A panicky cry rippled out through the void.
"Who's there? Please, will you not tell me who you are?"
For a long time, she had been alone in the nowhere. Now, there was
another. That other, for a long time only a vague presence, had finally
touched her. She recoiled from the contact, alarmed. There had been
nothing of the physical about the caress, just a frightening sense of
otherness, of a creature that was not of her kind. The unknown creature
closed in once more. Unseen, it circled about her, before its substance
settled over her like a smothering blanket.
She wanted to scream; but she had no voice.
Then there came the merest whisper of words; but they held no meaning for
the Speaker of the Histories of the Tribe of the Bok.
Angelica wondered if it might be the All Mother, come to carry the soul of
her dead daughter to the Mystical Highlands? However, that part of her
which was Keeper of Histories wondered at the alien feel of the creature
with which she was now sharing this dreadful nowhere. Of course, it was
presumptuous of her to expect to comprehend the All Mother - for the mind
of a Goddess was unknowable; but she felt instinctively that her Goddess
should not feel so different...
So alien?
The words came again. This time, she caught a suggestion of the meaning.
"Sleep, child. Sleep, and be at peace."
Even as she reached to grasp the meaning, Angelica slipped into a profound
sleep. She dreamed of the Highlands.
Mystal sighed. With visions of a panorama of majestic mountains and
sighing pines echoing around her mind, she lifted her forehead from the
curving surface of the bio-maintenance container. The silvery sphere hung
in a support cradle, its mirrored surface radiating distorted reflections
of the sick-bay. Mystal pushed her long blond mane over her shoulders,
and stood for a long time frowning at her obscenely distorted image,
draped in the ankle length cream robes of a Source Priestess.
She had got through at last to the child's mind trapped within the life
support cocoon. The fear and loneliness had been overpowering when Mystal
had entered the sick-bay. The suffering had drawn her like a magnate to
the bio-control unit rested from the wreckage of the Dalek base. Now the
child slept.
Mystal would have to come back when she was not so busy, and try to make a
more meaningful contact with the unfortunate creature. It was not human;
Mystal had felt that instantly; and it would take some time to establish a
proper rapport with the cruelly abused child.
At present, there were others whose need was more urgent. Mystal was
compelled to comfort them all, to satisfy that innate need to succour the
suffering, which was the curse and the joy of all Priestesses of the
Shining Source. This need was a thing bred into their very bones.
She quickly checked the control panel to make certain that everything was
functioning normally. Then she gently caressed the sphere in farewell,
before moving away to the next patient needing her rare empathic gift.
The naked man stretched out on the examination couch was a bag of bones;
but to judge from his size, he must have been an impressive specimen, and
would be again once the Medical Team had done their work on him. However,
if that superb body was to be inhabited by an even half-way rational mind,
she had to get to work.
"Hey, Mystal... You got a few minutes to spare?"
Mystal glanced across at the hatchway. A rangy woman in off-duty blues
stood there. "What's up, Ves?" she asked.
"Can you come see this kid we got down on level seven?" At Mystal's
dubious look, the other went on, "It'll only take a minute."
Mystal considered the comatose man a moment, then nodded. "Ok. I'm
coming."
------------------------------
The military grey paintwork covering the metal walls sucked up the light
from the overhead panels, muting the harsh glare, and imparting an almost
friendly feel to the functional corridor. Every few paces, hatches were
set in both walls. Numbers had been hand-painted on them in luminous
yellow. Mystal and Ves were walking, shoulder to shoulder, down the
thrumming corridor.
Ves's lithe form looked good in the figure hugging blue sleeveless shirt
and shorts of an off-duty front line combat trooper. Her feet were bare.
Her plain featured face was round and capped by cropped blond hair. Post
combat fatigue was straining her features into a weary mask. Tired as she
was, Ves still moved with the pantherish grace of a born soldier.
Mystal drifted along at her side. The traditional cream robe of a Source
Priestess whispered as she moved. It was belted at the waist with a piece
of knotted rope. On a chain about her neck hung a medallion in white
gold. It had the form of a Dove taking flight.
Her face was thin and hard-angled. The harsh lines were softened somewhat
by large friendly, blue eyes. A great mane of blond hair fell down her
back, tied into a loose pony tail with a scarlet ribband.
"What's so special about this one, Ves?" Mystal asked, noting with concern
the badly hidden feelings of inchoate guilt troubling her companion.
"There's a whole ship full of fractured minds need holding together until
we can dump them on Psyche Dept, and only me to do it. Is this one any
more urgent?"
"I guess not," Ves admitted.
"So why the hurry?"
"I dunno, Mystal," Ves began slowly. "It's sort of hard to explain... I
sorta feel responsible for the kid."
Mystal shot her a sharp glance. "Why?" she asked.
"I'm not sure," Ves began uncertainly. "It was just after we'd secured
the Dalek Command Centre; and you'd just come charging in doing your Angel
of Mercy thing. We were in the corridor outside fixing up Bonz who'd
taken a pretty bad hit. We were all still jumpy as hell. I saw one of
the beasties using the kid as a shield. If I hadn't been so stepped up on
adrenalin I might have thought it was kinda queer, them beasties being
really fierce and proud warriors and all, but... but..."
"So, what did you do?"
Ves put a hand over her face and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shut
out the troublesome memory. "I shot the beastie down... More by reflex
than anything. It was only afterwards, when we tried to recover the kid
that I had any idea that there was anything wrong. The kid went stark
raving berserk. She went for us like a snapper in a feeding frenzy. She
was screaming and grunting like a beastie all the time. Little bit of a
thing she is... She knocked Big Carl right off his feet, and ripped the
dickens out of his face before she went scrambling back to the beastie.
She clung on to the body like a drowning man to a straw. We couldn't get
her off...A dozen big strong troopers and we couldn't drag her off no how
without tearing out her arms. We had to get Doc to knock the kid out
before we could prize her fingers off the beastie woman. It sorta came to
me then that the kid had been trying to shield the beastie from us."
"That's odd behaviour for a slave, don't you think, Ves? Why would the
kid do that?"
Ves shook her head. "I dunno." She wandered on a few steps before growing
aware that the Source Priestess had stopped at a hatch marked 974. As she
retraced her steps, Ves wondered, not for the first time, just how wide
ranging a Source Priestess's "empathic sensitivity" was. Mystal had
stopped at the right door.
Mystal palmed the lock and the hatch slid aside. Light spilling in from
the corridor illuminated the small square cell. Across the back wall was
a ledge used for sleeping. On the right wall was a small toilet unit and
on the opposite wall was a hand basin.
Under the bed, jammed into the corner by the toilet, the girl was hunched
up in the blanket. All that could be seen over her drawn up legs was a
thin line of pale face under a tangle of hair. Wildly glaring eyes peered
at the two women over the blanket covered knees. When those eyes came to
Ves, recognition sparked in them. The implacable hatred which flared in
those eyes still had power to send a cold thrill down the big trooper's
spine.
One pale, naked foot, sticking out from under the blanket, was quickly
withdrawn as Mystal moved into the cell. She went to her knees. For a
full minute, Mystal knelt there unmoving. She did not look at the girl.
Standing in the doorway, Ves was aware of that familiar aura of calmness
descending upon her spirit as Mystal bathed the child in her inner
tranquillity.
At last, Mystal moved, slowly extending a hand to the child. Ves tensed.
"Careful, Mystal," she warned. "she bites." Ves absently rubbed the area
of new pink flesh along the side of her right palm, still healing from the
kid's bite.
For a long time, nothing moved in the small cell. Then the girl's eyes
flicked from Mystal's outstretched hand to where Ves guarded the doorway.
