Ellie Quin - 04 - Ellie Quin in WonderLand (2 page)

Jez felt the hair on the nape of her neck slowly rise. She realised they were totally fregged if it was The Administration. Where the hell could they run? Up until now she'd half convinced herself that it might be just a bunch of crims. They'd raided Ellie's home, murdered an innocent family and were looking to cover their tracks. That, or at a reach, a bunch of those freggin' Reborn terrorists looking to make a name for themselves and get into the newsies, to spread their utterly twisted message.

But…The Administration?

'Jez? What do you think?'

For Ellie's sake she decided to make light of it. 'Dunno, chick. Maybe it is what it is. Some pervo's done naughties with the wrong type of alien species and there's a nasty sex-lurgy going round.'

CHAPTER 2

Deacon sat down on the worn gel couch and silently regarded the man standing in front of him. Large and muscular, long sandy-coloured hair tied back in a scraggy ponytail, and several weeks’ worth of beard on his face.

Deacon was reminded of the frontiersmen of Old Earth, the French trappers,
coereur de bois
, wild men who'd lived in the wilderness of the yet to be mapped, tamed and named nation of America.

This man looked dishevelled and tired. He’d been roughing it out in the wilderness of this mud planet for several months. Living within the confines of this grubby vessel. An old surface shuttle - the type that one could see on any number of rudely colonised worlds, snub-nosed and inelegant, but eminently hardy and practical.

‘Why don’t you take a seat, Mr Goodman?’ said Deacon.

Aaron Goodman shrugged, then settled himself on a stool.

Deacon nodded appreciatively as he looked around the shuttle's cargo hold.

‘I must say, I do admire your entrepreneurial spirit. You managed to turn this old freight space into something that looks almost appealing.’

The rust and grime encrusted hold had been scrubbed and painted a hygenic-looking white. And where storage racks had once lined the bulkhead, stood a modest kitchenette and a FoodSmart. Beside it, a long section of the carbo-steel hull had been cut out and replaced with a panoramic viewing window of plastex.

‘It appears that you've transformed your rust-bucket shuttle into a comfortable little tour cruiser.’ Deacon steepled fingers beneath his chin. ‘I'm impressed by your ability to adapt to shifting economic conditions. One minute a freight pilot, the next, a tour operator. I really do admire that initiative.’

Aaron Goodman continued to stare at him blankly.

‘So few people seem to have that
can
-
do
spirit about them.’ Deacon sighed. ‘Take the majority of people living in New Haven…they’re like mindless cattle, aren’t they? Happy to live rather pointless and empty lives. Sitting in their habicubes watching the toob all day long. Growing fat on synthi snacks and chemical gunk. But you, Mr Goodman…’ he leant forward. ‘You, sir, have rather more, I think. A true
colonial spirit
. You're the kind of person we need more of in Human Space. I salute you.’

‘I’m touched,’ Aaron replied dryly. ‘I might even cry.’

Deacon nodded appreciatively at the man's hutzpah.

‘I find most of humanity disappoints me, Mr Goodman, disgusts me even. I often wonder why The Administration even bothers to maintain order and stability across our thirteen hundred worlds. The billions of brain-dead cretins out there…’ Deacon shook his head. ‘The bright, garish fashions they wear, that awful tinny noise they like to call music, the moronic crap they watch every hour of every day…God help me, is that what humanity has become?’

‘S’pose that’s why I chose to work as a shuttle pilot,’ muttered Aaron. ‘To get away from all that.’

‘And I really don’t blame you, my friend. It is a universe full of fat, dull- witted plebs. So few of us around…
real people
like you and I.’

'Don't group me with you,' snapped Aaron. 'I'm not a goddamn
murderer
!'

Deacon looked away from him. 'As needs must.' He shrugged. ‘Government has a duty to protect the unwashed masses from themselves, from fanatics, from terrorists seeking to destabilise things. Even if the unwashed barely deserve that.’

'Her family weren't fucking terrorists!'

'Oh? You knew them well, did you?'

Aaron didn't reply.

'I thought not. Perhaps it might surprise you to know that Ellie's parents had Rebornist sympathies. I believe they might have been a sleeper cell.'

'Damn you!' Aaron shook his head. 'No! They were just oxygen farmers!'

'That was their cover.'

'And their children? You telling me they were terrorists too?'

'Sleeper agents, Mr Goodman. Living life as normally as possible. Most probably believing they would never be called upon to become
active
. It doesn't surprise me they applied to have children.'

