The Hatch E-Book

Michelle Saftich

• Herausgeber: Odyssey Books
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Seitenzahl: 394

Beschreibung

"With technology becoming so complex and overriding ethical boundaries and our ever-expanding push into space, we have to develop our senses to their fullest potential. We have to evolve faster." These are the words her mother spoke the night before she left on an EASA-sponsored mission in space. She never came back.

After her mother’s funeral, her brother also joined EASA. He went missing too.

Having lost both mother and brother, Britta Tate does not want to go with EASA when they come for her at age thirteen, but she doesn’t have much choice. They process her as a psychic intern and begin a grueling regiment of training. Ten years later, she is accomplished at many psychic abilities, but she is frustrated that her astral searches have been unable to track down her brother. Perhaps he just doesn’t want her to find him.

And why does the number forty-nine keep appearing?

Leseprobe

The Hatch

Michelle Saftich

Copyright © Michelle Saftich 2019

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published by Odyssey Books in 2019

www.odysseybooks.com.au

ISBN: 978-1925652857 (paperback)

ISBN: 978-1925652864 (ebook)

Cover design by Elijah Toten

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Michelle Saftich

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Prologue

Feathers—slick, black, twitchy then still. Eyes—unmoving, piercing, with a stare as sharp as its beak. The crow…

Not the symbol she wants to see, though it is the one in her mind and horribly she knows it does not symbolise magic, or mystery, or change of life; it speaks to her of death.

We’re not going to survive this.

Amelia Tate breathes in and rubs her lips together. She is on a spaceship, minutes away from making a jump through a Hatch.

The crow’s eyes turn red, its feathers transform into tattoos. Mandon! Of course! He wants the weapon and will kill them for it. His security forces are waiting for them on the other side of the jump.

Damn. Why hadn’t she seen all this before? Is it too late?

Urgency breaks her connection. She has to stop her crew from making the jump. Eyes open, she slaps her cheeks, trying to fling off her meditative state.

Secured tight in her seat like the rest of her small crew, she takes in the view out the front display screen and observes their rapid approach to the massive, cylindrical Hatch; rotating, charging, waiting…

The central computer announces, ‘Two minutes to Hatch entry.’

Their ship shakes. Peering to the right she observes androids busy at the ship’s controls and knows instinctively they are taking the ship to him, to Mandon. They are with him. They will take them through the Hatch, transcending time and space, to deliver them into his hands. Programmed by the World Council, the droids were always going to betray them at this moment. If they were human, she perhaps would have telepathically picked up on their plans much sooner.

At least, her foresight has granted them this last-minute warning. The immediate future is always easiest to see.

She swipes at a sensor near her waist and the seat’s locking mechanism releases, lifting the frame. Her crew members look to her and she swiftly lifts a finger to her lips, begging them with her eyes and the gesture to remain silent.

Squatting, she reaches beneath her seat and slides out two Apexa guns.

‘What?’ Shanen lets slip. She casts a scathing look at her first officer, but the androids have been alerted. They turn.

‘Tate. Return to your seat. Hatch entry is in ninety seconds…’

She fires a white, hot stream at the android that spoke. Its fabricated skin melts away, leaving a metallic chrome mould of its face and neck beneath its now lopsided helmet. She fires a second stream at it, burning out its central control system. The other two make a grab for their weapons affixed to their waist belts.

‘Don’t,’ she screams at them, waving both guns with trembling hands. She is outnumbered.

‘Captain! What are you doing?’ Shanen yells. ‘The Hatch…’

The ship is vibrating so violently, Amelia can hardly hold her stance. Sweat has the guns sliding in her hands. She grips tighter.

‘Mandon’s turned against us. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it,’ she cries desperately. ‘We go through the Hatch, we’re all dead.’

One of the androids tilts its head. ‘Coordinates for the jump are set.’ It smiles. ‘One minute to Hatch entry.’

‘Is she telling the truth?’ Shanen asks of the grinning, bald android. ‘Mandon will kill us?’ Her first officer can’t take this in. In the past, her prophecies have proven accurate, but he had put those outcomes down to lucky guesswork or coincidences. He has always been more in line with the doubters when it came to the psychic arts. In this case, the World Council is the sponsor of their mission. He can’t imagine why they would turn on them. They’ve succeeded in bringing back the weapon. It doesn’t make any sense. Needing more evidence, he wastes precious seconds in seeking it.

‘Will Mandon kill us?’ Shanen yells at the android.

Compelled to answer a direct question, it replies, ‘Yes.’

Amelia shoots at the android and watches its face melt away. The last remaining android fires its gun. Knowing which way to leap, she throws her body clear of its stream, while Veenan, the ship’s engineer and the youngest member of their crew, has already freed himself of his restraints and wrenched out a weapon. He returns fire.

Within seconds, all three androids are destroyed, left smouldering in their seats.

Amelia hurries to the controls.

‘What are we going to do?’ Shanen asks, gripping the back of his seat to hold steady against the ship’s shuddering. ‘Choose another human settlement?’

