Ben paused and looked up at Stephen, waiting for him to speak.
‘I have chosen this time because there are fewer of you about. As you can see, I’m quite different to you. Besides, this seems to be the hour you are most comfortable with. We met at the same time last week, if you remember.’
Ben laughed. ‘Oh, yeah. I forgot.’
Ben glanced at Stephen’s outfit: the same long, brown trench coat and matching hat he was wearing last week. He wondered if his avatar was right to be concerned. What if Stephen was dangerous?
It was time to grow up, to ask proper questions. Ben stared into the strange eyes of his new friend.
‘Why’s the skin on your face a different colour to your arm?’ He had asked this before but couldn’t remember how Stephen had answered.
‘I’m wearing a special covering to protect my skin from the sun, and to avoid unnecessary questions about my appearance.’
‘Why? What’s wrong with it?’
‘Nothing, as far as I’m concerned. My skin is perfectly normal to me.’
‘But it’s not even ten degrees yet! It’s not very warm. Why do you need to protect your skin?’
‘It reacts differently to yours if exposed to the elements. I prefer a cooler climate and little or no sun.’
Ben’s eyes flickered from Stephen’s covered face and neck to his patchy arm where the artificial skin had lost its pigmentation. ‘Your skin is funny-looking. It looks see-through there but it’s normal on your face.’
Stephen nodded, crossing his legs and folding one hand on top of the other. ‘It only appears that way. It’s actually opaque.’
‘If you ate something, would I be able to see it go into your stomach?’
Stephen shook his head.
‘Well, what’s the point then? That would be much cooler if you could.’
‘It’s normal to have this type of skin where I am from. Yours, however, is strange. You explained to me last week the reason for its earthy colour. I’m curious today about its solidity. I wonder if it’s also waterproof like mine.’
Ben shrugged. ‘I don’t know what that means.’ He squeezed the bear’s soft stomach repeatedly with his tiny fingers, feeling something hard move inside it as he did. He tried to pick up key words like ‘earthy’, ‘solidity’, ‘waterproof’ and putting them together in a sentence that made sense, but he couldn’t.
Stephen reached into a waste-bin at his end of the bench. He fished out a half-empty bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap with one hand and extended the other to Ben.
‘May I?’
Ben shrugged again and held out his arm.
Against every natural instinct, Stephen grabbed hold of the child’s wrist and straightened out his arm. It felt warm to the touch and the ends of his fingers tingled. He poured the cool liquid from the bottle over the arm. It rolled off effortlessly and beaded in areas where the surface flattened out.
‘That’s interesting,’ he said, releasing Ben’s wrist. He had never physically touched one of them before. He tried to calm his breathing while his fingers continued to itch. He grabbed hold of them to stem the feeling.
‘What is?’
‘It’s nothing, really.’ He rubbed the sensation away. ‘We may look different on the surface, but there are similarities in the way our bodies work, at least in terms of the epidermis layer.’
The look on Ben’s face caused Stephen to explain. ‘I mean that the outer layer of our skin essentially does the same thing.’
‘So?’
‘We think we know so much about you. I realise now we don’t know as much as we first thought.’
Ben stifled a yawn. ‘Do you live in a house?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Well where do you live, then?’
‘Near the Maglev train station.’
‘Really?’ He screwed up his face. ‘I wouldn’t like to live so far underground. It’s all dark and cold. Why don’t you just live up here with everyone else?’
‘Because we can’t survive above ground for long. It’s also doubtful we would be accepted here.’
‘Which station do you live at? Is it Charing Cross or Waterloo? Because I’ve been to both and I guess I could visit you there sometimes.’ He shrugged.
‘I don’t live in the station itself, but I can see how you might think that.’
