all. And please, be careful.’

Memos were sent to HJA all the time. Without knowing what to look for, what could Galen really do to help?

‘And how’s Paul helping in all of this?’

‘Your brother’s still in Cambodia doing important work.’

‘I’ll do what I can, but I’m not promising anything.’

Galen arrived at the Air and Space Traffic Control Observation Deck (ASCOD) with five minutes to spare before his shift started. He stepped inside the oblong room and checked for signs of Stuart McWilliams, his overseer. Several domed sections made of high-density glass formed the roofline. The three-sixty view of the area above them would have been a pleasant sight if the sun still shone bright. But in current conditions, all they saw was endless images of a broken city, smothered by low-lying black and grey clouds.

The wall panels containing computer visualisation screens each displayed different images: space debris, planets in the solar system, and the area immediately above Earth. The only sound was the almost-imperceptible beeps as fingers glided over the monitors at the workstations in the centre of the room. Reports were whisked away to a central computer housed in a secure area of the HJA docking station. Maria and Paddy, two of his colleagues, stood in front of the visualisation screens, traversing the entire galaxy with a flick of their wrists.

Twenty people could work at full capacity, but just Maria, Paddy and a communication operative were on duty today. Galen wondered if his contact with other controllers had been an accident or by design. It was no secret that his mother worked at the ESC.

His mother’s influence at the ESC had fast-tracked his chances of securing a job at the HJA. Improved healthcare and genetic treatments leading to longer life expectancy meant it was harder to hold on to the better jobs. There were plenty of dead-end jobs available, but not for those like him with a high IQ.

Galen stepped further into the room just as his overseer emerged from his tiny office. While Stuart busied himself with Maria and Paddy, he walked over to the workstation area and ran his fingers along the white desks. Paddy relocated to a workstation to log the final report of his shift, not noticing Galen walking around the area to see if any of the monitors were live. It was a long shot but maybe Stuart had used one and left a memo open. Then he could finally quit his second job of acting as his parents’ eyes and ears.

Galen cursed his mother. Why had he allowed her to use her influence at the ESC to get him work? Now it seemed as if he owed her favours. He noticed one of the screens was active and was about to read the document on screen when Stuart yelled at him.

‘Galen, you bloody eejit, what are you doing?’

Galen’s face reddened and he backed away from the screen. ‘Nothing, Stuart. Just waiting for Paddy to finish, that’s all.’

‘Well, stop hovering. You’re making me nervous.’ Stuart shoved one hand into his pocket. The other twitched as if independent from his body.

Paddy looked up. ‘I’ve been waitin’ for ya, Galen. Come on!’

Paddy had always been honest about his preference for a quiet life; it paid less and controllers got fewer perks than overseers, but he said he never suffered with anxiety and regularly slept like a baby. Stuart once described Paddy’s personality as rough around the edges and difficult to control. The two men often came to loggerheads.

‘Are you finished logging your report?’ Stuart interrupted Paddy. ‘Because don’t swap over unless you are.’

‘Yes, boss,’ said Paddy. As soon as Stuart turned his back, Paddy gave him the finger.

Strangely, Galen found both Paddy and Stuart easy enough to work with. He admired his overseer’s affinity for hard work and his sharp-tongued honesty. His parents talked in so much code these days that he preferred knowing where he stood with people. Stuart reminded him a lot of his old man: hardworking but without the volatile temper. Stuart was never afraid to make the hard calls. It was a job Galen hoped to do one day.

‘C’mon, boy,’ said Paddy. ‘I’m gettin’ weak with the hunger over here. Move your backside.’

‘I’m coming. Relax.’

‘Don’t bloody tell me to relax. I’m not the one who’s just had a nice twenty-four-hour rest at home. I’m dead on me feet. Come closer. I need to show ya somethin’.’ He continued to log his report as he spoke.

Stuart had disappeared out of sight; probably to get a coffee.

‘You look like you’re huntin’ for trouble today, lad.’

‘No trouble,’ said Galen. ‘I’m just tired, that’s all.’

Paddy barked a laugh. Galen wondered if Paddy’s grouchy exterior hid anything more sinister. He thought about the ESC memos again. He couldn’t quite see it, but maybe the old man was good at hiding his secrets.

Paddy flicked the monitor over to the duty changeover screen. Two thumb placeholders appeared. Galen placed his right thumb on one side and Paddy pressed his on the other. The system scanned their security chips. As Paddy stood up, his expression turned more serious. He spoke quietly.

‘Okay, there have been a few anomalies around a couple of the planets. Could be just space debris. There are also a few crafts arriving today. If you run into any difficulties, Maria will look after you.’ His elbow connected with Galen’s. He yelped as bone hitting bone sent a shockwave of pain coursing through him.

Maria turned away from the viewing screen. ‘Don’t worry, Galen. It’s all good. Nothing we can’t handle.’ She flashed a quick grin at him.

Galen rubbed the pain out of his arm.

‘What’s up wit’ you today? You goin’ soft on me?’ Paddy narrowed his eyes. ‘Got somethin’ to hide?’

‘No.’ Galen dropped his gaze to the floor.

‘Hmm, well in that case, we’re done here.’ Paddy picked up his DPad and stuck his private communication device into his ear. He pulled on his coat and flipped the hood up. ‘See you in twenty-four hours. Don’t screw anything up while I’m gone, newbie.’ He slapped Galen hard on the back and Galen staggered forwards.

Stuart returned with a cup of coffee. ‘Galen, I need you over here, now.’ He took a sip of the liquid and made a face. ‘I bloody hate this stuff.’

Paddy hummed a tune and skipped out of the door, probably giddy with the promise of sleep.

He repositioned himself beside Maria in front of one of the high-resolution viewing screens and sighed.

‘He doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s just his way of having fun,’ said Maria. She wore her jet-black hair in a long plait, which hung down her back like a frayed rope. Her olive-coloured Argentinian skin offset the mandatory beige uniform.

‘I’m sick of being treated like a newbie around here. I’ve been here two bloody years!’

‘Something else bothering you?’ said Maria.

Galen looked away. ‘Just forget I said anything. I’m having a bad day, that’s all.’

‘He’s fond of you, you know. Thinks of you as the son he never had.’

That image coaxed a smile out of Galen.

He turned his full attention to the screens in front of him.

The satellites orbiting the planets could beam a clear view of the solar system on the visualisation screens. Three top-of-the-range satellites orbited the Earth, which gave them even sharper images of space immediately above its atmosphere. Galen checked the outlying areas of space where the passenger ships could potentially run into debris. Maria closely monitored his work. He couldn’t wait until the training phase of his job was over. Maria was fastidious in her attention to detail and she wasn’t afraid to tell him when he’d made a mistake. But in contrast to Paddy and Stuart, she was remarkably easy-going.

Maria was an attractive sixty-three-year-old and not short of admirers. The Glamour treatment offered at the genetic manipulation clinics had sliced twenty years off her appearance, but her deep-brown eyes revealed her true age. Galen watched her. At times she hated the attention she received from men, probably because of her sexual preferences. Paddy had told him her attraction to women was not decided at birth, but triggered by an event in her life; what that had been, he wouldn’t say. She always tried to dress in a way that didn’t accentuate her looks, but there was little she could do about her genetically determined Argentinian curves.

Maria caught his gaze and lifted a brow at him. He flushed and gave his full attention to the screen. Behind him, McWilliams’ impatience was building. His tongue clicked non-stop.

‘Earlier, Paddy recorded debris collecting in Section Fifteen,’ said Maria. ‘I’m going to need you to carry out a sweep of that area, near the rings of Saturn. We’ve been getting some strange readings from there all day.’

‘First line of defence, right?’ said Galen, smirking.

‘Yeah, like hell we are,’ said Stuart. He held his head in his hands. ‘Jesus, where did this headache come from? I can just tell it’s going to be one of those days.’ He stormed off.

There was a private joke among docking station workers that the controllers were the first line of defence for Earth if an attack ever happened. But Earth Security Centre’s collaboration with the World Government meant that the planet’s protection would never be left in the hands of a trainee and a Level Three Air and Space controller.

Galen moved to a free section of the wall and began his search, using his body to control the images that sprang into life. One panel displayed real-time images of the Earth’s atmosphere; another was a zoomed-out image of the remaining solar system ready to be navigated. He circled both hands in an anti-clockwise motion to activate the zoom. The screen responded instantly and the visual increased by one thousand per cent. He traversed the solar system using his hands, slowing down and zooming in when he reached Saturn. He pulled his palms towards him, drawing the image in closer. He tapped twice into the air and closed in on the area of interest. As he flew through the rings of Saturn, he modified his search trajectory until he reached the correct section. He immersed himself in the image and pretended he was in space. Flying was all he’d ever wanted to do, ever since he was a child with a toy plane.

In Section Fifteen, Paddy’s logs showed up as a bright beacon of red. Galen struggled to see anything out of the ordinary.

‘What am I looking at? What did Paddy see exactly? Maybe the debris passed by, or could it be a faulty sensor on the satellite at Saturn?’

Stuart had returned and nodded. ‘Possibly a fault.’ He spoke to the communications operative. ‘Get the maintenance robots out there to check on the satellites.’

Galen conducted a full sweep of the system while they carried out their checks. He zoomed out until it filled just half of the visualisation screen. To the right of the great expanse, high-resolution images of Earth were contained in a single panel. As he worked he made a mental note to check the monitor in Stuart’s office on his next break for any ESC memos.

He concentrated on the slipstream paths, the same route the passenger ships would navigate when returning to Earth. With one due to arrive the following day, he needed to be precise in his checks.

‘Visual of recorded debris at coordinates 15.67, east of Saturn,’ Maria confirmed.

‘Yes, I see it now. How did I miss that?’ He zoomed into the coordinates Maria had given him. ‘I can confirm it’s a meteor fragment.’

‘That’s what I’m seeing here.’

‘I have visual of more debris at coordinates 105.47, north of Venus,’ said Galen.

‘Similar meteor confirmation, but doesn’t appear to be an immediate threat in its current position.’

‘Nice work, you two,’ said Stuart. He put down his cup.

The next two hours passed in a similar way. While they confirmed a number of meteor sightings, no unauthorised ships had wandered unintentionally into the solar system. With their high-tech equipment, they could spot any ships before they approached the hidden side of Jupiter.

At the end of each hour, Galen used one of the workstations to log his hourly reports. As he sat in front of the monitor, he wondered whether he could remotely link into Stuart’s office; all he needed was the name of someone they were interested in. He dismissed the idea; red flags would be all over Stuart’s monitor the next time he checked it.

Stuart emerged from his office with a DPad in his hand. ‘Okay, you two. We’ve got a cargo craft landing in the next hour. I need your best concentration. I have a perfect safety record and I plan to keep it that way.’

‘Yes, sir,’ they both said.

Galen moved to the wall panels again, and this time concentrated on unseen problems; not flight paths and weather patterns that the computer could handle, but issues that the modern machines kicked up because of the way they moved. Vertical velocity could be a bitch at times. The HJA docking station had held a clean sheet for nearly twenty years; the last recorded death was the result of a piloting error.

For fifty-four minutes, Galen and Maria monitored essential weather and atmospheric patterns until there was little else to do except wait for the pilot to make contact. With one minute to go before descent, she came within range of the station and connected with the communication operative.

‘Captain Jenny Waterson. Craft 766-C seeking permission to land.’

The communication operative ran her voice through a recognition programme. ‘I have confirmed your identity. Please hold.’

Stuart turned to Galen, who was still running a series of last-minute checks. ‘What’s your status?’

‘Just a few more seconds,’ said Galen as he dashed from one sector to the next.

Ten seconds passed and the pilot’s voice rang out again. ‘Craft 766-C seeking permission to land. Can you confirm status?’

‘Galen, hurry up. What’s the word?’ Stuart’s voice crackled. Angry red blotches appeared on his neck, caused by a sudden rise in blood pressure.

‘Just one more second. I’m almost there.’

Stuart moved to stand directly behind Galen. ‘One more second. Always one more. Come on, lad. Hurry up. I need an answer from you now.’ He called Maria’s name to get her attention.

She shrugged. ‘He’s got a system. I trust it.’

‘You two have me on death’s door. For Christ’s sake, Galen, the captain hasn’t got all day.’

Galen ignored his overseer’s warnings and continued his scan of the hundred-mile area above the Earth’s surface. He held his nerve as Stuart’s attention became close to unbearable. Finally, he gave him the all clear.

Stuart let out a breath. ‘About bloody time. My heart isn’t able for this shit any more. Remind me to have a wee chat to you later about improving your response time.’

‘Craft 766-C, you are clear to land,’ communications advised the pilot. ‘Dock Twelve is available. Set down on the port side of the hold.’

‘Roger that.’

Communications disabled the outer perimeter shield, sitting one hundred and fifty miles above Earth and enveloping the planet like a security blanket. Once the descent began, it would take only minutes for the craft to reach the landing plate. They would need to shut off the inner perimeter shield that encompassed the docking station and landing plates in a protective bubble.

Galen paced back and forth, staring at the problem he’d been too distracted to find: an idle wind pattern at vertical eighty miles, picking up speed ahead of the craft’s arrival.

7

Captain Jenny Waterson radioed in from the space above the Earth’s outer-perimeter force field, seeking permission to land. It felt like too long before she received the okay to go ahead.

‘Craft 766-C you are clear to land. Dock Twelve is available. Set down on the port side of the hold.’

‘Roger that.’ Jenny ordered the on-board computer to establish outgoing radio silence. She kept the incoming audio link with HJA active in case they ordered her to divert. The computer beeped once.

‘Damn it, they cut that fine,’ she said, once the outgoing link had been severed. She ran a hand through her tightly cut platinum-blonde hair. Her blue eyes shifted as she readied for the next step of the descent.

She engaged the autopilot and tried to loosen up her rigid posture. Her pulse was wild as it always was before a descent. Two things could go wrong: she could mess up the timing to get the beginning of the descent right, and she could miss her slot which would screw up her schedule. Calypso Couriers—a subsidiary company of the World Government—wouldn’t easily forgive her lateness. She’d already had a couple of warnings about it. Any further infringements could mean the early termination of her employment contract.

At seventy-five, Jenny was one of the more experienced pilots on their books. Her perfect flight record made her costly to keep and her employers had been looking for any excuse to get rid of her. With younger, less expensive pilots itching to spread their wings, it was only a matter of time. But she wasn’t about to be erased from anyone’s books and was determined to give them no reason to fire her.

Jenny knew the hold-up was because of Galen Thompson. She bristled with annoyance that Stuart had put his most inexperienced employee on the roster during her shift. But she had known Stuart a long time. She had to trust him. He encouraged controllers to develop their instincts naturally, but that method of training brought with it a measure of unpredictability. She just didn’t need the uncertainty during her descent, a process that had already begun.

A male voice spoke through the communications system. ‘Strong winds at vertical eighty miles. Be on alert. Looks like a hurricane is building.’

She reactivated the outgoing link and confirmed receipt before resuming radio silence once more; she would need every ounce of her concentration until she arrived safely at the magnetic landing plate at the docking station. Tweaking the craft’s movements during descent was risky because of the heat build-up caused by a fast drop into the atmosphere. She dried her palms on her military-green uniform, the anxiety triggered by the fear of the unknown that accompanied each free fall.

She remained in orbit over the landing coordinates at the docking station, just above the Earth’s atmosphere. The thrusters engaged sporadically, realigning the craft as it tried to pull in a different direction. It began its descent, dropping into the non-existent atmosphere and through the deactivated force field. The thrusters blasted again to maintain the correct position. She monitored the increase in atmospheric density through her screen as the computer relayed progress through the audio channel.

‘Density at ninety per cent, ninety-five, ninety-eight...’

She braced herself for the imminent drop.

‘One hundred per cent density achieved.’

There was a sudden jolt and a push downwards as the thrusters forced the craft into a computer-guided free fall. Thrusters disengaged and acceleration increased as the craft dropped towards the surface. After one minute, the craft had reached one hundred and eighty miles above the docking station: the edge of the storm.

Winds twisted violently around the craft, trying to knock it off course. The computer realigned its position but there was no let-up in the conditions. Jenny’s eyes never left the screen as the craft lurched left, then right. She poised her slender hands over the controls. She only had to touch them to transfer the power back to manual. But it was safer out of her hands.

The craft continued to rock from side to side, creaking and moaning as the computer adjusted for the motion.

Then it hit the inner circle of the storm. A mass of blackened clouds swirled one way, then another, taking repeated shots at the craft.

She fought the temptation to grab the controls and pilot the craft herself. Sweat soaked her back. The craft’s tilt variance remained on the edge of the danger zone for three whole minutes.

‘Come on Jenny, keep it together.’ She fought against her inner panic. ‘You’ve done this a hundred times.’ No matter what she did, she couldn’t stop thinking about all the things that could go wrong. Ever since Calypso Couriers had told her a month ago that her job was on the line, she’d spent sleepless nights worrying about it. Now she second-guessed every action she made, actions that under normal circumstances would have been instinctive.

The craft rocked and rolled. Jenny kept her hands hooked in a claw-like poise over the controls. She steadied her erratic breathing. It worked, for about two seconds before the panic leached inside again. She prayed for the first time in the twenty years since she had started work as a pilot. She didn’t know if anyone was up there or even listening to her.

But then something changed; the weather became calmer. A smile flashed across her face. Her breathing slowed. When the craft finally dropped below the black mass and into the grey, lifeless atmosphere that hung over the cities, she thanked whatever invisible being had intervened. She relaxed her hands easily enough but struggled to loosen up her body. The descent continued and the craft dropped to within fifty miles of the docking station, where no wind existed except for that created by her own spacecraft.

When the tension broke in her body her stomach began to heave. She clutched at it, feeling the full effects of the rocking motion and the vertical drop. Her stomach twisted and lurched in protest. She hadn’t eaten anything for the last six hours; that had probably been a good thing. Other pilots had told her that wind topped the list of the worst things to meet. In the training room, Jenny had been shoved vertically, horizontally and exposed to the greatest G-force in cockpit simulations. She still wasn’t used to it.

When the craft’s motion finally settled, so too did her stomach. The descent continued smoothly while the speed intensified. A minute later and the craft was directly over the landing plate at Dock Twelve.

Once in range, magnetic levitation kicked in. The landing plate was magnetised with a positive field while the blocks on the underside of the craft took on a similar charge. A sharp ripple affected the entire craft as the magnets tried to repel one another. It pushed upwards and the force field surrounding the craft absorbed some of the sharpness.

With only twenty feet to go, polarisation switched to the lowest levels and the craft glided gently into place, levitating just metres above the landing plate. Jenny regained control and engaged the thrusters. She switched off the magnetic field and guided 766-C smoothly into the hangar bay, setting it down on the port side. She disengaged the thrusters and force field, then stood and took a moment to peel her sweat-soaked uniform away from her back and legs.

At the exit, she scanned her security chip on the touch pad.

‘Thank you for flying with Dresden Spacecrafts. We hope your journey was satisfactory,’ said the automated voice. The exit door was released.

‘Pleasure was all mine,’ she said as she stumbled over the threshold.

A thin docking station attendant in his early thirties emerged from his office, DPad in hand, and walked towards her. She checked the time and cursed.

She was late.

As the man approached, she groaned as she recognised him as the same docking attendant who had failed to find her name on the incoming flight charter the day before.

‘Hello there! Sorry to keep you waiting. I had important business to attend to.’ He offered his hand. ‘Welcome to the HJA docking station. Is this your first time?’

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Her eyes snapped open and she released it.

‘Bumpy trip. It always takes a while for me to come back down to earth, so to speak.’

What she needed was a stiff drink and a different attendant.

The pasty-faced attendant rolled his eyes and muttered something about pilots not having the stomach for it. He motioned her closer and ran his fingers through his hair. She wondered how much the World Government would care if useless people like him disappeared from the world.

‘Place your thumb here,’ he ordered as he flipped the DPad around to face her. The computer scanned her chip and the words “Captain Jennifer Waterson, Grade 4 Pilot” flashed up on the screen. Her photo appeared beside her name.

The attendant’s eyes lingered on it for a moment before looking at Jenny. ‘The photo doesn’t match,’ he said.

‘I believe we already had this discussion.’ She pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘I recently cut my hair and changed the colour.’ She pointed to her cropped, platinum-blonde hair. The photo on file showed her with a brown, shoulder-length style. Her face was younger than her age. Training kept her body lean and she was physically strong.

‘I see. Ms Waterson. I should warn you, you’ve missed your scheduled drop by ten minutes. Can you verify your cargo on board, please?’

‘That’s Captain Waterson if you don’t mind. I’m returning from Saturn with xenon compound.’

Earth’s atmosphere contained minute amounts of stable noble gases—helium, neon, argon, krypton and xenon—as well as traces of the radioactive noble gas radon. In 2087 the World Government discovered that xenon existed abundantly in compound form within Saturn’s recently uncovered supply of water. Xenon compound was primarily used as a propellant for spacecrafts but was also used in laser technology.

‘Ah, yes, I have you here now,’ he said, wirelessly scanning the on-board content through his DPad. ‘Well, I guess there’s just the time infraction to record.’ He hit the screen with his finger.

‘About that. There was a bad storm on the way down. I’d appreciate it if you could let it slide this time? Won’t happen again.’

The attendant looked up. ‘And why would I do that?’

‘Because you’re in charge and you look like a reasonable man.’

The attendant frowned. ‘I guess I can overlook it this one time.’ He flicked something on the screen.

The ground staff looked on as they waited for the instruction to unload the cargo. The attendant finally gave them the thumbs up to proceed. When his back was turned, a few gave him the finger. Jenny almost choked on a laugh.

The attendant frowned. ‘Something funny?’

She straightened her mouth. ‘Still a little giddy after the flight, I guess.’

He clucked his tongue like an intolerant old man. ‘How soon will you be flying again?’

‘In an hour. I’m delivering cargo to the ESC in Sydney.’

‘Right you are, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I guess you’ll be back with us again in no time at all. How about we try to make it here on time? I won’t ignore a second infraction.’ He turned and walked away.

Jenny hated being referred to as “ma’am”. It was an outdated term and represented women of a certain age; she was only seventy-five. ‘Moron,’ she said, once the attendant was out of earshot.

That was too close. Next time she might not be so lucky and avoid an infringement. She stomped out of the hangar, ready to give Stuart and that little protégé of his a piece of her mind.

8

It was 6am on Saturday when Bill Taggart willed his weary body out of bed after another sleepless night. His first attempt to open his eyes failed and he curled up deeper in the covers. Eventually, he flung his legs over the side of the bed. He gave his ITF-owned apartment the usual onceover before shuffling to the bathroom.

He splashed icy cold water on his face; the drastic temperature change shocked his sluggish system back into life. He felt instantly more awake, even though he didn’t look it. He noticed how drawn and thin his face had become from a couple of years of sleep deprivation and a manic diet. He sported an impressive pair of black circles under his eyes. There were genetic treatments to correct the damage, including some that delayed the ageing process, like the Glamour package that sliced twenty years off a person’s appearance. All were widely available to the public. But Bill preferred to see his real face every morning, not a modified version of himself. It was what Isla had preferred, too. In his own way, he was honouring her memory by staying true to his original self.

‘There are far too many people walking around with the same face,’ she said to him when Bill told her he was considering using one of the manipulation clinics. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer to look unique?’ Isla was five years older than him, and a little wiser.

‘It wouldn’t be much,’ he said. ‘Just a little skin lift to rejuvenate my face.’

Isla made a face. ‘It always starts there and then people find they can’t stop fiddling with their genetics. A little skin lift turns into a telomere injection. Before you know it, you’ve turned back time so much you’re a teenager again.’

Geneticists had figured out how to isolate the gene that controlled the body’s natural ageing process. While the telomeres within the body’s chromosomes naturally shortened, they had found they could lengthen them by injecting a growth hormone into the telomere. This halted the ageing process and dramatically reversed the outward signs of those advancing years.

‘I would never go that far. Okay, maybe if I was fifty,’ said Bill, teasing. ‘Then I could snag a younger woman.’ In truth, he preferred older women.

‘Try to look past the exterior, Bill,’ said Isla. ‘So many people still judge others by how they look. Complexities exist beneath the surface.’ Her words brought to mind the World Government’s CEO, Charles Deighton, and he had to agree with her.

In the six months before her disappearance, Isla’s personality had changed drastically. After one of her trips to Exilon 5, she had become suspicious about everything and lost that carefree attitude. When Bill had tried to talk to her about it, she became defensive.

‘You’re all the same. Why can’t you leave well enough alone? Why are you always trying to mess around in things that don’t concern you?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that aimed at me specifically?’

‘Not specifically. Well, yes. Maybe.’ Isla sighed.

‘Love, what are you talking about?’

‘Just leave it, Bill. I can’t talk about it.’ She turned away from him but spun around to grab hold of the lapels on his jacket and look him dead in the eye. ‘Don’t jump to obvious conclusions. Do you understand me? It’s an easy out. Never stop searching for the truth.’

The passion in her voice had caught his attention. The pain in her eyes confirmed what she’d been feeling. It had not been one of her common lectures, but a warning that he hadn’t seen coming.

He stood at the mirror a little longer than usual as he remembered that conversation and the many others that followed after that night.

‘Have you ever heard of Morse code?’ Isla asked him one evening over dinner in their private Earth apartment in Nottingham.

Bill shook his head and grabbed a replicated chicken leg from a bowl in the centre of the table. He took a bite. ‘Can’t say that I have.’ Juices ran down his hand. He licked his thumb and forefinger.

‘Dad uses it. He once told me that he can listen in on any conversation in the world.’ Her father had worked for the communications section of the World Government. While he’d insisted he didn’t listen to every conversation, he had known of others who were less moralistic about it.

That piqued his interest. ‘How?’

‘Through the equipment that we use every single day. It acts as a relay, bounces the sound around and comes through as an echo on the line. It’s clear enough to make out conversations.’

‘Shit.’ He dropped the chicken leg on his plate. The thought of another person spying on him had him feeling agitated. ‘Is he listening in now?’

Isla smiled at him. ‘No. He gave me a sound interrupter. We can’t hear it, but it disrupts the sound enough so that it plays back as gobbledygook.’

Bill relaxed a little and wiped his greasy hands on a napkin.

‘Not everyone listens in, but he says that there are some who would. Dad was sure the World Government was taking notes. Before he went on his last mission, he gave me the sound interrupter and told me to leave it on permanently. It’s the reason he uses Morse code to communicate.’

‘Morse code? How does that work?’

‘It’s a series of beeps or clicks, each linked to a letter, word or phrase. You can talk to another person this way. He has tried to use it in public but he says it draws too much attention.’

He had a vision of Isla’s father in one of the food replication terminals, banging on his food tray while another patron did the same. He grinned at the image.

‘I know, I know. It’s impractical,’ she said, almost reading his thoughts. ‘But there has to be a better way to communicate without being seen to communicate.’

She shared something she had read recently, gesturing more than normal. ‘I’ve been reading up on it and one story stuck with me. Back when Ireland was ruled by the English, Irish was still the primary language of the country up to the eighteenth century. But the nineteenth century saw Irish decline as a first language in favour of English. Why? Two things: because of the Great Famine and because the English prohibited its teaching in schools. Many Irish leaders also saw Irish as being too backward and pushed for the more progressive English language. They were right to in the end, but Irish people felt that their heritage was being stripped away by English rule, so they continued to teach the language to their children. When the struggle for independence began in the late nineteenth century, the soldiers communicated back and forth in Irish because the English couldn’t understand them. A secret language.’

‘I like that, Isla. The idea of others listening in any time they want has rattled my cage. You’re suggesting that we develop our own language?’

‘Why not? Doesn’t have to be a spoken language. I haven’t really thought about it beyond that, but I will.’

Isla had once told Bill that the chats with her father ignited a passion to search for a solution to that problem of how to converse safely in public. He expected her to bring it up again but when she didn’t, he assumed she had given up on the idea altogether. His brow creased at the memories, in particular the conversation about the secret language. What did she mean by it? He had to let it go; deciphering a riddle without all the parts would drive him insane.

He ran a hand over his two-day-old stubble. ‘Grooming will have to wait, Isla,’ he said, recalling how she always hated the way the start of a beard scratched her face. He’d always made a special effort to be clean-shaven for her.

He dressed and went to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee. He filled his mug to the brim and rooted through the almost-bare cupboards for something to eat. He settled on a box of replicated cereal flakes and munched on dry handfuls of the stuff. As he ate and drank, he stifled a yawn. The lack of sleep would only get him so far. His body and mind were pushing him towards a deep coma-like sleep. But he would continue to work this way until it claimed him. Sleep was for the dead. And he needed answers.

Bill reviewed the files from the week before, noting the Indigene’s plans to meet with the boy that morning between 6:45 and 7am at Belgrave Square Gardens. He and his team had watched the interaction between the boy and alien at the bus stop. Bill relocated to the café directly across from them while his team maintained a discreet distance.

When he first saw the Indigene, he prepared to feel nothing but pure hatred for the race that had taken Isla away from him. It was how he’d felt when he first saw footage of the young alien captured a year earlier. Something told him they were involved. The alien had been wild and animal-like in its behaviour; expected traits from a seemingly uncontrollable and thoughtless race. But this Indigene was different: it moved and talked like a human. It was a long-held belief that the entire race was wild. Now it seemed as if the opposite was true: that they were more intelligent than humans had considered them to be.

It both fascinated and disgusted him how easily the Indigene won the trust of the boy. Both parties had conversed quite freely, so language had to be one of the Indigene’s inherent skills. Using a pair of magnification glasses, Bill watched the Indigene closely from his seat in the café. Its posture was wrong, almost forced. A pained expression flashed across its face. Then it smiled. Why? Such a human act.

His team on the ground had reported the alien’s last sighting to be at one of the underground station entrances. When they lost track of its movements, Bill had followed the boy to Belgrave Square Gardens, where he stopped to look at a wooden bench before moving on to the swing area.

Although they could still capture the alien, the boy could be their best shot at getting the information they needed. The boy seemed rattled when Bill approached him on the swings. Bill’s attempts at a genuine smile did little to relieve the tension. The boy jumped off the swings and stood with this arms fisted against his side.

‘I’m Bill Taggart,’ he said. ‘I work for the World Government on Earth.’ The boy seemed nervous. ‘You aren’t in any trouble. Please don’t be scared.’

‘Do you know my mother?’

‘No, I don’t. What’s your name?’

‘Why, what’s it to you?’

‘You know mine. I want to know yours.’

The boy relaxed. ‘Ben.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Eight.’

‘Can you tell me about the man you were speaking to at the bus stop earlier?’

‘Why do you want to know?’ Ben tensed up again.

‘He’s not in any trouble. I only want to ask him a few questions.’

A sudden breeze rushed through the trees above their heads and lifted leaves from their branches. The leaves danced and swirled around Ben’s head. Why had Ben so eagerly accepted friendship from a complete stranger—and a potential killer? He needed a new angle.

‘If you’d prefer, we can always ask your mother about your new friend.’

Ben fell to his knees before clambering to his feet. ‘No! Don’t tell my mum. She doesn’t know I’m out here. Please! Don’t say anything to her!’

‘It’s okay,’ said Bill. ‘I won’t if you just tell me what I need to know.’

Ben moved closer and the secrets spilled. He told Bill the stranger’s name, recalling his own observations about Stephen’s odd appearance. Bill’s skin prickled at the Indigene’s use of a human name. The information had been a mixed bag and through the eyes of an eight-year-old boy, the Indigene might not have seemed so out of place. If anything of significance was shared between them, Ben may have been too young to understand it. He’d at least managed to get the time and place of their next meeting.

Bill reached into his bag and pulled out the special gift he’d brought with him. He handed the teddy bear fitted with an audio-visual recording device to Ben. Ben eagerly accepted the gift.

‘Don’t forget to bring it along to show your new friend next week,’ urged Bill.

Bill hoped his chat with Ben Watson would pay off. He ran a hand through his hair as he waited for the morning’s meeting to begin. He thought of the Indigene and its attempts to look more human. Was that why Isla had disappeared? Because one of them had tried to befriend her? The thought made him sick to his stomach.

His cold coffee tasted vile as he sucked it up. Even though he was only after the caffeine, it was getting more difficult to swallow with each mouthful. He refilled his cup without emptying out the old coffee. It turned the steaming black liquid into a lukewarm fusion. The taste only marginally improved but at least he could drink it.

He checked the time again; it was now six fifteen. While he waited, Bill activated his DPad and scrolled through countless news articles and official reports generated by the World Government and Earth Security Centre. Some were about the initial move to Exilon 5.

The reports reminded him of when Isla had changed careers about two and a half years ago. Bored in her teaching role, she’d expressed an interest in helping the newest residents of Exilon 5 to settle in.

‘I feel useless stuck in this classroom while the population is going through these changes. I need to do something constructive. I need to satisfy my altruistic side.’

Bill laughed. ‘Well, you’re not being entirely altruistic if you’re satisfying your own needs.’

She punched him playfully and had counteracted with one of her cleverly disarming arguments.

Isla had turned her attention to training and became a Task Force soldier, working for their military outfit. At the time, the Indigenes weren’t a threat to humans and ground patrol duties had been light.

It was around the same time—three months before her disappearance—that Isla had made another drastic change in her life.

‘What have you done?’ he said.

‘What? It’s my hair. I’ll do what I like with it.’

‘But, it’s all gone!’ Isla had been wearing her military uniform and steel-toe boots. Her hair had been cut so short that it altered the very angles of her face.

‘You never liked it anyway,’ she said coldly. ‘It doesn’t seem important to hold on to such frivolous things when there are bigger problems in the world.’

‘I never wanted you to do this to yourself.’

‘Like I said, Bill, it’s not important.’

The World Government had not been able to say whether Isla was dead—there was no body—only confirming to Bill that it had happened when she’d confronted one of the Indigenes near the city border of New Copenhagen. But he had an issue with the World Government version of events. He knew his wife better than they did and he couldn’t imagine her confronting an Indigene. More likely, she had tried to reach out to it. Even though her personality had changed during her stint on Exilon 5, her core beliefs remained the same.

He opened one of the official World Government reports about the initial move to Exilon 5 and forced himself to read it.

Grey skies, frigid temperatures and a vanishing sun; clear signs that Earth was changing. The first layer of atmosphere formed like a skin that strangled the sun’s attempts to reach the surface below. The sudden change in air temperature made the air feel ice cold, like a giant refrigeration unit. After passing on four unsuitable exoplanets, Exilon 5 had become the last hope. The terraforming process, along with the liquid chemicals that seeped into the soil, made it possible for plants and trees to grow more effectively.

While stationed on Exilon 5, the ITF’s role had initially been to help new transferees to adjust to their new home. But the alarm of living on Exilon 5—an alien world—had been too much for some people and their behaviour became increasingly erratic. The World Government ordered them to be separated from the rest of the population. They wanted the new planet to be a utopian society where humans lived harmoniously and no longer traded life for technology.

Bill read the report.

“We intend to reintroduce technology until it complements the human lives that use virtual systems as a replacement for thinking. Exilon 5 will give the people new opportunities to re-learn the basics of thinking, feeling or just being, as well as accessing several forms of technology in a safe and productive way.”

The land beyond the city boundaries, known as no man’s land, was undeveloped. The ITF military patrolled the areas day and night, armed with Buzz Guns and Impulse Tasers. Transport arterial routes swept outwards, connecting the cities. Black markets dominated the undeveloped land either side of the roads that connected to the cities. In the black of night, criminals operated freely, taking advantage of the shortage of technology on the planet and making a living out of swindling the desperate and vulnerable. No matter how many times the ITF smashed the operating rings, fresh businesses would always emerge unscathed in alternative places. It was on such a night that the animal sound was heard. The noise had originated inside the border limits, where animals were strictly forbidden.

