'Produces nothing as far as I can see, sir' said Karl.
'Quite. A waste-of-space world. Nothing but a complete resource drain populated by lazy do-nothings.'
They crossed to the far side of the intersection, heading towards the southern entrance to the city; the entrance that led to the spaceport. It was guarded by a dozen well-armed and extremely trigger-happy looking law marshals. They looked on warily at the increasing chaos around them; a flurry of activity like an ant's nest stirred to life by the thump of a heavy boot.
Yesterday, Deacon had assumed direct control of this planet's largely ineffectual police force and deployed its limited manpower to guard the spaceport, the government block, New Haven's fusion reactor and its oxygen distribution plant. There were too few left over after that to try maintaining or enforcing any kind of order in the districts.
He stepped out of the chaotic flow of people and noticed a grubby shuttle-stop diner called Dionysius, fifty yards away from the guarded entrance. The owner of the business was busy securing thick wire-mesh grilles over grime-encrusted windows. Closed until further notice, quite clearly.
Deacon turned to his hired man.
'I'm going to get a synthi-caff. Do you want one?'
Karl seemed taken aback by that. 'Uh…that's…uh, yes. Thank you, sir!'
Deacon nodded and strode over towards the diner, picking his way through plastic bucket chairs and tables. Karl and Leonard watched him approach the owner and flash his ID card. The owner stared goggle-eyed at it then, flustered, ushered Deacon quickly inside holding the door wide open for him.
'Deacon must really like you,' said Leonard with a hint of resentment in his voice. 'He never normally does something like that.'
A minute later Deacon emerged again, a steaming styrofoam cup in each hand. He made his way back towards them.
'Here you are. Very strong and very sweet.' He peeled the plastic lid from his cup and inhaled deeply. He nodded approvingly. 'Not that bad for a slap n grill.'
'Thank you, sir.'
He blew on it then took a sip. 'Drink up, Karl. You'll need the caffeine. We have a very busy day today.'
A greyhound rumbled noisily overhead, thrusters hissing as it descended to street level and disgorged yet more anxious-looking tower-dwellers desperate to fill their shopping carryalls with whatever meagre offerings were left on the shelves.
'Come on.' Deacon led the way towards spaceport's entrance. He flashed his ID at the law marshals, and led them through the entrance, along the connecting corridor into the immigration hall beyond.
For once it was cavernously empty. Only a dozen immigration officers standing beside their booths talking to each other in muted voices that still managed to echo off the arched ceiling, all of them clearly wondering what was going on. The Port Administrator caught sight of Deacon and hurried over. His forehead glistened with beads of sweat and his cheeks were mottled pink with stress. Or anger. Or both.
'You must be the man The Administration has sent over, right?' He didn't wait for an answer. Clearly word had spread. 'Just what the hell is going on here?'
'Well now, I presume you saw the news last night?'
'Administration enforced quarantine, yes. That's what they reported. But I've not come across any infectious-.'
'There may have been an outbreak of H0-N1.'
The Port Administrator stopped. His eyes widened. 'H0-N1? The…that….my god, that's the melting disease isn't it?!'
The pathogen was one that had been experimentally developed by a corporation meddling with 'viral terraforming' technology; a virus that could transmit across any species barrier, infect any organic host and transform it into a neutral cellular soup. Needless to say the experiment on one particular world hadn't gone well. Turned out a small number of people had a natural genetic immunity to it and could carry the pathogen in their blood without any symptoms. A number of worlds in the same system had experienced horrifying outbreaks.
'Yes, the 'melting disease'. The very same. Now listen, I arrived here a few days ago with a pathology investigation team. We identified several possible carriers. I've had them and their immediate families and associates isolated and…neutralised.'
Neutralised. The man probably guessed what Deacon meant by that.
'We're not taking any chances with this. This entire system is locked down and all commercial traffic between planets within it will be grounded immediately until we give the all clear.'
'But…but, that's impossible! We need-'
'Emergency supplies will be distributed by The Administration. Don't worry, we're not going to let you all starve out here.'