An all-female group entered the park and performed a quick succession of warm-up exercises against a nearby tree. As they broke away to run, the oldest female scrutinised Stephen and Ben. Stephen tugged on his hat, pulling it further over his eyes. The female let out a gasp when his partly covered arm fell into her view. She looked ahead and increased her pace, attempting to catch up with the group. He watched them and readied himself to leave if they doubled back. He waited until the last of them was out of sight.
A movement under his left elbow broke his concentration. Ben was shuffling and opening his backpack. He pulled out a sandwich wrapped in plastic, placed it on his lap and ripped away the wrapping. While Stephen was curious about their food choices, the boy’s sandwich emitted a smell that he didn’t like.
Ben picked up one half and took a bite. He chewed hungrily.
Stephen couldn’t stop staring at his food.
‘Want some?’ Ben held out the part he had slobbered over.
‘What’s in it?’
‘Bread, butter and strawberry jam. I replicated it myself.’ He held it just under Stephen’s nose.
‘Please, take it away,’ said Stephen, holding a hand over his mouth as he gagged.
Ben shrugged. ‘You don’t like jam?’ He took another bite.
‘I can’t eat that.’ Stephen suppressed another gag.
‘My mum says I can’t drink milk because I’m allergic. Is it the same as that?’
‘My diet is different. My stomach cannot process a lot of the foods that you easily consume.’ A breeze caught the food smell and swept it away. His stomach settled.
‘What do you eat, then?’ Ben licked off a blob of jam that had dropped on his thumb.
Stephen decided it was better to avert his eyes. He sat rigidly and stared at a nearby sculpture of a female holding a child. ‘We survive mostly on the blood, and sometimes meat, of animals. We need large amounts of iron in our diets.’
Ben’s eyes became unusually wide and he loosened his grip on the sandwich. ‘Are you a vampire?’ he whispered. ‘They drink human blood, though, not animals. I don’t want you to eat me, please! My mum would kill me if I got myself killed!’
Stephen was vaguely familiar with the stories from the Surface Creatures’ literature. ‘No, I am not a vampire.’ He struggled to suppress a laugh; the images of sharp fangs amused him. ‘We eat animals the same way your species did during early civilisation periods. We just don’t require heat to alter the meat’s composition, as your stomachs prefer. And we don’t hunt with tools. We use our physical strength to overpower the animal.’
‘Oh.’ Ben took another bite of his sandwich. ‘My mum buys meat pies sometimes and I like them. There’s animal in those. I could bring you one if you’d like. Then you wouldn’t have to kill any.’
‘That won’t be necessary.’ Stephen smiled a little. It faded as he remembered why he was there: he was looking for answers.
Ben finished his sandwich and sucked loudly on the straw of his juice box. He squashed his back into the contours of the bench and pulled his legs up so that his feet were perched on the edge. He wrapped his free arm around both legs to keep them in place.
‘Why do you eat iron? Is it like the stuff you get in a scrap yard? I wouldn’t think that tastes nice.’
‘My body does not produce many red blood cells because I don’t live in an oxygen-rich atmosphere. We require less oxygen to breathe and because of our bodies’ low levels of haemoglobin, we are naturally deficient in iron. Our stomachs absorb the iron directly from the blood. It gives us strength.’
The boy was comfortable in Stephen’s presence. Soon it wou
ld be his turn to talk.
‘We survive on a different composition of gases than your species. That’s why it’s difficult for us to stay up here. Where we live, we can control the air we breathe.’ He paused to allow Ben time to digest the information.
‘If you can’t survive here, then how are you breathing the air?’
Stephen considered the boy’s intelligence. Even though he wasn’t capable of understanding everything, he had linked many of his questions. ‘We have created a small device that helps us to breathe on the surface. Naturally, to all appearances. However, I can’t stay here too long.’
Stephen realised that he’d broken many rules, including his plan to keep an emotional distance from the boy. He had already shared a dangerous amount of information and guessed that the military had heard everything. But he had to take risks; it would be impossible to arrange a third meeting. From this moment on, the Surface Creatures would begin to set traps for the Indigenes, possibly tagging the food source to uncover the location of their districts. The day’s meeting had to count.