Bill opened a video file, which was an interview with one of the ITF officers. He had been the first to arrive on the scene. He alone had seen the bright shining eyes of the animal that had wandered inside the city limits. Calling for back-up, he approached the animal alone. For the interviewer’s benefit, the officer held his hand up like a gun as he looked around the room. Acting it out seemed to help settle his nerves.

‘Eyes fixed on me, then looked away.’ His eyes flitted from the interviewer to a spot on the wall. ‘I heard the animal. It sounded like it was injured. But when I got closer, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.’

The interviewer leaned back in his chair. ‘What was it?’

The officer laughed. ‘Two boys, crouching over what I think was a wolf. The smell of blood turned my stomach. There was so much of it.’

The interviewer leaned forward. ‘So you’re saying they killed the animal. You were right to report this illegality. The biodome animals are protected.’

The officer shook his head and whispered. ‘No, you’ve got it all wrong. They were eating it.’ He drank from a cup of water. ‘I thought the attacker had been an animal of some sort because of its body contortion, its reflective eyes, its primal interest in the wolf. I was unable to retrieve my Buzz Gun without attracting attention to myself. While I waited for back-up to arrive, I took a step in its direction. I was trying to corner it, you know, to make the catch a little easier? But that’s when I saw something that chilled me.’ He swallowed hard.

The interviewer leaned in closer. ‘Saw what, exactly?’

‘It looked at me and smiled. Smiled, for God’s sake! I mean what kind of animal was it? What creature of God’s making looks and acts like a wild animal, then takes time out of its killing spree to flash its pearly whites at me?’

The interviewer sat back in his chair.

The officer continued with his story. ‘I felt a rush of cool air pass right by my face. We caught one of the bastards. The second one managed to escape.’

‘That’s a good thing.’

‘Have you even seen this thing?’ The officer closed his eyes. ‘I have never seen anything like it in my whole life.’

Bill closed the video file and opened another, labelled Initial Examination of Species 31. It was recorded by Dr Frank Jameson, a bio-physician who had carried out the first assessment of the captured young Indigene male. According to his file, Dr Jameson worked for a World Government subsidiary on Earth called Bio Technologies. Bio Tech specialised in genetic manipulation therapy and disease control.

The doctor used a roving camera to record events through subject motion-tracking. While the laboratory’s interior was sparse, the set-up was far from basic; the New London-based laboratory was using the most up-to-date equipment. Bill noted the most recent request for high-spec equipment had been approved by the World Government CEO, Charles Deighton.

Dr Jameson looked into the camera and groomed his hair and neatly trimmed beard. Two colleagues entered the room. He towered over them. All three wore white boiler-suits over their civilian clothes. He flipped up the hood and pulled the drawstrings closed. It puckered around his face.

There was palpable excitement among the tight-knit group as Dr Jameson introduced Doctors White and Henshall. The room they were in measured about fifty by forty feet. To the left was a small workstation where one of two assistants sat at a research monitor. A stainless-steel shelf ran almost the full length of the back wall. A large sink sat in the middle and took up almost a quarter of its length. To the right was a tray with various cutting tools, including a laser scalpel. Off to the side was an airtight flexible membrane containment unit with an examination table inside.

Dr Jameson motioned towards it. ‘We control the unit’s gaseous composition through our workstations. We can pass through safely without breaking the seal or compromising the atmospheric configuration inside. The membrane has tiny memory particles that scan our security chips to allow entry and exit from the unit. Mostly used for infection cases and detainees, today we will be using the containment unit for both.’

A short while later, one of the assistants wheeled in the young male Indigene and gently placed its small body on the examination table. Dr Jameson entered the containment unit first with the two doctors behind him. The roving camera hovered above.

Dr Jameson spoke. ‘Species 31 will remain sedated until a time when we are ready to wake it. We haven’t altered the gaseous composition inside the membrane, as it seems the alien is quite capable of breathing our air without any difficulties. We can only conclude at this early stage that it requires the same gaseous composition as humans to survive. We will be bringing the alien round shortly, but we don’t know if it has the capability to understand us, or whether it speaks any language at all. How useful the information will be from Species 31 is anyone’s guess.’

Bill examined the 3D body scan of the Indigene that accompanied the video. Physically, it looked like a human and its size was comparable to that of a twelve-year-old boy.

As the roving camera trained in on the young Indigene, a flicker of movement caught Bill’s eye. It wasn’t until the Indigene’s breathing pattern changed—from long even breaths to short sporadic bursts—that the doctors also noticed.

Jameson turned to Dr White. The camera mirrored his movement. ‘How much sedative did you give him?’ White threw out some numbers. Jameson nodded, creasing his brow. He spoke into the camera, but kept his eyes on the alien. ‘What we have given to Species 31 is a dose designed for a human, but we can’t be sure if it’s too much or too little.’ Jameson turned to Henshall. ‘I think we should wake it.’

The female doctor nodded and prepared a syringe filled with liquid. The roving camera focused in on her and she explained. ‘This solution will counteract the administered sedative.’

White monitored the young Indigene’s heartbeat, which registered at thirty five beats per minute. It continued to breathe in uneven, short breaths.

Dr Henshall tied a piece of rubber around the upper part of the Indigene’s arm and pulled it tight. She slapped the arm in several places.

‘I can’t find a vein.’

‘Just use the same one as before,’ said Jameson.

She examined the arm and pulled in an extra source of light to help. ‘There’s no evidence of the original entry point.’

‘Then you’re going to have to guess.’ Jameson tapped his finger in the crease of his elbow. ‘Insert it here.’

Henshall applied too much force and the titanium needle broke twice. On the third attempt, she broke through the skin. It only took a minute for the young Indigene to stir from its drug-induced sleep. It blinked its eyes open, but squeezed them shut just as quickly, straining against the harsh lights.

‘Dim the lights by two-thirds. Now!’ Jameson paced back and forth.

The laboratory plunged into near-darkness and took on a more sinister look. The young Indigene tried to open its eyes again and this time seemed more comfortable with the level of light. Its glazed eyes looked around, confused by what it was seeing.

‘The alien’s eyes seem to be photosensitive. See the lack of pigment here?’ The lead doctor stopped pacing. The roving camera nose-dived for a better look.

The Indigene, trapped beneath leg, body and arm restraints, began to panic, twisting its arms until one broke free from its wrist clamp. White, Jameson and the assistant rushed to restrain the alien while Henshall struggled to strap down the rogue arm.

Jameson yanked the hood off his head and pushed his hair out of his eyes. ‘We are attempting to place further restraints on Species 31. It seems to have broken... Shit, this thing is strong! I need help over here!’ He trailed off and protected his face as the Indigene’s free arm flailed about.

A low guttural snarl escaped from the alien. The twisting and thrashing gave way to violent convulsions directly beneath the doctors’ grip. They let go and backed away from the table. Jameson shot a look at Henshall.

She shook her head and stared at the Indigene. ‘That wasn’t me.’

‘White, help me hold it down.’ Jameson attempted to restrain it once more. ‘Give it the anti-convulsion drug, quickly.’

Henshall picked up another liquid-filled syringe and quickly pushed it into the alien’s arm. The needle bent again, but the skin yielded to her urgency.

They only let go when the convulsions stopped. All four stood back from the table, watching and waiting.

Jameson was silent. His mouth fell open but he had no words to explain what had just happened.

Bill opened a new recording. The same three doctors came into view, more composed than before.

The young Indigene lay motionless on the table. The surrounding area was like something out of a horror story: bedsheets and bandages littered the floor, cutting instruments that were previously placed neatly on the tray were now haphazardly tossed around.

Jameson clicked his fingers at the assistants, and noticed the camera was still recording. They quickly removed the debris from the floor. Surprisingly, there was a lack of blood and no tell-tale incisions on the Indigene.

Jameson cleared his throat and pushed his hair out of his eyes. ‘At first we thought the epidermis was translucent in colour, but on closer inspection it was actually opaque and not as delicate as we first expected. In fact, it’s several times more durable than human skin. The laser scalpel had trouble penetrating the outer layer. Skin pigmentation is not visible. I’m not even sure there are melanocytes present in the toughened layer. Species 31 is capable of regeneration. We cut it several times but it healed in less than a minute, even in posthumous conditions.’ He touched the Indigene’s face. ‘The eyes lack pigmentation, which probably explains its photosensitivity. It can see better in the dark than we can.’

Bill had read about a case in the early twenty-first century: children in East Asia and South America were recorded as having the ability to see in the dark. Their eyes resembled round glowing dots in low light, much like a nocturnal animal. At the time, doctors had attributed the mystery to leukoderma, a rare condition which strips pigmentation or melanin production in random areas of the skin, leaving white patches. But where it affected the eyes, it would cause blindness. The medical world turned its attention towards hemeralopia—or the inability to see clearly in bright light—to explain the increase of these nocturnal-children cases. The story lost momentum when nothing beyond hemeralopia could explain it.

Bill tuned back in to Dr Jameson.

‘There’s no sign of hair papillae anywhere on Species 31’s body. We also found low levels of red blood cells in its body, other than trace remnants in the digestive system.’ He sighed. ‘Human blood accounts for seven per cent of bodily fluids. In Species 31, it accounts for less than one per cent. When we sliced the skin open, a clear fluid secreted out. It’s what gives the alien its translucent appearance.’

Dr White picked up three items and showed them to the camera. ‘We discovered these, in the alien’s nasal cavities and in the back of its throat. We think it’s an air filtration device. It would explain the scarring we found on its lungs. Species 31 didn’t die because of anything we did. It died because of too much oxygen to the brain.’

Bill turned off the video and leaned hard into the chair. He tried to dislodge the disturbing image of the panicky young Indigene from his mind.

He checked the time. There were twenty minutes to go before the meeting at seven. He closed all files and opened the communications channel on the DPad to try to pick up the wireless signal from the teddy bear. He located the unique signature code, although the sound was muffled and images were grainy at best. The bear was probably still inside the boy’s backpack.

Centring the entire investigation on Ben Watson was a bold step. Normally he wouldn’t think to place an eight-year-old in danger, but he needed answers: where their hideout was, why they’d suddenly come out of hiding. The boy must make it to his scheduled meeting.

Bill picked up a tiny earpiece and slotted it into his ear canal. He thought about the Indigene called Stephen and wondered why it had chosen to give itself a human name. Was it the easiest way to blend in?

With a fresh cup of coffee, he scooted his chair over to the window and watched Belgrave Square Gardens. Was it luck that the ITF had chosen to rent this very apartment? Still, even with the magnification glasses, he couldn’t see the bench where the two were due to meet, which was hidden behind a clump of leafy trees.

It had been his choice to stay in his apartment and send his team out on the ground. He didn’t trust being so close to the Indigene. If there was an opportunity to apprehend it, he would tell his team to make their move. For now, the recording device inside the bear would act as his eyes and ears. Surely the Indigene would not suspect an innocent toy?

He checked in with his team, who remained on standby in the gardens, near to where the meeting would occur. With moments to go, the images changed from grainy to clear. He hit the record button on his DPad and leaned forward, staring at the screen.

9

Ben Watson had worked hard over the week to come up with an escape plan for the following Saturday. He prayed his mother would be so tired she’d sleep late again.

He planned his escape one evening with his avatar’s help. When the avatar voiced his concern about him going to meet a stranger alone, he lied and said that he had known Stephen for ages.

That morning, he rose early and crept towards his mother’s room. He held his breath as he cracked the door open just a notch. The sounds that drifted towards him put him at ease; little could rouse her when she slept that hard. But if she did wake, his avatar, Thomas, would tell her the story exactly as they had agreed it. With the child-safety features disabled, Thomas was able to lie. He carefully placed the stuffed bear in his fully stocked backpack.

Ben arrived at Belgrave Square Gardens with minutes to spare. He skipped towards the bench; this time, not caring if he was being followed. He sat down, pulled out the bear and placed it beside him.

Stephen watched Ben from behind a cluster of large replicated trees. The boy was always alone, and a feeling of empathy consumed him; a long way from the fear and loathing he’d felt the week before. He tried to shake it off and even evoked images of his dead parents to serve as a reminder of the Surface Creatures’ true nature. He thought of Pierre and Elise, the more open-minded elders of District Three. Pierre had told him not to be so quick to judge; advice from a friend of the Indigenes. Who that was, he wouldn’t say.

On the spot, Stephen shifted his body from side to side until it became just another shadowy blur. He was aware of the military figures that lingered close to their meeting spot, as they had done the week before; he had been able to pick them up by their individual scents. He wondered why they were sitting back, allowing this meeting to happen. Were they driven by something more than a wish to capture or kill him? Were they curious to know what would be shared?

Stephen could already feel the sun’s heat beginning to build. His protective eye lenses and air filtration device would only last so long. He would need to limit his time on the surface.

While he waited for the park to empty a little, he recalled the time the Surface Creatures had attacked their planet thirty years ago. The tunnels, colder than the surface, had protected his race from the blasts’ severity, but living underground was only supposed to be a temporary measure until the worst of the airborne chemicals had dissipated.

As an Evolver, he had been fascinated by the heavy door made from the impervious omega rock, which stood between the air-controlled environment and the tunnels leading to the surface. But his childlike strength wasn’t enough to budge it. He couldn’t leave District Three without someone older and stronger.

The explosions had tainted the surface air but there were soon whisperings that the air was once again breathable. Stephen had watched the first of the exploratory groups approach the omega door, dressed in outfits the females had made, ready to take their first steps up top since the air had been chemically damaged. One by one, they had returned, their faces sullen. In the midst of the Indigenes’ efforts to reclaim the surface as their own, Stephen had pieced together details about the conditions outside through their conversations.

‘Nothing remains,’ said one.

‘Everything is covered in a thick, lingering dust,’ said another.

Their cities, their homes—the places where they once socially gathered, discussed, meditated—no longer existed. The atmosphere, polluted with harsh chemicals, still aggressively burned their throats. When the explorers returned to the district, they suffered coughs which lasted for days. A few struggled with life underground while most adapted, creating large cavernous rooms off the existing tunnels. Those who possessed a heightened spatial awareness had sped up the excavation by analysing the rock’s composition and finding its weak spots.

The years passed and Stephen kept his own notes about the conditions of the surface as seen through others’ eyes. If the scientists’ and his own calculations were correct, then the last of the chemicals should have been gradually absorbed by the land. Excitement and expectation coursed through the residents of District Three, but an unexpected change in Exilon 5’s atmosphere had set everything back.

The new atmosphere contained high levels of oxygen and some nitrogen. The high oxygen levels made the air too corrosive for them to breathe. The elders had ordered the districts’ entrance points to be hermetically sealed and the areas beyond were redesigned to give them everything they needed. With their main food source gone, they had to create a synthetic protein compound that eliminated the need to hunt above ground. While the compound didn’t satisfy their hunger in the same way, it had been vital in helping to keep them alive.

Good memories about resurfacing had stayed with the Indigenes. Stephen longed for the days with grey and obtrusive skies and tiny glints of sunlight, and little or no wind to shift the cloud line.

The sun’s strength, greatly diminished by the cloud mass, had kept the air temperature at a constant five degrees centigrade; the Indigenes were more suited to living in cooler conditions. Advanced visionary capabilities allowed them to see in the dark and into light, to break it apart into its seven strands of colour. Living on the surface was like being inside a giant prism.

Stephen hadn’t quite understood the obsession of some to return to the surface, particularly after the news about the new atmosphere was released. It frightened him to learn that his parents had joined an independent group that would surface to discover the changes for themselves.

In the oxygen-rich atmosphere on the surface, the independents soon struggled for breath. Elise, an elder, stayed with Stephen while he watched his parents on a monitor inside one of the district’s rooms. When he saw his parents suffering, he bolted for the omega door.

Elise caught him before he could reach it and pulled him back inside the room.

‘Pierre, do something,’ she pleaded with her husband. ‘They’re in pain. I can feel all of them.’

‘He shouldn’t be watching this,’ he said.

‘He wants to see.’ Several times, Elise tried turning Stephen’s head away from the monitor, but each time he fought her.

‘They shouldn’t have done this,’ said Pierre.

Even then, Stephen had known he wasn’t referring to the independent group but to the Surface Creatures who had carried out the explosions.

‘Tell the others to get out there, now!’ said Pierre.

It was the first and the last time Stephen ever saw Pierre angry.

Strange patterns had soon begun to appear in the weather. Yellow and orange hues streamed through light shafts in the district. They sealed them immediately when the tunnels began to heat up. Soon after, the Surface Creatures arrived.

Stephen caught himself as he noticed that Ben had arrived. He watched as the boy sat down, removed something from his bag and placed it beside him.

Stephen darted to the bench and sat to Ben’s right. The area was secluded and there were few Surface Creatures about. Those who passed by didn’t pay them much attention.

The black-haired, wiry-framed boy jumped when he noticed Stephen sitting beside him. He threw a hand over his stomach, bending over at the middle. ‘Holy cow! You scared me! Where did you come from?’

‘Just over there.’ Stephen pointed to their right.

The boy followed his finger until his eyes rested on the cluster of trees. ‘Well, don’t scare me like that again. I’m not supposed to be here. If my mum finds out—’

‘I forgot you don’t move at the same speed. That was a natural pace for me.’

Ben narrowed his gaze. ‘How fast can you move?’

‘Five, six times as fast as you.’

‘Cool.’

Stephen pointed to the object sitting between them. ‘What’s that?’

Ben’s face broke into a toothy grin. ‘It’s a teddy bear, silly! You can’t get them anymore, but this one was a present. His name is Snuffles, because his nose looks funny. Kinda upturned. Do you like him?’ He held the bear up as high as possible, so Stephen could get a better view.

‘Present from whom?’

‘My Dad.’

Stephen looked into the reflective black eyes of the toy, but made no move to take it from Ben. He brushed his hand lightly across the furry exterior. It felt soft.

Ben sat the bear on his lap, angling it so it was looking at Stephen. ‘How long have you been here for? Were you waiting for me by the trees?’

‘No, I arrived moments before you did,’ Stephen lied.

‘This is really early,’ said Ben. ‘Why are we meeting in these gardens instead of at the bus stop? Why did you want to meet at seven in the morning? I know why I’m out this early. It’s so my mum doesn’t find out where I’ve been. She doesn’t know anything about my adventures. If she did, she’d lock me in my room.’

Stephen made no attempt to loosen his rigid seated posture. He stared blankly in front of him while he used his peripheral vision to scan his surroundings. Ben rambled on about nothing in particular. When it seemed like he wasn’t going to take a breath anytime soon, Stephen moved into a more comfortable position.

Ben paused and looked up at Stephen, waiting for him to speak.

‘I have chosen this time because there are fewer of you about. As you can see, I’m quite different to you. Besides, this seems to be the hour you are most comfortable with. We met at the same time last week, if you remember.’

Ben laughed. ‘Oh, yeah. I forgot.’

Ben glanced at Stephen’s outfit: the same long, brown trench coat and matching hat he was wearing last week. He wondered if his avatar was right to be concerned. What if Stephen was dangerous?

It was time to grow up, to ask proper questions. Ben stared into the strange eyes of his new friend.

‘Why’s the skin on your face a different colour to your arm?’ He had asked this before but couldn’t remember how Stephen had answered.

‘I’m wearing a special covering to protect my skin from the sun, and to avoid unnecessary questions about my appearance.’

‘Why? What’s wrong with it?’

‘Nothing, as far as I’m concerned. My skin is perfectly normal to me.’

‘But it’s not even ten degrees yet! It’s not very warm. Why do you need to protect your skin?’

‘It reacts differently to yours if exposed to the elements. I prefer a cooler climate and little or no sun.’

Ben’s eyes flickered from Stephen’s covered face and neck to his patchy arm where the artificial skin had lost its pigmentation. ‘Your skin is funny-looking. It looks see-through there but it’s normal on your face.’

Stephen nodded, crossing his legs and folding one hand on top of the other. ‘It only appears that way. It’s actually opaque.’

‘If you ate something, would I be able to see it go into your stomach?’

Stephen shook his head.

‘Well, what’s the point then? That would be much cooler if you could.’

‘It’s normal to have this type of skin where I am from. Yours, however, is strange. You explained to me last week the reason for its earthy colour. I’m curious today about its solidity. I wonder if it’s also waterproof like mine.’

Ben shrugged. ‘I don’t know what that means.’ He squeezed the bear’s soft stomach repeatedly with his tiny fingers, feeling something hard move inside it as he did. He tried to pick up key words like ‘earthy’, ‘solidity’, ‘waterproof’ and putting them together in a sentence that made sense, but he couldn’t.

Stephen reached into a waste-bin at his end of the bench. He fished out a half-empty bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap with one hand and extended the other to Ben.

‘May I?’

Ben shrugged again and held out his arm.

Against every natural instinct, Stephen grabbed hold of the child’s wrist and straightened out his arm. It felt warm to the touch and the ends of his fingers tingled. He poured the cool liquid from the bottle over the arm. It rolled off effortlessly and beaded in areas where the surface flattened out.

‘That’s interesting,’ he said, releasing Ben’s wrist. He had never physically touched one of them before. He tried to calm his breathing while his fingers continued to itch. He grabbed hold of them to stem the feeling.

‘What is?’

‘It’s nothing, really.’ He rubbed the sensation away. ‘We may look different on the surface, but there are similarities in the way our bodies work, at least in terms of the epidermis layer.’

The look on Ben’s face caused Stephen to explain. ‘I mean that the outer layer of our skin essentially does the same thing.’

‘So?’

‘We think we know so much about you. I realise now we don’t know as much as we first thought.’

Ben stifled a yawn. ‘Do you live in a house?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Well where do you live, then?’

‘Near the Maglev train station.’

‘Really?’ He screwed up his face. ‘I wouldn’t like to live so far underground. It’s all dark and cold. Why don’t you just live up here with everyone else?’

‘Because we can’t survive above ground for long. It’s also doubtful we would be accepted here.’

‘Which station do you live at? Is it Charing Cross or Waterloo? Because I’ve been to both and I guess I could visit you there sometimes.’ He shrugged.

‘I don’t live in the station itself, but I can see how you might think that.’

An all-female group entered the park and performed a quick succession of warm-up exercises against a nearby tree. As they broke away to run, the oldest female scrutinised Stephen and Ben. Stephen tugged on his hat, pulling it further over his eyes. The female let out a gasp when his partly covered arm fell into her view. She looked ahead and increased her pace, attempting to catch up with the group. He watched them and readied himself to leave if they doubled back. He waited until the last of them was out of sight.

A movement under his left elbow broke his concentration. Ben was shuffling and opening his backpack. He pulled out a sandwich wrapped in plastic, placed it on his lap and ripped away the wrapping. While Stephen was curious about their food choices, the boy’s sandwich emitted a smell that he didn’t like.

Ben picked up one half and took a bite. He chewed hungrily.

Stephen couldn’t stop staring at his food.

‘Want some?’ Ben held out the part he had slobbered over.

‘What’s in it?’

‘Bread, butter and strawberry jam. I replicated it myself.’ He held it just under Stephen’s nose.

‘Please, take it away,’ said Stephen, holding a hand over his mouth as he gagged.

Ben shrugged. ‘You don’t like jam?’ He took another bite.

‘I can’t eat that.’ Stephen suppressed another gag.

‘My mum says I can’t drink milk because I’m allergic. Is it the same as that?’

‘My diet is different. My stomach cannot process a lot of the foods that you easily consume.’ A breeze caught the food smell and swept it away. His stomach settled.

‘What do you eat, then?’ Ben licked off a blob of jam that had dropped on his thumb.

Stephen decided it was better to avert his eyes. He sat rigidly and stared at a nearby sculpture of a female holding a child. ‘We survive mostly on the blood, and sometimes meat, of animals. We need large amounts of iron in our diets.’

Ben’s eyes became unusually wide and he loosened his grip on the sandwich. ‘Are you a vampire?’ he whispered. ‘They drink human blood, though, not animals. I don’t want you to eat me, please! My mum would kill me if I got myself killed!’

Stephen was vaguely familiar with the stories from the Surface Creatures’ literature. ‘No, I am not a vampire.’ He struggled to suppress a laugh; the images of sharp fangs amused him. ‘We eat animals the same way your species did during early civilisation periods. We just don’t require heat to alter the meat’s composition, as your stomachs prefer. And we don’t hunt with tools. We use our physical strength to overpower the animal.’

‘Oh.’ Ben took another bite of his sandwich. ‘My mum buys meat pies sometimes and I like them. There’s animal in those. I could bring you one if you’d like. Then you wouldn’t have to kill any.’

‘That won’t be necessary.’ Stephen smiled a little. It faded as he remembered why he was there: he was looking for answers.

Ben finished his sandwich and sucked loudly on the straw of his juice box. He squashed his back into the contours of the bench and pulled his legs up so that his feet were perched on the edge. He wrapped his free arm around both legs to keep them in place.

‘Why do you eat iron? Is it like the stuff you get in a scrap yard? I wouldn’t think that tastes nice.’

‘My body does not produce many red blood cells because I don’t live in an oxygen-rich atmosphere. We require less oxygen to breathe and because of our bodies’ low levels of haemoglobin, we are naturally deficient in iron. Our stomachs absorb the iron directly from the blood. It gives us strength.’

The boy was comfortable in Stephen’s presence. Soon it would be his turn to talk.

‘We survive on a different composition of gases than your species. That’s why it’s difficult for us to stay up here. Where we live, we can control the air we breathe.’ He paused to allow Ben time to digest the information.

‘If you can’t survive here, then how are you breathing the air?’

Stephen considered the boy’s intelligence. Even though he wasn’t capable of understanding everything, he had linked many of his questions. ‘We have created a small device that helps us to breathe on the surface. Naturally, to all appearances. However, I can’t stay here too long.’

Stephen realised that he’d broken many rules, including his plan to keep an emotional distance from the boy. He had already shared a dangerous amount of information and guessed that the military had heard everything. But he had to take risks; it would be impossible to arrange a third meeting. From this moment on, the Surface Creatures would begin to set traps for the Indigenes, possibly tagging the food source to uncover the location of their districts. The day’s meeting had to count.

He turned the tables and questioned Ben about the Surface Creatures’ physiology, the types of foods and drinks they enjoyed. He moved to forms of entertainment: what they liked to do, where they liked to go. A terrifying pattern started to emerge: Stephen would never accept that the Indigenes and Surface Creatures had anything in common.

But he still had one question left. It was the reason he’d risked his life to come to the surface.

Who were they?

He was prepared that the response might not give him or the Central Council the answers they wanted.

‘I would like to return to our discussion last week when I asked what you call yourselves. Do you remember what you said?’

‘I told you, I’m English. Did you forget?’

Stephen shook his head. ‘No. Perhaps I need to be clearer with my question. What does your species refer to itself as? We only know you as Surface Creatures.’

Stephen was conscious of his fast-approaching deadline. Suddenly, the child smiled. ‘Oh, you mean human?’

‘Ah, human,’ said Stephen, nodding. ‘Thank you.’

Beneath his icy exterior, Stephen’s heart raced at over seventy beats per minute. Every part of him strained against the temptation to flee.

Human. He had not expected that response.

He could feel the military’s murderous eyes on him again. They would be tracking him as they had done the week before. They’d already seen what he was capable of. This time, he was sure the military would be ready.

Humans.

Stephen struggled to reign in his feelings as he stood up and sped past the military’s location. His feet pummelled the earth.

There was only one thing he was sure of: the Indigenes needed a plan and they needed it now.

10

Fifteen minutes before its exit from Belgrave Square Gardens, Bill could tell that the Indigene wanted to leave. Their undercover operation was not as covert as he would have liked, since two of his reporting officers, Caldwell and Page, had already blown their cover. Page had announced she would pretend to join the all-female running group, while Caldwell had moved out of position to “get a better look”. He hadn’t given them any order to approach the target.

The ITF military out on the field had been a top topic with Isla. Their bullish behaviour was in contrast to her approach: always assess a potentially dangerous situation with a cool head and a clear mind. Bill had worried about those who would try to take advantage of her softer nature.

‘It’s my teaching background,’ she said when Bill had asked her how she put up with their behaviour.

‘They’re loose cannons. I don’t want you getting caught up in their mess and ending up dead,’ said Bill.

‘That’s never going to happen, Bill. I’m smarter than they are. I see where the problems are long before they’ve decided to go it alone.’

He shook his head. ‘Like raging bulls, that lot. Bloody bastards.’

‘I know, but beneath the bravado, they wouldn’t dare risk anyone else’s life. Punishment for that is death.’

‘And that’s supposed to make me feel better about everything? What about the time that detainee attacked you because one of the officers got cocky and shoved him in your direction?’

‘The officer didn’t know I was there. It was an accident.’

‘It always is.’

‘Look, Bill, stop treating me like a fool. I know what I’m doing.’

His wife had always been strong-willed, but she was physically at a disadvantage in comparison to her beefed-up colleagues. It hurt too much to think about the reasons why Isla might have met her end.

He paced the carpet of his ITF apartment in New Westminster as he helplessly watched the petulant military types ruin their best chance at getting what he needed. His orders were to keep a reasonable distance and not to move in until he gave the signal. Now the Indigene was gone and their plan to capture it lost. The information about Isla’s true fate was slipping away.

Bill fiddled with his earpiece. ‘Caldwell! Page!’ he shouted into the tiny wire-like microphone. ‘What the hell just happened out there? I gave no orders to move in. State your position now.’

Radio silence.

Their official mission was to gather information on the alien race for the World Government. If the Indigene disappeared, it may not reappear for some time. It had risked making contact during daylight hours when Bill and his team could see and track it easier. Although the alien’s choice of clothing made it stand out, it wasn’t enough for New London residents to notice.

Still no word from his team.

At the first mission briefing, the ESC had suggested using military already stationed on Exilon 5, something he agreed with. He expected the officers to become his eyes and ears, but their lack of experience in surveillance had bothered him. Now he struggled to take control of the guerrilla-warfare enthusiasts at his disposal.

Bill twitched from the gallon of coffee he’d consumed. His previous lethargy had been replaced with nervous energy and palpitations. He perched on the edge of his chair and drummed the DPad with his fingers as he waited for a response from someone—anyone—in the field.

Given what he knew about the Indigenes, he chastised himself for sending Ben Watson into a dangerous situation. But he needed to see the Indigene up close. The teddy bear had made it possible. While the skin covering had altered its appearance, its likeness to humans—both physically and in its mannerisms—unsettled him. At first, he’d looked away from the screen when the Indigene had moved close to the hidden camera. He looked back in time to notice the brown contact lenses.

Their ability to create technology and adapt to the human environment made them imaginative and highly intelligent. Yet they were also mindless killers. The Indigene had mentioned to Ben that their race had lived on the surface before the humans arrived. Since reports of them hadn’t come to light until a year ago, Bill had to assume the terraforming explosions had forced them underground. Had the alien simply been curious when it went to meet the boy, or was there a different, more sinister reason?

Bill had only one reason for wanting the Indigene named Stephen alive: to find out the truth about Isla. But if they couldn’t catch up to it, then that chance was gone.

There were two possible outcomes to their mission: the World Government would consider co-existence with the alien species, or it would destroy them. When it came to threats against humanity, the latter would certainly be considered. That made his search for answers all the more important; he needed to find out the truth before it died with the Indigene race.

But the Indigene had not yet escaped.

Bill stared at the DPad in his hand, chewing on his thumb as he waited for his team to resume contact. He could see the device inside the bear was still recording images but its fate—or the boy’s for that matter—were no longer of use to him.

He switched the pad to his other hand and dried his sweaty palm on his trouser leg. Stuck inside his apartment, he considered joining the pursuit. But he was too far away from the chase to be of any use. He had to rely on the eyes and ears of his team, even though it killed him to know they were the ones in control.

Bill spoke into the microphone again. ‘Caldwell? I know you’re out there and I know you can hear me. You’re going to have to talk to me sometime. Answer me now, dammit!’

Silence hung heavily in the air. ‘Who’s down there? Is somebody going to answer me? Because if I have to come down myself, I’ll find you and—’ He drew in a sharp breath as his heart jackhammered from the caffeine in his system.

An eerie quiet emanated from his earpiece.

‘This is Taggart! SOMEBODY had better pick up NOW! I’m not fucking about here.’

His hands quivered from a mixture of agitation and stimulants. He swore that after today he was going to give up coffee for good. ‘Shit, come on...’ He considered telling them everything just to explain his urgency. He ordered himself to calm down; he wasn’t thinking straight.

A voice broke through the still air and made him jump.

‘Jones here. Sorry for the silence earlier. It was necessary. Over.’

‘Jones, what the hell is happening down there? I have lost both visual and audio. Where the hell is Caldwell?’

‘Caldwell and Page took off after the alien. It absconded from the gardens moments ago. They are maintaining radio silence for the time being. Over.’

‘Well, where is it headed?’

‘Towards the Maglev station. The one in the Victoria district. Over.’

‘Stop wasting my time and give me everything you have in one go.’

He could hear the officer sigh. He slammed his fist on the table.

Jones let out a small squeak and continued, faster this time. ‘The alien is only a few minutes away from the main entrance now. It already had an extensive head start on us, so following it has been difficult. The crowds have managed to slow it up for now. Caldwell and Page are on its trail, but if it gets inside the station, we’re going to lose it for sure. Over.’

‘Jones, I want you to keep this line open. I need regular updates. If we don’t capture it today, then somebody will need to explain to me and the ESC why they fucked up. Got it?’

‘Roger that, Taggart. Over,’ said Jones.

‘Oh, and make sure it’s alive,’ said Bill. ‘Nobody is to harm the alien. Understood?’

Jones’ silence spoke volumes. Bill would forgive their poor execution if he could get a moment with the Indigene before it was carted off to the ESC or World Government.

He paced the living room. The mission should have been a done deal. Everything had been so convenient: the second meeting, the chance to talk to the boy, the recording equipment. If they came away with nothing, then Daphne Gilchrist would be all over him.

Another voice broke through. ‘Officer Page here. We are pursuing the alien but it’s too quick for us. It seems to know the streets pretty well. Over.’ Her breathless words indicated that she was on the move.

‘Don’t you dare lose it, Page. If it gets into the tunnel system, then we won’t have a hope in hell of tracking it.’

‘I understand that, Taggart, but you need to know it’s not looking good.’

‘I don’t want to hear it, Page.’

‘The alien knows we’re following and has altered its pattern through the crowds to try to shake us. As I’ve already said, we can’t match its speed.’ Page took a few deep breaths before continuing. ‘It’s at the corner of Buckingham Palace Road and Victoria Street, and now has a clear view of the train station entrance. I’ve got to go. Over.’

‘Shit.’

Radio silence. A few tense minutes followed without an update. Bill tried to practise patience but failed. They had to capture the Indigene before it reached safety; he needed it alive and unharmed. When the World Government scientists and geneticists got their hands on it, when they had finished their extensive tests, he doubted they would keep it alive. His team’s best chance of capture was to reach the Indigene before it entered the station. But it knew the underground tunnels for the Maglev train better than the humans who had built them.

His uneasiness increased as he considered the similarities between the two races. The first sightings on record had reported a crude and animal-like species, something that seemed well-founded. It also stated that the creatures possessed subhuman intelligence, which was clearly a gross misinterpretation.

Aliens possessing superior intelligence? Bill shuddered at the thought. If they were superior in intellect, were their two races so incapable of living together harmoniously? What if they’d managed to survive so long because they killed others that opposed them? Had they perceived Isla to be a threat? They must have. But going on the Indigene’s behaviour that day, something didn’t seem right. Something else didn’t fit the reports.

A new voice shrilled through Bill’s earpiece. He jumped again, but the adrenaline was depleting and he was beginning to feel sluggish.

‘Caldwell here. We are in Victoria station. Over.’

‘Well, did you capture it?’

‘It’s gone.’