‘They are all run by World Council security.’

‘Go back to Nattalia?’

‘They’ll hand us over. They only let us leave because they knew the androids were delivering us directly to Mandon.’

‘Thirty seconds to entry.’

‘I know of another Hatch,’ Amelia says. ‘Not man-made, near no human settlement.’

‘What?’

She looks to the others and takes in their shocked expressions. ‘It’s a long way out,’ she tells them.

‘How far?’ Veenan queries.

‘Far.’

Shanen’s head is shaking. ‘Not man-made?’

‘Whatever made it, are they friendly?’ Veenan asks.

‘Yes.’

Amelia looks to the controls and speaks into the computer. ‘Jedder, set the coordinates for Parsec Zeta, three-one-two-zero, dash, five-five-six-three-nine.’

Shanen’s eyes are bulging. ‘What! Why that… that would have to be billions of light years away! Are you sure?’

‘Yes. I’ve seen the red Hatch.’

‘Seen it? As in one of your dreams?’ Shanen has never openly derided her prophetic abilities before, but this is different. He can’t let that nonsense cast them into the far reaches of space, well beyond the map of human knowledge. Based on what? Some notion of a red gateway that can’t possibly exist.

The Jedder computer informs them, ‘Coordinates set. Ten, nine, eight…’

Amelia hasn’t got time to argue with doubters. She had known he was sceptical; had always sensed it. Fortunately, she is the captain and it’s her call that counts. ‘Get back to your seat,’ she shouts at the young engineer while clambering back to her own. Veenan slams his body in and their restraints lock against their chests as the brutal shaking begins.

Shanen, seeing it’s too late to alter course, looks as though he’s staring death in the face. Amelia closes her eyes against his fear and bites down on a mouthguard, hanging from a cord before her. It’s not her first time through a Hatch, but this jump will definitely be the biggest and the riskiest.

There are several long seconds of remorseless shaking, then it’s over.

They are through.

All is calm and quiet.

Amelia’s heart pumps hard, feeding her trepidation. She is coated in sweat. What has she done? Where has she sent them? If only she had had more time to think. But there was nowhere else to go. Mandon had them. He had had years to prepare for their capture and they had only two minutes to plan their escape. Two minutes and they are now forty-five billion light years away from their home planet of Earth. Oh, what have I done? she thinks.

‘Look,’ Shanen calls. ‘It’s flashing.’

Amelia opens her eyes and sees a blinking three-dimensional blip on the hologram receptor. Her crew are out of their seats and at the controls.

Shanen points. ‘We’ve picked up a Hatch. It’s pinging a signal at us. We just have to lock on.’

Amelia takes a shaky breath, hardly able to believe it herself.

‘You were right,’ the youthful Veenan says, letting loose with a laugh of relief.

‘There’s really a Hatch?’

‘You had doubt?’ Zantha, their onboard medic, throws her a critical sidelong glance. ‘You brought us this far out on a hunch?’

‘Wait. We have a problem,’ their heavily bearded pilot, Rogan, butts in. He is manically swiping at screens. ‘I don’t understand. No.’

‘What is it?’ Amelia asks, swiping her seat’s release.

‘We’ve got major disturbances in this sector; gravitational anomalies, a pull. We’re being drawn in.’

‘Into what?’

Amelia and her crew look out the viewing screen. They see an expansive black field, like a giant has swiped out a large scoop of stars. The chilling darkness spreads across most of their view. They all feel it; a humming, but not the low humming of the Hatch. This is different, visceral, more intense and all pervading, like it's playing in their bones.

‘What’s that?’ Veenan asks. ‘Some kind of black hole?’

‘Not a black hole,’ Rogan says. ‘But I don’t know what it is. Look at the readings. Never seen anything like it. It’s indicating the space-time continuum is extremely unstable.’

Amelia scans their instruments. ‘Doesn’t make any sense.’ She feels the first twinges of alarm. ‘Pull away. Just move it. Engage primary drive. Get us out of here. Punch it, Rogan. Punch it. Now!’

The thrusters fire up. There’s the familiar low frequency resonance as the huge primary drive engages and ramps up to full power. Even though the anti-gravity buffers are working overtime to stop them from feeling the massive G-forces, Amelia and her crew are tossed off their feet and sent tumbling around the cabin. They are left scrabbling for a hold.

‘We’re not going anywhere,’ Rogan says. ‘If anything, we’re slipping back.’

‘Engage secondary drive.’

Rogan glances at Amelia. ‘Captain, you know that’s dangerous with the primary going.’

‘Do it.’

The control panel starts to fuse and there is the unmistakable smell of electrical burnout. Rogan follows her command and scrambles to hit the right combination. The ship shudders.

‘It’s working. We’re making headway.’

Amelia nods, well pleased, but aware they are still a long way from safety. After a minute, inevitably, the secondary drive gives out, but it has bought them their escape. They are removed from the influence of the mysterious void.

‘Bring primary drive down to nominal levels,’ Amelia orders. ‘Keep us going positive.’