Slowly, the child began to shuffle out from under the bed. Mystal smiled
encouragement. The girl cringed back at the expression. She hesitated a
moment, flicking another glance at the doorway, and seemed to gain
resolve. She came fully out from under the bed.
Moving slowly, Mystal reached out to take the girl's hand and draw her
into a hug. The next second, she was flat on her back. Eluding Ves's
grab for her, the girl was out the door and away down the corridor on
flying feet.
For a long moment, Mystal just lay there blinking at the ceiling. She
frowned. "Now that... Shouldn't have happened," she said, and made to
push herself up.
"Here, take hold," said Ves, leaning down to offer a hand.
Mystal took it and sat up. "Shouldn't you get after her?"
"We're in space. Where can she go?"
"All this will be unfamiliar to her - she could hurt herself," Mystal
said. She gained her feet, and smoothed down her robes.
"There's nothing down here in the residential areas she could hurt herself
with," Ves assured. They stepped out into the corridor. Mystal shut the
door; and they set off in the direction the naked girl had taken.
Ves said, "she can't have got far. C'mon, Mystal. We'd best find her
before she gets herself into any trouble."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Bella ran, looking for a way out. Having been reared in the functional
environs of a Dalek base, she was in no way intimidated by all the metal
and lights and thrumming of machinery coming through the walls. What she
needed was a door to the surface. When she found it, she would escape and
go to the mountains, to the Highlands and live free among her people.
Bella's familiarity with high tech surroundings alerted her to a hatchway
marked with large, red lettering. Though she had no idea what:
"AIRLOCK 10"
meant, or what,
"WARNING: HARD VACUUM BEYOND THIS POINT"
meant, she knew the important looking lettering must mean that it would
lead somewhere important - and what could be more important than a way out
to the Highlands.
In a moment she was at the panel, and working the lock mechanism. The
door shut behind her with a dull clang. Immediately, there was the sound
of hissing air. Bella's ears popped painfully. Cramps gripped her lower
belly; and she clapped off a loud fart. At the same moment, she found it
impossible to breath. A greyness crept in from the edges of her vision.
Bella collapsed as her consciousness drained away with the air.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Using the rough brickwork of the parapet, Bella hauled herself through the
broken skylight, and clambered to her feet on the roof of the dormitory
building. The pale green night shift she was wearing fluttered about her
knees in a chilly breeze. Early morning sunlight shone full in her face,
making her squint. Shading her eyes with a hand, she got her first
unobstructed view of the world.
It was big.
The sheer amount of space appalled her. Instantly, the world began a
dizzying swoop. She whimpered, clinging tight to the parapet as she rode
out the disorientation, her knuckles white with the effort of holding on.
At last, the unsettling sensations of falling abated; and Bella began to
peer around at this world to which the hateful apes had brought her.
From her vantage point on the roof, she could see the entire complex. It
sat like an island in a green sea of young corn, composed of twenty rather
plain four storey rectangular buildings of beige coloured bricks. They
were scattered about in a haphazard manner, partially obscured by
ornamental trees. Flower beds and lawns filled up the spaces in between.
A tracery of white pathways laced the complex together; and the whole area
was separated from the corn by chain-link fencing. The gardens were
deserted at this early hour . The only movement was the leaves of the
trees, rustling in the breeze.
A broad road ran past the southern side of the compound. It stretched
away, straight as an arrow, to lose itself in a haze of distance. Beyond
the road, rippling shadows of darker green chased themselves over the
expanse of corn, driven on by a restless wind. Far away, the land rose
into rounded hills, mottled with patches of darker green woodland.
In the west, the level sunlight glinted on a yellow machine. The
automatic field tender was sailing serenely through the corn, intent upon
some agricultural task. Bella squinted at it, trying to make out details;
but the distance was too great. Again, the long perspective brought on
vertigo, so she hastily moved her gaze on around to the north. She gasped
in delighted surprise at what she saw.
They would be waiting for her. She had to go to them... right now.
In a desperate haste, Bella sought a way down from the roof. There was a
fire escape at one corner. Its bottom section was raised, leaving a drop
of twenty feet. Bella scrambled down the ladder, dangled from the last
rung before letting go. She landed in the soft earth of a flower bed.
Carelessly trampling down the blooms, she dashed straight for the nearest
section of fencing, and went up it almost without breaking stride.
The fence was a simple chain-link affair, stretched between concrete
posts. It was meant to do little more than mark the property boundary.
There wasn't even any barbed wire. Psyching the clients up enough to get
them to leave willingly was the problem - not preventing them from
escaping.
The steep bank, thigh deep in a dense thorny growth, promised to be more
of an obstacle. Bella overcame it by taking a flying leap, and landing in
the edge of the waist-high corn. She rolled to her feet, and without a
backward look, set out towards the distant mountains, where her people
would be waiting to welcome her into the Long Pine Tribe.
Having been raised in the restricted confines of a Dalek base, her
judgement of distance was poor. It soon became clear that any hope of
reaching the Tribe by nightfall was wrong. Undismayed, she pressed on
with even more determination, comforting herself with happy day-dreams of
how wonderful life was going to be among her own people.
Because it was early, and because it was a Sunday, it was several hours
before the young man on duty went to fetch her. He took the Centre's
minibus and, guided by the transponder in the girl's collar, parked up on
the first road across her path, at a point which intersected with her line
of travel.
On catching sight of the bus, Bella paused to look around the wide horizon
for some means of avoiding the man. The corn stretched in all directions,
stirred into a carpet of shifting green patterns by the breeze. There was
nowhere to hide; and she knew it was not possible to outrun the ape's
travel machines. She fought down the sudden fury her helplessness ignited
in her heart. With her face carefully composed, Bella resumed her trek.
In five minutes, she had reached the road. The Warden, lounging against
the vehicle, pushed himself upright. He spoke some words in their sly,
hissing language which Bella could not understand. Smiling at her kindly,
he opened the door and motioned for her to enter. Bella clambered in.
She went to the back seat, and sat gazing longingly through the glass at
the mountains. She remained like that all the way back to Social
Rehabilitation Unit Four.
Bella made several more attempts to walk to her people in the mountains.
After several months, she had learned enough of the ape language, and was
made to understand that her people did not live there. Even so, the
mountains still haunted her imagination. She withdrew into herself and
nursed in secret her rage and hatred of the apes.
All that summer, she spent as much time as they would let her, sitting on
the roof of the dormitory building staring at the distant peaks. Her
heart ached to go there and see for herself, for she did not trust the
apes to tell her the truth. At first, the Wardens would fetch her down
the moment they knew she was up there. However, she made such a fuss,
fighting, biting, snarling and spitting that in the end they left her to
her own devices. Despite the suppression collar, they were afraid of her,
and would only fetch her down when there was a lesson she absolutely must
learn.
The leaves on the ornamental trees turned gold, then blew away in the
first gales of autumn. Still, Bella kept to her eyrie, preferring to
brave the bad weather rather than endure contact with the apes.
The first snow fell. At first, Bella was delighted. Snow featured much
in the lore and legends of the Highland Tribes; but her delight soon paled
when she found how cold, wet and unpleasant it could be. The worn, red
tunic she habitually wore was little protection. Despite the cold, she
kept grimly to her roof top refuge, huddling in a sheltered corner out of
the bleak weather.
One day a yellow and green painted, heavy-goods transporter turned into
the compound. The many wheels of the long vehicle left deep furrows in
the snow as it crawled through the compound to stop at building one.
Three figures clambered from the back and began unloading crates. The
sight of them set Bella's heart pounding.
She almost broke her neck in her haste to get down from the roof. Losing
her grip on the ice-covered rungs of the ladder, she plummeted forty feet,
landing on her back in a snow drift. Badly winded, she lay there a few
moments catching her breath before scrambling to her feet. Then she was
off, floundering through the knee-deep snow, all the while yelling a
greeting to her people.