'You're full of shit.'

'Really?' Deacon sat forward. 'Since when have Rebornist terrorists ever looked like anything other than normal people? Thats how they look, Mr Goodman. Just like the regular old couple in the habicube next door. Right up until the point where they're on a skyhound packed with morning commuters and they cry out that their Prophet is Coming, and detonate a jacket bomb.'

Aaron stared silently at him.

'In some small way, I can understand them. At least they believe in
something
. For them life has more purpose, more substance, more
value
than for the rest of the mindless sheep out there. And yet they'll sacrifice those lives of theirs' for what they believe in.' He sighed. 'Maybe there's some
nobility
in that. It's just a pity that what they believe in is a delusion. A dangerous one.'

'Ellie's no terrorist,' said Aaron.

Deacon nodded thoughtfully. 'You might be right.' He rubbed his brow wearily. 'I suspect she's….something else entirely.'

He looked around the cargo hold again, once more admiring this cleverly transformed interior and decided to take the conversation in a different direction. ‘How was it working out for you? Being a tour operator? You were taking people up to see the north polar ice I believe?’

The pilot nodded. ‘Most people in New Haven don’t even know this planet has an arctic zone. They assume it’s all mud and rocks outside the dome.’

‘No sense of adventure, hmm?’

Aaron shrugged. ‘I don’t understand why they’d all want to live their entire lives within a ten mile diameter plastic bubble.’

‘It’s simple, I suppose. They’re no better than what people on old earth used to call battery chickens. You live all your life in a small cage….I imagine you’re going to become wary of exceedingly open spaces.’

‘Seems about right.’

Deacon heard the approaching clank of footsteps and turned as the small hatch to the shuttle’s flight cabin opened. One of Deacon’s hired guns stuck his head into the cargo-hold.

‘Nothing up here. Just food wrappers, dirty socks and a bad smell.’

‘Nine weeks hiding out here in the wilderness in your shuttle. I bet you’d kill for a nice hot shower, eh, Mr Goodman?’

‘A shower would be nice.’

Deacon nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Well, now, as I’m sure you’re aware, I have one or two pressing questions I want to ask you about Ellie.’

No response from Aaron Goodman. The shuttle pilot stared back at him with a poker face, giving nothing away.

‘I think you got to know her quite well.’

Deacon looked for a flicker of response on the pilot’s face. Nothing.

‘Oh, come on, let’s not play that game Mr Goodman. You know her. You know her very well.’

Still nothing.

‘I suspect she’s a rather feisty thing, is she not? Quite a resilient young lady? A survivor? A fighter?'

Aaron smiled faintly. Fond memories of her that he couldn’t keep from his lips.

Deacon saw that. 'You liked her?'

He snorted dryly. 'Stubborn.'

‘Indeed.’ Deacon shared his smile. He laughed, not unkindly. ‘My goodness, she does seem to be a packet of trouble for the both of us.’

‘No different to any other girl her age…I suppose.’

‘Girls!' Deacon shook his head and laughed like they were two weary fathers bemoaning their errant children. 'They are so very difficult at that age, aren't they? Prickly. Moody. Self-obsessed.’

Aaron shrugged.

‘She is something more than a typical teenage girl though, Mr Goodman. She's a very special girl.’ Deacon fussed with his cuffs. ‘I think it would be quite something to meet her.’

Aaron stiffened. ‘Oh, but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

‘To
talk
with her, Mr Goodman, that’s all. To talk with her.’

‘Just like you ‘talked’ to her family?’

Deacon’s genial smile faded. ‘We really do need to find her.’

‘Why? What’s she done to anyone?’

‘It’s what she
could
do, Mr Goodman.’

Aaron laughed bitterly. ‘One young girl?’

‘If one looks closely enough…many of the greatest turning points in history end up being the actions of just one person. For the sake of a nail, the shoe was lost. For the sake of the shoe, the horse was delayed. For the delay of the horse, the message was delayed…’ Deacon leant forward. ‘Are you familiar with that Old Earth proverb?’

‘No. Sounds pretty stupid.’

‘Big things come from small beginnings.’ He sat back. ‘If you must know, she’s a danger. She’s carrying a deadly virus.’

Aaron sneered. ‘Bullshit.’

‘Oh, but it's true. Quite deadly. She’s immune to it of course. She's a carrier. Which means she shows no symptoms.’