They hear the drive power down to a less frantic burn.

Amelia looks to their pilot. ‘What’s the status? How did we fare?’

Rogan won’t answer. He strokes at his beard while assessing the instruments.

Amelia sees a slight tremble in his hand. ‘What is it? Tell me.’

He can’t meet her eyes. ‘It’s fried. We’ve suffered critical damage to our operational controls. The circuitry’s been fused on a lot of our sub-systems. Can’t tell you in detail yet, but it’s bad. Put it this way, we’re not up to any kind of Hatch jump.’

There is a long silence as this shocking realisation sets in. Without a Hatch jump or any human settlement for billions of light years…

‘You mean we’re stuck out here?’ Veenan pipes up, suddenly sounding much younger than his twenty-one years.

‘Can it be fixed?’ Shanen asks.

Rogan doesn’t want to give false hope, but he doesn’t want to be the one writing their funeral notices either. ‘Like I said, it’s bad. I don’t know, I have to do a full assessment. On the face of it, I don’t think so.’

‘What are we going to do?’ Veenan appeals to his captain.

Amelia absorbs the situation and, given the tension around her, struggles to find her usual calm. She is reeling from a full appreciation of the devastating consequences of their mission failure, not to mention the personal consequences of never going home, never seeing her children or husband again. She shakes her head. They have no spare parts for repairs, no capacity for communication, no way of signalling for help… Signalling! There is one way. She can communicate telepathically. She thinks of her eldest son, Jem.

‘I will get a message to my son,’ she tells her distressed crew. ‘Tell him where we are, our status, and that we have the weapon. I’ll advise him to inform the head of EASA, Treesa Breenswick. She alone can be trusted and will know what to do. Our mission can’t and won’t end here.’

The crew members fidget, shuffle, avert their eyes; they are not convinced. They know she can communicate through other planes, but they doubt she can make meaningful and detailed communications with her son on Earth, forty-five billion light years away. They wonder at the speed of thought, not appreciating the concept that there is no space or time on the other side.

‘How old is your son?’ Shanen asks.

Amelia tries not to hesitate, though she knows her answer will not do anything to allay fears. ‘He’s fourteen.’

‘You’re trusting our planet-saving mission and our lives to telepathic communications with a young adolescent across an unfathomable distance?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t think—’

‘You have an alternative plan, Officer? Any of you? If you do, let’s hear it. We sure could do with another solution. Anything?’

‘You shouldn’t have brought us…’ Shanen starts, taking an accusatory tone.

‘But I did,’ Amelia says. ‘If I hadn’t, we’d all be dead right now. Mandon’s security forces would have taken the weapon and believe me, with what we know, we would not have been allowed to just walk away.’ She sees that they get this. ‘It was a risk, but we’re alive, we’ve taken no injuries, we still have the weapon, and we’ve still got time.’

‘But we’ve mashed our ship!’ Shanen cries. ‘We’re on the edge of whatever that void is. Who knows what’s out there? Do you? Do you really know everything? I mean, what’s a Hatch doing out here and what built it and why?’

‘Check your stress, Officer, and know your place.’ Her words are as sharp as a slap.

With clenched jaw, he murmurs through tight lips, ‘Apologies, Captain. Of course, we are safe in your hands.’

His sarcasm bites at her but she chooses not to react. ‘I will contact my son and help will come. We can survive a long time in hibernation.’

‘What if you can’t contact him?’ Veenan puts in. ‘Your son?’

‘Then I’ll try to contact someone else or something.’

‘Something?’

‘That’s right.’

She sees their faces. They are drawing on shock as a numbing agent to help ward off debilitating fear. She expects at least one question, but none come.

‘This rescue may take some time. I support going into hibernation,’ their medic states.

They are uneasy. Hibernation will render them vulnerable. They would rather stay conscious and hug their weapons.

‘We will do what we have to when we have to,’ she says, her voice husky with strain. ‘Now excuse me. I’ve got a call to make.’

She leaves the cabin in search of a quiet space, determined to meditate for as long as it takes to reach Jem.

Chapter One

It’s a coffin-less funeral.

I watch the ceremony from my front-row seat. We’re burying Mum. She went on a mission for the Earth Aeronautics and Space Administration, better known as EASA, and never came back. They say her ship exploded.

The leader of the World Council, Mandon Allic, is present. He is a scary man with red, synthetic eyes and red and gold tattooed stripes across his face. I don’t like him, even though he speaks well of Mum, telling those gathered about how brave she was, representing her planet in support of global security. Of course, he doesn’t say anything specific because Mum’s mission was a secret.

I’m not farewelling a body but a memory. I haven’t seen Mum since I was six. That was five years ago. I remember long, caramel hair that smelled like nutty fudge and a lovely smile full of love. She was not pretty in a flowery way but still beautiful, like a big cat; a black cat, because she used to wear black. They all do at EASA. That’s their uniform—a shiny, tight, black suit. I don’t like it either and I promise myself, then and there, that I’ll never wear it.