'But this is-!'
'This is not a discussion. This is how it is. As of now this spaceport has been appropriated under emergency protocol measures and will be handed over to the Colonial Marines and used as a supply and control point for Harpers Reach.' He smiled politely at the administrator. 'So, as of now…your services and those of your staff are no longer required.'
Deacon offered his hand to the man. 'Thank you for your cooperation. I suggest you and your people go home and spend some time with your families. It's going to be a difficult few weeks, I'm afraid.'
The administrator's face blotched more darkly. His forehead glistened. He ignored the hand. 'This is an outrage! You can't just take over my port without-'
'Oh?' Deacon's expression hardened. His patience was being stretched pretty thin this morning. He really didn't have any time for this kind of Little Napoleon bullshit. 'Let me guess, you're worried you're not going to have access to your black market kickbacks for a while? Your little luxuries? Your special perks?'
The man's mouth snapped shut with a clup.
'Oh, dear.' Deacon offered him a pout of mock sympathy. 'I'm afraid it looks like you'll have to put up with basic emergency rations just like everyone else for a while. Pity.'
The man glared at Deacon. An ineffectual, neutered challenge.
'Off you go then, before I order a full audit of your files and desk work.'
The administrator turned to go but Deacon grabbed his arm and stopped him. He took a final slurp of his coffee and handed the half full cup to him. 'Find a bin for this on the way out, would you?'
The man looked at the cup. Deacon dared him to say something more. Instead, his glower became nothing more than a curl of the lip. He took the cup, turned round and called out to his staff to follow him and vacate the hall.
Normally, this place would have been a deafening cacophony of queuing, chattering immigrants and barked conversations between surly immigration officers and the desperate and hopeful. Now it was silent. Deserted.
'Finish your coffee, Karl. You're going to need that caffeine. We have lots to do.'
Karl nodded obediently and drained the styrofoam cup.
Deacon led him and Leonard over towards a large observation blister. The large plastex blister was scuffed and scoured by decades of wind-blown grit but still clear enough for them to see the foggy view across the hodge-podge shanty town of welded together habicubes below; an encrustation of labyrinthine squalor around the base of the dome. Those were the homes of hopefully waiting immigrants. Beyond that, the infinite acres of checkerboard landing pads stretching out as far as the eye could see. No parked vessels today. Every occupied pad had been cleared, the occupants of every below-ground bay evicted to make way for the imminent arrivals.
Deacon leant forward and shaded his eyes as he gazed up at the pink morning sky. 'And about bloody time.'
Hanging high up in the planet's thin atmosphere loomed a long dark shape. Deacon could just about make out its outline and the faintest shimmer of the sun reflecting off the belly of its vast carbo-steel hull.
From its underside spilled a line of dark dots as small as midges that increased in size as they descended towards the spaceport; orbit to surface shuttles. The nearest of them shimmered momentarily as its entry shields swung down and deployed, deflecting the friction heat of atmospheric entry.
<
br /> Much closer now, they could be seen in far more detail; inelegant brick shapes of olive green carbo-steel with ident-numbers stencilled on the sides. Thrusters flared beneath them as they approached the landing field and as their descent reached the last few hundred feet each bright flare was accompanied by a dull roar that vibrated through the observation blister.
Landing struts emerged mechanically beneath the first barge as it slowly descended towards a pad in the middle of the field kicking up a cloud of red dust and grit. They felt a final faint vibration as it touched down.
A moment later, out of the swirling dust, figures began to emerge in two untidy columns. Figures wearing oxygen masks, hunched over with kit bags slung uniformly over their left shoulders slowly trudging their way across the vast field of landing pads towards the domed city.
'The cavalry's arrived,' said Leonard in a singsong voice.
Deacon nodded. 'Quite right, lad. The cavalry's finally arrived. Boots on the ground.'
Leonard looked up at him. 'You think we'll find her, Deacon?' Wide doe-like eyes, full of trust. He could the tell the boy the universe was made of cookies and cream and Leonard would happily throw away every bit of understanding his troubled mind had painstakingly assembled thus far to accommodate that.
