[04] Elite: Mostly Harmless (25 page)

It was naturally powered down.

She glanced at what appeared to be a huge stamp-button at the front of the standing platform. She bent and blew across the surface. It revealed itself to be predictably red and labelled simply ‘ON’.

Angel sucked on her bottom lip. As a rule she didn’t trust any kind of machinery that issued written instructions with no real context by way of explanation. She went over to the vault door and gave the locking wheel an experimental nudge, not really expecting it to give.

For once she wasn’t disappointed and the lock remained resolutely locked.

She stepped back to the standing rig and wiped her sleeve across a smooth-looking panel fixed to the front of one of the rail struts. She saw the hint of letters ghosting through centuries of dust, so rubbed a bit harder revealing the words
“Chaste Chamber™: keeping your valuables safe from criminal intent since 2833 [deluxe VR model v2.1764.42]”.

Looking around the unhelpful cave it seemed pretty obvious to Angel that she had little choice about what must be done if she wanted to keep this mission headed in the direction of a happy conclusion. Once again against her better judgement she grabbed hold of the rail and stepped up into the rig, turning her hips sideways to slip through the gap. Her feet spun easily on the surface of the platform, which was actually a pad constructed out of thousands of ball bearings so that she could walk as fast and far as she wanted in every direction without ever leaving the spot. Gingerly now, half expecting to be electrocuted or meet some other ghastly fate, she eased the swivel skull cap into place and flipped down the mask. All was black. She felt for the gloves in front of her face and slipped them on. After a few tugs to loosen the mechanics of the ancient equipment she found her hands moved freely down to just below waist height, allowing her to grip the handrail as she felt around with her toe for the “on” button.  Taking one last shaky breath she pressed down.

The blackness in front of her eyes burst into light, blinding her for an instant as her startled pupils snapped all the way shut against the blazing assault. Cautiously they dialled back the fissure enough to facilitate sight.

She was in a kitchen; a huge rambling farmhouse kitchen with a cavernous recess for the glowing stove. A large faded wooden table dominated the centre of the room. It looked like it could seat twenty starving farmhands and frequently did.

Angel could see bread baking in the orange bloom of the oven. She breathed in, mouth watering in anticipation of the smell, at which point the illusion cracked open just enough for her get her fingers into the gap and haul her mind back to reality. If her remlok mask hadn’t been providing the air in this room she would be smelling eggy farts, not freshly baking bread, since her physical body was still back in a cave on LHS 412-IV. She looked around the room, wondering what to do next.

A door opened and a comely looking woman of about sixty came bustling through from the garden, carrying a basket full of fresh cut greenery against her generous bosom. ‘Well now, who do we have here?’

The woman didn’t seem surprised to find Angel in what must be her kitchen and after popping the basket down on the sideboard began collecting the equipment to make a warm drink. ‘Tea, dear?’

Although Angel did quite fancy a cup of tea about now she reminded herself that this was just an illusion; a visual apparition controlled by her movements and possibly some kind of brain and/or nervous system mapping from data collected by the skullcap and gloves. Accepting food or drink would be pretty pointless so she might as well skip to the main attraction.

‘No thanks,’ she said.

Her nerve-endings suddenly caught fire in a violence of static shock, her body electrified from the feet upwards. Her whole being recoiled in a spasm that threw her back. The mask ripped off her face and the gloves snatched off her hands as the hand rail opened, allowing the VR rig to spit her out on the cavern floor. She landed softly in the reduced gravity, largely undamaged but her body still fizzed from the shock.

‘Ouch.’ She frowned at the rig. Had she done something wrong? She noticed a red glow pulsing from behind a dust-caked panel in the massive vault door. She picked herself up and wiped her forearm across the plate.ACCESS DENIED.

Hmm.
She stepped back on the platform and the hand rail closed behind her. Even more gingerly this time she got herself in position again. The kitchen appeared around her and a few moments later the same comely woman walked in as before. She smiled genially at Angel and went to fill the kettle from a sparkling silver tap. ‘Tea, dear?’

Angel felt her nerves tingle and she screwed up her face in anticipation. ‘Yes please?’

The genial smile widened to a generous glow and she moved to place the kettle on the hob. ‘Of course, of course dear. Never a bad time for a good cup of tea. That’s what my mother always said. You just can’t trust a person that doesn’t have time for a nice cup of tea. Wouldn’t you agree?’