11

Stephen bolted for the eastern exit to Belgrave Square Gardens. His rapid movements created an invisible distortion in Exilon 5’s air. He worked hard to distance himself from the military, skipping and stumbling over the uneven terrain. With the exit in sight, he launched himself towards the gate, just as a group of men entered. He twisted and stretched his body around them, creating a sudden gust of wind. His primary concern was reaching the safety of District Three where he could breathe unhindered and find protection.

Stephen sprinted to Upper Belgrave Street in the New Westminster area but was forced to slow his pace down to blend in with the dense crowd. He could hear the train in the distance. He was close to the Maglev train station in the Victoria district where he could easily reach the tunnels leading to District Three.

The elders would be waiting for his report. He had nothing good to tell them; Pierre and Elise would be shocked to find out about the nature of the Surface Creatures.

‘Human.’

He repeated the word until he shivered. In all of the literature he’d read, not once had there been any reference to humans. Other words had described their race: people, dreamers, philosophers, engineers.

The crowd slowed him down so much it forced him to mimic the movement of those closest to him. He pressed on with an uncoordinated step.

Attract as little attention as possible.

Being so close to the humans made his skin crawl. He wondered how they would react if they knew what he really was.

At the end of the road, he took a sharp left onto Hobart Place. The military were hot on his trail. He could pick up their scent; they were already too close. He quickened his pace. Distracted by his pursuers, he almost collided with a line of humans waiting for a replication terminal to open. He skidded to an almost-stop, leaned away from the crowd and accelerated along the length of the line.

His pulse quickened when he saw the area around Grosvenor Gardens was heavily crowded. He slowed once more. The military were also getting closer; their scents were coming through much stronger now. He turned to see them arrive at the corner of Hobart Place at the spot he had just vacated.

He tried to inject new pace into his step. But the crowd hindered him and with the military bridging the gap, he was relieved when the Maglev station fell into view. He was only a short distance away from the entrance when a mass exit of humans from the station blocked his path to safety. Fear rippled through him as he tried to avoid them. He tensed up as they knocked and jostled him about. He held his breath and, against every natural instinct, burrowed in deeper, right into the core of the swell. Tears of frustration formed, and the lenses in his eyes moved with every blink.

Without his natural defences of speed and strength, he was just like them: weak and useless. The feeling the crowd could overpower him at any moment was too much, but he reminded himself that he was an efficient hunter. The train tunnelled through the dark pits below, and he heard the familiar low whirring as it rode the Maglev rail.

Stephen kept his walk slow and deliberate, lowering his head to try to make himself inconspicuous. Once inside, he could navigate the halls with speed and dexterity, but not out here, where he struggled to use his speed effectively. Still, if he was struggling to get through, his pursuers would be, too. In the areas where the crowd thinned out, he risked extra speed; the gap between him and the military was too narrow.

With one final push, he ran inside the station and headed for the tunnels. A queue had already formed at the gate. He leapt over the turnstile. Alarms shrilled and people yelled. Survival was his only concern.

Stephen took long elegant strides towards the tunnels heading west and arrived on an almost-empty platform; a train had just passed. He could hear the military voices approaching from the level above him. This time, he was sure they would follow him into the murky depths of the train tunnels. He didn’t stick around to check. He leapt off the end of the platform onto the tracks, hitting the ground running. He followed the tunnel for about a mile in a westerly direction until he reached a section that split off into two routes. He took the left tunnel and carried on for another two miles. To the right, he felt around for the opening he couldn’t see with the brown lenses still in his eyes. He found it, and squeezed through a narrow gap; one of many they had created across the railway network. He pulled both lenses out and placed them in his pocket. He would return them to Anton later.

The narrow gap linked to a series of passageways that led to the core of his district, each one protected by a false wall. In the low oxygen and pitch-black environment, only small insects survived; the military would at least need safety equipment to follow him. Without the lenses, Stephen could see the subtle markers that had been carved into the false walls. There were hundreds of dead ends across the Victoria passageways and only twenty or so that led to District Three. A sudden strain in his lungs caught him off-guard and he wheezed. His filtration device was almost out of power, and with only trace amounts of breathable air in this part of the maze, he would suffocate. He shortened his breath and kept moving towards District Three. With his coordination affected, he stumbled through the miles of tunnels, taking left and right turns when the markers appeared. Along the way, he activated false doors hidden inside the false walls to close behind him.

A mile on and the power had drained completely. Stephen’s lungs burned as he tried to suck in air. Before him was the omega door that led into the sealed environment. Recognition software scanned his genetic code and authorised his entry. The impenetrable door slid back into the rock face and he stumbled inside, his breathing now ragged. His breaths were short and uncomfortable.

The outer door sealed shut, while a smaller one leading into the inner sanctum remained closed. He could hear the first of the air pumps as it whirred into action. His lungs burned hot and his chest ached with the effort of keeping him alive. He willed the pumps to work faster; the larger of the two sucked the contaminated air out of the chamber, while the smaller one released air from inside the controlled environment. He fell to his knees, feeling his mind slipping into unconsciousness.

The inner door released and he crawled inside, yanking the pieces of the air filtration device out of his throat and nose. His mouth snatched at air and pulled it deep into his lungs. His body relaxed as he lay on the floor, exhausted.

Stephen got to his feet, ignoring the dizziness. He wanted to rest for longer, but there was no time. He stumbled forwards, fighting against his weakened body as he went looking for Pierre and Elise.

His news would shock them. They needed to plan their next move.

12

Jenny Waterson’s growling stomach distracted her from going to find Stuart straight away. Eight hours without having eaten anything was making her light-headed. The food on-board the space craft, while packed with nutrients, tasted like cardboard. The quality of food on Earth was abysmal.

She arrived at one of HJA’s four self-service canteens, nestled in the eastern part of the station. The long room with enough space for eight hundred seated workers was divided up into several rows of black tables and white chairs. Dozens of silver-and-black replication machines were pressed up against the longest walls.

She grabbed a tray and joined the queue. She reached a vacant machine and ordered beans on toast, with a side order of sausage, a chicken pot pie, two black coffees and three pieces of chocolate cake. The replicator food was calorie controlled. Finding a free seat, she sat down hard. The exhaustion was overwhelming. She ate her main meal and one piece of chocolate cake. Nursing her coffee in one hand, she consoled herself with the knowledge that her current shift was ending after one last run to Sydney.

Jenny lived in Brisbane, Australia, in one of the downtown apartment blocks that had once overlooked the city’s river, a prime spot until the government filled it in over fifty years ago to build more apartments. From Sydney it would only take her forty minutes to reach home on one of the high-speed Maglev trains. She planned to get some rest there during her eight-hour break.

Stuart walked into the canteen. Her previous irritation with him returned, but with food in her stomach, it didn’t feel as venomous.

Stuart was a handsome man with chestnut-brown hair and strong blue eyes. His face was dotted with expression lines that he said gave it character. He’d refused to have work done at one of the genetic manipulation clinics, citing the place was for “metrosexuals only”. His slightly expanded middle stretched the uniform he wore. The one thing he could never accept was going grey or losing his hair, and he had privately availed of the “Bald be Gone” genetic treatment.

After a divorce and raising her only child, Jenny had enlisted at the Air and Space Control Academy to pursue her passion for flying. It was where she had first met Stuart, and they had spent a number of years as controllers working together in the docking station at Auckland, New Zealand. At fifty-five, she began her training as a pilot in earnest, having completed just four years as a controller. Stuart remained where he was, eventually being offered the role of Operations Overseer in Auckland. He had worked in HJA for nearly ten years now.

Stuart waved at Jenny and mock-staggered over to her table. Under other circumstances, she would have laughed hard at her friend’s dark humour—he was a teetotaller—but she was not in the mood.

‘I see you found me then.’ She stared at her cup.

‘Not hard in this place,’ he said, holding up both thumbs where their chips—both identity and security—were located. ‘Our very own tracking devices.’ He sat down opposite her. ‘What happened to your hair?’

Jenny ran a hand across the nape of her neck. ‘I fancied a change.’ With back-to-back shifts, she found she had little time or patience for personal grooming.

‘I think it looks good on you.’

She sighed. ‘Stuart, stop playing dumb. You know I’m pissed off with you, right?’

He raised a single brow. ‘I can’t imagine why.’ He looked at the empty dishes on the table in front of her, most of them licked clean. He pulled one of the plates with a piece of chocolate cake towards him.

‘Galen almost cost me my job, you asshole!’

‘Jesus, Jenny. Calm down.’ Stuart glanced around. ‘The cameras!’

Her eyes stopped on a single roving camera hovering over a group of trainees in one corner of the room. When her voice rose, it turned around to look in their direction.

Jenny leaned forwards. ‘Do you know what Calypso Couriers said to me a month ago? That my job is on the line. I always knew it would be a risk when I reached Grade Four but I didn’t think they would actually warn me. I can’t take any chances, Stu. Not anymore.’

‘I’m sorry, Jen, I didn’t know.’

Her anger subsided a little.

The roving camera gave up on them and turned around to focus on the trainees again. Several of them looked nervous, shifting in their seats; others tried to act brazenly, as if the camera’s presence wasn’t an issue.

‘Why couldn’t you have given me Maria?’

‘I did. She was supervising him. Look, Calypso are a bunch of shits if you ask me. You don’t need their drama. Why don’t you consider going out on your own again? You still have that rust-bucket in storage, don’t you?’

Yes, she did still have her old spacecraft and it was a long time since she had done freelance piloting work—it was how she had started out in the industry after getting her pilot’s licence—but she didn’t relish the idea of being her own boss again. She had got used to receiving a steady wage at the end of each month.

‘I don’t know, Stu. Seems like a lot of hassle after a steady job of, what has it been now, twenty years?’

He leaned forwards and grabbed her hands. ‘Look, if they’re causing you such grief, then quit before they try to fire you. You deserve better than this.’ He let go.

Jenny exhaled and picked up her fork. She scooped up some of the chocolate cake and shoved it into her mouth. It had the texture of sponge but tasted like dirt that had been sprinkled with cocoa powder. She had tried real chocolate cake once before, in Cantaloupe restaurant; it had been heaven on a fork. Places like Cantaloupe weren’t for the likes of her on a pilot’s income, but it was hard to eat replicated food with the memory of what real food tasted like.

‘I’m sorry, Jenny, but I have an obligation to let my trainees loose. Galen still needs to learn.’

‘You’re taking unnecessary risks, Stuart. You know that.’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’

She looked up. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Shit, Stu. What have you done?’

‘Nothing!’ He pushed the plate closer to her. ‘Eat your food.’

She pushed another lump of cake into her mouth. She felt a little sick, but she needed the calories. ‘Promise me you won’t use him on my schedule again.’

‘I wouldn’t have allowed anything to happen, you know that.’

She did.

‘How about taking some proper time off, Jenny? I mean more than the eight-hour layovers they give you.’

Jenny eyed him.

‘I’m just saying. You look stressed. You need to start thinking about your health.’

‘And if I take time off now, I might as well hand in my resignation. Not an option, I’m afraid.’ The camera turned around again, seeking them out.

Stuart glanced at it and changed the subject. ‘How’s your daughter?’

‘Eleanor’s doing well.’ Jenny finally put down her fork and pushed her plate away. She couldn’t eat another bite. ‘She’s thinking of starting another course in college, decided to change career paths from law to politics. She can’t sit still for five minutes, that one. So like her father. How about you? Any decent women decided to make an honest man of you yet?’

‘Never going to happen. I’ve had my fill of wives, ex-wives, the lot. I’m planning on living out the rest of my life as a single bachelor.’ Stuart remained stubbornly single after his last wife had almost bankrupted him. He’d been married three times before that and was still paying for his mistakes. Luckily, he hadn’t fathered any children with them.

‘You look stressed, Stuart. Are you sleeping okay?’ Jenny pushed all the plates to one side and propped her elbows on the table.

‘Name one person who gets decent sleep on this hellhole,’ he said, gesturing.

Jenny pondered, then smiled. ‘Calypso Couriers.’

‘I’ll toast to them burning in hell.’ They both raised an imaginary glass and mock-toasted to the image.

She smiled, but couldn’t shake the feeling that Stuart was hiding something. ‘Is everything alright with you?’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘You’re looking a little off, that’s all. Look, the skin rejuvenation place isn’t just about appearances. It can make you feel like a whole new person. There’s a walk-in clinic in Jacksonville.’

‘Sorry, no can do. I’m a real man. Everything au naturel, including my face.’

Her mouth lifted into a smile. ‘And you’re very handsome. Think about it. What time does your shift end?’

‘Three this afternoon. You?’

‘One last run to Sydney and a layover for eight hours. I haven’t had any time off for a full week now. I’m exhausted.’ She yawned.

‘Don’t they know seventy-five is the new forty in this genetic age of ours?’ Stuart pulled the plate with cake towards him. ‘Commie bastards. Don’t appreciate what they have, that’s their problem.’

Jenny agreed, but she couldn’t imagine Calypso Couriers recognising her efforts any time soon.

She watched Stuart as he polished off her dessert. His mood was off. She wanted to know why.

13

Galen Thompson turned away from the entrance to the eastern canteen. He wasn’t close enough to hear the argument between Stuart and Jenny, but it was enough for him to consider delving a little deeper into Captain Waterson’s background. Perhaps it wasn’t someone at the docking station the ESC were sending encrypted memos about. Maybe it was one of the pilots.

He started to walk away. His communication device rang.

‘Galen? It’s your father.’

‘Dad, I was just about to call you. Listen, I may have found something—’

‘You can tell me in person. I want you to come meet me and your mother in Sydney.’

‘When?’

‘Now.’

Galen’s stomach lurched; he didn’t relish a face-to-face with his parents. He could just about handle his father’s daily intrusion in his life. ‘Look, I can just tell you what I know now. I didn’t—’

‘Your mother wants to see you.’ His father sounded flustered. ‘Come to Sydney. Don’t delay. Please. It’s important.’

Galen disconnected the call and headed back to the observation deck to wait for Stuart to return.

Stuart walked into the office, looking like he was harbouring a secret. Maybe he was, or maybe he was keeping a secret for someone else.

‘Stuart, I need to ask a favour,’ said Galen, meeting him halfway.

‘What is it, lad? Don’t you have some reports to file?’

‘I do but my father just called and he sounded worried about my mother. He wants me to fly over to Sydney immediately.’

Stuart gave him his best unsettling stare. ‘What, now? You’re in the middle of a shift!’

‘I’m sorry Stuart. I wouldn’t normally ask but it sounded serious.’

Stuart stroked his chin and stared at the visualisation screen in front of him. ‘Fine. You have exactly two hours. Make it count.’

Half an hour later, Galen exited the Sydney docking station, carrying his overcoat over one arm. He searched for his parents and found them standing by the water’s edge.

‘Mom, Dad.’

Jack shook Galen’s hand while Penny stared out over the water.

‘You’re fifteen minutes late,’ said Penny ‘But you’re here now, I guess. Your father and I need to talk to you about something. It’s too sensitive to discuss over the communication device.’

‘Well can I at least take a breath before you start?’ He put his coat on, delaying for time.

The temperature was beginning to drop as the daylight slowly retreated to make way for evening. The night-time air had a different—and not so pleasant—edge to it.

His parents headed towards the area just beyond downtown Sydney known as The Rocks. Galen followed a short distance behind his father and mother who had linked arms.

‘Did you know they used to swim in the seas around here?’ said Jack. ‘Well, not here, exactly, but close by where the beaches are? Can you imagine what it would have been like to do that?’

Penny pulled away from Jack’s arm, but kept walking. ‘We have very little time. Let’s not waste it reminiscing about things we can’t change.’ Galen braced himself for an interrogation. When there were fewer people about, Penny spoke quietly. ‘What have you found out at the ESC? Have you managed to catch sight of the ESC memos I was talking about? They might look different, especially if they’ve been encrypted.’

‘I haven’t been able to look at too much. My overseer keeps a close eye on me. He doesn’t like me using the workstations when I’m not on duty.’

‘Sounds like he has something to hide,’ said Jack.

Galen was about to mention seeing Stuart and the captain’s heated discussion, but decided against it. He would look into Jenny Waterson’s background first. He didn’t want to accuse her of anything without having some proof. ‘I’ll keep an eye on him.’

‘You’ll need to do better than that, Galen,’ said Penny. ‘I found a micro file hidden at the ESC. I’ve looked at it and your father now knows what’s in it because I told him, but I haven’t been able to copy the contents. If encrypted messages are being passed between ESC and your docking station, I’m curious to know why.’

‘What file?’ said Galen, stopping.

‘Keep walking, Galen,’ said his father. ‘Remember, we’re just a normal family out for a stroll.’

Galen started walking again, beside them now. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, searching for warmth. ‘If what you’re looking for is at ESC, what do you need me for?’

‘Because I suspect that they’ve been sending more than just memos to your station,’ said his mother. ‘Stuff about an investigation happening on Exilon 5? If the ESC wanted to hide something like hidden correspondence, they might try to send it to your central computer.’

‘But I told you, I can’t access encrypted ESC memos. And if I could, I wouldn’t be able to make sense of it without a decryption programme. What makes you think I have access to the central computer, anyway?’

Penny fidgeted with the buttons on her overcoat. ‘Look, just find out if there has been encrypted communication between ESC and the docking station. You can do that without accessing the central computer.’

Galen frowned at her. ‘With your clearance, you have better access to ESC memos than I do.’

‘I’ve tried, Galen, but I’m coming up empty-handed. I want to know if they’re rerouting the information elsewhere so I can’t find it.’

‘Mom, I want to find out what happened to Grandad as much as you do, but this is getting dangerous for me. Do you even understand that?’

‘This isn’t just about your grandfather, Galen.’ Penny turned to Jack. ‘I found these. They were with the micro file.’ She kept an easy pace as she removed a bundle of letters from her pocket and cradled them.

‘Where did you get those, Penny?’ said Jack.

‘They’re addressed to that investigator.’

‘What investigator?’ said Galen.

His father’s brow creased. ‘Bill Taggart? Who on earth is writing to him?’

‘His wife, I think.’

‘Who’s Bill Taggart?’ said Galen, but his parents ignored him.

Jack shook his head. ‘Did you read them? They’re private, Penny. You need to give them back to him.’ He paused before adding. ‘Wait. Why does the ESC have them in storage?’

‘Would someone like to fill me in?’ said Galen.

Penny ignored him. ‘His wife works, I mean worked, for the World Government. I can tell there’s serious stuff in these that she wanted him to know, but I can’t make sense of them because they’re written in code. Why go to the effort of writing them in the first place?’ She waved the bundle around in the air. ‘It has to be connected somehow. I wonder if the ESC discussed the contents and noted it somewhere.’

‘And you think they may have mentioned something in the ESC memos?’

‘It’s worth a shot.’

His father pushed her hand down, glancing around. ‘First thing you’re going to do is put those back where you found them. It’s bad enough you stole the micro file. We don’t need the government on our asses over these going missing. Where’s Bill Taggart now?’

‘On Exilon 5, investigating the Indigenes.’

‘Could someone please explain to me what’s going on?’ said Galen.

Spotting a bench nearby, Jack dragged Penny over to sit on it. ‘Give me a minute to speak with him.’

Penny nodded.

Jack led Galen away and told him what he knew about his own father’s disappearance, along with new detail about Bill Taggart and the World Government’s investigation into a race called the Indigenes.

‘Your mother and I are close to something. We can’t backtrack now. Help us to determine what’s being sent to your docking station, and if it has anything to do with what your mother found at ESC. The stuff with Bill Taggart is new, but it may be connected to what happened to your grandfather. So you can see we have to at least try.’

‘And Paul?’

‘Your brother knows everything.’

Galen and Jack walked back to where they’d left Penny, only to find her helping some old woman with her mask.

‘Are you having problems?’ they heard her ask the woman.

‘Damn mask. Can’t seem to get it to fit today.’ The old woman wheezed. The poisonous air was seeping into her lungs, making it difficult for her to breathe.

‘Here, let me.’ Penny removed the old woman’s mask, then held it over her face again and waited for the gel to activate. ‘You need to hold the mask in place for ten seconds to give the gel time to form to the shape of your face. Only then will you get that tight seal you’re after.’ She waited until the structure softened, adhered, and then became rigid, before removing her hand from the old woman’s face. ‘There.’

The woman breathed in deeply. ‘Thank you so much.’ She shuffled on.

Penny walked along the water’s edge, more distracted than before. They followed her. ‘Thanks for coming, Galen,’ she said. ‘I know it was a risk.’ She kneeled close to the edge and dangled her hand over the toxic water.

‘Careful, love,’ said Jack.

Galen wondered what would happen if she plunged her hand into the water’s cool depths. Nothing good, surely. The water’s monochromatic appearance hid a toxic secret: only deadly bacteria lived there now. As if Penny had heard him, she withdrew her hand, picked up a stone and threw it at the water. It skipped once and then sank.

‘So what now?’ said Galen as they all stood together.

‘If the information on the micro file is true, I want to know who ESC has told,’ said Penny. ‘We have to get the truth out there somehow. The people of Earth need to know that Exilon 5 is one big lie.’

Jack grabbed hold of her hand. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of doing something on your own. I agreed to this as long as all of us were careful.’

Her expression hardened. ‘And I promise you I will be, but people have a right to know what’s going on.’

‘And they will. But we do it slowly, through back channels, with minimal risk. You understand? My father would not approve of our crusade in his name.’

Penny laughed and shook her head. ‘This has turned into something much bigger than your father’s death. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but it has. If I had known, if either of us had known, what the World Government was up to back then, we would have tried to do something about it. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have tried to help. When I think about what they’ve done to those poor Indigenes, it only encourages me to do more.’

As Galen listened, he realised his father had only told him some things about the race on Exilon 5.

‘Please don’t do anything stupid,’ said Jack.

‘I won’t, but I can’t sit around waiting for those fools in the government to make amends, to right their wrongs. We need to do more to move things along.’ Penny’s tone changed. ‘There’s this girl at the ESC, Laura O’Halloran. They’re going to use her. But maybe I can get to her first.’

Jack grabbed her hand. ‘Sweetheart, listen to me, don’t do anything without speaking to me first. Do you hear me?’

Penny nodded, but her eyes were flat.

Jack drew in a deep breath and released it. ‘Look, how about we all go and grab a bite to eat? What do you say, Galen?’

Galen shook his head. ‘I think I’ve lost my appetite.’

14

That afternoon, Laura faced a pile of boring documentation. Eager to avoid a potential burnout, she paced herself. She had another thirteen hours left of her shift and the rate of document delivery about the people of Earth to her monitor didn’t look like it was slowing down.

Spread the work out, take regular breaks from the screen.

She obeyed the mantra religiously, even when the light-starved office brought on a bout of depression that couldn’t be fixed by a shot of vitamin D. Following the mantra had helped her through the darker moments.

While her father had suffered from regular depression, Laura’s own was triggered by seasonal changes. Since the season never changed, she was caught up in a perpetual loop. Most times the vitamin D shot worked and kept the darker thoughts at bay. While she had never seriously considered killing herself, she was familiar with the termination rooms the World Government had provided to deal with a population that lived longer. The oldest living human on record was one hundred and sixty; a vast increase since scientists had cracked the ‘age’ code.

With the law amended to legalise what was once a criminal practice, termination rooms could now be found everywhere. In the beginning, news reporters had seized the opportunity to create mass hysteria and quickly mounted a campaign against the rooms’ existence. But when the government announced to the public that the rooms were free to use, the people got behind them.

She remembered when her great-grandfather had used one. Once a sweet elderly man, he had turned bitter due to lifelong regrets about the things he had not done. He was frail and ready to die on his one hundred and fiftieth birthday. His identity chip had contained a dormant chemical and when he placed his thumb in a specially designed receptacle in Sydney’s termination room, he was injected with a second chemical that mixed with it to form a lethal toxin. His right hand, placed on a flat plate, was punctured with a thousand tiny needles coated in a mood-enhancing drug and hallucinogen. It felt no worse than pins and needles, he had said.

Only Laura and her mother Fionnuala had accompanied him that day. Her father hadn’t felt mentally strong enough to attend. While it wasn’t a bad way to end things, surrounded by loved ones, Laura wasn’t quite ready to check out of life just yet. Those had been happier times for her and Fionnuala, back when they used to talk. Her father’s unexpected death a few years later had turned her mother into a recluse.

Laura’s loneliness overwhelmed her at times. While she had friends at the Security Centre, she wasn’t close to any of them. She couldn’t talk to them about her strained relationship with her mother or how she blamed herself for her father’s death. She often wondered what Janine’s reaction would be if she told her: horror, disgust, pity?

Laura shook the negative thoughts from her mind and stood up from her workstation. She took a quick stroll along the centre aisle to stretch and relieve stiffness. She would have killed for an hour in the Energy Creation room on the second floor.

She touched her toes until the blood flowed to her cheeks. She felt her cheeks flush as if they’d been pinched by the biting winds that once dominated the shorelines of Dublin. She continued on, walking and stretching. Having completed a few rounds, she stopped at Janine’s workstation.

‘Having fun, are we?’ Janine wore a strange expression; something split between humour and jealousy.

‘I’m dead on my feet. If I don’t move, I won’t make it to the end of my shift.’

‘Well, stop torturing us with your boring exercise routine and just take another Actigen.’

‘Can’t. I’m at my limit of four this week. Plus, they aren’t working anymore.’

‘Look, I’ve got work to do and you’re disturbing me,’ said Janine.

‘And there it is,’ said Chris, with one eye on Laura.

‘What?’ said Janine, irritated.

‘The inner bitch.’

‘Rack off, Chris.’

‘I’ve made my point and you’ve just proven it. So what if she’s exercising? I for one am enjoying the distraction.’

‘You just want to get into her pants,’ said Janine.

‘So? What man wouldn’t?’

Laura blushed. ‘Stop talking about me like I’m not here. And Chris, watch your mouth.’

‘Fine. Sit down then.’ Chris sounded offended.

‘I need to get over the hump first. I’ll feel better in a moment.’

‘You’re wasting your time, you know,’ said Chris. ‘You’ll only feel worse, especially with Actigen in your system.’

‘Exercise helps me in other ways.’ She wanted to explain about her Seasonal Affective Disorder, how distractions helped with the lack of control. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

‘Besides there’s only one type of exercise I like to do,’ said Chris.

Janine pulled a face. ‘Oh, keep your thoughts to yourself, for once. Please.’

‘Chris,’ said Laura, keen to move the focus away from her. “Any word from your friend on the lottery yet?’

‘You’re not going to like it. Perth now, Melbourne next, then Europe.’

‘Shit.’ Laura stilled.

‘Why do you want to go so badly?’ Janine’s gaze narrowed.

‘I don’t,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m just interested, that’s all.’

‘Well, seems to me like it’s more than that. What does your family think about it?’

Laura’s pulse raced as she worried about them delving too far into areas that were off-limits. ‘My mother will probably end up coming with me.’

‘And leave all this behind?’ Janine swept her hand around the room. ‘You’ll never get another job as good as this on Exilon 5. You’ll probably have to work as a cleaner. Bet you wouldn’t like that so much. I hear the pay is shit.’

‘Janine, what the hell crawled up your butt today?’ said Chris.

‘Nothing. I’m just enquiring about Ms. O’Halloran’s eagerness to leave Earth, that’s all. She gets so excited every time the lottery sniffs near Haymarket.’

Laura had just about had her fill of Janine and her petty sniping. Beneath all the bravado, Janine was insecure and lacking in any personal ambition. Laura rubbed her tired eyes and began the short walk back to her desk.

‘Is that it?’ said Chris. ‘No more exercise for today?’

‘Bite me.’

‘Give me a reason.’

‘Would you two stop with the sick flirting already and let me tell you what I’ve heard,’ said Janine. Heads peeked up as everybody stopped to pay attention. Janine was a sure thing for the gossip and she flirted with every male in the building to get it. Her powers of persuasion had proven to be quite useful in the past. She usually heard news before the other floors. Janine enjoyed an audience and innocently twirled a few strands of her long brown hair between her fingers while pausing for effect. She took a deep breath.

‘There’s a massive meeting being held in Gilchrist’s office today. All the security heads are going to be there. Tom from Level One heard it from Julie, who knows someone who works near Suzanne Brett’s office.’ Brett was the overseer for Level Five and directly under Gilchrist’s command.

A low whisper carried around the room. ‘Yeah, I saw Daphne Gilchrist in the lobby this morning, flanked by her minions.’

‘That woman puts the frighteners up me,’ said Chris.

‘All women scare you,’ said Laura. ‘Any of those who have a bit of power, that is.’

‘Not all women, just the ball breakers. She has the power to castrate men with her stare.’

‘Exaggerate much?’ said Janine.

‘I speak the truth,’ said Chris. ‘Did you know that her voice is so loud during meetings it can shatter unbreakable glass?’

‘You are so full of shit.’

The room exploded into peals of laughter.

Another worker cut in. ‘Does anyone know why they’re meeting? I can’t remember the last time all security heads were in one room.’

‘Since when are we ever told about anything in this place?’ said someone else. ‘I barely know what the replicated specials are in the cafeteria, let alone important business that might actually concern us.’

While everyone guessed what the meeting was about, Laura stayed silent. She didn’t remember the last security meeting, guessing it must have been before she started with the ESC.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that something about this one wasn’t right.

15

Bill gathered his surveillance team in the heart of no man’s land, an area of rocky terrain that stretched between New London and the next city on Exilon 5. The sky was a deep blue, speckled with tinges of purple and green. The occasional floating cloud provided little protection across acres of the red and gold-tinted stony landscape. The single road that provided the only access in and out of New London lent a sense of normality to a seemingly chaotic design. Soon, when funding came through from the government, a dozen similar roads would cut across the surface close to the city to offer a vital transport network.

Bill could hear animals close by, probably on the hunt for that easy kill. Resurrected from preserved DNA, the animals lived in special biodomes on the borders of the six cities. Each dome contained a variety of predators, vegetarians and birds, living together as natural companions as well as enemies. It was usual for the predators—lions, wolves, coyotes—to leave the biodomes, but the animals usually retreated to the one place where a meal was always guaranteed.

Bill chose a spot ten miles from New London’s city limits. He knew the predators only ventured out a mile, maybe two at most, where food was most likely, and by staying downwind of the biodomes, there was less risk of the animals picking up their scent. He could have assembled the team in his ITF-bugged apartment, but what he had to say was off the record.

There were seven people on Bill’s surveillance crew, including Caldwell and Page. He stood facing the group and directed his first question at the two officers who had disobeyed him.

‘I need to understand why you went against my direct order not to move in.’

Page spoke first. ‘We did exactly what we needed to do.’

‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘She means there was no danger to the overall mission,’ said Caldwell. ‘We needed to get close to the alien, so we made the call and moved in. It didn’t see or recognise us, so I’m not really sure what the problem is.’

Bill pinched the bridge of his nose, leaving behind a red mark. ‘How do you know that? How could you tell? Page was right there, part of the running group that passed by. It’s an alien, which we know very little about. Do you know something about its abilities that we don’t?’ His eyes scanned the length of the group. Everybody stood at military ease, staring at a blank point in front of them. Except for Page and Caldwell, no one else dared to make eye contact.

‘No, we’re not saying that,’ said Page. ‘We needed to make our move before the alien left. You were taking too long.’

‘Would you like to hear what I think?’ Bill didn’t wait for an answer. ‘It seemed pretty obvious to me that the Indigene knew exactly where you were and what you were, Page. That was made all the more obvious when you moved in a second time. That was what spooked it and sent it hurtling out of the park. You then decided to chase it and wound up losing track of it. If any of this seems unfamiliar, please feel free to interrupt.’

‘We didn’t lose it,’ said Caldwell. ‘We know exactly where it went. Into the Maglev station at Victoria. We tracked it all the way.’

Bill looked the stocky military man in the eye. ‘But did you catch it?’

‘No, but—’

‘Then, you lost it.’ He clapped his hands together. Officer Page jumped.

The rest of the group stayed silent.

‘No offence, Taggart, but Special Ops was never a right fit for this mission,’ said Caldwell. ‘This is pursuit and catch, plain and simple. That’s what we’re all trained for. We did everything humanly possible to catch our subject. I don’t see how your presence could have changed the outcome.’

Bill’s face deepened in colour.

Page tried to defuse the situation. ‘Officers Wilson and Garrett followed the alien as far as the westbound platform, but it had vanished by the time they got there. A follow-up search of the tunnels turned up nothing. We think one possibility is that it may have exited from another station, further down the line.’

‘So, here we are back at square one. Again.’ Bill craved a hot cup of coffee and a nice piece of meat lasagne from his favourite restaurant.

‘We do have something new,’ said Page. ‘We have the recording device. Audio and visual.’

Bill frowned. ‘Yes, but apart from a handful of trivial new facts, we still don’t know what they are or, more importantly, what they’re going to do next.’

‘Next?’ said Page.

‘Yes! Next. Why they are here at all. Why they surfaced. Why they are killing people.’ The chance to question one of the Indigenes had slipped through his fingers.

I’m so sorry, Isla. I’ve failed you.

In Bill’s head, Isla replied. It’s not your fault, not this time.

Bill groaned. How was he going to explain this mess to Daphne Gilchrist? It had taken years for him to build trust, but now it hung in the balance. He’d almost guaranteed the World Government and the ESC a result from the day’s operation. An alien to question, at a minimum. He had assured them the Indigene wouldn’t be expecting them at the meeting.

Had the alien known all along? Had Bill been played?

Around noon, Bill disbanded the meeting and headed to Cantaloupe alone. The smell of home-cooked meat always drew him back there, evoking childhood memories of his parents and their monthly Friday family meals. His mother used to scrimp and save each month so she could afford to buy the raw ingredients on the black market. It was the only place people could get them and invariably the most expensive.

He took his usual seat by the window and ordered lunch. As he waited for his food, he pondered the day’s events. Today had been the best opportunity for him to find out more about what had happened to Isla. Could he have done anything to change the outcome? The Indigene must have had an agenda when it agreed to meet the boy for a second time.

Ben Watson had been targeted for a reason. Why?

Had the Indigene race’s existence been peaceful before humans had arrived? What if humans had been the catalyst for their change; fuel for their hatred? Historically, many species had suffered at the hands of humans in the pursuit of greater and more powerful outcomes. But that didn’t give the Indigenes the right to kill humans in retaliation for whatever mistakes the government had made years earlier.

The anger subsided and left him feeling drained, both emotionally and physically. He was sure the Indigene would disappear; it had already taken a massive risk by surfacing during daylight hours. But something else about the alien bothered him. The intel reports said that the Indigenes were a sub-intelligent race, but the filtration device, the artificial skin and the ability to communicate were all signs of intelligence.

What would Isla have done? She’d have been fascinated by the Indigenes and would have worked hard to understand them. For the first time, Bill wondered what Stephen’s story was.

The waitress arrived with a plate of lasagne, a side order of bread and a strong cup of coffee. He scooped mouthfuls of the hot lasagne into his hungry mouth. A few minutes later, he mopped up the remaining tomato sauce with his last slice of bread. He sat back in his chair and rubbed his distended belly. When he’d worked directly for the World Government, he was fit and toned, but ITF didn’t enforce the fitness rule and since Isla’s death, there hadn’t been any reason to keep it up. He could already feel the heartburn beginning to set in.

He sipped on his black coffee and leaned back in his chair, trying to relax, watching the people of New London on the streets outside. Although the numbers had eased off, the transfer programme to Exilon 5 had progressed as expected. The World Government had done well to ease the residents into their new life. The poor air, the gel breathing masks and the overcrowding weren’t issues on Exilon 5. Yet.

Bill’s eye was caught by one of the tacky neon digital library signs welcoming people inside. People weren’t interested in libraries any more, and so few knew the history of how humans had ended up on Exilon 5.