The three Ogrons paused in their unloading to stare at the ape cub.
Skidding to a halt, Bella flung out her arms in an acknowledgement of
authority. Not waiting for a proper response, she began babbling her
thanks that her people had finally come to take her away from this
horrible place. When they didn't seem to understand, Bella trailed into a
bewildered silence.
Seeing her look of dismay, one of them stepped forward. He was a grizzled
old hunter. He made a gesture of welcome. In a halting voice, he spoke
words of greeting in the language of the Highlands; but his accent was so
thick, Bella caught only one word in three.
A small, fat ape bundled up in a coat clambered down from the cab. He
scowled at his three workers inactivity, and began to belabour the nearest
Ogron with a staff, yelling all the while for the "lazy dogs" to "get back
to work." Bella was astounded and ashamed to see the struck Ogron cringe
away. She wondered why they did not simply tear the puny ape limb from
limb... Until she saw that each of her people wore a collar similar to
the one about her neck.
Mute with shame, she watched her people scurry to obey the ape. A
horrible realisation was dawning. Her people had not come to rescue her
from these nasty apes, and take her home to the Highlands.
The unloading was soon done. Her three countrymen were driven into the
back of the vehicle by the ape waving his stick. The engine roared to
life; and the transporter drove away.
Following in the wheel-ruts, Bella pursued it as far as the gates. In a
rage of whirling confusion and despair, she stared after the departing
vehicle. How could this be? They had left her behind? Her people had
abandoned her to the apes?
The first flakes of a new snowfall began to drift down from the lowering
clouds. The flakes settled on Bella's hair, crowning her with a sprinkle
of ice-diamonds. Bella did not notice. She might have stood there in the
thin tunic, barefoot in the snow, until she froze to death, had not one of
the Wardens come to fetch her back into the warm.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
One morning in early summer, Bella was summoned to the House Mother's
office. Very much against her will, Bella pulled on the pale blue shirt
and darker blue skirt appropriate for an interview with the House Mother.
On the matter of underwear and shoes, however, Bella had stood her ground;
thus she was bare foot and knickerless. She hated wearing body-hugging
clothing, never having gotten used to the feel of it against her skin.
When they insisted she wear "something", she condescended to wear a loose
tunic, or the pale green nightdress into which she had been tied when she
had arrived at S.R.U. 4.
Bella knocked, and waited to be given permission to enter. This "knocking
and waiting" was just another of their endless, stupid customs. The
proper procedure was to wait patiently until summoned inside. Bella had
long ago worked out that this practice was a deliberate ploy to gain some
sort of subtle superiority over her. All it did was to irritate her.
While she waited for a response, Bella flattened herself against the wall.
Her eyes darted up and down the empty corridor, watching for danger.
Because she would not conceal her contempt for them, the apes hated her.
They took every opportunity to do her harm. Somehow, she always seemed to
come off best in these encounters despite the collar, which infuriated
them further. Their impotence anger only served to fuel her contempt, and
so the cycle had gone round - until that awful day when she'd gone
exploring in building 17.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Each of the twenty buildings scattered throughout the landscaped compound
of S.R.U. 4 had a number painted over the entrance. Underneath the
number was a word such as "Administration", or "Dormitory" or "Healing" or
"Refuge" or "Fortitude" or "Serenity" or some such. The interior decor of
each was done in a different colour scheme. There was some relationship
between the word, the colour, and the activity which took place in those
buildings; but even after she had learned enough of the language to
understand what the words meant, Bella never did really grasp what the
connection was.
Building 17's entrance bore the legend "Assertion". The interior was
decorated primarily in different shades of red. Sneaking through the
corridors on that fateful day, Bella's attention was drawn by the sound of
a Master issuing commands. Peering in at the door of a large room, she
saw a couple of dozen apes in bright red coveralls surrounding the Dalek
machine. She knew this must be an advanced class, because apart from the
odd flinch, none of the ape slaves were leaping to obey the Master. The
three instructors, in the standard issue pale blue uniforms, were urging
the former slaves to take up sticks and attack the Master.
As Bella watched, a slight, brown haired woman raised a stick on high, and
took a few tentative steps towards the machine. The Master swung to face
her. Its eye stalk stared into her face. The woman wilted. She stepped
hastily back. Her head went down submissively. The instructor beside her
laid a hand on her shoulder. "Do it, Clara," he urged. "You must do it
to be free!"
At that exact moment, the Master turned away. The woman stiffened with
sudden resolve. With a great shriek of rage, she sprang in and dealt the
Master a ferocious blow to the dome. The metallic clang echoed around the
walls.
The sudden noise triggered a response in the others. First one ape, then
another, grabbed up a stick and rushed in to deal the Master a blow. In
moments, a screaming mob was milling around the machine, the sticks rising
and falling in a frenzy. The three instructors stood back studying the
milling mob closely for half a minute before they re-holstered their cans
of paralysis gas and relaxed.
In a very short time, the hail of savage blows had reduced the Dalek to a
collection of dented metal plates. Clara, who had initiated the rush,
leapt upon the ruin. She brandished the club on high. Flushed with this
decisive defeat of her fears, she began a triumphant dance. Then she
caught sight of Bella gawking at the spectacle from the doorway.
The woman, full of this new power of aggression which she had just
learned, levelled the stick at another of her former persecutors. She let
out an incoherent scream of hatred, leapt from the demolished Dalek, and
charged at Bella. Once again, the rest followed her lead.
Bella took to her heels. She fled through the red painted building with a
baying mob close at her back. Twice her savage Ogron nature made her turn
to face them down; but each time the red LED in the collar glowed; and her
courage and fury drained away, leaving no alternative but to flee.
They cornered her in a blind corridor... And the beating began.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Bella shuddered, and tried to shove aside the memory. She still had
frequent nightmares about the beating. The House Mother's voice calling
out for Bella to "come in" snapped Bella's thoughts back to her present
trouble.
She listened carefully to the voice, paying particular attention to the
tone. She had gotten much better lately at reading the subtle signs to
judge how deep in trouble she was, and the likely severity of any lecture
she was going to have to endure about her bad behaviour. Bella decided it
was not too serious this time.
She pushed herself off the wall. Making no attempt to straighten out the
hateful clothing, she entered the office. It was a large room, flooded
with warm sunshine from two picture windows. There was a desk and two red
leather armchairs drawn up to one side.
On entering, Bella found House Mother Berretta chatting with a young
woman. Berretta rose from behind the desk to make introductions. She was
a thin, dark-haired woman in late middle age. A severely cut grey
business suit fitted her snugly. "Bella, this is Dora Regis. She will be
your Social Integration Mentor when you leave here to take up your life in
the big wide world," she said with a smile. The smile looked only
slightly forced; but Bella had no instinct for reading ape facial
expressions. Bared fangs to her were a sign of aggression. This
misunderstanding had gotten her into much trouble.
Dora rose from the armchair. Her face was round, framed by a mop of curly
chestnut hair. Her eyes, too, were a deep brown. She was only a little
taller than Bella, and was a little plump. She wore a white blouse and
dark skirt.
She made the same mistake of smiling at Bella, then compounded the error
by offering a hand to shake. This was another of the stupid ape customs.
Bella knew that she was supposed to grasp the hand; but she just eyed it
with distaste. Whenever possible, she avoided any of the "touching"
customs.
Dora noted the girl's reticence for future reference. She deliberately
grasped the girl's hand, shaking it gently, still smiling. "Good morning,
Bella. I'm very pleased to meet you," she said. Her voice was soft and,
to Bella, sounded sly.