He turned the tables and questioned Ben about the Surface Creatures’ physiology, the types of foods and drinks they enjoyed. He moved to forms of entertainment: what they liked to do, where they liked to go. A terrifying pattern started to emerge: Stephen would never accept that the Indigenes and Surface Creatures had anything in common.
But he still had one question left. It was the reason he’d risked his life to come to the surface.
Who were they?
He was prepared that the response might not give him or the Central Council the answers they wanted.
‘I would like to return to our discussion last week when I asked what you call yourselves. Do you remember what you said?’
‘I told you, I’m English. Did you forget?’
Stephen shook his head. ‘No. Perhaps I need to be clearer with my question. What does your species refer to itself as? We only know you as Surface Creatures.’
Stephen was conscious of his fast-approaching deadline. Suddenly, the child smiled. ‘Oh, you mean human?’
‘Ah, human,’ said Stephen, nodding. ‘Thank you.’
Beneath his icy exterior, Stephen’s heart raced at over seventy beats per minute. Every part of him strained against the temptation to flee.
Human. He had not expected that response.
He could feel the military’s murderous eyes on him again. They would be tracking him as they had done the week before. They’d already seen what he was capable of. This time, he was sure the military would be ready.
Humans.
Stephen struggled to reign in his feelings as he stood up and sped past the military’s location. His feet pummelled the earth.
There was only one thing he was sure of: the Indigenes needed a plan and they needed it now.
10
Fifteen minutes before its exit from Belgrave Square Gardens, Bill could tell that the Indigene wanted to leave. Their undercover operation was not as covert as he would have liked, since two of his reporting officers, Caldwell and Page, had already blown their cover. Page had announced she would pretend to join the all-female running group, while Caldwell had moved out of position to “get a better look”. He hadn’t given them any order to approach the target.
The ITF military out on the field had been a top topic with Isla. Their bullish behaviour was in contrast to her approach: always assess a potentially dangerous situation with a cool head and a clear mind. Bill had worried about those who would try to take advantage of her softer nature.
‘It’s my teaching background,’ she said when Bill had asked her how she put up with their behaviour.
‘They’re loose cannons. I don’t want you getting caught up in their mess and ending up dead,’ said Bill.
‘That’s never going to happen, Bill. I’m smarter than they are. I see where the problems are long before they’ve decided to go it alone.’
He shook his head. ‘Like raging bulls, that lot. Bloody bastards.’
‘I know, but beneath the bravado, they wouldn’t dare risk anyone else’s life. Punishment for that is death.’
‘And that’s supposed to make me feel better about everything? What about the time that detainee attacked you because one of the officers got cocky and shoved him in your direction?’
‘The officer didn’t know I was there. It was an accident.’
‘It always is.’
‘Look, Bill, stop treating me like a fool. I know what I’m doing.’
His wife had always been strong-willed, but she was physically at a disadvantage in comparison to her beefed-up colleagues. It hurt too much to think about the reasons why Isla might have met her end.
He paced the carpet of his ITF apartment in New Westminster as he helplessly watched the petulant military types ruin their best chance at getting what he needed. His orders were to keep a reasonable distance and not to move in until he gave the signal. Now the Indigene was gone and their plan to capture it lost. The information about Isla’s true fate was slipping away.
Bill fiddled with his earpiece. ‘Caldwell! Page!’ he shouted into the tiny wire-like microphone. ‘What the hell just happened out there? I gave no orders to move in. State your position now.’
Radio silence.
Their official mission was to gather information on the alien race for the World Government. If the Indigene disappeared, it may not reappear for some time. It had risked making contact during daylight hours when Bill and his team could see and track it easier. Although the alien’s choice of clothing made it stand out, it wasn’t enough for New London residents to notice.
Still no word from his team.