Many exoplanets had been discovered over the last century and a half, including one called COROT-7b in 2009, which had the same density as Earth. But none could support human life.

When he was a child, Bill’s father had told him about the ship designs, how they were improving each year, and that soon they would discover a suitable planet. The first of the people-carrying ships had been in operation since 2115, before he was born. They’d designed a hyper drive, invented by a lecturer in Astrophysics in Trinity College Dublin. Professor Tessa Gogarty had also been a propulsion engineer and her contributions had helped to revolutionise space travel.

Years later, and, just as his father had predicted, Exilon 5 was discovered at the same time the Gogarty Hyper Drive 8.0 was used in the newer ships. The new hyper drive shortened the travel time between Earth and Exilon 5. Currently, the journey only took two weeks.

Bill jumped as his communication device shrilled in his ear. The unique tone identified a call from the Earth Security Centre. He activated the earpiece.

‘Bill, is that you?’ said Daphne Gilchrist.

‘Yes.’ His pulse raced. He wasn’t ready to have this conversation.

‘Charles Deighton asked that I contact you directly. I’m reading through your preliminary report at the moment. Not looking good, is it?’

There were a few patrons in the restaurant. He tried to keep his voice low. ‘I know. There were problems with the personnel I was assigned. They disobeyed a direct order.’

‘Not my problem, Bill. This was your operation. You were in charge and you promised results. This is not a result that either Charles or I are interested in.’

Bill couldn’t have agreed more. ‘The mission wasn’t a total write-off. We got some extra data on the subject that could be worth analysing. I’ve already sent you a subsection of it. The rest will follow later today.’

‘Ah yes, the data. It’s being analysed by our team at the Centre as we speak. Have the rest of it here in the next hour.’

There was a brief silence. Bill tried to think of something worthwhile to add.

Gilchrist saved him the trouble. ‘There does seem to be some new information there that may prove useful. But it’s not what we were expecting. I assume the Indigene’s location is still a mystery?’

‘My team followed it as far as the track before it disappeared into Victoria’s tunnels. We think it exited from another station.’

‘So how likely is it that the alien will reappear anytime soon?’

‘Slim, I would think. It knows we were watching.’ Bill cringed. He should have picked up on that earlier.

‘There’s a passenger ship leaving for Earth tomorrow. Be on it. I’ll see you at the ESC for a debriefing in two weeks. Out.’ Gilchrist severed the connection.

Bill leaned forward, and rested his elbows on the table. An order to return home meant he was off the case.

The waitress caught his eye and held up a beer bottle. He waved her away and turned to look out the window. The opportunity to track down Isla’s killers was slipping through his fingers. He would need to somehow convince Gilchrist to keep him on the investigation so he could continue his search. But with the Indigene gone from sight and unlikely to reappear for some time, returning to Earth was the only option left.

Later, back at his apartment, he prepared the video and audio files to be sent to the Earth Security Centre, and tossed his meagre possessions into his suitcase. A sudden bout of dizziness caught him off-guard. His belly was full but his mental capacity was running on fumes. Today’s result had been a massive setback, professionally and personally. He cursed the military officers for their impatience. It would be a long time before he would trust anyone again.

His eyes felt heavy, but he was too wired to sleep. He dropped his suitcase by the door, sat down and combed through the files over the next hour, hoping he might find a clue that he’d overlooked. There was nothing. He fired off the remaining results to the ESC via their encrypted channel.

He got up and paced the room. An order to return home meant facing his demons. If he wanted his privacy he would have to live once again in the apartment he shared with Isla.

He wasn’t ready; the memories were too raw.

Isla was still out there. And he was positive the Indigene Stephen knew exactly where she was.

16

Daphne Gilchrist paced back and forth at the top of the large meeting room which adjoined her office on Level Seven. The underground space was built to be impenetrable, as were all the levels in the Earth Security Centre, except for those numbered one to four where the security was lighter. An oval-shaped walnut table dominated, and sat on a circular cream-and-black rug. Twelve hand-carved chairs hugged the table’s edge. A solitary painting hung on one wall: a concentric pattern of rings in black and charcoal grey, meant to represent the force fields that surrounded the lower offices.

Sitting around the glossy table were Suzanne Brett, overseer for Level Five, and nine representatives for the various ITF security branches ranging from San Francisco to London to Bangladesh.

‘So, people, what are we going to do?’ said Daphne. Wearing a grey trouser suit, she looked younger than her eighty-eight years. Her red hair hung to the nape of her neck and was curled neatly under.

The reps and Suzanne sat in silence. They were all subordinates in Daphne’s presence but had power in their respective roles.

She locked eyes with Simon Shaw, the rep for the London ITF office, where Bill Taggart was stationed. He looked away from her penetrating stare. Daphne wasn’t an easy person to deal with.

Her father had been a strong, domineering character, ruling his home with an iron fist while her mother showed weakness in his presence. Her father had liked rules. People were unpredictable, he’d said, and needed to be reined in. His influence had helped Daphne to become a successful businesswoman, while her mother only convinced her that she should never become a doormat.

She took her seat at the head of the table and tapped a single, clear-polished nail on the table’s lacquered surface. Her male personal assistant sat to her right; Daphne often hired men because they were easier to read. Her assistant was using a DPad to record the meeting details. She didn’t like to use the roving cameras because they tended to pick up too much. With the DPad, she could erase anything that might show her in a bad light.

‘It appears from Bill Taggart’s preliminary report that we face a serious problem. In fact, we’re well away from where we expected to be at this stage in the investigation. What I need are solutions and I need them now. Raise your hand if you want to speak.’

She liked formality, structure. She had spent a large part of her working life in Osaka, Japan.

Simon Shaw, head of the London ITF office, raised his hand. He cleared his throat.

‘I can vouch for Bill Taggart. He’s the best investigator to come out of my office. His performance on other missions has been exemplary and I am personally quite confide—’

‘I know exactly where he came from, Shaw,’ said Daphne. ‘I placed him there myself, if you recall. I don’t need you to recite his credentials to me. This isn’t an interview. If that’s all you have to say—’

‘No. What I’m trying to say is that we should wait until Taggart gets here for the debriefing. I’m suggesting we hear him out. I’m confident he will find another way forward.’

She locked her cold blue eyes on his thin face. ‘We can’t base all our efforts on the faint hope that Mr Taggart will know what to do. It’s our job to determine the course of this investigation. What happened this morning was no mistake. His team executed his plan as instructed and it failed. Plain and simple. Bill Taggart is not ready to lead the investigation.’

‘I’m not saying he’s perfect, but—’

‘Someone else who is not part of the London office, please.’

Shaw sat back in his chair, angry and mortified.

Daphne had no time for touchy-feely emotions. She had worked as CEO of the Earth Security Centre for the last twenty years and had learned to play the game the way the men did.

The representative from the Bangladesh office raised his hand. Daphne nodded at him. ‘Was there an issue with the military personnel Taggart had been assigned?’ he said. ‘I heard there was insubordination among the ranks.’

‘Nothing more than usual with those flatheads,’ said Daphne. ‘I’m looking for real suggestions, people.’

The rep from the Tokyo office stood up and bowed to his host. ‘Please, Ms Gilchrist-san. How much does Taggart know about our current situation?’

Apart from Junsuke Sato, Daphne didn’t respect any of the reps. In Osaka, she had learned how to do business the Japanese way. She admired their no-nonsense approach to work and traditional views of home life, even if she didn’t gain the respect of being a woman in power there.

‘Konnichiwa, Sato-san,’ she responded with a brief, but respectful bow. ‘Other than the basics, nothing. Shaw, care to elaborate?’

‘He still thinks he’s on a fact-finding mission. He knows very little about the Indigenes or where they came from. As you instructed, I fed him the false background files.’

‘Good. Taggart will be back on Earth in two weeks. We will speak to him then. He’s scheduled on the next passenger ship which departs Exilon 5 tomorrow.’

Sato looked concerned. ‘What about his wife? Is that affecting his judgement? What does he know about what happened to her?’

‘He still thinks the Indigenes killed her and I don’t plan on correcting that. Right now, he’s more useful to me fighting against them than with them.’

‘Is he a risk?’ said Sato.

Daphne shook her head. ‘He is manageable. Shaw will see to that.’

‘But what if he finds out about her?’

She laughed. ‘I really don’t see how that’s possible, Sato-san. He doesn’t have access to that information and I’m certainly not about to tell him, are you?’

Sato shook his head and sat down.

The Bangladesh rep spoke again. ‘What exactly do the Indigenes know about us?’

‘Very little, if Taggart’s files are anything to go by. Although the revelation about what we are must have come as a shock.’

‘Have the files been processed yet?’ said the San Francisco rep.

‘Brett?’

‘Not yet,’ said Suzanne. ‘We’re sending them down to our high-level storage facility on Level Five. They will be processed later on this afternoon.’

‘Brief me straight away when that’s done,’ said Daphne.

‘I am worried because we do not know what information the Indigenes have on us,’ said Sato. ‘Do we at least know what their plans are?’

‘No, we don’t. But I can assure you of this much. We are putting in place proper measures to make sure no harm comes to us. From what I understand, the meeting with the boy was innocuous enough. I don’t think they will act on their new findings, at least not straight away. I’m still looking for suggestions from the table.’

None were put forward.

‘If nobody has anything more to say, we’ll have to break up until we’ve given this situation some more thought. I’m disappointed that we haven’t come up with at least one idea.’ Daphne moved to stand up.

‘On a related matter,’ said Suzanne, ‘we are short of people in Level Five. We’ve lost two because of illness in the past week and we haven’t been able to replace them yet. With the extra work coming our way, we’ll need an extra body to pick up the slack.’

‘Investigate the pair,’ said Daphne. ‘If they are lying, you know what you have to do. I will not tolerate any security breaches from Level Five.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Who do you have as replacement?’

‘I have some options available in Document Control and Storage,’ said Suzanne. ‘But the specific person I am recommending is Laura O’Halloran.’

‘What can you tell me about her?’

‘Three years on the job. No social life outside work. Lives alone. Only child. Has a mother that she doesn’t visit. Father is dead. Volunteers for extra shifts when they arise.’

‘Sounds like the perfect candidate. Inform her of the promotion, effective immediately, and make her swear to all-out confidentiality. The last thing we need is for the human population to get wind of an alien race occupying their saviour planet. Deighton and the board members need the transfer to Exilon 5 to go ahead as planned.’

Suzanne nodded and headed for the door.

Daphne stepped outside with her. ‘Make sure her clearance is restricted. I don’t want her getting access to Level Eight information unless I give the order. Taggart’s files should be clean enough. Need-to-know only. Got it?’

Suzanne nodded. ‘Understood.’

‘Is she going to be a problem?’

‘Not if I tell Chuck to drive the message home.’

The man who worked in booth ten on the Level Five was a strange fellow but he would keep Laura O’Halloran clean.

Daphne nodded. ‘Good. As soon as she’s settled and you have them ready, give her Taggart’s files for processing.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Suzanne. ‘She has no experience at this level. We have twenty-two other operators at your command, all with ample experience.’

‘It’s exactly for that reason that she’s getting them. If anything should go wrong, she’ll be easier to control.’

17

Laura looked up when Suzanne Brett burst into Document Control and Storage, followed closely by the overseer for Level Four. Work ground to an immediate halt.

‘Carry on with your work,’ said Brett.

‘Yes, carry on everyone.’ The overseer mimicked Suzanne’s order, irritated by her presence.

Laura stared at her screen, trying to look busy. She could hear Brett’s uniform swishing between her legs. Why was she here? Who was she here for? Laura had only met Suzanne Brett once before, back when she had first started work. She hadn’t warmed to the woman’s chilly desk-side manner and her black hair and thin lips only added to her icy demeanour. But Laura was smart enough to know not to piss her off. All the women who occupied the top positions were generally considered to be hardasses.

She continued to study the screen. The swishing sounds abated. She tensed up.

A finger tapped her on the shoulder and she jumped with fright. She turned and flushed red at the realisation Brett was there for her. The room fell silent. Brett’s cold eyes bored into her while the overseer hovered uneasily in the background.

‘Laura O’Halloran?’

‘Yes?’

‘You are being relocated as a matter of priority. Get your things.’

‘What? Where?’ She glanced at her overseer who indicated it was time to go. She stood up and gathered together her meagre possessions. ‘Where am I going?’

Brett took the lead. The overseer walked behind Laura as they guided her towards the exit. Panic grew inside her. Was this good or bad?

The curiosity on her colleagues’ faces was clear. Janine mimicked a call sign and mouthed ‘later’. No doubt Janine would be talking about her as soon as she left.

When would “later” even be? She didn’t know.

Brett led her to the turbo lift and called it.

‘Where are you taking me? Have I done something wrong?’

The lift arrived and Brett entered first. Her overseer shoved Laura inside.

‘Thanks for your help, Phil,’ said Brett. ‘I’ll take it from here.’ She placed a hand on the overseer’s chest and prevented him from following. As the doors closed, she retracted her arm and left him on the other side. The doors remained open long enough for Laura to see him mouth the word ‘bitch’.

‘One floor down,’ said Brett.

Laura presumed it was a command for the lift. Her heart raced when she realised where she was going.

‘Why?’

‘Hold out your right thumb.’

Laura complied and Brett jabbed her with a sharp instrument. Laura winced, but didn’t pull away her thumb as her security chip access was upgraded.

The lift doors opened. ‘That will give you access to Level Five,’ said Brett. ‘But before I can take you there, you need to come with me.’

They stepped out into an unremarkable corridor. If it hadn’t been for the number five flashing like a beacon in the turbo lift, Laura wouldn’t have known what floor she was on; the grey walls and carpet gave no clues. Brett ushered her into a small room two doors down from the lift where she was greeted by a stern, seated man wearing the familiar purple uniform of the Level Five workers. The uniform was adorned with almost as many accolades as Brett’s. Clearly, he was somebody important in the ESC.

‘Please, take a seat.’ He pointed to the chair. A musky scent wafted in her direction.

She sat down and looked around her. The door sucked shut. Brett remained inside the room, standing in one corner.

The purple-clad man thrust a DPad at her. ‘Read this out loud, so I know you understand it.’

Laura shakily read the full text of the document.

CONFIDENTIALITY AGREEMENT

You are entering into an area which contains highly sensitive documentation.

You are not permitted to discuss the information you see with anyone.

You must only divulge information to an employee who is of a higher rank than you.

If you do anything that is in direct violation of this agreement, you will be severely reprimanded.

Place your security chip at the bottom of the screen if you comply with this agreement.

Laura wondered what reprimand they were talking about. She would ask at the inevitable induction programme later.

Her mind wouldn’t let go of something. This was all happening too fast. She wasn’t scheduled for promotion for another two years and hadn’t heard of anyone being fast-tracked.

Still, if it increased her chances of getting on the transfer list for Exilon 5, and away from Earth, then she had to take a leap of faith.

Laura placed her right thumb on the marker and accepted her new role on Level Five.

18

A low murmur ran around the Gathering Room, the meeting place for the Central Council and the Indigene representatives. The room was located in the southwest section of District Three. Constructed out of omicron rock, its natural sound-insulating properties kept the discussion private. Stephen had expected this reaction from the representatives.

Pierre and Elise, the Central Council elders, stood on a raised platform alongside him. Each district had elders that presided over them. Pierre and Elise, both one hundred and twenty years old, were the eldest serving council members among them and in charge of District Three. Their faces were a picture of calm.

The room was filled to capacity with fifty representatives. From his elevated position, Stephen noted the concern on the Indigenes’ faces as he relayed the information from the child, Ben Watson.

His heart raced, aggravated by terror and confusion as he recited the information the boy had told him. The atmosphere shifted when he revealed that the Surface Creatures were human.

Stephen looked down at the sea of faces and found Anton. He snatched his eyes away from the shocked look on Anton’s face and focused on the group as a whole, trying not to single out anyone in particular.

‘Please. Everybody needs to calm down,’ said Pierre, as the agitation increased.

Elise leaned in closer to her husband and whispered something. Elise was an empath and could read the emotions in a room. Questions soon hit the raised platform.

‘What does this mean for us?’

‘What are we going to do now?’

‘What will happen to us if they discover our districts?’

Pierre fanned his hands. ‘Please, we aren’t going to help matters by panicking. We will arrive at a solution together, I promise you. Right now, we aren’t in any immediate danger and I urge you all to calm down.’

Elise added. ‘We have an advantage. They don’t know what we are so they won’t be looking for us straight away. That gives us time to discuss a strategy.’

‘Stephen,’ whispered Pierre. ‘Elise and I need to speak with you and Anton privately. I will ask Leon to join us.’

Stephen knew what Pierre was going to suggest: for the first time, Central Council would decide without the consensus of the representative group. Indigenes in other districts could be drip-fed the information. By deciding alone, Pierre would prevent vigilante behaviour from growing.

Pierre addressed the room again. ‘I urge you not to act alone or divulge the information to the others until we’ve come up with a collective strategy. We need to protect ourselves. Currently, we have the upper hand.’ The group agreed. ‘I assure you that we will consult all representatives throughout this challenging process.’

A deliberate lie.

Fifteen minutes later, Pierre and Elise gathered in Council Chambers along with Anton, Stephen and Leon. The large rectangular space contained a bookcase filled with Indigene and human literature that divided the room in half. Behind the bookcase was a bed that Pierre sometimes used when he was working late. Stephen stood motionless beside Elise, while Anton paced anxiously across the room. Leon, a long-time friend of the elders and Anton’s father, projected an image of calm and stood with his hands interlocked behind his back.

They discussed the other information that Stephen had deliberately held back from the representatives.

‘What do they call it?’ said Leon.

‘Earth.’

‘And this is the human’s home planet, where they originate from?’

‘As I understand it,’ said Stephen.

‘And why have they come here to destroy us?’

‘I’m sorry, Leon. I don’t know that much. The child was helpful but equally naïve about the way of the world.’

‘We shouldn’t make any hasty decisions today,’ said Pierre. ‘We need to understand their motives. It may be our only defence to learn as much as we can about them before they discover what we are.’

‘Well, where better to learn about them than their home planet?’ said Anton. ‘I say we go now!’

‘Easy, Anton.’ Elise placed a gentle hand on his arm. She looked into his eyes. ‘We’ll probably need to discuss this a little more.’ Anton relaxed in her gaze.

‘Anton might have a point though,’ said Pierre. ‘We have no clue about what the humans are up to. We know that they were watching Stephen and the child. They’re already familiar with our physiology and how it differs from theirs. This latest meeting will only feed their curiosity.’

‘I’m curious to know why they are watching at all,’ said Leon. ‘Apart from Anton, we can all remember the day when the explosions happened. We know that their species can’t be trusted.’

Yes, Stephen remembered watching the explosions with his parents from the safety of the tunnels, as two-thirds of the Indigenes on the surface were destroyed. ‘I have the strongest reason to hate them,’ said Stephen. ‘I wish I could say for certain that they are all the same. It would be easier to believe that. But something tells me to think otherwise.’

Pierre’s eyes brightened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I couldn’t sense any malice from the child, only curiosity. But then there’s the other thing. They kill innocents so easily.’

‘Stephen, your senses rarely let you down. Why not trust them?’ said Pierre.

Stephen caught something light in the elder’s words, almost as if he was willing him to go with his gut instinct. ‘Why are you so eager to push me towards accepting them?’

‘I’m not asking or telling you to do that, only that there may be other reasons behind their actions that we haven’t yet considered.’

He held his elder’s gaze. ‘Like what?’

Pierre gave nothing away in his appearance but rushed his explanation. ‘Nothing specific. Let’s consider all options. How would you feel about going to Earth to find out more about them?’

‘It can only help. We need the upper hand if we are to decide how we will move forward.’

Anton smiled and paced the room again.

Elise looked uneasy. ‘I don’t have a good feeling about this. It’s too dangerous.’

‘I’m sorry, wife,’ said Pierre. ‘But I agree with Stephen. We have to be proactive. It feels as if we’re being backed into a corner. The humans call some of us “Shadow People”. We know those particular Indigenes among us are dangerous and uncontrollable. If we do nothing, we will only feed that vigilante outlet. We are no longer safe. Stephen and Anton must go.’

‘You want to risk the lives of our best two?’ said Elise.

‘It’s because they are the best that I’m considering this. It will work.’

‘I agree with Pierre. We don’t have a choice.’ Leon gripped Anton’s shoulder. ‘Stephen, Anton, are you up to the task?’

Stephen glanced at his grinning friend and nodded. ‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Good. A passenger ship is scheduled to leave orbit tomorrow. Presumably, it’s destined for their home planet,’ said Pierre.

‘At least send a back-up group with them, Pierre.’ Elise turned to Leon. ‘This is madness, allowing them to go alone. They won’t be able to protect each other if something happens.’

‘I understand your concerns,’ said Pierre, ‘but if we send too many, they’ll be noticed.’

Leon spoke to Anton telepathically. Anton responded with a nod. ‘They’ll be fine, Elise. They know how to look after themselves.’

‘How can you let your only son go so easily?’ said Elise.

‘Amelia and I raised our son to think for himself. I will not tell him what he can and cannot do.’

‘Stephen, Anton, what do you two think?’ said Pierre.

‘It will be safer if we do this alone,’ said Stephen. ‘There’ll be less chance of them noticing us. If they do detect us, they might just think it’s a solo mission, rather than an organised attack on humans.’

‘Anton?’

‘I say we give these humans something to think about.’

‘This is not an attack,’ said Pierre. ‘You are going there to add to the information we already know about their species. But more important than that, you will be depending on each other for survival, so rational thinking is called for. Is that clear?’

Anton nodded.

Stephen observed Anton closely—there were many intelligent Indigenes but none with his friend’s ability to create and adapt technology. He was by far the youngest of their technological protégés and many of their kind publicly acknowledged his talents. He had, after all, invented the air filtration device, which changed the way their race hunted. Anton buzzed with enthusiasm; the difficulty lay in curbing it. But in a life or death situation such as this, there was no other Indigene he wanted watching his back.

Pierre flipped his attention to the finer details of the trip. ‘Anton, give us an update on how you’re progressing.’

Anton’s demeanour brightened; one thing he enjoyed talking about was his inventions. When he launched into full explanation mode, he was difficult to interrupt.

‘Well, thanks to Stephen’s first expedition last week, I was able to improve the artificial skin’s pigmentation. We should be able to blend in better now. I’ve updated and improved the existing air filtration device. It will now work for two full days without the need for power. I’ve devised mobile recharging units that we can carry. It should give us an indefinite clean air supply.’

‘What about getting on the ship?’ said Leon. ‘Won’t the fact that you don’t carry identity chips be enough to trigger a warning?’

Anton smiled. ‘Not a problem. On a recent trip to the surface, I asked one of the mission groups to bring back several identity chips if they could do so without getting caught. They also brought back a security chip from a worker whose thumb had been accidentally cut off.’

Pierre and Elise both stared at Anton.

‘Don’t worry, he was dead at the time. Died in an unrelated accident. Anyway, they won’t be able to pin it on us. There’s a black market for this kind of technology. The humans will blame the scavengers long before we’re ever suspected of the crime.’

Pierre shook his head. ‘Continue, Anton.’

‘I have designed a security chip that should be a decent enough replacement. I’ve temporarily re-routed the tracking device that was embedded in the one we borrowed. They are sophisticated designs and it won’t be long before the chip figures out what I’ve done and will try to repair itself. If it manages that, it’s wired to communicate with a central unit before it destroys itself. Presumably, they will try to locate the chip so they can arrest the human responsible for tampering with it. Just so you know, I disconnected it half an hour ago, so I’ve just an hour to update you before we need to get the real chip as far away from here as possible.’

‘No pressure, then,’ said Leon.

‘None at all.’ Anton smiled, nodding at Stephen. ‘We have the fastest runner among us.’

‘Well, you’d better hurry then,’ said Stephen. ‘It seems as if I’ve something urgent to attend to directly after this.’

‘Anton, why do you also need the identity chips?’ said Elise. ‘Won’t the security one be enough?’

‘Both chips are present in human bodies. Depending on their age or skill level, they may have one or both activated. We know they definitely scan both when humans leave the planet. The computer checks that they’re still compatible and that they haven’t been tampered with. I designed a generic identity chip that the mission group used to replace the ones they took. In theory, the workers they removed them from shouldn’t notice anything is wrong, unless they try to leave the planet.’

‘Is that a likely occurrence?’ said Leon.

‘Unfortunately, anything is possible. I hope to have gone and returned home before they discover any of that. It’s a risk we have to take.’

‘I agree,’ said Stephen.

‘I plan to insert the identity chips in our left thumbs. The security chips that I’ve designed should fool the system as long as the other chip is an original. Stephen will be known as “Colin Stipple”, an underground station operations manager, and I will be “Bob Harris”, road maintenance worker. That’s the information that came back when I scanned the originals into our systems. That’s how the logs will know us when we attempt to board.’

‘Good job, Anton,’ said Leon, smiling.

‘As much as I’d like to take all the credit, I had a little help.’ Anton was referring to his team of scientists.

‘Please try not to get killed out there,’ said Elise.

‘That isn’t part of the plan,’ said Stephen.

Pierre placed a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder. ‘When does the ship leave for Earth?’

‘Tomorrow at noon,’ said Stephen. ‘That will also be the hottest time of the day. It’s going to get uncomfortable and dangerous. We’ll need to keep our bodies fully covered and that’s bound to attract unwanted attention.’

‘Don’t worry about the temperature,’ said Anton. ‘I have cooling packs that we can wear inside the coat. We should be fine until we get on board. Oh, I forgot to mention. We’re going to have to inject our food directly into our stomachs. We won’t be able to eat normally with our filtration devices permanently in place. I’ve modified the synthesised protein packs, so there should be minimal side effects.’

Stephen grimaced. ‘Sounds... challenging.’

‘Well, for all our sakes, you two had better be safe,’ said Leon. ‘So, what exactly are we going to tell the representatives?’

‘Nothing, for now,’ said Pierre. ‘The less they know about this trip, the better.’

‘In the meantime...’ Anton removed the security chip from his pocket and dropped it into Stephen’s hand. ‘Get rid of this, will you?’

19

Tired and anxious about the trip home, Bill took a moment to sit before he left his ITF apartment in New London for what he expected to be the last time. He ran a hand over the stubble on his face. He would use the two-week trip home to Earth to clean up just in time for his debriefing with Gilchrist.

He gathered up his belongings and locked the door. At street level, an automated military vehicle waited to take him to the nearest docking station, located fifteen miles outside New London’s border.

The vehicle travelled quickly through the city. He tried to commit to memory the feel of the place; not just the city and Cantaloupe restaurant, but the entire planet. People laughed as they left the nearest bar together. Sunday strollers walked beneath a strong sun with rolled-up sleeves and smiles on their faces. City parks were packed with squealing children while chatty parents carried picnic baskets. He rolled down the window and dangled out his left arm, soaking in as much heat on his skin as possible. It was then he realised how much the city calmed him, even though it was where the Indigenes also lived. Isla’s death was easier to cope with when he felt calm. He dreaded returning to Earth; a year was a long time to be away.

The vehicle pulled up close to the docking station a few miles outside of the city. Bill stayed inside the cabin for a moment. Set in the flatlands, the station was sparsely designed, compared to the cutting-edge style of the ones on Earth. A large prefabricated cabin served as the main building which passengers walked through to get to the spacecrafts docked on the other side. White tarpaulin hung outside the main doors, shielding the sun from sensitive eyes. The passenger ship waited in orbit for the travellers to arrive.

The temporary feel of Exilon 5’s docking stations had Bill thinking about the World Government’s transfer programme; they were well behind on their quotas. The new lottery arrangement had increased the transfer numbers. But twenty billion people remained a wildly ambitious target given the slow pace of planning and developments on Exilon 5.

He stepped out of the vehicle and was faced with three queue options; the layout had changed since he’d last been there.

One was marked “Detainees”. Officers armed with deadly Buzz Guns hovered close by. The second line was for “Workers”, many of whom appeared to be engineers and labourers returning to Earth for work reassignment. The last line was labelled “Other”.

His previous feeling of calm had been replaced by irritation caused by little sleep. Bill pushed his way to the top of the worker’s line, much to the annoyance of those queueing.

A young officer stood on guard at the head of the queue. He moved to block Bill’s path.

‘Hang on a minute! Where do you think you’re going? Can’t you see there’s a queue behind you?’

Bill stopped and reached inside his shirt pocket. He pulled out his credentials and held them within inches of the young man’s face. ‘I am a high-level employee of the World Government.’ He nodded towards the waiting craft. ‘I’m scheduled to travel today on the passenger ship.’

‘Well, there’s still a queue, you know, and I have to process all these people first. They’ve been waiting for at least a couple of hours.’

‘Tell me your name,’ said Bill.

‘Uh, Officer Ridge.’

‘Well, Officer Ridge, I know there’s a queue. But I’m on official business, you see. Orders from Gilchrist and Deighton. Would you like me to call one of them? Have them confirm this?’

The officer pressed his lips together and studied his DPad.

An eerie silence descended behind Bill as people craned their necks and stood on tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the action.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ said the officer, fumbling with his DPad.

The crowd behind him was audibly disappointed.

The officer ran a shaky finger down the passenger manifest. He turned the clipboard around to face Bill. ‘Place both thumbs here.’

His name and clearance flashed up on the screen. ‘Investigator William Taggart, International Task Force,’ the officer read out loud. ‘Ah yes. I’m afraid it seems you’re in the wrong queue.’ He looked relieved. ‘You need to be in the ‘Other’ queue, over there.’ He pointed to a large white tent, where just ten people waited, and promptly turned his back on Bill.

Bill headed for the correct queue, dreading the two-week journey home.

20

Stephen and Anton stood in the queue, observing the people around them. Stephen stood stiffly, eager to avoid contact with any of the humans.

A stout man in front talked to the tall man beside him.

‘Definitely could have stayed for a lot longer. Going home again is shit,’ said the stout man.

‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ said the tall man. ‘Guaranteed sunshine during daylight hours. The ability to breathe without wearing those stupid masks? Remind me why we’re going back there?’

‘If we don’t, the gov’ment will track us down anyway and we’ll never be able to return here. Let’s not give them any reason to leave us behind—’

A man charged up the outside of the queue, knocking the stout man’s arm as he passed. The officer ahead stopped him. Anton became agitated.

The stout man grumbled. ‘What the hell? Did you see that? He just pushed right past. Someone thinks he’s more important than the rest of us. Needs to be put in his place, that one.’

An argument unfolded between the officer and the queue-cutting man. Stephen and Anton listened.

The stout man straightened up with a new interest. ‘Oh, forget what I just said. Looks like there’s a fight about to happen.’ He tried to make himself taller. ‘What’s he saying now, man? I can’t hear ‘em all the way up there. Crap, I wish we was closer so we could throw a proper ear on them.’

Even his taller friend was struggling to catch anything meaningful. He stood on his toes to get a better view, relying on the mumblings ahead of him to piece the conversation together.

Anton helped him out. ‘The man is telling the officer that he’s not going to queue and he wants to pass now.’ Stephen shot Anton an angry look.

Anton shrugged. ‘Sorry, they were irritating me.’

The stout man turned around. ‘Er, thanks.’ He gawked at Anton’s appearance.

His tall friend craned his neck towards the front. ‘Looks like the kid’s about to crap himself.’

The stout man twisted to the front. ‘What’s happenin’ Ger?’

‘Ah, it’s all over. The officer backed down already.’

‘Without a fight? What a baby.’ The stout man glanced at Anton again.

Stephen was about to admonish Anton, when he noticed his friend’s agitation increase.

‘What?’

‘I think I recognise him,’ said Anton in a low whisper. He was pointing at the man who was arguing with the officer. ‘From the restaurant. He was the one sitting at the table by the window when I was recording those scenes for you. He looked point-blank at me a couple of times.’

‘Do you think he might recognise you now?’ said Stephen.

‘No, he didn’t pay me much attention. Seemed distracted by something. Do you think he could be involved in the surveillance on us?’

‘I’m sure of it. He was sitting in a café last week, the one located across from the bus stop.’

As Officer Ridge spoke the words, both Stephen and Anton committed the name to memory: Investigator William Taggart.

21

Bill boarded the craft that held just twenty other World Government employees. He didn’t recognise any of them. He moved towards an available seat and pulled the restraints tight across his body, remembering how rough the last journey had been. The trip took less than ten minutes to reach the outer perimeter shield.

The passenger ship was orbiting fifty miles above the planet’s shield. It was a mile high from base to tip and two miles long; a tubular core ran through its entire length. The front section was rounded like the early rocket ships. Circumnavigating the core was a trio of wheel-like structures, attached via interconnecting tubes or “spokes”. The wheels’ housed sleeping pods, while the tubular core allowed the crew to run the ship without coming into contact with the passengers. It carried an electrical charge and did not need propellants to navigate it, although a standard amount of fuel was carried on-board all the ships. Powered by a Faster Than Light drive, the ship used the slipstream between planets and harnessed their natural magnetic fields to navigate a path home. The fields exerted a force against the ship’s electrically charged exterior to keep it on course. Solar wind power enhanced its top surfing speed. The World Government continually challenged their engineers to improve on the journey time of two weeks. Bill read somewhere that they’d already developed a prototype FTL drive that could do just that.

The craft docked successfully inside the main hold of the ship. Bill disembarked and waited in line. He felt his dwindling energy push and pull at him. He wanted two things: an easy registration process and a chance to get some rest.

There were two sleeping options on board: Dormant or Active. Actives were housed in sleeping quarters in the rim of one of the wheel-like structures. Dormants were placed in suspended stasis in sleeping pods for the entire trip. Located in a separate wheel, their vitals were continually monitored throughout the entire journey, and an hour before arrival, they were revived with an anti-stasis serum containing a large dose of multivitamins and a barely legal dose of Actigen.

An attractive female officer waited up ahead as the high-level officials formed a queue. She hummed a tune as she ran a finger down a list. ‘Not too many on board, I see. We’re already off to a good start.’ She smiled at the waiting group. Her gentle face and warm eyes won over the all-male group. ‘Looks like I got the easy list. I’m assuming everybody has been on-board this type of ship before?’

They nodded.

‘Good. But I’m going to need to run through everything once more. Protocol.’ Looking up from her DPad, she launched into the rules and regulations from memory.

‘The journey takes two weeks. There are two accommodation options available to you. Option one, you can stay in normal mode, during which you will be provided with sleeping quarters and have access to a fully stocked kitchen. You will be charged for your stay and board. Option two, you can avail of one of our sleeping pods. You will be fully sedated and sleep-suspended until you arrive at your destination. You will not need sustenance during your animated suspension, but you will be administered with a nutrient pack upon revival. The cost of option two is less than option one, of course. All expenses will be recorded on your identity chip and the information stored at the World Government headquarters until payment has been recouped. Is everyone clear?’ The group nodded again. ‘Now, I need you to line up on the left-hand side, and when you reach me, please state your accommodation requirements.’

Bill kept his eyes on the attractive officer as he moved forward. When it was his turn, he placed his thumb on the DPad and said, ‘Option one. Sleeping quarters.’

The registration officer’s smile sent a burst of warmth through his core. He heard Isla’s voice.

I might have to keep my eye on her. Looks like I’m not the only one vying for your attention.

Bill pushed away his feelings of guilt. Nobody could ever replace his wife. He felt himself sway.

‘Are you all right, sir?’ The officer placed a hand on his arm.

‘Yes, I’m fine. Just need sleep.’ He felt like a stupid schoolboy with a crush.

The officer smiled again and nodded. ‘Don’t worry about it, sir. It’s more common than you think. You’ll feel right as rain in no time.’ She let go of him and gestured for him to pass.