 ‘Uhm, yes?’ Angel ventured, tensing for the shock eviction if it was a trick question. None came so she relaxed a little and when the old lady indicated she should sit at the table she went ahead and did so.

A few minutes later a steaming cup of golden liquid stood beside her, the little old lady sitting opposite smiling. She had introduced herself as Dr Michelle Wagstaff, the scientist from INRA that had set the vault up a little over three centuries ago - at least a virtual facsimile of her anyway. After an uncomfortably long moment of staring and smiling, Angel realised she had picked up a teaspoon from the table and was gripping it tensely as she tried to figure out her next move. The old lady glanced at the spoon, which was bending a little at the neck under the pressure of her grasp.

‘Do not try to bend the spoon. Instead, use the spoon to stir your tea.’

Angel looked at the spoon.

‘Biscuit?’ The old lady pushed two identical biscuit tins towards Angel. She looked down into them mistrustfully. One was filled with custard creams, the other plain digestives. Angel hesitated, fingers poised to go for the fancier treat but something in her mind told her this could be another trap. She decided to trust her instincts and reached for a plain biscuit, squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation of a rude awakening again if she was wrong. When she opened them the old lady was frowning at her. ‘You do make the strangest faces my dear. It seems you have good taste though.’ She reached for a digestive herself, dunking it lightly in the tea before biting off a large chunk and consuming it with relish. ‘You need a sturdy biscuit with an unobtrusive flavour to compliment a good cup of tea. Anything more than that is just showy and liable to pollute your tea. Don’t you just hate those soggy bits of sludge in the bottom of your cup from a weakly constructed biscuit?’

Angel nodded, also dunking her biscuit.

‘So, what is your story dear?’

Angel decided honesty was probably the best policy. ‘I seek the book. The source of the Thargoids?’

The lady nodded, sipping her tea. ‘You’re after the book then? My Thargoid sauce?’

 ‘The one in the vault, yes,’ agreed Angel.

‘You have proved yourself to be of good taste, but you know dear I can’t let this secret fall into any old hands. There is great evil in this world - at least there was at the time of my activation. Those who would see an entire species extinct before admitting some value to ensuring the race survives. My chronometer acknowledges the passage of three hundred and fifty-eight years since that time, which is certainly long enough for worlds to have matured and for the feud to have died; the fear to have settled. But I have been programmed to ensure that the contents of the book should not fall into the hands of those with criminal intent. They wouldn’t understand my work or how it led me to see the Thargoids in a new light. To see their inner worth I must be sure you are not such a one before I yield to your will. No offence, it’s just my programming.’

The old lady smiled broadly again and offered Angel another biscuit.

‘None taken,’ Angel said, reaching for the tin.

‘Will you take the test then? The one to prove you’re a good person?’

Angel felt confident she could pass such a test. ‘What do I have to do?’ she asked.

 ‘Just answer a few questions dear, that’s all. But be sure answer true or my truth detection sensors will know and I will be forced to reboot. This deep into my sub-routine I can assure you that won’t be a pleasant experience for you dear.’

‘Okay, sure. Why not,’ said Angel dipping the edge of her virtual digestive into her virtually steaming cup of virtual tea. ‘Shoot.’

In less than the blink of an eye Angel was ripped from the unreality of the warm kitchen scene and found herself sitting at a small desk in the centre of a vast hangar that must have had two-hundred other identical desks lined up in row upon regimented row. Her hand was still poised as if delivering a biscuit to her mouth, but now promised nothing more than fresh air and a vaguely foolish feeling. No one else was seated in the room but a figure marched purposely towards her up the column of desks. Her breath caught in her throat. It was the old woman again, or at least a version of her, only this one wasn’t even a tiny bit genial. She clutched a crumpled piece of paper in her right fist that rattled and scratched as her marching arms snatched it forwards and back, forwards and back. A few strides later she had reached Angel’s desk and slammed the paper down, following up with a pencil from the other hand.