Bella very deliberately disengaged her hand. She moved back, a wild look
coming into her eyes. She began to scrub the hand on the skirt as though
trying to remove something unpleasant. Again, Dora noted the action. The
girl's behaviour was not a good sign.
Because of Dora's skill and experience, the Civil Authorities always asked
for her when a particularly difficult case came up. A little thrill of
anticipation ran through her at the prospect of the challenge of
successfully settling this estranged waif back into human society.
"Before we get started, I think some refreshments are in order," Berretta
proposed, re-seating herself. Waving Dora and Bella to the arm chairs,
she rang for refreshments. After some seconds, the door opened; and Clara
entered bearing a tray. The shabby clothing hung on her emaciated frame
like a tent.
As she set the tray down on the desk, she launched a savage kick at
Bella's shins. Bella bared her teeth in a feral snarl. She went to kick
back, but the red LED in the collar about her neck glowed; and the animal
savagery died from her eyes. Her foot fell back to the floor. Clara
sailed out with a triumphant smirk on her face.
Dora frowned at the furtive exchange of hostilities, but said nothing.
Berretta, it seemed, preferred not to notice, choosing instead to
distribute the cups of steaming aromatic tea and biscuits.
Dora accepted the offered cup and took a long sip, before setting it on a
corner of the desk. She picked up a buff folder laying in her lap, opened
it, and glanced quickly through the few pages. After a moment to digest
the information, she turned a friendly smile upon Bella.
She sat forward in her chair. "Bella... I'm going to be your Social
Integration Mentor; and you'll be living with me for a short while until
you have become acclimatised to living in our society."
"What's a, ac, acclimatised?" Bella asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar
word.
"It means getting used to the way we do things on our world. Getting used
to being a free citizen, learning how to be a productive member of society
in our Terran Federation, things like that," Dora explained.
"Don't want to be acclimatlised," Bella said sullenly. "I want to go to
the Highlands. Why won't you let me go home to my people?"
Dora frowned. "Highlands?" she echoed in puzzlement. She started
flipping through the folder in her lap again. "I don't recall anything
about Highlands?" Dora closed the folder, and looked to Berretta for an
explanation. "I thought Bella was rescued from the Dalek base on one of
the Dalek colony worlds out in Sector seven? There's nothing in her file
about Bella coming from the Highlands - wherever they may be?"
Berretta looked vexed. Evidently, this matter was a sore point. "The
file is somewhat thinner than usual for one of our guests," she admitted.
"Our Bella here is a real Lady of mystery... Which has not been helped by
the fact that Bella was extremely hostile and uncooperative when she
arrived. She had to be put in a suppression collar to keep her under
control. And she had almost no comprehension of Standard whatsoever. So
there are quite a number of odd things we have not been able to clear up
about Bella's background. We have no idea where "the Highlands" are or
why Bella thinks of them as home. So we cannot return her there."
"If I can't go home to the Highlands, then I will stay here!" Bella
declared.
"You cannot stay here, Bella," Berretta said. "This is only a first stage
unit. You have long since outgrown any need for what we can offer you
here. Indeed, I am not even sure why you were sent here in the first
place. We re-build broken minds here. As far as we can tell, your mind
is quite healthy, if a little odd. Some sort of administrative oversight,
I assume? But, whatever, you cannot stay here any longer."
Bella curled herself down into the chair and looked sullen.
Berretta eyed the girl with a distinct lack of sympathy. "If you'd
cooperated with us in the first place, instead of fighting us all the
while, you would not be in this situation now, Bella."
Dora, who had been leafing through the file asked, "It says here that
there is some kind of bio-graft device implanted in her left buttock,
which effectively screened her from all the surveillance systems at the
Dalek base. What is that all about?"
Berretta shrugged. "That is a matter for Security Section. They have
cleared her as clean... even with the implant. This Unit cannot
undertake inquiries like that; we do not have the resources. She has not
even been run through Gen Reg for an ID on her DNA yet. That's something
you'll have to do before she can be registered with the Community Services
Department."
"Shouldn't all of this have been done before she was cleared for release?"
Dora asked.
Berretta shrugged again. "Technically, yes. In the normal course of
things, Bella would have been passed along to the second stage Unit where
all these details would have been taken care of; but Bella will not be
passed along in the usual manner. That's why you have been called in. My
superiors have had enough of her; and I must say that I agree
wholeheartedly with their decision. She has to move on. The other
inmates are afraid of her; and she causes trouble - even with the
suppression collar turned up full. The Governors are adamant about it.
We can do nothing more for her, so she must leave."
"I see," said Dora, and made a note in the file. She took another sip of
tea, and sidled into her well practised speech about who she was and what
she did and what would be expected of Bella over the next few months. The
girl watched her all throughout the talk, her expression impassive; but
the eyes were alive with a disturbing "something" which Dora's sensitivity
insisted was suppressed hatred.
At last the formalities of the handover had been worked through. Dora and
Bella took their leave of Berretta. The latter made no attempt to hide
her satisfaction at having got rid of a tiresome problem.
Bella's few possessions were gathered. They amounted to a shapeless tunic
in faded red, a filthy nightdress in what once must have been pale green,
the clothes she stood up in presumably? and a curious bronze ornament.
These scanty possessions were dumped into a carrisack.
They crossed the vehicle park in front of building 1, "Administration",
heading for Dora's battered blue Landcruiser. By the vehicle, Dora paused
in the sunlight to gaze around at the flowering trees. The air was
fragrant with their perfume. She listened a moment to the birds singing
among the foliage. Other birds were soaring in the clear blue sky over
the ripening cornfields, filling the balmy air with their twittering
songs. At last, she turned to Bella and declared, "it's too, too lovely a
day for work...Is there anything really special you'd like to do for a
treat before we begin your course?"
"I want to visit the mountains," Bella answered without hesitation. She
pointed at the peaks just visible on the north eastern horizon.
Sensing the importance of this to her charge, Dora made a snap decision.
Instead of heading into the city, and the Regis estate, Dora turned the
land-cruiser in the direction of a local airfield. Within a very short
time, they were airborne in a Clan Regis private executive transport.
Dora knew that Jason would create merry hell about the cost of her whim in
taking this child to the mountains; but he could go and get stuffed. In
her opinion, it was high time some small part of the Regis fortune was put
to a more noble endeavour than just the pursuit of power and the accruing
of even more money. The Regis Clan had so much and these poor refugees
from hell had so little. The programs set up for these unfortunate
creatures by the Corporations were little more than cheap labour scams.
For the pretty girls like Bella, it could be far, far worse. The whole
rotten sham made Dora mad; but what made her really boil was her impotence
to do anything meaningful about it all, even as the part-proprietor of the
Regis fortune. With a sigh, she turned her attention back to her new
charge. They wouldn't get their claws into this one - not while she had
power to prevent it.
During the flight, Dora began the monumental task of trying to win the
confidence of the girl. Bella was very withdrawn. She sat staring out
one of the observation ports at the mountains. At first she ignored
Dora's attempts at conversation; but when Bella saw that they were indeed
heading to the mountains, she began to respond. It never got better than
grudging; but Dora was quite willing to settle for that at this early
stage.
They came in for a landing at a Clan Regis private airfield in the
foothills. A sleek black car was waiting for them at the end of the
landing strip, complete with liveried driver. Bella was ushered into the
car; and they set off for a day-long drive through the mountains.
Dora was gratified to note the intense interest which came over the girl
as they drove up through the pines. It was like watching a flower
blossoming. Bella peered through the glass, face alive with eager
anticipation. Her shining eyes darted here and there, seeking ... What
exactly, Dora could not fathom.
Suddenly, Bella cried, "stop here!"
The car pulled off the road to park up under the pines in a spot
overlooking a long valley. A narrow lake, like a shining snake, wound
through the bottom. The view, with the purple headed peaks rearing
beyond, was breathtaking.