Bill arrived at the sleeping quarters he’d been assigned and noted the dozen individually sized units that ran along the wall. He punched in a code for one of them, climbed in, closed over the side-flap and locked it. The accommodation was basic but the last thing he wanted was to be under for two solid weeks. Besides, he needed the time to prepare what he would say at the ESC debriefing. Without the files that he’d already sent to the Security Centre, he’d have to prepare his argument from memory. The only things he had in his possession were his clothes, some personal items and his recollection of yesterday’s events.

He tried not to think about what would happen when he got to Earth. Would he be fired? That was a strong possibility. Would he be reassigned? Even more likely.

Sleep called to him and his head edged closer to the pillow.

What he needed most was to get back on track and continue in his search for Isla.

22

The previous morning, Laura had made an overdue call to her mother. It was the anniversary of her father’s death; four years since he’d taken his life. Fionnuala always got depressed around this time of year. But her mother, a dramatist at best, still always managed to make the day about her, about what she had lost.

Laura had taken a long time to get over her father’s death and she only recently forgave him for killing himself, even though he had suffered with severe depression. When his death had received coverage from the local news, Fionnuala had been mortified by the sudden interest in her family. Death by hanging was uncommon, especially with the option of the termination rooms. Laura still endured her emotional outbursts about the press intrusion that day.

Laura had found Fionnuala huddled in a corner of the living room, while her father’s body hung in a noose. Laura had cut him down, tried to revive him. Fionnuala had always been useless in a crisis. If Laura was to learn anything from her father’s death, it was that she wouldn’t become another statistic on the World Government’s books. She would stick life out until the bitter end, just like her great-grandfather.

During the video call, Laura had half-listened to her mother’s latest ramblings; her self-pity was nauseating. Fionnuala didn’t really need her help; she just wanted someone to complain to. She lived comfortably off the proceeds of her husband’s insurance policy. Then there was her increased use of the Light Box and the slight incoherence in her voice that suggested she was tipsy during the call.

Her mother’s remarks had the ability to cut deep. She often blamed Laura for her husband’s depression, then would apologise a few days later for the things she had said. It had been a year since Laura last visited her in person. She considered telling her mother about the lottery update and her new promotion to Level Five, but decided against it. Fionnuala would find a way to complain about a ‘bothersome’ move to another planet. Laura would probably have to force her to go to Exilon 5.

After she had signed the confidentiality agreement, Brett had escorted her to the door leading to the heart of Level Five. ‘You can’t speak to anyone about the work you do here. Do you understand? You’ll be given access to extremely sensitive information and your work will be continually monitored while you’re at the Centre. Understand?’

Laura had nodded as Brett opened the door. The room on Level Five was half the size of the one on Level Four. There were just twenty-four isolation booths facing towards the centre aisle. Twenty-two of them were occupied. Brett had marched her down the aisle and deposited her at a vacant booth. Nobody moved or spoke to her. They reminded her of the robot supervisors at the Maglev train stations.

‘You can take this one. Someone will contact you shortly. For now, just sit here quietly.’

Those had been Suzanne’s last words before she marched out the door like her backside was on fire. Unsure of her role, Laura just mimicked her co-workers. A few hours later, she received orders to go home and rest, which she jumped at; she had worked without a proper break for two weeks.

The following day, when she arrived into work, she was told that important information was on its way to the High Level Document Storage Facility. She sat in her booth and stared at her monitor, expecting it to spring into life. Two hours later, it still remained blank and she could feel the cabin fever begin to set in.

Laura tried to muster up excitement about her new promotion but it slipped by without even a congratulatory high-five. She wondered how happy her former colleagues, Chris and Janine, would be for her. But Suzanne Brett’s chilling warning the day before reminded her to proceed carefully with what she shared outside of Level Five.

Beyond the twenty-four booths, there was a water station, a bulletin board that displayed a different motivational quote each day, and a vacuum tube with a direct link to Gilchrist’s office. Level Five lacked personality. She’d been naïve to expect the ESC to spend money on areas other than Gilchrist’s office.

Today’s bulletin board message was short.

We are the sum of our counterparts.

It was cryptic and utterly irrelevant.

Now that Laura wore the purple uniform, would Chris and Janine view her differently?

Her new colleagues on Level Five worked silently. Laura rose to her feet and scowled at the insular vibe. On Level Four, there had always been time for a quick chat. But here, it was as if the isolation booths were designed to keep people in as well as out.

If they wouldn’t come to her, she would go to them. She walked along the centre aisle and stopped at the first booth.

‘Hey, I’m Laura,’ she said. The woman ignored her. Laura moved on. She went to the next booth and rattled out the same line. The response didn’t change. She worked through six more people with none showing her any interest.

A voice boomed from behind as she moved away. ‘Hey! New girl.’

Laura turned. A beady-eyed, black-haired man at booth ten was standing up. He motioned for her to return. She approached him.

‘Since you are clearly unfamiliar with the way this place operates,’ he said. ‘I’m going to enlighten you a little. Pay attention.’

The other workers showed no interest in their conversation.

‘Don’t bother trying to get to know anyone here. Nobody is interested in you or your story. Have you been briefed yet?’

Laura nodded.

‘Well, then you should know they are as serious as shit when it comes to this place. You will be monitored like they said, and if you have to take breaks, make sure they’re sanctioned ones.’

Laura really wanted to walk away.

He continued. ‘The information we receive within these four walls is extremely confidential and highly sensitive. What we retain up here’—he tapped the side of his head—‘can get you killed in an instant. Remember that and learn who your enemies are, because you’re already in a room with twenty-two of them.’

Her lips parted and she looked around. There was no laughter. She wasn’t being set up. The beady-eyed man was deadly serious.

‘Right now, you’re wondering who the hell I am. Well, I’m just like you. I came from another floor some time ago, but I’ve learned to survive here and you will have to do the same. When you stepped through that door, you became one of us, so learn the rules fast.’

Laura frowned at him. ‘What rules? Are there more I should know about?’

‘You are not my problem. Figure that out for yourself. But know this. They’re always watching. Now, I suggest you go back to your booth like a good girl and wait until they send your work programme to your monitor.’ The man broke off his intense stare and sat down.

Laura walked back to her booth and sat in her chair. The man’s words had left her shaken to her core. Her heart raced.

While Brett had warned her already, she felt as if the advice from her new “frenemy” in booth ten wasn’t to be ignored.

He said they were always watching.

So, who was watching her now?

Laura sat back at her booth, feeling overwhelmed. Her stomach growled, which only added to her woes. Any more time spent thinking about the creep in booth ten and she might have to take an unsanctioned break.

Not a moment too soon, her monitor sprung into life. She exhaled.

Finally.

She put aside her reservations about the workers in The Abyss. She read the instructions that appeared on her monitor:

Worker. Welcome to the High Level Data Storage Facility.

The information that is stored here is extremely confidential. When the high-level files are decrypted upon arrival at the Security Centre, the outward tagging system, that is the tag that indicates the level of security on the file, is stripped.

This is done to prevent the supercomputer from automatically storing the file in the central database, which requires twenty-four hours notice for retrieval. It is an automatic security measure for all files with clearance levels of Five and above.

The Level Five and higher files sent to this location need to be investigated by the Data Analysis Unit on Level Six, before they are sent for storage to the central database. Therefore, all files of this nature must be accessible at any time, day or night.

All workers in this facility are required to process each file when it is received. Files are then manually stored in a maximum security, but fully accessible, database within the Analysis Unit on Level Six.

You are required to process each file as it comes into the waiting area. The security level is printed in the file. You must re-tag each one before a new encryption code is embedded. If you receive Level Eight files by mistake, they should be redirected to booth sixteen immediately. Alternatively, please create a blind copy of the information using one of the spare discs and deposit it into the vacuum tube on the wall.

Due to the sensitive nature of these files, you are not permitted to discuss the contents with anyone. Please place your right thumb at the bottom of the screen before continuing.

Laura blinked and anger coursed through her. A separate message flashed up asking for confirmation before she could continue. She complied. The screen flipped over to a pooled list of waiting files.

What was she even doing here? How long would she be stuck on Level Five doing the same work she had done on Level Four? She tried to remember the bigger picture: the move to Exilon 5. She considered taking another vitamin D shot to ward off her feelings of inadequacy.

Some of the files disappeared from view. Booth numbers flashed up beside random files, as they were processed: sixteen, nine, eighteen.

She hadn’t given much thought to how long the others had been here, but now it was all she could think about.

Why do we need to do this, anyway? Don’t they have computers for this stuff? Can’t they just write a programme that would do this job? Or was it that they didn’t trust technology, and human intervention was the only way to make sure the files were stored correctly? If anything went wrong, they could blame the human operator.

Far easier to prosecute a human than a tin can.

Laura considered a transfer back to Document Control and Storage, but they had her locked in through contractual agreements. She willed herself to open the first file that hadn’t already been claimed by another booth. She could feel the tears coming.

Give it a chance, Laura. You haven’t even started and already you’re quitting.

She thumbed a tear from her eye and checked the document. It was a memo from the World Government to Head of Operations, Suzanne Brett, about a staff member at the Centre. It read:

Dear Ms Brett,

It has come to our attention that a member of your staff has leaked confidential information to a person or persons outside the Centre about the status of various bank accounts and their details. I can only assume it is so they can get access to the funds.

This matter was brought to our attention by our insider, who had been offered the information in return for stolen goods. We are happy to let you deal with this staff member.

However, if we find that storage-bound information is leaked in the future, we will have no choice but to intervene.

Sincerely,

Tom Billings

Overseer for Security Matters

World Government

She noted the clearance level at the top of the document—Five—and closed the file. She tagged it and ran it through the re-encryption programme that had been placed as a shortcut on her monitor. All the files that came into Level Five seemed to have the clearance hidden somewhere in the document. She was a fast reader. At least she could put one of her skills to good use down here.

She picked another random document marked as confidential. It was another memo from the World Government to Suzanne Brett.

Dear Ms Brett,

It has come to our attention that a number of workers have attempted to access certain security areas within the Centre without correct authorisation. Our monitoring team at the World Government flagged up their security chips. You have twenty-four hours to fix the problem or suspend the workers involved.

If you do not comply, we will have no option but to intervene.

Sincerely,

Tom Billings

Overseer for Security Matters

World Government

It was marked with that day’s date and had been sent within the last ten minutes. She wondered who the workers were.

Note to self: Don’t piss off the World Government.

She tagged it as Level Five and ran it through the re-encryption file, same as the last one. She checked the time and wished she could be somewhere else.

But there was nowhere to go. She was trapped.

23

Bill wandered the passenger ship’s empty corridor, calling out. An eerie silence filled the ship. The hairs on his arm stood up. He forced one foot in front of the other, moving silently along the dark, tube-shaped passageway. Where the hell was everyone?

The ship’s overhead lights illuminated each step. A strong urge to find someone drove him on. Could he really be the only one on-board? His lack of trust kept him hidden from others but here he was seeking people out. For some reason he had to know he wasn’t alone.

As he moved forward, the darkness behind him deepened. His body tensed. He kept moving.

The place felt unfamiliar to him. Why? The ship was his second home. He had memorised every corner so he could stay hidden.

But something was wrong. He could feel it.

The air turned against him, tightening around his body, making it difficult to breathe. He clutched at his throat, trying to work air into his lungs. He dropped to his knees, weak.

A male figure stood before him. ‘Don’t be afraid. Let me help you.’

Bill felt his body relax. The unbearable tightness lifted from his throat. He clambered to his feet. His heart thundered in his chest as the dark shape glided towards him.

The man wore clothes that didn’t fit his frame. He stared as the figure, suddenly familiar, stopped, barely a few inches away. Other than the outfit, the shape bore no other distinctive features.

‘Who are you?’ he asked of the blackened mass.

‘Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered.’

Bill didn’t recognise the voice.

The dark figure removed his hat. The man had no expression, no features.

Bill reached out to touch the shape in front of him. His hand sliced through the wispy cloud that instantly reformed into a solid mass. Mesmerised, he let his inhibitions go. Was this real or a dream? It felt real enough.

The man slipped in closer and Bill tensed up as he caught sight of a shiny object in his hand. He raised his arm a second too late as the knife sliced effortlessly across his throat.

Bill awoke with a start, drenched in sweat and feeling claustrophobic. His tight throat made it difficult to breathe.

He twisted and turned in the cocoon-like sleeping unit on the passenger ship. The air hung oppressively around him. Gasping for air, he fought the resistance on his arms and legs. He remembered where he was and stopped struggling in the restrictive unit.

He groped in the dark for the unit’s lock. His face flushed and he turned his head, searching for new air. There was none. He raised his fist and banged the lock to force it to release. His strength vanished along with the air. Light-headedness caused his head to swim.

‘What the fuck—’

He slipped in and out of consciousness. When he was awake, he repeatedly slammed his elbow against the lock.

‘Christ!’

The pain blazed through his elbow as it connected with a hard surface. But he continued on, each time drained a little more of energy.

He continued to pound on the lock, quieter now.

‘Open up. For Christ’s sake, please open!’ In the air-starved environment, the panic gripped him.

He turned on his side and let his eyes close. He wanted to fight, but he was too weak. Isla was shouting at him to keep trying. What could he do? A hot tear fell from his eye and landed on his cheek. He didn’t have the strength to wipe it away.

A blast of cool air rushed over him and he sucked it into his lungs. The oxygen revived him like a dose of Actigen. He lay there, in no hurry to move and out of danger.

He felt cold arms reach in and lock around his body. The sleeping quarters were still dark. He didn’t fight as they pulled him free.

His head hit the floor with a thud. He ignored the pain as he swallowed another lungful of sweet, oxygen-rich air. He managed to focus on the figure of a man hovering over him. Cool fingers rested on his neck. The man spoke to someone else in the room.

‘His pulse is strong. They all seem fine now.’

Bill blinked to clear his vision and focus better on the men’s faces. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, but in that short moment, they were gone.

His head throbbed and he sat up slowly. The room was empty except for those who had been trapped in their pods. What were the men doing outside of the units anyway? Weren’t they also trapped?

He kept his back flat against the wall, as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. Scattered across the hard floor were nine other people. Bill crawled forward, fighting off his dizziness while he felt each body for a pulse. They were all alive.

‘What happened?’ he asked one man, who was lying on his back and staring at the ceiling.

‘I couldn’t breathe. The lock was stuck. If it hadn’t been for those two men—’ He didn’t finish. Instead, he closed his eyes, breathed out.

As soon as he was able, Bill walked the halls in search of someone in charge. He found a senior officer and showed him his World Government credentials. The officer rushed to explain the situation, with obvious embarrassment.

‘I’m sorry, sir. There was a power failure in Section Seven, where your unit and fifty others are located. The situation is now under control.’

‘How the hell does a ship this size get power failures?’ said Bill. He winced as his fingers probed the golf ball-sized lump on his head.

‘Normally the back-up power supply takes over, sir, but because it didn’t engage immediately, the computer shut off the oxygen levels to that area.’

‘Surely the computer is smart enough to detect when the sleeping quarters are being occupied.’

The officer’s face reddened. ‘Normally, sir, but the computers on board this ship are designed to save power, not to detect life on-board.’

‘So, when the computer knocked out the oxygen to that section, the sensors locked the units so we couldn’t escape?’

‘Not quite, sir. The sensors assumed they were unoccupied and lockdown was initiated to prevent tampering with unused units, sir.’

‘Good to know we’re in such safe hands.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He shook his head at the officer. ‘If it wasn’t for your officers, we would have all suffocated in there. Please thank them for me. I didn’t manage to get a good look at their faces, so I don’t know who they were.’

‘Sir?’

‘Your officers,’ said Bill.

The senior officer stared at him, before answering in his best military tone. ‘Of course, sir. Immediately.’

A stab of pain shot through his tenderised elbow and he winced.

‘Do you need medical help, sir?’

‘No, I’ll be fine.’ Bill began the walk back to his sleeping quarters. He didn’t trust doctors. ‘You’d probably only try to harvest my organs for donation.’

24

Tucked into a darkened doorway, Stephen and Anton watched the exchange between the official and Bill Taggart.

‘Would they really try to harvest that human’s organs?’ said Anton.

‘We know they are killers, so anything’s possible.’ Stephen stared after the investigator as he walked away.

‘I’m glad you decided to help those people in the end.’

‘I was this close to ignoring their screams.’ Stephen held his thumb and forefinger a small distance apart.

‘I don’t believe that. You’re nothing like the other Indigenes.’

‘But I have every reason to be.’

Anton’s brow creased. ‘Are the humans as bad as you say they are? Pierre’s opinion seems to differ.’

‘Pierre is practical. He prefers the option with the least carnage.’

‘Seems like we should wait to see what we find out before judging them.’

Stephen smirked. ‘You sound like Pierre.’

‘Well, he isn’t an elder for nothing.’

‘The very fact that they are human bothers me.’

‘No matter what they are, we can’t treat them as immediate enemies. It would make us no different to them.’

‘But we are like them,’ said Stephen.

Anton gestured after Bill. ‘He’s alone now. Why don’t we just approach him? Demand answers about why they are investigating us?’

‘No, I’m not ready for that yet. Besides, we can’t be sure if we can trust him. I think we should wait until we get to Earth.’

‘But what if we lose him? We don’t know where he’s going.’

‘We will soon enough. When we reach their planet, we can track him.’

A memory of the district’s Evolvers came to Stephen’s mind—they had also been tracked by the humans. It had been an error on some Indigenes’ part to allow their young to hunt without supervision. Their choices had revealed their race’s existence to the humans. Central Council’s perfect democratic society was showing signs of wear.

Stephen had also been hunting that night and had not been aware of two Evolvers’ dangerous proximity to the city border. They all heard the wolf baying in the distance, but the animal was on the back foot. The wolf was cornered somewhere and would be an easy kill.

They hadn’t accounted for the humans’ proximity to the wolf. The light from a single torch had stopped Stephen in his tracks. His hunting party of six watched on as two Evolvers had been moments away from being discovered.

The young pair had continued to taunt and tease the wolf. One Evolver danced and diverted the animal’s attention. The other curled his spine into a crouched hunting stance and kept his bloodthirsty eyes on the prey. The wolf stilled. A blood-curdling screech emanated from the dancing Evolver. The other, still low to the ground, revealed a set of teeth strong enough to rip the wolf in half.

The wolf snarled, low and guttural. It flashed its razor-sharp teeth; a prelude to a frenzied attack. The animal leaned back on its haunches, its muscles shaking with tension.

Stephen noticed the approaching human stop as soon as his light exposed the truth. The smell of iron filled his nose. The Evolvers shook with excitement as a crimson waterfall of blood spilled from the wolf’s neck.

As soon as the first Evolver had been surrounded, Stephen grabbed the second one and ran.

Stephen’s ragged breathing broke him out of his thoughts. He tilted his head back and pulled out the three sections of the filtration device. He pulled the spare set off his belt and adjusted the larger part at the back of his throat with his finger. He wiped down the depleted sections and placed each one in the recharger unit that also hung from his belt.

Anton waited for him to finish before speaking again. ‘So, how are we supposed to get off this ship without being noticed?’

‘The same way we got on. Will the chips work at the exit point?’

‘In theory they should. Disembarkation should be straight forward enough,’ Anton said. ‘As for getting around the planet... Well, I haven’t figured out how we’re going to manage that just yet.’

25

An endless list of documents appeared on Laura’s monitor, including various memos between the World Government and its subsidiaries about security matters. While some issues were minor, others might become serious if not dealt with.

A new folder blinked on her monitor. Laura stared at it. Booth numbers and names flashed up beside files and disappeared: booth one, her frenemy in booth ten, booth sixteen. She contemplated leaving it. But it sat separately to the regular feed. What if she was expected to open it?

She carried on with the list of regular files.

Twenty minutes later, the folder icon was still winking at her. She considered asking if others could also see the file, but that would break the cardinal rule: don’t speak to anyone. Heads remained low and impassive. Dozens of fingers glided over touch-activated monitors. The room felt constrictive all of a sudden. She logged downtime for a bathroom break through her monitor. A clock flashed up on-screen and a two-minute countdown commenced.

In the bathroom down the hall, she splashed cold water on her face, allowing it to drip down her neck where it soaked into her collar. She leaned against the steel-top counter and stared at her face in the mirror. Her blonde hair, which had started the day as a neat ponytail, was now a mess. She took it down and tidied it up. Her green eyes were missing their usual sparkle. Her skin was more pale than usual. Her clothes hung loosely on her frame. She’d lost weight recently, and it didn’t suit her.

Laura leaned towards the mirror, trying to remember why she had come to work for ESC in the first place. She was tired, both physically and emotionally. She was holding out for a place on a transfer list to Exilon 5; that was why she was here. But the longer she worked in Level Five, the further that goal seemed to drift away. When she felt low, a vitamin D shot usually pulled her out of her funk. But she wasn’t quite at that point yet.

Laura patted her face dry with a paper towel and went back to her workstation. The folder was still there. She continued to ignore it, and instead, randomly selected a file from the list that was increasing the longer she sat there.

As Laura processed the other files, the ominous folder continued to flash. Why hadn’t anyone else processed it?

She clicked on it. A folder labelled ‘Private’ opened to show nine documents, all with the security tag 732-554-ITF-TGT. A number of them had the prefix “to be re-filed” attached.

She opened the first document and scanned the contents. The name Bill Taggart repeated throughout. She guessed that the TGT on the security tag stood for his name. ITF, it explained in the document, stood for International Task Force. She read on. Words like “Exilon 5”, “investigation” and “meeting” caught her attention as she scoured the document for the clearance level. The document appeared to be a preliminary report sent a week ago. About two-thirds in, she found the hidden clearance level. She closed the file, tagged it and ran it through re-encryption.

She opened the files sequentially. The documents labelled “for re-filing” contained both video recordings and notes. She was unsure how to file a document with more than one element. Should she process the components separately or together?

‘Video and text together in the same file,’ she said to nobody in particular. ‘Do I tag together or separately?’ Her pulse raced. She hadn’t planned on breaking the cardinal rule.

All noises stopped and the silence filled the room. She pushed up from the desk and looked around her. The woman from booth sixteen who handled Level Eight information was staring at her.

‘Together,’ said Sixteen.

‘Thanks.’ Laura dropped back down into her seat. She tagged the two files without reading the text. She had found the clearance attached to the video file, simply titled “Examination”.

It wasn’t until she had opened the sixth document in the list of nine—labelled “to be re-filed – 732-554-ITF-TGT”—that she began to pay closer attention. Inside, the files had a different name: “Autopsy of Species 31”. Her eyes widened.

She started to put everything in the files together. The words “Exilon 5”, “investigator” and “meeting” developed context, but she was unsure of how “meeting” connected with anything. A meeting with whom? Species 31, perhaps? Did the alien autopsy pre-empt a meeting? What if the meeting hadn’t gone according to plan?

As she speed-read the document, she was tempted to labour over the contents, but she didn’t need the hassle from Brett, her new overseer. Key phrases rose to the surface: “translucent skin”, “photosensitive eyes”, “discovery of object lodged in back of throat and nasal cavity”.

What am I looking at?

Laura re-read the information until the words didn’t make any sense. She straightened up in her chair and looked over the top of her booth. Sixteen was the only one watching her.

Laura flushed red and looked at her monitor.

Her brief glimpse into a darker side of Level Five came as a surprise. There was no way this information had been conveyed publicly. She would have heard something already if it had been. The warnings from the beady-eyed man rang true. What we retain can get you killed in an instant. So learn the rules fast.

She still had no idea what the other rules were.

Laura didn’t know if she was in any danger, having seen the Taggart files. But they had been left for her to process; they had sent her the information freely. Surely the files were innocent enough? In the back of her mind, something nagged at her to be careful.

She ignored it.

Driven on by an insatiable curiosity, she opened the remaining files.

26

Daphne Gilchrist sat alone in her glass-walled office on Level Seven. The tint on the windows was set to maximum. She watched the people outside going about their business. It was how she liked to operate: always hidden, always watching.

Leaning forward in her plush leather chair, she looked into her monitor and listened as a female doctor stationed on Exilon 5 showed her close-ups of a replicated identity chip, which was three times the size of a flat pinhead. Stellar wave technology developed by the World Government’s subsidiaries maintained a crisp and clear communication link between the planets.

‘As you can see, Daphne, it is a highly advanced design.’

Daphne stilled at the doctor’s casual use of her first name.

‘Please address me in the right fashion, doctor. That’s Ms. Gilchrist to you.’ Only Charles Deighton was on a first-name basis with her, and that was because he truly frightened her.

The doctor took the warning in her stride and Daphne seethed beneath her icy exterior. She enjoyed instilling fear, and somehow this female doctor she’d never met had rattled her. Women were complicated, and often manipulative. Men were more likely to understand her iron-fisted approach.

‘If you looked at an original chip and a security chip side by side, you would see they both have an inbuilt communication thread so they can talk to each other.’ Daphne watched as the doctor tapped the active thread on the replica chip with a minuscule pointer. The thread squirmed under the microscope as if it were alive. ‘This replica is mirrored after an identity chip. The thread here is composed of nerve receptor molecules, which normally receive signals from a cell. The security chip’s thread has the same molecular structure, except it has extra molecules called ligands that act as agonists. The agonists stimulate the receptor to send signal information, using the cells as a go-between.’

Daphne combed her lacquered nails through her red hair. She watched the doctor with a visible level of disdain as she spoke. The woman’s dark hair was gently pulled back from her face and tied into a loose bun. Blue eyes, that placed her high up the genetic transfer list complemented her soft-looking face. She reminded Daphne of Isla Taggart.

‘Shall I continue?’

Daphne snapped out of her daydream. She waved for her to carry on.

‘The original and security chips will also work independently of each other. The identity chip is the first to be implanted at birth. The thread remains dormant until the recipient receives a security chip. Once that happens their connection is live. Equally, if you remove one, they both revert to their original state and can work as single units. But without two original chips present, they can’t be activated together, as the unique connection no longer exists. Unfortunately, you need to activate a pair simultaneously to see if the connection has been severed.’

‘Did the host try to leave the planet? Is that how the replicated chip was discovered?’

‘No. Bob Harris presented with an infection yesterday.’

Naming her patient made the doctor too emotional. Daphne wished it had been a male doctor who’d discovered the anomaly. Men wanted to be told what to do and when to do it. Women’s emotional involvement in matters usually caused problems. It was where Isla Taggart had tripped up. If only she had left well enough alone.

Daphne shook her head; she would never be tripped up in the same way. With no living family outside the ESC’s glass confine, there was little for her to get emotional about. Men knew that her mind was quick and to the point. Plus, she could pull out the female card when necessary. It always seemed to be needed at some point.

‘Did he try to remove it?’ said Daphne.

‘He said he didn’t. The chip is developed out of his DNA and has been designed to become part of his body, completely and utterly compatible in every way. For the most part, it remains inert. He said he hadn’t tried tampering with it, either. Apart from yearly upgrades due to changes in his work status and living arrangements, he’d forgotten he even had it, until a month ago.’ The doctor paused before continuing. ‘He was in a lot of discomfort, poor guy. Didn’t see it coming.’

There it was again: the emotional response.

‘And?’ Daphne said, trying to pick up the pace of the conversation.

‘Well, the microchip is an integrated circuit device encased in a polymer compound. The compound is created by taking a DNA sample from a baby, then mixing it with the liquid solution. As you know, the identity chip is then inserted under the skin of the left thumb. As the human body grows, the chip adapts to the host. The silicone breaks down over time, releasing a compound that partially solidifies the saline, holding the chip in place. Over time, the DNA polymer and saline fuse, providing the final housing over the circuitry. It’s entirely natural and, in practice, identity chips never need replacing, just updating, which can be done with a simple tweak.’

Daphne’s time on the call was limited but the doctor wasn’t in a hurry.

‘The security chip is developed from a section of the identity chip. It’s the DNA marker that makes them so unique. If one or both chips were removed from a host, they wouldn’t work in another human. It is, therefore, pointless to sell them on the black market, as is currently happening. The public’s general lack of knowledge is the reason the market remains so lucrative.’

‘So, it was stolen?’

‘Yes, but it doesn’t make sense to replace it with something else; the chip is tamper-proof and will eventually destroy itself if physically removed. Replacements shouldn’t work. That’s why this replication model is so amazing.’ The doctor produced side-by-side images of an original and replicated chip. Daphne saw no difference.

‘It even has a similar thread like the original one,’ said the doctor. ‘And it works. Can you believe it? Whoever designed this knows a lot about genetronics.’

‘What about the replication? How was it discovered?’

‘The replication is superb,’ said the doctor. ‘Aside from being able to attach itself to the host’s DNA, it works as if it’s the real chip. As I’ve already explained, the originals must be activated simultaneously to see the problem. Fortunately for us, Bob Harris has a rare condition.’

‘How is that fortunate?’

‘Bob has a super-charged immune system that rejects the presence of foreign matter. He will never get sick. Only a handful of humans have this affliction.’

‘Knowing your area of expertise, Doctor, can I go so far as to assume you are under-qualified at this point to brief me on genetic anomalies?’

The doctor’s credentials registered her as a nurse. It was her field training in scientific studies that had accredited her with the title of doctor. It was why she was on Exilon 5.

‘Actually, I’m more than qualified to advise you on the subject. I studied anatomy extensively before turning my attention purely to the sciences.’

Daphne waved her hand for the doctor to continue. She was not impressed by this woman.

‘His unique immune system means he’s protected from the most aggressive medical conditions that still exist, rare as they are. The original chip bonded to his internal network because there was DNA present in the chip. When his DNA is removed from the equation, his system will recognise the object as foreign. That’s what happened here. His body fought the invasion and turned it into an infectious mass because the chip had nowhere to go.’

‘Is that how you found it?’

‘His thumb had blown up to twice its normal size. I didn’t notice the incision until I examined the area more closely.’

Daphne had heard enough. ‘Your analogy has been helpful, Doctor. I’ll be sure to pass on details of your cooperation to your superior.’ She allowed the lie to surface. If anything, a damning report would follow. ‘Out.’

With a flick of her index finger, the screen changed and a new face popped up.

‘Did you hear everything, Charles?’ She smiled. It wasn’t something she did often but he was the only person she felt the need to adjust her personality for. It was instinctual, as if that simple action might save her life one day.

Staring back was the one hundred and nineteen-year-old face of Charles Deighton, CEO of the World Government. ‘Yes. Exciting times ahead, don’t you think? It appears our friends are more advanced than we’ve given them credit for.’ His voice crackled with age.

Daphne noticed Deighton’s years creeping into his genetically treated face: his hair was full, but beginning to lose thickness; his skin had lost its elasticity and was starting to sag south. It was a degenerating larynx that gave the raspy sound to his speech. Although he’d been scheduled to have his larynx replaced, Deighton admitted he’d become familiar with the way his voice sounded and liked it. He said it gave him a mysterious edge and he enjoyed being an enigma. Every time he spoke, Daphne fought the urge to clear her own throat.

‘They’ve moved on technologically,’ said Daphne. ‘There’s no doubt about that. And they’re learning faster than we originally expected them to. It appears we may have a stowaway on board the passenger ship. The manifest flagged Bob Harris’s name twenty minutes ago. How would you like us to proceed?’

‘Nobody is to interfere!’

Daphne recoiled from her monitor. In a hurry, she forced a smile. ‘Of course, Charles. I hadn’t intended on sending out an order without clearing it with you first.’

Deighton regained composure and smiled. ‘The ship won’t be here for another twelve days. We’ll send a special team to meet and greet our new friend upon arrival.’

27

On her second day in the new job, Laura was in need of a distraction. Her former colleagues on Level Four popped into her mind as she headed for the cafeteria located on the second floor of the Earth Security Centre and grabbed a tray. She ordered beef stew and a glass of lemonade from one of the replicator machines, then looked around for a table.

She saw Chris and Janine huddled in their usual corner, and walked towards them. Her approach was cautious, but light. It was Chris who saw her first, but pretended he hadn’t. Laura stiffened as he whispered something to Janine who had her back to Laura. She looked down at the purple uniform of Level Five and wondered if she was putting them in danger. She should have turned around.

Laura stopped at their table and waited for them to acknowledge her. Janine met her eyes with a less than warm look. She set her tray down on the edge of the table. If Janine wanted her gone, she would have to say it to her face.

Neither of them spoke to her.

Why Laura needed Janine the drama queen or Chris the sexist pig she wasn’t sure. But she was lonely on Level Five and in desperate need of familiar company. She needed them to tell her she’d made the right decision moving there. She needed Chris to assure her that the lottery had made a mistake and were putting Haymarket back on their transfer list.

She plastered on a fake smile. ‘Hi, guys. Mind if I join you?’

‘Actually, we do,’ said Janine. ‘You can’t be here.’

Chris watched the roving camera that was hovering around the room; it wasn’t currently looking in their direction. He kept his voice low. ‘You’re going to get us into trouble. You know we can’t be seen talking to you. You need to stick to your lot. Bugger off.’ He shooed her away with his hand.

While their reaction was not a surprise, Laura wasn’t willing to give up without a fight. She needed to interact with someone; she was going crazy on Level Five. Was there any way to change their mind? Allay their fears about her new position?

She hunkered down to their level and gripped the table edge to steady herself. ‘Look, I know what the rumours are, but they’re just rumours, right? I mean how much trouble are we really going to get into by talking to one another? We used to work together, for Christ’s sake.’

Janine refused to look at her. Laura wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or fear of the unknown that was driving her former colleague’s current attitude.

‘Oh, shit,’ said Chris. The trio watched in horror as the roving camera hovered over to their table. ‘See what you’ve gone and done now? You’d better talk your way out of it.’

‘Yeah, you’re good at getting what you want, aren’t you?’ said Janine.

Chris narrowed his eyes. ‘If you give a crap about us at all, you’d better fix this.’

The camera moved in close. It scanned Laura’s face. An electronic voice boomed through the device. ‘Laura O’Halloran, please explain yourself.’

She stood up quickly. She could see her reflection in the golden ball. It was the first time she had seen one of the cameras up close; it was shimmering and bright.

She cleared her throat and considered what to say next. It would be easy to drop the pair in it, to save her skin; she felt no loyalty towards them in that moment.

Laura looked at them both, then at the camera.

‘I was just asking—’

‘Just asking what?’ said the camera voice.

She struggled to think of the AI cameras as living entities. It was easier for her to talk to them if she pretended there was a fat bald man operating them, making her squirm.

She took a gamble and lied. ‘I was just asking them if they knew where the swipe cards for the machines were.’ The cards were used to reset the replication machines that were designed to run on cycles. At the end of a cycle, the food quality was at its worst and the machines needed a reboot to begin it again. ‘My stew has a metallic taste to it and I wanted to reset it.’

The camera scanned Chris’s face, then Janine’s. ‘Don’t you three know each other?’

‘Yes,’ said Laura. ‘We used to work together on Level Four.’

‘You’re not supposed to be talking to each other. I will have to report this.’

Laura noticed the look of fear on Chris’ face. She couldn’t see Janine’s but she could sense her coolness.

‘I only asked them because I know them. I don’t really know anyone on Level Five yet, but I promise this will be the last time.’

She meant it. She was done with the pair of them.

The camera made a humming noise as it continued to hover in the air. ‘The cards are to the side of the machines, where they always are.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t see them. I’ll check again.’

It lingered on her face a little longer—or the fat bald man did—before moving away.

Without another word or a backward glance at Chris or Janine, she walked over to the machine. She reset the nearest one and ordered another stew. To keep up the charade, she dropped the original dish in one of the waste receptacle units.

Dozens of eyes were on her as she sat down with her food. Her anger at Chris and the imaginary camera operator sucked all the flavour from the food as she ate. But mostly she was angry Janine for making her feel less about herself. The people around her watched her with caution. Laura began to wonder if the warnings she had received weren’t just for her. Had her former colleagues also been threatened?