‘TEST!’
  The old lady bellowed into her face like a demented sergeant major. She twitched violently and then promptly turned on her heel and stomped back up to the front of the room. Angel noticed the figure glitch minutely causing a wave of digital deconstruction to ripple up its body. For just an instant the computer drawn illusion of skin and clothes was stripped back to a wireframe model, reminding Angel once again where she really was. She glanced about the huge test hall. It reminded her of the hangar they would complete exams in back at flight school. The vast room was grey and serious, with a big digital clock for counting down the seconds to the end if the test mounted on the front wall. Looking more closely though, she could also see evidence of digital corruption here, in the corners of the room and in patches across the ceiling and floor. It looked like the programme might slowly be degrading, which was perhaps why the old lady had been so abrupt? Angel looked down at the paper. Multiple choice which was somewhat of a relief as it left less room for discrepancies. A loud buzzer sounded and Angel looked up to the front of the hall. The old lady was glaring at her, arms folded, and the timer had reset to 00:05:00. The buzzer sounded again and the seconds began counting down. The test had begun.

Angel looked down and reviewed the questions.

Q1. Mark Adams’ home planet is about to be destroyed by Thargoids. Should he,

(a) Go to the pub and get very drunk?

(b) Grab a towel?

(c) Fire up his Cobra Mark III and prime the beam lasers?

(d) Put the kettle on for a nice cup of tea?

Q2. You are left in a room for three hours and told to help yourself to anything you find, but all you see is a cake with icing that reads, “Happy Birthday Luc Sinberg!” Do you,

(a) Eat the cake, beginning with the iced letters of the name?

(b) Wait patiently for another three hours then re-evaluate?

(c) Leave the room to kill and eat the first living thing you find?

(d) Make a nice cup of tea to have with the cake, pouring an extra cup in case Luc turns up?

Q3. You walk into a bar and you find a pirate called Richard Brack, a miner called Michael Johansson and a Thargoid called Wotno Bifford sitting together at a table. Do you,

(a) Determine which one to slaughter first before getting a beer?

(b) Get a beer and then decide which one to slaughter first while drinking it?

(c) Buy them all a beer and slaughter them at a game of Jonty?

(d) Offer them all a nice cup of tea and slaughter whoever refuses first?

Q4. In front of you are a red door and a blue door. When you touch the handle of the red door it is icy cold, whereas the blue door knob is burning hot. Do you,

(a) Go through the blue door wearing a suit made of kevlar?

(b) Go through the red door wearing thermal underwear and plenty of extra layers?

(c) Question whether there is anything of interest beyond the doors considering the designer's clear ignorance of standard colouring conventions?

(d) Put the kettle on and wait to see what comes out of the doors?

Q5. You are scouting for jobs on the station bulletin board when you see Gabriel Macleod and Andy Hawkins requesting fast transport to a neighbouring system. A few posts down you see a ‘Wanted Persons’ notice, with reward, requesting information pertaining to the whereabouts of Gabriel Macleod and Andy Hawkins. Do you,

(a) Ignore both; it is none of your business after all?

(b) Take the transport contract, requesting the money up front?

(c) Turn Ms Macleod and Mr Hawkins in to the authorities and take the reward?

(d) B then C, and a nice cup of tea to celebrate?

Angel scratched diagonal slashes in the boxes adjacent to her answers, which all seemed pretty obvious. The only question she was slightly unsure about was number five, but if the pair was truly wanted by the authorities and she was supposed to be proving herself to be of unquestionable morals, turning them in wouldn’t be an issue - and she already knew the old lady didn’t trust anyone who had no time for a nice cup of tea. Despite being confident she had passed the test, Angel still felt her gut tighten as she picked up the paper and headed to the front of the room to hand it in. The stern version of the old lady nodded curtly towards a slot in the wall. It was marked 
COMPLETED TEST PAPERS
 so she fed the short edge of her paper between the rollers. They snatched it from her hungrily and as it vanished the whole environment blinked off and on momentarily as if somehow resetting. Now Angel noticed there were two doors that she hadn’t noticed before. One was marked
PASS
, the other
FAIL.
It didn’t take a deductive genius to work out the meaning of this. She shifted from foot to foot as the computer apparently totted up her results. Considering there were only five questions on the paper it took an inordinately long amount of time to reach a conclusion, during which the old lady stared daggers at her. Finally Angel breathed a sigh of relief as the
PASS
sign started flashing and the door hanging beneath it popped open. Happy to leave the glare of the old lady Angel stepped through, her mind fogging up with altered perception again as the world around her went dark.