Bella scrambled out and stood for a long time just staring into the
valley. Dora got out and went over to stand beside her. "What is it,
Bella?" she asked.
"Winding Lake Dale," Bella said. "The Winding Lake Tribe will be there."
"Do you want to go down there?" Dora asked.
Bella shook her head vehemently. "No. They are ancient enemies of my
people." Bella fingered the bronze ornament hanging on a thong about her
neck. She turned suddenly and ran back to the car. "Come!" she cried;
"we must leave now before we are discovered. It will mean war if a Long
Pine is caught trespassing upon their hunting grounds."
Many more times that day Bella shouted for the car to be stopped. She
would scramble out to walk around, oblivious to the awesome views. She
would examine the trees and boulders. Once, on discovering a mark cut
into the rough bark, she became excited. For an hour she ran about
peering at every tree and rock before her enthusiasm waned. In the car
she sat hunched in a corner, tears of despair welling into the corners of
her eyes.
The next stop was by a mountain stream, which ran beside the road. The
crystal clear water ran bubbling and gurgling over its rocky bed. Bella
spent so long dabbling her bare feet in the water they turned blue with
the cold. All the while, she was jabbering away, holding long one-sided
conversations in a language Dora did not recognise.
Eventually, the girl would return to a watchful Dora and declare, "they
are not here. We can go on now." Each time, the girls' demeanor grew more
desperate. For Dora, it was like watching a flower wilt. In this
fashion, the whole day passed.
At the last stop, Bella sat on a rock watching the sun set. Framed by
soaring tree trunks, silhouetted against the fading orange glow, she had
remained still as a statue for an hour. Dora waited patiently while the
sky darkened into twilight. She was about to get out to check on the
child when Bella appeared at the side of the car.
She said with an air of inchoate despair, "I have seen the mountains; and
they are as Shamba spoke them... But my people are not here...We can go
back now."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Clutching the beige folder to her breast with both hands, Dora Regis
paused on the mezzanine to look down into the atrium. The vast space was
brightly lit by the late afternoon sun. The light streamed in through the
multi-coloured glass windows forming the far wall. Outside, the plaza of
the Government Offices drowsed in the warm summer sunshine. Benches were
arranged about the pleasant space in artistic configurations, shaded by
ornamental trees in full flower.
Inside, the air thrummed with the muted bustle of humanity at work. The
soporific sound echoed softly in the vast space. In the centre of the
floor, an elegant fountain in pink marble filled the humming air with a
mist of shifting rainbows, and the gentle plash of water.
Bella was perched on the rim of the fountain, dabbling a hand in the
water. She was wearing a light summer frock of palest blue. An absurd
bow in a slightly deeper shade of blue adorned the breast. The dress gave
her the appearance of a pupil from one of the city's secondary level
colleges.
Her luxuriant brown waves had been restrained by a yellow ribbon. The
pony tail reached half way down her back. There was upon her face that
look of determined resolution which, Dora knew, meant the girl was barely
holding in panic. The throngs of humanity hurrying to and fro from the
reception counters lining the side walls was making the child nervous.
Bella looked so small and vulnerable from where Dora stood at the head of
the grand steps. The sight of the child's bare feet made her heart ache.
It was hard enough to get her to wear any clothing at all, underwear and
shoes were just a little too much to expect. Dora sighed. What could she
tell the girl. What could she possibly tell the poor girl?
It would have to be the truth, of course, Dora had already decided.
Unpleasant as that would be for Bella, giving the girl false hope would be
even more cruel in the long run.
Although the Department of Social Welfare, Repatriation Section, had
upheld the revered Government tradition of moving slower than a turtle on
Soma, it had been mind numbingly thorough. The tragedy of it was that the
beige folder held nothing about Bella's origins that Dora had not already
coaxed from the child. It only served to confirm Dora's growing fears
about Bella's ultimate fate once she was released into human society.
It was not that Bella did not have a home, just that it was simply
impossible for Bella to live there. Dora was acutely aware of how that
fact was going to destroy the psychological equilibrium of her charge.
Not only could Bella not survive there, at present, it was impossible to
reach. The planet lay deep within the heart of Dalek controlled space.
With the way the war was going, it looked likely to remain that way for
several lifetimes.
The Department of Genetic Registration had been no more use. Oddly, they
could be absolutely specific on Bella's very distant ancestors. She was
the last known direct descendant of a man found frozen in a stable ice
pond in the European Alps in the late twentieth century. However, about
her ancestors nearer in time, they could only make vague guesses. Bella's
ancestors had definitely been among the first parties of colonists to
depart for Sector seven in the wake of the first Dalek invasion of Earth
in the early 2060s.
That invasion had been a disastrous miscalculation by the Dalek Supreme
Command. It had released onto the galactic stage a species as equally
ruthless, implacable and savage as the Daleks. Wedded to this viciousness
and drive to domination was a subtle imagination which the Daleks could
not match. That lack put them at a serious disadvantage when contending
with the Humans of Terra.
All the Daleks' present reverses could b traced back to that abortif
invasion of Terra in the early 2060s. The advanced technology they
abandoned had been gleefully seized upon and adapted by the Terrans to
their own uses. In only ten years, mankind was among the stars in force,
and staking claims to territory which would spark centuries of warring
with various nearby races.
In all the confusion of the diaspora, many records were lost, or simply
not kept. Thus it was that Gen Reg could state with authority that
Bella's nth degree ancestor was that man frozen to death in the Alps some
time around 4000 BC, but not who her mother or father had been.
Aware of her own incipient sentimentality, Dora thought to herself, "Bella
is truly an orphan of space."
She was started from her mawkish introspection by the leisurely chiming of
a clock announcing the half hour. Urging her self into motion, Dora
descended the steps. Bella was watching her intently. The girl's bravado
was visibly fraying around the edges. Dora collected her charge, and led
the girl outside.
They headed across the plaza, passing under the flowering trees, towards
an open air cafe. A scatter of round tables, each shaded by a parasol
painted in bright colours, was overlooked by the decorative clock tower.
It was a faithful reconstruction of a tower which had once graced the
quadrangle of a famous seat of learning on Earth- Oxford? or Cambridge?
Dora could never quite recall which.
When they were seated, one of the hovering waitresses came over. The girl
looked emaciated. The simple uniform in pale rose hung on her frame like
a sack. A draggle of defeated brown hair had been pulled back into a high
pony tail, emphasising the gauntness of her features. The fine bone
structure showed clearly through her almost translucent skin. Her eyes,
when they were not cast down, kept darting nervous glances all around. To
Dora the signs were unmistakable: the girl was a Dalek slave repatriatee
just like Bella...
Only, of course, not at all like Bella. For the first time Dora, looking
between the two of them, truly appreciated the uniqueness of her charge,
and how Bella stood out from among the ranks of the wretched repatriatees.
The differences were not just physical. It was more to do with the
spirit. The young waitress had been broken, thoroughly and completely by
her time in captivity; it showed in her body language; and she had not yet
regained her mental equilibrium; perhaps she never would. Bella's will
had never been broken. Then again, to judge from Bella's recounting of
her life in the Dalek base, she had never been a slave.
This had been the main reason why the tried and trusted processes of
Rehabilitation had failed so spectacularly. Once Dora had realised this,
many of those difficulties had evaporated. However, the problems thrown
up by Bella's strange origins still remained. Dora glanced at the folder
on the table. Those problems had no easy solution that she could see.
However, even if nothing could be done about that, there still remained
the little day-to-day intricacies of living in a technological society to
be mastered. Dora checked the time on the antique clock-face. The ornate
hands stood at four thirty four. The genetic registration should have
circulated through the system by now. It was time for another lesson in
modern living.