The funeral is over. We are ushered into a neat room and served round bread patties with sugar. The sweet food is a luxury and I eat two, quickly and greedily, making my throat dry.

Jem, my older brother, eats one, slowly. He is always trying to act like an adult these days, doing the right thing, being polite and all that. He has Mum’s hair, that caramel shade, which reminds me of the sun shining through light chocolate. He also has her proud walk and so much courage. He’s the bravest person I know. He’s always trying to protect me, even from things I don’t need protection from, but it’s nice to know he cares. Sometimes, I wonder if he cares too much.

My younger and rather tubby brother, Neath, eats four patties! I see him, stuffing them into his pouch at his waist belt, then one by one popping them into his mouth for a hurried chew and swallow. It’s impressive to watch. I wish I could eat four, but annoyingly, my stomach has already had its fill. Neath is three years younger than me. We are all aged three years apart. He was only three when Mum left. I suppose he didn’t have much memory to bury today.

Dad doesn’t eat any of the patties. He’s too sad and angry. He doesn’t like EASA or the World Council—blames them for Mum’s death. He says if they didn’t let her go on the mission, she would have been home all these years, being a mother to us.

Given Mum wanted to go on the mission in the first place, I have to assume she didn’t want to be a mother so much. She chose to go. I know she did. She told me before she left that she had to go because she had an important mission to carry out. She was doing it for us, she said.

I wish Dad wouldn’t be angry. He should just be sad and eat the nice patties.

Jem approaches a woman. She’s a broad woman with closely cropped black hair and a wide forehead. Her features are dark and heavy. Everything about her is dark and heavy, including her mood. The tight, black EASA suit stretches awkwardly across her mountainous chest and rounded hips.

Jem starts speaking with her. He is speaking fast. What he has to say takes ages and he seems worked up about it. I watch him closely. He is relaying information, not conversing. It’s him doing all the talking. She’s listening with all her might. What’s he telling her, this stranger?

I weave between EASA uniformed personnel, trying to get closer.

The woman’s face is oddly fixed on a neutral expression. She is not reacting to what Jem is saying and yet, I can sense she is deeply disturbed. Why is she hiding her distress? What a good job she does of holding her face still.

I push closer but as I come within earshot, Jem stops mid-sentence and turns.

‘Britta, go back to Neath. You need to make sure he’s okay.’

‘He’s okay. He ate four.’

‘Then help him eat five.’

‘No one could have that many. They fill you up.’

‘I need to talk in private.’

‘A secret?’

‘Yes. Now go away.’

I stare at the woman. ‘Who are you?’

She doesn’t answer.

‘This,’ Jem says, ‘is the head of EASA. She’s a very busy person and you’re wasting her time.’

‘I’m not. I just got here. Don’t mind me. Keep telling the secret. I can keep a secret.’

‘I think I’ve heard enough,’ the woman says briskly. ‘Jem, I think it best we bring you in. You’re young but I know you have the same qualities as your mother. We need you at EASA. I’ll talk to your father…’

‘You want to take Jem? For training at EASA?’

‘Britta!’ Jem is furious with me. ‘Go away now.’

‘Yes. We want your brother trained. He will be good at missions, like your mother.’

‘Mum wasn’t good at them. If she was, wouldn’t she still be alive? Her spirit hasn’t even come to talk to me yet. I figure she must still be sad about the mission.’

‘You talk to spirits too, like your brother and mother?’ The woman is suddenly interested in me, staring.

‘No, she can’t,’ Jem says, stepping his foot on mine and applying pressure.

‘Ouch.’

Jem glares. ‘Go away right now.’

‘All right, all right.’

I move away with an exaggerated hobble and a loud sniff, feigning physical and emotional hurt. There goes Jem, protecting me again. He knows I have the language of the spirits. I’m better than him at it. Why didn’t he want the head of EASA to know? Isn’t it a good thing?

When we get home from the funeral, I wait until Jem is alone and ask him about Mum. He doesn’t want to answer me. I sense secrets. ‘Well? Do you talk to her?’

‘Yes,’ he says.

I look sad but sound angry. ‘Why can’t I see her?’

‘She doesn’t want you to. She doesn’t want you to get sadder.’

This I understand. I’m very upset that she’s died and not coming home. I nod. ‘Okay, Jem. Tell her I say hi and… and nothing.’

‘I will.’

A week later, EASA takes Jem away. The giant, large-handed men in their black suits arrive at our little apartment unannounced.

Dad lets them take him, though I know he’s angry—angrier than when Mum went away.

Still, he doesn’t try to stop them. Poor Dad. He doesn’t eat dinner or breakfast the next day.

Neath and I eat his share.

We’re sad Jem’s gone, but like with Mum, I can tell he wanted to go.

Because he’s only fourteen, Jem is allowed to visit home once a month for the first year of his EASA training. Dad cooks up a feast for these visits. We all love seeing Jem. Though EASA’s changing him. He is getting stronger and quieter.