Her appetite vanished as she tried to act as if everything was still normal. She forced down a gulp or two of lemonade that tasted more bitter than usual and took a rabbit-sized bite of her average-tasting stew. After an uncomfortable few minutes, she abandoned her lunch and went back to her workstation, immersing herself in her duties.

No further files appeared about Bill Taggart that day.

28

Stephen and Anton sat in the recreation room aboard the passenger ship. A brief orientation at the start of their journey, plus their own explorations, had given them a good idea of the massive layout. The room was sparsely decorated; tables and chairs were huddled in a space twice the size of District Three’s core. An information robot had informed them the room was used as an overflow space when the cafeteria was full. At busier times, the place would probably be packed with people. Stephen was grateful it wasn’t like that now.

Sitting down was part of the pretence to fit in with everybody else. They were not alone in the room. At another table, two humans sat together and a third sat alone in a different section. In the presence of others they kept up the charade of acting as human-like as possible. Despite their best efforts, the others kept their distance.

‘Our outfits are drawing too much attention,’ said Anton, quietly. He provided cover for Stephen while he injected a synthesised protein pack directly into his stomach cavity.

Stephen gasped and grabbed the edge of the table; stomach cramps were one of the side effects of injecting protein in this way. Anton protected him from the eyes of others. Stephen squeezed his eyes shut as the pain gripped harder. He concentrated on it, tried to control it, but the others in the room were distracting him. He tried to straighten up and relax but the spasms doubled him up. The pain began to plateau, but not before delivering one final blow to his midsection.

Anton had warned him about prolonged use of the protein packs; they hadn’t been designed to be used in this way. He tried to be discreet while Anton kept an eye on the trio across the room.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Anton. ‘The first thing I’m going to do is correct the protein imbalance. I was under a little pressure before we left.’

Stephen groaned in response to a sharp pain that felt like it was ripping his body in half. ‘Don’t worry about it, please. It will pass soon—’ The pain cut him off.

Anton shook his head. ‘I should have done more tests. It wasn’t ready.’

Stephen drew in a long breath. ‘The alternative is starvation. I’ll take this fleeting pain over the other option any day.’

Anton’s head followed movement from across the room.

Stephen sat up in response. Two of the humans were coming towards them.

‘Don’t let them get too close,’ said Stephen. ‘We can’t allow them time to study our appearance.’ His stomach muscles jerked again.

‘Hey! What’s wrong with your friend? You need a doc or somethin’?’ Stephen recognised the short man from the queue earlier. And his taller friend.

They edged closer until there were just a couple of table-lengths between them. Anton stood up and smiled. ‘He’s just feeling sick. He doesn’t like to travel.’

Stephen groaned.

Both men stopped dead. The stout man spoke again. ‘Gerry here...’ he elbowed his taller friend. ‘He knows CPR and worked as a nurse for a stint. Didn’t you, Gerry?’

‘Eh, sure but—’

‘Well, go and help him, will ya? Don’t just stand there.’

‘I’m not sure. I think he might need a real doctor or something.’

The stout man mumbled. ‘Well, you can still take a look, can’t ya? You’re embarrassin’ me.’

‘Er, sure, I guess.’ He took an unsteady step towards Stephen.

Anton readied to block his path.

‘Hey!’ The stout man looked from Stephen to Anton and back again and jabbed a finger in their direction. His friend stopped. ‘Weren’t you two standing behind us in the queue for this rust-bucket?’

The tall man nodded and smiled. ‘Oh, yeah, I think you’re right. In the queue.’

‘The worst is coming, Anton,’ whispered Stephen. ‘Get rid of them!’

Anton cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry, but my friend here is on the brink of throwing up, so unless you’d like to be covered in his stomach contents, I suggest you keep your distance.’

The stout man was the first to concede defeat; his shadow wasn’t far behind. ‘Don’t want to see no sick,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘Can’t stand the sight of anythin’ oozing out of bodies and such. I’m already feeling me own stomach heaving as I think about it.’

‘Me neither,’ said his friend.

The stout man shot him an odd look. ‘Whatcha talking about? You’re trained for this kind of thing.’

‘Only lasted a month at nursing school. Once we started the practical shit, I was out of there, as quick as you like.’

The stout man shook his head. ‘Useless.’

Both turned around and headed for the exit. The talk of vomit was enough to move the remaining passenger.

Stephen felt the worst of it pass. He took a deep breath. ‘That’s better. How about we inject in private next time? By the way, what’s “throwing up”?’

‘Apparently, if they eat too much, it shoots back up. I understand not too many of them are keen to witness it.’

Stephen straightened up and nodded. ‘I don’t like them getting that close. We need to make a better effort to keep under the radar from now on. Maybe we should ditch these hats back at our sleeping pods. We’ll look more natural. We should also try to stick to darkened areas as much as possible.’

They both dropped their human pretences and stood. ‘Referring to them as humans is going to take some getting used to,’ said Anton. ‘What are we looking for when we get to Earth?’

‘Answers, plain and simple. Something that’ll explain how it is they exist at all, and why they’re intent on destroying us.’

They walked back to their sleeping quarters. On the way, Anton asked, ‘Why him?’

‘Who?’

‘You can’t stand being near any of them but you went out of your way to choose the child called Ben. Why?’

Stephen shrugged. ‘Because I saw something in him that the others didn’t possess. Innocence, perhaps. It was easier to be around him.’ He stopped and leaned against the wall. ‘I don’t know, Anton. I don’t know why I feel the way I do about him but not the others.’

‘Could you be coming round to the idea that they’re not all bad? I mean, you saved those men when they were suffocating.’

‘No! I let my guard down. It won’t happen again.’

29

Galen Thompson stood beside Paddy, Maria and the communications operative inside Stuart’s cramped office. They shoved and jostled for a better position. Stuart rarely used his office, preferring to stand on the HJA observation deck and keep an eye on what was going on.

Galen gnawed the skin on his thumb and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. A meeting of all the on-duty controllers was unusual. He wondered if his mother had given the micro file to Laura O’Halloran and news was spreading of her deception. The others shot quizzical looks at each other and tried to guess why they were there. Only Galen remained tight-lipped.

The door opened and Stuart burst into the room, almost knocking into Paddy who was stuck behind the door. A quick arm up to his face saved him from damage.

‘Shit, Paddy,’ said Stuart. ‘What are you doing behind there?’

Paddy straightened up and pushed his back further into the corner. ‘Sorry, boss. No room in here. What the feck’s this about?’

‘Just settle for a mo, I’ll tell you in a minute.’ Stuart squeezed past Maria, who had been allocated the postage-stamp space behind the desk. He dropped into his seat, if only to help free up some floor space.

‘Alright,’ he said, exhaling once he’d settled into the chair. ‘We’re meeting in here because what I have to say is for your ears only. It’s not to be discussed with that lot out there.’ He jerked a thumb towards the observation deck, where five trainee rookies were on duty. ‘They are far too green to hear what I have to say.’

Galen fidgeted, sensing that his place was also out there with the trainees; technically, he still was one. He couldn’t get the ESC memos or the business with the letters and micro file out of his head. He wondered if they were all linked.

Stuart noticed his anxiety. ‘Got something to say, Galen?’

‘Should I even be in here? I mean, I’m not even a senior controller yet.’

‘You are one of our top trainees. Stay where you are. Now what the hell was I saying before I was rudely interrupted? Oh yeah, I have some bad news from the ESC.’ He leaned back in his chair, managing a thirty-degree tilt before the edge hit the wall.

The room fell silent. Paddy was staring at the floor.

The ESC only ever contacted the docking stations if there was a security breach, or if cuts were on the way. ESC had the power to initiate any changes they wanted. Security matters were most feared, and from what Galen understood, the consequences were pretty dire.

Paddy had told him the grim story one lunchtime about a former colleague of his who’d been caught abusing his security-level clearance. Nothing too serious, Paddy had said. His colleague had been obsessed with bettering his career and had broken into the personnel office to gain insider knowledge on his competition. While they hadn’t physically caught him, the ESC had recorded an unusual amount of activity in Section Three. Within hours, security had arrived to escort him off the premises. Paddy never laid eyes on him again. He said he had often wondered what happened to the man, but knew the chances were slim that the World Government would waste good resources keeping him in some high-security facility on the outskirts of town. It was far more likely that they’d done away with him.

‘As you know, we’re expecting a passenger ship from Exilon 5. It’s scheduled to arrive Sunday week. I’ve just been informed by ESC that there has been a breach of security and there’s a possible stowaway on board.’

Paddy looked relieved, but not for long. ‘I don’t understand, Stuart. Why’s this time any different from the two other incidents that occurred last year? It happens.’

‘While I would normally agree with you, the ESC is taking this very seriously. They’re sending over military personnel to monitor activity before and after the ship arrives.’

‘Who is this mystery stowaway?’ said Maria.

‘Some worker called Bob Harris,’ said Stuart. The group shrugged. ‘I know, I don’t recognise the name, either, but apparently it means something to them.’

‘Falsification of departure records again?’ said Paddy.

‘No, not this time. An identity chip was stolen and used to gain access to the ship. Whoever is using it is of great importance to them.’ Stuart glanced at the door and lowered his voice. ‘You didn’t hear this from me, but the order is coming directly from Charles Deighton.’

Paddy let out a low whistle.

‘So, the military are taking over next week,’ said Maria. ‘For how long?’

‘As long as it takes for them to get what they want, and ruin a perfectly good working week in the process. It’s going to get a little crowded in here. I need you all to keep clear heads. I don’t want to give the ESC any reason to shut this place down. Are we clear?’

‘Understood.’

30

Laura immersed herself in work and had little or no time off during what the ESC had described as a “hectic” period in the calendar. They had said they weren’t sure when the double shifts on Level Five would end, only that it would be soon. In no position to negotiate an early release from duty, she accepted that they needed her.

Though she could barely keep her eyes open, she decided against taking a fifth Actigen pill that week, even though her employers had advised it would help. There were just twenty-four hours left in her current shift and she could go home. She would make it.

The last Actigen was still in her system and would see her through the next three hours, although Laura had already felt its effects disappear. She would try to grab an hour’s sleep in the Energy Restoration room on Level Two beside the Energy Creation area and gym. Her preference would be to go home and sleep in her own bed, but the ESC insisted it was inefficient to send workers home.

Just one more day, she reminded herself, then she would go home and sleep for twenty-four hours. Chris and Janine’s behaviour had affected her mood, but something far more illicit was playing havoc with her thoughts.

She was feeling particularly irritated by the grey partitions encasing her isolation booth, by Level Five’s lacklustre interior. She arranged and rearranged the items on her desk: a photo of her mother, a communication earpiece and an inactive DPad. No matter what she did, she couldn’t distract herself away from her negative thoughts or her thumping headache.

She walked to the back of the room and requested water from the H2O replication terminal. The woman from booth sixteen arrived with a disc in hand and deposited it in the vacuum tube to Laura’s right. Sixteen waited until she heard the familiar sucking noise that told her the disc was on its way to Gilchrist’s office before returning to her seat. She didn’t look at Laura.

Laura was too tired to care about her colleagues’ indifference any more. Lifting the tiny cone-shaped cup to her lips, she drank and requested a refill twice before she was satisfied. But the hydration effects did little to lift the edge off her mood, or ease her headache. She returned to her workstation and avoided eye contact with the others. She sat down, closed her eyes and thought about the Bill Taggart files containing an overwhelming amount of information. But her own plans to transfer to Exilon 5 were her priority, not some files about aliens, and autopsies and some investigator she’d never met. Exilon 5, with its abundance of sunshine, was her fresh start.

Nothing about Earth was good, including the fragile mindset of its people. The move to Exilon 5 was meant to secure their future survival, but the sudden appearance of an indigenous species was pulling the World Government’s focus off the lottery and transfers. Laura wasn’t sure what the government planned to do with the Indigene race, but the documents led her to believe they were only beginning their discussions. It looked like they had only recently sent an investigation team to the planet, led by Bill Taggart.

How long would she have to wait to see Exilon 5? Overcrowding, no sun and diminishing air quality had turned Earth into a cesspool. She couldn’t face a future like that.

She thought of the Indigenes, whose very existence was threatened by the arrival of humans. Apparently, the explosions on Exilon 5, which had terraformed the planet, had almost wiped out their race. Evidence in the earlier files, which recounted an officer’s close-up experience and detailed the autopsy of Species 31, categorised the Indigenes as an aggressive and primitive species. But Laura had been surprised to read about the new information on the Indigene referred to as Stephen and his meeting with a boy. The previous evidence about their aggression had been wrong.

Two keywords stood out from the latter files: “Intelligence” and “Adaptability”. If any race was going to survive it would surely be the most intelligent and adaptable.

Stephen’s image was etched in her memory. She’d also memorised Bill Taggart’s unique and naturally aged face, right down to the grey flecks in his hair and the number of lines on his forehead. But now, every time she closed her eyes, their faces would appear, making sleep impossible. She wondered if she would recognise either of them if they were standing in front of her.

So, what next? The investigations were continuing to gauge the Indigene’s level of threat to the human population. Considering the investment to date, that was understandable. But with hundreds of millions having already transferred to Exilon 5, it would be impossible to keep the other race’s existence a secret forever. In addition, the planet was too big an asset to be abandoned.

Laura guessed the government would stay and fight. With time running out for humans on Earth, it would be impossible to find another planet with such exacting requirements in a short timeframe. Why not try living side by side? Was the planet not big enough to accommodate everyone? Couldn’t the Indigenes just live somewhere without humans interfering? Was that the reason for the ongoing investigation; the World Government was working out if everyone could live together? She wanted to believe the Indigenes were peaceful, but humans had already threatened their existence; from the reports, it wasn’t clear how they felt about their presence.

Lunchtime came around and Laura clocked off from the system. Even after her humiliating experience with Chris and Janine a week earlier, she’d decided to persist with the idea of taking regular lunch breaks. Apart from the good practice, she wasn’t going to let her former colleagues’ petty behaviour drive her away. She simply made sure to go at times when she knew they wouldn’t be there. Given the abuse she attracted, the replication terminal across the road was not an option.

Laura stared blankly at her plate and ate her lunch in silence. She didn’t register the slight jolt at first as someone sat down beside her, just one seat away. Half-expecting to see Chris or Janine there to offer an apology, she gasped when she set eyes on the dark-haired woman from booth sixteen.

Sixteen ignored her. She scooped food onto her fork and shoved it into her waiting mouth. Laura stared at her.

‘Eyes down!’ said Sixteen as she chewed her food. She looked ahead, making no eye contact.

Laura did as she was told. Her previous observations of the woman had been brief. She appeared to be in her mid sixties. Her black hair was styled into a neat bob, and she had an angular jaw and closely set eyes. Judging from the slouch in her shoulders, she was carrying a heavy burden. Laura wondered what it was.

A kick of adrenaline killed Laura’s appetite. She picked up her coffee mug and took slow sips. She gripped the handle so tight, her knuckles turned white.

Sixteen continued to eat and look elsewhere, but Laura could tell there was more to come. Through small and even mouthfuls of food, the words spilled forth.

‘This place is not what it seems. On the outside, the ESC seems to be working for the good of the people. You don’t know what’s really going on here.’ She spoke quietly and kept an eye on the roving cameras. ‘They are using you. So far, they’ve only shown you things they want you to see.’

What things? What was she talking about?

‘You think you know why you’re here. But I bet you’ve questioned your presence on Level Five, on more than one occasion. Why do they need me? What makes me so special? Why did they give me the files? It’s because you’re new. You’re less likely to question their motives.’

Laura gasped. The Taggart files. It had to be what she was referring to. She sought out the camera’s current location. To her relief, it was busy interrogating someone else.

‘This place is a front for something bigger and you and I are pawns in their game. Think about it. The work we do can easily be handled by a computer. So why do they need us? We can’t be necessary for the survival of this place, can we?’

Laura wanted to ask why they needed her, but decided against it.

Sixteen forced more food into her mouth. Shortly after, she spoke again. ‘They think you’re special, and you may well be. It’s for that reason I’m risking giving you these.’

She pulled out three folded envelopes; one had a tiny micro file taped to the front. ‘I think you need your eyes opened a little wider, before they manipulate your good nature and you wind up a pathetic wreck. Because you are good and trusting, and they’ll use that against you.’ Her words were muffled and low. She passed the envelopes under the table. ‘To understand what’s going on here, you need to know what this place has become involved in. And prepare yourself. It’s not what you think.’

Laura wanted so badly to look at Sixteen, to see the truth—or the lies—in her eyes. But she kept her gaze down. She felt around under the table for the letters and slipped them into the waistband of her trousers. The adrenaline was agitating her, but her head was telling her to slow down and play it cautiously.

Her trembling hand brought her mug up to her lips. ‘What are they?’ She took a sip and put the mug down, feeling more alert than she’d done all week.

Sixteen didn’t answer at first. She finished her meal. ‘Try not to get caught with them.’

‘But I still don’t understand. Why me?’

Sixteen grabbed her tray. ‘Because you have no connection to any of it. You’re the last person they’ll suspect to have these.’ She stood up and headed for the exit, depositing her tray along the way.

Laura could feel the adrenaline slipping away, but she still felt jacked-up. Her heart fluttered as it tried to return to a normal rhythm. If her experiences over the last week were anything to go by, then getting caught talking to anyone—including her Level Five colleagues—was not a good idea. She hoped the authorities would view Sixteen’s proximity as an oversight rather than a deliberate attempt to make contact.

Laura battled the urge to take out the letters and read them; she had to assume eyes were on her at all times, as she’d been told they were by the man from booth ten. She forced herself to stay seated for a further five agonising minutes before leaving the cafeteria.

On her way back to Level Five, she stopped in the bathroom, slipped into one of the cubicles and locked the door behind her. She removed the letters from her waistband and peeled away the micro file, holding it in the palm of her hand. It was the size of an old Australian two-dollar coin with a tiny wire-feed extruding from one end. It was designed to be viewed through a monitor, but there was no way she could risk hooking it up at her workstation. Any deviation from her regular tasks would surely raise the alarm.

Laura needed to see what was on the file and what secrets were hidden in the letters. Why would Sixteen risk giving them to her if they weren’t important? She remembered that the hardware control unit for the Light Box in her apartment could accept files of this type. She had no idea if they were monitoring her activity at home. She would have to take the risk.

Laura removed her jacket and ripped a small hole in the fabric of her bra. She slipped the micro file between the padding, then folded and tucked the letters into the back of her underwear where they wouldn’t slip down her trouser leg. She washed her hands and tidied her appearance. Then she took a deep breath and went back to work.

31

In the black night sky, the stars melded into one blur of white light. At their current speed, Bill wouldn’t see the constellations like Andromeda, Aquarius and Orion when the passenger ship neared Earth. Since he was young, he’d had more than a passing interest in astronomy. To him, the stars signified new beginnings. He liked the simplicity of the sky, of space, of the untroubled planets that existed independently from Earth’s mess; anything that suggested life could truly exist without complications.

As it rode the magnetic slipstream between the planets, the ship passed by what looked like two moons. The light changed from white to grey, then back to white again. A moon: that’s what Earth looked like from space, and no longer a luminous blue-and-white sphere as depicted in old photos.

Bill waited until most of the one hundred and seventy Actives were asleep before he ventured around the ship alone. The rest of the thousand-plus passenger list were in stasis, so the place was quiet. It had been a week since he’d left Exilon 5, and while fleeting moments of rest came to him, it was far from restorative. Just when he thought he might give in to sleep, he’d almost suffocated in his sleeping unit. If it hadn’t been for those two men, he may not have survived.

Since that day, he’d given plenty of thought to the two men. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see them: their faceless silhouettes with eyes that burned bright. But he hadn’t seen them since, nor was he seeking them out. He was maintaining a low profile.

The Actigen was helping him to stay awake. It terrified him: the idea of falling into a sleep so deep it could kill. But as he walked the corridors, his chemically maintained consciousness fought him each step of the way. It was no way to live, no substitute for proper sleep. But he wasn’t ready to give up the control yet, not until he reached Earth.

The medication was doing other things to him, making him believe the crew could not be trusted. He had been wary of the officer’s explanation about the oxygen loss and the unit lockdown being part of some computer glitch. A part of him wanted to confront the crew; he would be able to tell if they were lying. Another part told him to leave it alone. He was heavily medicated and out of his right mind. But the World Government owned this passenger ship, commanded the crew, and told them how to react to onboard issues. The government’s shiny exterior was tarnishing with each passing day; even more so in his haze of paranoia.

Bill padded along one of the tubular passageways that connected the wheel rim to the hub of the ship. He remained on-guard as he navigated his way along the spokes, each step illuminating a new section and plunging the previous part into darkness. He zigzagged along the horizontal tubes that connected to the vertical spokes. If someone was following him, it would make it difficult for them to track his movements.

He arrived at the recreation room in the centre of the hub. His eyes lingered on the door separating the operational centre of the ship from the general population. There was nobody around.

He strode over to the door he’d seen the officers pass through using their security chip. There was an access control panel to the right. He pressed his thumb against it and the panel flashed red. Bill told himself to walk away.

He turned and wobbled as a wave of dizziness hit him. It was the Actigen. He stumbled forwards. His motor functions were switching off. He had managed to evade sleep for days on end before, but this was different. He had pushed it too far with Actigen. His body was taking back control.

Bill fell forward and slammed into one of the tables. He groped for the edge and gripped it with all his strength. He eased himself towards the edge of the bench. His backside found only half of it and he fell backwards onto the floor.

He lay there, staring up at the ceiling. His breath came too fast, and his hands were shaking. His arms and legs were like dead weights. Any attempts to sit up were futile. He rolled until he was on his side and again until he was on his hands and knees. The floor was cold beneath him as he crawled forwards to the bench.

Another bout of dizziness blurred his vision and he groped for the table again. He pulled himself onto the seat and rested his spinning head in his hands; it slipped out of his grip and slammed into the table. He briefly lost consciousness as the hard knock brought him back to reality. He tried to lift his heavy head off the flat surface. But he couldn’t. He stayed where he was. It was easier to stop fighting and give in.

Bill awoke with a start, disorientated. In the almost-blackness, the inside of his sleeping pod came into focus. He tried to piece together his last movements. The last thing he remembered was sitting in the recreation room before his head hit the table. It had all happened so fast. Now here he was in his sleeping unit with no memory of how he had got here. He wasn’t even sure of the time. Panic surged inside him.

What the hell happened to me? How did I get here?

32

Laura grabbed barely an hour of sleep in her apartment in Haymarket. What she had in her possession could get her into a lot of trouble. The projection on the wall read midday and she lay in bed wondering if she should even look at the contents of the micro file. She’d been dead on her feet the day before, but now, even with just an hour’s rest, she was unusually alert.

She had spent the better part of the morning thinking about what might be on the file, whether ESC were remotely monitoring her Light Box, or if there was a chance that they’d followed her home. She scrapped the last idea; she’d been home almost three hours and nobody had tried to break in yet. As for the monitoring of the Light Box, it was impossible for her to know.

Laura ran her fingers across the unopened letters on her side table, the ones addressed to Bill Taggart. She brought the paper up to her nose and thought she could smell perfume. While she’d wanted to tear the letters open minutes after getting them, all she could do now was look and wonder. They weren’t meant for her; she sensed they were personal.

Viewing the contents of the micro file would be easier, but Sixteen’s warning came back to Laura: ‘To understand what’s going on here, you need to know what this place has become involved in. And prepare yourself. It’s not what you think.’

While Chris and Janine could easily entertain the idea that the ESC was involved in foul play, Laura was less influenced by gossip. It scared her to now that she might have proof of foul play in her hand. If she looked at the micro file, there would be no turning back, no pretending the contents didn’t exist. She could be jeopardising her lottery chances. But her curiosity was winning out.

Laura tossed and turned in the bed, wrapping the covers tightly around her, willing herself to sleep. She had been so tired all week, but rest wouldn’t come.

She gave up and got up. What she was about to do terrified her. She walked over to the window and increased the tint just a little.

Her apartment in Haymarket, Sydney, was ten floors up and gave her a clear view of the street below. She reached for a pair of magnification glasses that had belonged to her dad; she’d taken them after he had died, along with a few other things. Fionnuala had no use for them, and Laura had never had a reason to use the glasses before now.

She put them on and looked down at the exposed areas to the front of the building. She checked the block across the street; the rooms were dark, even where the glass tint was at its lowest and there was nothing to see. She removed the glasses and decreased the tint on her window again.

Slipping into her robe, she tied the straps securely around her waist, as if the action would somehow offer her added protection. She retrieved the micro file from its hiding place and studied it more closely, turning it over with her index finger. How could something so small be so dangerous? She took her time getting to the living room.

The Light Box’s virtual display hummed into life as Laura stepped into the room. It waited for a first command. She prised open the cover to the hardware control unit below the virtual display and inserted the file’s tendril into one of six openings. The opening swallowed it and the two temporarily merged into one. The display changed and a new screen filled the wall, illuminating her apartment in the process. On the left-hand side, a yellow icon flashed.

‘Open icon,’ said Laura, and the screen listed the contents of the micro file. There were ten documents, each one identifiable by a security code, followed by the date; the files were arranged in chronological order. The information spanned several years. There was no indication of the contents of each document.

‘Open first document’.

Her heart thumped in her throat as she spoke the words. She figured she would start at the beginning and work her way through to the last.

The display changed and a report filled the screen. Laura checked over her shoulder—a new habit—but except for her furniture, she was alone in the room. She perched on the edge of her dining chair. It’s lacquered edge bit into her skin as a reminder she shouldn’t get too comfortable. Her sweaty palms and shaking body told her this was just the beginning.

The on-screen report had been issued from Daphne Gilchrist to Charles Deighton. At the time of correspondence, Gilchrist was Head of Operations at the ESC—a position that Suzanne Brett now filled—as well as being in charge of Level Five. The document centred around the indigenous race on Exilon 5, something Laura had already read about in one of Bill Taggart’s reports. The report had been written twenty-five years earlier, five years after the explosions that had transformed Exilon 5 into its current state.

The reports she had already seen contained information about the same events of thirty years ago, which gave her a basic understanding of what was being discussed. She ventured further into the new report, and noted the first mention of the experiments on the indigenous race. It wasn’t clear when humans had carried out the experiments, but she assumed it had been at the time of their discovery.

The graphic details forced her to stop reading.

‘What the hell is this?’

She sat back in her chair and took a few deep breaths, trying to forget what she’d just seen. It made her sick to her stomach. She looked at it again. There was no separating the ordinary detail from the experimentations. They were interlinked. She had to read on. Something stronger than her disgust compelled her to continue. As she did, the details of how humans had interfered in the lives of the Indigenes were laid bare for her to see; there appeared to be no limit to the amount of terror, destruction—and change—the World Government was willing to inflict upon them.

Laura closed the first document, stood up and paced across her living-room floor. She couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Was any of it even real? It had to be; why would the woman from booth sixteen risk her job, and her life, to give her false data? She sat back down and forced her voice to issue the next command.

The second and third documents opened and she read the content. The experiments on the Indigenes weren’t mentioned again until the fourth document: a recent one, just three months old. It tied in with the ongoing investigations on Exilon 5, mentioning the investigator Bill Taggart, who had headed up the mission. The story was starting to make sense.

But she wasn’t prepared for what she was about to learn. Around three-quarters of the way into the fourth report, it was all there: the reason behind the World Government’s obsession with the Indigenes was only given in outline form, but it was enough to explain their motives and expose their lies and secrets. Then there was ESC’s involvement. Neither organisation had conducted experiments so they could find out more about the aliens; they already knew everything about them.

When Laura read the fifth document, she gasped. She covered her hand to muffle the only words to pass her lips.

‘Oh, my God.’

Her eyes shot over to her bedside table where she had left the unopened letters addressed to the investigator.

33

‘Eleanor, love, it’s so great to see you.’ Jenny Waterson hugged her daughter as they sat down to dinner in a local Brisbane restaurant. ‘How long has it been since we last caught up in person? I can’t remember.’

‘About two months now, I’d say.’

Jenny shook her head in disbelief. ‘You’re kidding? I can’t believe how quickly time is passing these days.’

‘That job of yours has you working all sorts of hours. You’re looking tired, Mum. When was the last time you took a proper break?’

Jenny browsed the digital menu that was set into the table. ‘I don’t know. When was Christmas?’

‘Be serious,’ said Eleanor.

‘Okay, about two months I guess. The last time we caught up, probably.’ She sighed.

‘How long are they giving you this time?’

Jenny hesitated before replying. ‘A couple of days.’ She braced herself for what was coming.

‘See? That’s what I’m talking about. Last time you were given a whole week off.’

‘Look, love, I’m here to spend time with you, not talk about my work.’ Jenny selected chicken teriyaki with Singapore noodles and a glass of red wine.

‘I can’t help it, Mum. The way they treat you. It’s appalling. Maybe you should think about changing careers, working for people who actually show you more respect.’

Jenny stared at her. ‘And do what? I know I’m only seventy-five, but I make good money there. The only thing I know how to do is work as a pilot. If I leave, I lose all privileges and start at the bottom.’

‘The bottom’s not so bad.’ Eleanor’s eyes were downcast as she mulled over her dinner choice.

‘But you’re only a third of the way through your life cycle. Just a baby. Plenty of years ahead of you yet. I’m no spring chicken.’

‘And you’re not down and out!’ said Eleanor, looking up. ‘Give yourself some credit. Look, I can’t just sit here and pretend I like the way they treat you. You’re nothing more than a commodity to them. It annoys me to even think about it, especially since you’re the best pilot on their books.’

‘You know how it works, love. I don’t have to spell it out for you. It’s my choice to stay and take their abuse.’

‘Mum, you frustrate me at times!’ Eleanor threw her hands up. ‘You know, it’s one of the reasons I moved away from law to study politics. I hate the way this world is being governed.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m still a qualified lawyer, so if you need someone to go in and argue your case, you only have to ask.’

‘Sure will, love.’ Jenny forced a smile and rubbed the nape of her neck. She hated arguing, especially with her daughter. ‘I couldn’t ask for a better lawyer. Just leave everything to me, love. I know what I’m doing. I’ll be fine.’

‘I wish there was something I could do for you.’

Jenny placed her elbows on the table and made a bridge with her hands. ‘There is. Keep me company while I enjoy my first break in months.’

Eleanor conceded. ‘I guess I can do that.’

Jenny’s communication device shrilled, loud and persistent. It was her employers, Calypso Couriers, who demanded she keep the device on her person and active at all times.

Eleanor’s eyes widened as Jenny touched the device. ‘Don’t you dare answer that!’

‘I have to. It might be important.’ Jenny connected her earpiece without looking at her. ‘Yes,’ she said flatly, ignoring her daughter who mumbled something under her breath.

‘All personnel are required to report for duty tomorrow morning. Deighton’s orders,’ said the voice at the other end.

‘But you don’t understand. I’m not due back until Monday!’

The line clicked dead. Jenny pulled the device out of her ear. If she didn’t show up the next day, she would be fired.

‘I told you not to answer it,’ said Eleanor.

‘Let’s just enjoy tonight and forget about everything that’s wrong with this world.’

34

That week in work, Laura struggled to keep a handle on her feelings, given the despicable things she knew about her employers. She had tried to talk to the woman from booth sixteen, but she’d been blanked at every turn. Chris and Janine’s continuing distance left her wondering who she could talk to. What was the point in giving her something she couldn’t do anything with? What was she supposed to do now? Just pretend that everything was normal?

Sixteen was using Laura to channel private issues with the World Government. How had she come to be her target? Had it been Laura’s eagerness to please that had attracted the woman’s attention? Her move to Level Five had been about improving her chances of transferring to Exilon 5, not to get involved in some conspiracy. But her needs seemed petty in light of the information on the micro file; information that was so dangerous for her to know, it had made her suspicious and hard.

Laura felt angry at having lost something she valued: her right to choose. Sixteen’s actions had pushed her down a path of lies and experiments and truths about the real origin of the Indigenes. She had tried to forget the words and images now ingrained in her mind. She had tried to move on from it.

Then there was Isla Taggart. But her letters were in code; Laura couldn’t decipher them. It was the image, the photo, of Isla talking to one of the Indigenes that she remembered. In one shot she was smiling at something that had been said. The picture had words stamped across it.

Destroy the evidence.

There was only one thing left to do: obey it. Destroy the evidence. She would pass the letters on to Bill Taggart, then burn the micro file. But could she bring herself to destroy the file now that she knew what was on it? Sure, it would be risky holding on to the coin-shaped device, and she wasn’t quite sure why she still had it. Maybe she hoped there was a different explanation for what she’d seen, or that the entire thing had been meant as a joke to break in the new girl.

No, this was something else. Something she shouldn’t ignore.

35

Galen Thompson watched Stuart, his overseer, pace back and forth along the length of the observation deck. The military muscle had arrived, and the operation was in full swing. Their primary role was to apprehend the stowaway on-board the ship. But they were still waiting for the ship to arrive, and the military were using their free time to inspect Stuart’s operational hub. He didn’t look too happy about it.

Galen had put his search for the ESC memos on hold. He wasn’t taking any chances of getting caught, not with Charles Deighton’s men breathing down his neck.

Stuart’s hand twitched as he shadowed the military around the room. Galen thought his reaction to their presence was over the top. Stuart fixed his communication device in his ear and stormed out of the room. Galen followed. His overseer moved into the corridor. Galen hung back, and tucked himself into a corner.

‘Jenny, pick up. It’s Stuart,’ he whispered. ‘Shit. I’ve made a big mistake. Remember that clean sheet I keep bragging about? Well, it’s like that because I’ve changed a few dates and numbers.’ Stuart began to pace back and forth. ‘Shit, Jenny. If you’re there, please pick up. I know you’re in the skies now but I really need to speak to you. I don’t know what to do. The military are here and they’re combing through everything. They’re going to find something, I just know it. I’m going to get canned for this. What should I do? Should I just come clean?’ Stuart waited a few seconds for a reply and disconnected the call. ‘Shit.’

Before Galen could move, Stuart rounded the corner and smacked into him. ‘Galen! What the hell are you doing out here?’

‘I was coming to get you. The passenger ship is almost in range. You need to get in there.’

Stuart stared at him. ‘What did you hear?’

‘Nothing. I swear. I just arrived.’

‘Look, it was nothing. A lack of judgement.’ Stuart stared at him. ‘I’ve seen you checking the monitors when you don’t need to. You’re looking for something, aren’t you? Were you trying to expose me?’

Galen said nothing.

‘We’ve been working together for a while now. I’d like to think we’re friends. Are we friends, Galen? I was thinking of promoting you early. I hope you won’t do anything to ruin that.’

Galen shook his head.

‘Glad to hear it.’ He pushed Galen ahead of him. ‘Come on, the sooner these assholes are gone, the better for both of us.’

As the ship edged closer to the docking station, the need for the military to distract themselves lessened and Stuart seemed to relax. Once the ship had passed the outlying planets in the solar system, the military personnel adopted hive-like characteristics and started to move and act as one. With the ship’s arrival just an hour away, the communications operative ordered the spacecrafts to rendezvous with the ship at predetermined coordinates. The pilot came into range and connected with the docking station through the satellites that orbited the planets.

The military began to hover behind controllers who were checking for debris in the ship’s path. The controllers ignored their distracting questions. The two heads of the military group—one a sergeant with cropped hair and a stiff pose, and the other a corporal—stood over the communications operative while he tried to speak to the pilot. Stuart shadowed their every move.

‘Ask him if there were any disturbances on board,’ the sergeant said to the operative.

The operative checked and the pilot answered in his earpiece. ‘No, there hasn’t been anything reported, sir.’

‘Doesn’t mean anything,’ the corporal said to the sergeant. ‘We should still consider the stowaway to be a serious threat.’