"Bella?"
The girl, who had been casting glances full of longing and vexation at the
folder, the contents of which she could not read, looked up. Her face was
full of anticipation.
"Bella, I would like you to order us something to drink," Dora said.
A sharp gust of wind stirred the leaves of the flowering trees. The loud
rustling had a hissing quality, as though they were suppressing sudden
irritation. Bella's look of anticipation fell abruptly. "Don't want a
drink," the girl said a bit too quickly.
"Well, I do," Dora said. "I'll have an iced lemon. Please order it for
me... And be sure to have something yourself."
The look of frustration on the Girl's face was almost comical. For a
moment Dora thought she was going to be difficult. Then, resigned to the
delay, Bella turned to the waitress standing beside their table.
"Two iced lemons," she said. Then, as an afterthought, added, "please."
With a wan smile, the waitress departed. In moments, she was back bearing
a tray with two tall glasses of lemon coloured liquid. Ice cubes jostled
on the top, clinking merrily. Bright dew-drops beaded the sides of the
glasses. The tray was set down; and the waitress took up the credit pad
hanging from a chain at her waist. She hesitated, looking from Dora to
Bella, uncertain who would be paying. Dora indicated with a nod that the
waitress should offer the credit pad to Bella.
The child glanced to Dora for instruction.
"You place your palm on the silver panel beneath the screen," Dora
instructed. "It will recognise your DNA and debit your bank account to
pay for our drinks."
Bella placed her hand on the plate. There was a ripple of green figures
on the screen. They meant nothing to Bella. At any other time, she might
have been fascinated by the workings of technology; but now she was far
too preoccupied with the folder - and all her hopes and fears contained on
its pages.
The waitress acknowledge the transfer of credit. She made a curious half
courtsy, and departed to serve another table.
Bella took a perfunctory sip from her glass. She set it down, and looked
challengingly at Dora. She asked, "when can I go home?"
Dora took a long sip from her drink to give herself a moment to gather her
thoughts. What she needed for this explanation was a form of words that
would not seem too unkind. She spent several seconds casting around
seeking the right words before admitting that there simply was no form of
words which could cushion the blow. She decided to be blunt.
"You cannot go to the Highlands, Bella," she declared.
The girl looked suddenly stricken. "Why not?" she demanded.
"Because you could not live there."
"Why not?"
"Bella, the Highlands are just a range of mountains full of warring tribal
Ogrons. It's no place for a human. It's a horrible place..."
"NO!" Bella almost shouted. "It's a beautiful land with mountains and
pines and snow in winter... My People live there. Mother told me all
about it. I want to go home. I want to live with my Tribe among the Long
Pines."
Dora half shook her head. "Oh, Bella," she said gently; "even if it was
like your mother told you, and you could somehow survive there, you cannot
go... The planet is simply unreachable."
"But there must be a way," Bella cried, her tone imploring. "There must!
There must!"
"No, Bella. It's not possible at all. You will have to make a life for
yourself here, and learn to be happy."
Bella's gaze flew around the plaza. The hated apes were everywhere. A
shudder of revulsion went through her slight frame. When her gaze came
back to Dora, it held all the panic of a trapped wild animal. "I can't
live here!" she shouted. "I can't! I can't!"
"Bella!"
The girl was suddenly on her feet. The red LED in the collar was glowing
like a maddened eye. Her pretty face was suddenly ugly with her passion.
"I WANT TO GO HOME!" she screamed.
"Bella..." Dora began again; but the girl swept an arm across the table
hurling the folder and glasses of iced lemon from the table. The glasses
shattered on the ground, loosing a flood of lemon coloured liquid across
the paving. The papers from the folder fluttered down to settle in the
expanding pool.
Bella whirled about and plunged off across the plaza, her pony tail
streaming. She was snarling and spitting like an enraged Ogron. Hated
apes were shoved aside as she ran. The angry shouting, which marked her
passage, went unheeded.
"Damn!" Dora exclaimed. "That could have gone better." She got up, and
went after the distraught girl.
Forgotten by the table, the sheets of white paper soaked up the lemonade.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Bella ran, a desperate girl in a blue school uniform. Bare-foot, she fled
through the streets of the city, forcing her way through the press of home
bound workers. She had no idea of where she was going, knowing only that
she must get away.
At last, on the edge of evening, she came to a river bank. It was not
possible to run further, for she feared the water more than the turmoil
within. A smooth green lawn sloped down to the serenely flowing water.
Already stars were reflecting on its darkening surface. Across the river,
far distant, the lights of a space facility glowed against the eastern
sky.
Exhausted in mind and body, Bella fell to her knees on the grass. For a
long time, she watched the distant activity on the flat expanse beyond the
river. From time to time, shuttles would surge into the twilight sky,
there lift fields glowing a livid blue. As they rose to merge into the
pattern of constellations, their brilliance faded until they were lost to
sight among the stars.
They were leaving her behind.
They were all leaving her behind.
Heart-sick, Bella flung herself full length upon the dewy grass and began
to scream. Her hands clawed at the earth, tearing up great fistfuls of
the turf in her anguish.
She remained face down in the grass, until she had cried herself out. A
slight breeze sprang up blowing from the river. The cool air moving over
her exposed skin soothed her. After a time, feeling more relaxed, she
rolled over and sat up.
Night had fallen. The river was bright with reflected starlight. Across
the placidly flowing water, the space facility was also aglow with lights.
In the opposite direction, the lights of the city peeped through a screen
of trees enclosing the tiny riverside park. The air thrummed gently with
the hum of the city.
Some feral instinct caught from her Ogron mother warned Bella of danger.
The hackles rose on the back of her neck; and a frisson of alarm ran down
her spine. Her head snapped around. Three figures stood in the light of
a street lamp along the path which ran by the lawn. The trio, back-lit by
the street lamp, presented a cliche out of a vidi-drama Bella had never
seen.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
"You're seventeen seconds late!" said a disembodied voice from the
darkness.
"Don't be a pedant," Peter Kryl shot back as he moved confidently through
the absolute dark of his duty control station. "Perhaps we might have
some light, Roger," he inquired hopefully.
He paused beside the comfortable command chair in the centre of the
spherical chamber, dropped his brief bag on the floor and settled into the
padded upholstery with a grateful sigh. He had run all the way from the
subway. He was a large man, out of condition, and suffering under the
consequences of his unaccustomed exercise.
He got the light; but that was not all he got.
As the silvery sphere brightened around him, he found himself staring
straight into the eight eyes of a gigantic, multi-coloured spider. Peter
flinched bak in his chair, the look of fright on his fat,round face
replaced momentarily by a look of irritation.
"Roger," he snapped, "if you don't cut that out, I'm going to have Psyche
Dept run a few probes into you... Just where it'll hurt the most."
The spider vanished... To be replaced by a naked woman. The blond haired
beauty gave him a smouldering look, which made the Scan-Tech squirm.
Peter sighed. Roger was in a playful mood tonight. Still, he was much
more fun than some of the really stuffy "brains" he'd had to work with in
the past. Those were usually the ones who had seen centuries of
enslavement to the Daleks before being rescued. Strangely, they often
chose not to be re-embodied.
Roger, on the other hand, was a rather tragic case. For some technical
reason, the bio-engineers had been unable to re-embody his brain. It
looked likely that he would be stuck as an Organic Systems Controller for
the rest of his unnatural existence. That might be a very long time.
Some of the stuffies, with which Peter had worked, were centuries old.
One cantankerous old bastard he'd met had been converted back on old Earth
during the invasion of 2060.