On some of these visitations, he brings home a friend. His name is Cal. Cal has a carer family. I’m not sure where his real parents are but we know he doesn’t like his carer family, so he chooses to visit us on his day pass out.

Cal is shy and unsure of us at first. He regards us with large, brown eyes—such serious eyes. His hair is shorn, like all EASA personnel, but I can see it is dark and fine; a soft spread over an evenly shaped head. His face has fine features, with a nicely curved chin and boyish cheeks. It’s a friendly face, not imposing or cross or mean. I like that he’s taller than Jem, and a bit older. I pretend to be his little sister too, shadowing his every move and asking him endless questions about EASA, questions that nearly always go unanswered. Everything to do with EASA seems to be a secret.

Cal is sweet about it though. He doesn’t tell me to go away. He tells me some things, such as how physically and mentally hard the training is, how afraid he is that it will hurt when they enhance his hands and how much he’s looking forward to exploring in space.

I often find myself staring at his hands, horrified that one day they will be synthetically altered. His hands are exquisite with long fingers and strong, shiny nails. I tell him I wish he could keep his hands, that they are too perfect to enhance, and, in return, he compliments my hair that runs down my back to my waist. I notice he doesn’t praise the colour. No one ever does. It’s a mousey brown, boring colour. I wish it was something brighter, something richer, like caramel. I want to print-dye it.

I tell Cal.

‘What colour?’ he asks.

‘Green.’

‘Why green?’

‘I like plants.’

‘You want to look like a plant?’ He is laughing at me and I withdraw. I shouldn’t have told him.

‘Green will suit you,’ he says, his eyes settling into that serious regard that I like so much.

‘Next time you visit, it will be green,’ I promise.

‘I look forward to seeing it.’

Jem doesn’t like it when I talk to Cal. He always tells me to go away. He’s always trying to protect me from things I don’t need protection from.

‘I can look after myself,’ I tell him.

‘I know,’ he says. ‘I just…’

‘What is it?’

‘Don’t let EASA come for you. You need to study plants and become a grower. You should look for a soul mate, a hard worker to love and have children with. Have a happy life.’

I want to tell him that I’ve already found my soul mate, but I don’t dare. He doesn’t like it when I talk about Cal like that. Instead, I ask him, ‘Why shouldn’t I go to EASA? You’re there!’

‘It’s not safe.’

‘Why not? At EASA I can train my senses.’

‘Why would you want to?’

‘Because Mum said it was important.’

‘When did she say that?’

I reach over to Ray-Ray, our animatronic pet. Ray-Ray is part dog, part Panda. He’s all black except for large white patches around his big eyes. He’s never far from my side. I tap in a code at its collar to start a recording that I play often. It occurs to me that I have never played it for Jem and suddenly I want him to hear it.

Mum’s voice plays. ‘You have to understand, I have to do this. With technology becoming so complex and overriding ethical boundaries and our ever-expanding push into space, we have to develop our senses to their fullest potential. We have to evolve faster.’

The recording ends. I look up at Jem. ‘See it’s important to train. That’s what she meant, isn’t it? All right, she had been drinking, but I think she meant it.’

‘When did you record that?’ His face is pale.

‘The night before she went away. She was talking to Dad… more like arguing.’

‘I see. Well, yes, it’s right, it’s important to train, but you can train yourself. You don’t need EASA.’

‘If I go to EASA, I’ll be with you.’

Jem looks downcast.

‘You’ll be there, Jem?’

‘Sure.’ He looks away.

‘Jem, are you going into space? On a mission?’

‘Don’t tell Dad.’

‘You’re not going to tell him?’

‘No. The home visits will stop and he won’t know I’ve gone. I don’t want him worrying.’

‘Should he?’

Jem looks into my worried eyes. ‘No. Everything’s going to be all right. Though Britta?’

‘Yes?’

He lowers his voice to barely a whisper. ‘You know how we sometimes talk to each other in our minds?’

‘Yes,’ I whisper back.

‘Well, when I go, listen out for me, okay?’

‘You’ll talk to me? From space?’ I’m excited. Jem never lets me in on anything.

‘Shush. If I need to.’

I frown. Only if he needs to, not that he wants to?

‘And listen out for Mum.’

‘Mum? She doesn’t want to talk to me. I’ve tried.’

‘That’s just because she doesn’t want to upset you.’

‘I’m upset that she won’t talk.’

Jem smiles. ‘Mum has your best interest at heart. I love you,’ he says, and he sounds sad.

‘I love you,’ I say back enthusiastically. He walks away and doesn’t see my tears.

My big brother takes his leave. The visits stop. Jem and Cal don’t come again.

I print-dye my hair green and they don’t get to see it. Maybe one day…

Not long into the New Year, Dad gets a drone-delivered message from EASA.

I hear him yelling, ‘No, never, no. Not again. Not her. Not her too.’

I come into the kitchen where he is crying.