Deacon reached out and squeezed the young man's shoulder. 'We'll find her.'
He looked at Karl. 'Won't we?'
The mercenary nodded. 'Yes, sir.'
OMNIPEDIA:
[Human Universe open source digital encyclopedia]
Article: Damnation and Hell - popular interpretations
The last census of all of Human Space was conducted during the time of The Administration. Among the subjects examined were Belief Systems. This last census - conducted over seven centuries ago - listed one hundred and twenty-six clearly defined marginal religions, as well as the mainstream ones; Chrislamic Faith, The Rebornist Church, WangeePaPa/WangeeMaMa and Jedism. The vast majority of these can be traced back to the original Old Earth faiths, the variations multiplying as these faiths travelled with their followers to far off worlds and evolved over time to create many different versions. Those faith variants that most quickly adapted to suit their local planetary conditions consequently flourished, while those that hung onto old values, soon withered and died. Ironically, a very Darwinistic survival principle.
Localised environmental variables had a strong effect on some of the more exotic versions of these exported faiths. For example on high UV worlds, those with darker skins were more capable of getting out and about under the glare of sun light and achieving more things. Thus, faiths on those types of worlds tended towards depicting their figures of authority and virtue as having darker skins, while their characterisation of evil or moral decadence tended towards figures with paler, almost snow white, skins. On high gravity worlds, the virtuous are depicted as short and squat, the evil as tall and thin.
It is, however, most interesting to examine how differently these varying faiths and cults depicted their versions of Hell. The Church of Koplar WangeeMaMa represented the underworld as a place where the genders were separated and sexual interaction never occurs. The Holy Burners (from ice world - New Nirvana) depicted Hell as frozen and cold…while their Heaven burned in an eternal, luxuriously warm, fire. But perhaps the most curious Hell was that proposed by the Church of Envisionist Pragmatism who believed all virtue and goodness appeared solely in the present. Thus history itself was seen as the domain of the devil.
User Comment >Hugzenkissus
We all have personal heavens i think. My personal heaven would be bottled starlight and a sky full of love beams. My warm cuddly genokitty on my lap and my favourite volume of headpad stories.
User Comment >PondBlob
Oh good grief. I bet your bedcube has pictures of fluffy animals all over it. I bet your favourite headpad story is Fifty Grey Shades of LuvvyLove. I bet you wear glitter face gloss and dress in pink all the time :-/
User Comment >CheerLeader879
Why don't you leave Hugz alone? Oh I know why, you haven't got any friends so you spend your time stalking Omni for easy targets. Did mumma not breastfeed you as a baby? Is that what this…a cry for help?
User Comment >(((Bartlaub5))))
No, it's a cry from someone trying not to vom all over his holo-suite. Seriously, Hugz is the kind of Schmaltzkitten that should be kept away from the digistream. 'Specially after one glass of cherrybabee.
User Comment >Matttttttttt
Why is there so much hostility here? On my planet, if people behaved this way to each other they'd be issued a medication order. Some of you people come across as pathological haters.
User Comment >ndjrkckekrkfk
Which [offensive word deleted] planet is that? HippyDippy-Love-World?
CHAPTER 14
'Okay, I'm not gonna lie, Ellie, girl…I'm a bit nervous of what the fregg we're going to find inside,' said Jez.
'Well you accepted his invitation.' Ellie looked up at the large entrance to World Two. 'And I suppose it would be rude for us not to at least say hi.'
Gray's invitation to come and take a look at his biome the other night had been somewhat casual and offhand; not exactly backed up subsequently with a formal invitation. Since then neither Jez nor Ellie had seen Gray again. He'd casually got up after they'd finished several rounds of an odd-flavoured liqueur Frasier had served and excused himself with a theatrical bow. He'd said he was heading back to his place to 'party with his play-things'. They'd watched him saunter away into the darkness with the flip-flap of his sandals receding as he made his way down the hill.