‘I agree,’ the sergeant said, and turned around. He jumped at Stuart’s proximity. Galen noticed him retreat a little. ‘We’re going to need everybody’s full cooperation until the person we’re after has been safely apprehended.’

‘Of course,’ said Stuart, and took a step forward into the sergeant’s space. ‘If there’s anything at all we can do, please don’t hesitate—’

‘I want to speak to the pilot,’ said the sergeant. He grabbed the operative’s shoulder and thrust out his other hand. The operative handed over the earpiece and the sergeant shoved it into his ear. ‘Pilot of the passenger ship. You have a dangerous stowaway on board. Do not engage with your passengers under any circumstances. Proceed as normal. The military will be handling this situation on the ground.’ The sergeant nodded when the pilot responded, then pulled the earpiece out and tossed it on the table, out of the operative’s reach.

‘Who have you got in the skies at the moment?’ he barked at Stuart.

‘Cream of the crop, sir,’ said Stuart through gritted teeth. ‘All experienced pilots have been recalled from leave or other duties and are at your disposal. Will you be sending your own people up with the pilots?’

‘Negative. We don’t want military presence to scare off this individual. We will apprehend the subject when it arrives. Who will be collecting the fake Bob Harris from the passenger ship?’

‘The best pilot we have. Captain Jennifer Waterson.’

‘Does she know why we’re here?’

‘Yes, but only that the person you are looking for will be boarding her craft. Nothing beyond that.’

‘Keep it that way. We don’t want the pilot to panic unnecessarily. When we have our man, we’ll be out of here.’

The ship arrived five minutes ahead of schedule and hovered in the outer perimeter surrounding Earth. Jenny waited alongside seven other crafts at the designated coordinates while it was steered into position. The crafts hovered in the black expanse as the doors of Cargo Hold 1 in the ship’s underside winched open like the jaws of a beast. One by one, they entered through the dock and landed on the port and aft sides. Jenny was scheduled to be the second-last to enter and the first to leave with her passenger quota. According to the manifest, her passengers would include maintenance workers, architects and road designers. Her destination was the HJA docking station. The rest, including several government employees, were scheduled to arrive at Sydney.

Inside the hold, Jenny tweaked the controls until she felt the landing skids touch the floor. The craft bounced off-course, forcing her to correct the movement with a flick of her hand. She tried to hit the landing spot again, but the lack of gravity made it more difficult. She tweaked the controls until it settled on the floor and disengaged the thrusters to keep it there. While she waited for the confine to decompress, she kept the force field in place. Once the hold was made safe, the eight craft-doors slid open to reveal dark, cavernous interiors.

The passengers waited in orderly queues, unaware of the attention being given to the HJA docking station below. Jenny could tell the ones who hadn’t emerged fully from stasis. Even with the anti-stasis serum injections, it could be another two hours before the passengers—still disconnected from reality—would feel normal.

Jenny noticed one man in particular who was heading for one of the other crafts. An attractive man in his mid-forties, he shuffled along with the others. His appearance was neat and tidy, his hair combed and his skin smooth, but his eyes said he had hardly slept over the last fourteen days.

From the on-board computer, she downloaded the manifest from the ship officer’s DPad using a unique identification code. As everyone filed on-board, she ordered them to strap in, and reminded them of the short and intense journey ahead, ignoring the request not to engage with her passengers.

‘If you feel sick there are bags under your seat.’

She guided her craft out of the hold and headed for the predetermined landing coordinates at Dock 10. One by one, the other crafts followed suit, branching off towards their own destinations. She made brief contact with the communications operator in HJA and received instructions that she was clear for landing. She began her descent, firing all thrusters until she had dropped below the outer perimeter shield, where the remaining leg of the journey towards the landing plate would be dictated by gravitational pull alone.

In her rear-view mirror she noticed two passengers wearing navy-blue suits and black Stetsons sitting in different locations. They looked out of place.

Galen watched through one of the observation deck’s viewing screens as Dock 10 became infested with dozens of military personnel. Hidden behind crates, the roving cameras tracked their movements. He expected they would make their move when the passengers disembarked; the military didn’t know who was using Bob Harris’s identity.

Galen hadn’t witnessed a military presence quite like this before. The World Government didn’t like airing their dirty laundry in public; they preferred private places with no witnesses. He worried about his parents and their obsession with uncovering hidden truths at ESC. He wondered if the military presence would be as strong if they were coming after his mother and father. The thought terrified him; but something else bothered him more. Who was “Bob Harris” and why were they hunting him out in the open, where everybody could see?

Galen looked around at the unsettled faces in the room. Stuart looked beside himself with worry.

‘What do you think will happen to the stowaway?’ Galen said to Stuart. He was reminded of Paddy’s story about his ex-colleague.

‘I have no bloody idea. One thing I know is if I were Bob Harris, I wouldn’t be returning to this crap-hole called Earth.’

The stories about Exilon 5 were infectious. Having watched one of the government’s videos on the Maglev trains, it was easy to get drawn in by their lush, green, sunny alternative to this destitute planet.

While Stuart was distracted and they waited for the craft with Bob Harris on-board, Galen thought about calling his parents and telling them about Stuart’s falsification of records and that the ESC memos were most likely about him. But Stuart wasn’t a bad guy; he’d just made a couple of really stupid decisions.

Galen’s attention was drawn back to the screen. The craft had just landed.

As Stephen and Anton waited to disembark, Stephen noticed the pilot whispering to someone in the docking station. The female had her back to the group and was trying to be discreet. But he could hear what she was saying.

‘Bob Harris? Yes, he is,’ she confirmed. ‘I’m looking at the manifest now. How do you want me to proceed?’ A male on the other end of the line said, ‘Do nothing, ma’am. This is our operation now.’

‘Understood,’ said the pilot, before disconnecting. ‘I don’t like to be called “ma’am”, you arrogant prick.’

Anton shot an anxious look at Stephen.

The humans knew they were on board.

Galen and six others were transfixed by the main screen action. The sergeant had ordered non-essential personnel to stay out of Dock 10 and all other crafts were diverted to alternative docking stations as the entire HJA docking station was placed on lockdown.

Stuart continued to shadow the sergeant, who had stayed behind on the observation deck. The corporal was in Dock 10 where he waited for further orders from his sergeant. The sergeant continued to overshadow communication operative, who ignored his intrusion as best as he could.

Galen wondered if the sergeant’s decision to stay behind in the observation deck was less about authority and more about staying away from danger.

The sergeant’s agitation increased and he turned away from the communication operative. He spoke to the corporal. ‘Order the docking attendants to scan every identity chip. We need to know which one is ours. I don’t care. If you have to. Just make sure it’s still alive. Gilchrist’s orders.’

Stephen and Anton waited for the craft doors to open. With so many humans on-board, Anton spoke telepathically to Stephen.

They can’t catch both of us. Why don’t we just make a run for it?

Because I think they’ve erected a force field around the building. We won’t get very far.

Anton shrugged. So what’s left? We can’t just give up now.

I’ve no intention of giving up. Give me a minute.

Stephen closed his eyes and ran through the limited options available. There was only one thing that might work. He opened his eyes.

What is it? Anton asked.

I think I have a plan, but it’s going to be dangerous. Stephen looked at the door. How fast can you run these days?

Almost as fast as you, brother. You need me to go somewhere?

Stephen told him his plan.

But you’re going to have to be clever about it. And don’t be too long. You know how I feel being this close to all these humans. The woman behind him inched forward and he flinched. I don’t know what I might do.

Don’t worry, Stephen. You can trust me to get it done.

Stephen half-smiled. You don’t know how glad I am to hear you say that. But we need to stick to the rear of the group. If they’re going to discover us, let’s make sure nobody else gets in our way.

Stephen made his excuses and let others pass as the doors were opened. Anton moved with the rest of the crowd and readied to put their hasty plan into action. Stephen desperately wanted to go with him but in the event the humans were only searching for him, there was no way they could be linked. He stayed to the rear of the group.

Outside, military humans appeared from behind shipment crates and swarmed around the passengers. He had already picked up their scent. The military stood behind docking-station attendants as they scanned identity chips. Passenger let out gasps as the extra force made their presence known.

Cleared passengers were ushered out through a set of doors to the rear of the dock. Anton was almost at the attendant. The craft was almost empty. Stephen remained at the back of the group.

He stared after his friend, helpless as Anton prepared to make his move.

Jenny watched the military hover around Dock 10 from the safety of the cockpit. Just one passenger remained on board: a man in a navy-blue suit and black Stetson. She made her way to where he stood by the open door.

‘Must be serious,’ she said. ‘They don’t usually bring out the big guns unless the person they’re after is a major criminal.’ She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The coldness that seeped through his jacket caught her by surprise. ‘You should stand back from the door a moment; let the place quieten a little. The military are always itching to use their damn weapons. I’ve seen innocents get caught up in the middle of their crossfire. It’s almost like they have to shoot at something or they’ll die of boredom. Hang back here for just an instant.’

She turned to check with the observation deck but spun back around when she heard the craft door sucking closed. Her remaining passenger stood with his finger poised over the door’s control panel.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ She made a move towards him. ‘Get away from there. You have no authority.’

She had barely finished speaking when the man was standing beside her. She gasped at his sudden speed. A flash of metal in his hand caught her eye and bile rose in her throat.

What are you? She tried to speak but no words would come.

The man jammed the round end of the metal rod into her back. ‘I need you to erect the force field around this thing, now. I will hurt you if I have to. It’s a matter of life and death.’

‘For who?’ She tensed up against the pressure of the weapon on her skin.

‘For you, for me. The reasons are beyond your comprehension.’

The man’s actions terrified her, but she drew on her experience of dealing with difficult passengers. ‘Who are you? Tell me why you’re here.’

The man forced her into the cockpit and shoved her into the seat. ‘I said erect the force field around this craft.’ His voice had become more urgent.

‘Why should I?’ There was a nervous crackle in her dry throat.

‘Because I could snap your neck if I wanted to. But I need you to find a William Taggart for me.’

The name was not familiar. ‘Who’s William Taggart? What’s this all about?’

‘Force field first.’ He jabbed the rod into her spine again.

Jenny figured she would live longer if she complied. The military personnel were busy as they hunted for their person of interest. She considered calling the observation deck, but this man’s reflexes were off the chart. She could be dead before anyone made it to her in time. She pressed a button on her console. ‘Done.’

‘Find William Taggart.’

The man’s voice was cold, devoid of emotion. ‘How am I supposed to do that when I don’t even know the name? Can you at least tell me where I should begin?’

‘He was a passenger on the ship I was on. Find him for me.’ The rod found her rib and she cried out.

‘Okay, okay. I’ll help you, but you’re really hurting me.’

The man reduced the pressure. ‘I’m desperate to find him.’ Emotion slipped into his words.

‘What is he to you?’ The weapon no longer bruised her skin, but he still held it against her ribcage. It was the word “desperate” that had caused her to turn around and meet the gaze of her assailant. The man’s eyes were strange: wild but fearful. ‘I will help you,’ she said. ‘Whatever you need.’ It was what she’d been taught to say if she was ever caught in a hostage situation.

The man nodded.

She scanned the ship’s computer and found the name her kidnapper was looking for. ‘Here he is. He’s an ITF investigator. Heading to Sydney. Probably going to the Security Centre, I imagine. Will you let me go now?’

‘No. I need you to take me there, but not now. Someone is working on getting us out of here. I just need you to sit and be quiet.’

36

A nervous Anton hoped he could create enough of a diversion for Stephen to get to safety. But that was only part of it. The next bit was much trickier: getting Stephen through the docking station’s force field. He hadn’t told Stephen but he wasn’t planning to go with him.

A dozen military eyes scanned the faces in the queue. Three sets of eyes lingered on him. He held his breath and stood still, his adrenaline charged and readied for flight. Their eyes scrutinised his appearance, searching for anything that seemed out of place. They compared Anton’s face to the passenger beside him. Anton tried to relax and appear uninterested in their attention. They moved on to the next person.

Anton tried to slow his racing heart. His new artificial skin had passed the human test, but the identity chips would soon reveal who he was to the military. He drew in air through his filtration device and released it. When he reached the top of the line the attendant motioned him forward. Anton placed his left thumb on the DPad. The name that flashed up sent the military into frenzied overdrive.

Strong arms grabbed at him and tried to force him to the ground. He stumbled, but regained control long enough to twist out of their grip. The military tightened their hold, still believing they had him. But Anton could not be held. He used his Indigene speed to evade them and was moving towards the doors to the rear of the dock.

An officer reached for a black object in his holster. The air crackled with energy. Static nipped at Anton’s skin. The static eliminator he carried in his pocket felt hot. He rubbed away the sensation on his arm and bolted for the doors, chased by ten military humans.

Anton reached the room he had identified as the observation deck. He had a good lead on the pursuing group, which gave him time to wedge the door shut from the inside and hold them off for a short while. There were a dozen humans already inside the large room, but not so many that he couldn’t deal with them.

His eyes honed in on the youngest, weakest-looking military human in the room. He looped an arm around his neck and stuck the sharp end of his weapon into the human’s flesh.

‘I need someone to drop the force field around this station.’

An older man stepped forward. ‘I’m not sure who you think you are, sonny, coming in here and threatening my staff. I won’t have it! Do yourself a wee favour and let young Galen go before you get into serious trouble.’

‘I’m in charge now,’ said Anton. ‘And I said drop the force field.’ A snarl crossed his lips. Galen’s body turned rigid beneath his grip.

‘This is my station,’ said the man. ‘Now drop the weapon. No harm done.’

Anton sensed the man was lying. He upped the ante. Making a quick cut across Galen’s neck, he stood behind a female and threatened her with the same weapon. Everyone gasped. Anton knew that it wasn’t the violence that had shocked them, it was how fast he’d moved. He needed to show them he was no ordinary threat. He glanced over at his first target, just as a small trickle of blood wept from the tiny cut on his neck.

‘What the hell are you?’ said the older man.

‘Do you see that craft down there?’ He nodded towards the viewing screen showing Dock 10. ‘It needs to leave. You need to drop the force field.’

‘And why would you think I’d do that for you? All you’ve managed to do so far is threaten my staff.’

‘Because I could kill you all where you stand.’

The man hesitated.

Anton had already shown them what he was capable of. It was clear he was not like them.

The man spoke to the communications operative. ‘Drop the force field.’ The operative moved to the nearest panel and manually shut off the field.

The older man stared at Anton. ‘What’s on that craft that’s so damned important to you, anyway?’

Anton smiled. ‘You have no idea.’

‘The pilot on that ship is not to be harmed in any way. If anything happens, I’ll be coming after you. I promise you that.’

The lone military man took a step forward, but remained behind the operative and Stuart for protection. ‘You won’t get away with this, you know.’ He wagged his finger in Anton’s direction. ‘You are trapped here, you fool. You won’t last two minutes when my men get here.’

Anton ignored the threat and spoke to the man in charge. ‘Contact them and tell them they can leave.’

Anton watched as the craft with Stephen on-board rose out of Dock 10. His pursuers had caught up to him and had broken down the door. Anton moved over to Galen again. Something familiar about him drew him in dangerously close. Galen’s mannerisms, the way he looked at Anton; it reminded him of his father Leon. In some small way, he began to understand Stephen’s obsession with Ben, but not his aversion to all other humans. Galen shot a hand over his neck. Anton chuckled.

‘What are you, exactly?’ said Galen.

‘If I knew that, human, I wouldn’t be here.’

A sudden discharge of electricity set Anton’s teeth on edge. He slumped to the ground as the military moved in.

37

Bill hurried through the public entrance of the Earth Security Centre and headed straight for the turbo lift at the other end of the foyer. The glass panels with reflective pigmentation covered the ceiling and bathed the public area in a natural light. Images shown on the panels transformed the grey world outside into a blue wonder. It was how the ESC marketed itself: as a beacon of light and hope while the world outside languished in despair and eternal darkness. And it worked, judging by the crowd of eager recruits gathered to hear the history of the building from the trained guides.

Bill snaked a path through the busy lobby, distracted by what he would say at the debriefing. Get the tone wrong and Gilchrist would stick him on traffic duty. His wife’s face came to mind. She was telling him to keep a cool head. If he could convince Gilchrist that he was not on the mission for any other reason, she might keep him on.

Bill noticed a pretty blonde woman walking towards him, staring at him. He steeled his defences. A distraction? Was she working with one of his enemies; looking to nab him as soon as his back was turned? It was dangerous for him to be back on Earth. She didn’t seem like a distraction. Her eyes were troubled, and she held his gaze as he passed. There was something else behind the eyes: a warning.

He nodded to her. She ignored him and walked on.

38

Laura stilled as soon as she saw Bill Taggart walking in her direction. She almost turned around but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She remembered the letters that were hidden in her apartment and the secret words they contained. She wondered why Bill was at the ESC, but reasoned it probably had something to do with his investigative work on Exilon 5.

She tried to warn him with a look but when he nodded to her, she didn’t know what to do. The place was crowded and she’d no idea if one of the roving cameras was tailing her, recording her every movement. No matter what else happened, she couldn’t let them connect her to the information she had seen. She applied enough power to her legs to carry her out the front entrance and take her home.

The walk to her apartment block in Haymarket took longer than usual. Laura was distracted and hadn’t noticed someone following her. It wasn’t until she reached the outer door to her block that she became aware of the sound of movement behind.

The grey skies and dark streets added to her fear. She used every bit of strength to resist the urge to turn around. Instead, she fumbled around in her bag for an object that could double up as a weapon.

She worked out how much time she’d need to activate the lock on the outer door. It would take her thumbprint to open it, but every movement would waste precious time and gave the advantage back to her pursuer. She had no idea how close the person was, but her skin tingled, as if they were nearer than they should have been.

Damn! Nothing in my bag. She scrambled for a plan B. She should have known that her move to Level Five would have brought added dangers. She was reminded of what the worker in booth ten had said to her: what you retain can get you killed. She braced for her pursuer to make a move.

Just face whoever it is and look surprised. Laura prepared to turn around when a hand touched her shoulder. She froze: a reaction that was brought on in part by an icy sensation that seeped through the heavy fabric of her uniform.

‘Don’t try anything. I’m armed and dangerous,’ she said, her voice shaking. She turned a little and gasped when she saw the figure standing inches from her face.

‘Believe me when I say I wouldn’t be here if I had another choice,’ said the man in the black Stetson. ‘I saw you with Bill Taggart just now. I don’t know how else to contact him without risking discovery. I’m going to need your help.’

39

Bill arrived at Level Seven for the scheduled debriefing with Daphne Gilchrist. He took a seat as he waited for her personal assistant to announce his arrival. He was ushered into the boardroom connected to her private office. While the place was familiar to him, this time it felt different. He walked inside, expecting to see a full turnout for the significant debriefing. Instead, just three people waited for him. Gilchrist stood at the top of the room, while Suzanne Brett and Simon Shaw, his boss from the ITF London office, sat on either side of the table.

Gilchrist seemed to read his thoughts. ‘There won’t be anyone else joining us today. This is a closed debriefing. The others will be informed in due course about the outcome of today’s meeting.’

Bill nodded and took a seat at the far end of the oval table. He wondered what this intimate setting might mean for him.

‘Let’s begin, shall we?’ Gilchrist took a seat between Shaw and Brett. ‘We’ve received your files from both meetings and reviewed the evidence. But now I would like to hear your version of events.’

Bill took a short breath before launching into the details of the case. He recounted his orders to the military personnel who’d been given specific instructions that day not to approach the target. He recalled how their advances had caused the target to exit early from the gardens. He identified the pursuit team that had followed the alien and the communication silence they had maintained; both of which—he made quite clear to the debriefing group—he had not authorised.

The trio sat in silence. Neither Brett nor Shaw commented, only nodding with apparent interest. Gilchrist asked the occasional question to clarify. He wondered if the other two were there simply for show, or as witnesses. After fifteen minutes, he summarised.

‘So, where do you think we should go from here?’ said Gilchrist.

Bill had thought long and hard about that on the journey back to Earth and had prepared a textbook answer for the CEO. ‘It’s likely the Indigene won’t risk surfacing again for some time. I suggest we wait.’

‘Wait?’ Gilchrist arched a brow.

‘Yes. Wait a few months and then attempt to track them when they finally resurface.’

‘Is that it?’

‘No. We have a list of people on Exilon 5 who have made inadvertent contact with the Indigenes before this. I plan to talk to them to try to get a different angle on our investigations. It also appears that the Indigenes favour hunting at night and have already surfaced in locations known to us. I’m proposing we set up vigils in the wastelands between the cities, to try to catch them there.’

He knew the solutions he’d offered were weak at best, but he needed to stay on Exilon 5 for as long as possible. It was his best shot at turning the mission around and finding Isla.

‘These are certainly interesting solutions you propose.’ Gilchrist rested a clear-polished finger on her lips. ‘But I’m not sure we have the time, or personnel, to waste on mere chances we might find the aliens.’

Shaw and Brett nodded. Bill felt a sudden need to defend his position. He assumed that at least Shaw, his ITF boss, would back him up.

‘Well, whatever you decide, I want to stay on this investigation.’

Gilchrist smiled. ‘It’s not about what you want, Bill. It’s about what’s best for this mission.’

The thinly veiled calm slipped away. ‘With all due respect, Ms. Gilchrist, I am what’s best for this mission. And you can tell Mr. Deighton I said that if you want. Just give me another chance. Let me pick my team this time and—’

‘There was nothing wrong with your team. More likely, it was your poor handling of the situation that led to the breakdown of communication. Mr. Deighton is fully aware of your abilities, but he doesn’t like failure, certainly not when it’s related to a threat of this magnitude. We need to get the situation under control.’

Bill shut his mouth; now was the time to stay silent if he wanted to save himself from a reassignment to traffic duty.

‘Thank you, Bill.’ Gilchrist stood. ‘We’ll take your points under consideration. We’ll be in touch as soon as we have more detail about how we’ll be progressing.’ She smiled, but her words were lacking sincerity. ‘Head down to the docking station. A craft is waiting to take you to your accommodation here on Earth.’

‘Where am I going?’

‘Washington. Mr Deighton has asked that you be close to headquarters. You may be called in at short notice.’

Bill stood to leave. He glanced at Simon Shaw. He was staring at a spot between him and Gilchrist. At least he wasn’t being fired straight away. He would try to talk his way back onto the investigation, convince Deighton of his value, when the heat had died down.

Bill left the meeting, feeling both relieved and frustrated. He hadn’t been given a chance to defend the outcome on Exilon 5, or his place on the mission. He wished for a life without responsibility, without ties to a government which operated differently to the way he believed things should be done. He considered cutting ties with his bosses. Then he remembered how controlling they were, and he ditched the idea.

He stepped outside, into the dull Sydney afternoon, and fixed his gel mask in place. Since his return, he had managed to repress his bad memories about Earth, but now they came flooding back, coating his thoughts with feelings of despair and regret. He tried to shake off the feelings, along with the painful memories that had etched their way into his mind. But they lingered, strengthened, made him second-guess his decisions, even the good ones. He wished he could start over.

He hated this part of him; this pessimistic side that ruined the good in everything he did. He worked his way through the congestion of people who were too despondent to look up. He reminded himself there was a world that existed beyond this one: a better life that was meant for all of them. His pessimism lashed out, striking his healing heart. Bill pulled at his mask, its tight seal making him feel claustrophobic. The dead eyes of the crowd watched him, willed him to just pull it off, to end his miserable life.

Why was he still here? What was his purpose in this world? Was he getting closer to or further away from the truth about Isla?

The desperation in the crowd’s eyes stopped him, melted away some of the pain. He wasn’t like them. He was better. He had passion, an inner drive to live. Until that passion was gone, he would fight on.

Bill secured the already-tight mask on his face and increased his step in the direction of the docking station at Sydney’s harbour front. The sound of steady footfall behind him increased. He tuned in to it. A step and a half was being taken for each of his long strides. He kept his eyes forward.

Of course. Larry Hunt had finally come for him. News of his return to Earth must have reached the businessman in prison. He had sent one of his henchmen to finish him off. Bill touched his shoulder, where they had knifed him some time ago. He quickened his pace, keen to get some distance between him and his pursuer. He didn’t want to shake them. He wanted them to follow.

Bill crossed on to George Street, wondering if he should make a run for it or face them head on. In his mind, he had replayed this very moment, worked out what he might do. But his thoughts, aggravated by fear, had lost all their usual clarity. He weaved in and out of the crowds, and suppressed the urge to stop and confront them on the busy thoroughfare.

He kept moving, keen to draw them away to a place that was more private. He hadn’t planned on what he might do after that. Heading north towards the harbour, he stayed on the street that would lead him to the area known as the Rocks. His pulse raced as he tried to think of a way out of this mess.

Bill saw an opportunity as he reached a road junction. He took the road heading west and slowed down for his follower. Confident that they had taken the same route, he ducked into a nearby alleyway and hid behind a series of crates that had been stacked outside an unused replication terminal. He watched for the feet of his potential assailants as they approached his hiding place. When only one set passed by, he made his move. He stilled when he saw his pursuer, but forced his shock to one side and moved in. Grabbing her from behind, he spun her around and closed one hand around her throat. Her head made a dull thudding sound as it made contact with the wall.

‘Who are you?’ He took in the face of the young woman he’d seen earlier in the foyer of the ESC. Her eyes and mouth were wide. He loosened his tight grip on her throat and repeated himself. ‘I said, who are you? Why are you following me?’

‘Please, you’re hurting me!’ She curled her hands around his arm.

‘Then you’d better hurry up and tell me who you are. I saw you at the Security Centre earlier. I want to know why you’re following me. Do you work for Hunt?’

‘I don’t know anyone called Hunt.’ The woman coughed. ‘My name is Laura O’Halloran. Please, let me go.’

Seeing the fear on her face, Bill dropped his hand. Laura rubbed her neck and coughed again.

He stepped away from her, embarrassed by his heavy-handedness; her slender frame meant she was no match for his strength. He sharpened his composure. ‘Who do you work for?’

Laura coughed again. ‘I work for the Earth Security Centre, in the High Level Data Storage Facility. I just needed to talk to you for a moment.’

He tipped his chin at her. ‘Prove it.’

‘I don’t have any way of proving it to you. Unless you have a chip-scanner handy?’

Bill shook his head.

Laura showed him the uniform under her coat. ‘They don’t give these out to just anyone.’ She pointed to the security tags sewn onto the shoulders of her jacket.

Bill tilted one of the tags. A security hologram showed a special code as he moved it. The hologram-embedded tags were difficult to replicate. ‘You should really think twice about sneaking up on people like that. I could have killed you.’

‘I’ll try to remember that in future.’

‘What exactly do you want to talk to me about?’

‘Your most recent investigation on Exilon 5.’

Bill’s gaze narrowed. ‘Why?’

‘I’ve recently been given some information that directly relates to your current case. I also promised someone that I would find you and ask for your help.’

‘Who? For what exactly?’

Laura looked around. ‘I can’t say here. I need you to come with me. I’m taking a risk just by being here. You need to trust me. Please.’ Her voice was shaky.

In all his years working for the World Government, not once had anyone asked for his help. He had always been asked to help: head up missions, profile criminals, track wanted felons. If this turned out to be a trick, Bill would pay heavily for his trust. But he sensed no malice in the woman’s tone; only warmth and compassion. It had been a long time since he’d cared about a cause other than his own.

‘Okay. I don’t know why, but you have my attention. Where are you taking me?’

‘Back to my apartment.’

40

Laura led an uneasy Bill back to her apartment. He had no reason to trust her but the fact he’d come this far was encouraging. She motioned him inside but he kept a small distance behind her. She didn’t blame him for his hesitation; for all he knew, she could be leading him into a trap. The man was on edge and one small push would be all it would take to tip him over. Once inside, she closed the door to prevent the investigator from changing his mind.

Bill seemed to relax as he looked around her apartment, which was generous for Earth accommodation. ‘How big is this place?’

‘Big enough to have a separate bedroom, if that’s what you mean,’ said Laura.

Bill let out a low whistle. ‘I’ve only read about apartments this size on Earth. You can get hold of these easy on Exilon 5, you know. You must be doing well to have been given this, considering you live alone.’

‘I do okay. Job perk, I guess.’ She shrugged, as Bill pulled a magnetised item no bigger than a rolling dice from his pocket and attached it to the front of the Light Box’s hardware unit. ‘What’s that?’

‘A sound interrupter. So we can talk in private.’

Laura tensed up. ‘Please don’t feel like this is a trick. It’s not. I brought you here because I need you to meet someone. Before I bring him out, though, I need you to keep an open mind.’

Bill frowned at her. ‘An open mind, for what?’

She called out to the empty space. ‘It’s okay. You can come out. It is just me, and I’ve brought Bill Taggart.’

The investigator tensed up as the bedroom door creaked open.

A tall figure dressed in a blue suit emerged from the darkened room. He made a move towards them. ‘Hello, Bill. I believe you already know who I am.’ He spoke slowly, deliberately, his eyes fixed on the investigator’s every move. ‘I would like to formally introduce myself. My name is Stephen.’

41

Daphne Gilchrist dismissed Shaw and Brett as soon as Bill Taggart stepped through the turbo lift door. She had relocated to her private office and closed the door behind her. Taking a seat in her leather chair, she addressed the sergeant on her monitor.

‘Well?’

‘Yes, we have him in custody. We have transferred him to a secured facility in Washington.’

‘Good work, Sergeant. Your superiors will receive a glowing report about your team’s work today.’

‘Thank you, Ms Gilchrist. I appreciate your words.’

‘Out.’ Daphne made a face as soon as the connection was severed; she couldn’t stand the military. She had no use for them other than to apprehend difficult targets.

Taggart hadn’t been to blame for the breakdown of the operation on Exilon 5; it was impossible to control military personnel at the best of times. The decision to keep Special Ops out of it had been at Charles Deighton’s request. He was concerned that Bill was getting too close to the truth about the Indigenes and his wife, and the military were an easy way to rein him in. The purpose of the mission had been to drive the Indigenes out of their hiding places, and they had been successful in doing that. It had just taken longer than they’d anticipated. They hadn’t accounted for one of them to travel to Earth.

Within the hour, Daphne arrived in Washington on a specially chartered craft. She made her way through the front entrance of the World Government, and veered off down a corridor to the left towards a hidden area that housed a turbo lift, connecting the surface to the secret underground levels. The levels contained a number of bunkers, set deep beneath the streets above.

The lift took just seconds to reach the requested floor. The door opened to three weapon-carrying officers patrolling the bunker security area. The security system could more than handle unauthorised entries and escape attempts, but Charles Deighton didn’t like leaving anything to chance and had ordered additional firepower. Many considered Deighton to be nothing more than a figurehead for the World Government, but his main role was to protect the investment of the twelve members, of which he was secretly one.

It took a short time for Daphne to gain clearance through the scanning station. Both of her chips were scanned and her DNA sampled and cross-referenced against the database copy. The referencing was an extra security measure; facial manipulation was popular among the radicals.

One of the officers led Daphne down a corridor to the door at the end. Charles Deighton was waiting for her inside, along with the overseer for security matters in the World Government.

‘Ah, Daphne. I see you made it.’ Deighton greeted her as if they were old friends, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘So good to see you.’ The words dripped off the old man’s tongue like honey. There was an easy yet guarded familiarity between the two.

‘Charles! I hope you haven’t started without me.’ Daphne performed for her boss. ‘What’s with all the extra security measures outside?’

He laughed a throaty cackle. ‘I thought you might comment on that. Can’t be too careful, these days. You never know who’s trying to hurt us.’ He nodded towards the flexible membrane containment unit where the captured Indigene watched the trio in perfect silence.

‘Daphne, you remember Tom Billings? He’s here as a witness to the proceedings.’ Deighton laughed a little.

‘Ms Gilchrist.’ The security overseer nodded and offered her his hand. She shook it.

‘Looks like we’ve finally recaptured our most ingenious of creations,’ said Deighton, nodding at the Indigene. ‘Although, given his young age, he’s more likely to be the product of two of our creations. Even better, I’d say.’ He smiled; cold, calculating. ‘It’s taken us many years to get here, but I think we can finally start the experiments again. We can improve our own situation in ways we have yet to try. Billings got here moments before I did. Has he spoken yet?’

‘Just single words here and there,’ said the security overseer. ‘He’s refusing to cooperate.’

‘No matter. I’m not in any hurry,’ said Deighton, smiling.

42

Bill stumbled away from the Indigene standing before him. His back hit the door with a thud. He stared in disbelief at the one that called himself Stephen. Laura was close by and he stretched a hand out for her.

‘Laura, I need you to come to me. Now! You have no idea how dangerous this Indigene is.’

She took a tentative step towards him, but not in fear. She was consoling him, assuring him. In a way, she was protecting the Indigene. Bill blinked.

‘He’s not dangerous, Bill.’

‘Of course he is! He... They killed my...’ He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

She took another step forward. ‘Your wife?’

Bill’s eyes widened. ‘What the hell do you know about that?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Laura. Her voice was calm, but she was trembling. ‘I have information. I know you’re looking for answers. You need to know the Indigenes are not to blame.’

‘It has to be them. Who else could it be?’ Bill kept his eyes fixed on Stephen, waiting for him to make a move. He swiped at Laura hoping to catch her arm, but she kept enough of a distance between them.

‘The government, Bill. Has been all along. They killed Isla.’

He dropped his arm and straightened up. ‘What?’

‘The World Government and the ESC are involved in things they shouldn’t be. Isla got too close to the truth. In fact, she got close to the Indigenes and was trying to help them.’

‘Yes, and they killed her!’ He stared at Stephen, angling his body towards him, squaring up to him. Stephen lowered his head but not his eyes.

‘No!’ Laura closed the gap between them and placed a hand on Bill’s chest. Her touch relaxed him a little. ‘Listen to me! It wasn’t the Indigenes. They had nothing to do with her death. It was Deighton and Gilchrist.’

Bill turned his attention to Laura. He shook his head. ‘You’re lying. Where are you getting this information from?’

‘Files about the investigation. And letters.’

‘Letters?’

Stephen took a step towards them and Bill snapped his eyes back to the Indigene. He pushed Laura’s hand away.

She blocked Stephen’s path, pleaded with the Indigene. ‘Please, I know it’s difficult being here with us.’

‘Tell me why you were investigating us and I won’t kill you,’ Stephen said to Bill. ‘I do not wish to be here any longer than necessary.’

‘Please, your fight isn’t with us.’ Laura grabbed Stephen’s arm. ‘We are all the same. We are fighting for the same thing.’

‘Let him go,’ said Bill, making a tight fist. ‘If he wants a fight, I’ll give him one.’

‘Not until he understands what he is,’ said Laura. She turned to face Stephen. ‘If you still want to fight us after what I tell you, then you have every right to.’

‘What are you saying?’ said Bill. ‘Don’t you know what he’s capable of?’

‘Yes, I know everything about him. His origin, his creation.’

Both of them were staring at Laura now.

‘His creation?’ said Bill. ‘What are you talking about? What do you know?’

‘If you’re going to help each other, you need to know everything about him, including where he came from. You have to know what he is. Are you ready for that?’

‘Tell me. What is he?’ said Bill, trying to sound relaxed.

Stephen remained rigid in his stance. With his wild gaze fixed on Laura, he waited for her answer.

She looked from one face to the other. Stephen willed her on with a look.

‘He’s human.’ Her words hung in the air.

Bill unclenched his fists. ‘He’s what?’

‘Human,’ Laura repeated.

‘Yes, I know I am,’ said Stephen. ‘This is not news to me. But why is it you are also called “human”?’

Bill grabbed Laura’s arm, his gaze burrowing deep into hers. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Where did you get this information from? How do you know all of this?’

The move clearly surprised her, but she tried to stay calm. ‘I’ve recently come into some information that could get me killed if anyone found out I had it. Trust me, I’m not making this up.’