Dad looks up at me. His pale, papery cheeks and thick-set lips are wet with misery. He hurries over to sweep me into his arms, pressing kisses into my green hair. He is a tall man and bends to lift me to kiss the top of my head. I know that combination of sadness and anger and I know that my lovely, soft dad, with his slight build and long thin limbs, won’t eat tonight or probably tomorrow. I hope he will eat again, for he loves me very much and he’s already lost too much weight. I don’t want him to fade away.

It’s my turn to go.

Tomorrow I turn thirteen. Tomorrow they will come.

Our apartment may be no more than a concrete-walled cell, seven floors below ground, but it is my home. It’s all I’ve known; the only bed I’ve slept in, the only room I’ve called my own. I don’t want to move out.

Jem had told me not to let EASA take me. Yet I don’t have a choice. Didn’t he know there would be no choice?

Here, I have my dad and Neath and Ray-Ray. I love them all. I don’t want to leave them.

I want to stay and learn more about plants. I love our kitchen pantry, which has shelves crammed with lettuces, herbs, bell peppers, radishes, dwarf apples, and berries, all growing well beneath artificial heat lights. It’s my job to keep them healthy. I also work in an above-ground garden inside a small dome house. Anyone from our building can go there, but I only see droids come in to operate the water spray and other sprays, re-seed and pick things. I’m the only human doing that kind of stuff. I grow not only plants to eat, but flowers and shrubs, as they are so pretty.

It’s when I’m in the garden alone that I get brave and try talking to Mum.

Sometimes, I think I hear her, telling me when to stop watering, when to start pruning. She seems to like helping me with the plants. Maybe Jem was right. Maybe she has my best interest at heart and my best interest is gardening.

Perhaps that’s why I like green. Green gives me the strength to be with Mum.

Is EASA taking me because I told them I talk to spirits? I shouldn’t have told them, I see that now.

At least, Dad won’t lose Neath. They’ll let him keep one child. Neath isn’t like us. He can’t talk to spirits. He's lucky. He won't get taken and trained in all the things that Jem told me about; things such as astral travelling, psychic interpretation, psychometry, telepathy, as well as the science stuff, like interstellar warfare, planet exploration, space station technologies, rocket engineering, weapons deployment, and alien biology. Ironically, Neath is jealous. He wants to learn those science things. I don't.

Ah, here comes Dad with my birthday treat. He’s bringing it himself rather than letting the drone deliver it. We are celebrating now; the night before. We won't have my birthday together, so this pre-celebration is it. Thirteen. I don’t feel grown up enough for what’s ahead. If only I could be twelve again for another year or two.

Dad pours from a tall flask a dessert of soggy, sweetened bread into a large indent in the table and hands us each the ceremonial straws. His hands shake throughout the task. He is taking it hard; this last birthday before I go.

'There you are, Britta,' Dad says. 'Just how you like it, like Mum used to make it. Your mum would have been proud to see you all grown up.'

Neath sucks up the sweet at a fast pace, like it is a race. When he stops, his flabby cheeks wobble as he chuckles. ‘Not with the green hair!’

Dad comes to my defence. ‘I think your mother would have liked it. It’s very you.’

‘Yeah. You, like a cactus.’

‘That’s enough Neath. It’s your sister’s birthday and…’ Dad doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to. We know what he means, that we don’t have much time left together. Neath takes the hint and tries to be nicer.

‘Your plants will miss you,’ Neath says.

It’s nice of him to say, but that thought makes me sad too.

Dad then steers the conversation and we talk for a little while about memories of Mum and Jem and of when we bought Ray-Ray.

Ray-Ray watches us with his exaggerated cuteness and non-smelling pant.

As I expect, Dad doesn’t eat his dinner or the ceremonial dessert.

At last, I go into my room and open my sleeping capsule. My silver sheet shines, catching the light from the illuminated ceiling. I climb in. Dad and Neath stand in the doorway, staring at me.

‘Good night, Britta,’ Dad says. ‘Try to get some sleep.’ He says this because he knows I won't. He can see how nervous I am.

‘Good night,’ Neath says too, which is touching, because he never comes to my room to say it. Ray-Ray’s tail is wagging behind them.

‘Thanks, Dad, Neath, Ray-Ray. Good night.’

They leave. The ceiling slowly loses its glow. Just before darkness claims the room, I look at my packed tube filled with everything I could stuff in it. Inside, carefully concealed is Gemma, my netwire doll. Once upon a time, it could answer questions with an inbuilt knowledge system, glow in the dark, and tell me the time. Now it’s broken. She's got long, matted hair and grubby arms and legs. She was my last birthday gift from Mum.

‘Goodnight, Mum,’ I say into the dark.

The next morning, three people clutter our tiny entry at the front door. Their eyes are covered in mirrored visors and their skins are coated in gleaming blast-proof fabric that showcase muscled bodies. So bulky are their builds and so perfect their stance that they could be machines. Maybe they are. Hard to know the difference sometimes.

Upon their bodies is a range of impressive weaponry; one long gun, one short; several explosive devices and a fold-out shield. I wonder if I’ll have to be weighed down like that one day.

'Britta Tate.'