Roger had taken his fate fairly well. The only signs of disgruntlement
appeared to be his sometimes "challenging" sense of humour. Still, he was
conscientious about his duties as a City Systems Controller. His current
contract was with Community Welfare, Tracking and Observation Section.
Peter studied the holo of the naked woman. The image was writhing like a
demented snake, contorting into shapes impossible for the human form.
Peter sighed. He asked, "Roger, when you've quite finished indulging your
sick fantasies, do you think we might get this shift rolling?"
"By your command, Sir!" came the toneless response.
"And cut that out."
"I obey! Roger said in a fair imitation of a Dalek. Then the voice
shifted to the male baritone which was, as far as Peter knew, Roger's
natural voice. "We've picked up another fifteen charges. I've logged
their details. I've worked up a rough roster for your approval; and we
can start track preliminary logs for..." The light in the chamber flashed
red before returning to the usual sourceless illumination. "Attention!
There is a priority call. Will you take it?"
Peter sat straighter in his seat. He adjusted the set of his smart blue
business suit. "Put it on, Roger."
A huge image of Dora Regis's concerned face appeared in the air before
him. Peter put on his professional face. "Good evening, Lady Regis. You
have a problem?"
"Good evening Peter. Can you run a trace for me. I've lost my present
client. She ran off a couple of hours ago."
"Certainly, Lady Regis... Roger?..."
"Getting the details. Scanning now. Bella is in the Karn Brook ward,
just across from the space facility."
"Put up a scan of the area, please," Peter ordered.
Dora's face shrank and moved to one side, while a night time panorama of a
river-side park materialised in the chamber. It was little more than a
lawn fringed by plane trees beside the river. Dora's face hung in the air
like a small irregular moon. The area seemed deserted. "I don't see
her," Peter said.
The slow pan of the area paused, then the view zoomed in to focus on two
dark humps. "Are those bodies?" Peter asked. "I don't like the look of
this... Roger, hit the panic button."
"Police have already been alerted. A mobile squad is on its way.
Estimated time to arrival... four minutes twenty eight seconds."
"Roger, can you get that scan any clearer?"
"Not with the on-site scanners. I've summoned one of the mobile sky-spys.
It will be on station in fifty seconds."
"Peter, what's happening?" asked the tiny image of Dora Regis.
"Sorry Lady Regis, we have an emergency. Just a moment, and I'll patch
you in... There, can you see that?"
Dora's head nodded, her expression growing concerned as she studied the
repeater image being fed to her comm screen.
"Back the time-line up fifteen minutes please, Roger," Peter ordered.
"Let's get a look at what happened." The scene jerked, then stabalised.
Now there was only one form visible on the small lawn.
"Bella," Dora whispered as the scan began to run.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
The one on the right was wiry, wrapped in a leather jerkin two sizes too
big. His bare chest glowed a pale orange. There was a shock of dark
curly hair framing his rat face. He held a knife before his chest. The
blade was broad and shiny, reflecting the orange light from the lamps as
he fingered the blade.
A tall, skinny girl stood to his right. She was bare-foot, her bony legs
vanishing under the ragged hem of a leather overcoat. It hung from her
narrow shoulders like a sack. Except for the coat, she appeared to b
stark naked. Her tangle of shoulder-length hair looked purple under the
light. There was a vacancy to the long face which sent a thrill of
fearful recognition through Bella. It was a hint of that same madness to
which she herself was prone without the collar. That incipient insanity
also shone in the large eyes, which watched Bella with a vacant intensity.
On the other side of the girl was a short, fat boy in a ragged shirt and
workmen's trousers. They had been torn off below the knees. His hair was
black, slicked down over his head. The face was round and pale, the eyes
mere suggestions of shadow each side of the fleshy nose. His mouth was
wide, and twisted into a nasty gap-toothed leer.
The knife man smiled. "Well now," he drawled, "if it aint one o them
Dainties from Posh-Side?" He glanced up at the skinny girl beside him.
"Yeh, Crazy Girl, watcha reckon? The Dainty just lost... Or d'yer reckon
she's wantin' a bit of rough. Reckon she's got tired of them poncy
college boys and wants to run with the Rat Pack for a while, you reckon?"
Crazy Girl nodded slowly. She chewed thoughtfully on some narco-gum for a
moment, while her drugged mind worked slowly through the question. Then
she pushed the wad into her cheek and asked, "you gonna do her, Slice?
You know I likes to watch you do them Dainties. You gonna do her, Slice?
Huh? Slice?"
There was an emptiness to the voice which brought up the hackles on
Bella's neck. The LED in the collar began to blink in response to her
rising anxiety.
The pudgy boy giggled and slid his hand into a pocket of the trousers. He
began to grope himself. The leer on his face grew wider.
Seeing the blinking red light, Slice's eyes narrowed. He pointed at Bella
with the knife. "Well... wadayer know... The Dainties a badun just like
us." He glanced up at Crazy Girl before adding, "you reckon she'd be happy
to be outa the Stiffs' collar? Whatcha reckon on it, Kreepo? You reckon
she be real grateful to the Rat Pack for freeing her from the Stiffs'
collar?"
The fat boy nodded, his hand still busy in his pocket. "Reckon so,
Slice."
Slice nodded slowly and began to stroll towards where Bella sat. She rose
to her feet and turned to run. The river barred her way. She spun around
again. Slice was grinning at her from a few feet away. The knife blade
gleamed.
Bella moved to her right. Slice moved to block her, stepped closer. His
empty hand went out to grab her. Bella lurched back. He caught the bow.
The dress ripped open. The tortured squeal of tearing silk seemed to
trigger Bella's aggression. She lunged at Slice, teeth bared in a feral
snarl. Her teeth sank into the hand holding the scrap of silk.
"Bitch!" Slice yelled. He lashed out with a foot, catching her in the
knee. The leg buckled; and Bella went down with slice on top of her.
Bella began to scream in her mother's tongue.
The desperate sound carried through the night to a vast warehouse complex
attached to the space facility. Human ears might never have caught the
sound at that distance; certainly they would not have caught the message
of urgent need for assistance born by the cry. Fortunately for Bella,
there was one within range whose reaction to that cry was a conditioned
instinct.
Her owners had named her Mouser, because broadly speaking, that was what
she was. She hunted through their warehouses, among the boxes and bales,
keeping down the vermin. For this service she got no formal remuneration.
Her status as an unregistered enemy alien meant she could not acquire a
permit to work. Her owners had, however, graciously permitted her to make
a comfortable nest in one of the disused intake vents of the air system.
Mouser thought it a fine name. The cultural gulf between herself and her
owners was such that she caught only the vaguest hint of the malicious
contempt inherent in their naming.
What she most felt was their fear. She could smell it coming off them in
waves. All the Terrans feared her, even her masters. Their spitefulness
provoked by this fear was a fact of life for her kind, forced to live
among these fragile people. She endured their abuse with stoical resolve,
just as she had endured the stinging bites of the giant blood sucking
gnats that could make summer under the pines so disagreeable.
When the desperate cry came, she was squatting in a dark canyon between
stacks of wood, munching happily on a rat. Mouser did not hesitate. She
rose and sprinted for the nearest exit in answer to the cry for help in
the tongue of the Highland, and in the dialect of the Long Pine.
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Kreepo went from life (such as it was for him) to death without even
knowing. Mouser's clawed fist caved in the back of his skull. He went
down on his face in a splatter of brains and blood. Mouser did not even
break stride.
She bore down on the other male, who was straddling the body of a female
cub. The man seemed to be trying to slit her throat, but was having great
difficulty. The cub was squirming and kicking, and screaming defiance in
the Highland Tongue.
He would have died as easily as the other, had not a skinny female looking
on begun to scream. The youth rolled off the squirming girl. He came to
a crouch, the knife held ready. Mouser bore down on him, intending to
simply sweep the human away by the force of her charge.