Bill’s eyes fixed on a blank spot on the floor. A sudden thought agitated him and he looked around Laura’s apartment.

‘How many visitors are you permitted to have?’ he said.

‘What?’

‘How many visitors. Think!’

She shook her head, confused. ‘I don’t know. I don’t usually have any. Why does that matter?’

He clamped the sides of her arms. ‘How many does this block allow?’

She thought about it for a minute. Her face fell. ‘Shit. Only one!’

Bill raced over to the Light Box’s hardware control unit and opened a panel at the back. He removed a small disruption device from his pocket. He disconnected the remote sensor he had fixed on when he had arrived, and re-routed the Light Box signal through the device.

‘Do you know if they’re monitoring your apartment?’

‘I don’t know.’ Laura stared vacantly at the door. ‘Are they coming?’

‘Chances are high. This disruption device is designed to confuse the Light Box sensors. By re-routing the signal through it, we can predetermine the number of signatures it will detect. Right now, it should be picking up just two. But they’ve probably already detected the three of us. They’re going to send a team out to check the anomaly.’

‘What do we do?’

‘We have to cut our numbers by one. I need to remove both devices before they have a chance to see them. When I do, there can only be two of us here.’ Bill considered something and addressed Stephen. ‘Can you do that fast blurry thing you do?’

Laura was confused.

Stephen nodded. ‘Yes, that should work.’ He explained to Laura. ‘I can move at a speed where I become invisible to the human eye.’ He corrected himself. ‘I should say, ordinary human eye. It should fool the sensors long enough for them not to detect my presence.’

‘They’re going to be here shortly.’ Bill gave Laura the once-over. ‘I’m going to need you to change out of your uniform and into something more casual. Then I want you to follow my lead.’

Five minutes later, there was a sharp rap on the door. Stephen took his cue and disappeared into a blurry haze right before their eyes. Laura gasped at Stephen’s movement, but forced her attention back to the door. With Stephen hopefully undetectable by the sensors, Bill removed both the signal disrupter and sound interruption device and prayed that their combined efforts were enough.

He grabbed hold of a casually dressed Laura and began kissing her on the mouth. He felt her go limp for a second before she tensed and straightened up. He held her in a tight grip—a little too tight—as he jerked the door handle open. Two officers stood in the hallway, one male and one female. Both carried Impulse Tasers and Buzz Guns in their hip holsters, but their hands were poised over their Buzz Guns: the deadlier of the weapons. Neither officer introduced themselves.

‘We have reason to believe that you have violated the building safety code,’ said the male officer. ‘You are registering a third person in the apartment.’

Bill looped his arm round Laura’s shoulders and pulled her even closer. He could feel her warmth. An apple scent wafted up from her hair. ‘I’m sorry, officers. That’s entirely my fault. You see, it’s our anniversary of the first time we met, and I only have two hours with this gorgeous woman before I have to go back to work.’ He stroked Laura’s hair. She acted her part and laid her head on his chest.

The female officer narrowed her gaze. ‘What career line are you in?’

‘Shipping. I’m a pilot.’

‘Where do you work out of?’

‘Sydney, mainly.’

‘And what about you?’ She turned her calculating eyes towards Laura.

Laura hesitated. Sensing her discomfort, Bill cut in. He gently pushed her away. ‘Is this interrogation really necessary? As you can see, it’s just us here.’ He pretended to be irritated.

‘Rules are rules,’ said the male officer. ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to check for ourselves.’

They both stood back from the door, and allowed the officers to enter. ‘As you wish. You’re free to check.’

Bill’s eyes nervously scanned the room; he couldn’t see Stephen anywhere. Damn, he was good.

The officers carried out a sweep of the apartment, disappointed at not finding a third person. The female officer followed up with an independent scan, which still registered just two signatures, apart from their own.

‘All clear,’ she announced to her partner, sounding unconvinced. She turned to Bill and Laura. ‘But this doesn’t account for the third person you were registering ten minutes ago. Care to explain?’

‘I’m so sorry. That was my fault.’ Laura smiled and placed a hand on her heart. ‘I’d arranged a surprise for my boyfriend. The guy came to install a virtual package upgrade for the Light Box. You know the one where you can holiday in any part of the world without having to leave your armchair? He’s addicted to his virtual world. I mean, who isn’t, these days?’ The male officer mumbled in agreement. ‘Well, the guy was supposed to finish up earlier, but got delayed. Then this idiot came home earlier than planned.’

Bill shrugged his shoulders at the officers in a what-can-you-do way.

‘Oh, I’ve heard about that one. Is it any good?’ said the male officer.

‘I don’t know yet. We were planning a quick trip to Bali.’ Bill winked at him.

‘One last thing,’ said the female officer. ‘We need to scan your identity chips. For the record, you understand.’

‘Come on, officers,’ said Bill. ‘We’ve been fully cooperative here. I rarely get time off, these days. I’m on the clock!’ He sighed and appealed to the male officer’s better nature. ‘You know how it is, with the crazy work schedules we have to stick to. It’s tough enough to get time off under the easiest of circumstances. Am I right?’

The male officer nodded and laughed. ‘I’m just surprised you have the energy. All I want to do is sleep during my free time.’ His tone turned serious. ‘Everything seems to be in order here. Enjoy your evening.’ He pushed his reluctant partner out of the apartment.

As soon as Laura closed the door, Bill removed the disruption unit from his pocket and channelled the Light Box signal through it once more. He placed the sound interrupter on the front panel again.

‘That was way too close for comfort.’ He dragged his hand down his face. ‘We should be okay for the next two hours. But then they’ll be expecting me to leave.’ He spoke to the empty room. ‘You can come out now, Stephen.’ He turned to Laura. ‘And then you’re going to start from the beginning.’

43

‘What a magnificent specimen he is,’ the red-haired female said to the older male, while observing Anton from a safe distance on the other side of the room.

Anton had worked out the distance from his containment unit to the door. There were only three humans in the room with him. He could overpower them easily. He reached his hand out and touched the invisible barrier of the unit. It sparked. He yanked his hand back.

‘The unit is electrically charged,’ said the older male with the watery blue eyes. ‘You are vulnerable to electricity. Apparently, it only slows you down. We’re not sure why it doesn’t kill you.’

Anton stood up straight, waited.

‘The Indigenes have made great steps, technologically speaking,’ said the female. ‘The identity chip they used to gain access to the passenger ship was virtually the same, right down to the wiring. I can’t help wondering if the second generation is cognitively more advanced than the originals.’

Anton rushed the barrier. The electricity stung him and he yowled. It knocked him onto the floor. He stood up in a flash.

‘Look at him!’ the older male said to the others. ‘You see, they were much more primitive in the beginning. Closer to our design, really. Time has allowed their abilities to develop naturally, and in such a short space of time, too. I imagine the next generation will be even more marvellous!’ He clasped his degenerating hands together. A strange mood filled the room.

The female took a step closer. Anton dropped to all fours and arched his back. He concentrated on each of their thoughts which were jumbled by the presence of the barrier.

She stopped cold.

‘See what he just did there?’ said the older male. ‘They didn’t do that when we first created them. Primitive animals. Brutes. Couldn’t even talk. Over time, they’ve adapted, changed so much. It’s quite marvellous to see that our species is capable of such adaptability, if managed correctly. We will need that for our own future.’

44

‘You see, the Indigenes have only been in existence for fifty years,’ Laura said to Bill. ‘They were created from existing humans in the beginning.’

Stephen stilled at her words.

‘How is that possible?’ He felt his control slip away further. ‘Our race has existed for thousands of years, not half a century. You are simply misinformed.’

Laura placed a hand on Stephen’s arm, a move that was difficult for him to allow. But her touch was without malice. ‘I wish I was. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the data for myself.’

Stephen shook his head; he had set out to understand the humans’ motives for killing so many of his kind all those years ago, but if he was to believe Laura, then their motives were no longer the issue. It was all about his origin. He didn’t know if he could trust Laura and Bill, but he needed to hear more. He wished Anton was with him. He was better at reading humans.

‘Where did you get the data from?’ said Bill.

‘I received it from an anonymous tip. Anonymous, because I don’t even know her name.’ Laura laughed, without humour. ‘There’s a woman who works in the same area that I do, on Level Five. I was promoted to that area about two weeks ago. And you can only imagine how stunned I was when she approached me at lunch and handed me a micro file in broad daylight.’

‘What?’ said Bill. ‘She didn’t say anything? What was on it?’

‘The data speaks for itself, but she did say something. That the work at the ESC was not all it seemed to be.’

‘That’s not a surprise. What else?’

‘She said I needed to have my eyes opened before they tried to manipulate me. The reason she was giving me the information was because I had no obvious connection to it.’

‘Any idea what her connection might have been?’

‘No idea. She wouldn’t talk to me after that.’

‘Not unexpected behaviour, given the circumstances.’

‘Wait!’ Stephen had heard enough small talk. ‘I need you to start from the beginning. I came to Earth because your species is still trying to eradicate ours. I want to know why and to find out how we supposedly became another version of you.’

‘Yes, I’d like to know that too,’ said Bill.

Laura took a seat on the sofa. She leaned forwards, resting her forearms on her legs and clasping her hands in front of her.

Both Stephen and Bill stood at opposite ends of the sofa, hovering over her.

‘Please, I need someone to sit with me.’ She patted the vacant area beside her. ‘You’re both making me nervous, lurking over me like that.’

Bill chose to join her. Not on the seat, but perched on the edge of the arm-rest. Stephen stayed standing; it was a more natural position for him.

‘In the latter part of the twenty-first century,’ said Laura, ‘the World Government had seemingly been well informed of the inherent risks to our planet. The overpopulation had already begun, the biodiversity was unbalanced and extinction lists were growing at an unmanageable rate. It was what drove the initial investment in space travel.’

Bill nodded, his head hung low as he listened. ‘Yes, apart from the government’s early indications, this is all well known.’

Laura continued. ‘Well, as you know, their relentless search for a new exoplanet began shortly afterwards, and then they came across Exilon 5.’

‘In 2076.’

‘That’s right. The history books report it was the astronomer Harry Buxton who discovered the planet. This is all true. But what the books don’t reveal is that the government in power at the time was busy digging up other facts isolated from this event. They discovered that the planet could support life, but not their own because of incompatible gases. So they looked for other ways to make it happen.’

The sequence of events started to make sense to Stephen. ‘Alter its composition?’

‘Not at the beginning. While they racked their brains to come up with a solution, Plan B was being put into effect. As far back as 2032, they’d involved themselves in a number of genetic experiments on human test subjects.’

Bill reflected for a moment. ‘There was an early twenty-first century condition known as hemeralopia that caused day-blindness. There were specific cases mentioned recently, involving children whose eyes shone like bright lights in the dark.’

‘Yes, I read about it,’ said Laura. ‘It was one of the early experiments carried out on children. Tests were performed, often without the subject’s permission. Some were as young as four.’

Stephen shuddered. ‘Did these children have superior night vision?’

‘Yes,’ said Laura. ‘As it turned out, their vision was exceptional in darkened conditions, but much more sensitive in daytime light.’

‘As is our vision.’ Stephen had yet to hear all the details, but he could guess where it was leading.

‘I’m sorry, Stephen,’ said Laura. ‘I know this is difficult for you to hear. But you need to know everything.’

45

Two armed officers joined the two males and female in the room where Anton was being held prisoner. Anton remained in his protective crouch as they probed deeper into the reasons why he’d made the long and dangerous journey to Earth.

The red haired female took a step towards the containment unit, both officers shadowing her. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ she said to Anton. ‘We’re not interested in hurting you. We are your friends. I would like to know your name. I’d like to call you something other than Indigene. I’ll begin. My name is Daphne Gilchrist.’

Anton could sense the lies spilling from her mouth; he could see the tension and apprehension in the way she held herself. Then there was the palpable excitement coming from the old human. He wondered how this Gilchrist woman knew he was an Indigene.

‘Not interested in talking?’ Her tone became less inviting.

‘Perhaps it can’t communicate in the same way we can,’ said the younger male.

‘Ah, but it can. We have seen one of them talk quite freely with another human being. They have the same ability to learn languages, as we do.’ A puzzled look crossed her face. ‘In fact, I’m surprised they haven’t created their own by now.’

‘What if they have?’ said the younger male. ‘What if they can communicate without words?’

The female raised an eyebrow.

Anton continued his analysis of her. He could sense her desire to dominate the room and the males within it; she thrived on being in charge. But for all her experience, she’d missed the point the one called Billings had been astute enough to make.

The female snapped her attention back to Anton. ‘You can drop the charade now. I’m not buying it. I can keep calling you Species 31, but I would rather call you by your real name.’

Anton decided he’d taken things far enough; he figured there might be a better chance of getting information from them if he spoke out loud. ‘My name is Anton.’

‘Anton!’ The older male spoke up from the back of the room and clapped his hands together. ‘What an altogether human name. Not terribly surprising, I suppose, considering what stock you came from.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Anton straightened up.

The aged man squealed. ‘Did you see how fast he just moved there?’ ‘Marvellous advancements! Better than any design we could have come up with.’

Anton wondered if Stephen had been able to escape or whether they were holding him in a similar place. He wanted to ask, but they hadn’t once mentioned his name, false or real. It was possible they were still unaware that he was on the planet.

‘By the way, using the chips like that was a very clever thing to do, Bob Harris. I assume you had an accomplice?’ said the female.

No. They didn’t know Stephen was here. They were fishing for information. He was relieved. ‘Just some useful human who was careless with his identity chip, that’s all.’

‘So, why were you in such a hurry to get out of Dock 10 then? Our records show it was Colin Stipple who illegally commandeered the flight out with one of our best pilots on board. Who is he to you?’

‘Just someone who needed my help in return for a favour. A family member was committing termination, or so he said.’ Anton told the story as agreed. ‘He’d expected his travel to be curtailed when he returned here and he made a compelling argument. It seemed important, so I helped.’ How easily the lies flowed in the face of danger.

‘How very noble of you to help out our kind, considering what we tried to do to yours.’ The female watched him. Her cold, hard stare burrowed deep.

Anton could tell she was trying to read him: his facial expressions, the way he held his hands, how he stood. Anything that might reveal a hidden clue. Unlike Stephen, he bore no ill feelings towards humans, but now he understood why certain Indigenes set out to kill humans such as these.

The female smiled widely. She applauded his performance. ‘That’s a truly wonderful story. You are quite the little actor. Fortunately for you, when we spoke to the pilot, she backed up your version of events. Still can’t figure out why the bitch lied.’

‘I’m afraid it’s no story. It’s the truth.’

The older male stepped forward. ‘You still haven’t answered an important question. Why are you here on Earth?’

‘What do you want from me?’ said Anton, feeling impatient and nervous as the female inched closer to him. He waited for her to make a threatening move.

The older male chuckled, changing positions. The uniformed officers shadowed him. ‘What don’t we want from you?’

‘Here’s a better question,’ she said. ‘What is it that you want from us? You’re the one trespassing on our planet. You’re a risk to our national security. It concerns me that you’re even here at all. How did you figure out how to leave Exilon 5?’

Anton didn’t know what the female’s motives were. He could work out the younger male, but not her or the older male. He sensed that while it was important to keep them talking, he also needed to discover their motives for invading Exilon 5. ‘You’ve attempted to destroy our race. I think I should be more concerned about you. Do you hold no responsibility for your actions?’

‘Of course we do, but you cannot destroy what you already own,’ said his captor with the watery gaze. ‘You can only choose to discard. To destroy is to assume it belongs to someone else.’

Anton struggled to decipher their riddles without knowing all the facts. ‘Are you going to kill me?’ He’d gone into this mission knowing there was a good chance he might not return.

The female and older male laughed.

‘No, my dear boy,’ said the male. ‘What a waste that would be. I have much better plans for you.’

‘Care to share them?’ said Anton.

‘Of course not! Where would be the fun in that?’

46

‘Look,’ said Bill. ‘I know this is difficult for all of us to hear, let alone discuss. But I’m having trouble understanding exactly where Stephen fits into all of this.’

He was feeling wired. Yet he hadn’t had a coffee all day.

Laura sighed before continuing. ‘As I said, the genetic experiments were carried out long before the planet had even been discovered. From the files, it appears that around 2110, while engineers and ship designers were busy perfecting space travel, the World Government had almost perfected something of their own.’ Stephen held her gaze when she looked at him.

Bill glanced between Stephen and Laura. ‘Are you seriously telling us...?’ He turned away and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘No.’

‘Yes,’ said Laura. ‘They created a race that was capable of surviving on the planet in its original uninhabitable state. They’d given up hope of humans ever living there and without having discovered more exoplanets, they fell back on their contingency plan for the human race. In their mind, the Earth was beyond saving.’

Bill turned back around. Just as the last piece slotted into place, his original reasons for hating the Indigenes vanished. ‘Those fuckers were creating a new breed of human?’

‘Yes.’ Laura glanced at Stephen. ‘He is us, but just a better version of us.’

‘Shit.’ Bill let out a deep breath. He dropped his gaze to the floor.

In all this time, Stephen hadn’t moved. If it wasn’t for the intensity burning in his eyes, Bill wouldn’t have known the Indigene felt anything. Then, something else caught his attention about the story. He looked at Laura. It unnerved him to even ask it. ‘And what had they planned to do with the regular humans?’

‘That’s where it becomes difficult. It makes me sick just to think of it,’ said Laura. She drew in a deep breath before continuing. ‘Our future existence was being placed entirely in the hands of this superhuman race. What remained of the human race was going to be wiped out.’

‘Fuck!’ Even for Bill, and what he’d seen as an investigator, this was a lot to take in. He’d known about his employers’ shady past and present, but he never contemplated that they would take it this far.

Stephen took a slow, measured step forwards. His brown lens-covered eyes, noticeably strained, now sought out the truth. While Laura and Bill had become sidetracked discussing the plans for the people of Earth, Bill had forgotten about the man who stood before them: a man who’d been unwittingly caught up in a war that was not of his making.

‘How did I come into existence?’ said Stephen. ‘Where did I come from exactly? Please! I need to know.’

Laura continued. ‘In the early days, scientists had advertised for human test subjects to become part of their gene-splicing and manipulation therapy programmes. It was, of course, fully funded by the World Government.’

‘Another non-surprise,’ said Bill.

‘Some volunteered, but many didn’t. Without enough subjects to test, they had to resort to taking people from the street. At first, the tests were successful enough, or so they said. But neither the splicing nor manipulation techniques worked well in those who had inherited genetic diseases from their parents. In the end, their bodies successfully rejected the changes.

‘It was through trial and error alone that the scientists discovered that anomaly. Later on, when they trialled splicing in people of average intellect with clean DNA structures, the results improved slightly, but there was still little noticeable difference between the before and after test subjects. It wasn’t until they tested those with a superior IQ that the genetic splicing and manipulation worked perfectly with their genes. The work done also had a boosting effect on their brain’s ability to learn. Take doctors, engineers and professors. Professions with a high IQ. The tests seemed to supercharge their skills somehow.’

Bill had always suspected there was something different, or special, about the indigenous race on Exilon 5. He just hadn’t been quite sure what that was, until now. ‘So, there really is a race of super-intelligent beings on Exilon 5?’

‘You only have to look at Stephen to know that’s the case.’

‘What’s your IQ, Stephen?’ said Bill.

‘We don’t use human measurements to define our intelligence, but if I was to compare it to your scale, it would be close to two hundred and seventy.’

Bill let out a low whistle. He looked at the Indigene he once regarded as his enemy. While Stephen might still pose a threat, at that moment all he saw was a man whose history had been torn to shreds. He was a man who, suddenly, didn’t fit anywhere.

‘So, Stephen is human?’

‘Yes and no. You see, Stephen is less than fifty years old. Am I right?’ Laura looked at him. He nodded. ‘So, essentially he was the product of two superhumans. He’s a true indigenous species of the planet. According to the files, those older than fifty would have lived ordinary lives as humans at some stage, since the experiments were only completed at that point.’

Stephen gasped.

‘What is it?’ said Laura, frowning.

‘Our oldest Central Council members are well over fifty years old. Are you telling me they were once your kind of human?’

‘Yes. I’m afraid that’s probably the case.’

He shook his head. ‘But it’s not possible. They have specific memories of being born, of growing up on the planet, and of a life before the one we have now. How can that be?’

‘When the early superhumans were created, their memories were overwritten with new ones. The scientists rewired the neural pathways. That’s why they wouldn’t remember their old lives. The government scientists painstakingly created a new existence for these people so they would adapt to the new planet. It worked like a dream as far as I can tell. Because of your age, Stephen, your memories are real. Any memories occurring earlier than fifty years ago are most likely false.’

‘So why is the government trying to kill the Indigenes if they are just like us?’ said Bill.

Laura pulled the band out of her hair. She ruffled it with her hand and tucked it behind her ears. ‘Their motives seem to have been more innocent at the start. While putting all their hopes for survival into this new race, they accidentally stumbled upon a way to alter the gas composition on Exilon 5. When they realised that the planet could house ordinary humans, they knew one race would be sacrificed for another. When the explosions happened, it wasn’t just to terraform the planet, it was to destroy their creation. Somewhere in the files, it’s mentioned that neither race could find out about the other.’

‘Pity for them that we did more than survive. We adapted even further,’ said Stephen.

‘He’s right,’ said Laura. ‘The first superhumans who relocated to the planet resembled us, but were more primitive in behaviour. Their skin was as sturdy as it is now, but their outward appearance was more like how you and I look.’ She addressed Stephen. ‘I imagine it was the years of living underground that altered your DNA and made your appearance what it is today.’

‘Yes. The toughened skin,’ said Stephen. ‘But how?’

Laura tried to hide her discomfort; the events were taking their toll on her.

Bill placed a hand on her shoulder. He could feel her shaking through her clothes. ‘I know this is a lot to explain, but please continue. We need to know everything,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘The genetic manipulation involved experimentation with other species’ DNA. Animals, mostly. Think of the toughened exterior of a rhinoceros, for example, or the night vision of a nocturnal animal, or the regenerative properties of a lizard. They tried various permutations, trying to alter the human code so it would mimic the more interesting properties of some of these animals.’

‘What do they plan to do with us?’ said Stephen.

‘I don’t know. They can’t carry out any more explosions on the surface, not with a small number of transferees already living on Exilon 5.’

‘What then?’

‘I don’t know. Look, I didn’t get an idea of how this was going to play out. All I can tell you about are the facts on the micro file.’

‘Sorry for pushing you so hard,’ said Bill, glancing at Stephen. ‘We both appreciate what you’ve done here. Do you still have the file?’

‘Yes. I was going to get rid of it, but for some insane reason I kept it around. It’s yours if you want it.’

‘This transfer you speak of,’ said Stephen. ‘When did it begin?’

‘Around twenty-five years ago,’ said Bill. ‘Why?’

‘And when did it slow down? Far fewer of you have since settled on the planet.’

‘I don’t know exactly. A few years ago. Why? What are you thinking?’

‘Well, it seems to correlate with the time that some of our young were captured. Could it be that their plans have changed?’

‘Anything’s possible,’ said Bill.

‘So what’s our next move in all of this?’ said Laura.

‘For one thing,’ said Bill, ‘it’s not safe for us to stay here. Laura, you’ll have to come with me. Leave your apartment, your current life behind.’

‘What? No! I have a job. A career. I can’t just leave it!’

‘If they find out what you know, you won’t be alive long enough to enjoy it.’

‘You don’t understand. I need to get on the transfer list to Exilon 5. If I disappear now, I lose that chance.’

‘I expect all future transfers will be placed on hold, anyway. There are more pressing issues at play here. You need to decide which side you’re on.’

‘I’m on this side, of course! Why can’t I stay where I am? Wouldn’t I be more useful to you if I was on the inside?’

Bill couldn’t see how it would work. She would be in too much danger.

‘I need to get back to Exilon 5,’ said Stephen. ‘I need to tell the Indigenes what I’ve learned here. We have much more to fear than I’d first anticipated. We need to be ready for when they come.’

Bill looked at him, compassion replacing the anger that had consumed him for so long. ‘Of course. Getting you safely off this planet is our first priority.’

‘I have another favour to ask of you, Bill,’ said Stephen. ‘I didn’t come here alone. My friend Anton was captured so that I could escape. I need you to find out if he’s still alive.’

‘If the World Government has him, he may not be.’

‘I’m prepared for that. But I would still like you to check.’

‘I’ll see what I can find out,’ said Bill.

‘Thank you.’

Bill ran a hand through his hair and stopped to touch the bump that remained after his fall.

‘How’s your head?’ said Stephen.

‘How do you know about...?’ His expression changed as he realised. ‘That was you?’

Stephen gave a small smile. ‘Actually, it was Anton who convinced me to help. I’m glad I did now.’

Bill stared at him. A deep yawn took him by surprise. He had been so tense about his return to Earth and meeting with Gilchrist that he’d pushed the exhaustion away. This heavy input of new information was letting it all back in. ‘Do you mind if I take a quick nap on your bed?’ he said to Laura.

She nodded. ‘Take all the time you need. But before you go, there’s something else I need to give you.’ She went into her bedroom and retrieved three envelopes.

He stared down at them, puzzled. ‘What are they?’

‘Letters from your wife.’

He stared at the envelopes. ‘Where did you get these? What do they say? I mean, did you read them?’ He looked up at Laura, swallowing back a lump in his throat.

She shook her head. ‘I was given them the same time as the micro file. I can’t decipher them. They’re coded, I think. Just take them.’ She shoved them closer to his hand.

He grabbed the letters. His mouth set into a tight line. ‘Wake me up in an hour. We can’t stay here.’

Bill closed the bedroom door behind him, clutching the envelopes to his chest. He felt different, less angry somehow. There were still questions to be answered but he needed more time to think. He didn’t know if he could completely trust the pair in the next room but he was now certain of one thing: the Indigenes were not his enemy.

He kicked off his boots and lay on the bed. The envelopes felt like an extra weight in his hand. He brushed his fingers over the tops of them, brought them up to his nose, took a sniff. It was faint, but he thought he could smell Isla’s perfume.

Was he really ready to read his wife’s innermost thoughts? Was he ready to hear she was in danger, or to believe the letters were his last tangible link to her? She was still alive. He had to believe that.

So what was it she wanted to say in a letter that she couldn’t in person?

Bill turned onto his side and hugged the letters close to him. The tears fell as his eyes drooped closed from the effort of keeping them open.

He needed to rest. He was tired of fighting.

But he knew the fight was only just beginning.

47

Anton woke to the uncomfortable sound of electricity buzzing close by. He sat up and wiggled a finger in each ear to clear the persistent noise. The lump on the back of his head was fresh. He remembered them jabbing his arm with something just before he passed out. He’d probably hit his head on the floor, which was probably how he got the lump. He was naked except for a pair of loose-legged trousers.

He crawled forwards and got to his feet.

There was an obvious route out of the room—an open gap—but something nipped at his skin. The closer he got to the exit the slower he seemed to move. By the time he reached the opening it felt as if he were treading water. His fingers barely grazed the space before the electrical current rooted him to the spot.

The old human with the watery gaze came into view outside the opening. He was whistling a tune.

‘Let me out of here,’ said Anton, his words coming thick and slow. He was breathing too hard. His device! He rolled his tongue over the back of his throat.

‘I’d like to, dear boy, but you’re far too valuable to me.’

Anton shuffled backwards until he was far enough away from the electrically charged gap to be able to move freely again. His tongue found the device in the back of his throat. His hands broke free from the electrical binds and he checked each nostril. He released a quick breath. It was only panic causing him to breathe hard.

‘You’ve seen what I can do,’ said Anton. ‘Yet you want someone as dangerous as me around? That doesn’t make any sense.’

The old human laughed loud. ‘I’m quite sure I’m safe. I just saw how effective you were when you tried to breach this room.’ He swirled one finger in the air. ‘That low buzzing noise is an irritation, even to my ordinary ears.’ He brought his hands behind his back and a strange smile settled into place. ‘It’s clear to me you don’t understand why you’re here yet. The others don’t, either.’

Anton slowed his breathing until the fog in his mind had lifted and he could think a little clearer. They had drugged him. He could feel his body attacking the new substance; it would only be a matter of time before his immune system counteracted its effects. ‘My friends, they’re coming for me,’ he said.

The male who called himself Charles dropped his overly friendly disposition and his shoulders tensed. ‘Who is coming for you? Are there more of you on the way?’

Anton considered telling his captor about Stephen, to buy himself time. But that would be suicide for both of them.

‘Yes, that’s what I thought,’ said the male, seeming to relax. ‘You’ve come alone. Or maybe you haven’t. It doesn’t really matter. I only need one of you, anyway.’

Anton slid to the floor and wrapped his arms around his knees. His bare skin was pressed against the cool rock. It felt familiar and comfortable, like District Three. He stared at his captor, trying to read his thoughts, but the old human seemed to carry a technology with him that blocked Anton’s abilities. Either that, or it was the electricity, or the drugs. He shook his head to clear it.

Would Stephen send for help? Would he live out his days as a prisoner? Not if he could help it. But how could he fight against both the drugs and the electricity?

He sighed, a part of him resigned to his capture. ‘So, what do you need me for, anyway?’

The old human’s eyes brightened for a moment, but he turned and walked away. Anton heard a door open.

‘To help keep me alive,’ the male called out, his voice echoing in the open space some distance away.

The door shut.

Keep me alive? The three words tripped and tumbled about in Anton’s mind. The faint thread of a thought danced before him, and he pulled on it.

The old human needed Anton for something. That meant he had a chance.

48

The door to Laura’s bedroom creaked more than she had expected. She sucked in a breath, only releasing it when the door had opened wide enough for her to step inside. Bill and Stephen had been in her apartment for an hour, and Stephen was getting jittery about being there; he needed to leave for Exilon 5 to warn his people. But Laura was feeling jittery, too; she wanted Stephen out of the apartment in case the two officers returned and caught her out in her lie.

She found Bill lying on top of her bedclothes, the letters from his wife unopened and cradled in his arms. She gnawed on her thumb as she contemplated leaving him to sleep longer. But Stephen couldn’t get home on his own, and she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if he was captured because they had been too slow to help.

Laura perched on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Bill’s shoulder.

‘Hey,’ she said. Bill didn’t move, so she shook him gently. ‘Time to go.’

Bill’s eyes opened a little, then widened. He grabbed her wrist. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

Laura jerked her arm away, but he had a firm hold on her. Her chest tightened with fear. ‘We have to go. Stephen needs to leave. I’m sorry. I had to wake you.’

Bill stared down at her wrist, then loosened his grip, giving her the opportunity to pull back. He looked away and stuffed the unopened letters into the inside pocket of his jacket. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. ‘You shouldn’t have allowed me to sleep so long.’

Laura moved to the door, relieved to be beyond his reach. ‘You were dead on your feet and you needed it. I’ll be outside.’ She pulled the door closed behind her.

When Bill emerged a few minutes later Stephen was already by the front door, his navy-blue suit wrinkle-free and fully buttoned, his black Stetson in one hand.

‘Are you sure you can get me safe passage off Earth?’ he said to Bill, fitting his hat on his head.

Bill rubbed his eyes again. ‘I’ll make damn sure it happens. I just need to make a quick call first. One of my contacts off the grid.’ He narrowed his gaze at Stephen. ‘I don’t want to see you here again. You understand?’

Stephen’s smile was fleeting. ‘If I’m here it means I’m not safe.’

Bill dug his communication device out of his pocket and stuck the earpiece in his ear. Laura listened as he barked instructions to someone on the other end of the line.

‘Are you sure it will work?... Yeah, yeah. Colin Stipple... It’s a hot name right now. People are probably looking for him.’ Bill looked at Stephen, then shot his gaze away. ‘Yeah, something like that... Cheers, I owe you one.’

Laura pulled on her jacket and wrapped a scarf around her neck and head, making it into a hood of sorts.

Taking out his earpiece, Bill turned around. He took in Laura’s appearance. ‘And where the hell do you think you’re going?’

She frowned at him. ‘I’m coming with you.’

‘I won’t be responsible for another person going missing,’ said Bill. Laura could see he was deadly serious.

‘He’s right, Laura,’ said Stephen. ‘I don’t want you risking your life for me. It was Bill Taggart I needed to find and now I have.’

‘Yeah?’ She turned the collar up on her coat and felt around for the gel mask in her pocket. ‘Well, the last time I checked, neither of you were responsible for me. If I hadn’t seen the information on the micro file, you two wouldn’t have learned as much as you have done. And since you’re both standing in my apartment, I’d say I’m very much involved.’

She didn’t wait for a reply. She opened the door and walked out into the communal hall.

They didn’t follow. She turned back.

‘Well, are you coming or not?’

Bill shook his head and flashed a smile at her. ‘You’re one stubborn lady,’ he said, walking past.

‘You have no idea just how stubborn, Bill Taggart.’

She pulled the door closed behind Stephen and put on her gel mask. ‘Now, let’s get Stephen home.’

Acknowledgements

If there was ever a story I needed to tell, it was the one between the humans and the Indigenes. Becoming Human started out life as a short story in 2009. I was so excited by the idea I spent a year putting it together and a couple more changing it around. As I wrote beyond this book, the Indigenes’ story took on a life of its own. But this story, Becoming Human, is about the humans and their willingness to put all their trust in leaders they never see. And when they discover some of the decisions being made in their name, they must decide whether to maintain the status quo or fight. This is not unlike modern day society where we vote and take a leap of faith that our new leaders will do what’s right.

I would like to dedicate this self-published book to the hard working self-published authors I know who write brilliantly and produce books for their readers that are indistinguishable from traditionally published books. We compete in a noisy book market by producing our best work possible.

Thanks to Averill Buchanan, for editing this book in its original entirety. And thanks to Andrew Lowe for helping me to update it and give it a shinier, sharper look for 2017.

Thank you to Andrew and Rebecca from Design for Writers for the really cool cover. I still get great comments about the design.

To my sci-fi-loving best friend who cuts through the crappy first draft ideas so my second draft reads a little more like it should. Your brutal honesty about my work was tough to take at first, but would you believe I’m getting used to it? I just make sure to drink lots of wine beforehand!

Purchase other books in the series

Prequel books to the Exilon 5 Series

Echoes of Earth

New Origin

Boxset containing both prequels

Continue with the Exilon 5 Series

Altered Reality (Book 2)

Crimson Dawn (Book 3)

Young Adult Series

Feeder – (Book 1, Feeder Series)

You have to keep moving forward, he says.

But I am afraid of change.

Change will kill me.

Orphaned and homeless, seventeen-year-old Anya Macklin is rehoused and enrolled in the adult skills course at Arcis, a secretive and heavily monitored education facility.

But what begins as a supportive programme of growth and learning soon turns into a dangerous game where there can be only one winner.

Grab Feeder now

Coming in 2017

Quantum Silence (Book 4 in the Exilon 5 series)

Breeder (Book 2, Feeder Series)

Dissent (Dom and Sheila’s story)

Intent (Warren’s story)

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About the Author

Eliza Green tried her hand at fashion designing, massage, painting, and even ghost hunting, before finding her love of writing. She often wonders if her desire to change the ending of a particular glittery vampire story steered her in that direction (it did). After earning her degree in marketing, Eliza went on to work in everything but marketing, but swears she uses it in everyday life, or so she tells her bank manager.

Born and raised in Dublin, Ireland, she lives there with her sci-fi loving, evil genius best friend. When not working on her next amazing science fiction adventure, you can find her reading, indulging in new food at an amazing restaurant or simply singing along to something with a half decent beat.

Becoming Human, Altered Reality and Crimson Dawn make up the Exilon 5 series so far. Derailed Conscience is her interesting foray into psychological thrillers with a sci-fi twist.

Feeder, brand new young adult sci-fi, is available from all major online retailers. For more details, click here.