I step forward with my tightly packed cylinder. I don’t say anything. My courage is failing. I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to. Not so, my inner voice. It’s screaming, no, no, no. Yet I squash that voice down too, like the stuff in my tube, pressing down, down. Quiet.

'We are here to escort you.'

'Goodbye,' my father and brother say formally.

They do this because they don't want me to make a fuss. They don’t want me to cry.

I nod at them.

With my long, green hair blending against my bright, shimmering green dress, I follow the officials with their weapons, their enhanced hands, their bulk, and their slick black suits. I know they will want me to become one of them and fall into uniformed line. But as my scrawny arms hug my cylinder against my chest, I doubt very much that that is going to happen. I’m too green, inside and out.

Chapter Two

I am processed.

First, I get a new name. 3249. At least it ends in nine. I like nine.

I am given three more things. A nano-band, to wear around my wrist, which holds my training schedule and will keep track of my location. A chip is inserted into my arm. It grants me access to the student areas, classrooms, exercise yard, and shower facilities, and no doubt will keep track of me too. Lastly, I’m issued a black EASA suit. I hang it over the crook of my arm; the arm that now sports a band and a chip.

At the end of a tour of the place, where I pass lots of older teenagers dressed in black, I am shown my sleeping chamber. It is in a steel hangar where over a thousand capsules are stacked on top of each other. The sight reminds me of a shipping yard. Each capsule has a dome-like door and all of them are shut. Mine is in the purple coded section, and to reach it I need to go for a ride on a platform. The platforms run up and down in between each column of capsules. I want to ask for a bed in the green section, but my voice fails. Purple is not so bad.

‘Please surrender your pack,’ the faceless droid tells me. It is in human form, all silver with a silver mesh face and a muffled voice. Its face looks more like a speaker on our hologram device and I want to swipe it to sharpen its audio. But I don’t. Instead I focus on finding my own voice and making it loud and clear.

‘Do I have to surrender my pack? Please, can I keep it?’

‘It is not allowed,’ comes the waffled reply.

‘What will you do with it?’

‘Disintegration.’

‘No.’

The droid faces me. A red beam extends from a disc on its forehead and runs across my face, scanning my emotions. I gather it won’t like what it reads.

‘Why won’t you surrender your belongings?’

‘I like them. They are important to me.’

‘I will take up your protest with my superior. For now, give it to me.’

I’m too afraid not to. I hand it over. I draw on what’s left of my failing courage to ask, ‘Is my brother here? Jem Tate?’

‘No.’

That’s it? Just no? ‘Where is he?’

‘That’s classified.’

Another secret, of course. Tiredness descends.

‘I want to rest.’

‘Soon you must report to astral training. Your band will vibrate two hours and eight minutes from now to alert you.’

‘I will be alerted. Yes.’

‘Your band has geo-guidance. Just follow it.’

‘Follow. Yes.’

‘You may retire to your capsule.’

Bed. Good. I move away from the droid and ride the platform. I enter my designated capsule one leg at a time before pulling the door shut. I’m alone and yet I’m sure there are cameras on me. Although it is dark, I feel watched, recorded.

The slippery flooring inside is soft and clean. I sink into it and feel it mould around my body and limbs. As I turn over, it moves in a rocking motion.

I try to keep still. I try not to cry.

The next thing I know my band is vibrating. It wakes me and rattles my senses. I rock and slide about. Astral training. I don’t want to go. But I take it that my band isn’t going to stop its urgent style of vibrating until I do.

Back on the purple platform, I swipe at my band for geo-guidance. Little red lines light up on screen, pointing my way. I follow the flashing vertical and horizontal lines, which lead me out of the hangar and through a maze of criss-crossing corridors. As I walk, I pass students—tall, strong, young people—who stare at me. I suppose my green hair and clothes do stand out. After a few minutes, I arrive in a small room where two faceless droids are waiting.

My band ceases its jittering.

‘3249?’

‘What?’

‘Tate?’

‘Britta. Just call me, Britta.’

‘3249, why are you not dressed in your suit?’

I look down and see the soft material shimmer like dewy grass in the sunlight.

‘I like this dress. I like green. Don’t you?’

‘It is not the uniform. Next time wear the uniform.’

It suddenly occurs to me that when I take this dress off, it will be whisked away from me and not returned. It is all I have left to remind me of home.

‘I prefer…’

‘Strap in. It’s time we started. You were late.’

I look at the table and see straps, supposedly for my wrists. They are metal, as are the gloves that appear to be hooked up to a power source.

‘Electricity?’

‘It helps increase your vibration and astral connection.’

I’m surprised and anxious. ‘I don’t need it,’ I assure them quickly.

‘You can astral travel without it?’

I don’t know if I can, not on command. My astral travelling is more random, unpredictable. In fact, it often happens when I least expect it. Still, I don’t like the idea of being constrained and zapped, perhaps at painful levels, to activate that state.

‘I don’t want straps.’

Again, there is a red beam crossing my face. I know this time they will be reading fear and defiance.

‘We will report your protest to our superiors. Now get on the table.’