It had taken every last ounce of willpower Jez had and a determination not to look too grabby, for her not to jump up and chase after him. She realised she had a bad case of the hots for him. Not the usual wham-bam and see ya 'round type, Gray was interesting in a way most knuckle-dragging grunters from New Haven weren't; able to produce whole sentences with nouns, verbs and everything. Enigmatic even..
…And fregg he's so hawt…
Maybe it was because he was a brainiac (presumably so, after all, he was a genetics programmer) and seemed happy to hide that intelligence away behind throw away, flippant remarks and a floppy fringe of blonde hair. In contrast to that gimp, Shelby who seemed determined to make them aware, constantly, that his IQ dwarfed theirs and that he was benevolently tolerating their company and prepared to offer up seeds of wisdom as a charitable act.
Or maybe it was simply that Gray wasn't panting after her. That's what Jez was used to after all; males tripping over each other to buy her Spartans, eager to blurt out their well rehearsed off-the-cuff opening snag-lines. In contrast, Gray seemed friendly, welcoming even…and just a little aloof.
Perhaps even…unattainable.
'Do you think he's guppy?' she'd asked Ellie the other day.
He didn't seem like a same-sexer. The ones she'd come across in New Haven all seemed to behave and dress quite differently to Gray.
'Maybe you're just not his type, Jez?'
That had failed to compute for her. She was any man's type.
The next day Jez had nagged Shelby to contact Gray and ask whether the invitation for them to go visit his world was still open. It had taken Gray twenty-four hours to reply. When he did he'd looked tired and apologised for his tardy reply. He'd explained he'd been busy tidying up World Three and resetting it back to its default matrix.
'Yeah…sure, why not? Come on over whenever you want,' he'd messaged.
Hardly the gushing invitation that Jez was used to getting.
'Today?'
'Make it tomorrow? I just gotta, y'know, finish supervising the clear up in here. There's dead and rotting sugar beanies and chocco chops everywhere.' He'd grinned at Jez.
Now Jez was standing beside Ellie and looking at the closed hatch to World Two. Gray's world. For the first time that she could ever remember….she was actually feeling butterflies in her belly.
'You're acting so…not yourself
, Jez.'
'What?!' Jez looked down at her. 'Not myself? What do you mean?'
Ellie couldn't help a smile. 'Like someone on a first date. Nervous.'
'Nervous?' Jez shook her head and tutted.
'You really like him don't you?'
'Pfft. S'pose he's an all right looking meat-stick.'
'All right?' Ellie chuckled. 'You're totally ga-ga for him.'
Jez blew a noisy raspberry at that. It echoed around them and down the long passageway. 'I don't do 'ga-ga', for anyone'!' She huffed at the idea.
'Uh-huh.' Ellie nodded at the computer panel beside the door. 'Mother's' cartoon face was waiting patiently for them, blinking every now and then. The cartoon changed back to an animation of her knitting a scarf: her 'wait' mode. 'So? Ready to go in then?'
Jez nodded firmly. 'Of course I am!'
'Mother?'
The screen replaced the animation with one of her leaning forward and smiling patiently. 'Hello, Ellie.'
'Would you let Graham know that we're here?'
'Of course, dear. One moment….one moment…'
Ellie looked at her. 'I wonder what kind of world Gray lives in?'
'I imagine something with a long golden beach. Or maybe, I dunno….an Old Earth forest or something really relaxing and chillsy.' Jez shrugged. 'We'll find out soon enough.' She curled her lip at a thought. 'I hope it's not all sophistik. All yawn-yawn classic art 'n stuff. Him being a brain-gene designer type an' all.'
Ellie smiled warmly at her friend. This was the first time she'd ever seen her look edgy and uncomfortable.
She's not so bullet proof after all.
Mother's face blinked. She smiled again. 'Gray told me to say 'welcome to his kingdom'.'
They heard locking bolts slide and a soft mechanical hum as the hatch to World Two slowly rolled to one side and came to a rest with a noisy clang. Both girls' jaws dropped.
'Fregging hell!' Jez uttered under her breath.