‘If she was carrying a virus….then I’d have it. You’d have it too.’ Aaron looked around. ‘But, you and your men aren’t wearing bio-protection suits.’

‘It’s not communicable,
yet
. It’s dormant for the moment. But mark my words, it will…
activate
…and when it does we’ll have a disaster upon us every bit as apocryphal as a medieval plague.’

Aaron’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘Plague? That’s a bullshit cover story. This whole system-wide quarantine thing…it’s all bull-‘

‘I assure you Mr Goodman, it’s very real. Ellie is a weapon. A weapon engineered by terrorists who despise our society. Who despise our culture, for what it is. They want nothing more than to annihilate all of humanity.' Deacon cocked his head. 'I suppose I can sympathise with
some
of their sentiments. But I do draw the line at genocide.'

Deacon looked up and set his gaze back on Aaron. 'I do need to find her. I
will
find her. She won't be able to leave this system now. I’ll track her down eventually and-’

‘Kill her.’

‘We’ll
treat
her.’

Aaron stared back at Deacon. Locked eyes with him, searching for the truth behind that cool and genial smile. He wasn’t seeing any of it, though. ‘Yeah, right…'treat' her.’

Deacon sighed sadly. ‘I have a horrible suspicion that whatever I tell you, you're not going to help us, are you?’

‘What do you think?’

Deacon looked down at his hands. Truly saddened. ‘That is something of a shame. Under different circumstances, perhaps you and I might have been good friends. We’re alike in many ways. Outsiders. Not like those brain-dead plebeians.’

‘I’m not a fregging murderer.’

‘Nor am I…I’m just here to fix things. To put matters right. That is all.’

He stood up slowly, a little wearily. ‘Well, I suppose we’re done here.’ He turned towards the rear door of the cargo hold. He nodded at one of his men and headed towards the palm-switch beside the exit.

‘Goodbye Mr Goodman.’

Deacon pulled a rubber oxygen mask from one of the hooks and placed it over his mouth and nose and then hit the switch. As noisy hydraulic pistons worked the ramp door slowly open, a single shot rang out behind him.

Pity, that
.

He’d rather liked that scruffy man.

CHAPTER 3

It was cold, damp and dark in the barge’s hold. Ellie shivered and blew a frosty curl of breath out of her mouth and onto the one and only window; a small round, foot-in-diameter porthole that at the moment was showing nothing more interesting than the ink-black universe. They might as well be looking into the window of a spin-washer.

‘Great, you just fogged it up,’ sighed Jez. ‘Now we can’t see anything.’

‘Well, there’s not exactly a great deal to see right now.’

‘Even less with your breath fogging it up.’ Jez wiped the window with the cuff of her jacket. ‘Crud! How much longer are we gonna be stuck in this boring tin can?’

‘I don’t know. They said it was going to take a while to load up the barges and line them up for a delivery.’

The ship’s captain had told Ellie that today’s port of call was where he’d been instructed to drop them off. Apparently ‘The old man' who’d collared him back on Harpers Reach had pressed a rather sizeable payment of creds into his hands and been quite explicit about what he wanted.

‘
Not any of the other panhandle planets in this system. I need you to take my girl to Gateway, understand? She needs to be well and truly out of this system. Do you understand? Away from here, as quickly as possible
.’

‘Why can’t we see it?’ sighed Jez pressing her nose up against the cold glass. 'Isn't Gateway huge or something?'

‘Possibly because we’re facing the wrong way?’ sighed Ellie..

But Jez wasn’t listening.‘Gateway, it’s meant to be enormous and we’re supposed to be right next to it? So where the crud is it?’ She leant to one side to get a more oblique view out of their small window.

‘Can’t see diddly.’ She huffed impatiently and decided she’d had enough of looking for something interesting to see outside. Instead she turned her attention to what was inside the barge. She snapped on a pencil-light and panned it around the small hold. ‘I wonder what goodies are in here with us?’ She grinned at Ellie. ‘Shall we play treasure hunt?’

‘What?’

She gestured at the crates stacked all around them. ‘Shall we open some up and take a look-see?’

‘No, that’s wrong! That's-’

Jez was already panning her torch up and down the outside of the crates reading their contents stickers. ‘Pharma-Supplies. Boring. Synthi-Vit Supplements. Boring. Ah-hah! What’s this?’ She stepped closer to one of the crates. ‘System Mail.’ She turned to Ellie and grinned like a naughty child. ‘Mail. People’s you know…
personal
stuff. Double-drool!’