At the first mission briefing, the ESC had suggested using military already stationed on Exilon 5, something he agreed with. He expected the officers to become his eyes and ears, but their lack of experience in surveillance had bothered him. Now he struggled to take control of the guerrilla-warfare enthusiasts at his disposal.
Bill twitched from the gallon of coffee he’d consumed. His previous lethargy had been replaced with nervous energy and palpitations. He perched on the edge of his chair and drummed the DPad with his fingers as he waited for a response from someone—anyone—in the field.
Given what he knew about the Indigenes, he chastised himself for sending Ben Watson into a dangerous situation. But he needed to see the Indigene up close. The teddy bear had made it possible. While the skin covering had altered its appearance, its likeness to humans—both physically and in its mannerisms—unsettled him. At first, he’d looked away from the screen when the Indigene had moved close to the hidden camera. He looked back in time to notice the brown contact lenses.
Their ability to create technology and adapt to the human environment made them imaginative and highly intelligent. Yet they were also mindless killers. The Indigene had mentioned to Ben that their race had lived on the surface before the humans arrived. Since reports of them hadn’t come to light until a year ago, Bill had to assume the terraforming explosions had forced them underground. Had the alien simply been curious when it went to meet the boy, or was there a different, more sinister reason?
Bill had only one reason for wanting the Indigene named Stephen alive: to find out the truth about Isla. But if they couldn’t catch up to it, then that chance was gone.
There were two possible outcomes to their mission: the World Government would consider co-existence with the alien species, or it would destroy them. When it came to threats against humanity, the latter would certainly be considered. That made his search for answers all the more important; he needed to find out the truth before it died with the Indigene race.
But the Indigene had not yet escaped.
Bill stared at the DPad in his hand, chewing on his thumb as he waited for his team to resume contact. He could see the device inside the bear was still recording images but its fate—or the boy’s for that matter—were no longer of use to him.
He switched the pad to his other hand an
d dried his sweaty palm on his trouser leg. Stuck inside his apartment, he considered joining the pursuit. But he was too far away from the chase to be of any use. He had to rely on the eyes and ears of his team, even though it killed him to know they were the ones in control.
Bill spoke into the microphone again. ‘Caldwell? I know you’re out there and I know you can hear me. You’re going to have to talk to me sometime. Answer me now, dammit!’
Silence hung heavily in the air. ‘Who’s down there? Is somebody going to answer me? Because if I have to come down myself, I’ll find you and—’ He drew in a sharp breath as his heart jackhammered from the caffeine in his system.
An eerie quiet emanated from his earpiece.
‘This is Taggart! SOMEBODY had better pick up NOW! I’m not fucking about here.’
His hands quivered from a mixture of agitation and stimulants. He swore that after today he was going to give up coffee for good. ‘Shit, come on...’ He considered telling them everything just to explain his urgency. He ordered himself to calm down; he wasn’t thinking straight.
A voice broke through the still air and made him jump.
‘Jones here. Sorry for the silence earlier. It was necessary. Over.’
‘Jones, what the hell is happening down there? I have lost both visual and audio. Where the hell is Caldwell?’
‘Caldwell and Page took off after the alien. It absconded from the gardens moments ago. They are maintaining radio silence for the time being. Over.’
‘Well, where is it headed?’
‘Towards the Maglev station. The one in the Victoria district. Over.’
‘Stop wasting my time and give me everything you have in one go.’
He could hear the officer sigh. He slammed his fist on the table.
Jones let out a small squeak and continued, faster this time. ‘The alien is only a few minutes away from the main entrance now. It already had an extensive head start on us, so following it has been difficult. The crowds have managed to slow it up for now. Caldwell and Page are on its trail, but if it gets inside the station, we’re going to lose it for sure. Over.’
‘Jones, I want you to keep this line open. I need regular updates. If we don’t capture it today, then somebody will need to explain to me and the ESC why they fucked up. Got it?’