A feral grin was on the man's face as he came up, driving the knife at her
belly. He was good; and he was fast; but he was only human. Almost
casually, Mouser took his knife arm by the wrist. Bones cracked; and the
man screamed. A moment later, she had smashed her other fist into his
face. Bones crunched; blood spurted; and the man sagged in her grip.
Mouser tossed the body aside, and looked around.
The skinny female ape was fleeing in an erratic dash for the darkness
beyond the street lights, trailing a thin wail of terror in her wake. The
ragged coat she wore flapped like crows wings at her back.
Mouser picked up the knife and tested the edge. Stepping over the corpse,
she was about to go and finish the ape, when the cub in the tattered
remnants of the blue silk dress called her back.
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To Bella, the darkness inside the warehouse seemed absolute. She stumbled
to a halt, and stood uncertain as to what to do. Mouser, to whom the
darkness was not a problem, realised that the puzzling ape cubling was not
following her. She made her way back between the stacks to where the
Terran cub waited with a very Ogron-like patience.
"What is the matter, cubling?" she asked.
"It's too dark. I can't see."
Mouser took the girl's hand, and led her through the stacks of timber.
Mouser had devined early on in her association with the Terrans how
fragile and helpless they could be. She added "blind" as well to the
growing list of their frailties. Even had it been totally dark, Mouser
would have still moved with confidence. She could navigate by smell and
sound alone, or by sensing the movement of air around her.
Shrugging off a growing sense of unease, Mouser led the cub among the
stacks to a far corner. A great iron upright stood proud from the wall.
The beam was devoid of any projections or hand holds. She put the cub's
hands to the metal. "Can you climb up yourself," she asked, though she
felt certain the cub would never be able to make it up to the nest in the
vent.
Bella felt up and down the metal rib. She made the Ogron motion of
assent. "Of course," she said, affronted by the question. She was not
some stupid helpless ape; she was a Daughter of the Long Pine.
"Go then, cubling," Mouser urged. "There is a hole in the wall to the
left about fifty feet up, right under the roof. It is my nest. I will
come behind to guard the back trail."
Bella went up the rib like a monkey. In only moments, she was swinging
across to the broken vent and hauling herself into the hole. The place
smelt strongly of mother. Bella drew in a deep lung-full of the fetid
air. A huge grin broke out over her face. The hole was lined with rags
used for bedding. She gathered up a great armful and pressed her face
into them, revelling in the scent of her People.
She was home at last.
She began to cry. She couldn't help it. She just knelt there in the vent
clutching the rags to herself, and cried and cried for happy.
For a long time, Mouser perched on the edge of her home and watched the
strange cubling. The cub's emotional distress touched her deeply; and
ingrained instincts moved her to haul herself inside and make the "safe
haven" with her legs. She reached out and gently drew the cub into
position. Mouser began a clumsy grooming.
She was puzzled by the strength of her reactions to this alien cub. Even
total darkness would not have been able to mask from her that the cub was
a Daughter of Terra. Yet Mouser felt compelled to offer comfort as though
the cub were a true Daughter of the Highlands.
Mouser plied her hands in the cub's mane for several minutes in total
silence. Being an unlicensed alien, she had no contact with her kind and
missed the simple pleasure of grooming. She dragged it out for as long as
was polite before pausing for formal introductions. At length, she judged
it might not be put off any longer, and declared, "I am Mouser of No
Tribe... How are you called, cubling?"
Bella, who had been lulled into a dreamy doze by the grooming, jerked wide
awake at the voice vibrating through her spine. She lifted her head and
declared, "I am Bella, daughter of Shamba, a Daughter of the Long Pine."
Mouser's hands stilled. The intensity of her sudden change of mood at
Bella's declaration communicated itself to Bella through her body
language. Alarmed, Bella turned her head to stare into Mouser's face.
With her human eyes, Bella saw only a blank, concealing darkness.
"What is wrong, Mouser?" Bella asked.
"Nothing," came the reply, too quickly.
"We cannot be enemies," Bella pointed out. "You declare yourself No
Tribe. All enmities, feuds, obligations and duties are renounced when you
become No Tribe."
Mouser firmly set Bella's head back in position. She resumed grooming.
"This is truth, cubling," she admitted. "There can be no enmity between
us... Even though you be a Daughter of Terra."
Mouser wondered at the shudder of revulsion which passed through the cub's
slight frame at her words. There was a tale here worthy of its telling,
Mouser realised, one she must hear. Bella's reaction to being named a
Daughter of Terra piqued her curiosity more than any thing she had seen in
many long years; but there was no time.
Mouser lifted aside the cub's hair, and fingered the collar. The tiny LED
was blinking steadily. Mouser knew that she must be gone from here as
soon as possible. Two apes were dead by her hand. They would not endure
such from her kind. Her life was forfeit. Already the ape soldiers would
be on their way to kill her, drawn by the monitor in the collar.
Mouser paused to gently disentangle the cub's arms from the remains of the
dress. She cast the cloth aside. Again she fingered the collar. Her
fangs closed together with a decisive snap; and she deliberately resumed
the grooming.
"Tell me," she said, "tell me how it is that the All Mother has conspired
to make a Daughter of Terra into a Daughter of the Long Pine... This is a
tale Mouser of No Tribe must hear."
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The red dot in the head-up display of his helmet began to move. The
adrenalin began to pump. This was it. Jake felt fully alive again for
the first time since they had booted him out of the Death Commando after
the Pondo seven incident. His grip on the assault rifle tightened in
readiness.
"A nasty one," his Squad Leader had explained at the hurried briefing in
the dark alley between the warehouses. "The rogue is identified as a
Dalek conditioned Ogron trooper, very, very dangerous. Already killed
twice; and it's holding a young girl hostage. The Trap Team's on its way;
but we can't wait for them guys to track their arses right out here. So,
if you get an opening, you are cleared to take the beastie down; but for
gods sake watch out for the kid."
Jake grinned. As far as he was concerned, the longer the Trap Team took
in getting into position the better. Jake had an old score to settle.
All his physical scars had long since healed after the disaster of Pondo
Seven; but he still had scars, the kind you couldn't see - the kind that
never went away even after years of compulsory attendance at a clinic
operated by the Sisters of the Shining Source.
Jake adjusted a control with his tongue. The view through his visor
brightened. He hadn't seen it yet; but it was on the move. After thirty
seconds of studying the red indicator pin-pointing the transponder in the
collar worn by the child, he frowned. Something about the way it was
moving was not right. He wondered if he should call it in. Was the
beastie trying to pull some dodge? Jake grinned. Whatever it did,
however it ducked and dived, it wouldn't do any good. It was going down.
He owed this one to the boys who had not made it out of the shambles of
Pondo Seven. It was payback time.
Carefully, he rose from where he crouched on the cat walk and peered down
onto the stacks of wood filling up the space. It made an uneven surface
criss-crossed by irregular canyons. According to the tracker, the collar
worn by the kid was somewhere down between the third and fourth rows of
timber stacks. It was slowly edging towards a cross canyon into which
Jake could get a sight without having to move his position and risk giving
away his presence. He levelled the assault rifle and waited.
Just a few more yards and he'd get the chance for which he'd been waiting
ever since he had taken this job with the City Militia Rapid Response
Team. All this was not a patch on how it had been in the Death Commando;
but it was the only active service the Army Tribunal would allow him.
A shadow moved into the cross canyon. His finger tightened on the
trigger. The moment his brain registered the fur and fangs, he squeezed
the trigger. The visor automatically compensated for the minimal muzzle
lash, so he saw, with a great surge of elation the splatter of blood as
the explosive rounds ripped the body apart.
-----------------------------
Part five.