I look from the droids to the table. ‘No,’ I say very softly.

‘You must.’

‘I won’t go astral. I won’t. You need a willing mind and mine is not willing. All the electricity in the world won’t work. You’ll just have to fry me!’

The droids summon their superior, who summons their superior, who summons theirs.

Until, on my first day at EASA, I find myself once again meeting the head of the organisation, Treesa Breenswick.

Her suit still appears too tight for her, her schedule too busy, her expression too heavy. Yet, I see intelligence and reason in her eyes and I relax. Despite her impatience to be elsewhere, there is the possibility of gaining some empathy and understanding.

‘You won’t cooperate?’ she queries, getting straight to the issue.

‘I won’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t like pain.’

‘There is no pain. The electricity is very light. You will hardly notice it.’ She turns to the droids. ‘Why didn’t you explain that to her? You know she’s younger than our usual interns. Give her more information.’

‘Yes,’ the droids respond in unison.

I look to the controls and see that the electricity can be turned up. Once I’m strapped in, I’ll be subjected to their will.

Treesa follows my line of sight and reads my expression. ‘You don’t trust it?’

I shake my head.

‘Your brother and mother did.’

‘They were brave.’

‘And you’re not?’

‘No.’

‘It takes courage not to cooperate.’ She walks closer to the table, runs her hand along it. ‘You know, your mother was very good at astral travelling. She learned how to use electricity, how to master vibrations. You could be good too.’

‘I am not them.’

‘No. I can see that.’ She straightens. ‘What if you were to hold the straps? You could let go if it became too much. Retain control?’

I look at the table and concede, ‘I could do that, but it still won’t work.’

‘Why not?’

‘I have to be happy for it to work.’

‘Happy? You’re not happy learning such amazing things?’

‘No.’

She’s growing more impatient and I sense she needs to resolve my problem quickly so she can go do more important things. ‘All right. What would make you happy?’

‘I want my pack back. I want to wear my own clothes. I want to do gardening. I want books, recordings, music.’

She holds my gaze and I read her judgement. She thinks I’m spoiled. Still, she nods. ‘Done.’

‘Really? I don’t have to wear black?’

‘If you don’t mind being the only twig of colour in the whole place.’

‘And I want to visit home once a month.’

‘For the first year only. After that, no. Ongoing home visits are non-negotiable. They will generate too much resentment from the others. But your other demands—gardening, books, music, your own clothes—such things won’t elicit envy.’

I’m surprised. Why wouldn’t the other interns desire such privileges?

As though reading my mind, she explains, ‘Gardening is too hot and arduous. Entertainment is preferred in the virtual gaming room and people like the uniform. They like to blend in.’

I absorb this, though I’m still mystified. Gardening is wondrous, and the heat is not so bad beneath the glass domes. How can anything replace the magic of books and the sound of a good tune? As for clothes…

‘Now you will have all the things that make you happy.’

‘Not all the things,’ I say, thinking of Mum and Jem, and Dad and Neath and even Ray-Ray.

Treesa sees my pain and softens her tone. ‘No, not all. But with all the things that we can give you, will you be happy enough to get on that table and show us what you’re capable of? You know, we need you more than you know. Your skills are valuable in times like these. Your mother and brother would be very proud.’

I feel it then. Her impatience is not to be elsewhere but with me. She needs me to work. She needs what my skills can bring. Her eyes are resting on me and, I sense, will do so until she gets from me a promise to try my best. She is trying not to put too much pressure on me, yet I can see in those dark eyes a strong measure of hope. What is she hoping I will do, or see, or learn? Funny, that in a time of such incredible technologies she has a desperate need for my skills. Seems Mum was right. We have to train.

I nod.

‘Good.’ She gives my arm a firm pat with her big hand. ‘If you hear from your brother or mother, let us know.’

‘I usually only hear from Mum in the garden,’ I admit. ‘Not much though. We don’t talk, really.’

Treesa considers my words for a moment before looking to the droids. ‘Bring plants in here for the next session.’

‘Flowers, if possible,’ I put in.

The droids’ faces glow green with affirmation.

Treesa smiles at me as best she can. I gather she doesn’t usually smile, and I can see the action pulls on unused muscles and looks awkward. She walks to the door and turns back to me before leaving.

‘You know, we’ve never prescribed happiness and flowers for our training sessions. I hope it goes well.’

I hope so too. I hope I get to hear more from Mum!

Chapter Three

Ten years later

I awake in the same coffin-like cell in the purple section to the sound of my wrist band emitting its nerve-rattling buzzing.

I can’t say I’m happy, yet I know I have it as good as it can get at EASA. At age twenty-three, I’m in my final year and graduation is finally within reach. It has been a long internship.

I haven’t been home since the end of my first-year visitations. Communications happen once a year in the shape of a brief exchange via holograms on my birthday. I miss Dad, Neath, and Ray-Ray. Occasionally, I astral travel to them. They don’t know I’m there and can’t talk with me, but it’s enough to put my mind at rest as to their wellbeing.